an: i figured id make this bc i always love getting to go through all of someone’s stuff when i stumble on their writing!! hope you enjoy :)
feel free to send suggestions/concepts/requests
**most work will be 18+ minors do not interact!!!!**
steve harrington:
pet names and looped pinkies part one (wc: 6.4K)
pet names and looped pinkies part two (wc: 9.6k)
summary: you and steve are best friends but do best friends really do the only things you do? and you really both want to be more. 18+
indifferent (wc: 15.5k)
summary: you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and he’d do anything to have your attention. 18+
the first of many (wc: 3.6k)
summary: steve finally asks you out and your first date is filled with a fear of heights, fluffy penguins, and funnel cake.
mint chocolate rewards (19.3k)
summary: you’re tutoring steve (there’s not a lot of learning going on) and he’s a smug asshole sometimes. (ft. ice cream, trains, and karaoke) 18+
the next level (10k)
summary: coming to terms with being hopelessly in love with your long term best friend is easy enough (it’s not) until the years of touching and tension come to a head on a visit home from school 18+
so im itching to write something based off this pic if anyone has any requests or ideas i am all ears. so far director steve x pa is on my mind but i am not fully convinced
so im itching to write something based off this pic if anyone has any requests or ideas i am all ears. so far director steve x pa is on my mind but i am not fully convinced
You and Steve hated each other from the first moment you met but when you get betrayed by the people you love the most, all you have is each other. (8k)
ain't it fun? @maroon-cardigan
since high school you were always regarded as a top student with a brilliant future, but after college is over you find yourself doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do: moving back to hawkins. if being a total failure wasn’t humiliating enough, once you’re back you find out that your friends now hang out with no other than your high school bully. (29k)
touch me baby @sweatervest-obsessed
(21.7k)
chrisrtmas affairs @maroon-cardigan
your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him. (26.7k)
indifferent @stevesherdaddynowlover
you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention (15.5k)
whats the name of the game? @maroon-cardigan
every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade. (25.6k)
stuck @thecreelhouse
Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. (4.6k)
come home @stevie-petey
come home to me, okay?" "always," steve promises. in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington. (series)
save room for us @maroon-cardigan
one year after his divorce, steve sets his mind to give his daughter nellie an unforgettable christmas, yet in the midst of his efforts, he finds himself orbiting around the pretty receptionist that works in his office, diving into a holiday season full of secret encounters and sensual indecency. (24.2k) part two (20.2k)
guts! @water-loos
(series)
three's a secret @general-kenobis
You and Steve are friends with benefits. However, you've been wanting to try something way out of your comfort zone, and it brings Steve to a mission: find someone who agrees to your intentions. (Ps: your guest has a very peculiar piercing on his body) (7k) ft eddie munson
the edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) @andvys
Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end. (series)
gasoline @stevie-petey
it starts out simple enough. photograph the februarys in exchange for a cheap place to live. all you have to do is go to their gigs, take a few pictures, and hope that they like them.it starts out simple enough. until the bands frontman, steve harrington, begs for more. (series)
training wheels @maroon-cardigan
first kiss, first love, first heartbreak. you and steve have never been good at doing things for the first time, not unless you're together. yet there are certain types of tension that not even the strongest friendship can bear, and after years of distance you two can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that all those firsts were only leading you towards forever. (22.8k)
eddie munson
the hat rule @ghost-proofbaby
the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy. (13.3k)
forbidden fruit of desire @frombeyondthegravez
You are a dancer in the city, consistently trying to stay in line and be perfect. You usually don't let people see the darker desires plaguing you, but one man discovers too much at a party. He offers you a chance to get a taste of these fantasies, and you can't help but give in...if only you knew what he was hiding. (8k)
are you or have you ever been @elegantpaperoperatormaker
You’re the most popular girl in school, a 4.0 student, a fantastic cheerleader, and a force to be reckoned with. Eddie is…well, Eddie. When you two mix, it’s like oil and water. Spewing hateful insults one minute and hooking up the next, you and Eddie navigate the thin line between love and hate. (25.4k) part two (14.7k)
secrets I have held in my heart (are harder to hide than I thought) @andvys
A weekend alone with Eddie at Steve's cabin reveals all yours and his deepest desires, feelings you were too afraid to act upon bubbling to the surface, leading to a steamy night that might change you and your best friend forever. (20.4k)
smoke me out @strangerstilinski
you and eddie are friends — and really, what's a little shotgunning amongst friends? (7.4k)
sorry idek if you’d even be willing to do a follow up to indifferent but i had to share this thought
at the end, where reader says “you’d have to prep me for days” in his ear as he’s cumming 😮💨- THE THOUGHT OF STEVE TAKING THAT TO HEART AND TEASING WITH PREP FOR A WEEK UNTIL HIS GIRL IS BEGGING FOR HIS COCK. i can’t.
he definitely gets a little extra satisfaction bc he feels like he’s getting payback for the intense teasing he endured but at the same time he’s torturing himself.
OH FAIRYYYYYYY
i am more than willing. i have a new job where i dont have time to write all day like i did last summer unfortunately but when i have some time i will be working on this. i cant promise a when but I AM SO INTO THIS FAIRY TRUST.
I saw Adam Sandler’s 22 year anniversary post to his wife and he called her HIS FOREVER GIRL HOW CUTE IS THAT!!! Literally screaming crying and throwing up. Anywho it gives Steve vibes to me
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHB my god. this just made my eye twitch YOURE SO RIGHT UGH
just thought you guys should know im in the pedro pascal trenches right now. consuming alarming amounts of joel miller fics like it’s serious. (send me favs if you have some even tho ive probably read it) im a fallen soldier
just thought you guys should know im in the pedro pascal trenches right now. consuming alarming amounts of joel miller fics like it’s serious. (send me favs if you have some even tho ive probably read it) im a fallen soldier
an: i have not written in months but this ask revived a little part of me i think. i missed you and hope to have some motivation to write every once in a while…if you’ll have me. love you big 💌 (feel free to send requests as always and lmk what you think!!!)
masterlist here!!
summary: coming to terms with being hopelessly in love with your long term best friend is easy enough (it’s not) until the years of touching and tension come to a head on a visit home from school
(steve harrington x fem!reader) 18+ only
warnings: tiny use of y/n, fluff, cursing, teasing, messy kissing, spit, use of a toy, dirty talk, smidge of f masturbation, fingering, p in v, pet names, yearninggggg MDNI!!!!!!
wc: 10k+
There has always been something between you and Steve. Stolen glances and lingering touches that teetered right on the edge of friendship or something more. Drunken kisses that had your cheeks tinged pink and your heart racing far faster than normal.
Despite the tension between you, the heated eyes and sickly sweet pet names, what really warmed you was just how good Steve was. He’d held you while you cried, listened to you ramble on and complain about everything under the sun for as long as you needed and never made you feel like it was too much. That’s what you really loved about him, he never made you feel like you were too much.
Even when you got in those moods of yours, the ones where you pushed him away because you couldn’t handle how you felt and didn’t know how to cope with the thoughts in your head, he didn’t budge. He’d give you a kiss on your forehead, hold his lips there for a few seconds too long and whisper how he loved you, how he understood and how he’d be here when you were ready to talk about it.
Now that you think about it, you really can’t remember a time where you weren’t in love with Steve Harrington.
His ears must have been burning, your phone buzzing against your thigh has you shaking your head to clear your thoughts and you look down to be met with his name flashing across your screen.
“Hello, Harrington.”
“It took you a whole 7 seconds to pick up my call, I could have been dying over here.”
Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at him, laughing under your breath. “And I’m your first call?”
“Who the hell else would be my first call, princess.”
What you can only describe as a gasp gets caught in your throat and you hope he didn’t catch it. Your cheeks are warm and there’s a swirling in your tummy at the use of the pet name that has you gripping the phone a little too tight.
“911, I hope.”
His laugh is loud and without even closing your eyes you can tell it’s the kind where his head is thrown back and his eyes are squeezed tight. You know his throat is on display and you wonder if he’s cut his hair or if he still has those curls at the nape of his neck you love so much.
“God, I miss you.” It slips out before you can stop it, cheeks turning red in an instant. His laughter slows as if he’s sobering up and you curse yourself under your breath. Your mouth opens to say something, anything to dig yourself out of this awkward hole you’ve fallen into when he speaks. “I miss you too, sweet girl. I always miss you. All the fucking time.”
There’s a ringing in your ears as you let his words hit your skin, stick to you and try and worm their way into parts of yourself you’ve tried to keep locked up. He’s your friend. Your best friend. Best friends can miss each other, but hearing him laugh like that and just hearing his voice without being able to see him, to touch him makes you feel like your chest is caving in and it’s suddenly harder to breathe.
Steve’s the kind of person that takes up the whole room. All eyes are drawn to him as soon as he walks in, chocolate eyes that you swear to god sparkle when he smiles, deep dimples and a stray curl that twists against his forehead. And when his gaze catches yours, it’s like time stops. Everything outside of him is a blur and your whole body buzzes under his gaze.
At least you think that’s how everyone feels when they’re in a room with him.
He’s still in your ear talking about plans for the holidays and all the things you have to see, as if anything has or will ever change in Hawkins. He ends the call with a promise to talk tomorrow, but you know one of you will end up texting before the night is over anyways.
A gust of wind from your open window sends goosebumps across your bare arms, the chilly November air has a bite to it and it sends you back to a memory of Steve from high school that has a smile threatening to take over.
*5 years ago, sophomore year*
There might be a pink highlighter smudge across your cheek from the way your body jolts from a post study daze at the creak of your window being slid all the way open.
“You left your window open for me.”
It’s not a question, you both know that. Your body seems to realize who it is before your mind does, relaxing back into your bed and giving Steve a small, timid smile from where he’s crawling through your window.
Words don’t seem to be an option right now so you shrug at him, scooting over so there’s room for him to slide in next to you. It’s a routine the two of you seem to have, coming to each other for comfort, when you’re bored, when you miss the other. Really any reason to be together, you’ll take.
The bed dips beside you and a second later his arm is around you, pulling you closer so you’re tucked into him. “My own personal Wendy Darling, hm?” He chuckles at the blush crawling up your neck and touching your ears.
One thing you’ve noticed is that Steve almost always has a hand on you, like he needs to feel your skin against his if he’s in the same room. Like now, laying in your bed his hand has made its way up to your hair and he’s twirling a few strands between his fingers, tugging gently every once in a while.
It’s quiet in the room, the hum of the fan is persistent even in the cold because you can’t sleep without the noise. Your cheek is pressed tight against him, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes lulling you to sleep.
You can feel yourself slipping away when he speaks, the vibration in his chest making your eyes pop open. “Why do you leave the window open for me? It’s not really safe.” He laughs a little at the end, not sincere but you know he’s doing it to cover up the hint of real curiosity in his voice.
It takes you a second to answer, not because you don’t know but because you can’t fathom that he doesn’t know. It’ll always be open for him. No matter what happens or what changes between the two of you, you will always open it.
“Because I love you. Because I want you to know that this is always going to be a safe space for you and that you can always come to me, for anything.” You could go on, to tell him how the creak of the window is your favorite sound because you know that it means he’s here, that he was thinking of you. You could tell him how you’re so in love with him there’s probably not a thing you wouldn’t do to make him comfortable, to make him happy.
But you don’t. You look up at him and know that your eyes give away more than you like but it’s okay because so do his.
He presses a kiss to your temple and even though it didn’t seem possible, pulls you closer to his chest and smiles to himself when your breathing evens out and you melt into him.
*end of flashback*
Opening your eyes again, the coldness of your skin tells you that you’re not in your childhood bedroom in Hawkins, Steve isn’t pressed up against you, and you’re not in high school anymore. You look around at your too small but cozy apartment in Chicago, 2 years of college under your belt and an ache in your chest at the absence of the familiarity of home. Of Steve.
A ping from your phone has you looking down and just as you suspected, neither of you could wait until tomorrow and you can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over immediately.
Steve: Forgot to mention this, even though it should go without saying, but don’t make any plans without me when you’re home. Might even handcuff us together if I’m feeling crazy.
Y/n: You have handcuffs on standby?
Steve: Wouldn’t you like to know.
And suddenly the countdown to Thanksgiving break seems much more exciting and you realize you would very much like to know.
————————————-
The next three weeks fly by and before you know it you’re pulling into the driveway of your childhood home, a scarf wrapped around you because the heat isn’t working right in your too old car and a smile on your face at the sight of the front door being pulled open and your siblings pouring out to greet you.
No matter how badly you miss your family, it doesn’t take long for your social battery to drain. You’re tired from the drive and you’ve spent the last few hours answering questions about school and friends and even the weather.
Pulling yourself up the stairs takes effort and the click of the door to your childhood bedroom behind you sends waves of relief through your body.
But being back in this room is the same every time.
Your body is on clockwork, feet shuffling you across the room before you even know what’s happening and you truly feel a sense of home when you reach up and flip the lock on your window.
—————————————
Fingertips skimming across your forehead, then your cheek, then cupping your jaw, you find yourself leaning into the touch, even though you’re not sure who it is. But really you do. You always do.
One eye cracks open but it’s so bright you squeeze them closed again. When did you fall asleep? It must be morning, early by the looks of it. It’s when a thumb swipes over your bottom lip that your eyes pop open, mouth opening to yell or just gape—you’re not sure which. But before you can his palm is covering your mouth, fingers splayed against your jaw and a wicked grin on his lips.
“Shhh, s’just me. Good morning, princess.”
His reassurance does little to slow down your racing heart, lips tingling where his skin touches yours and you fight the urge to pucker them against his palm. It’s like he knows it too, mischievous eyes and a lop sided smile as he takes you in for the first time in months.
Between him waking you up and pressing his hand over your mouth, you haven’t even realized he’s on top of you, thighs spread over your hips and the hand not on your mouth is buried in the sheets beside your head holding him up.
You’re lucky you slipped on a t-shirt—an old one of his of course— before bed or he would be able to see the red creeping up your chest and curling around your neck at the smell of him. Vanilla and some sweet fruit you can’t bother to remember when he’s inches away from you. He must have showered just before he came, still damp curls framing his face and strawberry lips glossy from the chapstick you know he has in his back pocket.
Just as handsome as you remember, somehow more so, you can’t help the sigh that lands against his palm, your arms reaching up to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him down so he’s flush against you. You whisper his name into the space between you, what little there is, and feel him tense for just a split second before he’s molding himself against you.
It’s a little dramatic and a lot embarrassing when you feel tears well up in your eyes, how much you missed him and how right this feels all becoming too much. Blinking them away as quick as possible, you both stay still for seconds or maybe minutes before he pulls back, smiling down at you, eyes catching yours.
“Who knew king Steve was so desperate for a hug from me he’d break in at 6 am.” It’s mumbled against his palm that’s now loosely pressed against you, but he hears it all the same. There’s a flash in his eyes and you get to see them turn serious for just a split second before that glint returns. The one that tells you you’re in trouble.
“Oh I’ve been desperate for you forever, baby.” He doesn’t give you anytime to react or to even process what he’s said because in the next second he’s pulling off of you, giving a quick pinch to your cheek and winking at you as he pulls open your bedroom door to head downstairs.
“Now c’mon, I’m hungry and I can’t have my breakfast in bed with your family downstairs.”
A scoff of surprise leaves your lips, eyes wide as you watch him bound down the stairs, your family welcoming him with a chorus of hellos and welcomes as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
You’re pulling on the first clothes you see when your eyes catch on the window, a smile and a flicker in your chest when you see it’s still half open.
Breakfast passes in a blur. It’s loud and busy and no one lets anyone else finish a sentence. Steve’s thigh stays flush against yours the whole time, his hand coming to give it a squeeze when he catches you drifting off amongst the chaos.
It’s when your mom quiets the room, everyone going still that you stiffen under his touch. “So Steve, any new girlfriend?” Your dad takes a swig of his coffee, eyes cast down at his plate. Your sisters are holding their breath and looking between you and Steve with frantic eyes. And your mom is painfully unaware that you’re in love with Steve and this is the last thing you want to hear about. Ever. Everyone seems to know except for her and you can’t even be mad when she’s so genuine.
His hand is still on your thigh and suddenly it feels hot to the touch. If he’s nervous or uncomfortable he doesn’t show it, still wearing that smug smile that’s become his signature.
