I get it’s like not feminist to think men should pay for women on dates but like also I’m a lesbian who is not dating men and the thought of a woman paying for a man’s shit enrages me. Get your fucking wallet out bitchboy or I’ll pay for her instead and you can go home the hell
I've been wanting to write fics for awhile, and I've not been able to find the motivation + I lowkey suck at writing, so I wanted to post this little snippet (a very unfinished snippet), of something I began writing and wanted some feedback or tips, I'd really appreciate any interaction :)
It's the beginning of a Steve Harrington x Reader, that I previously posted on wattpad and wanted to finish and improve on.
Hawkins wasn’t half as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, it smelt like cow shit and it was colder than California. But somehow, it was starting to feel like home.
The journal in your lap felt heavy, as if weighed down by the emotions you scribbled in it. Your drawing had even turned out decent. The shed that sat outside your bedroom window looked as rusty and old as it did in person, the doors to the basement as sturdy. But something was missing. Maybe it was the many colours that showed up with an Indiana fall. You liked the colours, the warmth that didn't show up with the change in season back in your hometown.
Still you missed it. Missed being able to walk past the park and imagine the memories you had with your mother there as a kid. Even if there were bad memories in other places. Your eyes stung for a second before you threw your head up, willing the tears to disappear, willing the sad memory of your mother in her hospital bed to leave too.
Your gaze shifted back to the page, and you wrote beside the sketch:
I see you in everything
And I begin grieving all over agai–
“Son of a bitch!” a shout came from across the house, your pen slid through your sketch at the commotion.
“Shit.” Well there was no fixing that.
You still hadn’t gotten used to the noise that came with living in the Henderson house. Not to say you didn’t like it. It felt more homey.
“Son of a bitch!”
Although, your cousin shouting ‘son of a bitch’ isn’t the best representation of ‘homey’.
Need to write something here about dustin and claudia speaking in the lounge before footsteps come running to her door.
A flurry of knocks sounded against your closed door, followed by your name drawled out in mild annoyance.
“Yeah?” you called back.
Your door opened slightly then, a head of curls peaking through. “Could I borrow some coins for the arcade?”
“Borrow or use?” you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, raising an eyebrow in question as the door opened fully.
“Use..?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Dustin grinned slightly at the declaration and watched as you crossed your room to the lowboy that sat beside the door, your piggy bank sat on top. You shook out enough quarters to fill the palm of your hand before turning to Dustin, “you owe me dude.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s fine.”
“Planning on going anywhere else, or just the arcade?”
“Just the arcade.”
“Cool.” You smiled softly, sliding the coins from your hand to his, “have fun.”
“I will.”
“And stay safe.”
“I will.”
“Okay. Good.” you ruffled the hair at the top of his head, watching him watch you back through the shield of his hair, “See you.”
He pulled back slightly, turning on his heels, “Bye!”
You peeked your head out your door, watching as his curls bobbed with each step, before he turned the corner at the end off the hall with a wave and disappeared.
The only sound left in the house is whatever Claudia was watching on the television.
You closed the door softly before plopping back down on your bed. You stared at the ruined page for a second, frowning at the jagged line that slid directly through the center of the sketch. Then with one swift motion, ripped the page out, crumbled it up, and threw it across the room.
***
School mornings were always the same routine. Get up, get ready, have breakfast (occasionally), try to convince Dustin you can drive him to school, Dustin insisting he likes riding to school–His friend Lucas lives around the corner so they ride most of the way there together anyways–then leaving.
You liked the drive there. The window slightly down to feel the autumn breeze. The soft hum of your favourite music playing on the stereo. Your mum had given you the car once she’d passed. You loved the little cream car, a 1983 Volkswagen 1200. It was still full of all the mixtapes she had made the two of you for the numerous road trips you’d gone on. You still played them from time to time.
This is all I've written so far, and I know I desperately need to word on how to write dialogue, and how to characterise people. I also have the tendency to be repetitive so any tips on how to not do that would be helpful.
But I had fun writing and I hope you have fun reading too!! Thank you :))
summary: in the late night, post-concert rush, you and your best friend share more than just secrets in the dark...
wc: 6.7k
tw: best friends to lovers, loss of virginity (both m and f), explicit smut, p in v protected, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, hand jobs, mentions of bullying, tiny miscommunication, eddie has the nerdiest dirty talk but it works, very retro us of the word porno, sex toy mention, masturbation, fluff fluff fluff,
love notes: hi my munson loving babes, i'm back with another nerdy dirty talk filled oneshot! i wrote this the other day and never posted it. its from combining a couple of older drink order requests that were similar:
i'm a decrepit old lady (lol), so it's been a long time since i've been a virgin, so i hope i did this justice. it's definitely full of fluff and awkwardness
masterlist | consider buying me ko-fi
The motel room you guys could afford was exactly how you'd imagined it would be. Expensive enough to not be infested, but cheap enough that the sheets felt like tissue paper.
Indianapolis had been loud. Loud enough that your ears still rang a little.
Your concert ticket was crumpled on the nightstand next to Eddie’s rings and a couple stray guitar picks he’d emptied from his pocket. Evidence of the night scattered everywhere. A denim jacket tossed over the back of the chair. Your boots kicked off near the door. Two plastic cups from the gas station down the road sweating onto the dresser.
The bed itself was small. Technically speaking, it was a full, but the mattress dipped badly in the middle, which meant there had never really been a question about whether you’d end up sharing space.
Eddie lay on his back beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach. His hair was still a little wild from the humidity outside the venue, curls spreading over the faded motel pillow.
“You’re still smiling,” he said into the dim room.
“I am not.”
“You are,” he insisted, turning his head toward you. “You’ve been smiling since the encore.”
You rolled onto your side to face him, the thin motel blanket shifting between you. “That was a good encore.”
Eddie huffed a soft laugh. “It was an amazing encore.”
For a moment neither of you spoke. The muffled sound of a car passing on the highway filled the silence, headlights briefly sweeping across the ceiling through the gap in the curtains.
You became very aware of how close he was.
Close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows when he squinted at you. Close enough that if either of you moved even a little, your knees would bump under the blanket.
“You know,” Eddie said after a second, voice quieter now, “most people after a concert like that would be out cold.”
“And miss the post-show analysis?” you said. “Never.”
“This is why you’re my favorute,” he murmured.
But he didn’t look away.
The quiet stretched between you, the small motel room seemed to shrink around the bed, until it felt like the rest of the world had slipped somewhere down the highway and left the two of you stranded in the middle of it.
"Well," you finally broke the silence. "As much as I hate that Gareth fractured his ankle, there would have been no way we'd all be able to sleep in this motel room together. So I guess it worked out money wise."
It was supposed to be the three of you on this little weekend road trip, but Gareth had gotten drunk and hopped on a picnic table one too many times before the show and had spent the evening in an emergency room getting a cast. You and Eddie had still gone.
"Yeah well, I came close to getting my own bones broken when he fell on top of me the second time." Eddie rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter.
"Almost had to go all by myself and deal with my metal-induced euphoria alone."
"Perish the thought," Eddie said, a smile touching his lips. "I'm a vital part of your euphoria management system."
You watched the slow way he blinked, the way his lashes swept down against his cheek.
"Eddie," you said, and you didn't know what you were going to say after that, only that you were going to say something.
But he was already moving, shifting onto his side too, facing you fully. The motion sent the mattress dipping again, bringing you even closer. The worn denim of your jeans brushed against the worn denim of his.
“Yeah?” he breathed out.
You opened your mouth to speak but pushed the thought aside and instead blurted out:
"I don't have pajamas."
He gave you a confused look at the weird way you said it but then nodded slowly.
"Me neither."
You shifted your legs a bit, pulling your knees up closer to your body.
"I don't want to sleep in my jeans."
"Yeah, I wasn't planning on that either."
You raise an eyebrow and he goes on. "So...we could sleep in our underwear. I could look away for a second so you can get under the covers first.
You think about the black thong you have on.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not really wearing underwear underwear."
"Uh... what?" He looked lost.
You took a breath.
"I'm wearing a thong."
He didn't say anything at all. Just kind of stared at you like you'd just announced you could fly. Then a slow flush started creeping up his neck.
"Oh," he managed after a solid ten seconds of silence.
"I could use my shirt to cover the top half. But still..." you trailed off. "My ass would be out."
"Yeah... I uh, know how a thong works," he managed.
You just blinked at him. You hadn't meant for the conversation to go in this direction but now it was here and you didn't know how to get it back.
He swallowed, and you watched the movement of his throat in the dim light.
"Okay," he said, after a beat that felt longer than the entire opening act. "I mean, I'm not going to make you sleep in your jeans. That's a special kind of torture. So we can... you know. Do the underwear thing. I'll face the wall. And I swear on all my Judas Priest records I won't turn around."
You searched his face, the earnestness you found there making your chest feel tight.
"Right. Okay."
You each get up from your respective sides and undress. Eddie kept true to his word, but you still felt the heat of knowing he was just a few feet away.
You slip under the thin covers and wait.
"Okay, done. You're good."
He turned around and got in. His briefs were black too, and hung low on his hips. He had also taken his makeshift tank top off and was only in his boxers.
"You're shirtless." You say as he pauses, halfway into the bed.
"Uh... yeah? I don't usually wear a shirt to bed..." He trails off like he's just realized what you'd said. "Is that... is that okay?"
You just nodded.
He slid the rest of the way in and pulled the covers up.
There was a lot less space between you now. You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could see the way the dim light caught the tattoos scattered across his chest.
"You've seen me shirtless before, sweetheart. It's not some revolutionary event," he said, a note of humor in his voice.
"I've never been in a bed with you while you were shirtless. Different experience entirely."
"Right," he said, and then softer, "Well I've never been in bed with a girl and her ass cheeks were out, so I think we're even."
"I told you not to look!" You shrieked, hitting him with a pillow.
"Hey! I said I didn't!" he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm a virgin not a monk, I can visualize what a thong entails."
He says it so casually that you almost don't catch it.
"...What?"
"Okay..." he tries to backtrack. "I don't mean I'm visualizing your ass in the thong. Just an ass. Like a generic woman ass in--"
"You're a virgin?" You cut him off.
The pillow fell from your grasp as you stared at him.
His whole body went tense.
The laugh had vanished from his face. He looked away from you, staring at the water-stained patch on the ceiling. He swallowed hard enough that you could see the muscles in his throat work.
"Uh... yeah." It comes out as a resigned whisper almost. Like, for once, he has nothing in his wordsmith arsenal to deflect.
You were too quiet.
And then your face did a weird thing that you couldn't quite control. Your eyebrows shot up and your lips parted and it wasn't bad. It wasn't mocking or judgmental.
It was just... shocked.
"Really?"
And for some reason, the simple, unadorned disbelief in your voice seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say.
"Jesus, what, is that so hard to believe?" The words came out sharp, stung. He pushed himself up on one elbow, creating a sudden, unwelcome distance between you. "The freak, the dungeon master, the guy who sells drugs to kids isn't exactly a girl's fantasy. Don't tell me you're surprised."
"No! Eddie that's not what I meant at all!" You quickly try to sit up, while still keeping covered as well, but the blanket bunches weirdly around your waist and you feel even more exposed than before. "It's just... you're so..."
"So what?" He was genuinely agitated now, the vulnerable admission curdling into something defensive and angry.
"So... confident," you finished quietly. "You're always so... loud. And you command a room. And you're funny. And... I don't know. I just assumed..."
He stared at you, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. The anger seemed to drain out of him as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deep-seated exhaustion.
"Being able to work a room doesn't mean you know what the hell to do when you're alone in a dark one with someone," he said, the words barely audible.
Silence crashed back into the room. This was heavier, weighted with things unsaid. You reached out, your fingers hovering just above the space between you, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse.
"And, let's be honest, if a girl is alone with me in a dark room, she's more likely to piss herself with the worry I'm going to sacrifice her to Satan, than be wet in any other way."
You scrunch your nose up at his verbiage.
"Okay, one: ew. Two? Not true. Three?" You took a breath, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I'm alone with you in a dark room. Piss free."
He blinked. "Thats different. You're not like, a girl."
It was, in fact, now his turn to say the exact wrong thing. The tension that had just begun to dissolve returned twofold.
Your jaw set. "Right. I'm not. My mistake."
He scrambled, his words tripping over each other. "No, that's not what I-- Fuck. I mean, you're you. You're my friend. It's not... it's not like that. It's safe."
"Wow. Safe. That's every girl's dream. To be the safe, unfuckable friend."
You flopped back onto the pillow, turning your back to him with a huff. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, a thin, flimsy shield. You could feel the heat of anger and embarrassment prickling at your skin.
"Woah, woah, that's not what I meant either! I'm just... bad at this," he pleaded, his voice a strained whisper. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, a careful, hesitant movement. You could feel the warmth of his hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite touching. "I've never talked about this before. I mean, you know damn well none of the Hellfire guys are getting any. And I'm pretty sure they think I'm some kind of dark lord of getting laid. It's just... a lie. A story I tell. It's easier than the truth."
You stayed silent, staring at the ugly floral pattern on the wall. You could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven.
"And you're not... you're not unfuckable," he said, the words so quiet you almost had to strain to hear them. "You're... very fucka- I mean, you're... you know. You're great."
The clumsy, earnest correction almost made you smile. Almost.
"Look at me," he murmured. "Please?"
Slowly, you rolled back over.
His face was a mess of conflicting emotions in the dim light. The defensive sneer was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable.
"'Great' is what a teacher puts on your paper when you get a B+." You say, your voice small.
He let out a shaky breath, a sound that was half-laugh, half-despair. "Okay. You're right. You're not 'great' like a B+." He searched for the right words, his gaze flicking between your eyes. "You're... you're the solo in 'Master of Puppets'. You're the part of a song that's so good it makes you pull the car over. You're... the kind of thing that makes a guy want to learn guitar in the first place."
Your breath caught. That was not what you were expecting.
"Eddie..."
"No, I mean it," he pushed on, a desperate urgency in his tone now. "And being around you is... it's easy. Too easy. And then I get in my head about it. About saying the wrong thing. About being a disappointment. So I deflect. I make stupid jokes. I turn myself into the D&D nerd or the Satanist freak or--"
"I'm a virgin too." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, a quiet confession that hung in the air between you.
The torrent of words from Eddie stopped. His jaw went slack. He stared at you, wide-eyed, as if you'd just confessed to being a secret agent.
"What?" he finally managed to breathe out. "I thought you lost it to that guy from the photography club."
"Tyler?" You couldn't help the small, humorless laugh that escaped. "No. We went on, like, three dates. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat in the back of the movie theater and then practically begged for a handjob in the parking lot. It was... underwhelming."
Eddie was still just staring, processing.
"Shit. Well, now I can tell you that I really hated that guy. For more reasons than just his terrible haircut."
A real smile finally touched your lips at that. "His haircut was pretty bad."
The silence that followed was different. It wasn't heavy or awkward. It was... quiet. A shared space.
"I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed," you admitted, your gaze fixed on a loose thread on the pillowcase. "I figured you like... I don't know, banged girls in your van after shows or something. I felt... left behind. Like everyone was growing up and doing all this stuff and I was just... still me."
