solarismoons @solarismoons - Tumblr Blog

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I'd run the risk of losing breath on empty pages, losing breath on no exchanges, losing breath on no one waiting

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Working at an overnight camp--the same camp you’ve been going to since you could walk--should be fun. But it isn’t. Not when all you can see is the boy you used to love, the boy who used to love you, running around, having the time of his life with his new girlfriend.

Everyone loves him. Everyone seems to want him. And you’re forced to watch it, knowing what he did to you, knowing how you feel for him.

Perhaps an old friend could help.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to loversish?, derogatory language, heavy ex yearning, plot heavy smut, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, ruined orgasm, oral (f-receiving), praise, light anal play (whoops), squirting, fingering, creampie, choking, dom!steve, jealousy, horsecock steve harrington ofc, a sickenening amount of petnames, probably more tbh...

W.C: 13.8k

a/n: this is by far my LONGEST oneshot and the nastiest smut I have ever written to date. I'm both parts happy and shocked with myself. hope you enjoy <3.

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The sun beats down on your back, heating your skin down to the bone. A lingering headache sneaks up your temples, settling deep within your skull. Your black tank–which you’re now regretting immensely–sticks to your skin, sweat sliding down each notch of your spine.

Other counselors chat and laugh around you, oblivious to the storm swirling deep within your stomach. An all-consuming ache that even with months of distance has refused to go away.

How can anyone blame you, though? Although some people might claim you and Richie Blake were nothing more than a summer fling, a brief blink in time, you know you were more than that. You wish, you hope, Richie knows that too.

Your love burned bright and fast, and no matter how long you fought to keep the wick standing, the wax melted too quickly, searing nothing but the memory of him into your skin. Burning all your faults into the creases of your charred palms, all the harsh words he threw at you settling deep within your bones.

Flashes of last summer flood back into your head as they always do, ever-present, never-ending. The ghost of his hands on your waist, the taste of his tongue on your lips. The constant “I love yous” and “I miss yous” even though he was only a few cabins down.

And then, there he is.

Richie shuffles over to a group of his friends, just a few feet away from you. A large, dimpled smile lights up his face, dirty blonde hair swooping high above the arch of his brows. Over all the chatter of other counselors around you, you can still hear that deep, baritone voice. Smooth as honey.

As if the world stops spinning on its axis, time slows down as his eyes slide to yours, through the crowd of people. A part of you hopes for a twitch of his brow, for his entire face to light up like it used to. Except… there's nothing. Then, like it never happened, he turns back to his friends and continues whatever story he’s telling them.

“Stalking him again?” A raspy voice behind you.

You spin around, eyes wide, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Jesus Christ, Robin!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She laughs, the sound escalating when you stick out your tongue at her.

“Seriously though, you have to let him go.” It’s true, of course. Doesn’t mean that the thought of it doesn’t make your heart hurt.

“I mean- come on, Rob? Who does that? Seriously?”

“I know-”

“He told me he loves me! How can you love someone one day, and claim ‘you’re not mentally ready for a relationship?’ Like, hello?!”

Robin cringes, watching you wave your hands around erratically, your face getting redder and redder. She gets it; she really does. But it’s been an entire year since last summer. Robin of all people knows how draining it is to dwell on the same person for so long. After all, her Tammy Thompson is your Richie Blake.

“Hey- maybe we should take a breath?”

Just as you're winding up to argue with her, you look over your shoulder, just wanting one more glance at his beautiful face—when she walks up.

Hollie Carter.

Long, shiny auburn hair falls down her back in soft waves, the sun shining off the loose curls. Tight black shorts vacuum seal themselves to the curve of her ass, her tits popping out of her red bikini top. The plump curve of her lip is smeared in shimmering gloss, her teeth shining white as a smile spreads across her face.

She walks right up to Richie, placing her manicured hand on his bicep. And the look on his face fucking breaks you. His eyes are shining, the dimple on his right cheek appearing almost immediately. You remember the times you pressed your lips against it; you remember the times his eyes used to shine that way when he looked at you.

But they’re focused on her.

And god, she’s fucking beautiful. Everything you’re not. Athletic, funny, put together. Sexy. Everything you were insecure about in his arms.

There were rumors they were talking. You knew they must’ve been true. Hell, even when he was yours, she was all over him. But, fuck, seeing them interact like that? Right in front of you? It hurts. It’s worse than hurt, even. It’s that type of burning ache that tears through your veins, splits your heart open till you’re bleeding into your lungs, choking on every “what if.”

What if you were prettier? What if you were funnier? Smarter?

And yeah, you can’t blame him for moving on. You don’t own him. At this point, it feels like you never had him in the first place. Sometimes you wonder if you were ever even friends?

Robin knocks you out of your spiraling thoughts rather abruptly, sliding in front of you, blocking the sickeningly good-looking couple from your view.

“Okay. Enough of this, I'm serious. You need a Richie detox,” Robin says, stepping to the side when you try to look past her shoulder once you see Hollie getting on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. “I’m serious! You should move to be a counselor for the older kids so you don’t have to see him as much!”

In response, you shake your head. You wish it were that easy. “Rob, we’re four weeks into the summer! I can’t just switch bunks.”

“So you’re just going to torture yourself for another five weeks?”

“No- I’ll- I’ll deal with it, okay?! It’s like- it’s not even that big of a deal. I’m over him,” you huff, sounding like you wouldn’t even be able to convince the most gullible person on the face of this planet.

“I’ll talk to our boss, how about that? See what she can do-“

Your conversation is once again interrupted by a chorus of greetings from over Robin's shoulder, and another face you’d really rather not be seeing right now.

Steve Harrington, Richie’s best friend. His right-hand man, if you will. Both you and Robin watch as Steve saunters up to the growing group of counselors and claps Richie on the back. Some kind of energy in the group shifts, like they’re absolutely enthralled by the man.

It does nothing more than fuel your growing anger. Your despair. To you, Steve Harrington is nothing more than a man-child with too much hair. To you, he’s nothing to blink an eye at, nothing to swoon over like every fucking person on this planet does.

Maybe, to other people, you have absolutely no reason to hate him. Just because he’s friends with Richie doesn’t make him an asshole. But you know better. You have a way of reading people, seeing things others can’t. You’re not falling for his spell.

A little tidbit that you know for a fact that Steve would never tell anyone—to him, he’s too cool for the likes of you—is that you used to be friends. Best friends, even. Back in high school. Then he became the king. Really, he just became a fucking asshole. Nothing less, nothing more. He started pushing you away, calling you less, laughing at you when he was with his new shiny friends.

To top it all off, Steve only became close friends with Richie AFTER he broke your heart. They merely rotated in the same circle beforehand! It’s like he did it to spite you. To show that you’ll never be anything more than that weird girl King Steve wouldn’t even spare a passing glance at.

Fucking dick.

Robin, seemingly noticing the steam billowing out of your ears, grabs your forearm and starts to drag you away. “Okay, we’re done here. Back to our cabin!”

“Wait- Robin! I still need to get snacks for my kids!” You say, stumbling into step with her.

As you’re pulled away from the crowd, you don’t notice the honey-thick eyes burning into the back of your head.

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Cold lake-water laps against your ankles, goosebumps littering your skin with each gentle roll of the water. The light from the moon shines on the ripples of the inky black water, cicadas singing somewhere deep within the trees that surround you.

After an entire day of stewing in anger, the sadness came crashing in, like it always seems to do. That crushing, devastating pain sat heavy on your chest, making it almost impossible for you to even think without sobbing. Robin tried to help, forced you to watch all your favorite comedies, scooped you a huge bowl of ice cream, and let you cry on her shoulder. Although it helped for a little, it just wasn’t enough.

So, once she fell asleep on your shoulder halfway through a movie you don’t even remember the name of, you slowly set her head down on a pillow and snuck out to the camp lake. Your happy place, the one place where you feel like you can breathe.

Still, tears silently roll down your cheeks, mixing into the inky water below.

At this point, you begin to think it’ll never get better. This empty hole in your heart just won’t heal; it never will. And what makes it all so awful? Richie doesn’t even care. You know he doesn’t think of you. He doesn’t even spare you a passing glance; how foolish do you have to be to think one day he might miss you?-

Suddenly, footsteps sound on the wood dock behind you, heavy yet unrushed. You quickly wipe your tears on the sleeve of your sweatshirt, sniffling quickly.