“Ahh no, you know me. Only girls in my life are at this table. Plus Robin.” You swear she swoons, your sisters too. And you would roll your eyes at him if it wasn’t for the way he was rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your leg, eyes darting to the side to catch yours.
The room roars back to life at his admission and you hate to admit how relieved you are to hear he’s not seeing anyone. With everyone yelling over each other no one seems to notice you lean a little closer to whisper in his ear.
“Good one, Harrington. You’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.”
Something must have changed between the last visit home and this one. He’s got a way about him that screams confidence. He’s always been cocky, but he’s more direct with you now. You love it. It’s always been intense between you two, flirting and touching.
But it’s been taken up a notch, a new level added to the game that you weren’t aware of. Because when he leans close and lets his lips touch the shell of your ear, you know you’ve entered a whole new ball park.
“It seems to have worked on you too with the way your thighs are wrapped around my hand right now.”
————————————————
Steve
It doesn’t matter that it’s been two days, the feel of my hand stuck between her warm thighs while we ate breakfast is all I can think about. The way they closed tighter around me when I leaned in toward her. Fuck.
I feel like a desperate little puppy nipping at her heels with the way I’ve been trying to spend every waking minute with her. We’ve always been close, but since she moved there’s this ache in my chest that only eases when I get a whiff of her coconut shampoo or when I feel her warm skin on mine.
She doesn’t even notice the way I watch her, I’d notice. My eyes always find her in a crowded room or on Main Street on a Saturday afternoon. They watch the twitch in her nose when she laughs and the way she subconsciously swipes her hair behind her ears even when it’s already tucked away.
———————————————
“Soooo, what are we seeing today?”
One of the things you loved most in the world was going to the movies. Whether it was with someone or by yourself, something about sitting down with strangers and watching a movie on the big screen just made you giddy. The smell of fresh popcorn and the posters lining the walls as you walked to your theater felt like magic.
And as much as you loved Steve, loved spending time with him, taking him to the movies felt like taking a toddler. It was always a huge ordeal, a hassle even, but you secretly loved it. He’d be on your heels the whole time, stuffing overpriced snacks into his arms and making himself sticky while mixing flavors of soda.
You could never tell him what you were seeing until you were there or he would pester you about who was in it, the plot, the filming, anything he could think of. It was endearing, how interested he was.
“Gladiator II.”
When Steve didn’t immediately say anything you turned around, peanut m&ms, twizzlers, and popcorn spilling out of his hands and some concoction of a diet coke tucked under his arm.
“You’re gonna make me sit and watch you drool over Pedro and Paul for almost 3 hours, you little freak!”
A loud laugh bursts out, your hand reaching out to tug on his elbow so he keeps walking towards your theater. “That’s not the only reason we’re here. Besides, don’t act so innocent. I’m sure you’ll be drooling too.”
He shrugs, his cheeks a little pink and a lopsided smile curving on his face as you make your way to your seats. You’ve no more than sat down before his hand finds yours, fingers looping together and pulling your arm towards him so it’s half on the armrest, half in his lap. It makes your heart race, especially when you glance over to see he’s staring ahead like it’s second nature for the two of you to be touching.
Which I suppose at this point, it is.
Normally the crunch of popcorn so close to your ear would have you fidgeting in annoyance, but for some maddening reason you find everything Steve does sweet. The little dribble of butter on the corner of his mouth doesn’t make you cringe, it makes you want to lean over and swipe it away with your thumb…or your tongue.
And you feel yourself fall a little further in love with him when he leans over and opens his palm to reveal a handful of blue peanut m&m’s for you because he knows that even though they all taste the same, those are your favorite.
Halfway through the movie you’ve accepted that you’ll have to come see it again, this time on your own—because even though you’ve been looking forward to it for months—your focus is solely on the brunette boy beside you.
Shoving popcorn down your throat is doing little to distract you from the warmth of his hand or his arm pressed tight against yours. You’ve eaten half his twizzlers just to keep yourself occupied and it doesn’t help that he keeps feeding them to you with a warm smile and a sly wink.
You find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye the whole time. The wince of his face at the gore, the way his eyes widen during intense scenes, his lips parted just so. God! How does he look so effortlessly pretty watching a fucking movie!
There’s a hitch in your breath you hope he doesn’t notice when he subconsciously squeezes your hand or tugs it closer to him. By the time the end of the movie is nearing, you’re all but squirming in your seat at the sight of his bottom lip swollen and red from how he’s been biting down on it the whole time.
If it wasn’t clear he was enthralled by this movie, you’d be annoyed with him because surely he’s being this attractive on purpose! He’s doing this just to make your thighs clench and your eyes glaze over at the sight of his arm bulging in his long sleeve shirt when he shifts in his seat. His words from earlier come back to you and you fight off a laugh at the irony that you’re sitting here drooling over him for nearly three hours.
Tearing your eyes away from him when the credits start to roll is annoyingly difficult, but you try. Somehow willing yourself to act like you just paid any attention to the movie that you made him watch when in reality you only focused on the curve of his nose and the pout on his lips.
“Okay, you win. That was awesome.” The most you manage is a noncommittal hum that only encourages him to keep going, nipping at your heels as you weave your way through spilled popcorn and candy wrappers to the exit.
“—and I was drooling over them a little bit, but can you blame me? Did you see his abs??” You nod your head and hope that’s enough to satisfy him because now you’re feeling overwhelmed and irritated that you spent the whole movie watching your best friend like a freak AND missed seeing Paul Mescal’s abs.
“What’s your deal? You’re like…catatonic.” It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped walking and is a few feet behind you. He looks a little amused and you wonder if your face is giving away exactly how you’re feeling right now.
“I’m good, it was good. I’m glad you liked it, told you I know my stuff.” Plastering on the fakest smile you have, and he knows it too, you spin on your heel and only make it a few steps before his hand on your arm is stopping you.
You turn to him on instinct and almost gasp at how close he is, chest inches from yours and a smugness in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Is that all?” His voice is deep and maybe even a little dark and you feel thankful your jacket hides the goosebumps that cover your arms at his tone.
“Mhm.” Nodding and avoiding all eye contact you attempt a step back but it’s pointless because for every one you take, he matches it. Until you find yourself tucked into a corner of the movie theater, your back quite literally up against the wall, and Steve Harrington so close that every time he breathes his chest brushes yours.
“What was your favorite part?”
He’s got you, you both know it. You could give some basic, generic answer and have a pretty good shot of it being right, but Steve knows you better. He knows that after a movie you’re able to give detail about it, and right now you couldn’t do that if your life depended on it.
You open your mouth to make up some bullshit answer, then close it again. It doesn’t matter though, he’s pushing you further into the wall and leaning down to let his lips touch the shell of your ear before you can comprehend what’s happening.
“Was it when you were watching me chew on twizzlers? Or when I tugged your hand into my lap and laid it on my thigh? Or was it when I stretched and my shirt rode up a little bit, hm?”
If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated—though you’re sure that’ll come later. There’s a pounding in your ears and you know it can’t be normal for your heart to beat this fast. He pulls back just a fraction to look at you and you know it’s written all over your face. Desperation and embarrassment and want.
“Speak up, baby.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, eyes darting between his and the smirk he’s wearing while you try and come up with something—anything to say. But your mind is filled with him. Thoughts of him and his hands and the way he smells and the way his jaw flexes when he chews. The way his thighs fill his jeans so nice it makes your head swim and the way his hair does still curl at the nape of his neck like he knows you love.
“All of it.” It’s breathless and quiet and if it wasn’t practically on top of you, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did, loud and clear. You can tell by the way his eyes widen a little bit and that sick smile that you’ve become obsessed with grows.
He nods at you like he knew that already, and he probably did. Taking your hand in his once again and all but peeling you from the wall. Your frustration grows when he’s quiet on the drive home, humming along to the music and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s quiet when you get out and walk towards your front door. He’s quiet when he presses a sweet, innocent kiss to your cheek before telling you goodnight and walking back to his car.
Despite an attempt to calm yourself down you’re pretty sure you stomp up the stairs to your room, ripping off your clothes and slipping on one of Steve’s shirts that you stole from him years ago.
There’s papers from your physics class scattered over your bed from a sad attempt at studying over break and even though you know you won't be able to focus, you sit yourself down in the middle of them again and try to focus on the words staring back at you.
Anything is better than thinking about Steve and his stupid strawberry lips and his stupid hair that’s so soft and feels so good when it’s threaded through your fingers. Your phone is lying somewhere on the floor, ears perked and waiting for the tell tale buzz of a text or call.
But you hear nothing. Glaring down at your physics notes like they’ve offended you and feeling the urge to burn them or throw them across the room or rip them to shreds for not doing their job in distracting you. There’s no telling how much time has passed, ten minutes or an hour, you have no idea. But when the creak of your window opening has you almost jumping up and running towards it like a dog when their owner gets home from work.
Acting indifferent is pointless, he saw your true feelings plain as day earlier and you don’t have the energy or the heart to act like you’re not ecstatic at the thought of him coming back for you.
He pulls himself through with little effort, like he’s done it a thousand times—and he has. He carries himself across your room with confidence and ease and it makes your heart skip a beat. He hasn’t changed clothes and you wonder if he even made it home before he decided to turn back around.
Neither of us say anything, not when he takes my stack of notes and moves them to the desk across the room, not when he kicks off his shoes and climbs on the bed, our knees pressed against each other. I watch him take me in, doing a double take at what I’m wearing before he looks back to me again.
The tension between us fills the entire room, and even though we both obviously want it, maybe we’re also a little scared of when it finally snaps.
Steve
I think that I’ve been holding my breath since I realized it was my shirt that was hanging off her shoulder and making my mouth water at the thought of biting into the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. If you’re wearing shorts—or anything—underneath, I can’t tell and it’s making my throat dry.
It only took me just about four minutes of driving before I turned my ass around and all but sped back to her house. I climbed up and through her window without even thinking about it, like it was muscle memory.
“Steve…are you okay?”
Despite the genuine concern I hear in her voice, I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t imagine how I look right now, jaw dropped a little and eyes trained on my shirt draped over your thighs. My mouth is moving but nothing is coming out and if I look how I feel, it’s like a fish out of water.
We’ve been to the movie together countless times, but feeling her watch me the whole time, lip taken between her teeth and thighs squeezing together when I would move or grab her hand…it drove me fucking crazy. I love the back and forth between us, love the build up, but having her pressed against me and all but panting in my ear was my fucking breaking point.
My eyes only leave her when I feel a hand—her hand—on my thigh, the touch burning through my jeans and I know we both feel the way I twitch under her palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet. Is anyone home?” Her head ducks down to meet my eyes and I manage to huff out a small laugh that makes the furrow of her brows ease a little.
“Shirt.” For some reason that’s the only word that slips out of my mouth and I curse myself for sounding like such an idiot. Shirt? Really? It only seems to amuse her though, maybe confuse her a little as she looks between my shirt and hers—mine—before she realizes what I mean and blinks up at me sheepishly.
“Shirt.” Parroting my words back to me, we sit in silence for a few seconds before she continues and I feel my cock twitch in my jeans at the admission. “I know it’s yours it’s just…it’s become a bit of a thing for me I guess. It helps me sleep.” Her shoulders shrug like it’s no big deal but her eyes won’t meet mine anymore.
The back and forth in my head lasts all but three seconds before I’m reaching forward and fisting the material of my favorite shirt I thought that I had lost years ago and tugging her forward so she’s half on the bed, half in my lap.
She might gasp at the sudden movement but I can’t be sure when all I can hear is a pounding in my ears. Our foreheads are touching, noses rubbing together and mouths open as we sit there. Nobody moves, both of us waiting for the other to push forward. With the way I have the material fisted in my hand, the neck of the shirt is pulled away and a quick glance down shows she’s not wearing a bra under the shirt either. And even though I knew that, her pebbled nipples—from me or the cool air—cause a groan to work its way up my throat and I close my eyes in what must look like agony.
It is agony. Her smooth skin exposed to me, her warm breath fanning across my face and her eyelashes fluttering as we stay pressed together. I take another quick peek, tongue darting out to swipe across my bottom lip subconsciously and she fucking giggles when she notices. “Perv.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re right.”
I’m worried she might be pulling away from me when I see her hands lift, but that worry is washed away when her palm presses to the nape of my neck, bringing her lips so close to mine they brush each other when we breathe.
“Christ—are you gonna kiss me or not?” She sounds frustrated, almost as frustrated as I feel having her this close to me and not tasting her.
“I’m thinking about it.” And I have been for years. Probably will for years after this. Fuck I’ll be thinking about kissing her until I die.
“What’s it gonna take for you to do it?” Despite the edge to her voice, the glimmer in her eye tells me that she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. The back and forth that feels like torture but somehow also feels so fucking good.
“Beg.” Beg. I’m telling her to beg as if I’m not seconds away from slipping off the bed and to my knees, praying to her or to whoever she wants that I get to touch her or taste her or do whatever the hell she wants. I sound like an asshole, a smug one, and it’s slipping. I’m seconds away from giving her anything she wants.
Her eyes widen, a glimpse of what I recognize as defiance flashing in them and it makes my heart race a little faster—if that’s possible. But then she glances down at my lips, slick and shiny with spit and practically begging for her and I see her resolve slipping as fast as mine.
Hand slipping from the nape of my neck, she brings them around and it’s her turn to twist her hands into my shirt, yanking me with force I didn’t know she had and it feels so close, so good as if we’re sharing the same breath. “Please, Steve. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I need it. Need you. Please kiss me.”
It feels like every part of me is on fire, her eyes wide and pleading and I have to hold back a whimper at the sincerity of her voice, like she really does need it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push my luck.
“You sound awfully desperate, princess.” Despite the words coming out of my mouth, it doesn’t come out teasing like I hoped. It comes out in a whine that has me throbbing helplessly.
My hands are on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh there to ground me and I choke on a gasp when she moves her hands upward to cup my jaw. “Oh I am but…” Her words trail off, hanging in the air between us and I think I black out when her thumb comes to swipe over my bottom lip, my mouth opening automatically. We’re so close I don’t need to look to see if she’s smirking, I can feel it.
My lips close around her thumb, humming pathetically when I feel her press down on my tongue. My eyes are closed and I’m positive there will be little bruises from the way my fingertips are grabbing at her thighs. “It seems like you’re just as desperate as me, pretty boy.”
With a pop she slips her thumb from my mouth and I groan at the loss but before I can say anything she’s closing the distance between us, soft lips meeting my damp ones like our lives depend on it. I moan into her mouth as soon as I get a taste of the cherry lip gloss she must have been wearing earlier today.
The need to be closer to her is overwhelming, so much so that I startle us both when I push her back, mouths connected the whole time and cradle my hand on the back of her head when she falls against her pillows. Her legs spread for me with ease, thighs wrapped around my hips and pulling me into her.
“Not the first time you’ve been on top of me like this.” She pulls away just enough to mumble the words before she’s kissing me again, quick and hurried like I would ever go anywhere when I have her underneath me like this. Like I would ever go anywhere at all.
“And please god don’t let it be the last.” There’s a small chuckle that falls from her lips but it’s cut off with a gasp when I push my hips forward, the bulge in my jeans very apparent. It’s also clear she’s not wearing shorts. I can feel the warmth of her through her flimsy underwear and it makes my head spin.
There’s a string of spit connecting us when I pull myself off of her the slightest bit, my arms somehow holding me above her even though my whole body feels weak and pliant from her touch. Looking down, I could fucking cry from the sight of her. Swollen lips that are slick with our spit, glossy eyes and a flush that follows the curve of her neck and rests against her cheeks so pretty.
Without the distraction of her lips, I thrust my hips forward again and watch as her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open just slightly at the friction. It does little to ease the discomfort but I keep going anyway, feeling her thighs tighten around my hips and the rise and fall of her chest getting quicker.
She’s making these noises, these little whimpers that make my cock twitch and my arms threaten to give out below me. “I feel like a fucking teenage boy, but it feels too good to stop.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, raspy and desperate and beyond fucked out.
“I don’t wanna cum without really touching you.” I almost don’t hear her, my eyes roaming her body and landing on where my shirt has ridden up, her inner thighs a little pink from the denim rubbing against them and a wet patch visible on the front of her light green panties that have me taking deep breaths.
