𝓔v

- him going to malone’s in that mechanics outfit. he looks fuckimg edible with the chain peeking out. wtf imagine it dangling in your face i’m so insaneeee about him

- just him in that carhartt jacket with the chain around his neck

- him in that fucking workout scene with the bandana, and his arms are like coated in sweattttttttt bro

- deadass his voice. he sounds playful, yet serious, it’s a little deep, it’s perfect

- carrying hannah’s bike WITH EASE

- THE ARROW CELLY

- literally when his hair is all messy in the dressing room and his jaw is all tight and shit as he argues w garrett

- the fucking finger twirl

- he looks like he’s so warm. like good hugs, soft kisses, omg imagine the slight scratch of his facial hair as he nuzzles into your neck when he feels extra clingy

- in episode 3 (ig?) when garrett’s trying to study in the living room, and he walks in with those liquid iv boxes and like leans on the sofa?? omg.

“mother’s day is important” “why?” “because your mama takes care of everybody else all year”

when maggie is still little, he helps her make a handprint card. somehow maggie manages to smear paint everywhere except the paper (“don’t put paint in your mouth- maggie mae what did i just say”) but finally, it comes together.

inside is the very messy handprint, along with a sentence that gator clearly helped her write.

“MY MAMA IS PRETTY AND NICE AND MAKES MAC N CHEESE”

but underneath is gator’s proper (still slightly messy) handwriting.

“thank you for loving our girl. she’s lucky to have you. so am i”

gator has to look away while you read it, pretending to fix maggie’s pajamas otherwise he genuinely might cry.

now, since maggie mae was in fact a summer baby, you were extremely pregnant for your first technical mother’s day.

like, extremely pregnant. like “get this baby OUT of me” pregnant.

but when you walked waddled out into the kitchen on mother’s day morning, you were surprised to find gator already cooking an entire full breakfast spread. with a few bonus non traditional items you’d been craving lately. the second he saw you, his face almost lit up.

“there she is!” “what are you doing?” “it’s mother’s day”

you promptly laughed, giving him the “i’m not technically a mother yet” spiel. but he wouldn’t hear it.

“you got my kid kickin’ your bladder around like a bouncy ball right now”

he had a point.

at that time, you guys were still running on essentials only when it came to finances. so gator knew he couldn’t go all out with gifts. however, that didn’t mean he couldn’t pull a few strings and IOU’s with his buddy at the station who had a hobby for woodworking.

when he handed you a framed recent ultrasound photo with “happy first mother’s day, mama” engraved in the bottom…

you burst into tears. literally.

“oh no” gator mumbled.

“are those happy pregnant tears or do you hate it?” “you’re so stupid” “okay good you love it”

he doesn’t always talk about his mom directly. but one year you find him sitting outside on the porch after maggie has already been tucked into bed. you sit beside him, and he doesn’t say anything for a bit.

“she would’ve loved you”

he just stares out at the yard while speaking, his voice much softer than usual.

“would’ve been crazy about her too”

mother’s day for gator is about making sure you know just how grateful him and maggie are for you. because watching you be her mother heals just a tiny bit of him. pack her preschool lunches, comfort her after nightmares, brush her hair in the mornings, read her bedtime stories.

he doesn’t want to take any of it for granted.

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At work, Robin could tell that something was wrong. You were a little subdued, not your usual self. You didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not yet anyway. 

Steve knew, of course. He had been there for you moments after James had left. Had pulled you into his arms and refused to let you go until you ran out of tears. Selfishly, you hadn’t wanted to leave his arms either but you eventually did and he had made you some macaroni and cheese. It was lumpy and not at all like the one you had made him the day he had returned from his parent’s house empty handed but you had appreciated the effort all the same. Appreciated every cup of coffee he left for you on the kitchen countertop. Appreciated the fact he had even stopped stealing your expensive shampoo.

When you did eventually tell your friends about you and James, it was at the bar a week after the breakup.

“Wait—You and James broke up?” Robin gasps—you had a feeling that she was trying her best to look surprised instead of relieved. “Like—for good?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “We broke up.”

“Holy shit,” Jonathan says, leaning back and looking at you carefully.

“Who broke up with who?” Eddie asks quickly.

“Munson,” Steve mutters, taking a quick, careful glance at you. “You can’t ask her that. She doesn’t want to talk about—”

“Did you break up with him?” Eddie presses you, flat out ignoring Steve in his eagerness to unearth the latest gossip. “Did you finally realise how much of a tool he is?”

“Eddie,” Nancy snaps, pressing a sharp elbow to his ribs in warning.

“No,” you say quietly. “He broke up with me.”

That silenced Eddie. Silenced the entirety of the table, in fact. Robin no longer looked relieved, but deeply confused. Jonathan was still watching you, Nancy was glaring at Eddie and Steve was watching the way your hands were fiddling with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“But why—” Eddie begins, but this time you’re the one to interrupt him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say in a clipped voice, grabbing your drink and taking a generous sip, determinedly not looking at your friends.

The group nodded, even Eddie understood, that now wasn’t the time. That it was too painful for you, too fresh for you to talk about. The irony was—it wasn’t painful at all. But the embarrassment over the reason for the breakup? Yeah, that was pretty real. And you needed to be sure that your friends—especially Steve—never found out the truth. That you took the secret to the grave.

And so, you played the part of the girl who had gotten her heart broken.

You cried at sad movies, devoured a ridiculous amount of takeouts and ice cream, you let your friends and family surround you like a comforting blanket. You even debated a radical haircut before Nancy had vetoed that idea.

