#steve harrington/you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roanniom · 2 years

Text

The Shift

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Read Part 2 Here

Summary: On a sweltering shift at family video, Steve Harrington gets on your nerves.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, Smut, fingering, dirty talk, grinding, PIV sex, semi-public sex, light degradation, enemies to lovers, slight period-correct sexism and homophobia from a customer

It’s positively sweltering inside Family Video today. The box fan on the front counter does absolutely nothing to cool you down, especially as the tension within you runs hotter than the outside sun itself.

You shouldn’t be here. Today was your day off and you’d had plans with your friends for a pool day to beat the heat, knowing that today was forecasted to be the hottest of the year so far. Instead, you’ve been roped in to cover for Robin. And as much as you love her, part of you kinda secretly hopes she chokes on the milkshake she’s probably enjoying on her date right about now.

You don’t really want her to choke of course. You’ve been hyping her up for her eventual first date with Vicki for a long time now. It warms your cold, dead, perennially single heart to see your friend getting something she’s really wanted. Something she never thought would happen for her, especially not in Hawkins, Indiana.

But Hawkins, Indiana is exactly where you wish you weren’t right now. You’d rather be somewhere cool. Somewhere with ice and a breeze and fresh air.

Somewhere without Steve Harrington.

“You’ve been hogging the fan all day, trainee. Come on, give another sweaty bastard a turn.”

Speak of the devil.

You turn and glare directly into the face of your nemesis. Okay, nemesis is a little bit of an exaggeration. You aren’t mortal enemies, perhaps, but you would love to smack his smug face. Just once.

“For the last time. Stop calling me that. I have been working here almost as long as you,” you huff, not bothering to move an inch out of the radius of the fan.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I am the one who trained you. Making you - eternally - my trainee,” Steve responds, elbowing his way around you and into the line of semi-cool air.

“I was literally hired a month after you.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I showed you the ropes.”

“Only because the manager spent the night passed out in the ditch behind the liquor store.” You finish reboxing your last rewound tape, clicking it closed with a definitive snap.

“Hey. Jessie’s doing really well in rehab these days. Give him a break.” Steve pulls the stocking cart up and around to the counter and reaches for the tapes you’d just stacked. You yank them away from his grasp and haul them over to the cart yourself.

“And by ‘showed you the ropes’ are you referring to the fact that you broke the label maker in front of me and taught me how to get free snacks out of the break room vending machine?” You start pushing the cart towards the comedy section, not bothering to wait for Steve’s response.

“Hey! You should be thanking me for every bag of Reese’s Pieces I see you scarfing each day.” Steve comes up jogging behind you, grabbing the copy of Weird Science out of your hand before you can shelve it.

“Shut up, Harrington. As if you aren’t slamming M&M’s by the bushel.” You try to reach for the tape but he holds it up out of your reach. Damn his stupid height.

“Don’t you dare act like M&M’s aren’t the superior candy.”

“They melt in your hand - ,”

“So do Reese’s Pieces!” Steve cries out, interrupting you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Steve. I forgot that a handful of goopy M&M’s are what helped E.T. assimilate to this planet,” you say, rolling your eyes and abandoning Weird Science to his grasp. Let him shelve the damn thing. You move on to the next aisle.

Steve, of course, follows behind.

“You and that stupid little alien.” Which of course makes you round on him, to which he throws Weird Science up in front of himself as a shield.

“E.T. is a seminal piece of filmmaking and Spielberg’s best work to date, so don’t you get started again -,”

“Oh bullshit. His best work?” Steve’s brow is furrowed darkly as if you’ve committed some irredeemable act instead of simply disagreeing with his film opinions.

“Um, excuse me? A little help here?” The voice of Ms. Jenkins, elderly and snippy, issues from the front counter where she stands with a handful of tapes. You give Steve a mean look and bound over to your solitary customer.

“Yes of course, let me ring you up, ma’am,” you say sweetly, making quick work of checking to make sure the tapes are rewound before scanning and reading off the total to her. You always have to double check that tapes are rewound because you sure as hell can’t be certain that Steve has done his job when that particular chore is on his list of responsibilities.

By the time Ms. Jenkins is out the door with her rentals, Steve’s pushed the cart to the shelves closest to the counter, lazily fingering the spines of the horror tapes in a bored pursuit of a particular alphabetic location.

“Jaws.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said Jaws.”

“What about Jaws?” you ask with a sigh, leaning your hip against the counter and crossing your arms.

“Spielberg’s best movie.”

“Grow up, Harrington.”

“Excuse me?!” Steve drops the tape he’s holding and rushes over to you with fists raised. “Are you suggesting there’s something childish about enjoying Jaws?”

“Maybe,” you shrug, noncommittal. You don’t actually believe that, you just have found yourself in this rhetorical hole with Steve before and you don’t really want to get into an actual discussion. That and you love riling him up. It’s easier than committing to a movie to pop into the vcr above the counter and just as entertaining.

“You…I just…ughh.” Steve seems at a loss for words as he grapples with your vague criticism as if it isn’t the thousandth time you’ve had this argument. “That movie is a mature, grown up cinematic masterpiece and I can prove it. Number one,” he holds up one finger. “It is gory as hell. There’s a fuck ton of blood.”

“Violence is your evidence of maturity, Harrington?”

Steve scoffs at you and lifts up a second finger.

“Number two, the score is iconic.” He hunches a little and starts stalking towards you slowly, predatorily. “Duuun uh, duuun uh, dun uh dun uh dun uh - ,”

“I know the score, Steve!” you speak over his crescendoing vocalization.

“Come on! That’s iconic!” You roll your eyes but nod.

“I mean yeah. You got me there.”

“Ahah!” Steve punches the air as if he’s one some massive victory rather than simply receiving your noncommittal agreement on one part of a larger argument. He holds up a third finger. “And to round us out with number three - tits.”

Exactly as he says ‘tits’ - proudly and loudly, you notice - an elderly gentleman walks into the store. He freezes in the doorway looking at the two of you, clearly affronted.

“Good afternoon, sir! Let us know if you need any help!” you hastily speak up, distancing yourself from Steve and plastering on a huge smile. The man harumphs and walks into the store, grumbling something about ‘kids these days.’ You turn and shoot daggers at a sheepish looking Steve.

“Tits? Really?” Your whisper comes out poisonous.

“What’s more mature than tits?” he asks, equally hushed.

“Obviously not you, moron.” You start making your way back to the cart but stop in your tracks, thinking. Instead, you turn back and whisper to him. “Wait…when are there tits in Jaws?”

~*~

Ten minutes later, after the disapproving customer had checked out, copy of Cocoon in hand (a little on the nose, something you tried not to laugh about as you rang him up), you and Steve both stand huddled near the tv hooked up to the VCR.

You’re watching the opening sequence, where two teens are giving each other eyes across the way at a bonfire party. It’s charged. It’s flirtatious. The girl gets up and heads towards the beach, the guy following in hot, drunken pursuit.

It’s a cute moment. A calm before the storm, you think, because of course you know better. You know what’s going to happen in just a few moments. But suspended in time, this couple’s cat and mouse game is sexy. It’s playful.

It’s not the point of the scene, but you feel yourself getting riled up. Not exactly turned on but…what’s the word? Yearning? Pathetic. It’s been a little too long since you’ve gotten any and the heat is getting you your head, you reason with yourself internally.

As the girl gets closer to the water she begins discarding her clothes in preparation for what everyone knows will be her final skinny dip. As she does so, Steve hurtles forward and hits the pause button, freezing her perfectly in time as her shirt comes over her head revealing the silhouette of heavy breasts, mid swing.

“Tits!” Steve cries out, pointing directly at the revealed breasts on screen. “I fucking told you.”

“What do you want, Steve? A cookie?” You make sure your face stays neutral. You don’t want to give away the fact that the sexual implications of the scene have you all hot and bothered. Harrington doesn’t deserve that information.

“You said there weren’t any tits in Jaws.”

“I asked when were there tits in Jaws. I apologize that a pair of movie breasts didn’t imprint chemically in my brain the way they did for you.”

“I’m sorry. When did the prude switch shifts with the trainee? I didn’t get the memo.” Steve says haughtily, ejecting the tape from the VCR and putting it back in its case. Your jaw drops at his words but he pays you no mind, walking back to reshelf the movie. You run after him.

“I’m not a fucking prude, Harrington.”

“Oh I know you’re not. That’s what I’m getting at.” Steve slots Jaws back in its place and heads back towards the break room.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you demand, hot on his trail.

“I’m at the same parties you go to, trainee. I’m not blind. You like to have a good time.” He shrugs, walking up to the beaten old vending machine. It’s much hotter here in the back room than it was out on the main floor, probably due to the lack of windows and fans. Steve kicks the corner of the vending machine and raps his knuckles against the side panel before reaching to type the code for the M&M’s. You lunge forward and beat him to it, slamming your finger down on a different button. “Fuck! Seriously?!”

“You’re really going to slut shame me? Here at work?” You ask, snatching the packet of Reese’s Pieces as it falls into the dispenser tray.

“The pot is very much calling the kettle black here, don’t you think?” Steve kicks the corner of the machine and taps the side again, but instead of beeping in recognition, the machine stays dormant. You pop a candy in your mouth smugly as Steve grunts in frustration.

“I’m not the whore of Hawkins, Harrington. But that might be a title with which you can identify.”

“Nice alliteration, brainiac.” Steve kicks the machine harder this time. Clearly with more malicious intent towards the hulking appliance rather than with the strategy of overriding the payment mechanism.

“You know about alliteration? You didn’t skip that lesson in English class to fondle a bimbo under the bleachers?” You pop another candy in your mouth and fan yourself. The heat is starting to get to you. It is suffocating in this room. Your collar is stuck to your neck and you grab at the front of your shirt, billowing it out to try and stimulate an internal breeze. You look up and find Steve staring at the place where your hand pulls at your clothes, but he’s quick to look away, shoving a hand through his messy hair.

“Oh yeah? I’m not the one pushing my tits together whenever a slightly attractive guy comes in. I swear I saw you almost put your hand down the pants of that ex-football loser who came in here looking for fucking Flash Gordon for the tenth time.”

You gasp at his audacity. Because how dare he say that to you but also because it is objectively untrue. You had lightly flirted with the man, sure. You were bored and he had broad shoulders. Sue you. But Steve has no right to any sort of commentary.

“I’m sorry Mr. This-way-to-the-romance-section-and-while-we’re-at-it-why-don’t-you-come-watch-it-at-my-place Harrington. A blonde with big boobs so much as thinks about walking in here and your eyes are popping out of your head and your tongue is trailing on the floor.”

“You’re using the description of a horny cartoon character to describe me? Nice. Real nice.” Steve bangs on the side of the machine with his fist one more time and you let out a groan.

“Stop beating up the vending machine, for fuck’s sake. Here!” You reach into your pocket and grab a dollar, thrusting it into his face. Steve swats your hand away.

“I have money, trainee.” He reaches into his own pocket and fishes out a dollar which he proceeds to jam unceremoniously into the slot.

You drop yourself into one of the seats at the lunch table and grab for a magazine to fan yourself with.

“Well if you’re so loaded, why are you always stealing snacks?”

Steve ignores you, punching in the correct code this time. When another packet of Reese’s Pieces drops instead of the M&Ms he’d asked for, he lets out massive cry of frustration.

“What the fuck?”

“Well that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day,” you say, crossing your arms in your seat and biting your lip to keep from smiling widely.

“What the FUCK!”

“Maybe it’s karma, for being such an asshole to me,” you shrug. Steve whips around, shooting you daggers.

“I’ve had it about up to here with you today, trainee.” He stalks over to the water cooler and rips out a little cone paper cup, accidentally pulling out three too many in the process. You continue fanning yourself with the magazine languidly.

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry dad.”

Steve actually barks a laugh at that and looks at you over his shoulder, filling the paper cup with room temp water.

“You’re not the first to make that association.”

“Oh gross, Harrington. I didn’t ask for insight into your sex life,” you pretend to gag.

Steve knocks back the water and crushes the paper cone in his fist, tossing it over his shoulder as he goes to join you at the table. You are positively irked to notice that he makes it perfectly into the trash without even looking.

“That’s not what I meant but I’m not opposed to being called daddy, fyi,” he says, winking at you.

“I’m sure you’re not. Seems right up your alley.” Your words are derisive but you can’t help the breathless quality they take on. It must be a side effect of this fucking heat. You’re not taking in air properly.

“Yeah? Well I’ll bet you’re really mean between the sheets.”

“Oh you’ll bet that?” you ask with a snort, trying to ignore the paradoxical shiver that runs through your body at the implication.

“Yeah. You seem to derive a sick pleasure from giving me a hard time. Wouldn’t be shocked if insults turn you on.”

“Not a super fan of being degraded, Steve. Sorry to burst your bubble,” you reply lightly. Like his suggestion didn’t just add a palpitation to your heart beat. Steve bites his lip contemplatively.

“Well I really meant that I think you like being the one to dish out the insults,” he clarifies. But then he’s leaning closer to you across the table, a smirk spreading across his face as he takes in the way your posture is scrunching defensively. “But actually now that I think of it…I feel like you probably would like being degraded.”

“Excuse me?” you exhale sharply, realizing you’d been holding your breath as his proximity increased.

“You’re a perfectionist. A good girl, or you are most of the time, as we’ve established.” Steve’s finger slides across the table towards you and your gaze locks on its approaching motion. “I could see you looking for an excuse to let go of all that pressure. To be bad.”

You’ve stopped breathing again, mesmerized by his slow words and the trajectory of his sliding finger. Then suddenly he’s reaching out and snatching the half empty bag of Reese’s Pieces from your grasp, upending it in the air above his face and crunching down on the remaining candy.

“Hey!” you cry out, lunging for him only to be stopped by his defensive hand outstretching and catching you, holding you an arm length away. Steve makes a face.

“It’s a crime that this is peanut butter instead of chocolate.”

You grab him by the front of the shirt and get very close to him, glaring up into his stupid, pretty face.

“You’ll pay for that, Steve Harrington.”

“Yeah? How?” he asks. His eyes are looking down into yours, the remnants of his smirk slowly fading from his face. The heat is sweltering. Hotter than it’s been during your entire shift and you really should run out the front door for some air before you pass out but…you’re rooted to the spot.

You inhale in order to respond - not even sure of what you’ll say once the words start flowing - but you’re immediately interrupted by the ding of the bell on the front door.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

The customer’s voice cuts through the tension between you and you let go of Steve’s shirt like it’s on fire.

“Just a minute!” you call out in your sing-song-y customer service voice. You hear Steve groan behind you but you don’t give him a second thought as you dash out onto the floor of the store.

The same grumpy man from earlier stands at the counter, grumpier than ever and brandishing his tape towards you.

“I got all the way home just to realize that the wrong tape is in this blasted box.” He wrenches open the case for Cocoon to reveal a copy of Tootsie. You try not to laugh at his absurdly wounded expression and grab the tape from him.

“I am so sorry, sir, we’ll get this sorted for you,” you assure, turning around to let out a silent chuckle. You shuffle through the bare tapes on the counter and find the correct one, silently cursing Steve for his disorganization.

“This is unacceptable, young lady,” the old man grumbles as you put the Cocoon tape in its box.

“Everyone makes mistakes, unfortunately.”

“I expect a higher quality of service. I fought on D Day, you know.”

“We did not know that, thank you for your service,” Steve mumbles sarcastically coming up beside you behind the counter. The man doesn’t catch his facetiousness and wags a fervent finger.

“That’s right. I should be treated with some respect.”

“Without a doubt,” Steve replies. You silently snap the tape box closed and hand it over, trying not to look annoyed.But the man doesn’t take it from you. Instead he points over at the stack of tapes where you had placed the copy of Tootsie.

“She tried to give me a movie with a man in a dress,” he accuses and you scoff. Steve glances over, clocking which movie it is and no doubt realizing that the mistake was his own.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, she was doing you a favor, because Dustin Hoffman is just a delight - ,”

“As her manager, I think you should fire her,” the man interrupts Steve.

“Excuse me?” you ask, shocked at his audacity. Steve holds his hands up in a time out symbol.

“First of all, I’m not her manager, and second of all. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She gave me a fruity movie!” the man cries out.

“Ok then,” you push away from the counter and head towards the back room, completely done with this interaction.

“Sir, fruit is delicious,” Steve argues, distracted as he watches you stalk off to the back, anxious to follow. The old man wags his finger even more violently.

“I’ll be telling the owner, just you wait. Do you take me for a fruit, young man?” he raises his voice.

“Yeah a raisin, sir. Please get out of my store.” Steve’s voice lowers in tone, but the authority in it increases tenfold. “Now.”

~*~

Steve finds you pacing around the break room, a paper water cone crushed in your hand. He approaches to comfort you, but the second he enters, you round on him.

“How could you do that to me?”

“Do what? Defend you?” Steve’s bewildered by your reaction, hands up in the air in front of himself defensively.

“I wouldn’t need defending if you weren’t such a fuck up at your job, Steve.” You flail a hand in the direction of the front counter.

“You said it yourself that everyone makes mistakes.”

“I was lying, Harrington. I don’t make mistakes. You make enough for the both of us.” You go to turn away from him but he grabs your elbow.

“Oh what, and you’re Ms. Fucking Perfect? Huh?” You wrench your elbow out his grasp.

“In comparison to you? Hell yeah.”

“That’s rich,” Steve barks out a laugh, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head. His stance squares off with you and he too points out toward the front counter. “How many times have I had to save you from customers who are asking for films you’ve never fucking heard about?”

“Shut up, Steve,” you roll your eyes and Steve gets more emphatic.

“How many times have I had to come stop some creep who’s being weird to you?”

“Oh fuck you. My hero. My white knight, scaring away the big bad men,” you say in a mocking tone. You cross your arms over your chest and for the first time since walking into the back room Steve notices that you have unbuttoned a large portion of the top buttons on your shirt, probably due to the heat. With your arms folded over your chest, he can see your cleavage and he swallows. You notice and drop your arms with a scoff. “You fucking pervert. You’re no better than the rest of them!”

“What? What?!” Steve blusters, trying to play off the fact that you caught him staring.

“You’re a fucking horn dog, that’s what.”

“Oh please.” He turns around with a dismissive laugh and you step forward to follow him, staying in his space.

“You know what I think? I think the reason you give me a hard time is because I never gave you the time of day,” you declare, putting your hands on your hips. The heat is rising within you now. The air is stifling and electric around you as Steve takes an angry step closer to you and you feel crackling as if you’re in the middle of a heat lightning storm.

“Well you’re way off base with that theory, trainee,” Steve bites out. He’s smirking at you. Goddamn smirking at you as if he’s got the upperhand in spite of what you’ve just accused him of.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because I know you asked Robin if I was single when you first started working here,” he says smugly. He folds his arms across his own chest now and you curse your fucking eyes because they widen while taking in the way his biceps now look. Large and defined as his sleeves shift up.

“So? That doesn’t prove anything. Maybe I just wanted to know if you were cheating on a girlfriend with all the flirting you insist on doing,” you manage to reply coolly. But Steve’s shaking his head before you even finish your statement.

“I believe your words were - and I quote - ‘Is Steve single? Because he’s hot as fuck. I’d let that boy bend me over the break room table’.” His voice takes on a high pitched mocking quality as he approximates your tone.

Your eyes blow wide and your jaw drops to the floor.

“Robin, that bitch.”

“Don’t blame Robin for your horny fantasies, trainee.” He’s got a smile on his face that you just want to slap off. Your fingers flex at your sides but you hold yourself back, taking a deep breath.

“Then you don’t blame her for the fact that she told me you get a semi every time I wear these jeans?”

Steve’s eyes practically bug out of his head and dart down to look at the jeans in question. You quirk an eye up, your turn to smile.

“I - what? No!”

“So she lied? This doesn’t do it for you?” you ask, turning slightly and leaning on the back of a chair so that your ass stuck out a little, accentuating your curves. Steve’s gaze drops to your ass before pinballing all the way around the room, desperately looking at anything and everything other than you.

“That’s not…you’re full of…”

“No, you’re full of it, Harrington. Admit it,” you say, straightening up and pointing at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, standing a little straighter and looking at you now that you’re no longer presenting your ass to him.

“You find me irresistable,” you accuse. Steve laughs loudly and without humor.

“And yet here I am. Perfectly capable of resisting,” he says, standing his ground. “Meanwhile you’re practically throwing yourself at me.”

“You fucking wish!”

“In your dreams.”

“In my nightmares.”

The next few seconds seem to play out, paradoxically, both sped up and in slow motion. The heat fills the space around you, almost thick enough to cushion the air. And then Steve’s body is hurtling towards yours. Or yours towards his - you can’t be sure. All you are aware of is movement and then contact. The woosh of air and then the solidness of impact.

Steve’s hands are on your waist, pulling your body against his as his lips crash against yours. Your hands are in his hair before you can even think about it, your movements automatic and entirely involuntary as far as you’re concerned. Fingers fisting in his locks you kick yourself internally because they feel exactly like you thought they would. Fucking pretty haired pretty boy.

His tongue is at the seam of your lips, forcing your mouth open ruthlessly and you comply, allowing him to sweep inside. Steve turns his head to the side, deepening the kiss and pushing down into you until you feel yourself being folded back, his hand sliding to your tailbone to support you through the dip.

When he pulls away, both of you gasping for air, he doesn’t move far, instead dipping to suck biting kisses against your throat.

“You gonna tell me to stop?”

His words don’t make any sense as they enter your hazy brain. One of your hands drops to his shoulder, grasping. Clinging really as he delivers a particularly rough suck to the place beneath your ear.

“W-what?”

“If you hate me so much this must be torture for you,” he breathes into your skin. The smugness has returned to his voice, muted though it is against your throat.

“I fucking hate you, Harrington,” you seethe. He’s laughing now against your throat.

“I know, that’s what I just said - ,”

You cut him off by roughly grabbing him by the hair and bringing him back to your lips. The moan he looses into your mouth has you humming with a satisfaction that seeps deep down into your core. He’s not getting the upper hand so easily. Not if you have anything to say about it.

Now on a single-minded mission to ruin him, you reach down and splay your hand out against his lower back, rolling your hips forward in tandem with the motion in order to grind your pelvis against his. He lets out a groan that you feel in your extremities, so you repeat the move.

Suddenly the hands that are on your waist drop to your hips and wrench you around so your back is to him. The twirl disorients you and you gasp, blinking at the back of the break room and panting as Steve’s hands pull you back - ass against his pelvis.

He slaps a hand on the back of your thigh - making you whine - and slides up your curve to grip a handful of your ass.

“I’ll be the bigger person,” he says with a heavy chuckle into your ear. “I can admit these jeans do it for me.”

A laugh rocks through your body in spite of yourself.

“Oh yeah? They giving you a semi?” you ask jokingly. Steve pulls you back against him, hips bracketing your ass, and you feel him pressing into you. Hard. Nothing semi about it.

“What do you think?” His voice is gruff now, his lower half grinding slowly, deliberately into yours.

“I think you’re hard,” you say on an exhale. His laugh is full throated and his grip on your hips tighten.

“Very observant, trainee. A+ work.” His face buries itself into the crook between your neck and shoulder, lips toying with the skin there.

“Don’t call me trainee.” Your voice is breathless but for once there is no menace in it when you say the sentence you’ve yelled at him a million times.

“No? What should I call you then?” His lips are at your ear. His fingertips dig into your hips and push you back into him. Making you feel him. “Baby? Darling?”

You let out a gasping laugh when he bucks into you from behind, knocking you off balance a bit so you have to lean forward and grasp the edge of the table. He follows you down, chest still against your back.

