thewrldx

[thewrldx]

Take What You Want | Rafe Cameron

A/N: this did start out as a request but i got a little too carried away and ended up going somewhere completely different with it... so here it is! i hope you all enjoy!! don't forget to read the warnings.

SYNOPSIS: Rafe finally gives into his desires, only for it to lead the two of you into a bit of trouble.

WARNINGS: mean rafe, swearing, teasing, smut, public nudity (kinda lol), oral (m receiving), explicit content, praise kink, dirty talk, mentions loss of virginity, 18+. let me know if i missed any!!

MINORS DNI!!!

PAIRING: Rafe x Fem!Reader

“What’s your problem with her anyways? Everyone else likes her,” Topper rolls his eyes at Rafe’s testy nature anytime your name gets brought into conversation. He can be ill-tempered and downright crabby as it is, but he takes it to a whole new level whenever he hears your name – the thought of your aggravating cheerfulness and upbeat nature practically grates on him. 

“I don’t know how you guys can stand all that squealing, anyone can hear her from a mile away.” He shakes his head, leaning back in his seat with a sigh of exhaustion. Knowing that he’ll have to sit through an evening trying not to groan at your beaming smile, both from annoyance and jealousy, as well as sexual frustration. You’re beyond adorable, something that he also can’t stand about you. Along with that toothy, bright smile, it's a task just to get through the night without a noticeable hard on. Its a wonder that you haven’t spotted him readjusting himself as you speak to him, excitement laced in your tone as you tell him about one of your many hobbies – hobbies, you have actual hobbies, unlike him. God, you’re something else entirely. 

“She’s a nice girl, Rafe.” He throws his hands in the air, mirroring Rafe as he leans back in his seat. 

“I know, she’s too fucking nice.” Rafe shakes his head, groaning at the thought of the niceness that he refers to. You’re practically his polar opposite and the thought unnerves him – why is he so attracted to that? Why is he so drawn to something so completely contradictory to himself?

“You’re weird, man.” Topper laughs with bemusement at his friend, shaking his head at how completely bizarre he is. 

“She’s insufferable, Top, and now I’m going to have to sit through a whole evening of her fucking giggling when this was supposed to be a night with just the guys, relaxing with a few beers.” He grabs the beer in front of him for emphasis, cold condensation leaking down his arm, cooling him. 

“Okay, first of all, Kelce is bringing a lady, which means all her friends will be here too. Along with Kody and Ash’s flavor of the month, so shut up. I’m not fucking stupid either, man - you can’t stand to be around her cause you think she’s hot, but too happy and innocent for the big bad Rafe Cameron… am I right?” Partially, Rafe admitted to himself. 

“No, she’s just fucking obnoxious, and you know she’d probably cry with those big fucking wide, creepy eyes if she heard me say that, I’m not into that.” Topper laughs, shaking his head. 

“I know you better than that, man. You’re secretly into those “big, wide, creepy eyes”.” He teases, gesturing to his own eyes as he spots you making your way through the crowd with a pleasant but shy smile on your face, following a group of girls. 

“Fuck me,” he groans under his breath, already hardening as he spots you in one of those fucking sundresses you’re always in. This - this is why he can’t stand to be around you, he’s painfully hard already.  

Rafe stands, turning his pelvis toward the booth to avoid anyone seeing his not so little dilemma that you caused just by walking into the damn place as he lets everyone slide past him into the booth. His night is already going to shit, as you’re the last one to enter the booth, offering him a smile as you slide past him. He takes a seat next to you, giving Topper a death glare until he hears your sweet voice in his ear. 

“How are you, Rafe? It’s been a little bit,” you place your elbows on the table and turn, those sweet eyes staring back at him. Fuck. 

“Been better,” he pops a fry into his mouth, refusing to stare at you too long because then he’ll start thinking about you on your knees, saying his name all soft and breathy before your eyes widen as you take him into your mou- fuck. He shifts in his seat, trying his best to conceal the aching between his legs and the lack of blood flow toward his brain as he shoots another glare toward Topper, who returns it in spite of Rafe’s rudeness toward you. 

“I think that’s what you said last time I saw you, too.” You giggle, the upturn of your lips the most beautiful thing Rafe has seen as he steals a glance. 

“How’s Sarah and Wheezie?” That’s another thing that Rafe hates about you – your fucking ability to know everybody and everybody know and love you because you’re so fucking sweet and affectionate to the point of his family secretly hoping that he’ll give into his apparent interest in you, that he so desperately tries to deny. Even his dad likes you and the idea of Rafe liking you even more. You’re so nice, so sweet that you even ask about his family like you’ve known them as long as he has. 

“I’m sure they’re doing just fine,” he grumbles back, trying not to notice the way that your dress dips lower when you hold your wrist and push your arms together when you get nervous. 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Here you are, still smiling back at him with encouragement, even when he acts like a fucking dick, responding with the bare minimum. 

“Is Sarah still with John B?” You stare back hopefully and his chest nearly caves at the sight. You’re probably well aware that Sarah is at John B’s side all hours of the day, that they’re very much still together too, you’re just being nice, trying to make small talk – and it makes him reel with discomfort.

“Unfortunately,” Rafe bites back and your smile only falters momentarily before you’re right back at it. How do you do it?

“You don’t like John B? He seems like a nice guy,” you shrug, probably very unaware of Rafe’s innate urge to dislike almost everyone and everything around him and especially pogues. Or maybe you do, but you still look for the best in everyone, in him – just another reason he’s rock hard and trying to convince himself he can’t stand you. “I’m sure if your sister likes him, he’s a nice guy.” You add, almost reassuring him that there’s nothing to worry about. 

“If my sister likes him, that means he’s definitely not a nice guy.” You laugh as if he told the funniest joke, shaking your head at him, clearly not taking him seriously when he is in fact dead serious. 

“What’s so bad about him then?” You give him a closed lip smile just as the waiter comes around with another round of fries, staring at you a little too long for Rafe’s liking. You pop a fry into your mouth and even the way you eat is cute, everything you do is cute. 

“Well, first of all… he’s a pogue.” Rafe says, like that should be reason enough, because for him it is. But aside from that, he likes to believe that he has many sound reasons for disliking John Booker Routledge. 

“Oh, as if that matters.” You playfully roll your eyes, but Rafe likes the idea of you arguing with him… parting from your innocent little ploy for just a moment to disagree with him, even if it is semi-teasing. 

“Oh, so you’re into pogues?” There’s a tightness in Rafe’s tone that doesn’t go unheard by Topper or a few of the other nosy peers that sit around the two opposites. 

“I guess I could be,” you say with a light shrug and a smile, just to prove that they’re as good as anybody else at the table, because that’s the kind of person that you are – empathetic and always feeling guilty when you haven’t even said anything that would hurt anyone’s feelings, because you would never – but just the thought of condoning it seems to get under your skin. “I mean, why couldn’t I be?” You shake your head with the slightest of scowls, but just like that, your lighthearted aura returns, infecting Rafe even when he tries his hardest to deny it. Truthfully, the only person you’re into is Rafe, but you would neve reveal that in a million years. You’ll take that long-standing crush to the grave, simply because you’ve convinced yourself that he could never be into you – inexperienced, fragile, bubbly, all of the things that he claims to hate.

Rafe leans in, ready to get under your skin even more than he already has, just for fun. Because now that he knows how, he can’t seem to help himself. 

“You’d fuck a pogue then, huh?” You bite your lip, eyes widening at his words. You don’t have the gall to turn and stare at him with those wide eyes either and instead stare forward at the basket of fries in front of you. He likes to see you squirm, far more than he thought he would too. 

The waiter returns, ready to take your order before you’re able to recompose yourself. You stammer back at him, glancing down at the menu once more with flushed cheeks and mouth hanging slightly agape in embarrassment. Rafe loves the tinge of your cheeks and how flustered you appear. He can tell he’s not the only one appreciating the sight though, as he looks back at the waiter to find him just as enthralled by the sight, noting the same dip in your dress that Rafe had. 

“Just get her the fish tacos,” he grabs the menu out from under you, bringing your attention back to him as he hands it over to the waiter with a little extra force – his way of staking his claim. You can’t help but note that it’s the same thing you’ve gotten every single time you’ve come with them, it’s your favorite, and it can’t just be a coincidence that he happened to order it for you. Maybe he was just extremely detail-oriented. 

Topper shakes his head yet again from the opposite side of the table, eyeing Rafe who isn’t too pleased to have anyone taking note of how truly obsessed he is, trying his best to pretend that he can’t stand to be seated next to you – when in actuality, he’s fighting off the urge to breathe in your scent enough to never be able to forget it again. You ignore the looks from the other girls at the table, especially the ones of jealousy that make you want to curl into yourself. 

Rafe’s arm is placed over the back of your space in the booth, not touching you, but enough for you to feel the warmth of his body closer… practically able to imagine just how firm his chest would feel pressed against you and how nicely his arms would feel wrapped around you. Everyone else seems to notice too, eyes snapping to where Rafe’s hand lay lazily off the back of the booth by your hair, almost grazing it. 

“Y/n, Rafe’s taking everyone else out on the boat tomorrow, why don’t you join us?” Topper takes things into his own hands, seeing how badly his friend wants this, but too stubborn to actually let himself give in. 

“I am?” Rafe says at the same time that you answer, “I’d love to”. You try not to be embarrassed at the different responses that the two of you give, being so ready and willing to spend more time with him. You glance at Rafe, who’s already looking at you. You shrug back with a small smile, trying not to embarrass yourself any further. 

“I love a good boat ride,” you bite your lip, embarrassed by the words as soon as they leave your lips. You love a good boat ride? What was that?

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” His words don’t help, only adding to the humiliation. “Bet one of the pogues would be willing to give you a good ride too, if you ask nicely.” He says under his breath, for only you to hear. 

“And if I ask nicely enough, would you?” You’re unaware that the words have even actually left you in a low whisper until Rafe’s eyes snap to yours and you only stare back horrified. He seems to have a similar reaction, riddled with shock, and you’re unsure whether he’s confused, disgusted, or slightly amused. You’re sure that you’re reading him wrong as you even see a tinge of delight pass over his features. There’s too much going on to even try to guess. 

“Oh, baby… you don’t want that.” He shakes his head in amusement and the sound of him calling you baby has your back straightening and a shiver crawling down your spine. What shocks you, is the silent implication that he’s… willing? That it’s you who wouldn’t want it, or maybe be able to handle it, you’re unsure. 

“What do you mean by that? You think I can’t handle it?” That hidden bite of sass returns to your voice as you whisper back at him, trying to avoid having your secrecy noticed by everyone at the table because that would surely make for some awkward glances. You stay seated forward, but Rafe has somehow leaned even further toward you, to the point that his lips are almost brushing your ear and his bicep brushes against the back of your head. It takes immense restraint that you’re not sure you contain not to lean right back into him and soak in the feeling of his body pressed to yours, even if it is in a restaurant, surrounded by other people. 

“I know you can’t,” he’s finding it hard to keep his breathing even and his tone not overly husky and desperate. He doesn’t want you to see how much the prospect of you thinking about “taking a ride” with him really affects him. 

“How do you know what I can and can’t handle?” You sound offended, but just as desperate for the conversation to continue as he is. He spots Topper eyeing him but it isn’t enough to have him pulling back from you this time, this conversation is far too interesting. 

“I know your type,” he rebuttals, his other hand innocently playing with the bottom of your linen sundress, toying with the fabric as if he wants you to picture his hands as he feels the fabric off your body. 

“And what’s my type?” He’s practically breathing down your neck, towering over you while everyone else at the table tries to ignore the way that he hovers over you, looking down at you like he burns for you – yearning. And there you sit, assuming he’s teasing just to push your buttons, doubt you as a woman, and keep up with his hard exterior. You can’t see the way that stares at you like you’re an itch he desperately needs to scratch like everyone else can. Tonight has certainly taken an interesting turn of events and Rafe’s faltering front makes for great entertainment. 

“All sunshine and rainbows… pure and… what’s the word - virginal? Self-denying? Chaste? Take your pick, princess.” He repeats the words like he’s memorized every single way to accuse you of being a prude without actually saying it. You want to growl back, but it's very unlike you. Instead, you settle for biting your lip and glaring down at the table. You haven’t allowed yourself to get this worked up, this angry… in a long, long while, probably since you were a kid with minimal emotional regulation. Now, it's almost embarrassing how easily you allow him to irk you. 

“Been waiting to pull that one out?” You bite the words out, somewhere between aroused, angry, and fighting tears of embarrassment. 

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been waiting to tell you exactly what I see when I look at you… an innocent, prudish little thing.” You whip your eyes to his, done staring at the table. Topper is unsure whether or not to intervene, unsure of exactly what Rafe had said, but knowing that if it got to you, it must have been bad. 

“I’m no prude… I have desires that I’m not afraid to own up to, or deny myself of.” Rafe lifts a brow in amusement, quite curious to know exactly what desires riddle that little body of yours and exactly how you allow yourself to give into them – he can’t imagine what that must look like, you writhing, sheened with sweat, and squirming for someone’s touch alone in bed at night, only able to sate your needs with your own fingers and surely, being ashamed of it afterward. But you make it seem like that isn’t the case, as if you truly are a naughty little thing when no one’s around, unashamed and unabashed, proudly writhing in the sheets with wanton moans filling your bedroom, chest raised with an arched back, and nipples at a peak as you tweak them without a second thought – proud and brazen as you reach your high. He doesn’t even notice that he’s staring back at you with hazy eyes, completely giving himself away… not only to you, but the whole table as they watch the interaction in shock, maybe just as embarrassed as he is to be watching, enthralled and waiting to see what happens next. 

“I don’t think I can trust your word for it, princess. That’s simply… inconceivable, that an innocent little thing like you is secretly a freak,” he whispers the words in your ear so no one else can hear them, knowing you’d be far too embarrassed if any of this conversation was ever repeated. Your friends had never seen you flirting so boldly, letting a guy hover over you, clearly wanting you.  

“But it surely is a nice thought,” he adds, smirking. He has to admit, you’ve swept his bad mood right under the table and all that remains is a desperation that Rafe can no longer deny. All he wants now is to tease you, see you squirm even more. 

You cough, taking note of your surroundings and how close Rafe now remains, and how silent the table is at the sexual tension that sits heavy in the air around the two of you. 

You go to resituate yourself, in hopes of facing forward instead of leaning into him like you have no self control. In a daze of horny thoughts and embarrassment, you don’t realize where your hand lands as you make a move to situate yourself head on. Rafe stiffens as your hand makes contact with his aching, throbbing member, so hard that he can barely contain it. You make a small noise of surprise, eyes widening, which only has everyone at the table straightening in discomfort and shock. The whole table sits in silence, your hand still placed on Rafe out of embarrassment and surprise. He fights back a groan and the urge to buck his hips just to relieve himself even a little bit. 

