i write fanfiction, blurbs, headcanons and occasional drabbles. most of my work is steve harrington, but i also love writing for other characters whenever inspiration decides to show up.
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currently writing for...
♡ steve harrington
♡ rafe cameron
♡ jj maybank
(more may be added in the future!)
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before you request...
♡ inbox is always open for asks, chatting and screaming about fictional men.
♡ requests are OPEN.
♡ please be patient with updates! i write whenever i have the time and inspiration.
i actually started writing on wattpad years ago, so if you'd like to read some of my older stories (or just see where all of this began), you can find me there too ♡
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thanks for stopping by!
i hope you find something you enjoy reading. don't be afraid to stop by my inbox and say hi ♡
pairing: rafe cameron x reader
genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, rich kids, family legacy, tension
warnings: arguing, mild swearing, kissing, unresolved sexual tension, family pressure, mentions of financial struggles
word count: 3.0k
summary: Raised together as heirs to the Outer Banks' most prestigious luxury resort, you and Rafe Cameron have spent twenty-two years turning every conversation into a competition. With Villa Mare on the brink of collapse, you're forced to work side by side to save the family legacy, even if you can't agree on how. Somewhere between boardroom arguments, impossible expectations, and years of pretending your feelings look a lot like hatred, the line between rivals and something much more dangerous begins to disappear.
note: So... I actually borrowed this idea from a Wattpad fanfic I started years ago but never ended up finishing. I'd been trying to turn it into a full-length story for what feels like forever, but no matter how many times I rewrote it, it never came out the way I wanted it to. Now that I'm writing one-shots over here, I thought I'd finally give the idea another chance. Maybe it was always meant to be told this way.
I really hope you enjoy it ♡.
masterlist | request guideline
You and Rafe Cameron were born five days apart and spent your entire lives growing up on opposite sides of Villa Mare Resort, the luxury oceanfront hotel your grandparents built together in the late sixties. The Camerons weren't your relatives, but they might as well have been. Long before either of you was born, your grandparents had taken a gamble on a rundown stretch of beachfront property and transformed it into Villa Mare. Best friends What started as a shared dream between two families became a hospitality empire worth billions, leaving both generations tied together by contracts, history, and a legacy neither family could ever walk away from.
Neither of you ever really had the chance to be normal. You didn't grow up worrying about money. You grew up worrying about expectations.
From the moment you could walk, everyone knew exactly who you were supposed to become. Future co-owner. Future CEO. Future face of Villa Mare. Every birthday, every holiday, every family dinner somehow became another lesson about responsibility, legacy, and protecting everything the generations before you had built.
The only person who understood that pressure as well as you did was Rafe.
Unfortunately, he also happened to be the person who drove you absolutely insane.
The two of you have spent twenty-two years competing over everything imaginable. Who learned to surf first. Who got better grades. Who closed the bigger client. Who knew the business better. Even something as simple as choosing the paint color for a renovated suite somehow ended with the two of you arguing loud enough for the staff to place bets on who would storm out first.
You were too similar, and that was a very big problem, because neither of you had ever learned how to lose.
Still, somehow, no matter how explosive the fight, you always found yourselves back in the same room again because that's what the business demanded. Because now, Villa Mare is yours to protect, and it's falling apart.
Bookings have dropped. Investors are getting impatient. Every week brings another problem, another expense, another reminder that even family empires can collapse.
Rafe believes the only way to save the resort is to modernize everything. Bigger renovations. Bigger marketing campaigns. Luxury experiences. If it doesn't make money immediately, he doesn't want it.
You disagree.
Villa Mare was never just another five-star hotel. It was built on family traditions, familiar faces, and guests who returned every summer because it felt like home. You don't want to erase that in exchange for becoming another polished resort with no soul.
Neither of you is willing to compromise.
Which means every meeting becomes another argument.
Every disagreement feels more personal than the last.
And every time he looks at you across the conference table, jaw tight and blue eyes burning with frustration, you hate how difficult it is to remember exactly why you can't stand him.
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The conference room had emptied ten minutes ago.
Sarah had mumbled something about needing coffee before one of them committed a felony. Kiara had practically dragged Pope out with her, while JJ had loudly announced he was putting twenty bucks on "them making out before someone throws a chair."
No one had laughed. Mostly because it didn't seem entirely impossible anymore.
The blueprints for Villa Mare's east wing were spread across the mahogany table, corners curling from how many times one of you had shoved them across the surface during the last hour.
"You can't seriously think knocking down the ballroom is a good idea."
Rafe leaned both palms against the table, shoulders tense beneath the sleeves of his white button-down. "It's barely used."
"It hosted three weddings last month."
"It hosted three weddings because we practically gave the room away."
You folded your arms. "Not everything is about profit."
His laugh was short and humorless. "No," he said. "That's your specialty."
You blinked. "My specialty?"
"Sentiment." He gestured around the room. "You keep talking about preserving the heart of this place like it's going to magically pay our bills."
"It built this place."
"It built this place forty years ago."
"It built this place, period."
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "You don't get it."
"No." You took a step closer. "You don't get it."
His eyes snapped back to yours.
"People don't come here because the towels are imported from Italy, Rafe."
"They come because they expect a luxury resort."
"No, they come because Mrs. Henderson knows every returning guest's name. They come because memories don't show up on balance sheets."
"They come because they can get that experience somewhere else for half the price."
You scoffed. "There it is."
"What?"
"The businessman."
His jaw clenched. "You say that like it's an insult."
"It is when you forget we're supposed to be running a family business."
"I am trying to save the family business."
"By turning it into something our grandparents wouldn't even recognize."
And then silence.
His fingers tightened against the edge of the table. "You think I'm destroying it."
"I think you're terrified."
His eyebrows lifted. "Terrified?"
"You're so scared of failing that you'd rather rip this place apart before it gets the chance to disappoint you."
For a second, you actually thought he'd walk away.
But he surprise you by rounding the table until there was barely any space left between the two of you. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." His voice had dropped, it wasn't loud anymore and somehow, that made it worse.
"Oh, I don't?"
"No."
"You think because you read financial reports until two in the morning you're carrying this place by yourself?"
"You think you're the only one losing sleep?"
"You think you're the only one who hears our grandparents asking if we're doing enough every time we walk past their portraits?"
His expression faltered, only for a second but you noticed either way. and he notices that you'd noticed. "I know exactly what this place means to you," he said quietly.
"Do you?"
"I've known you my whole life."
"That doesn't mean you know me."
"It kind of does."
Your breath caught.
He was standing so close now that you could see the tiny scar beneath his chin from when the two of you had crashed bicycles into each other at eleven years old. You'd laughed back then and he'd cried. You still brought it up every chance you got.
"You always do this," you muttered.
"What?"
"You act like you know exactly what I'm thinking."
"Usually I do."
"You don't."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I know you're about to tell me I'm arrogant."
"You are."
"I know you hate when I interrupt you."
"I do."
"I know you skip breakfast every morning before investor meetings."
You frowned.
"I know you pretend you don't care what the staff thinks, but you remember every single employee's birthday."
Your lips parted.
"I know," he continued, his voice impossibly calm now, "that every time you walk past the old guestbook in the lobby, you stop and read the first page because your grandmother's handwriting is on it."
Your stomach tightened.
"I notice everything."
The words settled between you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him now, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest.
It would've taken one step, just one, but instead, you forced yourself to speak. "You're still wrong."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "There she is."
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself."
"I was getting worried we'd gone almost thirty seconds without arguing."
You rolled your eyes. "You are insufferable."
Your heartbeat stumbled.
"You mean the hotel keeps putting us in the same room."
"If that's what helps you sleep at night."
"Oh, please."
"You could've asked Sarah to handle today's meeting."
"So could you."
"I considered it."
"Liar."
"I am." He didn't deny it, didn't even try.
Instead, his eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a second, to your lips before lifting back to yours. The movement was so quick you almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.
"You know what your problem is?" you asked, your voice quieter now.
He smiled. "You."
You hated how quickly that answer made heat crawl up your neck. "You think you're charming."
"I know I am."
"You were more tolerable when you were seventeen."
"You had a crush on me when I was seventeen."
"I absolutely did not."
He grinned. "You absolutely did."
"I would've rather walked into the ocean."
"You almost did."
"That was because you pushed me off the dock."
"I told you it was slippery."
"You laughed."
"You looked funny."
"You are unbelievable."
"And you're smiling."
Your lips immediately flattened. "I am not."
"You literally are."
"I'm smiling because one day you're going to lose an argument."
He took one final step forward. Now there was no space left at all. "I've been losing them for years."
Your brows furrowed. "What?"
His gaze didn't leave yours. "I just keep coming back for the next one."
The words hung between you. For the first time since the meeting had started, neither of you seemed to have a comeback.
Outside the conference room, life at Villa Mare carried on as if nothing had happened. Someone wheeled a housekeeping cart down the hallway, the faint squeak of its wheels echoing through the open doorway. A phone rang somewhere at reception. Laughter drifted up from the lobby.
Inside the room, the air felt impossibly still. You should've walked away. It would've been easy. Pick up your folder, mutter something sarcastic under your breath, slam the door behind you.That's what always happened.
Instead, you stayed exactly where you were. Close enough to notice that his breathing hadn't quite settled after the argument. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of green hidden inside his blue eyes.Close enough that if either of you leaned forward—
No.
You forced the thought away.
"This is a terrible idea," you murmured, almost to yourself.
Rafe frowned slightly. "What is?"
"This." ou gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"The part where we're standing here pretending this is still about the ballroom." A corner of his mouth lifted.
"It stopped being about the ballroom a while ago."
"Don't."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"No." He shook his head slowly. "You're trying to convince yourself you still hate me."
Your laugh came out quieter than you intended. "I don't have to convince myself of anything."
"No?"
"No."
"Then why haven't you left yet?"
The question landed harder than either of you expected. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Because he was right, you should've left ten minutes ago. Instead, you were still standing there, letting him invade your space the way no one else ever could.
"You know what I think?" he said after a long moment.
"I don't think I want to."
"I think..." He hesitated, and somehow that surprised you more than anything else. And Rafe never hesitated. "...I think we've spent so long arguing that neither of us knows what we're supposed to do when we're not."
You searched his face, looking for the joke but it never came. His expression had softened in a way you'd never seen before. Not cocky. Not smug. Just...honest.
"You drive me insane," you admitted quietly.
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"I've spent years trying to prove you wrong."
"I know."
"You make me so angry I can barely think sometimes."
Something almost like a smile crossed his face. "I know that too."
"You really are full of yourself."
"well." He took another small step. "So are you."
You should've stepped backbut instead, you stayed rooted to the floor. "You know what the worst part is?" you whispered.
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever actually hated you."
His eyes flickered over your face as if trying to decide whether he'd imagined hearing that. "You've just hated losing to me."
"I've never lost to you."
He laughed softly. "There she is again."
Without thinking, you reached out and straightened his tie.
The movement surprised both of you.
Your fingers brushed the knot absentmindedly, smoothing it where it had loosened during the argument. "I didn't realize I'd done that," he said quietly.
"You always do."
"What?"
"You loosen your tie when you're stressed."
He looked down at your hand still resting against his chest. "And you always fix it."
You blinked.
"I've... done this before?"
"So many times."
"When?"
"Every family event. Every fundraiser. Every board meeting." His smile grew softer. "You don't even realize you're doing it."
Heat rushed to your cheeks because is true, you hadn't realized, not once.
Your hand started to pull away but Rafe caught it before it could. Not tightly, just enough for your fingers to stay where they were against his chest. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. "You notice everything about me," he said.
"So do you."
"I know." His eyes dropped to your mouth. This time he didn't bother pretending you hadn't noticed. Neither did you.
"If I kiss you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "this changes everything."
You looked at him for what felt like forever.
Then you smiled, a small, disbelieving smile. "As if anything between us has ever been simple."
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm against the tiny space separating you. "No, it never has. And whose fault is that?"
"You've got about three seconds before I change my mind, Cameron."
"You won't."
"No?"
"I know you"
You rolled your eyes despite the way your heart was pounding. "You are so unbelievably—"
"I know."
Before he could finish the sentence, you closed the distance yourself. And after twenty-two years of unfinished arguments, stolen glances across conference tables and finding reasons to stay in the same room long after every meeting had ended, neither of you had ever really stopped moving toward the other.
His lips met yours softly at first, tentatively, almost like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind. But you didn't.
Instead, your hand slid from the knot of his tie to the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape, and the moment you pulled him closer, something inside him seemed to snap.
The kiss deepened all at once. It wasn't polished or graceful, it was impatient. Messy. Like every argument you'd ever left unfinished had found another way to be resolved.
A quiet sound escaped him, half laugh, half sigh, as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it struck you that it wasn't just yours threatening to burst out of your chest.
For once, Rafe Cameron looked completely undone. You'd seen him angry, frustrated, smug, but never like this. Never kissing you as though he'd spent years imagining what it would feel like, only to realize the reality was somehow better.
Your lips parted against his without thinking, and he paused for the briefest second, searching your face as if silently asking whether this was still okay. The answer came when you kissed him again. Harder this time.
His hand tightened at your waist, drawing an involuntary breath from you that disappeared into the kiss. You could feel him smiling for the smallest moment before he kissed you again, slower now, as though he finally had permission to stop pretending.
Everything was overwhelming, the clean scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands, the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed against your side as if he'd always belonged there.
How had this never happened before?
How had the two of you spent years convincing yourselves that all this tension was hatred?
You pulled back just enough to breathe. Barely an inch separated you. His forehead rested against yours, both of you slightly breathless.
"I really hate you," you whispered, though the words lacked every ounce of conviction they once carried.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"No," he murmured, his voice rougher than before. "You really don't."
You should've argued. You should've thrown another sarcastic remark at him, reminded him how infuriating he was, how arrogant, how impossible.
Instead, your eyes drifted back to his lips and of course Rafe notice, He always does.
"I was right," he said softly, unable to hide the smugness creeping back into his voice.
"Oh, don't ruin this."
"I knew you had a crush on me."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "You are unbelievable."
"I've been waiting to say 'I told you so' for years."
"You've had about thirty seconds of being kissable, Cameron."
"Thirty-one."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "There it is."
"What?"
"That stupid grin."
"It only comes out around you."
Your smile faltered. Not because you didn't believe him. Because you did. He looked at you differently now. Not like his business partner, or like his oldest rival. Not even like the girl he'd grown up competing against. Just... you.
His hand came up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering against your cheek.
"So," he said quietly, "does this mean we still have to finish arguing about the ballroom?"
You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh.
"Oh, we're absolutely still arguing about the ballroom."
"I figured."
"But..." You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush his one last time, the kiss brief enough to feel like a promise rather than another surrender.
"...we can do it later."
For the first time in as long as either of you could remember, neither of you cared who won.
pairing: rafe cameron x reader
genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, rich kids, family legacy, tension
warnings: arguing, mild swearing, kissing, unresolved sexual tension, family pressure, mentions of financial struggles
word count: 3.0k
summary: Raised together as heirs to the Outer Banks' most prestigious luxury resort, you and Rafe Cameron have spent twenty-two years turning every conversation into a competition. With Villa Mare on the brink of collapse, you're forced to work side by side to save the family legacy, even if you can't agree on how. Somewhere between boardroom arguments, impossible expectations, and years of pretending your feelings look a lot like hatred, the line between rivals and something much more dangerous begins to disappear.
note: So... I actually borrowed this idea from a Wattpad fanfic I started years ago but never ended up finishing. I'd been trying to turn it into a full-length story for what feels like forever, but no matter how many times I rewrote it, it never came out the way I wanted it to. Now that I'm writing one-shots over here, I thought I'd finally give the idea another chance. Maybe it was always meant to be told this way.
I really hope you enjoy it ♡.
masterlist | request guideline
You and Rafe Cameron were born five days apart and spent your entire lives growing up on opposite sides of Villa Mare Resort, the luxury oceanfront hotel your grandparents built together in the late sixties. The Camerons weren't your relatives, but they might as well have been. Long before either of you was born, your grandparents had taken a gamble on a rundown stretch of beachfront property and transformed it into Villa Mare. Best friends What started as a shared dream between two families became a hospitality empire worth billions, leaving both generations tied together by contracts, history, and a legacy neither family could ever walk away from.
Neither of you ever really had the chance to be normal. You didn't grow up worrying about money. You grew up worrying about expectations.
From the moment you could walk, everyone knew exactly who you were supposed to become. Future co-owner. Future CEO. Future face of Villa Mare. Every birthday, every holiday, every family dinner somehow became another lesson about responsibility, legacy, and protecting everything the generations before you had built.
The only person who understood that pressure as well as you did was Rafe.
Unfortunately, he also happened to be the person who drove you absolutely insane.
The two of you have spent twenty-two years competing over everything imaginable. Who learned to surf first. Who got better grades. Who closed the bigger client. Who knew the business better. Even something as simple as choosing the paint color for a renovated suite somehow ended with the two of you arguing loud enough for the staff to place bets on who would storm out first.
You were too similar, and that was a very big problem, because neither of you had ever learned how to lose.
Still, somehow, no matter how explosive the fight, you always found yourselves back in the same room again because that's what the business demanded. Because now, Villa Mare is yours to protect, and it's falling apart.
Bookings have dropped. Investors are getting impatient. Every week brings another problem, another expense, another reminder that even family empires can collapse.
Rafe believes the only way to save the resort is to modernize everything. Bigger renovations. Bigger marketing campaigns. Luxury experiences. If it doesn't make money immediately, he doesn't want it.