“Robin- just go, please,” you whisper, hiding your face to the side, hoping she can’t see the mess of mascara you know is smeared across your cheeks.

“Hollie’s a bitch, you know,” she says.

Except, the voice is not Robin’s at all.

You startle, your neck almost breaking from how quickly you whip your head to the side. “What the fuck?!” You rush out, holding your chest where your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your ribs from the shock.

You’re face to face with Steve, his face illuminated by only the moon, his hair a messy swoop of chestnut waves. “You shouldn’t let her bother you,” he says casually, his gaze settling on the far side of the lake. A cigarette hangs from his lips, glowing dimly, smoke curling in the air.

Looking at him, bewildered, you open and shut your mouth. “What the fuck do you want?”

Then, he glances back over at you, tilting his head to the side. He pulls the cig from his lips, blowing the smoke in your face. “That’s why you’re crying, right? Hollie and Richie? Or just Richie?”

Scoffing, you scoot away from him, shaking your head. “Steve, seriously, fuck off,” you grunt, waving the pungent smell away from your face.

He’s silent for a moment before you hear shuffling. His feet slide into the water next to yours as he leans back on his hands, relaxing like this is a normal conversation he’s having with one of his closest friends.

“What he did… Was really fucked up. I should’ve said something sooner.”

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him, your lips parting. That’s new.

But also rich coming from him of all people.

“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have become all buddy-buddy with him a week after it happened. You’re worse than him for that.” Maybe that last part isn’t… completely true. But it feels that way. You haven’t been friends for a long, long time. Yet it feels like a betrayal. That kind of quiet betrayal that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, that keeps you up for weeks wondering why.

He blows out a breath, shaking his head. A few strands of hair fall over his brow, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he debates his next words. “He lied to me about it,” he whispers, taking another drag.

Immediately, you shake your head. “Sure he did. Everyone knew about it last year; he was bragging to his whole fucking friend group. Said he led me on for fun, called me an ugly bitch.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve exasperates, smoke blowing from his lips when he speaks, his eyebrows twitching. “He said that?”

Just as you're about to fire back at him, you turn to look into his eyes. All you see is genuine shock. And anger. “He didn’t tell you that?”

“I heard rumors from our other friends. I thought it was just bullshit. He seemed so… stand-up,” Steve says, having trouble even getting the words out after what you just said.

In response, you blow out a laugh. “They always do.”

Silence follows, only the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind, the sharp coos of owls just a whisper in the night. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and his cologne, the scent weirdly comforting. From the corner of your eye, you can see him flick the dying butt into the lake beneath his feet, making your eye twitch. But you don’t say anything, snapping your teeth together.

You think back to what Steve said just a few moments ago, about how Richie lied to him. The question sits on your tongue, begging to be let out. But a part of you doesn’t even want to know. For all you know, he could’ve told people that you’re a crazed stalker that casted a spell on him so he’d fall in love.

But curiosity seeps in deep, grabbing a hold of you in its sharp claws. “What did he tell you?”

The man next to you is silent for a moment, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. Even in the moonlight you can see a soft dusting of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. “It’s just gonna piss you off…”

“Harrington, I’m already pissed off. Just fucking tell me.”

With a soft sigh, he shakes his head. “He, uh. Told me you slept with his friends when you guys were dating.”

You almost breathe a sigh of relief. It could be worse. It’s not great, but it could be worse. “That’s it? He just wants people thinking I’m a slut?”

“At the same time.”

“Oh.” You’re silent for a moment, your body bracing itself for your next question. “How many did he say?”

Silence rolls back in, Steve’s face almost glowing in the night. It’s certainly a weird sight to see the king so unbelievably uncomfortable. “Five.”

You sputter, choking on your spit. “Five?! Five??! Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead,” he looks over at you, a sheepish look on his face.

“And you believed him? Like, you legitimately believed I had a fivesome. Me? Of all people?”

“I mean- I think that would be considered a sixsome?”

“Steve!” You shove his shoulder hard, almost causing him to tumble into the water.

“I’m sorry! He’s very convincing!” Steve says with a rich laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“Jesus Christ!” You laugh in disbelief, the tears long gone. “You know, he’s the fucking weirdo here. You know what he wanted me to do?”

He cringes, his eyes widening. “Oh god, can I say no?”

Promptly ignoring him, you continue. “He wanted me to watch him fuck my sister. My sister, Steve!”

He immediately turns his body toward you, eyes as wide as saucers. “You’re joking. Holy shit- You’re joking,” he sputters in disbelief.

“I wish I was!” You laugh, almost mad at yourself for putting up with all this bullshit he put you through.

“And you’re still hung up on this asshole?” He says, not in that teasing way that’s crafted to make you feel bad, but in genuine, utter disbelief.

“Fucked up, right?” You shake your head.

Steve’s silent for another moment, a soft laugh filling the empty air. “You need to get under someone else, Cookie. Get that asshole out of your head.”

Both his words and his use of your old nickname make you startle. “First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, fuck you. I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Whoa! Jesus, not me!” He throws his hands up in front of him, as if you’re about to hit him. “I can hook you up with someone. I know half the guys here.”

Embarrassment simmers low within your stomach at your assumption. “Oh…Right. Still, I don’t want you to be my.. Dick Wingman.”

“Your- Dick Wingman?” Chest rumbling with a laugh, an eyebrow quirks up.

“You know what I mean. I’m perfectly fine without sex.” And it’s true. Mostly. Sure, you’ve been getting slightly frustrated recently. But you’ve just been attributing it to the Richie-shaped-hole left in your heart. You just simply miss his touch, his taste, his warmth. That’s why. Not because you need to get pulverized into a mattress. God, no.

“Come on. Just- What’s your type? I can help you find someone. Call me your matchmaker.”

“No thanks,” you huff, not convinced.

“Look, you don’t have to sleep with anyone. Just tell me your type, and I’ll set you up with someone. You don’t like him, I’ll leave you alone. Won’t ever bring it up again.” Once he notices the unconvinced look on your face, he holds up three fingers. “Scout's honor?”

“You’re not a Boy Scout, Steve,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest.

Still, you consider it. What’s the worst that can happen? Like he said, it’s not like you have to sleep with whoever he finds for you. Even still, he could find you someone that you genuinely find attractive! Then maybe, finally, you could begin to get over Richie.

“Fine,” you sigh, taking a moment to consider. “I guess I like funny guys. The kind that can always make you laugh, even if they’re saying something stupid. Someone-“

Steve interrupts you quickly with a shake of his head. “No- I mean physical. Like, blonde, blue-eyed.”

Your eye twitches when you look back over at him. “I’m not that shallow.”

Fearing that he’s lost you again, Steve overexaggerates a pout, his eyes somehow glowing under the light of the moon. “Humor me. Please?”

“Ew, don’t do that,” you laugh, looking away from him. When you look back, he’s still pouting, looking like a kicked puppy. “Okay, okay, fine, stop,” you push his face away, earning a chuckle from his lips.

You take a moment to think. When you really consider it, Richie isn’t much of your type at all. Of course, you find him attractive. You’d be blind not to, really. But you’ve never really had a thing for blondes. That’s a starting point, you suppose.

“I mean, I guess I’ve always had a thing for brunettes,” you say slowly.

“Gotta give me more than that, Cookie,” he winks at you when you throw him a nasty look.

As you think about it, the words begin to tumble out of your mouth in a long, seemingly never-ending stream. “I like brown eyes too. Not exactly brown, actually. I like when guys are pretty, you know? When the sun hits them, and their eyes turn almost golden. When if you look close enough you can see flicks of green in them.”

Steve’s silent for a beat, and you chalk it up to him simply processing your words and waiting for you to continue.

“I like full lips, too. Not when they’re chapped. I don’t know why guys refuse to wear chapstick; I hate kissing someone with dry lips,” you shudder at the thought and continue. “I also think I have a weird thing with noses? I like when guys have big ones. Everyone says it’s ugly, but I think it’s cute.”

“Mhm,” Steve murmurs, but it sounds slightly strained. Still, you continue.