Your hand slowly retracts with a nervous gulp, Kelce sitting only two places away and eyeing where your hand withdraws from with an almost sympathetic look toward Rafe, if it weren’t for how lucky he was sure his friend was going to be in a few hours. He was almost excited for Rafe, nearly choking on the tension in the air as the two of you had been clearly pining after each other for far too long, now amounting to this. 

“We’ll see you all tomorrow,” Rafe bites out, despite his friends and everyone at the table knowing exactly what is about to happen as he pulls you by your wrist away from the table, before your food can even arrive. 

A chorus of ‘see ya’s’ follows and then the table erupts in laughter, but neither of you care enough to grow embarrassed. Rafe can barely walk without waddling with his stiff member he so desperately tries to conceal, pulling you in front of him and placing you right against him. He fights back another groan, pushing himself into you and picturing exactly how jarred he’s sure your expression is right now. 

You’re out of the door before you can even protest, although you’re far past that. He takes you to his truck and you let him, eyeing the apparent conundrum that stands tall and proud in his shorts, poking you as he opens the door and buckles you in. 

“What are we doing?” You speak up, almost hesitantly as he begins to drive. His eyes flick from your to the road as he leans back in his chair, unable to do anything but with how painfully hard he is. He winces with each movement, hips squirming as he tries to ease the ache. You turn toward him, unable to keep your eyes off of it. 

“What are we doing? You want to know what we’re doing? Look at me, baby… look what you did to me,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m fucking aching – you just sat there and teased me for nearly thirty minutes, convincing me of just how naughty and what was the word - desiring, you are, contrary to my beliefs, and now you’re going to show me exactly how fucking filthy you can really be.” He demands, and you swear you’ve never heard anything so hot in your whole life. If you weren’t already soaking your panties, you are now, and there’s no denying it as you rub your thighs together to relieve the tingling sensation that overwhelms you. 

“Don’t get fucking shy on me now,” he practically demands, a hint of a whine present. 

You turn, bottom lip taken between your teeth, swollen from all of the attention it's received out of your pressing nervousness throughout Rafe’s teasing. You don’t let yourself think, forcing the thoughts of doubt away as you reach for your seatbelt, unbuckling yourself and brazenly taking him in your hand, palming him. A choked, desperate groan leaves his lips, parting deliciously to let the sound escape as his throat bobs and chest rises and falls. Your fingers do quick work unbuttoning, unzipping, and releasing him from the confines of his shorts. The release alone is enough to have his hips bucking once more and another throaty groan of approval leaving his lips. 

“Fuck, you’re so big… I don’t know if it’ll fit, Rafe.” You add, just to get him worked up, teasing and uncharacteristically cruel as you slowly begin working a hand up and down his length, focusing on the head. 

“I need - fuck, need your mouth.” The sound of him desperate for you is a confidence booster and a high that you’ve never experienced before. So unlike you and Rafe’s usual nature that it almost has you laughing. Rafe… begging for your mouth, while you tease him, it’s almost unbelievable. 

You hum, taking your time ignoring his request and continuing to tease him until he has to ask again, even more desperate. He got himself in this situation – hard and aching for a release before you had even touched him. It’s so unlike him, but he doesn’t have the energy to be ashamed. 

“Don’t tease… be nice, princess.” He almost growls out, but still aware that he’s the one having to beg and plead for you right now. You bring your lips to him, circling the head lightly, but it isn’t enough, and when his hips buck up, you pull back. It’s a sweet remedy for his relentless teasing and humiliation earlier – virginal, self-denying, chaste... 

“Keep in mind I won’t be so kind when it comes time for you to do the begging, baby. And trust me, I bet you beg so pretty, been thinking about it so long, I’m tempted to do it all night… that is, if you don’t wrap those pretty lips around me and -” you cut him off, taking him into your throat as he shouts, pulling your hair at the overwhelming pleasure that has him jumping in his seat, trying his best not to press on the gas with too much force. 

“Just like that,” he pants, breathless, and the sound is so delicious and erotic that you find yourself moaning around his length as you work the rest of him with your hand. 

“Fuck! Take me deep baby, just like that.” He encourages, sloppily guiding your head with a makeshift ponytail. 

Rafe’s thumb brushes over your lips stretched around his length, “God, I’ve thought about these lips around me for so long… look at me so I can see how pretty you look drooling all over my cock.” You do exactly as he says, looking up at him, lashes batting for him.

Your hands itch to relieve your own aching need nestled between your thighs, desperate for a release as you feel yourself clench and tighten around nothing. You don’t bother denying yourself the pleasure, telling yourself you’ve done it practically all night and you deserve the liberation. 

Rafe flips your dress up over your ass, practically reading your mind as you begin to toy with your clit under your soaked panties. He lands a harsh slap to your ass that has something between a moan and a shriek leaving your lips, wrapped around his length. The vibrations have him pulling you off of him, afraid of coating your throat with his seed when he’d rather cum deep inside of you. 

He pants, slowly pumping himself as he throws his head back, trying his best to concentrate on the road ahead of him. “Show me how you touch yourself, baby… show me all the ways you don’t deny yourself, like you said. I don’t fucking believe you, so prove it to me.” 

The combination of his words and your fingers coated with slick circling your clit being almost too much for you to handle. Whimpering whines leave your lips and you bite your lip to try to cease the desperate noises, but Rafe doesn’t seem to appreciate it. He reaches forward, releasing your lip with his thumb and gripping your chin, tilting it up as he glances over between keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him. “I need to see you touch yourself, y/n… I can’t get the images out of my mind, baby. Let me see,” Rafe was truly impressed and shocked as you confidently tweaked your nipple and began grinding your soaked cunt against your fingers, clearly aching for a release. 

“That’s right, make yourself cum for me.” Rafe thought back to how the night started… trying to convince Top that he wanted nothing to do with you. He wished he could take the words back out of guilt now as he watched you, the prettiest, most erotic little thing getting yourself off to his words as he praised you, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm by the second. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” Rafe grumbled, reaching a breaking point as he pulled off to the nearest side road and slammed the truck into park, a screeching sound following that he would probably cringe at were it not for the way you were whimpering for him. Your back arches and before he can even get his hands on you, you’re cumming with a breathless moan, squeezing your eyes closed and cumming with a sobbing sound that has him breathless and leaking pre-cum. He’s never heard a sound like it – he’s had plenty of girls in this exact position, quite shamelessly, but never had he heard a sound like that one. Perfectly desperate and fragmented, broken and trembling just for him. 

“You’re gonna drive me mad, I already know it.” You weren’t sure exactly what it meant and didn’t have much time to think about it as Rafe pulled you into his lip, positioned himself at your entrance and prepared to push into you until he realized exactly who sat on his lap with her cute little sundress bunched up to her hips. 

"Take what you want," you're panting, chest rising and falling, leaning forward and taking Rafe's lip between your teeth, an erotic groan leaving you as you suck on the flesh.

“Fuck- wait, baby. Are you a virgin?” He spoke desperately, as if the answer would determine whether or not he would give it to you. 

Before you could answer though, a loud knock on the window interrupted the two of you and you let out a scream. To your horror, Sheriff Victor Shouppe stares back, unimpressed. 

You let your bunched sundress fall as soon as Rafe questioned your virginity, concealing both you and Rafe’s most intimate parts, which he’s thankful for now that the Sheriff is knocking on his window. He rolls down the window, already expecting the public indecency charge that his dad is going to have to sweep under the rug for the both of you once he realizes what the two of you were doing. 

“Oh god,” you murmur and Rafe feels much the same right now. 

“Do I need to ask what the hell you’re doing in this car right now, y/n?” Rafe’s brows furrow at the overly familiar way that he speaks to you. 

“Uncle Shouppe, I-” As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse, Shouppe is your fucking uncle. How did he not know that? 

“Do you know what would have happened if anyone else had found the two of you here?” He shakes his head. “With Rafe Cameron of all people?” Rafe tries not to be too offended, recalling his family's history with the sheriff. 

“He’s my friend,” you speak quietly, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. Rafe scolds himself for wanting to pull you into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, because he shouldn’t want that. He should have never put you in this situation either. 

Rafe prays that the skirt of your dress continues to conceal the both of you and that Shouppe doesn’t shine that bright fucking light onto the passenger floor where your panties lay. 

“I think he’s more than your friend, y/n.” You look so pitiful, big eyes staring back at your uncle full of tears. Much like Rafe, he can barely stand to see his niece cry. 

“I know you’re an adult, you can make your own decisions now, but if I catch you making out like some horny teenager with Rafe Cameron on the side of the road again, I’m takin’ it to your dad.” the two of you practically breathe out sighs of relief together… making out. If only he knew his niece was soaking his cock with her previous orgasm. 

“Got it, Uncle Shouppe, won’t happen again… I promise.” You look back at him meaningfully, showing him that you’re sorry and trying not to think about how your bare sex is touching Rafe’s. 

"You bet your ass it's not gonna happen again, gather yourself and get in the car, I'm taking you home." You cringe, waiting to hear his retreating footsteps before embarrassingly retreating to the passenger seat with a cringe.

Rafe tucks himself back into his shorts, still rock hard despite the verbal lashing to two of you just received -- he's still thinking about the moment he finally gets to be nestled into your warmth. You pull your panties on, making sure that your uncle can't see what you're doing.

Before you can retreat to the patrol car parked behind the two of you, praying to never see Rafe again, he stops you with a hand around your throat. "I expect to see you tomorrow and next time, I don't want you wearing these." He snaps your waistband and if it weren't for the sound of an impatient honk making you jump, you would've kissed him until you were breathless.

"Good luck," he smirked, softly pinching your lips and laying a quick peck to them just as you hopped out of the truck, trying your best to keep your sundress from flipping up. He smirked, shaking his head as he watched you slink back in humiliation... so worth it.

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[thewrldx]

need to write again

[thewrldx]

Ok but like I could see JJ absolutely humiliating the reader while fucking her

are you in my head bc i've been thinking the same thing: i know jj is a softie but what if 🫣 we take a drive down the heartbreaker road ??

mean!JJ: He's the kook's number one enemy, the local troublemaker, and always up to something with his pogue friends. You know all about his mischief-streak, and truthfully, you're scared of him since he pulled that gun on Topper. He's the kind of guy your friends warn you about, but you don't have any friends apart from Rafe, Topper and Kelce. They're the same group you've clung to since childhood, and now you proudly wear the kook princess crown.

You're so happy in your carefree bubble, following them around like a little pet. Everyone knows you're strictly off limits because the kook prince has a thing for you. No one would dare to test him or even think about you in a certain way... well, everyone but JJ.

"Oh, look at that, your boyfriend is calling you." He snorts, glaring at Rafe's contact photo glowing on the screen, "he's gonna have to wait."

You pull off with a lewd pop, saliva coating your lips and smeared down your chin, "he's not—he's not my boyfriend."

"That's not what everyone else thinks, and that's not what he's going around and saying either."

That catches you off guard, and your heart swells with hope as if you weren't on your knees blowing his enemy, "Rafe likes me?"

Oh, you were dumber than he thought.

"He's not gonna want you after this." JJ slips his ringed-fingers into your open mouth, prying your lips apart and spitting. The heavy dollop lands on your tongue and slides to the back of your throat. "You think he'll kiss you after sucking my cock? You think he'll even look at you knowing you fucked a dirty pogue?"

He sees the glee on your face transform to regret, your features melting into a sorrowful mess. If the music weren't so loud downstairs, he would surely hear your heart breaking.

With one hand, he jerks his length inches away from your face. His fist slides up the slick skin and he steps closer, effectively trapping you against the bathroom door.

"What's with the waterworks, baby?" He'd be lying if he said your tears didn't make him rock hard. It was your fault for being so pretty when you cry, how could he resist you when you look that good?

"I-I've liked Rafe for so long... I didn't know he liked me back." And now look at you. JJ was right, Rafe wouldn't speak to you ever again if he found out.

"What do you know, hm?" The blond chuckles, meanly slapping your cheeks with the tip of his cock. The messy trails of pre cum are only a mockery of your tears.

"JJ, wait—" You try to turn away, but his foot slides between your thighs, the worn leather of his boot pressing up against your wet panties.

"Do you think they keep you around for your brains? Oh, sweetheart, I hate to break it to you but you've got none."

There it is again, the delicate pout on your lips and that expression of pure despair. He wishes he could take a picture, and forever memorialize your misery. Maybe even send it to Rafe for his own sick entertainment.

JJ shifts his foot, grinding along your clothed core and rubbing your swollen clit. The cry you let out is not only from sadness but also pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a moan and he takes the opportunity to slip back in, the bulbous head hits the back of your throat and slides deep. Your eyes shoot open and you quickly brace your hands on his hips, but it's no use. He pushes forward until his full sack hits your chin and groans loudly when your throat tightens.

"Atta girl, who knew the kook princess was a cockslut?" His tone drops and his hips build a pace, it's slow but thorough.

He's so thick, your lips burn at the corners as you struggle to take him from tip to base, again and again. Sloppy noises fill the bathroom, your choked moans silenced by the fat head of his cock hitting the back of your mouth with every thrust.

"You wanna know—fuck, something else, baby?" JJ grunts through clenched teeth with his palms on either side of your head, his thumbs digging into the tear-and-spit-covered flesh of your cheeks, "he likes you, but that ain't gonna stop him from fucking someone else tonight. So you should stop the weeping and do the same."

[thewrldx]

nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington. 

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington. 

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained. 

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity. 

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask. 

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

Keep reading

[thewrldx]

Back to December

part 1 / part 2

synopsis Steve wishes he realised what he had when you were his.

notes fem!reader + ex-lovers, lots of pining and not knowing what to say, Steve’s constantly floundering, reader with poorly hidden insecurities about his relationship with Nancy, tw for ANGST and heavy drinking.

word count 8.2K

It’s an ache like stale honey, dense and crystalline and difficult to swallow.

The dirt path below your sneakers is the same blur of soil and wet footprints, greens that darken over moss and vegetation. Familiar sludge creeps up the worn heel and toe.

The asphalt parallel is the same, cheap consistency of rubber, the sky above you the same, serene-looking blue. You take in a breath as you tilt your chin heavenward, and the air is the same, fresh-water petrichor you remember. Even the chill in the breeze feels softer, less Autumn and more Hawkins in its nature.

Everything is exactly as you left it, and the ache grows, trickles down to your toes as this registers.

Because you hadn’t expected to return so soon — soon enough for Hawkins to still feel this familiar. The streets, the rows of salt boxes, even the cinder block chimneys dawn as well consolidated memories.

You don’t want them to.

Your parents may have decided to make the move to your Great Aunt’s permanent, but you refuse to call small-town Indiana your home. It’s been two months since August, four since your first supermarket visit, and you want to wring out your brain until there’s no familiarity left.

The road bends, and your Walkman clips a tantalising sliver of hip as you turn. You’re nearing the edge of Maple and Maine, BMW-free curbs and an absence of sheepish-looking guys with hair. Your headset blares static as it skips between songs, and you’re grateful for the din — it drowns out the onslaught of memories from a summer break you’re fighting hard to forget. The thud of your sneakers grows heavier. You worry the hem of your long sleeve until it drags.