"Sweetheart," he said, his voice soft. "I'm far from the van-banging king. I'm the guy who is currently panicking because he's shirtless in a bed with a girl in a thong and doesn't know the social protocol for what to do with his hands."
"So you admit I'm a girl now?" you teased, a glimmer of your usual self returning.
His eyes softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I've unfortunately been way too aware of that distinction for a while now."
"Unfortunately?" You raise a playful eyebrow.
"Because it was a lot easier to think of you as just... you. My friend. My partner in crime. The person I could talk to about whether Kirk Hammett was a better guitarist than Slash without getting a blank stare. Thinking of you as a girl? A girl I'm in bed with? That's... terrifying."
You feel a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the flimsy blanket. "Why terrifying?"
"Because I'm bad at this!" he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely between you. "This entire conversation is a testament to that! I say 'safe' and you hear 'unfuckable.' I say 'girl' and I sound like a caveman. The margin for error here is huge. And the thought of messing this up... with you..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"Messing what up?" you whispered.
His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, and back again. The room suddenly felt a thousand degrees hotter. He swallowed, and the motion was so deliberate, so loaded with unspoken meaning, it made your breath hitch.
"You know what. Don't make me say it," he murmured, his voice raspy.
He was so close now. The dip in the mattress had eliminated all but the slimmest of gaps between you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.
"I think I want you to say it," you breathed back.
"Not going to." His smile was back, but it was different now. Shyer. More hesitant. But no less real. "I've said enough stupid things for one night."
Instead of explaining more, he started to lean in.
Slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away, to turn back to the wall, to put a stop to it.
But you didn't stop it.
Not when his hand came up to cradle your face.
Not when he used his thumb to gently trace your jawline, the rough callus on his finger a pleasant rasp against your skin.
Not when he finally, finally closed the last remaining distance between you and his lips met yours.
It wasn't a perfect kiss. It was a little clumsy at first, a misalignment of angles that ended in a soft, wet press against the corner of your mouth.
You giggled a little, ready to say something cheeky, but he didn't give you the chance. He tilted his head and tried again.
And the second one was perfect.
It was soft and tentative, the taste of a gas station slushie. The sigh he let out against your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, settled right in your core.
His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss deepened, a slow, gentle exploration that sent shivers down your spine.
You found your own courage then, your hand coming up to rest on the warm skin of his chest. He let out a soft hum of encouragement, and you let your fingers trail over the lines of his tattoos, the dark ink a stark contrast to his skin.
"Touch all you want." He murmurs against your lips before pressing another quick kiss to your lips and pulling back just enough to look at you.
His eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils blown wide. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched your own.
"Okay." You say quietly, letting your hand wander.
"Okay," he repeated, a dazed sort of smile on his face. "Okay."
He was still looking at you, a deep searching look that seemed to be trying to memorize every detail of your face.
"You're staring."
"Can't help it," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your hands are all over him now, touching anything they can reach. His shoulders, his biceps, the small of his back. And he was doing the same. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the soft skin of your thighs above the line of the thong.
He froze for a second when his fingers brushed against the string of your underwear.
You hold back a small laugh as your hand travels to grab his ass a little, the soft cotton of his briefs giving way to the firm muscle beneath.
"Hey!" He yelped, jumping a little.
"You said I could touch all I wanted." You say with a sly grin. "Don't be shy."
He stared at you for a second before a slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah, okay. Fair's fair."
His hands grew bolder then, sliding down to cup the fat of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was the only thing separating you.
He kisses you harder this time, a hungry, desperate kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His hips rocked against yours, a slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping into his mouth.
He was hard. You could feel him.
"Eddie," you breathed out, his name a plea on your lips.
"That okay?" His voice soft as his lips travel over your jaw and down your neck. "How I'm touching you?"
You could only nod, words failing you. He seemed to take that as an invitation to continue. He nipped at the sensitive skin of your throat, making you whimper. His hands were still on your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer as he rolls his hips against yours.
You were the one to reach for the hem of your shirt.
He pulls away, breathless.
"Wait. You sure?" He's searching your face again, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You don't have to."
You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Do you... not want to see me?" The words were small, laced with an insecurity you hated.
He looked like you'd just slapped him.
"No! God, no." He shook his head, a look of pure panic on his face. "That's not... I mean, I do. I really, really do. I just... I don't want you to think you have to. Because of... all this."
He gestures to his erection and then to the two of you in the bed. "He's kind of an idiot, and he has terrible ideas about timing."
"I kinda like his timing." You said, your hands back on his chest. "And I want to." You slowly lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor with your jeans.
Eddie went completely still, his eyes wide, fixed on your chest.
"I knew you didn't wear a bra. I could tell," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "When you were jumping during the concert."
"Really?" You couldn't help but feel a little pleased.
"Oh yeah." He reached out a hesitant hand, like he was afraid you might disappear. "I was trying very hard to be a gentleman and not stare. But I failed. Miserably."
You let out a soft laugh as his fingers finally made contact, tracing the curve of your breast. His thumb was quick to find your nipple, brushing over it in a way that sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to your core.
"Look at these pretty things." He murmured as he leaned down to take one in his mouth.
The feel of his tongue, hot and wet, against your sensitive skin was enough to make you arch your back, a gasp torn from your lips. He used his free hand to grip you ass hard, pulling you on top of him while his lips still wrapped around your nipple.
You were straddling him now, your knees on either side of his hips. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was soaked, the friction of him against you, even through the layers of clothes, was intoxicating.
You couldn't help the way your hips started to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that had you both gasping for breath.
"Can't believe you're wet for me," he said, his voice laced with a kind of awestruck disbelief. He lifted you up and adjusted you to where he could feel you better, a small moan leaving his lips at the contact.
"Can't believe you're this big," you shot back, more of a sigh than a statement.
"Yeah? You like that?" The words were a low growl against your skin as he lavished your other nipple with attention.
"Mhm..." You could only manage a small hum, your mind going hazy with pleasure.
He's so hard. So hard that it's almost painful. You needed to feel him. All of him. You started to reach for the waistband of his briefs, but he stopped you, his hand covering yours.
"Hey, no." His breath hitched. "Not yet. Let me... let me do something for you first."
Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting you, maneuvering you until you were on your back and he was settled between your thighs. He pushed your legs apart with a gentle pressure of his hands. And then he was leaning down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin.
You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. He moved higher, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you desperately wanted him.
"You really want to?" Your own surprise at the question was evident.
"I've been dreaming about this," he admitted, his voice a raw, honest confession. "For a long, long time."
And then he was there, his tongue sliding against the fabric of your thong. The wet heat of him through the thin lace was almost enough to send you over the edge.
"Oh god... no wonder girls like this in pornos." Your legs start to shake a little as your hands find their way into his hair.
"You watch pornos?" He looks up at you from between your legs, a slow grin spreading across his face. "My dirty girl."
He didn't wait for an answer, just hooked his fingers into the sides of your thong and pulled it down your legs. He tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed somewhere in the vicinity of your discarded shirt.
"I feel like I'm supposed to pray to this," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Like a holy relic."
You let out a shaky laugh. "D&D references aren't exactly what I'm looking for right now, Eddie."
"No? So you don't like my DM voice? 'You enter a beautiful, damp cavern... the walls are slick with moisture...'" He was on you then, his tongue finally, finally making contact with your pussy. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, you couldn't help but cry out.
His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with a desperate, hungry curiosity.
"Guide me," he mumbled against your folds. "I don't know what you like. Tell me."
"Your... your tongue," you gasped out. "On my clit. When I... touch myself I just focus there... "
He hummed in acknowledgement, and then he was following your directions, his tongue finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a slow, deliberate pressure. He was a quick study, and it wasn't long before you were writhing beneath him, your hands fisted in his hair, your hips bucking against his face.
"Mmm, feels so much better than my fingers." You whined, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. He was good. So, so good. Better than you had ever imagined. And you had imagined this. A lot.
He pulled back for a second, his chin shining with your arousal. "Show me how you do it," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Show me what you like."
You hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability of the request hitting you. But then you looked at him, at the open, eager expression on his face, and you couldn't deny him anything.
You reached down between your legs, your fingers finding your clit easily. You started to rub slow circles, the motion practiced, familiar.
"God..." He groans. "You ever think about me? When you do this?"
Your fingers stutter. You look down at him, at the hope and the lust warring in his eyes.
"Only since last year," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "When you wore that ripped t-shirt to the fair. I could see your... happy trail..."
He just stared, completely floored.
"Fucking Christ..." He pinched his eyes shut as he palmed himself through his boxers before he dived back in with a new enthusiasm.
He watched you for a moment, and then he joined in, his tongue prodding your entrance and licking at your fingers as you pleasured yourself. It was a messy, clumsy, and incredibly erotic sight.
"Fuck, Eddie, I'm so close," you moaned, your hips moving in a frantic rhythm against his tongue and your own hand.
He redoubled his efforts, nudging your hands away with his nose and sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. It was the final push you needed, and you came with a cry, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.
He didn't stop, not right away. He kept licking you, his tongue gentle now, soothing you through the aftershocks. It was as if he just loved your taste, greedy for more. Finally, he pulled back, a look of pure, unadulterated pride on his face.
He crawled up your body and kissed you then, a messy kiss that tasted of your release.
"Damn, I'm gonna get addicted to that," he murmured against your lips.
You just hummed in response, your body still buzzing with pleasure. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, a demanding presence.
"Let me..." you started, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his briefs. "Let me return the favor."
"Yeah?" His eyebrows raise.
You answered by tugging the briefs down, freeing him. He kicked them off the rest of the way, and then he was completely naked, the dim light of the motel room casting him in a warm glow. He was beautiful.
He knelt between your legs, giving you a perfect view. He was long and thick, the head flushed a dark pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
"I've never seen a real one in person," you confessed, your voice filled with awe.
He flushed a little, a rosy blush spreading across his chest. "Well, it's not going to win any awards. It's pretty standard issue."
"It's bigger than my dildo," you blurted out, then immediately regretted it.
Eddie's head tilted, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "You have a dildo?" He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm learning a lot about your sexy habits tonight."
"I'm a virgin, not a nun." You said defensively, a call back to his confession earlier.
"I know. I'm not judging. I'm celebrating." He kissed you again, a quick, hard press of his lips. "Now, were you about to do something?"
You reached out and wrapped your hand around him. He was hot and hard, the smooth skin a stark contrast to how rigid he was. He let out a sharp hiss of breath, his hips jerking forward.
You started to stroke him, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, the way you'd read about in a magazine.
"Jesus, that's... yeah," he groaned, his head falling back. "Just like that."
You watched him, mesmerized by the way his face contorted with pleasure. The way he was so open and unashamed of it.
"You know, when you said the thing about your... toy," he said, his breath hitching as you ran your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. "Am I really bigger?"
You smiled, a genuine, sly smile. "Considerably."
"Fuck." He seemed genuinely pleased by this information. "That's... good to know. For my ego."
He watched you for a few more moments, your hand working him with a steady rhythm. Then he reached down, stilling your movements.
"Okay, stop," he breathed, his voice strained. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that."
You looked up at him, a question in your eyes.
"I want..." He swallowed hard. "I wanna be inside you."
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.
"We won't be virgins anymore." You say, soft and immediately feeling stupid for it. Of course he knew that.
His expression softened. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I know." He was so close, you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest.
"I want that," you said, your voice firm. "With you."
He let out a long, shuddering breath, as if he'd been holding it for an eternity.
"Is it weird I'm nervous? I feel like that's weird for a guy." He admitted.
"It's not weird." You promised. "I don't think nerves are gendered."
He kissed you then, a slow, deep kiss that was full of all the things he couldn't seem to say. All the want and the hope and the fear. He only broke the kiss, to reach over the other side of the bed and fumbled in the pocket of his discarded jeans.
"I swear I keep this in my wallet all the time. Not because I was expecting... well this." He said as he pulled out a little foil square.
The crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound in the room. He tore it open with shaky fingers and rolled the condom on with an efficiency that belied his earlier fumbling.
He settled back over you, his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in.
"I can't believe I'm going to have sex with you." You whisper, looking into those consuming brown eyes, your fingers tracing the dimples that start to form when he smiles down at you.
"Me either," he said, and there was such a raw, honest wonder in his voice that it made your chest ache. "If I'm being totally honest? I'm pretty sure this is a lucid dream I'm having after eating all that bad gas station pizza."
You laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small room.
"It's real." You promised.
"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay."
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds. He paused, looking at you one last time, giving you a final chance to change your mind.
You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
He pushed a little inside you with a slow, steady pressure.
It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation. A stretching, aching fullness that bordered on pain. You couldn't help the small whimper that escaped your lips.
He stopped immediately, his whole body tensing. "You okay? Am I hurting you?"
"Are you all the way in?" You asked, your breath hitching.
He shook his head. "Not even close. You okay?"
You nod. "It's a lot. Keep going."
He pushed a little deeper, a slow, inch-by-inch invasion that made you feel like your body was being remade to fit him.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and he kissed up your neck and over your face. Each new press of his lips a welcome distraction from the dull ache between your legs.
He finally was all the way in, his hips flush against yours. He stilled, giving you a moment to adjust.
"Okay." You breathe out.
"You okay?" He repeated against your lips, breathless from his own pleasure.
"Yeah just... don't move too much yet."
"You feel so... incredible. It's..." He trails off as he shifts a bit, pulling just out a little and pushing back in.
You both groan. The pain started to fade then, replaced by a different kind of ache. A deep, throbbing need.
"Okay," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Okay, you can move."
He started to move then, a slow, gentle rocking motion that was worlds away from the frantic rutting from earlier. Each thrust was a hesitant exploration.
You moved with him, your hips rising to meet his, your body learning the rhythm of his.
"Sweetheart..." It came out as a mix of a groan and a whine, you've never heard him sound sexier.
He started to move faster, a little harder, his control starting to fray. He was panting against your neck, his breath hot and damp. His hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass.
"Eddie... talk to me..." You whine as he hits a spot deep inside you that made you see stars.
"What do you want me to say?" he gasped, his hips snapping against yours.
"Anything... dirty talk... something... my ears..."
He let out a shaky laugh, a sound that was half-arousal, half-nervousness before leaning down into your ear. "You feel so good. So tight. All I've thought about for the last year is what it would feel like to be inside you."
You moaned. You felt your pussy clench around him, your body responding to the dirty words. He pulled back to watch your face, a look of pure, unadulterated lust on his face.
"Yeah? Want me to keep going? Tell you how I've jacked off to the thought of your tits?"
You could only nod, your words lost in a haze of pleasure.
"Or maybe it was your ass. In those tight jeans you wear. God, the things I wanted to do to you." He punctuated the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out. "Wanna kiss you until you're dripping for me. And I did tonight. Dripping all over my tongue."
His words were filthier than you ever would have imagined, and it was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"You're so wet for me. You're taking my cock so well." He groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You're all I want. Just... you."
The last words were a raw, honest confession that went straight to your heart. You were the one to kiss him then, a desperate, messy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and need.