“...slut?”

You’d love it if your response was to laugh in his face. To pry his hands off of you, straighten up your clothes, and walk out the door. But that’s not what happens.

You moan.

He says the word and you moan.

It’s dark and filthy and you feel hot shame the minute it issues from your mouth, but the way his fingers tense immediately has got heat pooling directly between your thighs.

“Holy shit.”

“I…that doesn’t…”

“Holy shit!” His words are laughing and victorious and he’s nuzzling his face over your shoulder even as you try to crouch away. “I fucking called it.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you argue, even as your back arches slightly and find yourself rocking back into him. His hand slides over the slope of your hip to the front of your jeans.

“You moaned, trainee. I called you a slut and you moaned.” Steve’s hand cups your mound then, middle finger pressing up into the center seam of your jeans.

“F-fuck…” You swivel your hips to grind down into his hand, suddenly getting a taste of the friction you’d begun to crave.

Steve uses his hand between your legs to ground you against him, giving him leverage with which to rub his hard-on directly into your ass.

“You can lie all you want. Calling you a slut is making you writhe for me…like a cute little slut.”

You huff out an exhale and look over your shoulder at him.

“Is it the word or the fact that you’re practically fingering me through my jeans and humping me? Which is it, Steve?”

His cocky smile only widens and he shoots forward to steal a kiss over your shoulder since you’re looking at him.

“Both?”

“Oh christ, Harrington…” you trail off as his hand slides up and starts opening your jeans.

“You do have a point though…” he says, biting his lip in concentration. He yanks your jeans down over your ass, leaving them bunched around your knees. His hand cups you through your underwear before yanking them to the side, fingers sweeping directly over your wet slit as you shiver. “Through the jeans wasn’t that efficient.”

“Pretty boy worries about efficiency?” you ask derisively. His finger has found your clit with no problem and your knees are feeling weaker by the second, but you definitely aren’t going to go easy on him.

“Being pretty isn’t the only thing I’m good at, you know,” he says with humor. You find the wherewithal to reach back and peel his other hand off your hip, bringing it to close around your breast. Steve intakes breath sharply.

“Same,” you reply with a smirk. He gropes you experimentally through your shirt before rooting underneath the hem to find your bra-clad breast.

“So you think you’re pretty?” he taunts.

“You do.”

“I think you’re pretty or I think I’m pretty?” Steve asks, pulling your breast out of the cup and pinching your nipple just as he sinks a finger into your pussy.

“Fuck…the first one…both…just shut up,” you grit out and arch your back.

“I knew you’d been mean to me,” Steve quips before sinking his teeth lightly into your shoulder.

“Steve, do you want to fuck me?” you ask, voice tinged with annoyance. His head shoots over your shoulder to try and get a look at your face.

“I can fuck you?” He sounds like an enthusiastic puppy dog and your heart lurches in spite of itself.

“Not if you keep making fun of me, you can’t,” you say, though there’s humor in the words.

“Ahh, you can dish it but you can’t take it. I get it. That’s cool.” Steve’s tone is casual. The exact opposite of his actions as he slowly adds another finger into your dripping channel. You keen forward, both from the force of the pleasure and from the way your reaction makes him grind his dick even harder against your ass.

“Um…Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“So…are you going to fuck me?”

Your question makes him laugh and has his hips stuttering against you.

“Eager to make the fantasy of me bending you over this table a reality?”

“No. Eager to fast forward to the part where you wake up having creamed your pj’s thinking of me,” you retort, this time with a massive smile on your face as you recall the story you’d been told about Steve’s wet dreams. Steve groans.

“Fucking Robin,” he says, letting go of your breast to reach down and open his own pants.

“She’s the worst,” you agree. The anticipation is mounting and sweat drips off your brow. You’d down on your elbows now, bent over the table, and you can’t see Steve behind you, but you can hear the rustle of clothing. He yanks your jeans and underwear down to your ankles suddenly and you yelp and he nudges your thighs open so your legs are spread hip-width apart.

You wait a few breathless heart beats until the sound of skin on skin - which does not include your own - has you looking over your shoulder.

Steve is standing behind you, his own pants pooled at his feet, with his cock in his hand. He’s gripping it, giving it long, slow strokes as his eyes hungrily consume your half-bare body.

“I…think you might kill me,” he says seriously, dragging his eyes up from your pussy to your face. You gesture down to the cock he is fisting, eyeing the size.

“Back at you.”

He laughs at your response and heat rushes through you at how beautiful he looks with the smile cracking his face wide. You want him. Now.

So you turn back around and bend yourself over the table again, shifting side to side to sway your ass at him enticingly.

Steve’s on you not even a second later. His hands smooth over your hips and waist and his cock slides between your legs, between your folds.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He’s repeating the phrase over and over under his breath and you’d laugh but you’re feeling similarly speechless. Impatient now, you reach back and take his cock in your hand, making him hiss. You arch and lean forward, guiding his tip into you until his hands grip your hips and he steps forward, slipping in inch by inch.

“Oh fuck,” you both swear, practically in unison. Steve remains still for a second to let you adjust, and also to ground himself as he takes in all of what is happening in this moment.

You find yourself nearly shaking from the feel of him inside you. He feels so good and it’s been a long, empty summer so far. Of course you’re horny, you reason with yourself in your head as you shift forward, trying to entice him to move, which he does. He’s hot and you’re horny and and it feels good. It feeels good.

“Yeah? Feels good?”

Shit. You’ve been speaking your thoughts out loud. You go to contradict him - to take it back - but then he’s kissing your neck and you can’t help but hum.

“Yeah. It’s good.”

He finds a steady pace before the his words return again, this time more hoarse than before.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans out, thrusting into you particularly hard. Feeling sweat slick your skin you laugh.

“It’s because there’s no fan in here.”

“Oh, she’s shy about compliments suddenly,” Steve intuits and you roll your eyes, though he can’t see it. “She knows she’s hot but doesn’t want me to point it out?”

“Steve…” you warn, but there’s little else you can do as he reaches a hand down to the apex of your thighs and starts fingering your clit. You grip numbly at the table.

“Yeah, baby? You want me to stop talking about your incredible body?” he teases, his other hand coming down flat over your back to push you further down into the table before reclaiming your hip. “How good it feels to be inside you?”

“You’re a cocky bastard,” you say, but it comes out in a whine. You’re record-breakingly close to cumming and your brain and body seem disconnected. Unsure of what to do about the short circuiting feeling of shame and pleasure and annoyance and fondness, all of which are completely Steve’s fault.

“You’ve got that right, sweetheart,” he responds, inhaling sharply when you clench around him in response. “What’s that? So you like being called sweetheart?”

“Mmmm,” is all you manage to moan out, though he takes it correctly as an affirmation. He has both hands gripping your waist now, allowing nothing to distract him from pounding into you, chasing his own release now while also rocketing you towards your own.

“So you do like a little sweetness after all.” It’s teasing but you’re too fucked out to care at this point. So close. So close. Steve’s kissing the spot under your ear as he slows down to fuck you harder. Deeper. “Good thing I like it sweet. That’s how I’ve always wanted to be with you, sweetheart.”

Is it cheesy? Yes. Is it something that usually would have you slapping him and walking away? Yes.

But now you’re cumming. Crying out his name as his cock slides into you, your walls bearing down and spasming around him.

You don’t even know where your orgasm ends and his begins, you’re so blinded by pleasure. But he’s shaking around you and his hips are stuttering and then his weight is pressing you into the table as he pants.

There’s a split second where your shared breathe is all you can sense. His skin on yours has you buzzing and your muscles are jelly. You don’t even have a moment to think about repercussions or right or wrong. There’s just…Steve.

And then the bell rings in the distance indicating someone has entered the front door.

“Hellooo!” Comes Robin’s sing song voice. “Do my sad single friends want to hear how my date went?”

~*~

Read Part 2 Here

Steve / Stranger Things tag list (some of these are assumptions based on your interactions with my posts about my steve fic, so sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!): @boomhauer @asbisexualasitgets @bluetreecloud20 @flightless-b1rds let-my-ship-sail @fandomsimper @livlovelaughh @maggiemaes-stuff @adultnitemares @wonderfulw0rldx @bellaiscool @halolani supe-r-nova r4nd0mf4nd0mz25 spookyreidd cmlover101 coolestgirlhere jadenswifey22 ashleighjadecharlton everybodywantstobetouched uhcastiels monsterhighprincess99 misaamaneswifey steveharringtonsdaddy getoutandtouchtherain alexxavicry craze4bau sabrinablack194 iseultult devonisntreal navybluebitch macey730 izbot6 sweetkyotto @millenialcatlady creme-delacreme s-trawberryv-eins amatchinwater vamdevil xoxchanxl mrssharrington edwardmunsn moonyscardigans wayward-rose

#steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x fem!reader #fem!reader

7K notes · View notes

katyswrites · 7 months

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 10 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, mentions of pregnancy/a pregnancy scare, mentions of food and alcohol, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, ddlg dynamics, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 10.4K

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 10 | meet me in the afterglow

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Your walk to work was chilly enough to warrant a coat. That was perhaps the thing you missed least about home in the U.S. - even though the winters certainly got cold here, it was nowhere near the sub-zero temperatures you had grown up with during the coldest time of year. Maybe the only thing you missed was snow - in all of your time living here, you had only gotten a brief dusting once, and it had melted by the following day.

Still, a week out from Christmas, you now needed to wrap something warm around yourself as you walked down the street, heading closer to the city center as your shift was due to start.

You were technically two minutes late to your shift, the coffee shop busy enough to have a line going out the door when you arrived. Yet, your manager Francesco said nothing - a small spark of joy in your day.

You didn’t necessarily need to go back to work - Steve’s money had yet to run out. But, you felt good about earning your own money - and, the less you had to draw on his remaining funds, the less you had to think about him.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Steve since the night of your argument. Well, that was only partially true - you had received one piece of communication from him. It came a few days later - you had been moping in your apartment, having barely left your room for days, when an envelope arrived. It had his familiar writing and wax seal, with another wad of cash and a letter made out to you:

I promise this is the last you’ll hear from me. I am a man of my word, so I promise to help provide for you until you’re finished with school. I’ll be transferring enough money to your account to cover all of your expenses, so no need to worry about your rent, food, anything of the sort… I really do want you to be able to focus on school, okay? So, please don’t protest, or try to send the money back. Please feel free to use the credit card if you need to.

I’m sorry it ended this way. We both knew it was going to, but I apologize if I said anything out of line the other night. I truly do wish you the best.

Take care,

Steve

Reading it had been a punch to the gut. The formality of it, the finality of it… you would’ve rather that you never heard from him again. You had stashed the letter in a box under your bed, and not looked at it since.

A few weeks after that, you had pregnancy scare. It was silly, really - but, your period was late, and if was the first conclusion your mind had jumped to. You had called Robin in a panic, begging her to come home - she did, with four different brands of pregnancy tests. Those 15 minutes of waiting for results were the most agonizing of your life - then, upon seeing them all negative, you fell to your knees and burst into tears.

“It’s okay,” Robin had cooed, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re good it was a false alarm - you’re probably just late because of stress -”

“I know,” you sobbed. “I just -”

“What is it?”

You then had sat up, chest heaving as you sobbed.

“He’s really gone isn’t he?”

Robin held you in her arms that night as you cried yourself to sleep.

To your knowledge now, he had gone back to the U.S. - was he still in Chicago? Or, did he go back to New York? You realized it was better for you to not ask these questions, or to think of him at all. As the weeks had turned into months, you found yourself thinking of him a little less each day - but you still thought of him. You saw him in the passersby as you walked down the street, in every car window, in every businessman walking through the door to order a coffee. Sometimes, you’d hear a laugh, or get a brief whiff of cigarette smoke, and swear it was him. But it never was - it never would be again.

The days had dragged on, but luckily, you often found yourself too busy to dwell too much on thoughts of Steve. Between work and school, your plate was pretty full. With graduation in mere weeks, you had spent the entire term studying and working on your thesis. Steve’s remaining money, at least, allowed you to work far less hours than you had before - a small blessing, you supposed.

The day was moving pretty quickly, the morning rush busy enough that two hours flew by without much notice. It was only during the afternoon lull that you found yourself able to look up from the espresso machine - only to lock eyes with a familiar face through the window.

Eddie smiled back at you, waving. You couldn’t help but grin, and beckoned him to come inside. He bounded through the glass doors, bursting into the coffee shop with the infectious, chaotic energy he always carries with him.

“Bella, how are you?” he asked, leaning over the counter with a big grin.

“I’m okay,” you said, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just okay?”

“Oh well - you know, a bit stressed with the end of term and all. But, that’ll all be over soon.”

“I’m almost done, too - just finishing up my exams, all of that nonsense.”

“Do you have someone for your thesis?”

You nodded. “Professor Hopper - he’s always had a soft spot for me,” you said, smiling fondly, thinking of the seemingly-gruff.

“I have Clarke - I don’t actually know how much he knows about photography, he teaches chemistry for godsake, but apparently it’s a hobby or something, so he’ll sign off on whatever I do,” Eddie said, laughing.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you - I actually have my own studio space now.”

“What? Eddie, that’s amazing!”

He grinned. “Thanks - I mean, I’m still technically freelance, but I’m hoping once I’m fully graduated more work will start coming in. But for now, I don’t mind having some spare time to practice with the band.”

You did your best to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Right - don’t forget me when you make it as a big rockstar, Eddie.”

He let out a hearty laugh at that, the infectious kind that had you joining in - you hadn’t laughed like that in quite some time.

“You know, you should come by later to check it out,” Eddie said. “I mean, if you want -”

You thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Sure, why not - I get off in about a half hour -”

“Perfect,” he cried, clapping his hands together. “I’ll just wait around then - and, uh, can I get an espresso? Since I’m already here and all.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, sure thing Munson - I’ll take my sweet time with it, just for you.”

The end of your shift flew by, and soon enough you were pulling off your apron, linking your arm in Eddie’s as he led you out the door and through the city.

The studio, as it turned out, was only a few blocks away. The space was small, but nice - a big glass storefront allowed plenty of light in, even with the fading sun, indicative of the short days of winter. Some of Eddie’s work hung framed on the walls - city scenes, candids of people on the street, bands in action at his favorite club… and even a few of you, from the project you posed for a few years ago.

“Wow - this is amazing, Eddie!” you exclaimed, glancing around the studio with genuine pride for your friend. You knew this was always the goal for him, what he always wanted to do.

“Grazie mille,” he said, beaming.

“Do you have anything lined up?”

He nodded.

“Some - nothing too interesting. A few weddings, graduation photoshoots, things like that. Oh, do you want to see the photo lab?”

You let him lead the way into the back room, passing through a dimly-lit room with machines and equipment that you were sure you had no idea how to use. Newly developed photos were hanging around on clothespins, or spread across the table in the middle.

“Back there is the darkroom,” Eddie said, gesturing to a small door on the other side of the room. “But yeah, this is where the magic happens.”

“You develop all your pictures this way?” you asked, examining a few laid across the table.

He shook his head. “Not exactly - only the stuff I shoot on film. A lot of what I do is digital, and I edit that on my computer but… I really do love shooting film. I only really do that for specific things. Oh, which reminds me!”

He turned his back to you, rummaging through a filing cabinet until he produced a large manila envelope, extending it to you. You furrowed your brow, confused. You turned it to examine it properly - the only thing written on it was your name and a date, in Eddie’s telltale scrawl.

“What -”

“It’s those pictures I owe you, from your birthday party - sorry, it took me a while to get around to developing them.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you said quietly, gripping the envelope a bit tighter. “Uh, thanks - that was really nice of you, Eddie.”

You were still staring down at the parcel in your hands, your hands shaking a bit - you had completely forgotten that Eddie had been taking pictures all night. Most likely because you had been a bit distracted at the time. But now…

“I think they turned out pretty nice, if you ask me,” Eddie said. “But, you can be the judge of that yourself.”

You pressed your mouth into a tight line, nearly feigning a smile as you finally met his eyes again. He was looking back expectantly, and you realized he wanted you to look at them now.

“Oh, yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess I’ll just -”

You opened it up, sliding out the stack of photos - they were slightly bigger than the ones you had seen from a digital camera, on a beautiful matte paper that you knew must have not been cheap. This, you realized, was Eddie’s belated birthday gift to you.

You thumbed through the pictures - the first few were just candids of your friends on the dancefloor, or deep in conversation around the bar. There were a few of you and Robin, arms thrown around each other and smiling ear-to-ear.

There were quite a few solo shots of you, raising a glass to the camera, mid-laugh, or dancing - somehow, he had made it look like you truly were the center of attention, as if to tell people this is who we were there for!

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, laughing quietly at a few of the shots, including one of Robin flipping off the camera as she kisses Vickie. Then, your smile dropped, because there he was.

Steve, looking as handsome as you remembered, but somehow also a stranger, or like a figment of your imagination. Somehow, a small part of your subconscious had convinced you over the last few months that perhaps he wasn’t real, a true figment of your imagination that had been too good to be true. But there he was, large as life, his arm wrapped around you as you smiled into the camera. You were smiling in his arms, a girl completely unrecognizable in some ways. In another photo, he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek as you laugh - you remembered that one being taken, that’s for sure. You gently trailed your fingers across the picture, as if you were hoping to reach in and pull that happy girl out, just to shake a bit of sense into her. You didn’t even realize you were crying until a fat wet teardrop his the page, rolling down and off the edge.

“Whoa - are you alright?” Eddie asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You jumped, having nearly forgotten that he was there at all. How long had you been staring at the pictures of Steve? For a few minutes, or hours? There was no way to know.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, the thickness in your voice betraying you. You pressed the heels of your hands under your eyes, willing the gentle tears to stop, sniffling.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked softly.

You laughed dryly, more hot tears welling up as you did.

“Nothing! I - they’re beautiful, Eddie. Really - thank you. You - you’ve really got a talent.”

Your voice wobbled a bit at the end, and you sniffled.

“I’m sorry, I - it’s nothing to do with you,” you assured him. “I just - I’ve been having a hard time lately.”

Eddie cocked his head, confused. Then, his eyes flitted down to the picture in your hands.

“Oh - I’m sorry, I - is this about him?” Eddie asked quietly, gesturing to the photos. You just nodded, avoiding his gaze again as you stuffed them back into the envelope.

“I didn’t know you two had broken up, I’m sorry -”

“We didn’t break up!” you snapped, harsher than intended. “Fuck, I - sorry, that came out wrong. We didn’t break up, because we were never exactly together. It’s just complicated.”

Eddie furrowed his brow. “Yeah, okay - well, I’m sorry to hear about your not-breakup. I guess I’m just a little surprised.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I spent a long time looking at all of those when I was developing them - you know how they say pictures tell a thousand words?”

You nodded.

“Well - I take pictures of a lot of couples - weddings, engagement shoots, all of that… and I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.”

You felt your chest tighten - maybe you were being a lovesick idiot at your party, but Steve?

You shook your head. “No - Eddie, it… it wasn’t like that. I can promise you that.”

Steve made that perfectly clear.

Eddie shrugged again. “I’m just telling you what I observed, that’s all.”

“Well maybe you should mind your business,” you grumbled.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that.

Eddie’s face fell a bit, and he slowly took a step back, hands shoved in his pockets.

“My apologies,” he whispered. He was hurt, that much was obvious. You mentally kicked yourself.

“No Eddie - I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

You sighed, frustrated.

“Things have been, like, really weird the last few months and… it doesn’t matter.”

“I could tell,” he said, voice quiet. “You’ve been.. Distant.”

You nodded, the awkwardness filling the space between you two. You had fucked this up too, somehow.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “Uh, it’s getting late, and dark… I probably should head home.”

“Yeah, okay - good idea, I have some stuff to work on anyway.”

You both nodded, avoiding eye contact as you both headed out back into the studio.

It wasn’t until you were at the door that you turned to face Eddie again.

“The place really is beautiful… I’m proud of you,” you said sincerely. He offered a small smile in return.

“Thanks.”

“I also - the pictures are beautiful. Thank you for these, I - they’re great.”

“I’m sorry if they -”

“Don’t apologize,” you said firmly. “They’re great - you’ve really got a gift, you know.”

You could tell Eddie was fighting a real smile, a small win in your book.

“C’mon, you know my ego’s just fine on its own.”

You laughed, and without thinking, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little earlier,” you whispered.

“It’s alright,” he said, pulling away. “Heartbreak is funny like that.”

You decided not to bother protesting his assessment this time, too tired to start a fight again just to feel something.

“Right, okay.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take out the photos with… him?” Eddie asked, gesturing down to the envelope.

“No, that’s alright - I’m a big girl, I can go through them. I’m definitely going to hang a few of these up though, so thanks again.”

“Take good care of yourself darling, alright? And come by any time - for any reason.”

It was an olive branch, an assurance that things were okay. You forced a smile, nodding.

“Thanks, Eddie - you’re a great friend, you know.”

You bid your farewells, and left the studio with a strange feeling settling within you. You pulled your coat a little tighter around you, stuffing the envelope underneath as you charged through the chilly evening air to the nearest bus stop.

You didn’t get home until nearly 6pm, the winter sky fully dark by then. By the time you walked a few blocks and up the stairs to your apartment, your face was stinging from the cold, the wind picking up more since that afternoon.

Robin was on the couch, a rerun of Friends playing on the TV.

“Hey! You’re back kind of late,” she remarked.

“Yeah - I ran into Eddie, funnily enough,” you replied, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh really? How is he? I miss him - we should really make a plan to hang out with him soon -”

“Yeah, for sure,” you said, kicking off your shoes and hanging your coat on the rack. “He’s good - I saw his new studio, it’s nice.”

“Oh, no way! That’s great - I need to go sometime -”

“Yeah, totally,” you said, absentminded. “Uh, I’ve got some stuff to do, but I’ll be out here later -”

“Maybe we can get takeout or something -”

“Yeah, perfect -” you tittered, closing your bedroom door behind you, eyes on the envelope in your hands.

You bit your lip, debating what to do. Part of you considered finding all of the pictures of Steve, and burning them. But, that felt a bit dramatic. You pulled out the stack again, sifting through until you found the shots of him. You couldn’t help but smile, looking at how happy the girl in the photos was - if only she knew how quickly things would fall apart that night. The photo of Steve kissing you cheek was your favorite - it was just full of pure, unbridled joy. The one after that was the one you stared at for quite some time, though. You were looking into the camera, grinning widely. Steve, however, wasn’t - no, he was looking at you. You stared at him for quite some time - and remembered Eddie’s words.

I’ve never seen two people more in love than you two.

You had thought it was crazy - but, in the picture, Steve was looking at you like you’d hung the stars. Like, if he didn’t have you, he’d be lost. He was looking at you with eyes full of love - you just hadn’t been looking.

You gasped, realizing what Eddie had seen that you couldn’t - maybe everything had meant more to Steve than he had let on. No, that was crazy - wasn’t it?

What happened next didn’t have much explanation - it was probably crazy. You found yourself Googling Steve’s company headquarters in Chicago - it couldn’t be this easy, could it? But it was.

A quick call through the directory brought you to his secretary, a bubbly woman who was more than happy to help. You pretended to be the secretary of a business partner you had remembered Steve mentioning, saying how you wanted to send a thank-you gift - it had been too easy to get his home address, really. And, a confirmation that he was back in Chicago.

The next morning, you sent out an envelope, sticking on international postage. You debated not putting your name on the return address, but ultimately decided to include it - he’d recognize the address anyway. When you dropped it at the post office, you walked away feeling a sense of relief - and, perhaps, just a bit unhinged. TIme would tell if anything came of it. But, at the very least, it felt like finally closing the chapter of your life that had been defined by Steve Harrington. And, that was a good thing… right?

