more mean mike and sub mike plsssss i love ur stuff seriously
─ "paint you white"
content warning・⸝⸝ 18+, pet names, praise, mike has a facial piercings, mike is a freak, oral (male receiving), innocent virgin reader, excessive amount of pet names, facials, mike is slightly mean :(
lower case is intended :)
college AU!
you sink to your knees on mikes stained gray basement carpet. it was honestly pathetic..
“stop staring at it and just take it out,” mike says, lightly tapping your cheeks, snapping you out of your thoughts.
you look up at him with tears in your eyes, the fly of his pants bulging, making your mouth water.
you paw at the fly, pulling down his pants, and rip down his boxers, freeing his hot, heavy, throbbing cock from his confines.
He brings his hand into your curls, guiding your head near his pale cock. “Give it some love, baby- some licks,” he says, lightly tapping his tips against your lips. mixing your already sticky lip gloss with his pre cum.
your eyes were filled with tears, fogging your vision, and the only thing you could see was the blinging of his metal piercings.
you stick out your tongue licking his cock, base- to- tip. he moans loudly, and if this wasn’t a teaching moment, he was sure he would cum, painting your dark skin a nice cloudy white.
“theree you go,” mike groans out, rubbing your cheek almost lovingly. “c’mon sweets suck the tip,” his cock twitching for attention.
you wrap your lips around him, looking up with your big brown eyes to make sure he’s satisfied. and with no warning, you took him to the hilt. nose burring into his black, patchy pubes.
“shit baby!” mike pulls your hair back, making you whine from the delicious pain. “d-don’t rush it, baby..” he says, petting the part of your hair he pulled.
“try again, slower...” mike says, watching you with a longing stare. you nod, opening your mouth and taking him slowly, inch by inch.
“fuckkkk- yes baby..” mike leans back on the ugly patterned couch (i mean it was the 80’s..) “suck in both cheeks.” mike commands in a soft coo. staring at you in a way “a friend” shouldn’t stare.
shlurp shlurp shlurp. it was downright pornographic. making your panties sooo damp :((
“shit.. teethteeth..!” mike whines out, you were only just learning. how were you supposed to know! mike pushes you off his angry red cock. “here i-i’ll guide you...” mike whispers, pushing you back on his throbbing cock.
he was practically fucking your poor little throat :(( shoving his cock so far down your tight throat. “mgnhh!!” you whine against his cock, sending vibrations to his brain.
“take this fucking dick,” mike said, both hands going to hold your hair tightly. his dark pubes are soaked in spit, and your nose just keeps hitting it! :(
as wonderful as it felt, he really wanted to mark you. keep you as his own.!!
he roughly pulls your hair, keeping your head still. “m-mike.!!” you moan, watching him aggressively stroke his cock.
“shit shit shit..!” mike moans, squirting his cum alll over your face. it was so cute, you were trying to gather as much as you could from your own face. cum stuck in your eyelash, cum stuck in your hair, cum stuck in his pubes.
guess he really did paint you white
proofread! :)
pls lmk if you want to join my tag list!
TL- @cherrishkissed @secretxhotties
im so sorry this took so long, my notes got deleted more than once and i was struggling with confidence to write :))
picking up the kids ~ richie tozier;it chapter two
word count: 1111
request?: no
description: while waiting to pick up their kids from school, richie comes up with a naughty idea to make the time pass quicker
pairing: richie tozier x female!reader
warnings: swearing, smut
masterlist
*this is based off of a post i read that said that bill hader’s richie is charming and funny but would also fuck your mouth while you wait to pick up the kids and i just…had ideas*
Richie impatiently tapped the steering wheel with his eyes trained on the door to your kids’ school. He had decided to join you as you went to pick the kids up from school, something you had warned him against as you had both left much earlier than normal.
“I told you to stay home,” you reminded him as you looked down at your phone, keeping yourself busy as you waited for the kids.
“I wanted to surprise them,” Richie responded. “I’ve been on the road for months, I want to surprise them at school.”
“I get that, but you’re terribly impatient, Rich. You should’ve stayed home where you’d at least have a way to keep yourself occupied.”
Richie sighed and laid his head back against the seat, tapping on the steering wheel again. You rolled your eyes at him and resumed looking at your phone.
A short amount of time had passed when a smirk passed on Richie’s face. He looked over at you and put a hand on your thigh. “I have an idea on how we could pass the time.”
You looked at him with wide eyes and swatted his hand away. “We can’t do that here! Richie, there’s cars parked and parents around, not to mention the kids will probably be out any minute!”
“They won’t see anything if you’re giving me head.”
Richie had always been so forward with what he wanted sexually, that was nothing new to you, but even after all those years, you couldn’t help but cross your legs to try and hide your arousal at him saying exactly what he wanted from you.
“Come on baby,” he tried to convince you, his hand on your thigh again. “No one will be able to see in, and the windows are up so no one will hear anything. I promise I’ll keep a look out so if the kids come we can act like nothing happened before they get in.”
He cupped your face with one of his hands, pulling you to kiss him. He moved his head to kiss your neck, immediately finding the spot that made you weak in the knees. You tried to suppress a moan but it was hard when Richie was sucking on your sweet spot, very obviously leaving marks that you’d have to explain to the kids later.
“Fine,” you finally managed. “But you’re gonna owe me.”
“I’ll rock your world when it’s just us again,” Richie said, crushing his lips against yours.
You ran your hand down Richie’s chest as you pulled away from the kiss, looking around to see if any of the other waiting parents were looking at you. Much like the two of you, everyone was minding their own business in their own cars.
Your hand reached Richie’s jeans and you heard him let out a breath as you ran your hand over his already hard member. As you undid his jeans, you kissed him on the neck, something that drove Richie wild. He basically yanked his pants down partially, pulling his boxers down just enough for himself to pop free of them.
You did one last check to make sure no one was looking before ducking your head down and immediately taking Richie in your mouth. He bucked his hips at the contact, letting out a low groan as his movements caused him to touch the back of your throat. He placed one hand on top of your head to help guide your movements, starting your pacing slow.
Although your mind was partially on the fear of getting caught, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement at what you two were doing. You and Richie hadn’t been very adventurous with your sex since your eldest child was born, then the birth of your second child mixed with Richie’s stand up career taking off made it hard to be intimate at all.
You continued your slow pace, despite Richie’s writhing and desperate attempts to speed you up. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at how desperate he was becoming. This dominant role wasn’t one you were used to being in, and you were taking so much pleasure in being the one to make Richie beg for more.
“God, please don’t tease me like this honey,” he pleaded. “You don’t know how pent up I’ve been while I’ve been gone.”
“I’d assume as pent up as I’ve been,” you said before taking him deep into your throat again, causing him to gasp again.
“You make it hard to keep a straight face baby,” he said. You could hear a slight tremble of pleasure in his voice as he spoke. “Fuck, you always knew how to make me feel so good.”
He took your face in his hands and held you still as he began to thrust his hips, picking up the agonizingly slow pace that you had been taking. He hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag a little, but you knew that was something that Richie liked.
You had to put a hand on his thigh to try and contain his thrusts as they started to shake the car. You took back over with bobbing your head, at a quicker pace this time but not so quick as to physically move the car.
The sound of a school bell ringing caught both of your attention. Richie muttered another, barley inaudible “Fuck” as you went back down on his length, taking him deep into your throat a few more times before you felt him twitch in your mouth. Near seconds later, he was filling your mouth with warm liquids.
Richie was still breathing heavily, trying to come back down from his high, when he breathed, “Fuck, kids. (Y/N), kids incoming.”
You quickly sat up, swallowing the warm liquids and taking a mouthful of the water bottle you had in the cupholder. Just as Richie was getting his pants zipped back up when the back doors to the car opened and your two children climbed in.
“Daddy!” they exclaimed together.
“When did you get home?” your youngest asked.
“Just a few hours ago,” Richie responded. His face was still flushed and he was still trying to catch his breath. “I came to surprise you guys!”
Your oldest, who was sat behind Richie, wrapped his arms around Richie and hugged him tightly. “We missed you so much, dad!”
“I missed you guys too.” Richie looked over at you, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll finish our conversation when we get home.”
You smirked and winked at him as he put the car in drive and you headed back to your house.
summary: your ex boyfriend comes over your house to confront you from the loud thunderstorms outside which turn out to be your biggest fear. Later that night you found out you got cheated on and unexpected things happen between you and Steve
warning: Thunderstorms, fear, hands shaking, cheating, smut, piv, oral ( f receiving), kissing, praise, teasing, confessing love
‧˚꒰🐾୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Your boyfriend was away for the weekend and you were okay with it. It would be a nice two days to yourself, free from the usual arguments about leaving the socks on the bathroom floor and not in the laundry basket. Same goes for dishes, you never asked him to wash them or anything, just place them in the dishwasher after he finishes eating. It seemed like the more you reminded him the more he kept forgetting.
You spent the Saturday cleaning the house from top to bottom, just so you could relax in a clean environment.
By the time 7pm came you finished with all of the cleaning. You decided to cook and watch a film but were startled by a loud thunder outside before you even began. You froze.
Thunderstorms were one of your biggest fears, especially the loud noise.
Every time the weather got like this, somebody was with you, to keep you company. Although tonight you were all alone.
You thought maybe if you put on headphones you could block out the noise. Sure it blocked out the noise, but not the lightning that lit up your whole living room.
Even if you called someone over, they couldn’t make it. The rain had started pouring down and the windows were covered in huge water droplets.
You started panicking, you could feel your heartbeat beating in your ears. Settling down on the couch, you tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself down. Until you heard the door bell ring.
You immediately stood up to open the door. Out of all people you didn’t expect to be Steve. To be exact, Steve Harrington your ex boyfriend.
You stood there completely speechless, not knowing what to say.
“Hi” he said
“Steve what are you doing here?” you asked, not even greeting him.
“I knew that you were alone, and the weather isn’t really good, so i figured you might want some company?” The moment he said that, he realised how stupid that came out. Coming from an ex boyfriend.
“And how did you know that I was alone?”
“Jacob is out of town, we work together remember?” oh.
“Oh yeah I- I forgot”
“I know how scared you can really get I-“
“Just come in” you stepped out of the entryway.
“Thanks” he smiled at you “So what are you up to?”
“I was about to cook actually, wanna um help?” this felt way too weird.
You and Steve didn’t have a dramatic break up, after 2 years of being together you kind of fell out of love, although you two continued on being friends.
“Sure I’d love to”
Walking to the kitchen, you heard another thunderstorm, this was the loudest one so far. You stopped your movements just trying not to freak out.
“Hey you okay?” Steve asked worried
“Yeah I’m fine” you were not.
While you were taking out ingredients out of the fridge, you felt your hands starting to shake. This always happened, because of your fear.
“Okay stop” Steve probably noticed all of it. He grabbed the butter from your hand, placing it on the counter. He held your hands in his, trying to stop the shaking.
“You need to sit down cmon” He tried guiding you to the couch.
“Steve I’m fine I-“
“No you’re not fine and we both know that” You had no other choice but to sit down.
You sat down on the couch and he did next to you.
“Look at me” he said “Focus on my eyes”
You looked at his eyes, something inside you just twisted. You haven’t looked at him like this in forever, you definitely missed his eyes. Deep brown, but whenever sunlight hit them they turned into a warm hazel color.
“Try to match my breathing okay?”
You nodded, following his breaths. At the beginning you struggled because his breathing was way slower than yours. But you managed to catch up.
“There you go, good job” He brushed the hair out of your face.
“You’re better now?”
“Yes- thank you”
“No needed to thank me” he looked outside the window “I think the weather is starting to calm down”
“Can you um-“ you paused “Do you want to stay over for dinner?”
“If you’re okay with it”
“I am” you nodded.
“Okay then let’s get cooking” you couldn’t help but laugh.
You decided to make Creamy garlic chicken pasta, it has been your favourite for years.
After dinner, Steve helped you clean up the dishes. While you were loading them into the dishwasher a notification popped up on his phone. He glanced at it and his face went pale.
“Everything okay?” You asked
You couldn’t figure out the expression on his face, it’s like he couldn’t tell you what he saw, but he wanted to. He just didn’t know how.
“I- Okay will you promise me that you won’t freak out?”
“Steve what is it.” You were starting to worry.
Until he showed you a picture on his phone screen. A picture of Jacob kissing a girl.
Your stomach tightened in disbelief. He was cheating on you with some random girl.
“I-“ Steve tried to speak but you shushed him with your finger.
“When was this” you asked
The tone of your voice was so serious, Steve felt too scared to speak.
“Today” he murmured
“Of course today” you scoffed, circling around the room.
“You know what” you turned around to look at him “Im done”
“Wha-“ You cut him off by closing the distance and smashing your lips against his.
He immediately deepened into the kiss, his hands travelled around your waist, pinning you against the wall.
“Are you sure about this?” He asked between kisses
“Yes-“
He turned you around, pinning your chest on the wall. You could feel him hard against your lower back.
He started sucking on a spot where your neck meets your shoulder. You couldn’t help it but moan. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you in place.
Your head fell backwards resting on his shoulder giving him better access to your neck.
“I need *kiss* you”
“You have me” you said, turning around and wrapping your legs around his waist.
He went upstairs to your bedroom.
Instead of being rough, he gently lowered you down on the bed, and hovered over you.
“Missed you” He whispered, quiet only for you to hear, even though there was no one in the house except you two.
His eyes never left yours, looking at you deeply. He stared kissing your face slowly, his nose teasingly would brush against your cheek.
“I missed you too” you said
His hands found the end of your shirt, slowly taking it off your body. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he got speechless.
“Shit” he cursed under his breath.
His mouth immediately found your nipple, sucking on your sensitive bud “Missed them so much” he said.
Your back arced off the bed whimpering his name. He groaned against your breast when he heard his name leave your mouth, in the most beautiful sound possible.
“I need you please” Your eyes fluttered shut. You could feel the heat forming in your core, throbbing and desperate for his touch.
“Yeah? Where do you need me sweetheart?” He knew exactly where, but he wanted to hear you say it.
You grabbed his hand, guiding it between your legs.
“Sweetheart we worked on this didn’t we? Telling me what you want.” He slowly started removing your shorts and underwear “Maybe you have forgotten, but I’ll remind you now”
And his head disappeared between your legs. He licked a long stripe between your folds, making your eyes flutter shut and brows furrow “Dripping for me”
You were throbbing for him, his tongue swirling around your folds while his nose kept bumping into your clit, making your hips buckle up.
“Want me to eat you out dont you” He asked, you felt vibrations when he spoke, making you moan.
You couldn’t help yourself but tug his hair, his tongue moving in and out of your hole, making your legs close more around his head. But his strong muscular arms held your thighs open.
“Please Steve please” You begged him, you were far gone, aching for him to be inside you. To fill you up. To fuck you stupid until you forgot about your stupid boyfriend.
“Fuck me” His head raised from between your thighs, his eyes half lidded and chin wet from his saliva and your wetness.
“Shit baby look at you learning fast” he chuckled, undressing himself “Knew you were a fast learner, you just needed a little reminder didn’t you?”
The muscles on his arms were way more defined than two years ago. His chest hair that turned you on every time, and that happy trail, gosh.
“Gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll forget he even existed” he slid his boxers down, and holy shit.
You forgot how big he was. You couldn’t even compare Jacob to him.
“Steve pleasee”
“Patience babygirl” he lined himself up with your folds.
“You’re taking forever-ah”
Het thrusted in hard, with no warning, making you let out a embarrassingly loud moan.
“What did you say baby? I didn’t quite hear you?”
He started thrusting hard and deep. He was always soft and gentle, but not tonight. Maybe all of those nights spent separated and missing you caught up to him.
“You’re squeezing me so tight jesus” he panted “He didn’t strech you out like i did”
Steve had this one thing, if he was mad he was rough. Like really rough, that leaves you shaking afterwards.
“So wet for me, literally dripping down on me” He lifted your hips up, diving even deeper.
“You’re mine, hear that? Mine”
The wet sounds of your skins meeting together filled the room, along with his groans and your loud whimpering.
You were getting close, that familiar feeling forming inside your lower stomach.
“My perfect girl” he thrusted “Falling apart for me” Another thrust “Made for me” and another thrust.
His praises were all you needed for your orgasm to come crashing down. You let out a cry, your walls squeezed around him, as Steve worked out through your orgasm.
Not many seconds later he finished too, filling you up so deep you could feel him in your stomach “Good girl, taking all of me, you never changed”
His body crashed over you, both of you were too overwhelmed to move.
“I still love you” Steve just said that out of the blue.
“Steve I-“
“You don’t have to say it back- I just um- wanted you to know” He kissed your cheek.
“I love you too” you smiled at him.
The moment he heard that his eyes lit up, and his lips formed into the most beautiful smile ever.
taglist: @hexyissy (comment if you want to be tagged💖)
Standing there in the light of the window
Wearing that same smile
Man, it's been a while
But I knew it, I knew you
When your former childhood best friend climbs through your bedroom window with a bruised and battered face, you take care of him but you aren't quite sure if you can forgive him.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 6.4k
contains: eventual fluff, angst, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, description of physical injuries from canon level violence, steve being a dick, elements of king!steve, mild bullying, mention of sex, unrequited (but not really unrequited) love, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but i got into the story too much to keep it that way!
to be added to my taglist | masterlist | requests page
You met Steve Harrington at five years old—the day that your family had moved to Hawkins. Elizabeth Harrington had knocked on your door with a plate full of freshly made brownies and a young boy with his arms wrapped tightly around his mother’s leg.
It took barely any time at all for you to be introduced to each other. Before you knew it—your mom and his mom were letting you guys run riot while sipping on homemade lemonade in your backyard. His dad and your dad later became business partners. And you and Steve Harrington? Your lives intertwined and you became inseparable. He chased after the boys who pulled your pigtails in the park and you held his hand after the first time his dad had ever properly yelled at him. He was your best friend and you were his.
And somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with him. You hadn’t planned on it, in fact, you had actively tried to stop yourself from developing any sort of feelings for your best friend. But it just sort of—happened. You constantly thought of excuses to go over to his house just to see him, you spent way too much time on baking his birthday cake and you had cried yourself to sleep after he had told you his first kiss had been Lucy Hayes behind the bike sheds.
You told yourself you’d get over it. That being best friends was enough.
But then high school happened. High school—where Steve had slipped into the popular crowd with ease while you remained in the shadows. Where Steve went to parties while you stayed home to do extra credit.
You slowly felt him slipping away from you. He stopped sneaking in through your bedroom window to watch R rated horror movies that he had stolen from his parents VHS collection, he stopped knocking on your door in the morning to take you to school and he didn’t come to the annual trip to the lake house the summer after freshman year, opting to stay home and throw a massive party instead.
You told yourself it was fine—that you were just growing apart but you’d eventually find your way back to each other.
But then in your sophomore year, he invited you to one of his parties and your friendship came crashing down over a game of truth or dare.
You had never seen the Harrington house look so messy.
The front yard was littered with beer bottles and red solo cups, there were several smashed glasses in the kitchen and you swore you even saw a couple rolls of toilet paper hanging from the chandelier in the foyer.
All you could think as you sat on the couch in the basement, squeezed between Steve and a very intoxicated Carol was that you hoped for Steve’s sake that Elizabeth and Danny Harrington never saw their house in this state. You were pretty sure Steve would be grounded for life if they did.
You felt Steve shift beside you as he leaned back to take a long swig from his beer, eyes flickering over to you briefly before he looked away.
You weren’t entirely sure why Steve had invited you to his party, he had hardly said a word to you all evening and you felt like some pathetic lost puppy waiting for him to come back to you. You had a feeling that he had only invited you to alleviate some of the guilt he may have felt for ditching you last week to hang out with Tommy but you were beginning to wish that he hadn’t asked you at all. Parities were not at all your thing but you had wanted to try because it was Steve and your feelings for him made you do things you didn’t want to do sometimes. Especially when he looked so stupidly handsome in that green shirt of his.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Steve asks you with a gentle nudge of your arm. The subtle contact sends a jolt through you and you have to force yourself to act natural as you turn to look at him.
“No, thank you, I’m—”
“—of course she doesn’t want a drink,” Carol slurs from beside you, leaning over you to talk to Steve. You shrink backwards against the couch, mostly to put a little distance between you and Carol and the smell of vodka coming from her that was almost overwhelming. “She hasn’t—” she hiccuped. “She hasn’t drank all—” she hiccuped again. “All night. She’s such a square.”
You don’t say anything but you feel your face grow hot in embarrassment as Carol talks about you like you weren’t sitting right next to her. The worst part was that Steve didn’t even stick up for you. You hate the fact you weren’t surprised by that.
Your leg begins to bounce, you were trying to quickly think of an excuse to leave. Not that you really needed one, Steve didn’t seem particularly bothered by your presence.
“Steve, I need to—”
The sound of jeering cuts you off and the words quickly die on tongue as Tommy and a few more of Steve’s friends stumble down the basement stairs.
All you wanted to do was leave but Tommy was already squeezing himself between you and Carol and you had no choice but to move closer to Steve, your thigh pressed against his and his arm flush against yours.
The uncomfortableness you felt was churning horribly in your gut, your leg was still bouncing nervously and yet, Steve didn’t say anything. He didn’t even ask if you were okay, despite his legs lingering on your knee as it bounced anxiously.
“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Tommy asks, one arm slung around Carol while the other nudges you with a gleeful smile. “Maybe it’ll get Little Miss Goody Two Shoes over here to loosen up a little.”
“Tommy, let’s not—” Steve begins but the laughter around the room cuts him off. He glances at you, as though he was trying to reassure himself that you were fine—that this was fine.
You watched as Steve’s friends dared each other to take a shot of hot sauce, to strip off their clothes and jump naked into Steve’s pool. Your stomach turned as you heard them ask each other the most intrusive questions about each other's sex life and at parts, even Steve laughed.
And then, it was your turn.
You shifted uncomfortably, Tommy’s elbow digging into your ribs as you looked to Steve for help. But he was too busy smiling over at one of the cheerleaders to even register your discomfort.
“Truth,” you say finally, figuring that it was the safest option. At least then they couldn’t dare you to skinny dip in the pool.
“Are you a virgin?” Carol asks you bluntly.
Your face warms, the answer is written on your face and all you wanted was for Steve to notice your discomfort, for him to help—
“I take that as a yes,” Carol mutters audibly as some of Steve’s friends laugh, making your face feel as though it was burning from shame. “Not surprised by that—”
“—Carol,” Steve says in a half arsed attempt to rein his friend in as you shift in your seat once again, your eyes flickering down to your lap as you avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.
“What?” Carol asks Steve as Tommy struggles to keep in his laughter beside you. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“—could you just—”
“—oh c’mon, Steve. We just wanna get to know her. S’only fair. You lost your v card last month so we were just curious about hers.”
Your entire body turns cold. Everything around you blurs, you feel a strange mix of feeling both too hot and too cold as you turn to look at Steve—who you find was already looking at you. Of course you were jealous, of course you were upset about Steve losing his virginity to someone who wasn’t you and of course it felt as though someone had twisted a knife in your gut at the mere thought of it. But it wasn’t just that—it was also the fact he hadn’t told you about it. It made that distance you had felt between you and Steve feel too loud to ignore.
“Oh, are you jealous?” Tommy asks, nudging you as he takes note of the look on your face with glee. “You see that, Stevie? She’s jealous she didn’t get there first—”
“—dude,” Steve interrupts, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks away from you. “Don’t be a dick.”
Despite the fact that Steve had finally stood up for you, you couldn’t help but feel it was half hearted. Almost as though Steve’s heart wasn’t really in it, as though he was more concerned about what his friends would think of him than whether or not they were making you uncomfortable.
Tommy shrugs, the slight smirk tugging on his lips that told you he was absolutely not done being a dick.
“Fine. Whatever,” Tommy mutters with a quick glance your way that Steve doesn’t catch. “Your turn then, Steve.”
There was a brief pause where Steve didn’t say anything. You could feel his eyes on you and for a moment, you wondered if he was about to ask you if you wanted to leave, if he was finally going to put you before his stupid friends. But then Steve shifted beside and you knew that he had looked away.
“Dare,” he says.
You knew almost instantly that Tommy or Carol was going to give him a dare that would somehow upset you. Perhaps he’d dare Steve to make a move on that cheerleader right in front of you, maybe they’d even go upstairs and—
“I dare you to kiss the person sitting to your right,” Tommy says, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he watches Steve’s expression shift. Because the person sitting to Steve’s right—was you.
The first thing that you registered in response to Tommy’s dare was the laughter from his and Steve’s friends, it was Carol’s small glance towards you and the way Steve had gone completely still beside you.
“No,” Steve says simply without even so much as a glance towards you. “Not her. No way.”
The way he said, the finality in his voice made something stir in your gut. Shame, embarrassment, humiliation—you weren’t sure. Perhaps it was a sick connotation of all three that was stirring in your stomach.
Not her, he had said. Like you were the very last person he would ever want to kiss, as though kissing you was in some way repulsive, even. The laughing didn’t help, Steve’s friends muttering to each other about your inexperience made it worse and all the while—Steve Harrington, your best friend since you were five years old, didn't say a damn thing.
And that was your breaking point.
You stand up from the couch, your legs feeling wobbly despite the fact you had only drank lemonade all evening. Your entire body felt hot from embarrassment but now also from the anger that was beginning to rear its ugly head. The anger you had felt towards Steve that you had quietly buried after months of him letting you down, months of cancelled plans, months of him putting his desire to be liked over his friendship with you. You suddenly felt so angry that your hands shook slightly and you knew you had to leave because you were seconds away from bursting into tears.
“Oh, look how upset she is Steve,” Carol cooes cruelly, gleefully watching you as Tommy tries (and fails) not to laugh. “She looks like she’s going to—”
“—fuck you, Carol,” you spat, white hot anger burning through you now as you turn to look at Steve a final time. You see the panic settle in his eyes as he half rises to his feet—before you walk away from him—walk away from him and his stupid friends, his stupid hair and his stupid handsome face.
You push through the sea of bodies that had congregated in Steve’s living room, not caring that someone had smashed one of Elizabeth’s priceless vases or the fact that there was a large stain in one of the rugs. All you cared about was getting out of Steve’s house and as far away from him as possible.
You were almost successful. You were halfway down his driveway when the sound of Steve calling out your name as he stumbled after you reached your ears.
“Wait—” he calls out, almost frantic as he manages to catch up with you, his fingers slipping around your wrist in an effort to stop you from leaving. “Let me just—”
“—just what, Steve?” You snap, unable to keep the anger and hurt out of your voice as you turn to face him fully. You almost wish you hadn’t because the look on his face was so desperate that the thought of pulling away from him almost hurt.
“I just—I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says quickly, his chest heaving as he looks back at you. In all the years he had known you, of all the years of friendship he had only seen you angry once before. That time you had spent all day making cupcakes for a bake sale just for Steve to accidentally drop an entire batch of the perfectly iced cakes. You had been so annoyed at him you didn’t talk to him for almost two days.
But that was nothing—nothing—compared to the look on your face as you stare at Steve and wait for him to explain himself.
“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, I just—”
“—oh my god, do you seriously think I’m pissed off about the dare?” You ask, unable to keep the anger out of your voice as you wrench your arm away from him.
Steve looks slightly hurt at the loss of contact and opens his mouth to respond but you’re quick to cut him off. “I don’t give a fuck about the dare, Steve. If the thought of kissing me grosses you out then it—it’s whatever.”
“But I—”
“—I’m pissed because—because you let your ‘friends’ treat me like shit and you didn’t say a damn thing about it!”