Your parents came to visit two weeks after the breakup. They arrived shortly after you had broken the news to them over the phone when they had called initially to invite you and James over for Sunday lunch. You then had to tell them that he had broken up with you and they had dropped everything and rushed over. Steve had been there, hovering as your mom gave you the biggest hug imaginable while your dad grumbled something about James not being right for you. He didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t. Your dad had loved James, your mom had too and you felt as though they would perhaps miss James more than you would. 

“At least you’re in good hands,” your mom says, smiling serenely as Steve sets down four steaming hot mugs of coffee onto the coffee table. “Thank you Stevie.”

You smile a little when you notice how Steve’s ears turn red at the nickname, how there’s now a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You knew that he had hated anyone calling him Stevie but you also knew that he wasn’t going to tell your mom to stop calling him that. He catches your eye and bites back a smile before he turns to your mom.

“Anytime,” he says simply.

Your parents had loved James but they loved Steve. You’re sure it has something to do with the fact that Steve was now almost entirely estranged from his parents and your parents seemed to want to shower him in all the parental love he was missing. Your dad invited him to football games, asked him about his job as an assistant baseball coach and your mom told him that he wasn’t eating enough vegetables and asked questions about his plans for the future. Seeing Steve with your parents made you feel a lot of things at once, complicated things that you decided to ignore for the time being.

When your parents finally left, you overheard your mom say to Steve: “You’ll take good care of her, right Steve?”

“Of course. I always take care of her.”

The words go straight to your core and you begin to wonder what was wrong with you.

You hadn’t gotten off to thoughts about Steve since the night with James. You had felt too ashamed to do so. Too full of guilt. But it didn’t mean you didn’t think about Steve. About him taking care of you. About how good it might feel if he took care in other ways. But instead of using those thoughts to get off—you just lay there, a hot pool of want between your legs and an ache that you kept trying to ease by squeezing your legs together. It never worked. You just went to sleep frustrated and feeling like an awful person.

And besides, Steve had seemed to have stopped having sex in the apartment and so, you hadn’t been able to listen to those delicious moans, groans and dirty words that got you off all those weeks ago. At first, you thought that he was just being quiet. That he was trying to be respectful of the fact you were going through a breakup. But when you noticed the lack of random women’s shoes at the front door—you realised he wasn’t having sex at all—in your apartment, at least.

“You don’t have to like, be celibate just because I’m no longer getting any,” you tell him one night on the couch, a month after the breakup. A bowl of popcorn was perched between the two of you, your eyes on the film but your mind elsewhere. “You can still—you know.”

You see Steve’s ears turn red—a tell-tale sign that he was a little flustered by your words but he seems to decide it was best to pretend not to hear you. And you decide not to press him further about it.

You also decide not to dwell on the part of you that was relieved Steve wasn’t having sex with other women. Sometimes late at night, you wondered if the fantasies you had been having about him meant something more than just you needing to get off. If the reason you weren’t heartbroken in the way you knew you should be was because you felt something more for Steve. But then you remembered that you were going through a breakup and definitely not in the right headspace for such thoughts.

James eventually reached out. It had been while Steve was at his Saturday morning baseball practice and you knew James had planned his call purposefully. He said he just “happened to be in the area”, that he had a few of your things to drop off. You had said yes because the guilt was eating you alive—it had been five weeks and James sounded miserable. Meanwhile you had spent last night at Robin and Nancy’s with a bottle of wine and a seemingly endless game of Monopoly.

James’ knock was so distinctly him that it made something in your chest tighten.

You find yourself checking your appearance in the mirror before you answer the door and you aren’t sure why.

You open the door and are greeted with the sight of your ex-boyfriend, a box of your belongings in his hands and a sad look on his face that you wish you could ignore.

”Hi,” you say by way of a greeting because what else was there to say?

”Hey,” James says, his blue-green eyes sadder than you had ever seen them. The guilt in your gut churns because—you were the reason for that, for his sadness. You were the reason for any nights he had been unable to sleep without you by his side. He may not have fucked your brains out the way you needed but he had still loved you.

You have to look away then and so, you glance down at the box of your stuff he had bought over. Inside, you see a box of tampons, a small toiletry bag of makeup and some spare clothes you had kept at his apartment for when you stayed overnight. “You look well.”

”So do you,” you say, though you don’t really mean it. James looked like he hadn’t had a good night's sleep in weeks. His hair unkept in a way he would never allow, his face unshaven and even his outfit was a little less put together without your input on his wardrobe. It made you feel awful, even more awful than you already do and you wanted him to leave so the guilt would follow him out the door. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. “I have um, some of your stuff too if you want—if you want to come in and have a coffee or…something.”

You were sure he was going to say no. You had moaned out your roommate’s name while he had been inside you and broken his heart as a result—of course he didn’t want a cup of coffee.

”I’d love a coffee,” James says with a small smile.

”Great,” you reply with a bright smile that seemed to mask the fact you were cursing yourself inwardly for extending the offer of a hot drink in the first place.

The next five minutes were excruciatingly awkward. James seemed unable to bring himself to sit down on your pink couch and you couldn’t exactly blame him since it was there you had moaned out Steve’s name while bouncing on James’ dick. The memory of it makes you feel hot with embarrassment and so you’re quick to busy yourself with making both you and James coffee as he takes a seat in the small armchair that sat beside the TV instead.

You handed James his steaming, hot mug of coffee and he gave a nod in thanks. You sat down on the couch with your own cup and the silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t know what to say and James looked as though he was beginning to regret accepting your offer of coffee.

The small talk is painful—about how your parents were, about his job. You find yourself thinking of excuses to get him to leave as he stares down at the mug of coffee in his hands.

“I’m um—I’m heading out soon,” you tell him after a painfully boring conversation about what he made for dinner last night. “I need to go food shopping so um, let me grab your stuff.”