********

The day before Christmas Eve, you received great news: confirmation that you had passed all of your exams, your thesis receiving glowing feedback from the professors in your department. Your degree, which studied Art History and Travel and Tourism Management, meant that you would actually be able to stay here - you hoped to work in tourism in some way right here in Rome, or perhaps work in one of the city’s many museums - being bilingual would help, and more importantly, it meant you never had to set foot back in the United States again, if you didn’t want.

Christmas brought its usual cheer and celebration, complete with mulled wine and a potluck dinner you and Robin held for some of the other foreign students you were friendly with, knowing they didn’t have families to go to for the holidays. Your graduation only brought extra festivities, including a speech prepared by Robin given as a toast at dinner, saying how proud she was of you (and, how jealous she was that you didn’t have to worry about schoolwork anymore). It was silly yet sincere enough to make you tear up and pull her into a big hug. Eddie and Jonathan even swung by for a bit, joining in on the celebration until the wee hours of the morning. Robin and Vickie were all over each otherYou ate and drank to your heart’s content before stumbling to bed, leaving cleanup in the kitchen for the morning.

The morning of Boxing Day, it turned out, was actually the afternoon, with you and Robin oversleeping. You, to your own relief, felt tired, but not too hungover - the same couldn’t be said for Robin and Vickie, who stumbled into the kitchen with grimaces on their faces and grumbles as a greeting.

You spent most of the day cleaning up from the last two days’ festivities, washing dishes and clearing away wrapping paper, wiping countertops and vacuuming just enough until your home felt semi-in order.

You were still in your pajamas as it was getting dark again in the evening, a rarity these days. When Robin said she was heading out to dinner with Vickie and likely would be staying at her place that night, you bid her farewell, looking forward to some time alone to fully relax and unwind.

It was several hours later, after scrounging together a dinner of Christmas leftovers and half-dozing on the couch while a movie played, that your doorbell rang. You sat up with a start, your heart jumping at the unexpected intrusion. You stumbled to the door, grumbling about who could possibly be here at this hour - maybe Robin decided to come back after all, and got locked out again? You were ready to playfully ridicule her when you opened the door. But when you saw who was standing on the other side, you froze.

Steve Harrington was there on your doorstep, barely illuminated in the dim light. His chest was heaving, his hair just a bit disheveled. His eyes widened when he saw you, and you imagined you did the same. Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the sight of him, so real and alive in front of you. Were you dreaming? Was this some sick prank?

Neither of you said anything for a moment, two mouths hanging open, searching for the words.

“It’s Christmas,” you blurted out, the first words you’ve said to him in over four months.

“It’s December 26th,” he replied, simply and casually.

“I - well, it’s still a holiday, kind of.”

“Yeah, I know - do you know how hard it is to catch a last-minute flight on Christmas?”

You just stood there in the doorway, unable to think of anything else to say - what the fuck?

“What are you doing here?” you asked, words biting. You were lashing out a bit, but you didn’t care - this moment right now reminded you of a similar one over the summer, when he came to your doorstep to explain how he wasn’t engaged. What was his excuse now?

“Why did you send me this?” he asked, holding up a familiar envelope - the photo.

Why did you? You weren’t certain of that answer yourself. So, you went with the first explanation that came to your head.

“It’s a good picture of you,” you said quietly.

He rolled his eyes.

“Do not - I don’t hear from you for months, then I get this in the mail - on Christmas Eve, mind you -”

“I’m sorry, were you supposed to hear from me?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe?”

You scoffed. “You can’t be serious - you made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again.”

“I - what?”

“I wish you well? Take care? We ended things, Steve - what else was I meant to think?”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I don’t know. I guess part of me - it doesn’t matter. But, what am I supposed to make of this?” he asks, waving the envelope.

“I - Eddie gave me a bunch of pictures he took at my birthday party… I thought maybe you’d want that one.”

He took a tentative step closer towards you, gauging your reaction. You held your ground, not breaking eye contact.

“Is that the only reason?” he asked, voice low.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, your palms clammy - he really was just so handsome. Still, there was something so boyish about him, something that reminded you of why you fell for him in the first place. He had cut his hair a bit, his summer tan faded - and he looked tired. Then again, you probably did too - you suddenly became conscious of the fact that you were in your pajamas, still looking like you had just woken up - you wished you could disappear, never to be perceived again.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “The only reason.”

He was close enough now that you could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped, his eyes glancing up and down your form as he took a deep breath.

“Tell me that, when you sent this, there wasn’t at least a small part of you that hoped I’d respond - that, when you sent this, you hoped I’d call, or show up here. If there wasn’t, I’ll walk away right now, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

There it was - everything laid out on the table. So much was still unsaid - but, it was obvious that he also had been hurting the last few months, that he didn’t want this to end, maybe even nearly as much as you did.

“You really flew all the way here because I sent you a photo?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Of course I did.”

“You realize how crazy that is, right?”

He chuckled dryly.

“Well, they do say it makes you do crazy things.”

“...it?” you asked, voice wavering.

He nodded.

Oh.

“Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

As soon as the door was shut behind him, he began spiraling into a new explanation.

“I hope you know that I didn’t come here just to - you’re right, it is kind of crazy, but I didn’t know what else to do, after everything that happened -”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

You both stood there for a moment, eyes locked on eachother. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, you both moved at once - you crashed your lips into his, fast and desperate. He sighed against your lips, pulling you close as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You felt like crying - you had missed him so much, more than you had realized - his voice, his warmth, his scent - it brought everything flooding back, the feelings you had buried in an attempt at self-preservation. But now, as you kissed him, you felt the tears well up, stinging your eyes as they rolled down your face, hot and fast.

“Whoa - baby, it’s okay - what’s wrong -”

Baby.

“Nothing,” you cried, wiping the tears away. “I just - I really fucking missed you.”

You felt stupid to admit it, but then again, didn’t he come close to confessing that himself just a few moments ago?

“I know, I know, baby - you have no fuckin’ idea -”

Another kiss, passionate and apologetic.

“I didn’t mean any of what I said that night,” you gasped, pulling him closer. “I was just so scared -”

“I know, me too, baby - m’sorry -”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He was holding your face between his hands now, backing you up until you were pressed against the wall, his lips finding yours again. He titled his head down to nuzzle at your throat, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin there. You tipped your head back, giving him full access to do as he pleased. He kissed and nipped at your neck, until you were moaning and crying out his name, pulling at his coat until it fell off of his shoulders. You twisted your hands in his button-down, his hands squeezing tighter on your waist in response.

“Fuck, Steve,” you breathed. “I’m sorry -”

“Stop with that,” he said, firmly taking your face in his hands again, catching your lips in another gentle kiss. “You’re right, I just realy don’t want to talk anymore -”

Then he was kissing you again, swallowing your noises as you whined his name, fingers gripping his hair.

“Bedroom, now,” you told him. “Please -”

“Yeah, okay.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you, both of you stumbling down the small hallway and into your bedroom, Steve slamming the door closed behind him with his foot.

“No Robin?” he asked, lips finding your neck again.

“No - ah! She’s at Vickie’s tonight -”

“Thank Christ,” he growled. “I don’t know how quiet I’m capable of being right now.”

He was apparently as desperate as you were, lips finding yours hungrily as he pulled your oversized t-shirt over your head, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when he saw your breasts.

“No bra?” he asked.

“I was lounging around, until you showed up -”

“Thank god,” he practically snarled, his hands finding the small of your back to pull you close.

You reached between yourselves, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers slipping as they shook with anticipation. He reached down to help you, until he eventually shrugged the shirt off. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your bare chest to his, nearly crying again from the contact.

“I really missed you,” he whispered, a man ruined. “I never thought I’d be able to have you like this again -”

“None of that,” you murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s alright.”

You just stared at him, running your hands down his chest as you took a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something.��

“What is it?” he asked, face flickering with concern. “Oh god, are - are you seeing someone else? I didn’t even ask -”

“No! No, nothing like that,” you assured, biting your lip. “I just - do you remember the night of my birthday on our trip, on the rooftop?”

He nodded. “That was a really nice night.”

“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” you admitted, heart racing as you were ready to lay out the thing you had been terrified to admit aloud.

“About what?” he asked softly, cupping your cheek gently with his palm.

“Remember when I said something in Italian, and you asked what it meant? And I just said it meant I loved the gift, the star thing?”

He nodded. You took a deep, shuddering breath.

“That wasn’t exactly true. I - I said that I was in love with you,” you managed, voice quivering at the end. “That’s why I was so scared - I didn’t realize until I said it… I had broken our rule, our number one rule -”

“Hey, hey -” he cooed, shaking his head. “Did you mean it?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah - I still do.”

The few seconds that passed after that had your stomach doing somersaults - what if he still didn’t feel that way, and everything he had said in the doorway was bullshit? You thought you were going to be sick -

But his face softened, his eyes glistening - was he going to cry?

“Fuck the rules. I stopped following those a long time ago,” he said.

Your heart fluttered, your face heating.

“Are you saying -”

“How did you say it in Italian again?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’ve been slacking on my lessons without you around.”

You laughed. “Oh, um, it’s sono innamorato di te. It translates directly as I’m in love with you, or I’m falling for you.”

He nodded. “Well then - sono innamorato di te.”

You felt like your chest was about to explode, and before you knew it, you were crying again. He was too, you realized, his cheeks glistening with tears as he choked a sob with laughter.

“We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we both just said that in the first place,” he said, reaching to wipe away some of your tears.

“How long?” you asked.

“Since the night of the gala I brought you to. So… longer. I guess I win.”

You sobbed again, Steve swallowing the sound with another kiss. It’s wet and salty with tears, a mess of apologies and confessions.

“Steve - I -”

“I know, baby,” he whispered, kissing your salty cheeks. “It’s alright - I’m here now -”

The conversation truly stopped after that - you couldn’t keep your hands off of one another, shedding clothes until you were nude and devouring each other with desperation unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Steve was pressing his lips between your breasts when you asked, voice breathy and filled with need.

“Steve - I need you, please -”

“Mm - yeah, okay -”

Before he could move, you were reaching down to grasp his cock in your hand. He gasped, pupils blown as his head thumped back against the wall. The noise that came out of him was unholy, wrecked and ruined as you brushed your thumb along his leaking tip.

“Christ, baby -”

“Can I suck you off, please?” you asked, desperate to make him come undone.

“Honey - you can’t - I just, I wanna fuck you so bad… I won’t last if I let you get your mouth on me, baby.”

You pouted, even as your heart raced with the thrill of knowing you’d have him inside you again.

“Next time,” he said, “I swear.”

A promise of a next time, of a thousand more times - you started kissing him again, lips bruising his - losing yourself in any drink or drug would never compared to losing yourself in Steve Harrington, you decided.

“Get on the bed,” he muttered, gently pushing you back. You did as he asked, falling back onto the mattress gently as he joined you, face hovering inches from yours.

His hair was a mess, pupils blown and lips glossy. He just shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he breathed.

You felt your face heat, and you buried your face in your hands.

“Shut up.”

“About you? Not likely.”

Before you could come up with a clever remark, he was kissing your neck again, his lips traveling down slowly between the valley of your breasts, taking his time - he was going to leave bruises, you already knew.

But he didn’t stop, traveling down, down, down -

“What are you -”

“I never said I didn’t want to taste you first,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I miss having my mouth on you so fuckin’ much -”

“Fuck,” you gasped. “You’re unreal -”

“Says you,” he retorted. Whatever you planned to say next died on your lips, anything resembling a coherent thought dissolving as his lips found your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, back arching as his tongue swirled around your clit.

“Just as fuckin’ sweet as I remembered,” he whispered, his breath against your pussy making your chest heave.

He licked a stripe along your slit, making your back arch off the bed, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Be loud for me, baby,” he murmured, lips finding your clit again. You did as he asked, moaning and crying out his name as he devoured your pussy, eliciting desperate sounds from you as your fingers wound themselves in his hair. He groaned as you pulled on his locks, encouraging you to continue doing so as he opted to slide a finger inside you.

“Fuck - Steve! Ohmygod, fuck -”

You felt him smile as he lapped and licked at your folds, adding a second finger and beginning to pump them in earnest, finding that spot inside of you too easily.

You were crying out, bucking your hips against Steve’s lips, like putty in his hands. For about ten minutes you were completely his, mind numb with pleasure as he took you apart with his mouth. You let him, feeling the blunt fingernails of his free hand digging into your thigh, pulling you as close as possible.

“Steve - I’m gonna - I’m so close, y’feel too good -”

Encouraged, he picked up the pace a bit, sending you completely over the edge. When you came, you saw stars, grinding down on Steve’s mouth and fingers. You were screaming, and he helped you through it, nuzzling against your core as you pulsed around his fingers. Your hand left his hair and found his temple, gently coaxing him closer as you rode out your orgasm.

You were still breathing heavily as he kissed his way slowly back up your body, worshiping every inch of skin he could find. YOu didn’t let your eyes open again until he was face-to-face with you, chin glistening with your release as he wore a smug grin.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured. “Tasted so good… you came so hard for me -”

“Mm -” you hummed, pulling him down for a kiss. You tasted yourself on him, the sensation completely euphoric.

“Do you need some time?” he asked gently.

You ran a finger over your clit, still sensitive and puffy, and shook your head.

“No, I’m okay - I actually really need you to fuck me.”

“Thank god,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t think I can go another second without fucking you -”

“I know -”

“I would dream about you, you know - all the time. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with a hard-on, of a mess in my boxers like a fuckin’ teenager -”

“I know what you mean,” you admitted, recalling a few times you had thought of him as you touched yourself since he’d left.

“Please tell me you’re still on the fuckin’ pill -”

“Yeah, I am - God, Steve -”

“I know, I know - ready baby?”

You nodded, locking your eyes with his as he positioned himself above you, pushing inside of you ever so slowly. You could tell he was holding back, doing everything he could to not enter you in one rough movement. You winced at the stretch, nearly forgetting just how big he was. He kissed apologies across your face, gasping as he felt your warm walls envelope him.

“Fuck -” he groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I can’t believe I went so long without this - you feel so fuckin’ perfect, baby - such a tight, perfect pussy -”

“You feel so good,” you breathed, digging your fingernails into his shoulderblades. “Steve - I’m so full, please fuck me -”

He did as you asked, rolling his hips against yours, eliciting a groan from both of you. He was still holding back you could tell - but you didn’t have time for that, not after months of missing him, of missing this -

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “Please -”

“What did you just call me?” he asked.

“I - baby,” you repeated. You realized you never had before - was that wrong?

“Say it again,” he breathed.

“Baby,” you breathed, gasping as he thrust into you a little harder.

“Baby, please - fuck me, let go,” you cried.

It became fast and hard quickly, the desperation you shared impossible to mask. The slapping of his hips against yours was positively dirty, Steve’s arms caging you underneath him as he pounded into you. Your hand snaked down between you, your own finger finding your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, continuing his relentless pace. “Touch yourself for me, just like that - M’not gonan last long, I’m sorry, you just feel too good -”

“It’s okay,” you assured, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to lose it.”

He groaned, the room filling with the sound of slapping skin and moans, your names on each other’s lips.

Nothing else mattered, not when Steve was making you feel like this, not when he had flown across an ocean on a whim, a desperate hope to just see you again, even if only for a moment. You suddenly became so overwhelmed with love for this man, this person who had turned your world upside down - it was indescribable, impossible to even express. So you just held him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

“M’close - I need you to come with me, baby - can you do that? I know you can, you’re always so good for me -”

You nodded, unable to formulate words anymore.

“I fuckin’ love you,” he cried, hips stuttering, his thrusts growing sloppier. “So much, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I love you, baby -”

His words sent you over the edge, white-hot pleasure surging through your body as you screamed his name. The feeling of you clamping around him sending him into his own orgasm. He spilled inside of you, your name on his lips like a prayer. He practically collapsed on top of you, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours feeling like home, like it was always meant to be this way.

Your breaths were labored, sweet kisses peppered across skin. Neither of you spoke for quite some time. After he rolled off of you, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as physically possible.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and gentle. It was only when you pulled back, brushing some of his sweaty hair away from his face, that you broke the silence.

“I love you, too,” you murmured. You brushed your fingers along his face, and he caught your wrist, pressing kisses to your palm and knuckles, as if determined to worship you every chance he got.

“I want more than an arrangement,” he whispered. “I don’t want rules, or a deal, or -”

“Yeah, that was obvious,” you replied, chuckling. “And, me too.”

“And, you were right - you have school, and I never wanted you to think I just wanted you like a trophy or something - you have your own life, aspirations, and i know that - I just like spoiling you, but I never wanted you to give up who you are,” he said, face soft. “I need you to know that.”

“I do,” you murmured.

You really did.

“Besides, I graduated.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? When?”

“Officially? A few days ago.”

He smiled, soft and sincere - part of you was worried he might cry again.

“Congratulations - I’ll have to take you out to celebrate.”

“Mm - sounds good to me. How long - when are you here until?”

There was still life to reckon with, after all - living on two different continents, jobs, obligations - the kind of thing that could ruin this. But, he just shook his head.

“I bought an open-ended ticket. So, until whenever you want.”

“I - what? What about work?”

He shrugged. “Turns out, when you run the place, you can get away with that stuff.”

Your jaw dropped.

“What? Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Brenner’s out. I’m in - youngest CEO in the company’s history.”

You laughed, pressing your palm to your forehead as you stared at the ceiling in disbelief.

“Steve - that’s amazing. But how -”

“Shhh - we’ll figure everything out later. But, let’s at least ring in the new year together, yeah?”

You nodded cautiously - he really was here, now, and wanted to make it work.

“Okay,” you said. “Sounds good.”

“Hey - you know what’s really pissing me off, though?”

“What?” you asked, wary as a pit of dread formed in your gut.

“I have to thank Eddie fucking Munson for fixing this.”

You laughed, a real, hearty laugh, and in that moment, you realized things were going to be okay.

******

That night, you slept better than you had in months, safe and warm in Steve’s arms. That was, until you woke to Robin’s scream the next morning, both of you shooting up in bed with a start.

“WHAT IS HE DOING IN YOUR BED?” she cried, shielding her eyes. “God - I wish I could bleach my eyes - motherfucker -”

Then, the door was slamming shut, Robin bemoaning her luck as she bolted down the hall to her own room.

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, sinking under the covers.

“Well - I guess I owe her an explanation -”

“Later,” Steve saidly, shaking his head incredulously. “For Christmas, I’m getting you a fucking industrial lock for that door!”

Then you were laughing, blissful and unable to control yourself, Steve joining you. He kissed the giggles away, pulling your body to his, and not much talking happened after that.

It didn’t matter what real life held after this - because Steve was here, and he was yours. Wherever you ended up, you realized, if you were with Steve, you would be home.

He was here to stay.

author's note: Hi y'all - thanks for your patience! This story isn't quite done - there will be an epilogue posted tomorrow. But, that's essentially the conclusion of don't call me 'baby' - I told you it would be a happy ending! Shoutout to @is-writing for some help with this. And of course as always, Em, without whom this fic wouldn't have happened. Comments, reblogs, and messages are always welcome - keep an eye out for the epilogue!

#steve harrington #steve harrington/reader smut #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/reader angst #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #dcmb fic

503 notes · View notes

jadewritesficshere · 27 days

Text

Shirts

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: you notice somethings changed about Steve's dresser (<1k words)

Contains: fluff, no gender description of reader, reader is called Honey

"Hey Steve?" You call, brow furrowed in confusion at the dresser. "Yeah?" Steve yells back from the bathroom. You peer into the dresser drawer," Where are your clothes?"

You can hear Steve turn off the light in the bathroom and the creak of the floorboard as he walks back into his bedroom. "Huh?" Steve appears at your side," Oh."

Steve's dresser drawers were usually stuffed to the brim. You would put the winter stuff away during summer and the summer stuff away during the winter. Unlike you, however, Steve kept his clothes out year round. The more often worn clothes ended up towards the top while the stuff rarely worn kept the bottom drawers full. He was stubborn too, arguing that it was a waste of time when he'd use the clothes again eventually ("Besides, Indiana weather changes so often one day it snows, the next it's so hot, and the next its a tornado. You got to be ready year round Honey").

But now? The drawer you opened had his shirts neatly folded on the left, but nothing on the right. You had peeked into the drawer beneath it and found the same with his pants.

"Made room for your stuff." Steve said it as if it wasn't a big deal. As if he didn't cause your heart to beat faster. As if the most stubborn and routine man you knew didn't just change something to include you in it.

Steve elbowed your side and gave you a grin," Got the winter stuff put away so you can't keep stealing my sweaters." You gasp in mock offense," I did not steal them! I borrowed." "Mmhmm and why is it i still don't have them?" Steve kisses your cheek, letting you know he isn't truly upset.

Steve leaves your side to head to the bed. You grab one of his shirts out of the drawer and pause again," Hey Steve?" "Yeah?" You flip through the shirts, "Why do you have the same exact shirt like...three times?"

"Well, sometimes you like shirts to fit you loosely so I got a shirt that does that. And sometimes you like shirts to be skin tight so I got one like that. And then the shirt that I already owned." Steve wanders back over, lifting each shirt as he mentions them. You can see the one he owned slightly faded compared to the new ones.

"You did that for me?" You can't help the sappy tone. Steve deflects," It's not that much. They had a sale on shirts. Besides, this way I don't have to fend off you and Robin for my own clothes." Steve won't meet your eyes.

Because Steve loves loud and has been called too much. Has been told it was "a lot". And he doesn't want to see that in your eyes. But if he looked up all he would see would be adoration. Love.

"Steve that's," you clear your throat," That's the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me." Steve's head snaps up to look at you. Whatever he's searching for in your eyes he must find, because you can see the tension fall from his shoulders.

"Well, I'll have to think of more things to top that." Steve grins at you. You smile back, heart beating fast. Your stomach alight with butterflies. You quickly change your shirt into one of his. Steve's eyes watching you the entire time sending shivers down your spine.

You walk over to where he is sitting on the bed, smiling down at him. "I love you." You declare as you thread a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "I love you more." Steve counters, a hand landing on your hip.

"I love you most," You beam down at him. "Impossible." Steve wraps his arms around you and yanks you onto the bed with him. You shriek before laughing as you both land on the bed on your sides.

Steve pulls you closer, his nose lightly nudging yours. "I love you so much words can't even describe it." Steve murmurs, looking into your eyes," Just hope i can show it." "You do."

Steve's lips lightly brush yours. Soft. Sweet. His grip tightens on you as your kisses become more firm, more passionate. He nips at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp. He doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth.

And as you kiss you can't help but feel overcome by the love you feel. And as your clothes end up haphazardly on the ground, you can't help but feel loved. And as Steve murmurs praises and holds you close, you know he feels the same.

#Surprise two things dropping at once #This isn't that long...but I need him #I also need to be held but thats besides the point #Can we talk about his hands like have yall seen his hands how big and-#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington/you #Steve Harrington/reader #Jade Is Talking

172 notes · View notes

denim-mixtapes · 13 days

Text

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan.

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb.

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least.

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it.

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss.

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!”

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name.

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it.

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor.

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday.

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime.

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar.

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down.

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it.

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.”

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?”

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?”

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.”

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.”

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside.

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?”

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.”

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty.

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?”

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?”

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.”

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.”

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.”

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.”

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls – so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee.

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.”

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.”

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room.

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.”

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.”

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.”

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully.

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–”

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!”

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway.

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks.

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?”

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.”

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.”

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless.

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?”

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes.