But once I do register her words, my eyes fly up to hers and the air around us is still. There’s a twisting in my belly that has my hips stuttering as I search her face to make sure I heard that right. There’s a second where she glances down between us and before I can even wrap my head around what’s happening, I watch her hand slip, skating down over her tits and then her stomach and slipping under the band of her underwear.
“What the fuck.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she smiles shyly at me as if I can’t see the outline of her hand or the way she’s biting her lip because she’s fucking touching herself right underneath me. I’m like a bobble head with the way I nod back and forth between her face and her covered hand.
This must be a dream. It has to be.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud either until there’s a pinch to my thigh that has me yelping, a small pout on my lips as I look down at her. She looks amused and also pleased with herself that she’s got me so scattered right now.
“It is not a dream, Harrington. You are very awake and very much here on top of me making me do all the work.”
My brain is slowly catching up to what’s happening, the reality of it all smacking me across the face when I feel the brush of her knuckles—through her fucking underwear—against my stomach.
“You want me to touch you.” There’s no question. I might be telling myself instead of her at this point, I’m not sure.
“I want you to fuck me, but based on the looks of that—” She makes a pointed glance at my still very prominent bulge that’s pressed against her hip, “you’re gonna need to stretch me out a little first.”
Maybe it's because I’ve finally realized what’s going on. Maybe it’s the cockiness she has right now that, while very fucking hot, I have the urge to wipe off her face. Maybe it’s a mix of the two, because something in me finally clicks.
Balancing on one arm, I bring my pointer and middle finger to hover just over her mouth and smile to myself when she glances between them and my face.
“Get them wet.”
That mask of confidence slips just enough to make me smirk down at her, eyes round and dark as she hesitates. “I don’t think you need the extra help.” I can see her trying to stay ahead, to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth, and it only makes me harder.
Cocking my head to the side, I squint my eyes just so, a silent challenge. “And? Get them wet.” It seems to work this time, her lips falling open and head coming forward to take my fingers into her mouth like it’s second nature. She closes her lips around them without me saying anything and I have to fight off a groan when she lulls her tongue, pulling them in deeper.
I’ve moved off her just enough that when I thrust forward, my hips meet the air. Watching her bob her head on my fingers is maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, thighs twitching and eyes threatening to roll back in my head kind of hot.
The thought crosses my mind to let her keep going, to see how long she’ll go for but my resolve is slipping and the need to feel her is much more overwhelming. I pull my fingers from her with a pop, ears buzzing at the little whine that slips from her.
“Don’t pout, you did the same to me.” Before she can protest I slip my hand between us, pushing her hand away and teasing my fingers under the band of her underwear. I notice the quick intake of breath even though my eyes are trained elsewhere, her hips moving up just slightly so my hand slips further down.
Clicking my tongue at her I move my hand back, fingers ghosting over her clit and I smile to myself at the quiet fuck that tumbles out of her mouth. “Looks like you were right, honey. Don’t think I needed the extra help after all.”
There’s a light shove at my chest and a deep tinge to her cheeks, one arm thrown over to cover her eyes while I take my time feeling every inch of her I can. “Do I have to beg for you to finally just touch me, Harrington?”
While there’s a part of me that wants to hear it, there’s a bigger part of me that wants to reassure her that I’m just as—if not more—desperate for this, for her. I need her to know that even though I’m an asshole, she has me so tightly wound around her finger it’s embarrassing.
“I should be the one begging. I’m so fucking lucky you even want me near you, let alone to touch you. Don’t forget that. I’m the desperate one here, so much so it’s kinda pathetic.”
Instead of letting her say anything I lean forward and give a quick peck to her lips that she chases as I move away, huffing as she falls back against her bed. I take the opportunity to give her what she wants, circling her clit once, twice, three times and basking in the way her hands fist the sheets at her sides.
Her legs fall open, inviting me in and I notice my bottom lip is swollen and sore from biting down on it while I watch her. The feel of her soaking my hand is etched in my brain, the way she rocks against me to guide me where she wants me, the dimple between her brow from the pinched expression she holds while I ease the ache I caused.
It’s when I move my fingers lower that we both seem to be holding our breaths, my eyes on her still clothed cunt and her eyes on me as I slip one finger inside, cursing under my breath at how warm and messy she is.
This time my eyes are trained on her as I curl it forward, her body jolting under me. I do it again just to see the way her neck turns a deeper shade of red and her pleading eyes meet mine. It only takes a few minutes before I slip in another, groaning at the lack of resistance.
“Look at you, taking it like a champ.” Despite the way she rolls her eyes at me, we both know she can’t hide the way she pulsed around my fingers at the comment.
She opens her mouth to say something, probably telling me shut up or fuck off, but I cut her off with another curl of my fingers, her hand leaving the sheets and moving to grip my arm instead. “Fuck, Steve.” It’s breathless and needy and has my whole body feeling like it’s on fire. My jeans are tight and the zipper is digging into my cock in a way that has my hand twitching.
But I keep going.
“Yeah?”
“You had the right idea, no way could you fit me without this.”
“Are you gonna clean up the mess you’re making on my hand?”
I’ve lost control of my mouth, saying the first thing that comes to my mind while I watch her thighs start to shake, closing around my wrist. Her nails are digging into my arm hard and it’s making me throb.
“I don’t…I just…I want—”
My thumb on her clit while my fingers pump into her has her turning her head to the side to try and bury her face in the pillows. “Cmon, princess. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t wanna cum on your fingers!” It comes out in a whine and my hand stills, pulling out of her slowly and watching her pout up at me. “What do you want then?” I’m enjoying this way too much to just give in now when she’s right on the edge.
“You know.” I do.
“I don’t.” Liar.
“Liar.”
I smirk at her, finally unzipping my jeans to get an inch of relief and feeling giddy over the hopeful look she casts my way when she notices what I’m doing.
“Do you really wanna keep going back and forth or do you just want to tell me?” She’s trying to look mean and I shouldn’t laugh but the little scowl she’s giving me is just so fucking adorable that I can’t help it.
She swats at my arm, hooking her finger in one of the belt loops of my jeans and giving it a small tug while she looks around the room like the answer is written on the walls. “Your cock, I guess.”
“You guess?” God if I was her I would have smacked the shit out of me by now.
“I know.”
“You just want to get into my pants.” I feign offence, a hand on my chest and a fake frown that I know doesn’t conceal the smugness in my eyes.
“Well I’m trying.” That gets a laugh out of me, a loud one that turns into giggles as I lean down to press sloppy kisses over her cheeks and forehead and tip of her nose.
She leaves a playful nip to my chin as I pull back, letting some stray strands of hair fall against my forehead as I hold my still damp fingers in front of her mouth for the second time.
“Clean up your mess first.”
This time without hesitation or back talk, she listens. Her mouth is warm and she’s messy with it as she licks my fingers clean, when she’s satisfied with her work she moves her head back to swipe her tongue against my palm. She cocks a brow at me as if to say “happy?” and I can’t help but nod at her.
Feeling impatient I push myself off the bed, standing beside it and all but ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. I pause only once to nod towards her, “yours too, please” it’s low and muffled but she hears me anyways, lifting up to take off my shirt and I will myself to look away or else i'll never get these pants off.
Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and boxers, I drag them down, hissing at the slap of my cock against my lower belly, the cool air sending chills over me. He swears he hears you moan but chooses to ignore it in fear of cumming untouched.
It’s quiet in the room and I feel her gaze burning into me. I take the opportunity to do the same, finally letting myself take all of her in and my knees threaten to buckle at the sight. Her tits are round and full and I swear they’ll fit perfectly in the palm of my hands. Her stomach is soft and I feel the urge to lay down between her thighs and bite into it over and over again.
“I think you’re drooling.” Her words are quiet and breathless and we both notice the way my cock throbs under her stare.
“I think you are too.”
Before I can move she’s reaching into her bag on the floor, pulling out a condom and I gape at her when she tugs me forward by grabbing the back of my thigh. She mumbles something under her breath about wanting to put it on but I’m too busy fighting the urge to cum at the touch and fighting the flare of jealousy that rushes through me as she slips it over me effortlessly.
Although most of that jealousy is soothed, wiped away when she leans forward to press a kiss to my hip, scattering them across my lower belly and to the other side.
“How do you want to do this, baby?”
I watch her glance down at my cock then back up a few times, mulling over in her head and I find it endearing. God I’m a freak. “I think I wanna be on top.” And it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and worship her, the thought of you on top of him enough to have him leaking into the condom already.
It takes a little moving around but soon he’s sitting with his back flush against the headboard, legs out in front of him with you perched on his thighs.
“You’re calling the shots, pretty girl. We go at your pace.” I see some of the nerves evaporate and a sense of pride tickles my chest. He likes being the one to soothe you.
But any thought I had left in my head is gone when she scoots up, hovering over my aching cock with a shyness that has me smearing our lips together so hard our teeth knock against each other.
A wordless nod is all it takes for her to reach between us and take the base in her hand, a hitch in my breath at the contact. She paints me up and down before the tip catches and I swear a vein in my neck is threatening to pop.
“Please.” The breathless plea comes from me and she takes mercy on me, lowering herself down so slowly I swear she isn’t moving at all. It’s so much, so good that I don’t know how I’m supposed to hold off at all.
She has her hands on my shoulders and I tilt my head to leave reassuring kisses to the inside of her wrists the whole time. What could be minutes or hours—he’s not sure he even knows where he is anymore—passes and the next time I manage to peel my eyes open she’s fully seated on me, little beads of sweat on her forehead and a flush on her chest.
“Are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut when she huffs a laugh, clenching around me.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but fuck, you’re big.”
“Too late.” God I know I must look like the most smug asshole that’s ever walked the planet.
Raising off me just a little, my whole body tenses when she shifts back down. The pressure, the heat, the slickness is making my head feel fuzzy in the best way possible. I let her find her pace, my hands on her hips helping to guide her and I’m humiliated when I feel that twinge at the base of my spine already.
“I need—talk to me, please.”
Pulling her so our chests are flush together, the change in position must be good because she gasps against me, face nuzzled into my neck while I whisper in her ear.
“There it is, yeah? This sweet little cunt is hugging me so tight, no ones ever felt this good, no one ever will.” I have just enough room to thrust up into her, her hands tugging at the curls at the nape of neck when I steady my pace.
“My perfect fucking girl, you know that? Been thinking about this, about you for years.” Her mouth is hanging open, warm breath hitting my throat with every little pant and moan that slips past her lips.
With every thrust I feel her nipples drag against my chest, her arms wound around my neck so tight it’s almost suffocating—but in the best way. I feel her flutter around me when she pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. “I need—d-drawer.”
I reach over blindly, tearing open her nightstand and pulling things out before I even know what she wants. Still holding onto me she leans over, her hand swatting mine away and finding what she needs in seconds. A small, silver little thing—what I would assume would be a tube of lipstick if I didn't know better.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a sense of pride at how unashamed she looks, confident in what she wants. I feel lightheaded at how hot she is, knowing what she needs and not being afraid to ask for it. It makes me twitch inside her.
She cocks a brow at me, probably daring me to say something shitty about her little friend but I just shrug, pulling her back against me and taking the bullet from her hand. “I’ve always been a team player, sweetheart.”
The buzz of the toy coming to life cuts off the eye roll she was giving me and I push her back so I can see where we’re connected. I’m not prepared for the way she clenches around me when I press it against her clit, my body jolting underneath her and moans so loud our chests rumble coming from the both of us.
It feels unbearably hot in the room, the smell of sex and sweat filling the space and making it hard to breathe. But that only makes it all feel better. Before I know it she’s back to it, lifting herself off and sliding back down while I hold the toy to her clit. The sound of it and our skin meeting enough to have my thighs twitching under her.
“Look at you, bouncing on your best friend's cock. This is what you needed, yeah? A good, sweet girl for everyone but me, right?” She’s too out of it to even care right now, nodding helplessly with her hands on my chest. There’s a stinging there that lets me know I’ll have some red marks tomorrow.
When I start to circle the toy on her clit, she falls forward, our chests pressed together again and her whines more high pitched. “Steve, steve, fuck! M’gonna cum.”
“Should I let you?” I’m bluffing. There’s no way I’d deny her anything right now. An orgasm, a ring, my car. Anything she wants is hers.
“You better.” Despite the attitude in her tone, it occurs to me that if I told her no, she wouldn’t. And that thought alone is enough to have me seconds away myself.
“Go ahead, princess. Be that nice, sweet girl and make a mess of me, please.” It takes one, two, three more thrusts before she’s tightening around me so hard my own orgasm barrels through me before I can stop it. My fingers are digging into her back, hugging her as close to me as possible while she whines and pleads for I don’t know what into my ear.
Holy shit. She’s all but melted into me, her breathing slowing down while I try to determine if I can even use my legs. Her pants and whines turn into small kisses against the shell of my ear, my throat, and my jaw while I curl my hand into her hair.
A small hiss escapes when she pulls off me and I should—but don’t—feel bad about the shit eating grin I know I’m wearing when she loops over at me from where she’s plastered to my side.
“Don’t start, Steve.”
“Well if I remember correctly, and I definitely do—”
Her hand is covering my mouth, face serious but her eyes can’t hide that she’s at least a little amused by me. “Let’s play the quiet game.” She’s no more than taking her hand off my mouth before I’m speaking. “Funny…weren’t you just practically begging me to talk to you?”
“Steve!” I’m laughing as I pull her back on top of me, legs twisted together and her head shaking against my chest as she tries not to laugh. I’m pressing kisses into her hair when she pulls off me, walking away from the bed and shooting me a shy smile over her shoulder when she slides the window shut.
The click of the lock fills the room and and the thud of my pounding heart in my chest fills my ears as she crawls back into bed, snuggling into me and letting her body mold to mine like I’ve dreamed of millions of times over the years.
We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to.
——————————————
His breathing evening out lulls me into sleep, my hand curled against his chest and my leg thrown over his, keeping him tucked up under me.
No matter how many times he proves me wrong, I can’t help but think it’s impossible to love him more. And he always proves me wrong. It’s the kind of love that makes you feel insane because how can I love someone this much?
He’s so good to his core, so attentive and kind to the ones he loves—and those that are nothing but strangers to him. But then he’s cocky and smug and on my last fucking nerve, but still somehow perfect. It’s annoying that someone can be so perfect.
I think it makes sense that we were friends first, that we got to love and know each other in a different way and just fall into the love we have now. Maybe they were always the same kind of love, just from a different perspective.
Oh my goddddd. A beautiful piece of work. I'm obsessed with their connection. The way you write their yearning??? it feels so right, they're really connected at the hip for once and for ever. I love this
an: i have not written in months but this ask revived a little part of me i think. i missed you and hope to have some motivation to write every once in a while…if you’ll have me. love you big 💌 (feel free to send requests as always and lmk what you think!!!)
masterlist here!!
summary: coming to terms with being hopelessly in love with your long term best friend is easy enough (it’s not) until the years of touching and tension come to a head on a visit home from school
(steve harrington x fem!reader) 18+ only
warnings: tiny use of y/n, fluff, cursing, teasing, messy kissing, spit, use of a toy, dirty talk, smidge of f masturbation, fingering, p in v, pet names, yearninggggg MDNI!!!!!!
wc: 10k+
There has always been something between you and Steve. Stolen glances and lingering touches that teetered right on the edge of friendship or something more. Drunken kisses that had your cheeks tinged pink and your heart racing far faster than normal.
Despite the tension between you, the heated eyes and sickly sweet pet names, what really warmed you was just how good Steve was. He’d held you while you cried, listened to you ramble on and complain about everything under the sun for as long as you needed and never made you feel like it was too much. That’s what you really loved about him, he never made you feel like you were too much.
Even when you got in those moods of yours, the ones where you pushed him away because you couldn’t handle how you felt and didn’t know how to cope with the thoughts in your head, he didn’t budge. He’d give you a kiss on your forehead, hold his lips there for a few seconds too long and whisper how he loved you, how he understood and how he’d be here when you were ready to talk about it.
Now that you think about it, you really can’t remember a time where you weren’t in love with Steve Harrington.
His ears must have been burning, your phone buzzing against your thigh has you shaking your head to clear your thoughts and you look down to be met with his name flashing across your screen.