“Oh,” James says, his expression faltering slightly as you set your mug down on the coffee table and get to your feet. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you.”

You take a few steps—towards your room when James suddenly calls your name.

“Could I—could I just ask you something?”

You hesitate but you turn around anyway because you couldn’t say no. Not to the man you had once loved.

“Did you—were you thinking about him?” James asks quietly. “Is that why you said his name?”

The look of shame on your face alone is enough of an answer. You watch as James clenches his jaw before looking away from you.

You take it as your cue to leave and you couldn’t have left the room any quicker. You manage to locate an empty box in the back of your closet and you begin to stuff various items of James’ that you could spot around your room—a few old hoodies of his, a Duran Duran cassette tape and some of his boxers that you found in the back of your underwear drawer.

It’s as you head into the bathroom to grab the toothbrush that he had kept in your apartment that you hear the familiar sound of Steve coming home.

Your heart plummets, landing somewhere deep in your gut. Because the last thing—the very last thing—you wanted was for James and Steve to interact.

You quickly shove James’ toothbrush, an almost empty bottle of his cologne and his moisturiser into the box of his stuff that you had collected as your heart pounds in your chest. You could practically hear it thumping, hear the blood rushing through your body as murmurs from both Steve and James reach your ears.

You nearly bolt out of the bathroom in your haste to stop their conversation.

“—I just think it’s a pretty shitty thing to show up here after blindsiding her—”

“—blindsiding? Is that what you think I did—”

You clear your throat and both men turn to look at you. You see James had got to his feet, that Steve was stood a short distance away from him wearing that jacket and those damn jeans that stretched deliciously over his thighs—

You curse yourself from thinking about Steve and his thighs, especially in this situation, with James barely two feet away from you.

You wordlessly hold out the box for James to take. He’s looking at you with an expression you don’t quite recognise and it makes the sense of dread living in your gut intensify to such a level that you have to look away from your ex-boyfriend.

“Thanks for um, bringing my stuff and stopping by,” you say as you chance a glance at Steve who seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the side of James’ head. The protectiveness of it made you want to press your thighs together as an ache built itself between your legs. You curse yourself again for thinking such depraved thoughts. Steve was just being a good friend. A really, really good friend. 

James grunts in acknowledgement, looking at you for a few more moments before he takes the box of his things from you.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says. “And my stuff. I really appreciate it.”

But he doesn’t move and the fact he isn’t leaving terrifies you. Because now he knows you had been thinking about Steve. And if he decided to tell Steve the real reason for your break up—well, you really didn’t want to think about the repercussions. The embarrassment of it happening was enough of a punishment, the thought of Steve finding out made you feel physically ill.

Steve—seeming to misinterpret the fear in your eyes as something else entirely—steps between you and James.

“You gonna get out of here?” Steve asks James bluntly. “I think you’ve broken her heart enough.”

James’ head snaps towards Steve and you can see the anger that had been hidden there.

“Broken her heart?” James retorts, his fingers gripping the box in his hands tightly. “Is that—I didn’t break shit. This was her doing, she was the one who—”

“James,” you cut across him in a small voice. “Please, don’t.”

James stops at the sound of your voice and as he looks at you, you can see the man who once loved you. The man that still probably loved you despite the fact you had broken his heart by crying out a name at the height of your pleasure that wasn’t his own.

“Sure,” James says finally, jaw set. “I’ll go.”

Your shoulders sag in relief as James finally moves, stepping towards the door to your apartment. He makes sure to shoulder barge Steve as he moves past him. Steve looks as though he wanted nothing more than to call James out for it but one look at your face and he knows to shut his mouth for your sake.

The moment the door closes behind James, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you had been holding. You take a few shuddering breaths before you turn to look at Steve and see his arms are already open for you. 

You don’t hesitate. 

Just like that night that you and James had broken up, Steve’s arms surround you. Strong, sturdy, everything that you needed to keep you afloat. Your nerves were shot, your breathing heavy and Steve was there to hold you through it all. You try not to think about his large hands that were rubbing your back gently, about how you wanted those hands all over your body. How you wanted them to slip between your legs, his thick fingers gliding over your wet, glistening lips before slipping inside—

Steve says your name and it pulls you from your thoughts. You pull away enough to look at him and your breath catches when you find your face inches away from your own. It takes everything in you to not look down at those perfect, pillowly lips of his.

“Yeah?” You murmur quietly, looking instead at those big pools of brown you wanted to drown in.

Steve looks as though he was steeling himself, thinking carefully about his next words as he looks back at you. And you know just by the look on his face what he wanted to ask. You knew, of course you knew, that he wanted to know about the reason for your breakup. For weeks, you had been avoiding the subject because the truth of it was so mortifying and you would rather die than admit it to Steve. You couldn’t exactly blame him for being curious and after what James had said—that breakup was your doing—you wouldn’t blame him if he asked.

But you watch as Steve seems to decide against asking you the question. You see how he swallows before looking away from you, eyes on the box of your things that James had returned. “You um, you good?” He asks instead.

The honest answer was no—you weren’t okay. Not in the slightest. The guilt had returned to a dull ache after seeing James. You also felt confused, incredibly so. About what your fantasies about Steve meant. The fact you also seemed to be stupidly horny wasn’t helping your mess of emotions either.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him simply, making the choice to step away from him before you tell him everything. “M’gonna start dinner, is stir fry okay?”

Steve seems to accept the line in the sand you had drawn and smiles. “Yeah. Sounds great. I’ll cut the peppers.”

A week after you had seen James, you had left work early. You had been nursing a headache ever since you woke up. A dull ache pressing itself against your skull that had been steadily building ever since you headed to work earlier in the morning before finally reaching a peak around lunchtime when Robin finally told you to head home. Eddie happened to be hanging around the station at the time, trying to convince Robin to play his band’s song (which had been turned down by your manager since it wasn’t “radio friendly”) and so, he took you back to the apartment instead of having to call Steve to pick you up.