The crackly hum of glam metal, a pop rock tune that sounds vaguely familiar. Robin hears you before she sees you, emerging from a desire path that cuts through the woods on your left.

“Shit,” she raises her hoarse voice a little, louder still as she breaks into a jog toward you. She’s on the opposite side of the road, not bothering to look both ways before crossing. “Dude — dude, hey!”

The breeze lifts her brown hair off her shoulders, lighter streaks of auburn gaining prominence in the sun. “Hey,” she repeats, heavy and out-of-breath. “Wait up!”

You halt when her fingers make contact with your forearm, giving the fabric of your long sleeve a firm tug near the elbow. It’s soft and breathable, rides up a touch as the movement bristles. Still more as you whirl around, lips pulled down into a frown.

A bewildered frown. You press pause on the Walkman attached to your leggings, feeling a chill travel along the exposed rectangle of hip.

“Oh,” you say. It’s a rush of air through your nose, and you suck in your bottom lip. “Hey, Robin.”

“Dude, hey — hi,” Robin returns quickly, her blue eyes flaring with enthusiasm. “I saw you from,” she jerks her thumb over her shoulder, “back there, when I came out of that shortcut between my house and Maple. And I was like — no way, right? Because you’d totally left for college, and I didn’t know how the semester breaks worked, and we were all wondering if you were gonna come back, and now you’re here and —”

“We?” you interrupt. You worry the hem of your long-sleeve again. “Who’s we?”

Robin’s features are frozen for a beat before she winces, surprise to worry to the sort of pity that makes your skin itch. “No — it’s,” she falters, attempting a smile that looks more like an awkward, half-grimace, “don’t worry. How are you? When did you get back?”

You don’t want to worry. “This morning,” you answer, sliding your orange headset down to your neck. “I’m alright. How are you?”

“Yeah, good,” Robin responds, holding up the cardboard bag she’d tucked behind her back. It’s empty, save the coins that rattle as she waves it in the air. “Grocery shopping.”

You smile politely. The fingers on your long-sleeve drop to your Walkman, move across a riot of bumps until they find the play button. You suddenly miss the comfort of worn foam on your ears.

“Anyway,” Robin adds, rocking back on her heels. “How long are you here for?”

“Two weeks,” you reply.

More silence. You kick a loose stone at the toe of your sneaker, watching it skip across wet rubble and fall into a mound of dirt. It creates a dent as it settles, the same way Steve does everytime he crosses your mind. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think this has been sufficiently awkward —”

“He misses you, you know.”

You freeze, eyes resolute on pavement below your feet. “Steve?” you ask, as if that isn’t already obvious. As if you haven’t been agonising over how he’s doing ever since you left. Your voice sounds higher, more tentative when you add, “I doubt that.”

Robin sighs, a frustrated, drawn-out sound that lifts your gaze to her face. “He’s an idiot,” she says firmly. “A total fucking dingus who doesn’t know a single thing about expressing his feelings.”

You really don’t want to worry. “Okay,” you say carefully.

“I just mean,” she adds quickly, eyes darting down to your Walkman. “You’re — does he know you’re back?”

Your thumb presses down on the play button, and in her haste, she reaches out and grabs your forearm. It’s a softer pressure than you’ve come to associate with Hawkins, less warmth on your elbow than you’re used to. “Because he should,” she continues with steadfast loyalty. “He’ll be happy to hear you’re home.”

“I don’t know if I’d call this place home,” you say, looking down at her hand with a frown. I don’t know if he’ll be happy I’m here, either, you want to add. I don’t know if he’ll be anything at all.

You don’t. A Bon Jovi song crackles through the foam of your headset.

“Oh,” Robin says through a breath. “Right.”

There’s a pause before her clasp loosens, arm falling to her side with less fire than she started with.

“Right,” you echo, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you around?”

Robin nods reluctantly, looking over her shoulder as a car zooms past. Hoping for a blur of familiar maroon, no doubt, a Hail Mary in the form of Steve’s Hoosier State number plate. “It’s a small town.”

You breath out an wobbly laugh, replacing your headset over your ears. “Yeah,” you say, turning up the volume on your Walkman. Loud enough that it hurts, masks the stale honey ache with distraction. “I mean — I’ve only been here a few hours and already bumped into you.”

Robin laughs too, more awkward and less amused. “Must be fate,” she says.

You pretend not to hear her. And when she brushes past you to cross the road again, bumping hips with as much amicability as you she can muster, you wonder whether she’s been in Steve’s car this morning, or yesterday, the day before.

Because she smells exactly like the earthy, pinewood air freshener that’s always dangling below his rearview mirror.

You hate that you recognise it so easily. You hate that you have to pretend not to.

And it’s the hate, sharp pangs that bleed into heartbreak, that force your feet back, soles dragging as your turn. You don’t think you have it in you to finish your afternoon walk; the conversation with Robin was a half-marathon of willpower, and you need more than quick gulps of air to recover.

Head down, your eyes follow the tips of your sneakers. They gather dirt as they scuff wet soil, and you turn the volume on your Walkman a number higher with each step. The song ricochets through your brain like white noise.

Robin, now stalling beside the curb on the opposing pavement, ensures that you’re out of sight before doing a swift 180. A hurried-looking walk becomes a run as she rounds the corner, skidding along loose rubble as she turns again into the short cut. She isn’t anything close to a track star, so it’s a wonder she’s able to maintain the impressive pace till she’s home.

Her lungs still burn when she pushes open the front door, staggered movements taking her to the kitchen telephone. She dials Steve’s number on autopilot — aforementioned steadfast loyalty in motion.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Dude,” she greets between heaving breaths, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to concentrate. The bulk of her thighs are on fire, chest cycling between concave to convex with an alarming quickness. “Dude.”

Steve frowns, holding the telephone out a few spaces. Her breathing sounds laboured, which is never a good sign. “Robin,” he says placatingly, “did you convince yourself that creepy dude on Frankton Boulevard was following you again?”

“Okay, what’s with the tone?” Robin forces out, gulping down a pocket of oxygen. She takes a pause to prop herself up on the kitchen counter, leaning her head on the half-open cabinet behind her. Its contents rattle ominously. “He was following me.”

On Steve’s end, the bell above the front door to Family Video chimes. There’s an excited shriek as a family of patrons roll through, followed by the heavy-footed thud of an escaping infant.

“Alright,” Steve allows skeptically, sandwiching the handle between his ear and shoulder. “If that’s all, Buckley, someone’s just come into store —”

“Shit, no — wait!” Robin exclaims, raising a clamour of crackly static. Steve winces, readjusting to reach below the counter and grab the logbook. “Wait, wait, wait, I have news.”

She can hear Steve’s fingers drum against the cash register, catch the end of what sounds like a chastened child with their mother. “Okay,” he says impatiently. “Shoot.”

“So — okay, so, I was walking to the grocery store just before, right? Took that shortcut between my house and Maple — you know, the one that comes out just by the Wheelers’. And I was just like, walking and minding my business and totally just doing my own thing and it’s like, a weirdly sunny day out so everything — everyone — is super well lit which, in hindsight, would’ve been helpful when I first saw Frankton creepo taking the same shortcut last week —”

“Robin,” Steve interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratedly. “Get to the point before Keith fucking fires me.”

“Shit, okay, yeah,” Robin agrees, grimacing sheepishly. Her legs dangle over the edge of the kitchen counter, knocking the cabinets below her, the corner of the dining table.

“So,” she tries again, twisting the black telephone cord around her forefinger, “I was walking to the grocery store.”

There’s a shuffle on the other end as Steve moves to the computer, handle pressed to his ear so he can pretends to look busy.

“And when I come out on Maple,” she continues slowly. Tentatively. “Guess who I see walking a little way ahead.”

Steve frowns down at the keyboard. A few beats away, a mother fastens her squealing infant into a stroller. “If this is another one of those Nancy interventions —”

“It’s not,” Robin interrupts quickly, sounding reasonably abashed. She’s spent the better half of Autumn attempting to push the two of them together, sure that Steve’s recent lack lustre is a symptom of his unrequited love.

She’s coming to realise that she’s half correct. Steve’s definitely pining for someone, just not who she was initially thinking of.

“Alright,” Steve says quietly, pressing keys at random as the stroller rolls forward. “Who?”

“Steve…” Robin trails off gingerly, chewing on her bottom lip. “Who else lives on Maple?”

“Shit Robs, I don’t know,” Steve mutters, resisting the urge to groan. “Can you just fucking tell me? We’re on a time crunch.”

Robin clamps down on her cheek until she tastes metal. “Who else,” she repeats slowly, “lives — lived — on Maple?”

Steve stares at the computer screen blankly, the blinking line that proceeds a sentence of gibberish. “Who else?” he echoes bemusedly, brow furrowing. “I don’t know who you’re —”

“Hey,” interrupts the mother, rapping her knuckles on the front counter impatiently. “Can I have some help?”

Steve plasters on a customer service smile and turns toward her, peering down at the toddler flailing about in her stroller. His meaty fingers pry open a tape sleeve, hurling it over the counter with an animated squeal.

“Won’t be a moment,” Steve assures, catching it against his vest. He pretends to look at the computer over his shoulder, hunching over and speaking in a barely audible whisper. “Alright, I gotta go,” he mutters. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond, replacing the handle on it’s holder with a resonant click.

“Sorry about that,” he says, turning to the patron (and a half) again. “How can I help?”

“Yeah, hi,” she responds, crouching down and withdrawing the tape from small, sticky hands. “I’m just here to return this.”

She places it on the front counter expectantly, reaching into a stroller pocket to grab a zip-lock bag of apple slices. “Top Gun,” she adds. “Not a bad watch, to be honest.”

Steve freezes.

“Top Gun,” he repeats slowly. The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Yes,” the mother answers, emptying the fruit onto the stroller table. “It should be under Sally Prescot.”

“Right.” Steve blinks, looking down at the tape sleeve pressed to his chest. “Just — right. Give me a second.”

Underneath it lies a heart in disrepair. It pushes against his ribcage with the sort of pressure that’s sure to bruise, bleeding out reds and darker maroons, every memory he has of you.

He’s tried his best to bury them. Dates with new girls, coffee with his ex-girl, even non-girl related expedition to the gang’s favourite arcade. And there’s something to be said about Steve’s dedication to the cause — hanging around a bunch of mouthy kids in an attempt to forget his other half.

A month and a half on, he was sure they’d worked a treat. The ache your absence had left was growing weaker, less stale honey and more brown sugar.

Was weaker. Was well buried. Was consigned to oblivion, less so as recognition dawns.

Because it’s clear, as he places the sleeve onto the front counter, that the grave he dug was far shallower than he thought. He locks eyes with the furrow-browed hero on the cover, and Steve realises he’s trying to win a battle he’s already lost.

And then, “Shit.”

“Pardon me?” Sally bristles, wheeling the stroller back and forth reproachfully.

“Shit,” Steve repeats, because — shit, he knows who Robin saw this morning.

He scrambles to pick up the cover again, holding firm on the edges until his fingers blanch. It’s pressure in tandem to the heavy feeling in his chest, a cruel concoction of heartbreak and regret.

You. Robin saw you this morning, and now, Steve sees you too. He doesn’t have to close his eyes for the reel to play, flashes of your soft smile and pert nose, your beautiful face. Little details he didn’t know he’d memorised until now — the crease between your brow, the way your bottom lip is always chewed raw. The bruises he’d left on your collarbones, a bouquet of amaranthine that trailed to your neck. Sure to have faded by now, and Steve sees the teeth-scraping kisses that’ll get them back.

“Hello?” Sally repeats impatiently, rapping her knuckles on the counter again. “This is ridiculous. I need to speak with your manager immediately.”

Her warning is the final trigger. It doesn’t raise any panic, nor does Steve flinch, seeing the time you distracted Keith as a favour, instead. You’d used the same words that Sally did, just then, all wide eyes and saccharine smile as your elbows draped over the front counter. Steve’d managed to sneak past while his boss was pre-occupied, emerging from the break room a minute later like he wasn’t extremely late. And as the memory rolls through his mind, clear as day, Steve sees you, again, and he realises something.

Top Gun reminds him of you. Serving patrons at Family Video reminds him of you. The grocery store, Maple and Maine, the skatepark on the edge of Mirkwood reminds him of you. Every time someone brings up Skull Rock, or Lover’s Lake, every time Max holds her scuffed board to her torso. Every Walkman with a headset, every pair of Doc Martens, even the Farrah Fawcett spray that hides behind his bathroom cabinet.

Steve realises, looking over Tom Cruise’s handsome hair and unsmiling face, that the life he knew has split cleanly in two. Before his surroundings, his thoughts, his interactions, everything he sees is you, and after.

“Yeah,” he says suddenly, sliding his car keys out of his front pocket. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go grab him.”

He turns around and runs to the break room in a hurry, finding a surly-looking Keith heating up a bowl of soup. “I’m going on my half,” he states, not asking.

Keith raises his eyebrows, looking him up and down. “You’re not even an hour into your shift.”

But Steve isn’t listening, already halfway out the door with a mind like stale honeycomb. “I’ll be back,” he calls over his shoulder, breaking into a run, “in a half hour.”

—

The rush of adrenaline begins to wear off on Maine, and as he turns onto Maple, it’s replaced by diffidence.

What if you don’t want him to come by so soon? What if you aren’t interested in catching up? What if you slam the door in his face, tell him you aren’t giving him a second chance?

What if, what if, what if, and the diffidence melts into a dreadful ache. He edges the curb as he slows down to park, halting just short of your second kiss front porch.

“Okay,” he mutters, hands shaking as he unbuckles. “Okay. She’s fine. You’re fine.”

He gets out of his car and rounds the hood, not bothering to lock it behind him. The curtains that frame your window are drawn, a broken pot plant just visible on the ledge. Running beside it, a sturdy pipe rattles threateningly in the Autumn wind.

Two knocks. Steve isn’t prepared for you to open the door so quickly, and he definitely isn’t prepared for your singlet and sleep shorts. They’re separated by a taunting sliver of skin, soft and bare and begging to be touched. He shoves his hands into his front pockets roughly.

“Steve,” you greet slowly, and his name on your lips is a heart-rending pressure. He’s missed your voice.

“Hi,” he breathes out, stepping forward gingerly. “Shit — hi. Hey.”

He hasn’t thought this through. You blink up at him through heavy lashes, shifting just enough for your singlet to ride up, and as the sun makes your soft skin shine, he realises he really hasn’t thought this through.

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, taking inventory of his features. He looks as though he’s arrived in a rush, cheeks flushed and Family Video vest in disarray. There’s an inch of empty space between your chest and his, though the way your pulse bounds makes it feel like far less.

“I — shit,” he flounders, retrieving his hand from his front pocket to comb it through his hair distractedly. Wrong move, because when he lets it drop to his side, it nudges the bony prominence of your wrist. The action doesn’t quite make you flinch, but it may as well have; goosebumps bloom across your skin, and you hug your torso on instinct.