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight.

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are.

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests.

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake.

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert

131 notes · View notes

chaseadrian · 2 years

Text

if you can only pretend

day 6. phone sex // [kinktober masterlist] Hard to say exactly how much you miss Steve while he's away on business. Still, you'll find a way to show him.

pairing. steve harrington/f!reader wc. 1k tags. 18+ ONLY, established relationship, phone sex, dirty talk, a bit o fluff, masturbation

You started on your stomach, the phone pulled from its stand, wire uncoiled as you twirled it around your finger. It was cliche and cheesy, but then, so was the way Steve spoke to you on the other end.

“You miss me, beautiful?” He asks, stranded at some conference in Indianapolis for the video store. Who knew video stores had conferences? Or that Steve was good enough at his job to be invited?

“What do you think?” You reply, flipping over to stare at the ceiling, knees pulled up and legs crossed one over the other. Your pajama shirt slides down your thighs, and the quiet hum of consideration from Steve has goosebumps rising on the skin.

“Well, I don’t know.” You can sense him skirting around a question, can see the kick of his lip as he holds back a smile, his breath a little short.

“Mm, you alone in that hotel room?” Grazing your nails over the top of your thighs, you close your eyes and pretend they’re Steve’s.

“Got it all to myself, Robin complained about my snoring, smiled at the general manager, and he got her the hookup. I don’t think she knew what she was doing, but, never know with her.” He loses the plot for a moment before reorienting, “Point is, yes, the room is all mine.”

“Not the only thing that’s all yours.” You chuckle as a punctuation to the statement, an incredulous, sarcastic laugh that goes over Steve’s head and has him falling over his heels.

“That right?” He’s self satisfied, and you hum an affirmative before he continues, “So how much was it that you missed me?”

You slip your fingers under the hem of your underwear, drawing your moan into your throat and instead letting out a deep, shaking sigh, “I don’t have the words, but I can still articulate it, if you want.”

There’s the quiet clatter of a belt buckle on the other end before Steve says, “Jesus Christ, yes.”

You laugh again, slipping your middle finger between your lips, slicking it up to circle around your clit. You moan into the receiver, playing it up just a little, and he starts spilling soliloquies without you even asking.

“Fuck, shit,” He whispers, “Wish I was there. Wish it was your mouth around me instead, fuck,” Laughs intercede the monologue, “Hard to go back to my hand when you wrap around me so nice. N—nothing compares, fuck, I swear on God and Jesus and Magnum PI himself that I will never go to another one of these damn conferences.”

Smiling to yourself, you sit in the mental picture of Steve at the desk of his hotel, fisting his erection, his jeans just pulled past his ass. He’s struggling to talk, white knuckles stroking down a reddening shaft, precum dribbling over his skin as he laments his love and frustration.

“Nothing that takes me away from you and that pretty mouth. I just, shit, just wanna bury my tongue between your legs, make you squirm like you’re doin’ right now.”

You arch your back as you circle your clit, lit up with desperation and want for Steve, for the little whimpers and choked moans he breathes into your mouth, for the rough pad of his fingertip on your wet cunt. You drive down deeper into the bed, whispering, “Shit, Steve, please, keep going. Keep going.”

“Keep going?” His voice is steadier now, his desperation staved off by the pride he feels satisfying you, “Keep telling you how much I miss that body? Miss how wet you are when I slip into you, how tight you wrap around me, miss you pushing yourself against me, miss how your tits feel against my chest, shit, fuck, I’m—”

He loses his composure in a matter of seconds, and it’s the heaving sigh at the outset of his orgasm that sends you careening into yours. That mental picture of his lips parting, pretty and pink and exhaling moans and guttural noises that he can’t hold back. The stilling of his hand on his length, spurts of cum spattered on his jeans and the desk and, if he’s really missing you, the wall.

You can just hear the quiet, “Ohh, yeah, just like that.” as you’re shaking through your orgasm, fingers frantic over your clit as you dredge out every last bit of pleasure you can before the slightest touch becomes overwhelming.

Catching your breath, you laugh a little in embarrassment. Crawling into Steve’s arms is typically an easy way to escape the awareness that comes after sex, logic and conscience seeping back into the spaces of your body that were taken over by love and desperation. Now though, all you have is the intangible comfort of his voice over the line, laughing right there with you.

“I am just the luckiest guy in the world, huh?” He says, a dreamy sigh to follow.

“Only person luckier than you is me.” You smile, shifting under the covers, the receiver under your head. If you close your eyes you can almost pretend Steve’s right there with you.

“Fat chance.” There’s the clink of his belt as he pulls his jeans back on, scoffing at the notion.

“Bite me.”

He laughs, “I can do that. Soon as I get back, promise.”

The lull of his voice pushes you closer and closer to sleep, and you mutter out an, “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Hey, you falling asleep on me?”

You mumble a negative, and Steve huffs a laugh, “Yeah, alright. Go to sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”

Your heart kicks in your chest as it always does when he says that, and you push off sleep enough to firmly say, “I love you.”

There’s a smile in the sigh he lets out, and a quiet, “Goodnight, my beautiful girl. I’ll be here.”

You fall asleep with the receiver pressed against your cheek, Steve’s soft breathing on the other end.

It’s almost like he’s there.

Almost.

#steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #my writing #mine #kinktober

1K notes · View notes

quin-ns · 2 years

Text

Crushes, Chaos, and Confessions (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Word count: 2.2K

Summary: dustin knows how steve feels about you and he can’t stop himself from spilling his best friend’s biggest secret to you

Tags: ST4 spoilers!!, steve being all sweet, dustin, max, and lucas being chaotic/funny, dustin has a big mouth, humor, fluff, love confessions, kissing, mutually requited love

A/N: my second steve fic! I loved writing him so much the first time I had to do it again <3

cross-posted to ao3 • st masterlist • writing masterlist

Sitting in the basement of the Wheeler house felt odd. Probably because neither of the Wheeler siblings you knew were there. Still, you had a lot of company.

Max was across the room at a desk, her headphones on as she held a pen in hand. Lucas, Steve, and Dustin—in that order—were sitting on the couch against the wall opposite to Max. And you? You couldn’t sit down. You should’ve gone with Nancy and Robin, but Steve had complained about always having to be the babysitter and convinced you that three was a crowd and to stick with him instead.

It was kind of embarrassing, how easy he could sway you. Steve had quickly become one of your best friends after he began working with you and Robin at Scoops Ahoy. That is, before the mall burned down. However, everything that happened was a very quick and strong bonding experience. Then the three of you migrated together to the video store and spent even more time together. Especially you and Steve. After your shifts or on your days off you were almost always hanging out together.

“Can you sit down?” Dustin’s voice broke through the silence and took you out of your head. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“Leave her alone, dude,” Steve muttered in your defense. “She’s scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you were quick to correct, finally stilling in order to face them. “I’m just… anxious.” It was true, you couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if Nancy and Robin came back with no answers and Max—who you’d become fond of—was left in danger.

Steve stood from the couch and made his way over to you. He put an arm over your shoulder and pulled you against him at an angle. You allowed yourself to curl into him as he provided you with a comforting embrace.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Steve asked as his other arm came around you, hugging you. His voice was soft but full of concern.

“I don’t remember,” you admitted. After everything that happened it was hard to calm down enough to even close your eyes for more than a few seconds. You felt like you couldn’t sleep until the mystery of Vecna was solved and he was stopped.

If your head wasn’t against Steve’s chest, you would’ve seen Lucas staring at you and Steve while Dustin rolled his eyes. Steve didn’t see at first either, but he sensed the sass radiating off of his young friend. He shot Dustin a glare that translated to ‘keep your mouth shut!’

See, Dustin knew about Steve’s feelings for you. Well, practically everyone who saw the way he interacted with you did, but Dustin was the only one he actually told. He would’ve told Robin but she had already figured it out and he made her swear to forget it. There was only one person who didn’t know how Steve felt about you; you.

Somehow, you were oblivious to it. Even Steve at times was surprised you hadn’t called him out on it. Between the longing stares and constant affection, the way his mood always lit up when you were around and how often he wanted to hang out, he figured he would’ve been caught by now. But you never seemed to notice how he was so much gentler and much more openly caring with you than anyone else.

“Just try to take it easy, okay? Please?” Steve asked softly. “You know I worry about you.”

You lifted your head and met his eyes with a soft smile. “Sometimes I think you worry about me too much,” you teased him lightly.

“Yeah, well, I can’t help it,” he replied with sincerity. A light smile tugged at his lips as he stared down at you. He couldn’t hide the absolute adoration in his eyes as he held your gaze, and it took everything he had to not lean down and kiss you.

The moment was ruined when Dustin decided he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “If you’re gonna kiss can you not do it in front of us please?” he asked sarcastically. Steve shot him a death glare and you blushed a little bit and stepped back from Steve.

“What the hell, man?” Steve couldn’t contain his annoyance at the younger teen. Looking at Steve you could see he was blushing a tad. You figured it was because Dustin had embarrassed him. It was one thing when you and Steve teased each other about your relationship but hearing it from someone else made it awkward.

You rolled your eyes and brushed off the comment. You thought there was no way it was anything more than a joke so you didn’t let it bother you. “I’m gonna go get a glass of water,” you announced, changing the subject.

“No, you stay here,” Steve decided, already walking to the stairs. “Sit down and relax for a sec. I’ll get it for you.” He gestured to the spot he’d been sitting that was now empty.

“Um, thanks!” You called after him as he ascended to the main house. You turned your attention to Lucas and Dustin, furrowing your brows at the weird expressions on their faces.

You didn’t move to the seat, unable to bring yourself to sit down. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked the boys.

“I wasn’t joking, you know. Before. He really does wanna kiss you.” Dustin told you matter of factly.

“What?” you questioned, his comment coming seemingly out of nowhere. You had no idea how long he’d been keeping Steve’s secret and Dustin just couldn’t not say anything now.

“He likes you. It’s, like, disgustingly obvious. I don’t know how you don’t notice,” he stated with plenty of sass in his voice. It was the tone he always used when he knew he was right—which was more often than any one of you wanted to admit.

“Yeah, he’s definitely into you,” Max chimed in, apparently having listened in to the whole interaction. You turned your head to her and saw no hint of sarcasm. “You seem like you like him too,” she added.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Dustin cut you off with more revealing information. “He’s too scared to tell you. He doesn’t want to ruin the friendship, whatever that means.”

“If you like him you should tell him,” Max intervened yet again. “He’d actually be a good boyfriend. He’s like, super romantic with you already. You just don’t notice.” The way she said it had an underlying argumentative tone.

That, of course, sparked Lucas to jump in. “And what? I wasn’t a good boyfriend?”

“You cared more about being popular so what do you think?” Max snarked back with her focus on Lucas.

You didn’t even have the focus to register what they had revealed to you before because the conversation devolved into children (okay, fine, teens) bicker amongst themselves.

“I do care about you!” Lucas defended, yelling slightly in exasperation.

“You did miss Hellfire Club,” Dustin muttered under his breath.

“And you missed my game!” Lucas then turned back to Max. “I do care about you, okay? Plus, Steve was popular in high school and now you’re his number one fan or whatever so how is that different?”

Max scoffed. “What does that have to do with anything?” she questioned. “Besides, I’m not his number one fan- Y/N is!”

“Guys—” you said, trying to get a word in.

“All I said was that they’d make a good couple because he obviously cares about her a lot.”

“Once again—” Lucas tried to argue back, but he got cut off just as you had been. This time, by Dustin.

He shot to his feet. “Hey! Quit it!” he yelled to Max and Lucas, causing them to fall quiet. They seemed startled and honestly you were too. All eyes were on Dustin as he firmly reminded, “this is about Y/N and Steve, not you two.” Dustin then looked at you. “Do you like Steve?” he pushed for an answer, causing you to feel flustered. You felt like a spotlight was on you.

This was not how you expected to admit you had feelings for Steve Harrington…

Then, to make everything even more… you didn’t know the word for it. Weird? It didn’t matter. Point was, Steve appeared all of the sudden and questioned, “I heard my name, what’s going on?”

Well, at least he hadn’t heard everything. “Um,” you didn’t know what to say.

“We told her you love her,” Dustin announced, causing both you and Steve to whip your heads towards him.

“What!?” You and Steve exclaimed in unison. You were both shocked, but in different ways.

“Why would you tell her that!?” Steve demanded an answer from Dustin.

Your eyes found Steve. “You love me?” you asked. He looked down at you, his cheeks flushed and his face still wearing an expression of surprise and confusion.

He swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “I thought he said he told you.”

“He didn’t say love,” you told him. You still couldn’t believe it as you said the words. Steve Harrington loved you… that was a lot to take in.

“Well, he does love you,” Dustin confirmed.

“Be quiet, Henderson!” Steve shouted in frustration at the boy.

“No, I’m tired of you staring at her and always talking about her but doing nothing about it!” Dustin argued, somehow sounding just as frustrated with Steve as Steve was with him.

“I thought you said you didn’t want them to kiss earlier,” Max quipped.

Dustin looked at her and she tilted her head, easing her brows. “They need to kiss and get it over with, just not in front of me,” Dustin clarified.

“Okay!” Steve shouted, holding his hands up, signaling for silence. Then he took a breath before letting out a deep sigh. “Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?” he addressed you calmly. This wasn’t how he wanted you to find out. Hell, he wasn’t planning on you finding out. But if he did tell you, it would’ve been… well, not like this. Now he had to explain himself and hope you didn’t reject him too harshly.

Given the situation with Max, you figured the both of you leaving the room wasn’t the safest and Steve agreed. You found yourselves sitting on the stairs next to one another. You were towards the middle, still in the eyeline of the other three but (hopefully) out of earshot if you talked quietly.

“Here,” Steve murmured, pushing the glass of water he had been holding into your hand. You dipped it, muttered thanks, then set it aside.

“So…” he started off. Steve wasn’t looking at you, but at his hands as he fiddled with his hands. “Henderson told you everything?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “It was a lot of information all at once,” you recalled through a small chuckle. The chaos that had ensued was admittedly funny in hindsight.

“And what do you think of that information?” he asked cautiously, finally looking up and meeting your eyes. Steve was so anxious and he was sure you could see it. Maybe he’d get some of your sympathy so you would let him down gently.

Instead, you surprised him. “I wish you had told me sooner,” you admitted. You had no excuse not to tell Steve everything now that you knew he felt the same. “I feel the same way.”

Steve’s brows raised slightly and a boyish smile crossed his face. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that,” he replied, a huge weight lifting off of his shoulder. His heart still raced but in a different way now.

“I guess I was better at hiding it than you,” you teased. “I mean, I didn’t know—but they did.” You gestured to the kids with a tilt of your head. “Seems like I need to pay better attention.”

You both laughed at that. “I should’ve just said something. I didn’t want to screw things up,” he confessed. Steve then chuckled to himself. “I can’t believe Henderson told you.”

“I guess he did us a favor, huh?” You suggested.

“You’re welcome!” Dustin called over to you. Great, so they had been eavesdropping. It was naive to believe they were actually minding their own business.

“Hey, Dustin?” Steve spoke up now that he knew he was listening. You threw a glance towards the boy and saw he was looking at you guys now.

“What?”

Steve smirked to himself before saying, “Close your eyes.”

Dustin furrowed his brows at that, not realizing the callback Steve was making until he leaned in to kiss you.

The kiss was sweet and full of love and god, his lips were so soft. You smiled against him briefly before returning the kiss with just as much passion.

“Oh, come on,” Dustin complained, likely averting his eyes.

“Leave them alone! This is a big moment,” Max defended you and Steve. You couldn’t help but laugh and the two of you pulled apart, both with smiles on your faces.

“I can’t believe the first time I got to kiss you was in front of,”—he gestured to the teens—“them."

"Me neither," you and Dustin replied at the same time.

#quin-ns writing #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair

2K notes · View notes

smurphyse · 7 months

Text

No Blood Here | Steddie x Reader

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 1: Stuck in the Middle

Warnings: Unprotected sex, cunnilingus, rough sex, spitting, begging, creampie.

Summary: After a bad relationship, you make the self-destructive decision to sleep with your stepbrother, Eddie Munson

You sighed as you inspected your earrings in the mirror. They just weren't doing it for you. You were heading to a party on campus at the local Hawkins University. You were a full time student with a part time job, so you didn't get to go out and have fun very much. It was time you did.

After a terrible breakup last year, you were ready to get back out there again. You'd put on a tight skirt and sweater, ready to drink with your friends and let loose for once. You had even put on heels, makeup and did your hair, but these damned earrings just weren't right.

"Where's your mom?" Eddie's voice came from behind, and you looked away from your ears to watch him in the mirror. He shook a pile of clothing at you, "She said she'd sew these for me."

Ah, Eddie Munson. You'd had a dreadful crush on him in high school, even though he was "Scary Eddie" with his black clothing and painted nails. He was never interested in you, and now you supposed that was fine since he was technically your step brother.

Six months ago your mom married Wayne Munson in a whirlwind romance while you were taking a semester abroad. You didn't even know about it until you got a picture in the mail while you were in Paris of them at the courthouse, Eddie lurking in the background in a ridiculous all-black getup and eyeliner even for their special day.

You got home a month ago, and since then you've been dealing with Eddie in your house all the time. He didn't like you, and he didn't like the house, opting instead to sleep in the basement which he affectionately called, ‘The Cave’. He bitched all the time about how lucky you had it that you grew up in a three bedroom house in town instead of the trailer park. He was right, but he didn't need to yell at you about it. It wasn’t your fault, after all.

He looked too pretty like that in a Metallica shirt and patched jeans. Your mom had taken great pride in fixing Eddie's clothes, making sure they matched his style. His hair hung over his shoulders, and he raised his brows at you when you didn't answer, impatient as ever.

"She and Wayne went out to dinner," you told him, taking off the earrings. You dropped them into your jewelry box and dug around for a different pair.

Eddie groaned, cursing to himself, "Do you know how to sew? I need these tonight."

You turned and headed over to him, holding out your hand for it. Eddie dropped it into your palm, leaning against the door frame and squinting down at you.

"How do you always tear your clothes?" you scoffed, moving over to one of your drawers. You weren't as good a seamstress as your mother, but you could patch the holes in his jeans.

You had no idea what Eddie got up to outside of the house. During the day he worked with Wayne at a mechanic shop in town since the plant closed down a few years ago. He’d decided not to go to college after barely finishing high school. After work, he usually came home long enough for dinner with you, your mom, and Wayne, but hauled ass out of the house soon after. He’d come home smelling like weed and cheap beer… and even cheaper perfume.

You bent over to search for your sewing kit, and a wolf whistle erupted behind you.

"What are you wearing, sweetheart?" Eddie asked slyly. He only seemed to call you that when he wanted to be an asshole. "Or should I say, not wearing?"

You stood up sharply, your face rushing with heat. There was no way your skirt was short enough for him to see your tiny underwear, was there?

Turning slowly, you faced him with a sheepish glare. "Do you want me to fix your pants or not?"

"Where are you goin’, anyway?" he asked, ignoring your question. "You got a hot date?"

"I'm going to a party on campus," you told him sharply. You snatched your sewing kit, careful not to bend down too much, and went back over to your vanity to fix his jeans.

Sitting down in front of the mirror, you went to work. Eddie sidled up behind you, smirking at you in the reflection. He put both hands on the table, caging you in from behind. His breath landed hotly on your cheek, "You trying to get laid tonight?"

“Ugh, Eddie!” you snapped, swatting at him over your shoulder. He dodged it easily, and made no move to pull away. If anything, he got closer, his chest brushing your shoulder blades.

“What’s a good girl like you going out dressed like that if you aren’t trying to score?” he asked. His dark eyes glittered in the mirror, way more playful than the mood you were in. “What would your mother say, sweetheart?”

“Will you leave me alone?” you seethed, nearly baring your teeth at him. You were embarrassed enough that he was right. It had been way too long since you’d had an orgasm by someone other than yourself, but it was none of his business.

You sewed up the gash in his pants the best you could, desperately trying to ignore him looming behind you. When they were finished you snipped off the excess thread and held them up for him.

"There, now go away."

Eddie took them out of your hands, eyeing the stitches. Slowly, he set them back on the vanity, caging you in once more with his palms on your makeup table.

"What do those guys have to offer you anyways?" he asked quietly, but it had an edge to it.

You cleared your throat and shrugged, "Fifteen minutes of forgetting about school and work and everything else."

"Can those guys even make you cum?"

The question startled you so much you sat up ramrod straight, your back pressing into Eddie's chest. You flinched away nervously and avoided his gaze, sputtering, "That's, th- that is none of your business!"

"So that's a no," Eddie chuckled. His hands pulled away to grip the back of your chair, and suddenly you're pulled away from the table. He rounded you before you knew it, getting on his knees on the plush rug beneath you. His dark eyes shone with amusement as he gazed up at you. "Those dumb frat boys can't satisfy you, sweetheart."

"Eddie, what are y-," you began, but he set his warm palms on your knees, thumbs rubbing circles on the tops of your legs.

"I've been thinking about these strong cheerleader thighs since high school," he mutters, eyes trailing up your bare legs to your tiny skirt. "I wonder what makes them tremble…”

His wide palm slid up the inside of one of your legs, and your eyes followed until he reached the lining of your skirt. Your brain seemed to kick into gear, thighs clamping shut around his hand, “Eddie! What the hell are you doing?”

His eyes went wide, catching yours, but that smile didn’t fade. He sat up on his knees, nuzzling his nose close to yours. It’s nearly impossible to swallow the lump in your throat as he whispered in a gravelly voice, “Now, why would you go all the way to Hawkins U to get your rocks off when I’m right here?”

“W-what?” you stuttered, watching him nervously, but your heart was falling back into a bad habit. Eddie Munson was beautiful, and all four years of high school you’d fantasized about kissing those full lips. Here they were a few inches away, but reality couldn’t help but rear her ugly head. “We’re… practically related, Eddie…” “Technically, we’re step cousins,” Eddie shrugged. The muscles of your inner thighs quivered around his still-trapped hand. The other one smoothed its way up your leg, palming your hip. “No blood here, sweetheart. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

He leaned forward, bumping his nose with yours and nearly making you jump out of your skin, “You need someone to make you feel good. All those college dumbasses? They can’t satisfy a woman like you, but I can.”

“You can?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Your legs fell open, freeing his hand. His soft slow voice was mesmerizing, and those big brown eyes didn’t help.

“I sure can. I’ve wanted to be between these thighs for years,” he murmured back. His rough fingertips dragged upwards, and you sucked in a shaky breath as his thumb pressed against your clothed slit, “And would you look at that? You’re already wet for me like the good girl you are.”

"I, uhm," you began but Eddie's hand pulled painfully away from your long neglected sex to palm your jaw.

"Yes or no," he said firmly, and to your embarrassment you could feel the slick pooling between your legs. His thumb rubbed your cheek, "You won't hurt my feelings if you say no, but I want an answer."

Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, your mom was married to his uncle, and no amount of bargaining would change the fact that he was technically your family. You had to see him every day… and could you really look your mother or Wayne in the eyes knowing you'd done this taboo thing under their roof?

On the other hand… his hand was warm, the scent of cigarettes and cinnamon cologne washing over you. It had been so long, and you needed to let your mind go blank for a little while. Eddie was strong from working at the garage, calloused fingers that were firm and sure from playing guitar all these years.

Oh, fuck it.

"Yes," you incredulously found yourself saying.

Eddie's warm eyes turned devilishly dark, and in an instant he was looping his fingers under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the seat. He spread your legs wide and planted himself between them on his knees.