You disagree.
Villa Mare was never just another five-star hotel. It was built on family traditions, familiar faces, and guests who returned every summer because it felt like home. You don't want to erase that in exchange for becoming another polished resort with no soul.
Neither of you is willing to compromise.
Which means every meeting becomes another argument.
Every disagreement feels more personal than the last.
And every time he looks at you across the conference table, jaw tight and blue eyes burning with frustration, you hate how difficult it is to remember exactly why you can't stand him.
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The conference room had emptied ten minutes ago.
Sarah had mumbled something about needing coffee before one of them committed a felony. Kiara had practically dragged Pope out with her, while JJ had loudly announced he was putting twenty bucks on "them making out before someone throws a chair."
No one had laughed. Mostly because it didn't seem entirely impossible anymore.
The blueprints for Villa Mare's east wing were spread across the mahogany table, corners curling from how many times one of you had shoved them across the surface during the last hour.
"You can't seriously think knocking down the ballroom is a good idea."
Rafe leaned both palms against the table, shoulders tense beneath the sleeves of his white button-down. "It's barely used."
"It hosted three weddings last month."
"It hosted three weddings because we practically gave the room away."
You folded your arms. "Not everything is about profit."
His laugh was short and humorless. "No," he said. "That's your specialty."
You blinked. "My specialty?"
"Sentiment." He gestured around the room. "You keep talking about preserving the heart of this place like it's going to magically pay our bills."
"It built this place."
"It built this place forty years ago."
"It built this place, period."
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "You don't get it."
"No." You took a step closer. "You don't get it."
His eyes snapped back to yours.
"People don't come here because the towels are imported from Italy, Rafe."
"They come because they expect a luxury resort."
"No, they come because Mrs. Henderson knows every returning guest's name. They come because memories don't show up on balance sheets."
"They come because they can get that experience somewhere else for half the price."
You scoffed. "There it is."
"What?"
"The businessman."
His jaw clenched. "You say that like it's an insult."
"It is when you forget we're supposed to be running a family business."
"I am trying to save the family business."
"By turning it into something our grandparents wouldn't even recognize."
And then silence.
His fingers tightened against the edge of the table. "You think I'm destroying it."
"I think you're terrified."
His eyebrows lifted. "Terrified?"
"You're so scared of failing that you'd rather rip this place apart before it gets the chance to disappoint you."
For a second, you actually thought he'd walk away.
But he surprise you by rounding the table until there was barely any space left between the two of you. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." His voice had dropped, it wasn't loud anymore and somehow, that made it worse.
"Oh, I don't?"
"No."
"You think because you read financial reports until two in the morning you're carrying this place by yourself?"
"You think you're the only one losing sleep?"
"You think you're the only one who hears our grandparents asking if we're doing enough every time we walk past their portraits?"
His expression faltered, only for a second but you noticed either way. and he notices that you'd noticed. "I know exactly what this place means to you," he said quietly.
"Do you?"
"I've known you my whole life."
"That doesn't mean you know me."
"It kind of does."
Your breath caught.
He was standing so close now that you could see the tiny scar beneath his chin from when the two of you had crashed bicycles into each other at eleven years old. You'd laughed back then and he'd cried. You still brought it up every chance you got.
"You always do this," you muttered.
"What?"
"You act like you know exactly what I'm thinking."
"Usually I do."
"You don't."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I know you're about to tell me I'm arrogant."
"You are."
"I know you hate when I interrupt you."
"I do."
"I know you skip breakfast every morning before investor meetings."
You frowned.
"I know you pretend you don't care what the staff thinks, but you remember every single employee's birthday."
Your lips parted.
"I know," he continued, his voice impossibly calm now, "that every time you walk past the old guestbook in the lobby, you stop and read the first page because your grandmother's handwriting is on it."
Your stomach tightened.
"I notice everything."
The words settled between you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him now, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest.
It would've taken one step, just one, but instead, you forced yourself to speak. "You're still wrong."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "There she is."
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself."
"I was getting worried we'd gone almost thirty seconds without arguing."
You rolled your eyes. "You are insufferable."
Your heartbeat stumbled.
"You mean the hotel keeps putting us in the same room."
"If that's what helps you sleep at night."
"Oh, please."
"You could've asked Sarah to handle today's meeting."
"So could you."
"I considered it."
"Liar."
"I am." He didn't deny it, didn't even try.
Instead, his eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a second, to your lips before lifting back to yours. The movement was so quick you almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.
"You know what your problem is?" you asked, your voice quieter now.
He smiled. "You."
You hated how quickly that answer made heat crawl up your neck. "You think you're charming."
"I know I am."
"You were more tolerable when you were seventeen."
"You had a crush on me when I was seventeen."
"I absolutely did not."
He grinned. "You absolutely did."
"I would've rather walked into the ocean."
"You almost did."
"That was because you pushed me off the dock."
"I told you it was slippery."
"You laughed."
"You looked funny."
"You are unbelievable."
"And you're smiling."
Your lips immediately flattened. "I am not."
"You literally are."
"I'm smiling because one day you're going to lose an argument."
He took one final step forward. Now there was no space left at all. "I've been losing them for years."
Your brows furrowed. "What?"
His gaze didn't leave yours. "I just keep coming back for the next one."
The words hung between you. For the first time since the meeting had started, neither of you seemed to have a comeback.
Outside the conference room, life at Villa Mare carried on as if nothing had happened. Someone wheeled a housekeeping cart down the hallway, the faint squeak of its wheels echoing through the open doorway. A phone rang somewhere at reception. Laughter drifted up from the lobby.
Inside the room, the air felt impossibly still. You should've walked away. It would've been easy. Pick up your folder, mutter something sarcastic under your breath, slam the door behind you.That's what always happened.
Instead, you stayed exactly where you were. Close enough to notice that his breathing hadn't quite settled after the argument. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of green hidden inside his blue eyes.Close enough that if either of you leaned forward—
No.
You forced the thought away.
"This is a terrible idea," you murmured, almost to yourself.
Rafe frowned slightly. "What is?"
"This." ou gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"The part where we're standing here pretending this is still about the ballroom." A corner of his mouth lifted.
"It stopped being about the ballroom a while ago."
"Don't."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"No." He shook his head slowly. "You're trying to convince yourself you still hate me."
Your laugh came out quieter than you intended. "I don't have to convince myself of anything."
"No?"
"No."
"Then why haven't you left yet?"
The question landed harder than either of you expected. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Because he was right, you should've left ten minutes ago. Instead, you were still standing there, letting him invade your space the way no one else ever could.
"You know what I think?" he said after a long moment.
"I don't think I want to."
"I think..." He hesitated, and somehow that surprised you more than anything else. And Rafe never hesitated. "...I think we've spent so long arguing that neither of us knows what we're supposed to do when we're not."
You searched his face, looking for the joke but it never came. His expression had softened in a way you'd never seen before. Not cocky. Not smug. Just...honest.
"You drive me insane," you admitted quietly.
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"I've spent years trying to prove you wrong."
"I know."
"You make me so angry I can barely think sometimes."
Something almost like a smile crossed his face. "I know that too."
"You really are full of yourself."
"well." He took another small step. "So are you."
You should've stepped backbut instead, you stayed rooted to the floor. "You know what the worst part is?" you whispered.
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever actually hated you."
His eyes flickered over your face as if trying to decide whether he'd imagined hearing that. "You've just hated losing to me."
"I've never lost to you."
He laughed softly. "There she is again."
Without thinking, you reached out and straightened his tie.
The movement surprised both of you.
Your fingers brushed the knot absentmindedly, smoothing it where it had loosened during the argument. "I didn't realize I'd done that," he said quietly.
"You always do."
"What?"
"You loosen your tie when you're stressed."
He looked down at your hand still resting against his chest. "And you always fix it."
You blinked.
"I've... done this before?"
"So many times."
"When?"
"Every family event. Every fundraiser. Every board meeting." His smile grew softer. "You don't even realize you're doing it."
Heat rushed to your cheeks because is true, you hadn't realized, not once.
Your hand started to pull away but Rafe caught it before it could. Not tightly, just enough for your fingers to stay where they were against his chest. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. "You notice everything about me," he said.
"So do you."
"I know." His eyes dropped to your mouth. This time he didn't bother pretending you hadn't noticed. Neither did you.
"If I kiss you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "this changes everything."
You looked at him for what felt like forever.
Then you smiled, a small, disbelieving smile. "As if anything between us has ever been simple."
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm against the tiny space separating you. "No, it never has. And whose fault is that?"
"You've got about three seconds before I change my mind, Cameron."
"You won't."
"No?"
"I know you"
You rolled your eyes despite the way your heart was pounding. "You are so unbelievably—"
"I know."
Before he could finish the sentence, you closed the distance yourself. And after twenty-two years of unfinished arguments, stolen glances across conference tables and finding reasons to stay in the same room long after every meeting had ended, neither of you had ever really stopped moving toward the other.
His lips met yours softly at first, tentatively, almost like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind. But you didn't.
Instead, your hand slid from the knot of his tie to the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape, and the moment you pulled him closer, something inside him seemed to snap.
The kiss deepened all at once. It wasn't polished or graceful, it was impatient. Messy. Like every argument you'd ever left unfinished had found another way to be resolved.
A quiet sound escaped him, half laugh, half sigh, as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it struck you that it wasn't just yours threatening to burst out of your chest.
For once, Rafe Cameron looked completely undone. You'd seen him angry, frustrated, smug, but never like this. Never kissing you as though he'd spent years imagining what it would feel like, only to realize the reality was somehow better.
Your lips parted against his without thinking, and he paused for the briefest second, searching your face as if silently asking whether this was still okay. The answer came when you kissed him again. Harder this time.
His hand tightened at your waist, drawing an involuntary breath from you that disappeared into the kiss. You could feel him smiling for the smallest moment before he kissed you again, slower now, as though he finally had permission to stop pretending.
Everything was overwhelming, the clean scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands, the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed against your side as if he'd always belonged there.
How had this never happened before?
How had the two of you spent years convincing yourselves that all this tension was hatred?
You pulled back just enough to breathe. Barely an inch separated you. His forehead rested against yours, both of you slightly breathless.
"I really hate you," you whispered, though the words lacked every ounce of conviction they once carried.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"No," he murmured, his voice rougher than before. "You really don't."
You should've argued. You should've thrown another sarcastic remark at him, reminded him how infuriating he was, how arrogant, how impossible.
Instead, your eyes drifted back to his lips and of course Rafe notice, He always does.
"I was right," he said softly, unable to hide the smugness creeping back into his voice.
"Oh, don't ruin this."
"I knew you had a crush on me."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "You are unbelievable."
"I've been waiting to say 'I told you so' for years."
"You've had about thirty seconds of being kissable, Cameron."
"Thirty-one."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "There it is."
"What?"
"That stupid grin."
"It only comes out around you."
Your smile faltered. Not because you didn't believe him. Because you did. He looked at you differently now. Not like his business partner, or like his oldest rival. Not even like the girl he'd grown up competing against. Just... you.
His hand came up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering against your cheek.
"So," he said quietly, "does this mean we still have to finish arguing about the ballroom?"
You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh.
"Oh, we're absolutely still arguing about the ballroom."
"I figured."
"But..." You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush his one last time, the kiss brief enough to feel like a promise rather than another surrender.
"...we can do it later."
For the first time in as long as either of you could remember, neither of you cared who won.
have an idea you think i'd love to write? this is the place for it.
my inbox is currently open for requests, questions or thoughts ♡
before sending a request, please take a moment to read through my guidelines.
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ what i'll write
♡ fluff
♡ angst
♡ comfort
♡ friends to lovers
♡ enemies/rivals to lovers
♡ fake dating
♡ and more...
if you're unsure whether something fits, you're always welcome to ask!
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ reader information
all of my reader-insert stories are written with:
♡ female reader
♡ she/her pronouns
♡ reader is 18+
unless stated otherwise in a specific fic.
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ what i won't write
♡ incest
♡ self-harm
♡ eating disorder depictions
♡ abusive or toxic romantic relationships
♡ non-consensual or coercive sexual situations
♡ underage characters in romantic or sexual situations
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ request status
currently: OPEN
please include as much detail as you'd like! things that are always helpful:
♡ character
♡ trope or prompt
♡ overall vibe (fluff, angst, comfort...)
♡ any specific scenes or dialogue you'd love to see
the more details you give me, the easier it is for me to bring your idea to life ♡
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ request masterlist
here you'll find every request i've completed.
Double shot
requested by @/secretvalhallaviper
pairing: jealous!rafe x reader
genre: fluff, romantic comedy, established relationship
warnings: jealous/protective!rafe, possessive behavior, customer flirting, mild confrontation, mild swearing, excessive pining
word count: 3.3k
summary: Working at a coffee shop in Figure Eight means serving lattes, memorizing regulars' orders, and politely turning down the occasional customer who mistakes kindness for flirting. Normally, you can handle it yourself. Unfortunately for one particularly persistent customer, your boyfriend has been watching the entire interaction from his usual corner table...
↳read here
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
thank you for supporting my writing ♡ whether you send a request, leave a reblog, or simply spend a few minutes reading one of my stories, it truly means the world to me.
have an idea you think i'd love to write? this is the place for it.
my inbox is currently open for requests, questions or thoughts ♡
before sending a request, please take a moment to read through my guidelines.
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ what i'll write
♡ fluff
♡ angst
♡ comfort
♡ friends to lovers
♡ enemies/rivals to lovers
♡ fake dating
♡ and more...
if you're unsure whether something fits, you're always welcome to ask!
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ reader information
all of my reader-insert stories are written with:
♡ female reader
♡ she/her pronouns
♡ reader is 18+
unless stated otherwise in a specific fic.
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ what i won't write
♡ incest
♡ self-harm
♡ eating disorder depictions
♡ abusive or toxic romantic relationships
♡ non-consensual or coercive sexual situations
♡ underage characters in romantic or sexual situations
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ request status
currently: OPEN
please include as much detail as you'd like! things that are always helpful:
♡ character
♡ trope or prompt
♡ overall vibe (fluff, angst, comfort...)
♡ any specific scenes or dialogue you'd love to see
the more details you give me, the easier it is for me to bring your idea to life ♡
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
♡ request masterlist
here you'll find every request i've completed.
Double shot
requested by @/secretvalhallaviper
pairing: jealous!rafe x reader
genre: fluff, romantic comedy, established relationship
warnings: jealous/protective!rafe, possessive behavior, customer flirting, mild confrontation, mild swearing, excessive pining
word count: 3.3k
summary: Working at a coffee shop in Figure Eight means serving lattes, memorizing regulars' orders, and politely turning down the occasional customer who mistakes kindness for flirting. Normally, you can handle it yourself. Unfortunately for one particularly persistent customer, your boyfriend has been watching the entire interaction from his usual corner table...
↳read here
₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊
thank you for supporting my writing ♡ whether you send a request, leave a reblog, or simply spend a few minutes reading one of my stories, it truly means the world to me.
hey! could you make a fic of jealous!rafe when he sees the reader talking to another boy in a coffee shop? you can add your own twist too if you want!
DOUBLE SHOT
pairing: jealous!rafe x female!reader
summary: Working at one of Figure Eight's busiest coffee shops means dealing with entitled customers, endless espresso shots, and the occasional guy mistaking your customer service for flirting. Normally, you can handle it yourself. Unfortunately for them, your ridiculously possessive boyfriend is watching from his usual corner table... and Rafe Cameron has never been very good at minding his own business.
warnings: fluff. jealous/possessive!rafe. protective boyfriend. customer flirting. mild confrontation. established relationship. rafe spending an unreasonable amount of money on coffee just to stare at his girlfriend.
word count: 3.3k
note: First request ever!!! i've tried my best, i hope you like it!
my masterlist!
Working at one of those expensive coffee shops in Figure Eight had never seemed like a controversial career choice.
To you, it was simple.
The pay was surprisingly good, the owner let you take home whatever pastries hadn't sold by closing, and after a few months you had memorized nearly every regular's order. It was easy work, familiar work. Comfortable.
To Rafe, however, it was nothing short of a personal attack. He hated it, not only because he thought you were above making coffee, but because people looked at you.
Every morning, businessmen in expensive polos lingered a little too long when you smiled while handing them their cappuccino. College boys home for the weekend suddenly found themselves ordering a second coffee they clearly didn't need. Even tourists passing through Figure Eight somehow forgot what they wanted the second you leaned over the counter to ask if they were ready.
And, of course, Rafe noticed every single one of them, always muttering that they were staring at you, pretending to order coffee, literally paying, and you just rolled your eyes and placed another lid on a cup before sliding it across the counter, telling him they had only asked for extra caramel, which, needless to say, got the conversation absolutely nowhere.
Eventually, Rafe stopped trying to convince you to quit, mostly because he realized you weren't going to.
So, instead, he adapted.
Whenever he had free time, and honestly, even when he probably didn't, he found himself wandering into the café, claiming he was bored or that he wanted a coffee, even though you were almost certain the amount of caffeine running through his bloodstream should've been considered medically concerning.
He always sat at the same table. The one tucked into the corner where he had a perfect view of both the register and the front door.
It wasn't subtle.
Neither was the fact that every guy who looked a little too interested in you somehow found themselves making eye contact with Rafe Cameron halfway through ordering. It usually didn't take long before they remembered somewhere else they had to be.
The owner loved him, thought. Mostly because Rafe spent an embarrassing amount of money there. Some days he'd order three different drinks simply because he'd already finished the first one but wasn't ready to leave.