You don’t mean to be quiet as you enter the apartment but your head was still pounding and so you were avoiding loud noises. You choose to softly close the door behind you instead of slamming it shut like you usually would. You didn’t even call out to Steve to announce that you were home. You just head straight to your room to crawl beneath your covers. 

It’s after a minute of laying there, hoping you’ll fall asleep and wake up with a head that wasn’t pounding that you hear it. A low groaning coming from Steve’s room. 

Your stomach sinks.

“Ahhhh—fucccking hell,” you hear him moan and that sound—that fucking sound—went straight to your core.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You told yourself to ignore it, you had a headache and needed to sleep it off. Needed to not listen to Steve and whoever he was fucking in his bedroom. But still, you don’t reach for the headphones that live in your bedside drawer.

“Fucccck yeah—just like that.”

You found that your thighs were beginning to squeeze themselves together. You hadn’t gotten off in weeks and Steve’s voice—his delicious groans—were making you slick between your legs without much effort. Even if the thought of Steve with someone else made you feel sick. Even if it made your heart feel as though someone was squeezing it and—

Your thoughts were cut off by a moan coming from Steve that was so obscene that your eyes couldn’t help but open. Your headache was almost entirely forgotten as you zeroed in on those unabashed noises that were falling from Steve’s lips. 

It was then you noticed the absence of another voice. It was only Steve’s groans filling his room, only him making noises of shameless pleasure. It was then that you realised—with a surge of something hot that made your body feel as though it was burning with pleasure—that Steve was in fact, alone. That it was just Steve in his room, unaware you were home, getting off. And it was the hottest thing you had ever heard.

You could hear it now—the sound of Steve fucking his fist. Wet squelching that made you painfully aware of the heat pooling between your legs. You found yourself wondering if he had used a lotion or perhaps lube or even his own spit. The thought alone made you so stupidly wet that the slightest twitch of your legs had your pussy aching.

You shouldn’t—you know you shouldn’t. You know you should just grab your walkman and headphones and give Steve his privacy. You know you shouldn’t fall back into this old habit. But then you hear Steve let out a particularly loud grunt and you can’t stop yourself.

You start by slipping your hand beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the skin of your stomach as you listen to Steve and his moans that had you clenching around nothing. Your pussy was practically drooling with want. You weren’t sure how long you had—how long it would take for Steve to come—and so, you didn’t waste any time.

Your fingers shake a little as you unbutton your trousers before slipping your hand beneath the fabric. You have to suppress a gasp as your finger makes contact with the dampness that your slick has caused through your panties. It felt so, so good. Your fingers began circling your swollen and neglected clit through your panties. You had to fight back the moan that was bubbling up your throat, you hadn’t touched yourself in so long that even a gentle brush of your fingers over your sensitive flesh felt electric. And Steve’s moans weren’t helping.

“Ahhh, fuck me—” Steve moans out and you hear the lewd sounds of him fucking his fist faster. “Fuck me, fuccck me—”

Oh, how you wanted to do just that. You wanted him to be inside of you, wanted his thick cock to split you open and put you back together again. You wanted him buried so deep inside of you that you would feel him for days. You wanted him so bad that your thighs were trembling.

Your fingers hastily found their way into your underwear and the moment you made contact with your wetness, you let out a small whimper—

But Steve was too busy chasing his high to notice. You could hear it in how much he was moaning. How he was groaning out nonsense.

You zeroed in on his voice and how fucking desperate he sounded as your fingers collected your slick and smeared it over your folds. It felt incredible. Now you weren’t with James, you didn’t have that sense of shame in your gut as your fingers slid through your wetness. All your focus was on Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve.

You plunge two fingers inside of yourself at the thought of Steve. You imagine his pretty brown eyes glassy, lips parted and wet, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink colour, his chestnut hair mused, messy but still somehow perfect. You imagined his hand pumping his cock which even in his large hands would look stupidly big. You imagine the tip of his cock leaking precum, imagine his hand squeezing his twitching length and throwing his head back to expose that pretty neck of his that was dotted with moles.

You had to bite back a moan as you began pumping your fingers in and out, your hips bucking upwards. You were so fucking wet from listening to your roommate and you couldn’t help but imagine Steve slurping up your slick like it was something sacred.

You add another finger as Steve’s groans pick up. Your eyes close, your head tilts back and you’re in bliss. Your fingers curl inside yourself and it takes everything not to moan out, not to join Steve in those unabashed noises he was making in his room. Your other hand—the other that had been fisting the sheets beneath you—joins the fray, fingers circling your clit as you finger yourself faster. You begin to imagine it was Steve’s thick fingers inside of you as you feel your stomach tighten, the coil in your lower belly close to snapping.

And then—Steve lets out a strangled moan and you know then that he had tipped over the edge. And that sound—perhaps one of the greatest sounds you had ever heard—along with the image in your head of Steve Harrington filling you up to the brim with thick ropes of his cum, is what makes you tip right over the edge with him. 

The warmth spreads quickly. It spreads from your dripping cunt right down to your toes. You feel as though your whole body is humming beneath your skin. All the tension in your body vanishes, even the damn headache you had been nursing had lessened considerably. Your eyes flutter close, your head tilts back as you feel your release dripping down your fingers.

You blink—still floating, still basking in the aftermath of your orgasm. You can hear Steve quietly moving around his bedroom but you don’t want to move yet. Because now reality was settling in and you can’t help but think about that feeling you had in your chest when you had thought Steve wasn’t alone. How now that you thought about it, with a clear mind, how that feeling had felt an awful lot like jealousy. The sort of jealousy you remember feeling at the beginning of your relationship with James, when women would look at him for a little too long. 