They stayed on yours as his fingers danced up your thighs, disappearing under your short skirt. Hooking your underwear, Eddie pulled them agonizingly slow down your legs, taking care to lift each heel-clad foot before stuffing them in his pocket.

"Hey," you said, squinting down at him. "Those are mine."

Eddie patted his pocket and grinned wolfishly, "A souvenir."

Before you could yell at him, Eddie pushed up your skirt around your waist. You could visibly see his pupils dilate, licking his lips as he laid eyes on your cunt. To say you felt exposed was an understatement, and you gripped the arm rests for dear life.

"Good lord, look at you," he whispered in awe. You were pulled all the way to the end of the seat, on display for him all alone in your room. The door was open, and anyone could walk in at any moment.

Eddie pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, sending a shiver up your spine. You watched through hooded lids as he trailed upward, warm kisses lined with spit smearing along your skin. Each one twisted something deep in your gut, a mix of lust and shame.

"You sure you want this?" he asked slowly, sitting on his knees before you. He was so close, and you needed this. You hadn't had someone touch you so gently in so long… and Eddie was beautiful and deliciously dark.

"Eddie, please," you gritted out between clenched teeth. The heat in your cheeks burned down your neck and shoulders, focus tunneling in on just what it would feel like to have Eddie Munson eat you out.

It seemed to be all he needed, and in a flash your knees were hooked over his shoulders as Eddie dove face first into your pussy. The flat of his tongue delved between your lips, licking a thick stripe through your folds.

Your head rocked back on the chair back, a shuddering gasp escaping your chest. Eddie groaned as he did it again and again, tongue plunging into your hole. Your thighs clamped around his head in pleasure. He was sloppy, uncaring about the mess he was surely making. He moaned with each new part of you he reached, pulling back just enough to lick up and flick your clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, God…" you gasped, fingers peeling from the armrests to tangle into Eddie's hair. Soft curls twisted around them, and when you tugged to keep him close his moan vibrated through your cunt.

His lips enclosed around the sensitive bud, sucking just for a sweet moment before laving around it. It had been so long, and before you knew it a long overdue orgasm rushed through you.

"Fuck, Eddie!" you cried out, thighs clamping around his head. Your empty pussy clenched around nothing, a steady rush of slick pooling onto the seat below.

He slowed as it waned, embarrassingly gone as quickly as it had come. Your legs twitched with overstimulation as he gathered every last drop, licking his lips as he pulled back.

“Mhmm, sweetheart,” he growled out, looking up at you through hazy eyes. His chin and lips were soaked with your slick, lips pink and swelling. He cocked his head and chuckled breathlessly, “You have no idea how good you taste.”

Impatient, and desperate for anything he was willing to give you, you dug your heel into his shoulder blade, “Then why are you still talking?”

Eddie squinted up at you, and chaotic as ever, lurched up to pick you up. He threw you over his shoulder with ease, ignoring your startled yelp. He moved over to the door enough to swing it closed, then threw you roughly on the bed. Your heart burst in your chest as you laid exposed before him.

There was something dangerous in his eyes that excited you in a sinful way. It wasn’t frightening, but you knew in an instant you were getting more than you’d bargained for. His hands went straight for his belt as he knelt slowly on the bed, dark syrupy eyes fixated on you heaving beneath him.

“You’ve got a bit of a mouth, there. Don’t you?” he asked gruffly as he got it loose, letting the buckle hang open. You swallowed thickly and tried to sit up and give a bratty reply back, but Eddie simply gripped the hem of your sweater and pulled it roughly over your head.

He pressed a palm to your chest and shoved you back down on your pink blanket. A small oof rushed from your lips, captured instantly by Eddie’s. His hands gripped your cheeks as he kissed you roughly, catching you entirely by surprise.

His body covered yours, pressing you into the mattress as you kissed Eddie Munson for the first time. You could feel his length pushing against your core, and he ground himself into you. As fierce and desperate as it was, his lips were soft, leading. It was all consuming, the way he pushed and pulled you in any direction he wanted.

You'd never been kissed like this. It wasn't demanding with no room for you to enjoy like it had been with Billy. Eddie was coaxing, making space for your moans to echo back against his. He swallowed each gasp and breath, one hand smoothing down your body.

"Wanted to get a handful of this for years," he groaned against your lips. Eddie's wide hand slid down to reach under your skirt, gripping your ass tightly in his palm.

"You have?" you asked as he moved on to your neck. His teeth grazed the tender skin, nipping lightly before swiping his tongue over to soothe. You let your eyes roll back at the sensation, reveling in the feeling of his wandering hand moving back between your spread thighs.

“Prettiest girl in school,” he whispered against you, biting just a bit harder this time. Your eyes flew shut as his fingers brushed your pussylips, easing them gently apart. His hot breath fanned across your ear, your body flushing with shameful excitement. “Putty in my hands.”

Two fingertips pressed inside, making your jaw drop. Calloused and thick, Eddie took his time opening you up, kissing you in between each slow pump. He pushed in to the knuckle, his rings cool against your labia as he curled his fingers inside.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours sweetly even though he was saying such dirty things to you. “You get like this for everyone or am I special?”

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, “I haven’t, it’s been a… it’s been a long time.”

“How long?” he asked coyly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You rolled your eyes as you struggled to reply. The incessant curling and pumping of his fingers was making your brain go hazy. “Uhm, almost a year.”

“That long?” he cooed, pressing his lips to yours once more. Your fingers tangled into his hair, a shuddering moan falling from your mouth. Eddie pressed the flats of his fingertips into that spongy spot inside you that made the whole world fall away. “You sure you want your first lay in a year to be your dear sweet brother?”

“Ugh,” you scowled, but he just kissed you again with a small laugh. “Eddie, you’re disgusting.”

“Then why are you so sloppy wet, huh?” he asked, smirking against you. “I think you’re one of those girls who likes being talked to like this. The dirtier the better.”

“Oh shut up,” you snarled back. Your hands went for his pants, wanting to even the playing field. Here you were in your bra and pushed up skirt and this bastard was still clothed.

You slid the button free on his jeans, struggling with the zipper for a moment before you got it impatiently down. Eddie pulled himself from your neck with a soft pop, watching you as you pushed his pants down enough to get to his boxers.

His belly shuddered as your fingertips grazed the waistband, his eyes glazed over. You kept eye contact with him as you freed his cock, tired of only feeling it pressed against your leg. Through the tangle of your limbs, you slid your hand around his length.

You had to tear your eyes from his to look at it for the first time, curiosity getting the better of you. Your jaw fell open at the sight. Long and thick, and curved slightly to one side, Eddie Munson had a gorgeous dick. It made your mouth water as the thought of how it must taste filtered through your lust-clouded mind.

“Need you, Eds,” you murmured sweetly, brushing your lips against his. Eddie let out a shuddering moan as you pumped him slowly, your hand so much smaller than him and his girth. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and you took the opportunity to throw him off his game this time.

“I’m so empty,” you whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Eddie chased it, but you moved on, kissing the corner of his mouth. His fingers slid from your stretched hole, smoothing up your body until he could cup your cheek. “You gonna fill me up?"

He seemed entranced, hips bucking forward with each slip of your palm over him. You couldn't seem to help yourself as you reached your free hand to grip his jaw, "Yes or no, Eddie, or I'll go find one of those college guys to do it instead."

That seemed to do the trick, and in a lightning fast move Eddie had both your hands in one of his, pinning them to the frilly pillow above your head. His other hand slid between you, gripping his dick at the base.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else again," he growled huskily, dangerously.

"Prove it," you dared.

Eddie let out a pained sigh, squinting down at you in a mixture of irritation and amusement. You stared right as he pressed the blunt head of his cock against your pussy, your legs spread wide around him. You both groaned in anticipation as he pushed inside, just enough to stretch and your lips to part in a light gasp.

Eddie was the first to look away, head turning down to watch his length disappear inside you. Each roll of his hips made you suck in a breath, a burning stretch that you hadn't felt in much too long igniting a fire in your belly.

"Fill you up," he scoffed as he blissfully sheathed himself inside you. He held you wide open on his thick cock, letting out a small groan as he ground himself deep. "I can't believe the mouth on you, sweetheart…"

“Eddie…” you groaned impatiently, full of desperation and desire. He was still mostly clothed, and with you in your bra and skirt it somehow made all of this hotter and dirtier. His wide palm held you down by the wrists with one hand, the other moving to hold himself up on his elbow.

Your chest was light and airy, and you watched him through hooded lids. You nearly went cross eyed as he pulled out slowly, watching you begin to squirm before plunging right back in. A loud yelp sounded from your chest as his dick hit you deep, but Eddie just did it again. He started out slow, building speed with each pointed thrust.

He moaned with you each time, picking up his pace as he bounced his head off your cervix. It was perfectly rough, his fingers digging bruises into your wrists above your head. Eddie pounded into you, moving one hand from you to grip your hip, the other tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck. You rolled in time, echoing groans between you until he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

He moved on quickly to your throat, your tits jiggling each time green thrust into you. He pulled your hair tightly, sucking and nipping hickies into your skin. Your arms wrapped around him, sliding up his shirt to dig your nails into his back.

“Eddie…” you moaned pathetically, holding him tightly to you. “Please, fuck!”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he growled into your ear, pummeling your pussy with his cock. “Beg your big brother to fuck you like the little slut I know you are.”

The sick squelching noises of your sopping cunt being screwed into oblivion filled the room, his hips slapping into the backs of your thighs. Eddie continued on without a care in the world, his voice dripping with carnal excitement, “I always knew there was a good whore in there deep down. You just needed the right guy to pull it out of you.”

Tears filled your eyes. It was so filthy, so wrong, but you loved it. Your pulsing cunt was filled by your step brother’s cock, thick and hard and holding you wide open in a way it never had been. That all too familiar tingling reverberated through your veins, igniting you like a flame.

“Wanna cum, Eds,” you babbled. Your nails dig deeper into his spine, forcing a sharp grunt from him. His cock twitched deep inside you, your slick dripping between your cheeks and onto your pretty pink sheets. “Please let me cum. Please!”

“Whose dick do you wanna cum on?” Eddie asked darkly, grazing his teeth along your earlobe. It made your eyes roll back. “C’mon, let me hear it.”

“Yours!” you yelled, but you knew it was the wrong answer. Eddie got sharply to his knees and gripped your jaw, forcing it open.

Eddie leaned down enough to spit on your tongue, making your hips jump as he slowed. You moaned, watching him with heavy lids, just wanting release as you swallowed it. He pressed his nose to yours, “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Tell me what I wanna hear or I’ll cum inside you and leave you wanting.”

His grip loosened a bit as he ground himself deep inside you, hips trembling with his own need for release. It was so dirty, but you wanted to explode, so you gave in.

“Want you, Eds,” you whispered, your chest heaving and blotched red with shame. “Want my big brother to make me cum…”

Eddie tapped your cheek with the flats of his fingers, smiling wide, “There’s that good whore I was looking for.”

Diving right back in, Eddie kissed you as though he’d never stopped. He licked every inch of you he could, nipping your lips and leaving you a wreck beneath him. His slippery cock glided through you like it was made to, fitting perfectly inside. Your fingers tangled into his hair, keeping him right where you wanted him as your legs tightened around his waist.

You rocked back down on him just as hard as he thrust into you, your whole body bouncing. You chased your release, the taste of his spit on your tongue and the feeling of him stretching you open taking completely over. The coil that had been building deep in your belly snapped, and your body shuddered as a wildfire ripped through you.

“Eddie!” you cried out as you came. You lost all control, your core trembling as pure ecstasy took over your mind.

Eddie’s thrusts turned sloppy as he felt you clamp down around him. His moans turned louder and sharper before he buried himself deep one last time and called out your name. Eddie bit your bottom lip as he spilled deep inside you, hot sticky cum flooding your used pussy. He rocked into you until he was spent, going limp on top of you.

“Fuck me,” he groaned into your neck as he pressed you into the bed. He laid sloppy kisses along your throat, his tongue swiping over the bruises staining your skin. “You’re amazing, sweetheart, just like I knew you’d be.”

Sweaty and shaky, Eddie pulled out of you, making you both sigh at the loss. He pulled your skirt back into place before grabbing your hand and pulling you up to sit. You said nothing as Eddie picked your sweater up off the floor and put it back over your head, gently this time, then stuffed himself back into his pants.

You scooted to the end of the bed as he brushed back his damp curls and looked around for anything he missed. You tried to catch your breath as a flood of shame and regret washed over you. What the hell did you just do?

“You good?” Eddie asked quietly, pulling you out of your mind as he sat next to you on the bed.

You nodded, desperately holding back tears. You couldn’t believe yourself. “I’m fine.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” he insisted softly, and you just nodded again.

“I know.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Eddie told you, pushing back some of your sex mussed hair over your shoulder. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and in that moment all you wanted was to ask him to stay, but that would be pathetic. More pathetic than sleeping with your step brother because nobody else wanted you and he just wanted the novelty of it.

“I’m fine, Eddie, really,” you told him, giving him a false smile. He didn’t seem convinced. “I’m just thinking about how late I’m gonna be to this party.”

Eddie flashed you a cocky grin, “Just going for the company now that you’ve gotten your rocks off?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling wider. “I could do with letting loose for a bit.”

Eddie nodded as he stood. He leaned down and kissed your forehead before turning on his heel and heading for the door. As he opened it, he looked back at you, “Be safe.”

“You too,” you said back, and then he was gone.

You waited until you heard the rumbling of his giant van start up, going to the window to watch it back up far too quickly out of the driveway and tear off down the street. When you were sure he was gone, you picked up your phone and dialed a number.

“Hey, Chrissy,” you said shakily as she picked up on the other end. “I’m gonna back out of the party. I’m not feeling very good.”

“You sure?” The frown in her voice was clear, but you were no longer in any mood to go outside the house and be seen by the townspeople of Hawkins. They’d surely take one look at you and know what you did.

“Yeah. I think I’m gonna sleep it off,” you told her. “Watch a movie and go to bed early.”

“Want me to join you?” Chrissy asked brightly. She was a good friend. “We can snuggle up and drink some boxed wine. I can bring some soup too.”

“Nah, don’t let me ruin your night.”

Chrissy fought back and forth a few times, trying to come over and take care of you, but you shut her down. As you set the phone back into the cradle, you started to cry. Tears flowed down your cheeks in pure shame and hatred for yourself as you undressed and put on an old tee and some butt-covering panties, ignoring Eddie’s cum as it slid down your leg.

You crawled into bed and sobbed yourself to sleep, disgusted with yourself. After everything you went through last year, why would you put yourself in another position for more heartbreak? Eddie didn’t even want to cuddle you, he just got up and left as soon as he could. He was just like every other guy. He got what he wanted and moved on.

You couldn’t believe that after all this time, you were still this stupid.

Notes: This has honestly been a super fun one to write... and super dirty and just expected to get dirtier...

Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist

@tlclick73 @theloser007 @sadbitchfangirl @chaoticcancer @harrys-tittie @assassinsasha23 @spacedoutdaydreamer @legendarytrashcopeclipse @notahappystan @kbakery @eddiesguitarskills

#Stuck in the middle #smurph writes #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x reader #Steve Harrington x reader #throuple fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie munson #Steve Harrington #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington/you #eddie munson/you #eddie munson/reader #steddie

92 notes · View notes

thruheavenandhighwater · 1 year

Text

Bad Day, Good Night

Pairing: Steve Harrington/ Reader

Requested By: NA

Word Count: 1,081

Summary: After an absolutely awful day at work, you go home to Steve to make it all better. Based off my own terrible day on Thursday, in which my boss made me cry at work and all I wanted was someone to go home to.