Steve looks stunned and that only makes the anger coursing through you grow hotter.
“I tried but they—”
“—well, you didn’t fucking try hard enough!” you exclaim angrily, your voice breaking as the first of your tears started to fall. You felt pathetic, humiliated as tears spilled down your cheeks but most of all—you were heartbroken that your best friend and the guy you were head over heels in love had become a stranger to you.
Something in Steve’s expression shifts at the sight of your tears. His face softens as he says your name and takes a tentative step closer but you step back. The dejected look on his face when he realises you had stepped away from him seemed to break something in you.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he tried to explain and you could almost feel his panic—the way he was looking at you, the way his fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for you. “I didn’t think they’d go that far—”
“—but they did and you didn’t s-stop them,” you say, your bottom lip quivering slightly as you harshly wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your cardigan.
“I’m so—”
You knew he was about to say sorry—you knew it by the look on his face and you knew that if he did, that you would want to forgive him. The way you had forgiven him for every other transgression over the past few months because he was your best friend and you loved him.
And so, you had to stop him before you forgave him once more.
“—you’re a coward, Steve,” you say in a voice laced with anger, hurt and every emotion you had been bottling for the past few months while Steve Harrington quietly forgot about you. “You’re a coward and I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”
The silence that greeted your words was one of the loudest you had ever heard.
You weren’t even sure if you meant it but you couldn’t take it back now.
Steve looked as though his entire world had come crumbling down around him, as though your words had been a dagger that you had driven directly through his chest. You knew it would hurt him, you knew it would upset him and perhaps that was exactly why you had said it.
“Oh,” Steve says thickly, swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat as he looked back at you, his big, puppy dog-like eyes almost pleading with you to take back the words that had just left your lips. “I—I see.”
I see. That was all he had to say. After well over a decade of friendship, after years and years of always having your back, years of ‘I’ll always be here’ and seeing each other's worst and best days—it would all end over two little words.
You waited. You waited for Steve to argue with you, for him to beg for your forgiveness like he had the last time you were mad at him. But he didn’t say a damn thing.
“See you around, Harrington,” you mutter, his surname feeling foreign on your tongue as turn around and walk away from him before you could burst into tears.
And the days that followed, Steve didn’t even try to talk to you.
And so, from a distance you watched as Steve Harrington morphed into King Steve. You watched him be a completely different person, watched as he continued to surround himself with people like Tommy and Carol. You heard the parties he threw next door when his parents were out of town that carried on until the early hours or had to be shut down by cops, you heard the way girls he slept with spoke about him and eventually you heard all about him and Nancy Wheeler.
You couldn’t deny that hearing about Steve’s life through rumours hurt. Nor could you deny that the ending of your friendship had devastated you in a way that you hadn’t been expecting and that watching Steve carry on as normal, seemingly completely unaffected by the end of a decade-long friendship, hurt just as much.
You had almost knocked on his door on his birthday but had stopped yourself. You told yourself not to dwell on the past, told yourself that things changed despite the fact your feelings for Steve never seemed to waver and the fact that you still loved him despite everything.
But that all changed one night in your senior year.
You were drifting in and out of sleep, the rain hammering down outside, smacking loud against your window kept rousing you. But it wasn’t until a particularly loud smack against the glass that you finally jolted awake.
You blink, rubbing your eyes sleepily as you glance towards the window to see if it was hailing.
But you nearly scream at the sight of a shadowy figure standing on the garage roof just outside your window.
You open your mouth to yell for your mom but when you realise it was Steve Harrington—drenched to the bone, rapping his knuckles harshly against the glass—all thoughts of yelling out leave you.
Instead, you don’t move. You barely even breathe. You were in some sort of state of shock at the sight of him at your bedroom window after all these years.
You manage to stand on legs that feel wobbly and unsure of themselves, walking cautiously over your carpet and towards the window.
And when you finally see his face clearly through the window pane—at the dark bruise covering his eye, the blood spatter over his face and look of quiet desperation in his eyes, you unlock your bedroom window without much thought.
Steve stumbles into your room, water dripping down from his hair and his clothes onto your carpet. But you’re too busy gasping at the state of his face to worry about that right now.
“H-hi,” he stammers out, his teeth chattering and his cheeks slightly pink from the cold.
Hi? Was that all he had to say after years of silence? After forgetting about you like it was easy? After he didn’t fight for you?
You had the urge to yell, to scream at him but the sight of his beaten face stops you.
“Steve, your face—”
“—that bad, huh?” Steve asks, trying to smile but instead wincing in pain.
“Sit down,” you tell him, watching as Steve’s eyes flicker around your room, taking in everything that had changed over the past almost two years—the colour of your walls, the posters you had hung up, the polaroids of you and Steve you had taken down. “I um, I’ll get something for your face.”
Steve nods, wincing again as he sits down carefully on the edge of your bed, trying not to completely soak your sheets with rain water as he does so.
You take a deep breath before you turn and leave your bedroom to grab the first aid kit from your family bathroom. You’re careful to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake your parents who would certainly have a few questions about why your former best friend is sitting on your bed with a bruised and battered face.
You walk quietly back into your bedroom with the first aid kit in your hand to find Steve hadn’t moved from the edge of your bed. But he was holding your stuffed teddy bear in his hands—the one he had won for you at Hawkins Fair when you were twelve years old, the one he had called ‘Little Stevie’ before handing it to you with a bright smile on his face.
You close the door softly behind you and Steve glances up, carefully placing Little Stevie back down onto your bed.
“You still have him,” Steve murmurs quietly as you sink down onto the bed beside him.
Your face warms and you hope it isn’t noticeable as you open up the first aid kit.
Truthfully, you hadn’t thrown out anything that was connected to Steve Harrington. The polaroids were tucked away safely in your jewellery box and even that shell necklace he had made you when he was seven was in a memory box in your closet. You just couldn’t bring yourself to throw anything away after the end of your friendship but you also couldn’t look at them anymore without something inside of you breaking every time you looked around your room. Little Stevie was the only thing you hadn’t put away—because truthfully, you couldn’t sleep without it.
But you don’t tell Steve that.
Instead, you let the silence surround the two of you as you pull out several small gauze pads and antiseptic. Steve lets you work silently as outside, the rain continues to fall, the wind howls and there’s a distant rumble of thunder.
You start first by pouring a small amount of antiseptic onto a gauze pad before you gently dab it over the small gash on his cheek. He winces and hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull away.
“What happened?” You ask him quietly a few minutes later, the cuts and blood wiped from his face as you carefully inspect the bruise around his eye.
The sight makes something tighten in your chest. Though you hadn’t talked to Steve in two years, of course you heard the arguments that happened next door. Usually after one of Steve’s parties had left the Harrington home in a state. Steve had never had the best relationship with his father as Danny Harrington expected only the best from his son and Steve had never been able to live up to that, even from a young age. But though they argued, you had never thought it would escalate to something physical.
“It—it wasn’t your dad, was it?”
“No,” Steve says quickly, too quickly which makes you look at him carefully, wondering whether or not he was lying for your sake. “Really. It wasn’t my dad. I swear. It—it was Billy Hargrove."
You blink. You hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, ever since Billy Hagrove had strolled into Hawkins High like had already owned the place he and Steve had sort of rivalry going on but you weren’t aware it was bad enough for Billy to do something like this.
“But why—”
“—it’s a long story,” Steve says, jaw tight and looking away from you briefly.
“That’s it?” You ask him, pulling away from him as you look from his face to the bloody gauzes that sat in your lap. “You come into my room after two years of ignoring me—”
Steve’s expression falters and he says your name but you shake your head, getting to your feet and causing the first aid kit to fall to the floor at your feet.
“—no Steve, it—it’s bullshit! Okay? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to watch you slowly decide to just not give a shit about me anymore?”
Steve swallows at the sound of anger in your voice. He knew it had been coming and he knew he deserved it but he didn’t know what to say. Because there was no excuse, he knew that he had hurt you in immeasurable ways and he knew he most likely did not deserve your forgiveness. But he wanted—needed—to try anyway.
“I know I—”
“—and now you show up years later with a busted face and expect me to—”
“—I thought Billy was going to kill me tonight.”
That shuts you up. Your eyes widen and you look at Steve with a horrified expression and in your stunned silence, Steve decides to keep talking.
“I had a moment where he was landing hit after hit after hit I thought—I thought ‘this is it’ and all I could—all I could think about was—it was you.”
You’re completely taken aback, you were so stunned that you almost forgot to be angry. Almost.
“All I could think about was how—how I never got to make things right with you and how much time I wasted caring about stupid shit like being popular. Caring too much about what other people thought of me when it really didn’t matter. When I already had someone who liked me for me. And instead I—I treated you terribly, I strung you along and I should never have done that. Not to you. You didn’t deserve it.”
Your eyes stung and you had to look away, not wanting Steve to see how close to tears you were. Because the truth was that you missed him. You missed so much that it was almost a physical ache in your chest. You missed the way Steve could make you laugh even when you really didn’t want to, the way he used to sometimes snort a little when he laughed really hard and the way you could be completely yourself around him.
Steve says your name again but you don’t look at him, instead you sniffle and look down at the first aid kit you had dropped, at the various medical supplies that were now scattered over your floor.
But before you could even think about picking them up, Steve is already doing it for you. You swallow, taking the opportunity to wipe your eyes as Steve bends down, carefully putting the gauze, the bandages and antiseptic bottle back into the box.
He snaps it shut, placing the kit onto bed beside him before he finally looks back at you.
“I’m really fucking sorry,” he tells you, the sincerity in his face making your throat tighten. “For everything. For being an idiot, for trying to be someone I’m not. For letting you down, for making you feel like I didn’t give a shit about you. I’m sorry for not standing up for you that night. I’m sorry I didn’t try and fix things after and I—I’m sorry for not saying all this sooner.”
You nod, your bottom lip trembling slightly as you look back at him, slowly sinking back down onto the bed beside him. “You really hurt me, Steve.”
Steve swallows at that, his eyes turning glassy as he looks back at you. “I know. I was—a colossal idiot. There’s no excuse for it. I hurt you and I wish I could take it all back but I can’t. All I’ve wanted to do these past few years is make things right with you but—but you were right, I was a coward. I was scared—terrifed—that you hated me or—”
“—I could never hate you,” you tell him.
Steve’s eyes soften and he looks back at you with a hopeful expression.
“Really?”
You nod, flexing your fingers against your bedsheet nervously as you look at him. “Really. I was hurt, upset and I was angry but I never hated you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. Not even for a second. I just—I was worried about you. I didn’t want you to become like Tommy or whoever else you were hanging out with because I know that’s not really you.”
“I was still an asshole,” Steve says thickly, the shame evident on his face as he looks down at his lap. “I still did things and said things that hurt people and I can’t take any of it back.”
“No,” you agree quietly. “You can’t.”
It’s quiet then between the two of you—the only sound is that of the thunder rumbling outside. There’s a flash of lightning outside your window but still, neither of you say anything.
“I’m sorry too,” you tell him quietly as you look down at your lap. “For saying I didn’t want to be your friend anymore. That—that wasn’t true I just—I knew I would forgive you straight away if I didn’t.”
Steve shakes his head, corners of his mouth twitching as he hesitantly lifts a hand to rest on your shoulder. His touch alone sends something hot and electric coursing through your body. “Please don’t be sorry,” he tells you. “I should have grovelled for forgiveness and I didn’t. I was—fuck—I was such an idiot that night. I didn’t have your back the way I should have done and I’ll never forgive myself for that. For upsetting you, for making you cry, for letting people talk about you like that.”
“You have no idea how much I think about that night and hate myself for what I did and what I didn’t do. How fucking stupid I feel for letting the best thing that has ever happened to me walk away without a fight.”
You turn to look at him, your expression softening slightly. “Steve—”
“—no, I mean it,” Steve insists, turning to face you fully now as he grabs one of your hands and squeezes it gently. Water drips down from his hair and onto your skin but you couldn’t care less as his touch warms something in you. “You are and I’m sorry it took me losing you and almost dying to realise that. I was just—I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was stupid. So stupid. And I think—I think I was scared to be honest with myself.”
Your brows furrow at that while your heart pounds against your chest. “Honest about what?” You ask him quietly.
Steve looks at you for a long moment before he reaches for your other hand. You let him take it as the look in his eyes keeps you rooted to the spot.
“That I was starting to fall in love with you and I got scared.”
All the air leaves your lungs at that admission. Out of all the things you had expected Steve to say when he climbed in through your bedroom window, you had never in your wildest dreams expected him to say that.
“I was—shit—it’s so fucking stupid now that I think about it but I just—those feelings scared the shit out of me. I mean—you were my best friend and yet, I was always fucking thinking about you. And so, I did all stupid shit to try and forget about you and it never worked. I partied, I listened to Tommy when I fucking shouldn’t have, I messed around because I thought I’d get over you.”
“I even lost my fucking virginity while wishing it was you beneath me the entire time. Nothing worked—nothing ever worked and so I—I thought distance would help but it didn’t and I let you down. I made promises and didn’t keep them. I made you think you were unimportant to me when you were the most important person in my life.”
“Steve—”
“—and that night—the night when Tommy gave me that dare—I didn’t kiss you because I was grossed out by you. God no, far from it—of course I wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t wanna do it if it was just a dare.”
“Steve—”
“—I just—I wanted it to be real and not at a party, not in front of Tommy and Carol or any one of those other assholes and—”
“Steve!”
Steve shuts up almost instantly. His eyes were wide and his hands were still holding yours tightly as though he was trying to ground himself.
You look back at him—at the guy you had loved for longer than you could remember—and you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore.
“You know—I never threw anything away,” you tell him quietly. “I just—I couldn’t bear to look at things that reminded me of you because it hurt too much. Because missing you was like—it was like a constant physical pain. Something I couldn’t get rid.”
“Really?” Steve asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you say. “I even kept the shell necklace.”
Steve blinks once, twice before he laughs and the sound brings you the sort of warmth that even fire couldn’t ever bring you. You felt it in every pore, every nerve, every cell in your body. It made you feel lighter, made the storm outside feel insignificant.
“Why would you keep that?” Steve asks, still laughing quietly to himself. “It was so heavy and—”
“—because you made it for me,” you say simply with a small smile. “And that—that meant it was important to me.”
Steve blinks. He looks back at you with an unreadable expression as his thumb drags itself across the skin of your hand and seems to steal the air from your lungs.
“I made you it because the shells reminded me of you,” Steve murmurs fondly, eyes seeming to shine as he looks back at you. “I thought the shells were pretty and—I thought you were pretty too. Prettier than the shells, obviously.”
Your face feels hot and it was near impossible to fight back the smile on your face now.
“You told me you were practising for art class,” you say quietly, head tilting to the side as you look back at him.
Steve smiles a little before shaking his head. “I lied. I was trying really hard to impress you but seven year old me had no game.”
You laugh then and you see the way Steve’s eyes light up, the way he can’t help but smile when he hears your laugh, when he was finally the reason behind it again.
“You didn’t have to do anything to impress me Steve,” you tell him after a moment with a soft smile. “You already did.”
There was silence again and then—
“Do you mean—”
“—yeah,” you breathe out, unable to look away from him as you squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I—I’ve been in love with you for a really long fucking time, Steve.”
The moment that follows felt as though it lasted for a lifetime. Steve was looking at you, seeming to forget how to breathe and you begin to wonder if you had been too forward when one of Steve’s hands slips out of yours to gently cup your face.
“The feeling’s pretty fucking mututal,” he murmurs before his lips seal over yours in a kiss that took your breath away.
Everything seems to slow down around you. You were vaguely aware of the first aid kit clattering to the floor as you kiss him back with no hesitation. your fingers sliding into his still damp hair while his hands gently cradle the back of your head.
You’re already breathless, unable to think of the world that existed out of Steve Harrington’s lips against yours—no thoughts about the rain splattering against the window or of the lightning that flashed across the sky outside. Because everything seems so dull in comparison to Steve’s lips moving against yours, against his hands that you were holding you like you were something sacred.
He was the first to pull away—catching his breath as his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to your lips that were wet, swollen and so inviting that he already wanted to dive back in again.
But he also knew he had to earn your forgiveness first and that wouldn’t involve being twisted in the sheets together.
“Let me take you out tomorrow night,” Steve murmurs, his thumb gently wiping away a smear of his saliva from your lips and trying not to give in. “Make up for lost time, yeah?”
You smile a little as you consider his offer, your eyes flickering over the bruise on his face. “Let’s wait until the bruise fades first, yeah?”
“Oh,” Steve says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his face as he looks back at you. “Yeah um, totally I—”
“—but I wouldn’t be opposed to a movie night,” you say with a small smile. “If you were to come up to my bedroom window again with a few movies I probably wouldn’t say no.”
Steve blinks but then—he smiles and he looked so devastatingly handsome that it was difficult to not pull him in for another kiss.
“It’s a date,” he tells you, leaning in to press a gentle but firm kiss to your forehead. “Little Stevie can join us too.”
You laugh and Steve can’t help but join you—thanking his lucky stars that you had opened your window for him.
i want you more than any stupid song could ever say
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (3.2k words)
summary: steve wants to tell you how he feels, but he can’t find the right words. robin gives him the idea to dedicate a song to you on the wsqk radio station, but not a single stupid song can explain just how he feels about you.
tags/warnings: fluffff!!!! yearning loverboy stevie my fav ahhh. just cute stuff and love confessions and kissing and fluff and happy endings yay!!! set june 1987. eddie's still alive cause idgaf!!! alcohol and drug usage (weed), mild suggestive themes. i love the new olivia album sm!!!
–
steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.
he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.
he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.
it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.
and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.
robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.
steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.
robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.
“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.
“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.
there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.
“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.
“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.
“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.
“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”
“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.
he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.
“really?”
“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”
steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.
but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.
he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”
robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.
“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.
“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”
“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.
“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”
“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”
“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.
“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.
“save it for tonight.”
–
the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.
“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.
he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.
steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.
“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.
“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”
“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”
“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.
“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”
“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”
“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.
“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.
to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.
he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.
the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.
“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.
“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.
he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”
–
he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.
the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.
go big or go home, right?
the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.
he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.
he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?
steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.
he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.
robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?
by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.
he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.
but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.
he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.
“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”
he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.
“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.
“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.
“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”
“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”
“oh.”
the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.
“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”
“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”
steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”
the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.
“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.
“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”
“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”
he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.
“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.
“hm?” he looks puzzled.
“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”
you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.
“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.
“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.
“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”
you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.
“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction.
then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.
“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”
“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.
“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”
he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”
a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.
“can i kiss you?”
“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.
steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.
he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.
it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.
steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.
“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”
“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”
the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”
“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.
“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”
“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”
he turns back quickly. “yeah?”
“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.
“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”
“i love you, too!”
steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.
“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”
steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.
–
a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!
do yk that trend where girls prank by getting ready like they have a date or ask their boyfriend abour it but there never was a date planned so the boyfriend thinks they forgot? would you maybe be able to write this with Joe?
"The prank"
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Joe Keery x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆
english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!
summary: You pull a viral TikTok prank on Joe;getting fully dressed up for a fancy date that never existed. Joe immediately spirals, convinced he forgot something important
warnings: Fluff, pranking, mild language, established relationship
You had seen the trend everywhere on TikTok for weeks. Girls getting all glammed up, telling their boyfriends they had big plans, only for the guys to panic because no such date existed. The reactions were gold; some guys sweating bullets, others immediately trying to salvage the night. You couldn’t stop laughing at the videos, especially the ones where the boyfriend looked genuinely heartbroken thinking he’d messed up.
And with Joe as your boyfriend? The idea was too perfect to pass up.
Joe was the definition of attentive, even with his chaotic schedule he always made time for you. But you knew he sometimes worried he wasn’t doing enough.
This prank felt like harmless fun that might even end with him feeling extra appreciated.
You waited for a friday night when he had a full day of meetings. As soon as Joe texted that he was heading home, you sprang into action.
The black dress came out first, the one he loved, with the perfect fit and that thigh high slit. You spent nearly an hour on your hair, creating soft waves that framed your face just right. Makeup was next: flawless winged liner, a bold but elegant lip, highlighter that caught the light. You even put on the perfume he’d bought you for your last anniversary, the one that made him bury his face in your neck every time.
By the time you heard the front door open, you were spritzing one last mist and humming along to the romantic playlist you’d queued up.
“Babe? I’m home!” Joe’s familiar voice called out, warm and tired from the long day.
You smiled at your reflection, heart racing with excitement.
“In the bedroom!”
The door opened and you turned slowly, giving him the full effect.
Joe froze in the doorway, keys still in hand, eyes widening as he took you in. His messy brown hair was slightly disheveled from running his hands through it all day, and he was still in the casual button down and jeans he’d worn to meetings.
The look on his face, pure awe mixed with something else, made your stomach flutter.
“Thanks!” you replied brightly, smoothing the front of your dress. “I figured I’d get ready early so we wouldn’t be late.”
Joe’s expression shifted and the easy smile faltered for a split second.
“Late… right… Yeah, of course.”
You watched him closely, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, he was already spiraling, you could see the gears turning behind those expressive hazel eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Let me just… jump in the shower real quick. Won’t take long.”
Before you could respond, he disappeared into the bathroom. The second the door clicked shut, you let out a quiet giggle and checked your phone. TikTok was already open, ready to record his reaction later if it got really good.
Under the running water, Joe was quietly panicking.
He scrubbed shampoo into his hair aggressively.
Had he forgotten a date? Anniversary? No, that was months away. Your birthday? No. Some special milestone? He racked his brain, replaying every conversation from the past few weeks. You’d mentioned wanting a nice night out soon, but nothing specific. Had he agreed to something while half distracted in a meeting?
He emerged ten minutes later, hair still damp, wearing the t-shirt he knew you loved. The one that made his eyes pop.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, forcing a confident grin. “Where are we headed again?”
You tilted your head innocently.
“You pick, babe. You made the reservation, remember?”
The color drained from his face for half a second before he recovered.
“Right… Yeah… Of course I did.”
He pulled out his phone, pretending to check details while you touched up your lipstick. You caught him frantically typing texts under the table, probably calling in favors. Joe was nothing if not resourceful.
“Alright,” he announced a minute later, pocketing his phone. “We’re good, let’s head out.”
The drive to the restaurant was filled with light conversation. You asked about his meetings, and he told you a funny story about one of the producers spilling coffee everywhere, but his hand on your thigh was a little tighter than usual, and every few minutes he’d glance over like he was making sure you were still happy.
At a red light he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
“You really do look amazing tonight. I’m the luckiest guy alive, you know that?”
Your heart melted a little. “I know.”
He’d somehow scored a table at La Luna, one of your favorite upscale Italian spots downtown. The hostess greeted you both warmly, and you were seated at a cozy corner table with string lights overhead and a perfect view of the city skyline sparkling below.
Joe was in full boyfriend mode, he ordered your favorite wine without hesitation, reminded the waiter about your mild nut allergy, and kept the conversation flowing effortlessly. Appetizers arrived and he made sure you got the first bite of everything.
Halfway through the main course, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You set your fork down, covering your mouth as laughter spilled out.
“Okay, okay. I can’t do this anymore.”
Joe looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”
“The prank.”
You pulled out your phone and showed him the TikTok trend, scrolling through video after video of girls in glam and panicked boyfriends.
“There was no date, I made it up to see how you’d react.”
Joe stared at the screen, then at you, then back at the screen.
Realization dawned, followed by a slow, disbelieving laugh as he ran a hand through his hair.
“You evil genius,” he groaned, but his eyes were sparkling with relief and amusement. “I was having a full existential crisis in the shower. I thought I’d forgotten our anniversary or some huge thing. I was ready to propose on the spot just to make up for it.”
You burst out laughing. “Wait, really?”
“Not right this second, though don’t tempt me but yeah. I spiraled hard, texted three different people to get this table. I owe favors now.”
He shook his head, still chuckling. “You really went all out. The dress, the hair, the perfume… I’m both impressed and slightly terrified of how good you are at this.”
You reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m sorry, babe, it was supposed to be funny, but I didn’t expect you to go full hero mode and save the night like this. You’re too good to me.”
Joe laced your fingers together, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.
The candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the soft smile that made your chest feel warm.
“Nah,” he said quietly. “I just never want to be the guy who takes you for granted. My schedule’s been insane lately, and I know I’m gone a lot. If a prank is what it takes for me to step up and give you the night you deserve, then… mission accomplished, I guess?”
The waiter cleared your plates, and the conversation shifted into something deeper and more comfortable. Joe told you about the new script he was reading; something quirky and character driven that reminded him of the early days when you first started dating. You shared updates on your latest project, a branding job for a small music label that excited you because it felt personal.
Dessert arrived, tiramisu to share and Joe fed you the first bite with a playful grin.
“You know,” he said between bites, “as stressful as the last couple hours were, this has been one of the best nights we’ve had in a while. No distractions, just us.”
You nodded, feeling a little guilty but mostly grateful. “I love how you always try so hard, even when you think you messed up. It means everything.”
Joe leaned back, studying you with that intense, affectionate gaze he reserved only for you. “You make it easy to try hard, being with you is the one thing that feels completely right in all this chaos.”
After dinner, instead of heading straight home, Joe suggested a walk along the nearby waterfront. The city lights reflected on the water, and a cool breeze made you shiver and he immediately shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, pulling you close with an arm around your waist.
“You’re cold.,, we can go back if you want,” he murmured against your hair.
“I’m perfect right here,” you replied, leaning into him.
You walked slowly, talking about everything and nothing…
“I still can’t believe you pulled that off,” Joe laughed. “I’m telling my band about this. They’re gonna give me so much shit.”
“Good, you deserve it for being so adorable when you panic.”
He stopped walking and turned to face you, both hands on your waist. “Adorable, huh? I was one step away from googling ‘how to recover from forgetting a date’ in the car.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, Joe, even when you’re spiraling.”
“I love you more,” he whispered, leaning in.
The kiss was soft at first, then deeper, full of the relief and affection that had built up all evening. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Next time you want a fancy night, just say it,” he said. “No pranks required. Though I have to admit… this one turned out pretty great.”
Back at the apartment, the energy between you had shifted into something warm and intimate. You kicked off your heels while Joe dimmed the lights and put on the same playlist from earlier. He pulled you into the living room for a slow dance, even though there wasn’t much space.
The night wound down with the two of you curled up on the couch, your dress traded for one of his oversized t-shirts. Joe’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm as you talked softly about nothing important. Every so often he’d press a kiss to your temple or your shoulder, like he couldn’t stop reminding himself you were there.
Eventually you confessed more about the prank, how you’d planned it for days, practiced your innocent face in the mirror, even debated whether to go with the red dress instead.
Joe listened with mock betrayal. “The black dress was a lethal choice, you knew that was my weakness.”
“Exactly,” you teased.
He rolled you over gently so you were facing him, his expression turning sincere.
“Hey… seriously, thank you for tonight. Not the prank part…the reminder that we should do this more. no excuses.”
You cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “Deal, no more forgetting pranks… probably.”
He laughed and kissed you again, long and slow, the kind of kiss that made everything else fade away.
As you drifted off later that night tangled up in each other, Joe’s arm securely around your waist, you couldn’t help but smile. The TikTok trend had been fun, but the real win was the way it brought you closer, reminding both of you how lucky you were to have someone who cared that deeply.