“Oh, and, jumping around here, but I like when guys have nice hair. Last year Richie showed me a picture of him in a buzzcut, and it was… Really, really bad. I just think guys look so much better with lots of hair. I mean, not long hair like Jonathan’s friend. But you know what I mean,” you rush out, letting the words tumble out without even thinking.

To your surprise, Steve is still silent. Quickly, you assume it’s because he expects you to continue. Sure, slight miscalculation on your part, but you keep talking. “I don’t need a guy that’s ripped or anything. I like when guys are a little soft, or lean. Biceps are a must, though. And he doesn’t really have to be that tall—just taller than me.”

Finally, you look over at him, not really sure what else to say. He’s staring at you wide-eyed, his lips parted and a look of absolute bewilderment written all over his face. He stutters a few times, completely unable to even get a single sentence out.

“Wha- What did I say? You told me I can be shallow!”

“No- I- Think about everything you just said,” he finally gets out.

For a moment, you press your lips together, trying to comprehend what you could’ve possibly said wrong. “What? The height thing? I don’t think it’s bad to want someone taller than you.”

He looks at you like you just ran over a puppy, his eyebrows furrowed so tightly you’re worried he might give himself a migraine. Steve says your name slowly, then he gestures to himself.

It takes you a moment to understand what he means, but as soon as you realize, you laugh loudly and roll your eyes. “Steve, not every girl is attracted to you. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

“Okay- hold on. Usually, I’d agree with you. But after all that shit you just said? According to you, I’m exactly your type!”

“Oh, Steve, come on!” You scoff.

“Brunette?”

“There’s plenty of brunettes at this camp!”

“Great hair? Tall? Hazel eyes? Big nose? Lean? Cookie, please tell me you’re not that dense,” he says, voice almost begging.

You’re about to argue with him, you’re about to deny, deny, deny. Because, seriously? You? Being attracted to Steve Harrington? You’ve always had an immense amount of pride for not being like all the other girls who fawn and drool over him. But slowly, so slowly, something deep twists within your chest. Realization comes slowly rolling in like waves crashing on the shoreline, the undertow dragging you under with it.

Under the moonlight, you look at him. You really look at him.

And fuck, he’s gorgeous. The moon casts shadows across his face, deepening each curve, his long eyelashes casting a shadow over his face. Freckles are splattered across his tanned skin like constellations, spreading all the way down and hiding beneath his tank top. His hair falls in soft, chestnut waves over the arch of his brow, urging you to run your fingers through them.

And his lips. Oh, fuck, his lips. They’re curved into a teasing smirk, making you wish you could wipe it right off. They’re dusted a baby pink color, plush and full. They look soft, so, so soft.

Okay. You’re fucked. You’re so fucked.

Knocking you out of your trance, you feel fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze to line up with his. “You’re attracted to me, Cookie. Admit it.”

Humiliatingly, you can feel your face glow red, the tips of your ears burning. “I’m- No- God, Harrington, you’re so full of yourself! And- you know what? Your eyes aren’t even hazel, asshole!”

He gives you a deadpan look, his hand dropping from your chin. “Really? That’s the defense you’re going with?”

When you refuse to say anything more, he rolls his eyes. He fishes in the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a small flashlight. Then, he shines it right in his eyes, making him flinch back just slightly.

You see the deep, rich color, specks of gold and deep greens swirling in the thick pool of honey. They almost glow in the artificial light, a siren call that urges you to get lost in them. As soon as the light comes, it ceases when he flicks the flashlight off and shoves it back in his pocket. “Are you done?”

You look down at your lap, hanging your head in shame. You’ve run out of words to defend yourself with, embarrassment sinking deep in your soul. You should’ve just kept your big fucking mouth shut. “Can we just… pretend like this didn’t happen?”

Steve shakes his head sharply, not letting you get away with this so easily. “Nah-ah. I’m still your matchmaker, remember? And we just found the perfect candidate to make you forget all about Richie,” he says, his voice lowering on the last part, the deep baritone going straight into your stomach.

“I’m not letting you stick your dick in me, asshole. Stop trying to pimp yourself out to me,” you say, forcing your eye to twitch despite how those first words make you feel between your legs.

“I never said anything about me fucking you. I don’t even have to take my pants off, you know. I can... make you feel good. Just for a night. Show you that Richie’s not the only guy that knows what he’s doing,” Steve murmurs, walking his fingers up your thigh, his touch gentle, light. Just in case you push it away.

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when waves of molten travel right to your core at the mere thought, at the barely there touch of his fingers. “So- W-what? You’re just going to rub my thigh until I have to fake an orgasm?”

At that, Steve lets out a deep chuckle. “You know I’m better than that,” he says simply, not offering more.

After a deep breath, you shake your head. This whole thing is stupid. Having mediocre not-sex (with Steve Harrington of all people) isn’t going to help you get over the man you love. But a small, tiny fraction of your body aches for touch. Not… specifically Steve’s, right? Just someone’s hands all over your body, the warmth of their lips against yours, their taste on your tongue.

“Okay,” Steve says with a shrug, like it doesn’t bother him. To your surprise, he pulls his hand away and sets it in his lap.

As soon as his warmth leaves you, a chill spills down each notch of your spine, a deep lingering want left behind in its wake. Something akin to a searing desperation, the likes of which you haven’t felt in a long, long time. Not since Richie.

With a shuddering breath in, you give in. You can’t imagine leaving this dock, going back to your cabin and tucking yourself to sleep without at least giving it a try. “Steve?” You whisper, so quietly you’re worried he won’t hear.

Slowly, he turns his head, an eyebrow quirked. “Hm?”

Without so much as another thought, you push his head toward you and surge toward him, your lips pressing against his.

Somewhere in the back of his throat sounds a strangled groan, his entire body freezing. You move your lips against his, almost letting out a moan of your own at how soft they feel against yours. When you pull back, he’s staring wide-eyed at you, blinking at you with nothing but confusion on his face.

“You gonna help me tonight or what?”

His pupils blow, a smirk growing on his face, his eyebrows furrowing in challenge. “You sure?”

“Shut up, Harrington.”

Just as you see the ‘make me’ forming on his lips, you twist your fingers into his shirt, yanking him forward. This time, Steve comes to his senses quite quickly.

His hand slides up your neck into your hair, his nails scraping your scalp as he grabs a fistful. His mouth is persistent and warm, feeling like it’s made to be against yours. “You better be good,” you murmur into his mouth.

Feeling his smirk makes your cunt flutter around nothing, the feeling making you shudder. “Oh, I am, honey,” he says right back.

He slips his tongue out of his mouth, coaxing your lips apart. You allow him to tilt your head to the other side, his tongue slipping into the wet heat of your mouth. A soft whimper leaves your throat at the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours, his taste absolutely intoxicating. Somewhere beneath the lingering smoke on his tongue, you can taste the sharp mint of gum, and a taste so uniquely Steve you can’t help but whine. Fuck, it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

You can feel him smiling against you at your little whimpers, his teeth hitting yours when you press yourself closer to him. The kiss borders on senseless, pure desperation. He licks into your mouth with fervor, your lips glistening in spit, both yours and his.

Once you feel his hand traveling up your shirt, cold fingertips brushing your burning skin, you place your palm on his chest, pushing him back. “We- We should go to a cabin.”

Steve blinks at you, his eyes completely dazed. When his brain is able to catch up with him, he clears his throat and nods. “Eddie’s at Chrissy’s tonight. Mine is empty.”

“Right. Yeah,” you breathe out. The gravity of what you’re about to do starts to weigh on you when Steve stands up and offers his hand, pulling you down the dock.

Hopefully he’s not all talk.

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The walk back to the cabin is silent, your heart matching each heavy footstep you both take. As you get closer and closer, your stomach begins to twist, warmth pulsing between your thighs. The smell of damp grass wafts through the air, the mud beneath your shoes getting softer with each march forward.

When you see Steve’s cabin come into view, dread begins to pulse through your body. What if you can’t get Richie out of your head, and you moan his name instead? And again, what if Steve thinks he’s really that good, when in reality, he’s not? You’ve had a good amount of sexual partners. None of them were really that… mind-blowing. Some of them were downright awful. You shudder thinking about all the times guys have jackhammered their fingers in you, telling you to cum when you weren’t even close.