“Hello, Harrington.”
“It took you a whole 7 seconds to pick up my call, I could have been dying over here.”
Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at him, laughing under your breath. “And I’m your first call?”
“Who the hell else would be my first call, princess.”
What you can only describe as a gasp gets caught in your throat and you hope he didn’t catch it. Your cheeks are warm and there’s a swirling in your tummy at the use of the pet name that has you gripping the phone a little too tight.
“911, I hope.”
His laugh is loud and without even closing your eyes you can tell it’s the kind where his head is thrown back and his eyes are squeezed tight. You know his throat is on display and you wonder if he’s cut his hair or if he still has those curls at the nape of his neck you love so much.
“God, I miss you.” It slips out before you can stop it, cheeks turning red in an instant. His laughter slows as if he’s sobering up and you curse yourself under your breath. Your mouth opens to say something, anything to dig yourself out of this awkward hole you’ve fallen into when he speaks. “I miss you too, sweet girl. I always miss you. All the fucking time.”
There’s a ringing in your ears as you let his words hit your skin, stick to you and try and worm their way into parts of yourself you’ve tried to keep locked up. He’s your friend. Your best friend. Best friends can miss each other, but hearing him laugh like that and just hearing his voice without being able to see him, to touch him makes you feel like your chest is caving in and it’s suddenly harder to breathe.
Steve’s the kind of person that takes up the whole room. All eyes are drawn to him as soon as he walks in, chocolate eyes that you swear to god sparkle when he smiles, deep dimples and a stray curl that twists against his forehead. And when his gaze catches yours, it’s like time stops. Everything outside of him is a blur and your whole body buzzes under his gaze.
At least you think that’s how everyone feels when they’re in a room with him.
He’s still in your ear talking about plans for the holidays and all the things you have to see, as if anything has or will ever change in Hawkins. He ends the call with a promise to talk tomorrow, but you know one of you will end up texting before the night is over anyways.
A gust of wind from your open window sends goosebumps across your bare arms, the chilly November air has a bite to it and it sends you back to a memory of Steve from high school that has a smile threatening to take over.
*5 years ago, sophomore year*
There might be a pink highlighter smudge across your cheek from the way your body jolts from a post study daze at the creak of your window being slid all the way open.
“You left your window open for me.”
It’s not a question, you both know that. Your body seems to realize who it is before your mind does, relaxing back into your bed and giving Steve a small, timid smile from where he’s crawling through your window.
Words don’t seem to be an option right now so you shrug at him, scooting over so there’s room for him to slide in next to you. It’s a routine the two of you seem to have, coming to each other for comfort, when you’re bored, when you miss the other. Really any reason to be together, you’ll take.
The bed dips beside you and a second later his arm is around you, pulling you closer so you’re tucked into him. “My own personal Wendy Darling, hm?” He chuckles at the blush crawling up your neck and touching your ears.
One thing you’ve noticed is that Steve almost always has a hand on you, like he needs to feel your skin against his if he’s in the same room. Like now, laying in your bed his hand has made its way up to your hair and he’s twirling a few strands between his fingers, tugging gently every once in a while.
It’s quiet in the room, the hum of the fan is persistent even in the cold because you can’t sleep without the noise. Your cheek is pressed tight against him, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes lulling you to sleep.
You can feel yourself slipping away when he speaks, the vibration in his chest making your eyes pop open. “Why do you leave the window open for me? It’s not really safe.” He laughs a little at the end, not sincere but you know he’s doing it to cover up the hint of real curiosity in his voice.
It takes you a second to answer, not because you don’t know but because you can’t fathom that he doesn’t know. It’ll always be open for him. No matter what happens or what changes between the two of you, you will always open it.
“Because I love you. Because I want you to know that this is always going to be a safe space for you and that you can always come to me, for anything.” You could go on, to tell him how the creak of the window is your favorite sound because you know that it means he’s here, that he was thinking of you. You could tell him how you’re so in love with him there’s probably not a thing you wouldn’t do to make him comfortable, to make him happy.
But you don’t. You look up at him and know that your eyes give away more than you like but it’s okay because so do his.
He presses a kiss to your temple and even though it didn’t seem possible, pulls you closer to his chest and smiles to himself when your breathing evens out and you melt into him.
*end of flashback*
Opening your eyes again, the coldness of your skin tells you that you’re not in your childhood bedroom in Hawkins, Steve isn’t pressed up against you, and you’re not in high school anymore. You look around at your too small but cozy apartment in Chicago, 2 years of college under your belt and an ache in your chest at the absence of the familiarity of home. Of Steve.
A ping from your phone has you looking down and just as you suspected, neither of you could wait until tomorrow and you can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over immediately.
Steve: Forgot to mention this, even though it should go without saying, but don’t make any plans without me when you’re home. Might even handcuff us together if I’m feeling crazy.
Y/n: You have handcuffs on standby?
Steve: Wouldn’t you like to know.
And suddenly the countdown to Thanksgiving break seems much more exciting and you realize you would very much like to know.
————————————-
The next three weeks fly by and before you know it you’re pulling into the driveway of your childhood home, a scarf wrapped around you because the heat isn’t working right in your too old car and a smile on your face at the sight of the front door being pulled open and your siblings pouring out to greet you.
No matter how badly you miss your family, it doesn’t take long for your social battery to drain. You’re tired from the drive and you’ve spent the last few hours answering questions about school and friends and even the weather.
Pulling yourself up the stairs takes effort and the click of the door to your childhood bedroom behind you sends waves of relief through your body.
But being back in this room is the same every time.
Your body is on clockwork, feet shuffling you across the room before you even know what’s happening and you truly feel a sense of home when you reach up and flip the lock on your window.
—————————————
Fingertips skimming across your forehead, then your cheek, then cupping your jaw, you find yourself leaning into the touch, even though you’re not sure who it is. But really you do. You always do.
One eye cracks open but it’s so bright you squeeze them closed again. When did you fall asleep? It must be morning, early by the looks of it. It’s when a thumb swipes over your bottom lip that your eyes pop open, mouth opening to yell or just gape—you’re not sure which. But before you can his palm is covering your mouth, fingers splayed against your jaw and a wicked grin on his lips.
“Shhh, s’just me. Good morning, princess.”
His reassurance does little to slow down your racing heart, lips tingling where his skin touches yours and you fight the urge to pucker them against his palm. It’s like he knows it too, mischievous eyes and a lop sided smile as he takes you in for the first time in months.
Between him waking you up and pressing his hand over your mouth, you haven’t even realized he’s on top of you, thighs spread over your hips and the hand not on your mouth is buried in the sheets beside your head holding him up.
You’re lucky you slipped on a t-shirt—an old one of his of course— before bed or he would be able to see the red creeping up your chest and curling around your neck at the smell of him. Vanilla and some sweet fruit you can’t bother to remember when he’s inches away from you. He must have showered just before he came, still damp curls framing his face and strawberry lips glossy from the chapstick you know he has in his back pocket.
Just as handsome as you remember, somehow more so, you can’t help the sigh that lands against his palm, your arms reaching up to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him down so he’s flush against you. You whisper his name into the space between you, what little there is, and feel him tense for just a split second before he’s molding himself against you.
It’s a little dramatic and a lot embarrassing when you feel tears well up in your eyes, how much you missed him and how right this feels all becoming too much. Blinking them away as quick as possible, you both stay still for seconds or maybe minutes before he pulls back, smiling down at you, eyes catching yours.
“Who knew king Steve was so desperate for a hug from me he’d break in at 6 am.” It’s mumbled against his palm that’s now loosely pressed against you, but he hears it all the same. There’s a flash in his eyes and you get to see them turn serious for just a split second before that glint returns. The one that tells you you’re in trouble.
“Oh I’ve been desperate for you forever, baby.” He doesn’t give you anytime to react or to even process what he’s said because in the next second he’s pulling off of you, giving a quick pinch to your cheek and winking at you as he pulls open your bedroom door to head downstairs.
“Now c’mon, I’m hungry and I can’t have my breakfast in bed with your family downstairs.”
A scoff of surprise leaves your lips, eyes wide as you watch him bound down the stairs, your family welcoming him with a chorus of hellos and welcomes as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
You’re pulling on the first clothes you see when your eyes catch on the window, a smile and a flicker in your chest when you see it’s still half open.
Breakfast passes in a blur. It’s loud and busy and no one lets anyone else finish a sentence. Steve’s thigh stays flush against yours the whole time, his hand coming to give it a squeeze when he catches you drifting off amongst the chaos.
It’s when your mom quiets the room, everyone going still that you stiffen under his touch. “So Steve, any new girlfriend?” Your dad takes a swig of his coffee, eyes cast down at his plate. Your sisters are holding their breath and looking between you and Steve with frantic eyes. And your mom is painfully unaware that you’re in love with Steve and this is the last thing you want to hear about. Ever. Everyone seems to know except for her and you can’t even be mad when she’s so genuine.
His hand is still on your thigh and suddenly it feels hot to the touch. If he’s nervous or uncomfortable he doesn’t show it, still wearing that smug smile that’s become his signature.
“Ahh no, you know me. Only girls in my life are at this table. Plus Robin.” You swear she swoons, your sisters too. And you would roll your eyes at him if it wasn’t for the way he was rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your leg, eyes darting to the side to catch yours.
The room roars back to life at his admission and you hate to admit how relieved you are to hear he’s not seeing anyone. With everyone yelling over each other no one seems to notice you lean a little closer to whisper in his ear.
“Good one, Harrington. You’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.”
Something must have changed between the last visit home and this one. He’s got a way about him that screams confidence. He’s always been cocky, but he’s more direct with you now. You love it. It’s always been intense between you two, flirting and touching.
But it’s been taken up a notch, a new level added to the game that you weren’t aware of. Because when he leans close and lets his lips touch the shell of your ear, you know you’ve entered a whole new ball park.
“It seems to have worked on you too with the way your thighs are wrapped around my hand right now.”
————————————————
Steve
It doesn’t matter that it’s been two days, the feel of my hand stuck between her warm thighs while we ate breakfast is all I can think about. The way they closed tighter around me when I leaned in toward her. Fuck.
I feel like a desperate little puppy nipping at her heels with the way I’ve been trying to spend every waking minute with her. We’ve always been close, but since she moved there’s this ache in my chest that only eases when I get a whiff of her coconut shampoo or when I feel her warm skin on mine.
She doesn’t even notice the way I watch her, I’d notice. My eyes always find her in a crowded room or on Main Street on a Saturday afternoon. They watch the twitch in her nose when she laughs and the way she subconsciously swipes her hair behind her ears even when it’s already tucked away.
———————————————
“Soooo, what are we seeing today?”
One of the things you loved most in the world was going to the movies. Whether it was with someone or by yourself, something about sitting down with strangers and watching a movie on the big screen just made you giddy. The smell of fresh popcorn and the posters lining the walls as you walked to your theater felt like magic.
And as much as you loved Steve, loved spending time with him, taking him to the movies felt like taking a toddler. It was always a huge ordeal, a hassle even, but you secretly loved it. He’d be on your heels the whole time, stuffing overpriced snacks into his arms and making himself sticky while mixing flavors of soda.
You could never tell him what you were seeing until you were there or he would pester you about who was in it, the plot, the filming, anything he could think of. It was endearing, how interested he was.
“Gladiator II.”
When Steve didn’t immediately say anything you turned around, peanut m&ms, twizzlers, and popcorn spilling out of his hands and some concoction of a diet coke tucked under his arm.
“You’re gonna make me sit and watch you drool over Pedro and Paul for almost 3 hours, you little freak!”
A loud laugh bursts out, your hand reaching out to tug on his elbow so he keeps walking towards your theater. “That’s not the only reason we’re here. Besides, don’t act so innocent. I’m sure you’ll be drooling too.”
He shrugs, his cheeks a little pink and a lopsided smile curving on his face as you make your way to your seats. You’ve no more than sat down before his hand finds yours, fingers looping together and pulling your arm towards him so it’s half on the armrest, half in his lap. It makes your heart race, especially when you glance over to see he’s staring ahead like it’s second nature for the two of you to be touching.
Which I suppose at this point, it is.
Normally the crunch of popcorn so close to your ear would have you fidgeting in annoyance, but for some maddening reason you find everything Steve does sweet. The little dribble of butter on the corner of his mouth doesn’t make you cringe, it makes you want to lean over and swipe it away with your thumb…or your tongue.
And you feel yourself fall a little further in love with him when he leans over and opens his palm to reveal a handful of blue peanut m&m’s for you because he knows that even though they all taste the same, those are your favorite.
Halfway through the movie you’ve accepted that you’ll have to come see it again, this time on your own—because even though you’ve been looking forward to it for months—your focus is solely on the brunette boy beside you.
Shoving popcorn down your throat is doing little to distract you from the warmth of his hand or his arm pressed tight against yours. You’ve eaten half his twizzlers just to keep yourself occupied and it doesn’t help that he keeps feeding them to you with a warm smile and a sly wink.
You find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye the whole time. The wince of his face at the gore, the way his eyes widen during intense scenes, his lips parted just so. God! How does he look so effortlessly pretty watching a fucking movie!
There’s a hitch in your breath you hope he doesn’t notice when he subconsciously squeezes your hand or tugs it closer to him. By the time the end of the movie is nearing, you’re all but squirming in your seat at the sight of his bottom lip swollen and red from how he’s been biting down on it the whole time.
If it wasn’t clear he was enthralled by this movie, you’d be annoyed with him because surely he’s being this attractive on purpose! He’s doing this just to make your thighs clench and your eyes glaze over at the sight of his arm bulging in his long sleeve shirt when he shifts in his seat. His words from earlier come back to you and you fight off a laugh at the irony that you’re sitting here drooling over him for nearly three hours.
Tearing your eyes away from him when the credits start to roll is annoyingly difficult, but you try. Somehow willing yourself to act like you just paid any attention to the movie that you made him watch when in reality you only focused on the curve of his nose and the pout on his lips.
“Okay, you win. That was awesome.” The most you manage is a noncommittal hum that only encourages him to keep going, nipping at your heels as you weave your way through spilled popcorn and candy wrappers to the exit.
“—and I was drooling over them a little bit, but can you blame me? Did you see his abs??” You nod your head and hope that’s enough to satisfy him because now you’re feeling overwhelmed and irritated that you spent the whole movie watching your best friend like a freak AND missed seeing Paul Mescal’s abs.
“What’s your deal? You’re like…catatonic.” It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped walking and is a few feet behind you. He looks a little amused and you wonder if your face is giving away exactly how you’re feeling right now.
“I’m good, it was good. I’m glad you liked it, told you I know my stuff.” Plastering on the fakest smile you have, and he knows it too, you spin on your heel and only make it a few steps before his hand on your arm is stopping you.
You turn to him on instinct and almost gasp at how close he is, chest inches from yours and a smugness in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Is that all?” His voice is deep and maybe even a little dark and you feel thankful your jacket hides the goosebumps that cover your arms at his tone.
“Mhm.” Nodding and avoiding all eye contact you attempt a step back but it’s pointless because for every one you take, he matches it. Until you find yourself tucked into a corner of the movie theater, your back quite literally up against the wall, and Steve Harrington so close that every time he breathes his chest brushes yours.
“What was your favorite part?”
He’s got you, you both know it. You could give some basic, generic answer and have a pretty good shot of it being right, but Steve knows you better. He knows that after a movie you’re able to give detail about it, and right now you couldn’t do that if your life depended on it.
You open your mouth to make up some bullshit answer, then close it again. It doesn’t matter though, he’s pushing you further into the wall and leaning down to let his lips touch the shell of your ear before you can comprehend what’s happening.
“Was it when you were watching me chew on twizzlers? Or when I tugged your hand into my lap and laid it on my thigh? Or was it when I stretched and my shirt rode up a little bit, hm?”
If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated—though you’re sure that’ll come later. There’s a pounding in your ears and you know it can’t be normal for your heart to beat this fast. He pulls back just a fraction to look at you and you know it’s written all over your face. Desperation and embarrassment and want.
“Speak up, baby.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, eyes darting between his and the smirk he’s wearing while you try and come up with something—anything to say. But your mind is filled with him. Thoughts of him and his hands and the way he smells and the way his jaw flexes when he chews. The way his thighs fill his jeans so nice it makes your head swim and the way his hair does still curl at the nape of his neck like he knows you love.