"Touch yourself again," he practically begged against your lips. "Please, I love seeing it." He didn't want to finish before you did. And he also liked watching.
You didn't hesitate, your hand snaking down between your bodies to find your clit. You started to rub in tight, fast circles, the dual stimulation of him inside you and your fingers on your clit almost too much to bear.
"Its too good, Eddie." You whine, a high pitched desperate sound he's never heard you make.
"Let go," he commanded, his voice rough and hoarse. "Let me feel your pussy wreck me."
His words were the final push you needed. You came with a strangled cry, your body arching off the bed, your inner walls clamping down on him. The force of your orgasm was enough to send him over the edge too, and with a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hips pistoning into you as he emptied himself into the condom.
He collapsed next to you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. The room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths and the ancient motel air conditioner.
After a long moment, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked at you, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face.
"If you don't want to be my girlfriend after this, I think I might actually die."
You laugh, reaching up to push a damp curl away from his forehead. "Well, we can't have that."
He leaned down and kissed you, a soft, sweet kiss that was a world away from the frantic, hungry kisses from before.
"So... is that a yes?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Are you going to go easier on me during Hellfire?" You counter.
"Never." He grins. "You have to earn your honor just like everyone else."
"Then yes," you said, and the word felt like a promise. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend."
He looked so happy you thought your heart might burst. He kissed you again, and again, and again, as if he couldn't get enough of you.
"Gonna 'kiss me till I'm dripping'?" You tease, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbones.
"Very funny. Give me ten minutes and another slice of that gas station pizza," he mumbled against your skin, making you laugh.
He eventually got up to dispose of the condom, and you took the opportunity to look at him. Really look at him. The long, lean lines of his body, the scattering of tattoos, the way his hair curled in all directions. He was yours.
He came back to the bed and pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. You could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
"I'm never going to get tired of this," he said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. "Of you."
You tilted your head up to look at him. "Me neither."
You lay like that for a while, a comfortable, easy silence settling over you. The events of the night replayed in your mind, not just the concert or the sex, but everything beautiful that had happened in this small, ugly motel room.
☆ — you are in love
a spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader social media au
update 1 — 22nd of march, 2026
spidey!steve smau intro/masterlist
a/n: moving this fic from twitter to tumblr genuinely might be one of the most tedious tasks ever omg.. i had to get all these screenshots from my phone, add them to my google drive, download them onto my laptop from the google drive, then add each picture one by one and go searching through the folder of 177 images to find each tweet because they're all out of order omg.. anyway i hope u guys enjoy!! i'll get the next update up soon!!
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3
just watched the first episode of heartbreak high s3, and i can’t stop thinking about the scene between amerie and noah when they’re studying together and he finds out she’s cheating with all the notes on her arms, stomach and thighs..
because imagine this with keys, OH MY GOD. you’re studying for your final exams together at college and he figures out you’re cheating like that and then he just can’t concentrate anymore.
contains: fluff,light angst,friends to lovers,use of y/n,mentions of alcohol,yearning!!!
summary: You never meant to get close to Steve Harrington. But somewhere between coworkers and best friends,your relationship turns into something more that neither of you name yet. Until one kiss changes everything.
words: 3k
From CeCe: hii this is my very first fic!!i apologize for any mistakes,english is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it!!
You've been stuck with Steve Harrington since the summer of 85. Since You got a job at Scoops Ahoy in the new mall and the king of Hawkins High happened to be your coworker.Well,after finding out about alternate dimensions,demogorgons,crazy russians that tortured you,Steve,and your other coworker Robin and a giant meat flesh that killed the Hargrove boy right in front of you? Yeah....You were stuck with both Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.
It was a strange friendship,the three of you were so different but also the same,if it makes sense. When Family Video came around,it wasn’t even a question. All three of you applied. It was so fun being with your best friends every day.Pissing Keith off to the point where he threatened to fire all three of you,laughing with Robin when Steve tried flirting with girls but instead scared them off,teasing Robin with Steve about Vickie. After almost 2 years of knowing these two,you loved them. They were your best friends and you never had a friendship like this. Robin is your person. She is the most funny,chaotic and loud person you've met. Steve teases you both for rambling at the same time.While with Steve though... It's different,after four years of highschool where you avoided him as much as you could,not wanting to ever be associated with King Steve. Ever since finding out you will work with him at Scoops Ahoy,you tried to find that jerk from highschool who would make fun of everyone,but you couldn't find him.
All you saw was a guy who only hung out with 13 year olds,would give free samples to little kids,would always cover for you,and made the dumbest jokes you ever heard. And the most kissable lips and beautiful puppy eyes. But you didn't have enough time to think of those since the Russians came around . And you shoved that thought far away and never thought of it again. Now,after two years of being friends,you loved him as a friend. But not the kind of love you had for Robin or any other of your friends. With Steve,it was something fragile,quiet. He would look at you with those stupid brown eyes as asking "are you okay?". Everywhere you went he would guide you with a hand on your lower back. Even in a room full of people,Steve’s eyes were always on you,checking on you,observing you.
But nothing went past Nosy Robin,so of course she pointed it out. A normal shift one evening and she just dropped the bomb on you. She was at the counter while you sorted through tapes on the floor. Steve was in the back room,having his lunch.It was quiet,but a comforting type of quiet,not awkward "Hey," she called your name,as you already prepared yourself for what crazy thing she would say. You hum in response. "Ive noticed something" . You raise one eyebrow "Go on..." "Ive noticed the way Steve looks at you" she says with a teasing smirk on her face. You freeze,placing the tapes back. "What are you talking about? He looks at me in the same way everybody does". She snorts."Whatever helps you sleep at night" .You get up from the pile of the tapes and approach her "Robs,drop it,stop being stupid"."But it's true! He looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars too!" You didn't have time to answer, because Steve appeared from the backroom,just finished his lunch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand "Who looks at her like she hung the moon?". Robin grunts seeing how clueless both of you are and you just roll your eyes and go back to the pile of tapes waiting to get organized. You organized them without thinking,automatically.
All you could think about was every little thing Steve did toward you. Robin planted that thought in your mind again.You tried to place when exactly did you and Steve slip into these couple habits. You knew each others exact coffee order,he knows how you like your burger at Benny’s (extra pickles),you know each others favorite snacks.You remembered the movie nights,when robin would just go home after the movie ended,but somehow most of the time you fell asleep,your head leaning on Steve s shoulder,it was like your bodies were two magnets,even sleeping,your body knew to pull toward him. Your hand would grip his shirt. And Steve wouldn't even breathe,not wanting to wake you up. Even if you are a heavy sleeper,you can swear that one night you felt Steve’s hand slip under your shirt,tracing lazy patterns across your spine. Or one night when he kissed the top of your head before closing the tv. You remembered every hangout with the others. Every time,even if there was also Eddie,Jonathan and Nancy, Steve always ended up next to you,thighs pressed together,whispering jokes in your ear making you chuckle.
You remember one time perfectly,even if you were drunk. It was a New years party at Vickie's. You all went there, Vickie and Robin,Nancy and Jonathan and....You and Steve. Not as a couple though. You wore a purple sparkly dress,just below your knee. You took your time on your make up and hair,because this year was one of the best years you had in a long time. Yeah,you went through a lot of crazy shit with this little strange family of 13 year olds and people from highschool. But you met your best friends for life. And all of you deserved to have some fun without worrying on new years night. Steve picked you up with Robin.You had so much fun,you danced all night,drank a bit too much. You danced with Nancy and Robin,with Steve.You even convinced Jonathan to dance.At midnight,you glanced,on your right Vickie was kissing Robin,on your left Jonathan was kissing Nancy. Everyone around was happy and shouting. You shook your head and smiled at your friends. Then you felt Steve's presence next to you,because somehow you always felt it was him. You looked up at him and smiled "Happy new year,Stevie". He could see you were a bit tipsy and slurring the words. You rested your head on his chest,hearing his heartbeat and he went still before wrapping an arm around you and kissing the top of your head "Happy new year to you,angel" . You looked up at him and couldn't help but smile. You were drunk and happy to be around the people you love. And you felt hypnotized by those big doe eyes,so you stood on your tippy toes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. His eyes widened but he smiled down at you . After that you don't remember much. Just Steve carrying you to your bed with a loud robin,who he whisper-yelled to " be quiet,you're waking her up!" before placing you on your bed. He took off your heels,placing a glass of water and some tylenol on your nightstand and pulling the covers on you. You stirred and he shushed you " Go to sleep,sweetheart,you're home ".
You smiled to yourself remembering how brave you were for kissing him on the cheek even if you were nervous.You think about all the times Steve has been there for you.When you got stood up by your date and cried in his car. He drove with one hand,the other resting on your thigh,letting you know that he was there for you,no matter what. He took you to your favorite diner and ordered the chocolate milkshake you always order. He sat next to you on the booth ,while You cried on his chest,his shirt ruined by your tears. you mumbled an apology but he shook his head “Don’t .Don’t think about my shirt,angel”.
You forgot that you were on fucking Family video s floor,organizing the horror section. Until a voice bought you out of your mind. Steve's voice,of course. He was wearing a tight grey shirt,making you realize just how big his biceps were. He had the stupid family video vest on,which made him look even hotter than the sailor outfit.And also made you want to grab him by the vest and pull him in the back room. You looked up at him,his lips stretched into a thin smile. “Hey,what are you working with here? Just let me do it and go on your break,angel” he said with a soft voice,the kind of softness that you were the only one getting from him “No,no, you don't have to”. He sat down next to you on the carpeted floor. Steve acted normal,he asked you about your day,told you what he had for lunch,about the customer who yelled at him. You were listening,but you didn’t talk as much as usual.Whenever you were with Steve,you turned into a chatterbox.But now you were quiet,because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Robin said.And of course Steve noticed,he always notices everything. He calls your name,two times before your gaze turns back to him as you mumble a “sorry”. His golden eyes dissected you , seeming to examine every quirk of your expression. “Talk to me,what’s wrong?”
You tried acting like everything was alright “Nothing’s wrong.” He exhaled on his nose “Y/n,dont lie to me. You’re re thinking,i know something's up,so?”. You shrugged it off,saying that you couldn't sleep last night and just were tired. After closing,Steve wanted to take you home since Robin left to go meet Vickie,but again you refused and just walked.
On your way home,you pass by Eddie s house.Eddie wasn't as close to you as he was with the others,but he would always be there for parties,would sometimes hang out and he had good weed. He was a chill guy,you liked that it was easy talking with him. He was sat on the porch smoking a joint . You smiled and sent a quick wave his way. “Ah! there she is,how have you been,doll?.” You make small talk while you sit on his porch. You take a hit from his joint,the smoke going up. You know you could ask him anything and he wouldn't judge you. “Hey eds? has Steve been…different?”. His face gets serious,his brows furrowing. “What do you mean,honey?Different how?”.As you told him what Robin said about Steve,the reaction that you didn’t expect was the pure confusion written all over his face. “Wait… you and Harrington…weren’t you two already dating?”. Your brain stopped for a second ,what did Eddie Munson know about you and Steve? “Man, I thought you were like super serious about each other”. He shrugs his shoulders and takes another hit. You decided that you couldn’t do this tonight,so you went home but Eddie insisted on driving you back home 2 streets over because it was already freezing outside.
When you got out of his car and waved at him going back to your front door,what you didn't know was that Steve sat in his red beamer waiting for you to get home. At the sight of you with Eddie,he clenched his fists, a silent declaration of his jealousy . He hated how Eddie earned that bright smile of yours. Why couldn’t you give him the time of day?
When he got in his empty home,he sat on the edge of his bed,lighting a cigarette which he hadn’t done in a long time.Since Nancy broke up with him .He tried desperately to fight the tears that were pushing against the water gates. He would do anything to make you his girl,he would do anything for you period. You were kind,so kind for your own good, you were funny,the most funny person he has ever met. You're literally a chatterbox,and he loves that about you with everything inside him. He loves when you talk his ear off about things he doesn't really care about,but he could listen to your voice forever. Especially your laugh. He swears that's the best thing he's ever heard,it's like heavenly music for his ears. And it wasn't your body that made him fall in love with you.Hell,you were both dressed in sailors when you first met properly. It was your eyes. Since the day he saw you in Scoops,he's been imagining your kiss and his lips pressed against yours every single day.But the thought that he failed,that he didn’t make you his girl, crept in.
You were now laughing and getting dropped off by another man.Hell,by Eddie fucking Munson.That motherfucker knew how he felt for you,even if he didnt talk to him about it,everyone knew,everyone except you.
The next week everything went normal,except for you and Steve. You kept avoiding him,not spending the usual time together. You did it just because you were confused,with his feelings and your own. You thought maybe distancing yourself would help so you could figure out what you really felt for Steve. But in this time,Steve was convinced,you got with Eddie and he lost you forever. Not only did he lose the girl he was in love with,but he lost his best friend.
The past week drove him crazy,at how little you talked. He would fall asleep thinking about your voice,when you called him “Stevie”. “Stevie can you drive me to work”, “Stevie can you help me with these boxes”,”Stevie let's go to the diner”,”Stevie can you give me your walkman”. He would give you anything, he would do anything for you. Just ask for it and he'll give it to you. Your laugh is what plays the most in his mind. He goes to sleep and wakes up to that sound. That's why he gave you his walkman,he didn’t need it.His music was your voice. he missed your touch,the way your fingers would fix his hair,when you would rest your head on his shoulder,when you held hands in crowded spaces and your soft hands fit perfectly with his. you fit perfectly next to him.It was like you were made for each other.
And he especially thought about the new year kiss.How beautiful you looked,how warm was your hand on his chest,how you had glassy eyes and you slurred your words. He swears himself, for not kissing you that night,after your lips were on the corner of his lips.He doesn’t know if you meant to kiss him on the cheek or on the lips since you were tipsy. But that's why he didn't do it,as beautiful as you were and as much as he wished to taste your lips,you were drunk. He couldn’t take advantage of that,he didn’t want you to regret it the next day. And he wouldn’t try to sabotage whatever you had with Eddie,he would continue to be your friend,that’s what he's always been to you. What he doesn’t get is why you're not talking to him as much, but little did he know that you decided to face your feelings for him. But he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore,he was tired of acting like you were just his friend,when he feels like his heart skips a beat whenever you’re near him.
The next day at family video went normal,even if his heart was in his throat and the words danced on the tip of his tongue. You made small talk with him,laughed and teased Robin,and went on your lunch break. By the time it was closing time,Robin already left to meet Vickie for the second time this week and you were ready to leave too,until Steve called after you. “I need to talk to you,please”. You didn’t know what this was about,but you were nervous. “What’s up?”
“Listen,I don't know what i ve done wrong for you to avoid me and I'm so sorry but I need to get this off my chest even if I know about you and Eddie-" And that was the moment you needed to stop his rambling “Steve,what are you talking about? There is nothing going on with me and Eddie!"
“But… he drove you home last week” he muttered confused.
“Yeah, because I was freezing!There's nothing going on between me and Eddie. I just stopped by to…to ask him about you,about why you've been distant with me”
A wave of relief washed over his face and took a step forward “Angel,i can’t hold this in any longer,i’m in love with you,and i know that we re just friends and i hate myself for ruining our friendship but you’re in my head all the time and it’s killing me,this week s been hell for me” he was rambling again,desperate.