Joe wasn't perfect, neither were you… but nights like this? They made the chaos worth it.
hi! i love your writing! could you possibly do a request for when reader and joe fall in love on set during stranger things? reader meets joe during season 4 and plays steve’s love interest throughout the end of the series but joe falls in love with reader (&vice versa) in real life as well?
love on set
pairing: joe keery x actress! reader
word count: 3.5k
han’s notes: loved this! i do have this fic that could technically serve as a part two to this so check it out once u finish this! -also this isn’t proofread and i started writing this in past tense for some reason then subconsciously kept switching to present tense. i tried to catch most of the tense switches but if there’s any i miss as i wrote ignore it asdfjkglf
when you got the call that you landed the role in your favorite show, you knew your life was about to change. you just didn’t know exactly how much it would.
while your agent rambled on about the role and the schedule for filming and meetings, your mind went into overdrive.
you told yourself this was like any other acting gig. sure, you hadn’t had many, you were still starting out. but your were going to be joining a show you had watched since the beginning in its fourth season as a new character. the stakes felt high.
your character, katherine miller, was the new girl in hawkins. already, you related to her. you just hoped that, like catherine, you weaved your way into the group seamlessly.
when you showed up to the table read, you thought you were going to puke from nerves. but, to your surprise, that feel disappeared the second you walked intro the room.
never had you met such a kind and welcoming group of people. they instantly made you feel like you had been there the entire run of the show.
you thankfully got along instantly with maya and joe, who you’d share most of your scenes with, turning their on screen duo into a trio.
what surprised you the most was joe. he was the first one to approach you, the first to invite you to dinner with the core group, the first to fill you in on any inside joke thrown around.
joe was just a good guy. the kind of good no one believed existed anymore. the kind that seems unattainable, that lived only in female written romance novels.
it was overwhelming, really. you sometimes had to discreetly pinch yourself when spending time with him.
which you did a lot of.
you sort of had to. your character, katherine (or as steve so lovingly called her, kat), was not only the newest addition to the monster hunting group in season four. but she was also the new love interest of steve harrington. one meant to put an end to the tired love triangle between him, nancy, and jonathan.
though, hanging out with joe never felt forced or strictly professional. the two of you had a lot in common, but at the same time perfectly balanced each other out. maya often joked that you two were like yin and yang.
your relationship with joe shifted like the seasons.
when you met, there was a period of time you spent learning each other. learning not only how the other person worked and ticked on set, but learning each other.
joe learned your coffee order, you learned which toppings he preferred on his pizza but would settle for anything to please everyone else. you learned his favorite niche bands and albums and he learned your favorite authors and foreign films.
you danced around each other in a warming newness, equal parts shy and welcoming. all the while, something more was blooming. something beautiful beneath the surface, like spring flowers.
by the summer months, you had fallen into a routine.
summer in georgia was hot and sticky, making set somewhat hellish. but the june sun couldn’t compare to the warmth you felt standing next to joe.
in a way, joe radiated warm energy. he was like the sun and you were some planet drawn to him, orbiting him in awe.
joe also filled you with a different sort of warmth. the kind that settled in deep, causing butterflies to erupt in your belly and your heart to skip a beat.
it was just your characters, you’d tell yourself at the end of the day, when you were melting with exhaustion into the chair in the makeup trailer.
when you caught joe’s soft gaze lingering a little too long, when he smiled brightly at you, when he would playfully nudge you between takes. it was just method acting. right?
as your characters fell in love in small moments between the bigger plot, it all felt a little too real. when the cameras cut, the feelings didn’t fade.
you almost wanted to chase that feeling. you wanted the scenes to keep rolling, if that meant you could stay in joe’s embrace. you could keep hearing his soft professions of love.
even if it wasn’t joe talking. even if, in reality, it was steve saying those things to kat.
meanwhile, joe was going through it.
he liked to think of himself as a professional. he never caught feelings for a coworker, in acting or otherwise.
but now, as he stood on set with you without the cameras even rolling, his heart raced. he felt lighter around you, happier in a quiet, content way.
“you’re in looooove.” maya had told him jokingly one morning before you had gotten to set.
“you’re ridiculous. we’re just best friends. who, you know, happen to play two characters falling in love. if it’s convincing, it just means i’m doing my job right.” joe insisted.
but maya shook her head. “you don’t need to do your job when the camera isn’t rolling. not to mention when you’re not even on set. face it, joseph.”
joe sat quietly, letting maya’s words settle in while the girl proceeded while a dramatic wailing of “so this is love” from cinderella.
joe was conflicted. he had never had the lines blur for him while acting. he thought back to previous on screen love interests. did he feel this way when he and natalia shared romantic scenes? or when his characters in other projects had to flirt or kiss someone?
but he kept getting the same answer. no. joe had never felt this way while acting in romantically driven scenes.
then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
fuck. he was falling in love with you.
joe decided, at least for the time being, he would keep his discovery to himself. the last thing he wanted was to cross boundaries, ruining your friendship and making you uncomfortable at your place of work all in one fell swoop.
but there were moments when joe wanted to risk it all. moments that came all too often.
like during downtime on set on long days, when you and joe sat cross-legged on the ground in the corner of set, knees knocking together as you played cards to pass the time. and you won go fish again, smiling widely as you laid down your last match and wiggled your shoulders excitedly. it took everything in joe not to lean in and close the small gap between you, kissing the grin off your face.
instead, joe settled for smiling at you fondly, letting the feelings simmer inside unbearably.
or when you were at joe’s apartment in a small town outside of atlanta on a night off. the two of you a bottle of wine in, music playing softly from a speaker and joe’s guitar laying across your lap.
your fingers strum, playing a chord you completely made up yourself. truthfully, it sounds awful, and you know it. you’re just goofing off. but it was music to joe’s ears.
you play something wonky that bounces off the walls and laugh, making something twist pleasantly in joe’s chest. he echoes your laugh and, against his better judgement, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.
you meet his gaze and blush.
“how do i sound, mr. music man?”
joe snorts softly. “horrendous.”
you gasp playfully. “rude!”
the two of you giggle before you knock your shoulder into his.
“if i’m so horrendous, teach me.”
joe’s heart leapt in his chest. he moves to make room in front of him, pats the cushion. you bite the inside of your cheek and roll your eyes, but slot yourself in front of him nonetheless.
as joe wraps his arms around you and the guitar, he guides your hands along the strings. your faces are inches from each other, enough for his breath to fan across your cheek.
both of you are trying to keep your cool, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re both going through it.
at one point, after a little while of trying and failing to play something, you sighed defeatedly. you throw your head back against joe’s shoulder with a groan.
“i have zero musical bones in my body.”
joe chuckles turning his head to look down on you. he prayed you couldn’t feel his heart pounding against your back.
“you just gotta keep practicing, sweetheart. we’ll get you there.”
you roll your head to the side, looking up at joe. but your faces end up closer than anticipated. your noses almost brush and your breath catches in your throat.
you don’t know how long you hold each other’s gazes, but joe’s eyes flicker down to your lips and something snaps in him. he pulls away quick, leaving your cheeks burning.
you clear your throat, moving to the opposite end of the couch after setting his guitar down. joe put on a movie and the tension dissipated as soon as it appeared.
but the elephant in the room remained.
it all finally came to a head a few months later.
it was technically fall. but early fall in georgia was still warm. the nights faded into a slightly cooler breeze that felt a little more like autumn.
you’d had a rough week. you had gotten to the more intense scenes as you neared the end of the season. there was more drama, more action, and, of course, the scene where steve finally confessed to katherine.
you supposed the stress was finally getting to you. it didn’t help that you were tired, thanks to months of long days, late nights, and chaotic sleep schedules.
and you felt like you just couldn’t nail this scene.
your character was overwhelmed. between the “murders”, learning about the dark truths beneath hawkins, looking after max (whom she quickly grew a soft spot for), fighting a dark wizard named vecna, and your feelings for steve. it was all a lot.
and it was something you wanted to perfect.
the pain for steve throwing himself into danger. the desperation of wanting him to see her instead of nancy. all the feelings that bubble over and reach a breaking point before the final battle plans.
you were trying to run your lines in your head while final adjustments were made to the lighting, but your gaze was locked onto joe across the field as he had his hair touched up.
it was take three of your confession scene. one of the duffers called for places, you were sure which. it wasn’t important to you right now.
you took your spot sitting on a crate and joe flashed you a smile and thumbs up, which you halfheartedly reciprocated before locking in.
the scene started with catherine sharpening knives, having a moment alone. steve enters, trying to make a lighthearted joke that doesn’t land. reality was too real at the moment.
“hey, you okay?” joe recited his line effortlessly, falling perfectly into steve’s character.
“how can you joke right now?” you scoff, sharpening the blade harder.
joe, steve, frowned, taking a seat next to you. “talk to me.”
you sighed, pausing your movements.
“you almost died, steve. you could still die. all of us can.”
steve couldn’t help himself. “if you knew many times i’ve almost died in the past few years, you wouldn’t be so upset right now.”
you drop the blade and the sharpener to the ground, both clattering to the ground. the camera moved in closer but you tried to ignore it.
“you don’t get it, do you? you almost died steve. hell, i thought i lost you! and here you are making jokes like we aren’t risking our fucking lives! god, you know, sometimes i really just wish you’d get your head out of your ass. you’re a real idiot sometimes. but i guess we have that in common.”you laughed bitterly, your voice cracking as you dug deeper into the scene.
joe reacted perfectly, just like he’d done when rehearsing and during the previous takes. he wore that confused, hurt puppy dog look of steve’s so well.
“kat-“
“no, steve! this is insanity. i feel like im going crazy. last week, i was passing notes about mr. lewinsky’s bald spot with robin during calculus and eating all the popcorn at family video while you sorted the tapes that keith specifically asked me to do because he said i have been slacking off. and now i’m fighting a monster from another dimension that’s been terrorizing and killing my classmates. all the while, i have to sit here and watch you make heart eyes at snooty nancy wheeler, who totally hates me, by the way!” you had run out of breath by the time you finished your rant, avoiding joe, or well, steve’s gaze.
the tension that settled over you felt all too personal. those lines between real and acting were beginning to bleed together.
“i think i love you, katherine.” steve replied, but all you could hear is joe. blame it on your exhaustion, but this was were you began to fall apart in the scene. every take, without fail.
because you were desperate to hear joe say those words to you, but you knew you would have to settle for his character confessing to yours. you’d have to live vicariously through her.
and that did something to your psyche.
when you lifted your gaze to find joe’s eyes burning into you, so fully in character, it made your heart leap and your mind blank. your mouth opened but your lines didn’t come out.
“CUT!”
it was ross and matt had thrown cold water over you with that one word. they might as well have.
“let’s break for lunch. i think we need a breather to regroup.” one of the called out.
you bolted from set faster than anyone could register. you didn’t even stop for joe as he called out for you.
you found a quiet spot behind one of the farthest trailers parker in the lot and sat there for a while. you talked yourself down, telling yourself it was just nerves and exhaustion taking their toll.
your thoughts are interrupted by a small tray containing a sandwich and some chips being held out in front of your face.
you followed the hand, which you recognized instantly, up the arm and to the face of joe smiling down at you, holding his own plate in his other hand.
“brought you lunch.”
“how’d you find me?” you asked with a slight pout, but still mumbling a thanks as you take the food. joe sat down next to you, placing his plate on his lap.
“i think i would be able to find you anywhere.”
you didn’t let yourself read into that answer, no matter how much if made your stomach flip.
you pick around at the sandwich, peeling the crust off in little bits to eat slowly. joe watched intently for a moment before he knocked his shoulder against yours.
“talk to me. what’s going on?” his voice was so soft it instantly soothed you. it always had that effect on you.
“i’m just tired and overwhelmed. things are getting more intense.” you shrugged.
“what about this scene are you finding so difficult? we can work it out.” you wanted to hate joe. everytime he opened his mouth or he’ll, even existed, he made it more and more difficult not to love him.
and that was something you couldn’t do. and you certainly couldn’t tell him you did. so you shook your head.
“like i said, it’s just a lot. i’ll be fine after lunch and a break.”
joe frowned, unconvinced. see, what you failed to consider was that over the past however many months, joe had come to know you like the back of his hand.
joe knew you in ways your oldest friends or your family didn’t know. he knew that when you lied, your left eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly. he knew that when something was weighing on you, you got that far off look in your eyes and you chewed on the inside corner of your mouth.
all three of which were happening as he looked at you.
“sweetheart, you can tell me anything. you know i’m here for you. always am. i just want you to not bottle anything up that’s bothering you.” joe’s words made your eyes prickle with tears. the softness of them. the sincerity. the stupid pet name guys definitely don’t casually call their best friend slash coworker, and yet, joe had called you that from the beginning.
“fucking hell.” you mumbled as you rubbed your hands harshly down your face. “i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this.”
joe furrowed his brows. “what? the show? acting?”
“no, joe. this. i don’t know how much longer i can be around you.”
joe’s face fell.
“what? did i do something?”
“everything, joe! that’s the problem! everything you do drives me crazy. at first i thought, surely, i only feel this way because my character is in love with yours. but that’s not true at all. and maybe i’m a horrible actress for letting the lines become blurred in my head but you’re you and you’re perfect and i just couldn’t help it!”
joe stared. mouth agape. his brows were knitted together in the way they do when he’s processing something. you knew that look, of course you did. joe wasn’t the only one who knew someone like the back of his hand.
“what exactly are you saying?” joe’s voice softened into a tone you only heard in quiet moments together. when everything was warm and soft around the edges.
“you know what i’m saying joe. and i’m sorry this happened now instead of after filming. i don’t want to make things uncomfortable or ruin our friendship but i’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”
then joe laughed. a bubble of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered idiot to himself under his breath.
you wanted to shrink away. close in on yourself and shrink away into nothingness. you rolled your eyes, mostly in effort to subtly rid the tears forming in them, then go to stand up.
but joe caught your wrist, keeping you sat next to him.
“sorry, i’m the idiot. not you. i mean, hell, do you know how many times i’ve wanted to kiss you these past few months? way too many for me not to grow some balls and do it. but i was scared.”
you could barely hear joe over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. surely, this was some kind of joke. some sick hazing prank on the newbie, month later. but the look in joe’s eyes made any doubt fade.
because you knew joe. you knew that there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body. you knew he loved and cared deeply about anyone that crossed his path. you knew the way he looked at you, that look reserved for only you. this was your joe.
so instead, you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “yeah, you are an idiot.”
“hey! let’s not forget this is a two way street miss i’ve been in love with you for months!” joe defended with a chuckle.
“i never said that i was in love with you.”
“you kinda did.”
“not specifically.”
you watched as joe stared at you, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting fondly. you couldn’t help it, that look he gave you triggered something in you and made you lower all defenses.
“i’m in love with you, joe. a ridiculous amount. so much it hurts.” your voice now came out as a whisper, almost like you were still scared to admit it. because you weren’t scared of loving joe. in fact, it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. you were scared of the repercussions had he not felt the same, even now.
joe’s face crumpled into the softest look you’d ever seen. his hand found your cheek and cradled it gently.
“i’m in love with you too. and i’m a fool for not saying anything sooner. but you’re such an amazing woman and i didn’t want to jeopardize anything we already had. i’d rather pine after you for the rest of my life than tell you how i feel and lose you because you didn’t feel the same.”
“you could never lose me, joe.”
“i know. but the thought of it alone terrified me.” joe brushed his thumb across your cheek and you leaned into his touch.
“from now on, we don’t keep anything from each other. i’m not gonna run away from you or us.”
joe nodded his head. “deal.”
“deal.” you echoed then looked at him expectantly. “okay, you can kiss me now.”
joe laughed, the kind that made your heart feel light, then leaned in.
“i love you.” he said gently before pressing his lips to your in a long awaited kiss. but it was well worth the wait. because really, you’d wait several lifetimes just to kiss joe. you smiled into the kiss at the thought.
dryhumping steve in the squawk van (2k) [smut]
steve teaches you how to use your voice in the bedroom (1.9k) [smut]
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE ! (3.2k) [fluff]
the worst part about hating steve is that he loves how mean you are to him (1.5k)
by @lovebugism
steve gives his curious girlfriend her first hickey (1.2k) [fluff]
by @bruisedboys
you missed the memo (5.6k) [fluff] [angst]
by @suprclark
i think we're alone now (2.6k) [fluff]
by @rimtrbl
steve looking after you (1k) [fluff]
let somebody love you (14k) [fluff]
➸ warnings: timeline is confusing, but the kids are kids. nsfw, smut, unprotected sex in an established relationship, p in v, getting caught without knowing it, strong language, 3.3k word count, slight usage of 'y/n'.
➸ synopsis: In which you and Steve forget to take the kids to the movies.
Max looked at the clock. 5:56pm.
“She hasn’t answered her radio. What if she’s hurt?” El’s voice trembled with worry as Max paced her room, restless.
Max stopped pacing and thought back. Earlier, Hopper had mumbled something about you being at the mall with friends when she asked. But it wasn’t like you to go silent all day.
Max shook her head, trying to stay calm. “I doubt it. Didn’t she tell Hopper she’d be at Starcourt?”
El tilted her head, thinking. "For eight hours? We were supposed to have movie night,” El said softly, “watch The Breakfast Club and meet the boys.”
"I'm worried," El admitted. You were like her older sister and it wasn't like you to go the whole day without calling to say you're going to be late or miss it.
Hopper must've heard the commotion of Max pacing and El overthinking. "Hey, why don't you uh do your spy thingy? Just to check on her, make sure she's fine." He proposed cautiously, and Max looked at him in confusion. El looked between the two.
This must've been Joyce's influence. Usually Hopper's calling you nonstop, deadass trying to hunt you down when you're out too long, but tonight he seems in particularly calm. Which Hopper was definitely faking, but didn't wanna seem too overprotective—even though you are his little girl.
"I can spy." El confirmed with a nod. Hopper nodded back and walked out. "If she's in danger, tell me."
Max grabbed her everything she needed in a whiff. Tissue, a piece of material to use as a blindfold. She grabs the radio off the nightstand and turns it on, frowning until she finds the static.
“I think this works?”
El nods anyway and closes her eyes, sitting cross legged against the edge of her bed. And she focuses.
She walks around the empty dark space her mind puts her in until she hears your voice.
Your soft laugh catches her attention. She can't see you yet. "I can hear her," she tells Max.
From what she can hear, you're definitely with someone. Laughs muffled behind a door she doesn't recognize.
Hesitantly—she pushes the door. The sight in front of her makes her pause.
You're in a bed, under the blanket, your lower bodies blocked as your heads and shoulders are visible and bare.
Clothes are discarded all over the floor. And right on top of you is... Steve Harrington.
You're giggling as Steve places wet, sloppy kisses all over your neck. Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair. Red scratch marks going down his back.
“Steve! Don’t leave a mark, I swear I’ll kill—” you teased breathlessly.
He silenced you with a gentle kiss. “You talk too much. Tell me how you feel.”
You roll your eyes, trying your hardest to keep composure. "You're telling me to talk after telling me i talk too much? Fuck, Steve—right there," you ended with a sigh as he thrusted into you gently, too fucked out to argue further.
"That the spot?" He asked softly with a cheeky grin on his face, looking down at you with those beautiful big brown eyes. You nod with a moan escaping your lips.
El's eyes widen when she realizes that this is what Max was talking about when she was explaining 'happy screams' and what Billy does to women. This was called sex.
She freaks out—feeling as though she's imposed on your privacy, and pulls the blindfold off with shaky hands, looking at Max with widen, confused eyes. "She's with Steve." El whispered, not wanting Hopper to hear so that you don't get in trouble.
Max frowned, crossing her arms. "Steve? Steve Harrington? Are you serious?"
El nods.
"Doing what?"
"Doing that thing you told me about."
"I tell you a lot of things, El—"
"Making happy screams..."
"WHAT? I thought they hated each other!"
You and Steve have never in particularly shown any interest in each other. From what Max knew, you actually hated Steve since middle school. Always calling him a douchebag, always side-eyeing him, always avoiding being teamed with him when the demogorgon shit started up again. When had that changed?
That's what she asked El, and El decided to think back.
"Lately she's been coming home late... It's been happening for the last four weeks."
Suddenly, Max realized.
It was a late January night, a couple days before school started. You, Steve, Jonathan, Robin, and Nancy had planned a sleepover for all the kids, to hang out with them before they started freshman year—and before they had to start work. It was while Dustin and Lucas were arguing with Jonathan and Robin over what movie to watch when Max's eyes drifted to the kitchen. She saw you near the stove waiting for the popcorn to finish and Steve was next to you prepping the bowls, when you touched the hot pot by accident Steve grabbed your hand quick to make sure you hadn't gotten burnt and he even applied an antiseptic—just in case.
But it's the way you two looked at each other that caught Max's eye and the way Steve's hands lingered on yours.
But that couldn't have been when you started seeing each other if that's how Steve looked at you.
Before Max could recall any further, the knock on the front door caught everyone's attention. Hopper groaned as he got up from his chair to open, and El quickly threw away the bloodied tissue she'd used.
Opening the door with a frown, he's greeted with a grinning Dustin, a frowning Mike, a soft Lucas, and a confused Will. "Uh, is Max here?" Lucas asked politely, hoping his girlfriend is here.
"Yeah. She's with El." Hopper muttered and let them in, "i told you that's why El's radio is off," Will told Mike as Mike eased off. He missed his girlfriend so badly and Dustin knew the only way to get him to stop being grumpy, was bring him here. It was a win-win situation—considering Dustin would get to see you, Will would get to see his soon-to-be step dad, Lucas would get to see Max, and Mike would get to see El.
The three boys made their way to El's room. The girls looked up at them in confusion.
"What are you guys doing here? We're supposed to meet at the movie theatre." Max questioned as Lucas kissed her forehead.
"Mike was grumpy and wanted to see El," Lucas muttered as he looked at Mike smiling wide after El hugged him.
Dustin looked around with a smile.
But when Max told him that you weren't here, his smile turned upside down, "what do you mean she's not here! Where is she then?"
"With Steve, she hasn't been answering her radio." El whispered after letting Mike kiss her cheek. Will joined everyone in El's bedroom when Hopper went back to watching Hawaii Five-0. Lucas held onto Max from behind as Mike stayed at El's side. Will watched Dustin pace around the room from the doorway. "Why is she with Steve?" Mike questioned curiously, he didn't know you had grown fond of Steve—as you were always much closer with Jonathan rather.
"We think they're... seeing each other." Max admitted, and Dustin stopped pacing. "You 'think?' They've been together for like half a year now!" He said, making everyone turn to him, El shushed him while Will made sure Hopper didn't hear.
"How do you know?" Mike asked.
"I caught them making out in the storage room at the Squawk while Robin was working, and i told him," Lucas muttered and nodded to Dustin.
"Ew! Gross!" Mike exclaimed, "and you didn't tell us?" Max complained, "sorry! Steve threatened us." Lucas defended.
"So, why are you pacing if you knew?" Will asked, shifting the attention from you and Steve's sex life to Dustin. Bless him.
"Because they were supposed to take us to the movies tonight but it seems that they forgot because Steve hasn't been answering his radio all day and now Max is telling me that Y/N hasn't either!" Dustin whisper-yelled.
"Again, i thought we were supposed to meet you there!" Max claimed.
Will sighed as he looked at an overwhelmed El. "We're not going to the movies, are we?" She spoke, making Mike hold her tighter.
"I feel like i'm forgetting to do something," Steve muttered against your neck as his cock pounded in and out of you over and over again. You were too fucked out to even comprehend what he was saying, all that was playing in your mind was his name. You grabbed his hair and brought his lips to yours. He kissed you passionately as he fucked you gently.
The bed creaked, the blanket fell lower on his waist, the arm he had on the bed to keep him up started faltering as he started struggling to keep himself up. Your legs were locked around his waist, his other hand was pinning yours above your head as your other hand stayed in his hair.
When he started kissing your neck again that's when the dam broke. You came all over his dick as he came inside you. Painting your gummy walls with thick white ropes of cum. You moaned his name as you rode it out together. "Such a good girl 'f me, huh, baby?" He grunted as he collapsed on your chest.
Once you stopped seeing stars and your body calmed down a bit, you wiped the sweat from his head, slick brown curls stuck to his forehead. "Aw, i wore you out, didn't i?" you teased. His laugh vibrated from his chest—right onto yours. "Are you okay, honey?" he asked as he tiredly lifted his head off your heartbeat to scan your eyes and your face for any signs of uneasiness or discomfort—only to find you just lovingly looking up at him. Your pupils are no longer dilated, your breathing evened out, and the smile on your face is undeniably the most adorable thing he's ever seen.
"I'm okay, baby. Are you okay?"
"Of course 'm okay. Gonna pull out now, take a deep breath 'f me."
He pulled out of you slowly with a whimper as his dick had finally softened—and he could feel your mixed juices starting to leak out of you. He reached toward the bedside nightstand and grabbed a tissue. Gently wiping your sensitive cunt with shaking hands. You couldn't get over how in love you are with him. He's been taking such good care of you for so long now that you questioned how you could've disliked him so much in middle school.
Once he finished wiping you, he collapsed again. This time beside you so he could pull you into his side, wrap his arms around you and never let you go. Your head found his heartbeat, your hand found his abdomen, and your leg slid over his bare waist. His left hand rubbed up and down your spine, his right hand found your bare leg—holding it and anchoring it to his waist, and his lips continuously found your forehead. Placing the most gentle kisses there.
"How was your day, sweetheart?" he asked you, not wanting to not hear your voice—you moved your head slightly so you could look up at him.
"Hm—it was okay, i guess,"
You made eye contact as he listened to you tiredly speak.
"This moring Dustin wouldn't stop trying to radio me because he wanted to make sure that the cinema plans were se—oh my goodness! The kids!"
"Oh shit!" Steve exclaimed as you rushed off him and out of bed.
"They're gonna kill us!" You yelped as you moved around Steve's room to put your clothes back on.
He nearly tripped as he put his jeans back on, "Shit!Shit!Shit! What time is it?"
You find the clock in his room. 7:26pm.
"Fuck! The movie is at eight, Steve! We're not going to make it."
Both of you hurriedly got your clothes back on and frantically looked around for the radio's you abandoned earlier.
"Okay! You were supposed to bring Max and El, right? And i was supposed to take the boys?" Steve asked to make sure the plans he knew were correct as you found the radio behind your backpack that was abandoned by the front door.
"Yes!"
"Okay, i'm gonna go get the girls! If we're quick enough, we should make it. Do you want me to pick up Will and Dustin since they live closer to me?" You asked as you packed your stuff back in your bag.
"Yeah, i think that'll be quicker—you sure you're okay to drive in the dark though?" He asked as he led you to the front door, you turn to him, bag on your shoulder, lipstick smudged slightly, hair a mess. "Sweetheart," you started as his arms wrapped around your waist to give you a hug, "you're the blind one, not me," you teased, "hey! just because i wear glasses—" you cut him off with a look as your arms wrapped around his neck, "i'll see you in a bit. I love you."
He pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips.
"Drive safe. I love you more, baby."
"Okay, so what do we do now?" Will questioned realizing that their mistake was coming to the Hopper house. "If they're not answering any of their radios they're probably not coming." Mike spoke as they all started sitting on the floor. El rested against him as Max's head found Lucas' lap. Dustin disappointedly dropped in a corner, his head falling against the wall as his elbows rested on his pulled up knees. Will sat near the doorway, watching to see if Hopper walks in.
Will looked up at all of them, "So, since we're not going to the movies, can we play dnd?"
"Seriously, Will?" Mike complained.
The front door opened and they all perked up.
You rushed in frantically after fixing yourself in your car, wiping your smudged make up, soothing down your clothes and your messy hair—Ignoring your passed out father on the couch, you go straight to El's room.