Other times he'd buy a sandwich he had absolutely no intention of eating before quietly sliding it toward one of the older regulars on his way out.
"Your boyfriend's single-handedly keeping this place in business," your boss had joked one afternoon.
You'd laughed. "You should probably give him employee benefits at this point."
"I've considered it."
Rafe had looked up from his table without missing a beat. "I'd look good in an apron."
You snorted so loudly half the café turned to look at you. "You'd last ten minutes."
"I'd be Employee of the Month."
"You'd punch the first customer who smiled at me."
"I'd ask him politely to leave."
"You'd threaten him."
"I'd threaten him politely."
Honestly...That was probably true. Not that Rafe would ever admit how much time he actually spent watching you. He'd insist he was reading the newspaper lying folded beside his coffee. Or scrolling through his phone. Or waiting for Topper to answer a text.
Meanwhile, his eyes tracked your every movement with almost embarrassing consistency. He knew which regular always tipped five dollars. Which elderly couple shared one blueberry muffin every Tuesday morning. Which customer forgot to ask for oat milk at least twice a week. He even knew exactly how many times you tucked your hair behind your ear during a shift. It wasn't intentional.He just... noticed.
Maybe more than he should, but that was the thing about loving someone, you couldn't stop looking at them. Especially when they were impossible to look away from.
Most days, Rafe's silent presence in the corner was enough to keep overly friendly customers at bay. The moment they noticed the six-foot-something blond sitting with his arms crossed and an expression that could curdle milk from across the room, they suddenly remembered they were running late for something, collecting their coffee before disappearing through the front door.
Most days.
Today, however, the universe seemed determined to test his patience.
The lunchtime rush had finally begun to settle, the endless line in front of the register shrinking to only a handful of customers. The café had returned to its usual afternoon buzz, quiet conversations blending with the low hum of the espresso machine while the smell of fresh coffee filled the room. You barely had a second to breathe between wiping down the counter and calling out the next order before the bell above the entrance chimed again.
You looked up with the same warm smile you offered every customer.
"Hi. What can I get started for you today?"
The man standing on the other side of the counter couldn't have been much older than you. He was well-dressed in that effortless Figure Eight sort of way, linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, sunglasses hanging from the collar, an expensive watch glinting beneath the café lights. The kind of guy who'd probably spent the morning on someone's boat before deciding he was in desperate need of a coffee.
Except...
He wasn't looking at the menu, no, his attention had settled on you almost immediately.
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
You blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"What you'd recommend," he clarified with an easy smile that suggested he'd rehearsed lines like this before. "You look like someone with good taste."
You let out a small, polite laugh, already reaching for a cup behind the counter. "I'll pretend that wasn't your way of avoiding making a decision."
"It wasn't."
"No?"
"It was my way of starting a conversation."
There it was. You'd been working there long enough to recognize the difference between customers who were simply friendly and customers who were looking for an excuse to keep talking. This one definitely belonged in the second category.
Keeping your smile firmly in customer-service territory, you tilted your head toward the menu hanging behind you. "If you like sweeter coffee, I'd probably recommend the caramel latte. If not, our cold brew's pretty popular."
"Hm." His eyes never left your face. "I'll trust your judgment."
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement.
Rafe had lowered the newspaper he'd been pretending to read. His eyes had already found the man standing at your register.
You decided to ignore it.
"So," you asked as your fingers danced across the register, "what size would you like?"
He didn't answer straight away. Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly against the counter, smiling in a way that immediately made your shoulders tense. "I've actually got another question first."
You looked back up.
"Do you always work afternoons?"
For the briefest moment, your fingers paused above the screen. It wasn't the first time someone had asked. It probably wouldn't be the last. "I work a bit of everything," you answered, deliberately keeping your tone light as you resumed entering the order. "Morning shifts, afternoons... depends on the week."
"Lucky me, then."
You simply smiled. "The coffee?"
"Hm?"
"The size."
"Oh." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as though he'd genuinely forgotten why he was standing there. "Medium."
You nodded, grateful that maybe, finally, the conversation was moving back toward coffee. But it wasn't your lucky day.
"So..." he continued while you reached for a cup. "What's your name?"
You glanced down at the nametag pinned neatly to your apron before looking back at him.
"I think I've already answered that one."
He laughed. "I guess you have."
You offered another polite smile, hoping that would be enough of a hint for him to take his receipt and step aside. But instead, he rested both forearms on the counter. "You've got a really pretty smile, you know that?"
"Thank you."
"And really nice eyes."
"Thank you."
"You probably hear that a lot."
"I hear a lot of things."
His grin only widened.
Behind him, Rafe hadn't moved an inch. He hadn't looked at his phone in the last three minutes. His coffee sat untouched on the table. His entire attention was fixed on the conversation unfolding across the room. Even from where you stood, you could see the muscle in his jaw working and you didn't need to look directly at him to know exactly what expression he was wearing.
Still...You did. Just for a second your eyes met his across the café. He looked ready to get up. You gave the smallest shake of your head imaginable. A silent I've got this.
For a moment, neither of you looked away. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Rafe leaned back into his chair with an exaggerated sigh, dragging one hand over his face before crossing his arms. But he wasn't relaxing, he was just forcing himself to stay seated. There was a difference, a very important difference.
You turned back to the customer just as he smiled again.
"So..." he said casually, completely oblivious to the six-foot-two blond currently contemplating homicide from the other side of the café. "Think I could get your number too?"
A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that very much."
Most people would've apologized and maybe laughed awkwardly and wished you a nice day before collecting their drink.
But this guy simply shrugged. "He doesn't have to know."
The smile on your face faltered. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
You gestured toward the espresso machine, hoping to redirect the conversation once again.
"What I can give you is an extra shot of espresso."
He laughed. "I admire persistence."
"I admire people who know when someone's not interested." The words came out kinder than they probably should've. You'd hoped he'd finally understand.
Instead, he remained exactly where he was. "So what time do you finish?"
"I'm working."
"I can wait."
"You really don't have to."
"I don't mind."
Your patience was beginning to wear thin. And not only because he was flirting, you dealt with that often enough. But because every polite excuse, every subtle rejection, every mention of your boyfriend had simply rolled off his shoulders like you hadn't said them at all.
Behind him, a chair scraped softly against the wooden floor. You didn't need to look, because you already knew.
Rafe had stood up.
For a second, he stayed exactly where he was, one hand still resting on the back of the chair he'd just pushed away from the table. His untouched iced coffee sat forgotten beside the newspaper he'd claimed to be reading for the last twenty minutes, condensation dripping lazily down the plastic cup onto the wooden table. Every reasonable part of him told him to sit back down.
You'd rejected the guy three different times already. Politely. Patiently. More politely than most people would've managed after someone ignored every excuse they offered. But the problem wasn't you.
It was that the idiot standing in front of the register seemed incapable of hearing the word no unless another man was the one saying it.
"So..." the customer said, completely unaware of the pair of blue eyes burning holes into the back of his head. "What if I leave you my number instead?"
You let out the smallest sigh, hoping he hadn't noticed it.
"I appreciate the offer," you replied as kindly as you could while placing another lid on his drink, "but I really don't think that's necessary."
"You never know."
"I do, actually."
"You haven't even given me a chance."
"I don't need to."
He laughed, actually laughed, as though this entire conversation was some harmless game the two of you were playing. You could practically feel Rafe's patience disappearing from across the room.
And then, finally... He started walking.
If anything, it was worse that he wasn't rushing.
Each step was slow enough to draw attention without making a scene. A couple sitting near the window paused their conversation. One of the older regulars lowered his newspaper just enough to glance over the top of it. Even your boss looked up from the pastry display, immediately recognizing that particular expression on Rafe's face.
The one that usually meant someone was about to make a very poor decision.
You spotted him approaching from the corner of your eye.
"...Rafe," you warned quietly before he even reached the counter. But he didn't answer, because his attention never left the customer. The guy only noticed him when Rafe stopped beside you.
The customer blinked.
"Oh."
Rafe looked at him for a long second before speaking.
"You finished?" His voice wasn't loud. If anything, it was almost conversational. Which somehow made it infinitely more intimidating.
The guy frowned. "Excuse me?"
"I asked if you were finished."
Silence settled between them.
The customer glanced toward you before looking back at Rafe, clearly trying to decide whether he should laugh or leave. "We were just talking."
Rafe nodded once. "So I heard."
"You got a problem with that?"
You could almost hear yourself groan internally. Of course he'd asked that. Rafe tilted his head slightly, studying him with an expression that was almost... curious.
"My problem," he said after a moment, "is that she's been trying to end this conversation for the last five minutes."
The guy opened his mouth.
Rafe didn't let him speak.
"She told you she has a boyfriend, but still asked for her number anyway. Then she said she wasn't interested." He gestured lazily toward the coffee sitting on the counter. "And somehow..." His eyes flickered toward the untouched latte before returning to the customer. "...you're still here."
The customer shifted awkwardly where he stood before letting out an uncomfortable laugh. "Relax, man."
Rafe smiled, but it is Rafe, so it wasn't a politely smile. "I am relaxed."
"No need to get all worked up."
"I'm not." His voice remained impossibly calm.
"I've been sitting over there for..." He glanced toward his table as though genuinely trying to remember. "...what? Forty-five minutes?"
You sighed it was closer to an hour.
"I watched my girlfriend tell you no." He held up one finger. "Then she mentioned she had a boyfriend." A second finger. "You ignored that." A third. "Then she tried ending the conversation." His hand dropped back to his side. "And somehow you decided asking again would change her mind."
The guy's smile had disappeared completely now. "I was just being friendly."
"No." Rafe took one small step forward. Not enough to invade his space, just enough that the other man instinctively leaned back. "You were hoping she'd eventually stop saying no."
Your heart sank because you knew that tone. It was the same one he'd used the night someone grabbed your wrist at a bonfire. The one that was completely level, dangerously calm.
You reached over, your fingers gently wrapping around the sleeve of his shirt. "Rafe."
Immediately, his eyes left the customer. "What?"
"I think he understands."
For a second, he simply looked at you. The irritation written all over his face softened almost instantly. Then he looked back at the man standing opposite him. "You understand?"
The customer swallowed. "...Yeah."
"Good. Then enjoy your coffee."
The guy didn't need to be told twice.
He grabbed the cup so quickly he almost knocked over the tip jar in the process before muttering a quiet, "Have a good day," and making a beeline for the exit.
The bell above the door chimed and the café fell back into its usual rhythm as conversations slowly resumed, though more than one person continued stealing curious glances toward the counter.
You waited until the door had closed before slowly turning your head toward your boyfriend.
Rafe was still staring at it. Just to make sure the guy wasn't coming back. Only after several seconds did he finally look down at you. "...What?"
You stared at him. "What?"
He frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
You folded your arms across your chest, trying very hard to look annoyed despite the smile threatening to appear. "You lasted almost an hour today."
"I know."
"That's progress."
"I was trying."
"You really were."
"I really was."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I almost stayed in my seat."
"You got halfway there."
"I did."
"You even let me reject him myself."
"I did."
"And then?"
Rafe looked at you as though the answer should've been obvious.
"...Then he kept talking to you."
You couldn't help it, you laughed. "I told you I could handle it."
"I know."
"You didn't trust me?"
His eyebrows knitted together almost instantly. "It wasn't that."
"Then what was it?"
He glanced toward the door one last time before looking back at you, his shoulders finally relaxing. "I trusted you." His voice had become quieter now. "I just didn't trust him."
You held his gaze for another second before letting out a quiet sigh.
God, he looked so pleased with himself.
Not because he'd scared the guy away, that part didn't even seem to register, but because, in his mind, he'd simply done what any boyfriend would've done.
You shook your head, trying to suppress the smile threatening to appear. "You're unbelievable," you murmured, though there wasn't much conviction behind it.
Rafe's expression softened almost immediately. The tension that had been sitting across his shoulders ever since he'd walked over was still there, but only just. You could see him slowly relaxing now that the customer had finally left, his breathing evening out as he looked down at you instead of toward the door.
Without thinking much about it, you stepped closer until there was barely any space left between the two of you. Your hand found the front of his shirt, smoothing down a crease that didn't really need fixing before you gently pulled him down, pressing a quick kiss against his lips.
When you pulled away, the change was almost immediate.
The tightness in his jaw disappeared, the permanent frown he'd been wearing for the last ten minutes melting into something much softer. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one that was reserved entirely for you.
"There," you said quietly, satisfied with yourself. "Much better."
A quiet laugh escaped him, shaking his head as one of his hands instinctively settled against your waist.
"You always know how to shut me up."
"I have plenty of practice."
He smiled to himself, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side, clearly having no intention of moving anytime soon.
Unfortunately for him...
You were still on the clock, so you placed both hands against his chest before giving him a gentle push backwards.
"As much as I'd love to stand here all afternoon..." you said with an amused smile, glancing toward the growing line beginning to form behind the register, "...I do actually have to work."
Rafe looked over your shoulder before letting out an exaggerated sigh, as though the customers were personally inconveniencing him. "I liked it better when you were paying attention to me."
"I know you did."
"So this is me getting kicked out?"
"This is you going back to your table."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head in defeat before taking a few reluctant steps backwards. "Fine."
His eyes never really left you as he walked back to his usual corner, dropping into the chair he'd occupied nearly every afternoon for the past few months.
You caught him watching you again almost immediately.
This time, though...
There wasn't a trace of jealousy left on his face. Only the same impossibly soft expression he'd had since the moment you kissed him. You smiled to yourself before turning back toward the espresso machine.
hey! could you make a fic of jealous!rafe when he sees the reader talking to another boy in a coffee shop? you can add your own twist too if you want!
DOUBLE SHOT
pairing: jealous!rafe x female!reader
summary: Working at one of Figure Eight's busiest coffee shops means dealing with entitled customers, endless espresso shots, and the occasional guy mistaking your customer service for flirting. Normally, you can handle it yourself. Unfortunately for them, your ridiculously possessive boyfriend is watching from his usual corner table... and Rafe Cameron has never been very good at minding his own business.
warnings: fluff. jealous/possessive!rafe. protective boyfriend. customer flirting. mild confrontation. established relationship. rafe spending an unreasonable amount of money on coffee just to stare at his girlfriend.
word count: 3.3k
note: First request ever!!! i've tried my best, i hope you like it!
my masterlist!
Working at one of those expensive coffee shops in Figure Eight had never seemed like a controversial career choice.
To you, it was simple.
The pay was surprisingly good, the owner let you take home whatever pastries hadn't sold by closing, and after a few months you had memorized nearly every regular's order. It was easy work, familiar work. Comfortable.
To Rafe, however, it was nothing short of a personal attack. He hated it, not only because he thought you were above making coffee, but because people looked at you.
Every morning, businessmen in expensive polos lingered a little too long when you smiled while handing them their cappuccino. College boys home for the weekend suddenly found themselves ordering a second coffee they clearly didn't need. Even tourists passing through Figure Eight somehow forgot what they wanted the second you leaned over the counter to ask if they were ready.
And, of course, Rafe noticed every single one of them, always muttering that they were staring at you, pretending to order coffee, literally paying, and you just rolled your eyes and placed another lid on a cup before sliding it across the counter, telling him they had only asked for extra caramel, which, needless to say, got the conversation absolutely nowhere.
Eventually, Rafe stopped trying to convince you to quit, mostly because he realized you weren't going to.
So, instead, he adapted.
Whenever he had free time, and honestly, even when he probably didn't, he found himself wandering into the café, claiming he was bored or that he wanted a coffee, even though you were almost certain the amount of caffeine running through his bloodstream should've been considered medically concerning.
He always sat at the same table. The one tucked into the corner where he had a perfect view of both the register and the front door.
It wasn't subtle.
Neither was the fact that every guy who looked a little too interested in you somehow found themselves making eye contact with Rafe Cameron halfway through ordering. It usually didn't take long before they remembered somewhere else they had to be.
The owner loved him, thought. Mostly because Rafe spent an embarrassing amount of money there. Some days he'd order three different drinks simply because he'd already finished the first one but wasn't ready to leave.
Other times he'd buy a sandwich he had absolutely no intention of eating before quietly sliding it toward one of the older regulars on his way out.
"Your boyfriend's single-handedly keeping this place in business," your boss had joked one afternoon.
You'd laughed. "You should probably give him employee benefits at this point."
"I've considered it."
Rafe had looked up from his table without missing a beat. "I'd look good in an apron."
You snorted so loudly half the café turned to look at you. "You'd last ten minutes."
"I'd be Employee of the Month."
"You'd punch the first customer who smiled at me."
"I'd ask him politely to leave."
"You'd threaten him."
"I'd threaten him politely."
Honestly...That was probably true. Not that Rafe would ever admit how much time he actually spent watching you. He'd insist he was reading the newspaper lying folded beside his coffee. Or scrolling through his phone. Or waiting for Topper to answer a text.
Meanwhile, his eyes tracked your every movement with almost embarrassing consistency. He knew which regular always tipped five dollars. Which elderly couple shared one blueberry muffin every Tuesday morning. Which customer forgot to ask for oat milk at least twice a week. He even knew exactly how many times you tucked your hair behind your ear during a shift. It wasn't intentional.He just... noticed.
Maybe more than he should, but that was the thing about loving someone, you couldn't stop looking at them. Especially when they were impossible to look away from.
Most days, Rafe's silent presence in the corner was enough to keep overly friendly customers at bay. The moment they noticed the six-foot-something blond sitting with his arms crossed and an expression that could curdle milk from across the room, they suddenly remembered they were running late for something, collecting their coffee before disappearing through the front door.