“All of it.” It’s breathless and quiet and if it wasn’t practically on top of you, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did, loud and clear. You can tell by the way his eyes widen a little bit and that sick smile that you’ve become obsessed with grows.
He nods at you like he knew that already, and he probably did. Taking your hand in his once again and all but peeling you from the wall. Your frustration grows when he’s quiet on the drive home, humming along to the music and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s quiet when you get out and walk towards your front door. He’s quiet when he presses a sweet, innocent kiss to your cheek before telling you goodnight and walking back to his car.
Despite an attempt to calm yourself down you’re pretty sure you stomp up the stairs to your room, ripping off your clothes and slipping on one of Steve’s shirts that you stole from him years ago.
There’s papers from your physics class scattered over your bed from a sad attempt at studying over break and even though you know you won't be able to focus, you sit yourself down in the middle of them again and try to focus on the words staring back at you.
Anything is better than thinking about Steve and his stupid strawberry lips and his stupid hair that’s so soft and feels so good when it’s threaded through your fingers. Your phone is lying somewhere on the floor, ears perked and waiting for the tell tale buzz of a text or call.
But you hear nothing. Glaring down at your physics notes like they’ve offended you and feeling the urge to burn them or throw them across the room or rip them to shreds for not doing their job in distracting you. There’s no telling how much time has passed, ten minutes or an hour, you have no idea. But when the creak of your window opening has you almost jumping up and running towards it like a dog when their owner gets home from work.
Acting indifferent is pointless, he saw your true feelings plain as day earlier and you don’t have the energy or the heart to act like you’re not ecstatic at the thought of him coming back for you.
He pulls himself through with little effort, like he’s done it a thousand times—and he has. He carries himself across your room with confidence and ease and it makes your heart skip a beat. He hasn’t changed clothes and you wonder if he even made it home before he decided to turn back around.
Neither of us say anything, not when he takes my stack of notes and moves them to the desk across the room, not when he kicks off his shoes and climbs on the bed, our knees pressed against each other. I watch him take me in, doing a double take at what I’m wearing before he looks back to me again.
The tension between us fills the entire room, and even though we both obviously want it, maybe we’re also a little scared of when it finally snaps.
Steve
I think that I’ve been holding my breath since I realized it was my shirt that was hanging off her shoulder and making my mouth water at the thought of biting into the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. If you’re wearing shorts—or anything—underneath, I can’t tell and it’s making my throat dry.
It only took me just about four minutes of driving before I turned my ass around and all but sped back to her house. I climbed up and through her window without even thinking about it, like it was muscle memory.
“Steve…are you okay?”
Despite the genuine concern I hear in her voice, I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t imagine how I look right now, jaw dropped a little and eyes trained on my shirt draped over your thighs. My mouth is moving but nothing is coming out and if I look how I feel, it’s like a fish out of water.
We’ve been to the movie together countless times, but feeling her watch me the whole time, lip taken between her teeth and thighs squeezing together when I would move or grab her hand…it drove me fucking crazy. I love the back and forth between us, love the build up, but having her pressed against me and all but panting in my ear was my fucking breaking point.
My eyes only leave her when I feel a hand—her hand—on my thigh, the touch burning through my jeans and I know we both feel the way I twitch under her palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet. Is anyone home?” Her head ducks down to meet my eyes and I manage to huff out a small laugh that makes the furrow of her brows ease a little.
“Shirt.” For some reason that’s the only word that slips out of my mouth and I curse myself for sounding like such an idiot. Shirt? Really? It only seems to amuse her though, maybe confuse her a little as she looks between my shirt and hers—mine—before she realizes what I mean and blinks up at me sheepishly.
“Shirt.” Parroting my words back to me, we sit in silence for a few seconds before she continues and I feel my cock twitch in my jeans at the admission. “I know it’s yours it’s just…it’s become a bit of a thing for me I guess. It helps me sleep.” Her shoulders shrug like it’s no big deal but her eyes won’t meet mine anymore.
The back and forth in my head lasts all but three seconds before I’m reaching forward and fisting the material of my favorite shirt I thought that I had lost years ago and tugging her forward so she’s half on the bed, half in my lap.
She might gasp at the sudden movement but I can’t be sure when all I can hear is a pounding in my ears. Our foreheads are touching, noses rubbing together and mouths open as we sit there. Nobody moves, both of us waiting for the other to push forward. With the way I have the material fisted in my hand, the neck of the shirt is pulled away and a quick glance down shows she’s not wearing a bra under the shirt either. And even though I knew that, her pebbled nipples—from me or the cool air—cause a groan to work its way up my throat and I close my eyes in what must look like agony.
It is agony. Her smooth skin exposed to me, her warm breath fanning across my face and her eyelashes fluttering as we stay pressed together. I take another quick peek, tongue darting out to swipe across my bottom lip subconsciously and she fucking giggles when she notices. “Perv.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re right.”
I’m worried she might be pulling away from me when I see her hands lift, but that worry is washed away when her palm presses to the nape of my neck, bringing her lips so close to mine they brush each other when we breathe.
“Christ—are you gonna kiss me or not?” She sounds frustrated, almost as frustrated as I feel having her this close to me and not tasting her.
“I’m thinking about it.” And I have been for years. Probably will for years after this. Fuck I’ll be thinking about kissing her until I die.
“What’s it gonna take for you to do it?” Despite the edge to her voice, the glimmer in her eye tells me that she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. The back and forth that feels like torture but somehow also feels so fucking good.
“Beg.” Beg. I’m telling her to beg as if I’m not seconds away from slipping off the bed and to my knees, praying to her or to whoever she wants that I get to touch her or taste her or do whatever the hell she wants. I sound like an asshole, a smug one, and it’s slipping. I’m seconds away from giving her anything she wants.
Her eyes widen, a glimpse of what I recognize as defiance flashing in them and it makes my heart race a little faster—if that’s possible. But then she glances down at my lips, slick and shiny with spit and practically begging for her and I see her resolve slipping as fast as mine.
Hand slipping from the nape of my neck, she brings them around and it’s her turn to twist her hands into my shirt, yanking me with force I didn’t know she had and it feels so close, so good as if we’re sharing the same breath. “Please, Steve. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I need it. Need you. Please kiss me.”
It feels like every part of me is on fire, her eyes wide and pleading and I have to hold back a whimper at the sincerity of her voice, like she really does need it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push my luck.
“You sound awfully desperate, princess.” Despite the words coming out of my mouth, it doesn’t come out teasing like I hoped. It comes out in a whine that has me throbbing helplessly.
My hands are on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh there to ground me and I choke on a gasp when she moves her hands upward to cup my jaw. “Oh I am but…” Her words trail off, hanging in the air between us and I think I black out when her thumb comes to swipe over my bottom lip, my mouth opening automatically. We’re so close I don’t need to look to see if she’s smirking, I can feel it.
My lips close around her thumb, humming pathetically when I feel her press down on my tongue. My eyes are closed and I’m positive there will be little bruises from the way my fingertips are grabbing at her thighs. “It seems like you’re just as desperate as me, pretty boy.”
With a pop she slips her thumb from my mouth and I groan at the loss but before I can say anything she’s closing the distance between us, soft lips meeting my damp ones like our lives depend on it. I moan into her mouth as soon as I get a taste of the cherry lip gloss she must have been wearing earlier today.
The need to be closer to her is overwhelming, so much so that I startle us both when I push her back, mouths connected the whole time and cradle my hand on the back of her head when she falls against her pillows. Her legs spread for me with ease, thighs wrapped around my hips and pulling me into her.
“Not the first time you’ve been on top of me like this.” She pulls away just enough to mumble the words before she’s kissing me again, quick and hurried like I would ever go anywhere when I have her underneath me like this. Like I would ever go anywhere at all.
“And please god don’t let it be the last.” There’s a small chuckle that falls from her lips but it’s cut off with a gasp when I push my hips forward, the bulge in my jeans very apparent. It’s also clear she’s not wearing shorts. I can feel the warmth of her through her flimsy underwear and it makes my head spin.
There’s a string of spit connecting us when I pull myself off of her the slightest bit, my arms somehow holding me above her even though my whole body feels weak and pliant from her touch. Looking down, I could fucking cry from the sight of her. Swollen lips that are slick with our spit, glossy eyes and a flush that follows the curve of her neck and rests against her cheeks so pretty.
Without the distraction of her lips, I thrust my hips forward again and watch as her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open just slightly at the friction. It does little to ease the discomfort but I keep going anyway, feeling her thighs tighten around my hips and the rise and fall of her chest getting quicker.
She’s making these noises, these little whimpers that make my cock twitch and my arms threaten to give out below me. “I feel like a fucking teenage boy, but it feels too good to stop.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, raspy and desperate and beyond fucked out.
“I don’t wanna cum without really touching you.” I almost don’t hear her, my eyes roaming her body and landing on where my shirt has ridden up, her inner thighs a little pink from the denim rubbing against them and a wet patch visible on the front of her light green panties that have me taking deep breaths.
But once I do register her words, my eyes fly up to hers and the air around us is still. There’s a twisting in my belly that has my hips stuttering as I search her face to make sure I heard that right. There’s a second where she glances down between us and before I can even wrap my head around what’s happening, I watch her hand slip, skating down over her tits and then her stomach and slipping under the band of her underwear.
“What the fuck.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she smiles shyly at me as if I can’t see the outline of her hand or the way she’s biting her lip because she’s fucking touching herself right underneath me. I’m like a bobble head with the way I nod back and forth between her face and her covered hand.
This must be a dream. It has to be.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud either until there’s a pinch to my thigh that has me yelping, a small pout on my lips as I look down at her. She looks amused and also pleased with herself that she’s got me so scattered right now.
“It is not a dream, Harrington. You are very awake and very much here on top of me making me do all the work.”
My brain is slowly catching up to what’s happening, the reality of it all smacking me across the face when I feel the brush of her knuckles—through her fucking underwear—against my stomach.
“You want me to touch you.” There’s no question. I might be telling myself instead of her at this point, I’m not sure.
“I want you to fuck me, but based on the looks of that—” She makes a pointed glance at my still very prominent bulge that’s pressed against her hip, “you’re gonna need to stretch me out a little first.”
Maybe it's because I’ve finally realized what’s going on. Maybe it’s the cockiness she has right now that, while very fucking hot, I have the urge to wipe off her face. Maybe it’s a mix of the two, because something in me finally clicks.
Balancing on one arm, I bring my pointer and middle finger to hover just over her mouth and smile to myself when she glances between them and my face.
“Get them wet.”
That mask of confidence slips just enough to make me smirk down at her, eyes round and dark as she hesitates. “I don’t think you need the extra help.” I can see her trying to stay ahead, to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth, and it only makes me harder.
Cocking my head to the side, I squint my eyes just so, a silent challenge. “And? Get them wet.” It seems to work this time, her lips falling open and head coming forward to take my fingers into her mouth like it’s second nature. She closes her lips around them without me saying anything and I have to fight off a groan when she lulls her tongue, pulling them in deeper.
I’ve moved off her just enough that when I thrust forward, my hips meet the air. Watching her bob her head on my fingers is maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, thighs twitching and eyes threatening to roll back in my head kind of hot.
The thought crosses my mind to let her keep going, to see how long she’ll go for but my resolve is slipping and the need to feel her is much more overwhelming. I pull my fingers from her with a pop, ears buzzing at the little whine that slips from her.
“Don’t pout, you did the same to me.” Before she can protest I slip my hand between us, pushing her hand away and teasing my fingers under the band of her underwear. I notice the quick intake of breath even though my eyes are trained elsewhere, her hips moving up just slightly so my hand slips further down.
Clicking my tongue at her I move my hand back, fingers ghosting over her clit and I smile to myself at the quiet fuck that tumbles out of her mouth. “Looks like you were right, honey. Don’t think I needed the extra help after all.”
There’s a light shove at my chest and a deep tinge to her cheeks, one arm thrown over to cover her eyes while I take my time feeling every inch of her I can. “Do I have to beg for you to finally just touch me, Harrington?”
While there’s a part of me that wants to hear it, there’s a bigger part of me that wants to reassure her that I’m just as—if not more—desperate for this, for her. I need her to know that even though I’m an asshole, she has me so tightly wound around her finger it’s embarrassing.
“I should be the one begging. I’m so fucking lucky you even want me near you, let alone to touch you. Don’t forget that. I’m the desperate one here, so much so it’s kinda pathetic.”
Instead of letting her say anything I lean forward and give a quick peck to her lips that she chases as I move away, huffing as she falls back against her bed. I take the opportunity to give her what she wants, circling her clit once, twice, three times and basking in the way her hands fist the sheets at her sides.
Her legs fall open, inviting me in and I notice my bottom lip is swollen and sore from biting down on it while I watch her. The feel of her soaking my hand is etched in my brain, the way she rocks against me to guide me where she wants me, the dimple between her brow from the pinched expression she holds while I ease the ache I caused.
It’s when I move my fingers lower that we both seem to be holding our breaths, my eyes on her still clothed cunt and her eyes on me as I slip one finger inside, cursing under my breath at how warm and messy she is.
This time my eyes are trained on her as I curl it forward, her body jolting under me. I do it again just to see the way her neck turns a deeper shade of red and her pleading eyes meet mine. It only takes a few minutes before I slip in another, groaning at the lack of resistance.
“Look at you, taking it like a champ.” Despite the way she rolls her eyes at me, we both know she can’t hide the way she pulsed around my fingers at the comment.
She opens her mouth to say something, probably telling me shut up or fuck off, but I cut her off with another curl of my fingers, her hand leaving the sheets and moving to grip my arm instead. “Fuck, Steve.” It’s breathless and needy and has my whole body feeling like it’s on fire. My jeans are tight and the zipper is digging into my cock in a way that has my hand twitching.
But I keep going.
“Yeah?”
“You had the right idea, no way could you fit me without this.”
“Are you gonna clean up the mess you’re making on my hand?”
I’ve lost control of my mouth, saying the first thing that comes to my mind while I watch her thighs start to shake, closing around my wrist. Her nails are digging into my arm hard and it’s making me throb.
“I don’t…I just…I want—”
My thumb on her clit while my fingers pump into her has her turning her head to the side to try and bury her face in the pillows. “Cmon, princess. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t wanna cum on your fingers!” It comes out in a whine and my hand stills, pulling out of her slowly and watching her pout up at me. “What do you want then?” I’m enjoying this way too much to just give in now when she’s right on the edge.
“You know.” I do.
“I don’t.” Liar.
“Liar.”
I smirk at her, finally unzipping my jeans to get an inch of relief and feeling giddy over the hopeful look she casts my way when she notices what I’m doing.
“Do you really wanna keep going back and forth or do you just want to tell me?” She’s trying to look mean and I shouldn’t laugh but the little scowl she’s giving me is just so fucking adorable that I can’t help it.
She swats at my arm, hooking her finger in one of the belt loops of my jeans and giving it a small tug while she looks around the room like the answer is written on the walls. “Your cock, I guess.”
“You guess?” God if I was her I would have smacked the shit out of me by now.
“I know.”
“You just want to get into my pants.” I feign offence, a hand on my chest and a fake frown that I know doesn’t conceal the smugness in my eyes.
“Well I’m trying.” That gets a laugh out of me, a loud one that turns into giggles as I lean down to press sloppy kisses over her cheeks and forehead and tip of her nose.
She leaves a playful nip to my chin as I pull back, letting some stray strands of hair fall against my forehead as I hold my still damp fingers in front of her mouth for the second time.
“Clean up your mess first.”
This time without hesitation or back talk, she listens. Her mouth is warm and she’s messy with it as she licks my fingers clean, when she’s satisfied with her work she moves her head back to swipe her tongue against my palm. She cocks a brow at me as if to say “happy?” and I can’t help but nod at her.
Feeling impatient I push myself off the bed, standing beside it and all but ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. I pause only once to nod towards her, “yours too, please” it’s low and muffled but she hears me anyways, lifting up to take off my shirt and I will myself to look away or else i'll never get these pants off.
Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and boxers, I drag them down, hissing at the slap of my cock against my lower belly, the cool air sending chills over me. He swears he hears you moan but chooses to ignore it in fear of cumming untouched.