Stranger Things Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

~~~~~

Today sucked. Like completely, entirely, unrelentingly sucked. It started fifteen minutes after your alarm went off this morning, when you finally woke up. Late. Then, in your rush to make your morning coffee while running out the door you somehow forgot to add sugar to it, rendering it completely undrinkable. Then customers, coworkers, and everyone else who you saw at work did the tiniest little things to chip away at whatever good mood you'd been able to have. It all culminated about an hour before the end of your shift. You got into an argument with your boss. It ended with you being sent home early with rage fueled tears raining down your cheeks as you drove across town.

The moment you parked in front of your house your shoulders immediately relaxed. You could see the living room lamp on through the curtains. You took a moment to picture what awaited you just inside the front door. You imagined Steve, home from work and sprawled out on the couch. He'd probably have a beer or a Pepsi sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He'd have one arm hung lazily over the back of the couch, his feet propped up in front of him while he watched TV.

You flipped down the sun visor and checked your face in the mirror. Angry red splotches and tear stains littered your cheeks. Your eyes were still red rimmed. You wiped at your cheeks a few times, but it was pointless. You knew Steve would notice you'd been crying. So, instead of trying to put on a brave face and pretend you were sent home out of the goodness of your boss's heart, you took a deep breath and swung open your car door.

As soon as you closed your front door behind you and turned to face him, you found Steve exactly as you pictured him. Beer next to his feet on the coffee table, arm over the back of the couch. He smiled at you, almost like an instinct. But the moment he actually saw you he was up from the couch and across the room.

"Baby?" He asked softly, hands coming to your hips. "What's goin' on?"

You sniffled and offered a pitiful smile in return. You buried your face into his chest, taking a deep breath and allowing his scent to fill you like a calming smoke. Steve wasted no time pulling you as close as possible, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tightly. You felt his heartbeat beneath his t-shirt. Calm and steady and reassuring as ever.

"Bad day," was all you could manage to say.

"Wanna tell me about it?" He asked into your hair as he held you. You only shook your head against his chest. "You wanna cuddle about it?"

You almost started crying again, honestly. His low voice. His arms around you. His lips pressed to your hair. All of it was almost overwhelming. You pulled away from him just enough to smile up at him. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling his arms from around your waist. He took your hand in his and led you into the bedroom.

He was gentle as he helped you to lay down on your bed. He held the blanket up so you could slide beneath it, allowing it to fall over you as you got comfortable. He pulled his shirt over his head as he quickly made his way around the foot of the bed to his own side. Once he had joined you beneath the blanket he opened his arms just enough for you to slot yourself between them.

"Comfy?" He asked as you wrapped your arms around him. You once again nodded into his chest. He began to rub long, slow lines up and down your back. You felt his lips on your forehead again as he tangled his free hand into your hair. Your eyes rolled when you felt his strong fingers begin to massage your scalp. You swore you could actually feel the days stress fall away as he held you, one hand on your back and the other in your hair. Your eyelids grew heavy and you allowed yourself to fall asleep pressed to Steve's chest.

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep when you woke up. You noticed the sun beginning to set as the bright sky began to bleed into deep purples and reds on the opposite side of the curtains over your bedroom window. The bed was cold around you. Steve was gone, but his scent still lingered on the sheets and his pillow beside you. You allowed yourself a few moments in bed before forcing yourself out of the warm blankets and comfortable bed that you and Steve had chosen together.

As soon as you opened your bedroom door you smelled something delicious coming from down the hall. The smell drew you further down the hall, beckoning you as you padded with bare feet closer to the kitchen. Once you were close enough you saw him. He was in a pair of sweats and an old shirt as he stood in front of the stove. You could hear grease popping from the pan in front of him. You heard him humming to himself as he flipped whatever he was making in the pan. You stepped closer, breaching the threshold of the kitchen. When he heard your footsteps he turned towards you with a wide, bright smile. You made your way over to him and tucked yourself into his side. He wrapped one arm tightly around your shoulders and placed a kiss to your hair.

"Sleep well?" He asked quietly. You only nodded, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. "Good. I was just about to come get you up. Dinners almost done."

"You made me dinner?" You asked him in a small, almost meek voice.

"'Course I did," he answered with a smile. "Mashed potatoes are already done, steaks only have a few more minutes. Oh, and I got gummy bears since ya know, I love you and all."

You hugged him tighter, earning a low giggle from him. You turned your face up towards him. When your lips met his, you silently hoped that this kiss would tell him exactly how much you loved him. How lucky you were to have him. How sade you felt in that moment, wrapped up in him in your kitchen.

#steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you

239 notes · View notes

ashestoroses018 · 12 days

Text

Lost & Found

Slight Steve Harrington/Reader

Summary - You're F/N Henderson, or N/N for short. Your rabbit goes missing. Steve and the Original Party(tm) help you find her.

“Dustin! Where's Pepper?” you call through the house, looking for your pet bunny.

“I-I have no idea where she is, N/N.”

You run your hair through your unruly curls, annoyed that your brother has no idea where your beloved rabbit is. “I can't go out until I know she's safe, Dusty. Especially after Mews disappeared a few months ago. I don't want that to happen to my baby.”

Dustin walks up to you and pats your shoulder lightly. “I'll help you look for her until Steve gets here, okay?”

“You and Harrington are getting awfully chummy, huh, Dusty?”

Your brother nods, his curls bouncing. “He's really badass--”

“Language, Dusty.”

“--Sorry. He's really cool. I used to think he was a jerk, but he's actually really nice.”

“Well, maybe Mr. Nice Guy can help find Pepper when he gets here.”

“But we were gonna play DnD here with the guys.”

“Steve Harrington plays DnD, Dustin? Seriously? You know we don't lie in this house.”

Dustin's voice gets a whiny tone to it. “ He's not gonna play. Steve's just babysitting, because you and Mom are out tonight. Or at least you're supposed to be.”

“What kind of eighth grader needs a babysitter, Dustin?”

“Look, Steve's my friend, okay?”

You sigh. Ever since your dad passed away, Dustin has had a sincere lack of any real male figure in his life. For a while, now, he has leaned on his science teacher a bit much. Maybe Steve Harrington is a good alternative.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe I'll stay in tonight.”

“Oh my God, don't threaten me like that, N/N!”

Your face falls. “I wasn't threatening. I thought it might be fun. You used to want me to play Dungeons and Dragons with you guys.”

“But you're gonna make me look so uncool in front of Steve!”

“What's uncool about me?!”

“Have you seen the way you dress, N/N? You dress like you just stepped out of 1975. It's 1985, and you're a high school senior. Not a mom!”

“Wow, okay. Hurtful.” You're only slightly joking. His words had hit a little bit harshly. Are you really that uncool?

“I-I'm sorry, N/N. I didn't mean that. I'm just...you're you, and Steve is Steve. He's a really cool friend to have, and I really don't want to lose him for any reason, you know?”

“Fine, whatever. As soon as I find Pepper, I'll be out of your hair, okay Dusty? Then you won't have to worry about me embarrassing you.” You stick your tongue out at your baby brother (you can't call him your little brother, anymore, because he shot up by nearly a foot during Christmas break!).

“Just in case he shows up, can you, like, put your hair up or something?”

“Why, what's wrong with my hair?” you ask, a tone of warning laced through your voice.

“Nothing...I just think you look really pretty when your hair is up, with some of your curls around your face.”

A grin lights up your face at your brother's sweet words. “You're such a little charmer. You're gonna be a heartbreaker, Dustin Allen* Henderson, you know that?”

Ruining the sweet moment, your brother does his infamous growl. “Dammit, Dusty. I take it back. You need to quit that shit. Anyway, can you go look under the couches and stuff while I put up my hair?”

Your brother nods, so you head off to the bathroom you share with your mother and sit down at your shared vanity. Maybe you can even wear a little bit of makeup. Actually...you know what? If your brother is so convinced you dress for the wrong decade, you're going to prove him wrong, dammit.

After you've brushed your hair into a quick ponytail, carefully leaving some curls around your face, as Dustin suggested, you run to your bedroom and pick out the trendiest clothes you own. They just so happen to be overalls that you choose to pair with a thin, brown belt, and a nicely fitting white crop top. Scrunching your face, you also elect to wear some bright pink hoops, because, God dammit, you are a trendy 18 year old young lady, not a mom .

Bringing the clothes to your bathroom, you quickly change into them and put on some light makeup. You double-check your hair and makeup, making sure your appearance works well.

“N/N! Where are you? The guys and Steve are here! You can leave.”

You roll your eyes and head to the living room. “Thing is, dipshit, I can't leave without knowing where Pepper is. Have you found her, yet?” When you walk into the living room, you're met with stunned silence and wide eyes from all the males in the room.

“What the hell are you wearing, F/N?” It's rare that your brother uses your actual name, so he must really be shocked.

“Well, you told me that I dress like a loser, so I decided to actually dress up for once.”

“Aren't you just going to the library to study?”

You shrug. “Who says I can't dress up to go study, shitbag? Hey, guys. No girls tonight?”

Mike shakes his head. “Jane is... studying with Hopper, and Max got grounded for getting detention.”

“Um, you could...study here, keep me company while these losers play Dragons and Dungeons,” says the Steve Harrington, looking at you with an indecipherable expression.

“Dustin said I'm not cool enough for you guys, though,” you say, sticking your tongue out teasingly at your brother.

“Oh my God, N/N, this is why!” Your brother's face is turning bright red, and you can't help but laugh at him. However, you're quickly brought back to reality.

“Actually, I can't do anything until I find my rabbit. Boys, have you seen Pepper?”

The kids respond with a chorus of nos and shaking heads. You sigh, feeling deflated. What if she got crushed under a piece of furniture, or something? You knew you should have replaced her cage, instead of letting her get away with a loose cage door.

Steve looks up, suddenly. “What does, uh, Pepper look like?”

“She's white, with brown patches. Floppy ears. 'Bout this big.” You hold your hand out a few inches.

“Oh shit! Yeah I saw a rabbit like that!”

“Seriously? You're a lifesaver, Steve! Where did you see her?”

“She was hopping around in your front yard. Um...she ran away when I drove up, though.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back tears. “Domestic rabbits can't survive in the wild. I've gotta go find her!”

Without waiting for a response from anyone, you slip your sneakers on and grab your coat, bracing for the early February weather. Luckily, there hasn't been much snow, so you don't have to worry about your baby being camouflaged by it.

Clicking your tongue in a sound you know she'll recognize, you begin slowly traversing your front yard. Come on, Pepper , you think. Where are you?

“Want some help?” someone suddenly asks you, tapping on your shoulder lightly.

You turn around, only to see four boys staring at you sheepishly, Steve standing behind them, looking almost...smug. If you were to hazard a guess, you would be willing to bet your limited money from working at Burger Bob's that Steve Harrington had put them up to this.

“Yeah, I'd like that. Thank you, guys. You remember what she looks like?” Your brother's friends nod in unison, wandering off.

After a moment, you turn to your classmate. “Thank you for putting them up to this. I'm not sure how you managed to pull them away from DnD, but I appreciate it, Steve.”

The boy flushes – whether from the cold or your words, you can't be sure – as he runs a hand through his absolutely perfect hair. “Don't mention it. You looked really sad, F/N – “

“N/N,” you say gently, correcting him.

He coughs quietly. “N/N. Anyway, I just wanted to be able to help, and I can't leave those kids unsupervised. Mrs. Byers would kick my ass.”

You nod. “Yeah, she's super overprotective of Will, these days. Thanks again, Steve. I'm gonna go keep looking.”

“Sure. I will, too.” He smiles gently down at you.

Twenty minutes later, Steve comes running up to you, a squirming bundle in his arms. You run to meet him, taking the rabbit out of his arms, tears springing to your eyes.

“Oh...Oh my goodness. Steve. Where'd you find her?” Before you can answer, you whisper comforting words to your rabbit. A moment later, you look up to see his bewildered face. “Steve Harrington, I could kiss you right now. You just saved my rabbit's life. You're literally my favorite person in the world, right now.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #steve harringtonxreader #steve harringtonxyou #x you

27 notes · View notes

moonbeamsandmayhem · 9 months

Text

Steve’s resting comfortably against the headboard, hands on your hips as you bounce. Your arms are securely behind your sweat slicked back, hands resting on your elbows. “Oh fuck, St- Steve— fuck, fuck!”

You look down at where you’re both connected, cream coating his cock. He’s made you come three times on his fingers, tongue, and on that throbbing member. You’re drunk on him. And when you meet his gaze, you know you’re in for a long night.

“That’s right, baby, scream my name. Scream. It.” He thrusts upward. Hard. His cock hitting deep. And you go brainless, jaw going slack, a moan catching in your throat as your eyes roll back. “Can’t even do that, huh? Gone all dumb?” He lifts a hand, giving a sharp, controlled, slap to your cheek enough to sting. “Still with me?”

“Y-yes I’m still wi-with you.”

“Mmkay. We’ll see for how long.” With his signature smirk, he sets a brutal pace, and this time, you do scream. Because he’s carving his way into your guts. Pushing you further to oblivion than you’ve ever been. You can’t form thoughts, everything is pleasure. Your nerve endings are on fire and all you want is more, more, more. His thumb takes advantage of your open mouth, pressing it against your tongue, activating your gag reflex. “That’s it. Nice and wet for— are you fucking crying, baby? Aw.”

He slows it down, bringing his spit slicked digit down to your swollen bud, resting it there. You flinch, finding his gaze again through your watery eyes. “Cry a little more for me.”

#dd writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington/you #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington smut

2K notes · View notes

roanniom · 2 years

Text

The Shift - Part 2

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9k~

Read Part 1 Here

Note: You can blame @millenialcatlady (lovingly) for the angst in this part. She is reminding me daily to appreciate a wider range of emotions in fic (i.e. more than horniness) and that spilled out big time here. You can also thank her for the length, because without the part that happens mid way, this part - as originally planned - would have been literally half as long lmao

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, PIV sex / Unprotected sex / Car sex / semi public sex, fingering, teasing, dirty talk, slight degradation, slight praise kink, kinda inappropriate PDA in a grocery store, brief mention of masturbation (m), mentions of food and food consumption, Angst with a capital A (you are pretty mean to Steve at a certain point but then we realize you might have intimacy issues), enemies to lovers continuation

Steve is fucked. He knows it from the minute he touches you that he’s crossed a line he’s not going to be able to uncross. But you just got under his skin so much and on his nerves so frequently and the heat in that back room had been so unbearable he wanted to rip his clothes off - and yours in the process.

And that’s what’s got him banging his head against the counter today, while he sits overly early for his morning shift. He almost could have gotten away with blaming the heat - both the heat of the moment and the heat in that damn back room. He almost could have been able to chalk it up to a mix of repeated-bad-date-blue-balls and a hyperactive sex drive in need of an outlet.

But then he’d called you sweetheart. And you’d reacted like that.

And he’d said what he said.

He’d called you sweetheart and you’d positively clenched around him. You’d moaned and opened up even more for him and suddenly he’d confessed to having always wanted to be sweet with you.

It wasn’t a false statement. He’d spent hours at home, especially after particularly long shifts, touching himself to thoughts of you. It always had the same pattern - it always started out with frustration. Fantasies of shutting you up with his cock in your mouth, or pushing you onto the checkout counter and fucking you where anyone could walk in and see. But they always melted into something different. Something slower. Deeper. Lips clashing and hands roaming. Harsh pants and expletives became low moans and whimpers.

And your face.

In his fantasies your face always opened up. Gone was the judgmental frown, the challenging quirk of your brow. Instead, you always gazed up at him in wonder. Lips parted in a silent gasp. Eyebrows knitted together in startled pleasure, like you were teetering on the edge of crying.

Intentional or not, that is what he had been alluding to when he said he wanted to be sweet with you. And your reaction was like a beat out of those fantasies. The only bad part about it was that he didn’t get to see your face when it happened.

Robin’s sudden presence had thrown a wrench in everything. The two of you had scrambled apart before he’d even had a chance to consider what you both had just done. Steve had never pulled up and buttoned his pants so fast in his entire life, and when he’d looked over at you your eyes were wide with panic, hands manically tucking your shirt back into your jeans.

The jeans he’d just admitted to getting so turned on by only minutes ago.

Your shirt, however, was ridiculously askew, but you apparently hadn’t noticed it because you’d moved on to smoothing your hair and attempting to arrange yourself in a casual pose next to the vending machine as Robin approached the door.

Steve had lunged forward and adjusted your shirt and you had glanced up at him, startled by his sudden action but then softening at the gentleness of his touch.

Your eye contact only had a moment to simmer though because he’d had to jump back again as Robin barreled through the door, launching straight into a lengthy description of every exchange, look, and breath that occurred during her date.

Steve was happy for his friend. He really was. It had been such a long time in coming and he was so happy Robin was finally on the path towards actual, tangible romance.

But currently Steve is too bogged down with his own actual, tangible - what even should he call it? Definitely not romance. A hate fuck? Couldn’t be that, not after what he said and how you’d reacted. Steve continues putting Family Video stickers on the boxes of the new shipment of tapes that had come in the night before. Every few moments his eyes flick towards the door, both desperately awaiting and desperately dreading your impending arrival. It’s Sunday morning - the shift you usually work together, the previous day having been out of the ordinary what with you covering for Robin.

More often than not these shifts aren’t memorable. The two of you orbit around one another on a wave of sarcasm and antagonism, but other than that the day usually passes by quickly. Perhaps because he spends all of his time and energy trying to think of new ways to annoy you and make the cute angry furrow appear on your brow.

But today will be different. Because now he’s been inside you.

Steve abruptly slams his head into the counter, letting the intrusive thoughts finally take over, but a voice interrupts his self-flagellation.

“How could something possibly be wrong with you already? The day just started.”

Robin’s voice rings out along with the bell as she enters the front door, shouldering on her Family Video uniform vest. Steve’s mouth goes dry.

“What are you…this isn’t your shift.”

“Nice to see you, too, Steve,” Robin says, patting the back of his hand over the counter before walking towards the back room to put her bag down. Steve jogs after her.

“Yeah, nice to see ya - but seriously. You don’t work Sunday mornings.”

Robin places her bag down and turns to Steve with her hands on her hips.

“I picked up the shift. That something you need to be made aware of? Should I have called you last night and informed you ahead of time?”

“Well I mean, first of all yes because I’m usually your ride,” Steve points out, rubbing the back of his neck. “How did you - ?”

“The bus. I am capable of public transportation, Harrington. There was a time before you graced my life with your presence, you know.” Robin breezes past him and walks back onto the main floor, grabbing onto the stocking cart and bringing it out to the shelves lining the far wall. Again Steve has to jog to catch up.

“But…the trainee usually works on Sunday.” Steve’s voice is low, almost speaking to him self as he realizes that this line of questioning probably isn’t going to get him an answer he will like. But to his surprise Robin turns on her heel abruptly, rounding on him with a finger pointed at his chest.

“Two minutes!” she cries triumphantly. Steve lifts his hands up in confused surrender.

“What are you talking about?”

“It only took two minutes for you to bring her up. You guys fucked, didn’t you.” It’s an accusation but a massive smile splits her face. Steve cringes away from her enthusiasm.

“What the fuck, Robin!”

“Was it good? Did you initiate it? Did she?!” Now Robin is the one to chase after Steve as he stalks back to the front counter.

“I don’t know what could possibly make you think - ,”

“Because she called me and asked me to cover for her today, dumbass.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter.

“I don’t see what’s so incriminating about that.”

“The incriminating part was the fact that she didn’t call you an asshole once. Didn’t tell me to make your life miserable today or anything. Either of which would have been standard trainee behavior.”

“Did…did she say anything about me?” Steve asks, internally kicking himself over how pathetic the question sounds.

Robin’s face melts into a look of pouting sympathy.

“Bangs her once and he’s hoping she’s thinking about him. Steve Harrington’s a sap, ladies and gentlemen.”

Steve’s about to wag his patented stern babysitter finger at her when the bell on the door rings, signaling the entrance of a customer. Both Robin and Steve whip around, tense with the knee-jerk instinct to provide low-grade customer service. They both deflate immediately, however, when they notice it’s just Dustin.

“Not now, Henderson,” Steve calls out across the length of the store. The curly headed boy throws his hands up defensively.

“How can I already deserve this hostility? I just got here!”

“Steve’s having a crisis,” Robin says, as if it is a holistic explanation. Dustin leans against the checkout counter.

“Did he run out of that mousse stuff he puts in his hair?” Dustin asks, nodding sympathetically. Steve's head shoots up with a frown.

“What? No!”

“Really?” Dustin asks. “Cuz it kinda of seems like it’s got less va-va-voom than normal.”

Robin cocks her head to the side and surveys Steve beside her, making him scowl.

“You know, now that he mentions it, you’re a little less shampoo-commercial-ready than you usually are,” she agrees. Steve runs a hand through his criticized locks in frustration.

“I was a little distracted this morning. Maybe I didn’t pay as much attention getting ready, alright? Lay off, guys.” Steve pushes the stock cart back to the counter to pick up the next set of returns to shelve.

“What’s got you so distracted, buddy?” Dustin asks, resting his elbows on the counter and his chin on his hands. He looks so genuine that Steve’s heart pangs and his usual instinct to yell at the kid is dulled. He opens his mouth to respond but then Robin speaks up from behind him.

“Steve’s got a lady love.”

“Another flavor of the week or is this like an actual thing?” Dustin asks, his eyes lighting up.

Steve rolls his eyes and feels the moment of sincerity pass. He grabs the next stack of tapes with a little too much aggression.

“Dude, grow up, don’t say ‘flavor of the week.’ And women aren’t ‘things,’ dumbass.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Steve,” Dustin points out.

“That’s because your question is stupid and not worth an answer,” Steve dismisses, pushing the cart back onto the floor. Dustin watches him retreat quietly for a second before turning.

“Robin?”

Robin runs over to the counter and opens her mouth to respond but Steve throws up a hand from across the room.

“NO!” He interrupts. “No. We aren’t having this conversation.”

“Ooo he’s mad mad. That means this is an actual thing,” Dustin says, shoving a candy display off the surface of the counter and hopping over, landing ungracefully behind it.

“Not again, Henderson damn it!” Steve yells, covering his eyes with a hand. “And what did I say about calling women things!”

“It’s the other girl who works here, isn’t it?” Dustin asks. He directs the question to Robin who’s nodding and smiling before Steve can stop her.

“Why the fuck would you assume -,”

“It is her! They had…a moment, it would seem,” Robin says, catching herself before she says anything inappropriate but wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“You guys had sex?!” Dustin cries out, this time whirling around to address Steve. Steve’s hands fly to his head and he ducks, as if he could dodge out of the way of Dustin’s out of line comment.

“Woah. WOAH. You are a child. You are not allowed to ask me that!”

“I’m fifteen, I think I can handle -,”

“Robin, you’re a bad influence. You lose your babysitting privileges,” Steve says, speaking over Dustin and grabbing Robin by the shoulder to drag her away from the boy.

“I mean I never really wanted to babysit your kids in the first place, Steve, so that’s not really a punishment...”

“But I don’t get it, if you had sex with the trainee, why do you seem so mad?” Dustin pipes up, clearly confused.

“WAY out of line, Henderson.” Steve cries out with a glare.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dustin again puts up his hands defensively. “I mean, if you ‘made love’ with the trainee, then why - “

“Jesus FUCKING Christ!” Steve covers his ears and stomps to the back room.

“What did I do?” Dustin asks Robin, shocked. Robin shrugs.

“I mean to be fair, ‘make love’ is absolutely gross, dude,” she says before running after Steve. Dustin remains alone in the front of the store, defeated.

“Well then what can I call it?” he calls out after them both. “The horizontal tango? The beast with two backs?”

“HENDERSON!” Robin and Steve both scream from the back room.

“Yeesh. Puritans.” Dustin rolls his eyes and jogs to join them.

~*~

Later that evening you find yourself dragging yourself through the entrance of the local grocery store. You’d spent the whole day in bed, flipping through radio stations with shitty static and thumbing through magazines and books you’d long since finished. Doing anything and everything to keep Steve Harrington off your mind.

Fuck Steve Harrington.

Well…you had.

Fucked Steve Harrington that is.

And it had been good. You slap a hand over your tired face in front of the bananas in the produce section as the memory of his hands on your hips comes rushing back. It’s been like this all day. A nonstop highlight reel of every second of your sexual encounter with your archnemesis. But can you even call him your archnemesis anymore after what happened yesterday?

Was calling him your archnemesis ever even accurate to begin with?

You’d spent hours revisiting conversations and arguments and blow ups in your mind, trying to piece your way through the memories to make sense of the way your body had reacted to his touch and his words. The more you thought about it, the clearer it became.

You’d had a thing for Steve when you first started working at Family Video, Robin hadn’t been wrong when she told him that. You’d always been intrigued by him from a distance back at school, and being up close at the same job just intensified things. He was pretty and cocky and funny. And that first week he seemed genuinely kind and welcoming. But as you traced your memories back, you realized exactly where your favor started to darken. It was the way he flirted with any girl who stepped over the threshold of the store, turning on a charm that shot so much electricity through the place that it could probably blow a fuse. The girls often ranged from neutral to interested in response, but their presence and his behavior around them infuriated you.

You’d always chalked it up to the fact that it would be against your feminist nature to accept such flagrant hounddog behavior. You’d lied to yourself that you felt bad for these girls and that you were annoyed that Harrignton couldn’t keep it in his pants long enough to do a second of his job right.

But today, in the cold hard light filtering through the window of your shitty apartment it dawned on you that jealousy was the root of your problems. You didn’t hate Steve for going after women. You hated that you weren’t a woman he was going after.

After this earthquake of a revelation rocked your world around midday, you had barely enough strength to drag your ass to the kitchen until the sun started going down and your stomach screamed in protest. Upon opening your fridge, however, you’d come to the sad realization that you had little more than a half empty jar of jelly and a few pickles. Money had been tight since you’d defiantly moved out of your parents’ home after graduation. You probably shouldn’t have skipped your shift today. If only the fucking sex god with beautiful hair and an infuriating personality hadn’t also been scheduled.

And that’s how you find yourself poking at tomatoes and trying to figure out what food will land squarely in the center of the venn diagram of stuff you can afford and stuff you can bear to eat.

“You know if you bruise them they make you buy them.”

The voice coming from behind you makes you jump, sending several tomatoes rolling down to the ground in the process. You drop down to your knees and busy yourself with picking up the spilled produce, doing your best not to look over at the person who had spoken.

As you reach for the last tomato, however, your hand touches another hand reaching for the lumpy little fruit. You wrench your arm back and whip around to look at Steve Harrington.

“I can handle this, thanks,” you snap, lumbering to your feet with an armful of floor battered tomatoes. He straightens up holding the one he’d managed to snag and he watches you as you dump your own back onto the display. Your heart is beating out of your chest but you bring your eyes up to meet his.

“Hey,” he says. It’s anticlimactic. It almost makes you laugh. But you don’t. Instead you continue frowning.

“Why are you here, Harrington?”

“Um…getting groceries?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Because it’s a grocery store.”

You shift awkwardly from one foot to the other while grabbing onto your shopping cart.

“I guess that makes sense.” You’re searching for something - anything - that you could say to transition out of this conversation so you can run home and throw yourself under the covers. Before you can make a hasty exit though, Steve speaks up.

“You weren’t at work today.”

“Congrats Sherlock. That means you can tell Robin and I apart.” Your words are biting, but you see a smirk play at the corner of his lips at your familiar antagonism. “And here I thought anything with boobs looked alike to you.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck and seems to contemplate his next words carefully which annoys you, so you continue.

“That was a softball, Harrington. I assumed you’d say ‘well now I’ve seen your boobs so I’d know them anywhere,’” you challenge.

“Technically I only felt them. I was behind you, remember? I didn’t actually see anything,” he challenges with a sheepish grin. You feel your stomach drop. The urge to reply with “well do you want to?” is so strong you literally have to bite your tongue.

You need to get a hold of yourself.

“I do remember. But I was pretty sure you were going to claim amnesia,” you answer casually, pushing your cart onward. Steve puts his hands in his pockets and kicks the corner of the tomato display lightly before deciding to follow you.