And it’s then that you realise why your breakup hadn’t devastated you. You realise why you found yourself looking at Steve so much, why you felt warm and safe when he was near. Why the day felt brighter when you realised he had made you coffee, why you barely thought about James since your breakup. You realise why you thought so much about Steve—not just because you were clearly very sexually attracted to him—but because your heart beat a little faster when he was near. You still wanted to jump his bones, wanted him to fuck you until there was nothing left but you also wanted to kiss him slowly, to trace your fingers over the moles over his back and arms that were scattered like constellations over his skin. You wanted to wake up beside him, wanted to be more than roommates, more than just friends.And that realisation? That devastating realisation that you had genuine feelings for Steve, for your roommate and good friend—that it wasn’t just lust or you being horny, single and confused—well, it made everything so much more confusing.

After that, you were kind of ruined.

On a near nightly basis, you were back to getting off while thinking about Steve. And after, you would let yourself indulge in a different kind of fantasy—the one that saw you and Steve living a life that wasn’t just roommates. You found yourself wanting to ask Nancy what Steve had been like as a boyfriend and in fact, you had to stop yourself from asking her on multiple occasions.

You had even tried to put some distance between yourself and Steve but it had been difficult—near enough impossible—due to the fact that you lived together but you had tried anyway.

It lasted perhaps two days before Steve had pouted at you for turning down a movie night.

You had folded pretty damn quickly after that.

And so, despite your best efforts, you really started to fall for Steve.

But you also knew how complicated admitting your feelings would be. First of all, you lived together. If Steve didn’t feel the same way and turned you down, you would be in a pretty sticky situation. He may even move out if you were honest with him. Secondly, he was one of your best friends. The kind of friend you wanted to remain in your life for as long as humanely possible. 

But it was hard because Steve was Steve and you found yourself wanting him so badly that you couldn’t help but think about him being about yours. About what it would be like to have his arm thrown over your shoulder in a way that wasn’t just a friendly embrace. What it would be like to kiss him whenever you wanted to. You couldn’t help but think about his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his hair, his arms, his hands, his thighs, his—

The sound of jeering rips you from your thoughts about Steve and his damn thighs.

It was a Friday night and once again, you and your friends found yourselves at the bar near yours and Steve’s apartment. It very rarely was busy at the bar, people tended to give the establishment a wide berth but game nights seemed to be the one exception.

“Don’t you just love sports?” Eddie asks the group with a roll of his eyes as he takes a swig of beer.

You weren’t sitting in your usual booth because a group of Colts fans had taken the spot. Instead, you were seated in a much smaller booth which you weren’t complaining about since Steve was pressed against your right side. His thigh pushed against yours. It felt so strong, thick and sturdy and you tried desperately not to think about riding it. How about it would feel to hike your skirt up, straddle that luscious thigh of his and drag your needy cunt over his jeans. How it would feel to watch Steve watching you as you used his thigh to get off, your slick dripping through your panties and onto his jeans. Your swollen, aching clit begging for attention that Steve would happily—

“(y/n)?”

“Huh?”

You had been so deep in your fantasy of riding Steve’s thigh that you hadn’t even registered Nancy saying your name. 

Your face felt warm and you blinked several times, looking over at Nancy as though you hadn’t been imagining yourself getting off on her ex-boyfriend’s thigh.

“Yeah, Nance?” You ask, shifting in your seat to try and put a bit of distance between yourself and Steve but all you did was register just how wet you now were.

“Um, James is over there.”

If there was anything—anything—that would have put your horny thoughts about Steve to bed, it was that.

You feel cold all of a sudden, your eyes flickering over to where Nancy was looking and sure enough—there he was. He was standing at the bar with a few friends that you vaguely recognised. He looked a lot better now. He didn’t look like the guy who had been at your apartment a few weeks ago. No longer looked like the guy who had been weighed down by heartache. He was clean shaven, his hair freshly cut and even you couldn’t deny, he looked good. Even if he still seemed to be struggling with putting together a fashionable outfit without your input.

But the fact he was here made you immediately anxious. James knew that you and Steve only lived down the road. He also knew this was where you spent Friday nights with your friends. It was anything but a coincidence.

You feel Steve sit up a little straighter beside you. You try not to think about it.

“Should we get him to leave?” Eddie asks, glancing at you and looking as though he wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with your ex-boyfriend.

You shake your head quickly, swallowing as you look away from James and his friends. “No—Jesus, no. It—it’s fine, Eddie. He isn’t bothering anyone—”

“—he’s bothering me,” Steve mutters, his arm seeming to subconsciously press against yours. The touch sets a fire deep in your gut that you find near impossible to ignore.

“It’s fine,” you insist, picking up your drink and taking a long sip, just to distract yourself from the conflicting mess of emotions you were feeling.

Eddie looks as though he doesn’t buy it and neither does Jonathan.

“You sure?” Jonathan asks you gently, his eyes flickering over your face as though searching for any hint of uncomfortableness.

“It’s fine,” you repeat with another shake of your head and a slightly forced smile. “I’m fine.”

Jonathan doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the look on his face. You couldn’t exactly blame him because you were practically radiating nervousness. But the very last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

“Let’s just pretend he’s not here,” Robin says and you’re grateful for the suggestion, your shoulders sagging slightly in relief. “Who wants some shots? Something to drown out the sound of sport fans—”

“—Oh shit,” Nancy interrupts her girlfriend, her eyes wide as she looks back in the direction of the bar.

You all turn at the exact same time to see a woman walk right over to your ex-boyfriend and press a not so friendly kiss to his lips.

