in which aaron sees you with glasses for the first time and his brain can't handle it.
warnings: kissing, hotch is head over heels!
✦ ˑ ִֶ⊹
It's not that your day starts off necessarily bad, because the extra minute in bed comes nicely to you. What isn't as great is having to rush around your apartment to make it to work in time, huffing as you button up your shirt before clumsily throwing a sweater over it.
The only thing reassuring you that you didn't put it on backwards is the scratch of the annoying tag against the back of your neck — you'll have to remember to rip it off later.
You only realize you forgot your contacts when the letters of the ads on the subway blur, relieved when you find the glasses you always keep with yourself just in case inside your bag.
Not much thought comes into it, not used to wearing them if not in the comfort of your home late at night but simply a necessity now. You don't not use them for thinking that they look bad, but because they used to bother you more than help you and now you've simply gotten used to the contacts.
Once you arrive at the bullpen, you're only five minutes late and don't seem to be the last one arriving. You let that be a victory.
With your morning drink close by, you finally start working on the mountain of files pilling up at your desk.
"Good morning." You're only half an hour in when the familiar voice sounds behind you, steps sounding closer as Aaron comes to stand beside your chair.
"Hey." You greet back, leaning your head to look up at him.
"I don't mean to put even more in your plate but i really need you to fill these out." It's only now that he looks away from the papers and at you, eyes widening for one second in surprise.
You try to ignore it, though it settles something in you. It's a strict rule that have to act professional around each other at work — all an atempt to not have Strauss ripping your heads off.
"No problem." You take the files from his hands with a polite smile, setting them in front of you to start working on them.
Aaron lingers on his spot, clearing his throat. "You're wearing glasses."
“I am.” You state carefully, not sure where he’s getting at. Though you find yourself shifting on your seat a little subconsciously.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so dumbfounded.
“Since when?” His eyebrows are furrowed as if wondering if he’s missed this trait, sweet Aaron.
“Always?” You say with confusion, “I just usually wear contacts. Was a bit late today and forgot them.”
Your boyfriend nods at your explanation, eyes still fixated on you with concentration as you feel your skin grow hot under his gaze.
“You look good.” His words are gentle as he speaks after a moment.
His hand comes to tug a little on his tie — something you’ve noticed he does when nervous. It’s hard to believe you’d be the one to make him nervous.
“Thank you.” You answer just as soft, a little like a question.
It didn’t cross your mind that he’d never seen you with your glasses when you put them on earlier. But you suppose his reaction makes up for it.
Aaron’s lips pull into a small, “Anytime, honey.” Even lower than before. And then he’s walking back into his office like he didn’t leave you melting.
You almost forget about it as you distract yourself with work, getting up from your chair once you’re done and knocking on the door to Hotch’s office.
Once you’re given the green light to come in, you slip inside and close the door behind you before heading to his desk.
“Here you go.” You leave the files on it, moving to get back outside.
But before you can reach the door, you feel his hand catch your wrist. A gasp leaves your lips as he turns you around and presses his own to them in a hard kiss.
Aaron’s hand are on your face as he kisses you, a sight escaping his nose as he gets the first taste of you in the day. Instinctively your hands come to rest on his arm, fingers slightly gripping his button up.
He tastes of coffee with a mix of the mints he always has while working. The bump of his nose against the rim of your glasses has him pulling you closer, one hand moving to your waist to help with doing so.
You let your own hand wonder to his shoulder, feeling the muscles relax under your fingers as you softly massage them.
“You’re driving me crazy, sweet girl.” He mumbles after pulling way, lips still dangerously close to yours.
“What?” You giggle with curiosity.
To prove his point, you feel his fingers tap the rim of your glasses with care. “These are the reason.”
Your heart thumps furiously, shy grin on your lips as you keep him close. “You like them?”
“Love them.” Aaron corrects with an arm tightening around your waist, eyes set on every detail of your face.
“Not too nerdy?” You muse, mostly teasing compliments out of him.
“Just enough.” He reassures nevertheless, lips to your cheek for a sweet peck. “So pretty.”
You squeeze his elbow in return, not surprised when his lips chase you for another kiss. Not that you can complain, relished by the attention.
This one is softer, as if he knows you should get back soon and not wanting to get himself worked up.
“Wear them to our date tonight.” He practically begs, lips shiny from you.
“Pervert.” Your joke earns a grin from him.
“Can’t help it when it comes to you.” Aaron says with honesty. His grip loosens, mouth pressed to your temple.
“Pervert and corny. Wow, Hotchner.” You snort, hitting his chest with your pointer finger.
He catches it with ease, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss there before reaching to adjust your slightly crooked glasses. “There.”
You hum in thanks, fixing his rumbled button up in return before leaving his office with a giddy feeling on your stomach.
summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.
tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words
a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)
It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in.
You’re on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you.
All is peaceful. All is quiet. It’s perfect.
And then your apartment door opens.
You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like he’s run his hands through it a million times.
That’s not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight.
He said, if things went well, he’d probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, it’s Steve Harrington you’re talking about here.
Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback.
“I’m guessing things didn’t go well, then—?” you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours.
“Take off your pants.”
You freeze.
What the—
He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door.
“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out.
“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”
The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.
“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”
“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap.
“Who said what?”
He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet.
But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth.
Heat rushes to your cheeks.
While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset.
Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours.
“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time.
Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair.
“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts.
It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”
“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”
You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side.
“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”
Oh. Okay.
Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing.
That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever.
You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?”
Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”
“Right.”
“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”
The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one.
“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”
Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”
Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?”
“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”
You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs.
You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate.
You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”
His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”
“Between us.”
Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face.
Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”
Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”
He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”
“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”
You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick.
In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space.
“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”
“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband.
Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.
“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”
Shit.
You’re not strong enough for this.
But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done.
And you should.
God, you should.
But you don’t want to.
So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak.
As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you.
His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold.
He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.
Then there’s that wet heat.
His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance.
“Oh, God,” you whimper.
His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan.
He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”
Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it.
Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind.
His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more.
You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment.
Steve eats pussy like he wants to.
You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face.
Too pretty for his own good.
A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes.
The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button.
But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down.
His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”
“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks.
Hard.
You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively.
Then, without warning, he pulls back.
You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that.
“Is that it?” You squeak.
“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down.
He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”
“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands.
He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off.
And this time, he doesn’t tease you.
Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.
As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches.
Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes.
He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations.
The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it.
The way your heart slams against your ribs.
A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing.
That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in.
That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt.
It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink.
“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”
The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks.
Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.
Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away.
When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth.
You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough.
“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours.
You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.
Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.
This one is different.
Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful.
He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious.
“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.
You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”
He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”
“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that.
“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”
His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it.
“You could do it again.”
a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol
ᥫ᭡ dividers by @cursed-carmine| steve masterlist | drop by my desk
VIBE CHECK
best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader [14k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.
— ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference (author loves beefy men); light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; kind of guided masturbation; slight degradation; brief use of pussy pronouns; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; spitting; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.
A/N: this one-shot is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I'm so happy it's finally up again, it's just so important to me. I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip. hope you’ll enjoy 💛
ps: I apologize to all the interstellar fans for eventual mistakes, I've never seen it but I needed something to match bucky's love for physics and space.
Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted.
Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes are screaming do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.
Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend’s body has been betraying him for a while: knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.
Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.
Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.
The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park—technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes—to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.
The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.
When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.
The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”
“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.
Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere."
You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”
He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.
“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.
“Mh-mh.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”
Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.
“You’re freezing, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”
You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.”
“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”
You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”
He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”
“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.
“Still... she looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.
“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”
“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.
“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”
“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn’t miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… just wanted to get a head start.”
He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”
You sigh. “Buck—”
“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”
You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.
Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”
You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes—yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again in your presence. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.
He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile.
You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams.
Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.
Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.
Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice—the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.
Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech: the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.
Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You also walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.
Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along.
Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… you smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.
Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.
But sometimes… sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done.
You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.
And Bucky wants—selfishly, desperately—to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.
With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.
With him, you don’t need to think ahead.
He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.
You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to.
He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It calls for you. It rattles through him like something alive that needs to breath.
Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.
Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up.
Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.
He only knows there’s never been an end.
Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.
You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him—and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.
Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.
You have never kissed him on the lips, though.
Bucky thinks about that more than he should.
He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.
He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.
He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.
Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.
He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.
Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.
And sometimes... it’s just unbearable.
You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It’s just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little grin of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.
The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.
Bucky has imagined telling you.
It never gets far.
In his head, the words sound steady, confident.
But you’d blink, go quiet… look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.
So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses—Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.
From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.
Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie—you are the only one allowed to do that.
You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.
So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs. It sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class. It blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.
He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you’re both left wheezing.
With him, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it. Because Bucky has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.
Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.
But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.
Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile into the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.
“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.
“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”
Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.”
Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.
“James seriously, I have to finish—”
“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter.
“You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”
You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.
“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”
Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.
And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.
Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”
“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his tender attention.
“I know. I know, sweetheart.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… irresistible when you let yourself go.”
“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.
You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way.
“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”
You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”
“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.
“They look at you.”
“They look at everyone.”
“Not like they look at you, baby.”
There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.
“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the night. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
You lift your head just enough to squint at him.
“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.
You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mh. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.”
You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway.
“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.
You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.
He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good—too good.”
Your fingers tighten in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer.
You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this—he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.
Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.
“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, mh?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”
You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.
“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.
“Careful.” You snicker.
“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”
“You almost tripped over the air.”
“Well, the air started it.”
He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual.
“There,” he hums. “Contained.”
His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”
You go rigid at that. “James.”
“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.
“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s almost three hours long.”
“It’s cinema.”
“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”
“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”
“You loved it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”
He gasps softly. “How dare you!”
You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”
At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.
“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you’ve already watched, and rated, with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”
“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes—”
“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.
“Fine, baby.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”
“You cried during the docking scene.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s just... well done.”
After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so you can see as well, then shifts again so your body is draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.
“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.
“Mh.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”
“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”
Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.
Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.
When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.
“Still cold?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You shivered.”
“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.
You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs—soft and low—then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”
Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can’t help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.
He lets it go on longer than he should.
His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.
“What is it?”
“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.
“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”
At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud.
“I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”
His jaw tightens.
“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You’ve already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”
“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”
Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.
“I can help you.”
The words leave him before he can fully consider them.
You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Why—”
“You have your own stuff to do—”
Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant, I can help you not think about it.”
You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”
That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin.
His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and warm, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the cruelest of dreams. Your mouth on his, your skin bare. His shirt was drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sun split through the curtains and hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He quietly jerked off in the shower, ears red and stomach flipping with shame as he only saw you behind his closed eyelids, but the ache is always there. It never goes away.
His eyes close briefly.
This is not the time.
But the words sit at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.
“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something stimulating enough that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”
“Like what?”
His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can’t believe he’s really going to say it.
He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… sex?”
It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and tossed it between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.
You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback.
“I didn’t mean it like—” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a...” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”
You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.
“I just meant,” he tries again, cautious now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re—We’ve always been—I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… us.”
The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time.” You quietly admit.
He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.
“What?”
You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.
“Since... the last time I had sex.”
His stomach drops.
“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.
You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”
The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.
His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”
You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... years ago.”
You swallow. “I know.”
“You haven’t—” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.
You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.
His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent so many nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.
But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.
“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… sex would help.”
He swallows, nodding sharply. “It might.”
You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”
It’s not a question.
Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.
“Recently?” You perk up.
He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”
You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.
“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or—or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”
Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.
“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.
“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”
“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
“You are everything to me too.”
The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes—too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit—catch that instantly.
“Should we do it?” You ask, almost daring.
Bucky hesitates—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer just for one night.
“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just...” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”
Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.
Just a clean slate of neutrality.
The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.
Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.
“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Even the name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now.
She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently.
She’s contemplating if this will change things between you two.
She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it.
She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.
Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I’m—”
“James.”
He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.
“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it—”
His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.
You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.
Your sigh sounds like it’s been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”
His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.
“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”
You hold his gaze. “And then?”
“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”
You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.
“I won’t hate it.”
That confidence nearly unravels him.
“So… can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.
At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. The feeling of his thumb gently brushing along your jaw makes you shiver, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment into his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that simple motion nearly stops his heart.
Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact—a question posed in motion. It’s the most tender of kisses, meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.
Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.
His other hand hesitantly reaches your waist, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.
Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, still careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust. And your hair is caught through his fingers as he tilts your head slightly, to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this—this closeness, this softness—is real.
Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.
Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Can I... Can I kiss you again, angel?”
Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. The way he tilts his head is automatic, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours, trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding himself together at the thought of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.
His hands finally gather the courage to move, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.
“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.
“I’m—” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... to come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”
Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your stomach flutter. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”
“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question.
“What do you do when you’re alone, baby?”
“I have… toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.
“Show me.”
“You—You want to watch me while I…?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.
His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”
“But—”
Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.
“Then let me help you.”
There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.
“Where are they?”
“Um, second drawer of the nightstand.”
Once the box is opened, Bucky’s mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.
His brain stops. Just… fully refuses to work.
It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach.
A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too...
Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.
But it’s yours.
And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his—
And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… disrespectful.
“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”
“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if embarrassed. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.
“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves just slightly.
You nod, certain but coyly.
Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a sweet kiss on the corner of your mouth first.
“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.
He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.
“What about here, mh?”
You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.
“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.
Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.
“Here?”
You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”
That only makes it worse.
You shake your head slightly, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.
“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want me to hear your sweet sounds?”
He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.
“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.
Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.
“Mh, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, and Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.
“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.
“Careful, doll.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… in a way you won’t forget.”
Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.
“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.
“And here?”
A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.
“And what about here, angel?”
Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.
His lips... kissing your clothed pussy.
Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.
“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.
“The toys.”
“It—It depends if—” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood—Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.
“Mh?” He barely acknowledges you.
“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.
“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.
Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks instantly heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile, kissing you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager dance.
“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”
Oh.
You feel your eyes widen, jaw going slack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets and never come out. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your nub. Your slick seeps through, turning the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.
Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs.
“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky’s head shoots up, hands clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You then wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent room.
You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at the faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you consider the sensation for a short moment, before pressing the button again.
“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit.
“Can I—” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could come right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always.
“Ah—yes, yes please!” Your eyes fall shut.
“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift unconsciously. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, darkened eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.
“Open your eyes, baby. Let me look at you, c’mon.”
The command is soft but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him.
“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can swallow it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.
Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist in attempt to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindly into the pleasure.
“Feels so good, right?”
Your eyes drift over his face, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the perfect line of his nose, the smug curve of his smile, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly beautiful. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking open, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, when the pull in your chest finally bursts and you can only surrender to its force.
“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting.
“Say it again. My name.” His voice is suddenly deeper, you can see his throat bobbing.
“Bucky.” You moan, raw and louder this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames.
“Good girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.
Yes, a good girl. His.
“Wanna hear you say my name like that all the time.” He groans. “Why don’t you show me how good she can take this little toy of yours?”
You twitch, aching with the desperate need to put the dildo back, to indulge in the cruel vibrations until you fall over the edge. Yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding it inside your soaking core.
“Shit.”
You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.”
“I’m right here, okay?” He grits out, exhaling harshly as his gaze traces your body. “C’mon baby, put on a show for me.”
Thrusting harder, your eyes roll back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation.
“Good girl.”
All of a sudden, Bucky’s hands, warm and so familiar yet new as they explore your bare sides, glide under your sweater, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.
“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as he looks in your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down.
His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, then moving down to leave soft pecks on the swell of your breasts that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs brush your nipples so gently, indulging in every little gasp, but it’s not long before his lips close around a hard peak, both nipples receiving sweet suckles that gradually turn meaner.
“Why were you hiding these pretty tits from me, doll mh?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up.
“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw. His fingers keep your mouth open, only for a globe of his spit to land your tongue.
“Swallow.”
Gasping, you quickly follow his order, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. It only makes your core throb painfully.
“Beautiful.”
“Bucky please.”
“Please what? Need words, angel.”
Your mouth opens and closes pathetically a few times, before you can string a proper sentence together. “I want—fuck—I need you.” You eventually whimper out.
The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your stomach. “Good girl. Wanna see you come once around it, watch you moan and gush as you beg for me to touch you. And then I’ll make you leak for days.” His lips attach to your neck and collarbone, his rough words muffled by your soft skin.
You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, docile to his orders and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you.
Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs twitching impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That’s it. It’s been so long since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my princess needs me to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”
“Only you, Bucky. Only you can do it.” You whisper.
His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”
It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”
Nodding enthusiastically, the sound clawing out of your throat is pitiful. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, this feels like a cruel punishment. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.
“Bucky.” You wail, squeezing his wrist.
He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress at the warmth of his skin, yet your chin wobbles pathetically. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.”
“I need—can I touch it, please?”
Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk, the urgent worry disappearing at once. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit?”
“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I—I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His eyes widen, Adam’s apple bobbing. His whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”
You quickly slap your hand against your pussy, glancing up at him to find him licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into its coveted prey.
“Sweet girl, you like being rough with your pretty pussy?”
At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.
“Then slap it for me.”
You swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp smack. The shock of the impact makes your body jolt, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.
“Fuck!” Your pussy is so tender, yet the slap only spurs you closer to the edge.
“Again.”
You smack your flesh harder, gasping at the delicious sting. Alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks, you are not sure you’ll be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you around.
“Just like that, don’t stop.” Humming thoughtfully—his cock hot and painfully hard, still trapped in the confines of his underwear—Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery.
“You’re doing so well for me. One day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pussy, I promise.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His fingers smush your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”
“Please.”
“So fucking sweet.” He growls. “Go on.”
Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “’M so close.”
Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “Beautiful… so, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”
You nod enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I know you do.” He coos. “C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”
“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you bring the toy back on your clit, the knot in your belly ready to snap violently. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors hearing you.
“Fuck! I’m coming—Bucky!”
“Let go, doll. You have been such a good girl for me. Make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”
The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps. You are at your pleasure’s mercy, your thighs trembling and your aching pussy clenching helplessly around nothing.
“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect, so good for me. Love you so damn much, angel.”
The toy ends up dumped somewhere on the bed as your entire focus shifts on your breathing, your head flopping back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.
Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers leisurely running from your clit down to your entrance.
Your reaction is immediate as your body lurches. “Bucky.”
He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs. “Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your core, his breath sending shivers down your spine.
As Bucky lazily flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, your body suddenly feels like it is going to implode. A strangled gasp falls from your lips when he slips a finger in, his mouth moving to thoroughly savor every drop of arousal from your previous release on your inner things.
Bucky decides then to busy himself with your clit again, and your body stiffens.
“Bucky! Sensitive!” You choke out, a hand shooting down to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.
“‘S okay, I’ve got you, sweet girl.” With a mumble, he slips another finger in, making you cry out.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily nursing on your throbbing clit as his nostrils flare, your scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. It’s so messy, with his saliva dripping down his chin and the insatiable need to please you driving him wild. You can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending biting sparks down your spine.
Your mind and body are both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers stretching you so deliciously.
His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like a beast, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single brush of the mattress against his cock.
He pulls away with a wet squelch, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “Make a mess on my face” He rumbles, chest heaving. “Wanna taste you every day on my tongue.” His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds.
His fingers strategically curl up, massaging that sweet spot of yours, leaving you teetering on the edge of sublime release. His arms shake with pent-up desire, still, Bucky makes sure to take his time with your trembling body.
“I’m gonna—fuck, please please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts.
“Give it to me, doll. Use me.”
You obey, literally humping his face. “‘M gonna come.” You sob, hips frantically driving into his face. “Jamie!” His tongue abuses the poor nub while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth, soaking his stubble.
“Breathe, angel.” Slowly retracting his fingers, his eyes study your face, your inner thighs burning raw from the way he rubbed his facial hair all over your core. He brings his fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean as he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.
“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.
“One more.” Bucky kisses you.
“What?” You squeak out, still dazed yet blinking at him more awake than ever.
“One more, baby.” He implores, his hand soothing along the curve of your hip as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”
Before your lips can part around an incredulous laugh, a weight settles between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as his length is gradually coated in your slick.
Thick, long, with veins running along the flushed skin.
“Shit.” He grits out, mouth watering at the sight of the mess you are making on his cock.
“I’m gonna come inside you, sweetheart. Ask me for it, ask me for my cum.”
“Please, Bucky.” You swallow back a whine, nails digging into his skin. “Make me yours.”
He shushes your blabbering gently, cupping your cheek. “Look at me.” He orders, your vision blurry from all the unshed tears. “I’m here, pretty girl. Just a little more patience and we’ll watch it leak out of you because it’s too much for you to keep inside.” The reverence in his blue eyes makes you shiver as he takes in your pleading gaze. The way his thumb traces your lower lip, so tenderly and hypnotizing, has him unconsciously leaning forward, until your mouths join in a slow dance.
Your name comes out of his mouth in a low murmur against your lips. “Thank you for letting me have you like this.”
You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and staring down at you as if you are the missing piece of himself he was searching for all along, you can’t ignore it anymore.
“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down for another kiss—hard and desperate and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.
With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, brought to his knees by three simple words.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Of you. I can’t pretend anymore now that I know what it feels like to have you in my arms, knowing that you’re mine...” Bucky swallows, eyes falling down on your chest before tentatively lifting up to meet yours.
You have never seen him like this. Hesitant. Never around you.
“You are mine, right?”
“Always have.” You breathe out, and with a broken groan, he takes your face in his hands, kissing any part he can reach: from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, latching onto a nipple. Moaning, you indulge in his warm tongue taking care of both nubs as his length slowly humps your wet folds.
“You feel it, angel? This is what you do to me.” He murmurs, humming at your nod. “Such a good girl.”
“Your good girl.”
That earns you a feral kiss. “I have to be inside you.” Bucky pants as your lips messily meet once again. “Now. I can’t take it anymore, need to feel you—Christ.” You break with a sharp cry when his tip encounters some resistance as it finally breeches your hole.
“Slowly sweetheart, look at her opening up so beautifully for me, you—” Bucky abruptly grunts as you clench incredibly tight. Maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat. “You need to relax for me, or else I’m gonna finish embarrassingly fast, angel.” A strained chuckle bleeds through his gritted teeth.
“Can’t. You’re so big.” You squeal mindlessly, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.
“I know.” His lips briefly press to your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so well. God, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the tip inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands clinging onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.
“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling so sensitive you feel like you are going to burst into flames.
Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then bends your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, satisfied as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle making your eyes cross.
“Oh shit! Bucky!” Your nails leave crescent marks into his skin, toes curling.
He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in the way your eyes squeeze shut, or how your hole snuggles his cock deeper when his tip brushes just right against your walls. At some point, his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to flick and rub your puffy clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clench again.
“There she is.” He growls. “Fuck, it feels so good.” His thrusts turn animalistic.
“I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy.”
The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision. His muscled arms keep you safe and still for him to play with, his chest pressed against your bouncing breasts so your sensitive nipples are rubbed raw.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” His voice breaks when your pussy tightens.
It’s too much—his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering about whatever pops into his head.
And you? You can just take it. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close, legs shaky and hips trying to rock back into his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body freezes, before pleasure ripples through you like pure electricity. Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the clear liquid squirting out of you and making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can.
You squirm uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock.
“Jesus Christ, fucking beautiful, sweetheart. Wish I could keep you here and make you squirt on my cock every day for the rest of my life. You’re gonna make me come so hard.” He pants, voice bordering on a snarl and features scrunched up. “’S coming, take it all, doll—fuck!”
His cum spurts on your walls to claim you fully, cock throbbing, making him groan in utter relief. At some point, some spills out and down his thick length, mixing with your creamy mess on the bed and on your ass. You decide to not acknowledge it, too embarrassed by what you have done.
Bucky ends up collapsing over you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for so long.
You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet—and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax—so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewls when he finally reaches your mouth.
Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.
“Hey.” He clears his throat, voice hoarse.
Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try to answer, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. He leans closer, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”
You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.
“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”
A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel you trembling with the last threads of adrenaline leaving you. He holds you tighter, hums a random, almost inaudible melody against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.
It feels like an eternity passes before Bucky finally cradles your face in his hands, looking a little more lucid.
“We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.
“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”
Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment, it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble.
Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall—tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars at night, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, small touches, and secrets suddenly all converge in this single moment.
His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.
“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”
And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.
— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍
my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist
─── ( mlist, two. nsfw ! ) DEAN WINCHESTER carries two polaroids inside his wallet. a picture of you in a motel bed, sunlight spills through the curtains on your skin, drowning your irises— it’s one of his dearest possessions. you wear his flannel only, a pair of panties and no bra and your laugh is so contagious dean swears each time he takes the polaroid out of his wallet he falls in love all over again. and every time he can hear your laugh. you have huge smile plastered on your face and your mouth is covered with ketchup from a half eaten burger you’ve abandoned somewhere inside the cheap room.
the second polaroid, the prettiest fucking face he’s ever seen— big, teary eyes, wide open just for him. his cum drips in thick trails down your chin, your lipstick smeared, mascara running down your pretty face. it’s a polaroid of you on your knees, with your lips wrapped perfectly around the tip of his cock, your hand fisting its base, even if he spilled his cum down your throat already. the polaroid is shaky, but he’d never mind that. you’re gorgeous.
and a third photo— dean keeps it hidden inside his car. his little secret. his proudest one. it’s and old photograph of you inside the impala, completely naked, sprawled over the leather car seat while his dick fills up your wet cunt in the most obscene way. and you take him so well. so well, each time he’s away from you, he’ll stare at the polaroid with his dick throbbing inside his jeans. he gets so hard it physically hurts. he’ll spit in his hand and stroke his cock thinking of you, fantasizing about the way your pussy tightens around him.
he’d be such a liar if he said he didn’t have any more pictures of you.
MDNI. 18+
warnings // older!dean, age gap, p in v, slight breath play, somewhat dumbification, praise, use of the word ‘kiddo’
“Breathe,” Dean instructs, his hands rubbing up and down your spine. His touch is gentle, barely even there as his fingertips caress your bare back. With his other hand, he stills your hips to stop the rhythm of you bouncing on his dick.
You inhale a sharp breath, focusing on the air filling your lungs and the relief, rather than the tip of cock pressing against your g-spot. It’s only your second time sleeping with Dean, but the feeling of his girth and length filling you creates a disconnect between your thoughts and basic bodily functions, such as breathing. “Feels too good,” you pant as you exhale.
Dean grips your hips, using his biceps to slide you up and down. He’s far too concerned about you forgetting to breathe again, and he doesn’t want you focusing on riding him. “I know, honey, but you gotta remember to breathe.”
You can’t help the way your walls tighten around him, just the sound of his voice riling you up enough to send you to the edge. Dean scans your face, bringing one hand to your ribcage and gently squeezing, acting as a physical reminder for you to breathe. Obediently, you suck in a breath, eyes fixated on Dean as he watches approvingly. “Good girl,” he tells you, pressing his hips into you.
That’s all it takes for you to come undone around him, your walls tightening against his girth and your hips spasming as your climax rakes through you. A soft smirk plays at the corner of Dean’s lips. Why hadn’t he thought of fucking you sooner? So obedient, so sweet. You’re just like putty in his hands.
“That was good, kiddo,” Dean praises. “Let’s work on your breathing some more, silly girl.”
Secret relationship fic where Reader gets flowers/candy/etc on Valentine’s from a “secret admirer” bc of an office-wide candygrams initiative and the team is busy trying to detective work to figure out who its from but SHE knows it’s from her BF Aaron
'secret' admirer
SO CUTESY 💌 cw; bau fem!reader, secret relationship, SO MUCH FLUFF and bau family banter <3 wc; 1k
Five pairs of eyes latched onto you the second you walked through the glass door. You couldn’t help but instantly notice the mix of curiosity and amusement in their stares.
Here we go.
"There she is." Morgan sauntered over, a shit-eating grin on his face. “So, who’s it from?”
You laughed gently, crinkling your eyebrows in confusion. As you peeled off your coat, you asked, "What's what from?"
"Finally!" Penelope was the next to hurry towards you, grabbing your hand and leading you right to your desk. Clearly, your usual pace wasn't fast enough for her. "Oh my gorgeous you just have to see."
A bouquet of the prettiest roses sat on your desk. Full, a soft blush color, layers folded in on themselves. Penelope was right, they were beautiful.
Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest at the sight of them, and - overwhelmed by emotion - you nearly let it slip that they were from Aaron. Luckily you managed to catch yourself just in the nick of time, but you wished it hadn’t been necessary. You valued your privacy, but at the same time, things like this made you want to brag about what a wonderful boyfriend you had.
"Happy Valentine's Day to you, huh?" Emily chuckled as you opened the envelope that accompanied the bouquet.
"I guess so." You grinned, reading the small card. It read: ‘Yours, always.’
Your smile widened, a faint flush warming your cheeks - utterly flattered. Aaron had always been the type to show how much you meant to him, and today was no exception.
"Isn't that the sweetest thing. Alluring. Sexy.” Penelope gushed, grabbing one of your files and using it to fan her face. "Whoever he is, he’s a romantic, that's for sure."
"You've read this already?" You laughed, playfully arching an eyebrow as you swiped the file back.
Penelope opened her mouth to speak, but stopped midway. Guilty. "No... kinda. I merely held it up to the light." You hummed in amusement and she let out a whine. "It's been there for nearly an hour. A terribly long hour. When the prettiest set of flowers show up, and the recipient is momentarily absent, you have to take matters into your own hands. Especially when your own love life is clogged down the drain and there's not a plumber in sight."
"No plans tonight, then?" Morgan teased.
"On the contrary, you and I will get up to all sorts of trouble." She quipped in return, causing him to cackle.
"Ah... Valentine's Day." Dave chimed in as he joined the huddle, Aaron with him. "Something I used to be good at."
"You have been married three times,” Aaron deadpanned, crossing his arms across his chest.
As Aaron spoke, your gaze latched onto his. His brown eyes were warm and bright, brimming with affection. No words passed, but you felt it all, the quiet pull between your hearts. The unspoken moments were something the two of you had perfected, whether on a case or just within earshot of the team. Stolen glances and subtle gestures were the best you could hope for if you wanted to keep your relationship under wraps.
Even with the team possibly - definitely - watching, you couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face as you looked at him.