It’s quiet in the room and I feel her gaze burning into me. I take the opportunity to do the same, finally letting myself take all of her in and my knees threaten to buckle at the sight. Her tits are round and full and I swear they’ll fit perfectly in the palm of my hands. Her stomach is soft and I feel the urge to lay down between her thighs and bite into it over and over again.
“I think you’re drooling.” Her words are quiet and breathless and we both notice the way my cock throbs under her stare.
“I think you are too.”
Before I can move she’s reaching into her bag on the floor, pulling out a condom and I gape at her when she tugs me forward by grabbing the back of my thigh. She mumbles something under her breath about wanting to put it on but I’m too busy fighting the urge to cum at the touch and fighting the flare of jealousy that rushes through me as she slips it over me effortlessly.
Although most of that jealousy is soothed, wiped away when she leans forward to press a kiss to my hip, scattering them across my lower belly and to the other side.
“How do you want to do this, baby?”
I watch her glance down at my cock then back up a few times, mulling over in her head and I find it endearing. God I’m a freak. “I think I wanna be on top.” And it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and worship her, the thought of you on top of him enough to have him leaking into the condom already.
It takes a little moving around but soon he’s sitting with his back flush against the headboard, legs out in front of him with you perched on his thighs.
“You’re calling the shots, pretty girl. We go at your pace.” I see some of the nerves evaporate and a sense of pride tickles my chest. He likes being the one to soothe you.
But any thought I had left in my head is gone when she scoots up, hovering over my aching cock with a shyness that has me smearing our lips together so hard our teeth knock against each other.
A wordless nod is all it takes for her to reach between us and take the base in her hand, a hitch in my breath at the contact. She paints me up and down before the tip catches and I swear a vein in my neck is threatening to pop.
“Please.” The breathless plea comes from me and she takes mercy on me, lowering herself down so slowly I swear she isn’t moving at all. It’s so much, so good that I don’t know how I’m supposed to hold off at all.
She has her hands on my shoulders and I tilt my head to leave reassuring kisses to the inside of her wrists the whole time. What could be minutes or hours—he’s not sure he even knows where he is anymore—passes and the next time I manage to peel my eyes open she’s fully seated on me, little beads of sweat on her forehead and a flush on her chest.
“Are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut when she huffs a laugh, clenching around me.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but fuck, you’re big.”
“Too late.” God I know I must look like the most smug asshole that’s ever walked the planet.
Raising off me just a little, my whole body tenses when she shifts back down. The pressure, the heat, the slickness is making my head feel fuzzy in the best way possible. I let her find her pace, my hands on her hips helping to guide her and I’m humiliated when I feel that twinge at the base of my spine already.
“I need—talk to me, please.”
Pulling her so our chests are flush together, the change in position must be good because she gasps against me, face nuzzled into my neck while I whisper in her ear.
“There it is, yeah? This sweet little cunt is hugging me so tight, no ones ever felt this good, no one ever will.” I have just enough room to thrust up into her, her hands tugging at the curls at the nape of neck when I steady my pace.
“My perfect fucking girl, you know that? Been thinking about this, about you for years.” Her mouth is hanging open, warm breath hitting my throat with every little pant and moan that slips past her lips.
With every thrust I feel her nipples drag against my chest, her arms wound around my neck so tight it’s almost suffocating—but in the best way. I feel her flutter around me when she pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. “I need—d-drawer.”
I reach over blindly, tearing open her nightstand and pulling things out before I even know what she wants. Still holding onto me she leans over, her hand swatting mine away and finding what she needs in seconds. A small, silver little thing—what I would assume would be a tube of lipstick if I didn't know better.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a sense of pride at how unashamed she looks, confident in what she wants. I feel lightheaded at how hot she is, knowing what she needs and not being afraid to ask for it. It makes me twitch inside her.
She cocks a brow at me, probably daring me to say something shitty about her little friend but I just shrug, pulling her back against me and taking the bullet from her hand. “I’ve always been a team player, sweetheart.”
The buzz of the toy coming to life cuts off the eye roll she was giving me and I push her back so I can see where we’re connected. I’m not prepared for the way she clenches around me when I press it against her clit, my body jolting underneath her and moans so loud our chests rumble coming from the both of us.
It feels unbearably hot in the room, the smell of sex and sweat filling the space and making it hard to breathe. But that only makes it all feel better. Before I know it she’s back to it, lifting herself off and sliding back down while I hold the toy to her clit. The sound of it and our skin meeting enough to have my thighs twitching under her.
“Look at you, bouncing on your best friend's cock. This is what you needed, yeah? A good, sweet girl for everyone but me, right?” She’s too out of it to even care right now, nodding helplessly with her hands on my chest. There’s a stinging there that lets me know I’ll have some red marks tomorrow.
When I start to circle the toy on her clit, she falls forward, our chests pressed together again and her whines more high pitched. “Steve, steve, fuck! M’gonna cum.”
“Should I let you?” I’m bluffing. There’s no way I’d deny her anything right now. An orgasm, a ring, my car. Anything she wants is hers.
“You better.” Despite the attitude in her tone, it occurs to me that if I told her no, she wouldn’t. And that thought alone is enough to have me seconds away myself.
“Go ahead, princess. Be that nice, sweet girl and make a mess of me, please.” It takes one, two, three more thrusts before she’s tightening around me so hard my own orgasm barrels through me before I can stop it. My fingers are digging into her back, hugging her as close to me as possible while she whines and pleads for I don’t know what into my ear.
Holy shit. She’s all but melted into me, her breathing slowing down while I try to determine if I can even use my legs. Her pants and whines turn into small kisses against the shell of my ear, my throat, and my jaw while I curl my hand into her hair.
A small hiss escapes when she pulls off me and I should—but don’t—feel bad about the shit eating grin I know I’m wearing when she loops over at me from where she’s plastered to my side.
“Don’t start, Steve.”
“Well if I remember correctly, and I definitely do—”
Her hand is covering my mouth, face serious but her eyes can’t hide that she’s at least a little amused by me. “Let’s play the quiet game.” She’s no more than taking her hand off my mouth before I’m speaking. “Funny…weren’t you just practically begging me to talk to you?”
“Steve!” I’m laughing as I pull her back on top of me, legs twisted together and her head shaking against my chest as she tries not to laugh. I’m pressing kisses into her hair when she pulls off me, walking away from the bed and shooting me a shy smile over her shoulder when she slides the window shut.
The click of the lock fills the room and and the thud of my pounding heart in my chest fills my ears as she crawls back into bed, snuggling into me and letting her body mold to mine like I’ve dreamed of millions of times over the years.
We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to.
——————————————
His breathing evening out lulls me into sleep, my hand curled against his chest and my leg thrown over his, keeping him tucked up under me.
No matter how many times he proves me wrong, I can’t help but think it’s impossible to love him more. And he always proves me wrong. It’s the kind of love that makes you feel insane because how can I love someone this much?
He’s so good to his core, so attentive and kind to the ones he loves—and those that are nothing but strangers to him. But then he’s cocky and smug and on my last fucking nerve, but still somehow perfect. It’s annoying that someone can be so perfect.
I think it makes sense that we were friends first, that we got to love and know each other in a different way and just fall into the love we have now. Maybe they were always the same kind of love, just from a different perspective.
an: i have not written in months but this ask revived a little part of me i think. i missed you and hope to have some motivation to write every once in a while…if you’ll have me. love you big 💌 (feel free to send requests as always and lmk what you think!!!)
masterlist here!!
summary: coming to terms with being hopelessly in love with your long term best friend is easy enough (it’s not) until the years of touching and tension come to a head on a visit home from school
(steve harrington x fem!reader) 18+ only
warnings: tiny use of y/n, fluff, cursing, teasing, messy kissing, spit, use of a toy, dirty talk, smidge of f masturbation, fingering, p in v, pet names, yearninggggg MDNI!!!!!!
wc: 10k+
There has always been something between you and Steve. Stolen glances and lingering touches that teetered right on the edge of friendship or something more. Drunken kisses that had your cheeks tinged pink and your heart racing far faster than normal.
Despite the tension between you, the heated eyes and sickly sweet pet names, what really warmed you was just how good Steve was. He’d held you while you cried, listened to you ramble on and complain about everything under the sun for as long as you needed and never made you feel like it was too much. That’s what you really loved about him, he never made you feel like you were too much.
Even when you got in those moods of yours, the ones where you pushed him away because you couldn’t handle how you felt and didn’t know how to cope with the thoughts in your head, he didn’t budge. He’d give you a kiss on your forehead, hold his lips there for a few seconds too long and whisper how he loved you, how he understood and how he’d be here when you were ready to talk about it.
Now that you think about it, you really can’t remember a time where you weren’t in love with Steve Harrington.
His ears must have been burning, your phone buzzing against your thigh has you shaking your head to clear your thoughts and you look down to be met with his name flashing across your screen.
“Hello, Harrington.”
“It took you a whole 7 seconds to pick up my call, I could have been dying over here.”
Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at him, laughing under your breath. “And I’m your first call?”
“Who the hell else would be my first call, princess.”
What you can only describe as a gasp gets caught in your throat and you hope he didn’t catch it. Your cheeks are warm and there’s a swirling in your tummy at the use of the pet name that has you gripping the phone a little too tight.
“911, I hope.”
His laugh is loud and without even closing your eyes you can tell it’s the kind where his head is thrown back and his eyes are squeezed tight. You know his throat is on display and you wonder if he’s cut his hair or if he still has those curls at the nape of his neck you love so much.
“God, I miss you.” It slips out before you can stop it, cheeks turning red in an instant. His laughter slows as if he’s sobering up and you curse yourself under your breath. Your mouth opens to say something, anything to dig yourself out of this awkward hole you’ve fallen into when he speaks. “I miss you too, sweet girl. I always miss you. All the fucking time.”
There’s a ringing in your ears as you let his words hit your skin, stick to you and try and worm their way into parts of yourself you’ve tried to keep locked up. He’s your friend. Your best friend. Best friends can miss each other, but hearing him laugh like that and just hearing his voice without being able to see him, to touch him makes you feel like your chest is caving in and it’s suddenly harder to breathe.
Steve’s the kind of person that takes up the whole room. All eyes are drawn to him as soon as he walks in, chocolate eyes that you swear to god sparkle when he smiles, deep dimples and a stray curl that twists against his forehead. And when his gaze catches yours, it’s like time stops. Everything outside of him is a blur and your whole body buzzes under his gaze.
At least you think that’s how everyone feels when they’re in a room with him.
He’s still in your ear talking about plans for the holidays and all the things you have to see, as if anything has or will ever change in Hawkins. He ends the call with a promise to talk tomorrow, but you know one of you will end up texting before the night is over anyways.
A gust of wind from your open window sends goosebumps across your bare arms, the chilly November air has a bite to it and it sends you back to a memory of Steve from high school that has a smile threatening to take over.
*5 years ago, sophomore year*
There might be a pink highlighter smudge across your cheek from the way your body jolts from a post study daze at the creak of your window being slid all the way open.
“You left your window open for me.”
It’s not a question, you both know that. Your body seems to realize who it is before your mind does, relaxing back into your bed and giving Steve a small, timid smile from where he’s crawling through your window.
Words don’t seem to be an option right now so you shrug at him, scooting over so there’s room for him to slide in next to you. It’s a routine the two of you seem to have, coming to each other for comfort, when you’re bored, when you miss the other. Really any reason to be together, you’ll take.
The bed dips beside you and a second later his arm is around you, pulling you closer so you’re tucked into him. “My own personal Wendy Darling, hm?” He chuckles at the blush crawling up your neck and touching your ears.
One thing you’ve noticed is that Steve almost always has a hand on you, like he needs to feel your skin against his if he’s in the same room. Like now, laying in your bed his hand has made its way up to your hair and he’s twirling a few strands between his fingers, tugging gently every once in a while.
It’s quiet in the room, the hum of the fan is persistent even in the cold because you can’t sleep without the noise. Your cheek is pressed tight against him, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes lulling you to sleep.
You can feel yourself slipping away when he speaks, the vibration in his chest making your eyes pop open. “Why do you leave the window open for me? It’s not really safe.” He laughs a little at the end, not sincere but you know he’s doing it to cover up the hint of real curiosity in his voice.
It takes you a second to answer, not because you don’t know but because you can’t fathom that he doesn’t know. It’ll always be open for him. No matter what happens or what changes between the two of you, you will always open it.
“Because I love you. Because I want you to know that this is always going to be a safe space for you and that you can always come to me, for anything.” You could go on, to tell him how the creak of the window is your favorite sound because you know that it means he’s here, that he was thinking of you. You could tell him how you’re so in love with him there’s probably not a thing you wouldn’t do to make him comfortable, to make him happy.
But you don’t. You look up at him and know that your eyes give away more than you like but it’s okay because so do his.
He presses a kiss to your temple and even though it didn’t seem possible, pulls you closer to his chest and smiles to himself when your breathing evens out and you melt into him.
*end of flashback*
Opening your eyes again, the coldness of your skin tells you that you’re not in your childhood bedroom in Hawkins, Steve isn’t pressed up against you, and you’re not in high school anymore. You look around at your too small but cozy apartment in Chicago, 2 years of college under your belt and an ache in your chest at the absence of the familiarity of home. Of Steve.
A ping from your phone has you looking down and just as you suspected, neither of you could wait until tomorrow and you can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over immediately.
Steve: Forgot to mention this, even though it should go without saying, but don’t make any plans without me when you’re home. Might even handcuff us together if I’m feeling crazy.
Y/n: You have handcuffs on standby?
Steve: Wouldn’t you like to know.
And suddenly the countdown to Thanksgiving break seems much more exciting and you realize you would very much like to know.
————————————-
The next three weeks fly by and before you know it you’re pulling into the driveway of your childhood home, a scarf wrapped around you because the heat isn’t working right in your too old car and a smile on your face at the sight of the front door being pulled open and your siblings pouring out to greet you.
No matter how badly you miss your family, it doesn’t take long for your social battery to drain. You’re tired from the drive and you’ve spent the last few hours answering questions about school and friends and even the weather.
Pulling yourself up the stairs takes effort and the click of the door to your childhood bedroom behind you sends waves of relief through your body.
But being back in this room is the same every time.
Your body is on clockwork, feet shuffling you across the room before you even know what’s happening and you truly feel a sense of home when you reach up and flip the lock on your window.
—————————————
Fingertips skimming across your forehead, then your cheek, then cupping your jaw, you find yourself leaning into the touch, even though you’re not sure who it is. But really you do. You always do.
One eye cracks open but it’s so bright you squeeze them closed again. When did you fall asleep? It must be morning, early by the looks of it. It’s when a thumb swipes over your bottom lip that your eyes pop open, mouth opening to yell or just gape—you’re not sure which. But before you can his palm is covering your mouth, fingers splayed against your jaw and a wicked grin on his lips.
“Shhh, s’just me. Good morning, princess.”
His reassurance does little to slow down your racing heart, lips tingling where his skin touches yours and you fight the urge to pucker them against his palm. It’s like he knows it too, mischievous eyes and a lop sided smile as he takes you in for the first time in months.
Between him waking you up and pressing his hand over your mouth, you haven’t even realized he’s on top of you, thighs spread over your hips and the hand not on your mouth is buried in the sheets beside your head holding him up.
You’re lucky you slipped on a t-shirt—an old one of his of course— before bed or he would be able to see the red creeping up your chest and curling around your neck at the smell of him. Vanilla and some sweet fruit you can’t bother to remember when he’s inches away from you. He must have showered just before he came, still damp curls framing his face and strawberry lips glossy from the chapstick you know he has in his back pocket.
Just as handsome as you remember, somehow more so, you can’t help the sigh that lands against his palm, your arms reaching up to wrap themselves around his neck and pull him down so he’s flush against you. You whisper his name into the space between you, what little there is, and feel him tense for just a split second before he’s molding himself against you.
It’s a little dramatic and a lot embarrassing when you feel tears well up in your eyes, how much you missed him and how right this feels all becoming too much. Blinking them away as quick as possible, you both stay still for seconds or maybe minutes before he pulls back, smiling down at you, eyes catching yours.