Most days.
Today, however, the universe seemed determined to test his patience.
The lunchtime rush had finally begun to settle, the endless line in front of the register shrinking to only a handful of customers. The café had returned to its usual afternoon buzz, quiet conversations blending with the low hum of the espresso machine while the smell of fresh coffee filled the room. You barely had a second to breathe between wiping down the counter and calling out the next order before the bell above the entrance chimed again.
You looked up with the same warm smile you offered every customer.
"Hi. What can I get started for you today?"
The man standing on the other side of the counter couldn't have been much older than you. He was well-dressed in that effortless Figure Eight sort of way, linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, sunglasses hanging from the collar, an expensive watch glinting beneath the café lights. The kind of guy who'd probably spent the morning on someone's boat before deciding he was in desperate need of a coffee.
Except...
He wasn't looking at the menu, no, his attention had settled on you almost immediately.
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
You blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"What you'd recommend," he clarified with an easy smile that suggested he'd rehearsed lines like this before. "You look like someone with good taste."
You let out a small, polite laugh, already reaching for a cup behind the counter. "I'll pretend that wasn't your way of avoiding making a decision."
"It wasn't."
"No?"
"It was my way of starting a conversation."
There it was. You'd been working there long enough to recognize the difference between customers who were simply friendly and customers who were looking for an excuse to keep talking. This one definitely belonged in the second category.
Keeping your smile firmly in customer-service territory, you tilted your head toward the menu hanging behind you. "If you like sweeter coffee, I'd probably recommend the caramel latte. If not, our cold brew's pretty popular."
"Hm." His eyes never left your face. "I'll trust your judgment."
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed movement.
Rafe had lowered the newspaper he'd been pretending to read. His eyes had already found the man standing at your register.
You decided to ignore it.
"So," you asked as your fingers danced across the register, "what size would you like?"
He didn't answer straight away. Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly against the counter, smiling in a way that immediately made your shoulders tense. "I've actually got another question first."
You looked back up.
"Do you always work afternoons?"
For the briefest moment, your fingers paused above the screen. It wasn't the first time someone had asked. It probably wouldn't be the last. "I work a bit of everything," you answered, deliberately keeping your tone light as you resumed entering the order. "Morning shifts, afternoons... depends on the week."
"Lucky me, then."
You simply smiled. "The coffee?"
"Hm?"
"The size."
"Oh." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as though he'd genuinely forgotten why he was standing there. "Medium."
You nodded, grateful that maybe, finally, the conversation was moving back toward coffee. But it wasn't your lucky day.
"So..." he continued while you reached for a cup. "What's your name?"
You glanced down at the nametag pinned neatly to your apron before looking back at him.
"I think I've already answered that one."
He laughed. "I guess you have."
You offered another polite smile, hoping that would be enough of a hint for him to take his receipt and step aside. But instead, he rested both forearms on the counter. "You've got a really pretty smile, you know that?"
"Thank you."
"And really nice eyes."
"Thank you."
"You probably hear that a lot."
"I hear a lot of things."
His grin only widened.
Behind him, Rafe hadn't moved an inch. He hadn't looked at his phone in the last three minutes. His coffee sat untouched on the table. His entire attention was fixed on the conversation unfolding across the room. Even from where you stood, you could see the muscle in his jaw working and you didn't need to look directly at him to know exactly what expression he was wearing.
Still...You did. Just for a second your eyes met his across the café. He looked ready to get up. You gave the smallest shake of your head imaginable. A silent I've got this.
For a moment, neither of you looked away. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Rafe leaned back into his chair with an exaggerated sigh, dragging one hand over his face before crossing his arms. But he wasn't relaxing, he was just forcing himself to stay seated. There was a difference, a very important difference.
You turned back to the customer just as he smiled again.
"So..." he said casually, completely oblivious to the six-foot-two blond currently contemplating homicide from the other side of the café. "Think I could get your number too?"
A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that very much."
Most people would've apologized and maybe laughed awkwardly and wished you a nice day before collecting their drink.
But this guy simply shrugged. "He doesn't have to know."
The smile on your face faltered. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
You gestured toward the espresso machine, hoping to redirect the conversation once again.
"What I can give you is an extra shot of espresso."
He laughed. "I admire persistence."
"I admire people who know when someone's not interested." The words came out kinder than they probably should've. You'd hoped he'd finally understand.
Instead, he remained exactly where he was. "So what time do you finish?"
"I'm working."
"I can wait."
"You really don't have to."
"I don't mind."
Your patience was beginning to wear thin. And not only because he was flirting, you dealt with that often enough. But because every polite excuse, every subtle rejection, every mention of your boyfriend had simply rolled off his shoulders like you hadn't said them at all.
Behind him, a chair scraped softly against the wooden floor. You didn't need to look, because you already knew.
Rafe had stood up.
For a second, he stayed exactly where he was, one hand still resting on the back of the chair he'd just pushed away from the table. His untouched iced coffee sat forgotten beside the newspaper he'd claimed to be reading for the last twenty minutes, condensation dripping lazily down the plastic cup onto the wooden table. Every reasonable part of him told him to sit back down.
You'd rejected the guy three different times already. Politely. Patiently. More politely than most people would've managed after someone ignored every excuse they offered. But the problem wasn't you.
It was that the idiot standing in front of the register seemed incapable of hearing the word no unless another man was the one saying it.
"So..." the customer said, completely unaware of the pair of blue eyes burning holes into the back of his head. "What if I leave you my number instead?"
You let out the smallest sigh, hoping he hadn't noticed it.
"I appreciate the offer," you replied as kindly as you could while placing another lid on his drink, "but I really don't think that's necessary."
"You never know."
"I do, actually."
"You haven't even given me a chance."
"I don't need to."
He laughed, actually laughed, as though this entire conversation was some harmless game the two of you were playing. You could practically feel Rafe's patience disappearing from across the room.
And then, finally... He started walking.
If anything, it was worse that he wasn't rushing.
Each step was slow enough to draw attention without making a scene. A couple sitting near the window paused their conversation. One of the older regulars lowered his newspaper just enough to glance over the top of it. Even your boss looked up from the pastry display, immediately recognizing that particular expression on Rafe's face.
The one that usually meant someone was about to make a very poor decision.
You spotted him approaching from the corner of your eye.
"...Rafe," you warned quietly before he even reached the counter. But he didn't answer, because his attention never left the customer. The guy only noticed him when Rafe stopped beside you.
The customer blinked.
"Oh."
Rafe looked at him for a long second before speaking.
"You finished?" His voice wasn't loud. If anything, it was almost conversational. Which somehow made it infinitely more intimidating.
The guy frowned. "Excuse me?"
"I asked if you were finished."
Silence settled between them.
The customer glanced toward you before looking back at Rafe, clearly trying to decide whether he should laugh or leave. "We were just talking."
Rafe nodded once. "So I heard."
"You got a problem with that?"
You could almost hear yourself groan internally. Of course he'd asked that. Rafe tilted his head slightly, studying him with an expression that was almost... curious.
"My problem," he said after a moment, "is that she's been trying to end this conversation for the last five minutes."
The guy opened his mouth.
Rafe didn't let him speak.
"She told you she has a boyfriend, but still asked for her number anyway. Then she said she wasn't interested." He gestured lazily toward the coffee sitting on the counter. "And somehow..." His eyes flickered toward the untouched latte before returning to the customer. "...you're still here."
The customer shifted awkwardly where he stood before letting out an uncomfortable laugh. "Relax, man."
Rafe smiled, but it is Rafe, so it wasn't a politely smile. "I am relaxed."
"No need to get all worked up."
"I'm not." His voice remained impossibly calm.
"I've been sitting over there for..." He glanced toward his table as though genuinely trying to remember. "...what? Forty-five minutes?"
You sighed it was closer to an hour.
"I watched my girlfriend tell you no." He held up one finger. "Then she mentioned she had a boyfriend." A second finger. "You ignored that." A third. "Then she tried ending the conversation." His hand dropped back to his side. "And somehow you decided asking again would change her mind."
The guy's smile had disappeared completely now. "I was just being friendly."
"No." Rafe took one small step forward. Not enough to invade his space, just enough that the other man instinctively leaned back. "You were hoping she'd eventually stop saying no."
Your heart sank because you knew that tone. It was the same one he'd used the night someone grabbed your wrist at a bonfire. The one that was completely level, dangerously calm.
You reached over, your fingers gently wrapping around the sleeve of his shirt. "Rafe."
Immediately, his eyes left the customer. "What?"
"I think he understands."
For a second, he simply looked at you. The irritation written all over his face softened almost instantly. Then he looked back at the man standing opposite him. "You understand?"
The customer swallowed. "...Yeah."
"Good. Then enjoy your coffee."
The guy didn't need to be told twice.
He grabbed the cup so quickly he almost knocked over the tip jar in the process before muttering a quiet, "Have a good day," and making a beeline for the exit.
The bell above the door chimed and the café fell back into its usual rhythm as conversations slowly resumed, though more than one person continued stealing curious glances toward the counter.
You waited until the door had closed before slowly turning your head toward your boyfriend.
Rafe was still staring at it. Just to make sure the guy wasn't coming back. Only after several seconds did he finally look down at you. "...What?"
You stared at him. "What?"
He frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
You folded your arms across your chest, trying very hard to look annoyed despite the smile threatening to appear. "You lasted almost an hour today."
"I know."
"That's progress."
"I was trying."
"You really were."
"I really was."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I almost stayed in my seat."
"You got halfway there."
"I did."
"You even let me reject him myself."
"I did."
"And then?"
Rafe looked at you as though the answer should've been obvious.
"...Then he kept talking to you."
You couldn't help it, you laughed. "I told you I could handle it."
"I know."
"You didn't trust me?"
His eyebrows knitted together almost instantly. "It wasn't that."
"Then what was it?"
He glanced toward the door one last time before looking back at you, his shoulders finally relaxing. "I trusted you." His voice had become quieter now. "I just didn't trust him."
You held his gaze for another second before letting out a quiet sigh.
God, he looked so pleased with himself.
Not because he'd scared the guy away, that part didn't even seem to register, but because, in his mind, he'd simply done what any boyfriend would've done.
You shook your head, trying to suppress the smile threatening to appear. "You're unbelievable," you murmured, though there wasn't much conviction behind it.
Rafe's expression softened almost immediately. The tension that had been sitting across his shoulders ever since he'd walked over was still there, but only just. You could see him slowly relaxing now that the customer had finally left, his breathing evening out as he looked down at you instead of toward the door.
Without thinking much about it, you stepped closer until there was barely any space left between the two of you. Your hand found the front of his shirt, smoothing down a crease that didn't really need fixing before you gently pulled him down, pressing a quick kiss against his lips.
When you pulled away, the change was almost immediate.
The tightness in his jaw disappeared, the permanent frown he'd been wearing for the last ten minutes melting into something much softer. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one that was reserved entirely for you.
"There," you said quietly, satisfied with yourself. "Much better."
A quiet laugh escaped him, shaking his head as one of his hands instinctively settled against your waist.
"You always know how to shut me up."
"I have plenty of practice."
He smiled to himself, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side, clearly having no intention of moving anytime soon.
Unfortunately for him...
You were still on the clock, so you placed both hands against his chest before giving him a gentle push backwards.
"As much as I'd love to stand here all afternoon..." you said with an amused smile, glancing toward the growing line beginning to form behind the register, "...I do actually have to work."
Rafe looked over your shoulder before letting out an exaggerated sigh, as though the customers were personally inconveniencing him. "I liked it better when you were paying attention to me."
"I know you did."
"So this is me getting kicked out?"
"This is you going back to your table."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head in defeat before taking a few reluctant steps backwards. "Fine."
His eyes never really left you as he walked back to his usual corner, dropping into the chair he'd occupied nearly every afternoon for the past few months.
You caught him watching you again almost immediately.
This time, though...
There wasn't a trace of jealousy left on his face. Only the same impossibly soft expression he'd had since the moment you kissed him. You smiled to yourself before turning back toward the espresso machine.
i write fanfiction, blurbs, headcanons and occasional drabbles. most of my work is steve harrington, but i also love writing for other characters whenever inspiration decides to show up.
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currently writing for...
♡ steve harrington
♡ rafe cameron
♡ jj maybank
(more may be added in the future!)
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before you request...
♡ inbox is always open for asks, chatting and screaming about fictional men.
♡ requests are OPEN.
♡ please be patient with updates! i write whenever i have the time and inspiration.
i actually started writing on wattpad years ago, so if you'd like to read some of my older stories (or just see where all of this began), you can find me there too ♡
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thanks for stopping by!
i hope you find something you enjoy reading. don't be afraid to stop by my inbox and say hi ♡
pairing: teacher!steve harrington x librarian!reader
genre: fluff, romantic comedy, strangers to friends to lovers
warnings: discussions of sex and sexual education, mild swearing, flirting
word count: 5.0k
summary: When Hawkins High's baseball coach and painfully overwhelmed Sex Ed teacher wanders into the library looking for books that might save him from another semester of impossible student questions, he discovers that the school's librarian is far more helpful.
↳ read here: part 1
pairing: coach !steve x librarian!reader
genre: fluff, romantic comedy, strangers to friends to lovers
warnings: discussions of sex and sexual education, mild swearing, flirting
word count: 5.0k
summary: When Hawkins High's baseball coach and painfully overwhelmed Sex Ed teacher wanders into the library looking for books that might save him from another semester of impossible student questions, he discovers that the school's librarian is far more helpful.
↳ read here: part 1
♡ rafe cameron
The perfect pair ☾ ♡
pairing: rafe cameron x reader
genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, rich kids, family legacy, tension
warnings: arguing, mild swearing, kissing, unresolved sexual tension, family pressure, mentions of financial struggles
word count: 3.0k
summary: Raised together as heirs to the Outer Banks' most prestigious luxury resort, you and Rafe Cameron have spent twenty-two years turning every conversation into a competition. With Villa Mare on the brink of collapse, you're forced to work side by side to save the family legacy, even if you can't agree on how. Somewhere between boardroom arguments, impossible expectations, and years of pretending your feelings look a lot like hatred, the line between rivals and something much more dangerous begins to disappear.
↳ read here
pairing: coach!steve harrington x librarian!female!reader
summary: Steve is looking for a book that'll stop fifteen year olds from asking if you can get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat. Unfortunately, the school library is stocked with outdated abstinence pamphlets and a librarian who's way more entertaining than any educational resource.
warnings: FLUFF. discussions of sex. steve harrington being painfully down bad. secondhand embarrassment.
word count: 5,0k!!!
note: First time posting something here!!! boyfriend, i'm nervous!!! I am a wattpad girly but i've been reading a lot here lately and i wanted to post something!!! If you guys like this i would do a second part!
If someone had told you that Steve Harrington, of ALL people, would become the reason you started looking forward to Monday mornings, you would've laughed in their face. Not just because Monday's mornings were objectively terrible. They meant restless students wandering the halls half-asleep, sleeping on the tables of the library, and a big line full students that somehow all need to return their books before first period.
And then, there's Steve... Who was hardly the kind of person you picture there and not because he was unpleasant, just because he was impossible to ignore.
Every morning, almost as predictably as the first bell, he'd come barreling through the faculty entrance with the energy of someone who was already ten minutes behind schedule. There was always a coffee in one hand, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and whatever piece of baseball equipment he had forgotten to leave in the gym threatening to slip from his grasp.
"Morning, everybody!" He greeted, voice carried effortlessly down the hallway, cheerful enough to wake half the building. It wasn't directed at anyone in particular, it never was. Steve simply seemed to greet the entire school at once, whether people answered him or not.
You'd watched him trip over the entrance mat three Mondays in a row before finally realizing it curled up at the corner.
Once, he'd spent nearly ten minutes struggling to unlock what he swore was his classroom before the janitor quietly informed him he'd been trying to get into the supply closet. Steve had stared at the door for a long moment before muttering, "That... actually explains a lot," and then walked away with what little dignity he had left.
He was, by every possible definition, a walking disaster. A ridiculously handsome walking disaster, but a disaster nonetheless.
Not that it mattered.
You worked in the library, tucked away in your own quiet corner of Hawkins High, while Steve split his days between coaching the baseball team and attempting to teach sex education to teenagers who, according to every complaint you'd overheard in the teachers' lounge, seemed determined to ask the most horrifying questions imaginable. Questions like: "Can you get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat?". Each story Steve recounted somehow sounded more absurd than the last, and every time he finished, he'd drag both hands down his face like a man reconsidering every life decision that had led him to becoming a teacher.
Which was exactly why it surprised you when, one rainy Tuesday afternoon, the library doors burst open with enough force to make several students glance up from their homework. Steve stumbled inside looking as though he'd just lost a fight with the weather. Rain clung to every strand of his usually perfect hair, flattening it against his forehead, while his navy varsity jacket was soaked dark at the shoulders. Three overstuffed folders were wedged awkwardly beneath one arm, and before he even managed to take two proper steps onto the carpet, they slipped from his grasp. The room fell silent. A couple of students looked up and even one freshman winced.
You slowly looked up from the stack of returned books you were sorting behind the circulation desk before meeting Steve's horrified expression. You aproach him, trying really hard not to laughed.
"You know," you said, unable to resist, "most people just use the door."
Steve stared at the sea of papers surrounding his feet before letting out a long, defeated sigh. "...I'm having a day."
"I can see it." A laugh escaped you as he crouched down to collect the mess, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 'You've got to be kidding me.'