"El! I'm sooo sorry i'm late—" You pause when you see everyone on the floor, "what're you guys doing here? You're supposed to meet us at the cinema."
"Mike missed me, so they came here." El spoke.
"But Steve—"
"He hasn't been answering his radio all day."
Your eyes dart from a grumpy Dustin, to a restless El, to an annoyed Mike, a blushing Will, Max—who looks like she knows something she shouldn't, and a lovesick Lucas who won't take his eyes off Max.
You rush off to your room and grab your phone, dialling Steve's apartment hoping that he hadn't left yet.
"Harrington." He said as he answered, "Steve!" You whisper-yell.
"Oh! Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay? I was just about to leave so i can go get Wheeler and Sinclair."
"No, no. They're here, baby. They're all here. Dustin, Mike, Will, Lucas, Max. They're all so upset because we took forever. How fast can you get to the cinema?"
"Like five minutes. we have at least twenty minutes. That's if the queue isn't long."
"Okay, i'll meet you there. I love you!"
You hang up and rush back to El's room, "get your shoes on, all of you. I'm taking you to the movies, Steve's gonna meet us there."
Will's eyes perked up as he rushed to get his shoes on, the others moved slower. You went over to El to help her tie her lace.
"The queue is going to be long, Y/N. We're not going to get tickets." Dustin grumpily muttered.
"We'll make it! Hurry up and get your shoes on."
By the time you get everyone in the car—it's 7:42.
You start your car, Max is in the passenger seat, behind you is Will—which you're grateful for, knowing that he won't be an annoying little shit who constantly kicks your seat. In the middle is El, squished between Will and Mike, and Mike himself is in between Lucas and El. Dustin's behind Max.
It's a loud drive. Nonstop talking, voices overlapping each other.
By the time you pull into the parking lot—right next to Steve's beamer, it's 7:55.
You and the kids rush out and see the long queue in front of you as you make your way to the box office.
Dustin sighs. "I told you so." You turn around and see all six of them frown in disappointment.
"Hey! What're you guys doing outside? Come on, movies about to start," Steve calls out from the doorway, holding eight tickets in his hand, "Steve!" Dustin yells loudly as he runs to hug his best friend.
You smile as Max, El, and Lucas run fast behind him to get to Steve.
Mike and Will walk next to you as you make your way to them too. "Hey," Steve smiles as soon as he hears your voice.
"Hey. Uh, Lucas? Why don't you grab popcorn and whatever else you guys want?" he says—handing his wallet to the boy.
"Sure, do you guys want anything?" You and Steve both shake your heads, "no thanks, buddy. Go on before you miss the start of the movie." You say.
Lucas and Max make their way to the popcorn stall as Mike takes El, Dustin and Will to go find their seats before it gets dark.
He kisses your cheek once all the kids are out of sight. "Missed you" he mumbled against your forehead as he pulled you in for a hug, "it's been like twenty minutes, Steve!"
"'s too long."
"They don't know about us. Be careful, Harrington."
"I know, we'll tell them soon. Or let 'em figure it out."
"Come on, let's go before we lose all six of our kids."
You and Steve walked hand-in-hand into the theatre, spotting Dustin's curly hair from a mile away. You take the seats the kids left for you, you being in-between El and Steve while Steve's on the far right. On the far left is two empty seats.
"Hurry up, Lucas!" Max complained as Lucas questioned if he should get the kitkat or the pringles. "It's a tough choice!"
Eventually he asked for the pringles—and then grabbed all the snacks off the counter after handing Steve's wallet to Max so she can pay. Lucas wouldn't even let Max hold the popcorn. "I got it, okay!"
Max opened Steve's wallet, but before pulling the money out, a picture catches her eye. It's a picture of you. In the gorgeous dress you wore for the snowball when you were chaperoning with Nancy. But you're not alone. He's next to you. Kissing your cheek. There's a huge smile on your face as his hair tickles your forehead. This means you've been together for a lot longer than Dustin said. Max stopped staring and pulled out a couple bucks to pay.
Lucas looked at her knowingly as they made their way into the theatre. He caught a peek at the picture too.
After getting comfortable in their seats, Max passed down Steve's wallet so that she didn't get in the way of anyone.
She handed it to Will, who then handed it to Dustin, he gave it to Mike and when Mike passed it to El she looked at him confused.
"Give it to Y/N," he whispered in her ear.
She nodded and handed the wallet to you, you took it and gave it to Steve.
Before putting it back into his pocket—he opened it. Just to see that one picture. You caught him in your peripheral and smiled. Shifting closer so that your knees were touching. Close enough that you could put your head on his shoulder. And when you did, he was so thankful that the cinema was now dark so that no one could see how pink he was turning. He kissed your head and grabbed your hand. Not caring if now is when the kids finally figure it out.
But little did he know, Max was still smiling about the picture she had seen.
Just a little oneshot since i haven't written anything in forever, hope you guys liked it! :)
okay, this turned out to be a little different than what you asked but I hope you enjoy it just the same. it may or may not of been inspired by Allie & Dean’s secret fling in Off Campus.
18+ | fem!reader
You told Steve last week that this wouldn’t happen again.
Just like you said two days ago when he had you pressed against the wall in Tina’s upstairs hallway. Your leg hooked around his hip, grinding against what lived up to all the stories and then some while the party raged down stairs.
Now you’re in his empty basement knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips, while his big hands adjust you on his lap.
Steve grabs at your thighs tugging you close enough that your breasts press tight against his chest. He nips just under your jaw before peppering open mouth along the length of your neck. Catching the small roll of your hips with a smile against your skin, he pulls away confidently showing you the whites of them.
Grabbing your chin between two fingers, he tugs your face down just enough for his lips to ghost against yours.
“Let me guess, this is the last time.” He whispers against your mouth with a knowing smirk.
”Yes, I mean it.” You huff, unable to control your own grin, rocking your hips again. “Last. time.”
”Whatever you say.”
Steve snorts, not waiting for whatever smart comeback you have waiting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, he curls his hand around the back of your neck, and catches it on his own.
The moan that escapes out of your throat comes stirring from deep within your chest. He huffs out a small laugh at it before licking into your mouth with the kind of hunger that lights a fire along your already heated skin. Meeting him with equal enthusiasm, you apply more pressure with the next grind of your hips making his confidence stutter.
“Fuck —“ He breathes in between kisses, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
Doing it again, it’s your turn to smile against his mouth, lashes fluttering open to admire the furrow of his brows.
“Better enjoy it while you can.”
His eyes open at that, something darkening the amber that swirls inside of them.
“Who are you trying to convince, honey? Me or you?” Steve smirks with a narrowed gaze filled with determination, the hand on your hip tightening.
“Shut u— ohmygod.”
Your bratty response is cut off, when he drags you over his lap, the seam of your jeans pressing into where you need it most.
“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He chuckles darkly, tearing his lips from your mouth to wrap around your pulse point.
He sucks hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head, leaving a bruise you’ll have to deal with in the morning. But when he drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“Steve, are you down there? I forgot my keys.”
Robin’s voice freezes you in place with fingers curled into the roots of his hair. Steve’s teeth stop right over the already blooming purple mark, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
“Steve —?” The stairs squeak with the first steps she takes, and it’s enough for him to find his voice.
“Y- yeah!” His voice cracks, and your giggle that follows it earns you a glare.
“My keys, are they down there?” She calls out again, another creak following.
“Shit.” He blows out a breath, pulling away to look around the room, groaning quietly when he spots them on the coffee table.
“Yeah, I got them. Give me a second.” He lays back, running both his hands down his face before meeting your playful gaze.
“It’s getting late, I should probably go.” You smirk, using his broad chest as leverage to push yourself off his lap.
“What? No, she’ll be gone in like 2 seconds.” He whispers harshly trying to grab at your hips, but you slip through his fingers just like this moment.
“I said enjoy it while you can.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Steve stares you down, watching you with heated eyes as you straighten out your shirt and tug up your jeans.
“Never been more serious.” You wink, swiping Robin’s keys off the coffee table before calling out to her.
summary: you 'help' as steve opens his pool for the summer, but it leads to something much more than swimming
wc: 5.4k
cw: friends to lovers, no upside down au, p in v unprotected, oral (f recieving), fingering, breast and nipple play, curvy reader, some body insecurity, big dick steve, fluff ending, pining, public play if you squint real hard, pool making out with steve harrington because i need him
love notes: I MISSED YOU GUYS!!! i hope this makes up for my absence the last few weeks, i have my spark back and i'm so excited to share my new stuff.
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It was unusually hot for May and Steve's skin glistened in the sun, t-shirt stuck to his chest after all the work he had put in. He let out a breath and wiped off his brow before turning to you, hands on his hips.
"You know, when I asked you to come over to help open the pool, I assumed you'd, ya know... help."
You looked up at him over your sunglasses from the pool lounger. Putting your book down you giggled a little at his expectant, panting expression. All brown hair, flushed cheeks, and a light smattering of sweat across his brow. Honestly you thought he'd worked himself into a little tizzy on purpose to get back at you for lounging.
"I AM helping! I am supervising. This is a very delicate job, opening pools, lots of room for error. I'm making sure you do it right. Just a few more minutes... this book is getting really good." You pick your book back up, but he strides over in two quick steps and plucks it from your hands.
"Hey!" You pout up at him as he holds it teasingly just above your head.
"No way," he says with a grin. "I've been fighting off spiders with a skimmer while you bake over here. Your help is officially required."
"You know I don't do spiders." You whine while making grabby hands towards your book.
"I know. Which is why I fought them valiantly on your behalf." He squats down to get on your level. A stray damp curl falling over his forehead, you have a sudden overwhelming urge to push it back. "But your payment is... you're gonna get in here with me now."
"Is it all done?" You peer over his shoulder at the pool, which is now officially uncovered and clean.
"It sure is, your Highness." With a smirk, Steve chucks your novel safely onto the grass. "And you, miss 'supervisor,' are the first one in."
That is the only warning you get before a strong arm snakes around your waist, and another behind your knees.
You fight at him, wailing but laughing, your legs kicking uselessly in the air as he hauls you up, making you feel entirely unceremonious.
"Steve Harrington, you wouldn't dare!" You yell as he gets to the edge, grinning like an idiot at your fake protests.
"Oh honey," he says, adjusting his grip. "It's my duty."
With that he tosses you in, your scream cut short by the cool water hitting your skin and making your entire body seize for a moment. It's only a few seconds before you break the surface, sputtering with laughter while shaking water out of your eyes.
Steve stands there, laughing with his arms folded.
"This is why you don't have a girlfriend." You say, spitting out a mouthful of chlorinated water.
He just raises a brow, taking a step forward as he pulls off his t-shirt, before making one huge leap to land in the water right beside you, soaking you again.
"Oh my god—" you gasp as he resurfaces, hair slicked back and streaming water.
He'd always been beautiful. Even when you were kids, you can't remember him ever going through an awkward phase. Even when he was a straight up dickhead for a few years, you couldn't deny he was good looking.
Your friendship developed after high school, despite being in the same class since elementary school. Hawkins was small, sure, but it didn't mean there weren't social divisions.
Your job at Scoops Ahoy last summer broke those. You, Robin, and Steve. The most unlikely trio in this backwater town.
Now you worked together at Family Video. The nights are long, sometimes boring. You'd taken to having dinner at each other's houses. Some nights it's a home-cooked meal with your mom. Sometimes it's pizza at his, while the only sound to be heard was his father clicking through paperwork, two rooms away.
It has inevitably led to a comfortable intimacy. A strange closeness you hadn't expected. One that was starting to become more than just friendship, for you at least. More than once you've found yourself thinking about what might happen if you leaned over the counter and—
A sudden splash of water in your face shakes you out of your reminiscing.
"Hey, I know I'm not your ideal company for pool time, but you don't have to go daydreaming about someone else," he says, a teasing smile on his lips. You notice the moles that dot his face, a detail you find yourself focusing on more and more these days, the urge to kiss each one so softly.
You swipe a wave of water towards him, which he expertly dodges. "Yeah, maybe a guy who doesn't throw me in the pool with my clothes on."
"You're welcome to take them off."
His words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with unsaid meaning. The playfulness in his tone has been replaced by something deeper, more serious. Your breath catches as you notice the way his eyes have darkened, the way he's looking at you now- not as a friend teasing a friend, but as a man who wants...
"Because your bathing suit is underneath." He corrects himself quickly, that look vanishing as if it never existed, replaced with a normal grin.
Disappointment flares in your chest. Of course that's what he meant. Just a silly joke, nothing more.
You force a laugh that sounds hollow even to you. "Yeah, right. Maybe if this wasn't an old ratty bikini from three summers ago."
"It's just me. Who cares?"
And that, right there. Steve Harrington in a nutshell. He has no idea the effect he has on people. He thinks you're immune because you're friends.
It wasn't a lie, your suit wasn't the most flattering. You'd gained a little weight since graduating, working in an ice cream shop and then a video store had both its pros and cons.
Pros: unlimited access to sweets.
Cons: You were a nervous snacker and Steve made you nervous.
You'd never been thin, and it usually didn't bother you. But here, in the sunshine, your wet clothes sticking to you, your bikini showing places that weren't a flat stomach, it made you feel more than a little insecure.
"I care..." you mutter, your arms folding over your stomach without even thinking about it.
His teasing smile softened, something flashing in his eyes you couldn't quite identify.
"Hey..." He swims closer until there's barely any space between you. The water swirls around your bodies at the sudden movement. "Don't. Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That." He reaches out, gently taking your wrists and pulling your arms away from your body. "Hide."
Steve's thumbs brush over your pulse points, sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth of the sun overhead.
"It's summer, it's hot as balls, and we worked hard to get this stupid pool clean. Can we just... enjoy it? Without you worrying?"
The genuine care in his expression melts your defenses a little. He's looking at you with that earnest face that makes your heart do stupid little flip-flops, those puppy dog eyes that once charmed all of Hawkins High and are now focused solely on you.
"Fine. But don't laugh."
You swim over to the edge and hop out back toward the lounger. You shimmy out of your denim shorts with your back turned to him, feeling suddenly exposed despite the privacy of his backyard. Then you slip off your tank top, leaving only your bikini.
Taking a deep breath, you turn back toward where he's floating on his back peacefully, trying to give you space.
As revenge for earlier, you cannonball into the deep end, a huge splash soaking the surrounding area and, more importantly, Steve.
He comes up sputtering indignantly, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Oh, that's it. You're going down!"
And just like that, the vulnerability dissolves into water fights and laughter. He chases you around the pool, your playful shrieks echoing through the backyard. His fingers graze your sides as he tries to catch you, sending electric jolts through your skin that have nothing to do with the chlorine.
Eventually he corners you, trapping you against the pool wall, bodies pressing together as the water churns between you.
You're catching your breath after laughing and yelling so much that you don't register the change until his fingers graze your shoulder.
You turn to look as he fixes the string of your bikini top, brushing against your skin.
"Strap was coming undone," he says quietly, face suddenly serious again. His gaze lingers on your shoulder, trailing slowly up to meet your eyes. The playful energy has vanished, replaced by something heavier.
"I..." you swallow, suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the water makes your skin glide against his, the thin fabric separating you practically nonexistent.
"Turn around, I'll tie it better for you." His voice is low, sending vibrations straight through you.
You oblige, presenting your back to him. His fingers work deliberately, taking far longer than necessary to secure the tie. His touch is feather-light against your skin, tracing the line of your shoulder blade, causing goosebumps to rise despite the summer heat.
"Thanks... don't want a wardrobe malfunction," you manage to say, turning back to face him.
His hands trail gently through the water to your waist, not letting you move away. "Wouldn't want that."
You're close enough to count every one of those damn moles, notice the flecks of brown and gold in his hazel eyes, see how his pupils have dilated just slightly.
"Would be... really awkward," you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Super awkward," he agrees, but makes no move to create distance.
Then he leans in. Your eyes flutter closed as his lips meet yours. The kiss is a question tasting of chlorine and the popsicles you each had earlier. It's nothing like the cocky, assured guy you knew in high school.
Your entire world narrows to this: the sun on your water-logged skin, Steve's hands firm on your waist, and the way your mouths move together, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Your fingers find their way into the damp curls at the nape of his neck, earning a soft sound from him that vibrates through your entire being.
He pulls away ever so slightly, lips just hovering over your and his eyes heavy lidded. He runs a thumb over the string on your hip, the touch sending a deep want straight to your core.
"Wh-what was that for?" your whisper breaks the silence.
His response is a small, confused smile as he finally moves his head away slightly to get a better look at your face. "Well, last time I checked, it's what two people do when they... like each other. I thought that's what we were doing here."
Your pulse thrums in your throat. "We were doing that?"
"Yeah..." he says with a sudden flicker of insecurity in his own eyes. "Weren't we?"
Your eyes flutter closed, taking a shaky breath. "I've been wanting you to do that since last summer. At Scoops"
"The sailor outfit? Really?"
"It wasn't the uniform," you laugh quietly, opening your eyes and looking directly into his. "It was the way you hummed to the radio. The way your hands moved when you were scooping. How frustrated you'd get when your stupid hat wouldn't stay on. The way you—"
Your words are cut off by his mouth on yours again, harder this time. He's pressing you back against the smooth tile of the pool's wall, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His tongue parts your lips, exploring, and you meet him eagerly, your hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his chest.
The fabric of your bikini feels impossibly thin as his hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him.
"This swim suit is really indecent. You shouldn't be wearing this," he mutters against your neck before leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.
You pull back and shake him off just a little, the comment hitting somewhere deeper than it probably should. "What?"
He stops, sensing the shift in your mood. The passion in his eyes immediately replaced by concern. "No, I didn't... I meant... you look..." he seems to be struggling, running a wet hand through his even wetter hair. "That came out wrong. I meant it in a flirting way. Like a 'lead up to me asking you to take it off' way."
You furrow your brow a little, trying to determine if that's the truth.
"I'm sorry," he says, his sincerity obvious. "That was stupid. Can I try again?"
You nod slowly.
"I meant that it's... indecent... because it makes me want to do a whole lot of inappropriate things to you. Right here. Right now."
A shiver runs through you despite the warm sun. The way he's looking at you, with open, wanton desire, is something you've only ever dreamed of.
"I'm really self conscious lately." You admit fully, a weight being lifted off your shoulders.
"Well don't be," he says, and you can't tell if he's being genuine or if that's charm leaking through. He must have seen your doubt because he continues, "I mean it. You're so..." He searches for the right word, and you can tell it's not flattery for flattery's sake.
"What?" you urge. "So... what?"
"So beautiful."
Your breath catches. Steve Harrington, dream guy of any girl with half a brain, called you beautiful. And he meant it.
"Did I just ruin the moment by being honest? Because I can go back to being a jerk if it helps." That signature smirk is back, though it's a little gentler than usual.
You laugh, and the tension breaks. "No, god, please don't."
"Then come here."
His lips find yours again, softer this time, sweeter. But the intensity builds quickly as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a growing urgency. His hands roam your body, learning every curve, every dip, mapping you like it's the most important expedition of his life.
His fingers play with the strings of your bikini, tugging gently but not untying—just teasing. Making you ache for more.
"Steve," you gasp between kisses. "Someone could see."
"My parents aren't home," he murmurs against your skin. "The house is empty."
Your mind races at the implication.
"We're surrounded by trees," he continues, sensing your hesitation. "No one can see into the backyard."
His lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "I've been thinking about this all day."
"All day?" you ask, your voice breathy as he palms your breast through the thin fabric.
"All week. All month. All year." He corrects, before pulling the wet fabric aside and capturing a nipple in his warm, wet mouth. Your back arches against the pool wall, a soft moan escaping your lips.
He lifts his head after a moment, that boyish grin in place. "We might need to get out of the pool though. The chemicals probably aren't great for... well."
He glances down, the implication clear.
"Smartass," you mutter, but you're already laughing as he hauls you toward the pool steps.
You watch him climb out before you, water cascading down the lines of his back, muscles shifting beneath his skin. His swim trunks hang low on his hips, and the sight sends another wave of desire through you.
He turns to reach out a hand for you, helping you from the pool, your fingers tingling where they touch his.
Steve grabs both of your towels from the lounger, wrapping one around your shoulders and the other around his waist before leading you toward the sliding glass door that opens into the house.
As soon as you enter the mud room, he shuts the sliding glass door and is back on you, guiding you toward the couch. All the windows are open and the faint sound of the sprinklers filter in.
On the couch with your towel under you and his discarded, his hands slide over your damp skin as he tugs at your suit top. "Are you okay with this?" he asks, voice thick with desire but laced with tenderness.
You respond by bracing yourself on your elbows, making it easier for him to access the strings on your neck and back. He makes short work of the knots, tossing the wet fabric aside.
His gaze sweeps over your exposed upper body with open admiration before leaning down to continue where he left off, worshiping your breasts with attention. His soft kisses, gentle nips, swirling tongue all combine for the best sensation. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you, soft encouragement falling from your lips.
He looks up at you before finally taking your nipple back in his warm mouth, suckling gently.
"God, Steve," you gasp, arching into him.
You're vaguely aware of the sunbeams cutting across the living room, dust particles dancing in the light, the smell of chlorine mixed with the freshly cut grass outside. It all feels dream-like, unreal.
His hands are working what his mouth can't, like he wants to make sure you're getting all the attention in the world, all over, simultaneously.
"You always this responsive?" He laughs quietly against your breast before sitting up to look down at you. His hair is drying in fluffy tufts and his pretty eyes are half-lidded but focused.
"Only for you," you manage, feeling your cheeks flush at the admission.
"God, I hope so." He's on you again, moving down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses that make you twitch and giggle. His hands follow, tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver.
When he reaches the bottom ties of your bikini, he pauses, looking up at you.
"Gonna need these off," he says, fingers toying with the strings on your hips. "If that's okay."
You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help him as he unties and slides the last piece of wet fabric down your legs, leaving you completely exposed on the mud room couch. The thought sends a thrill through you.
"Look at you," he breathes, just looking at you. "Just... look at you."
Your body hums with anticipation as he positions himself between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart with his hands on your knees. The vulnerability of the position sends another jolt of awareness through you, but with Steve, it feels safe, exciting.
"Steve..."
He doesn't respond with words, but with action, lowering his head until you can feel his warm breath against your most sensitive skin. He waits for a second, giving you a chance to protest if you wanted.
You don't.
His tongue traces your folds slowly, deliberately, tasting you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as your hand grips the back of the couch.
He caresses your thigh, as the other hand holds you open so he has better access. His tongue starts exploring, gentle at first, getting a lay of the land before finding your clit and circling it slowly. Your hips buck, seeking more pressure.
"I've got you," he whispers against your wetness.
He's determined in his approach, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you arch your back.
Your toes curl as the pressure builds, his tongue working magic, alternating between gentle laps and firm strokes that have you spiraling.
Your hands card through his hair and he looks up at you, tongue still working diligently, your arousal glistening on his chin and cheeks. He smiles a little at seeing your face then doubles his efforts, slipping a finger into your tight heat.
Your breath hitches at the intrusion, a gasp tearing free as he adds another finger, curling them just right against your inner walls.
"Don't stop," you pant, "Please, don't stop."
"Never." His voice is muffled by your flesh.
He goes back to your clit, sucking softly, then firmer, his fingers finding that perfect rhythm.
"Could stay down here all day, you know that?" he says as he breaks away, a wide smile on his face. "You taste so good."
He licks a fat stripe up your center, before putting all his attention back into that little bundle of nerves that's still begging for him. Your breath catches in your throat, hips rising to meet him, a low groan passing your lips.
"Steve," you whine out.
"I'm here," he says. "Come on, beautiful. I've got you." He pumps his fingers into you as your body starts to tremble.
It crashes over you without warning, your back arching, a cry tearing from your throat as waves of pleasure course through your body.
Steve redoubles his efforts, taking you closer to the edge with each movement, each sensation building on the last until your entire body tenses, releasing in a wave that leaves you gasping and breathless on the couch.
"And you said I couldn't get a girlfriend," he jokes softly as he makes his way back up your body, pressing kisses against your stomach, your chest, your collarbones.
"That's because you got me soaked throwing me in the pool." You breathe out.
"I got you soaked a second way, too, so..."
Before you can even roll your eyes, you feel the hard press of him against your thigh through the swim trunks. That realization brings you back to life, reaching between your bodies to palm him through the wet fabric.
His breath hitches. "Wait, wait, wait..."
You pull back, slightly concerned.
He looks a little pained. "Not like that. I just need to get a condom."
Your cheeks heat up. Of course. You were so wrapped up in it all, you didn't even think of that. And yet still...
"You don't have to..." you say softly, not wanting to seem too forward but needing to say it anyway.
"As much as I like you, I don't think either of us are ready for that kind of surprise."
"No, I mean..." your cheeks are on fire now. "I'm on the pill. For cramps. Not that you'd have to believe me, but-"
"Are you serious?" He lifts himself onto an elbow, looking genuinely surprised and then a lot turned on.
You shake your head a little, embarrassed that you'd suggested something so intimate already. "Sorry, that was--"
"No! God, no. Don't apologize." He leans down, pressing a hot kiss to your lips. "Are you sure? Because if you're sure..." His hips roll against yours and you both gasp at the friction.
"Positive."
He sits up then, shedding those trunks quickly, and kicking off the offending clothing in one swift motion.
As he stands up, you finally see all of him- the toned planes of his chest, the soft give of his tummy, the trail of hair leading down to where he stands hard and thick against his stomach.
"Oh," you breathe, unable to help yourself. You had an idea about how well endowed he was, but seeing it in person was a whole other story. A mix of excitement and a little bit of apprehension swirls within you.
The grin he shoots you is undeniable male pride, softening immediately when he sees the slight worry in your eyes.
"Hey," he says softly, lowering himself over you again. "We can take it slow. We can stop if it's too much."
His hands are on either side of your head as he positions himself, aligning with your entrance but not quite pushing in. He looks down at you, a genuine question in his eyes that makes your heart ache with tenderness.
"I, uh, I'd lose my mind if I hurt you."
"Only if it hurts bad," you joke weakly, wanting to ease that furrow in his brow.
His expression softens as he lowers himself, propping up on one arm, the other hand gently stroking your hair away from your face.
"I'm serious. I'm not one to brag to everyone, but I know I'm... yeah."
He's trying so hard to make this about more than just the physical, to separate himself from his reputation, to show you this is different. Your Steve. Not King Steve, not the boy you watched use girls and discard them.
This sun-kissed, glistening, genuine Steve is something else entirely. You look at him with such affection.
"I'm not exactly surprised, it's not like you wear baggy jeans..."
He laughs a little and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your nose.
"You were checking me out? My, uh..." He gestures vaguely between his legs, "... jeans?"
"I have a pulse, yeah. Every girl in Hawkins has checked out your 'jeans' at least once, Harrington."
"Jesus, okay. Enough." He's smiling though.
You run your hands up and down his back, feeling the strength of him, the warmth of his skin still carrying the heat from the sun outside.
"Hey," you say softly. "I trust you."
Something shifts in his expression, that playful, slightly arrogant smirk dissolving as his hips push forward slightly. The thick head of him pressing against you, seeking entrance. Your breath catches at the sheer promise of it.
"What else were you checking out?" he asks, teasing, but you can hear the underlying sincerity, the need for reassurance that this hasn't all been in his head.
"Suddenly, I have no thoughts." you breathe out as his hips gently rock into you, easing your aching pussy to take him.
"That good, huh?"
A whimper escapes your lips as he pushes a little deeper. The stretch borders on too much, but in that perfect, overwhelming way that makes you want to simultaneously push him away and pull him closer.