And suddenly—the reason for James being at your local bar made perfect sense. He wanted to show off that he was moving on. Perhaps even wanted you to be jealous. But truthfully, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your friends however—

“Really?” Robin scoffs as she scowls over at James. “In our bar? Really?”

“What a fucking dick,” Eddie seethes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his lights out? Please? Just one punch—”

“Absolutely not,” you say with a shake of your head. “He’s allowed to move on, it’s fine—”

“—fine?” Nancy repeats. “How is that fine? He broke up with you and less than two months later he’s at your local bar showing off his rebound.”

Your face warms—you know how it looks from the outside. How it looks to your friends. It looks like James was being purposefully cruel. That he had dumped you, left you heartbroken and was now rubbing the fact he had moved on in your face. And sure, perhaps the last part of it was true and James had been the one to dump you but you weren’t heartbroken. In fact, you were relieved and James had been well within his rights to break up with you. But you couldn’t tell your friends that.

“I just—I’m not really bothered,” you say with a quick glance at Steve because you couldn’t help yourself and you found him already looking at you. “I mean—I’ve had time and I’m okay. Really, he can do what he wants.”

Both Eddie and Nancy look as though they wanted to argue. You couldn’t read Steve’s expression and Jonathan seemed deep in thought. Robin was the only one who was happy to take your word for it.

“So, back to shots—”

Despite James’ presence at the bar, you still had a good evening. A great evening in fact, even with the bar full of sports fans. You found yourself not thinking about James or the nameless woman he was with. You were too focused on your friends, on laughing with Robin about work and debating a newspaper article with Nancy and with Steve sat beside you—James was the very last thought on your mind. 

You had all decided to leave together, since the Colts winning the game had meant the bar was turning a little too rowdy for your liking and Steve had suggested heading back to your apartment for a few more drinks. 

You thought you were in the clear, had thought you had gotten away from an incredibly awkward situation. You headed for the exit to the bar, Robin’s arm thrown around your shoulders—

But the sound of your name pulls you harshly back into reality. 

You turn and see that you had just walked right past James and his friends and that nameless woman who, judging by the look on her face, seemed to clock who you were right away.

You feel a hand on your lower back and you know instantly it was Steve’s. Anchoring you. Making sure you were okay. Unknowingly making your stomach turn to goo, your insides dance.

“C’mon,” Steve murmurs, voice low as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Let’s—”

“Oh, that’s (y/n)?” The nameless woman says loudly enough for you to hear. You stop, feeling a horrible sense of dread that makes bile rise to your mouth. You should continue walking, perhaps even run. Panic was beginning to rise gut to your chest, squeezing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. But before you could put one foot in front of the other, the nameless woman continued—“The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?”

It feels as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice over your head. The embarrassment felt cold at first, then it began to burn. It burned so hot that you couldn’t really think straight. But you felt Steve’s hand pull away from your lower back. Your body seemed to shut down entirely as shame took over. Your eyes flicker down to the sticky floor of the bar as you think of something—anything—to say.

But nothing comes to mind.

And in your silence and the sheer panic in James’ expression before telling the woman to “stop talking”, everyone within ear shot seemed to understand that she knew something they didn’t.

And god, the silence from your friends—from Steve—is deafening. You couldn’t stand it. You couldn't stand to bear witness to the look on any of your friend’s faces. How—for once in his life—Eddie was silent. How Steve was looking at you—

You don’t look at Steve—or any of your friends for that matter—as you push past Robin. You could feel your hands shaking, your eyes burning as you willed yourself not to cry before you could escape. Your body felt hot with a dangerous concoction of shame and embarrassment. You barely even register anything around you as you head straight for the exit. You hear your name being called, hear James apologising profusely but you don’t stop. You didn’t even grab your jacket from Jonathan and the cold bites at your exposed skin as you walk down the street.

‘That’s (y/n)?’

‘The one you broke up with because she said her roommate’s name during sex? Is that her?’

The words replay over and over again in your head like a song on repeat. How James had looked equally mortified as you. You suppose you couldn’t blame for telling someone—he was hurt and perhaps even embarrassed himself by the reason for your breakup, it wasn’t his fault for trusting the wrong person.

Tears of embarrassment and shame fell down your cheeks that you couldn’t be bothered to wipe away. Your heart hammered in your chest as you passed by groups of jeering and drunken Colts fans. You wondered what your friends thought of you, if they were laughing behind your back. You thought that maybe if you hadn’t panicked, that maybe if you had played it off as a joke, you wouldn’t be walking down the street in tears right now. 

But you knew you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t play it off as a joke now, not when you had left and James’ apologises had followed you out the door.

You make it back to the apartment within three minutes. The obnoxious pink couch is taunting you—the memory of having sex with James on that couch while thinking about Steve, moaning out his name instead.

You retreated to your room, though you knew it would be the first place your friends would look for you. 

And sure enough, barely two minutes later—the door to the apartment opens and then slams shut.

And Steve calls your name.

You know instantly he was alone. There was just one set of footsteps heading to your bedroom door. 

And you wait.

He says your name again, right outside your door.

You want to crawl under the covers and hide, perhaps remain there for all entirety. Haunt the room maybe by refusing to leave. But the small sob you let out is enough to give you away.

Your bedroom door opens and you look up to see Steve standing in your doorway.

You felt as though you couldn't move, your body frozen in some sort of state of humiliation as you looked at Steve’s face.

“Is it true?” He asks and for the first time since you had known him, you’re unable to read his expression. You can’t tell if he’s mad, amused or confused. “Did you—did you really say my name when you and James were—” Steve cuts himself off, his face turning a little red.

You can’t look at him as you nod, tears were still falling down your face and you felt so humiliated that you were sure that would spontaneously combust from the shame.