You'd thank him later, in more ways than one, but hopefully for the meantime you were able to relay how much you truly appreciated and loved the gesture. How much you loved him.
"I wonder who they could be from." Penelope thought aloud, scanning the bullpen. Ironically enough, her eyes landed on every person except for the very one it was. "Who was here early? Are they even on this floor?"
"Oh- I know." JJ chimed in, smirking in your direction. Leaning forward and crossing her arms on her desk, "Agent Carter from Homeland Security has the hots for you."
You shushed her, immediately dismissing her statement. You were well aware of Carter's feelings for you - he's only awkwardly flirted with you a handful of times. Each attempt was admittedly sweet, but obviously unsuccessful as your heart belonged elsewhere.
You shook your head. "No, I'm positive it wasn't him." You’d made it clear that you weren’t interested, and the last time he tried to sway you had ended so badly you were sure it was the last time.
"If not, I'm sure we can figure it out by lunch." Emily scoffed, clearly opposed to the idea that an agent would be so brazen. "Sending flowers to a profiler? He's practically begging to be discovered."
"If you want, I can organize data by floor, then narrow the possibilities to single men, and sort those from most to least likely candidates based on factors such as proximal age, interests, and number of conversations they’ve had with you since you started work here.” Spencer offered, his lips quirking upwards.
You gaped at him, though you really shouldn’t be surprised. "All before lunch?"
Penelope didn't miss a beat, raising a hand. "I can get you a list."
"On that note, if you’d all like to leave early today to make your evening plans, I suggest we focus on getting our work done." Aaron redirected smoothly, in a way that hardly hinted at any personal agenda behind his attempt to steer the conversation. "Roundtable in ten."
The team let out a collective sigh and drifted apart, eager to leave early. Dave returned to his office, the others to their desks. As she passed, Penelope patted Spencer on the shoulder, reiterating that she’d get him a list.
Meanwhile, you let out a soft laugh and remained near your flowers, unable to keep yourself from admiring them for just one more long moment before you got swept up in the workday. As you did so, you could sense Aaron's presence lingering behind you.
He discreetly leaned in to mumble in your ear, his amusement clear at the thought of you entertaining other dating prospects. "Carter has the hots for you?"
you’re overly horny, and your sweet boyfriend steve is just there, all golden from his summer tan, looking just edible. you had to have him. dirty thoughts ran through your mind all day until you got him in bed. you practically threw him on his back, climbing on top of him as soon as he laid down, whispering a ‘need you, steve’ as a warning. you were already short on clothes as you’d just come from the huge pool in his backyard. you pulled his shorts down and slid your bikini bottoms to the side, and slipped a hand around his hardening cock. he was thick and heavy in your hands, girth filling your palm. he groaned as you spat on him, nearly fucking your fist as spit drooled down his cock. the bed squeaked as you hovered around him, knees digging into the sheets. your arousal pooled on his tip as you slid him between your folds. synchronously, you both moan as he pushes in, stretching you out inch by inch. you don’t even give yourself ample time to adjust before you’re rising up, letting his cock almost fully slip out before slamming back down. he lets out chaotic sounds as you fuck him, using him as nothing but a toy. his hands were glued to your waist for stability, holding you as if he was helping you bounce up and down on his dick. you were so wet that the squelching of your pussy was the main sound bouncing off the walls. his hips buck up into you harshly, tip hitting your cervix making you whine and lose focus. “don’t fight it stevie, just let me cum” you grunt, pushing at his chest to push his body down. he whimpers but nods, throwing his head back and letting you have complete control over him and his dick. you caress his body, palms running over every hair and mole as you regain composure, picking up the fast pace you set for yourself before. “fuck fuck shit please don’t stop” he moans, nails digging into your sides. you smile down at him and lean closer, your covered breasts flush against his sweaty chest. “wasn’t planning on it, you just have to be good for me baby.”
They don't know how you've haunted me
So stunningly
I choose you and me
Religiously
After your boyfriend dumps you—you should be sad. You’re not. You’re still thinking about fucking Steve Harrington.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 11.6k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, best friend/roommate!steve, female and male masturbation, mild nipple play, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, non protected penetrative sex, creampie, so so much dirty talk, horse cock harrington, even more fantasying about steve harrington, pet names (pretty girl, baby), use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: part two!! i’m really sorry about the wait but i was smacked in the face with writers block for this and it took a while to get over it. but we’re here now and man, i’m so excited! the love i received one part one was insane, i’ve never had a reaction before like that to a fic so i wanna say a MASSIVE thank you for all the comments, likes, reblog, tags, even those who just read it!! it means a lot. i doubted myself with this fic and almost didn’t post the first part and so the support really does mean a lot! anyway—enough of my rambling!! please enjoy part two ❤️🔥
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
The days following your breakup with James had been—strange.
Strange because James had been your constant for almost two years of your life. Strange because you found yourself missing the walk to his apartment. Missing the brownies that he would pick up from a bakery on the way home from work for you. Missing the expensive coffee machine James had in his apartment.
But as for missing James? If you were honest with yourself you didn’t miss him—not at all.
You knew you should be more upset about the end of your relationship. Knew you should feel as if your heart had shattered into a million pieces. But the truth was that you felt okay. If anything, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders.
You weren’t heartbroken like you allowed the people around you to believe. But you felt guilty—immensely so. Guilt that was lodged so deep in your chest that it was almost suffocating. Guilt for not missing James, guilt for only missing the quiet security that your relationship had given you for the past two years.
At work, Robin could tell that something was wrong. You were a little subdued, not your usual self. You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not yet anyway.
Steve knew, of course. He had been there for you moments after James had left. Had pulled you into his arms and refused to let you go until you ran out of tears. Selfishly, you hadn’t wanted to leave his arms either but you eventually did and he had made you some macaroni and cheese. It was lumpy and not at all like the one you had made him the day he had returned from his parent’s house empty handed but you had appreciated the effort all the same. Appreciated every cup of coffee he left for you on the kitchen countertop. Appreciated the fact he had even stopped stealing your expensive shampoo.
When you did eventually tell your friends about you and James, it was at the bar a week after the breakup.
“Wait—You and James broke up?” Robin gasps—you had a feeling that she was trying her best to look surprised instead of relieved. “Like—for good?”
“Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “We broke up.”
“Holy shit,” Jonathan says, leaning back and looking at you carefully.
“Who broke up with who?” Eddie asks quickly.
“Munson,” Steve mutters, taking a quick, careful glance at you. “You can’t ask her that. She doesn’t want to talk about—”
“Did you break up with him?” Eddie presses you, flat out ignoring Steve in his eagerness to unearth the latest gossip. “Did you finally realise how much of a tool he is?”
“Eddie,” Nancy snaps, pressing a sharp elbow to his ribs in warning.
“No,” you say quietly. “He broke up with me.”
That silenced Eddie. Silenced the entirety of the table, in fact. Robin no longer looked relieved, but deeply confused. Jonathan was still watching you, Nancy was glaring at Eddie and Steve was watching the way your hands were fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan.
“But why—” Eddie begins, but this time you’re the one to interrupt him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in a clipped voice, grabbing your drink and taking a generous sip, determinedly not looking at your friends.
The group nodded, even Eddie understood, that now wasn’t the time. That it was too painful for you, too fresh for you to talk about. The irony was—it wasn’t painful at all. But the embarrassment over the reason for the breakup? Yeah, that was pretty real. And you needed to be sure that your friends—especially Steve—never found out the truth. That you took the secret to the grave.
And so, you played the part of the girl who had gotten her heart broken.
You cried at sad movies, devoured a ridiculous amount of takeouts and ice cream, you let your friends and family surround you like a comforting blanket. You even debated a radical haircut before Nancy had vetoed that idea.
Your parents came to visit two weeks after the breakup. They arrived shortly after you had broken the news to them over the phone when they had called initially to invite you and James over for Sunday lunch. You then had to tell them that he had broken up with you and they had dropped everything and rushed over. Steve had been there, hovering as your mom gave you the biggest hug imaginable while your dad grumbled something about James not being right for you. He didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t. Your dad had loved James, your mom had too and you felt as though they would perhaps miss James more than you would.
“At least you’re in good hands,” your mom says, smiling serenely as Steve sets down four steaming hot mugs of coffee onto the coffee table. “Thank you Stevie.”
You smile a little when you notice how Steve’s ears turn red at the nickname, how there’s now a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You knew that he had hated anyone calling him Stevie but you also knew that he wasn’t going to tell your mom to stop calling him that. He catches your eye and bites back a smile before he turns to your mom.
“Anytime,” he says simply.
Your parents had loved James but they loved Steve. You’re sure it has something to do with the fact that Steve was now almost entirely estranged from his parents and your parents seemed to want to shower him in all the parental love he was missing. Your dad invited him to football games, asked him about his job as an assistant baseball coach and your mom told him that he wasn’t eating enough vegetables and asked questions about his plans for the future. Seeing Steve with your parents made you feel a lot of things at once, complicated things that you decided to ignore for the time being.
When your parents finally left, you overheard your mom say to Steve: “You’ll take good care of her, right Steve?”
“Of course. I always take care of her.”
The words go straight to your core and you begin to wonder what was wrong with you.
You hadn’t gotten off to thoughts about Steve since the night with James. You had felt too ashamed to do so. Too full of guilt. But it didn’t mean you didn’t think about Steve. About him taking care of you. About how good it might feel if he took care in other ways. But instead of using those thoughts to get off—you just lay there, a hot pool of want between your legs and an ache that you kept trying to ease by squeezing your legs together. It never worked. You just went to sleep frustrated and feeling like an awful person.
And besides, Steve had seemed to have stopped having sex in the apartment and so, you hadn’t been able to listen to those delicious moans, groans and dirty words that got you off all those weeks ago. At first, you thought that he was just being quiet. That he was trying to be respectful of the fact you were going through a breakup. But when you noticed the lack of random women’s shoes at the front door—you realised he wasn’t having sex at all—in your apartment, at least.
“You don’t have to like, be celibate just because I’m no longer getting any,” you tell him one night on the couch, a month after the breakup. A bowl of popcorn was perched between the two of you, your eyes on the film but your mind elsewhere. “You can still—you know.”
You see Steve’s ears turn red—a tell-tale sign that he was a little flustered by your words but he seems to decide it was best to pretend not to hear you. And you decide not to press him further about it.
You also decide not to dwell on the part of you that was relieved Steve wasn’t having sex with other women. Sometimes late at night, you wondered if the fantasies you had been having about him meant something more than just you needing to get off. If the reason you weren’t heartbroken in the way you knew you should be was because you felt something more for Steve. But then you remembered that you were going through a breakup and definitely not in the right headspace for such thoughts.
James eventually reached out. It had been while Steve was at his Saturday morning baseball practice and you knew James had planned his call purposefully. He said he just “happened to be in the area”, that he had a few of your things to drop off. You had said yes because the guilt was eating you alive—it had been five weeks and James sounded miserable. Meanwhile you had spent last night at Robin and Nancy’s with a bottle of wine and a seemingly endless game of Monopoly.
James’ knock was so distinctly him that it made something in your chest tighten.
You find yourself checking your appearance in the mirror before you answer the door and you aren’t sure why.
You open the door and are greeted with the sight of your ex-boyfriend, a box of your belongings in his hands and a sad look on his face that you wish you could ignore.
”Hi,” you say by way of a greeting because what else was there to say?
”Hey,” James says, his blue-green eyes sadder than you had ever seen them. The guilt in your gut churns because—you were the reason for that, for his sadness. You were the reason for any nights he had been unable to sleep without you by his side. He may not have fucked your brains out the way you needed but he had still loved you.
You have to look away then and so, you glance down at the box of your stuff he had bought over. Inside, you see a box of tampons, a small toiletry bag of makeup and some spare clothes you had kept at his apartment for when you stayed overnight. “You look well.”
”So do you,” you say, though you don’t really mean it. James looked like he hadn’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. His hair unkept in a way he would never allow, his face unshaven and even his outfit was a little less put together without your input on his wardrobe. It made you feel awful, even more awful than you already do and you wanted him to leave so the guilt would follow him out the door. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. “I have um, some of your stuff too if you want—if you want to come in and have a coffee or…something.”
You were sure he was going to say no. You had moaned out your roommate’s name while he had been inside you and broken his heart as a result—of course he didn’t want a cup of coffee.
”I’d love a coffee,” James says with a small smile.
”Great,” you reply with a bright smile that seemed to mask the fact you were cursing yourself inwardly for extending the offer of a hot drink in the first place.
The next five minutes were excruciatingly awkward. James seemed unable to bring himself to sit down on your pink couch and you couldn’t exactly blame him since it was there you had moaned out Steve’s name while bouncing on James’ dick. The memory of it makes you feel hot with embarrassment and so you’re quick to busy yourself with making both you and James coffee as he takes a seat in the small armchair that sat beside the TV instead.
You handed James his steaming, hot mug of coffee and he gave a nod in thanks. You sat down on the couch with your own cup and the silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t know what to say and James looked as though he was beginning to regret accepting your offer of coffee.
The small talk is painful—about how your parents were, about his job. You find yourself thinking of excuses to get him to leave as he stares down at the mug of coffee in his hands.
“I’m um—I’m heading out soon,” you tell him after a painfully boring conversation about what he made for dinner last night. “I need to go food shopping so um, let me grab your stuff.”
“Oh,” James says, his expression faltering slightly as you set your mug down on the coffee table and get to your feet. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you.”
You take a few steps—towards your room when James suddenly calls your name.
“Could I—could I just ask you something?”
You hesitate but you turn around anyway because you couldn’t say no. Not to the man you had once loved.
“Did you—were you thinking about him?” James asks quietly. “Is that why you said his name?”
The look of shame on your face alone is enough of an answer. You watch as James clenches his jaw before looking away from you.
You take it as your cue to leave and you couldn’t have left the room any quicker. You manage to locate an empty box in the back of your closet and you begin to stuff various items of James’ that you could spot around your room—a few old hoodies of his, a Duran Duran cassette tape and some of his boxers that you found in the back of your underwear drawer.
It’s as you head into the bathroom to grab the toothbrush that he had kept in your apartment that you hear the familiar sound of Steve coming home.
Your heart plummets, landing somewhere deep in your gut. Because the last thing—the very last thing—you wanted was for James and Steve to interact.
You quickly shove James’ toothbrush, an almost empty bottle of his cologne and his moisturiser into the box of his stuff that you had collected as your heart pounds in your chest. You could practically hear it thumping, hear the blood rushing through your body as murmurs from both Steve and James reach your ears.
You nearly bolt out of the bathroom in your haste to stop their conversation.
“—I just think it’s a pretty shitty thing to show up here after blindsiding her—”
“—blindsiding? Is that what you think I did—”
You clear your throat and both men turn to look at you. You see James had got to his feet, that Steve was stood a short distance away from him wearing that jacket and those damn jeans that stretched deliciously over his thighs—
You curse yourself from thinking about Steve and his thighs, especially in this situation, with James barely two feet away from you.
You wordlessly hold out the box for James to take. He’s looking at you with an expression you don’t quite recognise and it makes the sense of dread living in your gut intensify to such a level that you have to look away from your ex-boyfriend.
“Thanks for um, bringing my stuff and stopping by,” you say as you chance a glance at Steve who seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the side of James’ head. The protectiveness of it made you want to press your thighs together as an ache built itself between your legs. You curse yourself again for thinking such depraved thoughts. Steve was just being a good friend. A really, really good friend.
James grunts in acknowledgement, looking at you for a few more moments before he takes the box of his things from you.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says. “And my stuff. I really appreciate it.”
But he doesn’t move and the fact he isn’t leaving terrifies you. Because now he knows you had been thinking about Steve. And if he decided to tell Steve the real reason for your break up—well, you really didn’t want to think about the repercussions. The embarrassment of it happening was enough of a punishment, the thought of Steve finding out made you feel physically ill.
Steve—seeming to misinterpret the fear in your eyes as something else entirely—steps between you and James.
“You gonna get out of here?” Steve asks James bluntly. “I think you’ve broken her heart enough.”
James’ head snaps towards Steve and you can see the anger that had been hidden there.
“Broken her heart?” James retorts, his fingers gripping the box in his hands tightly. “Is that—I didn’t break shit. This was her doing, she was the one who—”
“James,” you cut across him in a small voice. “Please, don’t.”
James stops at the sound of your voice and as he looks at you, you can see the man who once loved you. The man that still probably loved you despite the fact you had broken his heart by crying out a name at the height of your pleasure that wasn’t his own.
“Sure,” James says finally, jaw set. “I’ll go.”
Your shoulders sag in relief as James finally moves, stepping towards the door to your apartment. He makes sure to shoulder barge Steve as he moves past him. Steve looks as though he wanted nothing more than to call James out for it but one look at your face and he knows to shut his mouth for your sake.
The moment the door closes behind James, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you had been holding. You take a few shuddering breaths before you turn to look at Steve and see his arms are already open for you.
You don’t hesitate.
Just like that night that you and James had broken up, Steve’s arms surround you. Strong, sturdy, everything that you needed to keep you afloat. Your nerves were shot, your breathing heavy and Steve was there to hold you through it all. You try not to think about his large hands that were rubbing your back gently, about how you wanted those hands all over your body. How you wanted them to slip between your legs, his thick fingers gliding over your wet, glistening lips before slipping inside—
Steve says your name and it pulls you from your thoughts. You pull away enough to look at him and your breath catches when you find your face inches away from your own. It takes everything in you to not look down at those perfect, pillowly lips of his.
“Yeah?” You murmur quietly, looking instead at those big pools of brown you wanted to drown in.
Steve looks as though he was steeling himself, thinking carefully about his next words as he looks back at you. And you know just by the look on his face what he wanted to ask. You knew, of course you knew, that he wanted to know about the reason for your breakup. For weeks, you had been avoiding the subject because the truth of it was so mortifying and you would rather die than admit it to Steve. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being curious and after what James had said—that breakup was your doing—you wouldn’t blame him if he asked.
But you watch as Steve seems to decide against asking you the question. You see how he swallows before looking away from you, eyes on the box of your things that James had returned. “You um, you good?” He asks instead.
The honest answer was no—you weren’t okay. Not in the slightest. The guilt had returned to a dull ache after seeing James. You also felt confused, incredibly so. About what your fantasies about Steve meant. The fact you also seemed to be stupidly horny wasn’t helping your mess of emotions either.
“I’ll be okay,” you tell him simply, making the choice to step away from him before you tell him everything. “M’gonna start dinner, is stir fry okay?”
Steve seems to accept the line in the sand you had drawn and smiles. “Yeah. Sounds great. I’ll cut the peppers.”
A week after you had seen James, you had left work early. You had been nursing a headache ever since you woke up. A dull ache pressing itself against your skull that had been steadily building ever since you headed to work earlier in the morning before finally reaching a peak around lunchtime when Robin finally told you to head home. Eddie happened to be hanging around the station at the time, trying to convince Robin to play his band’s song (which had been turned down by your manager since it wasn’t “radio friendly”) and so, he took you back to the apartment instead of having to call Steve to pick you up.
You don’t mean to be quiet as you enter the apartment but your head was still pounding and so you were avoiding loud noises. You choose to softly close the door behind you instead of slamming it shut like you usually would. You didn’t even call out to Steve to announce that you were home. You just head straight to your room to crawl beneath your covers.
It’s after a minute of laying there, hoping you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a head that wasn’t pounding that you hear it. A low groaning coming from Steve’s room.
Your stomach sinks.
“Ahhhh—fucccking hell,” you hear him moan and that sound—that fucking sound—went straight to your core.
You squeeze your eyes shut. You told yourself to ignore it, you had a headache and needed to sleep it off. Needed to not listen to Steve and whoever he was fucking in his bedroom. But still, you don’t reach for the headphones that live in your bedside drawer.
“Fucccck yeah—just like that.”
You found that your thighs were beginning to squeeze themselves together. You hadn’t gotten off in weeks and Steve’s voice—his delicious groans—were making you slick between your legs without much effort. Even if the thought of Steve with someone else made you feel sick. Even if it made your heart feel as though someone was squeezing it and—
Your thoughts were cut off by a moan coming from Steve that was so obscene that your eyes couldn’t help but open. Your headache was almost entirely forgotten as you zeroed in on those unabashed noises that were falling from Steve’s lips.
It was then you noticed the absence of another voice. It was only Steve’s groans filling his room, only him making noises of shameless pleasure. It was then that you realised—with a surge of something hot that made your body feel as though it was burning with pleasure—that Steve was in fact, alone. That it was just Steve in his room, unaware you were home, getting off. And it was the hottest thing you had ever heard.
You could hear it now—the sound of Steve fucking his fist. Wet squelching that made you painfully aware of the heat pooling between your legs. You found yourself wondering if he had used a lotion or perhaps lube or even his own spit. The thought alone made you so stupidly wet that the slightest twitch of your legs had your pussy aching.
You shouldn’t—you know you shouldn’t. You know you should just grab your walkman and headphones and give Steve his privacy. You know you shouldn’t fall back into this old habit. But then you hear Steve let out a particularly loud grunt and you can’t stop yourself.
You start by slipping your hand beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the skin of your stomach as you listen to Steve and his moans that had you clenching around nothing. Your pussy was practically drooling with want. You weren’t sure how long you had—how long it would take for Steve to come—and so, you didn’t waste any time.
Your fingers shake a little as you unbutton your trousers before slipping your hand beneath the fabric. You have to suppress a gasp as your finger makes contact with the dampness that your slick has caused through your panties. It felt so, so good. Your fingers began circling your swollen and neglected clit through your panties. You had to fight back the moan that was bubbling up your throat, you hadn’t touched yourself in so long that even a gentle brush of your fingers over your sensitive flesh felt electric. And Steve’s moans weren’t helping.
“Ahhh, fuck me—” Steve moans out and you hear the lewd sounds of him fucking his fist faster. “Fuck me, fuccck me—”
Oh, how you wanted to do just that. You wanted him to be inside of you, wanted his thick cock to split you open and put you back together again. You wanted him buried so deep inside of you that you would feel him for days. You wanted him so bad that your thighs were trembling.
Your fingers hastily found their way into your underwear and the moment you made contact with your wetness, you let out a small whimper—
But Steve was too busy chasing his high to notice. You could hear it in how much he was moaning. How he was groaning out nonsense.
You zeroed in on his voice and how fucking desperate he sounded as your fingers collected your slick and smeared it over your folds. It felt incredible. Now you weren’t with James, you didn’t have that sense of shame in your gut as your fingers slid through your wetness. All your focus was on Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.
You plunge two fingers inside of yourself at the thought of Steve. You imagine his pretty brown eyes glassy, lips parted and wet, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour, his chestnut hair mused, messy but still somehow perfect. You imagined his hand pumping his cock which even in his large hands would look stupidly big. You imagine the tip of his cock leaking precum, imagine his hand squeezing his twitching length and throwing his head back to expose that pretty neck of his that was dotted with moles.
You had to bite back a moan as you began pumping your fingers in and out, your hips bucking upwards. You were so fucking wet from listening to your roommate and you couldn’t help but imagine Steve slurping up your slick like it was something sacred.
You add another finger as Steve’s groans pick up. Your eyes close, your head tilts back and you’re in bliss. Your fingers curl inside yourself and it takes everything not to moan out, not to join Steve in those unabashed noises he was making in his room. Your other hand—the other that had been fisting the sheets beneath you—joins the fray, fingers circling your clit as you finger yourself faster. You begin to imagine it was Steve’s thick fingers inside of you as you feel your stomach tighten, the coil in your lower belly close to snapping.
And then—Steve lets out a strangled moan and you know then that he had tipped over the edge. And that sound—perhaps one of the greatest sounds you had ever heard—along with the image in your head of Steve Harrington filling you up to the brim with thick ropes of his cum, is what makes you tip right over the edge with him.
The warmth spreads quickly. It spreads from your dripping cunt right down to your toes. You feel as though your whole body is humming beneath your skin. All the tension in your body vanishes, even the damn headache you had been nursing had lessened considerably. Your eyes flutter close, your head tilts back as you feel your release dripping down your fingers.
You blink—still floating, still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm. You can hear Steve quietly moving around his bedroom but you don’t want to move yet. Because now reality was settling in and you can’t help but think about that feeling you had in your chest when you had thought Steve wasn’t alone. How now that you thought about it, with a clear mind, how that feeling had felt an awful lot like jealousy. The sort of jealousy you remember feeling at the beginning of your relationship with James, when women would look at him for a little too long.
And it’s then that you realise why your breakup hadn’t devastated you. You realise why you found yourself looking at Steve so much, why you felt warm and safe when he was near. Why the day felt brighter when you realised he had made you coffee, why you barely thought about James since your breakup. You realise why you thought so much about Steve—not just because you were clearly very sexually attracted to him—but because your heart beat a little faster when he was near. You still wanted to jump his bones, wanted him to fuck you until there was nothing left but you also wanted to kiss him slowly, to trace your fingers over the moles over his back and arms that were scattered like constellations over his skin. You wanted to wake up beside him, wanted to be more than roommates, more than just friends.And that realisation? That devastating realisation that you had genuine feelings for Steve, for your roommate and good friend—that it wasn’t just lust or you being horny, single and confused—well, it made everything so much more confusing.
After that, you were kind of ruined.
On a near nightly basis, you were back to getting off while thinking about Steve. And after, you would let yourself indulge in a different kind of fantasy—the one that saw you and Steve living a life that wasn’t just roommates. You found yourself wanting to ask Nancy what Steve had been like as a boyfriend and in fact, you had to stop yourself from asking her on multiple occasions.
You had even tried to put some distance between yourself and Steve but it had been difficult—near enough impossible—due to the fact that you lived together but you had tried anyway.
It lasted perhaps two days before Steve had pouted at you for turning down a movie night.
You had folded pretty damn quickly after that.
And so, despite your best efforts, you really started to fall for Steve.
But you also knew how complicated admitting your feelings would be. First of all, you lived together. If Steve didn’t feel the same way and turned you down, you would be in a pretty sticky situation. He may even move out if you were honest with him. Secondly, he was one of your best friends. The kind of friend you wanted to remain in your life for as long as humanely possible.
But it was hard because Steve was Steve and you found yourself wanting him so badly that you couldn’t help but think about him being about yours. About what it would be like to have his arm thrown over your shoulder in a way that wasn’t just a friendly embrace. What it would be like to kiss him whenever you wanted to. You couldn’t help but think about his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his hair, his arms, his hands, his thighs, his—
The sound of jeering rips you from your thoughts about Steve and his damn thighs.
It was a Friday night and once again, you and your friends found yourselves at the bar near yours and Steve’s apartment. It very rarely was busy at the bar, people tended to give the establishment a wide berth but game nights seemed to be the one exception.
“Don’t you just love sports?” Eddie asks the group with a roll of his eyes as he takes a swig of beer.
You weren’t sitting in your usual booth because a group of Colts fans had taken the spot. Instead, you were seated in a much smaller booth which you weren’t complaining about since Steve was pressed against your right side. His thigh pushed against yours. It felt so strong, thick and sturdy and you tried desperately not to think about riding it. How about it would feel to hike your skirt up, straddle that luscious thigh of his and drag your needy cunt over his jeans. How it would feel to watch Steve watching you as you used his thigh to get off, your slick dripping through your panties and onto his jeans. Your swollen, aching clit begging for attention that Steve would happily—
“(y/n)?”
“Huh?”
You had been so deep in your fantasy of riding Steve’s thigh that you hadn’t even registered Nancy saying your name.
Your face felt warm and you blinked several times, looking over at Nancy as though you hadn’t been imagining yourself getting off on her ex-boyfriend’s thigh.
“Yeah, Nance?” You ask, shifting in your seat to try and put a bit of distance between yourself and Steve but all you did was register just how wet you now were.
“Um, James is over there.”
If there was anything—anything—that would have put your horny thoughts about Steve to bed, it was that.
You feel cold all of a sudden, your eyes flickering over to where Nancy was looking and sure enough—there he was. He was standing at the bar with a few friends that you vaguely recognised. He looked a lot better now. He didn’t look like the guy who had been at your apartment a few weeks ago. No longer looked like the guy who had been weighed down by heartache. He was clean shaven, his hair freshly cut and even you couldn’t deny, he looked good. Even if he still seemed to be struggling with putting together a fashionable outfit without your input.
But the fact he was here made you immediately anxious. James knew that you and Steve only lived down the road. He also knew this was where you spent Friday nights with your friends. It was anything but a coincidence.
You feel Steve sit up a little straighter beside you. You try not to think about it.
“Should we get him to leave?” Eddie asks, glancing at you and looking as though he wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with your ex-boyfriend.
You shake your head quickly, swallowing as you look away from James and his friends. “No—Jesus, no. It—it’s fine, Eddie. He isn’t bothering anyone—”
“—he’s bothering me,” Steve mutters, his arm seeming to subconsciously press against yours. The touch sets a fire deep in your gut that you find near impossible to ignore.
“It’s fine,” you insist, picking up your drink and taking a long sip, just to distract yourself from the conflicting mess of emotions you were feeling.
Eddie looks as though he doesn’t buy it and neither does Jonathan.
“You sure?” Jonathan asks you gently, his eyes flickering over your face as though searching for any hint of uncomfortableness.
“It’s fine,” you repeat with another shake of your head and a slightly forced smile. “I’m fine.”
Jonathan doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the look on his face. You couldn’t exactly blame him because you were practically radiating nervousness. But the very last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.
“Let’s just pretend he’s not here,” Robin says and you’re grateful for the suggestion, your shoulders sagging slightly in relief. “Who wants some shots? Something to drown out the sound of sport fans—”
“—Oh shit,” Nancy interrupts her girlfriend, her eyes wide as she looks back in the direction of the bar.
You all turn at the exact same time to see a woman walk right over to your ex-boyfriend and press a not so friendly kiss to his lips.
And suddenly—the reason for James being at your local bar made perfect sense. He wanted to show off that he was moving on. Perhaps even wanted you to be jealous. But truthfully, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your friends however—
“Really?” Robin scoffs as she scowls over at James. “In our bar? Really?”
“What a fucking dick,” Eddie seethes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his lights out? Please? Just one punch—”
“Absolutely not,” you say with a shake of your head. “He’s allowed to move on, it’s fine—”
“—fine?” Nancy repeats. “How is that fine? He broke up with you and less than two months later he’s at your local bar showing off his rebound.”