Tight, pressure enough to force the oxygen out of your lungs. Steve’s hands feel clammy. He resists the urge to reach out and replace your arms with his own.

“Heard you’re back,” he says, watching them fall to your sides again. You look bare, unfairly exposed without them. “Just wanted to, uh, come say hi.”

“Oh,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip awkwardly. “Right. Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve returns, attempting to regain his composure. His eyes move over your face with care, your torso, your bruise-free legs and woollen socks. “How’ve you been?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer, shifting self consciously. There’s a chill in the air, cruel like your summer break, but your body still feels overwhelmingly warm under his gaze. “You?”

“Same old.” Steve shrugs, stepping closer still. You’re the same, devastating mix of lavender and patchouli, faint notes of something else that makes him wants to kiss you. Hard on the mouth, softer as he follows your jaw.

He’d prefer not to talk. He doesn’t know where to begin or where to end, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do his feelings justice. He thinks his lips would do a better job than his vocal chords, long, ardent kisses that’ll leave you well taken care of.

Every string he owns is humbly attached. The tips of his sneakers nudge your woollen socks.

“Listen,” he adds. “Do you think we could catch up?”

You hesitate, looking over his face searchingly. “Why?”

“Please?” he asks, not answering your question. His brown eyes are as sincere as you remember, wide and startlingly bright in the sun.

You swallow, picking at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “I’m not here for long,” you say, sounding unsure of yourself.

“Tomorrow, then,” he wagers, feeling his heartbeat quicken in a panic. “Or whenever. I’ll make myself free.”

“I’m busy tomorrow,” you lie. The base of your throat feels thick and sticky.

“The day after?��� he tries, combing his fingers through his hair again. “Or — or even today. Right now. I’ll just tell Keith I feel sick, or something.”

You nail freezes against the polish on your thumb, solemn eyes widening as you look up at him. “You came from work?”

“Yeah.” Another pocket of sun peeks through grey clouds, and when it makes your cheeks glow, Steve adds, “Of course I did.”

“I — okay,” you say, shifting again. “The day after.”

“10am?” He asks, his features relaxing a little. “I can pick you up.”

You frown. “I can drive.”

“No, really,” he insists. “Let me pick you up.”

Steve feels pathetic for asking. But his BMW has been pinewood and musk since summer ended, and sue him, he wants to replace it with something sweeter.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say gingerly, clasping one wrist with the other. Your poor pulse doesn’t know what to do with itself, jolts forward and crashes before skipping again.

“But I want to.”

“Steve.”

“Caprese,” Steve returns, the corners of his lips pulling up. “C’mon, please?”

Perhaps it’s the nickname that throws you off. It tumbles out of his mouth, familiar and bittersweet, and perhaps it’s the fact that he uses it with such ease. At your silence, his grin broadens, all handsome and boyish and terribly unhelpful, and you realise that it isn’t one, specific thing that has you beat. It’s him, all of him, his stupid hair and stupid smile and every stupid emotion he makes you feel. Your breath catches. You wonder whether the force with which your skin burns is visible.

“Alright,” he says, slapping his hands on his thighs. Less clammy, more self-satisfied. “The day after tomorrow at 10am.”

You nod slowly, returning his smile with one of your own, far weaker. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve echoes, and then he pauses, swallowing slightly. His expression grows solemn as he ducks to eye level, wind-mussed hair flopping over his forehead. The clasp you have on your wrist tightens. “Listen,” he adds, an intensity in his tone that turns your knees to jelly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you ask weakly, breathing out a nervous laugh. Steve chest rises and falls in tandem with yours.

“For,” he pauses, exhaling shakily. He sounds unsure of himself when he adds, “for making the time.”

—

Steve wishes you hadn’t decided to wear a dress.

It’s ridden up a fair bit since you settled in the passenger’s seat, soft, exposed thighs and a concerning lack of hem. You shift forward as the radio crackles, knee nudging his hand on the centre console, and as his nerve-endings burn, he really wishes you hadn’t decided to wear a dress.

He shifts into third gear and withdraws his hand quickly.

“So,” he says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel absently. “Have you heard that new Duran Duran single?”

“Don’t think so,” you answer, frowning bemusedly. “How new?”

Small talk is easy. Lingering touches, less easy. The warmth of his presence, heady cologne and familiar pine, difficult enough for your mind to short-circuit.

The rest of the car ride conversation occurs on autopilot. By the time Steve’s parking and turning off the ignition, you aren’t sure you’re capable of remembering any of it. There are other things, far more distracting, that have filled your brain with balls of cotton.

That time Steve’s hand knocked yours accidentally, searching for the gear shift and finding heart-attack soft leg. That time his arm found the back of your headrest, solid-looking muscles that stretched the sleeve of his polo. That time you reached for the volume dial at the same time. You swear Steve’s touch left a mark on your fingers.

“It’s just up a bit,” he says, unbuckling and getting out of his car. His feet stutter as he rounds the shiny, red hood, deciding against opening the door for you at last minute. He has to play this cool, or he’ll lose.

Steve Harrington needs a win.

“Okay,” you say, stepping into his side. He locks the car over his shoulder with ease, shirt riding up so bare hip lies adjacent to your hand. You find yourself hoping the place is more up than a bit. You’re grateful that your jacket has two large pockets.

Steve’s picked a simple diner with a simple-looking menu, simple pastries and simpler sandwiches in the cabinet beside the register.

Good. You need simple. Everything else about this situation is complicated and messy, and you need a neat surface to fall back on when it cracks your poor heart open.

“So,” he starts, sliding into your booth with two, tattered menus. “Coffee with vanilla creamer? The blueberry muffins here are killer, too, and they’ve usually got a bunch warming up in the oven.”

You blink. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” Steve says easily, as if he’d be crazy not to. “It’s why I wanted to bring you here.”

“Doesn’t Nancy feel awkward that you’re thinking about bringing other girls to tucked away diners?” you joke, smiling at him weakly.

Steve’s eyes widen, startlingly brown and deep enough to warrant a life raft. “Nancy?” he echoes, shaking his head slowly. “I — why would she?”

“You and her,” you say lamely. You fold your arms atop the table neatly, mirroring Steve’s, less timid and more solid. “Sorry. I just thought, after our last conversation —”

“No,” Steve interrupts quietly.

Silence. Tense and intrepid and difficult to stomach. You open your mouth to apologise again, but the intensity of Steve’s gaze has it clamping shut before you can.

“No — shit, no, we aren’t —” Steve falters, running his fingers through his hair roughly. A strand falls over his forehead, and you itch to reach out and comb it in place. You wonder fleetingly whether he still hides his Farrah Fawcett behind his bathroom cabinet.

“— sorry,” he finishes after a beat, his forearms edging closer. There’s a menu worth of space between your skin and his. “Can I start again?”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you say quickly.

What you mean is you don’t want to talk about it. What you mean is that stale honey ache is still there.

Steve wants you to know that he feels it too. He says, “I don’t mind. Can we talk about it?”

“Can we ease into it?” you almost beg, reaching for a menu with careful hands.

“Okay,” he says, leaning forward in tandem. The tension ebbs. “Yeah, shit. Of course. How’s college been?”

“Good,” you say to your menu, hiding the heat blooming over your cheeks. “How’s Family Video?”

“It’s Family Video,” he answers with a shrug, stretching his legs out beneath the table. An ankle nudges the side of your calf, a tendril of soft touch that jolts into his chest. He straightens in a hurry. “Same old. Had a lady come in today to return Top Gun.”

You peer at him over the menu, eyes crinkling at the edges as you smile in recognition. “Did she like it?”

Steve can’t remember. The memory is obsolete, at this point, all you you you with little else worth mentioning.

“Probably not,” he lies. He’s angling for a glimpse of the rest of your pretty face, adding, albeit selfishly, “Shit film, really. Don’t know how it could be anyone’s favourite.”

You reward him with a sudden peal of laughter, menu thrown down as you faux-glare in response. “Take it back,” you chide, and Steve doesn’t hear you at first, mind still reeling over the soft, breathless sound. He’s missed it. “It’s a good fucking movie, alright?”

“It’s not,” Steve says, looking extremely pleased. “It’s just got Tom Cruise in it.”

“Tom Cruise is a good actor,” you argue.

Steve raises his eyebrows “He’s a pretty face.”

“Okay,” you concede. “That too, I guess.”

“But you’re a prettier face,” Steve adds, well aware that he’s pushing his luck. “Shouldn’t that, like, cancel out?”

Your lips part in surprise, overwhelmed by the soft, gooey something in your stomach. “Steve Harrington,” you say, your poor heart a mess. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

“I have,” Steve says, and it’s with a different voice to the one he was using before. Less roguish, more sincere. “My feelings haven’t.”

You don’t have it in you to unpack that just yet. “How’s the gang?” you ask, attempting to change the subject. “Weren’t they about to start high-school?”

“Oh,” Steve answers, not quite frowning, but more subdued. “Right, yeah. They’re good. Max was asking about you the other day. Something to do with those skateboard stickers you gave her before you left.”

You soften, smiling just enough for your cheeks to lift up. “That’s sweet. I’ll have to make a trip to the skatepark at some point.”

Steve nods, angling back a little. He has the luxury of a few inches more torso than you, allowing him to take in all of your figure at once. The jacket you’re wearing drapes your shoulders loosely, revealing the spaghetti straps cutting into your bare skin. They’re flimsy enough to permit a finger to slide under, rough and calloused and hot to the touch. Steve’s hands twitch atop the table.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing slightly. “Everyone’s good. Nothing’s changed.”

Except me, he wants to add. I’ve changed. And nothing matters as much as the fact that you’re to blame.

“Nothing at all?” you ask carefully. Steve knows you mean him and Nancy.

“Nothing at all,” he affirms, pressing his palms into the hard surface. He leans forward tentatively, enough for your expression to falter as he does so. “You went to college, and I stayed here. Right where you’d left me.”

You nod, slowly, like it’s taking all of your energy. “Right.”

“And,” Steve pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as he gathers his thoughts. His heart thuds against its cage threateningly, forcing him to take his time. “And all I’ve done since then is regret how things ended between us.”

You swallow, clasping your hands together and squeezing tight until your knuckles blanch. “Steve,” you say quietly. “There was no us.”

“There was,” he responds resolutely. “There was, and I was an idiot for acting like there wasn’t.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Steve,” you repeat, almost begging as you wring out your wrist. The pulse within it disappears, heavy with the pressure of your clammy fingers. “It’s in the past.”

“I don’t want it to be,” Steve says in a hurry, leaning forward another inch until you’re close enough to touch. And God, does he want to touch you. Your neck is unblemished, smooth collarbones underneath it, and God does he want to cover them in rough, bruising kisses.

“But,” you take a pause, exhaling shakily. “But you’re hung up on your ex.”

“Not anymore,” Steve says, and when you flinch, he grimaces. “I mean — no, shit, that’s not what I meant —”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “You — okay, yeah, not anymore. But you were all through summer, even up until I left. And,” you falter as your voice cracks, swallowing thickly before continuing. “And I don’t think I can be with someone who wasn’t into me from the beginning.”

Steve wants to scream. He wants to reach into his skull cavity and turn his brain into a movie reel of memories. Because if you watched them, end of May to present moment, you’d see you’re the only girl on his mind, your eyes and your lips and the feel of your skin on his.

“I was,” he says, his chest aching as it tightens. “I just — I didn’t understand it till you left. I mean, shit, I can still see you in that candy aisle, clear as day. You were wearing these super white Keds with frilly socks, and I honest to God remember thinking, she’s too pretty to be in Hawkins.”

You close your eyes, slouching forward a little. “Steve.”

“Even Robin called it,” he adds earnestly, nodding his head. “After you came into Family Video for the first time, she got all suspicious and weird about how ‘it doesn’t sound like no strings’.”

“But it was,” you accuse. “I’m sure you told her that it was.”

Steve winces, conceding with reluctance. “Okay, yeah, I did,” he says. “But I was lying without realising it. Because I was already in too deep the week before, at the grocery store, and everything happened so quickly I didn’t have time to take it in.”

“Everything,” you echo.

“Me,” he explains, eyes falling to your lips. “Falling in love with you. Serious fucking love that tore my heart in two when you left.”

You feel the L-word like a heavy blow to your chest, right through your skin and straight into your heart. It squeezes warmly, and an onslaught of butterflies erupt from within it. “You let me leave,” you say quietly.

“And I’ve regretted it ever since I did.”

It isn’t enough. Steve’s desperation manifests through the way his hands twitch, a beat from yours and itching to pull you toward him. But as you search his features, helpless as they were the last time you saw him, you realise that you don’t have it in you to settle.

The end of summer was a cruel onslaught of pain, and you’ve barely managed to bandage up the hurt his lack of reciprocity caused. It bleeds and aches and fills you up like deadweight, fresh enough for you to draw back and shake your head.

“Yeah, well,” you say bitterly, letting out a defeated sigh. “That doesn’t erase the fact that you did it.”

Steve swallows thickly. “I know,” he agrees soberly. “I — yeah, you’re right. I fucked up, big time. But I want to make it right.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“If you gave me a second chance —”

“I,” your arms fall away from the table, dropping to your sides as you stand, “don’t think I can.”

When you leave, stomach empty and chest heavy, it’s with that same, stale honey ache permeating through your skin. Steve doesn’t try to stop you, nor beg to drive you home, sure that you’d much prefer walking the route, anyway. He remembers, from the long strolls you’d take back in summer, how much you revere the fresh air, the hot sun on your back.

He hopes that the time alone soothes your broken heart. And as punishment, he strives to keep his own in disrepair.

—

It’s a week before Steve braves your front porch again.

Instead of blue, the sky is deep velvet hues. Steve isn’t wearing his Family Video vest, this time around, donning a white, long-sleeve that’s fraying at the hem.

He doesn’t knock. It’s a little after twelve when he stumbles back and looks up, vision blurring as he squints up at double curtains and double pot plants.

He frowns. “Caprese!” he whisper-shouts, heading for a familiar pipe with a heavy-footed slovenness. When he attempts to climb it, it clangs and rattles unhelpfully, loud enough for you to open your eyes blearily.

You haven’t been sleeping well.

The simple diner and not-so-simple conversation has bled into every one of your thoughts, seeped through peace and replaced it with restlessness. You can’t concentrate on anything but Steve, and what he said; the regret and the L-word and the heart-squeezing pressure it left.

Wearied, you turn on your bedside lamp, dragging your body out of bed and toward the source of the commotion.

And when you peel open a curtain, squinting down at the clamorous pipe, you aren’t sure what you were anticipating, but it certainly wasn’t him.

“Steve?” you say incredulously, eyes wide and unblinking. “What are you doing here?”

“Sweetheart,” he exclaims. There’s a slur to his words that makes you wince, movements heavy as he angles back and staggers to the side. “S’me. Steve. Can I come in?”

You sigh, running a tired hand over your face. “Are you drunk?”

“S’me?” He asks, shaking his head in a hurry. “Nope. Just had a bit. Not drunk. Maybe a little. Doesn’t matter.”