And Richie? You don’t even remember. That’s how much you loved him. He could’ve been absolutely awful, and you'd have no clue. All you could think about when he was with you, when he was in you, was just that: how your heart is fully his, no one else’s.

Without you even realizing, you end up at Steve’s front door. He takes a moment to fish his keys out of his pocket. You can’t help but notice the way his biceps flex when he twists the key in the knob. At least he’s hot.

Steve cracks the door open, motioning for you to step in. Shuffling to the middle of the room, you take a look around. It’s more or less the same as yours, if not a little messier on one side. With a quick look around, you realize it’s Eddie’s side that’s mostly untidy. Band posters and clutter line the walls and shelves, sheets dark as night. His desk is covered in papers and pens, coffee rings scattered all over it. It’s not disgusting, per se. Just so Eddie that it makes you smile.

Steve’s side of the cabin is… surprising. It’s neat, almost empty. His sheets are navy blue, pillows silk white. His desk has a small pile of papers on it, a line of pens on top. The only light in the room is the little lamp on his desk that he must’ve left on before going to the docks. It smells strongly of citrus soap and Steve’s cologne when you walk over to his desk, the scent infecting your lungs with each inhale. You smile when your fingers brush against a small succulent, googly eyes on the pot.

“Who’s this?” You chuckle.

Quiet as a mouse, Steve comes up behind you, his chin leaning over your shoulder. The sudden barely-there contact makes you shiver. “Jonathan gave it to me. Don’t know how I’ve kept him alive so long.”

“It’s a succulent, Harrington. You have to water them like… four times a year.”

His breath is hot on the shell of your ear when he chuckles, eyelashes brushing your temple. “I don’t think you came here to talk gardening with me, Cookie.”

You can feel your face light on fire, the AC doing nothing to calm the heat of your body. It intensifies when his fingers rest on your hips and turn you around, your faces just barely apart.

The look on his face is earnest when he speaks next, “We don’t have to do this, honey. You can walk out right now. Or just chill here for a little. Up to you.”

Considering it for a moment, you gently shake your head. You’re determined. “No- I want this,” you whisper, voice firm. Final.

With a twitch of the corner of his lips, Steve leans in, pressing his lips to yours once again. Immediately, you can’t help but melt into him, pressing your chest against his, fingers tangling in the soft tendrils of his hair.

Steve deepens the kiss with a sweep of his tongue against the roof of your mouth, a needy whine from your throat following it. He walks you backwards blindly, pinning you to the wall with his body.

The kiss becomes sloppy, his hands traveling across the planes of your body, tracing each dip and curve with warm, eager palms. You gasp into his mouth when his hands travel downward, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass. With a press of his palms against your ass, he drags your crotch against his.

As soon as the seam of your shorts comes into contact with the firmness of the bulge in his, you let out a frankly embarrassing noise.

“Feel that?” He grunts against your mouth, rolling your hips against his, making sure you feel him kick up against you. “See what you do to me, pretty girl?”

The pet name sends a spark through your body, your legs spreading when Steve kicks them apart just slightly. Then, he presses the corded muscles of his bare thigh against your aching heat, grinding you down onto it. “Steve-“ You whine, eyebrows furrowing as he nips at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.

“What do you need? Tell me, honey,” he murmurs against your jaw, his nose nudging your head to the side.

Before you even have the chance to answer him, his teeth sink into the skin of your neck, the sharp pain stinging so good. You let out breathy whimpers as his lips press against the spot, tongue swiping out to soothe the blooming purple. “Fuck- Steve! You’re gonna- ah- leave a mark,” you whine, fingers cording through his hair, holding him against you despite your words.

“Good. Gotta show Richie that you’re bein’ taken care of, yeah?” He murmurs, nipping at your fluttering pulse, the skin jumping as your blood pumps through your body harder, flooding your ears until all you can hear is that thick, syrupy voice. “Show him that you don’t need his pathetic ass anymore.”

The words should hurt, should make you feel empty inside like they have every single time Robin has tried to comfort you with them. But with his hands all over you, his thigh grinding against your clit so perfectly, it sends fire through your veins.

He pulls you forward, walking you to his bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress, and he picks you up, palms pressed into your ass. Contrasting the heat of his mouth on yours and his hands all over your body, he gently lays you on the comforter, your hair splaying out over his pillow. He lands on top of you, one hand pressed against the mattress, his knee between your thighs.

And then he pauses. His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your jaw. “God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, almost in awe. “You know that?”

Blinking up at him, your lips part. Richie never told you things like that in bed. Really, he was almost completely silent besides a few grunts here and there. “You… you don’t have to say stuff like that, Steve. This is just purely sexual,” you murmur, although the words twist something ugly within your chest.

Quickly, he shakes his head. “Just telling the truth, Cookie. I’ve always thought you were gorgeous,” he whispers.

Not giving you a chance to respond, he latches onto your neck again. When you let out soft whimpers, his lips track downwards, wet against your collarbone. He leaves even more blooms of purple in his wake, the wet heat of his mouth feeling like heaven against your skin. Lowering his head, he nips at the spillage of your breasts out of your tank top, a shiver running through your body.

Steve looks up at you through thick eyelashes, his hands sliding up your tank, brushing against your ribs. There’s a question in his eyes, wordless but evident. “Please,” you whisper.

He lets out a warm chuckle against your skin, pulling away to slide the fabric up your body slowly, his eyes darkening with each inch of skin that’s revealed to his hungry gaze. You raise your arms, letting him pull it completely off and throw it behind him somewhere.

A part of you wishes you were wearing something cuter than your old cotton bra, the pink color faded into a beige, but his eyes darken anyway. “God, look at you, honey,” he says, cupping you through the thin fabric, his thumb brushing your hardening nipple.

You sit up slightly and reach behind your back, undoing the clasp. Slowly, he helps you drag the straps off your arms, pulling them away from your body completely. Your tits spill out, goosebumps rising over your newly revealed skin at Steve’s rough gaze. “Fuckin’ hell.” He ducks his head down, taking a nipple into the heat of his mouth.

Immediately, pleasure spikes through your body in ripples, your back arching into his warmth. Steve chuckles against you, his tongue swirling around the firm peak. “So responsive,” he coos, tugging gently on it with his teeth.

His other hand reaches for your other tit, pinching and rolling your other nipple between nimble fingers. You slide your hand through his hair, holding him there. He switches his mouth to the other one, sinking his teeth into the plush skin. Heat pulses between your legs, your panties slick with arousal, sticking to your heated skin.

You grind your pussy against his thigh, searching for any friction you can get. “Needy girl,” Steve mumbles, smirking around your nipple.

In response, you whine, dragging yourself against his leg like a humpy chihuahua. In hindsight, it would be embarrassing how he has you like putty in his hands with only his lips on your tits. But how could you blame yourself, when no one’s touched you like this in an entire year?

“What do you need? Tell me, honey,” he whispers, picking his head up and nuzzling his nose against your jaw, breath prickling your skin.

You whimper, grabbing his wrist. You try… and fail to pull his hand between your legs. Steve tuts with a click of his tongue, his fingers digging into your thigh instead. “Use your words. Where’s that foul mouth?”

“Steve,” you huff, trying again.

His eyes widen in admiration when you yank his other hand downwards, pressing his palm against your pussy. “Stubborn,” he murmurs. Although the contact is more than nice, it’s still not enough. Eyes narrowing at you, he speaks again. “Use your words, or you’re not getting what you want.”

“What happened to ‘I just wanna help?’” You say, despite knowing you don’t have the upper hand here. Not when you’re half naked under him, his body pinning you to his mattress.

He grins down at you, his teeth showing when he grinds his palm against your clit, pulling a breathy moan from your lips. “I do, but you gotta show me how much you want this. That you’re not here wishing it was him.” His voice darkens on the last few words, his smile fading.

Oh.

He’s jealous. Steve Harrington is jealous. “Steven,” you say with a sly smile. “Are you jealous?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t get jealous, Cookie. Especially not over Richie Blake,” he practically spits out his name.