Your face warms—you know how it looks from the outside. How it looks to your friends. It looks like James was being purposefully cruel. That he had dumped you, left you heartbroken and was now rubbing the fact he had moved on in your face. And sure, perhaps the last part of it was true and James had been the one to dump you but you weren’t heartbroken. In fact, you were relieved and James had been well within his rights to break up with you. But you couldn’t tell your friends that.
“I just—I’m not really bothered,” you say with a quick glance at Steve because you couldn’t help yourself and you found him already looking at you. “I mean—I’ve had time and I’m okay. Really, he can do what he wants.”
Both Eddie and Nancy look as though they wanted to argue. You couldn’t read Steve’s expression and Jonathan seemed deep in thought. Robin was the only one who was happy to take your word for it.
“So, back to shots—”
Despite James’ presence at the bar, you still had a good evening. A great evening in fact, even with the bar full of sports fans. You found yourself not thinking about James or the nameless woman he was with. You were too focused on your friends, on laughing with Robin about work and debating a newspaper article with Nancy and with Steve sat beside you—James was the very last thought on your mind.
You had all decided to leave together, since the Colts winning the game had meant the bar was turning a little too rowdy for your liking and Steve had suggested heading back to your apartment for a few more drinks.
You thought you were in the clear, had thought you had gotten away from an incredibly awkward situation. You headed for the exit to the bar, Robin’s arm thrown around your shoulders—
But the sound of your name pulls you harshly back into reality.
You turn and see that you had just walked right past James and his friends and that nameless woman who, judging by the look on her face, seemed to clock who you were right away.
You feel a hand on your lower back and you know instantly it was Steve’s. Anchoring you. Making sure you were okay. Unknowingly making your stomach turn to goo, your insides dance.
“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, voice low as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let’s—”
“Oh, that’s (y/n)?” The nameless woman says loudly enough for you to hear. You stop, feeling a horrible sense of dread that makes bile rise to your mouth. You should continue walking, perhaps even run. Panic was beginning to rise gut to your chest, squeezing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. But before you could put one foot in front of the other, the nameless woman continued—“The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?”
It feels as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over your head. The embarrassment felt cold at first, then it began to burn. It burned so hot that you couldn’t really think straight. But you felt Steve’s hand pull away from your lower back. Your body seemed to shut down entirely as shame took over. Your eyes flicker down to the sticky floor of the bar as you think of something—anything—to say.
But nothing comes to mind.
And in your silence and the sheer panic in James’ expression before telling the woman to “stop talking”, everyone within ear shot seemed to understand that she knew something they didn’t.
And god, the silence from your friends—from Steve—is deafening. You couldn’t stand it. You couldn't stand to bear witness to the look on any of your friend’s faces. How—for once in his life—Eddie was silent. How Steve was looking at you—
You don’t look at Steve—or any of your friends for that matter—as you push past Robin. You could feel your hands shaking, your eyes burning as you willed yourself not to cry before you could escape. Your body felt hot with a dangerous concoction of shame and embarrassment. You barely even register anything around you as you head straight for the exit. You hear your name being called, hear James apologising profusely but you don’t stop. You didn’t even grab your jacket from Jonathan and the cold bites at your exposed skin as you walk down the street.
‘That’s (y/n)?’
‘The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?’
The words replay over and over again in your head like a song on repeat. How James had looked equally mortified as you. You suppose you couldn’t blame for telling someone—he was hurt and perhaps even embarrassed himself by the reason for your breakup, it wasn’t his fault for trusting the wrong person.
Tears of embarrassment and shame fell down your cheeks that you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away. Your heart hammered in your chest as you passed by groups of jeering and drunken Colts fans. You wondered what your friends thought of you, if they were laughing behind your back. You thought that maybe if you hadn’t panicked, that maybe if you had played it off as a joke, you wouldn’t be walking down the street in tears right now.
But you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t play it off as a joke now, not when you had left and James’ apologises had followed you out the door.
You make it back to the apartment within three minutes. The obnoxious pink couch is taunting you—the memory of having sex with James on that couch while thinking about Steve, moaning out his name instead.
You retreated to your room, though you knew it would be the first place your friends would look for you.
And sure enough, barely two minutes later—the door to the apartment opens and then slams shut.
And Steve calls your name.
You know instantly he was alone. There was just one set of footsteps heading to your bedroom door.
And you wait.
He says your name again, right outside your door.
You want to crawl under the covers and hide, perhaps remain there for all entirety. Haunt the room maybe by refusing to leave. But the small sob you let out is enough to give you away.
Your bedroom door opens and you look up to see Steve standing in your doorway.
You felt as though you couldn't move, your body frozen in some sort of state of humiliation as you looked at Steve’s face.
“Is it true?” He asks and for the first time since you had known him, you’re unable to read his expression. You can’t tell if he’s mad, amused or confused. “Did you—did you really say my name when you and James were—” Steve cuts himself off, his face turning a little red.
You can’t look at him as you nod, tears were still falling down your face and you felt so humiliated that you were sure that would spontaneously combust from the shame.
Steve doesn’t say anything and it only makes you feel more upset. Because Steve was surely to hate you or be repulsed by you or—
“Why?” Steve asks and you make the mistake of looking at him, at his pretty face and the words slip from your lips before you could stop yourself.
“Because I was thinking about you so I could get off with him,” you admit.
Silence. Absolute deafening silence.
If you couldn’t read Steve’s expression before, you definitely couldn’t read it now and the panic you felt in your gut meant words were falling from your lips before you could even think.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, your voice shaky from tears as you sit up in your bed. “I know it was wrong and weird and I shouldn’t have done it but I—he never made me come, Steve. I mean—he did once but it was sort of a fluke and it never happened again—but I just—I always felt so awful after sex because James was good and kind and it still didn’t feel like enough—”
“—wait, he never made you come?” Steve asks, his expression still undecipherable.
You shake your head and sniffle. “No, not really. Not until I—”
You cut yourself off and look at him and you know you should stop talking but you can’t.
“—Not until I thought about you.”
“But I don’t—I mean—how did that work for you?”
“Because I—I heard you having sex with other women and you seemed like you could always make them come and it—”
“You listened to me having sex?” Steve asks you and the way he said it made you burn with shame.
You wanted to lie, wanted to tell him no, you hadn't but it was too late. And so, you simply nod.
Steve doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for a long, long moment before shaking his head.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, looking away from you and your heart sinks, you hastily try and wipe away the tears, makeup smearing across your cheek as you try (and fail) to compose yourself.
“I’m so sorry,” you sniffle as you get to your feet, standing in front of Steve and hoping he saw how ashamed you felt. “I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have and it was a gross invasion of your privacy but—”
“—did you touch yourself?”
You blink. You weren’t quite sure you had heard him correctly but as you meet his gaze you realise that you hadn’t misheard him. You could see the slight flush in his cheeks.
Your breath hitches and you nod. “Yeah,” you tell him because there was no point in lying to Steve now. “I did.”
Steve looks at you for another long moment before looking away. His jaw is clenched, body tense and you notice how his hands twitch at his sides. You imagine he’s trying to stop himself from walking out the door.
“That—shit—(y/n), what am I supposed to say to that?”
“I don’t—”
“—what am I supposed to do with that information when I—when I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in.”
Everything stops. Or, it seems to. There’s the sound of sirens somewhere down the street, you hear your elderly neighbours yelling at each other but it felt for you as though the world had stopped spinning.
You try and process what Steve had just said but for the life of you, you can’t do it. Because there was no way—there was absolutely no way—that Steve, your friend, your roommate, had just admitted to being in love with you for the better part of two years.
“You—what?”
Steve laughs, exasperated as he looks at you and you can see it in his face, the desperation in his eyes, the longing.
“I said, I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in. It was since that—since you made me mac and cheese that night after I came back from my parents house. I never told you this but they actually threw out all the shit I had left there. My dad said some shitty things to me and I came back to the apartment and—you just took care of me in a way no one has before. I didn’t even have to ask, it's like you just knew. Like you got me when we hadn’t even known each other for that long.”
“Plus, the mac and cheese was fucking incredible,” Steve says with a soft smile and you can’t help but smile too, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.
“It wasn’t my best,” you murmur back.
“It was perfect,” Steve tells you. “It was the first time I had ever felt a place was really home.”
Your expression softens, something inside of you wants to reach out and pull him in.
“And then I found out you had a boyfriend and—well, that sucked. But I respected it because you seemed so happy and in love and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” Steve continues. “So, I went on dates. An embarrassing amount of dates. Trying to find someone who made me feel the way you did. Someone who saw me—the real me—and still liked me. Someone who got me. But no one gets me the way you do. No one. And I tried—believe me, I tried but fuck—I haven’t been able to shake it for over two years.”
“Then when you and James broke up I was relieved. I felt fucking awful about it but I was. I was so relieved. It’s why I stopped going out on dates, why I stopped sleeping with other women. It wasn’t some sympathetic act on celibacy or whatever you thought it was but because—because I figured I might—maybe I finally had a chance.”
“Steve—”
“—but I gotta be honest with you if it’s just—it’s just lust you’re feeling then I—I need you to know that I can’t. I can’t. I want to fuck you—god, (y/n) you have no idea how much I want to fuck you. You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”
Something hot pools in your lower stomach and starts to burn. You become aware of the distance between you and you find yourself desperately wanting to close it.
“R—really?” You ask him, wanting to hear every dirty detail. You wanted him to tell you every explicit thought he had ever had about you. You wanted to hear exactly how he wanted to fuck you.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, taking a tentative step closer to you. “Really.”
His eyes flicker down—sweeping over your body and leaving you breathless without even touching you. He was holding back. You could see it in the way his fists were clenched at his sides, how he wets his lips as he looked at yours before looking away.
“But I’m in love with you and though I really fucking want to—I don’t want to fuck you if that’s all you want. I can’t do that with you.”
He was giving you an out, you knew it was the safe option. To pretend that your feelings were strictly platonic with an unhealthy amount of sexual tension. But as you looked at his face, you found yourself being unable to lie to him.
“You know what I felt when James dumped me?” You say finally and Steve looks back at you, shaking his head. “Relieved. I was relieved. And I felt—I felt free, almost. Thinking about it now I think I fell out of love with him a long time ago but just couldn’t admit it to myself because so many people told me how lucky I was to be with a guy like him. That he was the kind of guy I should marry. And for a long time, I believed that. Even though deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. He loved me, he really did, I know that but he didn’t care about my pleasure. Not at all. I tried to tell him what I liked and it was just in one ear and out the other and little by little, I stopped loving him. And I feel awful about it because he’s nice and he just—”
“—if all you can say about him is ‘he’s nice’ then I don’t think you should feel bad,” Steve tells you gently, his hands finding yours and squeezing. “You weren’t meant to be. That’s okay. You’re not a horrible person.”
“You sure?” You ask Steve in a barely there whisper.
Steve smiles a little and nods gently. “You’re the best person I know. Of course, I’m sure.”
You bite back a smile as you tilt your head to look at him.
“I think I’m in love with you too Steve,” you admit, in a voice so quiet Steve has to lean in to be sure he heard you.
Steve doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at you with a mix of disbelief, affection and an undeniable hunger in his eyes.
And then—he smiles at you and it was like seeing sunshine on a rainy day.
His hands leave yours and for a moment, you feel empty but then he gently cups your face between his large hands, so he could wipe away all the tears that had previously fallen.
“So, we’re just a couple of horny freaks in love,” he murmurs and you let out a soft laugh, leaning into his touch as you feel his thumb gently swipe over your cheek.
“The horniest,” you say with a soft smile.
You were sure that there was more to say. There was so much more to talk about but right now? Talking was the last thing on your mind.
Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you look at Steve. He knows without words what you wanted. He could probably feel it in the air, smell the want on your skin.
“You sure?” Steve whispers, brown eyes flickering between yours
“Please just kiss me, Harrington,” you tell him breathlessly.
Steve did not need to be told twice.
His lips met yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft. You felt Steve almost instantly melt into the kiss and you couldn’t help but do the same. His hands—those large hands that you had spent so long fantasising about—had found home on your waist while yours rested on his chest, fingers curling further into the fabric of his shirt.
His lips slid wetly against yours and you felt something hot rush through you and soon, what had begun as something innocent and soft turned into hot and heavy.
You felt one of his hands move to your jaw where he titled your head back and so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue gently coaxing your mouth open. You parted your lips eagerly and the wet heat of his tongue had you whimpering against him.
You feel Steve smile against your lips, probably feeling smug, before he pulls away enough to murmur, “You getting all worked up already, pretty girl?”
You almost wanted to slap that smug look from his face but the moment he calls you pretty girl, you falter.
“Shut up,” you tell him and the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth has you reeling.
“Gladly.”
And then he’s kissing you all over again. Your lips crash together with over a year of built-up tension finally giving over. Steve’s lips are warm and inviting, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that had you moaning into his mouth and had Steve tugging you closer until your body was flush against his. And fuck—he was already hard.
The kiss became almost frantic. Steve groans against your lips as his hands begin to roam your body. They return to your waist briefly before sliding down to your hips and squeezing.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Steve murmurs against your lips as he hands slide from your hips to your ass, which he shamelessly grabs with both his hands over your skirt. “So fucking gorgeous.”
You make a noise against his lips as his tongue sweeps back into your mouth. You can’t stop touching him, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him ever closer. It was the kind of kiss that went straight to your cunt—that left your pussy aching and your lips tingling.
You barely register Steve guiding you both backwards. All you know is you feel the backs of your knees hit your bed and you fall down willingly. Steve takes a moment to just look at you—to marvel at you, at the tops of your thighs that peaked out beneath your skirt, at your flushed face, at your lips that were wet and swollen from his kisses and Steve can’t resist.
He’s back on you and truthfully, you could have made out with him for hours. He was stupidly good at kissing. He knew how to apply the right kind of pressure, knew how to kiss you in a way that left you aching for more. Knew how to have you whimpering beneath him with just his lips.
His shirt was the first item of clothing to come off and you were practically drooling at the smattering of dark hair that covered his chest.
“You think I need a wax?” He asks you with a wry smile.
Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You dare—”
Steve grins, leaning over you to silence you with a kiss. “I’m kidding, baby.”
He made quick work of your top next, one of his large hands cupping your breast over the cup and squeezing.
“Can I—”
“Yes,” you gasp out, back arching and practically pressing your breasts into his face. “Please.”
You try not to think about how quick he is at unclipping your bra. But honestly—you’re not thinking about much as his lips wrap around your nipple. The sound you let out is one you couldn’t control, it was loud and you were sure to get noise complaints. But as Steve began to suck the pebbled peak, tongue swirling, you found you didn’t really care about noise complaints.
“Ah—fuck, Steve—”
Steve hums against your skin and the slight vibration has you writhing beneath him.
“What is it, baby?” He asks you, pulling away from your skin before blowing cool air over your sensitive peak. “What do you want? Tell me?”
Your body felt as though it was on fire. No guy had ever asked what you wanted before and it must have shown on your face because Steve slowly moves back up your body so he could look down at you.
“Tell me,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your cheek. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You want the world? I’ll give it to you.”
You let out a breathless sort of laugh but it ceased the moment you felt his lips against your neck, tongue laving over the skin.
You were sure you were going to die. You had never—in all your life—been so turned on. Your body felt so hot that you were surprised that you hadn’t burst into flames. There was an ache between your legs that was so intense that even the slightest movement had you whimpering.
“You—your mouth,” you manage to gasp. “I—I want your mouth, Steve.”
“My mouth,” Steve murmurs, smiling when you jolt as his hand grips your thigh in order to hike it over his hip. “My mouth—where, baby? Where do you want my mouth? Use your words.”
Your face burned and you wanted nothing more than for Steve to just read your mind. For him to get the hint as you tried to move your hips. But Steve wasn’t going to give in that easy, he wanted to hear exactly what you wanted.
“Be—between my legs,” you say breathlessly. “Please, Steve.”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He began to kiss his way down your body, his tongue briefly teasing over the nipple that he had previously neglected and smiling when you whimpered.
“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmurs against the skin of your navel as his fingers tug at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips in a silent invitation and Steve’s quick to slip both your skirt and panties down your legs.
The moment you were laid bare for him, Steve’s expression changes. There was still hunger of course but Steve? He was in complete and utter awe of your body.
“You’re fucking beautiful baby,” he tells you reverently, hands shaking slightly on your hips as though he didn’t quite know where to start. “Fucking perfect.”
He leans down, his lips on your inner thigh, causing you to moan out in anticipation. You were so wet—so fucking wet it was embarrasing—but Steve seemed to marvel in it. He breathed you in as his lips moved higher.
“God, look at you,” he murmurs as his eyes feast on your glistening folds.
You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to stop making you wait. But before the words could come out—Steve dove in.
The first swipe of his tongue against you has your fingers curling into your bedsheets beneath you and your back arching off the bed. You don’t bother holding back on your moan—you let it out and it was all the encouragement he needed.
And Steve? This man was made to eat pussy.
Steve was relentless. His tongue was hot, eager, swiping a broad stroke from your entrance right up to your swollen, needy clit. You cry out, unable to stop yourself. Your hands find his hair, already messy from your fingers and you grip the strands tightly as Steve’s tongue circles with your clit with delicate precision.
“You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling away from you for a few seconds. You make the mistake of looking down at him and seeing his chin glistening with your sweet juices. “My girl tastes so good.”
You barely have time to process him calling you my girl before you feel his fingers sliding between your folds.
“Oh—fuck!”
You cry out as two of his thick fingers dip inside of you as his mouth continues its gentle but tortuous assault on your clit. Your body felt on fire and you were so fucking wet you could hear the squelching of your slick, mixed with his spit as Steve began pumping his fingers in and out of you. You were so close already and the fact that Steve himself was starting to moan, grinding against your thigh so you could feel his thick and heavy cock through his jeans—well, you knew you weren’t going to last very long.
“Gonna come already, baby?” Steve asks you as he curls his fingers, tongue peeking out to play with your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you that had your back bowing off the bed. “C’mon, you’re doing so fucking good. Look at you. So fucking good f’me.”
Your moans were wanton, your neighbours would definitely complain. But that didn’t matter as Steve’s fingers moved in and out of your dripping pussy, as his mouth sucked at your sensitive bud. You wanted to hold out for a little longer, wanted to remain in your bed with Steve’s head between your legs for the rest of time but you made the mistake of looking down and seeing Steve looking at you—it was the thing that tipped you over the edge.
Your entire body shakes. Your orgasm hit you so hard that for a few moments, your vision whites out. Steve Harrington had sent you to another planet, perhaps another universe with his mouth and the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed was him. His hands gripping your thighs, wet lips lapping up every last drop of your sweet release.
He only pulls away when you tug at his hair. He looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet from your slick and you can’t help yourself. You were still trembling from your orgasm but you didn’t care. You tug him up roughly before kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it was the hottest fucking thing you had ever experienced.
“Take your fucking jeans off,” you breathlessly tell him.
Steve’s eyes widen a little at your tone but he doesn’t need telling twice.
He stands, eyes on you as unbuckles his belt. You sit up because fuck—you had thought about his cock a lot. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he tugged his jeans down his legs. The first sight of the bulge in his boxers had your eyes widening.
“Is that a weapon of mass destruction I see or are you happy to see me?” You ask, lips twitching into a teasing smile.
Steve looks a little bashful, eyes soft as he looks down at you. “A bit of both.”
You almost laugh—about to tease him further—but then Steve pulls his boxers down and every smart quip you had lined up vanishes.
“Holy—fucking hell, Harrington.”
“What?” Steve is trying his best to seem coy as his cock hangs heavy over his soft tummy. Your eyes are shamelessly taking in every inch—and god, was there a lot of inches—of his beautiful cock. Your lips part, mouth feeling awfully dry as you gaze at the sheer size of him, at the slight curve of it, at the tip that was flushed a needy pink, already dribbling precum.
“It’s just—you’re really big,” you tell him bluntly, unable to stop yourself from reaching out to wrap your hand around him.
“Fuck,” Steve hisses at the touch and you look up at him, seeing the way he was clenching his jaw. You decide to put him out of his misery.
You let go of his cock, taking his hand and pulling him back down onto the bed. Steve lets you pull him down willingly and your lips find each other in a kiss that was somehow sweet despite the situation.
“You know I’m ruined for anyone else, right?” Steve murmurs as you gently push him back onto your mattress.
“I figured,” you say as you straddle his lap. Your wet heat pressing right against his achingly hard cock. “But the feeling’s pretty mutual."
Steve wanted to say more, wanted to tell you everything that he had never told you. But there’d be time for that.
“You um—you wanna grab a—”
“No,” you shake your head as you reach down to wrap a hand around the base of his heavy cock to guide him to your entrance. “I’m on the pill.”
“Fuck,” Steve mutters, his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “Does that mean I can—”
You don’t let him finish the sentence, too busy sinking yourself down onto his cock to let him. The stretch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Nancy hadn’t been lying about worrying about being split in two because Steve’s cock was allconsuming. You felt your head fall back and eyes roll as you lowered yourself down onto him completely.
“Fuck—baby—shit—you’re fucking squeezing me like—fuuuuuck—”
The moment he bottomed out, his cock kissing your cervix, you let out a noise that was so obscene that Steve twitched inside of you.
“If you keep making noises like that—”
You shut him up with a kiss. It was messy and yet, it was everything.
You pulled away from him so you could start to move. You watch as Steve’s eyes drop down to where you were joined, to watch how his cock disappeared inside of you—seeing the way your pussy was stretched obscenely around him.
“Fuck—you’re so fucking perfect, y’know that, baby? Look at you. Made for me.”
You whimper because his words were having such an effect on you and you were trying to maintain some semblance of control. You lifted your hips up before slamming back down onto him in a rhythm that had the both of you moaning out. Steve’s hands move to grab your ass, helping to guide your movement as he thrusts upwards. The bed frame begins smacking against the wall but the both of you are too far gone to care.
You were riding Steve like it was the last time, not the first. Your hips rolling frantically, Steve meeting your movements with upwards thrusts that had your eyes rolling back. The sounds coming from you were obscene. Between your moans, Steve’s groans and the wet sounds that filled the room, you were sure to wake up to the whole apartment building complaining.
“That’s it, baby. Ride me,” Steve encourages, eyes on your breasts that were bouncing in his face. He was close, you knew it from the way he was starting to babble nonsense. How his moans had turned into whimpers when your fingers dug into his back. You slam yourself down harder onto his cock and there’s a slapping of skin as your ass hits his thighs. The slight curve of his cock meant he was hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. You held onto him as you chased your orgasm, wet sounds growing louder as high pitched moans left your lips that you couldn’t control.
“Fuuuck! Steve—I’m going to—”
You don’t get to finish your sentence because your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, back arched and you fell forward, collapsing against his chest.
Steve came right after you. His hips stuttered once, twice and then he came with a noise that you never wanted to forget. You felt thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, flooding your pussy with his release.
You were both spent, sweaty and panting but Steve’s arms remained around you and you hoped he would never let go. He didn’t move and neither did you, his thick cock buried deep inside you, a mix of your releases dripping on your bedsheets.
Steve is the first to pull away, just to look at you.
“What?” You ask him, breathless and still, wanting him several more times before you even consider going to bed.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, another to your nose, then a final one to your lips before he pulls away again. “Just—really glad to be your roommate.”
You snort with laughter and shove him playfully. He doesn’t budge. He just laughs along with you.“I think we’re way past roommates, Steve.”
♡ You hold it in your eyes until you can hold each other
Warnings: 18+ / MDNI! • Established but secret relationship, semi-public sex (car), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, soft dom!Steve, praise
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Henderson!reader
Word count: 5.5k
Summary: It starts in the rearview mirror. In stolen glances, almosts, and everything you don't let the others see.
You and Steve are good at keeping things quiet, careful, hidden in plain sight. Right up until you’re finally alone...
Author’s note: Inspired by this post
The WSQK van—Steve’s latest ride—isn’t exactly a babe magnet.
There’s always something on the floor that shouldn’t be there—crushed candy wrappers, a stray cassette case, the kind of mystery debris no one ever claims or throws away.
The seats are worn from too many bodies piling in and out, the air permanently carrying a mix of sugar, soda, and, unfortunately, BO. And there’s almost always at least one of the kids hovering somewhere nearby, like the van itself has become less of a vehicle and more of a moving meeting point Steve can’t escape.
It’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s never just his.
But lucky for Steve—he doesn’t need it to be.
Because he has you.
And God, does he love you.
It shows in ways no one else seems to notice. In the way his eyes find the rearview mirror more often than they need to, in the split-second pauses where his attention lingers just a fraction too long when you’re talking or laughing or simply being before snapping back to the road.
In the small, quiet adjustments: turning the music down when you start talking, remembering things you said hours ago when no one else was listening, asking if you’re okay like it’s second nature.
No one else sees it—or if they do, they don’t understand it.
To them, it’s just Steve—driving, talking, half-laughing at whatever chaos fills the van, slipping easily into the caretaker role he’s known for so well.
To you—
it’s something else entirely.
Because you see it from the only place that matters.
The rearview mirror.
You've just endured yet another failed crawl, another round of your brother and Steve at each other’s throats over something stupid, another stretch of hours spent pretending—carefully, convincingly—that there’s nothing between you.
Like you don’t go home to him.
Like you don’t spend your nights tangled up in each other.
You’re not really part of the conversation anymore. Not fully.
You watch the mirror.
It’s an easy thing to do, subtle enough to pass as nothing. Everyone looks forward when they talk, glances toward the driver without thinking. It doesn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t.
Steve’s eyes flick up as he checks the road, quick, automatic. They pass over everything like they always do—windshield, side mirror—rearview.
You.
It’s nothing. Over as soon as it happens, his attention already back where it should be—hands steady on the wheel, one thumb tapping lightly to the music.
You look away anyway.
The van lurches slightly as he makes a sharp left, and Eddie groans from somewhere behind you about reckless endangerment, immediately followed by Dustin arguing that he could drive better, which is objectively untrue and loudly proven so. The noise fills the space easily, naturally, giving you something to hide inside.
When you glance back up, it’s just the mirror again.
Just Steve, driving.
Just the road behind you.
It stays like that for a while. Nothing sticks. His eyes flick up every so often, brief, functional, never lingering long enough to call attention to it.
Except once.
It’s small. Easy to miss if you’re not already looking.
And this time, when his gaze catches yours in the mirror, it holds for a fraction longer than it should. Just long enough for something in your chest to tighten before you can stop it.
You drop your gaze.
“Oi, you even listening?” Dustin nudges your shoulder from beside you, halfway through some explanation you definitely missed.
“Yeah,” you say, because it’s easier than asking him to repeat it and having to hear him complain about you not listening the first time. He accepts it immediately, because why wouldn’t he? You're his sister you wouldn’t lie to him… would you?
You don’t look at the mirror again for a few minutes after that. You tell yourself you won’t, that it doesn’t matter. It would be easier if you could believe that.
When you do look again, it’s not by accident. The van idles at a red light, everything briefly stilled.
His eyes are already there. Not waiting, he’s not that obvious, but not surprised either. Like he expected it, like he knew you would eventually look back.
Something settles between you—quiet, thin, sharp as a pulled thread.
It’s not accidental anymore.
The moment stretches, too long, too quiet before Steve blinks and glances back at the road after the light turns green. His fingers flex around the wheel, knuckles whitening just slightly before relaxing again.
The next few times, you feel it before you see it—the way his posture shifts, the almost-imperceptible pause before his gaze lifts. You start catching it as it happens, like you’ve both fallen into the same rhythm.
Eddie leans forward between the front seats, oblivious as always, cutting off your line of sight. “Okay, but if we’re dropping off Dustin first, does that mean we’re swinging back toward the video store after? Because I told Gareth I’d—”
Steve cuts him off with a sharp click of his tongue. "No, we are not swinging back toward the video store. Drop-off order is Henderson, then Robin, then you—" His fingers tighten on the wheel again, briefly. "Then home."
Dustin groans, flopping back against the seat hard enough to make a loud thud. "That’s literally the opposite of efficient," he mutters, but Eddie just laughs, kicking his feet up onto the centre console.
You turn your head toward the window, watching the streetlights smear past in long, soft streaks.
The third time your eyes catch in the mirror, it’s different. There’s not an inch of pretence left—just the raw, aching want that’s been building for days, simmering beneath every careful glance and casual touch.
Steve’s grip tightens on the wheel, his jaw ticking. You bite your lip, pressing your thighs together under Eddie’s discarded jacket. The van suddenly feels too small. The air thick with something unspoken.
The way the last week has stretched too long, crowded out by work and obligations and too many people in too many rooms—every almost-moment cut short.
Not just in the quiet, passing way but in the kind that sits low and constant, a dull ache that flares sharp every time he looks at you like this.
When you glance up and catch him already looking at you, his expression softening in a way that makes you blush, you know he’s thinking the same thing you are—God, I miss you.
But it has to stay like this. Contained to stolen glances and half-seconds no one else notices.
Not now—not when Hawkins is closed off to the outside world, when Max lies in a hospital bed with machines doing the breathing she can’t, not when your brother and Steve can barely be in the same room without something snapping tight between them.
And still—you look anyway.
Robin’s voice cuts through your inner spiral. “Uh, hello? Earth to Steve?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, and he jerks his attention back to the road with a muttered curse.
“You just missed Henderson’s street,” she points out, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, what’s with you tonight?”
Steve exhales through his nose before flashing Robin a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Sorry, Buckley. Too busy admiring you."
Robin groans, kicking the back of his seat. "Gross. Try that line on someone who hasn’t seen you eat an entire bag of Cheetos in one go.”
Your eyes flick up before you can stop them, catching his in the mirror. There’s the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth, something quieter, softer than the grin he just gave her.
Because you have.
And it still worked.
And it would again. Without a doubt and without shame.
Dustin makes a show of gathering his backpack, deliberately slow, like he’s hoping someone will argue for him to stay.
The van idles outside your house, the engine a low, impatient rumble beneath Steve’s tapping fingers. "You know," Dustin starts, shifting in his seat to face Steve, "if you just—"
"Nope," Steve cuts him off, popping the p with a finality that brooks no argument. "Out."