He takes a pause, brow furrowing as he gathers his thoughts. “I just… just needed to see you. Talk to you. Can I come in?”

“No,” you say, not sounding as sure of yourself as you want to. “Go home, Steve. We’ll talk when you’re sober, okay?”

“Shit, no — listen,” he urges, scrunching up his face momentarily. “I need to get this out when m’fucked. I don’t know if I’ll have the balls tomorrow.”

Your expression falters. “What out?”

“I fucked it,” he says. He’s almost yelling, now, messy, passionate words that leave chalk in your mouth. “Big time fucked it. With you. Should’ve never let you leave.”

“Steve,” you say weakly, no real fire to the way your voice edges. “Stop.”

“And I know,” he adds pleadingly. “I need y’to know that I know. You’re all I see and all I think about and you’re all I want and I fucking know.”

You swallow dryly, and Steve stumbles closer and squints harder. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he mumbles, just loud enough for his words to drift up to your ears. The tips warm as they settle, bring a familiar sense of longing to the centre of your chest. “I’ve missed those PJs on you. I’ve missed you. You’re — God, how’re y’real?”

You need to control your breathing. One step at a time. “Steve,” you say carefully, “how’d you get here?”

“Walked,” he answers, shrugging. The long-sleeve tautens and stretches over his muscles, broad and solid and begging to hold you. “S’fine.”

“From your house?” you ask tentatively, searching him for bruises he might have acquired whilst stumbling here from his own front porch.

“S’not that far,” he says with a nod. “Nice walk. You like walks.”

“Not at twelve am,” you mutter, reaching for your car keys despite better judgement. “Not on the coldest night in fucking Autumn.”

And then, you grab the old hoodie that drapes your swivel chair, looking down at Steve with stern eyes and a sterner brow.

“Wait there, okay?” you say, keys jingling as you motion for him to halt. “I’m coming.”

Steve frowns up at you bemusedly, watching your figure disappear from the window. When you reappear, it’s on your front porch, skin soft and glowing in crescent moonlight.

“Come on,” you call expectantly, already heading toward your parked car. “I’ll drive.”

Steve hadn’t anticipated such close proximity. His breath is strong whiskey and fainter mint, heavy and misting as he stumbles into your side. Rough fingers brush a strip of goosebumps across your thigh. He’s all body heat beside you, but it still causes a shiver.

“R’you cold?” he whispers, edging closer until his broad bicep presses into yours. “Can I hug you?”

You ignore him, ignore the tight squeeze of your heartstrings. “Get in and buckle, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says seriously, sending you a mock salute. Once he’s in, he fumbles with the seatbelt for a bit, eyes resolute on your features instead of the buckle underneath him.

“Pretty,” he adds when he hear the click, reaching out and bumping the curve of your jaw with his knuckles. Your breath hitches, the tendril of touch shooting straight into your stomach. “It’s like y’get prettier every time I see you.”

“You’re drunk,” you say, refusing to look at him. More to keep your own composure, than act any sort of disinterest; he looks terribly at home in the passenger’s seat, wearing that sweet, boyish smile that you’re sure will melt your insides.

“And you’re beautiful,” he returns, dropping his hand to the centre console. “Don’t deserve you.”

You exhale shakily, hands an airtight seal on the steering wheel. “Steve. You need to stop.”

“Can’t,” he says, with a sincerity that makes you ache. “S’the truth. Don’t deserve you taking me home.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly. “Stop.”

“Thank you,” he adds, ignoring you. “M’the worst.”

You sigh. “You are.”

“But only for you,” Steve insists, sending you a lopsided grin. “Sensible for everyone else. S’how I knew.”

“How you knew?” you echo, furrowing your brow. You wager a glimpse at his features, all soft and vulnerable as his whiskey breath permeates. “What do you mean?”

There’s a pause then, Steve’s face scrunched up as he gathers his thoughts. When he breaks the silence, it’s with a careful quickness, as though he’s trying not to slur his words, and failing.

“What I mean,” he starts, frowning with the force of his concentration. “S’that, when I was with Nancy, I was sensible. Not messy. Not this. M’only like this with you. It’s like I don’t have control of myself when you’re around. Y’know?”

Your expression falters. “With me?”

Steve nods intently, placing his hand atop yours on the centre console. It’s sloven weight like he can’t help himself, ardent and firm and solid on your skin. Your pulse leaps. “With you.”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat weakly.

“Drunk words.” Steve squeezes your wrist before he lets go, a warm, fleeting pressure that trickles down to your toes. “Sober thoughts.”

You place your hand back on the steering wheel. The rough feel of his palm lingers, achingly familiar.

—

Steve groans at the animated sound of birds chirping, feeling as though someone’s stuffed cotton wool down his throat. He braves a bleary peek at his half-open curtains, sees a sky of brilliant blue, and groans again.

Croakier, this time, less weary and more apprehensive, fragments of last night’s adventure rushing to the surface.

They brings with them a cloying sense of dread, thick and heavy and definitely not helping his hangover. A headache pounds through his ears forbiddingly.

He thinks he should hold the Hawkins’ record for most fuck-ups in twenty-four hours.

And an hour later, when he’s standing on your front porch with flowers, he amends his initial thought to most time spent begging for a second chance.

You’re still wearing last night’s pyjamas when you open the door.

“Hey,” Steve breathes out. He holds out the bouquet of vibrant cerise, reds and purples, separated by a few, somber-looking white snowdrops.

You blink up at him tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

“Saying sorry,” he says, allowing it to drop a few inches. A pink petal falls, lands on a woollen sock. “Again.”

“Not for what I said,” he adds quickly, searching your features in earnest. “Everything I said was the truth.”

You don’t want to ask. But Steve presses the flowers to your chest, using them as an excuse to step closer. “For what, then?”

“For coming by so late,” he answers sheepishly. Your fingers find the green stems just above his, pinky-on-pinky pressure that has you feeling a little lightheaded. “For being drunk enough that you had to drop me home.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, fidgeting with the hem of your plaid shorts.

“It’s not,” Steve responds. “It was shitty of me to do that. All I’ve been since August is shitty to you, and I need you to know that you deserve better.”

You swallow, hand dropping to your side heavily. The flower petals tickle the edge of your bare thigh, raising enough goosebumps for a shiver to run through your spine.

“Are you cold?” Steve asks, back-tracking with a frown. His fingers already grip the end of his hoodie sleeve, ready to pull it off and wrap it around your shoulders. Let his arms linger, just enough for his strong muscles to press warmth into your skin. “Here —”

“No, no, I’m good,” you assure, holding the bouquet behind your back instead. Re-exposed, the sliver of hip between your singlet and shorts taunts him.

Steve isn’t convinced. But if he tries to be hard-headed about this, he’ll lose. So he acquiesces with reluctance, saying, “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“You deserve a million hoodies, you know.”

“Right,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. “A million hoodies is what deserving better looks like, huh?”

Steve eyes fall to your lips, and he inches closer still. The tip of his left sneaker finds the petal on your sock. “More than that.”

Your breath catches. “Humour me.”

“You deserve,” Steve pauses, running his fingers through his hair roughly. “You deserve a college guy with a big time degree and a cushy job lined up. Someone who’ll take care of you with more than sour patch kids and free movies.”

“And I know,” he adds, brown eyes growing deeper, rich, somber-looking molasses that makes your head spin, “that that won’t be me, anytime soon. But is it selfish of me to hope that you’ll take me before I’m all of those things, anyway?”

“Steve,” you whisper softly, lips parting in surprise. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m shitty, alright?” Steve says, shaking his head. “I’m shitty and I’m super fucking selfish and I want you, anyway. I was an idiot for messing you around for so long and I know that a second chance is a long-shot. But I — you have to know that you drive me fucking crazy. Like, can’t think about anything else crazy. If I don’t keep trying to get you back, I’m going to break. That’s why I’m here, again, because — because I’m yours, okay? I’ve been yours since before you asked me if I was, yours since before I even knew what that meant.”

Your heart squeezes, and you feel a wonderful warmth bloom across your chest. “Steve —”

“I’m not done,” he interrupts, dipping his head and dotting his nose to yours. His strong arms cage you into the door hinge, muscles rippling at your ears, and you feel perplexingly at home within them. “You deserve better, and I want to be that better. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and bruise you until you’re mine. I want to meet your parents, all of your college friends, buy you a fucking necklace with my initials on them. It’s dumb and possessive of me, I know, but I want to show you off and tell you you’re beautiful over and over. I want you. Do you hear me? So fucking much it hurts.”

You exhale shakily, lashes fluttering at the feel of his hand cupping your cheek. It’s pressure that firm and devastatingly familiar, thumb swiping under your eyelid in slow, soothing circles.

“Do you hear me?” he repeats softly. His words are hot and heavy on your skin.

“Steve,” you manage to breathe out, feeling your skin burn with anticipation. “Please kiss me.”

Steve’s heart pulls, and he finds the curve of your waist, squeezing roughly. “Yeah?” he says, lips touching yours, only just. “You’re sure?”

You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, back arching so your chest osculates his firmly.

When he kisses you, it’s like picking up where you left off. Not the first time he’s experienced the soft abandon of your lips, no shyness left as his tongue drags over yours. Quick, messy pecks that juxtapose longer bouts of pleasure; you kiss so pretty he aches, pushing into you a little harder.

“Fuck,” he curses roughly, speaking between drawn-out kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

His hot tongue slide over your bruised, bottom lip, trailing to the corner of your mouth, your jaw.

You sigh, tangling nimble fingers in his hair. “Missed you too.”

Steve’s nips a trail of fire along the slope of your throat, rough hands pushing up your singlet until you shiver. They’re warm on your exposed skin, squeeze and knead and palm as he explores.

“You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real,” he murmurs, over and over, leaving a mess of purple love-bites on your skin. It’s a makeshift necklace until he can buy you a silver one; ensures everyone knows that you’re his, and his only. His lips stop just below your earlobe, sucking on the spot he knows makes you moan.

When you do, he draws back with blown-out pupils and heavy brows. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” he murmurs, reaching up to blanch the neck bruises with his thumb.

“Shut up,” you say breathlessly, fighting a sheepish smile. When your bright eyes flare, Steve knows he’s done for.

“You are,” he scolds, giving your waist another squeeze. “Serious fucking trouble, walking around all pretty in next to nothing.”

“Steve Harrington.”

“Caprese,” he returns, in the same, reproachful tone. When he grins, you know that you’re done for, too. “God, I’ve missed being yours.”

—

tags: @fallen-from-earth @familyvideostevie @aurumbelis @redgetawaycar @variant-lokitty @myharrington @annoyingpessimist @localbnbg @michlovesjensen @thatstoomuchman @lovemaya @scenesofobx @goddamnbabysitter @r0s3mm

[thewrldx]

Can We Always Be This Close?

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.

When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you. 

It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks. 

You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that. 

And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked. 

His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.

You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make. 

Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:

One, he’d always be your best friend. 

Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. 

And three, he’d never break your heart. 

He only kept two of those. 

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his. 

You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend. 

It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water. 

You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.  

Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink. 

“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual. 

It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly. 

But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap. 

You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?

You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides. 

“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”

Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay. 

There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair. 

You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad. 

But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:

“Looks better on you anyway.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin. 

“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”

You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs. 

You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together. 

“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”

You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists. 

“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”

You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”

And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner. 

You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father. 

But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood. 

He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding. 

“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”

You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.  

“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question. 

“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”

You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head. 

“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”

Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard. 

“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”

And then, you were dismissed.  

“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”

You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside. 

You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window. 

You could still hear them though. 

“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom. 

“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”

It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him. 

You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”

Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance. 

“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”

“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”

Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it. 

But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years. 

Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause. 

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”

Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter. 

“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”

And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet. 

Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching. 

Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other. 

You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle. 

Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen. 

You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind. 

Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small. 

“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”

You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence. 

The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty. 

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked. 

Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation. 

“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”

You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say. 

“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”

“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“

“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.

Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you. 

A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised. 

“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”

You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up. 

One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water. 

Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts. 

He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt. 

Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself,  feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water. 

He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous. 

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. 

You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first. 

You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before. 

Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together. 

You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time. 

You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve. 

He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist. 

You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily. 

You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too. 

He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt. 

So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it. 

When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night. 

But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own. 

So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him. 

He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised. 

There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair. 

So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with. 

It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one. 

Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him. 

It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy. 

But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his. 

The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you. 

Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it. 

He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet. 

“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”

You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name. 

“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze. 

“What happened?”

Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke. 

“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”

You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself. 

“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck? 

“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”

“Jonathan?”

You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt. 

It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end. 

“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body. 

He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried. 

“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”

You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked. 

“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic. 

He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff. 

“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”

You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”

Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.  

“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”

You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was. 

“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”

He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft. 

“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“

You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed. 

“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”

It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead. 

Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side. 

“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?” 

He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple. 

“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“

You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry. 

You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true. 

You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much. 

“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”

He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully. 

He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding. 

He was a little bit yours again. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”

Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing. 

“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour. 

“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”

—————

You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk. 

You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual. 

Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off. 

You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you. 

The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore. 

She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car. 

“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body. 

“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots. 

The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow. 

You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk. 

“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”

You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”

Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”

“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”

You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on. 

“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”

Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak. 

“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”  

Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said. 

“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”

“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”

The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement. 

You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench. 

“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her. 

She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently. 

You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece. 

“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”

And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?

When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness. 

He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too. 

“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”

You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal. 

“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”

Can I go where you go? 

When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts. 

It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians. 

You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked. 

It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party. 

You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze. 

It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance. 

He’d told you not to come. 

Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?

Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation. 

You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him. 

His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything. 

But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head. 

The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying. 

Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening. 

Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall. 

He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened. 

The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name. 

He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes. 

Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you. 

He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again. 

You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued. 

Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?

It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire. 

Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.

But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.

You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.

You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat. 

You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name. 

You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.

The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning. 

But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead. 

Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.

You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.

Thank you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re okay, I’m happy you’re safe.

The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest. 

It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.

A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all. 

Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs. 

He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above. 

You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room. 

You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.

Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart. 

The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks. 

He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?

Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water. 

You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer. 

Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles. 

So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name. 

He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.

Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.

Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington. 

When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable. 

But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.

He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine. 

You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you: “Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”

You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then. “We were eight, Steve.”

He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash. 

“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.

“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”

You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head. 

The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking. The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington. 

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all. 

Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment. 

“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.” 

You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list. 

Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him. 

You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look. 

He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close. 

You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”

She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison. 

“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks. 

“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section. 

Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers. 

“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”

You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed. 

‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal. 

You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation. 

“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”

She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”

You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same. 

When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable. 

‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much. 

You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard. 

But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy. 

He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected. 

Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra. 

You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick. 

You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years. 

You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”

Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips. 

“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”

You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at. 

She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day. 

“Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”

She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once. 

“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”

You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious. 