If there’s one thing you’ve known about Steve, he's a terrible liar. So why not poke the bear? “What if I did wish it was Richie? Wish it was his hands all over my body, getting me like this?” You say, reaching out and palming him through his basketball shorts, trying not to let your breath catch at the firmness of him. “That it was his dick twitching in my hand?”

That snaps something within him. He immediately grips your wrists—not painfully, just enough where you can’t wiggle out easily—and pins them to the mattress, his face inches from yours. “Don’t fucking say his name,” he says through his teeth, eyes wild.

Something churns in your stomach, then builds like a forest fire tearing through the brush. Your cunt clenches, your panties feeling far too sticky to be comfortable. They’re practically clinging to you through your shorts. “It’s true,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you say it.

Without giving you a chance to respond, he captures your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth, breath mingling with yours. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding your aching pussy against his fattening bulge once again.

He reaches down, yanking your shorts and panties in one go. You flinch, cold air dusting over your heated skin as soon as the fabric leaves you. His mouth is still on yours as he explores your body, fingers slipping through your folds. Steve groans when he feels how soaked you are for him, his fingers spreading you wide open. “Real wet for someone thinkin’ about someone else, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the pad of his middle finger pressing firmly against your swollen clit.

“Oh, shit,” you whimper, intense pleasure striking through you as he finds the right rhythm, the right way to move to make you arch up into his touch.

“Like that, yeah?” He murmurs, circling his finger a little quicker, pulling more moans from your lips. You know he doesn’t have to ask; he already knows how gone you are without him doing much of anything.

Quickly, he pulls his fingers away, pulling a protesting whine from deep in your throat. Then, he begins to kiss down your body, his tongue dragging across your soft skin. Your eyes begin to widen when you realize what he’s doing. Steve settles between your legs, his hands wrapping around your thighs and yanking you downward toward his face.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at him between your legs. Big mistake. His hair lies in messy waves over his forehead, his cheeks sun-kissed and freckled. Soft lips are flushed a pretty pink, plump and glistening with your spit. He’s already looking at you through his lashes, eyes half-lidded and glazed over.

The overwhelming warmth spreading through your body at just the sight of him intensifies when his tongue sweeps out, licking a broad stripe from your dripping hole to your clit. You moan a little too loudly, your head plopping back down onto the pillow.

He does it a few more times, tongue parting your folds. A groan vibrates against your skin, his nose pressing against your clit. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmurs, breathing in your scent deeply. “So perfect.”

Your face lights on fire, embarrassment heating your cheeks. Before you can dwell on it, Steve dives in. He laps at your pussy like he’s starving in the desert and you’re the only food in sight, his tongue dragging against your clit with such practiced precision that it makes you keen against him.

“Fuck- Steve!” You moan unabashedly, fingers twisting into the bedsheets, just looking for anything to grab.

A chuckle vibrates against your clit, sending more shockwaves through your entire body. He ducks his head, spearing his tongue inside of you, his nose nudging against your clit. Your hips lift off the bed, moans slipping from you without care. Thighs squeezing either side of his face, Steve pins them down, clicking his tongue once again. Why is that sound so hot?

“Steve, oh my god,” you drag out, eyes rolling back in your head.

He whimpers against you when your hips grind up against his face, needing even more. “Keep doing that, baby, get what you need,” he mumbles, latching right back onto your clit.

“Oh, fuck, right there!” You pant heavily, the coil deep in your stomach tightening until it feels like it’ll snap at any moment.

Just as you feel the rubber band lurching forward, suddenly everything just… stops. Your orgasm dies like a cigarette butt being stomped into the ground, flickering pathetically as it tries to ignite. Your eyes crack open, and you look up at the ceiling in confusion.

Slowly, you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down between your legs. Steve’s sitting back on his haunches, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. He’s looking at you with a fire in his eyes, a small smile on his lips.

For a second, you think he might’ve miscalculated. Maybe he thought you had already cum? Anger rolls in through your veins, in heavy clouds. Of course you wasted a night on this idiot. “I didn’t finish, asshole! I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“I know,” he just says.

This completely catches you off guard, your eyebrows raising. He doesn’t give you the chance to protest much, however.

“Wha- Steve!” You yelp, eyes widening when he pushes you back onto the bed, a finger prodding at your entrance. He slides it in, pumping slowly. Your eyes widen, your cunt clenching around the intrusion.

When you look at his face, he seems to be searching for something. His finger curls deep within you, prodding with each movement. His smirk deepens when he finds that soft, spongy spot, confirming it when your hips twitch up, a loud whine bouncing off the walls. As soon as he finds it, he presses hard against it, sliding a second finger in.

He splits you apart on his fingers, curling them even harder with each deadly thrust of his wrist. Steve’s thumb presses against your clit, circling around it. The pleasure is so intense it almost burns, his fingers scissoring you open.

You climb up to the ledge a lot quicker than before, already so, so close from your ruined orgasm.

“Fuck, Steve! I’m so close, oh my god!” You moan, eyes rolling backwards.

“Cum for me, baby,” he murmurs.

This time, he lets you topple over the edge. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, your back bowing high off the bed. You cum hard and fast, his name on your lips like a prayer. Steve's fingers still work you, all the way through your orgasm. Except… they don’t stop. His thumb keeps circling your clit, pressing harder even after you’ve already finished.

“Steve!” You whine, squirming away from his touch.

But… he pins you down. He presses against your stomach, preventing you from moving away from his touch. “Hold still for me, honey,” he murmurs, that look of focus on his face returning.

Your nerves feel like they’re on fire, a million little needles pricking your skin. A foreign feeling bubbles deep within your stomach, your eyebrows furrowing. Loud moans fill the room, your thighs shaking violently with the overstimulation.

“Steve, I can’t-“ You sob, tears filling your waterline. “Please, it’s too much!”

“Shh, I know you can take it, baby,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with his other hand, contrasting the roughness of his fingers pounding into you.

Obscene noises fill the room, the loud squelching of your cunt with each thrust of his wrist causing your cheeks to sting. Steve doesn’t seem disgusted; however, it just urges him on more. “You’re soaking my wrist, god,” he mumbles, a wicked smirk on his lips.

His fingers reach a spot within you that has drool pooling at the corner of your lips, your eyes squeezing shut. Your mind is hazy with pure euphoria, nothing on your mind but him. You cum hard, again, yet Steve doesn’t stop, even when you clench around him like a vice.

“Bet he never made you feel like this, hm?” He murmurs, leaning down and peppering your neck in harsh bites.

You’re unable to respond, your vision black with the back of your eyelids, your toes curled so hard they’re cramping.

“He’s never had you like this, drooling, shaking, yeah?” He growls, changing the angle so instead of his thumb, it’s his palm grinding against your clit.

Loud, nonsense murmurs leave your lips; nothing you’re saying makes any sense, and Steve just laughs. It doesn’t feel mocking, however, but in your haze of pleasure you can’t place what it is.

Suddenly, your eyes snap open when a pressure begins to build low within your stomach. It’s unfamiliar but far too familiar all at the same time. Panic rips through your body at a sickening rate, your eyes wide. “Wait- Steve,” you yell, your hips snapping up.

His fingers press firm against your g-spot, your head thrown back and a loud squeal leaving your throat.

Liquid sprays out of you, soaking Steve’s entire arm and shorts, his sheets dampening beneath your ass. “There it is,” he growls.

His fingers continue to roll against your sensitive walls, your cunt clenching around his fingers like a fucking vice, making him almost unable to move them. “You’re doing so good, I know you can give me more.”

With one more grind of his palm against your abused clit, you squirt again, the bed absolutely ruined. You soak his arm all the way to the elbow, his face in absolute awe of you.

You go completely limp, your fingers that you hadn’t even realized were dug deep into his wrist unpeeling from his skin, your trembling legs dropping against the mattress. Chest rising and falling heavily, your heart almost cracks a rib from how hard you’re panting.

“Good girl,” he coos, leaning down and pressing his lips against your forehead, his gentleness almost shocking when compared to his motions from just a few moments earlier.

A wince slices through your teeth when he slides his fingers out, your cunt pulsing with oversensitivity. “Sorry,” he whispers, kissing your temple before flopping down on the bed next to you, facing the ceiling.