Dustin squints at him, then suspiciously glances over at you. “Wait—aren’t you getting out?”
You don’t hesitate. “No. I’m staying at my boyfriend’s tonight.”
“Oooh,” Robin leans forward immediately, interest sparked. “The mystery boyfriend.”
“Still haven’t met this guy,” Eddie adds, dragging the words out, grinning. “Starting to think he’s made up.”
Dustin looks at you, completely clueless. “Yeah, seriously. Who even is—”
Your eyes flick up automatically—to the mirror.
Steve’s hand drags across his mouth like he’s trying to hide it— but it doesn’t quite work. The hint of a smirk still there, still tugging at the corner of his lips.
You shoot him a quick glare.
He clears his throat, the smirk disappearing just as quickly as it came, his expression snapping back into something neutral— a little too neutral—but luckily Eddie and Robin are too busy arguing and Dustin is too busy sulking.
“Door, Henderson.” He jerks his head toward it, already reaching to unlock it, tone a little too sharp to be casual.
Dustin huffs but climbs out anyway, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Fine, fine, but—” he mutters, but the door shuts in his face.
Not even half a second later—
Steve’s pulling away.
Dustin’s muttering fades behind you, swallowed up by the hum of the engine and the quiet stretch of road ahead. For a second, no one fills it.
Then—
“Okay,” Robin says, twisting in her seat to look at you properly now, eyes narrowing with interest. “We’re circling back to that. You can’t keep just casually dropping boyfriend like that and expect me to let it go.”
Eddie snorts. “Yeah, no, I’m with Buckley on this one. You’ve been holding out on us.”
You shrug, aiming for nonchalant, even as your gaze flicks—just briefly—to the mirror again. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Steve doesn’t look up this time. His fingers tap once against the wheel. Then again—restless, giving him away if either of them bothered to look.
But they don’t.
They’re too busy dissecting you; every micro-expression under a microscope.
“Maybe he’s shy,” Eddie offers, to which Robin hums deep in thought. “Or imaginary. I’m still leaning imaginary.”
You huff out something that might pass for a laugh, shaking your head. “You guys are so dramatic.”
“Name,” Robin presses. “At least give me a name.”
There’s a pause.
You could say anything. Instead, you glance up again.
This time, Steve’s already looking.
It’s quick, barely there, but it lands all the same, something sharp and knowing passing between you before he looks back to the road like nothing happened, though you can tell by his fingers tapping against the wheel that he’s nervous.
Your stomach flips.
“Not happening,” you say, a little too quickly.
Robin groans, dropping back into her seat. “You’re the worst.”
“Agreed,” Eddie adds easily. “Absolutely no respect for your audience.”
The van slows as you turn onto Robin’s street, the familiar line of houses coming into view. Steve pulls up to the curb, shifting the van into park, but leaves the engine running.
Robin unbuckles, still eyeing you. “This isn’t over,” she points, narrowing her eyes like she means it. “I will find out.”
You smile, all innocence. “Good luck.”
She huffs, grabbing her bag and sliding the door open. “Night, losers.”
“Night, Buckley,” Steve calls, easy again, matching her salute.
The door shuts and Steve doesn’t wait a second. The van lurches forward as he pulls away, a little too quick, tires crunching against the curb before he straightens out onto the road.
Eddie leans forward immediately, filling the space she leaves behind. “Alright, so...new theory. Secret boyfriend is either—”
“Munson,” Steve cuts in, sharper this time, not looking back. “You’re next.”
Eddie pauses, then grins slowly. “Touchy tonight, Harrington.”
Steve’s jaw tenses; just a fraction, barely noticeable unless you’ve spent months memorising his face. Which you have.
Eddie catches it too, because of course he does. His gaze slides from Steve to you, eyebrows lifting in a slow, exaggerated arc that screams get a load of this guy.
You press your lips together, forcing a small, careful smile—just enough to play along. Eddie just grins wider, completely oblivious to the tightness in your smile, like he’s won something.
Your eyes flick up to the mirror before you can stop yourself—just in time to catch Steve’s gaze already fixed there, his expression tight with something halfway between frustration and exhaustion. You press your lips together in a silent apology, tilting your head slightly.
The effect is immediate: his shoulders drop an inch, the tension around his eyes softening as he exhales through his nose. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—small, private, just for you—and you bite your cheek to keep from grinning back like an idiot.
“—which, by the way,” Eddie cuts back in, louder, still oblivious, “if he is imaginary, that raises a much bigger question... where the hell are you going every night?”
He leans forward further, fully invested now. “Because I’m thinking... option one, you’ve got some secret hideout. Like, full spy setup. Code names. Rendezvous points.”
“Option two,” he continues, ticking it off on his fingers, “you’re actually sneaking off to join some underground fight club we don’t know about.”
“Option three—” he squints at you, grin widening, while holding up four fingers instead of three, “you’re a vampire. Which, honestly, would explain the mystery, the nighttime disappearances—”
“Fight club,” Steve cuts in casually, like he’s barely listening, eyes fixed on the road. “That one tracks.”
You blink. “What?”
Eddie lights up. “See! Thank you!”
You turn toward Steve fully now, incredulous. “You think I’m sneaking off to fight people?”
Steve glances up, catching your eye in the mirror. There’s a hint of a smirk there, soft around the edges, his gaze warmer than anything he’s letting on out loud.
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t rule it out.”
You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
That only makes it worse. The smirk lingers, quieter now, softer—something just for you. Something that makes heat curl low in your stomach.
Eddie groans dramatically, flopping backwards. “Oh my god, you two are the worst. I’m trying to solve a mystery here.”
Steve shifts gears, turning onto Eddie’s street. The van slows, rolling to a stop outside the familiar trailer. Eddie doesn’t move.
Steve sighs, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Munson.”
Eddie huffs. “Fine, fine but this conversation isn’t over.” He grabs his bag, swinging the door open, pointing at you just like Robin did earlier. “I will crack this case.”
“Uh huh,” Steve deadpans. “Good luck with that.”
The door shuts, finally, and Eddie’s silhouette disappears into the dim porch light. The van idles for a second longer, the hum of the engine the only sound left in the sudden quiet.
Steve pulls away, quick, turning the corner before slowing again. Just out of sight.
Then—he stops.
Steve exhales like he’s been holding it in all night, before reaching forward and turning the key. The engine cuts off abruptly, plunging you into silence.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then—he turns.
Not to the mirror.
Fully.
His hand comes out first, finding your waist like it’s instinct, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. His voice is lower, stripped of everything he’s been holding in.
“Come here.”
You don’t hesitate. You never do—not with him.
You scramble over the centre console, your elbow hitting the horn with a sharp honk. Steve swears under his breath and grabs your waist, hauling you fully into his lap.
His hands press into your sides and squeeze. You exhale shakily, forehead dropping to his, fingers twisting into his shirt.
“Missed you,” his words rough against your lips, barely audible.
You huff a soft laugh, breath catching. "You've been with me all day."
Steve exhales against your neck, the warmth sending a shiver down your spine, his lips brushing just below your ear—not quite a kiss, just the ghost of one—before he murmurs, “not like this,” and you smile, fingers curling tighter in his hair.
"Haven’t been able to hold you. Kiss you." His thumb brushes the bare strip of skin where your shirt’s ridden up.
You sigh, letting the week settle between you. His hair is soft between your fingers, longer than he usually keeps it, falling just past his ears in messy waves. You push it back gently, curling a few strands behind his ear, your thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw.
He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly before flickering back open, dark and intent.
“Missed you too,” you murmur, a small, soft smile pulling at your mouth.
"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough. "Every time I looked in that damn mirror—"
He exhales, shaking his head once.
“—couldn’t think about anything else.”
His mouth crashes into yours. Your breath catches as your fingers tighten in his hair and he pulls you closer. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you part for him instinctively, letting him deepen the kiss until you’re breathless, until the world narrows to the heat of his mouth and the scrape of his faint stubble against your chin.
“Wanted to just stop the car—jump over the damn console,” Steve murmurs against your lips, hands dragging down to grip your thighs.
"Don’t think Dustin would’ve appreciated that,” you murmur, struggling not to smile against Steve’s lips, breathless, fingers still tangled in his hair.
Steve huffs—a sharp, impatient sound—and pulls back just enough to fix you with a look. Equal parts exasperation and fondness.
"Don’t talk about Henderson when—" He drags you forward until you’re straddling him properly, and you chuckle, arching into him as his lips find the curve of your neck.
"Say more," you murmur, tipping your head back to give him better access, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. "Tell me what you would’ve done, baby."
Steve exhales against your pulse; he loves baby, or really any nickname as long as it's from you. "Would’ve pushed you into the backseat where no one could fucking see—" His grip tightens. "Told you to keep quiet while I got my mouth on you."
You pull in a sharp breath when his palm presses firm between your legs, the friction sudden through the thin fabric of your jeans. His grin is wicked against your throat, all sharp edges and barely contained frustration.
"Wouldn’t have been gentle," he adds, nipping at your jaw. "Not after all of this time of you making me wait.”
Heat curls low in your stomach as his hand presses harder, fingers just enough to make your breath hitch and then he’s kissing you again, deep and messy, his teeth catching your lower lip when you gasp.
His other hand fists in the back of your shirt, dragging you closer, until you’re grinding down against him, the friction unbearable and perfect all at once.
"What’s stopping you?" you murmur against his jaw, pulling back just enough to smirk at him: a challenge, a dare, the kind that’s been simmering between you for days.
One he takes immediately.
You barely have time to blink before he’s moving you off his lap, one arm looping around your waist to steady you as you scramble to move over the centre console.
Your knee catches the gearshift and he swears under his breath—not at you, never at you—just frustration as he steadies you.
The van’s rear bench creaks as Steve guides you back onto it, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.
The mirror rattles faintly with the movement, still angled from before; no longer catching your eyes, just the shape of you, close enough to blur together.
You laugh—a breathless, giddy sound—as he follows you, pulling you with him until you're on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, his back pressed into the seat. The impact knocks the air from his lungs in a quiet huff, but he doesn't let go, fingers digging into your waist like he's afraid you'll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second.
"Watch the—ah, shit—" Steve grunts when your elbow jabs into his ribs, but he's grinning, all sharp teeth and boyish delight. His laugh is warm against your neck as you shift your weight, grinding down just to feel his hips jerk under you.
"Christ—"
His hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he pulls you into another kiss, slower this time. You feel his tongue drag against yours, unhurried, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs—pulling a soft whimper from you, your back arching into him.
Something digs into your calf and you break away with a grimace, twisting to glare at the culprit: a half-crushed soda can wedged between the seat cushions. Steve follows your gaze, blinking dazedly for a second before snorting.
"Classy," he mutters, swiping it up one-handed and chucking it toward the front without looking. His attention snaps back to you, hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you flush against him.
The space is too cramped, but that doesn't matter when he finds the curve of your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue smooths it over.
“Time to swap places, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, hands already guiding you back—not asking, just moving you.
You go willingly, letting him shift you down onto your back against the bench, his body following until he’s settled between your legs, braced over you.
His hands don’t stop. Fingers quick at your jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You arch off the seat when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down your hips along with your panties in one smooth motion. The fabric catches at your ankles, and Steve huffs out a frustrated sound before kicking them aside.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze dragging over you before he leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.
“Missed this,” he adds, voice low, before dipping his head again.
When his kisses move higher, your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging lightly in warning. Steve chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through you, but he slows instead. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh; his breath hot, his stubble scraping just enough to make you bite your lip.
Steve notices anyway. His grip tightens on your hips, pinning you in place as he finally presses a kiss where you need him most.
You pull in a sharp breath, arching off the seat but he holds you down, his tongue flicking against you once, twice—before settling into a rhythm that has your toes curling.
His fingers dig into your hips as he works, keeping you right where he wants you. His free hand slides up your waist, fingers spreading over your ribs before moving higher, thumb brushing over your chest in a slow pass.
The next stroke pulls a sharp breath from you, your fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to make him groan. “Jesus—” The word punches out, half-broken.
The moment his hands slide under your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it’s personally offended him, you know this isn’t going to be slow.
His fingers skim the bare skin of your waist, sending a shiver up your spine, and then he’s pushing the material up, up, until you have to lift your arms to let him peel it off completely.
The van’s windows are fogged, the street outside quiet, but the risk—the possibility of being heard, of someone passing by—only sharpens everything, coiling tighter in your stomach.
Steve’s grip tightens, pressing into your skin as he drags his tongue over you again, slower, savoring it. You feel his smirk when your hips jerk.
“Like that?” he murmurs, breath hot, voice rough with satisfaction.
You don’t get a chance to answer before he’s back on you. Your thighs tremble around him, heels digging into the seat as you try, and fail, to keep still. Steve hums low, as his fingers slide down and press inside, curling oh so right.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing with every word. His free hand slides up your stomach, skimming over your ribs to palm your breast, thumb brushing your nipple in slow, lazy circles.
The moment you feel it building—that coiled, inevitable pressure low in your stomach—you know he knows. His tongue flattens against you, dragging over your clit before circling it with just the right amount of pressure.
Your breath snaps in, your back arching off the seat, fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to make him groan but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he presses harder, lips sealing around you as his fingers curl just right inside you.
Your thighs clamp around his head, heels digging into the seat as you tip over the edge with a muffled cry, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve doesn’t let up, working you through it with steady strokes of his tongue until you’re squirming, breathless.
You drag him up by his hair—gentle but insistent—his lips parting against yours before he’s even fully pulled away from your thighs. He goes willingly, letting you guide him, his mouth warm and slick as it meets yours, the taste of yourself faint on his tongue.
His hands slide up your sides, steadying himself against the wobble of the van’s bench seat, but you don’t let him linger there. You catch his wrists, pushing them down as you lean up to nip at his lower lip.
Steve exhales sharply through his nose, letting you manhandle him, his pulse jumping under your fingers as you trail them down his arms. His shirt is wrinkled from the drive, the fabric sticking to his skin in places where the summer heat clung to him all day.
You hook a finger into the collar, dragging him closer as your other hand finds the hem, pushing it up over his stomach—slow, teasing, your nails scraping lightly along his skin.
Steve shivers when you tug the fabric over his head, breath catching as you toss it aside. You lean back just enough to smirk at him, watching his throat bob.
"Still overdressed," you murmur, fingers skating down his chest to the button of his jeans.
Steve exhales sharply when your fingers finally undo his jeans, the button popping open. His breath hitches when you drag the zipper down slowly, the sound unbearably loud in the quiet of the van. He leans in, chasing your mouth again, but you tilt your head back—denying him with a grin.
His hands tighten on your hips, fingers pressing into skin still humming from his touch, and you finally take pity on him. Leaning up to catch his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly before soothing it with a slow kiss.
The moment Steve presses you back against the seat, his weight settling between your thighs, something shifts. The frenetic energy between you softening into something deeper.
His hips slot against yours with a familiarity that steals your breath, skin warm and damp where your chests press together as he braces on one forearm, the other hand sliding up to cradle your jaw—thumb brushing your cheekbone, soft against the force of his kiss.
"You ready, honey?" Steve murmurs against your temple, his voice ragged with restraint as his fingers trace idle patterns down your bare thigh.
You nod. The van's bench seat creaks under your shifting weight, the leather warm against your back. Steve hesitates, his palm hovering over your hip, giving you one last chance to change your mind. One you’d never take.
You arch up into his touch, your fingers finding the familiar notch at the base of his spine, pulling him down until there's no space left between you.
The first slow press of his hips draws a ragged exhale from both of you. Steve's forehead dropping to yours with a quiet thump, his breath hitching when you tilt your hips up to meet him.
"Christ," he breathes, voice wrecked already, fingers tightening on your waist as he sinks deeper.
The stretch burns in the best way, familiar and perfect, and you dig your heels into the backs of his thighs, urging him closer. Steve groans in your ear, his hips stuttering forward instinctively before he catches himself, forcing himself to slow back down.
His lips find yours again—softer this time, lingering—as he begins to move in earnest, each rolling thrust punctuated by the quiet catch of his breath against your mouth.
You can feel every shift of muscle beneath his skin, every tremor he tries to suppress when your nails scrape down his back. The rhythm builds between you, steady and sure, until the only sounds left are the creak of the seat and your breaths catching between kisses.
"Sweetheart," he breathes against your mouth, the endearment frayed at the edges, his hips rolling in a slow, maddening rhythm that has your fingers digging into his shoulders. "You feel that? How good you take me?"
His voice drops to something lower, rougher, as he drags his lips along your jaw. "How fucking perfect you are?"
You drag your nails down his back, arching into him and that’s all it takes for his restraint to snap. His pace turning frantic as his hands slide up to cradle your face, kissing you messy and uncoordinated.
"Love you," he whispers between kisses, the words muffled but unmistakable, each syllable pressed into your skin like a prayer.
"Love you so mu—" His hips jerk forward once, twice, his whole body shuddering as he comes with a quiet, broken sound against your lips.
You follow him over the edge not even a second later: his thumb brushing your clit just right, his hips still rolling against yours in slow, uneven circles as he draws it out. The pleasure crests sharp and sudden, stealing your breath, your fingers twisting in his hair as you bury your face against his shoulder to muffle the cry that punches out of you.
Steve stays there for a second, his forehead pressed to your shoulder—your fingers still tangled in his hair, softer now, absent-minded, grounding instead of grasping. The van is quiet again.
No voices. No chaos.
Just the two of you.
Steve exhales before finally shifting, easing himself out of you like even that feels like too much distance. His hand slides up your side, thumb brushing idly against your skin.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
You hum in response, eyes still half-lidded, not quite ready to move.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder—then your collarbone, your chin, your nose—soft, lingering, one after the other until a quiet laugh slips out of you.
And for a second—
he just looks at you.
And you at him—eyes free now, unhurried, able to take each other in without interruption, without your noisy friends, without your too-smart-for-his-own-good brother hovering somewhere between you. Just this—clear, open, yours.
Your hand drifts from his hair to his cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his jaw. “You okay?” you murmur.
A quiet huff of a laugh leaves him, softer than usual. “Yeah,” he says. Then, quieter—“I’m okay, Honey. You?”
You smile, nodding once and he mirrors it without thinking.
Neither of you rush to move.
Eventually, Steve shifts again, easing off you so he can reach blindly toward the front seat, fumbling for something—his jacket, a discarded shirt, anything within reach.
He comes back with his jacket a second later, draping it over you without a word. Then he settles beside you, close—so close he barely leaves any space at all.
You follow without thinking, tucking into his chest, your hand slipping to idly play with the soft hair there.
He huffs out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh, his chin tipping down toward you, something warm and easy settling into his expression.
“So…” he starts, a little smug. “Round two?”
You glance up at him, catching the look on his face—all cheeky, self-satisfied, like he already knows the answer and just wants to hear you say it anyway.
You flick his chin lightly.
“Shut up.”
In the same breath you add—“I love you.”
His arm tightens around you, pulling you in properly this time, his cheek brushing against your hair as you settle into him.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, softer now. You nod against his chest.
And then, after a beat, like he couldn’t possibly not say it back—
“I love you too.”
You settle into him, his arm wrapped warm around you. Conversation drift—slow, easy, about nothing at all—your fingers tracing absent patterns as his thumb moves idly against your arm.
Your gaze lifts without thinking, catching on the rearview mirror where it’s still angled from before.
For a second, you don’t even realise you’re looking at it—just the shape of the van behind you, the dim blur of the street—
and the two of you in it, the glass faintly fogged with heat, softening the edges, close enough to read as one shape instead of two. His arm around you, your head tucked into him.
You don’t say anything.
You just let your eyes drop again, your hand sliding back across his chest as he pulls you a little closer, his fingers sweeping through your hair, his mouth lingering at your forehead like there’s nowhere else he wants to be but right here—with you, in the back of this van.
P.S. Hi 👋🏼... okay bye 👋🏼
P.P.S. Just kidding hehe. How are we? Trying to get out of this writer's block one oneshot at a time 🫶🏼
Summary : When Steve, your best friend, gets his plans for the weekend cancelled without notice, you allow him to come with you to your parents' cottage by the lake.
Warnings : MDNI!!, friends to lovers, pining (from reader mostly), water fight, kissing, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Steve comes in his pants, slight fluff.
A/N : Second fic!! Wrote this one pretty quickly trying to distract myself from the end of the term, so it's not super fleshed out. Uni is kicking my ass and I needed something fun to do. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy it!
WC : 3,719
************
Water.
You never imagined you could be jealous of actual fucking water. It seems crazy, but God, if you could suck up the whole lake and leave it dry and unable to cling to him like that, you would.
It all started with your best friend Steve shoving past you through your doorway, quickly marching to your room. "I swear to God, I'm gonna kill her!"
You scoff and stare outside at your now empty porch. “Oh, Hi Steve! No, I’m not busy. Sure, come in!” You say sarcastically, exaggerating your normal conversational voice. You slam the door and walk back to your room, crossing your arms over your chest and stopping in the doorway. “Who, Robin?”
He’s sprawled on your bed, entirely too comfortable in your space. One hand is buried in his chestnut hair, tugging at the roots, while his other is resting on his belly and gesturing as he talks. There’s a crease between his brows. “Yeah, Robin. Remember how we were supposed to hang out this weekend? Well, she’s ditching me to hang out with her cool new girlfriend or whatever, and now I have no plans and a whole weekend off.”
It’s true. Family Video was exceptionally closed because of a huge water leak a few days ago that needed fixing. When they told you about their plans, you had declined, explaining how you already promised your mom that you’d make the drive up to your parents’ cottage by Lake Kemi for the weekend. In all honesty, you were really looking forward to doing nothing for two whole days, soaking up the sun and maybe taking a swim.
Your suitcase is halfway done on your dresser, begging to be filled with all your bikinis and jeans shorts and almost nothing else. You sigh and walk inside your room, resuming the packing you were doing before Steve’s interruption. “That’s Robin for ya. Can’t blame her, it’s all… new for her.”
He props himself on his elbows and looks at you, his tone filling with self-pity. “Guess you’re right, just… My parents aren’t home, and the kids are all at camp or away… s’gonna be boring.”
Sigh.
The gravel crunches in a satisfactory manner as you roll up the homemade driveway of your parents’ cottage, Steve’s fingers tapping against the outside of the passenger door in excitement. He whistles, looking at the lot and the lake that’s spreading a little further away. “Damn, this place is insane. Thanks for inviting me, honey.”
You scoff, turning the keys in the ignition and taking them out. “Inviting you? You basically forced yourself into my plans.”
He shoots you his most annoying, stupidly handsome grin and winks. “Guilty. Now come on, let’s not lose anymore sun.”
You shake your head as you get out of the car, but you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your face. Maybe it will be fun to not be by yourself out here.
Once your mom greeted you with a hug – and Steve with a hug, a kiss and a pinch to his cheek – you led him to the guest room of the cottage to drop his hastily put together bag. “You’ll sleep here. My room’s just next door.”
It doesn’t take long before you’re both outside and ready to relax and enjoy the warm summer heat. You’re wearing a bright bikini, some kind of pale yellow that looks soft and summery. Steve’s wearing black swim shorts that are entirely way too short, showing off his strong thighs. Oh, and the lack of shirt is distracting too.
He approaches you as you’re about to lay down on the old, patterned blanket you had placed on the grass. “Hey, mind getting my back?” He gestures to the sunscreen in his hand.
Fuck. Steve’s just your best friend. You’re hot, attractive, protective, and sweet, best friend. And obviously you were down bad for him. But he was former King Steve, and you were just Robin’s friend from band that made their duo into a trio. A nobody, really. You had no shot, right? Still, grabbing the sunscreen from his hand, you feel a flutter in your stomach at the thought of touching him. “Sure, turn around.”
He obeys and turns around, exposing the broad plane of his back to you. The moles pepper it like constellations, and you wish you could spend enough time tracing them to name them all. His already tan skin looks smooth and inviting. His voice pulls you out of your appreciation. “Make sure it’s even, though. Don’t need handprints on my back like Dustin’s last year’s disaster.”
The memory of Steve covered in small white handprints while the rest of his back was lobster red makes you chuckle. You squirt some of the creamy lotion in your hand and make contact with the dip between his shoulder blades. “No promises, Harrington.”
As soon as the sunscreen hits his skin, the muscles in his back flex and he winces from the difference in temperature. “Ah! S’cold.”
You can’t help it, your thighs clench together at the sight. “Suck it up.” You spread the lotion around his back, making sure to cover over his shoulders and down to the waistband of his shorts. The dip of his spine is sinful every time you go over it. You finish with a tap to his shoulder. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Want a beer?” he says casually, totally unaffected by the fact that you just had your hands all over him. It sends a slight pang of disappointment in your chest, proving to you that you really don’t have a chance.
You glance away, stopping the feeling from festering, and you nod. “Yeah.”
The sun is high in the sky, beating down on your skin and making it sweat even though you’re both just lounging on blankets, sipping cold beers. Your sunglasses hide the way your eyes keep drifting toward Steve, watching the beads of moisture go down his temples, his neck, his back.
“I’m gonna go for a swim, need to cool off,” he mumbles as he gets up and lightly jogs toward the floating dock. The wooden planks creak as he makes his way to the edge, accelerating to fully launch himself and dive head-first into the water. Show off.
You lose sight of him while he’s in the lake, but when he comes back out… yeah. Water jealousy. Fuck that water. You wish you could touch him like that.
His hair is wet and pushed backward as he walks back toward you, water droplets racing down his arms and dripping from his fingertips. The hair on his chest is shimmering, plastered to his body, the water creating snaky rivers down his happy trail. His shorts seem tighter, painted on with how wet and stuck to his skin they are. No need for imagination. The comment Robin had made a while ago and that had you obsessing over if it was true or not, just proved its veracity in a matter of seconds. King fucking Steve.
You swallow thickly, unable to tear your gaze away.
“Refreshing.” He says to you with a wink.
You scramble up, not trusting yourself to be normal if you stay close to him while he looks like all of your fantasies rolled into one. “I’ll uh… I’ll test it out.”
You quickly make your way to the edge of the dock, needing the cold water to cool down the burning desire inside you. You’re unaware that Steve’s gaze did not leave your ass as you made your way over there.
You dive into the water, maybe not as impressively as Steve, but still gracefully. The lake is quite cold, a stark contrast to the heat of the air as you breach the surface and use the momentum to go farther beneath the water. Once you come back out, you let yourself float on your back, the weightless feeling and drowned out noise helping to slow your thoughts. The cold water makes your nipples pebble, and when it brushes against you’re overheated core as you spread your legs to start swimming back to the dock, you gasp softly.
“CANNONBALL!”
The next thing you know, water splashes in your face and you start coughing from having swallowed some of it. “Steve!” You shout as he comes back up for air and shakes his head like a dog, flicking even more water toward you.
He laughs brightly, swimming closer to you. He looks like summer, like happiness, like something wild you’d love to bottle and keep, but can’t risk taming. “Sorry, honey. Just couldn’t resist.”
The term of endearment rekindles the fire that had subsided inside you. You can feel your cheeks flushing as you both swim to stay in the same spot, just keeping afloat. “You dingus.”
He grins and swims a bit closer, his hand accidentally brushing your arm, but he doesn’t apologize. “Thought we were here to have some fun, no?”
You look at him and can’t help the smirk that spreads across your lips. You retort by splashing water in his face childishly, getting him back for what he did just a few seconds earlier. He gasps and launches toward you, wrapping an arm around your waist to try and playfully tug you under the water.
“Steve! Stop!” You shout with a surprised laugh, before getting pulled under the water. It lasts just a second before he’s pulling you back up and holding you closer to his chest. You realize that he’s holding the ladder that’s at the edge of the dock, not wanting to actually put you in danger.
You giggle and your hands wrap around his biceps for support, the feeling of your chest, stomach and hips against him making you dizzy. “You’re insane, Harrington.”
He laughs and lets you go, almost too quickly, like maybe he surprised even himself by pulling you closer like that, like he wasn’t supposed to let that slip. He gets out of the lake first, and you trail behind him, both going back to lounging on your blankets and soaking up the sun in silence.
Later that night, your parents, Steve and you are all sitting around the campfire, watching the floating embers rise to the sky as you all talk and share stories. Well, more like your parents are sharing stories to Steve about you, absolutely roasting you.
“…and she had that imaginary friend probably for like two years.” Your mother says, looking at your father for his approval of the timeline.
Steve laughs. “Wait, the fully grey, scary-looking guy named Tom stuck with you for two years? Damn, you were a weird child.”
You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, but unable to hide your amusement.
The conversation starts to dwindle, your parents retreating to the cottage with yawns and whispered goodnights. You’re not so sure how it happened, but you’re laying on your back on a blanket stiffened by the rays, with Steve laying next to you. He’s not touching you, but he’s close. You can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
The night is dark, the stars fully visible with the lack of moon and light pollution. The embers of the now dying fire are strong enough to warm your feet, but not enough to emit light. The silence settles easily between you and Steve.
But then he breaks it. “Thanks for letting me come up here with you.”
You turn your head to look at him, but his eyes stay tuned to the sky. You can barely make out his profile – the slope of his nose, the freckles dotting his skin, the faint stubble, his pink and slightly chapped lips. Gorgeous. You hum. “You know, I’m pretty glad to have company.”
He finally turns his head and he locks eyes with you. Maybe you should have turned away, avoided the eye contact and looked back at the inky expanse covered in tiny white dots. But the laziness and heaviness that comes from a day spent enjoying the summer prevents you from doing so.
His eyes are shining, the thousands of stars seemingly reflected in all their glory in a fraction of the space. He turns on his side, the motion bringing him closer to you, his knee pressing on the side of your thigh. He props his head on his elbow and looks down at you. You catch the way his gaze drifts down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Tell me not to do it.”
Your lips part, confusion making a small crease appear between your eyebrows. Your breath catches as you speak softly. “Do what?”
His eyes fixate on that crease, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he smooths the offensive groove with his thumb. “Tell me not to kiss you.”
If he didn’t hear it before, he hears it now. The air in your lungs stick there, your eyes searching his gaze frantically for any sign of mockery, of a cruel joke. But you find nothing but want. You stay silent.
He leans in gently, giving you time to pull away, to say that you’d rather not, to let him down easy. Instead, you meet him halfway, and that pulls a surprised little sound from him.