"Yeah, seems like it's that good..." he's kissing your neck and whispering into your ear.
His large hands grab at the plush flesh of your thighs, opening you wider. With each slow, deliberate push of his hips, he seats himself further inside you, making you whimper with need.
"That's it... doing so good f'me, baby..." he whispers as he watches your reaction through lidded eyes.
The full feeling is almost too much.
You can't help but watch as your breasts bounce with every roll of his hips, watching as the flush on your own skin continues to creep lower.
His thumb finds its way between your bodies, and you look down as he's pressing insistently against your clit in tight circles, making you clench around him. You're so wet and he still hasn't even bottomed out.
"You like watching?" he whispers against your ear. "I like watching you."
You meet his eyes and you swear you see them roll back as you squeeze around him as a response to his words, unintentionally. He loses himself a little, pushing in with a sharp thrust that steals the air from your lungs.
Finally, he's fully inside you, buried to the hilt. You can feel him throbbing, every part of him pulsing in anticipation.
"You okay?" he asks, voice strained.
You nod, unable to form words as he starts to move.
His pace is initially gentle, cautious, giving you time to adjust before he finds a rhythm that makes your toes curl again, your head thrashing back against the arm of the couch. Immediately one hand cradles your head as the other grips your hip.
"That's what I thought..." he's grinning as you whine for him.
Steve picks up the pace with your encouragement, pistoning into you, harder and faster. The sound of skin on skin mixes with your breathless gasps and his guttural groans, creating sounds more erotic than anything you've ever heard before.
"That's it, sweet girl," he pants, his hips beginning to stutter. "Take it... take all of me."
His words ignite something within you, and you arch your back to meet each thrust, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. The coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, your muscles trembling with the buildup of your impending orgasm.
You whine his name in tiny bursts, hands looking for purchase wherever they can reach on his body.
"It's okay, let go," he urges, his movements becoming more erratic.
His angle shifts, hitting a spot inside you that sends stars flying behind your eyes. Your cries become wanton, uninhibited.
"Right there, don't stop," you gasp.
"I won't... not until you're soaking me..." he grits out before your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench around him, pulling him along with you as he finds his own release.
His entire body goes taut as he groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He's spilling so deep you feel him leak out and it makes you shudder again at the feeling.
For a long while, there's nothing but your ragged breaths cooling each other's heated skin. Steve keeps murmuring soft praises as he kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your temple.
"That was..." he starts, then pauses like he's searching for the word.
"Yeah," you agree, even though you're not sure what you're agreeing with.
You laugh a little at your own response, and soon he's laughing with you. It feels better than you could have ever imagined. You're slick with sweat and other fluids. There's nothing romantic about the scene beyond the two of you.
He braces his hands above you, pushing himself up to look down at the mess. His hair is stuck to his forehead and his face is so beautifully flushed. A goofy, content grin on his lips.
"Look what we did," you whisper as you reach out to brush back his hair, glancing at the mess leaking out between your thighs.
Steve leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Don't talk dirty or I'm going to get hard again."
"I didn't know that was off limits," you tease, your hands slowly running down his chest.
His chest puffs out under your touch, like he's preening. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't love that you had this effect.
"I mean, feel free to. But you owe me some popcorn and a movie. And that won't happen if you're making me go again."
"Oh, do I 'owe' you now?"
"No, no," Steve pulls out of you, leaving you feeling suddenly very empty in the sticky wake of him. You wince a little from the size of him and he notices. "Sorry, sorry."
He grabs your discarded towel and gently cleans the mess from between your thighs before cleaning himself off and tugging on his swim trunks. Your eyes fix on how he pulls them onto his hips, the fabric still wet and clinging.
"Hey, eyes up here," he winks, then holds out a clean t-shirt from the mudroom laundry basket.
You sit up and pull it over, the shirt a little tight on your curves. Especially across the chest, but soft from many washes and smelling like him. You wrap the clean towel he hands you back around your waist.
He watches you for a minute before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.
"So..." you hesitantly start the inevitable conversation. "Where do we go from here?"
Steve frowns a little. "To the kitchen for popcorn, like I said."
"No, I mean... us."
"Well," he says seriously, taking one of your hands in both of his. "I'd like to take you on a date. And then another one. And then maybe another one after that until you finally get sick of me."
You search his face, trying to read past the casual bravado. He's trying to play it cool, but there's genuine hope in his eyes that makes your chest ache.
"I don't think that's going to happen," you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.
"The dates? Or getting sick of me? Because I've really committed to this plan and would hate to renegotiate terms." A slow grin spreads across his face.
"You're an idiot."
His smile is soft, like he's remembering something fond before he speaks. "Yeah, well, in my experience that's what a girl says when she actually likes me. So, I'll take it." His thumbs rub gentle circles on the back of your hands.
"So we're..." you trail off, suddenly unable to form the words.
"Dating? Exclusively? Going steady?" He supplies them for you, the phrase sounding somehow much less cheesy when he says it. "If you want."
"I want."
The relief that washes over his face is obvious. "Good. Great. Then my plan is still on track. Popcorn, movie. And maybe round two later." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you giggle.
love’s easy tears /// stoner!mike wheeler x fem!reader
wc: 10k
Mike Wheeler, you wished you didn't know the name.
part one
warnings ! smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m!receiving), spit, hair-pulling, mike calls reader 'baby' and 'sweetheart', aftercare kinda this time, smoking weed, cursing, back on my pierced and tatted up mike wheeler bullshit, it's hot idc, love confessions, angst, fluff, reader finally stands on business a little bit (not a lot), kind of open ending.
author's note ! happy pride month everyone! i know i promised this would be out early this week, but i am a perfectionist and rewrote the last scene SO many times (and still hate it whatev), so i'm terribly sorry that this is later than i originally planned. that being said, thank you everyone for all the love on the first part. i tried to tag everyone who asked! i hope you enjoy this one :) please ignore any typos.
****
Hey, uh, it’s Mike. I, um. . . this is stupid, why am I leaving a voicemail? I just figured you’d. . . I don’t know, you didn’t show up tonight, so I just wanted to make sure you were. . . okay. If we’re okay? No, that’s not what I mean. Shit. Just, yeah. Call me back.
You pressed play on the answering machine for what felt like the dozenth time. Mike’s deliciously raspy timbre filled the confines of your room. At that point, you knew every intricacy of the message he’d left - each place where he’d stopped to carefully consider his words, the crackle of static when he shifted the phone against his ear, the deep breath he took at the end before saying, “Call me back.”
You were sitting on your bed, legs tucked up to your chest, cheek resting atop your knee as you listened to his message again. There was a painful aching in your ribcage, one that stemmed from an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was an odd mix of excitement and remorse.
On the one hand, you didn’t miss the implication of Mike calling you and leaving a voicemail. It meant he’d purposefully sought out your phone number, thumbed through the phone book looking for your name. On the other hand, you were sick with guilt over not showing up. You didn’t think skipping your weekly ritual would result in Mike calling and practically begging you - no, not begging, you were just being dramatic - to call him and let him know if you were okay.
If the two of you were okay.
What had he meant by that? You couldn’t decide if you were reading too much into it. Did he mean the casual sex situation? Was he asking if their arrangement was over? Or was he implying something more? That maybe there was an element of. . . friendship that you’d been unaware of.
Was friendship too strong a word? Was it the right word to describe the dynamic between two people who fucked and did nothing else?
You pressed play again.
It was Monday afternoon. You’d spent all day sitting in the same position, or a variation of the same position, repeatedly listening to Mike’s voice and reconsidering everything you thought you knew about him. Your conversation with your best friend, which you’d already left feeling like you didn’t have a true grasp on Mike Wheeler, had only complicated things further.
Because if you hadn’t spent the night with your friends, Mike would have never called you, but if you’d gone to his apartment, you would have gotten your feelings hurt.
It was all too confusing.
The voicemail finished, and you sighed, flopping back into your pillows to stare at the ceiling.
What did it mean that Mike rarely slept with a girl more than once? What did it mean that you’d slept with him four times? What did it mean that he was calling you to see why you hadn’t shown up for the fifth time? Was it really just a matter of Mike relishing in your humiliation and the fact that he had such control over you? Or was it something else? Did he like hooking up with you?
If so, he was really bad at showing it.
You couldn’t believe that you’d skipped your writing seminar, so unprepared to face Mike in person that you instead chose to listen to a 20-second voicemail over and over and over and over. . .
This happened sometimes, though, didn’t it? Things you had a history with wouldn’t let you go, even if those things were boys with lanky limbs and a pretty face.
What if you couldn’t set yourself free from Mike Wheeler?
Ever.
It would have been less painful if Mike cut you open and carved his name into your organs, if he plunged his fist into your chest cavity and pulled out your still-beating heart. Anything other than this, this dizzying back-and-forth of a non-committal relationship. You’d never occupied the in-between space where somebody could matter so much and technically mean nothing at all, and it was sending you into a spiral.
Truthfully, it had been sending you into a spiral since that day in the library when Mike complimented your writing and offered you his joint.
There were so many what-ifs. So many possibilities that could have led you down an alternative route. What if you’d called Mike out on his rude, distant behavior? What if you’d never gone to his apartment? What if you’d never gone to the library that day at all?
You slipped under your sheets, swaddling yourself in your blankets before closing your eyes.
Deep down, even with all these hypotheticals, you knew that your encounter with Mike Wheeler was inevitable. You could just feel that your schoolgirl crush on him had set off a natural chain of events that would, in every timeline, lead you to him.
You reached out from underneath the blankets and blindly pushed play on the answering machine.
Hey, uh, it’s Mike.
****
There was no logical reason why you decided to return to Mike’s that Friday. It wasn’t as if he called you again or anything, and you’d skipped class both Monday and Wednesday (which was a poor choice, in hindsight), meaning he hadn’t been able to leave you another cryptic note. Yet, here you were, standing in front of the apartment door that was growing more and more familiar.
You knocked on the door, the sound making you cringe. Mike was there in an instant.
“Hi,” he said breathlessly.
“Hi.”
“You’re here.”
You nodded. “Yeah, I, um. . . sorry I didn’t show up last week.”
Mike stepped aside to let you into the apartment, looking a little dumbfounded. He looked devastatingly gorgeous, as usual. He wore a faded shirt that read HELLFIRE CLUB, softened by too many washes. The hem was too short and pulled slightly across his chest, so with each movement, it exposed a sliver of his stomach. The right side of his face was pink, as if he’d been leaning on the palm of his hand, and there was a smear of ink on the strong bridge of his nose.
You’d quickly become familiar with the comforting warmth of Mike’s apartment. Your apartment was always a flurry of activity, vibrant with noise and half-finished conversations, as was common when five twenty-something women shared a place. There were always clothes in the living room, shoes in the hall, and makeup bags spilled across every surface. The air was always redolent with perfume, hairspray, and shampoo in preparation for dates and nights out. The mirrors were always fogged over from rushed mornings, and if music wasn’t playing, then someone was singing. There were mugs left out, lipstick stains on the rims, and sweet little notes scattered on counters - have a good day, girls!
And while you wouldn’t have had it any other way - you loved your roommates and the liveliness they brought to your life - you were fascinated by the tranquility of Mike’s apartment. It was always unchanged, stagnant, a snapshot of a moment. There was a sense that everything in the space knew where it belonged. His couch was always slightly sunken in the same spot, the coffee table always covered with pages of messily scrawled drafts and bookmarked novels.
The sound of Mike shutting the door made you jump.
“It’s fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to. . . I didn’t expect. . . sorry, I just didn’t think you’d come back.”
“I was sick,” you blurted out. “Nothing contagious. It was my period, actually. Really bad cramps.”
“Oh.” Mike nodded, seemingly unsure of how to reply.
“I would’ve called, but-”
“You still could’ve come over,” Mike interrupted.
You frowned. “I don’t know if I’m into period sex-”
“We could’ve just smoked and watched a movie. Or something,” he finished, looking at you with those big, brown eyes. His lashes were so dark, casting shadows against his pronounced cheekbones. He looked like a puppy. “If you don’t want to have sex, we don’t have to.”
“Oh,” you said, a little dazed. “Oh.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Yeah. I just don’t want you to think I’m using you for sex.” He laughed a little sheepishly at that.
“I don’t think that.”
“You did. You do. And that’s fine. I just want to tell you that if you ever wanted not to have sex. . . you’re still welcome to come over.”
You opened your mouth to say something before closing it again, completely at a loss for words. Mike wouldn’t even let you stay for more than a minute after he rolled off you, and here he was saying that you were welcome to come over and hang out?
Had Mike Wheeler been possessed?
“We could also compare manuscripts,” Mike continued to ramble. “It doesn’t have to be a movie. It just. . . it doesn’t have to be sex. If that’s not what you want.”
“Oh,” you repeated hollowly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, thanks. I, um, did come here for sex this time, though,” you said. You didn’t quite know how to segue out of this unexpected conversation, especially without admitting how much Mike’s words meant to you, even if they were a lie. “Unless. . . you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to have sex,” Mike said quickly, eyes going wide.
You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “Okay. Sex it is then.”
Mike grinned crookedly, leading you to his bedroom. He flicked off the overhead light so the two of you were bathed in the lamplight and the silvery moonlight filtering through the window.
Mike rounded on you, gently pressing his lips to yours. It was a sweeter kiss than you were used to, but there was still an underlying urgency to it, like he was afraid that if he didn’t kiss you fast enough, you would disappear again. You’d honestly expected him to be angry at you for skipping out on your arranged Friday meeting, that you’d show up and he’d slam the door in your face, but the tenderness of his touch took your breath away.
He held the sides of your neck in his hands, stroking your jaw with his thumb. You slid your hands up his shirt, the stupid faded devil face warping with the movement. You’d have to ask him what Hellfire Club was later. You savored the shiver that went through him as your palms pressed flat against his skin.
Mike tasted like apple cider, and the idea of him making himself a steaming mug made you laugh against his lips.
“What?” he murmured into your mouth. “What’s funny?”
“You taste like apple cider,” you whispered, looking up at him. Your faces were pressed so close that you could almost feel the flutter of his eyelashes against your skin and the hint of stubble on his chin.
“I had some. Earlier.”
"It's sweet."
“You’re sweet,” Mike replied. “You taste like a vanilla milkshake.”
“I had one earlier,” you echoed.
Mike laughed quietly, sliding one hand down to cup your ass. “Stick your tongue out,” he ordered. You obeyed.
Mike lay his tongue flat against yours, his piercing leaving an indent on your taste buds, the maintained eye contact practically pornographic. The two of you remained like that for a moment, spit mixing and threatening to spill out of your mouth, Mike’s hands gripping and kneading at the fat of your ass. Then, he took your tongue into his mouth and dove in for a sloppy kiss, the two of you practically eating each other’s faces.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he muttered, pulling you in closer by the waist, peppering kisses at the corners of your lips and the apples of your cheeks, then down your throat to your collarbone.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Mike asked, pulling back, a sincerity in your brown eyes that you’d never seen before. “It’s true.”
You shook your head, dropping your gaze to his chest. “Just. . . I don’t want to talk.”
Mike didn’t object, instead maneuvering you to lie down on the bed.
“I just wish I could have the whole day with you,” he said under his breath, more to himself than anything, peeling your jeans and lace panties off. “Wanna take my time with you for once - eat this pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Mike,” you choked out, covering your face with your arm. The vulgarity embarrassed you, but you were quickly distracted by the feeling of him pressing a wet kiss directly onto your clit. It had been forever since he’d gone down on you, and the sensation was overwhelming.
Mike nudged his nose against your inner thigh, biting a bruise into the flesh, before turning his attention back to your cunt. Curiously, you peeked out from behind your arm and the sight of him between your thighs, pupils blown out to unreal proportions, was almost enough to make you come.
He wrapped a hand around your ankle, dragging you further down the bed, practically directly onto his face. You let out an undignified squeak that dissolved into a moan as Mike wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard.
“Fuck, Mike,” you gasped out, fingers drawn automatically to his curls. You heard him laugh between your legs.
“Feel good.”
“Fuck off. You know it does.”
Mike delivered one last teasing kiss, right against your dripping slit, before licking his lips and climbing over you. “I’ll take my time with you another day,” he promised, sliding your shirt over your head. You’d worn a lacy top, one that would’ve been completely see-through if you hadn’t decided to wear a bra (you’d toyed with the idea, admittedly, but put one on anyway). “I missed you this last week, missed the way you feel. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Don’t,” you repeated, shrugging off your bra as Mike reached behind you to unclip it.
“I mean it-”
You pulled him down for another tooth-gnashing kiss, trapping his words and swallowing them down. You didn’t want to hear it this time, didn’t want his pretty words replaying in your mind the entire drive home. Mike ran his hands up your naked torso, pinching and pulling at your hardening nipples while simultaneously licking into your mouth.
It was the filthiest experience you’d had with him so far, more spit and drool than usual, and you could even taste the faintest hint of yourself on his tongue, masked by the fading apple cider. Your cheeks felt hot as Mike rolled his hips against you, his cock hard inside the confines of his sweats.
“If you don’t go down on me,” you said in between Mike’s frantic kisses, “then can I suck you off?”
Mike pulled back, his face flushed. “What?”
“Never heard of a blowjob before?”
“You don’t have to.”
“You don’t want me to?”
“I didn’t say that,” Mike corrected, averting his eyes, deft fingers tracing lightly down your sides. “You just don’t have to, like, repay me, or whatever.”
“For fuck’s sake, Mike. It’s a blowjob, not a loan.”
Mike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Okay,” he said weakly. “Fuck, please.”
In record time, Mike pulled his clothes off and perched himself on the edge of his bed. His hands flexed against his thighs, lips slightly parted as he watched you sink to your knees before him. You wished you’d thought to slide your underwear back on, because you’d practically started dripping down your thighs just from kissing Mike, but it felt unnecessary. He would just have to take them off again.
Especially when you had Mike Wheeler’s dick - long, flushed, and pretty - right in front of your face, leaking precum and standing hard against his flat stomach.
You had a fleeting urge to suck hickeys into his thighs, mar the milky skin, but you didn’t know if he’d want the next girl seeing them, so you let the thought pass. From above you, Mike looked like he was about to come from the sight of you kneeling in front of him.
You weren’t as good at sounding sexy when you talked, not like Mike, so you let your actions speak instead, leaning forward and dragging your tongue up the underside of Mike’s dick, tracing the vein. His hips bucked up unexpectedly, and he let out a little groan, head tipping backward slightly.
When you wrapped your fingers around him, the taut muscles of his stomach tensed. You squeezed lightly, your fist slowly sliding higher. You paused, watching his reaction before running your thumb around the tip, a bead of slick precum where your skin met his. Your knees were already aching uncomfortably against the carpet, but it just made the whole thing feel more real. Mike’s eyes looked hazy, the same way he looked after he smoked, and his fingers continued to move restlessly, clearly itching to touch you in some way.
“If I can pull your hair, it’s only fair that you can pull mine, right?” you said, repeating your movement from earlier, drawing your wet tongue against the length of him.
Almost as if it was punched out of him, Mike reached out to dig his hands into your hair. It was at this moment that you realized, for the first time, that Mike’s overly dominant persona might partially be a facade. That maybe he liked being told what to do from time to time, liked relinquishing control.
In the same way you stored away the idea of giving him hickeys, you pocketed this realization for later. You could certainly get behind the idea of Mike being pliable.
Finally, you gave him what he wanted, your kiss-swollen lips wrapping around the head of his cock. Tentatively, your tongue slid out, tasting him. Mike twitched in your hand.
“Shit,” he hissed. His hand fisted in your hair clumsily, his fingers tangled at the roots. You squirmed a bit, aching to reach down and relieve yourself of the arousal growing inside you.
Your mouth stretched around him as you took more, eyes already beginning to water. Gently, Mike guided you. You could sense his restraint, the way he was fighting against fucking up into your mouth, so you bobbed your head a little faster. You were overcome by the urge to please him in the same way he pleased you.
“So good, baby,” Mike babbled, his cheeks a pretty pink. You stifled a gag around him. “Your mouth feels s’good. Fuck, please. I can’t-”
He was losing control of himself with each twist of your hand, each bob of your head from tip to base. There was drool dribbling out from the corners of your mouth, down your chin, and onto his thighs. Mike’s eyebrows furrowed, his hands digging tighter into your stands, before finally he snapped.
“Baby, m’sorry,” he moaned out, rutting into your mouth with reckless abandon. You let your jaw go slack, hand dropping as you surrendered yourself to his haphazard thrusts. You choked around him, tears spilling over your lash line. “Fuck, you sound so pretty with my dick in your throat. Choking around me. So pretty.”
You hummed, content to let him fuck your mouth for as long as he pleased, but that was enough to push Mike over the edge. He let out a broken whimper, pressing your nose against the dark thatch of hair at his base, pumping cum into your eager mouth.
You swallowed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, sitting back on your heels. “C’mere,” Mike mumbled, pulling you to your feet. You stood on shaky legs, falling into his embrace. Mike positioned you on your back and nudged his face into your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. “That was so hot, baby.”
“Did I do okay?” you wondered meekly, voice a little wrecked.
“Yes. God, yes. You’re so good to me,” he soothed, his hands sliding between your legs. “My pretty girl. You’re so wet for me, just from sucking me off.”
“Mike,” you urged.
He chuckled. “Always so needy.”
“Says you,” you pouted, reaching for his wrist to press his fingers inside you.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling his hand just out of reach.
“You, Mike. Please.”
Mike, clearly too aroused to tease, stroked his quickly hardening cock slowly. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he rubbed the head of his cock against your clit in small circles. His other hand reached out to grope and squeeze at one of your tits, entranced by the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing. Slowly, he began to push inside you, cock twitching at how tight you are.
You grit your teeth, gasping at the stretch.
With the hand on your tit, he slid it around to the back of your head and tilted you forward to look down between your thighs, right where the two of you were connected. “Watch, baby,” he cooed, pulling out with agonizing slowness before pushing back in. “Look how I fill you up.”
“So full,” you agreed, nodding your head, tears pricking at your eyes again. “Feels so good.” Your head dropped back down onto the pillow, unable to hold yourself up anymore.
Mike tenderly began to kiss the tear tracks on your cheeks, licking at the saltiness of your tears down to where they dripped off your chin. With each fresh teardrop that escaped from your eye, he was quick to drink it up. He then pressed his chest against yours and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath against your skin.
For the first time, the sex was less rabid. Mike shallowly thrusted into you, alternating between sweet kisses and reaching deeper inside you than you thought possible. Despite the minimal movement, you could already feel a tingling in your limbs. You held tightly to his shoulders, digging your nails into his freckled skin.
“M’gonna come,” you sniffled.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you,” Mike gasped out, reaching down to rub tight circles against your clit. “I got you.”
The affection in his words was enough to have you clenching around him, vision going blurry for a second as you arched up into his touch. When you came to, the first thing you noticed was the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs and him pulling out of you.
Without lifting his face too much from your neck, Mike reached over and grabbed a tissue from the box next to his bed, using one to wipe carefully between your legs. When you brushed lightly over your pussy, you whimpered a bit, still sensitive.
The two of you stayed there for a minute, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, both of you panting slightly. You could feel your baby hairs sticking to your forehead.
Finally, when Mike rolled off you, you expected the usual - him subtly asking you to leave. You prepared yourself, already moving to slide off the bed as Mike pulled his boxers back on. You hesitated, arms wrapped around your body, waiting to ask permission to use Mike’s bathroom. He walked over to his closet and pulled out a clean shirt, tossing it in your direction.
It landed right next to you, and you just stared at it for a moment. If it had been for him, why hadn’t he just put it on? Did he need to throw it on the bed?
“What’s that?” you asked.
“A shirt.”
“Okay, obviously. I mean-”
“It’s for you,” he interrupted, looking over his shoulder. “That little lacy top you wore over here doesn’t look too comfortable.”
“I wore it for you,” you grumbled.
“I know, baby, and you looked so pretty in it before I took it off.” He grinned, his previously cocky demeanor having returned. “But I figured you’d want something else to wear while we smoked.”
“While we smoked?” you repeated, cautiously pulling the shirt over your head. It was huge on your - probably would’ve been huge on Mike, too, that’s how big it was - and it smelled like his detergent, the cologne he wore on occasion. It was comforting, somehow, to be swathed in something so uniquely him.
“You’ve done it before, yeah?” Mike inquired, grabbing his lighter and a joint out of his bedside table before sitting back on the bed and propping himself on the headboard. His legs looked especially longer as he stretched himself out, his tattoos darker than ever. “Here, c’mere.”
You crawled over to him and settled on his lap. The feeling of his boxers against your bare inner thighs was a little odd, but you liked being this close to him. You were still a little put off by this differing behavior, however. You figured it was only a matter of time before he kicked you out again - maybe right after he got high enough to realize the mistake he was making.
Mike, seemingly acting on impulse, leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your lips before lighting the joint. He tossed the lighter across the bed and brought the end of it to his mouth, his other hand settling gently on your thigh, tracing softly against your skin in tiny movements.
Per usual, you were entranced by the sight of him. He took a slow drag, the cherry glowing briefly before dimming again. His cheeks hollowed slightly as he inhaled, accentuating the sharp lines of his cheekbones. A faint cloud drifted from his lips as he exhaled, curling upward in uneven ribbons before dissolving into the air.
You watched the tension in his shoulders soften before your eyes. He kept the joint balanced between his fingers while wisps of smoke rose lazily toward the ceiling. Even just watching him made you feel heavy-eyed and drowsy, the tender touches on your thighs soothing you even further. You wanted to lean your head against his chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
“Will you tell me about your tattoos?” you asked quietly as Mike took another drag.
Mike tilted his head slightly. “My tattoos?” he repeated through the exhale.
You nodded, fiddling with the hem of the shirt just to give your hands something to do.
“You like them or something?” His mouth quirked slightly. You just chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, looking at him with expectant eyes. Mike sighed. “Okay, sure, yeah.”
He placed the joint in the ashtray on his bedside table and turned his arm, pointing to the little spaceship tattoo you’d noticed on your first hookup.
“My friend Dustin drew this for me,” Mike began. “It looks like shit on purpose, trust me. He’s not a very good artist.” He leaned back, stretching his arm out more fully toward you, and pointed toward a constellation on his bicep. “But this one, this one my friend Will drew. It’s. . . not a real constellation. We made it up when we were like, shit, thirteen? It looks real, though, right?”
You smiled and reached out to trace the thin lines connecting the small star-like dots. “Yeah, it does,” you agreed. “What about this one?”
You poked a tattoo on his ribcage, the one you’d been most curious about since you noticed it. It was a slightly faded line of thin lettering.
“Grace to be born and live as vicariously as possible,” Mike recited without looking to where you were pointing. “It’s Frank O’Hara. I got it right when I moved here, out of my parents’ house. Sentimental teenager bullshit.”
You shifted slightly closer without thinking. “Okay, then what about this one?” You tapped the tiny black key near his collarbone.
“My childhood house key. A perfect replica,” he said proudly.
The two of you continued like this for a while, the conversation drifting wherever your curiosity took it. You would point at a tattoo, and Mike would give you an answer, sometimes only a sentence or two, other times a long-winded story.
“What’s that one?”
“A moth.”
“Why a moth?”
Mike shrugged. “Thought it looked cool.”
The cassette tape on the back of his upper arm earned an unexpectedly heartfelt story about his sisters and the old stereo in the basement when he was growing up. The crow feather on his shoulder blade led to an even longer tangent about collecting feathers in the woods with the aforementioned Dustin, Will, and a new addition, Lucas.