But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious. 

“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”

—————

It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. 

You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back. 

You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs. 

So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you. 

It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach. 

Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack. 

Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting. 

The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day. 

And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night. 

There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you. 

Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz. 

He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun. 

“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”

If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard. 

He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips. 

“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough. 

You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke. 

“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched. 

Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos. 

But all the boy could say was, “oh.”

And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-

“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above. 

You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs. 

“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”

You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again. 

He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him. 

The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.  

“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day. 

“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”

Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting. 

“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”

You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you. 

“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face. 

“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’s really just curiosity, right?”

His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz. 

You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh. 

“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.

He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me?”

And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.  

He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve. 

It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy. 

And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away. 

Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck. 

“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”

And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs. 

You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god. 

Fuck. 

You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin. 

You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving. 

When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming. 

Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date. 

Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you. 

It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you. 

Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps. 

It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple. 

It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”

He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass. 

He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away. 

Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again. 

“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite. 

It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.

Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.

He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall. 

“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you. 

But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.

He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him. 

You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth. “Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”

“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids. “Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up. 

Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.

He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz. 

In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.

You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake. 

You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that. 

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue. 

You didn’t talk about it. 

A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you. 

It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid. 

But it was fine. 

Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn. 

You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car. 

It was fine. Until it wasn’t. 

Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after. 

You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only. 

It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned. 

“Where are you going?”

His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely. 

“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag. 

“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice. 

You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything. 

“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”

Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”

You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.

“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”

You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”

“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.

“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”

“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”

The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you. 

“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”

You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”

You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.

There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school. 

But you didn’t.

You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you. 

If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’

----------

You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.

You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.

You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you. 

Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.

He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.

Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.

Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open. 

He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”

Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.

“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it. 

“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”

You knew why. 

“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”

You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did. 

But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come. 

“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.

“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.

He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering. 

It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.

“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”

He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.

“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”

You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening. 

“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”

You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.

“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”

You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.

“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”

You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to. 

But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done. 

Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours. 

“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”

Your heart fell. 

“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”

“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”

You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart. 

Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him. 

“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”

“Take me home, Steve, please.”

But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy. 

You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it. 

You panicked. 

You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut. 

You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway. 

You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore. 

Good, you thought. 

Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:

One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart. 

It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them. 

Take me out, and take me home. 

It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it. 

Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly. 

He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.

 He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly. 

Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry. 

He’d panicked. 

And you’d left. 

He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely. 

He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him. 

But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself. 

He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared. 

You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith. 

“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”

Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired. 

“I know.”

You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all. 

Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced. 

She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed. 

“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too. 

Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both. 

“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”

You huffed. 

“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”

“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return. 

She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece. 

“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet. 

You shook your head. 

“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly. 

You shook your head again. 

Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face. 

“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”

You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded. 

“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”

“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”

The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile. 

She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled. 

“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”

Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question. 

“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”

“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight. 

“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.

Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed. 

“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”

Fuck. 

You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still. 

You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock. 

It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling. 

You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either. 

The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more. 

So you knocked. 

Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could. 

Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day. 

 Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors. 

You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt. 

Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you. 

It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend. 

Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that. 

The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said. 

You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey. 

“Hey.”

He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years. 

“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”

You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve. 

“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn’t wanna upset you any more.”

Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches. 

And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar. 

You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity. 

It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve. 

“Why’d you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”

You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own. 

You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter. 

“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”  

“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”

“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”

He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again. 

“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.” 

A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough. 

You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close. 

You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous. 

He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound. 

“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”

His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly. 

“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”

You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing. 

“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?

“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”

God, the memory made you burn. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”

Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you. 

And that seemed like a big ask. 

“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded. 

He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside. 

“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”

It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other. 

“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”

His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were. 

“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours. 

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.  

“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you. 

“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”

The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other. 

“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you. 

“Can I take you on a date?” 

Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest. 

“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.

But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.

“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.

You nodded. 

“You still my best friend, Harrington?” 

Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.

“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet. 

“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bath and all.”

“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to kiss, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration. 

“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip. 

“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair. 

“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him. 

[thewrldx]

Forget Me Nots

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You’ve loved him for so long, enduring endless days of pining and whirlwinds of pain in your heart. It’s tearing you apart how he doesn’t recognize that you’ve been there for him this whole time. Maybe you should stick to loving from afar.

Warnings: so much angst, fluff, cursing, sadness???

There are an abundance of flowers that symbolize something - red roses often represented romance and passion, while lilies were of devotion and innocence, and sunflowers symbolized adoration and loyalty.

Behind every flower is a story. Forget Me Nots were your favorite.

There’s an abyss that spirals within your heart as you think of him. His smile. His laugh. For years, you used to feel giddy about him, the perfect guy who happened to be your best friend. But now, you simply feel a resigned longing for Steve Harrington. Yet, one thing never changed from all those passing years - loving him from afar.

Keep reading

[thewrldx]

writers block when im trying to write for daddy steve >:(

[thewrldx]

stranger things masterlist

☆ smut ☾ angst ♡ fluff ✧ requested

steve harrington (joe keery)

[thewrldx]

mirror | v.h

o n e s h o t

warnings!: smut, praise & daddy kink

“look at my pretty girl taking me so well.” vinnie groans into your ear, pounding restlessly into you from behind. you whimper pushing your head further into the pillow muffling your sounds. his hand suddenly grasps into your hair pulling your head up.

“i said look at my pretty girl.” you slowly make eye contact with yourself in the mirror, hair messy, makeup smudged and clearly fucked out. vinnie presses a gentle kiss to your head continuing to fuck your tight hole.

“say i’m daddy’s pretty girl.” he spits.

“w-what?” you moan out.

“you heard me angel, look at yourself and say that your daddy’s pretty girl.”

“but-“ you were abruptly cut off by a harsh smack to your ass, “i don’t want to hear it. say it now or i’ll stop.” he growls.

you lock eyes with yourself once more, trying to force the words out of your mouth.

“i’m daddy’s pretty girl.” you whisper, looking at vin who clearly isn’t amazed. he pulls out of you in one brief motion making you whimper at the loss.

“please daddy i said it.”

“say it like you mean it.” he takes his tip circling it around your glistening hole.

“i’m daddy’s pretty girl.” you say louder watching bonnie smirk in amusement. you let out a long mewl as he pushes himself back into you. quickly picking up the pace.

“again.” he moans, clearly getting close by watching you praise yourself.

“i’m daddy’s pretty girl, fuck.” you cry, overwhelmed with pleasure. his thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm.

“cum gorgeous.” he whispers which is all you needed to let go of the bundle of nerves building in your tummy. your tight cunt squeezes his cock making him cum deep inside you, coating your walls.

“i love you pretty girl.”

#vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie smut #vinnie hacker #smut #vinnie imagines #vinnie #fanfic

[thewrldx]

burns & boo boos // v.h.

a/n not much to say about this one.. just a cute and fun write. hope you like and enjoy it!

vinnie hacker x fem!reader

Word Count: 1k, slightly edited

WARNING: language, mentions of burning, and i think that’s it.

———

Y/n was having a lovely dream. It was a recurring one, one where she was dancing in the rain with a young Leonardo DiCaprio. The two swayed together in the empty city streets, their eyes glued to each other. She could melt at any moment. Then everything slowed down as the pair stopped moving. Leo’s gaze traveled from hers to her rouged lips. Right when he was leaning in, she felt the world shift and rock back and forth.

“What’s going on?” She muttered to herself, looking around at the collapsed buildings. She moved her attention back to Leonardo, who was still staring down at her. “Leo, what’s happening?”

Instead of directly answering her question, all he said was: “Wake up, Y/n.”

“What?”

“Y/n, wake up.”

Y/n’s eyes snapped open, the face of her loveable boyfriend, Vinnie, coming into view. He laid on top of her, shaking her awake. “Wake up,” he whispered, careful not to wake up any of their housemates.

“What? What’s going on? Is there an emergency? Something wrong with Hera?”

Vinnie shook his head. “No, Hera’s fine. But, it is an emergency.”

She planted both of her hands on his cheeks, worry filling her body. “Then, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” She checked his temperature with the back of her hand, checking to see if he was running a fever or something.

Once again, Vinnie shook his head. “I’m not sick.”

“Okay, then what is it?”

“I’m hungry.”

At that, she pushed him off of her, the boy landing on the floor with a thud. “You woke me up out of my sleep just to tell me that you’re hungry?” Crossing her arms, she watched as Vinnie slowly got back up, rubbing his aching side.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Uhm, I don’t know…go downstairs and make yourself some food, get a snack, and not wake me up in the middle of the night to complain about your growling stomach.”

He pouted. “But, I don’t want just anything. I want some cookies.”

Y/n shrugged, not understanding his point. “And? I have some Oreos somewhere in the cabinet. Knock yourself out.” As she rested her head, gearing up to return to her time with Leo, Vinnie leaped back onto her.

“I don’t want Oreos, I want homemade cookies. I want your cookies.”

“You can have my cookies later. Go to sleep, goodnight.” Y/n closed her eyes, feeling Vinnie’s weight move off of her as he got situated in his spot on their shared bed. While she tried to fall back asleep, that proved to be difficult thanks to Vinnie’s mumbling and grumbling. She knew what he was doing; he was annoying her into submission. While she tried to fight against it, thinking that maybe if she pretended he wasn’t there, she’d fall asleep faster, that proved to be difficult. After a minute of listening to him complain, she finally gave in.

“Fine, you win.” She ripped off the covers and got out of bed. Vinnie did the same, only he was more energetic. “You better hope I don’t burn these cookies,” she warned, leading him out of the room. The two quietly made their way through the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

While Vinnie eagerly got out the supplies, Y/n preheated the oven. Once Vinnie had set everything on the counter, Y/n got to work. She was known amongst their friends for making the best cookies. Whether the dough was homemade or pre-made, there was always an added touch. She claimed it was “love” when it actuality she just added a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.

Vinnie observed her, admiring the process. He wanted to help, but he knew she’d never let him, especially with her being agitated considering he woke her up. He didn’t understand her anger or why she was so hellbent on her sleep. All he knew was that whatever dream she was having, it must have been good.

Once she had rolled the dough into balls and placed them neatly on the baking sheet, she put them in the oven for about 11 to 10 minutes. In that span of time, the two chatted, Vinnie attempting numerous times to get her to spill about her nighttime fantasy. She wasn’t letting up, however.

“Why can’t I know?” He whined, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You just can’t. It’s a secret.”

He scoffed, “I’m your boyfriend. I should know all your secrets.”

“That means nothing, Vinnie.”

“But—”

Just as Vinnie was about to speak, the time on Y/n’s phone went off. She quickly turned it off and ran to the oven. But before she could lay a hand on the handle, Vinnie beat her to it. “I got this, baby.” He smirked, opening the oven to reveal the perfectly round and golden-brown sugar cookies.

As he reached for the tray, Y/n slapped his hand away. “Go put on a mitten if you’re gonna touch the tray.”

"Please, they’ve only been in there for about a few minutes. I’m sure it’s not that hot.”

“Whatever you say.” Y/n stepped back, letting the boy go for it.

Without hesitation, he went for the tray, no one to stop him. But, the minute his fingers came into contact with it, he let out an ear-piercing scream. He quickly pulled his hand out of the oven and fell to the floor. “Holy fucking shit!” He shouted, rolling around as if his whole body was on fire. “What the fuck!”

“I told you.” Y/n smirked, looking down at him. “You should’ve grabbed a mitten.”

Vinnie got up and blew on his fingers, ignoring the amusement on his girlfriend’s face. “I’m never going near that fucking stove again. It feels like I just fingered Satan’s ass.”

“Well, maybe next time you’ll listen to me.” Y/n walked over to the oven and reached inside, pulling the tray out with ease and placing it on the oven top. She was so focused on checking the cookies that she hadn’t noticed her shocked boyfriend.

“What the hell was that?”

She turned to him, confused. “What was what?”

“That. You literally picked it up as if it was nothing. Are you like a god or something?”

Y/n snickered, waving her hand over the cookies to cool them down. “I mean, I’m not a god, but I have been baking since I was little. Burned myself so many times that my nerve endings are probably demolished.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Vinnie laughed before putting his finger in his mouth.

“I know.”

———

tag list: @barbietiingz​ @tvdsure​ @suqarszn​ 

[thewrldx]

I’m Not Yours | kth. III

“When the rain stops you shine on me, your light’s the only thing that keeps the cold out.”

↠ pairing : Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

↠ summary : When your childhood best friend, Kim Taehyung moves back into town, you expect the next few years to be reminiscent of your younger years. Awkward, tense and quiet. What you don’t expect is being forced to distract him from his overbearing crush on your mutual best friend, Eunji.

↠ genre : university au, estranged childhood friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, fluff & smut

↠ rating : 18+

↠ warnings : iny!tae, iny!oc, eunji (ofc), swearing, crying, anxiety, depictions of a small panic attack, allusions to depression, reader isolates herself in her room, just lots of sadness, loneliness, feeling unloved, depictions of toxic friendships, mentions of absent / overbearing family members, mentions of neglect from family members, allusions to daddy issues, bickering, arguing, shouting, mentions of unstable family setting, making out, teasing, riding, unprotected sex (be safe 🤨), slight manhandling, missionary, grinding, pussy fondling, slight fingering (?), very touchy, it gets messy with feelings, accusations are made, rejection & i think that’s it? do lmk if i miss anything 🥺

↠ word count : 22K (apologies)

↠ a/n : hello loves! and it’s finally here <3 sorry for the immense delay :( this one truly took a lot out of me, but i’m extremely excited to hear your thoughts! thank you to @chateautae for beta’ing and @kookiestarlight for looking over the smut scenes 🤎 thank you to @monvante for the beautiful banner 🤎 feedback is truly appreciated, and as always ; happy reading 💫

↠ music : paloma faith ; only love can hurt like this (for the last scene because we love pain <3) [playlist can be found on the masterlist]

chapter three : the weeping woman - 1937

prev. || next || m.list

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung pants into your neck, cupping the back of your head, holding you firmly against him as you shudder in euphoria and pure bliss. “You feel so good.”

You… on top of him… riding his dick as though there’s no tomorrow, was the last thing he expected upon his arrival. 

You really have become more daring, and Taehyung was all for it.

Smiling against his clavicle, you nip at the soft skin, continuing to ride him with a newfound potency. His praises spur you on, and you grind your hips against his harder, eliciting the deepest grunts from your man.

“Taehyung,” you purr, shivering as his hand snakes up your stomach and gropes your bare breast. “Make me cum.” You moan, body aching to release.

Taehyung groans, cascading his hand back down to your pulsing bud and rubbing it fervently. You bounce up and down on his lap, and Taehyung’s other hand moves from your head and holds your hip, guiding the way you rock on his massive dick.

He buries his face between your breasts, and you wrap your hands around his neck, pushing him impossibly closer to you. 

“You’re soo big, fuck me harder, Taehyung, please..”