The kiss starts slow, exploratory, his hand sliding down to cup your neck. It doesn’t take long before it’s deepening though, your own hands burying into his hair and pulling him closer to you. He groans approvingly into your mouth, his tongue licking the seem of your lips in a silent plea for access.
And you grant it to him willingly, your tongue meeting his in a sinful dance, teeth and lips coordinating in a choreography designed to make you want more. He slips his leg between yours and starts to cover you with his body, the weight of it pressing you into the ground deliciously.
You part your legs eagerly for him, the outline of his erection pressing against your heated core through your sweatpants. It makes your breath stutter and you tug on his hair to make the kiss stop. “Wait, Steve,”
He whimpers at the sting on his scalp, his mind going hazy at the sensation, but he locks his eyes with yours. “What is it, baby? Do you wanna stop? We can stop if you don’t-“
You cut him off. “No, no. I want you, just… is this like, a casual thing for you?”
He looks at you like you grew a second – no, scratch that – a third head. “Casual? I… no, this is anything but casual to me.”
You look up at him and if there’s one thing about Steve that you know, it’s that he cares too much about his friends to play them. You know deep down in your bones that he’s telling the truth, and it both soothes you and ignites the need in you. “Thank God.”
You’re pulling him back down, and the newly found agreement of more washes over you both, lowering the restraint. His hands go up and down your sides, slipping under your shirt and touching your heated skin. You reach down and pull at his shirt, and it doesn’t take long for him to take the hint and sit back on his knees to rip it off him. You take the initiative of removing your own at the same time, your bare breasts resting nice and pretty on your chest as you lay back down on the blanket and gaze up at him.
He’s frozen in place, admiring the view in front of him like a man that’s been starved for too long and finally gets to feast. His hands find your knees and go up your thighs, reaching the waistband of your sweatpants. “Can I?”
You nod shyly, lifting your hips off the blanket to help him take them off you. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he leans back over you, propping one hand next to your head. He presses his hips back between your legs, and he finds that spot with his lips just behind your ear that makes you feel like you’re slipping away. A soft whimper leaves your mouth, and he swears right then and there that he’ll start a new religion, making the hymns your moans.
He kisses and licks down your neck, tasting the slightly salty and softened skin. He traces down your body, pressing a line of affection between your breasts, taking a detour to the left to press a few open mouth kisses to the swell of your chest.
“Mm… Steve.” Your voice is like sugar, sweet and addictive.
“I got you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” His words are spoken against your stomach, his lips reaching the hem of your underwear and looking up at you for consent.
You nod, parting your legs even more. “Please, Stevie.”
Oh. He whimpers at that, the pleading tone of your voice, like you’ll disintegrate if you don’t have him. It makes his head spin.
He presses a soft kiss right against your clit over your panties, before pressing his face against you and breathing in. You smell like heaven, a mix of lingering sunscreen and arousal that makes his hips rut against the ground where he’s laying on his belly. “Fucking perfect.”
He pulls your panties to the side, taking a second to look at you. It’s dark, he can barely see anything, but it’s enough to know how wet you are for him. He blows a cool stream of air toward your heated pussy, your hips bucking up at the sensation. “Oh God, please don’t tease, baby.”
He chuckles, before leaning closer. “Sorry, honey. I like playing with my food.”
You would have found it gross if it wasn’t such a Steve thing to say, and if his tongue didn’t make contact with your needy and puffy clit right after the sentence came out of his mouth. Your hand immediately shoots through his hair to hold him against you, a moan tearing from your chest.
He groans in approval, the vibration making its way through you and making you clench around nothing. “Fuck, you taste amazing.” His tongue is lazy and wet as he eats you out like you’re a delicacy, taking his time to learn you and what makes you twitch. He listens for how your breathing gets quicker, how your moans get more careless when he finds the right rhythm. He feels for how your thighs spread even wider, needing more, clenching your muscles in an effort to focus on the sensation.
His own hips are lazily rolling and pressing against the grass through the blanket, needing relief from how painfully hard eating you out is making him. Your moans are turning into incoherent babbles, pleading for more as you tug at his hair. He understands what you need, bringing his middle and ring finger up to your entrance before sinking them inside you. “There you go, just needed to be filled a little, huh?” They slip in easily from how wet you are, and he starts pressing in tiny upward thrusts, stimulating your entrance and that spot inside you that you can never quite get on your own. His tongue goes back to circling your clit, slowly but with a maddening pressure.
“Oh fuck, Steve! Right… there, oh my god…” You moan louder, your eyes shutting in pleasure as your hips roll against his face and his fingers. The knot in your stomach tightens dangerously quick, your slick starting to drip down his palm and wrist.
He moans against your pussy, getting lost in your pleasure. He ignores the burn in his forearm, trying to keep his rhythm steady for you. He mumbles against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel it.”
You let out a cry – a distortion of his name – tears forming at the corners of your eyes as stars rivaling with the ones hung in the sky burst behind them. Your pussy clenches around his fingers as you come apart for him, your grip tightening in his hair, keeping him against you as he helps you ride out every wave. His owns moans are muffled by how forcefully he’s still pressed in your pussy, his hips stuttering against the ground.
He finally starts to slow his movements, pulling out his fingers and licking your entrance softly to taste your release. “God, you’re incredible…” He starts kissing up your body until he’s hovering right over your face. You’re flushed, hair a mess, lips red and swollen from biting down on them. He looks just as wrecked. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him down on you, kissing him and tasting yourself on him. You hum in delight, your mind finally starting to believe that this is happening.
But then… you feel something cool and wet press against your lower belly. He feels it too, and he breaks the kiss to lift his hips and look at you sheepishly. You look down, the dark patch in front of his grey sweatpants is visible even in the dark, the size of it exposing it to be way more than any amount of precum you’ve ever seen. He speaks before you can.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Honey. You were just too hot and you tasted so good-“
You cut him off with a pleased giggle, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “Did you come just from eating me out, Harrington?”
He groans and presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”
You nudge his cheek with your nose, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be. That’s… the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He lets out an incredulous breath, before rolling you both over so he’s laying on his back and you’re resting your head on his chest, your arm loosely resting over the soft give of his stomach. His fingers run though the soft strands of your hair. When he finally speaks – lips pressed against your temple – his voice is full of reverence and affection. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”
I was wondering if maybe I could request a Steve and reader fic.....where reader is having a dream about her friend Steve who's spending the night and reader is very sweet and shy and innocent (so he thinks😝) and she's sleeping next to him in her pj's and Steve can't sleep bc insomnia and he hears her start moaning and then she gets louder moaning his name and panting just having a filthy dream and he strugglingly tries to ignore and does but in the morning he is having even more trouble making eye contact and talking and she thinks she did something bc he rushed back to his house after breakfast... Anyway days later after he's fine and almost over the dream he comes over and sneaks to her room to surprise her but he sees her pleasuring herself moaning his name again and she sees him and stops covering up quick and slams the door but she peaks our and pulls him In anyway and she's still naked and she gets on her knees and tells him to get undressed and she slips back into her dildo as she watches and as soon as his pants come off she starts cock worshipping him and kissing and sucking and licking all over it and sucking his balls as she looks up at him and doesn't stop 😝🤭🤭🫣🫣anyway I just need big dick Steve filth
I loooooove Big Dick Steve filth.
Ruin The Friendship
A note from Red: I went feral with this one guys. I'm not sorry. Reader's POV, no named character! As always my work is my own and I do not give permission for it be copied, rewritten or posted anywhere other than on here, by me. Likes, reblogs and feedback are always welcome. I hope you enjoy. 😈
Warnings: Friends to lovers, size kink, teasing, Big Dick Steve, blow job, use of a dildo, voyeurism, masturbating, p in v, dirty talk and creampie. There's fluff all throughout. ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND SMACK YOU WITH A SHOVEL. There's some cursing as well. 18+ only.
You'd just wrapped up another lazy hangout—pizza boxes still scattered on the coffee table downstairs, the faint scent of pepperoni lingering in the air. Steve Harrington, your best friend since your awkward high school days, kicked off his sneakers by the door of your bedroom like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he kind of did after all these years of crashing here whenever the mood struck.
He stretched his arms overhead, his shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of his toned midriff, but it was nothing you hadn't seen a hundred times before. 'Man, that movie was a total drag,' Steve said with a yawn, running a hand through his tousled hair. 'But hey, at least the popcorn was good.'
You chuckled, pulling open the dresser drawer to grab your usual sleep shirt—an oversized blue one, patterned with daisies. 'Can't have you falling asleep on me mid-scene again.' The banter flowed easy, like breathing, built on years of inside jokes and shared secrets that no one else in this town could touch.
Steve flopped onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and started pulling off his socks. He glanced up at you with that trademark grin, the one that had gotten him out of more trouble than you could count. 'Guilty as charged. But in my defense, you were hogging the blanket last time. Hard to stay awake when you're basically a human furnace.'
Rolling your eyes, you tossed him one of his spare toothbrushes from the cup on your nightstand—the one you'd started keeping stocked after too many mornings of him raiding your bathroom supplies. 'Here, freshen up before you pass out. And don't use all the toothpaste.' He caught it mid-air with a laugh, hopping up to head to the bathroom.
As the sound of running water filled the space, you changed quickly, slipping into your sleep shirt and some fresh panties while the door stayed cracked open—just like always. No awkwardness, no hesitation; it was just you and Steve, comfortable in the routines that had woven themselves into your lives. He emerged a minute later, his face scrubbed clean and looking more relaxed than he had all evening.
'Your turn,' he said, nodding toward the bathroom as he peeled off his shirt and rummaged in your closet for one of his pajama shirts he'd left behind ages ago. The muscles in his back flexed casually as he moved, a reminder of the guy who'd gone from king of the school to the one who'd fight monsters for his friends— for you, without a second thought.
You brushed your teeth side by side at the sink, bumping elbows in the tight space, sharing the mirror's reflection. 'Remember that time we stayed up all night watching horror movies and you screamed like a baby?' you teased, spitting out the foam.
Steve snorted, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. 'Hey, that alien thing was creepy as hell. And for the record, you hid behind the pillow first.' His eyes met yours in the glass, warm and full of that easy affection that came from knowing someone inside out.
Back in your bedroom, you both climbed under the covers, the bed familiar to Steve from years of these sleepovers. Steve punched his pillow into shape, settling on his side facing you, the space between you just right—not too close, but close enough that his presence was a comforting constant. 'Night,' he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep, the day's chaos fading into the background.
You flicked off the lamp, the room plunging into soft darkness broken only by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. 'Night, Steve,' you replied, the words carrying the weight of unspoken trust, the kind that only long-time friends could share.
The room settled into a deep, unbroken quiet as sleep finally claimed you both, the kind of rest that came easy after a night of nothing more than movies and mindless chatter. The fan's steady whir blended with the distant chirp of crickets outside, lulling everything into a peaceful hush. Steve's breathing evened out beside you, his body relaxed under the covers, the faint warmth of him a familiar anchor in the dark.
A few hours slipped by in that hazy void of night, the clock on your nightstand ticking past two a.m. Steve stirred first, his eyes fluttering open to the dim outlines of the room. Something had pulled him from sleep—a soft noise, maybe, or just the creak of the house settling—but it was gone now, leaving only the fan's drone. He lay there for a moment, blinking into the shadows, his mind foggy as he tried to shake off the grogginess. The bed felt warm, the sheets tangled slightly around his legs from his subconscious shifting.
Then it came again: a low, breathy sound from your side of the bed. Steve turned his head slowly, propping himself up on one elbow to peer at you in the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. You were still asleep, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but your lips parted with another murmur. It was indistinct at first, a whisper lost in the quiet, but as he listened, the word sharpened into something unmistakable.
'Steve...' Your voice, soft and laced with a needy edge, slipped out in a moan that hung in the air. He froze, his heart picking up a notch, unsure if he'd heard right. But there it was again, clearer this time—your body arching slightly under the covers, a subtle shift that drew the sheet tighter against your form. 'Steve... oh...' The sound was intimate, vulnerable, carrying a heat that cut through the cool night air like nothing he'd expected from his best friend.
The sound escaped your lips once more, a deeper, more insistent moan that vibrated through the stillness of the room. 'Oh god, right there... please,' you breathed, the words tumbling out in a husky plea that seemed pulled from some hidden depth of your subconscious. Your hips bucked forward involuntarily, the motion pressing your body against the mattress, the sheet riding up just enough to outline the curve of your thigh in the dim light. It was raw, unguarded—a glimpse into whatever fevered dream gripped you, your face flushing slightly as your breath hitched.
Steve remained frozen on his side of the bed, his elbow still propping him up, eyes wide and locked on you. His mind reeled, a rush of confusion crashing over him like cold water. This was you—his best friend, the one who'd shared countless nights like this without a hint of anything more. But now, hearing his name woven into that desperate tone, watching your body respond with such unfiltered need, left him utterly stunned. He didn't know what to do, whether to wake you or pretend he hadn't heard, his pulse thundering in his ears as he swallowed hard.
You moaned again, softer this time, your lips parting around another whisper of his name, your hips shifting restlessly under the covers. The movements were subtle but unmistakable, your legs parting slightly as if chasing some phantom touch, the fabric whispering against your skin. Steve's breath caught, his body tensing as he watched, torn between concern and a bewildering spark of something he couldn't name. The air felt thicker now, charged with the intimacy of your unintended vulnerability.
Finally, the sounds faded, your body going slack as the dream released its hold. You settled back into the pillows with a soft sigh, your breathing evening out into the deep, steady rhythm of dreamless sleep once more. The room returned to its quiet hum, the fan's whir the only sound breaking the silence.
Steve eased back down slowly, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. His heart still raced, thoughts tumbling over one another—shock, curiosity, a flicker of unease about what it all meant for the friendship you'd built over years. Sleep eluded him completely now, the night stretching out endlessly as he lay there, wide awake and grappling with the echo of your voice in his mind.
****
Sunlight filtered through the kitchen curtains, casting a warm glow over the counter where you stood, humming softly to yourself as you cracked eggs into a bowl. The events of the night before were a distant blur in your mind—whatever dream had stirred you faded like morning mist, leaving you refreshed and oblivious to the undercurrent of tension that lingered in the air. You were still in your sleep shirt, the soft cotton hanging loose over your frame, paired with simple panties that hugged your hips comfortably. Steve had seen you like this a hundred times over the years, during lazy mornings after movie marathons or late-night study sessions turned sleepovers. It was just part of the easy rhythm of your friendship, nothing more.
You whisked the eggs with a fork, adding a dash of salt and pepper before pouring them into the sizzling pan on the stove. The aroma of cooking filled the small kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of coffee brewing in the pot. 'Morning, sleepyhead,' you called out lightly as Steve shuffled in, his hair tousled from a restless night. He looked rumpled, his eyes darting away from you almost immediately, focusing instead on the floor or the fridge—anywhere but your bare legs or the way the shirt skimmed your thighs.
Steve cleared his throat, grabbing a mug from the cabinet with more force than necessary. 'Uh, yeah. Morning.' His voice came out clipped, higher-pitched than usual, and he busied himself pouring coffee, spilling a drop on the counter that he wiped up hastily. He avoided meeting your gaze, his shoulders tense as if he were holding his breath. You glanced over, tilting your head in mild confusion, but shrugged it off—maybe he hadn't slept well, or the remnants of last night's junk food were hitting him.
You plated the scrambled eggs, adding toast and some bacon you'd crisped up earlier, sliding his portion across the table before sitting down opposite him. 'So, what's the plan today? You wanna hit the arcade later, or should we just veg out with more of that sci-fi series?' Your tone was casual, the same inviting banter you'd shared for years, as you forked into your eggs, savoring the fluffy bite.
Steve nodded too quickly, his fork scraping against the plate as he shoveled food into his mouth. 'Yeah, maybe. Sounds good.' But his words were mumbled around a full bite, and he barely chewed before swallowing, his knee bouncing under the table. His eyes flicked to your shirt once, lingering on the hem where it rode up slightly as you shifted, then snapped away again, cheeks flushing a faint red. The jumpiness was palpable now—he kept adjusting in his seat, like he couldn't get comfortable, his usual laid-back charm replaced by this awkward, fidgety energy.
You tried again, leaning forward with a smile. 'Everything okay? You seem... I don't know, wired or something. Bad dream?' The question hung there lightly, but Steve's fork paused mid-air, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened. He forced a laugh that didn't reach his eyes, pushing his half-eaten plate away.
'Nah, just—uh, got a lot on my mind. Work stuff, you know? Keith is on my ass about inventory.' The excuse tumbled out rushed and unconvincing, his chair scraping back as he stood abruptly, already heading for the door. 'Gotta run, though. Thanks for breakfast—it's great, as always.' He grabbed his keys from the counter, avoiding your puzzled stare, and was out the door before you could press further, the screen slamming shut behind him.
You sat there for a moment, fork hovering over your cooling eggs, brow furrowed at the empty space where he'd been. The kitchen felt oddly quiet now, the sizzle of the stove long faded, leaving you to wonder what had gotten into him.
****
The days had stretched out longer than usual without your usual back-and-forth with Steve—calls that went unanswered, plans that fizzled before they could form. It wasn't like him to pull away like this; your friendship had always been the steady kind, the one that didn't need constant tending but bloomed reliably in the quiet spaces between. By the third evening, with the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across your living room, you couldn't shake the nagging itch of it anymore. You picked up the phone, dialing his number from memory, the rotary clicking through the digits as you paced the carpeted floor.
The line rang twice before he picked up, his voice crackling through the receiver with that familiar warmth edged by something hesitant. 'Hey, yeah?' He sounded distracted, like he'd been mid-something when the call came in—maybe flipping through channels on his couch.
'Hey, it's me,' you said, keeping your tone light, the easy lilt that always pulled him back into rhythm. 'Feels like forever since we did something. You dodging me or what? Come on, let's hang out. Grab some pizza, watch that horror movie we've been talking about? My treat.' You leaned against the kitchen counter, twisting the cord around your finger, waiting for the affirmative that usually came without question.
There was a pause on his end, the faint hum of his TV in the background, and you could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, that telltale sign of him working through whatever was on his mind. 'Uh, yeah, pizza sounds good. I mean, sure. But tonight's kinda packed—got a late shift.' His words tumbled out a beat too quick, like he was already halfway to agreeing just to fill the silence, but the excuse hung there, pulling the evening further out of reach.
You nodded to yourself, not ready to let the thread snap just yet. 'Alright, no rush. How about tomorrow? Or the weekend? Door's always open.' The offer lingered, casual but insistent, as you traced patterns on the countertop with your fingertip.
He exhaled softly, the sound carrying through the line like a reluctant surrender. 'Weekend works. Saturday? I can swing by around seven, bring the sodas.' His tone steadied a fraction, the hesitation easing into something closer to your old rhythm, though you caught the undercurrent of whatever was still churning beneath.
'Saturday it is,' you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips as you jotted a mental note. 'Can't wait. See you then.' You hung up the receiver with a soft click, the quiet of the house settling back in around you, the promise of plans a tentative bridge over the gap that had formed.
Saturday rolled around with unhurried ease, the kind where the heat shimmered off the pavement and cicadas buzzed like they owned the air. Steve gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as he drove toward your place, the plastic bag of snacks crinkling on the passenger seat beside the six-pack of sodas. He'd spent the morning at work, restocking shelves and forcing small talk with customers, all while that nagging memory from the other night clawed at the back of his mind. Your voice, soft and breathless in the dark—his name on your lips, hips shifting under the covers. But no. He shook his head, jaw set as he turned onto your street. It was just a dream, some random subconscious glitch. You were friends, plain and simple. Best friends, the kind who'd shared everything from arcade marathons to midnight snack runs. Whatever you'd been murmuring about in your sleep, it couldn't have been him. He wasn't about to let some half-remembered noise unravel years of easy camaraderie.
He parked curbside, the engine ticking to a stop, and grabbed the bags, slinging them over his arm. The spare key you'd given him ages ago—back when sleepovers were about beating the next level in Dig Dug, not whatever awkward tension had settled in since that night—felt cool against his palm. He let himself in quietly, the door creaking just enough to announce him without shouting. The house smelled like home: faint traces of your shampoo mixed with the lingering aroma of whatever you'd baked this morning, maybe those chocolate chip cookies he loved.
'Hey, it's me,' he called out, voice steady as he kicked the door shut behind him. No answer, no patter of feet from the kitchen or your usual sarcastic quip about his timing. He set the bags down on the entry table, peering into the living room. The couch cushions were plumped just so, a couple of throw blankets folded neatly, and the TV remote sat waiting on the armrest like an invitation. But no you. No half-eaten apple on the coffee table, no magazine flipped open to a dog-eared page. The kitchen light was on, spilling warm glow across the linoleum, but when he stepped in, it was empty—counters wiped clean, a single mug rinsed in the sink.
Steve's pulse picked up a notch, not from worry exactly, but from the sudden quiet that amplified everything else. The faint hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock somewhere upstairs. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, and glanced toward the staircase. 'You up there? I'm gonna order pizza any second, but I didn't bring enough junk food for both of us if you're hiding.' His tone stayed light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent he couldn't quite shake, like the house was holding its breath. He lingered by the base of the stairs, one hand on the banister, debating whether to head up or give you space. Part of him hoped you'd pop out from around a corner, rolling your eyes at his early arrival, diffusing the weird knot in his chest with your effortless banter. But the silence stretched, pulling at him, and he took the first step up, the wood creaking under his sneaker.
Steve's foot hit the third step when the sound reached him—soft, breathy moans drifting down from upstairs, ragged and uneven, like someone stifling a cry. His heart slammed against his ribs, the teasing lightness from moments ago evaporating into sharp concern. Were you hurt? In pain? The noises twisted in the air, pulling him faster up the stairs, his sneakers thudding softly against the worn wood. He gripped the banister tighter, mind racing through worst-case scenarios: a fall, that old cheerleading injury you'd mentioned last week, or worse, one of Hawkins' lingering shadows creeping in uninvited.
The hallway at the top was dim, your bedroom door stood ajar, just enough for the sounds to spill out clearer now—those moans deepening, laced with a hitch that sounded almost desperate. He slowed, breath catching as his name slipped through the crack again, low and needy, not in agony but something far more intimate, your voice wrapping around the syllables like a plea.
Steve froze in the doorway, hand hovering over the knob he didn't need to turn. The gap was narrow, but wide enough to draw him in, his pulse thundering in his ears as he edged closer, peering through the sliver of open space.
Steve's breath hitched as he leaned in, the door's narrow gap framing a sight that rooted him to the spot. There you were, sprawled across your bed in the middle of the room. Your shirt was rucked up high over your breasts, exposing the soft curves that rose and fell with each ragged pant, nipples hardened into tight peaks from the cool air or the heat building inside you—he couldn't tell, didn't dare guess yet. From the waist down, you were bare, legs splayed wide, one knee bent and the other hooked over the edge of the mattress, giving him an unobstructed view of your pussy, slick and flushed, stretched around the thick length of a dildo that you drove in and out with urgent, twisting thrusts.
Your eyes were squeezed shut, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your head tipped back into the pillows, lips parted in a constant stream of moans that grew louder, more insistent. "Steve... oh, fuck, Steve," you gasped, the words tumbling out like a chant, your free hand clutching the sheets while the other gripped the base of the toy, plunging it deeper, faster, the wet sounds of it sliding through your folds echoing in the quiet room. Your hips bucked up to meet each stroke, thighs trembling, a sheen of sweat glistening along your inner thighs as your body chased that edge, lost in whatever fantasy had you writhing like this.
He stood there, utterly stunned, his hand dropping from the doorframe as blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything but the raw, needy cadence of his name on your lips. He couldn't move, couldn't look away, his cock twitching traitorously in his jeans as the reality crashed over him—this wasn't a dream, not like the one he'd been shoving down all week. This was you, his best friend, fucking yourself senseless while calling for him, and the shock pinned him in place, heart hammering with a mix of guilt, hunger, and something dangerously close to hope.
Steve's feet felt glued to the worn carpet of the hallway, his pulse thundering in his throat as he forced himself to stay silent, to not shatter this forbidden glimpse. The door creaked faintly under his weight, but you didn't notice, too deep in your haze of pleasure, your body arching off the bed with every forceful push of the dildo into your soaked pussy. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers tightened around the toy's base, slamming it in harder now, the slick shaft disappearing fully before you yanked it back, only to ram it home again, your inner walls clenching visibly around it, pulling it deeper with greedy suction.
Your moans escalated, breathy whimpers turning into sharp cries that pierced the air—'Steve, yes, fuck me, Steve'—each one like a jolt straight to his groin. He shifted his stance, the denim of his jeans suddenly too tight, his cock swelling painfully against the zipper as heat flooded his veins. It was a reminder of how wrong this was, how right it felt to drink in the sight of you unraveling.
You were oblivious, eyes still clamped shut, your free hand sliding up to pinch and twist one nipple, then the other, your breasts jiggling with the rhythm of your thrusts. Your pussy lips gripped the dildo obscenely, juices coating your thighs and the toy, dripping onto the sheets in messy trails. Hips grinding up wildly, you fucked yourself with abandon, the pace frantic, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as your body tensed, muscles coiling tighter. 'Steve... oh god, I'm gonna come... for you,' you panted, voice breaking, the words sending a fresh surge of arousal through him, his hand instinctively pressing against the bulge in his pants, rubbing once, twice, before he caught himself, breath ragged.
He was rock hard now, pre-cum leaking into his boxers, the urge to burst in and replace that toy with his own throbbing length nearly overwhelming. But he held back, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your quivering form as you teetered on the brink, your moans peaking into a symphony of raw need that echoed in his chest, pulling him deeper into the storm of his own forbidden desire.
Your body hovered on the edge, thighs trembling as you drove the dildo in one last time, deep and unrelenting, your pussy fluttering around it in desperate spasms, so close to shattering. But then, a faint creak shattered the rhythm—the door swinging wide with a sudden bang that ripped through the room like a thunderclap.
You froze, the toy still buried inside you, slick and throbbing, as your eyes snapped open. There he was: Steve, framed in the doorway, his face flushed crimson, eyes wide with a mix of horror and something darker, hungrier. His hand hovered mid-air where he'd pushed the door. For a heartbeat, the world suspended—your exposed skin prickling under his gaze, the dildo lodged firmly in your clenching heat, your shirt rucked up over your heaving chest, nipples peaked and aching.
Neither of you moved. His stare locked onto yours, then flicked down to the obscene sight between your legs, the glistening evidence of your arousal smeared across your thighs. Heat flooded your face, a mortified wave crashing over the remnants of your pleasure, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the bulge straining against his jeans, the way his chest rose and fell in ragged bursts.
Then it hit you—the vulnerbility, the exposure—and a shriek tore from your throat, high and panicked. You yanked the comforter up in a frantic scramble, the fabric tangling around the dildo as you pulled it free with a wet pop, hiding your naked lower half and the toy beneath the covers. 'Steve! What the—get out!' The words tumbled out in a humiliated rush, your voice cracking.
He jolted back like he'd been burned, stumbling into the hallway, his face a mask of shock. 'Shit—sorry, I—' he stammered, but the door was already slamming shut behind him with a decisive thud as he fled. You sat there, heart pounding against your ribs, the comforter clutched to your chest, the dildo cooling and sticky under the sheets. Down the hall, you heard his footsteps retreating, then the bathroom door banging open and shut, the sound of running water muffling whatever curse or groan he let out.
Steve slumped against the cool tile of the bathroom floor, his back pressing into the cabinet door as he dragged in shaky breaths. The door was locked—thank fuck for that—and the faucet still ran in a futile attempt to drown out the pounding in his ears. But nothing could wash away the image burned into his brain: you, sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, that thick dildo plunging into your soaked pussy, your moans echoing like a siren's call. Your face, flushed and lost in ecstasy, tits heaving under that thin shirt, nipples hard as bullets. And the way you'd looked at him when he burst in—shock, yes, but something else flickering in your eyes before the panic hit.
His cock throbbed painfully against the zipper of his jeans, a insistent ache that made him shift uncomfortably. He was rock-hard, had been since the second he peeked through the door, and now it felt like betrayal, this surge of heat twisting in his gut. You were his best friend, for Christ's sake—the one who'd been there through every Upside Down bullshit, every heartbreak, every lazy movie night. Not some girl he could ogle like a pervert. But goddamn, the sounds you'd made, the slick slide of that toy stretching you open... it was all he could see, looping in his mind like a filthy reel.
Embarrassment clawed at him, hot and suffocating. What the hell was he supposed to say? 'Sorry I walked in on you fucking yourself—looked hot, though'? No, idiot. He had to play it cool, make an excuse about the snacks or the door sticking or... shit, nothing came to mind. His hands scrubbed over his face, fingers tangling in his hair as he tried to will his erection down, picturing baseball stats, the Demogorgon, anything but the way your thighs had quivered, your pussy clenching around that silicone shaft, juices glistening on your skin.
Confusion roiled beneath it all. Why you? Why now? That night a few days ago, when you'd moaned his name in your sleep—soft, needy whimpers that had kept him up, staring at the ceiling, his own dick tenting the sheets. He'd chalked it up to a dream, some subconscious slip, but this? This was real, raw, and it flipped everything he thought he knew about your friendship on its head. Were you thinking about him while you touched yourself? The idea sent a fresh pulse to his groin, making him groan low in his throat.
He sat there longer than he meant to, chest heaving as the adrenaline ebbed, replaced by a gnawing tension. The water dripped steadily from the faucet he'd forgotten to turn off fully. Then—footsteps. Soft, hesitant, from down the hall. The creak of your bedroom door opening, hinges protesting like they knew the awkwardness unfolding.
'Steve?' Your voice called out, tentative but clear, laced with a mix of mortification and curiosity that made his stomach flip. It echoed off the walls, pulling him upright, heart slamming anew. He froze, mouth dry, as the sound of your bare feet padded closer.
Steve hauled himself up from the bathroom floor, legs unsteady as he gripped the sink for support. His heart hammered like a drum in his chest, each beat echoing the mix of dread and desire churning inside him. He splashed cold water on his face one last time, the droplets clinging to his stubble, then twisted the faucet shut. 'Okay,' he muttered to his reflection, practicing the words in his head. 'Hey, sorry about that. Door was stuck or something. Won't happen again.' Simple, apologetic, deflect the awkwardness like a pro. He unlocked the door with a click that sounded too loud in the quiet house and stepped out into the dim hallway, the floorboards creaking under his sneakers.