Steve gives you your space, letting your body relax and come down from the intense high he brought you to, multiple times. Slowly, you come to, your chest rising and falling at a normal pace, your heart slowing to a light jog. After what could either be five minutes or ten, you throw your arm over your eyes and huff out a soft, “Fuck.”

You feel him shift to his side on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. “You okay, honey?” He whispers, voice soft, his fingers brushing your jaw.

“Mhm,” you mumble, still not really sure what just happened.

You shift just slightly, your heart dropping when you feel the wetness beneath your ass. Immediately, you sit up, your eyes bouncing between Steve’s sheets, comforter, and his clothing. “Oh my fucking god! I’m so sorry,” you rush out, your face tomato red.

Steve also sits up, chuckling as he shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says gently, placing a hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

Except, you’re not listening to a word he’s saying. “Oh my god, I ruined your bed!” You rush out, covering your face with your hands.

“Cookie, it’s just sheets. Eddie has extra. I promise you, it was hot,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face by your wrists. “I promise.”

“Are you sure? I-“ Realization dawns on you, all the color draining from your face. “Steve, holy shit, you made me squirt.”

A loud laugh rumbles from his chest, a hand running through his hair. “I did. Richie ever make you do that?” He tacks on, like he couldn’t help it.

You whip your head toward him, your face completely deadpan. “What the fuck do you think?”

Again, Steve laughs, leaning over to peck your lips. You kiss him back gently, palm against his neck, your thumb sliding against his jaw. “No one’s ever made me do that before,” you admit.

He pulls back, a victorious smile on his face. “Good.”

Shaking your head, you kiss him again, his lips firm against yours. Although it’s not as heated as before, something flickers in the background, growing and sparking.

He shifts, pulling your bare chest against his, his tank rough against your sensitive nipples. You reach out blindly, your palm finding the bulge in his shorts that still hasn’t gone down. You hear him whine into your mouth, his dick twitching against your hand when you squeeze.

“Honey,” he whispers once your hands travel up his tank, pulling it upward. “Hey, hey,” he stops you, grabbing your hands. “We don’t have to. Tonight was about you.”

Shutting him up with another kiss to his lips, you brush his hair out of his face. “It’s not fair I get to feel that good and you just get nothing.”

Any protest he has dies on his tongue when you squeeze his dick again, his hips grinding up into your palm. “Ah- Cookie,” he grunts, head thrown back.

“I want you in me, Steve,” you whisper into the shell of his ear.

Immediately, his eyes snap open, scanning each crease of your face once you pull back. “Are you sure? I mean…” He trails off, motioning to his ruined sheets.

“I can take it,” you say firmly, although you’re not really sure you can.

“Yeah?” He whispers, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down, watching as it snaps back up when he lets go.

“Yeah,” you say back, already tugging his tank top over his head.

Steve snaps out of it, helping you pull it off of him. Before he gets a chance to move on top of you, you push him back, getting a good look at the expanse of newly revealed skin. And god, he’s gorgeous. Dark curls of hair cover the length of his chest, his stomach just slightly toned, a little soft. You can see each dip of his ribs, a trail of hair below his navel dipping all the way into his waistband.

Most eye-catching, though, are the jagged scars that twist into his flesh, deep and tinted purple. Your lips part at the sight, his stomach clenching when you drag your fingers over them. It looks like something bit down into his skin and pulled him apart slowly. The thought alone makes you shudder.

The question dies on your tongue when he follows your gaze, his tongue coming out to wet his lips, a nervous tick you remember from high school. “Story for another day,” he murmurs, gasping low and deep when you lean down to press your lips against each raised scar.

He whispers your name, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and something else you can’t place. With shaking hands, you reach down and undo his drawstring, peeling the damp fabric down his thighs. Steve kicks them off the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but tight navy briefs. Due to the dimness of the room, you’re unable to see much through the dark fabric, not like you could see the silvery scars practically shining on his skin.

Before sliding your thumbs in his waistband and tugging downwards, you take a shaky breath in. You’ve heard far too many rumors about Steve Harrington, so many you can barely keep track of all of them. But the one that you’ve heard most, the one that everyone and their mother spread around in High School? Steve Harrington is hung. Not only is he long, but thick too. You remember sitting in chemistry class senior year, hearing Stephanie Wiggins pop her gum and describe exactly what he’s working with in excruciating detail. Yeah, it was a rough class.

You used to roll your eyes at the chatter, chalking it up to rumors Steve himself spread, that girls who wanted to sleep with him—but never got the chance to—grabbed onto as ‘proof’ that he let them.

But now, you’re a little nervous. After what he just made you do, you’re not sure how much more you’re going to be able to take.

Still, you hook your thumbs lower, pulling the fabric away from him. He lifts his hips, helping you slide them completely from his body. When your eyes flicker back to where your mind has been all night, your heart drops.

Every single rumor you’ve heard? They’re all true. Every last one of them. Even the one where Casey Atkins said his dick was “pretty.” You cringed at it when you overheard her in gym class, but it’s true.

He’s long and thick, the skin tanned and looking so, so soft. The tip is flushed a light pink, precum already leaking down the shaft. Thick veins snake around in coiling lines, enticing you to drag your tongue across them. A trimmed patch of hair sits at his base, connecting to his happy trail that you refuse to admit turns you on to no end.

“You want a picture?” He says coyly, seeing how wide your eyes have gotten.

Your eyes snap up to his, a sly look on his face that you want to kiss off. “Shut up,” you say, your cheeks pink.

“You should watch your mouth, Cookie,” he whispers.

Steve opens his mouth again, probably to tease you more, but every single word dies on his tongue when your small hand wraps around his dick, your thumb swiping out to smear the dot of precum. “Oh,” he breathes out, his lips parting.

To your delight, he lets out soft little whimpers when you lean over and let a string of spit fall from your lips to your fist, making your palm glide easier across his shaft. He throws his arm over his eyes, his throat working with each whine that leaves his lips. “Baby, you keep doing that, I’m not gonna- fuck- last for you.”

The new pet name makes your movements falter for just a second, before picking up speed a moment later. “Then you better pin me down and do something about it,” you say, hoping he gets your insinuation. Despite how sensitive you still are, how the apex of your thighs is still pulsing with overstimulation, you can’t help but want him to manhandle you a bit, to pin you to the bed and get what he needs.

He drops his arm to his side, his eyes snapping to your face at the insinuation. “How do you want me?”

You tilt your head slightly, not really sure what he means, but you answer anyway. “As rough as you want.”

Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, your eyes tracking the movement. “You sure? I don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispers, your name, his voice so sweetly earnest it melts you a bit, despite the lewd situation.

“Please?” You whisper. A thought crosses your mind, words that you know will drive him mad–exactly what you want. “Fuck him out of me.”

The effect is near immediate. Steve’s eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowing so tightly it makes you smile. He lurches forward, fingers digging into your hips and flipping you over, your stomach pressed against the still-damp sheets. It should gross you out, but it does the opposite, your thighs pressing together.

“Ass up,” he grunts, pushing your upper back down to make you arch. When you’re fully exposed to him in the low light, he groans, spreading you open with his thumbs. “Look at this pretty pussy. So wet, all for me," he murmurs, not as a question. A statement.

You blush, knowing how much of yourself you’re giving to him. But you don’t regret it; you don’t feel uncomfortable. Steve makes you feel safe, seen. Loved. Quickly, you shove that thought from your mind quickly. That’s not something you should be thinking about, especially not when the circumstances of this hookup aren’t romantic whatsoever. Purely a favor on his part.

The thoughts bounce out of reach when you feel the blunt head of his dick slide through your dripping folds, once, twice. “Condom?” He asks, pulling back just slightly.

The thought of having him bare makes your stomach clench almost immediately. “I’m on the pill.”

He’s silent. For a moment too long. You think he might be regretting it, that this has gone too far. But when he grabs your ass, his nails digging into your skin, you know that’s far from the truth. “Fuckin’ hell, you want me raw?”

Nodding as hard as you can, you wiggle your ass back onto him, gritting your teeth when a vein drags against your clit. “Don’t pull out.”

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, nearly a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to fill this pussy up, huh? Have you full of me?”

“Please, fuck, please,” you moan out, gripping the pillow in preparation, breathing in his cologne that’s soaked through the fabric.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he murmurs, pressing his tip against your weeping hole.