“And why would you think I’d do that?”

“Mr. Steve another-date-every-week Harrington? Pretty sure blacking out experiences is what makes it easier to move on, right?”

Your flippant comment wounds him harder than he would have liked, and you would have been able to see it on his face if you were looking at him. But you’re not because you’re turning the corner and starting to walk down the frozen foods aisle.

“You really think you’ve got me all figured out,” he says bitterly. It’s a statement, not a question. You wrench open a freezer door a little harsher than you intend. Let the icy chill from inside waft over you and hopefully help calm your frazzled nerves at his biting tone.

“I know I do,” you reply simply without looking at him. You peruse the frozen dinners, trying desperately to remind yourself that there is a goal to this grocery trip. You hadn’t dragged your ass out of bed and all the way here just to be grilled by an asshole with amazing hair.

You try not to think about the fact that his hair seems more disheveled than usual today. You also try not to think about the fact that you like it that way.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Steve counters, leaning up against the freezer door next to the one you have open. You tear your eyes away from the rows of unappealing lasagna and fix him with a glare.

“And you don’t know the first thing about me.”

Steve lets out a bark of a laugh and you raise a brow at him.

“I know some things now, sweetheart.”

Steve doesn’t miss the way you involuntarily shiver. At his words, not the fog that starts to accumulate from the freezer chill mixing with the warm grocery store air. He pushes himself off the freezer door and moves towards you. In a panic you try to step away but he’s quick, and suddenly you’re pressing yourself up against the inside of the freezer door as you try to keep space between your bodies.

“You’re such an asshole, Harrington.”

“Yeah. And you’re…a slut.” He whispers the word, conscious of the fact that you’re in a public place. A deserted aisle. But a public place nonetheless. Again a ripple passes over your face and your eyelids flutter closed, only for a second. Steve chuckles and leans a forearm against the interior freezer door right next to your face. “I saw that.”

“We’re in a damn freezer. It’s f-fucking cold.” Your lie sounds weak even to your own ears.

“That’s a shitty excuse and you know it,” Steve reprimands. His tone goes straight to your core and you shift from foot to foot. His eyes search your face, so you do your best to lift your chin in defiance.

“So you know some things that make me horny. It’s 1986, not the Victorian era. I’m not, like, ashamed.”

“So you admit I make you horny,” Steve points out, a grin on his stupid handsome face.

“UGH! I said ‘things’ that make me horny.”

“A little dehumanizing to call me a thing, to be fair, but hey if you want to use me like one, baby…”

“You are IMPOSSIBLE,” you whisper-scream, fisting your hands in the front of his shirt. Steve’s eyes go wide at the contact and he takes a lurching step forward due to the force of your grasp. The hand of his that’s not braced on the door behind you lands on your hip to steady himself.

“I’m impossible?” Steve asks incredulously. “You’re the one who’s both pushing and pulling. I’m getting fucking whiplash over here, babe.” His eyes glance down at your hands on him and back up to you pointedly.

“You make me so mad, Harrington,” you say, your voice low. He sees something other than anger in your eyes, however. If you hadn’t pulled him this close, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to notice it. But it’s there, just under the surface.

“Yeah? And I think you like that.”

“What?”

“I make you feel something,” Steve says, like it’s a cold hard fact. “None of those other assholes ever make you feel anything. You’re so fucking desperate not to be numb that you pick fights with me just to get your blood pumping.”

Your fists tighten in his shirt, nails pinching his skin through the fabric. Steve hisses.

“Well if that’s true about me, what about you? Those bimbos not stimulating enough? Can’t get your dick hard if you’re not getting yelled at?”

That statement pinches one too many nerves and suddenly Steve is pressing up against you, chest and pelvis flush to yours, your fists trapped between your bodies. Your back pushed hard up against the condensation wet interior of the freezer door. The door strains on it’s hinges from the force, threatening to hyper extend past its 90 degree limit.

“And you get off on being an absolute bitch. Being mean to me makes you wet, huh? I bet you’re soaked under that skirt right? Dropped those tomatoes earlier because you hoped if you bent over I’d fuck you right there in the produce section?”

Your gasping inhale is so loud both of your eyes widen, the sound ripping the two of you out of the lust-filled haze of aggression in which you’d been wrapped. You turn your head to break eye contact, blinking and taking a few centering breaths while Steve tosses a look over his shoulder to make sure nobody’s walked up.

You’re still alone in the aisle.

And Steve’s still got you pressed up against the inside of the freezer door.

You wait a few more stuttering heartbeats before you allow yourself to look at him again. When you do, your heart palpitates even more. He’s abandoned his grasp on your hip to run an agitated hand through his hair again, making himself even more disheveled than before. His lips are wet and red from nervous biting and his eyes are sheepish as he gazes back at you. You give yourself only a split second to think before you’re ducking under his arm and peeling yourself out from between him and the door.

“Hey, I didn’t - ,” he starts to call after you, but you grab his wrist and yank him to follow you. He stumbles but recovers, breaking into a brisk walk to keep up with the way you drag him. Out of the frozen food aisle, abandoning your empty cart. Past the empty row of checkout lanes and the bored cashier who doesn’t look up from filing her nails to perceive either of you. Through the open door and into the wall of heat and humidity of the Hawkins summer night air. You stop abruptly when you step off the curb outside the store and Steve’s still moving body collides into yours.

“Where’s your car?”

“What?” he asks, still a few seconds behind, physically and mentally. You bounce on the balls of your feet impatiently, scanning the sparse smattering of vehicles spread out in the lot.

“Where is your fucking car, Harrington!”

“Um it’s that one,” Steve rushes to say, pointing to the maroon BMW parked a couple spaces from the front of the store, mercifully to the side on the row furthest to the left of the lot. You drag him by the wrist over to his car as his confusion continues. “Why do you need my car?”

“Because I suspected, and it appears I’m correct,” you say, sizing up his car as you approach it. “That your back seat is bigger than mine.”

“My back - hmph!” his response is silenced when you shove him in front of you and slam his back into the side of his car. You get right up into his space, pushing him against the door and getting up on your tiptoes as you reach up and wrench him down by the hair at the nape of his neck.

And suddenly you’re kissing him with a ferocity of which you didn’t know you were capable. Your other hand pushes against his chest, fingers splayed and palm pressing, feeling his muscles clench and tighten.

Despite the surprise nature of your attack, Steve doesn’t miss a beat. He’s kissing you back and matching your intensity head on. His hands grip at your waist and he hauls you against him, helping you press him harder against the car and making sure your bodies are fused as tightly to one another as physically possible.

You’ve never been the one to press someone against anything before, and there’s a heady rush that hazes your mind as the dynamic sinks in. Sure you’ve had men press you up against walls or doors before, but you’ve never been the instigator. Never felt the need to exert control over someone else’s body so bad that you have to take it. Have to ground them against a hard surface to ensure they feel the weight and pressure of your touch. The power trip sends you reeling and have to pull away, gasping for air before you can get so lightheaded you do something stupid like pass out.

“Harrington.” His name sounds desperate with your jagged voice. Steve seems utterly out of it, staring down at you dumbfounded with drooping eyelids and wet lips parted to facilitate a heavy pant. When he doesn’t respond, just staring at you, you pull at his hair, making him hiss. “Harrington, open the fucking car.”

It takes him a beat to comprehend what you’re telling him to do, but then his hand is digging in his pocket and he’s scrambling to unlock the vehicle. You step back to give him space to do as you told him, trying not to think too hard about the heartbeat hammering away in your chest and between your legs. You throw a glance over your shoulder at the entrance to the grocery store, but it still seems quiet. A quick scan of the parking lot gleans a similar silence. When Steve’s got the car unlocked he opens the back seat and turns back to you, leaning heavily on the open door.

“Um…did you…what…” he’s blinking at you, suddenly unsure. The streetlight overhead illuminating this section of the parking lot has him looking younger than he ever has before, and there’s a softness in his eyes when he looks at you that doesn’t match the mood of what you’ve been doing. You swallow the emotion threatening to climb through your throat and you step forward briskly, ducking into the backseat and pulling him in along after you.

Steve clambers into the car to find you laying yourself out along the bench seat. Your hands grab at the front of his shirt again and drag him to climb over your body. He barely has the wherewithal to pull the door closed behind him before your lips are attacking his once more. You’re greedy and grabby and you wrap yourself around him like a boa constrictor. Arms wind around his neck and shoulders. Legs come up around his hips, ankles locking against his back. Steve feels suffocated and overwhelmed and turned on and agitated and -

“Fuck just - easy. Easy!” Steve’s loud words in the close confines of the car rattle you, as does the vibration of his raised voice against your body. You freeze and he is finally able to pull away a bit, propping himself up with his hands on the leather seats on either side of your head.

“What? What is it?” You seem confused. A bit dazed even. Now you’re the disheveled one. Steve takes in the way you look beneath him - clothes askew, eyes too bright if a little hazy, lips kiss bruised and wet. You blink up at him with a furrow deepening in your brow, becoming more and more uncertain with every second that passes of him just looking at you.

“You just…” Steve exhales in frustration and goes to sit up abruptly, slamming his head on the car ceiling. He yelps and grips his skull, but looks down quickly when he hears a giggle erupting from beneath him. You have your hands covering your mouth to try and contain your laughter, but the mirth is evident in your squinting eyes, crinkling at the corners. Steve can’t help but chuckle along, trying to ignore the zing of fondness that burns behind his eyes along with the pain from the bump.

He lurches forward and grabs your hands away from your face, dropping to support himself with his elbows on the seat either side of your head and pinning your wrists against the door behind you.

“You think that’s funny?”

“A little,” you admit, biting your lip in a continued attempt to contain your laughter.

“Of course you think my pain is funny.” He rolls his eyes and your eyebrows shoot up.

“You squealed.”

“I shouted,” he corrects. You shake your head.

“You went very high pitched there. Sounded like it hurt,” you say cheekily. “If it still hurts don’t mind me. Feel free to whimper if you’d like.”

Steve chuckles low and you feel the vibrations in your abdomen where his is pressed to yours. It makes you squirm against him and he notices.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” When you nod with another uncharacteristically light giggle he smiles down at you. “I’d like it too, you know.”

“You whimpering?” you ask. Steve shakes his head and dips so that his lips are a centimeter from yours. You hold your breath.

“No, you.”

Just as you lean up to try and make your lips meet, he ducks his head down and latches onto the skin of your throat. You gasp out, disoriented by the sudden switch and thrown off by the pleasurable sensation.

“You seem to like getting your own way,” he says gruffly, shifting your two wrists into one of his hands so his free hand can hike your legs higher up around his hips. “But so do I.”

Steve rolls his hips into you, starting a steady rhythm out of nowhere. The friction of his hard on against the apex of your legs is delicious and immediate and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip to keep from reacting too dramatically.

“You really should open your eyes, sweetheart,” Steve coos, gripping onto the flesh of your outer thigh. Your eyes snap open and you find him smirking over you, watching. “You’re the one who dragged me in here. Be fucking polite.”

“You don’t know anything about being polite, Harrington.” Your response floods out on instinct, words not even matching tone because they aren’t even congruous with what you’re currently feeling. You’ve just got such extreme muscle memory of being combative with Steve that you can’t help it.

Steve gasps in mock surprise before tsking at you, his eyes dropping to your lips which part wide after a particularly good roll of his hips.

“We’re not doing that. You’re not going to fight me. Not when I’m on top of you.”

“Why…why not?” Your jaw tenses and he nips at it with his teeth.

“Because we’re doing it my way this time,” he replies definitively. His hand slides from the outside of your thigh up to your hip, flipping your skirt up in the process and exposing the comfortable pair of cotton panties that you’re wearing below.

“Was you fucking me from behind in the break room not ‘your way’ enough?” you challenge, though your voice is losing its edge. Steve’s hand slides horizontally from your hip, over your abdomen and down to cup your mound, fingers pressing into the wet spot on the fabric lower down between your thighs. “You always get your own damn way, Harrington.”

“Can you just fucking…” Steve closes his eyes for a second and hums out a frustrated exhale. When his eyes open back up he looks serious and it makes your stomach swoop. “I’m going to stop if you keep fighting me.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t fuck someone who doesn’t want it,” Steve says definitively. He lets go of your hands and sits back on his heels between your legs, this time remembering to stay low enough not to bang his head on the ceiling.

Panic floods your system from the decrease in physical contact and your newly freed hands scrabble to clutch at his shirt.

“What - no! I want it!”

Steve shakes his head and grips your wrists gently but firmly, getting you to unhand him.

“You seem angry with me and I…that doesn’t work. I need like…enthusiastic consent or whatever the fuck they call it.” Steve passes a stressed hand over his face and slides it up to ruffle through his hair distractedly. Your chest moves up and down frantically as you try to think of what to say to reroute from this disappointing new trajectory.

“I’m the one who brought you here. Obviously I -,”

“There is nothing ‘obvious’ when it comes to you, sweetheart.” Steve sighs. “Pretend I’m stupid, like I know you already think I am. Spell it out for me.”

“You and I argue. It’s what we do…” you try to reason.

“We argue, yeah. But it’s usually fun. Teasing.” His hands finally drop back down, resting on your thighs, albeit closer to your knees than the apex. His thumbs begin smoothing circles into your skin. “But today you’re mad.”

You swallow harshly and try to look away but there’s nowhere to go. You’re in a car. Underneath him still. In the place where you wanted to be. Where you dragged him. Emotion wells up inside you and you shiver from discomfort this time.

“I’m not…mad. I just…” you struggle with your words and Steve seems to take pity on you, stroking his hands back and forth on the length of your thighs.

“You just what?”

“I don’t…god damn it.” You turn your head to blink rapidly in the direction of the passenger seat. “I don’t know how to…be sweet.”

“What?” Steve lets out an incredulous laugh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,” you mumble, still not looking at him. Steve’s fingers gently grip your chin and he turns your head back to face him.

“Now I know that’s bullshit because I’ve seen you be sweet plenty of times.” Steve lowers himself slightly. Not fully back on top of you, but removing some of the distance he’d place between your bodies. “You’re always sweet to kids who come into Family Video. You’re very nice to your friends. Robin fucking loves you…”

“Robin isn’t very discerning, to be fair,” you say with a self deprecating snort. Steve gives you a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, she keeps me around, doesn’t she? Points against her taste.”

You laugh in response but then you screw your eyes shut and put your hands over your face.

“See! Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t even pretend not to say something mean.”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve says to you, prying your hands off your face. “You’re not the one who said the mean thing about me, I did. And we’re laughing. This is okay.”

“This is okay?” you ask uncertainly, squinting up at him through one open eye.

“As long as you’re not frowning up at me as if I kicked your hypothetical puppy, we’re all good.”

“Well good then. Just make sure not to kick my hypothetical puppy then, Steve,” you say, cracking a hesitant smile. Steve’s answering smile is radiant. You’d called him Steve, something you don’t often do.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Then he’s leaning down and pressing a kiss to your mouth. A proper kiss, firm and sweet. Unlike the aggressive ones that had passed between you when you’d first toppled into the car. You breathe him in and when your lips open his tongue seeks refuge, which you welcome.

Steve settles back down over you. Your arms wind back around him and pull him close, making him chuckle against your lips in response. He breaks away only to pepper kisses across your cheek, around the curve of your jaw and back down the side of your neck. His attention to the skin of your neck makes you hum, so Steve hums right back at you.

“See? Sweet.” Steve kisses your collarbone as his hands return to where they had been before your emotional intermission. He begins to rub his finger over your dripping slit through the fabric of your underwear while his other hand begins to push up at the bottom hem of your top. “I like all of your flavors, to be honest. But right now this just…this works for right now.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he lifts your shirt up to expose your naked breasts. You’d left the house in a rush for what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store (what a lost cause of a goal), so you had just left wearing what you’d slept in. Steve bites his lip at the sight before him.

“Fuck. Yeah…” comes his inarticulate assessment. His hands grips your sides over your ribs, thumbs sweeping up to swipe slowly at the bottom curves of your breasts. You chuckle at his reaction and reach up to push his hair out of his face like you’d been wanting to do.

“Yeah?” you prompt. Steve shakes his head.

“Committing these to memory. So next time I can say ‘I’d know them anywhere’.”

The call back from the produce section has you full on laughing. His grin is obnoxiously wide as he takes in your relaxed body language and open, happy features.

“You know you’re so fucking pretty,” he says quietly. Your laughter calms down a little and you shrug. “Shut the fuck up,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything!” you gasp with mock offense. His hands slide up higher under your arms so his thumbs are now rolling over your nipples. You let out a sigh.

“You’re pretty and that’s a fact. Not an opinion, so don’t you shrug at me, sweetheart.”

“Pretty sure an aesthetic assessment can only be opinion, so -,” you begin to argue, but Steve puts a hushing finger up to your lips.

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupts you. “We’re doing this my way, right?”

“Right,” you agree quickly, not about to let things backslide now that his hands are making you feel so good. The hand on your lip returns down to your abdomen, tiptoeing back down to your panties. But this time it slides under the elastic, coming down to rub through your waiting slick. Almost like a reward for cooperating.

“According to me, you’re fucking pretty.”

“Okay, Steve,” you say, testing your theory about whether or not he rewards you for cooperating. Immediately two fingers of the hand between your legs sink deep inside your pussy, just ask his other hand closes fully around your breast for the first time. “Oh god…”

“Say that again.”

“Oh god,” you repeat, this time more of a moan.

“No not - christ,” Steve laughs, breathless. “Say my name again.”

“Steve,” you whisper. His middle and ring fingers have begun to move in and out of you while his thumb rubs circles into your aching clit.

“I like that,” he says, his honesty unmistakably vulnerable. You get a fleeting urge to make fun of him for it, but then your heart pangs, taking in the way he blinks at you, eyes dark.

“Steve,” you repeat.

He’s on you then, back to kissing and sucking and biting. Now that there’s more exposed surface area with your shirt pushed up, he has more real estate to mark and explore, which he does diligently with his mouth.

His preoccupation leaves you beside yourself with want and need. Your hips have begun to rut up into his hand to meet his thrusting fingers and your moans become more substantial.

“I-I want…want…” you keep trying to speak but the words get trapped on your tongue.

Steve pulls away from your wetted skin long enough to check in.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want…you.”

You’re not asking him to fuck you. You’re not demanding he get inside you. You’re just asking for him. It makes his throat tighten and he’s nodding. He props himself up on one hand and uses the other to unbuckle his belt and jeans but he fumbles so you reach up frantically to help him. Together you manage to yank his jeans down far enough to expose his boxers and you slip your hand against him to massage through the fabric. You feel the aching emptiness now that his fingers are no longer inside you. Now that their much better replacement is in your sights.

Steve pulls his cock out and pumps it a few times while you admire the pearlescent precum that’s collected on the tip. Subconsciously you lick your lips, causing him to laugh.

“You’re something else, sweetheart.”

“No you are,” you mutter with a smile.

“Nope, just you,” he shakes his head and rubs his nose against yours while settling lower between your legs, pushing your panties to the side to line himself up with your entrance. You laugh.

“Are we now being argumentative over compliments?” you tease.

“Sounds on brand for us,” he agrees. He slides in with little resistance. Just a slow, agonizing stretch that has you both moaning. Your heels dig into his lower back from where you legs lock around him and he buries his face in your neck.

“Oh my fucking…christ, how are you…” Steve struggles with speech for a second before nipping at your shoulder, making you squirm. “Not sure how I forgot how good you feel.”

“There’s that amnesia,” you joke hesitantly. Not sure if it is too soon to bring up the mean spirited thing you had said earlier but wanting desperately negate the intent you’d had in the first place. Steve’s answering chuckle calms your nerves and you relax, melting down against the leather seat as he begins to move inside of you.

“I think it’s less amnesia and more that I blacked out from how fucking amazing this pussy is.”

“Jesus, Steve,” you admonish, but it holds little weight because with the crescendoing pendulum of his hips Steve is already well on his way to undoing you.

“God, I wasn't exaggerating. You sound really good when you say my name,” Steve says with a moan.

“Mmm, Steve,” you hum. His face pulls away from your neck and he looks down at you with a renewed intensity in his eyes.

“Just one thing missing,” he says. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“I meant it when I said I want you to whimper for me.”

Before you can react, Steve has your legs hoisted higher, pushed so that the tops of your thighs are pressed further toward your stomach. You take in a hasty inhale as he begins to pound into you with vigorous intent now.

He’s steady and persistent with it. Rocking into you - pulling in and out and adjusting to hit different angles until he finds the one that has you throwing your head back against the seat, back arching.

“Oh we like that? Yeah?”

“Th-that the royal ‘we’?” you laugh breathlessly, making fun of his word choice.

“Yeah I guess,” he answers, but he’s distracted.

“Makes sense. You are King Steve, after all.”

He rolls his eyes and punishes you by reaching down and pinching your clit, making you spasm.

The windows are way past fogged up by now. The heat coming off your bodies makes the air thick with sex and tension and Steve is sweating above you, but so are you. The wet slap of skin on skin has never sounded better. Your head thrashes from side to side, stopping only when Steve descends down upon you again, kissing up the hollow at the base of your throat and migrating around that sensitive expanse of skin.

“Where is it…” he mutters against your skin under his breath. You barely hear it, as if the statement isn’t intended for you. “It’s here somewhere.”

“What?” you ask, biting your lip and squeezing your eye shut from the sensations. Your hips are slamming up to meet each of his thrusts by now, teetering closer and closer to bliss. Steve’s lips suck and his teeth nibble at different patches of skin up and down your throat, around to the side of your neck.

“There’s a spot here that fucking wrecks you,” he says by way of explanation. You scoff even as your fingers knit through his hair and tug, toes curling.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he doubles down. You can practically hear the honeyed smirk on his lips as they continue to kiss and search. “It was a spot that had you convulsing, baby.”

“I don’t seem to remember convulsing,” you contradict, despite the way the coil in your belly tightens impossibly tight. Your eyes are halfway rolled to the back of your head and you’re panting openly. Steve snorts against your shoulder.

“So maybe your memory isn’t as great as you claimed? Huh, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know, all I’m saying is - .” You’re about to continue challenging him when suddenly he’s sucking on a spot just below your left ear and your back shoots right off the seat.

“St-Steve!”

“Bingo,” he gloats against your skin like a fucking nerd before sucking on the spot again. Hard.

“Oh my-oh my god.” Your voice is high pitched. It’s a certifiable whine, tapering off into a whimper. “Steve.”

“There it is baby, that’s all I wanted from you.” His voice is teasing, but it’s considerably huskier than before. He’s close. You can feel him throbbing inside you, though it’s a miracle you can feel anything beyond your own pulsing, aching need. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t respond to him, though, and he knows that. Which is why he doubles down by reaching between you to rub again at your neglected clit. You let out a choking sob which seems to please him even more.

“So god damn good. That’s right.” His words are more rambling now. His face hangs right over yours, eyes staring into your unfocused ones, watching your brow pinch and your lips part in an unending gasping pant. “You’re so pretty. So fucking sweet.”

“I’m…sweet?”

Your words come out garbled and he almost feels like he’s hearing things, but you’re staring up at him with as much focus as you can muster. Expectant. Waiting for a confirmation that you seem fearful might never come. So Steve nods.

“So sweet, baby. Always knew you were,” he affirms through gritted teeth. You roll your hips up into his arrhythmically. Desperate for release now that you feel worthy of it.

His praise breaks you and suddenly you’re a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him, hurtled over the edge with a flurry of spasming muscles. He fucks you through the imact, holding onto you for dear life.

The car must be rocking by now, if it hadn’t already been for a long time. You think in some distant coherent part of your brain about the fact that anyone could have walked out of the grocery store at any point since you first entered the car. A working mom who’d gone out on a late night shopping trip. A broke college kid not unlike yourself who needed a TV dinner. Any of the many people who you had known your entire life growing up in small town Hawkins, Indiana.

But none of that matters with Steve driving into you with abandon. With Steve’s hot, sweating body bearing down on yours, heavy and solid and wanting. He pumps into you long after it’s beneficial to your orgasm, finally chasing his own release. In answer you tighten your grip on him. You go back to meeting him thrust for thrust, even through the achy feeling of overstimulation. He buries his face back in your neck and you coo into his ear things you never would have imagined you’d say - to anyone, let alone Steve Harrington.

You hadn’t exaggerated when you’d said earlier that you didn’t know how to be sweet. You’d never truly settled into anything like sweetness with any previous hookups. Your past ‘boyfriends’ had really only ever been long term flings, with little to no actual vulnerability shared. Sure, you knew how to flirt. You knew how to tease. But usually that was the extent of it. Your inability to meet Steve on his level initially had been part of a deeper problem, one you were probably only just beginning to acknowledge.

But pressed against the leather backseat of his car on a hot summer night, held in his arms, you find it in you to be sweet for Steve.

“So good. Yes Steve. Yes. Please.”

He groans against you and you feel his hips begin to stutter. He’s so close and you want this for him more than you wanted your own release for yourself.

“Please, baby. Come on, Stevie.” Your hand smooths his sweaty hair away from his forehead comfortingly, just as the walls of your pussy squeeze down on him, your pelvis tilting to cradle him down against you.

And at the warmth of your words and your touch Steve cums. His moan is loud and low in your ear and you hold him through the orgasm as it rocks his body, his hips pushing against yours once, twice, a final time before seizing, his hot cum spreading within you.

If the air inside the car had been thick with sex earlier, you can’t even fathom what it’s like now. You feel your nerve endings buzzing as Steve shudders on top of you. Your fingers mooth soothingly on the skin at the base of his neck, helping him come down.

A few minutes pass where there’s nothing but the sound of breathing - his ragged gulping breaths mixed with your more even ones. When he pulls away from your neck to look at you, his eyes are lighter. More clear. He stares at you and the intensity should make you uncomfortable but it doesn’t.

You want to ask him something - anything. What does this mean? What happens next? A nagging feeling in the back of your head reminds you that this almost didn’t happen because you’d almost fucked everything up. Another nagging feeling worms it’s way in too, reminding you that you’d previously convinced yourself that this - he - isn’t something or someone you wanted in the first place.

Your warring thoughts must be visible on your face because his nose nudges yours and he speaks for the first time in a while.

“What’s going on in there?” he asks, eyes darting up to your forehead indicating your mind.

“I -,” you go to speak but your voice is hoarse, so you swallow thickly and go to start again.

Maybe you were going to be honest or maybe you were going to make something up. Even as you opened your mouth to speak you still didn’t know exactly what you planned on saying.

But you never get a chance.

Suddenly there’s a timid knock on the window of the front door. Both of your heads snap up to find the shape of Robin hazy through the foggy glass, body angled away with a hand covering her eyes. Steve sighs and covers his face with his own hand as if just remembering something for the first time.

“Sorry to, um, interrupt guys but Steve…you drove me here and…”

“I thought you said you could handle public transportation Robin. Fuck!”

~*~

Tag list (tbh I’ve lost track of who wanted to be tagged so I am trying my best lmao, will try to add more people later): @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @sacklerscumrag @boomhauer @copycatkillerfics @theshoehanger @zegrasbabyy @notafinalgirl @amelialupin-black @wroteclassicaly @peeaachyyyyy @thegirlwiththatolduglybookshelf @marvelwomen3000 @miraclesabound @thatstoomuchman

#the shift part 2 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #stranger things smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you

2K notes · View notes

katyswrites · 24 days

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 3

You don’t see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. It’s not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? He’s a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.

No, it’s not actually at the station that you see him next - though, it’s tangentially related. You’re at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection you’d seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the station’s vinyl library. It’s where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.