The apology was already forming on his lips—'Listen, I didn't mean to—'—but it died in his throat the second he rounded the corner and saw you standing in the doorway of your bedroom. Naked. Completely, gloriously bare. Your skin glowed softly in the low light from the bedside lamp, every curve on full display: full breasts with nipples still pebbled from your earlier release, the gentle swell of your hips, the dark patch of curls between your thighs where your pussy still looked slick and swollen from the dildo you'd been riding. No covers, no shirt, nothing to hide the flush lingering on your chest or the way your thighs pressed together just slightly, like you were holding onto the aftershocks.
Steve's mouth went dry, his eyes locking onto yours before they betrayed him, dipping down your body in a hungry sweep he couldn't control. His cock twitched hard in his jeans, straining against the fabric, the embarrassment from moments ago colliding with a fresh wave of arousal that made his palms sweat. You didn't scream, didn't cover up—instead, you just held his gaze, steady and unashamed, then extended your hand toward him. 'Let's not overthink this,' you said, your voice low and sure, cutting through the tension like a knife.
He stared at your outstretched fingers, the simple gesture pulling him forward on instinct. Confusion warred with want in his mind— this was you, his best friend, the one who'd patched him up after demodog fights and laughed at his dumb jokes—but the heat in your eyes, the invitation hanging in the air, drowned it all out. Steve took your hand, your skin warm and soft against his calloused palm, and you tugged him gently but firmly into the room. The door clicked shut behind him as you released his grip, stepping back just enough to give him space.
'Take your clothes off,' you told him, the words direct, no hesitation, your eyes flicking down to the obvious bulge in his pants before meeting his again. Steve's breath hitched, his hands moving almost on their own—fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head to reveal the broad planes of his chest, dusted with hair, muscles tense from the adrenaline. He kicked off his sneakers next, then popped the button on his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers in one rushed motion. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already leaking pre-cum as it bobbed in the air, veins pulsing with need.
Naked now, he stood there, exposed and aching, watching as you closed the distance between you. Your hand reached out again, this time trailing lightly over his abdomen, fingers brushing the base of his shaft, sending a jolt straight to his balls. Steve swallowed hard, his voice rough when he finally managed, 'You sure about this?' But even as he asked, his body leaned into your touch, ready to follow wherever you led.
You sank to your knees in front of him, the carpet soft under your skin as your eyes fixed on his cock. It loomed there, thick and rigid, the shaft curving slightly upward with a girth that made your mouth water—bigger than you'd ever pictured in your wildest thoughts about him, veins bulging along its length, the head flushed dark and glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Steve's breath caught above you, his hands clenching at his sides as he watched you stare, the air between you thick with unspoken hunger.
Your fingers wrapped around the base, feeling the heat pulse against your palm, the skin velvety over the steel-hard core. He was so full, so heavy in your grip, and you gave it a slow stroke, thumb brushing over the slit to smear the slickness down the underside. Steve groaned low, his hips jerking forward just a fraction, like he couldn't help it. 'Fuck,' he rasped, voice gravelly, his hand reaching out to tangle in your hair—not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as you leaned in closer.
You parted your lips, tongue flicking out to lap at the tip, tasting the salty tang of him. His cock throbbed in response, growing even harder if that was possible, and you took him in deeper, sucking the head into your mouth with a wet pop. Steve's thighs tensed, muscles rippling under your hands as you gripped them for balance, your mouth stretching around his thickness. You bobbed your head, taking more of him each time—halfway down now, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue swirling along the ridge.
He was panting above you, fingers tightening in your hair, but he didn't push, letting you set the pace. 'God, your mouth feels incredible,' he muttered, eyes locked on where your lips slid over his shaft, saliva coating him shiny and slick. You hummed around him, the vibration drawing another curse from his lips, and hollowed your cheeks harder, working him with steady pulls. Your free hand slipped between your own thighs, fingers dipping into your still-wet pussy, rubbing circles over your clit as the ache built again, fueled by the way he filled your mouth, the raw scent of his arousal filling your senses.
You eased off his cock with a slow, deliberate slide, lips dragging along the slick length until it slipped free from your mouth with a wet smack. Strings of saliva connected your lips to the glistening head, and you licked them away, eyes flicking up to meet Steve's—his pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he stared down at you, jaw slack. 'Don't stop,' he breathed, voice rough and pleading, one hand still fisted in your hair, thumb stroking your scalp like he was afraid you'd vanish.
But you had other plans. Rising just enough to snatch the dildo from the rumpled sheets on the bed—still slick from earlier, the thick silicone shaft gleaming under the dim light—you pressed the suction base firmly against the hardwood floor beside the carpet's edge. It stuck with a solid thunk, standing upright like an invitation, the veined texture mimicking a real cock, flared head pointing accusingly at the ceiling. Steve's gaze followed your every move, his cock twitching in the air, untouched now, as he swallowed hard. 'What... what are you—' he started, but the words died when you positioned yourself over it, knees spreading wide on the floor.
You gripped his thighs for leverage, lowering your hips until the dildo's head nudged against your soaked entrance. The stretch was immediate, your pussy lips parting around it as you sank down, inch by inch, the fullness making you gasp. 'Fuck, it's so thick,' you murmured, more to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear, your walls clenching around the invading toy as you took it deeper. Steve groaned, his hand dropping to stroke his own cock absentmindedly, unable to stay still. 'Jesus, you're... you're riding that thing right in front of me. That's hot as hell.'
You bottomed out with a shudder, the base flush against your ass, your clit grinding against the textured hilt. The angle hit just right, sending sparks up your spine, and you rocked your hips experimentally, fucking yourself on it with shallow thrusts. 'Like this?' you asked, voice breathy, locking eyes with him again as you leaned forward, mouth hovering near his cock. 'You want my mouth back on you while I do this?'
'Yeah—God, yes,' Steve rasped, his hand falling away from himself so you could take over. He guided your head closer with that gentle tug in your hair, and you obliged, tongue swirling around the tip once more before sucking him back in. The dual sensations overwhelmed you: the dildo spearing up into your pussy with every bounce, your ass cheeks slapping lightly against your heels as you rode it harder, and Steve's cock filling your mouth, salty and pulsing against your tongue. You moaned around him, the vibration making his hips buck, and he cursed under his breath. 'Shit, your throat... keep going, just like that. You're gonna make me lose it.'
Your pace quickened, head bobbing in time with your hips—sucking him deep on the downstroke, pulling back with a swirl on the up. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the pre-cum leaking steadily from him now, and your pussy clenched rhythmically around the dildo, juices coating it and trickling down to the floor. Steve's breaths came in ragged bursts, his fingers tightening in your hair. 'Look at you, taking it all—fucking yourself on that while you blow me. You're incredible. Don't stop, please.' The words spurred you on, your body burning with the intensity, every thrust and suck building the pressure coiling tight in your core.
Your rhythm built steadily, hips grinding down onto the dildo with increasing urgency, the silicone shaft plunging deep into your soaked pussy each time you dropped low. The stretch burned deliciously, your inner walls gripping it tight as you chased the building heat, all while your mouth worked Steve's cock with fervent sucks—hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against the underside vein that throbbed under your attention. Drool slicked your chin and his balls, your hand pumping the base in sync with your bobs, drawing out low, guttural moans from him that vibrated through his body.
Steve's fingers dug into your scalp, not pulling but holding on like an anchor, his thighs tensing under your palms. 'Fuck, you're killing me,' he panted, voice strained, hips twitching forward to fuck your mouth shallowly. 'That mouth... and watching you bounce on that thing—shit, I can see it disappearing inside you every time.' His eyes were glued to the sight of your ass flexing, the way your pussy lips clung to the toy on each upstroke, juices glistening on your thighs.
You hummed around him in response, the vibration pulling a sharp hiss from his lips, and you rode harder, the suction base holding firm against the floor as your knees spread wider for leverage. The dual assault had your core tightening, pleasure coiling like a spring ready to snap, but Steve beat you to the edge. His breath hitched, grip tightening. 'Wait—stop, I can't... I can't wait anymore,' he groaned, voice breaking with desperation. 'Need to be inside you. Now. Your pussy, not that fake shit.'
He tugged you off his cock with a wet pop, the sudden emptiness making you whine, but before you could protest, his hands were under your arms, hauling you up from the floor. The dildo slipped free with a obscene squelch, leaving your entrance clenching around nothing, aching and empty. Steve crushed his mouth to yours in a messy, hungry kiss—tongues tangling, teeth nipping at your lower lip as he tasted himself on you. 'God, you taste like me,' he murmured against your lips, one hand cupping your jaw while the other slid down to squeeze your ass, pulling you flush against his hard body.
You melted into him, arms looping around his neck, legs wobbly from the intensity as he backed you toward the bed. His cock pressed hot and insistent against your stomach, smearing pre-cum on your skin, and every step backward had you grinding against it instinctively. He broke the kiss just long enough to growl, 'Been thinking about this for days—fucking you for real, feeling you squeeze around me.' Then his lips were back on yours, devouring, as your calves hit the mattress edge, the world tilting as he guided you down onto the soft sheets.
Steve followed you down onto the bed without missing a beat, his body covering yours in a rush of heat and weight that pinned you to the mattress. His knees bracketed your hips, thighs pressing firm against your sides as he settled between your legs, cock sliding along your slick folds in a teasing grind. The friction sent sparks up your spine, your pussy throbbing from the earlier stretch, now hungry for the real thing as he rocked forward, the thick head nudging your clit with each pass. You arched up into him, hands roaming his back, nails digging into the flexing muscles there while his mouth latched onto your neck—lips sucking hard, tongue lapping at the pulse point before teeth grazed the skin, marking you with wet, open-mouthed kisses that trailed from your jaw to your collarbone.
His hips kept moving, grinding his length through your wetness, coating himself in your arousal as he rutted against you, breath hot and ragged against your throat. 'Fuck, you're so wet for me,' he muttered between kisses, voice muffled as he nipped at your earlobe, one hand bracing beside your head while the other slid up your thigh, hitching your leg higher around his waist to open you wider. The pressure built with every thrust of his hips, his balls brushing your ass, the tip catching at your entrance just enough to make you gasp and clench, desperate for him to push in.
Then he pulled back abruptly, hovering over you on his forearms, eyes dark and searching as they locked onto yours. His chest heaved, cock still twitching against your core, but he held still, thumb brushing your cheek in a surprisingly tender stroke. 'Wait—hey, are you sure about this?' he asked, voice low and serious, laced with a hint of strain from holding back. 'I mean, really sure? Once we do this... there's no going back. We're friends, but this—us—it changes everything.'
Your heart pounded, but there was no doubt, no hesitation flooding your veins with certainty. You nodded firmly, reaching up to cup his face, pulling him closer until your foreheads touched. 'Yes, Steve. Absolutely. I want this—I want you. All of it. No regrets.' Your words came out breathy but sure, legs tightening around him to emphasize the point, your pussy grinding up against his cock in invitation.
Relief and hunger flashed across his face, a grin tugging at his lips before he surged down again, capturing your mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Tongues slid together, his body pressing you deeper into the bed as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistent at your entrance.
Steve's eyes held yours for a beat longer, the intensity in them making your breath catch, before he nodded once, a soft 'Okay' escaping his lips like a promise. He shifted his hips forward with deliberate care, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, parting the slick lips of your pussy as he began to push in. Inch by inch, he sank into you, slow and measured, his thickness stretching you open in a way that bordered on too much—the burn of the intrusion mixing with the ache of fullness that had your walls fluttering around him. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, feeling every ridge and vein as he filled you completely, his size nearly overwhelming, bottoming out with a low groan that rumbled from his chest.
He stilled there, buried to the hilt, forehead resting against yours as he panted softly, giving you time to adjust to the way he throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. 'God, you feel incredible,' he whispered, voice rough with restraint, one hand stroking your hip in soothing circles while the other braced the mattress. Your body responded instinctively, clenching around his length, drawing a hiss from him as he fought the urge to thrust. The stretch was intense, your pussy gripping him tight, but the sweetness of it—the way he watched your face for any sign of discomfort, the gentle rock of his hips to ease deeper—made heat coil low in your belly.
When you nodded, urging him on with a whispered 'More,' he started to move, pulling back almost all the way out before sliding back in, each stroke languid and deep, building a rhythm that had you both moaning into the shared space between you. His mouth found yours again, kisses turning sloppy and desperate as he fucked you slow, savoring the drag of his cock through your wetness, the way your bodies slotted together like they'd always been meant to.
Your nod was all the encouragement Steve needed, his restraint fracturing as he pulled back and thrust in deeper, the pace quickening with each snap of his hips. What started as languid strokes turned urgent, his cock slamming into you harder now, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room as he chased the building friction. Your pussy clenched around him, slick and swollen from the stretch, every plunge driving him balls-deep, hitting that spot inside that made your vision blur.
'Fuck, you're so tight,' he growled against your ear, voice husky and raw, his breath hot on your skin as he pinned your thigh higher, opening you up for the brutal rhythm. 'Taking my cock like you were made for it—shit, I can feel you squeezing me, baby. You love this, don't you? Getting fucked by your best friend after all this time.' His words spilled out between grunts, dirty and unfiltered, spurring you on as your nails raked down his back, urging him deeper.
He pounded into you relentlessly, the bed creaking under the force, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit, amplifying the pressure coiling in your core. 'Gonna make you come on this dick,' he promised, lips brushing your neck before he nipped at the skin there. 'Wanna hear you scream my name again, just like you did with that toy—only this time, I'm the one wrecking your pussy.' The confession hung heavy, laced with possession, as his thrusts grew erratic, his thickness dragging against your walls with every withdraw and slam, pushing you both toward the edge.
Steve's rhythm faltered for a split second, his eyes locking onto yours with a feral intensity before he surged forward, hips pistoning faster, driving his cock into you with punishing force. The air thickened with the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding—wet smacks echoing off the walls as he buried himself to the hilt over and over, your pussy gripping him like a vice, fluttering wildly around his girth. Sweat slicked his chest, dripping onto your skin as he leaned in closer, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress, every thrust sending shockwaves through your core.
'God, yes—fuck me back, just like that,' he rasped, his voice breaking on a groan when you arched up to meet him, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist to pull him in harder. His balls slapped against your ass with each brutal plunge, the friction building to an inferno as he ground against your clit on every inward stroke. You could feel him swelling thicker inside you, the veins pulsing against your walls, his control slipping as the edge loomed closer for both of you.
'You're gonna come so hard for me, aren't you? Milk my cock dry,' he demanded through gritted teeth, one hand fisting the sheets beside your head while the other dug into your hip, holding you steady for his relentless assault. His thrusts turned erratic, shorter and sharper, chasing that peak as your breaths mingled in hot pants. The coil in your belly wound impossibly tight, pleasure spiking with every drag of his shaft, your nails scoring red lines down his arms as you teetered on the brink, bodies locked in a frantic race to oblivion.
The pressure shattered through you like a dam breaking, your orgasm crashing over you in relentless waves as your pussy clenched down on Steve's cock, spasming wildly around him. You cried out, back bowing off the bed, every muscle seizing in ecstasy while he didn't stop—didn't even slow—his hips snapping forward with savage determination, fucking you straight through the peak. Each thrust dragged against your oversensitive walls, prolonging the bliss into something almost painful, sparks exploding behind your eyelids as you rode the high, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
'Fuck, that's it—come all over my dick,' Steve growled, his voice raw and strained, face twisted in concentration as he pounded into you, the slick sounds of your release coating him growing louder, messier. Your body trembled beneath him, thighs quivering around his waist, but he held you pinned, relentless, chasing his own end with brutal precision. The heat built impossibly higher in him, his shaft throbbing deep inside, stretching you with every plunge until he couldn't hold back anymore.
With a guttural moan that vibrated through his chest, Steve buried himself to the root one final time, his cock pulsing as he came hard, flooding your pussy with thick ropes of cum. The sensation of him filling you up—hot spurts painting your insides—pushed aftershocks through your core, making you gasp and clench around him again, milking every last drop. He shuddered above you, hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself, breath coming in ragged bursts against your neck, the intensity of it all leaving you both wrecked, bodies locked together in the aftermath of pure, unfiltered release.
The frenzy ebbed away, leaving you both suspended in a hazy afterglow, chests heaving as you gulped down air. Steve's weight pressed into you for a lingering second, his cock still twitching softly inside your cum-filled pussy before he eased out with a wet slide, the emptiness making you whimper faintly. He rolled to his side, but his arm snaked around your waist immediately, pulling you flush against his sweat-slicked body, skin sticking together in the humid warmth of the room.
You turned your face into his shoulder, inhaling the musky scent of him mixed with sex, your limbs heavy and loose as the last tremors faded from your core. His hand stroked lazy circles on your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, while your own palm rested over his racing heart, feeling it slow in tandem with yours. The silence wrapped around you like a blanket, comfortable now in the intimacy you'd finally shattered through.
'God, I've wanted this,' Steve murmured after a beat, his voice husky and low, lips brushing your forehead. He tilted his head to meet your gaze, eyes soft with something deeper than lust—affection, maybe even love, flickering in the brown depths. 'For so fucking long. Every time we hung out, every late night crashing here... I kept imagining it, but I never thought...'
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you lifted a hand to cup his jaw, thumb grazing the stubble there. 'Me too. All those years as friends, and I was dying inside, wanting you to just... grab me like this. Touch me. Fuck me.' The words spilled out easy, raw honesty cutting through the post-orgasm fog, and he leaned in to capture your mouth in a slow, tender kiss, tongues sliding lazily as if sealing the confession.
The kiss deepened for a moment, unhurried and full of promise, before Steve pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breaths mingling in the quiet room. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you there as if afraid to let go, the warmth of his body a solid anchor in the fading haze.
'We're not just friends anymore, are we?' he whispered, a hint of a smile in his voice, though his eyes searched yours for confirmation. You shook your head slightly, your hand sliding down to trace the lines of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall.
'No,' you replied softly, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone. 'But that's okay. This feels right.'
He hummed in agreement, shifting to tuck you more securely against him, legs tangling as the sheets whispered over your bare skin. The world outside seemed distant now, irrelevant in this stolen bubble of closeness. As your eyelids grew heavy, his lips brushed your temple one last time.
'Sleep,' he murmured, voice a gentle rumble. 'We'll figure out the rest tomorrow.'
And with that, you let the contentment pull you under, wrapped in his arms, the line between friendship and something more finally, blissfully crossed.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it, 'cause I do
I'm a couple minutes out from relapsing into you, oh, fuck it
I only love it 'cause it's you
Your coworker Steve Harrington is your least favourite person in the world. So why do you love fucking him so much?
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 2.8k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a (slight) plot, frenimes with benefits, coworkers, slightly brat!steve, jealously, fingering, oral (f receiving), mention of p in v, mention of unprotective penetrative sex, semi public sex (in the store room of family video), pet names (sweet girl, baby), no use of y/n, female reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: back at it again with another song fic!!! this was one was a request that i loved so much that i took a lot longer with this one than usual so apologies about that but i hope it was worth it! i really really loved writing this one!
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
Robin Buckley had officially made it a rule that you and Steve could only argue once a day. Once. So you tend to pick your battles wisely.
But today, you had decided to ignore Robin’s rule.
Steve had been thirty minutes late to work and, as a result, Keith had assigned you to rewind all the tapes in the returns box. It was meant to be Steve’s job since he had been the one to break the rewinder machine in the first place and it was objectively the worst job imaginable in the video store. And so, you were already pretty pissed off with Steve when he waltzed into Family Video half an hour late.
“Nice of you to join us, dingus,” Robin greets him with a wry smile as Steve strolls into the video store without a care in the world.
His eyes find yours and you see amusement in them as you angrily shove your little finger into the left spool of the tape and turn it counter clockwise. Steve knew how much you hated rewinding the tapes manually. He knew you were already annoyed at him and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Did Steve feel bad about it? Judging by the way his lips were twitching as he tried not to smile—you knew he didn’t feel bad. Not even a little bit.
“My car wouldn’t start,” Steve says by way of an explanation. No apology. Just another quick glance your way as he tries to hold back a smirk.
It pissed you off even further. You were convinced that Steve Harrington was put on this earth just to piss you off. In fact, everything he did seemed to piss you off. How he always took way too long on his break. How he organised the shelves incorrectly on a daily basis. How he had once ‘accidentally’ eaten your lunch and had still not repaid you.
But mostly? The thing that pissed you off the most was the fact that Steve Harrington was the best sex of your life.
It was meant to be a drunken, one time thing. A stupid mistake fuelled by alcohol where the lines between hatred and lust had blurred. You had run into each other at a party and, after a stupid argument that had begun over who would be doing the opening shift at Family Video the next morning, Steve had asked you to dance. Told you to loosen up. You had bristled but said yes.
What came next was a blur. You remember an innocent dance between coworkers had turned into you grinding on him. How Steve’s hands—large and firm against your skin—had pulled you closer. How you had felt his hardened cock through his jeans against your ass. You remember the feeling you got—starting as a fluttering feeling in your stomach before it had swooped down, straight to your cunt which throbbed in sudden excitement. How your heart had started to beat a little quicker. How you had felt the heat build in your gut, your panties dampening as you moved with him.
You don’t remember who kissed who first. All you knew was that it didn’t stop at a kiss.
You both had stumbled into a nearby bathroom, unable to pull away from each other. Lips locked in a kiss that was all tongue, teeth and a burning in your veins that couldn’t be put out. The world around you blurring as Steve’s tongue slid against yours, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed him back like he didn’t think you were the most annoying person in the world. His long fingers dipping beneath your skirt and slipping your panties to the side before sliding through your wetness. He had been so smug about how wet you were and you didn’t even have time to tell him to fuck off before he was plunging two fingers inside of you.
Steve Harrington had made you come in under five minutes with just his fingers alone and then—he had fucked you mericlessly against the bahtroom countertop. And it was safe to say that you had been borderline addicted to him ever since. You met up after work a lot to fuck. It was mostly you coming over to his house while his parents were away (which happened a lot). Sometimes it happened in his car in the parking lot. Once or two it happened in your house, his hand covering your mouth as he fucked you at a tortuously slow pace, reminding you in hushed whispers of how your parents were just downstairs while he angled your hips so his cock would kiss your cervix in a way that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.
But despite the fact you and Steve were fucking on a regular basis, he still annoyed you. In fact, you would consider him your least favourite person in the world. The fact he had made you come more times than you could count made no difference.
At least that was what you had told yourself.
Steve was looking at you as you continued to rewind tapes. He wasn’t subtle about it—he never was. In fact, it was a downright miracle that Robin had not worked out what you and Steve had been doing for the past few weeks. His hazel eyes tracked your every moment while Robin ranted to him about Keith putting her on Saturday shifts for the next four weeks.
“—I mean, I have a life, you know? Like Vickie actually wanted to hang out with me this weekend! Do you know how much of a big deal that is? Sure I wasn’t going to make a move on her or anything, it was just shopping but now I’m going to have to tell her I’m working and—”
The bell above the door sounded and you briefly glanced up and when you did, your heart sunk. Just a little bit.
Penny Baker had just walked in. A regular customer and former captain of the cheer squad at Hawkins High. The one Steve always flirted with just to piss you off. At least, that was what you suspected he was doing when his eyes flickered over to yours with amusement in them.
Today was no different. Penny twirled her dark hair around her finger and laughed brightly as Steve gave nonsensical film suggestions.
You felt something dark twist in your gut the way it always did when Steve flirted with someone else.
You had convinced yourself it wasn’t jealousy. That the feeling in your gut was something else entirely. And so, you ignored it. You acted as though it didn’t bother you. Though, it clearly did and Steve could tell. Hence why his eyes kept flickering over to you every time he made Penny laugh.
“You know,” Steve mused after Penny had left with a Valley Girl tape tucked under her arm. “It’s cute when you’re jealous.”
You let out something close to a laugh, slamming the most recently rewound tape onto the counter. “It’s cute that you think I’m jealous.”
“Oh sweet girl,” Steve murmurs, stepping a little closer to you to whisper in your ear, revelling in the way your breath hitches. That damned nickname he always used. The one that made your cunt clench around nothing. “You were jealous. Don’t bother denying it. Could see it all over your face.”
You say nothing, turning your head to glare at him before grabbing the box of returns on top of the counter. You make sure that your arm collides with his and he laughs openly as you walk towards the stock room.
You know he’ll follow and he does.
Robin was too busy distracted with a customer to notice.
You feel his presence behind you in the stock room as the door closes softly shut behind the two of you.
“You gonna start harassing me at work now?” You ask him as you place the box of tapes onto a nearby shelf, mindlessly organising them as Steve stands directly behind you. You try to ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest.
“Harassing you?” Steve asks, amused as he lifts a hand to brush your hair away from your neck. The action was so tender and intimate it made you drop the tape that was in your hand. “You gonna pick that up?”
You swallow, eyes flicker down to the tape on the floor. “Maybe. You gonna stop accusing me of being jealous?”
“Depends,” Steve murmurs, fingers tracing over the skin on your neck—over the mark he had left a few days prior that hadn’t yet faded—and smiling when you shudder. “You gonna stop being jealous, sweet girl?”
You huff, face warming at the pet name. “Go to hell, Harrington.” You tell him, turning around to glare at him some more but your breath catches when you realise just how close he was.
“You don’t mean that baby,” Steve says, his hand trailing from your neck, over your heaving breasts before his fingers splay across your stomach. “You want me right here, ain’t that right?”
You don’t say anything which was enough of an answer. Steve smiles at you as he begins to kneel down in front of you.
“Steve—what are you—we’re at work—”
“I’m just getting the tape,” Steve tells you innocently, despite the fact his hands were roaming over your jean-clad thighs. Despite the way his pupils were dilated as he looked up at you. Had that look on his face as though he wanted to devour you. “That okay, sweet girl?”
He asks the question casually but the way his nose nudges your cunt over your jeans tells you that Steve Harrington was not just on his knees to help you retrieve a tape.
“If we get caught—”
“We won’t,” Steve tells you before he leans in—unzipping your jeans with his damn teeth in a move that makes heat pool between your legs while simultaneously making you want to strangle him for being so effortlessly smooth.
Steve helped you shimmy out of your jeans, his breath hot against your skin as he left wet kisses along your inner thigh.
“Can smell how much you want me,” Steve tells you, his nose pressing against the damp patch that had collected in your panties. “So fucking sweet as always, baby.”
“Shut up,” you gasp out, your fingers curling in his hair as you lean back against the shelving unit behind you.
Steve smiles, inhaling the sweet scent of your arousal through the cotton of your panties before his lips press against where he knew your clit to be. It was over the material but it still made a small whimper leave your lips. Still had your back arching as he moaned against you.
“Steve—”
“Patience, baby,” he tells you, pulling away enough to look up at you as his hands begin to gently pull your panties down your legs—his cock twitching beneath his jeans when he sees how your pussy glistened in the low lights of the stock room. “Let me take care of her for a minute. She’s crying for me.”
And then, his mouth is on you. His tongue hot and eager as it glides between your folds, coating the tip with your arousal and groaning as he tastes you properly.
“So fucking sweet,” his murmurs against you, his hand wrapping around one of your thighs and helping you lift it over his shoulder. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. You think I want someone else's when I have yours, sweet girl?”
You bite back a moan, knowing that if you didn’t it would be loud and wanton, knowing Robin would hear it. Steve liked to say things like this during sex—liked to tell you that you were the only one he needed. You were sure it was just pillow talk. You didn’t really know if he truly meant it. But it made your heart race all the same.
“You don’t mean that,” you manage to say as his tongue continues to glide through your folds, a slow torture that had your fingers tightening in his hair.
“I do,” he murmurs against you—dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. “No one else.”
There’s a moment where you just look at each other—a quiet understanding there before his lips wrap around your clit and then? You were gone.
Steve Harrington took no mercy on you, sucking on your sensitive bud enough to make you whimper before he dips down to fuck you with his tongue. It was nothing short of torture, his tounge licking in and out of you and his nose—that fucking beautiful nose of his—nudging against your swollen clit. You felt your hips moving without permission. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the quiet store room. His muffled moans against your soaked cunt as your hips chased his mouth, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs.
You could have come from his tongue alone. But Steve wanted you to see stars.
When two of his long, thick fingers slid into you—you were so close to crying out that you had to stuff your fist into your mouth to prevent yourself from doing so. You could feel Steve smile against you, his fingers curling and finding that spot inside of you with ease. A whimper manages to escape and Steve groans, curling his fingers again and again until your thighs were trembling.
“Stevie,” you gasp out—the nickname that you only ever used in these moments, when you were right on the edge and Steve was the only one you trusted to catch you. “I’m so close—I’m going to—”
“I got you, baby,” he tells you, still moving his fingers inside of you. “Don’t you worry. I got you.”
If you weren’t so close, you may have thought more about the look in his eyes. Would have thought more about the way he was gripping onto you like he never wanted to let you go. But the feeling building in your gut was too intense, too all consuming to think of anything else but his fingers and his tongue and—
“Stevie, oh god—Stevie—”
Your orgasm hits you hard. Had Steve not been holding you so tightly, you may have collapsed entirely. But he held you—steady and firm as your walls fluttered around his fingers, your release coating his tongue and Steve lapping up every damn drop as though it was liquid gold.
Your fingers curl into his hair for a brief moment before you let go. Your breathing erratic as you come back down to earth from the intensity of your orgasm, your eyes wide when they meet his hazel ones.
His lips were wet, soaked from your release and god—he looked so beautiful that it took your breath away for a few moments. You blink, softer now in the aftermath of your bliss. You didn’t argue as Steve helped you step into your panties, as he pulled them up your legs. You didn’t make a comment as he also helped you into your jeans.
“You know I mean it, right?” Steve asks you quietly as he gently pulls up your jeans, his eyes meeting yours as he stands up straight.
“Mean what?” You ask him quietly, your eyes flickering between his as you try to understand what he meant. Though, deep down, you think you already know.
“That I don’t need anyone else,” he says. “Not when I have you.”