The stretch is quick to come, making you both groan at the same time, Steve’s fingers pressing bruises into your hips. “Fuuckkkk, so tight f’me,” he groans, nearly doubling over.

You almost yell at the burn that’s so good it’s overwhelming, his dick nearly splitting you open. “Fuck, Steve!” You moan out, knuckles cracking at the force of them twisting in the sheets.

He pushes in halfway, your cunt clenching around him, forcing an obscene moan from his throat. He rubs his hand up and down your spine, nails dragging a soothing pattern. “Breathe for me, baby, come on.”

You do as he says, trying to follow his exaggerated breath from the effort of him trying not to slam right into you. He can feel your body relax and flutter around his dick, dragging him deeper. “There we go, so good, you’re doing so good,” he coos, his voice becoming breathy in a way you can’t recall having heard before.

“Deeper,” you whine out, pushing back onto him.

The breath is punched out of his chest when his hips meet yours, his dick fully sheathed within your waiting cunt. “Jesus Christ,” he groans, unable to hold back from rolling his hips.

The fat head of his dick just barely kisses your cervix, your thighs trembling already. You’ve never felt this full before, this sensitive. And no one, especially not Richie, has reached this deep within you before. “Steve,” you whimper pathetically, your eyes squeezing shut.

“I know, I know,” he coos, his thumbs spreading you wider. You can feel him watching in awe as he slowly pulls himself out, all the way to the tip. Then, without warning, he shoves forward, slamming back into you in one brutal thrust.

His headboard slams against the wall, your mouth opening in a silent scream. He does it again and again, the breath quickly stolen from your lungs. “Fuck, take it baby, take this dick,” he grunts, yanking you backwards onto him, spearing into you at a brutal, unrelenting pace.

Each time he punches forward, his tip bullies your g-spot so perfectly that you have to bite the pillow to stop yourself from screaming.

The sound of skin slapping skin bounces off the walls of the cabin, your pussy squelching obscenely loud with each snap of his hips into you. With each thrust in, Steve’s grip on your ass gets tighter, his thumb just barely brushing against your hole.

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but a fire begins to burn brightly deep in your stomach. It’s a type of want you’ve never felt before, for something you’ve always been curious about. Not able to make out any sounds other than moans and screams, you arch even harder, the pad of his thumb pressed right against it.

His hips still for just a moment before he snaps them forward once again, a breathy laugh tumbling out. “You like that?” He asks, pressing firmer.

Whining out a “yes” is all it takes for Steve to run with it. You feel him spread you open even wider, leaving no amount of decency. A gasp tears out of your throat when you feel a glob of spit land right on your hole, warm and wet.

“Gonna try something, honey, tell me if it hurts,” he grunts out, spreading his spit with his thumb. Then, making your eyes bulge out of your head, you can feel the tip of his thumb push through the tight ring of muscle.

As soon as it does, your stomach tingles, your walls fluttering. It feels strange and new, but so, so good. When you moan his name instead of wincing in pain, he sinks the digit inside down to the knuckle. No one’s ever touched you back there, not even yourself. You moan loudly, bouncing back onto him.

“Fuck, you really like that,” he laughs out, more so in shock than in an effort to humiliate. He keeps his thumb still as he thrusts into your cunt, stretching you wide open with each movement.

Suddenly, he reaches forward, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades. Steve wraps his fingers around your throat, yanking you backward. He sits up on his knees, your back pressed firmly against his front. With his free hand, he grabs at your jaw roughly and tilts your head to the side, his lips locking with yours.

The kiss is more than sloppy, both of you panting into each other's mouths more than kissing. Your eyes flutter open, looking into his. And god, he looks good. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead, his lips parted and his face flushed. His hair is messy and plastered to his forehead with sweat, hanging over the arch of his furrowed brows.

His thumb still thrusts into your tight hole, despite the awkward angle. Steve’s other hand locks around your throat, squeezing your pulse points just barely. It’s not so much where it hurts or makes you panic, but just enough to make your breath leave you in ragged pants.

With both of his hands occupied, your own travel downwards, shaking fingers circling your swollen clit. Once Steve realizes what you’re doing, he groans, his lips brushing your temple.

“Keep touching yourself, baby,” Steve murmurs, his voice so husky that you know he’s close.

Steve knows it too, his efforts doubling. He thrusts his thumb fully inside of you, his fingers tightening around your throat. “Come with me, please, honey,” he pleads.

Drool begins to spill down your chin, tears tracking down your cheeks. You murmur his name over and over, it being the only sound you’re able to conjure up. The coil in you tightens so fast you lose your breath, your head knocking back against his shoulder.

“You can do it, fuck, come on,” he grunts, holding his own orgasm as long as he can.

Then, with one more rough thrust, you come undone. You soar over the edge of your orgasm, your cunt clenching down on him like a vice, your legs shaking and a loud scream tearing from your lips. Steve immediately reaches up, his palm pressed tight against your mouth. It muffles you just enough, your breath hot on his hand.

Then, finally, he buries himself to the hilt, twitching once, then twice. He spills within you, hot cum coating your sensitive walls, intensifying the aftershocks of your own orgasm. Steve’s teeth sink into your shoulder, muffling his own noises.

You sit shaking in his arms, his teeth still sunk into plush skin as you both come down from the intense high. After some time, Steve gently pulls back, kissing the bite and murmuring soft apologies. His thumb drags out of your tight hole, making you cry out once again. “I know, shhh,” he whispers, gently peppering kisses across your neck.

Then, he slowly pulls out of your abused cunt, laying you down on your stomach. He groans, watching his release drip out of your pussy onto his sheets, and he physically has to avert his eyes. Steve sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing sweet circles on your back. You lay there, trying and near failing to catch your breath.

After some urging from Steve, you’re able to blink the tears away, the clouds hovering over your mind clearing. You're able to register gentle kisses on your shoulder blades and the scent of sex lingering in the air. When he hears your breath calm, his fingers draw hearts into your skin. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, completely spent and exhausted.

“Did I go too far?” Steve whispers, worry dripping like honey into his tone.

Then, you turn your head and look up at him, your voice sincere. “No. But.. think you’ve ruined me for anyone else,” you're able to get out.

At that, Steve chuckles, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “I’ll take it you're not still thinking about him?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. “Huh?”

He lets out a loud laugh at the confusion on your face, like he’s completely fucked the man out of you, just like you asked. “Richie,” he clarifies.

You shudder at the thought of him, the feeling you typically get when you hear those two syllables completely bleeding out of your body. “Ew,” you say, nose scrunching in disgust.

Steve just laughs and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? Then I’ll change these sheets.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs at the thought of him taking care of you like that, the feeling weird when it’s associated with Steve Harrington. “You don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“Oh, Cookie, I definitely have to change these sheets. As much as I love you, don’t think I wanna be sleeping in that all night,” he teases. The words slip out almost mindlessly. You realize he doesn’t even know what he said when he stands up and hums softly to himself while he strolls to the bathroom.

You lay there in his bed, your eyes wide and your breath still. Did he really just say that? Did you imagine it in a post-mind-blowing sex haze? More importantly, why does it make your heart bloom?

You’ve never felt that way about Steve. Not once. Well… perhaps you had a little crush on him in high school when you were friends. Okay, more than a little crush. But love? That’s ridiculous. Sure, you’ve come not to hate him after the night he just gave you. But it’s just the result of all the orgasms he brought you to. Not because you have feelings for him.

Sure, maybe you are very attracted to him. And sure, maybe you only wanted Richie at first because you knew Steve was a mutual friend. But then you fell in love with him!

Oh.

You’ve never admitted that to yourself. You’ve always convinced yourself otherwise. That if you truly wanted Steve to notice you again, you would’ve dated Eddie, or even Jonathan. But looking back now, it was a desperate ploy to get him to speak to you again, to realize he missed you.

Of course, you truly did love Richie at some point in time; you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t. You truly did miss him deeply, too. But maybe, after he broke your heart, the scar was older. Older and deeper than you’d like to admit.

Just as you come to the realization, Steve creeps out of the bathroom, a new pair of boxers covering his body. He stands in the doorway awkwardly, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “Um. I didn’t mean to- uh,” he coughs, and now you realize what he said dawned on him. “Slip of the tongue,” he tacks on haphazardly.