You let out a quiet sigh before walking around the circulation desk, kneeling beside him as he hurriedly gathered the papers scattered across the carpet. The students occupying the tables nearby had already returned to pretending to study, though more than one of them was clearly watching the spectacle from the corner of their eye. It wasn't every day Coach Harrington managed to redecorate the library floor with half his briefcase.
"I swear this usually doesn't happen," Steve muttered, his cheeks warming as he shoved a pile of worksheets into one of the folders. "Well... maybe not usually. Let's call it occasionally."
You hummed, unconvinced, plucking another sheet from beneath one of the chairs. "Somehow I don't believe that."
He opened his mouth to defend himself before another loose page caught your attention. Unlike the baseball practice schedules and permission slips you'd been collecting, this one had SEX EDUCATION — HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS printed in bold letters across the top. Below it was a list of anonymous questions written in different handwriting, some squeezed into the margins, others barely legible.
Curiosity got the better of you. Tilting the page toward yourself, you skimmed the first question before an amused smile tugged at your lips.
"Can you get pregnant from sharing a swimming pool?"
A soft laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Steve froze.
Slowly, with the expression of a man realizing his dignity had just been misplaced somewhere between the entrance and the reference section, he looked up from where he was still crouched on the floor.
"...Please don't read those."
"Oh, I don't know," you replied, trying, and really falling, to hide your grin as your eyes drifted lower on the page. "This one seems important."
He immediately knew you hadn't stopped at the first question, so his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can explain."
"I'm listening."
"They're sophomores."
"I'm aware."
"They ask... creative questions."
"I was going to say concerning, but creative works too."
You glanced back at the paper, unable to resist reading another one aloud. "If two people accidentally kiss for more than ten seconds, can that make a baby?"
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Steve pinched the bridge of his nose so dramatically you almost felt sorry for him.
"I spent twenty minutes trying to explain that one," he admitted with a weary sigh. "Not because the answer was complicated, but because they somehow managed to turn it into an argument."
You laughed properly this time, the sound echoing softly through the otherwise quiet library. "Please tell me nobody was actually defending that theory."
"You'd be surprised what confidence can do when it's completely unsupported by facts."
"That's... terrifying."
"It gets worse."
"Oh, I have no doubt."
He hesitated for a second before shaking his head, already smiling despite himself. "Yesterday they spent half the lesson arguing because somebody's older brother told them he knew how it worked."
"Did he?"
Steve gave you a flat look. "Not even a little."
"I stand corrected," you said, handing the worksheet back to him with exaggerated care. "Maybe the school library isn't the place to find what you're looking for."
Steve accepted the page, though he couldn't help laughing at himself as he slid it back into the folder. "That's actually why I'm here," he admitted, finally collecting the last of the papers. "I was hoping you might have a book that could save me from answering questions like those for the rest of the semester."
You folded your arms as you considered him for a moment, unable to hide the amused smile lingering on your face.
"Steve," you said, almost sympathetically, "this is a high school library. If we have anything about sex education, it'll probably tell you that holding hands leads to moral decline."
For a heartbeat he simply stared at you, and then he laughed, one of those loud, genuine laughs that escaped before he remembered where he was. A couple of students looked up from their tables, and Steve instinctively lowered his voice, leaning in slightly as though the library itself had scolded him.
"...Right," he murmured with a sheepish grin. "Maybe I should've started with the public library."
"I'd say that's your safest bet."
"So you're telling me I came here for nothing?"
"Oh, not nothing," you replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you turned back toward the circulation desk. "You gave my students some unexpected entertainment."
Steve glanced over his shoulder, catching two freshmen who very quickly pretended to be deeply invested in their history homework. He groaned under his breath.
"...Fantastic."
Steve tucked the last of the papers back into the folder, tapping the edges against his palm until they were somewhat straight. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than the disaster that had been decorating your floor moments ago.
"So," you asked, leaning one hip against the circulation desk, "what exactly were you hoping to find? Besides a miracle."
He looked up with a sheepish smile "A book. One with actual information. Something that'll stop me from having to improvise every time a kid asks if they can catch an STD from a toilet seat."
You blinked. "...Please tell me nobody actually asked that."
"I wish I could."
"And here I was thinking my biggest problem today was a freshman insisting The Great Gatsby belonged in the fantasy section because rich people aren't real."
Steve laughed again, softer this time, shaking his head as though he couldn't decide whether your students or his were worse.
"I don't know," he said. "At least yours are reading."
"That's generous."
"They're in the library."
"They're hiding from gym."
"...Still counts."
You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider it. "I'll allow it."
For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. It settled naturally between you, filled by the occasional rustle of turning pages and the steady ticking of the clock mounted above the reference shelves. Outside, rain continued to patter against the tall windows, casting the library in that sleepy afternoon light that made everything feel a little quieter than usual.
Steve found himself glancing around the room, taking in details he'd somehow never noticed before. Plants sat on the windowsills, thriving despite the unpredictable Indiana weather. Little handwritten recommendation cards poked out between novels, each one decorated with tiny doodles in different colored pens. A mug beside your computer held an assortment of bookmarks instead of pencils.
"You did all this?" he asked, nodding toward the displays scattered throughout the room.
You followed his gaze before smiling.
"Most of it."
"It's... nice."
"Nice?"
"I mean—". He rubbed the back of his neck, already regretting his choice of words. "I don't know anything about libraries."
"I gathered."
"I just meant..." He gestured vaguely around him. "It doesn't feel like the library I remember."
"How so?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "When I was in school, libraries always felt like places you weren't supposed to enjoy."
You looked around the room as though seeing it through his eyes.
"I always hated that idea," you admitted after a moment. "People read more when they're comfortable. Figured the room should feel like somewhere you'd actually want to spend your lunch break."
Steve looked back at you.
Of course she'd think like that.
It was such a simple thing to say, but somehow it made perfect sense. You weren't talking about books anymore, not really, you were talking about making people feel welcome. Without realizing it, he'd already felt exactly that the moment you'd knelt down to help him pick up his mess instead of pretending not to notice.
"I think you succeeded," he said quietly.
You met his eyes for a brief second, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Whatever sarcastic reply you'd been preparing faded before it reached your lips. "Well..." You cleared your throat, breaking the moment before it became anything either of you had to acknowledge. "Don't let it go to your head, but I suppose I could write you a list."
"A list?"
"Books. Actual ones. The public library should have all of them."
Steve's face brightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing.
"You'd do that?"
"You looked desperate enough."
"I am."
"That explains why you wandered into a high school library looking for professional resources."
"I was hoping you had a secret section."
"Oh, absolutely."
Your expression remained perfectly serious. "We keep all the forbidden knowledge behind the copy machine."
"I knew it."
"But only librarians know the password."
He nodded thoughtfully. "...Worth asking."
You tore a yellow sticky note from the pad beside your computer and scribbled down a handful of titles from memory, adding the name of the public library beneath them before sliding it across the desk. "There. Those should help."
Steve glanced at the note, then back at you. "You just knew these?"
"I spend all day surrounded by books."
"Right."
"You say that like it's strange."
"It kind of is."
"It really isn't."
He smiled to himself as he carefully folded the sticky note and tucked it inside one of the folders, making considerably more effort not to lose it than he had with everything else he'd been carrying.
"I'll try not to leave this one on the floor."
"I appreciate that. Saves me from having to alphabetize your disasters."
"I've created multiple disasters?"
"You've been here fifteen minutes."
"...Fair."
Another laugh escaped him before he adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and finally took a step toward the door. He hesitated once he reached it, one hand already resting on the handle, turning back almost as if he'd forgotten something.
"Thanks," he said, and this time there wasn't any teasing behind it. "For helping. And... you know, not making me feel like an idiot."
You smiled, softer than before. "I never said you weren't one."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
"That almost sounded nice."
"Don't get used to it, Harrington."
"I'll see what I can do."
For another second, neither of you moved. Then Steve gave you a small wave, pushed open the door, and disappeared back into the hallway. The library fell quiet again. You watched the door swing shut before returning to the stack of books waiting to be shelved, though you caught yourself smiling at absolutely nothin
Steve barely made it halfway down the corridor before he stopped walking.He stared blankly at the sticky note tucked inside his folder, then let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself.
He'd gone looking for a book, and that was it.
A stupid book to help him survive another week of answering impossible questions from teenagers who apparently believed kissing for ten seconds could result in parenthood. But instead, he'd spent the better part of twenty minutes talking to the librarian.
And somehow... it had been the easiest conversation he'd had in weeks. She'd teased him without being cruel. Made him laugh without trying too hard. She'd looked at him like she genuinely enjoyed talking to him instead of tolerating him because they worked in the same building.
pairing: coach!steve harrington x librarian!female!reader
summary: Steve is looking for a book that'll stop fifteen year olds from asking if you can get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat. Unfortunately, the school library is stocked with outdated abstinence pamphlets and a librarian who's way more entertaining than any educational resource.
warnings: FLUFF. discussions of sex. steve harrington being painfully down bad. secondhand embarrassment.
word count: 5,0k!!!
note: First time posting something here!!! boyfriend, i'm nervous!!! I am a wattpad girly but i've been reading a lot here lately and i wanted to post something!!! If you guys like this i would do a second part!
If someone had told you that Steve Harrington, of ALL people, would become the reason you started looking forward to Monday mornings, you would've laughed in their face. Not just because Monday's mornings were objectively terrible. They meant restless students wandering the halls half-asleep, sleeping on the tables of the library, and a big line full students that somehow all need to return their books before first period.
And then, there's Steve... Who was hardly the kind of person you picture there and not because he was unpleasant, just because he was impossible to ignore.
Every morning, almost as predictably as the first bell, he'd come barreling through the faculty entrance with the energy of someone who was already ten minutes behind schedule. There was always a coffee in one hand, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and whatever piece of baseball equipment he had forgotten to leave in the gym threatening to slip from his grasp.
"Morning, everybody!" He greeted, voice carried effortlessly down the hallway, cheerful enough to wake half the building. It wasn't directed at anyone in particular, it never was. Steve simply seemed to greet the entire school at once, whether people answered him or not.
You'd watched him trip over the entrance mat three Mondays in a row before finally realizing it curled up at the corner.
Once, he'd spent nearly ten minutes struggling to unlock what he swore was his classroom before the janitor quietly informed him he'd been trying to get into the supply closet. Steve had stared at the door for a long moment before muttering, "That... actually explains a lot," and then walked away with what little dignity he had left.
He was, by every possible definition, a walking disaster. A ridiculously handsome walking disaster, but a disaster nonetheless.
Not that it mattered.
You worked in the library, tucked away in your own quiet corner of Hawkins High, while Steve split his days between coaching the baseball team and attempting to teach sex education to teenagers who, according to every complaint you'd overheard in the teachers' lounge, seemed determined to ask the most horrifying questions imaginable. Questions like: "Can you get pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat?". Each story Steve recounted somehow sounded more absurd than the last, and every time he finished, he'd drag both hands down his face like a man reconsidering every life decision that had led him to becoming a teacher.
Which was exactly why it surprised you when, one rainy Tuesday afternoon, the library doors burst open with enough force to make several students glance up from their homework. Steve stumbled inside looking as though he'd just lost a fight with the weather. Rain clung to every strand of his usually perfect hair, flattening it against his forehead, while his navy varsity jacket was soaked dark at the shoulders. Three overstuffed folders were wedged awkwardly beneath one arm, and before he even managed to take two proper steps onto the carpet, they slipped from his grasp. The room fell silent. A couple of students looked up and even one freshman winced.
You slowly looked up from the stack of returned books you were sorting behind the circulation desk before meeting Steve's horrified expression. You aproach him, trying really hard not to laughed.
"You know," you said, unable to resist, "most people just use the door."
Steve stared at the sea of papers surrounding his feet before letting out a long, defeated sigh. "...I'm having a day."
"I can see it." A laugh escaped you as he crouched down to collect the mess, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 'You've got to be kidding me.'
You let out a quiet sigh before walking around the circulation desk, kneeling beside him as he hurriedly gathered the papers scattered across the carpet. The students occupying the tables nearby had already returned to pretending to study, though more than one of them was clearly watching the spectacle from the corner of their eye. It wasn't every day Coach Harrington managed to redecorate the library floor with half his briefcase.
"I swear this usually doesn't happen," Steve muttered, his cheeks warming as he shoved a pile of worksheets into one of the folders. "Well... maybe not usually. Let's call it occasionally."
You hummed, unconvinced, plucking another sheet from beneath one of the chairs. "Somehow I don't believe that."
He opened his mouth to defend himself before another loose page caught your attention. Unlike the baseball practice schedules and permission slips you'd been collecting, this one had SEX EDUCATION — HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS printed in bold letters across the top. Below it was a list of anonymous questions written in different handwriting, some squeezed into the margins, others barely legible.
Curiosity got the better of you. Tilting the page toward yourself, you skimmed the first question before an amused smile tugged at your lips.
"Can you get pregnant from sharing a swimming pool?"
A soft laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Steve froze.
Slowly, with the expression of a man realizing his dignity had just been misplaced somewhere between the entrance and the reference section, he looked up from where he was still crouched on the floor.
"...Please don't read those."
"Oh, I don't know," you replied, trying, and really falling, to hide your grin as your eyes drifted lower on the page. "This one seems important."
He immediately knew you hadn't stopped at the first question, so his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can explain."
"I'm listening."
"They're sophomores."
"I'm aware."
"They ask... creative questions."
"I was going to say concerning, but creative works too."
You glanced back at the paper, unable to resist reading another one aloud. "If two people accidentally kiss for more than ten seconds, can that make a baby?"
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Steve pinched the bridge of his nose so dramatically you almost felt sorry for him.
"I spent twenty minutes trying to explain that one," he admitted with a weary sigh. "Not because the answer was complicated, but because they somehow managed to turn it into an argument."
You laughed properly this time, the sound echoing softly through the otherwise quiet library. "Please tell me nobody was actually defending that theory."
"You'd be surprised what confidence can do when it's completely unsupported by facts."
"That's... terrifying."
"It gets worse."
"Oh, I have no doubt."
He hesitated for a second before shaking his head, already smiling despite himself. "Yesterday they spent half the lesson arguing because somebody's older brother told them he knew how it worked."
"Did he?"
Steve gave you a flat look. "Not even a little."
"I stand corrected," you said, handing the worksheet back to him with exaggerated care. "Maybe the school library isn't the place to find what you're looking for."
Steve accepted the page, though he couldn't help laughing at himself as he slid it back into the folder. "That's actually why I'm here," he admitted, finally collecting the last of the papers. "I was hoping you might have a book that could save me from answering questions like those for the rest of the semester."
You folded your arms as you considered him for a moment, unable to hide the amused smile lingering on your face.
"Steve," you said, almost sympathetically, "this is a high school library. If we have anything about sex education, it'll probably tell you that holding hands leads to moral decline."
For a heartbeat he simply stared at you, and then he laughed, one of those loud, genuine laughs that escaped before he remembered where he was. A couple of students looked up from their tables, and Steve instinctively lowered his voice, leaning in slightly as though the library itself had scolded him.
"...Right," he murmured with a sheepish grin. "Maybe I should've started with the public library."
"I'd say that's your safest bet."
"So you're telling me I came here for nothing?"
"Oh, not nothing," you replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you turned back toward the circulation desk. "You gave my students some unexpected entertainment."
Steve glanced over his shoulder, catching two freshmen who very quickly pretended to be deeply invested in their history homework. He groaned under his breath.
"...Fantastic."
Steve tucked the last of the papers back into the folder, tapping the edges against his palm until they were somewhat straight. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than the disaster that had been decorating your floor moments ago.
"So," you asked, leaning one hip against the circulation desk, "what exactly were you hoping to find? Besides a miracle."
He looked up with a sheepish smile "A book. One with actual information. Something that'll stop me from having to improvise every time a kid asks if they can catch an STD from a toilet seat."
You blinked. "...Please tell me nobody actually asked that."
"I wish I could."
"And here I was thinking my biggest problem today was a freshman insisting The Great Gatsby belonged in the fantasy section because rich people aren't real."
Steve laughed again, softer this time, shaking his head as though he couldn't decide whether your students or his were worse.
"I don't know," he said. "At least yours are reading."
"That's generous."
"They're in the library."
"They're hiding from gym."
"...Still counts."
You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to consider it. "I'll allow it."
For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. It settled naturally between you, filled by the occasional rustle of turning pages and the steady ticking of the clock mounted above the reference shelves. Outside, rain continued to patter against the tall windows, casting the library in that sleepy afternoon light that made everything feel a little quieter than usual.
Steve found himself glancing around the room, taking in details he'd somehow never noticed before. Plants sat on the windowsills, thriving despite the unpredictable Indiana weather. Little handwritten recommendation cards poked out between novels, each one decorated with tiny doodles in different colored pens. A mug beside your computer held an assortment of bookmarks instead of pencils.
"You did all this?" he asked, nodding toward the displays scattered throughout the room.
You followed his gaze before smiling.
"Most of it."
"It's... nice."
"Nice?"
"I mean—". He rubbed the back of his neck, already regretting his choice of words. "I don't know anything about libraries."
"I gathered."
"I just meant..." He gestured vaguely around him. "It doesn't feel like the library I remember."
"How so?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "When I was in school, libraries always felt like places you weren't supposed to enjoy."
You looked around the room as though seeing it through his eyes.
"I always hated that idea," you admitted after a moment. "People read more when they're comfortable. Figured the room should feel like somewhere you'd actually want to spend your lunch break."
Steve looked back at you.
Of course she'd think like that.