You swallow, the admission hanging between the two of you. You’re not quite sure what to say and you’re certainly not sure how to feel about what he had just said. But your traitorous heart hammers against your chest and your cheeks burn.
“Careful Harrington,” you murmur back quietly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll think you actually like me.”
Steve smiles—he actually smiles at that—and looks away from you, down at the forgotten tape still on the floor between you.
“Something like that,” he says quietly before he bends down to actually retrieve the tape.
You want to say something more, want to tell him how seeing him with Penny and the other giggling customers made you feel. But you didn’t.
You just watch as he returns the tape to the box of returns. You watch as he adjusts himself in his jeans, shooting you a wink.
“You can help me out later,” Steve tells you and you fight back a smile.
“If you’re lucky,” you say, knowing that you would inevitably have his cock in your mouth a few hours later.
Steve smiles, leaning in to press a kiss that was almost sweet to your forehead.
content warnings: 18+!!!! Gets quite smutty, fluffy, jack abbot invented YEARNING, age gap!!!, no use of Y/N
notes: i know this one sounds kinda depressing but i promise its fun and funny and flirty and it’s my favorite one ive ever written!! also debating on making an ao3 account - should i?
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack Abbot was unfortunately intimately familiar with the 5 Stages of Grief. Depression, Bargaining, Denial, Anger, Acceptance.
He grieved his leg at the ripe age of 31 - courtesy of an IED in the desert of Afghanistan.
He began grieving his late wife the following year at 32 - courtesy of an arrogant, misogynistic emergency medicine resident.
At 33, he grieved the life he thought he was going to have while he started a new one. No longer a husband, but a widow. No longer an army medic, but an Emergency Room attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Sometimes when he would come back to the empty home he bought at 34, the ghosts of that life were louder than any silence he thought he could drown out with the police scanner.
Jack Abbot knew the 5 Stages of Grief like the back of his hand.
In hindsight, he didn’t know how he didn't realize the 5 stages in which he fell in love with her were quite similar. A mirror of his grief refracted through a lens of unconditional love.
depression
If someone would have asked Jack at the time, he wouldn't have admitted he was depressed. He truly didn't think he was.
He didn't need therapy to deal with his trauma. His wife passed away a decade ago. His leg, or lack thereof, the constant reminder of the time he gave up while he had her on this earth - was physically healed. As much as it was going to be anyways. So therefore he was mentally healed. As much as he thought he was going to ever be anyways.
He'd been running on autopilot. It carried him from but mostly to the emergency room at PTMC. It's what made him stop at the unfamiliar sight of Gloria in his ED. This was why he didn't work the day shift. He never wanted to deal with all of the bureaucratic administrative bullshit. The only business Jack Abbot was ever interested in was the one of saving lives. Gloria hadn't even opened her mouth and Jack already knew that Robby was going to owe him one.
"Dr Abbot! Wonderful timing. I have a residency interview waiting in Robby's office for you."
Now Robby really owed him one. "Doesn't Robby usually..." Jack scratched at the back of his neck, still confused as to why Gloria had involved herself, and now him, in a residency interview, "...facilitate those?"
Gloria gave a curt nod before glancing around them, as if checking to make sure they would not be overheard. She lowered her voice as she spoke, "Yes but I specifically scheduled this one when I knew you were covering. She is the best candidate we have ever had and probably ever will. I cannot risk Robby running her off."
Right. The Adamson of it all. There was a joke in there somewhere about Jack being considered the stable one in the ED. He guessed he must be. He had become fairly good at presenting an even keeled, calm front. He still had kind of felt like a mess in every other area of his life but the ED was the one place he was the furthest from one. It's where he solved the mess instead of becoming it.
She shoved a printed resume into Jack's hands before she was off. Back up to her ivory tower. He took a look as he strode over to Robby's office. Full ride to Stanford for both her undergraduate and medical degree.
For once, he agreed with Gloria. What the hell did this candidate want to do with PTMC?
He asked her as much as he sat across the desk from her, brow furrowed in genuine curiosity. Residency interviews usually went one of two ways. The candidate was either far too cocky or so nervous they barely got a complete sentence out.
She struck the balance. She was confident. More so than some of his residents who had been out on the floor that day. She wore a dark gray wool sweater and maxi skirt set. The monochrome was only cut by the deep maroon of her belt, tights, heels, and purse. Her long hair was slicked back into a simple pony tail and her makeup was minimal, if any.
It wasn't the typical look of a medical student on a residency interview. Still completely appropriate, but far less stuffy and much more self assured.
Jack wouldn't know good style if it had slapped him in the face but he did know what hers revealed to him about herself. It was the kind of style that someone who knew who they were had. Who had spent time getting to know what they liked. Whether it was what they were reading, listening to, watching, or doing. Her style wasn’t an afterthought but she carried it with a quiet confidence that let everyone know she was not overcompensating for anything either.
It was a demeanor and style that was derivative of having a life outside of medicine - which was quite uncommon for medical students and residents alike. It was completely foreign to Jack. It intrigued him. She intrigued him.
Her body language was relaxed but respectful. One leg crossed over the other as she leaned back into the wooden chair that was probably older than she was, hands clasped in her lap. Jack doubted her heart rate had reached over 65 the whole time she had been in there.
She took a beat to answer his question which also intrigued Jack. She was not rushing to answer just to fill space. She seemed to be comfortable with the time silence gave her to craft intentional responses. Why PTMC?
A ghost of a smile that looked like it might be haunted by one appeared on her face, "My family is here."
"That's it?"
"Do you want the practiced professional answer that every other interviewer has gotten or do you want the real one?"
Jack bit back a grin at her bluntness. Ignored the stirring in his stomach that made him feel special that she may share something about herself with him that she hadn't with anyone else. He tells himself to Get. A. Grip.
"I am sure the absolute best residencies in the country are foaming at the mouth to land you and you want to come here because of your family? Give me the real reason." He let his smirk slip through as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, "I'm a captive audience after all."
The airy laugh that he got out of her almost knocked him out of his seat. What was wrong with him? He had a feeling she didn't just hand out a laugh as ethereal as that one. That she was not the kind of woman who just giggled because it was the part of the conversation where she'd been socialized to appease the man speaking that he was funny. She seemed far too smart for that. For probably everyone in the building. For him, especially.
"I have already been away in California for eight years. I could have fifty years left with my dad and my brothers and my sister in laws and my nieces and nephews or they could be gone next week," she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before continuing. Didn't rush before speaking again, "I don't want to build an unguaranteed future alone and then have no one to share it with when I get there. I wanna spend time with them now."
Jack's adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His eyes burned as he fought to hold back tears. It must have been some kind of cruel joke that right then his phantom limb pain wanted to shoot up through his thigh. Like a reminder of the time he spent wasting while he had his wife alive.
He had joined the army to become a doctor debt free. Then he had spent all of their marriage overseas, saving money for a life they never even got to spend together. He had borrowed time from the future that didn't even exist. And all he had to show for it was ironically - more money - monthly life insurance, disability, and veteran affairs checks. Oh and one and a half legs.
He blinked rapidly. He was not about to cry at work. Nevertheless while he was conducting a residency interview. He diverted the conversation away from himself, "You didn't mention your mom."
"She died. When I was a teenager, about ten years ago. After coming here actually," She coughed out a dry laugh that sounded like she dragged it up through her throat, kicking and screaming. Awfully different to the one Jack had floated out of her moments prior, "She was pregnant and they sent her away without so much as a full consultation. Just chalked her symptoms up to pregnancy and she died from an aortic dissection later that night."
Jack wanted to vomit at the almost exact recountance of how his wife had died. He was so focused on not emptying his breakfast onto Robby's desk that a tear slipped - the first in probably years.
"Oh, Dr Abbot. I didn't mean to make you emotional. I can go back to the professional answer any time you want." Another scoffed laugh, her eyes full of compassion but no tears, "Trust me - it's probably easier for both of us."
Jack really never talked about his late wife anymore. He liked to tell himself he was healed. He most definitely didn't talk about it at work. But he found himself wanting to then - with her, "No it's just - my late wife - she died the same way, about a decade ago. I was away on a stupid bachelor party trip and she didn't want to worry me so she didn't call me about it and then she, uh, never called again."
"Jesus - I am so sorry, Dr Abbot."
He noticed, appreciated, the way her head didn't tip and her eye contact didn't waver. She was not expressing her condolences out of pity or not understanding but of exactly the opposite. She knew exactly how he felt. He ignored the way his heart jumped out of his chest at the thought.
God, Robby really owed him one.
"Thank you - I am sorry about your mom. I am just impressed you still wanna work here. I could never work in the hospital that did that to my wife. The couple years after she passed - I could barely work here."
"Well, the other option was becoming one of those weirdos who swears off doctors and hospitals and science."
Jack tilted his chin at her in consideration, rubbed at the scruff there, and let out a sputtering laugh, "Are you sure that is the only other option?"
He pulled another light chuckle from her and he exhaled. Truly exhaled. For the first time in maybe ten years - like he had been underwater for so long he had forgotten what fresh air felt like.
"This is my way of letting her live on through me. To do something about what happened to her rather than using it as an excuse to sulk through life. I wanna see life as something that comes from me and not at me."
She picked at the lining of her purse that was perched in her lap. The first sign of potentially any nerves. The first time he realized that he was getting the true her. Not the front she must put up for interviews. It didn't seem much different - just a little more vulnerable.
Jack could talk. So much so he had a reputation for it in the ED. He was no stranger to being on the receiving end of a 'God do you ever shutup?' so he was a bit stunned that she had managed to shock him into silence.
He hugged his crossed arms closer to his chest as if that was even possible and just stared.
She cracked a smile, back to what was seemingly her calm and confident self, "Too esoteric for a residency interview?"
"Oh no. Not at all. I just..." Jack couldn't seem to find the right words to tell her that she had just reframed his entire outlook on his life and his grief in one sentence so he settled on, "...I uh never really thought of it that way."
"Me neither. But I have an excellent therapist."
"I will have you know, if you choose to do your residency here, I do not make it a habit of trauma dumping on my residents like I did on you today."
"I think I started that, Dr Abbot. But since I made you cry - does that mean I am in?"
That earned a genuine cackle out of Jack. A cackle. A kind of sound he wasn't even sure he was capable of making anymore but the bright, beaming smile she reciprocated made him want to do it for the rest of his life.
Maybe he owed Robby one.
Jack tried not to think about her as he got the old laptop down from his hallway closet later that night. He may never even see her again. He ignored the fact that that thought made him sick to his stomach.
Tried not to think about how Gloria had never ever personally been the residency candidate welcome committee until today while he googled 'Veteran, disabled, widower therapists near me'.
He tried not to think about how she looked the best anyone has ever looked in that emergency department as he murmured to himself, "God, that's a depressing search."
He tried not to think about how she had the most beautifully intriguing brain of anyone who had ever stepped foot into that hospital, potentially his entire life, as he booked his very first therapy appointment.
bargaining
"Remember when you told me you didn't make it a habit of trauma dumping on your residents?"
Jack didn't even have to look at her to know there was a huge smirk plastered on her face. She had been his resident for a little over a year. Although, it had taken much less time for the ribbing to start.
"Telling you about how Shen won't stop calling me 'Unc'," Jack had put air quotes around the Gen Z slang term as he continued, "is not trauma dumping."
"You seem pretty traumatized by it. You've only brought it up 85 times this shift."
"And to think - I was gonna ask you to a research breakfast after this." Jack nudged his shoulder gently with hers, tried his best to stave off the grin that played on his lips.
"And to think! You're going to anyway, old man." She nudged him right back, a little less gentle causing him to turn his shoulders and gaze towards her, feigning shock and offense.
That got the exact reaction he was fishing for - a big bright smile, loud laugh, and a second or so more of eye contact that he wouldn't have had a reason to justify otherwise.
What can he say? When it came to her - he was greedy.
"You two! I would prefer to get the hand off completed before you're both back on shift tonight. I swear you're like young and dumb medical students after shift sometimes." Dana chastised them but not without a hint of a smile.
Dana had known Jack for over ten years at this point. Seen him in a lot of different moods; but never as happy as this.
"Well, I'm young." She emphasized the 'I' with a smirk and pointed the finger that she had aimed at herself over at Jack, "He is just being dumb."
Jack barked a laugh. A sound that was no longer so foreign to him. No longer so foreign to everyone else in the ED.
He didn't miss the knowing glance Dana shot his way, a grin fighting to appear on both of their faces. He did his best to give Dana a look that said that he wasn't hopelessly infatuated with his resident. That he enjoyed spending time with each of his residents equally. He was not entirely sure he convinced Dana. He wasn't even good at convincing himself.
He could take her to breakfast if it was to help her with her research. It was most definitely not to see how many times he could pull a laugh from her. Bonus points if he got a nose scrunch or an accidental spit take of the orange juice that was already half way down her throat.
He could bring her a coffee every shift if it was to ensure his best resident was energized for her shift. It was not because of the way she looked up at him with her bright, big eyes through her lashes and said "Thank you, Dr Abbot!" like it was some sort of melody. If he started buying coffee for Dr Ellis and Dr Shen as well to make his affection less obvious - what was the difference?
He could let her do a pericardiocentesis way before anyone else her year probably should have if it was to improve her education. And because she truly was ready. He'd have bet his entire career that she was better at it than all of the surgical residents upstairs. Which meant it wasn't so totally obvious that he was staring at her in awe all of the time. Because when she was doing shit like that - everyone was. Being able to guide her hands through a procedure was just a bonus. Even if there were latex gloves between them.
He could bring extra food to shift, knowing she was going to eat half of it, if it was because he wanted to ensure his best resident was properly fueled and empowered to do her job to the best of her ability. He kept it to himself that he drove to a grocery store thirty minutes out of his way to get the specific kind of candy he knew she liked.
He could drive her home if it was to ensure his smartest resident got home safe. It was totally not because he got to spend more time with her. He definitely didn't take the long way to her apartment and he went exactly the speed limit because that was what was safe. Not because it meant extra time with her. No one else needed to know that he went at least fifteen over when she wasn't in his passenger seat.
No one also needed to know that he bought an aux cord just for her because he loved to hear what kinds of songs she liked. He definitely didn't have a playlist compiled of them all that he listened to at home now instead of his police scanner.
denial
She had been his resident for a bit over two years now and the ED was Q word tonight. No one had said it but the combined time they had all spent fucking around at the hub proved it.
Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night. He thought he was being inconspicuous about the amount of time he had been spending with Javadi but his new found interest in the social media app gave him away. Jack couldn't really say anything to his new junior attending about the dangers of falling for someone that you were the superior to without blowing up his own soft spot for a certain resident.
So Shen was on his fifth tiktok trend of the night and he had roped her in.
Jack thought he knew all of her secret talents by now but he watched from behind her, amused and hands tugging at his stethoscope looped behind his neck, as Shen played various Britney Spears songs to see how quickly she could guess them.
She hadn't needed more than 3 seconds for any of them.
Then they were busy for an hour or so. A couple drunk twenty somethings with some concussions and laceration repairs - nothing too crazy. And then they were back at central. The quiet was interrupted by a gasp from Dr Shen. Which was quickly followed by Dr Ellis looking over his shoulder at his phone and then both of them dying laughing.
"I don't even want to know." Jack threw his hands up in surrender.
"Oh, yes you do! You're going viral for being hot!" Shen exclaimed.
"I don't know what viral means if it’s not to do with an infection and I already know that I’m hot thank you very much." Jack didn't even glance up from his charting as he spoke.
“For being hot and being hopelessly in love.” Ellis clarified.
That got Jack's attention. He got up, snatched Shen's phone out of his hand as he muttered, “I am not hopelessly -" he didn't even want to give the accusation a real denial to validate it, "-let me see that.” He pressed play.
It was ironic that he had been telling himself he needed to start schooling his expressions when it came to her when the same dopey smile and enamored eyes he had going in the video were on his face as he watched the video.
He knew Shen and Ellis were monitoring his reaction closely but he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the part of the video where he had guessed the song 'Lucky' before she had.
She had whipped around in the spinning chair so fast - her hair had stuck to her glossed lips, "How the hell do you know that?!" she asked surprised, a wide smile taking over her face.
Jack shuffled around in his wide stance, large hands going from the ends of his stethoscope to clasped behind his back, his chin tilted up at her as he spoke with a drawl, "I let you play your music when I drive you home, don’t I?”
In the moment, Jack had missed what was caught on camera - the knowing smirk Dr Ellis had leveled at Dr Shen off camera as she said, “Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Jack's rebuttal hadn't even had a chance to leave his mouth before Shen and Ellis were reading the comments aloud, taking turns as they went.
"WHOOOO DAT IN THE BACK!?"
"Paging Doctor biceps in the back"
"Close enough. Welcome back Lexie grey and mark sloan"
"What in the greys anatomy"
"Do the two doctor sexys know that age gap august is upon us"
"If she doesn’t wanna bite on his biceps I will"
"Does that girl know she has 30mins to claim that man before I do"
"He does not play about her!"
"A man who YEARNS is a man who EARNS"
"Dr sexy is down bad for the other doctor sexy"
"Where is this emergency room at … for research purposes"
"I want Doctor sexy to look at me like that"
"Okay, I don’t look at her like anything!" Jack hissed low in a whisper, hoping to a god he did not believe in that she was still busy with the drunk college kids and was not hearing any of this.
"Well, you definitely don’t look at me like that." Shen laughed, sucking on his Dunkin straw even though nothing had been left in his cup for hours.
"I look at you all the same." Jack deadpanned. He sat back down at his computer. An attempt to get back to charting. But not before taking a sweep of the ED and making sure she was nowhere within earshot. Not that Shen and Ellis were making it easy with their hysterics.
"Bro - if you looked at me like that I would call HR. She's just into it."
“Into what?" She asked monotonically, not even looking up from her iPad as she approached the rest of the night shift crew at the hub.
“Nothing!” Jack barely got out, grumbling and exasperatedly running a hand through his silver curls as he got up from his computer and went to chairs.
He didn't miss the raise in her brows as she looked at Shen and Ellis, silently asking 'What the hell is up with him?'.
He couldn't tell you the last time he voluntarily went out to chairs but he was hoping his fair Irish skin would be finished betraying him with the pinkness in his cheeks, ears, and neck by the time he made his way back to central.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Shen and Ellis showed her the video and he did not want to be there when they did.
So he missed the flush in her cheeks, ears, and neck that had been identical to his.
And her slightly embarrassed, definitely exaggerated, "You guys stop - he is literally our boss."
"But you're not not into it?" Ellis had pushed. If anyone was getting it out of her, it was Ellis. They had been attached at the hip since their residency began.
"It doesn't matter if I'm into it. He is our boss! He is not into it."
"God, for someone so smart you are so stupid sometimes."
Jack had waved Shen off when Shen had come out to chairs to tell him about that interaction, practically vibrating with excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine. Jack had parroted her, tried to make a joke of it all. Said something along the lines of, "I know you guys like to pretend otherwise but I am your boss."
But once Jack was home, black out shades drawn and snug in his bed, he couldn't wipe the huge, stupid grin off of his face.
anger
Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. Very few things on this earth made him genuinely angry - one of them being the annual hospital gala. Every year they were trotted out as show ponies to raise money that the ED would never even see. You can't save patients with empty compliments and an open bar.
He had managed to avoid it the past couple years - always worked instead. So when he saw he wasn't scheduled to work the night of this year's gala, he printed out the schedule and marched right over to Robby's workstation to rectify what was surely a mistake.
"Why am I not scheduled to work tomorrow? I didn't even check the schedule until now because I just assumed that my friend would do me a solid because he owes me one-"
"Because you have to go to the gala, man." Robby interrupted Jack's rambling.
"What part of 'you owe me one' did you not understand?"
"Did you happen to see who else is not scheduled?"
Neither of them had to say anything for them both to know who's name Jack was scanning that piece of paper for.
Robby clapped him on the back, satisfied with a smile on his face as he walked away, "Go home and rest, Romeo. You got a big date tomorrow night - you’re welcome!"
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
So again, Jack was not an angry man. Never had been. But he had decided to add a new line item to the short list of things that made his blood absolutely boil. The thing being every single young, conventionally attractive, rich, tall surgeon working in his hospital hitting on his resident at this stupid fucking gala.
They hadn't even made it to dinner yet and he was sure she'd been approached over ten times. Jack had to step away after the most recent one - under the guise of getting a drink.
Jack unfortunately was very familiar with this particular suitor of hers. She was well into her last year of her residency and it had not been an uncommon occurrence for Dr Harvard from cardio thoracic surgery to make any and every excuse to come down and consult when she was on shift.
Jack made a conscious effort to forget his name. Shen and Ellis loved to remind him of it.
They'd tease him about it. They'd say that there was a plus side to it all. They never had to wait long on a cardiac surgery consultation anymore. But selfishly, Jack would wait fucking years if it meant he was chatting her ear off instead of Mr Harvard.
Jack wasn't naive. She was practically glowing. She always was. She always looked beautiful. Before tonight, he basically only ever saw her with no makeup on, hair a mess, wearing hospital issued scrubs and he still thought she was the most gorgeous person alive.
But tonight. Tonight, Jack was surprised he did not end up as a patient in his ED the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her hair was carefully curled, framing her perfect face that was painted with just the right amount of makeup. Her lashes were more prominent than usual, her cheeks more flushed and her lips a bit more pink and a lot more glossy.
And then her dress. That damn dress. It was vintage because of course it was. Of course, she found time to vintage shop on top of the grueling hours she put in at the ED. Even in her last year of residency, she had never lost sight of being her own person both in and outside of work.
The dress reminded Jack of something from the prohibition era - celebratory. He was trying not to be so obvious in his celebration of how the structured seams of the powder blue silk created a corset shape that wasn't too tight for a work function but definitely was tight enough to have his imagination wandering.
With delicate lace panels towards the bottom of her dress and the swooping off the shoulder neckline with draped cap sleeves - Jack was being a sap but she looked like she had stepped out of a romance movie. Or off of a runway.
It was the kind of dress that reminded him of when they first met. He loved getting glimpses of her like this. Of who she was outside of the ED.
She had said she found the dress at a second hand shop on consignment. After that he had spent most of their evening dreaming about what it would be like to hold her hand and watch her shop.
Get to see the process of how she selected what she liked. Get to bring her hand up to his lips and kiss it - knowing that he was one of those things that she liked. Maybe even loved. And of course, buy everything her gaze lingered on even when she insisted not to. Especially then.
So Jack was not naive. He knew she was absolutely, positively stunning. He knew even beyond that - she was kind and funny and fucking whip smart. Smarter than anyone he had ever met and in so many different ways. If he could move into her brain - he would. So he was not naive enough to think other men wouldn't flirt with her. They would be fools not to. He just wished he could be the reason they wouldn't.
He sipped his old fashioned and did his best to pretend like he was looking anywhere but at her and Mr Harvard. He can't imagine that he was very successful. A ding from his phone took him out of his misery.
From Shen: Yo - i know you hate that gala shit. Kinda bogus robby made you go. Thought you guys were friends. Anyway, can you come help? Ellis has got a hot date. Or so she says
Jack had never been more thankful to receive a weird text from Shen in his life. He replied with a quick 'On my way' before taking one last glance over at her.
He sighed at the sight of her digging through her purse for something. He couldn’t see her expression but he sure could see Mr Harvard's. Dude couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Jack wished he could do it for him.
Okay chill, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he figured it would be rude to interrupt her to say goodbye. She probably didn’t want her old attending cock blocking her anyways.
Jack set his half finished drink on the bar counter along with a $20 tip and turned on his good heel. He had his hands on the cold metal of the event venue's door when he heard his favorite voice behind him.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Jack turned to see her and the sight made him melt. Arms crossed over her chest, brow furrowed, and lips in a stern line that was slowly slipping into a pout.
"Shen and Ellis need a cover."
"And when were you planning on telling me?" Her hands moved to her hips. Jack's hands flexed at his sides. All he wanted to do was kiss the sass out of her. But he couldn't. She was still his resident. And probably not even interested in him.
"You seemed busy. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet." Jack's response earned an eye roll out of her.
Before he could even blink, her arm threaded under his own - grabbing his bicep, "I'm coming with you."
Who was Jack to argue with that?
"How'd you get out of your conversation with Mr Harvard?"
Another dramatic eye roll. He loved it. Then the prettiest little smile he had ever seen.
"Told him my mean, scary boss said we had to leave."
He couldn't decide his opinion regarding the short walk to his SUV in handicapped parking. One part of him was thankful. He wouldn't be shocked if he had burnt holes in his suit jacket from the way his skin had heated up under her feather light touch. The blush was sure to creep up into his cheeks any moment now.
On the other hand, he could walk for miles if it meant she was touching him the whole way. She stopped at his passenger car door and turned to look at him.
"Mean, scary boss huh?" was all Jack could get out while he was under her gaze. It sounded like he had dragged his words through gravel on their way out. But with the way her eyes still shone in the moonlight and the fact that they were solely trained on his own - he was lucky he managed to get any words out at all.
"The scariest." she winked. She fucking winked. Jack had never been more thankful that he had metal for a leg because if he didn't - his legs were sure to have wobbled out from beneath him right then.
His hands were stuffed into his slack pockets. He didn't trust himself for them to be anywhere else. Her hands had given him a moment of reprieve. No longer lightly squeezing his bicep. But now they trailed up his chest, stopping to pretend to fix his tie even though Jack knew it was perfect. Military habit. Didn't matter - she could do whatever the hell she wanted if it involved touching him.
His breath hitched at her touch. He hoped she didn't notice.
"He cleans up nice though - makes up for all the mean and scary."
"Did your mean, scary boss mention you look beautiful tonight." Jack kept his hands in his pockets but took an experimental step forward. Was this really happening? Was she really hitting on him?
It was almost as if she had heard his inner monologue. Wanted to make her intentions clear as she looped her arms around Jack's neck and absentmindedly threaded her fingers through the curls at the nape there.
Ever since she had started fiddling with his suit, her eyes had dropped to anywhere but his face. Typical Jack would have dipped his head, forced eye contact but Jack right now was just trying to stand up right.
Her gaze snapped to him and this time he hadn't even tried to hide the palpitation in his heart or his breathing, "No." was all she said. Barely a whisper but Jack heard her loud and clear.
His hands immediately fell to her hips. He filed away the way she seemed to sink into his grip. Exhaled a little. Like it was muscle memory from a past life.
Her fingers circled their way higher up onto his head, fully tugging on his curls and lightly scratching at his scalp. Jack had to bite back a groan as he squeezed at her hips and pressed her fully back onto his unopened car door.
"Jack." She murmured out low somewhere between a moan and an airy breath, head tilted back in pleasure at the pressure of his fingers on her hips. Jack was fucked now that he knew what his name sounded like falling off her lips without inhibition.
The expanse of her neck now available to him was like a siren song. The past four years had felt like a siren song and he couldn't help himself any longer. One of his hands found the back of her head, gently cradling it back up for her to look at him. His other hand rubbed at her jaw in sweeping strokes of his thumb.
Neither of them could rip their gaze from the others' lips - their panting chests just a mere centimeter apart. He was finally going to do it. He was finally going to kiss her.
Until he wasn't.
Until a loud bang of the door opening broke them apart. A slew of hospital administrators spilled out behind it looking for their next smoke break. Had Jack mentioned that he fucking hated the annual hospital gala?
They flew off each other at what would have been a rather impressive speed if it hadn't felt so agonizing. What was Jack thinking? That he could make out with his resident against his car like they were a horny teenage couple while all of the people in the building a few feet away from them could have her fired for it in a heartbeat? He had to be better. At least until her residency was over with.
He had to get it together - for the both of them it seemed like. Jack cleared his throat and ran a hand over his stubble to hide the smile threatening to take over his face at the realization that she had wanted to kiss him. The way she had said his name with so much...want. Need, even. Maybe this thing wasn't so one sided after all.
He got out of his own head just in time to stop her closing of the passenger door. He wrapped his hand around the top of the door, held it open and waited for her to look up at him after she had buckled up. But the buckle clicked and her gaze stayed trained on her lap.
"Hey." He whispered softly. They both knew the eye contact he was seeking. She slowly turned her head in his direction, gazing up at where he was standing in front of her.
"You look absolutely breathtaking. You always do."
She sucked in a breath and then there she was - big bright smile, shoulders no longer slumped, no more fiddling with her purse strings just to avoid the space between them. She was back to herself.
"Just for that I'll order pizza to the hospital." His favorite.
"Thank you." He probably should have shut the door by now. Should have probably already been on their way to the hospital. But he couldn't stop fucking staring at her. What's new?
"Don't thank me. I still have your card in my DoorDash account." She giggled and all Jack could get out was good before he shut her door.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
They ate their pizza in their gown and tux at the hub with Ellis and Shen.
Ellis raised the polaroid camera that Dana kept at the hub desk and signaled for them to get together for a photo. Jack hooked two fingers under her rolling stool and tugged her over into his side.
"Woah! Old man still has moves!"
Jack ignored Shen as he wrapped his arm over her collarbone from behind her, pulling her closer. Her head instinctively leaned toward his and her fingers delicately held his wrist as they smiled for Ellis's camera.
Jack didn't miss the look Ellis had given her. Maybe he was delusional or maybe she had gotten her best friend Ellis's advice on making a move on her attending at the gala and now Ellis was checking in on the results.
Jack also didn't miss the way her cheeks heated up and the subtle shake of her head at Ellis. As if to signal that they would talk about it later. Probably, when Jack was out of earshot.
Shen tried to get them to pose like they were going to prom. When they both refused citing unprofessionalism, Shen threw a bit of a hissy fit. Mumbling something along the lines of "Oh, now we are being professional!"
Ellis settled on writing ‘Gala Girlies' as the caption for their polaroid before taping it onto the hub counter with the rest of the pictures that had accumulated over the years. This one was definitely Jack's new favorite.
He knew exactly what Robby was going to say when he saw it tomorrow morning, “You owe me one, brother."
He was so fucked.
acceptance
Jack was bored. He never thought he'd say that but this hospital without her was straight up boring with a capital B. He worked here without her for ten years and now - the ten days of PTO she had taken before her first day as a junior attending - felt like the longest of his life. And he was only on day 6.