He laughed at the “This Machine Kills Fascists” tattoo he’d gotten above his knee, the one his mother nearly screamed over when he showed it to her. He told you about the smiley face stick-and-poke on his ankle that was terribly blown out, but he stubbornly defended it. He even showed you the cigarette burn on his wrist, the one he’d gotten at fifteen the first time he’d tried to smoke.
By the time you stopped pointing, your hand had settled between the two of you, absentmindedly messing with a thread of his boxers. “You’re gonna run out of tattoos,” Mike muttered, shifting a little beneath you.
“You have a lot.”
He huffed a quiet laugh at that, reaching for the joint again, just rolling it between his fingers. “Yeah,” he agreed.
“I like the Frank O’Hara quote,” you said. “I can’t even find a pond small enough to drown in without being ostentatious.”
Mike smiled. “God, where have you been all my life?”
Your heart fluttered at his words, so you ignored him. “What’s your next one gonna be?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted.
“Well, what’s your favorite thing right now?”
Mike considered it for a moment. “Lemon bars,” he decided finally.
You laughed. “What?”
“Yeah, lemon bars. Specifically, the ones from the coffee shop on campus.”
“I’ve never tried one.”
“Fuck, they’re so good,” he said. “You’re missing out.”
“Maybe I’ll get one next time I go.”
Mike scoffed. “Good luck. They’re always sold out when I go. Or maybe they just stopped making them. Either way, I can never get one anymore.”
You frowned. “Well, maybe if you show them your lemon bar tattoo, then they’ll start making them just for you.”
Mike laughed, a sweet, unexpected sound. It was the first time you felt like you weren’t performing around him, trying to be some sexy girl from his creative writing class, mysterious enough that he continued to invite you back. But this conversation - the entire night, actually - had felt comfortably mundane.
“What do you think?” he asked, pinching your thigh lightly. “What should my next tattoo be?”
You pursed your lips, thinking. “I’m not sure. It wouldn’t really have much meaning if I chose it.”
“That’s not true.”
“I think. . .” you tapped your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “You should get a belly button piercing.”
Mike laughed in disbelief. “What?”
“Yeah,” you said, poking him in the stomach. “It would be hot. You’d be, like, a total rockstar, or something.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’d be a real Robert Smith.”
“Oh! Do you like them? The Cure, I mean?”
“You could say that. I’ve got all of their albums on vinyl.” He motioned with his head toward his extensive collection of vinyl records.
“What’s your favorite?” you asked, climbing off Mike’s lap. His hands followed you, trying to maintain the contact for as long as possible. When you were out of his reach, Mike got to his feet and stood behind you.
“Disintegration,” revealed Mike.
You began to thumb through his collection, shaking your head. “So basic,” you muttered. Mike wrapped his arms around your middle, resting his chin on top of your head.
“Hey, it came out right before we graduated high school, and half the songs are about aging, can you blame me?”
“You really are sentimental.”
“What’s yours?’
“Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me,” you said, stumbling across the album you wanted to play. You pulled it out and turned around in Mike’s arms to face him.
“If you insist,” Mike murmured, leaning down to press his lips lightly to yours. You smiled against his mouth. “And you call me basic.”
“It’s popular for a reason!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just say you have bad taste.”
“Whatever. Here, I’m putting on your sad little album about turning thirty. Happy?”
Mike grinned, flashing his teeth at you as you shoved him gently in the chest. His hands tightened around your waist before finally letting you go, reaching around and taking the record from your hands.
“I didn’t expect you to be such a nerd,” you said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed, the first notes of ‘Plainsong’ filling the room as Mike placed the needle on the vinyl. “What’s Hellfire Club, anyway?”
Mike glanced down at the faded logo stretched across his discarded shirt, lying in a heap on the floor. He returned to his previous spot, propping himself up against the headboard. “Come back here, and I’ll tell you.”
You scrunched up your nose but moved toward him anyway, taking your position atop his legs.
“It was a Dungeons & Dragons club. I was fourteen and just starting high school. I’d been playing D&D for years by then, but just with my friends - the ones I told you about.”
“Will, Dustin, and Lucas,” you recited.
“Yeah. Well, we played every week after school. I was the dungeon master, mostly. It’s sorta how I got into writing, I guess. Spending six hours writing stupid fantasy stories really has an impact on a kid.”
You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder. Mike’s large palms came up to rub against your back. “That’s cute.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone - it’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Don’t worry, tough guy, I won’t.” You paused. “Do you have a tattoo for it?”
“Of course, I do,” Mike said. You sat back up, eager to see how he’d commemorated his nerdy habit. Mike bounced one of his legs. “20-sided die on my ankle.”
“Really?” you shifted, trying to get a better look. “Show me.”
“You really wanna see every inch of me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
The warmth of his palm returned, rubbing slowly between your shoulder blades, as you inspected the small 20-sided die, just above his ankle bone, outlined in black ink. “Cool,” you muttered, barely realizing what you were saying.
“You think so?”
You nodded earnestly. “Yeah. All your tattoos, I mean - the piercings too. Fourteen-year-old Mike would probably agree with me. You’re cool.”
Mike shook his head, a faint flush creeping up his neck. While you were gawking at his tattoo, he’d grabbed the joint and lit it again. He took a long drag and reached for you, gripping your chin with slender fingers and turning you to face him. There was still a trace of self-consciousness lingering as the hand came up to the back of your head, steadying you as he leaned closer.
Your lips parted instinctively as Mike exhaled the smoke into your waiting mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, the feeling of Mike’s lips feather-light against yours. The smoke curled down your throat and into your lungs, your head already swimming.
The world seemed pleasantly hazy around the edges now, the music drifting through the air and blending with the smell of weed. Mike’s gaze never left yours, the smoke curling between you before dissipating into the warmth of the room.
“You should go,” Mike said suddenly, his voice low and raspy.
Your stomach dropped. “What?”
“It’s getting late,” he added, now staring somewhere over your shoulder. “So, you should probably leave.”
“Did I. . . do something wrong?”
“No. No, of course not. It’s just getting late. So you should leave.”
You blinked in disbelief. The record was still spinning, the joint still burning between Mike’s fingers. “Why do you always tell me to leave?” you asked, voice cracking on the last word. All the confidence you’d built up over the course of the night was shattered with just one sentence.
Mike ignored your question.
“Fine,” you snapped, not in the mood to argue. You got to your feet and began to tug off the shirt he’d given you.
“You can keep it,” Mike grumbled.
“Huh?”
“The shirt. Just keep it?”
“Why?”
“Yeah. It looks good on you anyway,” he shrugged.
“It’s a fucking shirt, Mike.”
“Yeah, but it’s mine. I like seeing you in it.”
You suppressed the urge to scream. It was hard to believe his charming words when he was actively kicking you out, when the night had taken such an abrupt turn. “Right,” you said, pulling the oversized shirt back down. “Very romantic.”
Mike stood as well, pulling on a hoodie and watching you tug on your pants and shoes with more force than necessary and gather up your little lace top and bra. There was an awkward amount of space between the two of you, the glow of the moon painting one side of his face, catching on the sharp line of his nose.
“Well,” you said finally. “I’ll see you around.”
Mike just continued to stare at you.
“What?” you asked, frustrated.
“Nothing.”
You just glowered, incredulous, and turned around to leave.
“Will you call me when you get home?” he muttered.
“What?”
“Call me when you get home.”
“Call you?”
“Yeah. So, I know that. . . you got home okay.”
“Okay,” you lied. Mike was staring at the floor.
“And, uh, I’m sorry. Thanks for staying,” he added in a whisper.
“I’ll always stay,” you said. “You’re the one who doesn’t let me.”
****
The following Friday, you showed up at Mike’s an hour later than usual. You’d spent a long time debating whether or not to go that night - time spent pacing your room and sitting in your car, just outside his apartment. You were still mad at him for what happened the last time, but you also didn’t want another repeat incident of Mike calling you and leaving a voicemail.
Over the course of the last week, Mike had looked more exhausted than usual. He didn’t even comment on the fact that you never called him after getting home, didn’t acknowledge you at all, which wasn’t really new (even though you’d hoped something might change). Andersen had even called him out in class on Wednesday, publicly berating Mike for the ‘tonal shift’ his writing had taken.
Mike had stormed out angrily, of course, not even bothering to defend himself.
That was why you decided to show up. That and the pastry bag you had clutched in your hand.
When Mike opened the door, his curls were still damp from a shower, dark ringlets clinging to his temples. He wore a black t-shirt and green sweats that hung low on his hips. “What’s that?” he asked immediately.
“Nice to see you, too, Mike. My day was great,” you teased, stepping past him into the apartment and shrugging off your coat.
He shut the door behind you.
“It’s a gift,” you explained.
Mike stared at it suspiciously. “You bought me a gift? Is it dangerous?”
You shoved it into his hands. “Open it, dumbass.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he unfolded the top of the bag. Mike peered inside, and immediately his eyebrows lifted. You knew exactly what he was seeing - a lemon bar, wrapped neatly in wax paper and dusted with powdered sugar that had already begun to smudge against the sides of the bag.
For a second, he just stared at it. Then, in a small voice, “A lemon bar?”
“You mentioned you liked them,” you explained sheepishly. “I had an early meeting with a professor this morning, so I stopped by before they sold out.
Mike looked up.
Then back down at the lemon bar.
Then back at you again.
“It might be a little dry,” you added quickly, panic seeping into your voice. The expression on Mike’s face was so stunned that you couldn’t tell if he was happy about your surprise. Maybe you’d misread the situation, and he didn’t want you here. “I tried to keep it wrapped up, but it’s been almost a full day.”
Cautiously, Mike pulled the wax paper package from the bag. The powdered sugar dusted his fingertips. “You remembered.”
You frowned. “Uh, yeah? Jeez, Mike, you’re acting like I brought you a bar of gold.”
“You practically did,” Mike replied in awe, his voice strained. He swallowed thickly and then said, “Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Aren’t you going to eat it?” you asked.
“Yeah, I will. Do you want to, though?”
“Yeah. That sounds nice.”
Mike nodded. “Okay, good.”
Then, Mike spun in a circle, like he was disoriented, before heading for the kitchen. You followed, watching as he searched through his cabinet for a plate.
“We have to share,” he explained.
“You don’t have to. It’s for you.”
“I want to share,” Mike emphasized, placing the lemon bar on a cutting board and lining up a sharpened knife. He sank the knife into the pastry, attempting to split it in half, but he somehow miscalculated, and the two halves became more of a tiny sliver, plus the rest. “Oh, shit.”
You laughed loudly, covering your hand with your mouth when he glared at you.
“And to think I was going to offer you the big piece.”
“Well, good. You should have the bigger half.”
Mike transferred the microscopic sliver onto one plate with the precision of a surgeon, pushing it over to you. He stared at the plates for a moment before you could even reach for yours, and then swapped them.
“Mike, no,” you said, swapping them back. “I brought it for you.”
“I’m trying to apologize,” he whispered, eyes big. “For last time.”
The kitchen was small enough that the two of you were practically shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning against the counter. There was still powdered sugar dusted across Mike’s fingers, and you longed to lick it off.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“But, I do. I keep fucking things up. I don’t know how to. . .” his voice faltered, his eyes glassy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole.”
He glanced over at you. You didn’t know how to respond - you wanted to assure him that it was okay, that you accepted his apology, but it wasn’t okay.
“Let’s just watch a movie, okay?” you said instead.
Mike visibly deflated. “Okay, yeah.”
You picked up his plate and shoved it into his chest. “And try your lemon bar. Don’t let it go to waste.”
****
It was the last day of the quarter, the last day before winter break, and you were sitting in the campus coffee shop, discussing the logistics of your upcoming vacation with two of your friends - Stacey and Tara - when Mike walked in.
It was snowing outside, just enough to cast a filter of white on the world, and there was a thin layer of snowflakes on Mike’s hair when he entered the cafe. The highest points of his cheeks and his nose were flushed pink from the cold.
“Is that Wheeler?” asked Tara, looking up from where she was preemptively writing an itinerary for your week. “God, he looks gorgeous today,” she added as he walked by your table, closer than was probably necessary.
You hummed in noncommittal agreement.
“You knew, he invited me over the other day,” Tara said, lowering her voice to a stage-whisper. She didn’t mind if anyone knew her secrets - she shared them like people shared smiles. “I was surprised when he called me. It’s been months since he even talked to me last.”
Your hand froze on its way to pick up your coffee cup, a terrible, sinking feeling gnawing at your stomach. “Mike invited you over?”
Tara nodded. “Yeah. Super late at night, too. He just, like, called me out of nowhere and told me his address - not that I needed a reminder, I’ve been there before - and so I went, obviously. He called at such a good time. I’d just showered a few hours before. Anyway, we had like crazy good sex, and then I guess we fell asleep while talking or something, because I woke up in his apartment the next morning.
“Crazy good sex,” Stacey mocked. “Come on, how good can it really be?”
“You’re just jealous Mike hasn’t hooked up with you yet,” Tara snapped defensively. She looked at you. “You too, right? You haven’t slept with Wheeler?”
You shook your head, your mouth suddenly dry. You took a panicked sip of coffee before clearing your throat and saying, “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, the two of you are missing out. Not that I want to share-”
“When did you say this was?” you interrupted.
Tara pursed her lips. “What’s today? I’d say. . . probably two weeks ago? I think it was a Saturday night - no, it was a Friday. That’s right, I had class that morning. It was a Friday.”
“Oh,” you said. “And you said you spent the night?”
“Yeah, not on purpose, though. We just smoked a joint together and talked about life and shit. Real philosophical stuff. But, like I said, we must’ve just fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation. It’s not like he invited me over.”
You stood abruptly, knocking your knee on the table. “I have to go,” you said.
“What?” Stacey and Tara said at the same time.
“I, uh, forgot that I was going to meet Andersen for office hours. I’ve missed a lot of class recently, so I just need to make sure I’m not forgetting anything important before our final portfolio is due,” you rambled, gathering up your stuff. It felt like a mocking imitation of your first interaction with Mike.
“Are you sure you feel okay?” Stacey asked, getting to her feet as well. “Do you want me to come back to the apartment with you when you’re done?”
You shook your head. “No, I’m fine. You stay here.”
“We’re supposed to figure the schedule out,” Tara whined, motioning to the itinerary she’d been writing. “We leave in two days.”
“I know, and we can do that another time,” you promised.
“Come over tomorrow night,” Stacey proposed to Tara. “The two of us will be there, and I think all the girls will, too. We can figure it out then.”
Tara sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Fine, I’ll clear my schedule.”
“I’m really sorry. I just completely forgot I was supposed to meet with Andersen,” you said, eyes darting to where Mike was slouching over a book, his long fingers tapping at the table. “We can do tomorrow night.”
“Good luck,” said Stacey with a sympathetic smile. You hoped she hadn’t sensed your apprehension about Tara and Mike and was instead just sympathizing with Tara’s overbearing planning tendencies and having to meet with Andersen.
The cold air made your eyes sting as you stepped outside. The flurries had picked up slightly, coming down harder and sticking to the ground. You clutched your jacket tighter around yourself, already shivering.
You knew that all of this could be solved with a simple conversation with Mike, but was there really anything to be solved in the first place? If anything, this was just a reminder that Mike didn’t belong to you, that you were easily replaceable if you didn’t show up. Did you have any right to be upset at Mike for inviting a girl over in your place? Even if that girl did happen to be one of your friends?
Sure, Tara wasn’t your roommate anymore, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly at the apartment. Which meant that now you, Tara, and your best friend had all slept with Mike at one point or another. Was that weird? You weren’t sure.
Throughout your secret little tryst with Mike, you’d almost forgotten who he really was. If Mike didn’t have a reputation for sleeping around, you doubted you’d be in this situation in the first place. He likely wouldn’t have slept with you at all.
You trudged through campus, keeping your head down as the snow pelted your face, blurring the clean contours of the buildings. You couldn’t really go back to your apartment now, just in case Stacey showed up. Or worse, Stacey and Tara. And you’d already submitted your portfolio for Andersen’s class, so there was no point in talking to him. Unless he had advice on the complicated situation you’d found yourself in.
You thought of that day, just a week ago, when Mike had stormed out of Andersen’s class after the broody professor had critiqued the vulnerability Mike had begun to show in his writing. You wished you could read his latest submission, know what he had been lamenting about, and why it had led Andersen to criticize his star student.
What would have happened if you’d gone after Mike? Would it have changed anything? Not that it could undo him sleeping with Tara, but would it give him a reason to go after you?
You looked behind you, wondering if you’d spot Mike’s silhouette in the snow.
He hadn’t followed you, of course. He likely never even noticed you left. Barely even acknowledged that you noticed you were in the coffee shop in the first place.
You ducked into one of the buildings on the edge of campus, needing a reprieve from the chill. It was delightfully warm inside, swathing you in a blanket of comfort as you sank into one of the plush chairs lining the hallway.
You knew that the right thing to do was to talk to Mike. It could all be solved with a simple conversation. You knew that. But part of you didn’t even want to solve anything in the first place. What was the point? Ask Mike to explain his behavior, completely justified behavior (you had bailed on him after all, and it’s not like the two of you were exclusive), just so you could have your accusations confirmed and your feelings hurt.
The idea didn’t exactly sound appealing.
The alternative, though, in your mind, was to distance yourself from Mike for good. You were about to enter the second half of your senior year - in approximately six months, you would be graduating, and would likely never see Mike Wheeler again. Unless the two of you ended up working with the same publisher. . . or speaking at the same book events. . . but that seemed extremely unlikely.
After you received your degree, Mike would be a blip on the radar, a campfire story, the mythical legend he was always meant to be in your life. There was no logical reason why he’d ended up in your life in the first place.
Ending up in his bed had been a mistake. He was a mistake.
You shivered, despite the warm air pumping through the vents.
It seemed that your dilemma had been solved. The only answer was to stop talking to Mike, to stop answering his calls and showing up at his door. To stop letting him woo you just to break your heart afterward. To stop bringing him lemon bars just because he liked them so much.
What had he ever done for you?
****
The trip had done exactly what you had hoped it would.
For the first few days, your mind wandered to Mike constantly. Every time Tara opened her mouth, you couldn’t help but imagine her kissing Mike, a shared joint passing between them. You tried not to be heartbroken - Mike did technically have the right to sleep with her - but it was hard not to be upset.
By the end of the week, something had changed.
You laughed with your friends, stayed up too late talking about stupid things, and let yourself exist in a world where Mike Wheeler wasn’t the center of every thought.
By the time you packed your bags, you almost felt normal again.
Almost.
You decided to leave a day earlier than everyone else. You missed your own bed, your own shower, and the comfort of being alone for a little while. Frankly, you were burnt out on being energetic all the time and trying not to pretend that Tara’s face didn’t piss you off.
The sun had set by the time you pulled up to your apartment complex and lugged your suitcase up the stairs.
There was someone familiar sitting outside your door. Someone who unfolded himself the second he saw you coming down the hallway.
Mike.
His curls were longer than you remembered, a testament to the amount of time that had passed, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, stopping right outside your apartment.
Mike swallowed. “Your best friend, she, uh, told me you were coming home.”
“She called you?’
Mike nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, she did.”
Anger bubbled up inside you at the betrayal, and you pushed past Mike, unlocking the door with a shaky hand and shoving your suitcase inside. Mike didn’t follow immediately, just stayed in the hall like a vampire who needed permission to cross the threshold.
Maybe he was a vampire. All he’d done was suck all the joy from your life.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No, Mike. Go home,” you seethed, flipping on the light switch. All you’d wanted was to come home to some peace and quiet. “I’m done talking to you.”
“I needed to see you.”
“You could’ve waited like a normal person.”
“I did wait,” he said. “For days. You didn’t come over on Friday, and so I kept calling you. You didn’t pick up.”
“I was busy,” you said flatly. Mike looked pathetic standing in the doorway. “Fuck, just come inside.”
Mike obeyed. You didn’t look at him; instead busying yourself with your suitcase, dragging it toward your bedroom. He followed behind like a lost puppy, hands shoved in his jeans pocket, a joint tucked behind his ear for later.
“What do you want?” you asked, exasperated, turning to face him. “Are you just here to annoy me until I sleep with you again? Because I’m not doing that anymore, okay? We’re done.”
Mike recoiled like he’d been hit. “No,” he said, his voice crackling at the edges. “That’s not. . . that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why, Mike?” you asked, crossing your arms tightly across your chest.
“I want to apologize.”
“Yeah, you want to.”
“I’m here to apologize,” he corrected. “I want to fix everything.”
“What is there to fix?” you cried. “We were hooking up, weren’t we? It’s not like we were exclusive or fucking dating!”
“I hurt you.”
“No, you made me sad, Mike.” The word sounded childish on your tongue, but it was the truest way you could convey your emotions. You’d spent your entire college career coming up with clever ways to say simple things, but in that moment, it all boiled down to the fact that you were sad.
It was almost as if Mike was the opposite, as if he didn’t know how to express real emotion outside of thickened metaphors. He bogged his own heart down with his inability to communicate, and it would be his ruin.
“I can’t even blame you,” you continued, tears welling in your eyes despite how badly you willed them not to. “You’re a fucking folk tale on campus, a fucking celebrity. I knew who you were long before I met you that day in the library, and I still chose to sleep with you. I knew that you’ve slept with every girl you can get your hands on, half my roommates included, and yet I still went to your apartment. I have tried so badly to blame you, Mike, for how disposable you made me feel, but it’s really my fault, isn’t it? So, I don’t need you to come here and mindlessly apologize for something that isn’t even technically your problem, just because it will make you feel better. Because it won’t make me feel better.”
Mike’s face crumbled at that, and he went very still. “I’m not here because it makes me feel better,” he said eventually. “I feel worse, actually.”
You let out a sharp breath through your nose.
“I mean it. I didn’t come to apologize just so you’d sleep with me again. I came here to tell you. . . to tell you how I feel. About you.”
Mike tugged at his sleeves.
“I know what people think of me. That I’m someone who just takes and leaves, and maybe I am that person. But I don’t want to be. Not with you.”
You wiped at your face aggressively.
“I know you think I don’t care about you,” he continued.
“You kick me out every time we have sex,” you argued back.
“Because I don’t know how to do this,” he exclaimed, motioning between the two of you. “This is what I’m bad at - the emotions and the fucking feelings. It’s why I keep everyone at arm’s length, so I can’t fall in love with anyone. But you. God, you. How could I not fall in love with you?”
“Love?” you echoed.
“Yes. Love. That day in the library, I had been building up the courage to approach you for weeks. Years, actually. I mean, shit, yeah, we’ve slept together, but we’ve also read each other’s writing. Terrible rough drafts and vulnerable, poetic bullshit that means nothing. What’s more intimate than that? Of course, I fell in love with you.”
Mike looked like he regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth, but he didn’t take it back. He just stood there, breathing a little unevenly.
“You kicked me out,” you said quietly. “Every single time.”
“I know,” he said urgently. “I know how it looks-”
“It’s not how it looks,” you cut in. “It’s what it is.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel used. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”
“You slept with Tara.”
“What?” For the first time, Mike looked genuinely confused at your words. “No, I didn’t.”
“She told me, Mike.”
“No. No, I didn’t,” he assured. “Okay, yeah, I invited her over when you didn’t show up, but the second I even kissed her, it didn’t feel right. She wasn’t you. It’s only been you since the first time you came over, okay?”
“You’re lying,” you said automatically. “She said-”
You stopped yourself, jaw clenching as you replayed it.
“She said you let her stay the night.”
‘I didn’t sleep with her,” Mike promised, taking your hands in his. “I kissed her, yes, but then I stopped. And I felt like shit after. I was trying not to think about you. I was trying to be what everyone thinks I am instead of. . . whatever this is. It was easier to feed into it than to try to convince you that I’ve changed, but I don’t feel that way anymore. It will never be anyone but you.”
Your throat tightened. “That’s not fair,” you said weakly. You tried to pull your hands back on instinct, and he didn’t resist when you did. The loss of contact made the air feel colder. “I have spent the last few months spiraling over you, trying to figure you out. One second, you were so sweet, and the next, you were acting like I was an inconvenience. How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “But I need you to know. I don’t want to keep doing what I did before, even if you don’t choose me.” Mike paused and closed his eyes. “All I want is a room up there and you in it.”
You sniffled. “Frank O’Hara,” you whispered.
He smiled, just barely. “I’m not good at the part after,” he admitted. “I never have been. The hookup part is easy. You know what people want from you. You do the right thing, say the right thing, then everybody leaves, and it’s over. With you, it never felt over. I don’t know how to just. . . let people matter to me normally. I always screw things up - I did screw things up - so I convinced myself that if I kept it physical, I could control it. Like if we just hooked up, then I wouldn’t have to admit that I liked you so much it was actually making me miserable.”
“Mike-”
“I need you to know that I’m never going to ask you to leave again,” Mike finished. “I’m not going to leave, not even if you ask me to.”
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: your stress levels have been through the roof for weeks and the only person bearing the brunt of your bad mood is your best friend, steve harrington. after too many coments, steve finally calls you out until finally he suggests a way to release the tension, and it's not in the way you expected.
wc: 3.8k
warnings: +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, unprotected sex, fem!reader, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, best friend steve, dirty talk, rough sex, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation in pool (f receiving), mention of alcohol, big dick canon, reader being a bitch with steve, fingers in mouth, aftercare.
author's note: just wanted to say thanks my girl valeria for the help
college was wearing you out, finals were breathing down your neck, and on top of that, you had extra shifts in your horrible and boring work. and that made you absolutely buried under stress for weeks.
you were sleeping barely four hours a night, and the only thing keeping you awake was the excessive amount of coffee and the occasional nap you’d take without meaning to when you’d fall asleep sitting at your desk.
everything annoyed you. everything was too loud, too bright, and just too much for you. and unfortunately for him, steve harrington –who had been your best friend since high school– was taking the brunt of your whole situation, including your bad mood.
you had been a complete bitch to him the past two weeks, but there was one particular situation that lingered in steve’s mind more than he would have liked.
you stormed into family video. the cool air conditioning hit your overheated skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. your shoulders were tight, your jaw locked, and you hadn’t slept properly in days.
between finals and extra shifts, you were one inconvenience away from snapping.
you just wanted a movie. something spicy enough to distract you tonight when you were alone, trying –and probably failing– to relieve some of this unbearable tension by yourself.
steve was behind the counter wearing that stupid green family video uniform that somehow made his shoulders look broader and his arms look bigger. robin was a few feet away, restocking some tapes, but you could already feel her watching you the second you walked through the door.
you went straight to the small adult section and grabbed the first movie that looked filthy enough. a half-naked couple on the cover with a dark lighting and a title that screamed horny.
you didn’t even read the back, you just wanted something with sex, moaning and heavy breathing: anything to help you when you were alone in your room.
with the tape clutched tightly in your hand, you went straight to the corner, slamming it down. steve was leaning against the register, and the second he saw the tape, his hazel eyes lit up with pure mischief.
he picked up the tape slowly and raised his eyebrows, turning it in his hands as he examined the cover with exaggerated interest.
‘’so… what’s this?’’ he said, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. ‘’you have a date tonight and you’re looking for ideas for later or what?’’
your face instantly heated up with a mix of embarrassment and rage.
‘’shut the fuck up, steve,’’ you snapped, glaring at him with pure venom. ‘’just scan the tape and keep your mouth closed today.’’
steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded.
‘’no, no… you don’t get to say that,’’ he replied, acting completely indignant. ‘’we tell each other everything. everything. since when are you planning spicy nights and not telling me? i thought we had no secrets. i’m… deeply hurt.’’
robin, who was pretending to organize tapes on a nearby shelf, let out a loud snort and walked closer, clearly entertained.