It was such a simple thing to say, but somehow it made perfect sense. You weren't talking about books anymore, not really, you were talking about making people feel welcome. Without realizing it, he'd already felt exactly that the moment you'd knelt down to help him pick up his mess instead of pretending not to notice.
"I think you succeeded," he said quietly.
You met his eyes for a brief second, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Whatever sarcastic reply you'd been preparing faded before it reached your lips. "Well..." You cleared your throat, breaking the moment before it became anything either of you had to acknowledge. "Don't let it go to your head, but I suppose I could write you a list."
"A list?"
"Books. Actual ones. The public library should have all of them."
Steve's face brightened so quickly it was almost embarrassing.
"You'd do that?"
"You looked desperate enough."
"I am."
"That explains why you wandered into a high school library looking for professional resources."
"I was hoping you had a secret section."
"Oh, absolutely."
Your expression remained perfectly serious. "We keep all the forbidden knowledge behind the copy machine."
"I knew it."
"But only librarians know the password."
He nodded thoughtfully. "...Worth asking."
You tore a yellow sticky note from the pad beside your computer and scribbled down a handful of titles from memory, adding the name of the public library beneath them before sliding it across the desk. "There. Those should help."
Steve glanced at the note, then back at you. "You just knew these?"
"I spend all day surrounded by books."
"Right."
"You say that like it's strange."
"It kind of is."
"It really isn't."
He smiled to himself as he carefully folded the sticky note and tucked it inside one of the folders, making considerably more effort not to lose it than he had with everything else he'd been carrying.
"I'll try not to leave this one on the floor."
"I appreciate that. Saves me from having to alphabetize your disasters."
"I've created multiple disasters?"
"You've been here fifteen minutes."
"...Fair."
Another laugh escaped him before he adjusted the strap of his duffel bag and finally took a step toward the door. He hesitated once he reached it, one hand already resting on the handle, turning back almost as if he'd forgotten something.
"Thanks," he said, and this time there wasn't any teasing behind it. "For helping. And... you know, not making me feel like an idiot."
You smiled, softer than before. "I never said you weren't one."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest.
"That almost sounded nice."
"Don't get used to it, Harrington."
"I'll see what I can do."
For another second, neither of you moved. Then Steve gave you a small wave, pushed open the door, and disappeared back into the hallway. The library fell quiet again. You watched the door swing shut before returning to the stack of books waiting to be shelved, though you caught yourself smiling at absolutely nothin
Steve barely made it halfway down the corridor before he stopped walking.He stared blankly at the sticky note tucked inside his folder, then let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself.
He'd gone looking for a book, and that was it.
A stupid book to help him survive another week of answering impossible questions from teenagers who apparently believed kissing for ten seconds could result in parenthood. But instead, he'd spent the better part of twenty minutes talking to the librarian.
And somehow... it had been the easiest conversation he'd had in weeks. She'd teased him without being cruel. Made him laugh without trying too hard. She'd looked at him like she genuinely enjoyed talking to him instead of tolerating him because they worked in the same building.
Carve your name into my bedpost
'Cause I don't want you like a best friend
Only bought this dress so you could take it off
You and Steve Harrington have been dancing around your feelings for each other for months. You finally decide enough is enough at his birthday party.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 9.5k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, slight dry humping, fingering, oral (fem receiving), finger sucking, steve is packing, p in v, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, pet names (baby, sweet girl, pretty girl), friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, idiots in love, mutual yearning, men being awful (not steve though!!), humiliation and embarrassment, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: back at it again with another taylor swift songfic! i've had this one planned for a long time so i was really glad it won the 3k special songfic poll. hope you guys enjoy this one! also the fact i wrote a filthy smut while on my period too? maybe my biggest achievement
Robin Buckley was losing the will to live.
She didn’t know why she had agreed to go dress shopping with you. Perhaps it was your promise of a greasy hot dog after or perhaps she just wanted to be a good friend. Either way, she wished she hadn’t been so charitable and that she was anywhere in the world that wasn’t the GAP dressing room.
“You know, I think I’m starting to warm to the last dress,” Robin calls out to you through the curtain in the hopes that it would help end the shopping trip. Because after nearly two hours, Robin was beginning to wish she was back in the secret Soviet military base beneath Starcourt being interrogated by evil Russians.
“You said the dress made me look like I was going to church!” You call back, shuffling around in the changing room as you tug off a lime yellow chiffon dress that Robin said made you look like a lemon drop over your head. “I don’t want to look like that!”
Robin is thankful you’re still getting changed behind the curtain so that you don’t see her roll her eyes in exasperation.
“Then what do you want?” Robin asks with an air of impatience. “Because I’m hungry and you promised me hot dogs!”
You sigh and glance at the dresses you still had yet to try on and can’t help but feel a little dejected. Steve’s birthday party was on Saturday and you were struggling to find a dress that felt good enough for the party. If it was anyone else’s party, you would have just worn a nice top and either jeans or a denim skirt. But this was Steve Harrington’s party and you wanted to look good. Really good. Because after months of you and Steve dancing around your feelings for each other, you had finally had enough.
And so, you had come up with a little plan to show up to Steve’s party in a nice dress and hope that he would finally take a hint.
The only problem being—is that you were struggling to find said nice dress. And now you were starting to wonder if it was a stupid plan.
“I don’t know,” you tell Robin miserably, deciding to abandon the dresses you had left to try on in favour of pulling back on your jeans and t-shirt. “I just want something that makes me, you know, stand out to Steve.”
“You always stand out to him,” Robin tells you gently, softening a little at your slightly dejected tone. “But he’s also a guy so he’s also an idiot.”
You laugh a little but your stomach turns a little as you wonder—not for the first time—if Steve really did like you the way everyone told you he did. Robin insisted that Steve liked you, so did Dustin, Max, Lucas and even Nancy. Everyone told you Steve was crazy about you. So why hadn’t he made a move? Why hadn’t he been honest with you about his feelings? What if everyone was wrong? What if he didn’t actually like you and you were making a fool of yourself?
“Are you overthinking again?” Robin asks you when you say nothing.
“No,” you say, the uncertainty in your voice evident as you pull back the curtain to see Robin sitting in the armchair outside of the dressing room. “Maybe? I dunno Robin, I’m starting to doubt the plan.”
Robin sighs, glancing over at the dresses you still had to try on before looking back at you. “You know what I think the problem is?”
“What?”
“I think you’ve been trying to find the wrong type of dress.”
You blink, a little confused by Robin’s words. “What's wrong with the dresses?”
“Nothing! Not really they just—they don’t scream ‘fuck me’, you know?”
“Robin!”
“What?” Robin asks, holding her hands up in surrender. “Do you or do you not want Steve Harrington—christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this—want Steve to fuck you?”
You were aghast, your mouth hanging open in shock at her words. But you don’t deny it because yeah—you did want to him to fuck you.
“I—I um, I mean—”
“—see? You need a ‘fuck me’ dress not a ‘take me to church’ dress,” Robin tells you, stepping into the dressing room to grab the pile of dresses resting on the bench. “Stay right there. I’ll find a dress for you and it’ll make Steve want to fuck your brains out—”
“—Robin!—”
“—kidding! Mostly.”
But the thing is—Robin hadn’t been kidding.
Because the dress she had picked for you was one that didn’t just say ‘fuck me’—it screamed it.
“Are you sure it isn’t too booby?” You ask Robin for perhaps the millionth time as you adjust the strap: of your dress. It was the night of the party and you were getting ready at Robin’s before Steve came to pick you both up and it was only natural that your nervous system was a mess.
“I highly doubt Steve Harrington of all people would think a dress was ‘too booby’,” Robin says with a slight roll of her eyes. “He’ll just see that hint of your cleavage and forget what year it is.”
You smile a little but still, you weren’t entirely convinced. Because now that you were wearing the dress—which was beautiful, the glittering material a mix of black and a deep red that couldn’t help but catch the eye—you were wondering if it was too late to just wear some of Robin’s clothes instead.
But before you could suggest such a thing, the familiar sound of Steve’s car horn came from outside and the words die on your tongue.
“C’mon,” Robin tells you, seeing the slightly panicked look on your face. She gently fixes a piece of stray hair and smiles at you. “You look incredible. Don’t overthink it, okay?”
“Easier said than done,” you mutter as you grab the gift bag with Steve’s present—a watch you knew he had his eye on—in and following Robin out of her bedroom.
You vaguely hear Steve talking animatedly to Robin’s parents in her living room as you make your way down the stairs. Your heart was beating so fast that it felt as though it was attempting to beat its way out of your chest. You felt hot all over, clammy even and you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands because this dress was so far out of your comfort zone that you had the urge to run upstairs and take it off.
As if she had a sixth sense for any thoughts you had of fleeing—Robin grabbed your arm and gave you an encouraging smile when you reached the bottom of the staircase.
“You look great. Stop doubting yourself or I swear to god, I’ll slap you. That four hour shopping trip wasn’t for nothing, you know.”
You blink before a small laugh leaves your lips. “Four hours is an exaggera—”
It was the sound of Steve saying yours and Robin’s name that cuts you off. Your body stills and you turn around and—
Your breath hitches in your throat when you finally see Steve. He looked devastatingly handsome—he always did—but especially in those jeans that hugged his thighs and ass so well that it made your throat feel a little dry. He was also wearing that sage green shirt that you had told him looked nice the other week and you wonder for a moment if he was wearing it for that reason. But before you could think too deeply about it, you finally look at his face and Steve—he was just staring at you, lips parted and seemingly speechless.
Your face feels so hot that you were sure it was noticeable. You could barely hear Robin’s mom gushing about your dress, about how grown up and beautiful you looked because all you could focus on was Steve’s eyes slowly travelling up your body.
It was as though everything else around you had ceased to exist all because Steve Harrington was looking at you.
“Happy Birthday, Steve,” you say finally, your voice higher than usual due to the almost crippling nerves you were feeling.
Steve doesn’t say anything to that and you weren’t sure whether that made you feel better or worse.
“Cleans up well, doesn’t she?” Robin asks Steve with a somewhat smug smile and plainly ignoring the flustered look on your face.
Steve blinks, licking his lips as he tries to formulate a response whilst still looking at you, completely unable to look away.
“I, um—yeah, I mean—she—looks—”
Steve couldn’t string a sentence together and everyone in the room could see it—you, Robin and even her parents.
“She looks—yeah—she looks beautiful.”
Beautiful.
Steve had called you beautiful.
That word now lived somewhere deep in your ribcage and didn’t want to leave.
It was all you could think about as you sat in the passenger seat of Steve’s Beamer. Robin’s voice was almost completely drowned out as you repeated the way he had said it over and over again in your head. The way he had looked at you—
But arriving at Steve’s party felt like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over you.
Because you were painfully overdressed.
And that warmth that the word beautiful had given you almost entirely disappeared.
You felt as though everyone’s eyes were on you, wondering why the fuck you had turned up to Steve’s birthday party in a dress like that. And honestly—you were beginning to wonder the exact same thing.
“C’mon,” Steve says to you and Robin, his hand finding your lower back—just that little bit lower than he usually would—while the other gently pries the gift bag from your hand. “Let’s get you both a drink.”
You let Steve guide you into the kitchen because it was a welcome distraction from the people who were looking at you. Because having one of Steve’s large hands resting on the small of your back meant that you weren’t thinking of anything else.
But he doesn’t keep it there for long, much to your dismay. Steve withdraws his hand as he busies himself with making both you and Robin a vodka cranberry. You don’t even notice how he spills a little bit of the cranberry juice when he chances another glance at you because you were too busy trying to pull down the hem of your dress.
Once Steve had made your drinks, you wasted absolutely no time in taking a generous swig as some sort of liquid confidence.
Steve raises a brow but says nothing.
“I’ll just take this up to my room,” Steve says, holding up your gift bag with a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll open it later when things aren’t so—crazy.”
You nod and force a smile, the uncomfortableness you were beginning to feel seeping into your gut as you watch Steve head upstairs.
“Why the fuck did I do this?” You ask Robin almost as soon as Steve disappears, your knuckles turning wet as you grip the edge of the countertop. “What possessed me to do this, Robin? I look so fucking stupid—”
Robin’s eyes widen as she sees the genuine panic in your eyes—the embarrassment, the worry reflected there. She puts her solo cup down and steps toward you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“You don’t look stupid, okay? I promise—”
“—everyone else is wearing jeans, Robin. I look so out of place—”
“—so? Did you or did you not see Steve’s reaction to the dress? He nearly crashed into like ten cars on the way here because he kept looking over at you.”
“It wasn’t ten cars—” Your face feels hot as you say it, something tightening in your gut as you remember feeling Steve’s eyes on you in the car, the way Robin had kept yelling at him to keep his eyes on the road.
“—stop deflecting or I will drag you upstairs and lock both you and Steve in his bedroom until you both stop being idiots.”
No matter how much the thought of being locked in a bedroom with Steve Harrington made your core ache with need, you knew it wasn’t the grand declaration of feelings that you had always envisioned for you and Steve.
And so, you try to enjoy yourself despite how uncomfortable you feel. It seems to work—at least for a little while.
You dance with Robin, laugh with a few of Steve’s friends and all the while, you keep catching Steve looking at you. But still—he doesn’t make a move. He doesn’t even ask you to dance when Heaven Is A Place On Earth starts to play like he usually would at a party. You tried not to let doubt creep in, tried not to listen to the small voice in the back of your head telling you that Steve clearly didn’t feel the same. That the months and months of flirting, of lingering touches and almost something moments were simply figments of your imagination. That buying a dress to try and encourage Steve to finally make a move was an act of desperation that Steve—another everyone else around him—pitied.
You were trying not to listen to those voices, instead remembering the way Steve had looked at you, the fact he had called you beautiful and meant it.
But it all came crashing down when you left Steve and Robin to grab yourself a drink.
You still feel eyes on you as you walk into the kitchen. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you just needed to wait it out until the party died down a little. You just needed to wait until then to—
You don’t register the sound of shouting right away. In fact, you were so in your own head that you barely hear it at all.
But you certainly register the warm, sticky liquid suddenly drenching the front of your dress.
“Oh shit,” the guy who had spilled his beer all over you laughs as embarrassment and humiliation stir so deep in your gut that it makes you feel physically sick. “Sorry about that babe, want me to help you clean up?”
The way his friends laugh loudly at the suggestion makes you suspect that the beer spilling had been anything but accidental and that this guy was anything but sorry.
You try to conjure up a quick, self-assured response. Try to conjure up the nerve to call these guys—who you were sure had just stumbled into the party without invitation—a bunch of assholes. But all you could focus on was trying not to burst into tears as shame, embarrassment and humiliation all swirled sickeningly in your gut. You felt it turn into something so all consuming that for a moment, you couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. All you could hear was the guys’ laughter, the beer that soaked your dress beginning to drip down your thigh and a faint ringing in your ears—
“Hey, hey, what happened here?”
You didn’t think that there would ever be a time that your stomach would turn horribly at the sound of Steve’s voice—at his hand on the small of your back, at the concern in his eyes as he looked at you.
You open your mouth to reply but no words come out—because your eyes became glassy and panic began to rise in your chest.
“Little black dress over here spilled her drink,” one of the guys lie easily to Steve as a smug smile tugs on the corner of his lips.
“That—that’s not what h-happened,” you say finally in a shaky voice. “I-I didn’t spill anything, that guy—”
“—clearly she’s had one too many,” the guy who had spilled his drink over you interrupts. “Should probably take that dress off, sweetheart. You’re pretty wet”
You don’t hear Steve’s pissed off response. In fact, you don’t hear anything at all—just the ringing in your ears as you finally look down at the front of your dress. You see how it was soaked through almost entirely, the wet fabric clinging to your skin and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
And that was the moment that the dam finally broke.
You don’t think as you push Steve aside, your body in autopilot as you rush out of the kitchen where you collide into Robin. You barely hear her as she asks you what had happened, why your dress was drenched and stank of beer and why you were crying. You don’t say anything, not even glancing her way as you slip into the crowd gathered in the living room, slipping through the mass of bodies before heading up the stairs. Your hands don’t stop shaking until you stumble into Steve’s large, family bathroom.
You slam the door shut behind you as sobs wracked through your body. Hot tears of shame and embarrassment spill down your cheeks as you sink down to the floor. Your back against the freestanding bath as you tug your knees close to your chest to try and find some semblance of comfort. But none came—all that lived inside you was humiliation and shame.
You wondered why you had even bothered. It was so clear to you now—because if Steve hadn’t made a move on you after months of flirting back and forth, months of touches and glances that felt anything but friendly—then maybe you and everyone else around you had been wrong. That sure—maybe Steve was attracted to you but not enough to risk your friendship, not enough to want you the way you wanted him.
You felt so stupid for hoping that he wanted more and you felt even more stupid for coming up with this plan that was dripping with desperation. Everyone at the party could see it—the way you had dressed up specifically for Steve. They also probably saw the way he had kept you at arms length all evening too and the shame returned in a fresh wave of sobs that you couldn’t hold back even if you had tried.
The sound of a gentle knock on the bathroom door makes you look up just in time to see Steve slipping into the bathroom.
You had the urge to yell at him to leave but instead, you let out another small sob before burying your face into your knees.
“Oh, please don’t cry,” Steve soothes you gently, sinking down onto the bathroom floor beside you and placing a cautious hand on your arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. “Please don’t cry because of those assholes.”
You wish you were simply crying because of those assholes and not the mix of emotions you were feeling. The humiliation of the past three minutes, the embarrassment of being the girl so desperate for Steve Harrington’s attention that she wore a dress that she could barely afford and the almost crippling fear that Steve didn’t actually feel the same way, that you had made a fool out of yourself for being so certain that he had.