He wasn't even supposed to be there right now. He had come in after a Tactical EMS job gone bad. His buddy had already gone up to surgery. Before Jack could leave, Robby had roped Jack into joining him on the new day shift attending, Dr Al-Hashimi's, welcome tour.
He was waiting on a text from her. She was spending the day with her family and then she and Jack were supposed to go watch the fireworks together - alone. It was the Fourth of July after all. He had it all planned. He had practiced how he was going to profess his feelings to her in the mirror like a dork more times than he cared to admit. He had long accepted that he was in love with his resident. Now his colleague. He could work with that.
He checked his phone again. No luck. He ignored Robby's inquisitive glance. Jack had never been so interested in his phone like he had been today.
They stood at the hub as Robby droned on and on about day shift procedures that Jack was so thankful not to have to know too much about. Jack just admired the polaroids on the desk in front of them. He was still plotting a way to inconspicuously steal the one of him and her from the gala for his wallet but it had become a fan favorite in the past few months.
Dr Al-Hashimi directed her next question to Jack, pulling him out of his thoughts. She held up his second favorite polaroid with a raised brow, "Am I going to have the pleasure of meeting..." Dr Al-Hashimi squinted to read the writing below the picture, "...Abbot's Angels?"
Jack couldn't help but laugh. The photo had been taken over a year ago. Shen had begged him to take it. Handed the camera over to Jack as he maneuvered himself between the two girls. Both her and Ellis's backs to Shen. All three of them holding up finger guns to their lips with faux serious expressions.
As if her ears were ringing, Dr Ellis appeared behind Jack at the hub. Clapping him on the shoulder and extending a hand out to greet Dr Al-Hashimi, "Don't bring it up to him. He is going through withdrawals because his favorite is still out on PTO."
"Parker - I do not have favorites. You guys aren't even my residents anymore." Jack muttered in defense as he checked his phone again.
Dr Al-Hashimi clocked him, "Dr Abbot - I am good to go here and I am sure I will be seeing you. You should go. It's your day off and a holiday. I am sure you have plans."
"Yeah, what are your plans, Dr Abbot?" Ellis teased. She must have known her best friend's plans were with him for the night. Ellis was enjoying herself. Jack shot her a glare.
"I think his plans just showed up!" Robby clapped his hands together, sputtered out a laugh at the coincidence.
"Brother - I am not taking another case! I am leav-" Jack looked up from unscrewing his water bottle to follow Robby's gaze.
He spotted her mid sip and he genuinely choked on his water in a way he thought only happened in cartoons. He was ready to send Ellis out to chairs when she patted his back like she was burping a baby and suggested that there was a cooling room in North 5 if he needed it.
She was simply glowing. Wavy hair, bright eyes, sun kissed skin donning a short jean skirt and a white halter tank top that accentuated the tan lines over her collarbones left by her bikini.
"Well if it isn’t the prodigal princess of the pitt herself!" Robby goaded, grabbing a clip board and rounding the hub.
The man she was pushing in the wheelchair piped up at that, "You guys actually call her that? Seriously? I thought she was making that up. Please stop - her ego is big enough as it is."
"What do you got?" Robby asked. Jack was still staring. Who the fuck was this guy?
"Idiot male. 37 years old. Broke his ankle trying to relive his glory days coaching youth soccer practice," She was leaned over, pushing the wheelchair with all her might, "and could stand to lose a few pounds."
That pulls an almost relieved huff from Jack. Whoever this guy was - she must've not been that fond of him.
"Hey -" the man reached behind him and tugged on her hair "-my arms still work!"
Oh hell no, Jack thought. Ellis must have noticed he was about to step in and she stopped him before he could, "At ease, soldier. That is her brother."
"Well your brain clearly doesn't" she whacked him right upside the head.
Her brother imitated her, high pitched while she made a show of dramatically handing over his wheelchair to Robby so he could take him away for X-rays.
She thanked Robby as she made her way over to the hub, introducing herself to Dr Al-Hashimi and grabbing the bag of candy that Jack was offering out to her.
She looked him up and down and nodded her head at his camouflage pants, "Really? What is with the GI Jack get up? I thought you were gonna get a hobby.”
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop stealing my food."
"And I thought you said you were gonna stop buying t-shirts one size too small."
"From Walmart." Dr Ellis added.
"You guys, I told you - I do not shop at Walmart."
She giggled and gently nudged her shoulder into Ellis's, "Oh yeah Parker, how could we forget? He shops at Costco!"
"They send good coupons in the mail!" Jack defended himself
"Bro - you're a disabled, widowed veteran who makes more than half a million dollars a year. I think you can afford real clothes." Ellis deadpanned.
“Any other comments from the fashion police about my outfit?”
“Don’t threaten us with a good time.”
Jack cocked his head towards her, smirk widening. He couldn't hide how happy he was to see her. It had been a long couple of days, "And to think I was just starting to miss you."
"Just starting to!?" She raised her eyebrows in challenge, feigning offense while her eyes practically sparkled up at him. He could feel the weight of Ellis's knowing smile on them. He didn't care.
He was debating how obvious it would be for him to pull her into a hug until Dana beat him to it.
"Dr Al, you have just met one of our finest," Dana squeezed her harder, "Except you probably won't see her much because Abbot is always hogging her on nights."
She was released from Dana's grip just enough to clap a light hand on Jack's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, "He needs someone to keep him sharp in his old age."
Jack grimaced the second her hand had made contact with his shoulder and dread washed over her face. Dana fully released her now. Letting her turn all of her attention onto Jack.
“Jack…”
“I’m fine.” He avoided her probing stare and that was exactly how she knew he was not fine.
“Really?” She asked - not buying what he was selling.
“Yes!" She applied light pressure on his shoulder again and he wriggled out of her grasp with a sharp and hissed, "- ah!”
“The room right there is open. Go patch him up.” Dana pointed to the room across the hall. Shooing them in there before Jack had a chance to protest.
Jack sat on the bed as she shut the door and pulled the curtain. Her back was still turned to him as she said, "Take off your shirt."
"At least let me take you to dinner first." Jack tried to pull a laugh from her. It didn't go over well.
"Jack." She warned. Now turned toward him with her arms crossed, “What happened?”
“I was intubating in open fire and a bullet grazed my vest. I’m fine.” He shrugged as he pulled off his shirt. As if what he just said was a completely normal and frequent occurrence.
“You were shot!?” She hurried over to him, standing in between his legs as he sat on the bed.
“Shot…at."
She tilted her head at him in annoyance. Pausing her opening of the various utensils she was preparing to clean his wound.
“What?” He asked.
“Can’t you just take up tennis or golf or literally anything else? Like a normal person?”
“What fun would that be?” Jack insisted upon keeping it light. She shouldn't ever have to worry about him. That was his job.
She lathered some kind of ointment onto his open wound that was on the front of his chest, right above his collar bone. Jack was too distracted by how close they were to care and see what kind.
“There is nothing fun about me coming to work one day and finding out you’re dead because you wanted an adrenaline rush.”
“That isn’t gonna happen.”
“You don’t know that. You think you’re invincible and you’re not.”
“Is that an old joke?”
“Jack-“ her voice cracked and Jack was immediately on his feet, cupping her face in his hands.
“Woah, woah honey okay - I thought we were kidding. I’m fine.” He cooed, one hand stroked her cheek bone making sure not one tear fell while the other steadied her at her hip as she stood between his legs.
“Look at me." He tilted his chin down while he tilted hers up, holding her gaze with his own, "I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere."
“I won’t survive you dying, Jack. I can't.” Her voice sounded wrecked as her chin wobbled. Jack felt horribly responsible. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Naturally, like they had been in this position a million times before. He murmured into the side of her hair, “Okay forget the SWAT thing. Although, you should’ve seen me earlier in my full uniform I looked pretty sick”
Jack huffed a sigh of relief as he felt her laugh vibrate through him. He pulled her back with his hands on her shoulders to get another good look at her, "There's my girl."
She wiped a sniffle with the back of her hand and lightly pushed him back down to a seat. His hands never left her. Just slid down her body until he rested them on the outsides of her upper thighs - a safe distance away from the hem of her jean skirt.
She worked in silence for a moment until Jack piped back up, “I’ll pick up tennis or golf like a normal person. I promise.”
“You don’t have to do that, Jack. I just want you to have a little more regard for your life okay? Can you please just do that for me?”
“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Jack didn't even think that was an exaggeration.
“Except for wearing the correct size shirt.”
He teasingly pinched her leg and she swatted at his good shoulder, laughing. She was done helping him but they hadn't moved. Neither of them really wanted to.
“That’s for you too. Don’t think I don’t see you staring at my biceps.”
Her eyebrows rose in faux surprise as she dragged a hand down his freckled arm.
“Oh you wanna talk about staring? I must have picked that up from someone.”
“This is a teaching hospital.”
“Could’ve mistaken it for a staring one.”
“Come on - you’re always performing medical miracles while looking like that. I can’t help it. Cut a guy some slack.” Jack's hands felt like they were on fire, practically kneading her thighs. God, she really had to wear this skirt today of all days.
“You’re a flirt, you know that?”
“Only with you.”
They had about a second to jump apart at the sound of a knock on the door before the curtain was pulled back to reveal Dr Al-Hashimi.
Jack rubbed at the back of his neck. Both him and her were looking anywhere but each other. Jack wasn't planning on getting excited but he was thankful he had placed his shirt over his lap to cover himself now that they were no longer alone.
Dr Al-Hashimi cleared her throat, obviously picking up on the fact that she had interrupted something, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.”
Dr Al-Hashimi handed Jack a piece of paper and then turned to her, "You have a visitor from cardio thoracic surgery outside."
Jack groaned. Could Mr Harvard have any worse timing? She shot Jack a glare and stepped outside. Jack could see the shadow of Mr Harvard who he knew was down here pretending he'd have something to do with her brother's ankle surgery just to flirt.
He caught the end of her dismissing Mr Harvard's valiant attempt at being her knight in shining armor. Jack smiled to himself as he made his way back to the hub to catch up with her. He was explaining a procedure to Whitaker as he walked, "You're gonna have to start with your finger. And then slowly over a few minutes as the wetness gathers, go deeper. All the way to the back of the knuckle."
Whitaker nodded in understanding and was on his merry way. She turned right on Jack the second he was in her vicinity.
"What the hell is your problem?!"
"Problem?" Jack asked, genuinely perplexed.
Her voice pitched down, she whispered, "Why do you have to say everything so unnecessarily slutty? You wanna ask Whitaker out too!?"
Now that - Jack was not expecting. He quirked his eyebrow up in surprise. Also in confusion.
"Ask Whitaker out? What are you-"
He was cut off by a little girl screaming her name and running right into her arms, "Look! Look! Your work is on my new soccer jersey!"
The girl couldn't be older than five. Jack recognized the little girl as her niece from photos she had shown him. He noticed who must have been her sister in law a few feet away, talking to Robby presumably about discharge instructions for her brother as he awaited surgery that he would probably have next week once the swelling went down.
"What are you talking about? Lemme see that." She plucked the jersey from her niece and examined the PTMC logo on it.
Jack knew his cheeks were ruby red. He could see the gears in her head putting it all together as she stared at the small jersey with the ironed on PTMC ED patch. A couple weeks ago, she had told him offhandedly that her niece's soccer league was going to get cancelled since they had no sponsor. So Jack called up the park district and paid for it himself. Under the guise it was the PTMC ED. It was no big deal. If her niece was happy, she was happy.
She put her niece down next to her on the ground as her eyes looked up to Jack, softening, "We don't have the budget for this."
"I know. But I do."
She opened her mouth to say something but her niece cut her off, climbing into her dad's lap on his wheelchair as he, her sister in law, and Robby joined them at the hub, "Auntie, is this Dr Sexy?"
Jack's lips immediatley preened, quirking up into an amused smirk, Dr Ellis and Robby doubled over in laughter.
"No baby - this is Dr Abbot." She tried to recover, her eyes blown wide, mouth agape and her cheeks beet red. She couldn't even look at Jack.
"But you always call him Dr Sexy when you are talking to mommy. What does sexy mean?"
"OKAY-" she said loudly, still looking anywhere but at Jack. She turned her gaze on her brother as she clapped her hands together, "-it is time for you all to leave."
"Only if Dr Sexy walks us out." Her brother teased.
She groaned, putting her head in her hands as Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hid in the crook of his neck, "I am getting a new job."
"Oh no you're not."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack met her at her car after he helped her family to theirs. “Dr Sexy, huh?”
“Shut up. I'm trying to be annoyed with you and you’re making it damn hard”
“Why are you annoyed with me?” Jack steadied himself with a wide stance, crossed his arms over his chest as she turned to look at him, leaning against her car door.
“Seriously?"
Jack just raised his eyebrows back at her in question.
She mirrored his stance, crossed arms over chest, "So you go on dates now?”
“What are you talking about? Is this about tonight? If you don't want to go anymore we don't have to-”
She imitated him and Dr Al-Hashimi from earlier, "Sorry to uh, interrupt. But my number, Dr Abbot. Like we discussed. For that date.” She emphasized the word.
Jack rubbed his hand over his face, stopping at his scruff and trying to mask the smirk that was threatening to take over his face, “Are you…jealous?”
She scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant but Jack knew her too well for that, “Me? Jealous? No, Jack I just think it’s wildly inappropriate. This is our workplace.”
“Well that’s a damn shame because I didn’t ask Dr Al on a date. I’m setting her up on one. With my army buddy actually."
Her lips formed a barely there oh, "Well…now I just feel like a bitch."
Jack laughed and stepped closer, shaking his head in refute to her statement. He let his hands find purchase on her car, caging her in.
His voice came out far more groveled than expected, "But I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date for going on, oh I don’t know almost five years now, but if you think it’s so wildly inappropri-"
“I don’t!”
“You dont? But I thought-“
He earned himself an eyeroll and a stern, “Jack.”
“You just said-" He couldn't help the huge grin spreading across his face.
“I know what I said.”
“So - let me get this straight - it’s only wildly inappropriate if it’s a date with anyone but you? Is that stated somewhere in the HR handbook or-”
"God, do you ever shutup?" And then her lips were on his.
His whole body felt like it was on fire. Her hands on each side of his face, his squeezing at her hips and pressing her up against the car. Just like that night at the gala. Except this time he actually got to kiss her. He was kissing her.
His head spun at the way her fingers circled around to the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. He cradled her jaw in one strong hand and grabbed her waist with the other, hand pushing up the white tank she had on to make contact with her bare skin. They couldn't possible get any closer but it still didn't feel close enough.
Jack didn't want to ever stop the exploration of his hands along her body. He grabbed at the flesh on the outside of her upper thigh, hiking it up slightly around his hips. She ground herself down onto his bulge and the gasp she let out was heavenly. Jack took the chance to swipe his tongue into her mouth, as she ground down again, slower this time. Jack couldn't keep his moan from tumbling out.
He pulled back ever so slightly, their lips still practically touching as their chests heaved, "Baby, where are your keys?"
"My keys? That is what you care about right now?" She went to grind on him again but Jack's hands grabbed her hips, halting her.
"If you keep doing that I am going to come in my pants in the hospital parking garage and I would much rather come somewhere else in the comfort of my own home. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to take my time with you."
"How long?" She asked as she slipped her keys into Jack's front pocket.
"Inappropriatley long. Now get in the car so Dr Sexy can drive us home."
"I am never gonna live that down, am I?"
"Absolutely not."
"I hate you."
Jack grabbed her chin and peppered her face with kisses, ending with one on her lips as she giggled. Kissing her hard because he could do that now, "Somehow, I am not convinced."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack's left hand flexed hard on her steering wheel. His right hand preoccupied with a steady grip on her upper thigh. Her left hand played with his curls as he drove.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How after the gala last year I went home and touched myself. Imagined my fingers were yours." Jack choked on nothing at her words.
"Jesus Christ - I am trying not to cause a mass casualty event, honey. Can you please just wait till we get home."
She groaned his name in frustration and squeezed his fingers between her thighs, trying to find friction anyway she could.
"You're that needy?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Show me then." His voice was gritty and low as he knocked her knees apart. He batted down the sun visor on her side, sliding the mirror cover up and aiming it perfectly to reflect her lap.
She whined at the loss of contact as both of his hands now gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes screwed shut and her chest lifted, breathing heavy. The way her hard nipples were peaking through her tank top was enough to make Jack scared he was going to crash the car.
"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me. You think you can handle that for me, baby?"
His words seemed to hit her all at once. Demanding in the way it was when he was ordering people around the ED. The tone went straight to her core as she hiked her jean skirt up over her hips and slid her small lacy black thong down her legs. She stuffed it in one of the pockets of Jack's camo pants, lightly squeezing his bulge as she did. All Jack could murmur out was a hissed fuck as she angled her center to the mirror above her, giving him a perfect view of her absolutely soaked core.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes, yes I can handle it. I promise." She rushed her words out in one run on sentence, out of breath as her chest heaved.
"Good girl, baby. Show me how you touch yourself."
She nodded as she began to rub her clit, her voice shakey as she spoke, "I start like this and I think about everything you said to me that day. When you tell me good job after a prodecure or how you order everyone around or how-"
A tumbled moan falls from her lips, cutting herself off.
"Do you play with these pretty tits?" Jack reached over and gripped the nape of her neck, tugging at the string of her halter top and letting it fall. He pulled it down, her tits spilling out as he tweaked a nipple, kneading it after with his palm.
He thought she squeaked out a soft uh huh with a nod that trailed into a moan as her right hand slipped two fingers into her center. The sound was obscene as she pushed in and out, her head falling back and her chest pushing forward into Jack's hand.
"Jack!" She was getting louder now, the pace of her fingers moving quicker. The tone of her voice filled with unabashed need.
"What else, baby?"
All she could do was babble in response. Jack's hand fell from her nipples to her pussy, giving it a slap before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at herself in the mirror, "Do you see how pretty your pussy is? What was that you said earlier? That I say everything so slutty? Look who's the slut now."
They both saw the way her pussy contracted around her two fingers at his words. The way her already dripping core somehow managed to get even more wet at the filth he was spilling.
"Oh you like when I am a little mean, don't you?"
She could barely nod, her chest hitting her chin as her breathing became more rapid the closer she inched towards her finish line.
"You wanna come for me?"
"Please." She panted. Jack smirked to himself as he grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from her center before she could even think about finishing, and pressed her fingers into his mouth - licking them clean.
Her head lolled against the seat, she groaned his name. A mix of frustration and want as she dazedly stared at him.
"I've waited almost five years to taste you, honey. You can wait five more minutes till we are home, yeah?"
She huffed out an, "I hate you."
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Jack held her hand gently as he tugged her into his house. She was practically bouncing on her heels behind him. "I'm gonna shower first and then-"
"Like hell you are." She snipped. Now she was pulling him. Through his foyer and straight to his couch where she perched herself on his lap, bracketing his hips with her thighs and grinding down on his bulge that was dying to spring out of his pants.
He pushed her skirt back up her hips and rubbed her upper thighs as she rocked her bare pussy down on him, her hands steadying herself on his neck as she leaned into press her mouth to his.
Jack's chest was heaving, "Baby, I'm all sweaty and gross from TEMS."
"I couldn't care less, Jack. You might be patient enough to wait five years but I sure as hell am not. Please touch me."
"Like this?" His fingers rubbed her clit, her head falling back in relief at him finally touching her where she needed him most.
"God, you were dripping all over your car and now you're soaking my couch? Who's got you so worked up?" She gasped as Jack entered two thick fingers in her, kissing up her neck as he did. Nipping at her jaw line as he pulled her tank top down so he could swirl his mouth around one of her sensitive nipples.
She pulled his shirt off over his head, flashing him a mischevious smirk before, "Dr Harvard from cardiac surgery."
Jack's fingers stopped immediatley. She whined and writhed in his lap at the loss of contact. Jack wrapped his other hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, "I thought you were gonna be good for me?"
"I will, I will. I am." She begged. Jack didn't know what he did in a past life to get her begging like this in his lap but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Atta girl." He cooed, adding a third finger and plunging back into her tight core, "I am gonna ask you again - what's got you so worked up?"
"You, Jack! Your voice and your arms and your curls and these stupid fucking pants."
"Oh my girl likes my uniform, yeah? Is that what had you so bratty today? Want me to fuck you in it?"
"Please." she huffed. Sweat beading at the top of her forehead as she began to rock her hips, riding his fingers.
"Come for me first."
"Yeah, thats it." Jack hissed, trying hard not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock where his fingers were. That would surely lead to an early curtain call, "That's it. My good girl."
"Fuck, Jack" She let out a shakey laugh as she came down from her orgasm, riding it out on Jack's fingers as she threaded her fingers in his hair.
"The uniform really does it for you, huh?"
She kissed him hard, "You do it for me. The uniform is just a bonus."
Jack readjusted her in his lap, pushing her legs open further over the expanse of his thick thighs. She whined at the stretch, "Come here, baby. you're doing so good for me. Wanna take my time with you."
"You can take your time with me later. I need you to fuck me now."
"Yeah? That needy, huh?"
"Yes, Jack please." She murmured as she undid the belt on his camo pants.
"You're the boss." Jack winked. He may have been her boss at work. She may have liked him bossing her around in bed. But she was the boss in every other sense of the word.
"Funny."
"Glad you think so." Jack hissed as she wrapped her hand around his hard length, preening with pre cum at the tip. She pushed his pants and his boxers down in one go, his erection immediatley slapping up against his stomach.
Jack's head fell back onto the couch as he let out a moan, her fingers rubbing the precum from his tip down his shaft and back up again. She spit into her hand and repeated the same movement. Jack thought he might come right then and there.
"Wanna ride you, please. I'm clean and have an IUD. Need to feel you."
Jack couldn’t even get words out. He was too busy trying not to come from a handjob like a horned up teenager, "Same. Mm clean, too" He managed to get out, eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure wracked his body, "Fuck, baby."
She sunk down on him in an instant, relishing the stretch and sending them both into a fit of whimpered moans. Jack used one hand on her hip to guide her motions, the other rubbing up and down her back, eventually landing in her hair as he tugged her forward into a blistering kiss. Now that he knew what her lips felt like he was never gonna go long without kissing them.
"Fuck!" She rocked down hard on him again, "You feel fucking phenomenal. So tight, So. Perfect." He emphasized his praise with kisses, "Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for me."
He took the hand from her hair and placed it on her clit, rubbing it as she started to rock quicker. He could tell she was close again. He was in danger of spilling over at any second, "You have no business being so good at this. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long baby. Fuck, look at you." Jack brought the hand from her hip up to her mouth, pushing his thumb into her mouth, moaning as she immediatley began to suck on it.
"All these years. Had a feeling you'd get off on praise. Knew you'd wanna be so good for me. Knew you'd be such a good slut just for me, yeah?"
"Yeah, please. Just for you, I promise." Jack didn't know how he had managed to keep himself from finishing with the way she was riding him. She steadied herself on his shoulders, brought herself all the way up and then slowly rocked herself back down, taking all of him and making sure he felt every fucking inch of her velvety walls.
"If you keep doing that I am not gonna last long." He managed to grunt out.
"Then don't. Come in me, please. Want you to fill me up."
Those words alone did it for Jack as he spilled his warm release into her, continuing to rub her clit. "Give me another one baby. I know you can do it. You can do anything. You're fucking brilliant. Your brilliant fucking brain. C'mon, I feel you clenching. Let go. Come on my cock, please."
She tugged hard on his hair, mixing her own release with his as she came. Panting into Jack's mouth as he whispered, "Good girl."
Jack cradled her cheek as she rode out her orgasm on his cock, whispering praise as she did. He swiped two fingers through the mix of their arousals and brought them to her mouth.
Jacks eyes watched, mesmerized, blown out with arousal as she sucked on his fingers, released them with a pop and then, "The second I saw you in that uniform I wanted to drop to my knees in the middle of the hub and suck the soul out of you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her bare chest over his and nuzzling into his neck, peppering kisses there as he scratched her back. His laugh vibrated through her, "Jesus Christ - you can't say shit like that when I'm still inside of you."
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
He eventually gently cleaned her up. Once she agreed to finally get off of him. He had to bribe her with kisses. He didn't mind one bit. He dragged her to the shower which lead to him having to clean her up again. Again, he didn't mind one bit.
He was at the stove now. Donning only a pair of gray sweatpants as he cooked dinner and watched her pad around his kitchen in only his tshirt and some basketball shorts with probably the dopiest smile of all time on his face.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking herself into his side. He used his free hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, pressing kisses into her hair. She behaved for a moment until he felt a pair of soft lips pressing kisses across the side of his chest that was accessible to her.
He turned the burner down, dropped the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta on the counter and then grabbed her hips, trapping her against his kitchen island, "You're going to make me burn dinner."
She put her finger to her lips, pretended to think about what he had to say and then with a quick kiss to his lips she muttered against them, "Mmmm, don't care!"
He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone and put it in her hands, "Put on music. It is already hooked up to the speaker system,"
He picked her up by her hips, causing the cutest squeal he had ever heard, and plopped her down onto his counter. He rubbed a gentle thumb against her cheek, the other against her hip as he stood between her legs, "You need to eat, baby."
She grumbled a fine. She knew when it came to taking care of her - Jack would not budge. She scrolled through his Spotify - she wanted to find something both of them would like but first she was gonna stalk what he already listened to. Of course her curiosity was gonna get the better of her.
A quiet gasp fell from her lips - causing Jack to look over from his spot in front of the stove, "What?"
She turned his phone screen to him, already spotting the flush creeping up on his chest. He recognized the playlist almost immediatley. Made up of all the songs she had played while he drove her home these past couple years - simply titled with her name. There was hundreds of songs on there.
"Did you make this? Do you listen to it?"
Jack figured now was as good a time as ever to lay out all his cards onto the table. Even if he was so embarrassed he couldn't even look up from the dinner he was cooking. He spoke fast, "Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I replaced the police scanner with it?"
"Would you be entirely creeped out if I told you I am so beyond in love with you?"
Jack's head snapped up from the dinner. He'd never moved so quickly in his life. He was back to standing in between her legs, holding her face - just staring at her with a huge smile. The same expression was being mirrored back to him. It made his heart soar.
"You do? I mean, you are?"
She laughed, "Where have you been the past couple years?”
"Waiting for you to realize that I've been hopelessly in love with you."
"Are we the dumbest smart people alive?"
"Potentially. But doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Only you. Only us." He kissed her now. Slotted his lips over hers like the perfect final piece of a puzzle. His stomach fluttered at the sensation of her fingers finding their home in his curls. He couldn't believe that this was real. That she loved him. He already knew that the astronomical amount he loved her was very, very real.
"God, I love you." Kiss, "So much." Another kiss.
"Say it again." Jack whispered against her lips, smiling like a little kid.
"I love you, Jack."
He pulled back just a bit. Just enough to murmur how much he loved her and get a good look at her face, "Remember when you were so jealous earlier?" He teased.
"I was not-" She began to deny it but Jack leveled a look at her, "I hate you!" she giggled, swatting at his shoulder that was not bandaged up.
"Somehow, I am not convinced." He preened.
"Mmmm, good." She was kissing him again. He could do this forever. He will do this forever - if he has anything to say about it.
The ding of her phone was what made him pull away. But not by much. They both looked at the cause of the disruption, Jack planting kisses up and down her neck, jaw, and chest as she unlocked her phone.
From Robby: Doing scheduling. Can you pick up a shift next Tuesday night please? Shen needs off. You'll get to see your doctor sexy🤪
They both let out a cackle. Jack took her phone and took a selfie with his middle finger up. He sent it to Robby along with a message that read, 'Stop texting my girlfriend.'
"Girlfriend, huh?"
Jack rubbed up and down her thighs as he spoke, "Figured you might think I was insane if I said wife after just one day but trust me that is part of the plan."
"What else is in the plan?”
“Maybe a kid or two? Or four? Or zero. Really as many or as little as you’ll give me. I’m just happy to be here.”
She chuckled, kissed him while lovingly stroking his face, “I like that plan.”
“Yeah?” He asked, brimming with hope.
She nodded as her phone went off again, a message from Robby flashing across the screen. Jack kissed each of her cheeks, her forehead, and then her lips before reading it out loud - sending them both into a fit of giggles.
morning thoughts 💭 links are just pinterest photos!
thinking about jack abbot being your new hot dilf neighbour that moves next to your house. he always looks put together. everytime you see him downstairs in his front yard you get hit with the smell of his godly cologne as it travels thru the wind and gosh he smells so good always..
thinking how you meet him couple of times in your driveway but never think anything of it until.. one day you are out in your short white sundress bending over the front door of your car trying to pick up the fallen document off the floor and you can feel his eyes watching you. its like they seduce you even without looking at him.. by the time you turn around all you hear is “have the most amazing day kiddo” as he gets in his car and drives away.
thinking how he watches you getting ready thru his window. at first he doesnt wanna look when you are putting your bra and panties on freshly after shower.. but then slowly day by day he watches the whole show for his eyes only.
thinking how he touches himself while thinking of you and your perfect body. how he wishes he could smell you specially after shower and look you in the eyes, how he wishes he can tell you all the dirty things he wants to do to you and how you occupy his brain all day long.
thinking how he purposly leaves his window open in hopes you catch him walking by shirtless in his towel. he so wants to get your attention. then one day you start dressing up for work when you look his way and window wide open you catch his towel fall off and reveal the most girthiest thick cock you have ever seen. he knows you are watching him and he continues the show for you. stroking his cock while putting lotion all over his body he knows you will like this.
thinking how he makes your pusssy throb as he continues to show off his cock and how long and girthy it is while rubbing lotion all over it and his biceps and forearms tens as he strokes it up and down. you hide behind your curtains in hopes he doesnt see you but jack knows that you are in on the show and can feel your gaze on him.
thinking how you start touching yourself while you eat him with your gaze and follow every and each move he makes jack decides to stop his show and edge you a little bit. he knows you want more. he knows you want it all. and he will im fact give you everything. but he puts his boxers and pants on. he knows to keep you enough hungry for when he finally has you all to himself in his arms and lap.
thinking how he throws in a chuckle your way while he covers his window with the curtains and looks your way.. he can fully see you behind your curtains even tho you think he wont.. he smiles and continues on about his day knowing he made you soaking wet..
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Since Uh When👆🏻 @petersspidey - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