‘’i hope steve doesn’t tell you in detail how he keeps sleeping with half the girls in hawkins,’’ she said, glancing at you with a smirk. ‘’because apparently he’s still very much in game.’’
steve turned to her with a fake smile.
‘’hey! i don’t sleep with all of them,’’ he protested though the little smirk on his face made it very obvious he was lying through his teeth.
he turned back on you, leaning further over the counter, his voice dropping into that low teasing tone that always drove you insane.
‘’but seriously, you didn’t tell me anything. what is wrong with you?’’ your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you could feel your face burning with humiliation and pure anger.
‘’steve, i swear to god’’ you hissed through gritted teeth. ‘’if you don’t shut up your fucking mouth right now and give me the damn tape, i’m going to throw this at your head and walk out.’’
steve chuckled softly, scanning the tape painfully slowly, clearly enjoying every second of your frustration.
‘’damn, you really are wound up today, huh?’’ he said, still smirking. robin leaked against the counter beside him.
you snatched the tape the second it was scanned, practically throwing your money at steve’s chest.
‘’you’re acting like the worst best friend in the entire fucking world,’’ you growled with your voice shaking with anger. ‘’i don’t know why i even bother with you anymore.’’
steve just smiled innocently as you turned on your heel to storm out.
‘’enjoy your movie and your date!’’ he called after you sweetly. the second you were gone, robin whistled.
‘’you’re such an asshole,’’ she laughed. steve stared at the door you had just slammed, a stupid smile still on his face.
after that, the week went on just the same—or even worse. you still were a bitch with him; snapping at his jokes, rolling your eyes when he tried to cheer you up, giving him short answers and telling him to shut up. and steve was patient, really patient.
but he couldn't take it anymore.
it was friday night. steve dropped robin off at her house after closing family video. you were sitting in the passenger seat of his bmw, arms crossed tightly over your chest and your jaw clenched so hard it ached.
you stared out the window like you were offended, and the silence in the car was thick and uncomfortable, almost suffocating. steve glanced at you sideways while his fingers drummed on the stared.
the silence only lasted a few more seconds before he couldn’t hold back anymore.
‘’jesus christ,’’ he muttered while shaking his hand. ‘’you gonna keep sitting there like i ran over your dog?’’
you didn’t even look at him. steve let out a sarcastic laugh.
‘’wow. really mature. you’ve been acting like this for you weeks and now you can’t even speak? what, did i breathe too loud today?’’
that did it.
you whipped your head towards him, your eyes blazing with anger.
‘’god, can you just shut up for once in your life, steve?’’ you snapped with a sharp and venomous voice. ‘’you’re so fucking annoying. always poking, always talking. i’m allowed to be in a bad mood without you making it worse by being a pain in the ass.’’
steve’s eyebrows shot up, but instead of backing off, he smirked.
‘’oh, i’m the annoying one now?’’ he shot back, teasing. ‘’you’ve been treating me like shit for two weeks straight and i’m the problem? come on. you’re being so dramatic.’’
your mouth fell open in disbelief.
‘’are you serious right now?’’ you hissed while you raised your voice. ‘’you’re such a fucking asshole. i told you i’m stressed, i told you i’m tense and all you do is poke at me like i’m so kind of joke.’’
steve’s smirk faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered, still trying to push your buttons.
‘’maybe if you stopped being so uptight and actually talked to me instead of biting my head off every five seconds–’’
‘’pull over,’’ you cut him off coldly. steve blinked.
‘’what?’’
‘’i said pull the fuck over. i’d rather walk home than listen to you right now.’’
steve didn’t pull over. instead, he let out a long breath and softened his tone a little bit.
you let out a long exhausted sight and rubbed your face with both hands, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on you. your eyes burned from lack of sleep and your shoulders felt like they were carrying bricks.
‘’i’m sorry, steve… i’m not mad at you. i swear i’m not,’’ you numbed. ‘’i’m just… really fucking tired. everything irritates me. i’ve tried everything. i went running, took long hot baths, even touched myself and nothing helps.’’
steve stayed quiet for a long moment, driving slowly through the dark streets. the only sound was the low hum of the engine. then, he let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
‘’you know… i did some reading the other day. family video stress the shit out of me and i searched some things.’’ he said casually, glancing at you. ‘’i’ll look into it properly. give me a couple of days. maybe i can find something that actually helps you realise all that tension.’’
you didn't reply. the car fell silent again as he drove you home.
three days. those were the exact days that passed. it was monday night, just past midnight.
steve invited you to his big house. you both had been drinking for a couple of hours by the pool. nothing too strong, just a few beers.
you were sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water, wearing one of steve’s old shirts over your bikini. steve was inside the pool, leaning against the edge right in front of you, shirtless, and with his hair wet and messy.
he looked up at you, water droplets running down his hairy chest and you tried not to make too much eye contact there.
‘’so… i did the research i promised,’’ he said with a soft voice. ‘’i went to the library and everything. looked in actual encyclopedias and medical books.’’
you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.
‘’wow. you actually went to the library and read? i’m impressed, harrington. didn’t know you knew how.’’
steve grinned and grabbed your waist with both hands, yanking you in the water. you let out a surprised squeal as you both fell into the warm water with a big splash. when you came up for air, steve was right in front of you.
‘’you asshole!’’ you laughed, pushing his chest.
the soaked shirt was now clinging to your body like a second skin, and without thinking, you grabbed the hem and pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the pool deck with a wet slap.
steve’s eyes darkened as they roamed over your body for a second before he forced them back to your face.
‘’well, you deserved that. that was cold,’’ he said, pretending to be deeply offended.
‘’start talking before i leave to drink another beer,’’ you said.
‘’i spent actual hours reading about endorphins, oxytocin, stress hormones… all of it. apparently the fastest way to release extreme built-up tension is through really intense physical activity. multiple orgasms.’’
he was getting more nervous the longer he spoke so his usual cocky confidence cracked.
‘’i mean– you don’t have to… obviously,’’ he added quickly while his voice got softer. ‘’it was an idea. we can pretend i never said anything. i don’t want to make things weird between us. i just hate seeing you this stressed and…’’
‘’are you insinuating something, steve?’’ you asked.
you wanted to hear an answer from him to see if they were just empty words coming out of his mouth or if he really meant it.
‘’yeah… i mean, yes,’’ he admitted. then he backtracked. ‘’no, no, nothing like that! i didn’t mean– shit, forget i said anything. i wasn’t trying to pressure you or–’’
you smiled and leaned a little closer to him. steve took it as a signal, so he cupped your face with one hand and kissed you.
the kiss started gentle but quickly turned deeper. you responded, kissing him back while your fingers thread through his wet hair.
after some seconds you pulled back slightly, breathing a little faster, and whispered against his lips.
‘’i’ll keep that in mind.” you started to pull away, but steve gently grabbed your hand, stopping you. he pulled you back toward him.
you smiled, then leaned in and kissed him again — deeper this time, more sure.
he froze for half a second before he melted into the kiss with a deep groan. his wet hands immediately grabbed your waist.
steve was an incredible kisser. girls weren't lying about that.
he started by pressing his lips against yours, then focused on your upper lip –kissing it gently– then with more pressure. his mouth moved perfectly against yours, slow and deep at first, then hungrier.
his nose kept bumping into yours.
you moaned softly into his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. his hands grabbed your ass under the water, squeezing firmly and pulling you flush against him. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, grinding against the obvious bulge in his swim trunks.
steve groaned against your lips, one hand staying on your ass while the other slid between your bodies. his fingers then pressed over your bikini bottoms, rubbing slow and firm circles against your covered clit.
‘’fuck..’’ he murmured between kisses. he kept kissing you on the upper lip while his fingers rubbed gaster, pressing against your clit through the thin fabric.
you held onto his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin as pleasure built rapidly.
‘’that’s it, pretty girl,’’ he whispered hotly. ‘’grind on my hand like a good girl. you’ve been so tense for weeks… you deserve this.’’
he wasn’t as shy as he was a few minutes earlier.
you whimpered, rolling your hips desperately against his fingers. steve rubbed faster, pressing harder while the water made everything slick and intense.
‘’steve– fuck,’’ you moaned.
‘’you touched yourself so many times and couldn’t cum properly, huh, princess?’’ he growled softly. ‘’look how quickly you’re shaking for me, baby. this pretty pussy is so needy for my touch. that’s cute.’’
your legs started trembling violently around his waist. pleasure built higher as he rubbed fast circles. you were right on the edge, thighs squeezing him.
‘’steve– oh god. i’m so close, please.’’ you whimpered.
just as you were about to cum, he suddenly slowed down and pulled his hand away. you let out a broken whimper, burying your face in his neck.
‘’not yet, baby,’’ he whispered. ‘’i want you in my bed. i want to take my time with you, princess. i want to hear every pretty sound you make when i finally let you fall apart.’’
he kissed one last time before carrying you out of the pool toward the house, water dripping everywhere.
the second you were through the front door, steve pinned you against it, kissing you again like he was starving. you stumbled up the stairs together, and halfway up, steve pressed you against the railing, kissing you deeply again.
you finally reached his bedroom door, crashing through it. steve kicked it shut behind him and threw you onto his bed slowly. you landed with a small bounce, still dripping wet from the pool.
steve crawled over you, his hair was still dripping. then he moved down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin until he settled between your spread thighs. he looked up at you with hungry eyes.
he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms and slowly pulled them down your legs, tossing them aside. he buried his face between your legs and devoured you like a man starved.
steve was completely pussy drunk. he licked, sucked and tongue-fucked you with messy enthusiasm, moaning loudly against your pussy as two fingers pumped deep inside you.
he licked a long slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, moaning loudly at your taste.
‘’fuck, you taste so good,’’ he groaned, the vibrations sent you shocks through your body. ‘’so sweet and sloppy. i could eat this pretty cunt for hours.’’
‘’please– don’t stop. don’t.’’ you moaned, rolling your hips against his face.
he dove back in like a man possessed.
steve licked broad, flat strokes through your folds, savoring every drop of your wetness. he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, humming happily as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your sensitive bud.
then he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose was pressed against your clit. he was loud, messy and addicted. the obscene wet sounds of him slurping, sucking and moaning against your pussy filled the entire room.
his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he buried his face deeper.
‘’god, baby… you’re dripping down my chin,’’ he mumbled. ‘’such a messy little pussy. you’re soaking me and i fucking love it.’’
he replaced his tongue with his fingers again, pumping them and curling them perfectly against your g-spot while he focused on your clit again.
‘’fuck, steve… you’re so good at this.’’ you moaned.
‘’you love this, don’t you, princess?’’ he said. his chin was shining with your juices. ‘’love having your best friend eat your pussy like a starving man. bet you’ve been touching this greedy cunt thinking about me every night while you were being mean to me.’’
you moaned loudly, and steve doubled down, sucking harder and pumping his fingers faster. he was completely lost in you.
‘’steve, fuck. i’m gonna cum–’’ you cried out.
he didn’t stop, and you came hard with a loud scream. your thighs clamped around his head as you gusher on his tongue and fingers. steve moaned loudly, refusing to pull away.
he kept licking and fingering you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive, pushing at his head.
he finally pulled back, his chin and lips shiny with your juices and his eyes glazed with pure lust. steve shoved his swim trunks down his hips, kicking them off, and his thick hard cock sprang free.
steve was huge. way too big.
you’d had sex with other guys before, but you’d never seen anything like this.
you always heard him talk about his sexual experiences. that was the normal thing between you two as best friends.
but you just thought he was exaggerating — that it was just an ego boost.
when robin joked about it, or steve said that girls told him it didn't fit in, you just laughed: you thought they were just jokes.
but apparently, they weren’t.
he climbed on top of you and rubbed the head up and down your soaked folds.
‘’look at me, princess,’’ he ordered.
and you did.
‘’i don’t know if it all fits steve. you’re so big…’’
‘’just the tip first.’’ he groaned, and then he pushed a little bit, the head stretching you open. ‘’relax for me… that’s it, good girl. you’re doing so well.’’
he rocked his hips gently, feeding you another inch. then another, watching your face the entire time.
‘’oh my god…. fuck, steve.’’
‘’taking me so good, baby.’’ he praised with rough voice. ‘’look how your pretty pussy is swallowing my cock.’’
then his control snapped. steve pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in hard, setting a brutal pace. the bed cracked as he fucked ou deep and rough, hips snapping against your ass with loud slaps.
‘’take it, princess,’’ he growled. ‘’take every fucking inch.’’
after a few thrusts, he pulled out, flipped you onto your hands and knees, and positioned you so you were facing a full-length mirror in the corner of his room.
the mirror was tall and elegant.
steve had had it since his freshman year of high school, back when he was king steve: the ultimate jock who spent way too much time obsessing over his hair, clothes and appearance. he used to stand in front of it and fix his hair there, and now, some years later, he was fucking you in front of it.
steve got behind you, gripped your hips tightly and thrust back inside you again.
‘’look. look in the mirror.’’
he grabbed your face with one hand, fingers gripping your jaw firmly but not painfully, and he forced you to look straight ahead at your reflection.
“watch,” he ordered, starting to fuck you hard again. “watch how pretty you look getting fucked by my big cock.”
you moaned loudly at the sight. the mirror showed everything in explicit detail; your flushed face, your tits bouncing wildly with every thrust, your mouth open in pleasure, and steve’s body behind you as he pounded into you mercilessly. his thick cock disappeared completely inside your pussy again and again, stretching you wide.
“steve— oh my god. look at how deep you are…” you gasped, unable to look away. “you’re so big…”
“yeah? you like watching me destroy this tight pussy, baby?” he groaned, slamming into you harder. he kept one hand on your jaw, forcing you to keep watching. “look at how well you take every inch. such a good girl for me, princess.”
he fucked you relentlessly in front of the mirror, hips snapping against your ass as the sound of skin slapped loud and filthy. his other hand reached around to rub your clit in fast giving rough circles.
he suddenly pushed two fingers into your mouth.
“suck,” he commanded, voice low and filthy. “suck my fingers while you watch yourself get fucked, princess.” you moaned around his fingers, sucking them greedily as he continued pounding into you.
“cum for me, baby,” he commanded with a low voice. “cum while you watch yourself get fucked by your best friend. gonna breed you so deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days. you want that, princess? want me to pump you full until your belly swells with my load?”
you moaned loudly around his fingers, nodding desperately as you watched yourself in the mirror. steve fucked you even harder as the same time he rubbed your clit faster.
“that’s it… cum for me, baby. let me breed this greedy little cunt.”
you came hard with a loud scream, your walls pulsing violently around his thick cock. steve followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your pussy with thick hot ropes of cum.
he stayed buried deep inside you, both of you breathing heavily, sweaty and satisfied. then kissed your shoulder softly, still holding your face so you could see your wrecked reflection.
then his entire behavior softened.
steve slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of being empty. he gently turned onto your back and lay down beside you.
‘’you okay?’’ he whispered. ‘’was i too rough or something?’’ you shook your head, still catching your breath.
‘’i’m perfect,’’ you murmured. ‘’i feel relaxed now.’’
steve chuckled softly, sitting in the bed to put his clothes back again.
‘’let me take care of you now, okay?’’
he got up and walked to the bathroom, returning a minute later with a towel. steve gently cleaned between your legs, wiping away the mixture of your juices and his cum. he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed.
after a comfortable silence, steve spoke.
‘’... is this gonna ruin our friendship?’’
you lifted your head to look at him.
‘’no,’’ you whispered. ‘’it won’t.’’
steve let out a relieved breath.
‘’good,’’ he said, smiling. ‘’because next time you feel this stressed… don’t be a bitch to me again. just come to my house. the scientific method clearly works.’’
you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.
summary: steve can’t keep his eyes off his neighbor every time she goes for a night swim
warnings: smut, perv!steve, male masturbation, dubcon (?), peeping tom vibes, cursing
word count: 1.5k
from jen: i love this one so i hope you guys do too!! angst and maybe one more smut fic coming tomorrow. as always, with love <3
Look away. Look away. Look away. Look away.
Steve’s angel on his shoulder is screaming at him, begging for the man to listen but he doesn’t. He can’t.
Because less than a hundred feet away from him, you’re there. Carefree and beautiful, swimming and floating around in your pool.
Never mind that it’s almost one in the morning. Every night for the past two weeks, you’ve stepped onto your patio and swam laps around the pool while Steve watches from his window.
He can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse that his bedroom window has the perfect view of your backyard, and the pool you’ve occupied lately.
Steve doesn’t know you well. You moved into the house next to his only a few months ago – renting it from the Belmont’s he’s grown up living next to.
You seemed nice, kind even. On the first week, you had knocked on his door with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. You introduced yourself with a dizzying smile, and a syrupy sweet voice – he physically had to stop himself from drooling.
And once you were fully settled in, your routine began. You worked at the diner in midtown, and he only knew that because saw you wearing the uniform dress and apron while he was checking the mail – not because he was watching you (he absolutely was).
You seemed to take the mid shifts for the most part. You left for work around 2PM and came home at 9PM, four days out of the week. He wasn’t sure what you did once you were home but once midnight hit, you were in the pool – every night like clockwork.
And tonight’s no exception.
Steve is standing in front of his window, far enough to not be seen unless you’re really looking, but still close enough to see you clearly. There’s not much light outside – most of it comes from the reflection of the moon and a warmer light you’ve installed in your own backyard.
You’ve been swimming for almost thirty minutes now and not once has his eyes wandered from the sight of you. Despite the darkness, he can see you perfectly. You’re floating on your back now and your body is on full display to him.
You’re wearing a red bikini and the color is so stark, it almost glows against the water. Your arms are moving slowly under the water to keep you afloat, your knees and ankles moving carefully to help tread the water.
He can’t tell if your eyes are open or not, and it’s hard to focus on anything except your tits.
Steve inwardly cringes at himself, and tears his eyes away from you – choosing to stare at a patch of carpet on his bedroom floor instead. He’s being disgusting and disrespectful. You’re in the comfort of your own home, doing something that brings you peace and he’s invading that. Even if you don’t know it.
He should close his blinds– no, he’s going to.
Just as Steve looks back up to close the curtains, his eyes land back on where you were floating but something’s different.
You’re still floating, easily treading water but this time, without your fucking top on.
Steve’s mouth goes completely dry and his already half hard cock, hardens even more – straining against the waistband of his sweatpants.
He sees the bikini top you had on barely two minutes ago now hanging off the small stonewall ledge of the pool. For a second, he wonders if you took it off for him. But that would be ridiculous. Surely if you had even an inkling of him watching you, you would storm right up to him and smack him across his face – probably yell obscenities at him, maybe even call the police.
Right?
Steve swallows harshly and despite telling himself to shut the blinds a few moments ago, he grabs the chair from his desk and slides it to in front of the window. He settles into it without much more thought and watches as you move through the water.
He knows he shouldn’t but all common sense has left his mind and has been overtaken by hunger. Steve’s hands find the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, swiftly tugging them down past his thighs.
The cool air hits his skin and just barely offers him some sense of relief. He can feel the bead of precum wet on his tip. Keeping his eyes on you, he raises his hand and carefully spits into his palm. He wraps his palm around his cock, slowly twisting his wrist as he jerks himself off.
“Fuck,” He breathes aloud. The relief is immediate, and even though he wishes it was your hand instead of his, he welcomes it.
His wet hand keeps working around himself, and he watches you descend under water. You stay under for a few seconds, long enough to make him miss you. Finally, you come back up, your hands raising to push your drenched hair away from your face.
Steve doesn’t even try to silence the moan that spills from his throat. His eyes follow the way the water cascades from down your face, down your throat, all the way till it falls over your tits. Your mouth is just barely hung open, very clearly so you can inhale fresh air, and water slides over your rosy pink lips.
Steve’s hand moves faster as he keeps his gaze glued to you. His room fills with the sound of his slick hand fisting his cock, his hand stroking himself up and down, up and down.
He whines into the air as you lean backwards again, your chest and torso displayed to him again and he’s so, so fucking grateful.
“Oh fuck, mhmm,” Steve groans, his hand moving faster. The lewd schlick sound of his wet palm stroking his cock surrounds him, it’s so loud he’s almost worried you’d be able to hear it.
His breathing getting heavier as he tracks the way you move. His eyes threaten to squeeze shut but he can’t bring himself to look away from you, even for a second.
You keep moving, slowly swimming from the shallow end to the deep end. Your body moves to effortlessly, so beautifully and his mind begins to wander.
He imagines how you’d look riding him. He imagines how your tits would bounce in clear view of his face, perfect for him to grab and squeeze as you fuck yourself on his cock.
His hand tightens around his shaft, a thin layer of sweat building at his temple. He keeps thinking of how you’d look as he fucked you.
He could fuck you in that same pool – push you against the stone wall, holding your hips in place as he fucks into you. He imagines every pretty sound that would slip past your lips, how you’d whine and beg for more.
“S-Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby,” Steve hisses as he moans mindlessly, his hand pumps his dick faster, rougher. He’s so close already.
He focuses back on you. You’re floating in the shallow end again, and Steve’s gaze is fixated on the way your hand rises out of the water, the tips of your fingers gently gliding across the west skin of your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, carefully circling the skin around your nipple.
His hand is frantic now, stroking himself relentlessly as he stares at you. He’s a moaning, blubbering mess as he watches the way you touch yourself. It’s a show perfectly made for him.
Steve felt that rush of adrenaline coursing in his veins, traveling through his chest and all the way down to his cock. He was right there, and as he watches you emerge from the pool – water soaking your tanned body, droplets sliding down your skin, he’s thrown over the edge.
His stomach tightens, head thrown back as he whines your name into the air. He barely has time to throw his shirt upwards, exposing his stomach as warm ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his skin.
His chest heaves, and he keeps his hand moving over his skin, drawing out his orgasm. It takes him a few seconds for the ringing to leave his ears and come back to reality. His hand uncurls itself from around his dick, and he lets it drop against his sticky stomach.
Steve tracks you as you step out of the water and reach for a towel. He’s sad as you cover yourself up, but as his mind catches up with his body, he realizes he should feel guilty. His face burns with shame and he moves to clean himself up.
He grabs a few napkins from his nightstand, wiping his cum off his skin, and tells himself this was a one time thing and it will never happen again.
All the while, you continue to dry your own skin off, with a devious smirk covering your face because you got exactly what you wanted. The same fucking show he did.
steve harrington x fem!reader
(18+; MDNI; 7.1k words)
It’s always been easy being around Steve, ever since the day that he and Robin showed up at the Squawk and announced that they were there to work at the station. You hadn’t argued — honestly, it was kind of nice to have someone else helping you out — and Steve is the kind of person who can make hours melt by in seconds. Whether he was cracking a joke to try and make you laugh, sliding a sandwich across across your desk when you forget your lunch, or seeking you out by the coffee machine for a chat between sets, time always passed a little too quickly when you were with him.
(You search the basement of Hawkins Lab and find a little more than you were expecting.)
cw: sex pollen, dub con (ish, there's still pretty enthusiastic consent), p-in-v sex, creampie, pussy eating, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spit, big dick!steve, steve being a munch
(go read keer-y's sex pollen fic too btw cause we parallel wrote them lol)
masterlist || divider by @/enchanthings || ao3 link
The sight of the old Hawkins Lab looms in front of you, all concrete and barred windows, and your stomach sinks at the sight of it. To your left, Dustin lets out an annoyed huff despite the fact that abandoning your post at the church was his idea, and to your right, Steve shuffles forward as your ragtag group presses forward, Nancy and Jonathan a few paces ahead of you.
Your job, as it has been for a few months, continues to be the physical blockade between the warring friends. To be Switzerland, the Demilitarization Zone of conflict, the human embodiment of a white flag. Your role is to never spill your own personal opinions on the arguments that you’re caught between, because if you did, the scale would absolutely tip in Steve’s favor — you’ve heard quite enough of Dustin’s barbed insults in the past year, thank you very much — but as the it was, you haven’t been around the rest of the monster hunting crew long enough for your thoughts to be valued by the wider circle.
(You do like to give Steve a reassuring shoulder squeeze from time to time though, especially whenever Dustin starts insulting him outright. You’re not sure it helps, but the soft smile you get in return is enough to settle some of the lingering guilt over not being able to do more.)
But still, you fall in step next to Steve just as Dustin surges forward, catching Nancy’s attention as he asks a question you can’t quite hear. You take the moment to cast a sidelong glance towards Steve, quietly asking, “Everything alright? You hit your head pretty hard back there when the car crashed.”
He sighs, passing the flashlight back and forth between his hands. “Yeah, I’m fine. More worried about…”
His face tilts up, and you follow his gaze forward.
Dustin.
“I think if there were any lasting damage, he would’ve complained by now,” you offer.
“Fair enough,” he says. A beat passes before he asks, “And you? I know you were in the backseat with Nance and Jonathan, but…”
You blink in surprise. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just got a face full of your headrest. No biggie.”
A hushed laugh escapes him, and for the first time since the crawl that got you all in this mess in the first place, the tension in his shoulders loosens incrementally, and he turns to look at you fully. “Well, if it starts to hurt, let me know, okay? I can try and scrounge around for—”
“Steve!”
Dustin’s voice cuts across your conversation, and you both turn to where he’s waiting impatiently by the entrance to the lab, hands planted on his hips as though he’s a beleaguered mother and not a sixteen year old boy.
Steve lets out another sigh, and with a nod towards the kid, settles a hand on your back as he guides you forward. Dustin disappears inside, clearly not wanting to wait for the two of you to catch up. You get to the door first, but Steve’s quick to dart forward, yanking the door open and gesturing you through with a flourish.
You smile despite yourself.
Nancy and Jonathan are already in deep conversation by the time you catch up, and you bite back a laugh when Steve gestures to the space around you, saying, “Wow, this looks promising.”
Dustin shoots back a comment you don’t quite hear as you take in your surroundings, eyeing the vines wrapping around every surface that you can see. Hesitantly, you reach over, fingers outstretched towards a thick tendril on the wall, but before you can make contact, Steve’s at your side, intercepting your hand.
You blink up at him owlishly.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” he offers in way of explanation.
“Is it dangerous?” you ask.
He shrugs and gestures towards the faded scar around his neck. “Remind me to tell you about ’86 later.”
You nod and follow him back to the rest of the group, confused to find them in an intense discussion about a movie plot of all things (Is this really the right time? you wonder) and Steve calls across the lobby, “Why are you explaining the plot of a movie that we all know, Henderson?”
“Because, Steven, Return of the Jedi is an oddly relevant movie!” Dustin snaps.
“Yeah, and we’ve all seen it,” Steve retorts.
You frown. “I’ve never seen a Star Wars film.”
Steve winces. “Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say.
“Anyway,” Dustin interjects. “As I was saying…”
You listen attentively as Dustin explains his theory — even if you’re only half following it, because you’re not quite sure what a shield generator even is — and brush your hand against Steve’s wrist after Dustin once again shoots the guy a snarky comment, sticking close by as you follow the group into a staircase.
Which, in turn, causes another debate when Steve points out, “Henderson and I need some space. New groups?”
“Are you serious right now?” Jonathan demands. “Who exactly are you planning on going with, Steve?”
Steve opens his mouth, incensed and ready to retort, but you quickly draw everyone’s attention towards you when you say, “Steve and I’ll go down, and Dustin can go up with you and Nancy, alright?”
Nancy shrugs, Jonathan nods, but Dustin only shoots you a scornful look.“Really? Send the two idiots downstairs? You don’t even know what you’re looking for, much less Steve.”