You feed Taehyung’s ego well, and he bucks his slim hips to meet your own. His hands move to rest on your hips, using them as leverage to fuck into you deeper. Harder.

Keep reading

[thewrldx]

temptation & retribution

࿐ ˚ . ✦ summary: fez had to work, and you had to tease him while doing so. and when you tempt fez… retribution ensues.

࿐ ˚ . ✦ warnings: slight mention of alcohol & drug consumption, cursing, pda, grinding, dirty talk, thigh riding, manhandling, fez being horny & mad ig

࿐ ˚ . ✦ word count: 3.5K

my masterlist !

my requests are open

"No, sorry." Fez's voice was soft, yet firm. He didn't want the rejection to sting, but he didn't want to encourage you either.

"Please, just 5 more minutes." you said, holding on to him, trying to keep your boyfriend in bed.

"Sorry baby, can't," he denied, trying to break free from your hold as you peppered kisses down his neck, a sigh leaving his lips mid sentence. "Gotta go, I've got lotta clients tonite."

"I know..." you trailed off, the tips of your fingers caressing his skin as your lips pressed soft kisses down his neck. "But five minutes won't make a difference, will they?"

"If we do this, it ain't gonna be ‘just five minutes’," he closed his eyes and groaned, feeling the blood rushing down to his dick. "and I really gotta go to this thing ma, gotta earn my money and shit."

"Fine," you agreed in a half-defeated tone, leaning back on the bed, removing your body from on top of his. "Go."

Fez hurried to get out of bed, if he spent any more time with you, hearing your voice and touching your skin, he'd stay. And as much as he wanted to, he really needed the money.

"Look," he spoke, putting on his clothes as you stared at him from between the sheets. "Imma come back in a few hours, and promise Imma spend the rest of the nite between yo' legs. Doin' whateva you want me to."

That was a fine proposal, you couldn't lie. The idea of Fez spending hours between your legs sounded promising, even more so as he knows what he's doing.

"Fine..." you said, folding your arms in front of your chest to pretend you were still mad, but Fez wasn't blind, he saw how flustered you'd gotten.

Once he got dressed, he picked up his phone and other stuff, before leaving the room, he walked back to the bed.

"Imma be back later," he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, lingering closer there. "Don't get dressed, want ya' naked when I get back."

You huffed in amusement, Fezco smiled softly and quickly got out of your shared bedroom. Once he was gone, you threw your head back in the pillow and groaned.

He always said you were the tease. But what about him? The cheesy mf knew exactly what to say to get you wet way before touching you.

You did intend to wait for him to get back, but the hours felt like whole days. You were growing bored by yourself, the idea of going out was getting dangerously tempting.

After a quick shower, you had been torn between getting dressed up or not wearing anything at all like Fez asked.

Before you chose anything, your phone vibrated on the night stand. You hurried to grab it, hoping it would be Fez to let you know he was on his way back, but it wasn't him.

madz: bitch where r u?

You raised an eyebrow to yourself before replying to her, wondering what she could want. You two were friends, so it wasn't weird of her to text you, but the hour was.

you: fez's, why?

madz: there's a full on party why r u at ur bfs

What were you supposed to say to that?

you: idk

madz: *sent location*

madz: come here 2 have some fun

You were already writing a text to excuse yourself from going, but since Maddy knew you well, she added another text.

madz: if u say no u r a pussy

you: i'll be there soon

madz: k bitch

A rush of excitement washed over you, and in no time, you were wearing a tight red silk dress, finishing up your makeup and thinking about the heels you'd be wearing.

You were supposed to wait for Fez, yes, but he was at that party, you two could just meet there. He wouldn't be able to get between your legs there, but it would be nice to spend some time together.

An uber later, you were finally at the party. The music could be heard from far away, and it was at its peak. People inside the house seemed like they were having a good time, and it encouraged you to go inside.

You saw Maddy and Cassie dancing in the middle of the crowd, Jules and Kat were doing shots by the side and the rest... you had no clue, but they were there, of that you were sure.

After greeting some people, downing some shots and doing small talk, you began your search for your boyfriend. Although it probably wasn't a 'search' at all, since you knew exactly where he'd be.

There he was. Sitting down on a couch on the edge of the dance floor, with a blunt in his hand, smoke leaving his mouth and an empty stare.

He seemed to be high as a kite, as usual, but he also looked bored as hell, sitting alone on the couch, waiting for someone to buy something.

He had no idea you were there, you could surprise him, convince him that having fun with you at parties isn't a crime.

He had a perfect view of the dance floor, but didn't seem interested in it at all. Maybe, if he saw you dancing amidst the crowd tho...

With a plan in mind, you approached Maddy, who danced with a stranger as Cassie talked with McKay on the side.

"Finally!" Maddy cheered, moving her hips at the rhythm of the music. "I thought you'd gone to get dick from your ginger or something."

"That's the plan." you admitted with a mischievous smile as you swayed your hips at the beat of the song.

She laughed and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you close to her so you two could dance, leaving the boy she'd been dancing with on the side.

At first, Fez thought he was higher than normal. That he must be hallucinating you in the crowd or something, remorse for leaving you back on his bed.

He was almost sure you weren't real. There was no way someone could look so fine and not be a piece of a fantasy. The way your hips moved, your soft skin, your smile, your legs... there was no way you were real.

But then, you locked eyes and sent a wink his way. That's when Fez knew you were real.

Fez sat straighter on the couch, wetting his lips as his blue eyes trailed over your body from head to toe, and back again to your face, holding eye contact to make it clear that you had his attention.

Every single one of your movements was with the purpose of teasing him, the way you moved your hips, bit your lip and threw your head back were enough to send Fez's mind to the gutter.

"Hey man, can I get..." He heard the customer, but couldn't care less. Why now and not earlier? "Man? Hey."

Fezco removed his attention from you and placed it in his drink client, who could barely speak.

When you noticed Fezco was distracted, you felt a little discouraged. You were showing him your best dance moves and it still hadn't been enough to make him stand up and walk to you.

You weren't exactly proud of the tactic you were about to follow, but truth is, you were horny as fuck and needed Fez. And you knew for a fact that this would get a reaction out of him.

Still dancing with Maddy, you turned your back to Fezco and shrugged, a little down. Her brows furrowed in confusion, but then she looked over your shoulder to where Fez sat, talking with a dude, and quickly caught up.

In no time, Maddy pulled the boy in, so you three were dancing. Although the boy kept getting closer and closer to you, placing a hand on your lower back, sliding it to your waist, you removed it from your body and took a step back.

After some seconds, you turned your back to them, locking eyes with Fezco.

Now you've done it.

That's the first thing that crossed your mind as soon as you saw his expression. Furrowed brows, locked jaw, tense shoulders, and his eyes burning holes in your skin.

The boy pulled you closer to him and Maddy, getting in between you two, his hands getting dangerously close to the edge of your dress, and even though you tried to sneak away, his hold was firm.

That was Fezco's last straw.

You saw your boyfriend stand up from the couch, and couldn't help but feel a little excited. His eyes were fixed on you as he made his way through the dancing crowd to where you stood.

Slowly, you inched away from Maddy and the boy, pushing his hand away from you for the last time.

Once Fezco was in front of you, you looked up at him and gifted him the most innocent smile you could give.

"Hey baby."

Fezco didn't verbally reply, he just clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Fez placed a hand on your hip and quickly spun you around, pressing his chest against your back, all while you kept moving your hips to the beat.

His strong hold had your knees weak in wanting, but now that you had him, you wanted to enjoy it a little longer, it's not often when Fez decides to join you in the dance floor.

You threw your arms up in the air, completely getting lost in the music and letting your hips move freely, and yes, against Fez's body too.

Thinking 'fuck it', Fez placed his other hand on your hip and pulled you even closer to him, so his dick would be pressed against your ass as you danced.

And just like that, what seemed to be just a dance, turned into a teasing game.

You were grinding on him, and Fez was shamelessly grinding on you too, making sure you felt how hard he was from all this little game you had going on.

Lost in the music, you threw your head back, placing it on Fez's chest/shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment.

You couldn't see it, but Fez was smirking. You'd just placed yourself in a silver plate for him to do his bidding— and you didn't even know it.

As soon as you felt Fez's lips on your neck, you opened your eyes, your hips stopped moving for a few seconds too.

Knowing what he was up to, you didn't let him know how turned on that got you, instead you just kept grinding on him, feeling him leaving a trail of kisses from where your shoulder met your neck and up to your jaw.

No shame at all.

Fezco and you had never been the type of couple to show PDA, it was mostly small kisses, or you sitting on his lap if you were feeling bold.

Which explains why when your eyes found Maddy's, she looked genuinely shocked at the scene. You simply shrugged slightly, placing your hand on the back of Fezco's head as Maddy gave you a thumbs up and mouthed 'catch that dick!'

It didn't take long for him to notice you were distracted, and for sure, he wanted all your attention back to him.

He knew your weak spots like the back of his hand. So he quickly pressed his lips against the sweet spot on your neck and sucked, bit slightly and then ran his tongue over it, making sure to leave a hickey.

That made you gasp and almost moan, pressing your body impossibly closer to his, his hand sliding down your body, caressing your leg and toying with the hem of your dress; his other hand pushed your hips back, as he moved his to the front.

"You wanted my attention," he said directly in your ear. "Can you keep up with it, ma?"

You felt a tug on your lower stomach, basically, your pussy in distress cause of how badly you needed Fez.

You turned around to face your boyfriend, your lips crashing with his immediately, both of his hands were back on your hips, your arms around his neck.

You didn't know you had that in you, the ability to drive Fez crazy like that. From that kiss, things had gotten more heated, Fez proposed going to the bathroom for some relief; but you denied, only to start grinding on him again.

When he was sure that he was going to explode, Fezco asked/ordered you to go home with him, and you said yes, knowing that you two would probably fuck to sleep once you made it back to his place.

But oh boy... no one said it would be easy.

On the drive back home, you attempted to sneak a hand in his pants, but he moved your hand away rather harshly. He wasn't even looking at you, which meant he was mad. Really mad.

His hand was still on your thigh, though. It moved high enough to make you squirm, but Fez always moved it away just when it seemed like he would just give in.

Once back at home, he still didn't talk. He just sat down on the edge of the bed and turned on a blunt, acting like you weren't even there.

It was all part of his little game, you knew, and you fully intended to play along; Ashtray wasn't home, so you didn't have to worry about the noise.

You walked to the bed and sat next to him, staring at the wall, letting the silence settle down.

You'd been almost shy, inching closer to him. He didn't move away, so it was a good sign. Slowly, you started kissing his neck, taking your time.

A groan wanted to escape his lips, but he was too stubborn to let it out. Instead he played it off by placing one hand on the mattress.

Your lips were restless as you moved closer, kissing along his neck, up his jaw and straight to his lips. Fezco immediately kissed you back, removing the hand from the mattress and placing it on your hip, holding the blunt with the other.

He bit your lower lip, making you open your mouth enough so he could slip his tongue in, his hand lowering to your ass, while you held onto his shoulder as your other hand slipped under his shirt.

Blindly, he put the blunt on the ashtray placed in his night table, hurrying to put both hands on your ass, pulling you closer to him, swallowing down your moan.

Still kissing him like your life depended on it, you found the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, Fez complied by taking his shirt off, his lips going back to yours immediately.

Sneakily, he began to slide his hand between your bodies, his fingers rubbing your clit just enough to make you squirm on top of him.

Hoping this would be it, you quickly stood up, Fezco sneaked his hands under your dress and pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them across the room, letting his hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up.

You felt almost vulnerable under his hot stare, his blue eyes were nearly black with lust, and his jaw was so clenched you thought his teeth would crack.

Leaning down, your hands moved to his jeans, and you were trying to pop the button open when he moved your hands away. You tried again and he moved your hands away again.

You raised an eyebrow, not understanding the game. His hands were still roaming over your legs, softly though. His eyes were dark with lust and his dick was clearly hard. What was he playing at?

Fez pulled you down so you straddled his clothed thigh, letting you know what he wanted you to do. "Go on."

Knowing it could lead to an endless amount of teasing, you stood up and raised an eyebrow at him, testing him.

"You wanted to play dirty back there? Teasin me and shit?" he questions, pulling you back down on his thigh. "I know how to play too, mamas."

"Fez," you said softly. "Please..."

"Please what? Get off on my thigh, since you so good at grindin' and shit."

The way he spoke had you weak as hell, biting your lip and all, he gave you a small smirk, as a way to let you know he wasn't that mad, just wanted to fuck with you, in every sense.

You began to move your hips against his thigh slowly, mostly doing a show for him. Fezco picked up his blunt from the ashtray and took a drag from it, his blue eyes trailing over your body.

It was obvious that you were just playing around; Fez didn't like that. He tensed his thigh and began bouncing his leg up and down, getting a couple of moans out of you immediately.

"Go on," he encouraged you, using the hand on your hip to guide you. "I ain't gonna do nothing else to you ‘till you cum on my thigh."

"But Fez..."

"Actin like a brat and shi'? You get treated like a brat."

He was gonna be the death of you.

Now you really started riding his thigh in search for your own pleasure, and to Fez, that was the real show. He relaxed and leaned back, still using his hand on your hip to guide your movements, but mainly focusing on your pussy grinding against his thigh, and the way your tits bounced on the confines of your dress.

With how turned on you were, it didn't take long. You placed a hand on his shoulder for support and moved your hips until you finally reached your orgasm, Fez helping by bouncing his leg.

Time seemed to stop as you came down from your high, Fez being nice enough to let you get back to normal.

He put out his blunt on the ashtray, both of his hands on your hips now, his eyes trailing over your face and body.

"You did so good," he praised you, his voice low. "so good..."

Out of nowhere, he wrapped an arm around you and turned you both around, pushing you down to the bed as he towered over you.

And that's when he lost all his composure, pretending to be mad at you and restraining himself from touching you wasn't working for him any more.

The kiss was intense, heated, and lustful. He nearly ripped the dress away from your body, desperate to feel your skin against his. You felt like you were melting into the kiss, barely knowing what to do with yourself other than kissing him back.

His lips moved down to your neck, your clavicle, the valley of your breasts, and even lower, all over your belly, the top of your thighs, your inner thighs, kissing his way up desperately.

And as much as you loved when he went down on you, you needed him inside you now.

"Fez, I need you now, please." you begged, your hand softly pressed against his back.

That was all he needed. Fez took off his jeans and boxers at once, getting on top of you quickly, kissing the hell out of you again, entering you with a single thrust.

"Oh fuck..." you moaned, clenching at the feeling of Fez filling you up so perfectly.

"You so tight," he mumbled in your ear as he started to thrust deep and slow. "you feel so good, baby."

You couldn't even speak, he was just moving so fucking good that only moans and whimpers left your lips. He placed his hand on the leg you had wrapped around his waist, moving it higher so he could lean in more; getting a new angle.

“Fuck, fuck…” your hand trailed down his back, you were probably scratching his back, but he didn’t mind. He never did. “Just like that, Fez.”