“It—it’s not j-just ab-about those a-assholes, Steve,” you tell him, hiccuping slightly as you force yourself to look at him. You almost wish you hadn’t because those big hazel eyes of his were looking at you with such kindness and concern that it very nearly split you open.
Steve blinks, brows pulled together in slight confusion as he looks back at you, his other hand finding home on your shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.
“What do you mean? What else is this about?”
You knew you should lie. You knew it wasn’t the time nor the place. It was his birthday party and his bathroom should be the very last place to have this conversation. Not only that but you stank of beer, you were incredibly upset and tethering on the edge of tipsy.
But that was also why you couldn’t stop yourself.
“This stupid f-fucking dr-dress,” you sob out, feeling utterly pathetic as tears keep falling down your cheeks with no sign of stopping.
Steve looks perhaps even more confused, eyes shifting down to your dress and the way the glittering material was almost a second skin, the way he had a clear view down your cleavage and the way the tops of your thighs were exposed. Steve swallows, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before he looks back at your face.
“Why?” He asks you gently. “You look fucking beautiful, even if you’re covered in beer.”
It was supposed to make you laugh, you know it from the way the corners of his lips curl upwards in amusement.
But you don’t laugh, instead you shake your head and let out another loud sob.
“Be-because I-I wore it for you and y-you don’t e-even care,” you stutter out, the words falling from your lips before you could even think about stopping them. “I-I feel s-so stupid and n-now it-it’s ruined and—”
“Wait, wait, wait—” Steve hushes you, his fingertips pressing into skin before one hand lifts to gently cup your jaw. “You—you wore it…for me?”
It was only then that you realised what you had told him, that you realised just how honest you had been. You think briefly about lying right to his face, telling him that you were joking and to forget all about it. But it was Steve’s thumb gently rubbing along your jaw that had you nodding before you could stop yourself.
“Yeah,” you admit quietly with a small sniffle. “To—I-I don’t know, impress you or m-make you s-see me di-differently. I told you—it was stupid—”
“Not stupid,” Steve assures with a gentle smile, another gentle caress of your skin that left you feeling a little lightheaded and your stomach tightening in a way you didn’t want to think about. “You just—you don’t need a dress like that to impress me or for me to see you. I already do.”
You blink, tears sticking to your lashes as you look back at Steve with your lips parted.
“B-but—but you’ve never—”
“—I know,” Steve says quickly, his other hand resting on your knee as he shifts that little bit closer to you. “Trust me, I know. I was—I was waiting for the right moment, I guess. Well, that’s what I told myself anyway because there were so many right moments where I should have told but you didn’t because I was—scared, honestly. Scared that I had just imagined that you liked me back, scared that I wouldn’t do it right and then you’d want nothing to do with me.”
You laugh a little at that because the notion of not wanting anything to do with Steve was so ridiculous that you couldn’t help but laugh.
“That’s almost as stupid as me b-buying a dress just for your attention,” you say with a small smile and a quiet sniffle.
Steve smiles and then his eyes shift back down to your dress and you watch as he swallows, his hand on your knee squeezing gently before he seems to force himself to look back at your face.
“Then we can be stupid together,” Steve murmurs affectionately and the way he says it, you can’t help but smile right along with him. There was a moment where you just look at each other. His big, hazel eyes keep yours hostage before they flit down to glance at your lips for a brief, barely there moment.
Steve clears his throat, looking away as he asks, “you uh, you want me to grab you something to wear while you have a shower so you don’t smell like a brewery all night?”
You nod, looking down at your dress and grimacing before looking back up at Steve with a small, grateful smile. “Please.”
Steve smiles back at you before he gives your knee a little final squeeze before getting to his feet and holding out his hand for you to take.
You try not to think about how his hand feels against yours as he pulls you up to your feet. You notice immediately how Steve doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he pulls you just that little bit closer and leans down to whisper in your ear. “The dress is incredible by the way, truly. You look so fucking good. I almost got hard right in the middle of Robin’s living room when I first saw you.”
You hadn’t been expecting it, not at all and the words go straight to your core. A current as strong as electricity flowing through you and making your cunt pulse with need for the man in front of you as he pulls away from you with a slightly smug smile.
“Steve!” You choke out, half laughing, half flustered, your face so hot that you wouldn’t be surprised to find steam rising from your skin.
“What?” Steve asks you with an innocent smile. “You said that you wanted my attention and you certainly got it. Why do you think I’ve tried to keep a respectable distance all night? Because I’m trying my best not to embarrass myself at my own party.”
You try to laugh but you’re too busy trying to not think about Steve and what was hiding beneath those fucking jeans. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t allowed yourself a good look at the crotch of his jeans from time to time. Mostly because the imprint of his cock against the denim was near impossible to ignore.
“Couldn’t be more embarrassing than me showing up to your party in a ‘fuck me’ dress when literally everyone else is dressed normal.”
The words came out before you could really think of what you were saying.
Steve chokes out a laugh, the tips of his ears reddening in a way that gives you a fluttery feeling in your stomach and makes you feel warm inside.
“A ‘fuck me’ dress?” Steve repeats with another quick glance down at the dress, at the way the damp fabric was clinging to your breasts. “Pretty accurate description.”
You swallow thickly and you weren’t sure if you could take anymore of his teasing, your panties were dampening at an alarming rate and your heart was surely beating its way out of your chest.
“Let me grab you those clothes, yeah?” Steve suggests before you could embarrass yourself any further. “And I’ll wash that ‘fuck me’ dress for you too.”
Your face warms but you manage to crack a smile.
“That’s funny,” you mutter as you watch him step away from you, your body still thrumming from the proximity to him. You register the distant sounds of the party on the floor beneath you and guilty twists in your gut. You wanted to tell him you were sorry for pulling him away from his own birthday party, sorry for potentially ruining his evening but Steve slips out of the bathroom before you could do so.
Now that you are alone, you try to comprehend the last ten minutes. But it was proven difficult when your heart was beating so fast, when your hands shook as you tried to unzip your beer soaked dress and when there was an intense ache between your legs that made everything else around you feel fuzzy.
You manage to peel off your dress, letting it pool around you at your feet before you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror—at the dark lace panties you had put on in the hopes that Steve would be the one undressing you. You took those off too in case the beer scent also lingered on them, noticing the way your panties stick momentarily to your puffy lips due to how wet you were and something hot pulses through your body at the sight of your slick coating your panties.
A sharp knock on the bathroom door pulls you back into reality.
“You decent?” Steve calls to you through the door as you scramble to find a towel to cover yourself with.
“Yep!” You shout back after wrapping the towel around your bare body, kicking your soaked panties beneath the vanity unit as the bathroom door opens.
Steve walks in with a small pile of clothes in arms but he very nearly drops them at the sight of you wrapped in one of his soft cotton towels.
You watch as for the second time that night, his eyes travel up and down the length of your body, his lips parted and wet as he looks as though he wanted nothing more than to gently tug the towel from your body. There was a large part of you that would have gladly let him do so.
“Here,” Steve finally says, placing the clothes onto the countertop and forcing his eyes to remain on your face. “I got you a t-shirt and those shorts you left here the other week.”
“Thank you,” you say with a small, grateful smile. You can’t help but notice the way Steve’s cheeks had turned red and you find your own face warming.
Steve clears his throat, eyes flickering away from you to your dress and your bra laying on the tiled floor. “I’ll um, wash these in the basement,” Steve tells you, bending down to pick up the discarded clothes and determinedly not looking at your legs as he does so.
You nod, feeling too breathless, too aroused to even form a thought as you watch Steve’s knuckles turn white when he grips the fabric of your dress tightly in his hands.
You look at each other again, Steve looking at you in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to do before he clenches his jaw and he turns to leave.
You nearly stop him. You nearly reach out to grab his arm so he wouldn’t leave you, nearly call out his name and ask him to stay. But you don’t—instead you watch him leave the bathroom with your clothes and you let the ache he leaves behind fill you.
You take your time in the shower, lathering the vanillary body wash that smelt like Steve over you and as the smell of beer washes down the drain. Your muscles relax beneath the hot water and you have to ignore the urge to let your fingers trail between your legs to ease the ache there.
You step out of the shower, water dripping from your body before you glance over at the clothes Steve had brought you. You feel that warmth in your stomach heat up when you imagine yourself wearing Steve’s t-shirt. When you eventually do pull it on over your head after gently drying your body, you’re hit with the smell of him that seems to linger on the material.
It made you feel dizzy with want, the tension that had been building between you and Steve all evening not lessening even in Steve’s absence.
You retrieve your soaked panties from beneath the vanity unit and pull them on, along with your shorts before stepping out of the bathroom.
The party downstairs continues and you find that there wasn’t a part of you that wanted to go and rejoin the party. And so, you head towards Steve’s bedroom, figuring you could just wait out the rest of the party in there.
But as you push open Steve’s bedroom door, you’re greeted by a truly heavenly sight.
Steve was standing near the end of his bed, in the middle of peeling off his shirt. You got a glimpse of his soft stomach, of his happy trail that kept you up at night, of various moles and freckles that were scattered over his skin and—finally the sight of the dark, coarse hair that covered his chest. He was fucking beautiful and you barely register him turning around to look at you.
“Hi,” he says by way of greeting, making zero attempt to cover up but you notice the way his cheeks flush slightly pink.
“Hey,” you say, hating how breathless you already sound.
Steve’s eyes shift down your body again, his gaze washing you in a rush of heat and want that you couldn’t control. You see the way his eyes linger for a moment too long on your hardened nipples that could be seen through the fabric of his t-shirt and you watch as he licks his lips slowly before looking back at your face.
“Good shower?”
You laugh because the tension between you was palpable. You could see the way Steve was trying to be normal and the way he was failing miserably.
“Great shower,” you tell him. “Incredible water pressure.”
Steve snorts lightly with laughter and you take a tentative step closer to him, closing his bedroom door behind you while your heart pounds in your chest.
“Robin kicked those guys out by the way,” he tells you, watching you carefully as you move towards him. “I would have done it but I needed to see if you were okay.”
You smile a little, pausing a foot away from him. “Glad you did.”
“Me too,” Steve says softly. “Made me realise how much of an idiot with the whole—you know, been waiting for the perfect moment to be honest with you when I should have just—I should have just told you.”
Your breath hitches, your eyes flickering over his face so that you didn’t miss a single facial expression. “Told me what?” You ask quietly.
Steve takes a deep breath before he closes the distance between you, lifting both of his large hands to cup your jaw gently between his palms, holding you like you were made of something more precious than gold.
“Told you that—that you’re not only my best friend but you’re my favourite person in the world. The one who I can’t go a day without seeing smile or hearing you laugh. The person who thinks I’m funny when I’m clearly not and the one who seems to know exactly what to say when things get too loud. The one who doesn’t just make me want to be a better man but the person who makes me a better man. The one who has seen my best times and my worst times and still—still sees the best in me even when I don’t. The person who I—who I love. Who I love whether you’re wearing a ‘fuck me’ dress or one of my old t-shirts. The person who I really hope isn’t too mad at me for making you wait while I tried to find a perfect moment.”
You were rendered speechless, words completely failing you as you stare back at Steve with wide eyes, trying to process every word he had just said.
“Was that too much or—”
You don’t let Steve finish his sentence because you decide that you couldn’t wait even a second longer. Because he loved you. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you—
“I love you too,” you tell him breathlessly as your hands plant themselves on his chest before you lean in and finally press your lips against his.
For a moment, Steve does nothing at all. He seems to freeze entirely, his brain short circuiting at the fact you were kissing him. But as your fingers gently brush through the hair that covered his chest, he seemed to finally come to his senses.
Steve groaned—actually groaned—against your lips as one of the hands still cupping your jaw gently threaded into your hair, his fingers curling at the back of your neck as he kisses you back with a sense of urgency he couldn’t seem to control.
The kiss was messy, spit-slick and desparate—months and months of tension finally snapping as Steve used his other hand to tug you closer by your waist, his mouth still moving against yours as though he wouldn’t ever be able to get enough.
Neither of you pulled away—the kiss moving from messy to slow and reverent, your lips gliding wetly against each other in a way that had your pussy throbbing. A small whimper escapes you before you could stop it because your body was thrumming with want.
Steve pulls away only to whisper your name before he dives back in. His hand in your hair titling your head back so that he could deepen the kiss, his tongue gently coaxing your lips apart in a way that had your stomach tightening deliciously as he licks into the wet heat of your mouth.
“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips as his hand in your hair finds home on your waist. The other moves to rest on your hips where Steve squeezes the flesh before tugging you closer until you are flush against him.
You gasp against his lips when you feel just how fucking hard he was through the denim of his jeans and any intelligent thought left you as you moaned against his mouth.
“Shit, baby,” Steve practically whimpers as he pulls away to press a trail of wet kisses down your neck. “You’ve fucking ruining me already.”
You let out a breathless laugh that turns into a moan, your head tilting back as Steve’s tongue glides over the skin of your neck, still a little damp from the shower.
“Did you use my body wash, pretty girl?” Steve whispers against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip the globes of your ass and failing to suppress a groan. “Cause I can smell it on you.”
“Maybe,” you gasp out, your chest heaving as your eyelids flutter shut at Steve’s touch.
Steve hums against your skin before gently sucking on a spot on your neck that had you squirming against him.
“So fucking sensitive,” he murmurs, squeezing your ass again before one hand moves to the hem of his t-shirt that you were wearing—fingers just brushing the skin beneath in a silent question.
You lift your arms in response and Steve waits no time in peeling off the t-shirt.
But the moment he sees the sight of your bare breasts, all bravado he had possessed moments ago seems to leave him.
“Holy fuck—” he breathes out, his own chest heaving as his eyes feast on you. “You’re so—fuck—I can’t believe we’re finally doing this. We’re finally—holy shit—”
“—Steve,” you interrupt him with a faint smile and a finger over his lips. “It’s just me.”
Steve smiles back at you, pressing a kiss to your finger before you pull it away from him. “That’s exactly why this is—why I’m losing my shit right now I mean—fuck, look at you.”
The words go straight through your body like molten lava and you have to squeeze your thighs together to try and ease the tension between your legs.
And Steve—he fucking notices.
“Fuck it—”
Steve’s lips were back on yours and you could barely think straight as the kiss became almost frantic, his hands roaming your body greedily as he sank down onto the bed, pulling you down with him. His hands find your hips before he tugs you down onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his as you straddle him.
The position presses your clothed core against the bulge in his jeans and neither of you could suppress a moan at the contact.
“Please,” Steve asks, eyes half lidded and glazed over with want as he looks up at you. “Please, pretty girl. I need—”
You knew what he needed without him even needing to finish his sentence. You press yourself more firmly against his bulge and you swear you could feel every hard ridge of him through his jeans. The friction was dizzying and you could barely stop yourself from rolling your hips against him. Steve lets out a whimper, fingers squeezing the flesh of your hips before his lips find yours again.
The kiss was messy, little wet sounds filling the space between you as Steve’s hips bucked up instinctively, grinding his hard cock against your core. You were embarrassingly wet at this point as Steve encouraged the movement of your hips with his hands, the wet patch in your panties seeping through your shorts. You were almost sure that Steve could practically smell how aroused you were at this point, but you found that you didn’t care.
You could have come from the friction alone, but both you and Steve knew that wasn’t what you wanted.
“Steve,” you gasp, heat burning through your body as you look down at him. “Touch me, please.”
Who was he to deny you such a request?
You let out a small squeal as Steve wraps his arms around your waist, standing up for a brief moment before he lowers you back down onto his bed.
“Anything for you, baby,” Steve tells you before he tugs both your shorts and your panties down your legs.
“Fuck, baby—”
It was the only intelligent thing Steve could think to say when you were finally laid bare for him. You look back at him and you find that there wasn’t a part of you that felt nervous or self conscious with the confidence his gaze gave you. In fact, you found your thighs widening instinctively as he could see the mess he had caused between your legs—the way your folds were coated with arousal, slick dripping down onto his bedsheets beneath you and how swollen and desperate for attention your clit was.
“—you’re fucking beautiful,” Steve finally tells you as his fingers brush over the skin of your inner thigh, watching in awe as goosebumps erupt over the skin at his touch. “S’fucking beautiful. I could fucking cum just by looking at you, pretty girl.”
Your cunt pulses with need and you swear you see Steve’s cock twitch beneath his jeans.
“But I’m gonna take care of you first, yeah?” Steve murmurs, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your thighs before they glide through your wetness.
That first, direct touch of his fingertips against your slick folds made you whimper from relief.
“S’fucking wet,” Steve murmurs, his lips parting as his eyes filt down to watch how your wetness now coats his fingers. “Drenched for me already, aren’t you sweet girl?”
You nod frantically, eyes squeezing shut as two of Steve’s thick fingers glide through your slick, gathering it and then smearing it over your clit in a circular motion that had your back bowing off his mattress.
“I got you, baby,” Steve murmurs and you jolt as you suddenly feel his breath hot against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I got you.”
You nod, parting your lips as you begin to take a deep breath—but you are cut off by your own, loud moan as he dips one thick finger inside of you.
“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh as he begins to pump his finger in and out of you, watching every trace of pleasure flit across your face as he adds a second finger. “That’s it, pretty girl. Look at you, soaking my fingers so well.”
You were a mess already and he had barely even begun. You were so fucking wet that the pump of his fingers in and out of your soaked pussy were causing a schlick-schlick-schlick sound to fill the room, mixing with your moans as liquid heat coursed throughout your entire body.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve tells you, curling his fingers against your front wall as he watched you in utter awe. “S’fucking pretty, baby. I swear.”
Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, a pleasure so intense coursing through your body that you were surely soon to forget your own damn name. Your slick was dripping down his wrist, onto his sheets and Steve couldn’t help but breathe in your heady scent, his nose nudging against your clit as he did so.
“Fucking hell,” he groans out, scissoring his fingers gently inside of you. “Sweet girl, you smell so fucking good. I need to taste you, I need to—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence because one buck upwards of your hips and Steve finally takes the hint. His lips seal themselves over your aching clit while he continues to fuck two of his fingers into your needy hole. And the moan he lets out at that very first taste of you? It was divine.
Steve Harrington wasted no time in giving you exactly what he knew you needed. His lips began to suck your clit gently, his thick fingers continuing to fuck you even as your one of your hands found its way into his hair and tugged at it harshly. If anything, the mix of pain and pleasure spurred Steve on, his fingers curling inside of you again as he started to alternate between giving soft licks to your clit and sucking it between his lips.
It was almost overwhelming, the deep penetration on his fingers and stimulation on your clit was making pleasure build up so intensely you were close to tears.
“C’mon, baby,” Steve murmurs against yours, his own hips rutting against the mattress but his focus remains on you and your pleasure and nothing else. “I got you. I got you.”
Your thighs tremble around his head, your head thrown back against his mattress as you let out a moan so loud that the partygoers downstairs were sure to hear it. Your orgasm was so intense that your entire body seemed to be overtaken by a white hot pleasure that you felt in every damn nerve, your vision whiting out briefly all because Steve Harrington sent you to another universe with his fingers and tongue.
He doesn’t let up, only withdrawing his fingers so he could replace them with his tongue, slurping up every last drop of your arousal and groaning against you as he does so.
You were still shaking, still sensitive and still coming down from the most intense orgasm that a man had ever given you and yet—there wasn’t a part of you that wanted to stop.
The fingers that were still in his hair gently tug him away from your cunt that was dripping with a mix of his saliva and your essence. He groans as you pull him away, eyes half lidded with need as he looks at you. Steve’s lips are swollen, wet and he had never looked so fucking handsome.
“That was—”
You silence him by grabbing his fingers—the ones that had just been inside of you, the ones still glistening with your slick—and raise them to your lips. Steve realises what you were about to do a millisecond before it happens and he could not contain the groan that leaves his lips as you take his fingers into your mouth and suck.
Steve had surely died and gone to heaven. That could be the only explanation as he watches you lick his fingers clean, your eyes not leaving his for even a second until you release them with a wet pop.
“Take your jeans off and fuck me, Harrington,” you tell him.
Steve Harrington did not need telling twice. In his haste to peel off his jeans, he stumbles but manages to catch himself at the edge of the bed.
He turns around when he hears you stifle a laugh.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me, baby,” Steve tells you with flushed cheeks. “That was completely purposeful.”
But you don’t respond, because you were too busy staring at the outline of his hard cock through his boxers. Even though the dark material, you could see how fucking big he was and it made your mouth water.
Steve notices—because of course he was—and he wastes no time in pulling down his boxers to free his cock.
“Oh my—”
You had heard rumours before that Steve was big, that his size sometimes intimated the women he had slept with in the past. But nothing could have prepared you for just how big and how beautiful his cock was. It was so big and heavy that it made a loud, audible slapping sound against his soft stomach as he freed himself. It wasn’t just long but it was thick and slightly curved in a way that made your cunt clench around nothing. The ruddy tip was glistening and already leaking with precum and you watch as a dribble of it slips over his veiny shaft.
Steve, seemingly taking you openly staring at his cock as worry, hesitates before joining you back on the bed, bracing his body over yours with his elbows as he looks carefully at your face. “We can do just the tip if you—”
“—what?” You ask him, slightly confused as you look back up at him, your hands gently rest on his shoulders. “No, no, no—I want all of you, Steve. I was just…looking.”
Steve blinks, his cheeks reddening before he smiles down at you. “Impressed?”
You smile and your heart feels warm at the way, even now, Steve was able to make you laugh. Because no matter how much your relationship had changed over the past twenty minutes and how much it would change after, the foundation of your friendship would always remain standing. That Steve loved and respected you as a person first, that he always would and that intimacy wouldn’t change that.
“Depends if you know what to do with it,” you tell him with a teasing smile.
Steve rolls his eyes a little but you see the way the corners of his mouth twitch as he tries not to smile.
“We’ll see about that,” Steve murmurs, wrapping a hand around his length and stroking himself once before he guides the bulbous head of his cock to your entrance. “You sure?” He asks, despite the fact he was so hard that it was nearly painful, despite the fact his dick was pulsing in his hand from need—he needed one last bit of reassurance that he wouldn’t be too much for you.
You nod, your eyes softening as you look up at him, one of your hands lifting to cup his cheek gently. Steve leans into your touch instinctively and the way he sought out your touch makes you feel almost invincible.
“I’m sure,” you whisper back. “I trust you, I love you and I’m sure.”
Steve’s resolve seemed to crumble at that, his eyes shining as he tells you, “I love you too.”
His lips found yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft given the position you were in, given what you were about to do. You melt into it, your fingers gliding into his hair as Steve groans against your lips, carefully positioning himself back at your entrance. Your legs widen to accommodate him as you continue to kiss him as though he was your only source of oxygen. Steve’s brows are furrowed as he kisses you back, making sure to go slow as he finally—finally—pushes the fat head of his cock inside of you, slipping into your tight heat inch by inch.
The stretch was overwhelming—it almost felt as though he was splitting you open with his cock but fuck, it was incredible. You couldn’t pull but pull away from Steve’s lips so that you could look at where look your bodies were now joined, the way you were stretched obscenely around him.
“You okay?” Steve asks when he was almost buried to the hilt, his eyes not leaving your face as he searches for even a hint of pain. “Baby, please say you’re—”
“—I’m good,” you say breathlessly, your eyes flickering upwards to meet his. “Really, Steve. I’m good.”
Steve nods and then swallows before he presses forward, until his hips are flush against yours and you feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix.
“Fuuuccck,” Steve exhales, pressing his forehead against yours as the arm that was propping himself over you shakes with the effort of holding himself back. “You feel—fuck—you feel incredible. I swear, you were made for my cock, sweet girl.”
The words make you feel warm and your cunt flutters around his cock, making Steve groan out. You hook one of your legs over his hip and arch your back, trying to encourage him to move.
“Steve, please.”
It was exactly the encouragement he needed. With a groan of your name and sweet kiss to your forehead, Steve starts to move. He moves his hips back until only the bulbous tip of his cock remains inside of you before he pushes himself back home, setting a deep rhythm that has your nails biting into the skin of his shoulders.
The wet sounds from the mix of your juices quickly fill the room, along with both yours and Steve’s moans as Steve grabs your other thigh to hook it over hip. You whimper out his name as his cock nuzzles against your cervix and Steve couldn’t help himself anymore. He pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you. And again. And again and again and again until his cock was continuously slamming in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin so obscene it made your head spin.
“Fuck, Steve!” You mewl, your breasts bouncing with every deep thrust of Steve’s cock. “You feel so—”
“—I know, baby. I know,” Steve grunts as his balls slap against your skin from the force of his thrusts. “You trust me, yeah?”
You nod frantically, pleasure coursing through every damn nerve in your body as Steve shifts his position. You whimper out in protest before you watch as he gently lifts your thighs to rest over his shoulders.
“Feel good?” Steve asks as he leans over you, his cock now hitting so deep inside of you that you swear you saw stars.
You nod because no words could come out as you felt him in every damn pore in your body. Your body buzzes with anticipation as you expect him to move, but he doesn’t. Not yet.
“Words, pretty girl,” he tells you, two fingers gently gripping your chin. “I need words.”
You whimper out because you were throbbing with need and could barely think straight, let alone form a sentence.
“Steve, please—”
“Baby, no,” Steve murmurs, dipping his head down to brush his lips across your cheek. “Need you to feel me if it’s good. C’mon, sweet girl.”
“Yes,” you manage to gasp. “I feel—I feel really good.”
“Good,” Steve smiles before he rolls his hips forward. The tip of his cock hits that spot inside of you that had you squirming beneath him, clenching around him so hard that Steve’s fingers grips into the flesh of your thigh before he pulls out of you just to slam back in all over again.
“I love you,” Steve tells you as he sets a rhythm that has your toes curling. “I love you so fucking much, baby. I’m so fucking lucky.”
He was babbling nonsense as his cock drilled into you like it was the last time, not the first. You were a mess of moans and whimpers beneath him, your sobbing cunt convulsing around him with each and every thrust. You could hardly think straight because nothing existed beside Steve and the way his cock was pumping in and out of you.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” Steve tells you, eyes heavy from the intense pleasure he was feeling, from the effort of holding back his own release so it wasn’t over before you finished. “Taking my cock so well, baby. Look at you fucking taking it.”
And you do—your eyes shifting down to watch as Steve’s thick cock disappears inside of you, watch the way you suck him back in like you never wanted him to leave.
It was almost too much, every part of your body was singing with pleasure and all you could moan out was Steve’s name and the fact you loved him and—
Your second orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. It was somehow more intense than the first, nearly earth shattering in the way it left you clinging to Steve as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. You clenched tightly around his cock and it was all Steve needed, his release following yours only seconds later. He slams into you a final time and you swear you feel his heavy cock pulsing inside of you before he comes hard. Ropes of thick, hot cum flood your spent pussy, painting your walls with his release as your name fell from his lips like it was the only word he knew.
He doesn’t pull out right away and you don’t want him to, instead—your lips find each other's and the kiss was sweet and tender and everything you had ever wanted and more.
Steve eventually pulls out of you after a few moments to clean the mess between your legs with his boxers. You were tender but he was so gentle and loving that it made your heart thump loud in your chest.
When he returns to the bed, his arms wrap themselves around you and you waste no time in melting into him, the party downstairs entirely forgotten as you lay in Steve’s arms.
“I take it we’re a little more than best friends now?” He asks you quietly with a trace of amusement in his voice.
“I think we’ve always been more than best friends, Steve.”
Steve smiles at that before pressing a gentle but firm to your forehead because you were right—you had always been more than best friends and you always would be.
PAIRING; joe keery x fem!reader
SYNOPSIS; you're a friend of the stranger things cast and following the end of the series, you find yourself closer and closer to joe – and the fans pick up on it instantly.
WARNINGS; angst...
NOTE; face claim varies from post to post! just pretend they're all you. if you address the time stamps on anything im gonna eat you. NO ONE BE MAD AT ME PLS IM SO SORRY THIS BROKE MY HEART.
TAGLIST; @spideyzzn @webelong2gether @sexyvixen7 @kyzpixie @shaunagooner @dedicated-simp @djowantsyourvideo @prettyfortucker @nancywalkemdownwheeler @whysoseahrious @needjoekeery @fr3veryng @ripnanamin @multifandombliss @belongtoyou-u @pwincessangelmouse @redhexx @snowgirlieee @yikesdrama @basicbbeingbasic @lovrsinthedark @1011008 @izzycstairs @nataliaginkgo @disiscami @idontfeelsogoodallmight @dopeysunflowers @soobinspandulce @june-3-bug @hexyissy @borhapparker @lizzygranteded @mads-writes-vibes @littlepippilongstocking @beep2202020 @amirafloral @keepdriving @lilymayj @ttttt127 @thoroughlymimi @batmanssssss @enchantingduckbird lmk if you wanna be added !
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yourusername's story ; thank you i needed that
story replies ;
user23 pls say the rumors are fake
user6 joe didn't deserve you!!
user10 this is what you get for messing around with a singer-actor COMBO😭
user40 js reminded me men arent shit tysm
Liked by user3, deuxmoi, user11, and 901,201 others
djonews joe keery spotted out & about in rome, italy today!
View 301,130 comments
user3 holy shit
user88 wait... wasn't yn just in rome?
user5 yep!😬
user2 oh i know he fucked up majorly
user7 "out & about" now yk damn well he had places to be😭
Liked by bellahadid, clairo, karolg, and 4.8M others
yourusername mfw26
View 728,120 comments
bellahadid my favorite
yourusername my angel
clairo loved sitting with you, you're the best 💓
yourusername ahh, i had so much fun with you beautiful!! best convos of the night were with you
karolg 😍😍😍
yourusername ❤️
yourusername has limited comments
Liked by gatenmatarazzo, calebmclaughlin, finnwolfhardofficial, and 4.7M others
djotime new single "chateau (feel alright)" out 05/05
View 405,290 comments
gatenmatarazzo can't wait man 👏
calebmclaughlin long overdue!!
finnwolfhardofficial what a great song, i can't wait for everyone to hear it
charlie.r.heaton beautiful song as usual
user6 oh shit he was FAST
user30 releasing on 05/05, 505, arctic monkeys ref... "i'm going back to 505" "i crumble completely when you cry" "it seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye"
user5 i mean i guess but i think this is a stretch
user11 i think its gonna be the same concept but i don't think the date was intentional
Liked by sadiesink_, finnwolfhardofficial, feliciathegoat, and 5.9M others
yourusername everybodys been acting funny lately but its okay because im about to act hilarious 😂
View 1,192,120 comments
finnwolfhardofficial is that a studio i see 👀
yourusername 👀
feliciathegoat excellence in action
yourusername appreciate it
oliviarodrigo my girl
yourusername my queen
taylorswift can't wait
sabrinacarpenter caption
electricladystudios so glad to have you back!
user10 oh shit
user2 im crying she saw joe's announcement and knew she needed to act fast
user40 ik im abt to cry for weeks between her and joe's new music
Liked by taylorswift, oliviarodrigo, mayahawke, and 7.2M others
yourusername new album "philophobia" out on 05/01
View 2,102,908 comments
taylorswift SO excited!!
oliviarodrigo i can't wait, i know its gonna be beautiful
mayahawke i love u sm u'r my idol
sadiesink_ my best friend is SO talented
sabrinacarpenter ahhhhhhhhh!!
gatenmatarazzo i'm so hype wtf
finnwolfhardofficial the cover turned out so cool, thank you for giving me the honor of shooting it
calebmclaughlin goated af
lilymhe this looks so cool, i can't wait to hear it!
user10 OH SHE'S PLAYING IN HIS FACEEEE
user6 oh it's OVER OVER
user4 omg...
user2 announcing her album AFTER joe announced his single to release 4 days BEFORE his single is another level of petty i love her
user00 bear in mind this album went into production after joe finished his single
PAIRING; joe keery x fem!reader
SYNOPSIS; you're a friend of the stranger things cast and following the end of the series, you find yourself closer and closer to joe – and the fans pick up on it instantly.
WARNINGS; angst...
NOTE; face claim varies from post to post! just pretend they're all you. if you address the time stamps on anything im gonna eat you. NO ONE BE MAD AT ME PLS IM SO SORRY THIS BROKE MY HEART.
TAGLIST; @spideyzzn @webelong2gether @sexyvixen7 @kyzpixie @shaunagooner @dedicated-simp @djowantsyourvideo @prettyfortucker @nancywalkemdownwheeler @whysoseahrious @needjoekeery @fr3veryng @ripnanamin @multifandombliss @belongtoyou-u @pwincessangelmouse @redhexx @snowgirlieee @yikesdrama @basicbbeingbasic @lovrsinthedark @1011008 @izzycstairs @nataliaginkgo @disiscami @idontfeelsogoodallmight @dopeysunflowers @soobinspandulce lmk if you wanna be added !
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Liked by djotime, gigihadid, finnwolfhardofficial, and 6.9M others
yourusername goodbye rome hello italy
View 512,102 comments
djotime yes julius caesar but does julius hear her? does julius understand her?
yourusername oh no i don't have any change sorry
user7 PLEAS OEMFOMGJ IM FRIED
user0 what is his problem
user22 first situationship kinda nervous kinda dk how to act
calebmclaughlin @/user22 i hope you know how funny you are
user5 HOOOOOLY SHIT
gigihadid that looks like my pasta lowk
yourusername gigi you're so cute
Liked by sabrinacarpenter, sadiesink_, alexconsani, and 4.3M others
yourusername don't mind me, i'm just rome-ing around (laugh track)
View 401,291 comments
sabrinacarpenter why are you so aesthetic and cool and sexy and funny
yourusername its the job requirement idk
sadiesink_ my best friend i miss you
yourusername i miss you so much
alexconsani 😍
user8 wheres the big j at 👀
user0 what i'm saying..
user12 is it just me or does she lowk seem sad
user45 y/n fans try not to be parasocial challenge GO
user7 no like i get what you're trying to say, it's her tone idk
user3 no genuinely
user1 nephew log off😭 tb sum "does she lowk seem sad"
user5 BYEYEY IT'S GIVING "chase smile :(" "i forgot how"
user4 do yall think it was bc of the twt post she liked?
user00 omfg. youre so right
Liked by sadiesink_, phoebebridgers, mayahawke, and 4.4M others
yourusername it's a shower beer, it's a payment plan
View 409,210 comments
sadiesink_ i miss you
yourusername i miss you so much
phoebebridgers wait i love you im so honored to be featured in the caption
yourusername im gonna cry ilysm this means the world to me
user10 its so djover.
user8 no but we also said this a few months ago when we thought she was traveling with another guy and it turned out to just be joe remember
user77 no joe in the likes, sad post, sad song in the caption 💔
user1 IF THIS MEANS WAHT I THINK IT MEANS IM GOING TO CRY