You sit up and tuck your legs beneath you. His eyes don’t even stray from the floor, even when the blanket falls from your shoulders. “Why did you stop talking to me?” You ask, shakily.

“Huh?”

“In high school?” You ask. Your voice isn’t angry; you’ve gone long past anger. You’re just… curious. A tad hurt. “You were my best friend. Was I not yours?”

“Oh honey,” he says, voice cracking. He walks over to you quickly, cupping your face with both his hands. “Of course you were. I was so fucking stupid back then. Tommy and Carol teased me about being friends with you, and I just… I listened. And god, I regret it every day. I regret every day I didn’t talk to you. Every day I pushed you away. You know, last summer? I wanted to apologize. I couldn’t find the words, especially when I saw you with him,” he rushes out. “I’ve been so stupid, Cookie.”

You swallow thickly. “You have.”

Steve chuckles, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“I think I have, too,” you admit, looking down at your lap.

Just as you can hear him about to protest, you stand up on shaky legs, fingers wrapping around his wrists. You hold his gaze steadily. “I did love Richie; I can’t tell you I didn’t. But… I don’t know. It feels like he’s a step in my path to someone else. To the person I wanted to be with all along.”

Steve’s eyes widen, his eyebrow quirking.

“To you, Steve,” you say with a wobbly smile.

He blinks at you in shock, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he scrapes up a squeaky “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, leaning in to press your mouth against his in a soft, chaste kiss. Then, with a deep breath, you whisper against his lips, “I love you, too.”

At that, Steve lets out a breathy near-sob, unable to help himself from tugging you against his body, his arms wrapped tight around you. You stand there, chest to chest, heart to heart, breathing in his scent, basking in his touch.

It feels like you’ve come home, like you’ve come up for air after sinking to the depths of the ocean for so long.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Over the next few weeks, your relationship blossoms and grows. To the dismay of Eddie—who you’ve promptly kicked out of his own cabin multiple times—you spend almost every night with Steve, sometimes naked beneath his sheets, sometimes just resting in his arms while a movie plays faintly on the boxy TV on his dresser.

The only people who know are Robin and Eddie, the former of whom ran around screaming when you first informed her. Although she was slightly suspicious of Steve’s intentions, after speaking with him, she became nothing but supportive of you both.

Although you’d like to shout from the rooftops your love for him, his love for you, you both decided it’s best to keep it quiet. Word spreads fast around camp, rumors wild and violent. There’s no need to give people something to sink their teeth into, especially after the things Richie spread about you.

One night, you’re in your own cabin for a change, Steve’s head ducked between your legs, his favorite spot. He laves at your folds lazily, his finger sliding against your walls nice and slow. Your shirt is pulled up around your neck, his hand squeezing around your tit, your own curled tight around his hair.

You moan softly, grinding your hips against his face. Just as you begin to feel that now-familiar pressure in you build, loud knocks crack against your door.

Steve pauses, his eyes flicking up. You glance toward the door and just shrug, urging him to continue. “It’s probably Robin forgetting something. She’ll go away,” you whisper, only feeling slightly bad for urging her into Nancy’s cabin for the night.

At your word, Steve gets back to work, his finger spearing into you a little quicker now. He groans in frustration when the knocks sound again, louder and quicker. You’re about to tell him to keep going when you hear a familiar voice calling out your name.

Richie.

“Can we talk?”

Steve’s head quickly snaps up, your eyes widening. “The fuck?” He whispers, sitting up on his haunches.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. What could he possibly want? You haven’t spoken to him in a year! When you see Steve about to get up, you place your hand on his shoulder, pushing him downwards. “Heel,” you joke, earning a playful jab to your stomach.

Quickly, you stand up on weak legs, pulling on your pajama shorts and fixing your t-shirt. You don’t bother fixing your hair or your pink cheeks. After all, you don’t have anyone to impress except the guy on your bed, and he’s seen every inch of you.

You pad over the door, opening it only enough for him to see you, just when he’s mid-knock. Richie’s face changes when his eyes rest on you, a small smile crawling its way onto it. If it were a few months earlier, you’d melt.

“What?” You say, slightly snippy. God, you really wanna get back to having your boyfriend's mouth on your clit.

Richie clears his throat and runs a hand through his grown-out buzz, mussing the sandy waves. “I just- I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” You cross your arms.

“I think- I made a mistake, blossom,” he admits, his old nickname for you not even sparking the smallest of flames within you. “With Hollie.”

You don’t speak, just tilting your head to urge him to either speak or get the hell off your porch. “I miss you, okay? I shouldn’t have let you go. Hollie’s nothing compared to you, my blossom,” he says, reaching forward and taking your hand in his.

Eyes widening, your heart drops. The fucking nerve he has to come crawling back to you after everything he did to you, after everything he said behind your back, too cowardly to say it to your face.

“I want you by my side again, I want you to be my future. Remember what we talked about? California? Us on the beach?” He says, eyes shining.

You pull your hand away, wiping it on your shirt. Richie’s eyes widen just slightly at the motion, his irises swirling with confusion. “Blossom? I know you miss me, baby. I heard you and your friend talking about it just a few weeks ago,” he almost pleads.

“Richie, get lost. We both know you’re doing this because Hollie dropped your ass,” you say, voice firm and final.

His eyebrows furrow in pure confusion. “I don’t- Come on, don’t do that,” he murmurs, reaching out to grab your hand again. When he does, you can hear the bed springs behind you squeak, the noise just barely there.

Suddenly, you feel a large, warm palm wrapping around your waist. You watch as Steve’s fingers wrap around the door, yanking it open to reveal him behind you. “She said get lost,” Steve says, pulling you back against his bare chest.

Immediately, Richie drops his frozen arm, his eyes as wide as saucers. It’s almost comical, really. His eyes dance around the scene in front of him, gaze landing on the bite marks on your neck, the purple marks on Steve’s. The mess of your hair and Steve’s, his state of undress. Finally, his eyes land on the shirt you're wearing. Undeniably, it’s not yours. An old Hawkins High swim team tee.

“What the fuck!” Richie spits out, more so directed at Steve than you. “You’re an asshole, Harrington! What kinda friend fucks his buddy's ex?”

Steve’s arm wraps around you tighter, as if Richie would reach out and take you away from him.

“First of all, we’re not buddies. Second of all, you don’t own her. Especially not after the shit you spewed to everyone about her.”

Richie shakes his head, his face red with anger. “Blossom, you don’t seriously want this prick, be serious! He’s all talk and no dick!”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle, your eyes widening and your palm slapping against your mouth. Richie flinches back, his eyes wild with anger.

“Sorry- I just- this is rich coming from the guy I had to fake orgasms with for a year,” you get out, amusement leaking into your voice.

Richie scoffs, running a hand through his hair. He seems twitchy, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he’s ready to punch something. Or someone.

“Get lost,” Steve says firmly, slamming the door right in his face.

As soon as the wood cracks against the frame, Richie screams profanities on the other side, his boots stomping on the gravel while he storms away, probably off to lick his wounds.

You spin around, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck, your head tilted up. Anger is settled deep on his face, his eyebrows creased so hard it has to be giving him a pretty strong headache. You smooth out the wrinkle between his brows with your thumb, his face relaxing just barely.

“Calm down, Stevie. Save your energy for me,” you whisper, kissing him gently.

He melts against you, palm pressing against your spine, holding you against his chest.

“I love you, Steve. More than I can say. Not him,” you whisper against his lips, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“I love you more, Cookie,” he says with a smile.

Slowly, you pull back, cupping his jaw. “You know, you’ve never told me why you call me that.”

Steve smiles sheepishly, his breath hitching for a moment. “You really wanna know?”

“Of course I do. You’ve been saying it since ninth grade.”

“I don’t know… You were always just so warm. Comforting. Something I wanted to go to when I had a shitty day.”

You blink at him, your smile wobbly and sincere. “You’re so corny,” you laugh, the sentiment full of so much love.

“That’s why you love me,” he dips his head down, pressing his smile against yours.

୨♡୧

a/n: hope you enjoyed! this fic is unfortunately inspired by my own sad life. fuck you camp guy.

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