“Henderson!” comes Steve’s sharp admonishment. “Seriously, man?”
You breathe in and out of your nose slowly, tamping down your annoyance. “Steve and I know enough to not touch anything suspicious and radio if we see something. That’s the point, right? Radio if we see something odd?”
Nancy, thankfully, nods, and draws Dustin’s attention away. “Come on, Dust. There’ll probably be more interesting stuff upstairs anyway.” With one more sweeping look towards Steve, she adds, “Make sure to call the second you see something.”
“We will,” he promises, lifting up his walkie as if to make his point, and without another word, he steps off the landing and onto the staircase leading down.
You offer the rest of the group a silent wave and quickly follow after.
The two of walk in silence for a few minutes, and it’s not until everyone else’s footsteps have fully receded into the distance that Steve speaks up.
“Hey, about what I said back there, in the lobby,” he begins, clearly uncomfortable. You pause on the steps, taking in the shape of his shoulders tensing up beneath his suede coat. “About, uh, the movie. I’m sorry. If I’d known you hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have—”
“Steve,” you cut him off gently, closing the gap between you to grab his arm. “I’m not offended by it.”
But he refuses to meet your eye. “It’s not that, it’s just — that was totally rude and I shouldn’t have—”
“How could you have known that I haven’t seen a movie literally everyone else has seen?” you ask. “Trust me, I know I’m the outlier. I didn’t think anything of it.”
And finally, finally, he turns to look at you. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” you say. “Maybe being stuck down here will give me the motivation to catch up on pop culture.”
His lips quirk up, and for a moment, he looks like the twenty-one year old man he is and not the more worn version of himself you’ve become acquainted with through months of working alongside him at the station. “Maybe.”
“Anyway, I feel like I should’ve brought a flashlight with me,” you say, ducking around him. “Feels kinda stupid that I didn’t in retrospect.”
He shines the light on the next set of stairs. “Well, in your defense, it’s not like you could’ve known we would’ve gotten stuck down here when you got into my backseat. Hard to prepare for that kind of thing.”
Your laugh rings around the otherwise empty halls, and the two of you settle into an easy conversation as you go round and round, losing count of how many steps you’ve descended.
It’s always been easy being around Steve, ever since the day that he and Robin showed up at the Squawk and announced that they were there to work at the station. You hadn’t argued — honestly, it was kind of nice to have someone else helping you out — and Steve is the kind of person who can make hours melt by in seconds. Whether he was cracking a joke to try and make you laugh, sliding a sandwich across across your desk when you forget your lunch, or seeking you out by the coffee machine for a chat between sets, time always passed a little too quickly when you were with him.
It’s, like, the one normal part of my day, he’d admitted to you once, his fingers brushing against your own as he passed over a mug. I love Rob, but her head’s in the clouds most of the time.
By the time you touch down on the bottom floor, your sweater is sticking uncomfortably to your chest and Steve, panting, says, “Jesus, that was way too many stairs.”
“What the hell even is this place?” you ask, because despite getting inadvertently roped into the group’s tenuously illegal activities, no one ever really bothered to fill you in on the finer details.
You turn in time to find Steve grimacing, face shining from sweat, and he says, “To be honest, no one’s ever really told memuch, but they were doing a bunch of experiments on kids here. It’s where El was raised, actually.”
“Oh.”
You think back to the quiet girl you’d only met a handful of times — always under the watchful eye of the former police chief, always hand in hand with Mike Wheeler — and take in your environment just a bit more closely.
It’s dreary, honestly. No windows, no way of getting natural light in at any point, and the electronic locks affixed to every door leaves no room for doubt as to how little freedom El and the other kids were given when moving about.
You take a few steps forward, pushing open a set of double doors to your left and immediately freeze at the sight in front of you.
Steve crashes into your back, his hands immediately finding your waist to steady you, muttering, “What the hell is this place?”
Because surrounding the two of you is the starkest playroom you’ve ever seen: All white, with a rather unnerving rainbow painted across the wall. Toys are organized and put away neatly, and you can imagine that the real life version of this place smelled of harsh antiseptics.
In short, no place a kid should be raised in.
“This is creepy,” you whisper. “Like…”
“I get what you mean,” Steve says. “It’s like the set of a horror movie in here.”
You nod in agreement, reaching back until your hand makes contact with the hem of his coat. For all of your bravado and confidence walking into this situation, it’s definitely reassuring to have someone else with you as you explore this place.
Carefully, he leads the two of you around the room, shining his flashlight in every which direction as you search for…
Something.
(A shield generator? Whatever the hell that is?)
Steve’s starting to glance towards the entrance, clearly ready to search other rooms in the basement, when your eyes catch on the open window along the back wall. More specifically, an odd bump in the wall, one that has you moving to climb through the window before you can think twice about it, ignoring Steve’s protests.
“There’s something back here,” you call out, feeling your way along the wall as he grunts behind you, the sound of his feet slipping along the floor as he catches up echoing through the room. “It’s like—”
A hidden latch pops, and the wall beneath your hands opening up enough to reveal an office tucked neatly behind it. You frown at the grime left on your hand and quickly wipe it against your jeans.
“That’s creepy as hell,” Steve comments, turning the light inside and gently stepping around you to go inside first.
“I bet that hole in the wall was, like, one-way glass or something,” you say, creeping inside. “So whoever could observe the kids.”
“Like I said,” he replies. “Creepy.”
He sets the flashlight down on the desk, dropping the walkie down next to it, and letting the glow illuminate the room as you separate. Steve goes to inspect the wall as you leaf through the sprawl of papers and notebooks on the desk, carefully setting aside anything that looks vaguely important to carry back upstairs.
“This map looks exactly like Henderson’s,” Steve announces. “That’s weird, right? And this — this diagram thing. It’s, like…”
But before he can finish his thought, you lean down to open a drawer, seeing if you can find anything else of import, when it happens.
Something explodes in your face — some sort of dust, maybe? — and you stagger away, wheezing and coughing and choking as it settles across your skin, infiltrates your lungs, and within seconds Steve makes his way through the cloud, his hands hovering over your body as he asks, “Holy shit, are you okay?”
You hunch over, bracing your hands against your knees as you force out, “Fuck — just — breathed all that in—”
He thumps your back, which does little to help the aching in your chest, but the heat emanating from his hand feels nice even through the thick sweater draped across your torso.
“Just get it out,” he murmurs gently. “There you go, get it all out.”
“Fuck,” you say again, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck, that was awful. What was that stuff anyway?”
“Not sure,” he says, helping you stand back up. His fingers linger on your arms just a little longer than they ever have, and he looks almost… pained when he finally pulls away, turning back to inspect the open drawer. “I’ve seen a lot of floating dust and shit down here, but never anything like that. Whatever, it’s gone now and there’s nothing inside here.”
“Great,” you say, leaning against the wall, rubbing your chest as an odd warmth settles in your lungs. “I probably just got lung cancer or something.”
“It didn’t look like asbestos,” he says. “Though it did kind of just… disappear. So who knows.”
You draw in a shaky lungful of air. “How do you know what asbestos looks like?”
“My dad’s work — he owns some construction company,” Steve explains. “So when all those studies about asbestos came out in the seventies, I saw a bunch of pamphlets at home about what it looks like and what to avoid. Dad had to distribute them to the guys building houses.”
You blink in surprise. Steve’s never talked much about his parents, not in the year you’ve known him. You don’t think there’s really any tragic backstory hiding around the corner or anything; You’ve heard him on the phone with his mother, soft and affectionate in a way that an only child can be with the person who raised him, but he’s always seemed like the kind of person who grew out of the need for his parents’ involvement in his life far younger than other people. Independent in a way you’re not quite sure you’ve ever managed.
And clearly not, because your lungs are still burning from whatever it was you inhaled (and you’re not quite sure that you believe it wasn’t asbestos, even with Steve’s expert opinion) and the burning is quickly morphing into something else. Something more, something you can’t quite put your finger on as you watch Steve hop up on the desk, legs swinging.
“So—” you begin, grasping at anything to fill the silence, to distract you from the heaviness tugging at your bones. “Your dad owns a company?”
“Oh, yeah.” There’s an odd note to Steve’s tone, one you can’t quite parse out. “My grandpa owned this, like, pet grooming business after the war. Successful as hell, and Dad went to Kelley down in Bloomington, got an MBA, started a construction business. I think originally he owned some realty thing, but there was more money in building or whatever.”
“That’s nice,” you say. “And your mom?”
“She stayed at home. Did a bunch of volunteer work around Hawkins, and, uh…”
He trails off, and you jump onto the next question. “Where are they now?”
“North Carolina,” he says. “They own a beach house there. Told them to evacuate Hawkins before lockdown, and they’ve been there ever since.”
Sweat beads at your temples, slipping down your face, and you can feel moisture gathering on the back of your neck as well. “Oh, wow, uh… and—”
“No offense, but,” he interrupts, strained. “Not sure I want to talk about my parents right now.”
You nod and continue to rub the space just above your breasts, feeling rather lightheaded over the lack of oxygen from your coughing fit. You press your eyelids shut, willing the dizziness to pass, but it only molds, intensifying.
It crawls down your spine, a heaviness you’ve never felt before, a heat creeping slowly through your body, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Honestly, you must’ve spent longer coughing than you’d thought, because you’ve never felt like this before, never felt anything like this grip all your senses to firmly, swirling around your tummy as the warmth turns up, up, up—
An uncomfortable noise echoes through the room, and it takes a moment for you to parse out that it came from Steve.
You force your eyes open, noting in an almost detached manner just how sweaty he looks. Which is odd, because it was really, really cold when the two of you descended into the basement, but now that you think about it, you’re also feeling rather flushed, aren’t you?
His gaze meets yours, and the heat inside of you feels like it explodes, and you realize, startled, that it’s not warmth, per se, but—
“Steve.” Your voice is hoarser than you intended. “Do you feel weird?”
“Weird how?”
You swallow once, heavily, suddenly woozy from just how overpowering the feeling burning through your veins is. A feeling that you’re now able to identify with an uncomfortable clarity. “Did that dust make you unrelentingly horny too?”
There’s a sound that escapes his chest — something between a whimper and a groan, the noise of a man who prides himself on self-restraint beginning to fracture — and you blink blearily at him to find him still sitting on the desk, fingers digging into his thighs, looking just as wrecked as you feel. You glance down, unbidden, to see a rather obvious bulge in his jeans.
“Don’t ask me that,” he croaks pathetically.
“Steve,” you say. “I think we might’ve — I think we might have to—”
“No.” It comes out firm despite everything, despite the fact that the cotton bra against your breasts feels so restricting that you think you might suffocate. “I don’t care that what that shit did, I’m not — I won’t—”
“But you feel it too, right?” you ask, suddenly desperate to know. “It’s not just me, right?”
“I — yes, but—”
“Then shouldn’t we do something—?”
“No!” Sweat glistens across his forehead, and you watch with fascination as a droplet slides down his cheek, dripping onto his sweater. “I’m not going to — to take advantage of you, not like this, not when—”
“Steve.” It comes out pathetic, a whimper you can’t help as the feeling swells inside you, becoming too much for you to not do something. “Please.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, though it comes out less certain than you’re sure he intends it to.
“Fine then,” you say, fumbling with the button of your jeans. “You won’t mind if I take care of myself, will you?”
He chokes. “What?”
You don’t bother responding though, and there’s no time for embarrassment as you shove your jeans down just far enough that you can slip a hand into your panties, finding yourself already drenched. Your heart is pounding erratically against your ribcage at the first swipe against your clit, and your knees buckle from how overwhelmingly good it feels, and you know for a fact that if you were in a more solid state of mind — if every conscious thought in your brain wasn’t slowly being eroded by the heady pressure of arousal — you’d be more concerned by how quickly the pleasure is building up in your core with only the lightest touch.
But you’re not in that state of mind. You’re here, burning up from the inside out, the fire of desperation and debauchery consuming you until it’s almost painful, as you circle your fingers faster, faster, faster until—
And as abruptly as your orgasm built, it stops dead in its tracks.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Your breath catches as your fingers slip against your clit to no avail. The pleasure refuses to grow, refuses to tip over into what you want most, refuses to let you into the sweet embrace of your orgasm. It dances teasingly just far enough out of reach to keep you on the precipice, to drive you mad with want. To drive you mad with need.
You tilt your head up, finding Steve’s gaze searing into your body, his hands still gripping his thighs tightly, and another heaving cry billows from your lips as you utter, “Please.”
He goes very, very still.
“Please, Steve,” you beg, uncaring of how you sound — not when he looks just as wrecked as you feel, not when he still hasn’t moved a single muscle. “Please, please, please help me, please — it hurts so much, I can’t — I can’t—”
Slowly, he slips from the desk and makes his way to you with controlled, even steps, and you watch as he sinks to his knees before you, his voice completely torn with need as he murmurs, “Let’s get your shoes off, yeah?”
“Steve,” you plead again. “I need you to touch me.”
“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, hands shaking as they find their way to the laces of your tennis shoes. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
The sentiment rings hollow in your ears.
“You’re not taking advantage of me,” you insist, tears spilling from your eyes. “I want this, I want you—”
“Whatever we breathed in, that’s making you feel this way,” he insists, and you don’t understand. You don’t understand how he’s still so in control when you’re ready to burst at the seams, ready to fall apart into a million pieces at the feeling of his breath on your thighs. “But I can — I’ll help.”
He slips one of your shoes off, then the next, stacking them neatly somewhere you don’t bother to look, and with a firm grasp, he slides the denim down your legs, helping you step out. Your panties are tugged down next, and you watch somewhat deliriously as he tucks them into his back pocket. Your brain struggles to catch up as he draws your leg up and over his shoulder, tilting his head up to meet your gaze, his fingers tracing through the thatch of hair on your mound.
His eyes burn into yours when he says, "I need to hear it."
You whimper. “Please, Steve. I need you.”
Seconds later, you're roughly pulled down on to his face.
And as it turns out, truly all you needed was him. His nose brushing against your clit is all it takes before you clench around nothing, waves of pleasure crashing into you as you come harder than you ever have in your life. Your chest heaves as you grip onto Steve, shaking and trembling and crying until your knees buckle.
He’s quick to catch you before you fall to the ground, grabbing your hips as he slowly lowers you down onto his lap. “Did that help?” he asks, his fingers skimming under the hem of your sweater.
“Yes — no,” you whimper, your head so full of everything that you can’t think straight. “It hurts so bad, Steve, I need — need more — not enough, it’s not enough—”
“Okay, okay,” he soothes, even if he sounds a little broken as he says it. “Let me put my jacket down for you, yeah?”
You shake your head because you need it now, but Steve ignores it — ignores you — and groans loudly when you grind down into his erection, desperate and chasing any form of relief you can get as he slides his jacket off. You don’t care though, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in the intoxicating scent of some woodsy cologne and human musk underneath, the smell of a man who has worked hard to be where he’s at right in this moment, and you roll your clit against the zipper on his jeans even harder, not paying attention when Steve lowers you to the ground, your back hitting his coat that he laid out without your notice.
It feels like it takes ages for him to settle between your legs, spreading your pussy open carefully, as if it were made of something precious, and you twitch up pathetically as his breath ghosting against where you ache the most.
“Steve,” you whine, your own hands sliding up under your sweater and beneath your bra, rolling your nipples between your fingers.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he murmurs. You meet his eyes and your arousal grows at just how big his pupils are, wide with desire as a flush spreads across his cheeks. “I’ll take care of you.”
That’s all the warning you get before he dives in once more, lapping up your wetness like a starving man. You squirm, and his grip against your thighs is bruising as he holds you in place. It’s an exhilarating dichotomy: Commanding yet so at odds with how soft he speaks to you, gentle in every word.
And when he presses his fingers into your skin just a bit deeper, you know for a fact that his composure is cracking the tiniest bit more.
Just like with your first orgasm, it doesn’t take long for the second one to build, cresting until it washes over you with an urgency. But instead of relief, the only thing you feel is a hungry need for more — more of his tongue against your clit, more of his fingers plunging into your pussy, curling up until they hit the spongy spot that makes you feel stars, more of him — and you cry out, not bothering to wipe the tears spilling down your face as you twist your nipples, trying to extend your orgasm a little longer.
And yet, somehow, the need that has taken over every one of your sense, the fire of arousal caused by whatever it was you stumbled into, it only grows hotter, burns brighter, and within seconds after your orgasm abates you’re reaching down, winding your fingers into his hair and begging, “More.”
Steve glances up at you, his nose still firmly pressed into the seam of your pussy, and the only response you get is one long, languid lick from your entrance up to your clit.
A shiver runs down your spine at just how ravished he looks with his hair askew and eyes blown wide. Fucked out of his mind, even, despite the fact he's been so entirely focused on your own pleasure that you're pretty sure he's ignoring just how much the pollen's affected him.
(How does he manage to do that?)
You moan raggedly, louder than any sound you’re sure you’ve ever made before, and within seconds his head lifts from your core. A pathetic sound escapes you at the loss of touch, but he doesn’t leave you wanting long. One big hand comes up to grip the hem of your sweater, tugging it up and shoving the fabric into your mouth, hoarsely saying, “They’re going to hear you upstairs if you don’t quiet down.”
Privately, you think that you don’t actually care who hears you, but clearly Steve is still managing a level of sense that completely abandoned, because he only tucks the sweater more firmly against your tongue. Your teeth scrape against his fingers and he groans, wanton but quiet.
“Bite down,” he tells you as his hand retreats, commanding but in a way that doesn’t feel like a demand. Your pussy clenches at the tone, and you're pretty sure you'd do anything as long as he keeps looking at you like that.
So you do as told, and his throat bobs as your mouth closes around the woven yarn, his gaze lingering on your lips. He's trembling with barely restrained desire, and just as you get the bright idea to try and convince him to do something about it, your bra gets roughly yanked down, your breasts spilling into the cold air. Your nipples peak, and Steve’s mouth is on them before you can even blink, sucking one into his mouth while his hand dips back down to your pussy, gathering wetness on his fingers before dipping inside where you ache the most.
The effect is instantaneous. Fireworks explode under your skin, growing bigger and brighter when he slips a third finger inside. He moves at a slow and methodical rhythm, and entirely at odds with how he ravishes your chest, and you can’t help the pathetic mewl that escapes your throat, tears slipping down the side of your face.
He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and immediately delves into the valley of your breasts, sucking spots into your skin that should be painful, but the only thing you can think is that you want the marks to be tattooed into your skin forever, a permanent mark of the pleasure he’s giving you.
Spit trails from his mouth as he makes his way to your other breast, giving it the same ministrations. Sucking, teasing, biting until you yelp through the cloth in your mouth, and you can feel rather than hear the vibration of his laughter, even as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.
The third orgasm doesn’t sneak up on you as much as it consumes you, forcing more tears from your eyes as you shake and shake and shake, clenching down on Steve’s fingers as he works you through it, low, soothing noises murmured into your skin as he makes his way down.
If you were in a more coherent state, you’d recognize his actions for what they were: The further fraying of carefully kept control, because he doesn’t skip a beat as his mouth makes contact with your pussy once more, not bothering to stop and check in, to make sure you still want this.
At this point, you’re both completely aware of what you want, even if he’s still refusing to fully give into the lewdness of the situation.
You, on the other hand, let the fever consume you entirely as he sucks your clit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace, driving you completely and utterly insane.
You wonder, in a vague, abstract way, if he’s this good even without the added effects of whatever it was that infected the two of you, and you know instinctively that you’d give anything to find out. Especially when his teeth graze across your clit in a way that should be painful but just has your hips jerking against the arm wrapped around your leg.
“So good for me, honey,” he murmurs into your pussy, twisting his hand to find that sweet spot inside you once more. “Come on, come for me, honey — come for—”
Your fourth orgasm leaves you thrashing against his hold.
Stars burst behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure crash over you, ebbing and flowing but never quite stopping, and somehow — somehow — the heat only builds, consuming the very essence of your being until you’re sobbing in earnest. You scrabble to pull Steve up, up, up until he’s hovering over you. His chin glistens with your arousal, and your chest cracks open as you weep, “Don’t you want me?”
His face cracks at your words, and all at once, you’re able to see everything that he’s been holding back: Fear, confusion, and without a doubt, complete and unadulterated desire.
“It doesn’t matter what I want, honey, I don’t—”
He cuts himself off by burying his face into your neck, the scratchy feeling of his wool sweater against your pebbled nipples doing nothing to tame the arousal burning inside you. And you realize, suddenly, that you asking for it isn’t enough, because it’s Steve — sweet, understanding Steve — who never fails to make you laugh, who always makes sure you’re safely inside after a crawl before going in himself, who has shown up time and time again in such small ways for the duration of your friendship that you know, without a doubt, that asking for it will never convince him of what you want, of your feelings.
“Steve,” you whisper, capturing his face beneath your palms and forcing him to look you in the eye. “I’m glad this was you.”
His brows furrow and his eyes tighten — once, small, pain seeping through his expression — and he throatily says, “What?”
“I’m glad it’s you here and not anyone else,” you say. “If I had to be in this situation with anyone, I’d want it to be you.”
He licks his lips, and his expression blooms into something more hopeful. “Do you really mean that?”
“Steve,” you say softly, full of affection. “I would’ve done this without the crazy dust. Just, you know, maybe not in a random office.”
He searches your face for a moment before finally breathing out, “Okay.”
You freeze, not sure you're hearing him correctly. “Okay?”
He nods, and you watch the feeling swell in him, his composure finally disintegrating in the sureness of your fingers skimming down your side, sliding under your knee to press you open just a bit more. “If you’re — are you sure that you want this? You’re completely—?”
“I want this,” you say again, firm in your conviction. “I want this with you, and I’ll want this with you even once we’re out of here, Steve.”
You watch as your confession hits him: First quietly, then all at once. He looks at you with so much affection that for the first time since you opened that drawer, your chest aches with something other than arousal. Through the haze of pleasure, he looks down at you tenderly, brushing your hair plastered to your face away and, with more regret than you expected, “This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”
But he doesn’t give you any time to question what he means before he’s surging forward, self-restraint in tatters around the two of you as his mouth crashes into yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, and as his forearms bracket your head, you reach down, scrambling to unbutton his jeans and shove them as far down as you can reach. They barely make it to the top of his thighs before you’re taking him in hand, gasping with pleasure at how big and heavy and warm he feels in your fingers and give a few, lazy pumps. He shudders against your hold but doesn’t fight when you line him up against your entrance and look up at him through hooded eyes, asking one more time, “Please, Steve? I need you.”
This is all he needs to finally snap.
You can feel the last remnants of sense leave his body as his hips thrust forward, his cock pressing entirely inside you in one swift, fluid motion, punching the air from your lungs. He doesn’t give you any time to recover before he’s dragging himself out slowly before pushing back in, and he sets a brutal pace that has any last coherent thought driven from your head as he tends to the fire that’s been coursing throughout your veins.
And that fire — it changes. Whereas every orgasm he’d drawn out of you with his mouth and fingers had only left you aching, left you wanting for more, with his cock bullying its way in and out of your cunt, you can only feel the fuzzy pleasure of contentment, like there’s been a piece of you missing your entire life that’s finally found its way home.
You think he feels the same when he gazes at you with such adoration, such fondness as he presses your leg even higher, hitting a new, deeper spot within you that has you gasping for more, more, more.
If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Steve throughout this whole thing, is that he is nothing if not a giving lover.
He snakes a hand back down to your core, fingers slipping over your sensitive core as he breathes, “One more for me, honey?”
(Could you ever deny a request made so lovingly?)
Despite how he pounds into your pussy with reckless abandon, he’s effervescently gentle in how he circles your clit, like he’s aware of just how sore you’re absolutely going to be when all of this is said and done.
His teeth scrape down your neck as he continues his ministrations, fingers flexing over your most sensitive spot, and it’s as he sucks a hickey into your skin that he coaxes one final orgasm from your worn body.
Your cries come out quieter this time, more exhausted as you clench down on his cock, and within seconds his hips stutter as he spills warmth inside you, and finally, finally, the fever inside you dissipates.
Steve practically collapses on top of you, only just cognizant enough to keep the worst of his weight off of your body as the remnants of whatever infected you both tapers off until the flame is extinguished entirely, leaving you sweaty and spent yet somehow feeling better than you’ve ever felt in your entire life.
The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, chests heaving as you catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, watching his face carefully as his eyes flutter open, exhausted but happy as he meets your gaze.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay? That was…”
Intense.
It doesn’t need to be said though. You nod, dragging your hand up to his face to push his bangs from his eyes. “I’m fine. How about you? You held out super long.”
He huffs out a laugh and presses his cheek a little firmer unto your palm. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Promise. Better than I’ve felt in a long while.”
You open your mouth to say something — to confess something — though what, you aren’t quite sure, then the walkie across the room crackles to life, and Dustin Henderson’s panicked voice comes through. “Steve? Steve, are you there? We found something and it’s—”
Steve pushes off of your prone body in seconds, and you’re left achingly empty as he stumbles over to the walkie, snatching it off the table it’s rested on next to the flashlight, calling into it, “Henderson, what’s going on?”
Sticky come slips from your core, wetting your thighs.
“Don’t touch anything!” Dustin demands through the walkie. “It isn’t a shield generator, and Nancy wanted to shoot it—”
“Hey!”
“Have you found anything?” Dustin asks, ignoring Nancy’s protest.
Steve sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and spares you a sidelong glance as you sit up, righting your bra and sweater. “Yeah, I think we found Brenner’s office. Don’t come down here, though. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Dustin calls his confirmation, and Steve’s quick to drop the walkie back on top of the table. He makes his way back to you in two, long strides, and kneels down.
“Let me do it,” he says, batting you away and replacing them with your own as he tucks your breasts back into the cups of your bra, gently pulling your sweater down.
You don’t quite manage to choke down a laugh when he helps you stand up and frowns at the cum dripping down your thighs, looking around to find something to clean it up and coming up short.
“It’s okay,” you say, and Steve nods as he’s forced to accept the situation.
He doesn’t bother giving you your panties back as he draws your jeans back up your legs, holding you steady as you step into each of your shoes that he insists on tying.
He’s quiet, and it takes you a few minutes too long to realize that he’s embarrassed, like you caught him doing something that he wasn’t meant to do. It doesn’t sit well with you.
But he pushes forward with methodical ease, gathering his coat and all of the notebooks that you picked out before the two of you got into this mess, and leads you from the office with the stride of a man used to performing confidence.
Except—
You know it’s an act. You’ve seen him soft, you’ve seen him pushed to the edge, and you now know the way it feels to be the center of his universe, even if only for a singular moment, and you know that you want more.
You jog forward to catch up to him just as he hits the staircase, grasping his arm and force him to look at you.
“Steve,” you gently say. “When all of this is done — when we’re back in Hawkins and — whatever — would you go on a date with me?”
He freezes, but hope still blooms on his face. “I — what?”
“Would you go on a date with me?” you ask again, firmer this time. “Maybe you can show me Star Wars and I can finally see what I’ve been missing this whole time.”
“Really?” You can tell that the question slips out without him meaning to by how quickly his face flushes, but he barrels forward. “You’d really want to go on a date with me?”
“Of course I would,” you say with a smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I wanted this when we were out of here. And I didn’t just mean sex, I — I want everything, if you’ll have me.”
“Oh, honey.” It comes out breathless, and in the next second he’s leaning down, pressing the softest kiss against your swollen lips. “Of course I’ll have you. I just didn’t want to assume…”
“You can assume,” you reassure. “With me, you can assume.”
And the smile he gives you will leave you burning brightly for many, many more days to come.
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