You froze, is this a stupid prank? Were you dreaming? There was no way that your best friend that you've had feelings for,just confessed his love for you.This must be a dream your brain made up from all the exhaustion
So what better way to test it other than kissing him?
You cupped his face and pulled him closer until his lips crashed over yours. He didn’t kiss you back at first,but then you felt him smile into the kiss. It wasn't rushed or anything like you imagined ,it was gentle and soft, kissing like you wanted to learn each other.
His hands went on your waist,pulling you closer and yours moved to pull at the little curls forming on the nape of his neck.
You stayed like that for a while,deepening the kiss. For how long you don’t know,maybe an hour or one minute,but it seemed like the worls stopped when you kissed Steve Harrington.
When you pulled back to catch your breath,his lips chased yours,already missing the warmth and sweetness of your lips.
You were both smiling and your foreheads were touching.
“Was it worth the wait?” you giggle.
“I should have done that a lot sooner” while giving you one more kiss.
Back in high school,you hated King Steve.
But now,after getting to know his soul,you can’t even remember how that felt like.
Funny how that feels like a different lifetime now.
Because right now,standing in front of you, is just Steve,hopelessly in love.
And somewhere between ice cream and movie tapes, you fell in love with your best friend.
My bedsheets are ablaze
I've screamed his name
Building up like waves
Crashing over my grave
You can't stop thinking about Steve Harrington when having sex with your boyfriend.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 7k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, female masturbation, oral (fem receiving), p in v, protected penetrative sex, dirty talk, pet names, reader being a bit of a perv and listens to steve having sex, lots of fantasying about steve, best friend/roommate!steve, use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader, emotional cheating (i guess??), inclusion of ronance because why not!! eddie is also alive and well and also bi!!
author's note: it is finally here!! i've been banging on about this fic a lot and i'm glad that part one is here. you guys have been just as excited about this fic as me so i’m so happy that i’m finally sharing it as i thought of this idea in january!! full transparency, this was meant to be just one part fic but then i realised that i wanted much more of a story and sooooo here we are!
rec account: @moonstone-recommends
to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page
“Oh—fuck—I’m so close, babe. Tell me you’re close, tell me you’re—”
You wished you could say you were. You wished your moans falling from your lips were genuine—that you were right there with your boyfriend but you’d be lying. You weren’t even close.
“Yeah, super close,” you tell him in a not so breathless voice.
James was too busy chasing his release to even notice.
You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you knew it was over before it had even begun for you.
Your boyfriend spills into the condom, with a loud grunt of your name—pressing his face right into the crook of your neck as his hips stuttered against yours.
You keep your hands on his shoulders, trying to keep the disappointed look off your face as James pulls his softening cock out of you.
James was—well, he was objectively a perfect boyfriend. He was kind, attentive, always there when you needed him. He loved your family and in return, your family loved him. But in the bedroom? He left you pretty high and dry.
He never took his time—seemed to look at foreplay as an obligation rather than something to be enjoyed. He never spent more than a few minutes with his mouth between your legs. He never let you set the pace, never made sex about you. It was always about him. And after care? Well, that was a foreign concept to James. He tended to fall asleep less than five minutes after finishing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about your pleasure because he did—for all of ten seconds before his own needs started to outweigh yours. He’d press his fingers inside you and the moment it started to feel good for you—when you would let out a few soft moans or start to move your hips, he’d take it as a job well done. Or worse—instead he would start pumping his fingers too quickly, pistoning them in and out of you as fast as he could. As if it did anything for you.
You had tried to tell him this—gently, of course. Trying to let him know what felt good for you but he just wouldn’t retain the information. Or perhaps, when it came to your pleasure over his, he didn’t want to listen. You had tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t the latter.
As James rolled over in bed—you felt that familiar sense of guilt build. The one that reminded you of the date he had taken you on tonight. How much money the fancy dinner had cost and how he had refused to let you pay for it. The guilt was a reminder how lucky you were to have a guy like James. In the past, guys weren't so great to you. In fact, you had dated some downright assholes. Guys who weren’t kind. Guys who didn’t respect you. Hell, some guys you were sure didn’t even really like you. And James was great. Really—he was. You were sure you loved him—sure that he was the kind of man you could marry. The kind of man who was a smart, sensible choice.
But as you looked over at the man you should love unconditionally—already falling asleep with the condom still on—you were beginning to question whether smart and sensible was the right choice.
A year ago, you had been in dire need of a roommate. Your previous roommate, Rachel, had moved out after landing her dream job in a different city. You had been happy for her but it had left you with a two bed apartment that you could not afford on your own.
James hadn’t wanted to move in at that point—you had only been together for a few months back then and neither of you were ready to take that big step yet. And so, you were without a roommate and a monthly rent that was haemorrhaging money from you.
That was until your co-worker Robin Buckley told you about Steve Harrington.
“Wait, Steve as in Steve?” You had asked her, a skeptical look on your face. “As in your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend—that Steve?”
Robin had rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the mug of coffee she had been in the middle of making. The sound of Every Breath You Take by The Police drifting into the radio station kitchen from the booth. You still had two minutes and a couple of ad breaks before you needed to be back inside for the remainder of the Rockin’ Robin breakfast show. You were tired from the early morning but mostly, you were stressed out about your current living situation and Robin could tell.
“Yes—that Steve,” she says, stirring in an unholy amount of sugar. “C’mon, it’s not weird. We’re like best friends. I can vouch for him. I’m like ninety eight percent sure he isn’t a murderer.”
You grimace a little, tired eyes flickering over to Robin. “Ninety eight percent isn’t enough for me.”
Robin huffs, turning to face you fully now with her hands on her hips. “C’mon (y/n)—you trust me right? You can trust him.”
You think about it, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet.
“But he’s a guy, Robs,” you say finally. “I don’t want to live with a guy.”
Robin lets out a snort of laughter despite herself.
“Point taken,” she says before looking at you again carefully. “Just—just think about it, yeah? His parents just kicked him out and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s been sleeping on my couch for the past week and I gotta say, I don’t think it’s good for mine and Nance’s sex life if her ex-boyfriend is snoring in the other room every night.”
You falter—make the mistake of looking at her face—at her big blue eyes that looked just the right amount of pleading to make you reconsider.
“I’ll think about it,” you told her.
Steve had moved in that Friday.
The first week had been a little awkward—tiptoeing around each other in the hallway and trying to keep out of each other’s space. But after Steve had returned from picking up the last few bits from his parents house—coming back empty handed with red rimmed eyes—you had wordlessly handed him a bowl of homemade macaroni and cheese and suggested watching a movie together.
After that, you stopped tiptoeing.
And living with him? It was pretty great. He was surprisingly neat and an excellent cook. He always took the initiative to go out and do the food shopping when you were running low on the necessities. He didn’t mind that you had way too many houseplants, that the refrigerator had too many magnets on it or that the couch was baby pink—Steve was just happy to be living with you.
Somewhere between making coffees for each other in the morning and watching old movies together on the couch—you had formed a friendship that was built out of a genuine connection to each other rather than out of convenience like it had with Rachel. You had even finally accepted Robin’s offer of going out with her friends now that you lived with Steve. You had met her girlfriend Nancy in the past but Jonathan Byers and Eddie Munson had been complete mysteries to you. They turned out to be just as Robin had described—Jonathan a little quiet but once you got to know him wouldn’t shut up about his short films when you asked how they were going. And Eddie was—well, Eddie was the kind of person who people noticed when he walked into a room.
In time, they had met James. You had a feeling that they didn’t think much of him. The way Eddie rolled his eyes when James started talking about sports. How Robin would yawn when he bought up his job as a stock broker. How Nancy would bristle when James tried to explain the stock market to her as though she was stupid. How Jonathan would go quiet around him. How Steve glared at James when he would talk over you and would interject to say “actually, (y/n) was talking”.
And so, you had never told your friends about your borderline terrible sex life. Never told them that James had only made you come once. Never told them you had to get yourself off in the bathroom after he had gone to sleep. And you probably never would tell them.
“You know what I love?” Eddie asks the group one Friday night at your and Steve’s local bar. It was grimy, located only a few yards from your apartment—hence why it was your local haunt—but it was yours. Warts and all.
“Weed?” suggests Jonathan.
Eddie clicks his fingers, smiling at Jonathan.
“You know me, Byers,” Eddie says but shakes his head. “But no—that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Something Eddie Munson loves,” Robin muses, tapping the table gently as she considers the question.
“D&D?” Steve puts forward.
“Nancy’s mom?” You say with a wry smile—Nancy shooting you a glare as Steve tries to hide his laughter.
“That deli shop by the record store that is totally going to get shut down for health violations?” Robin offers.
Eddie groans, looking pained as he looks over at Robin.
“Why do you have to remind me?”
“Eddie, that place has given you food poisoning like five times,” Nancy points out.
“And it was worth it. Every damn time.”
You laugh, smiling at Eddie’s dramatics. Sometimes you wondered why he had never considered theatre.
“So what is it you love Eddie?” Steve asks, leaning back in the booth beside you. His arm resting behind your head—comfortable, easy, just like it always was between you two.
“Oral sex,” Eddie says simply.
You choke on your drink while your friends laugh at Eddie’s admission.
“Giving or receiving?” Steve asks while you try to regain composure, face warm and looking anywhere but at your friends. Any talk about sex you tended to not engage in—not wanting to admit to your friends that you rarely enjoyed sex with your own boyfriend.
“Both,” Eddie says, smiling.
You tried your best to keep a neutral expression—to not involve yourself too much with the conversation. Trying not to recall the last time James had gone down on you—how it had lasted barely two minutes. How you had been thankful it was over. How you had ‘returned’ the favour with all the enthusiasm that James didn’t possess.
“What about you, (y/n)?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows wiggling as you look up at him.
“About me, what?” you ask, because you hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation for the past two minutes, too busy thinking of anything beside how terrible your boyfriend was at giving head.
Eddie laughs—loud and without much care who heard. “Oral—do you prefer giving or receiving?”
Your face warms—you’re sure that your friends can all tell how flustered you were by the question.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve tells you, glaring at Eddie as he pats your shoulder gently. “Eddie’s just being intrusive—”
“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans and nudges your knee under the table with his. “We never hear about your sex life, (y/n).”
“Not everyone is as open as you, Munson,” Nancy says.
Eddie huffs—grabbing his beer and taking a swig. “I’m just curious to know which she prefers,” Eddie says innocently, hands up in surrender.
Your leg bounces beneath the table as you consider giving Eddie an answer or not. Generally, you didn’t discuss your sex life with James with anyone. You were too scared to give away your dissatisfaction with it. It made you feel shameful for even thinking of complaining. To actually voice those complaints? Well—that felt like opening Pandora’s Box. But there was a large part of you that couldn’t help but feel left out.
“Giving,” you say finally without looking up. It was the honest truth. You don’t tell them that the reason for this was because you hated when James tried going down on you. Hated to pretend he was good at it. Hated how much he clearly disliked doing it. “I-I prefer giving.”
You were not sure why you felt the need to answer anyway. Maybe it was how left out you felt during these conversations. How much you wished you were having as good sex as all your friends were. Maybe because you just wanted to be included for once. You feel your face warm but you try not to shy away as you look up at your friends—all looking at you in slight disbelief.
“What?” You ask, eyes flickering between each of your friends before landing finally on Steve.
“Nothing,” Steve says, blinking in apparent shock at your admission. “It’s just—”
“I’ve never known a girl who would choose giving head over receiving it,” Eddie interjects before glancing at Robin and Nancy. “Not a straight one anyway.”
Your face warms, taking a long swig of your drink and wishing you could blend into the furniture.
“I just—prefer doing it, I guess,” you say quietly with a small shrug.
“Well,” Eddie begins with a small smile and a wink sent your way. “Either you’re incredibly giving or James isn’t doing a good enough job.”
Everyone laughs and you know you should stand up for James—for your boyfriend, the man you supposedly loved—but instead, you go quiet. Your face somehow feeling even hotter than before. You seem to shrink back further in the booth. No one seems to notice how you don’t defend your boyfriend—Eddie was too busy already recounting the tales from his latest hookup with a bartender. But Steve’s eyes linger on you for a moment. Noticing the way your jaw tenses, your fingers flexing as though wishing to grip onto the table.
He doesn’t comment on it. Not just yet anyway.
At one in the morning, you walk back with Steve to the apartment as you always did. Both a little bit tipsy and laughing at things that weren’t that funny—the fact Steve had been wearing his shirt inside out the entire evening, how you had tripped over the curb outside the bar.
“Careful,” Steve warns you, laughing as his hands gently steer you away from the curb for a third time. “What would you do without me, huh?”
“Be miserable,” you reply with a tipsy giggle. Steve smiles, hooking an arm around your shoulders as you approach your apartment building. Being the slightly more sober one—Steve is the one to fish out the key from his pocket and open the door. He’s the one to drag you away from the front desk before you could get too distracted by the notice board (“but Steve apartment 9A is selling their microwave!”). He’s the one to manoeuvre you into the elevator and to stop you from pressing all the buttons.
“Okay—next week, I’m the one who is getting drunk and you can take care of me,” Steve huffs as he guides you down the hallway towards your apartment. One arm around your shoulders so you don’t try to escape.
“M’kay,” you murmur as you watch Steve unlock the door.
Once you’re in the safety of your apartment, Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He watches as you wonder over to that damn pink couch—flop down onto it and kick off your shoes.
“I’m going to get you some water,” Steve announces, taking off his own shoes and leaving them carefully by the front door before heading into the kitchen.
You simply hum in acknowledgement, head titled back and staring up at the ceiling.
Steve returns with two glasses of water a few moments later. He sets them down on the coffee table before leaning down to pick up your discarded shoes. You bite back a smile as you watch him place them neatly down beside his own shoes near the front door.
“I was going to put them back eventually,” you tell him as he sits down on the couch beside you, the couch dipping a little under his weight.
Steve shrugs, as though it wasn’t a big deal before he picks up your glass of water and hands it to you.
“Drink,” he tells you gently. You send a small, grateful smile before you take the glass from him and take a generous gulp of water. Steve watches, amused before he sips from his own glass.
It’s quiet then between the pair of you—you tilting your head back up to glance at the ceiling while Steve thoughtfully taps his fingers against the glass in his hands.
“Hey, (y/n)?”
“Yeah?” You ask, turning your head to look at Steve.
He looks back at you, a slightly apprehensive look on his face—one that indicated that he was carefully considering his next words.
“I just—I noticed that you—that you didn’t say anything back to Eddie earlier.”
Even though you were still a little tipsy, still feeling the alcohol hum through your veins—Steve’s words cut through you. Instantly, you knew what he was referring to. That little comment Eddie had made about why you had said you preferred giving oral over opposed to receiving it. You swallow—you knew you had to play dumb. The truth was too embarrassing. It made that guilt take residence in your chest again.
“When?” You ask finally. “Eddie talks so much shit that it all kind of…blurs into one.”