He stopped after a couple thrusts more. You moved away to try and look at his face, but he didn’t even let you, as soon as you moved back, he pulled out, and used the grip he had on your hips to turn you around.

The strength that man has is underrated.

He thrust back in and in no time, found a rhythm good enough to have you moaning his name like a prayer. He hit the spot with every thrust, with a hand on your hip, the other one he used to wrap it around your neck and press your back against his chest.

“I’m gonna cu—“

“Nah you ain’t, hold it.” he said firmly, making his pace faster.

He could be such a teasing bastard sometimes.

He kept up the relentless pace for a while, his hand sliding down between your legs, rubbing on your clit. He was doing every single thing he knew drove you insane, and yet, he said you couldn’t cum yet, not until he said so.

Fez really isn’t half as innocent as he looks.

“Cum.” he all but ordered with a hoarse voice. “Go on, princess.”

As if your release had been literally waiting for confirmation, it washed over you like a wave of pleasure, making your legs shake and all your senses to just… not work. He fucked you dumb. Literally. Fezco’s release followed shortly, accompanied by a hoarse groan of his.

You fell to the bed, utterly spent, and Fezco carefully pulled out and laid next to you, tiredly admiring you.

“Didn’t know you had that in you.” you said with an amused smile.

“Me neither,” he chuckled, brushing some strands of hair away from your face. “Got what you wanted?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, I want my girl happy,” he said with a lazy smile. “Even if she acts like a fuckin’ brat.”

Jokes aside, you knew he meant that. All these little games where part of your relationship, and at the end of the day, Fezco loved you as much as you loved him.

Although, you made a mental note to tease him more often, especially if it lead to nights like this one.

[thewrldx]

Possessive much? Fez x reader drabble

summary: After finding out another girl tried fucking your boyfriend you show a side you never saw before

warnings: nothing really, fluffiness, cussing, talks about guns

Y/n was not a very possessive person especially with Fezco, you knew he could handle himself, but you also know damn well Fez wouldn't fight a girl if she fucked with him, so whenever you found out from Faye that a cilent of his tried fucking your boyfriend then insulted and belittled him after he rejected her.

You had went over first thing next morning, Fez sitting at the table in the living room counting his money, you start looking around, under couch cushions, behind pictures "What the hell you lookin for this early?" Your boyfriend asked, it obvious he had been awake alot longer than you "One of your guns" You said, focused at the task at hand, Fez threw a small mini lighter at you "What you worried about my guns for?" He asked leaning back giving you his full attention now, you weren't a violent person so why the fuck were you currently looking for a gun "Is someone fuckin with you" He asked a few seconds later "No. I'm not gonna let some woman come up in my boyfriend's house, try to fuck him then disrespect him! especially when you're doing the bitch a favor!" You ranted, your face getting redder with every word that left your lips, Fez's response was the opposite of yours though, he sat there looking at you chuckling to himself "What the hell is so funny!? I'm not gonna let some bitch disrespect you!" You yelled but he just still sat there and giggled, eventually he reached out pulling you up on his lap "You this upset about that mama?" He laughed looking at you, you huffed looking at him "Yes!" You yelled crossing your arms "I'm gonna be the fucking bitch's ass!" You threatened, your rants being silenced by Fez pressing his lips against yours, you still huffed but cupped his cheeks, running the pads of your thumbs over his beard, pulling away taking a moment to admire him, Fez somehow doing the same thing to you. He was like a dream, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from, the type of dream you wake up from and spend most of your time trying to go back to that dream or thinking about said dream. "It's cute when you're mad...epecially whenever it's about standing up for your man" Fez teased resting his hands on your hips, You sighed looking at him "it makes me upset knowing someone is a dick to you..you've dealt with enough shit.." You explained, not feeling his hands slowly running up and down your back until his thumbs tucked themselves into the waistline of your pants. "Mr. Fez...your hands are getting very risky" You giggled resting your hands on his shoulders, he smirked at you "Can't help it..You look good wearin my sweats" He smiled glancing at his sweatpants you had stolen "What're you talking about?.." You asked looking down at your sweatpants "These are mine?" You added on grabbing the fabric "Nah mama, these are mine" Fez whispered leaning up ripping the tag out of the back of the sweatpants holding them up "You don't wear no large in men" He smirked watching your face heat up "well they're mine now" You huffed kissing him one last time before standing up "Now seriously, where the fuck are your guns?" You deadpanned looking at your now shocked boyfriend who laid sprawled out on the couch "It's not happening" Fez said shaking his head looking at you "You ain't shooting anybody, or fightin anybody, you're gonna sit your cute ass back down on my lap and watch this movie with me" Fez demanded holding onto your pointer and ring finger "You're lucky your cute" You grumbled sitting back down on his lap laying your head against his chest "I love you mama" He whispered kissing your forehead.

[thewrldx]

WOMEN OF EUPHORIA for The Cut

[thewrldx]

could you do a 🍃🐸 with nate?

i hate hate but also wanna fuck him

y’know

You had never squirted before, so Nate had made it his mission to be the first one to do so. He was seated in the drivers’ seat of his white pick up truck, seat reclined back, while his large hands grabbed the flesh of your ass. Dress riding up, you held your tits in your hands, as you bounced up and down on his cock. His tempo was unrelenting, teeth gritted as his long cock reached your cervix, a small pain emitting from the intrusion, “Fuck, you’re so fucking small,” he grunted, causing you to whimper. Brown strands fell over his dark, empty eyes, “Could break you in half—right on this fucking big cock. Shit!”

Biting down on your finger, your wide eyes rounded when one of his hands smacked your ass, hard. Letting out a cry, his being hand flew to your throat, making you look down at him, “Shut the fuck up and take it,” he hissed, eyes glinting when he spotted the tears in your eyes, “No one ever made you feel this good before? Huh? Is that it? No one ever make you squirt ‘till your little pussy runs out?”

His dirty words made you frown, a different feeling beginning to tingle in your lower stomach. Muscles clenching, you blinked quickly up at him, trying to push yourself off his cock. At that, he smirked, rising his hips so that you wouldn’t get away—continuing his brutal thrusts, “What? You gonna squirt all over my cock?” He questioned, titling his head. He released your throat for a second, leading you to gasp a large amount of air, “Tell me how much you want it, sweetheart. Don’t run away.”

“Feels—weird,” you whimpered, holding onto his chest, “Don’t—know what’s happening, I think I’m gonna pee—“

He pulled his cock out, interrupting you, before grabbing it with one of his hands and rubbing it up and down your pussy. When his slippery tip making contact with your gushing slit, then up towards your small, abused bud, the balloon in your stomach had popped. Eyes growing wide, you let out a shriek, feeling a new sensation heat up the insides of your cunt. While in the middle of your high, his hand squeezed around your throat, causing your head to fly above the heaven.

Thrashing in his grasp, he held your hips against him, as he chuckled, “Fuuuuck,” he growled out, eyes glued to the way your pussy violently spasmed, “Good fucking girl. Wet that dick, sweetheart.”

[thewrldx]

hey hey!!! loved find your bliss! you executed perfectly ofc! now the only thing i can request is part two!! someone in the comments said they wanted the part of fez w his sketchbook, and i love that!! i trust your creative vision babes!

— Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x F!Reader

— Summary: While she does her witchy things, Fezco watches his girlfriend and does something he hasn't done in a long time—registers the moment for himself. The way the light reflects on her hair, the stroke of her fingers over the cards on the table. Fezco's not one to indulge in things, usually — too much to do, too many responsibilities.

His girl's beauty is more compelling than anything else, and that's something to believe in.

— Word count: 1.6k

— A/n: This work is 16+. Mature content ahead. Mentions of drugs, implied sexual content. This is Part Two of the blurb Follow Your Bliss, but it can be read a stand-alone.

main master list | tv master list | ko-fi ❥

ㅤ— call out my name —

Fezco likes the high of weed because it slows everything down.

His heartbeat, the anxieties that live rent-free on his mind, the passing of time — it's all still there, but muffled, contained. Like a lid had been placed over the cooking heat, or the music faded to background noise.

So far in his life, only drugs gave him that high.

That is until he met you.

The peace comes in moments like this:

Fezco sitting on your bed in nothing but sweatpants, smoking tobacco.

You, taking off your make-up properly with the correct wipes, applying those products he understands nothing about, but sees the results, anyway.

He loved watching you do those things.

Loved watching you regardless of what you did. When you two spent time in your bedroom, Fezco felt as if he were in another reality. A background of a cool Youtube video, or one of the nineties movies' scenarios he loved so much. The fairy lights were the only illumination, and you looked breathtaking glowing like that.

Eventually, you feel his eyes on you.

Through the mirror, your eyes lock on his and a smile spreads over your face. "What?" You ask.

"Nothin'." Fezco smiles. You're beautiful. Sometimes I just wanna paint you.

"You're staring, mister," you tell him. The playful tone you often use to speak with him is what makes him so smitten — although he'd like to use a better word, he's aware that's what he is for you.

"I like the view," he replies. "Can't I stare at my girl?"

"Sure you can," you nod, eyes going back to your own beautiful face. "Don't know what's all that you're looking at, though. You'd think you stared enough for today," the last comment is offered with a cheeky grin, and it makes Fezco chuckle.

His body twitches in your bed, a jolt from his head to his toes as the images of you spread underneath him, on top of him, sideways, all come rushing back to him.

You'd left the party not much later than one and it was now nearing three — Fezco had stared for hours.

Tore off the pretty dress you bought just to tease him, asked, "How much were these pretty panties, baby?"

"Why?"

"Wanna know what's the price of the damage I'll make when I rip them to shreds."

Fezco stared, alright.

He loved nothing more than to watch his baby dance, glow, be bright and merry — that's what drew him in, and it was the beauty that emanated from the inside that kept him stuck. That burned his grandma's words to the ground and taught him sometimes, he can be very wrong.

"I can't help it," he rasps out. Fezco's voice always takes a toll after a whole day with you—all the laughter, the grunting, and the talking catching up to him eventually. "You're not sleepy?" He checks.

You shake your head, and your curls bounce as you do. "Nah. Not really. Someone threw my sleep right outta the window."

That startles a burst of laughter out of him. "Don't even try me, girl."

"What?! You did," you laugh.

"Remind me why we came back home early as hell in the first place?" It astounded him how you could drive him up the walls and make him crawl in all fours for over two hours and yet, not even thirty minutes after you're both done, he's talking to you with the same tone he's used since the night he met you and wanted to win you over.

He likes the way you blush when his voice gets like this — suggestive, accusing.

People outside might not know it, but Fezco met the minx underneath the poised, beautiful girl. He knew the witch, and when your heart became his, Fezco understood there were layers to you.

"'Cause my boyfriend were a blazer tonight," you reply eventually, and the brat smile on the corner of your lips makes him nod.

"Hmm. Sure thing — put it on me, pretty thing." Fezco leans his body down to grab his backpack on the side of your bed. "I wasn't the one who put their underwear in your pocket now. Was I?"

He pinned you with a look.

In return, your smile widened. Even though there was only the dim, yellow-ish light, Fezco could see your cheeks tainting.

"You said you liked it," you fire back.

"Liked it better on you."

Fezco felt his dick's valiant attempt at twitching inside his pants. How the fuck you managed to have this level of control over him was insane, but he relished in the memory of it : Fezco driving you two back to your home, him commanding you to put the underwear back on and make a show for him. The way you slid your dress upwards with your hips swaying to the beat of the song, and the way your hair flew all over the place because of the open windows.

From inside his backpack, Fezco pulled out his sketchbook.

It was an old thing — a gift from Ash to one of his birthdays and one of the things he used the most whenever he was alone. Fezco didn't know shit about art and whether he was good or not, but he could admit he had style.

Inspiration to create was difficult. His life wasn't exactly picture-perfect, a myriad of different feelings and experiences, but he made do.

You, though...

"Babygirl?"

"Yeah?" You were done with your skincare routine when he looks up to see you, and Fezco sees you organizing the jewelry you spread out while getting ready, as well as all the other shit that was on top of your small balcony that was your vanity. He knows you light to put everything back in its place before heading to bed, and that would give him time.

"Is it cool if I draw you?"

For the first time in a good while since dating you, Fezco sees you get truly flustered.

The surprise is on your parted lips and the way your hands falter over your crystals. You turn around slowly, looking bashful, smiling shyly. "You wanna draw me?"

"Yeah." He puffs out the last smoke and puts out the nub on the ashtray he leaves at your windowsill. He sits up straighter on your bed. "I know you well enough by now to know you're gonna organize everything, then you'll pick up all those clothes you threw on the floor when choosing that cute lil' piece, then you'll go to your Tarot decks 'cause today's Sunday and only then you're gonna join me in bed."

He knows his girl, and he sees the surprise owning your whole upper body as he makes you realize just how much.

"I don't usually bring this outside the house, but I thought of it the last time you were goin' thru this lil' ritual of yours," he says.

Your laughter is so delighted and pure that Fezco smiles, openly, from ear to ear.

"You sound so baby sometimes," you coo, and the surprise is substituted by the fondness he's using to seeing in your eyes and mouth. You get up from the chair and crawl over the bed until you're kneeling over him, so Fezco tilts his chin up and drops his notebook in favor of cupping your neck for a good ol' kiss.

He tastes you, pulling you on his lap without a care in the world.

"Fez, you're notebook—"

"Don't care."

It had been through worse, and it survived. Plus — he had no particular attachment to objects, that was a thing he'd learned well in life.

He prefers your soft sigh and your hands around his shoulders, or the way your tongue already knows the rhythm of his better than anyone else. Your kisses feel easier than talking, sometimes, and it scares the hell out of him while simultaneously thrilling him to no end.

The kiss melts and mixes with the nicotine, and Fezco groans softly against your lips.

Breathing mere inches from his face, you whisper. "You can draw me, pretty boy."

"Ugh," he winced, laughing awkwardly at the nickname you gave to him with all the honesty you could muster. It made him bashful, timid to see in your eyes how much you meant the compliment. "Go on. Your room's a mess."

It was your turn to groan. Fezco laughed at the reaction, and watched you pout as you moved away from him.

"I''d help you clean 'n shit, but we both know you'd just wanna re-do everything I do, so I'll stick to my lane," Fezco opens the notebook and grabs the two pencils in the front pocket. "If you need any help or want anythin' you can ask me, tho."

"Thanks, pretty boy."

"Ah! Stop it," he laughs.

"My pretty, handsome fella," you tease, sighing dreamily as if you're a Disney princess.

Fezco shakes his head, smacking his teeth. That's why he likes you, and there's no point in playing the tough guy around you when you've got him wrapped around your fingers.

While Y/n does her witchy things, Fezco watches his girlfriend and does something he hasn't done in a long time—registers the moment for himself.

The way the light reflects on her hair, the stroke of her fingers over the cards on the table.

Fezco's not one to indulge in things, usually — too much to do, too many responsibilities.

His girl's beauty is more compelling than anything else, and that's something to believe in.

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