“Who knew king Steve was so desperate for a hug from me he’d break in at 6 am.” It’s mumbled against his palm that’s now loosely pressed against you, but he hears it all the same. There’s a flash in his eyes and you get to see them turn serious for just a split second before that glint returns. The one that tells you you’re in trouble.
“Oh I’ve been desperate for you forever, baby.” He doesn’t give you anytime to react or to even process what he’s said because in the next second he’s pulling off of you, giving a quick pinch to your cheek and winking at you as he pulls open your bedroom door to head downstairs.
“Now c’mon, I’m hungry and I can’t have my breakfast in bed with your family downstairs.”
A scoff of surprise leaves your lips, eyes wide as you watch him bound down the stairs, your family welcoming him with a chorus of hellos and welcomes as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
You’re pulling on the first clothes you see when your eyes catch on the window, a smile and a flicker in your chest when you see it’s still half open.
Breakfast passes in a blur. It’s loud and busy and no one lets anyone else finish a sentence. Steve’s thigh stays flush against yours the whole time, his hand coming to give it a squeeze when he catches you drifting off amongst the chaos.
It’s when your mom quiets the room, everyone going still that you stiffen under his touch. “So Steve, any new girlfriend?” Your dad takes a swig of his coffee, eyes cast down at his plate. Your sisters are holding their breath and looking between you and Steve with frantic eyes. And your mom is painfully unaware that you’re in love with Steve and this is the last thing you want to hear about. Ever. Everyone seems to know except for her and you can’t even be mad when she’s so genuine.
His hand is still on your thigh and suddenly it feels hot to the touch. If he’s nervous or uncomfortable he doesn’t show it, still wearing that smug smile that’s become his signature.
“Ahh no, you know me. Only girls in my life are at this table. Plus Robin.” You swear she swoons, your sisters too. And you would roll your eyes at him if it wasn’t for the way he was rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your leg, eyes darting to the side to catch yours.
The room roars back to life at his admission and you hate to admit how relieved you are to hear he’s not seeing anyone. With everyone yelling over each other no one seems to notice you lean a little closer to whisper in his ear.
“Good one, Harrington. You’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.”
Something must have changed between the last visit home and this one. He’s got a way about him that screams confidence. He’s always been cocky, but he’s more direct with you now. You love it. It’s always been intense between you two, flirting and touching.
But it’s been taken up a notch, a new level added to the game that you weren’t aware of. Because when he leans close and lets his lips touch the shell of your ear, you know you’ve entered a whole new ball park.
“It seems to have worked on you too with the way your thighs are wrapped around my hand right now.”
————————————————
Steve
It doesn’t matter that it’s been two days, the feel of my hand stuck between her warm thighs while we ate breakfast is all I can think about. The way they closed tighter around me when I leaned in toward her. Fuck.
I feel like a desperate little puppy nipping at her heels with the way I’ve been trying to spend every waking minute with her. We’ve always been close, but since she moved there’s this ache in my chest that only eases when I get a whiff of her coconut shampoo or when I feel her warm skin on mine.
She doesn’t even notice the way I watch her, I’d notice. My eyes always find her in a crowded room or on Main Street on a Saturday afternoon. They watch the twitch in her nose when she laughs and the way she subconsciously swipes her hair behind her ears even when it’s already tucked away.
———————————————
“Soooo, what are we seeing today?”
One of the things you loved most in the world was going to the movies. Whether it was with someone or by yourself, something about sitting down with strangers and watching a movie on the big screen just made you giddy. The smell of fresh popcorn and the posters lining the walls as you walked to your theater felt like magic.
And as much as you loved Steve, loved spending time with him, taking him to the movies felt like taking a toddler. It was always a huge ordeal, a hassle even, but you secretly loved it. He’d be on your heels the whole time, stuffing overpriced snacks into his arms and making himself sticky while mixing flavors of soda.
You could never tell him what you were seeing until you were there or he would pester you about who was in it, the plot, the filming, anything he could think of. It was endearing, how interested he was.
“Gladiator II.”
When Steve didn’t immediately say anything you turned around, peanut m&ms, twizzlers, and popcorn spilling out of his hands and some concoction of a diet coke tucked under his arm.
“You’re gonna make me sit and watch you drool over Pedro and Paul for almost 3 hours, you little freak!”
A loud laugh bursts out, your hand reaching out to tug on his elbow so he keeps walking towards your theater. “That’s not the only reason we’re here. Besides, don’t act so innocent. I’m sure you’ll be drooling too.”
He shrugs, his cheeks a little pink and a lopsided smile curving on his face as you make your way to your seats. You’ve no more than sat down before his hand finds yours, fingers looping together and pulling your arm towards him so it’s half on the armrest, half in his lap. It makes your heart race, especially when you glance over to see he’s staring ahead like it’s second nature for the two of you to be touching.
Which I suppose at this point, it is.
Normally the crunch of popcorn so close to your ear would have you fidgeting in annoyance, but for some maddening reason you find everything Steve does sweet. The little dribble of butter on the corner of his mouth doesn’t make you cringe, it makes you want to lean over and swipe it away with your thumb…or your tongue.
And you feel yourself fall a little further in love with him when he leans over and opens his palm to reveal a handful of blue peanut m&m’s for you because he knows that even though they all taste the same, those are your favorite.
Halfway through the movie you’ve accepted that you’ll have to come see it again, this time on your own—because even though you’ve been looking forward to it for months—your focus is solely on the brunette boy beside you.
Shoving popcorn down your throat is doing little to distract you from the warmth of his hand or his arm pressed tight against yours. You’ve eaten half his twizzlers just to keep yourself occupied and it doesn’t help that he keeps feeding them to you with a warm smile and a sly wink.
You find yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye the whole time. The wince of his face at the gore, the way his eyes widen during intense scenes, his lips parted just so. God! How does he look so effortlessly pretty watching a fucking movie!
There’s a hitch in your breath you hope he doesn’t notice when he subconsciously squeezes your hand or tugs it closer to him. By the time the end of the movie is nearing, you’re all but squirming in your seat at the sight of his bottom lip swollen and red from how he’s been biting down on it the whole time.
If it wasn’t clear he was enthralled by this movie, you’d be annoyed with him because surely he’s being this attractive on purpose! He’s doing this just to make your thighs clench and your eyes glaze over at the sight of his arm bulging in his long sleeve shirt when he shifts in his seat. His words from earlier come back to you and you fight off a laugh at the irony that you’re sitting here drooling over him for nearly three hours.
Tearing your eyes away from him when the credits start to roll is annoyingly difficult, but you try. Somehow willing yourself to act like you just paid any attention to the movie that you made him watch when in reality you only focused on the curve of his nose and the pout on his lips.
“Okay, you win. That was awesome.” The most you manage is a noncommittal hum that only encourages him to keep going, nipping at your heels as you weave your way through spilled popcorn and candy wrappers to the exit.
“—and I was drooling over them a little bit, but can you blame me? Did you see his abs??” You nod your head and hope that’s enough to satisfy him because now you’re feeling overwhelmed and irritated that you spent the whole movie watching your best friend like a freak AND missed seeing Paul Mescal’s abs.
“What’s your deal? You’re like…catatonic.” It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped walking and is a few feet behind you. He looks a little amused and you wonder if your face is giving away exactly how you’re feeling right now.
“I’m good, it was good. I’m glad you liked it, told you I know my stuff.” Plastering on the fakest smile you have, and he knows it too, you spin on your heel and only make it a few steps before his hand on your arm is stopping you.
You turn to him on instinct and almost gasp at how close he is, chest inches from yours and a smugness in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Is that all?” His voice is deep and maybe even a little dark and you feel thankful your jacket hides the goosebumps that cover your arms at his tone.
“Mhm.” Nodding and avoiding all eye contact you attempt a step back but it’s pointless because for every one you take, he matches it. Until you find yourself tucked into a corner of the movie theater, your back quite literally up against the wall, and Steve Harrington so close that every time he breathes his chest brushes yours.
“What was your favorite part?”
He’s got you, you both know it. You could give some basic, generic answer and have a pretty good shot of it being right, but Steve knows you better. He knows that after a movie you’re able to give detail about it, and right now you couldn’t do that if your life depended on it.
You open your mouth to make up some bullshit answer, then close it again. It doesn’t matter though, he’s pushing you further into the wall and leaning down to let his lips touch the shell of your ear before you can comprehend what’s happening.
“Was it when you were watching me chew on twizzlers? Or when I tugged your hand into my lap and laid it on my thigh? Or was it when I stretched and my shirt rode up a little bit, hm?”
If you weren’t so turned on, you’d be humiliated—though you’re sure that’ll come later. There’s a pounding in your ears and you know it can’t be normal for your heart to beat this fast. He pulls back just a fraction to look at you and you know it’s written all over your face. Desperation and embarrassment and want.
“Speak up, baby.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, eyes darting between his and the smirk he’s wearing while you try and come up with something—anything to say. But your mind is filled with him. Thoughts of him and his hands and the way he smells and the way his jaw flexes when he chews. The way his thighs fill his jeans so nice it makes your head swim and the way his hair does still curl at the nape of his neck like he knows you love.
“All of it.” It’s breathless and quiet and if it wasn’t practically on top of you, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he did, loud and clear. You can tell by the way his eyes widen a little bit and that sick smile that you’ve become obsessed with grows.
He nods at you like he knew that already, and he probably did. Taking your hand in his once again and all but peeling you from the wall. Your frustration grows when he’s quiet on the drive home, humming along to the music and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s quiet when you get out and walk towards your front door. He’s quiet when he presses a sweet, innocent kiss to your cheek before telling you goodnight and walking back to his car.
Despite an attempt to calm yourself down you’re pretty sure you stomp up the stairs to your room, ripping off your clothes and slipping on one of Steve’s shirts that you stole from him years ago.
There’s papers from your physics class scattered over your bed from a sad attempt at studying over break and even though you know you won't be able to focus, you sit yourself down in the middle of them again and try to focus on the words staring back at you.
Anything is better than thinking about Steve and his stupid strawberry lips and his stupid hair that’s so soft and feels so good when it’s threaded through your fingers. Your phone is lying somewhere on the floor, ears perked and waiting for the tell tale buzz of a text or call.
But you hear nothing. Glaring down at your physics notes like they’ve offended you and feeling the urge to burn them or throw them across the room or rip them to shreds for not doing their job in distracting you. There’s no telling how much time has passed, ten minutes or an hour, you have no idea. But when the creak of your window opening has you almost jumping up and running towards it like a dog when their owner gets home from work.
Acting indifferent is pointless, he saw your true feelings plain as day earlier and you don’t have the energy or the heart to act like you’re not ecstatic at the thought of him coming back for you.
He pulls himself through with little effort, like he’s done it a thousand times—and he has. He carries himself across your room with confidence and ease and it makes your heart skip a beat. He hasn’t changed clothes and you wonder if he even made it home before he decided to turn back around.
Neither of us say anything, not when he takes my stack of notes and moves them to the desk across the room, not when he kicks off his shoes and climbs on the bed, our knees pressed against each other. I watch him take me in, doing a double take at what I’m wearing before he looks back to me again.
The tension between us fills the entire room, and even though we both obviously want it, maybe we’re also a little scared of when it finally snaps.
Steve
I think that I’ve been holding my breath since I realized it was my shirt that was hanging off her shoulder and making my mouth water at the thought of biting into the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. If you’re wearing shorts—or anything—underneath, I can’t tell and it’s making my throat dry.
It only took me just about four minutes of driving before I turned my ass around and all but sped back to her house. I climbed up and through her window without even thinking about it, like it was muscle memory.
“Steve…are you okay?”
Despite the genuine concern I hear in her voice, I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t imagine how I look right now, jaw dropped a little and eyes trained on my shirt draped over your thighs. My mouth is moving but nothing is coming out and if I look how I feel, it’s like a fish out of water.
We’ve been to the movie together countless times, but feeling her watch me the whole time, lip taken between her teeth and thighs squeezing together when I would move or grab her hand…it drove me fucking crazy. I love the back and forth between us, love the build up, but having her pressed against me and all but panting in my ear was my fucking breaking point.
My eyes only leave her when I feel a hand—her hand—on my thigh, the touch burning through my jeans and I know we both feel the way I twitch under her palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet. Is anyone home?” Her head ducks down to meet my eyes and I manage to huff out a small laugh that makes the furrow of her brows ease a little.
“Shirt.” For some reason that’s the only word that slips out of my mouth and I curse myself for sounding like such an idiot. Shirt? Really? It only seems to amuse her though, maybe confuse her a little as she looks between my shirt and hers—mine—before she realizes what I mean and blinks up at me sheepishly.
“Shirt.” Parroting my words back to me, we sit in silence for a few seconds before she continues and I feel my cock twitch in my jeans at the admission. “I know it’s yours it’s just…it’s become a bit of a thing for me I guess. It helps me sleep.” Her shoulders shrug like it’s no big deal but her eyes won’t meet mine anymore.
The back and forth in my head lasts all but three seconds before I’m reaching forward and fisting the material of my favorite shirt I thought that I had lost years ago and tugging her forward so she’s half on the bed, half in my lap.
She might gasp at the sudden movement but I can’t be sure when all I can hear is a pounding in my ears. Our foreheads are touching, noses rubbing together and mouths open as we sit there. Nobody moves, both of us waiting for the other to push forward. With the way I have the material fisted in my hand, the neck of the shirt is pulled away and a quick glance down shows she’s not wearing a bra under the shirt either. And even though I knew that, her pebbled nipples—from me or the cool air—cause a groan to work its way up my throat and I close my eyes in what must look like agony.
It is agony. Her smooth skin exposed to me, her warm breath fanning across my face and her eyelashes fluttering as we stay pressed together. I take another quick peek, tongue darting out to swipe across my bottom lip subconsciously and she fucking giggles when she notices. “Perv.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re right.”
I’m worried she might be pulling away from me when I see her hands lift, but that worry is washed away when her palm presses to the nape of my neck, bringing her lips so close to mine they brush each other when we breathe.
“Christ—are you gonna kiss me or not?” She sounds frustrated, almost as frustrated as I feel having her this close to me and not tasting her.
“I’m thinking about it.” And I have been for years. Probably will for years after this. Fuck I’ll be thinking about kissing her until I die.
“What’s it gonna take for you to do it?” Despite the edge to her voice, the glimmer in her eye tells me that she’s enjoying this just as much as I am. The back and forth that feels like torture but somehow also feels so fucking good.
“Beg.” Beg. I’m telling her to beg as if I’m not seconds away from slipping off the bed and to my knees, praying to her or to whoever she wants that I get to touch her or taste her or do whatever the hell she wants. I sound like an asshole, a smug one, and it’s slipping. I’m seconds away from giving her anything she wants.
Her eyes widen, a glimpse of what I recognize as defiance flashing in them and it makes my heart race a little faster—if that’s possible. But then she glances down at my lips, slick and shiny with spit and practically begging for her and I see her resolve slipping as fast as mine.
Hand slipping from the nape of my neck, she brings them around and it’s her turn to twist her hands into my shirt, yanking me with force I didn’t know she had and it feels so close, so good as if we’re sharing the same breath. “Please, Steve. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I need it. Need you. Please kiss me.”
It feels like every part of me is on fire, her eyes wide and pleading and I have to hold back a whimper at the sincerity of her voice, like she really does need it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push my luck.
“You sound awfully desperate, princess.” Despite the words coming out of my mouth, it doesn’t come out teasing like I hoped. It comes out in a whine that has me throbbing helplessly.
My hands are on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh there to ground me and I choke on a gasp when she moves her hands upward to cup my jaw. “Oh I am but…” Her words trail off, hanging in the air between us and I think I black out when her thumb comes to swipe over my bottom lip, my mouth opening automatically. We’re so close I don’t need to look to see if she’s smirking, I can feel it.
My lips close around her thumb, humming pathetically when I feel her press down on my tongue. My eyes are closed and I’m positive there will be little bruises from the way my fingertips are grabbing at her thighs. “It seems like you’re just as desperate as me, pretty boy.”
With a pop she slips her thumb from my mouth and I groan at the loss but before I can say anything she’s closing the distance between us, soft lips meeting my damp ones like our lives depend on it. I moan into her mouth as soon as I get a taste of the cherry lip gloss she must have been wearing earlier today.