Steve doesn’t say anything and it only makes you feel more upset. Because Steve was surely to hate you or be repulsed by you or—

“Why?” Steve asks and you make the mistake of looking at him, at his pretty face and the words slip from your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Because I was thinking about you so I could get off with him,” you admit.

Silence. Absolute deafening silence.

If you couldn’t read Steve’s expression before, you definitely couldn’t read it now and the panic you felt in your gut meant words were falling from your lips before you could even think.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, your voice shaky from tears as you sit up in your bed. “I know it was wrong and weird and I shouldn’t have done it but I—he never made me come, Steve. I mean—he did once but it was sort of a fluke and it never happened again—but I just—I always felt so awful after sex because James was good and kind and it still didn’t feel like enough—”

“—wait, he never made you come?” Steve asks, his expression still undecipherable.

You shake your head and sniffle. “No, not really. Not until I—”

You cut yourself off and look at him and you know you should stop talking but you can’t.

“—Not until I thought about you.”

“But I don’t—I mean—how did that work for you?”

“Because I—I heard you having sex with other women and you seemed like you could always make them come and it—”

“You listened to me having sex?” Steve asks you and the way he said it made you burn with shame.

You wanted to lie, wanted to tell him no, you hadn't but it was too late. And so, you simply nod.

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for a long, long moment before shaking his head. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, looking away from you and your heart sinks, you hastily try and wipe away the tears, makeup smearing across your cheek as you try (and fail) to compose yourself.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffle as you get to your feet, standing in front of Steve and hoping he saw how ashamed you felt. “I’m really sorry. I know I shouldn’t have and it was a gross invasion of your privacy but—”

“—did you touch yourself?”

You blink. You weren’t quite sure you had heard him correctly but as you meet his gaze you realise that you hadn’t misheard him. You could see the slight flush in his cheeks.

Your breath hitches and you nod. “Yeah,” you tell him because there was no point in lying to Steve now. “I did.”

Steve looks at you for another long moment before looking away. His jaw is clenched, body tense and you notice how his hands twitch at his sides. You imagine he’s trying to stop himself from walking out the door.

“That—shit—(y/n), what am I supposed to say to that?”

“I don’t—”

“—what am I supposed to do with that information when I—when I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in.”

Everything stops. Or, it seems to. There’s the sound of sirens somewhere down the street, you hear your elderly neighbours yelling at each other but it felt for you as though the world had stopped spinning.

You try and process what Steve had just said but for the life of you, you can’t do it. Because there was no way—there was absolutely no way—that Steve, your friend, your roommate, had just admitted to being in love with you for the better part of two years.

“You—what?”

Steve laughs, exasperated as he looks at you and you can see it in his face, the desperation in his eyes, the longing.

“I said, I’ve been in love with you since the week I moved in. It was since that—since you made me mac and cheese that night after I came back from my parents house. I never told you this but they actually threw out all the shit I had left there. My dad said some shitty things to me and I came back to the apartment and—you just took care of me in a way no one has before. I didn’t even have to ask, it's like you just knew. Like you got me when we hadn’t even known each other for that long.”

“Plus, the mac and cheese was fucking incredible,” Steve says with a soft smile and you can’t help but smile too, wiping a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

“It wasn’t my best,” you murmur back.

“It was perfect,” Steve tells you. “It was the first time I had ever felt a place was really home.”

Your expression softens, something inside of you wants to reach out and pull him in. 

“And then I found out you had a boyfriend and—well, that sucked. But I respected it because you seemed so happy and in love and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” Steve continues. “So, I went on dates. An embarrassing amount of dates. Trying to find someone who made me feel the way you did. Someone who saw me—the real me—and still liked me. Someone who got me. But no one gets me the way you do. No one. And I tried—believe me, I tried but fuck—I haven’t been able to shake it for over two years.”

“Then when you and James broke up I was relieved. I felt fucking awful about it but I was. I was so relieved. It’s why I stopped going out on dates, why I stopped sleeping with other women. It wasn’t some sympathetic act on celibacy or whatever you thought it was but because—because I figured I might—maybe I finally had a chance.”

“Steve—”

“—but I gotta be honest with you if it’s just—it’s just lust you’re feeling then I—I need you to know that I can’t. I can’t. I want to fuck you—god, (y/n) you have no idea how much I want to fuck you. You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

Something hot pools in your lower stomach and starts to burn. You become aware of the distance between you and you find yourself desperately wanting to close it.

“R—really?” You ask him, wanting to hear every dirty detail. You wanted him to tell you every explicit thought he had ever had about you. You wanted to hear exactly how he wanted to fuck you.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, taking a tentative step closer to you. “Really.”

His eyes flicker down—sweeping over your body and leaving you breathless without even touching you. He was holding back. You could see it in the way his fists were clenched at his sides, how he wets his lips as he looked at yours before looking away.

“But I’m in love with you and though I really fucking want to—I don’t want to fuck you if that’s all you want. I can’t do that with you.”

He was giving you an out, you knew it was the safe option. To pretend that your feelings were strictly platonic with an unhealthy amount of sexual tension. But as you looked at his face, you found yourself being unable to lie to him. 

“You know what I felt when James dumped me?” You say finally and Steve looks back at you, shaking his head. “Relieved. I was relieved. And I felt—I felt free, almost. Thinking about it now I think I fell out of love with him a long time ago but just couldn’t admit it to myself because so many people told me how lucky I was to be with a guy like him. That he was the kind of guy I should marry. And for a long time, I believed that. Even though deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. He loved me, he really did, I know that but he didn’t care about my pleasure. Not at all. I tried to tell him what I liked and it was just in one ear and out the other and little by little, I stopped loving him. And I feel awful about it because he’s nice and he just—”

“—if all you can say about him is ‘he’s nice’ then I don’t think you should feel bad,” Steve tells you gently, his hands finding yours and squeezing. “You weren’t meant to be. That’s okay. You’re not a horrible person.”