You don’t see him, not at first. He’s standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - he’s just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. You’re truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.

“Oh - uh, hey,” he says, quieter than you had expected.

“Hey.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:

“Your party was fun the other night -”

“Are you okay -”

You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.

“Sorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,” you say quietly.

Steve shrugs.

“Oh, yeah - glad you came. You… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.

“Oh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -”

“It’s fine, don’t worry - we’ve had worse,” Steve assures.

He hasn’t said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didn’t actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasn’t for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you weren’t crazy, you had reasoned.

But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than you’ve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.

“So, uh - thanks,” you say quickly, almost mumbling.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For, um, getting me home safe - I don’t really remember it, but -”

He waves you off. “Oh, that - don’t worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,” he says, laughing. “You were wasted.”

You groan. “That’s…embarrassing.”

He smirks. “Honestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so… your secret’s safe with me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean - I’m surprised you didn’t tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -”

Why didn’t he? It’s leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.

“You don’t actually think that little of me, do you?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

He scoffs. “Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit. But, I’m not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -”

He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome, though.”

You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.

“I was in a really bad way, wasn’t I?” you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.

He nods. “Honestly? Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. You really don’t remember?”

You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.

“What do you remember?”

You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.

“Um - I remember playing Kings with everyone… and, uh…”

I remember you coming in from the porch with what’s-her-face on your arm -

“-and it gets fuzzy after that,” you say quickly.

“Oh, okay - wow, that’s pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony… and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.”

You freeze. “Wait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -”

“No way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out… dammit.

“It was pretty gnarly, but… it’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then he’s clearing his throat again.

“So… you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?” he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.

“Um - do you actually care?”

He shrugs. “So what if I do?”

“Well - no, after last weekend I’m not sure if I ever want to drink again -”

“The most famous lie ever told,” he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.

“-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,” you say quietly.

“Hot date?”

You scoff. “I’m going to Fuze Box. Nancy’s covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured I’d check out who's playing tonight.”

WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you haven’t made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancy’s article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.

“So, you don’t know any of the bands playing tonight?” he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

You shake your head. “Nope - just figured I’d check it out, go in blind. Maybe I’ll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if they’re selling CDs or something.”

Steve grins mischievously.

“Right - well, have fun, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but he’s gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.

You’re not sure what he’s up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - it’s such a Steve move.

As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

*****

“Thank you - we’ve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!” the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.

“Lime Of Decision is… a choice,” Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s because their name is literally meant to be a joke,” you say absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Jason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so it’s like…funny. I think.”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Which band is better?”

“Definitely hers,” you say immediately.

You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?” she asks.

You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer you’re still nursing from the beginning of the last band’s set.

She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you haven’t spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasn’t worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -

You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesn’t seem to be here.

There’s two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.

Darius, the radio station’s tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.

“Alright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands we’ve heard so far tonight?”

You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.

Darius’ eyes narrow.

“Dammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -”

You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced… not likely.

Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.

“Okay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. They’re a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!

You can’t help but laugh at the band’s name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.

It’s during those few seconds while you’re looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see who’s standing front-and-center.

Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.

You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But you’re just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.

You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadn’t heard a lick of music, didn’t know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.

Nancy’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.

“God, no! I - I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,” you say, laughing nervously. You’re not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.

“Hey guys - we’re Free Beer. I’m Steve -”

A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that you’re worried you’ll go blind.

“Thanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - let’s just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?”

There’s an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.

“Alright - this one is called ‘Closer,’ I hope you enjoy.”

From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?

You want to hate it - you want the set to be something you’re tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, that’s not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - it’s like he was born to do this.

Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, he’s actually a good frontman. He’s charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.

You want to scream - of course he’s good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - it’s a big enough crowd, and you’re far enough back that he probably can’t see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.

Fuck.

*****

You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steve’s set - you’re looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steve’s band can’t be good - that would be a problem. If you didn’t know who was part of it, they’re the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. But…it's Steve.

You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?

Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, you’ll ignore him - you won’t even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, you’ll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.

You can’t exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.

You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadn’t.

Apparently, instead of the bathroom, you’ve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. It’s really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.

It’s only once you’re inside, when it’s too late, that you realize you’ve walked in on Steve.

His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. He’s wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.

“Hey, sweetheart - wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldn’t the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket ‘you guys were great’ statement. But now it’s just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?

“Oh - sorry - I’m in the wrong room,” you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.

“Okay - sure you are,” Steve says sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” you ask, stopping your retreat.

He shrugs. “Don’t know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Try to stop me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.

“Jesus, I - I don’t know if it’s like, a weird sick game to you, or you’re just always trying to piss me off - or if you just can’t help and flirt with everyone -”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

You stop, folding your arms in indignation.

“No - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what you’re up to, Harrington.”

“And what exactly am I up to?”

“This bullshit you keep pulling,” you say, gesturing between you two. “This - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when I’m drunk and don’t tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -”

He scoffs. “Trick you? Be serious -”

“You knew I’d be here tonight - you knew, and didn’t say anything -”

“Well given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known I’d be playing, I’m sure you would’ve been front row!”

You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.

He’s smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, he’s too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. He’s taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.

“I - that’s not -”

Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. You’re marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.

“I don’t like you,” you say.

“You don’t say?” he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Stop doing that -”

“Doing what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Stop distracting me -”

“I distract you?”

You want to kick yourself.

“I - well - only because you’re so -”

“Devilishly handsome?”

“-fucking annoying.”

He cocks his head, like you’ve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.

You sigh. “What?”

“It’s just - you didn’t seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.”

A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summer’s day.

“That’s not funny,” you manage to say.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way you’re close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.

“I didn’t -”

“Sweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t worry - I didn’t let you. I really thought you would’ve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didn’t remember jack shit.”

You feel like you’re making this up. He’s just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. It’s the only explanation. Because you’d never -

“You’re lying.”

But he’s just staring at you, and you’re starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isn’t a joke.

“You’re lying,” you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.

He’s taking another step towards you, shaking his head.

“You know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what they’re really thinking when they’re drunk -”

“Veritas.”

He stops, furrowing his brow.

“I - what?”

You can’t help yourself - you just can’t.

“The phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, you’re missing the whole -”

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re always such a -”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you’re kissing him. You don’t mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didn’t need to hear another word out of his mouth.

You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like you’re trying to prove a point. And he’s kissing you back.

Steve kisses the same way he argues - he’s aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.

The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steve’s labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, you’re losing. Because he’s guiding your body, and you’re responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.

No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. It’s not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, I’m trying so hard to hate you, why can’t you let me -

One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.

You know you should stop - but you can’t. It’s addicting, the way he’s still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this could’ve gone on for hours. That is, until -

The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where you’re still frozen against the wall.

“Yeah?” Steve calls, voice rougher than before.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.

Steve looks like he’s fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.

“Nope - you’re good,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again.

He doesn’t need to say it - the look he’s shooting your way is enough.

Not a word.

Robin enters, grinning.

“Hey, we were just going to - oh, hi.”

She’s spotted you, and you just know she has questions.

“Hey, Robin,” you say quietly. “I, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.”

Robin beams. “Thanks! It’s fun to see that you came out - haven’t seen you at a gig in a while!”

You nod. “Oh, yeah - I’ve been trying to get myself out there more -”

Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“- but, um - I should go.”

Robin nods.

“Yeah - I was just coming to find Steve, we’re all going to head to WT’s for a drink - uh, do you want to come?”

She’s probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.

“No, I’m good - sounds like it’s a band thing. I should get going anyway - I’ll catch the end of this set,” you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still haven’t made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like you’re bolting. You’re screwed.

author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

293 notes · View notes

jadewritesficshere · 11 months

Text

Happy Birthday

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Summary: Steve gets a video from you for his birthday.

Warnings: masturbation (male and female), f masturbation on video, pet name (baby), no use of y/n

18+ only

Steve sighed contentedly as he flopped onto the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. He surveyed the destruction across his living room and smiled. Balloons were strewn about, streamers falling off the walls, and random cups that had been forgotten. Robin had thrown a surprise party, and though part of him thought he was too old for a party being in his 20s, he couldn't help but feel elated. Cherished even.

He glanced at the pile of gifts he had received. Eddie had gotten him an album, Nancy had given him more clothes in yellow, and Robin had gotten him tickets to a hockey game. You had given him three movies: one was a favorite of his, the other a new release he had wanted to watch, and then a home movie. You had asked him to watch it alone, claiming it was too embarrassing to show everyone and that you had been emotional in it. You made him promise, and Steve tried not to break his promises.

Steve hoped you were emotional because you confessed you liked him. Steve and you had a flirty relationship, but neither of you had "officially" said anything. One drunken make out session kiss was enough to fuel his fantasies for months, a kiss that you didn't seem to remember. Steve wasn't sure if he should bring it up, afraid of rejection. He wondered if you were silent for the same reason, or if you didn't even remember.

However, you could be emotional because one of the times you had your camera, you had found a stray dog. Both you and Robin were bawling about how the dog had been abandoned, leaving him as he wrestled with the dog from hell. Steve cursed that stupid rat dog, he would even curse the breed if he knew it, as it had scratched him relentlessly. Giving the dog a bath was funny in retrospect, but at the time Steve was fuming over this dog soaking both him and Robin and causing Robin to somehow fall into the tub, yanking Steve down with it. Of course, you were recording the whole time. The only good part was hearing your laugh.

Or maybe it was the time everyone had went to the lake. A seagull, which made no sense to Steve as it was the lake and not the sea, had stolen Eddie's sandwich. Eddie had taken off chasing the bird, yelling and cursing the whole way. Steve remembered laughing so hard he was crying, and he remembered the way your face had beamed at him. The way you pushed the hair out of his eyes.

Or it could be the party where everyone had gotten drunk, except for him. Sure, he had done a few keg stands in his days, but he wanted someone to be sober to take care of you. You had been rambling about something before stopping and calling him "pretty". He had blushed and tried to deny it, somehow making you think that he didn't find himself pretty. You had started trying to convince him, getting more sad that he felt bad about himself. Which Steve didn't feel bad about himself, but he wasn't going to complain as you gave him compliment after compliment. You even wrapped your arms around him and cuddled him. You were so warm in his embrace. How he wanted to embrace you in other ways.

Steve snapped the VHS case open and stared at the tape. He was alone now and his mind was going crazy with what ifs. He probably was overthinking it. He popped the VHS in the player and grabbed the remote before sitting back on the couch. He hit the power on and-

Steve's eyes widened and he dropped the remote. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but seeing your chest in red lacy lingerie was not it. The swells of your breasts pushed up slightly. He wanted to kiss and suck at your chest. Red lace contrasting against your skin. Your chest moving up and down as you breathed. Your hand comes into view and gently grasps your breast, squeezing it. Steve wished it was his hand.

Steve inhaled deeply and his hand shook. Holy. Fuck. His jeans were unbearably tight as he watched you slowly remove the bra. Your nipples were hardened-God, how he wanted to lick and tease them. You pinched one and let out a moan. Steve wanted to make you moan like that, but just hearing you? He was harder than he ever had been in his life. You sounded sweeter then anything he could imagine. You sounded like an angel, and he was in Heaven.

Steve unbuttoned his jeans and peeled them down enough for his cock to bob up and hit his navel. He was already leaking. He spit in his hand and wrapped it around his hardened length. He focused back on you and-

Steve moaned. You had moved the camera down to the red lacy panties you were wearing. "See that Baby?" You were out of breath, barely speaking above a whisper as you traced a finger over your clothed pussy. A damp spot was noticeable in the fabric and you sighed as your finger traced over the spot," See how wet I am for you, Baby?"

Steve's eyes closed instinctively before he snapped them open. He didn't want to miss a second of this. Steve's hips bucked into his hand as he stroked up and down his dick. On screen, you removed your panties, and his mouth watered. Steve bit his lip as he got a clear view of your pussy. You were so wet; he wanted to lick every drop. He wanted to taste your arousal. He wanted to hear you scream and writhe against his tongue as you came. He wanted his face covered in your release.

Your fingers on screen played with your clit before circling your weeping hole. One of your fingers easily slid in due to how wet you were. Steve moaned at the site of you adding another finger and pumping in and out. You moaned and ground against your hand. You added another finger and Steve couldn't help but think of how small your hands were and that it wouldn't even prepare you for his dick. As you picked up your pace and started to buck your hips wildly, Steve sped up to be at the same pace as you. He imagined that it was his cock spreading you open. How wet you would be. How warm. How tight. Your mouth dropping open in pleasure, your whimpers under him (or over him he wasn't picky).

"Steve!" You let out a gasp and moaned on screen, fingers getting drenched by your release. "Oh fuck shit fuck," Steve rasped out in between whines as he came all over his hand. His chest was heaving. Brain foggy from pleasure. His hair was stuck to his forehead from sweat. Steve sighed as he grabbed a napkin off the table and cleaned his hand, rubbing at the hem of his shirt that had gotten dirty. He looked back up on the screen to see your smirk. "Call me Stevie, next time you could do this to me yourself." The screen went black as you covered it with your hand. He could faintly hear,"Oh God what did I just do fuck ok this is fine, he'll like it right?" It took Steve all of two seconds to jump up and grab his car keys to head to you. Oh he definitely liked it. Fuck calling you though. The only calling that would be happening tonight was you calling his name.

#Not me having a part two already been started #Listen yall Steve deserves a great birthday first off cause I know his parents never really cared #But secondly that man deserves to be wined dined and fucked #Anyways uh have this #Is this self indulgent? Bro you telling me you don't want Steve to get off to the thought of you 🤨#Anywho keep an eye out for part 2 i guess uh its gonna be awhile #But I got the start of it but uh I have like 6 other WIPs rn so #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x female!reader #Steve Harrington/female!reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington/reader #Steve Harrington/you #Stranger Things fic #Jade is Talking

876 notes · View notes

mommymortuary · 7 months

Text

FIGHT THIS - MASTERLIST

"The reader and Steve have come to an agreement in which the reader will be Steve's study buddy/tutor in their senior year of high school, to help him attempt to boost his grades and get his shit together.

We open in mid-October of the year 1984. Steve and Nancy are still together, and the reader is just seeing him as an acquaintance that she is trying to help get through a rough time at school. Though, as the weeks go by, their situation seems to change. Steve and Nancy break up. Steve is being more secretive about what he does when he isn't with the reader. But they grow close nonetheless, and they even begin to consider each other friends..."

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3 - drafting

36 notes · View notes

chaseadrian · 2 years

Note

"I'm not a delicate little flower, kiss me like you mean it." with Steve pretty pretty please!

hi jo lol sorry this took foreverrrr and it’s longer than i expected so uh enjoy

the silent hours

pairing: steve harrington/afab!reader word count: 1.8k words tags: friends to lovers, angst, happy ending, soft!steve, unprotected sex, not proofread, genuinely wrote this lightning fast so sorry for errors

Nobody talks about the transitional phase between friends and something more. It’s not always a smooth slide from open, unabashed conversations and skirting around tension to feverish kisses and the comfort of home. Sometimes it’s a slow ride down a dirt road in a car with old shocks.

Steve certainly felt it, and you were getting sick of him dancing around you. You were trying your hardest to be patient; you’d never seen Steve worry so much about holding someone’s hand. When you were friends, you could swing your legs over his lap on the couch without thinking too much about the ramifications of that act. But now, somewhere between friend and partner, every little touch was getting you closer to that conversation. The dreaded “what are we?” and “where is this going?” that you wanted to avoid because what else could you be besides best friends? Becoming something else didn’t preclude you from also being best friends.

The first kiss wouldn’t be some signature on the death warrant of your relationship. You knew it, but Steve…he wasn’t so sure.

Walking back to your car late one night, Steve’s hand loosely in yours, you were determined to get that kiss. Determined to show him that it would be so much better than this skittish vibe that’d been hanging around. And if he was scared of what would happen post-breakup, well, you had Nancy and Robin up your sleeve. Arguably two of his best friends, still hanging around after he crashed and burned romantically.

You spun around on your heels as you approached the driver’s door, pulling Steve in by the loose grip you had on his sleeve.

“Woah, hey, hi.” He said, feet planted on either side of you, a little too close for comfort.

“Hi.”

“You gonna get in so we can get out of these uncomfortable clothes?”

You cocked your head at him, and he rolled his eyes in return.

“I—you know what I mean. Can we go?”

Whiny and derisive as ever.

“Depends. Was this a date?”

He started floundering syllables, and you cut him off.

“I think it was. I think we’ve had lots of dates and they’ve all ended without a kiss. Kinda feel like I’m being led on here, Steve.” You played with the cuff of his button-up, free hand flicking your keys in a circle at your waist.

He froze for a second before putting on airs, “Okay. You want a kiss?” He leaned forward and just pressed his lips against yours, “There.”

You pushed him away from you and unlocked the car, sliding in without a word.

Steve rounded the front and tried his side. Locked.

“C’mon, seriously?”

You pressed the button on your door, and he hopped in before you could change your mind.

“Thank you, hey, look—”

Turning the dial for the radio, you raised the volume until his voice was inaudible.

“Hey! Hellooo!” He yelled, trying to reach for the radio and getting a swat from you each time. “Ow!”

You pulled out into the road, driving home with your eyes fixed straight and the music pounding in your ears. You didn’t want to hear another word from his mouth, another excuse or apology. When you pulled up to Steve’s house, you unlocked the doors without a word.

He reached once more for the radio and you let him.

“Really? The silent treatment? I kissed you, what’s the issue!” God, he could be so stupid.

“Because it wasn’t a kiss, Steve! It was placating! It was ‘here, now shut up about it!’ I’m not a delicate little flower, Steve! Kiss me like you mean it!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it? You were the one who came to me, nervous out of your fucking skull because you thought you were gonna ruin our friendship. But I feel the same way so what is the hang up here?” You fiddled with the flaking leather on the center console.

“I don’t want to fail again! It’s exhausting, and then you hate me and I hate you and it’s all fucked up.”

“You fucked up with Nancy, didn’t you? And she still hangs around. And Robin? She didn’t even reciprocate! If anything’s unfair, it’s you treating me any different.”

He fixed his eyes on your hand, peeling dry leather off bit by bit.

“It’s pure luck that they kept me around. I mean, I got…a long long list of girls that didn’t. Which is fine, I wasn’t even friends with them to begin with but I just don’t think I’d get lucky a third time.” He closed his hand over yours, stilling for several moments before he closed his eyes and spoke, “I’m scared.”

You felt yourself immediately soften, a thin wave of guilt pouring over you for pushing him too much, for punishing him.

“Steve…” You whispered, turning in your seat to face him, “Can I ask you something?”

He opened his eyes, and they were still fixed on that center console, “Sure.”

“Do you love me?”

A small nod.

“Good.”

He looked up at you, expression wiped of the usual affect he’d have. The moment was bare, and you knew he was laid out before you, close to breaking. All he’d ever wanted was a family, and you were lucky enough to be welcomed in by him and Robin and the gang of kids that always seemed to pop up out of nowhere. You’d be stupid to ever give that up, to ever give Steve up. And still, somewhere in that hairspray soaked brain of his, he worried that you would.

“I love you. Okay? I love you. I could never hate you, and I could never leave you. Do you understand me?”

He answered yes with the kiss you’d been waiting months for. Relief splashed on his face as he dove in, a hand on your cheek, thumb under your chin holding you against his mouth. You were quick on the uptake, arms wrapping around his torso, one tight around the back of his neck.

You were flat against the driver’s seat, Steve’s body enveloping you, leaned fully over to your side. It was everything you’d wanted, this kiss, this moment. His lip trembled against yours, his hand just slightly unsure as it held your jaw, moving from jaw to hairline to shoulder. He couldn’t hold enough of you.

Lips sliding against each other as you sighed, losing breath faster than you found it, heat burning your cheeks and the friction of his tongue on yours. It wasn’t desperate or bursting with ecstasy, but it was deep; it was the physical casting aside of all the fear he felt, all the frustrated anticipation you went through. You could’ve stayed there in that car until the morning, but Steve pulled away and invited you in.

You didn’t rush across the street. With an empty house and hours until the responsibilities of daybreak would hit you, Steve wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you through the dark. He tossed you an old pair of pajama pants and a big t-shirt from the camp where Steve had his first kiss. You imagined Steve as a ten year old in a shirt that was even now two sizes too big for you.

Silently you both slid into his bed, facing each other with faint smiles and your arms over the other’s waist. Steve was bare-chested, dark sweats pulled up to his hipbone, the peek of a scar climbing out from the waistband. It was silent save for the revolving whoosh of the ceiling fan.

The hours passed and you laid there still, closing in on each other until it was your head in Steve’s chest, arms curled up between you, his hold tight on you. You didn’t sleep, didn’t even close your eyes. You kept your eyes open wide, staring into darkness, listening to Steve’s slow breathing. He took to petting your hair, running a thumb over your elbow, kissing the top of your head. These affections were few and far between, but still they broke up the hours you spent in silence.

You weren’t one to have a silent mind, but right now it was quiet. Save for the anxious question of when he’d kiss you next, whether you’d go for it instead, you were pleasantly surprised by the gentle satisfaction of being in his arms.

It wasn’t until the room was lit in a cold blue light that he pulled back to look at you, his hair mussed up on the pillow.

You closed your eyes as he leaned in. It was care this time, not placation, that kept the kiss faint. You slid a hand underneath his neck, doing your best to hold him as he held you, an uncomfortable pretzel of limbs squeezing and stretching as you made your way into his lap. Slow kisses building pressure between you, Steve’s hands around your shoulder blades, underneath the weathered shirt.

Between articles of clothing shucked onto the floor you kissed, with your hand at his pelvis, his quiet moans in your mouth, you kissed. His fingers on your nerves, lips at your throat, a suffocating heat with his comforter covering your bodies. The only thing that broke your lips away was when he slid into you, the full pressure of his erection inside you with one prolonged, excruciating thrust.

He was gentler than you’d expected, his hands tracing each spattering of goosebumps that his lips left, slow thrusts filling you up, his mouth swallowing your moans. He screwed his eyes shut when you started circling your hips, taking control, pulling away to sit perpendicular to him, your hands on his pecs as you ground against him. Your head fell back as you rode him, the thick wallow of his erection inside you marrying the sharp nick of your clit every time you shifted your hips.

Falling down onto his chest, you kissed him as you came, body trembling over his. He thrust into you, and the dizzying blur in your head had you barely able to register that he, too, was in the crest of his orgasm.

You kissed him through it, whispered declarations of love broken by moans.

Steve reached down blindly for the t-shirt, swiping it between your legs before you slid off him. He threw it into the laundry basket and pulled you again into his arms, your head atop his chest.

You settled once more into silence, several minutes of the sun’s slow rise in the sky before you spoke, “What time do you work?”

“Eleven.” He paused, waiting for your inevitable sigh, “Tomorrow.”

Lifting your head up, you squinted your eyes at him before settling back down, “I’m going to sleep then.”

Steve laughed, giving a quick kiss to the top of your head.

Within minutes, you both slipped into sleep.

#steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #my writing #mine

660 notes · View notes