Steve chuckles, leaning back against the sofa—his elbow knocking against yours. “Yeah, no—you got that right,” he says with a quick nod and another glance at you. “I just—it was that dig at James he made. You didn’t—you didn’t say anything. You didn’t—I dunno, stick up for him, I guess.”
You don’t say anything, you just stare wordlessly down at your lap as you try not to react.
When you say nothing, Steve hesitates for a split second before he presses on, “I just—I wanted to check if—you know, if everything was okay between the two of you?”
“Yeah,” you say, a beat too quickly as you look down at the glass of water in your hands. “We’re good. Why wouldn’t we be?”
Steve doesn’t look convinced. He looks back at you with an expression that plainly told you that he did not believe a damn word you were saying.
“Because you just let Eddie say…what he said,” Steve says. “That James isn’t good in bed.”
Again—you say nothing. Not for any other reason than because you suddenly had the overwhelming urge to be honest. To tell Steve everything. How James couldn’t make you come. How he no longer seemed to care if you finished. How his pleasure was always placed above yours.
Steve seems to understand something in your silence—his eyes on you, watching you with careful consideration, as though he was choosing his next words carefully.
“You know you deserve better, right?”
The words pull at something deep in your chest. The alcohol makes it difficult to control the cocktail of guilt, shame and embarrassment swirling in your gut.
“I don’t,” you murmur finally—the words that deep down, you didn’t really believe. Because you didn’t truly feel as though you deserved James. He was good—not like the assholes you had dated in the past and you felt immensely guilty that you were doubting him all because he couldn’t make you come.
Steve looks at you in utter disbelief, opening his mouth as if he was ready to argue but you silence him by unsteadily getting to your feet.
“M’going bed,” you tell him, clumsily making your way into the kitchen with your glass of half-drunk water. Steve follows—just to make sure that you didn’t break anything (whether that be the glass in your hand or even an arm or a leg).
He watches you tip the last of the water into the sink and he continues to watch as you leave the empty glass on the drying rack.
“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong,” Steve suddenly says, making you turn to look at him—eyes unfocused due to the alcohol and your world just a little bit wobbly. “Like seriously. Even if it’s about—you know.”
Your face warms, you avert your eyes.
“Just drop it, yeah?” You murmur back, not meeting his eye. “It’s fine—I’m fine, Steve.”
Despite how tipsy you were—the words were final and Steve understood that. He looked at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” he says simply before he forces a smile. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll make sure to have a hangover breakfast ready for you.”
You manage a smile—a genuine smile—because Steve always did thoughtful things like this. Even if you were drawing a clear line in the sand on the conversation.
“Thank you,” you say, finally looking at Steve’s face and seeing the concern in his eyes which did not help the guilt you felt deep in your gut. Because now you felt awful for not being honest with Steve. And so—before you head to your room, you give Steve a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
You slip away before you see how Steve’s face flushes.
The thing about living with Steve Harrington meant that you heard him have sex. Like, a lot.
The moment you heard loud moans coming from his bedroom, you would grab your walk-man, some headphones and drown out whatever unholy sounds were coming from the other side of the wall.
Tonight was no different. It was a week after that evening at the bar and after a long day at work, you were in your room when the moaning started. You knew he had been out on a date and you also knew—judging by the giggling that you had heard when Steve had returned ten minutes ago—that him and his date had retreated to his room. And so, what you heard next was inevitable. Your hands reached for your walk-man and—
“That’s it, pretty girl,” you hear Steve say in a low voice. “Soak my fingers—just like that. Do you hear how fucking wet you are for me?”
The words shock you. Hearing Steve say such filthy words makes your breath hitch and then—
To your absolute horror—the words go straight to your core.
Your thighs squeeze together without permission.
Holy fuck.
This is wrong. This was so fucking wrong—
“That’s it. God—keep squeezing my fingers just like that, baby. You’re going to feel incredible around my cock.”
You bite the inside of your mouth. Your fingers closing around the walkman, eyes on the headphones and—
“You want my mouth?”
“Yes, Steve—please—oh, oh god—oh—”
The moans coming from behind the wall had become obscene. High pitched, mixed with Steve’s own muffled groans.
You closed your eyes, imagining Steve’s thick head of hair between your thighs as he sucked on your clit, your slick dripping down his chin—
Oh god, no. You couldn’t fantasise about that, about him—it was wrong, it was—
“You taste so fucking good.”
Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt warmth spread through you at those words. Hot—like lava seeping through your veins.
You felt an ache between your legs you hadn’t felt in a long time. As you squeezed your thighs together to try and ease the feeling, you let out a small gasp when you realised you were wet. Like really fucking wet.
Your fingers seem to have a mind of their own—dancing down your thighs until you feel your own slick coating your inner thigh from where it had trickled down from your cunt.
The urge to move your fingers higher was overwhelming. To plunge your fingers into your aching cunt and get off like you desperately needed to. The moans coming from the woman who was being eaten out by Steve Harrington was all you could hear.
And that mental image of Steve—your roommate, your friend, the guy who was most certainly not your boyfriend—lapping at your soaked cunt was too much.
Your fingertips danced over the delicate lace of your panties before you knew what you were doing. That tiny bit of pressure was enough to make your hips buck up instinctively, stopping the whimper that threatened to fall out. You repeated the action, moving your finger around the damp spot in your panties and focusing only on Steve’s muffled groans. You have to bite down on your free hand to stop yourself from moaning as your fingers begin to circle your sensitive bud over the lace.
The nameless woman’s moans were only getting louder and louder.
And that’s when you gave in.
Your fingers slipped beneath the lace material of your panties. The first contact with your bare, wet pussy sent shock waves of pleasure through your body. You try not to think about how James never made you this wet as you slide your index and middle finger through your wetness.
You try to imagine James—your sweet, caring boyfriend between your legs. How his big blue-green eyes would look up at you sweetly. You wished it was enough to get you off. You wished he was good. As good as—
“Steve! Oh—fuck—don’t stop!”
And that was it—all thoughts of your boyfriend gone. The image of James replaced by Steve. And the thought of Steve using his mouth on you was enough to make your head fall back in ecstasy as your fingers worked faster—using your wet slick to coat your clit. The sensation sent a surge of white hot pleasure through you. You bit back a moan—your first orgasm in weeks right there. You were so close, you just need a little more—
“That’s it, pretty girl,” Steve’s voice rumbles through the wall. “Come for me.”
That voice—that fucking voice—is what pushes you over the edge. The wave of pleasure was so intense, so sudden that you almost failed to muffle your moan with your hand. You feel it in every nerve in your body. Your legs shake and you feel your release dripping onto the sheets beneath you.
You lay there, chest heaving, the bliss you felt moments before slowly slipping away as the sounds of Steve and the nameless women were drowned out by the shame that had started to creep through your body. You felt it in your very bones—you had just gotten off (for the first time in a long, long time) by thinking of someone other than your boyfriend. And it wasn’t just someone, it was Steve. Your roommate. Your friend. Sweet, kind and caring Steve.
You shouldn’t have done it—you know you shouldn’t have. And yet—you already want to do it again. Especially when you could hear the sound of skin slapping against each other in the next room. It made that feeling in your gut return. Hot, aching where your fingers had just been.
No. You couldn’t. It was wrong. So very wrong.
One time. You told yourself. Just one time.
The next time James went down on you, you were determined to come.
You had decided that the morning after you had been listening to Steve and that woman.
James’ roommates were out and that meant you weren’t confined to his room as you usually were.
He had laid you down on the couch—his shirt half off and belt unbuckled. You could tell he just wanted to fuck you. But you just wanted to see if he could—
“Eat me out,” you murmur against the skin of his neck. “James—please.”
James wasn’t one for talking dirty. Not because he disliked it but because it seemed to affect him too much. At your words he groaned and his hand that had been massaging one of your breasts stilled. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans pressed against your thigh—swear you felt it twitch at your words alone. Admittedly, it turned you on. That was a start.
“Okay,” James says, leaning back to look at your face. “Okay—I can do that.”
You try not to think that he sounds like he’s talking business. As though going down on you was a meeting—an afternoon meeting? ‘Sure, I can do that’. Need that report by Monday? ‘Sure, I can do that’.
James didn’t take his time—you knew he was aching painfully from how hard he was—and so he just pushed up the skirt of your dress, hastily tugged down your panties before his mouth met your barely soaked folds. You felt his tongue slide between them and you let out a breathy moan. It was nice—not unpleasant just…nice.
His mouth is working overtime, altering between kitten licks and slow, languid licks at your entrance. Again, it’s nice but you get this feeling that he isn’t as into it as you want him to be. It takes you out of the experience entirely. You know he’s just doing it because you asked—that he’d rather be fucking with you with his cock rather than his tongue. He’s not moaning and groaning between your legs like Steve had been with that woman. The memory of your roommates’ groans was still hot in your mind and you were trying not to think about it, trying not to—
But when you look down, you find yourself imagining that James’ shaggy blonde hair was a mop of thick brown locks.
No, no, no—you shouldn’t be thinking about Steve right now. You should be focusing on your lovely, caring boyfriend who has his head between your legs. Not Steve—not Steve.
But your mind went there anyway. Thinking of Steve’s moans, those filthy words you had heard him whisper. The way the woman he was with had reacted—
And suddenly, your hips were moving. Chasing friction, needing more. Bucking up to meet James’ mouth. Your fingers sunk into James’ hair and he groaned against you—sending a vibration through you that made you feel a spark of something. It was all the encouragement you needed, you moved his head slightly so that his nose would brush against your clit and the effect was instant.
You moaned out, unabashed and barely recognisable from your lips. Not exaggerated for once.
Again, you moved his head so his nose nuzzled your clit as his tongue continued to work in and out of you at a torturous pace. It worked—oh, god it was starting to work. Your head tilted back and moans fell from your lips without your say so. Hips following the movement of his tongue. Heat building in your gut, James’ own groans vibrating in a way that only added to the white hot pleasure that was building, building and—
James lets out a strangled moan against you that could only mean one thing. You blink as he pulls his mouth away from you. A hot look of embarrassment on his face as he glances down at his lap—a damp spot beginning to spread on his jeans.
“It’s okay,” you tell him quickly, breathless as you try to take his hand. “James, it’s—”
But he’s already pulling away from you entirely, face warm and determinedly not looking at you.
You don’t try to stop him as he gets up and heads in the direction of the bathroom.
You should go after him. Reassure him it was okay. But part of you—the part that had been so desperate to finish—was tired of pretending it was okay.
And so, for the second time in a week, your fingers slip down between your folds—soaked from a mix of your wetness and your boyfriend’s saliva and think of Steve Harrington. You came right there on James’ sofa in less than three minutes.
Never again, you told yourself. Never again.
But it happens. More than you care to admit.
The next time it happened, it had been while James was inside you.
Your legs were thrown over his shoulders as his cock thrust in and out of you in a polite manner. He was holding back on his groans—his roommates were in the living room watching some ice hockey game. You wished that he didn’t give a fuck when his roommates were home. Wished he was proud to fuck you.
You tried not to notice how quiet it was in the room. The only sound being the squelching between your bodies—not due to your wetness but due to the lube you had needed to use. The sounds of his roommates jeering at the TV in the living room was distracting. And the fact James was making next to no noise while fucking you left you feeling a type of way. It wasn’t that he was doing anything wrong—the angle should be enough to make you feel good. But it was everything else.
And it was enough for your mind to wander into dangerous territory. Back to the guy you lived with who you shouldn’t be thinking about—shouldn’t be—
But of course, you do. You think of Steve as your boyfriend fucks you. It shouldn’t turn you on but it does. Shouldn’t make your walls clench around James’ cock. Shouldn’t make you moan out and claw at your boyfriend’s back.
“Oh fuck,” James groans out quietly, still mindful of his roommates as you lost your ability to keep quiet. “Sweetheart, you need to be quiet—”
But you don’t hear him over the moans you were now letting out. Too in your own head as you imagined Steve slamming his cock in and out of you—imagining him calling you pretty girl and telling you how fucking good you felt.
You should stop, you knew it was wrong. But as you felt that white hot pleasure build and build in a way it had never with James, you didn’t have it in you to stop.
And when it was over and James was looking at you in awe, you felt good. Confident. Sexy. Things you hadn’t felt before. James had even managed to fuck you a second time that night.
You’re aware you shouldn’t be thinking of someone else when you’re being intimate with your boyfriend. But it was the only way you could finish with James. It made you feel guilty after—immensely so. But it was the only thing that worked.
You were also painfully aware that you were fantasying about your roommate—of all people. But things between you and Steve remained normal. He still made you coffee every morning, still sat beside you on the couch while eating dinner and brushing his teeth by your side, completely unaware that you were fantasying about him during sex in order to get off.
You didn’t even feel awkward about it—not really. Not when your sex life was finally good. Not when you finally had your own fun sex stories to tell your friends.
And so, you didn’t stop. Weeks passed and you kept thinking about Steve as your boyfriend fucked you. Kept choosing not to put the headphones on when Steve had a girl over—your fingers pumping in and out of you as you listened to his moans and occasional whimpers. Your juices soaking your sheets and your body practically thrumming with pleasure. And then—the next morning you would accept a hot mug of coffee from your roommate.
And he had no idea what you had been doing the night before.
Steve was out—you think he was at baseball practice—and you had decided to make the most of it.
You invited James over and it didn’t take long before clothes were shed. You were on top for once, moving yourself up and down on his cock at a rhythm that had your head thrown back and listening to James’ muffled groans—his lips busy with your breasts that he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from as they bounced in his face.
Your hands were in his hair, his cock was inside you and yet—your mind was on Steve. Again. You found yourself wondering how big Steve was. You remember Nancy once being so drunk that she had told you just how big Steve was. “Monster cock,” Nancy had giggled to you as she poured herself another shot. Had told you how during her first time with him she had briefly wondered if he was going to split her in half with his cock.
The knowledge was coming back to you now—imagining Steve’s cock filling you so well that you would feel it in your stomach. Even imagined the stomach bulge it was cause—the outline of his cock nearly visible as he fucked up into you.
The mental image had your walls squeezing James’ not-so monster cock—a shameless, wanton moan falling from your lips as you grew closer and closer—
“I’m gonna come,” you gasp out, fingers gripping onto James’ shoulder as you try to keep yourself tethered to the image of Steve—of his cock splitting you open as he whispers the dirtiest words imaginable into your ear. “Steve, I’m gonna come.”
Your orgasm hits you hard. It hits you so hard in fact that you don’t feel how James’ thrusts cease entirely. How his hands fall from your hips. You don’t notice as your head falls into the crook of his neck, your body thrumming, legs shaking.
But you certainly notice how quick he was to pull out. How he didn’t finish.
You blink—heart still hammering, still a little blissed out from your orgasm—as you let him lift you off him a little more hastily than you were used to. You watch James, confused, as he hastily grabs his boxers and begins to tug them up his legs.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” He snapped suddenly. “No, (y/n). I don’t want you to do anything.”
Bewildered, you began to grab your own items of clothing from the floor and started to dress. James had never snapped at you before and you were utterly confused at the sudden change of tone.