The need to be closer to her is overwhelming, so much so that I startle us both when I push her back, mouths connected the whole time and cradle my hand on the back of her head when she falls against her pillows. Her legs spread for me with ease, thighs wrapped around my hips and pulling me into her.
“Not the first time you’ve been on top of me like this.” She pulls away just enough to mumble the words before she’s kissing me again, quick and hurried like I would ever go anywhere when I have her underneath me like this. Like I would ever go anywhere at all.
“And please god don’t let it be the last.” There’s a small chuckle that falls from her lips but it’s cut off with a gasp when I push my hips forward, the bulge in my jeans very apparent. It’s also clear she’s not wearing shorts. I can feel the warmth of her through her flimsy underwear and it makes my head spin.
There’s a string of spit connecting us when I pull myself off of her the slightest bit, my arms somehow holding me above her even though my whole body feels weak and pliant from her touch. Looking down, I could fucking cry from the sight of her. Swollen lips that are slick with our spit, glossy eyes and a flush that follows the curve of her neck and rests against her cheeks so pretty.
Without the distraction of her lips, I thrust my hips forward again and watch as her eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open just slightly at the friction. It does little to ease the discomfort but I keep going anyway, feeling her thighs tighten around my hips and the rise and fall of her chest getting quicker.
She’s making these noises, these little whimpers that make my cock twitch and my arms threaten to give out below me. “I feel like a fucking teenage boy, but it feels too good to stop.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, raspy and desperate and beyond fucked out.
“I don’t wanna cum without really touching you.” I almost don’t hear her, my eyes roaming her body and landing on where my shirt has ridden up, her inner thighs a little pink from the denim rubbing against them and a wet patch visible on the front of her light green panties that have me taking deep breaths.
But once I do register her words, my eyes fly up to hers and the air around us is still. There’s a twisting in my belly that has my hips stuttering as I search her face to make sure I heard that right. There’s a second where she glances down between us and before I can even wrap my head around what’s happening, I watch her hand slip, skating down over her tits and then her stomach and slipping under the band of her underwear.
“What the fuck.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she smiles shyly at me as if I can’t see the outline of her hand or the way she’s biting her lip because she’s fucking touching herself right underneath me. I’m like a bobble head with the way I nod back and forth between her face and her covered hand.
This must be a dream. It has to be.
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud either until there’s a pinch to my thigh that has me yelping, a small pout on my lips as I look down at her. She looks amused and also pleased with herself that she’s got me so scattered right now.
“It is not a dream, Harrington. You are very awake and very much here on top of me making me do all the work.”
My brain is slowly catching up to what’s happening, the reality of it all smacking me across the face when I feel the brush of her knuckles—through her fucking underwear—against my stomach.
“You want me to touch you.” There’s no question. I might be telling myself instead of her at this point, I’m not sure.
“I want you to fuck me, but based on the looks of that—” She makes a pointed glance at my still very prominent bulge that’s pressed against her hip, “you’re gonna need to stretch me out a little first.”
Maybe it's because I’ve finally realized what’s going on. Maybe it’s the cockiness she has right now that, while very fucking hot, I have the urge to wipe off her face. Maybe it’s a mix of the two, because something in me finally clicks.
Balancing on one arm, I bring my pointer and middle finger to hover just over her mouth and smile to myself when she glances between them and my face.
“Get them wet.”
That mask of confidence slips just enough to make me smirk down at her, eyes round and dark as she hesitates. “I don’t think you need the extra help.” I can see her trying to stay ahead, to keep me on my toes with her smart mouth, and it only makes me harder.
Cocking my head to the side, I squint my eyes just so, a silent challenge. “And? Get them wet.” It seems to work this time, her lips falling open and head coming forward to take my fingers into her mouth like it’s second nature. She closes her lips around them without me saying anything and I have to fight off a groan when she lulls her tongue, pulling them in deeper.
I’ve moved off her just enough that when I thrust forward, my hips meet the air. Watching her bob her head on my fingers is maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, thighs twitching and eyes threatening to roll back in my head kind of hot.
The thought crosses my mind to let her keep going, to see how long she’ll go for but my resolve is slipping and the need to feel her is much more overwhelming. I pull my fingers from her with a pop, ears buzzing at the little whine that slips from her.
“Don’t pout, you did the same to me.” Before she can protest I slip my hand between us, pushing her hand away and teasing my fingers under the band of her underwear. I notice the quick intake of breath even though my eyes are trained elsewhere, her hips moving up just slightly so my hand slips further down.
Clicking my tongue at her I move my hand back, fingers ghosting over her clit and I smile to myself at the quiet fuck that tumbles out of her mouth. “Looks like you were right, honey. Don’t think I needed the extra help after all.”
There’s a light shove at my chest and a deep tinge to her cheeks, one arm thrown over to cover her eyes while I take my time feeling every inch of her I can. “Do I have to beg for you to finally just touch me, Harrington?”
While there’s a part of me that wants to hear it, there’s a bigger part of me that wants to reassure her that I’m just as—if not more—desperate for this, for her. I need her to know that even though I’m an asshole, she has me so tightly wound around her finger it’s embarrassing.
“I should be the one begging. I’m so fucking lucky you even want me near you, let alone to touch you. Don’t forget that. I’m the desperate one here, so much so it’s kinda pathetic.”
Instead of letting her say anything I lean forward and give a quick peck to her lips that she chases as I move away, huffing as she falls back against her bed. I take the opportunity to give her what she wants, circling her clit once, twice, three times and basking in the way her hands fist the sheets at her sides.
Her legs fall open, inviting me in and I notice my bottom lip is swollen and sore from biting down on it while I watch her. The feel of her soaking my hand is etched in my brain, the way she rocks against me to guide me where she wants me, the dimple between her brow from the pinched expression she holds while I ease the ache I caused.
It’s when I move my fingers lower that we both seem to be holding our breaths, my eyes on her still clothed cunt and her eyes on me as I slip one finger inside, cursing under my breath at how warm and messy she is.
This time my eyes are trained on her as I curl it forward, her body jolting under me. I do it again just to see the way her neck turns a deeper shade of red and her pleading eyes meet mine. It only takes a few minutes before I slip in another, groaning at the lack of resistance.
“Look at you, taking it like a champ.” Despite the way she rolls her eyes at me, we both know she can’t hide the way she pulsed around my fingers at the comment.
She opens her mouth to say something, probably telling me shut up or fuck off, but I cut her off with another curl of my fingers, her hand leaving the sheets and moving to grip my arm instead. “Fuck, Steve.” It’s breathless and needy and has my whole body feeling like it’s on fire. My jeans are tight and the zipper is digging into my cock in a way that has my hand twitching.
But I keep going.
“Yeah?”
“You had the right idea, no way could you fit me without this.”
“Are you gonna clean up the mess you’re making on my hand?”
I’ve lost control of my mouth, saying the first thing that comes to my mind while I watch her thighs start to shake, closing around my wrist. Her nails are digging into my arm hard and it’s making me throb.
“I don’t…I just…I want—”
My thumb on her clit while my fingers pump into her has her turning her head to the side to try and bury her face in the pillows. “Cmon, princess. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t wanna cum on your fingers!” It comes out in a whine and my hand stills, pulling out of her slowly and watching her pout up at me. “What do you want then?” I’m enjoying this way too much to just give in now when she’s right on the edge.
“You know.” I do.
“I don’t.” Liar.
“Liar.”
I smirk at her, finally unzipping my jeans to get an inch of relief and feeling giddy over the hopeful look she casts my way when she notices what I’m doing.
“Do you really wanna keep going back and forth or do you just want to tell me?” She’s trying to look mean and I shouldn’t laugh but the little scowl she’s giving me is just so fucking adorable that I can’t help it.
She swats at my arm, hooking her finger in one of the belt loops of my jeans and giving it a small tug while she looks around the room like the answer is written on the walls. “Your cock, I guess.”
“You guess?” God if I was her I would have smacked the shit out of me by now.
“I know.”
“You just want to get into my pants.” I feign offence, a hand on my chest and a fake frown that I know doesn’t conceal the smugness in my eyes.
“Well I’m trying.” That gets a laugh out of me, a loud one that turns into giggles as I lean down to press sloppy kisses over her cheeks and forehead and tip of her nose.
She leaves a playful nip to my chin as I pull back, letting some stray strands of hair fall against my forehead as I hold my still damp fingers in front of her mouth for the second time.
“Clean up your mess first.”
This time without hesitation or back talk, she listens. Her mouth is warm and she’s messy with it as she licks my fingers clean, when she’s satisfied with her work she moves her head back to swipe her tongue against my palm. She cocks a brow at me as if to say “happy?” and I can’t help but nod at her.
Feeling impatient I push myself off the bed, standing beside it and all but ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. I pause only once to nod towards her, “yours too, please” it’s low and muffled but she hears me anyways, lifting up to take off my shirt and I will myself to look away or else i'll never get these pants off.
Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and boxers, I drag them down, hissing at the slap of my cock against my lower belly, the cool air sending chills over me. He swears he hears you moan but chooses to ignore it in fear of cumming untouched.
It’s quiet in the room and I feel her gaze burning into me. I take the opportunity to do the same, finally letting myself take all of her in and my knees threaten to buckle at the sight. Her tits are round and full and I swear they’ll fit perfectly in the palm of my hands. Her stomach is soft and I feel the urge to lay down between her thighs and bite into it over and over again.
“I think you’re drooling.” Her words are quiet and breathless and we both notice the way my cock throbs under her stare.
“I think you are too.”
Before I can move she’s reaching into her bag on the floor, pulling out a condom and I gape at her when she tugs me forward by grabbing the back of my thigh. She mumbles something under her breath about wanting to put it on but I’m too busy fighting the urge to cum at the touch and fighting the flare of jealousy that rushes through me as she slips it over me effortlessly.
Although most of that jealousy is soothed, wiped away when she leans forward to press a kiss to my hip, scattering them across my lower belly and to the other side.
“How do you want to do this, baby?”
I watch her glance down at my cock then back up a few times, mulling over in her head and I find it endearing. God I’m a freak. “I think I wanna be on top.” And it takes everything in me not to fall to my knees and worship her, the thought of you on top of him enough to have him leaking into the condom already.
It takes a little moving around but soon he’s sitting with his back flush against the headboard, legs out in front of him with you perched on his thighs.
“You’re calling the shots, pretty girl. We go at your pace.” I see some of the nerves evaporate and a sense of pride tickles my chest. He likes being the one to soothe you.
But any thought I had left in my head is gone when she scoots up, hovering over my aching cock with a shyness that has me smearing our lips together so hard our teeth knock against each other.
A wordless nod is all it takes for her to reach between us and take the base in her hand, a hitch in my breath at the contact. She paints me up and down before the tip catches and I swear a vein in my neck is threatening to pop.
“Please.” The breathless plea comes from me and she takes mercy on me, lowering herself down so slowly I swear she isn’t moving at all. It’s so much, so good that I don’t know how I’m supposed to hold off at all.
She has her hands on my shoulders and I tilt my head to leave reassuring kisses to the inside of her wrists the whole time. What could be minutes or hours—he’s not sure he even knows where he is anymore—passes and the next time I manage to peel my eyes open she’s fully seated on me, little beads of sweat on her forehead and a flush on her chest.
“Are you okay?” My eyes squeeze shut when she huffs a laugh, clenching around me.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but fuck, you’re big.”
“Too late.” God I know I must look like the most smug asshole that’s ever walked the planet.
Raising off me just a little, my whole body tenses when she shifts back down. The pressure, the heat, the slickness is making my head feel fuzzy in the best way possible. I let her find her pace, my hands on her hips helping to guide her and I’m humiliated when I feel that twinge at the base of my spine already.
“I need—talk to me, please.”
Pulling her so our chests are flush together, the change in position must be good because she gasps against me, face nuzzled into my neck while I whisper in her ear.
“There it is, yeah? This sweet little cunt is hugging me so tight, no ones ever felt this good, no one ever will.” I have just enough room to thrust up into her, her hands tugging at the curls at the nape of neck when I steady my pace.
“My perfect fucking girl, you know that? Been thinking about this, about you for years.” Her mouth is hanging open, warm breath hitting my throat with every little pant and moan that slips past her lips.
With every thrust I feel her nipples drag against my chest, her arms wound around my neck so tight it’s almost suffocating—but in the best way. I feel her flutter around me when she pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to her forehead from sweat. “I need—d-drawer.”
I reach over blindly, tearing open her nightstand and pulling things out before I even know what she wants. Still holding onto me she leans over, her hand swatting mine away and finding what she needs in seconds. A small, silver little thing—what I would assume would be a tube of lipstick if I didn't know better.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a sense of pride at how unashamed she looks, confident in what she wants. I feel lightheaded at how hot she is, knowing what she needs and not being afraid to ask for it. It makes me twitch inside her.
She cocks a brow at me, probably daring me to say something shitty about her little friend but I just shrug, pulling her back against me and taking the bullet from her hand. “I’ve always been a team player, sweetheart.”
The buzz of the toy coming to life cuts off the eye roll she was giving me and I push her back so I can see where we’re connected. I’m not prepared for the way she clenches around me when I press it against her clit, my body jolting underneath her and moans so loud our chests rumble coming from the both of us.
It feels unbearably hot in the room, the smell of sex and sweat filling the space and making it hard to breathe. But that only makes it all feel better. Before I know it she’s back to it, lifting herself off and sliding back down while I hold the toy to her clit. The sound of it and our skin meeting enough to have my thighs twitching under her.
“Look at you, bouncing on your best friend's cock. This is what you needed, yeah? A good, sweet girl for everyone but me, right?” She’s too out of it to even care right now, nodding helplessly with her hands on my chest. There’s a stinging there that lets me know I’ll have some red marks tomorrow.
When I start to circle the toy on her clit, she falls forward, our chests pressed together again and her whines more high pitched. “Steve, steve, fuck! M’gonna cum.”
“Should I let you?” I’m bluffing. There’s no way I’d deny her anything right now. An orgasm, a ring, my car. Anything she wants is hers.
“You better.” Despite the attitude in her tone, it occurs to me that if I told her no, she wouldn’t. And that thought alone is enough to have me seconds away myself.
“Go ahead, princess. Be that nice, sweet girl and make a mess of me, please.” It takes one, two, three more thrusts before she’s tightening around me so hard my own orgasm barrels through me before I can stop it. My fingers are digging into her back, hugging her as close to me as possible while she whines and pleads for I don’t know what into my ear.
Holy shit. She’s all but melted into me, her breathing slowing down while I try to determine if I can even use my legs. Her pants and whines turn into small kisses against the shell of my ear, my throat, and my jaw while I curl my hand into her hair.
A small hiss escapes when she pulls off me and I should—but don’t—feel bad about the shit eating grin I know I’m wearing when she loops over at me from where she’s plastered to my side.
“Don’t start, Steve.”
“Well if I remember correctly, and I definitely do—”
Her hand is covering my mouth, face serious but her eyes can’t hide that she’s at least a little amused by me. “Let’s play the quiet game.” She’s no more than taking her hand off my mouth before I’m speaking. “Funny…weren’t you just practically begging me to talk to you?”
“Steve!” I’m laughing as I pull her back on top of me, legs twisted together and her head shaking against my chest as she tries not to laugh. I’m pressing kisses into her hair when she pulls off me, walking away from the bed and shooting me a shy smile over her shoulder when she slides the window shut.
The click of the lock fills the room and and the thud of my pounding heart in my chest fills my ears as she crawls back into bed, snuggling into me and letting her body mold to mine like I’ve dreamed of millions of times over the years.
We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to.
——————————————
His breathing evening out lulls me into sleep, my hand curled against his chest and my leg thrown over his, keeping him tucked up under me.
No matter how many times he proves me wrong, I can’t help but think it’s impossible to love him more. And he always proves me wrong. It’s the kind of love that makes you feel insane because how can I love someone this much?
He’s so good to his core, so attentive and kind to the ones he loves—and those that are nothing but strangers to him. But then he’s cocky and smug and on my last fucking nerve, but still somehow perfect. It’s annoying that someone can be so perfect.
I think it makes sense that we were friends first, that we got to love and know each other in a different way and just fall into the love we have now. Maybe they were always the same kind of love, just from a different perspective.