“What—what did I do? Is something wrong—”
“Gee, I don’t know, (y/n),” James resorts, a derisive laugh falling from his lips as he pulls up his jeans. “Does moaning out your male roommate's name while I’m inside of you count as something wrong?”
“I don’t—”
“Cut the bullshit ignorant act,” James interjects harshly as he looks at your face. “You just moaned out Steve’s name. Not my name. Steve’s.”
For a moment, there’s utter confusion. You don’t remember what you had said while you were mid orgasm. You want to deny it, laugh even but you can’t. You knew exactly what you had been thinking about, about Steve and you knew it was entirely possible you had accidentally moaned out Steve’s name in your moment of ecstasy.
“James, I’m sorry. It was an accident. It didn’t mean anything. It was—”
“Bullshit!” James cuts across you, his voice slightly raised. His face was flushed in anger—you could see that he was still hard through his jeans. You could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from him and you couldn’t really blame him. You feel awful—truly awful, feeling as though you wanted to be sick. “You don’t just accidentally say someone else’s name during sex. Especially Steve’s.”
You swallow, your face hot with embarrassment, shame and a growing sense of panic that you couldn’t control. You try to conceal it by pulling on your t-shirt over your head before you look at James again.
“James, I—”
“Save it,” James mutters, pulling on his shirt and not even bothering to button it up before grabbing his jacket and shoes by the front door. “I’m not going to embarrass myself a moment longer. We’re done.”
“James—”
But your boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend now, rather—was already slamming the door to your apartment behind him.
What shocked you most was that you didn’t cry. You had the overwhelming urge to but not because James had left, not because he had just dumped you but because felt so embarrassed by the situation—by the fact you had moaned out Steve’s name instead of James’. Too deep in fantasies about your roommate. And so—when you began to cry you told yourself it was because you were sad. That it was because you had just been dumped by your boyfriend of nearly two years and you were heartbroken. But you were far from it—in fact, there was a part of you that felt relieved.
The tears of embarrassment—now mixed with a sick feeling of shame—had only just started falling when the apartment door opened again. You turned around, a small part of you hoping it was James who was returning to tell you it was all some stupid joke—but of course, it wasn’t.
Steve stood in the doorway, his eyes wide at the sight of you crying on the couch—only in a t-shirt and panties, your jeans slung over a nearby chair, your bra hanging over a lamp. But your state of undress doesn’t even seem to cross Steve’s mind as he rushes over to you—the bag he took with him to baseball practice falling to the floor beside him in his haste to reach you.
“Hey, hey—I saw James storming out—he looked—oh honey, what happened?”
The shock of Steve walking in at precisely this moment had left you lost for words. Tears flowed down your cheeks, your face still felt hot from embarrassment but you couldn’t speak. And Steve, seemingly taking your lack of being able to talk as heartbreak, gathers you into his arm and shushes you gently while you cry into his chest.
“It’s okay,” he tells you, his hand cupping the back of your head in an effort to soothe you. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
And because you felt too much shame and guilt to be honest with Steve, you simply nodded. Clinging to Steve as though your heart was shattered into a million pieces—as though James leaving have devastated you. When in actuality, you were making a silent promise to yourself. A promise to never—never ever tell a soul about what had just transpired between you and James. To never reveal the name you had subconsciously moaned out during your moment of bliss.
robin buckley x childhood best friend!reader
the stars align after your rooftop gathering. Robin takes you by the hand and finds there's a whole other world to your presence.
foreword: for the sweethearts and girl kissers <3
cw: Robin x Reader, childhood best friends, sapphic/lesbian pairing, R wears a skirt, R referred to as ‘girl’ once, R is implied fat/plussized, R has breasts + a vagina, autistic4autistic vibe, pet names (incl. ‘Buck’ for Robin), weed and alcohol mention, hand kink, praise kink, flirting, making out, oral fixation, dry humping, thigh riding, oral (R receiving), soft service top Robin, body worship, overstimulation, aftercare, smut and fluff and feelings, MDNI
wc: 5.7k
Robin steals you away, after the sunset rooftop gathering draws to a close.
Tugs at your sleeve while everyone is hugging their goodbyes in the gravel lot of the Squawk and whispers, low at your ear- “Wanna stay behind an extra hour with me?”
With me, she’d said. Like it was a secret party and you’d been chosen.
Of course you said yes.
Scrunched your nose at her over your shoulder and delighted in her responding giggle. Followed her through the maze of the dark, quiet radio station while she led you with a brave face and a flashlight all the way to her favorite spot in the whole building.
Even after all these years and miles apart, the rhythm established between the two of you in high school has somehow transitioned seamlessly into your young adulthoods.
You fall back into it so fluidly- laughing at the same jokes, inventing new ones, striking up that familiar language that was invented around school bells and sleepovers and folded notes passed between fingers.
Robin is still finding ways to make you feel special, wanted- like maybe you’re still bumping hips in the two-pea pod of life. Even after all these miles apart, and all this time.
Another thing that hasn’t changed?
Robin’s hands are just as captivating and distracting as they were in your youth.
The shape of them, the way they twiddle in the air when she talks, black nail polish glinting in the lamplight- it’s like she’s mesmerizing you from the other end of the couch.
“-and technically, this is the greenroom, for, like, ‘radio guests of high esteem’, or whatever.”
Her fingers hook around the phrase, then flit back to toying with the rings on her right hand. “But I guess we never got anyone cool enough to actually put it to use, so… mostly Steve and I just used it to smoke contraband.”
“Oh my god.” You laugh at the idea, eyes dropping to watch the spin of the red garnet rock in a loop around her middle finger. “You didn’t.”
Robin gives you one of her turned-down grins, shrugging, going for innocent but missing it by a mile.
“What? There’s no smoke detector. It was a perfect room for lighting up some hash and coasting through a boring shift of ad reads and Steve’s questionable record choices.”
She shudders in mock horror, muttering something about too many Bee Gees as you laugh, again- this humor is easy, too. Comfortable and intimate.
Just like your sleepovers of long past, the ephemera of your lives come together again.
Your black kitten heels tangled in her combat boot laces, tipped over on the carpet by the door. Her earrings on the coffeetable- a longsword and, in proper Robin abnormal fashion, a tiny dinosaur- settled in the loop of your necklace you’d cast off earlier.
Your sheer tights are in a heap, too- you’d peeled them off the moment you were alone, feeling better with the cool air against your legs which are currently tucked beneath you. The tartan skirt you chose for graduation today has kept its pleats, spanning over your bare knees, just shy of too short which doesn’t really matter now that it’s just the two of you.
Robin’s hair is longer than when you last saw her. It falls over her shoulders in honeyed waves as she leans across the couch cushion separating your seats, whining playfully as she makes a grabby gesture in your direction.
“Come closerrrrr. I’ve missed you all night! Well, all year, really. We saw each other at Steve’s barbecue but that was last summer and it’s been too long and phone calls just don’t cut it and I’m gonna start singing Stayin’ Alive at you in the most off-key voice you’ll ever hear if you don’t get closer, right now-!”
“All right, all right!”
You giggle at her dramatics but obey the request, scooting towards the middle cushion and into the space of her waiting hands.
Apparently, Robin has gone away to college and learned how to be more assertive. To ask for what she wants.
There’s still that distinctive lilt to her words- all dorky humor, fast rambles, sentences that seem to cut in line and jump each other to get out first- but there’s something specific about it, now.
Something that makes your tummy flip.
Something that sends up a warning signal, because, oh, shit- you should definitely not be getting turned on by the way your childhood best friend is ordering you around, and pulling you into her side with those hands of hers like it’s where you belong.
“Better,” Robin sighs, happily, the leg of her denim overalls pressing fully against the stretch of yours. The frilled collar of her blousey shirt pokes at your upper arm. “You know what else is better? My palm reading skills. Here, I’ll show you-”
Robin picks up your left hand, settling your forearm across her lap while her pointer finger traces the lines in your palm. She hmms and deliberates, really hamming up her own focus for your benefit, until she seems to find what she’s looking for in the line branching from the webbing of your thumb.
“Ah-hah. See this? It’s your heartline. And based on the pattern alone, I mean, my god- something big is going to happen to your love life soon. Believe you me.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, that shudders through your shoulders and bumps against hers, palm feeling itchy under the sudden attention. “Come on, Buck. We both attended Steve Harrington’s Flirting 101 seminar back in the day. I used this same trick on Jimmy Miller in ninth grade.”
“Did it work?” Robin asks. Gaze still fixed on your hand in her lap. The tips of her fingers petting and mapping the lines.
She’s not acting like a woman whose jig is up in the slightest.
You swallow down a shiver at the feeling of her touch. “No. But you already knew that. Are you flirting with me?”
You’d meant it as a joke, a light tease, but it comes out sideways. A bit too intense, too questioning.
Robin’s eyes lift to yours.
There’s something cosmic in those pools of blue. It reminds you of the surface of Lover’s Lake, how it looks at night reflecting the vastness of Hawkin’s starry sky.
“What if I was flirting with you?” Robin asks. Something cosmic but something cautious, too, like she’s charted a course that can’t begin without your permission. “Would that… freak you out?”
“No!” You answer much too quickly and now you’re the one verbally scrambling. “No, I mean- I mean it’s nice to be flirted with, I like it, especially if- if it’s from you, I just-”
The sentence dies in your throat when Robin’s touch trails further, up to your wrist, the soft pads of her fingers pressing gently to where your pulse beats erratically. As if she’s reading you as easily as a book.
“I thought-” you make another attempt at foisting off the wave of feverish thrill that threatens to flash through your body. “Is Vickie not, sort of, y’know… your girlfriend?”
In the last few months of phone calls with Robin, she spoke about Vickie less and less. You’d noticed, but hadn’t brought it up. For a number of reasons.
Robin’s still looking at you, even as her touch climbs your arm and settles into the ditch of your elbow. Her head shakes slowly, gently, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Nope. Not since the barbecue.”
Air hisses through your teeth but even you’re not sure if it’s an expression of sympathy or a reaction to this new information. “That’s… shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Robin’s voice pitches lower, silky even with the rasp around her consonants. “S’okay, I don’t really think about her too much anymore. Got other people on my mind.”
You can’t bear to watch the path of her touch anymore so you shoot her a sidelong glance, taking in the fine slope of her nose in profile, the way her lashes sweep as she blinks down at your arm in her grasp.
She glances back up at you, fingers stilling, the awkwardness to her charm shining through. “Uhm. The other people- it’s you, if that wasn’t, like. Totally clear.”
Something between a gasp and a strangled hah escapes your throat. The heat of a supernova is expanding in your stomach, stardust dripping southwards and upwards and everywhichway, making your tongue feel foreign in your own mouth as you trip over the words, vaguely-
“And- Nancy…? You never- with her?”
Robin’s thumb slips to the side of your elbow, drawing you in closer, gravity realigning and unfolding as your blood sings hot for her, just beneath the surface.
“I had a crush on Nance, sure. But nothing like the one I’ve been harboring for over a decade for my best friend.”
The straps of her overalls have slipped down the gauzy neckline at her shoulders. She looks like a painting- one from an old French master of the arts that you’ve studied in class before; Bouguereau, maybe. All soft cheeks and long limbs and light buffed into every pore until she’s glowing with it.
Robin leans in close enough that you can see she isn’t wearing a bra underneath the thin cotton of her shirt. Your pulse is frantic for her touch, hand twitching in her lap when her rings kiss cold at your cheek.
She cups the side of your face, eyes half-lidded and dancing between the curl of your mouth and the soft shock of your lifted brows.
“Can I kiss you?” Robin asks.
You’re leaning in to close the distance before the question is over.
Your mouths meet and it’s so gentle, so tender that you could cry from it. Her lips are soft as a peach, a perfect fit as they slot between yours, closing over your cupid’s bow like it’s what she’s wanted to do all along.
“Robin-”
You breathe into her space and she takes it into her own lungs. Nose pressing to the side of yours as she kisses you again, this one hungrier, more seeking, the tip of her tongue testing the plush of your lower lip.
Your hand finds her waist and hers slides past your ear, holding you in place and to her as your tongues slide against each other’s. She tastes like sweet mint and the hoppy beer you’d shared earlier, and also like spit- like Robin.
The groan travels from the depths of you all the way to her lips that open to take it, to suffuse the noise against the wet waiting of her own mouth.
Robin makes a noise, too, answering like an echo for a canyon.
It vibrates through you, tightening your fingers around the denim at her waist. Robin doesn’t detach from your mouth as she tips you backwards, slow but insistent, shifting until your shoulders lie flat on the couch cushion and she can kneel at either side of your hips.
“Jesus christ,” you pant, feeling a little delirious as her hands run along the length of your sides, your own reaching to cross over her neck as she dips down to kiss you more. “Buck-”
This isn’t like it used to be, when the two of you would kiss for practice under the covers of adolescent longing.
Or maybe this is exactly like that. Maybe all that practice with the right person has finally paid off.
Robin says your name, an equal catch to her voice as she kisses it back into your mouth, and then she’s drawing back just far enough to ask- “Can I go down on you?”
You pet the nape of her neck, feeling nerves alight alongside the longing. Robin shifts a hand to brush just at the hem of your skirt, a suggestion of touch over the fat of your bare thigh, waiting for your answer before she goes any further.
Your head feels foggy with lust but there’s a hesitancy that refuses to budge, so you tell her honestly. “I- yeah, yeah, you can, it’s just- I don’t usually- I mean, I’ve never come from it. Oral. I mean. Um. I don’t know if…”
“It’s okay.” Robin is so soft in her reassurance, thumb sweeping over the skin beneath her palm. Dragging the tip of her nose up the side of yours like a nuzzling animal. “We don’t have to, at all, I just- I’d really like to taste you. And feel you. And- and make you feel good.”
A confession and a plea rolled into one.
Robin’s always been like this- mouthy.
Always talking or shouting or moving, in some capacity. Always seeking stimulation, always something shoved between her lips- gum, a hairclip, the eraser of a pencil, the ends of her own hair.
And now that perfect mouth- your best friend’s mouth- is moving down your body. Kissing between the valley of your clothed breasts, the bare skin of your stomach where the hem has ridden up, one brief press of her mouth to each of your knees-
you prop yourself on your elbows to watch, breath punching in and out.
Robin flips the pleats of your skirt up and you think her hands might be shaking but then you see the moment she sees you, the wetness seeping from your core, the patch that is surely stained a darker pink than the rest of your panties.
“Fuck,” Robin breathes. In awe. Fitting her thumb to the beat of your clit through the fabric and just holding the pressure there.
Your jaw slackens. She hasn’t even properly touched you yet and it feels so good, just the pad of her thumb where you need her most. You have to make a conscious effort to keep your hips level with the couch and not have them snapping up into the touch.
Robin kisses the inside of your thigh, trailing her mouth closer, grazing her teeth along that arch of bone that runs into your pelvis.
“Shit.” Your grip on the couch cushions sinks in. “Buck, please-”
“How come you’re so wet?” She asks, as if you hadn’t just begged.
Her hands are moving again, settling under the band of your skirt to take hold of the padding that spans your hips, fingers digging in when you whine. “Hmm? S’it all for me?”
“Jesus, Robin.”
Your curse is confirmation enough, and Robin grins, that clever, devastating mouth dipping down again, this time to fit right over the wet gusset of your panties.
You’ve been aching and dripping for her all day, really- it’s been building up since this morning, since she’d touched you for the first time in a year. Folding you into a big hug before the carpool caravan left, smelling like cardamom and parchment and fresh spring blossoms.
And now she was moaning into the space between your thighs like you smelled just as good, her tongue running up the seam of you through the fabric, eyes rolling backwards at the taste she discovers.
The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, then fills again with sharp, short gasps as she hones in on your clit, laving over it with the flat of her tongue.
Robin fits her lips over just the right spot and sucks hard enough to make her cheeks hollow. Your thighs tense and tremble at either side of her ears and then you can’t bear to watch any more, the crown of your head tipping backwards to the armrest while she pulls more noises from your throat.
“Taste so good,” she’s murmuring, in between long licks and pointed suckling. “So sweet, so good for me-”
Good is the word that fills your chest, that makes you ache even more- you like being good, if it means Robin will praise you.
“Gonna take these off,” she says, into the joint of your thigh, fingers tugging at the elastic of your underwear.
You lift your hips without having to be asked, and Robin kisses your knee again as she peels the fabric from your body, calling you perfect once more before stretching low against the cushions.
This time, Robin eases your thighs over her shoulders, your sock feet fitting to her low back. You don’t have time to wonder or ask if the weight of you is too much because Robin is already pulling more of you into her orbit, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as she stares openly at your pussy.
The intimacy has the potential to feel embarrassing, but- it just doesn’t.
Robin’s pupils are so blown there’s barely any iris left. They’re like two glittering voids that bend to consume, to take more of you in.
The heat of her mouth is finally, finally on the bareness of your skin, your wetness- there’s an obscene slurping when she laps at your entrance, and warmth courses through your body at the sound, at the feeling.
Her tongue explores your outer folds, paying each side equal attention- something that would strike you as humorous in its distinct Robin-ness, except your head’s too full of pleasure to make room for any emotion other than oh, fuck.
“Oh, fuck!”
Robin’s tongue sinks inside the tight, wet channel of your cunt, and it’s like she’s got your spine on a string; it pulls up from the cushions beneath your body, arching you further into her mouth, and in turn her tongue.
Her nose brushes against your clit and when you gasp, again, she learns to keep that pressure up with every forward movement of her head.
She’s working you up in a shockingly short amount of time, pleasure beginning to bleed into every fiber of your being. Your hands fly from the couch when Robin curls her tongue against the front of your walls, fingers burying themselves into the roots of her hair.
It’s like holding the sun between your thighs. The heat pours from her scalp to your palms, an exchange of energy on a loop.
The fingers at your hips dig in again; you can feel the indent of her rings and hope there will be marks leftover. Proof that you were touched, that you were worshipped, by this woman.
Robin’s tongue flexes, hits again and again at the spot that’s making everything swell into a chorus, your toes curling at her back, your fingernails biting at her scalp as you swear, as you beg-
“Fuck, Robin- oh, my god- please- like that-!”
She holds tighter and fucks her tongue into you quicker with brutal, perfect accuracy, and then you’re coming with a waving bend to your spine, a pleasure that crashes into you with the force of a falling star, streaking gold behind your eyes as they slam shut.
There’s a long, sonorous moan that spills over as she works you through the peak of it, as she moans in response, the vibrations filling you from the inside out.
The pleasure still spirals with each pass of her tongue but it’s verging on too much, too good, your stomach under her palm tensing and releasing with the feeling of overstimulation as she continues to suck at the new wetness that spills from your core.
“Okay- hah, Robin- tha’s good, s’enough- please-”
Your words slur and feel mushy in your mouth, weak in the aftermath as your thumbs push at her forehead.
“Wow.” Robin emerges from between your thighs with a smile, wide and obscenely wet, covered in your release from the chin down. “Holy shit. Good job.”
This makes you laugh, emotion pitching about like a boat in a storm; Robin’s palm is soothing on your tummy, thumb rubbing circles like she wants to capture the kinetic feeling of your joy.
“Thanks.” Your hands drop to cup her cheeks, and then Robin is untangling herself from the drape of your legs to crawl up your body for a kiss.
She tastes earthy and sweet as she passes the slickness of your own release back into your mouth. Breathing heavily into the kiss before resting her forehead against yours.
“That was- wow. So hot, and so- so pretty, and- you came, right? I mean, you- you enjoyed yourself-?”
You can’t help but laugh again, and Robin joins you this time, smiling against your lips as you reply- “Yes, Buck, I enjoyed myself very much. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Smith babes,” Robin says, sarcastic, and with a nip to your lower lip. “But really, they were all just practice. For you!”
“My god, you’re so suave now.” Your sarcasm comes out far too fond for any real bite. “Y’know, we used to ‘practice’, too.”
The feeling that rises in you isn’t jealousy, exactly- more adjacent to lurid curiosity.
How is she, with the college girls? Does she take them out for coffee? Bring them back to her dorm and touch them, like this, on her tiny twin bed?
You don’t have time to ask. Robin’s still looking down at you like you hung the stars, moony with awe as she murmurs, “I didn’t even put my fingers in you. And you- you came so hard.”
You feel squirmy under the intensity of her gaze, inhaling sharply at her words- “Yeah. I know. I want your fingers, next time.”
“These fingers?” She teases your bottom lip with the pads of her ring and middle digits, grinning and wolfish.
You could bite her. Instead you reach for her overalls, wiggling them down her shoulders until she gets the memo, sitting up to help your cause. Robin strips out of the denim and returns to your lap in just her droopy-sleeved shirt and a pair of baby-blue underwear printed with the word Tuesday.
“It’s Friday,” you chide, playfully snapping the elastic band at her skin as she fits a knee to either side of your left thigh.
“I know.” Robin wrinkles her nose in exasperation. Her hands plant just beside your shoulders, sinking more of her weight against you and the cushions.
There’s an uncoordinated bump of your noses and then she's kissing you again, strands of her long hair tickling at your cheeks, tongue lapping against the roof of your mouth.
Robin’s thighs are so soft around your own and with the next kiss, you prop your knee further up to slot more firmly between her legs.
“Oh, fuck, yes.”
There’s heat radiating from her core, sinking bone-deep into you. She goes clumsy with hunger, hips rolling forwards as her mouth fumbles another kiss to the side of your lips.
“D’you want- my fingers?” You offer, wondering if she’d prefer more stimulation.
Robin stumbles over the words to get them out faster. “No- no, no, please- honey, st- stay like this. Please. I wanna- I’ve dreamed about this.”
Her hips roll, your lashes flutter. “You dreamed about kissing me?”
“No- well, yeah,” Robin admits, breathily. “But I meant- your thighs. I dreamed about your thighs.”
You feel temporarily mute with surprise but manage to ask- “My thighs?”
“Yes, god, yes.” Robin chokes back another whimper, tip of her nose tracing down the side of your face to nestle into the crook of your neck. “Was thinking- about your thighs all day, during the ceremony- the rooftop, fuck, I- I thought for sure you’d noticed, that I was being so- so obvious-”
She pants ragged breaths into your skin, arms trembling while she holds her weight to grind against you.
“I was too busy looking at your hands,” you whisper in reply. “Always so distracting. Turning me on- seriously, Buck, you are so, so beautiful-”
Robin’s hips judder, her teeth skimming against the muscle of your neck. You can feel her eyes squeezing shut, eyebrows drawing together in the hollow of your shoulder.
You don’t ever want this to stop. You’re half helping her, half letting her simply take.
On the next motion of her hips your hands settle at either side of her jaw, and you gently coax her head from the comfort of your shoulder. Her hair makes a curtain around the both of you and while you love the feel of it and the smell of her rose petal shampoo, the urge to see her face is overwhelming.
You tuck the lengths of silky strands behind her ears and let your fingers slide into the roots, cradling her skull at either side. It’s so hot, so intimate and intense, seeing her like this- there's a deep flush of pink across her cheeks, orangey freckles over the bridge of her nose and under her eyes standing out in contrast.
“That’s it, Buck,” you whisper, encouraging. “Whatever you need. Take it from me.”
Robin whines again. Another grind of her hips and you can feel the wetness she’s spreading into your skin, even through the cotton barrier of her undies, a slick glide with every forward movement.
“You wore these- these goddamn shorts, in gym class-” Robin’s talking through the panting rhythm of her breaths, eyes flickering back in her head before they refocus on you beneath. “-red ones. Sophomore year. I’d go home and- and put a pillow between my legs, just like- like this- imagining it was you-”
“Fuck, Robin.”
You keep one hand in her hair while the other goes to the low neck of her shirt, tugging it down to expose the round of her breasts, shuffling your shoulders down just slightly to reposition your head.
When your mouth closes around the peak of her nipple, Robin cries out above you, working herself faster over the seat of your thigh. Your tongue laves over the stiff peak and you can feel the tremors it creates in her, a ripple effect in all the muscles of her legs.
Robin lets out this string of rasping ah, ah, ahs. The cushioned slope of her stomach nudges against yours with every down stroke.
Your teeth edge around the tender skin and Robin swears again, so raw and throaty that you moan in response. Her thighs are beginning to snap tighter around you, squeezing with every grind.
“Buck-” It comes murmured around the fat of her breast, nipple shiny with your spit as your grip in her hair draws taut. “Will you- I wanna see you, when you come- please-”
Robin doesn’t deny you this, even though you know she’d rather hide her expressions in the curve of your neck. She lets you lift her head and you get to see every minute detail, every tiny tremor and scrunch and line of her face that gives away how much she loves this, how much she’s getting off on you.
“Feels so- god- so good, baby-” She whispers, a broken sentence cleaved in two by a gasp. Her stomach tightens against yours in small, undulating waves. “I’m not- not gonna last- oh, fuck. Fuck. So close-”
Robin’s jaw is open around the shape of her noises, lips parted- on instinct, your hand in her hair slides to cradle her face, thumb pressing like a question at the corner of her mouth.
“Fuck,” Robin moans, taking the length of your finger against the wet pull of her tongue. Sucking the salt from your skin and groaning at the taste, the feeling of you inside of her.
You feel the dull flash of her molars against your knuckle, and then Robin is coming with the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.
The sky-blue of her eyes rolls backwards as the heat between her legs intensifies, as her muscles lock in place and the orgasm spirals through her frame, shaking with the force of it.
Robin grinds herself against your thigh as you hold her in place with a single finger until every little bit of pleasure is wrung out, until there’s a line of drool coursing from her mouth and an equally slick path kissing at the skin of your leg.
“Oh my god.” Her voice is faint with exhaustion but tinged with humorous disbelief as her eyes shut again.
Robin makes as if to move herself off of you but at your noise of protest and coax of your arms, she lets her spent body collapse comfortably into yours.
Her nose tucks to the slope of your neck again, limbs rearranging in a cozy tangle as you hum happily with her full weight pressing into you from all sides.
In the afterglow, you’re pleasantly shocked to find that those sticky, strange feelings that usually accompany the comedown of sex just simply aren’t around this time.
Maybe it’s the familiarity you already had with Robin before this, or the way she seems loath to do anything but trace the outline of your throat with her lips in the quiet aftermath; whatever the reason, this moment feels like a perfect little pocket of time, shared with your favorite person in the world.
Robin is still holding onto you like you’re the only thing that makes sense. It’s easier to coast the dip of hormones with the sweet-sweat smell of her scalp and her breath coasting beneath the collar of your shirt that didn’t have a chance to get peeled off.
Robin sighs deeply, content and worn out. Then with a light flinch of realization, she groans. “Oh fuck.”
“What?” You’re already half-giggling at her tone, blinking lazily up at the ceiling while your hands stroke down the length of her back.
The side of her cheek squishes against your collarbone as she speaks, sounding mournful even as she slides back into her usual rambling way of speech.
“I owe Steve thirty bucks. He said I wouldn’t be able to wait a whole day to make a move on you and I said ‘What do you think I am, some sort of hussy?’ And then he laughed and I cussed him out and threw money into the mix and it seems my lack of will power has screwed me over yet again.”
“Screwed me, you mean.” Your hands have found the end of her shirt and slip beneath, feeling for the scattering of raised freckles at her low back. “How about this. We wait to tell Steve until tomorrow, after we’ve had sex again, and this time I’ll give you a bunch of hickeys so he can’t deny the proof.”
You feel the apple of Robin’s cheek round into a grin against you. “Neat. I love tricking Steve, it’s my favorite hobby. Well, besides my new one of having sex with you. My favorite girl. I don’t ever wanna move again.”
Her head lifts and re-affixes itself to your chest, the shell of her ear pressing firmly over your heart.
“-see, stuck. Like a limpet. Or maybe… something more sexy than a mollusk. I dunno. I just orgasmed so hard my brain melted. Please don’t ask me to explain any further because I literally, truly cannot.”
Your fingers find the half-inch scar raised parallel to the base of Robin’s spine, running over the twist of tissue with remembrance.
She’d been eight at the time, and had taken a fall from the low boughs of the sycamore tree in her backyard. A stick had snagged in her side with the impact, and after a trip to the emergency department Robin boasted three whole stitches to show for the whole ordeal.
You can still remember her toothy smile a week later, braids swinging as she pawed with clumsy eagerness at the collar of her shirt to show off her wound. In the familiar stretch of her freckly back, there was a row of neat black thread and two butterfly bandages.
Gravity had pulled, and you’d leaned in to kiss the edges of the sutures- as if pure magical will and childish intent could bring your girl healing with a single brush of your lips.
You use those same lips to kiss at the crown of her head now, smiling with fondness. “You don’t have to explain a thing, honey. Or let me go, for that matter- but I wanna see the stars one more time, before we leave.”
Robin kisses her way up your neck, over your jaw, movements sleepy but no less keen. Her lips press to yours again- once, twice- and the bands of her rings are cool against your cheek as she holds your face with expansive tenderness.
“Let’s go sweep some stars. But only if you promise to hold my hand the whole way.”
It’s a promise easily made and mostly kept, save for the moments you need to separate in order to clean up a bit and re-dress. There are more kisses stolen and given between the motions, more giggling and teasing and Robin’s sparkling gaze laid plain on the side of your face as you dip to wiggle back into your shoes.
Your hands interlace, and this time, neither of you let go. Robin leads you back through the station, palm warm against yours, taking the steps to the roof one at a time to make sure you’re following close behind.
There’s a brick wall separating the roof access door from the rest of the space, with a roughhewn wood bench built into its side. It faces the vastness of the night sky and has a perfect lack of armrests to be able to fit both you and Robin comfortably.
Robin pulls you into her chest, chin fitting snug to the top of your head as your arms automatically wrap around her middle.
The night is clear, and the stars are everywhere. Anywhere you look: pinpricks of light, clusters and constellations, the world holding steady as you hold each other.
You pour your thankfulness into the universe, for whatever stars have aligned to bring you and Robin together again.
afterword: thanks so much for reading! reblogs are never required but always so appreciated by me <3
can we take more polaroids for you to hide? - best friend!steve harrington
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: why does your best friend keep an envelope full of polaroids of you in his drawer?
warnings: explicit language, steve has a boner???, making out, implied sex, cursing, not proofread.
note: this is inspired by chappell roan’s love me anyway !! also, requests are still open btw! enjoy :)
don't repost or translate my work.
steve has a polaroid camera in the top drawer of his bedside table.
not on the dresser where people can see it. not on a shelf like something sentimental.
it lives in the drawer. buried under loose quarters, a tangled cassette tape, three movie ticket stubs, and a pen that barely works anymore.
and, if you dig a little deeper, there are pictures inside a white envelope. all of them are of you.
not the kind of pictures boyfriends keep in their wallets. not the kind they show their friends, either. steve takes them when you're sitting on the edge of his bed wearing his shirt, or when you´re under him, naked with his cock still hard inside you, or when you're halfway through telling him to knock it off before the flash goes off anyway.
“steve-”
click.
every time you say the same thing. every time he grins like he’s proud of himself while the picture slowly fades into view between his fingers.
you’ve been best friends for years. since before the stupid popularity, before half the town knew his name.
somewhere along the way, things got complicated.
it didn’t happen all at once. it was little things first. falling asleep on his couch after movie nights. soft touches here and there. sharing a blanket. your legs thrown over his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. because it was.
then one night you kissed him.
and neither of you ever really talked about it after that.
now it’s just something that happens sometimes. late at night. when his house is quiet. when you’re both a little too close on his bed and neither of you feels like pretending you don’t want it.
best friends, with a habit of hooking up and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.
and a drawer full of polaroids that steve absolutely, definitely doesn’t look at when you’re not around.
it´s one of those nights again. steve called you over innocently, knowing damn well how the night with you is gonna end.
you’re digging around in steve’s nightstand drawer.
he’s stretched out on the bed, shirtless, dick hard and swollen hitting his hairy happy trail, tossing you a lazy smirk like he knows exactly what he’s gonna do to you.
“where’d you put them?” you murmur, rifling through the mess.
he shrugs, staring at your naked body. “put what?”
“the… you know,” you say, rolling your eyes. “condoms, steve. i told you this a billion times, i’m not doing this without-”
and then your fingers hit something different.
a white envelope. neat. doesn’t belong in the chaos of receipts and old gum wrappers.
curious, you slide it out. it’s heavier than a single condom packet should be.
you pull the flap open.
and then the world tilts a little. there’s you.
dozens of versions of you. laughing, frowning, your face covered in his cum, his shirt hanging off your shoulder, messy hair over your eyes, naked body laying on his bed. the camera caught every little thing. every night, every careless moment, every time you thought he wasn’t looking.
you freeze.
he doesn’t notice.
he’s still lying there, smirking like he’s king of the world, waiting for you to grab the condom from the drawer.
“find ‘em yet?” steve asks, voice rough and sleepy.
you don’t answer. your fingers are still inside the envelope. there are so many.
the polaroids slide against each other with that soft, papery shuffle when your hand trembles a little.
you pull one out.
it’s you, again. you’re naked, laying on his couch, a blanket barely covering anything. there’s a date scribbled in messy pen along the bottom. steve’s handwriting.
you swallow.
another. you’re standing by the window in his room in black lingerie panties.
you remember this one. again, you thought he had thrown it away.
the camera caught everything, every little moment, every time you thought he wasn’t looking.
you feel something tight and weird in your chest.
“steve,” you say quietly.
he hums from the bed. “yeah, baby?”
you finally turn around. the second his eyes land on the polaroid in your hand, his expression changes. the lazy smirk fades a little.
“…oh.” he says.
you hold up the envelope. “what the hell is this?”
shit, are you mad at him?
“you weren’t supposed to find those.” steve drags a hand down his face, bringing the white bed sheet over his lap.
you stare at him. “there’s like… a million.”
“forty-two.” he corrects you, automatically.
silence.
“fuck.” steve closes his eyes.
“did you just-”
“shit. i mean- i didn’t mean to say that out loud.” he mutters into his hand.
you look back down at the bed.
you’ve dropped the rest of them onto the sheets without even realizing. the little white squares are scattered everywhere now.
“steve…” you say slowly.
“yeah?” he peeks at you through his fingers.
“why do you have forty-two pictures of me in an envelope.”
he shrugs.
a terrible, useless shrug.
“i like takin’ pictures.” he simply says.
you give him a look.
“okay, yeah, that sounded creepy.” he sighs.
“a little…” you mumble.
he pushes himself up slightly against the headboard now, sheet slipping lower on his hips.
“they’re not creepy.” you say, picking one up.
steve scratches the back of his neck. you look at him.
“steve.”
“yeah?”
“why do you even keep these?”
he looks down at the bed.
for once, steve harrington, the guy who never shuts up, looks like he’s thinking way too hard about what to say.
“i dunno,” he mutters.
you wait and he sighs.
“i just… like having them.”
“why?”
“because it’s you.” he gestures vaguely at the photos.
that doesn’t answer the question and he knows it.
you shift a little on the mattress, pulling the sheet higher around yourself without really thinking about it.
“okay,” you say carefully. “but why hide them here?”
that’s the part that makes him hesitate. he glances toward the nightstand drawer, then back at you.
“because if they’re out,” he says slowly, “then people ask questions.”
you raise an eyebrow. “what people?”
“…anyone.”
“steve.”
“okay, fine, mostly robin. you know how she’s always around and looking through my room. remember that day when she found your panties in my bathroom?” he groans.
you huff out a tiny laugh despite yourself. “yeah, she’d lose her mind.”
“exactly.”
your fingers run along the edge of one of the polaroids. “you could keep them in your wallet.”
“nope.”
“why?” you ask him.
“because that’s… boyfriend territory.” steve rubs his jaw.
neither of you move.
you glance back down at the photos scattered across his bed.
forty-two tiny reminders of nights like this. mornings like this. afternoons spent doing absolutely nothing together.
you pick up another polaroid from the bed. you’re standing by the stove in steve’s kitchen, only in his shirt, probably making him breakfast. you don’t remember him taking it.
“when did you take this?” you ask.
steve leans forward a little, his ears turn pink. “last summer, i think.”
“you kept it.” you say.
“yeah.”
“but you hid it, steve.”
“yeah.”
“why?” you look up at him.
steve exhales slowly, his shoulders slump a little like he’s tired of holding something in.
“because,” he says quietly. “i’m not supposed to want them the way i do.”
“what does that mean?” your stomach flips.
“it means you’re my best friend.” he gestures at the photos again.
“yeah.”
“and best friends don’t usually keep secret collections of pictures like this.” steve murmurs.
“steve,” you say softly. “best friends also don’t do… half the stuff we do.”
“yeah. no kidding.” he snorts.
the room goes quiet again.
you watch him. he’s staring at one of the polaroids near his hand, his thumb runs along the white edge of the picture.
“i look at them,” he says suddenly.
you blink.
“when you’re not here.” he shrugs a little, embarrassed now.
your chest tightens. “why?”
“seriously?” he laughs quietly, but there’s no humor in it.
“yes, steve. seriously.”
he finally looks up at you and there’s something soft in his expression now. something honest.
“…because i miss you sometimes, okay?”
your breath catches. he gestures helplessly.
“you’re not always here, okay? sometimes you’re busy or you’re out with friends or you’re on stupid dates with stupid guys.”
you say nothing.
he continues, voice quieter now. “and sometimes i just… want to see you. so i look at these.” his fingers tap lightly against the pile of photos.
“you miss me enough to look at pictures.” you stare at him.
“yeah.”
“even though you see me like… all the time.” you smile softly.
“yeah.”
steve scratches the back of his neck again, clearly realizing how insane that sounds. “look, it’s stupid, i know. i just-”
“it’s not stupid.”
he pauses. “…no?”
you shake your head slowly, your fingers brush over one of the polaroids again.
“it’s just… kinda sweet.” you say.
“you’re not mad?” steve squints at you suspiciously.
“i mean,” you say, holding up one where you’re clearly asleep and drooling slightly on his pillow, “i might be mad about this one.”
he immediately bursts out laughing.
“that one’s my favorite!”
“steve!”
you throw it at him. he catches it, still grinning.
then the laughter fades a little.
he looks at the picture in his hand. then at you.
“i wasn’t kidding, though.” he says softly.
“about?” you finally relax, laying on his chest, leg wrapped around his naked lap.
“missing you.”
the room feels smaller suddenly, quieter.
you pull the sheet tighter around yourself.
“you could just call me…” you murmur.
“i do call you.” steve smiles, hand going down to massage your ass.
“you could call more.”
steve tilts his head.
“or,” he says slowly. “you could just stay.”
your heart skips. “stay?”
“yeah.” he shrugs, trying to sound casual. “then i wouldn’t need the pictures.”
you look down at the polaroids scattered everywhere.
then back at him.
“you’d still take them.” you say.
he grins. “yeah, probably.”
“creep.” you roll your eyes, playfully. “so much for junior years steve calling jonathan byers a freak for taking pictures of you and nance. you’re out here doing the same.” you tease him, laughing now.
“hey!” he says defensively, holding back a laugh. “this is different, okay?!”
“whatever tickles your pickle, stevie.” you laugh softly.
he snorts, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.
“you’re so annoying.” he mutters.
“and yet,” you grin. “you keep me around.”
steve’s eyes flick down your body for a second, slow and unashamed like he’s remembering exactly how around you’ve been tonight before this situation interrupted you.
the sheet slips a little from your chest, his gaze lingers.
“yeah,” he says, quieter now. “i do.”
steve pulls you in. that familiar pull, the one that always happens when the teasing turns into something heavier.
you swallow.
he’s still looking at you like that like he’s trying to memorize something again, except this time there’s no camera in his hands.
just you.
“you say that like it’s a joke.” he murmurs.
“what?”
“keeping you around.” steve says.
“steve-” your breath catches a little.
“i mean it,” he cuts in, sitting up fully now. the sheet falls further down his lap, forgotten. “i want you around.”
your heart starts doing that stupid, fast thing again.
“you have me around,” you say, trying to keep it light. “i’m literally in your bed right now.”
“yeah,” he huffs, a small, almost frustrated laugh leaving him. “i know.”
and then, before you can even fully process the look on his face, he moves.
quick and sudden.
one second there’s space between you, the next he’s right there, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s done it a hundred times before.
“steve-”
he kisses you. it’s firm, a little desperate, like something finally snapped loose in him.
you make a small sound against his mouth, caught off guard, but your hands come up automatically, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
like you always do.
he leans into you, pressing you back into the mattress, one hand bracing beside your head while the other slides down your side, warm and familiar.
the sheet gets completely tangled between you. neither of you cares.
his kiss deepens, slower now but somehow more intense, like he’s trying to say something he doesn’t know how to put into words.
your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your lips.
“you drive me insane, baby.” he murmurs, barely pulling back, his forehead resting against yours for half a second before he’s kissing you again.
“you started it-” you laugh quietly, breathless.
“i always start it.” he mumbles, like it’s obvious, like it’s nothing.
but the way he says it?
it’s not nothing.
his lips move from your mouth to your jaw, slower now, like he’s remembering himself, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment instead of rushing through it.
your hands slide down his back, pulling him closer, legs instinctively shifting around his.
there’s no space left between you now. just familiarity.
he doesn’t pull away and neither do you.
for a second, everything just hangs there. your breath mixing with his, his hand still warm against your face, your fingers curled tight in his hair.
he swallows.
you feel it, the movement under your palm.
“say something.” he whispers, softer now. not cocky. not teasing. just him.
you don’t. instead, you tug him back down.
kiss him again.
and that’s all it takes. whatever line was still there, whatever thin little thread of we probably shouldn’t, snaps completely.
steve exhales against your mouth, something almost like a quiet “fuck” slipping out as his hand slides from your cheek down your neck, your shoulder, your waist- like he’s allowed to, now.
your back presses into the mattress as he leans over you again, slower this time but heavier, more deliberate. the kind of kiss that builds instead of rushes.
“you’re-” he starts, then stops, shaking his head against your lips.
“hm?” you whisper, breathless.
“you make everything complicated.” he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“you love it.” you smile, just barely.
“yeah,” he admits, way too easily. “i really do.”
your hands drag down his back, pulling him closer, closer, until there’s no space left.
he gets it.
his hand finds yours for a second, fingers tangling together before he presses them into the mattress beside your head, holding them there.
“you’re staying.” he says against your mouth, like it’s already decided.
“yeah.” you don’t even hesitate.
he stills for half a second, just enough to look at you.
something in his expression softens in a way that almost hurts to see, like all those stupid polaroids suddenly make sense.
“yeah?” he asks, quieter. you can feel his grin against your lips
“yeah, stevie.” you nod.
that’s all he needs.
and somewhere between tangled sheets, quiet laughs, and kisses that don’t feel so secret anymore, the drawer full of hidden pictures doesn’t matter as much.
note: this is a small one but i hope everyone lovesss it !! likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶🏻
requests are open btw, u can also request for other stranger things characters or someone else from my request list !!!!
modern day steve harrington au where he asks for a girls number and she gives him a fake number, which ends up being YOUR number, and you get really close over text
I’ve been waiting for the Steve Harrington fic for daysss, when is it coming exactly?? 🥹🥹🥹🥹
i'm going to be kind and assume that you didn't read this post before sending this ask, but also reiterate that this sort of ask makes writers feel really bad.
it doesn't feel good. it doesn't feel appreciative. the wording makes me feel like i'm failing, just because my real life gets in the way of a fun little hobby.
maybe i'm being a bitch, idk but I shouldn't have to explain what is going on in my personal life at all just because i am not able to make a deadline that i set myself.
but fuck it, i will, because i want to take a moment to humanize myself and other writers.
i struggle with clinically diagnosed OCD. specifically the subtypes of contamination, false memory, perfectionism, pure obsessional, responsibility, relationship, and magical thinking.
i write/edit/make graphics/etc in a specific way. a big part of this editing ritual my funky lil brain has created, is that it has to be done all at once before anything gets posted. that way, in my mind, it's actually complete. it's just a non-destructive ritual that i've developed as a part of my writing process, along with many little rituals in my life.
on monday, almost done with this specific fic in question, my power went out. obviously it made me unable to complete the process. and sent me into several other mental OCD loops.
as i've mentioned before, my dad is sick and I am one of his caretakers. and I have a full time job. all that is to say, it's hard to find moments in the day where I can do the whole process without getting interrupted and having to start over.
i'm not writing this because I feel I need to explain. i'm writing it so maybe people will see it and realize unpaid, hobbyist creators of any kind do not owe you a timeline. we're humans beyond our silly lil blogs.
feel free to reblog this to spread awareness, add your own feelings on it as a creator, etc.
no hate to anon please, i truly believe it wasn't meant as rude at all, this was just a really great example of something i and other creatives struggle with.
modern day steve harrington au where he asks for a girls number and she gives him a fake number, which ends up being YOUR number, and you get really close over text
modern day steve harrington au where he asks for a girls number and she gives him a fake number, which ends up being YOUR number, and you get really close over text
kianamaiart
gamechangershow
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