“You sure?” You ask Steve in a barely there whisper.

Steve smiles a little and nods gently. “You’re the best person I know. Of course, I’m sure.”

You bite back a smile as you tilt your head to look at him.

“I think I’m in love with you too Steve,” you admit, in a voice so quiet Steve has to lean in to be sure he heard you. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at you with a mix of disbelief, affection and an undeniable hunger in his eyes. 

And then—he smiles at you and it was like seeing sunshine on a rainy day. 

His hands leave yours and for a moment, you feel empty but then he gently cups your face between his large hands, so he could wipe away all the tears that had previously fallen. 

“So, we’re just a couple of horny freaks in love,” he murmurs and you let out a soft laugh, leaning into his touch as you feel his thumb gently swipe over your cheek.

“The horniest,” you say with a soft smile.

You were sure that there was more to say. There was so much more to talk about but right now? Talking was the last thing on your mind.

Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you look at Steve. He knows without words what you wanted. He could probably feel it in the air, smell the want on your skin.

“You sure?” Steve whispers, brown eyes flickering between yours

“Please just kiss me, Harrington,” you tell him breathlessly. 

Steve did not need to be told twice.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft. You felt Steve almost instantly melt into the kiss and you couldn’t help but do the same. His hands—those large hands that you had spent so long fantasising about—had found home on your waist while yours rested on his chest, fingers curling further into the fabric of his shirt.

His lips slid wetly against yours and you felt something hot rush through you and soon, what had begun as something innocent and soft turned into hot and heavy.

You felt one of his hands move to your jaw where he titled your head back and so he could kiss you deeper, his tongue gently coaxing your mouth open. You parted your lips eagerly and the wet heat of his tongue had you whimpering against him.

You feel Steve smile against your lips, probably feeling smug, before he pulls away enough to murmur, “You getting all worked up already, pretty girl?”

You almost wanted to slap that smug look from his face but the moment he calls you pretty girl, you falter.

“Shut up,” you tell him and the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth has you reeling.

“Gladly.”

And then he’s kissing you all over again. Your lips crash together with over a year of built-up tension finally giving over. Steve’s lips are warm and inviting, his tongue sliding against yours in a kiss that had you moaning into his mouth and had Steve tugging you closer until your body was flush against his. And fuck—he was already hard.

The kiss became almost frantic. Steve groans against your lips as his hands begin to roam your body. They return to your waist briefly before sliding down to your hips and squeezing.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Steve murmurs against your lips as he hands slide from your hips to your ass, which he shamelessly grabs with both his hands over your skirt. “So fucking gorgeous.”

You make a noise against his lips as his tongue sweeps back into your mouth. You can’t stop touching him, your hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him ever closer. It was the kind of kiss that went straight to your cunt—that left your pussy aching and your lips tingling.

You barely register Steve guiding you both backwards. All you know is you feel the backs of your knees hit your bed and you fall down willingly. Steve takes a moment to just look at you—to marvel at you, at the tops of your thighs that peaked out beneath your skirt, at your flushed face, at your lips that were wet and swollen from his kisses and Steve can’t resist.

He’s back on you and truthfully, you could have made out with him for hours. He was stupidly good at kissing. He knew how to apply the right kind of pressure, knew how to kiss you in a way that left you aching for more. Knew how to have you whimpering beneath him with just his lips. 

His shirt was the first item of clothing to come off and you were practically drooling at the smattering of dark hair that covered his chest.

“You think I need a wax?” He asks you with a wry smile.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You dare—”

Steve grins, leaning over you to silence you with a kiss. “I’m kidding, baby.”

He made quick work of your top next, one of his large hands cupping your breast over the cup and squeezing.

“Can I—”

“Yes,” you gasp out, back arching and practically pressing your breasts into his face. “Please.”

You try not to think about how quick he is at unclipping your bra. But honestly—you’re not thinking about much as his lips wrap around your nipple. The sound you let out is one you couldn’t control, it was loud and you were sure to get noise complaints. But as Steve began to suck the pebbled peak, tongue swirling, you found you didn’t really care about noise complaints. 

“Ah—fuck, Steve—”

Steve hums against your skin and the slight vibration has you writhing beneath him. 

“What is it, baby?” He asks you, pulling away from your skin before blowing cool air over your sensitive peak. “What do you want? Tell me?”

Your body felt as though it was on fire. No guy had ever asked what you wanted before and it must have shown on your face because Steve slowly moves back up your body so he could look down at you.

“Tell me,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your cheek. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl. You want the world? I’ll give it to you.”

You let out a breathless sort of laugh but it ceased the moment you felt his lips against your neck, tongue laving over the skin.

You were sure you were going to die. You had never—in all your life—been so turned on. Your body felt so hot that you were surprised that you hadn’t burst into flames. There was an ache between your legs that was so intense that even the slightest movement had you whimpering. 

“You—your mouth,” you manage to gasp. “I—I want your mouth, Steve.”

“My mouth,” Steve murmurs, smiling when you jolt as his hand grips your thigh in order to hike it over his hip. “My mouth—where, baby? Where do you want my mouth? Use your words.”

Your face burned and you wanted nothing more than for Steve to just read your mind. For him to get the hint as you tried to move your hips. But Steve wasn’t going to give in that easy, he wanted to hear exactly what you wanted.

“Be—between my legs,” you say breathlessly. “Please, Steve.”

Steve didn’t hesitate. He began to kiss his way down your body, his tongue briefly teasing over the nipple that he had previously neglected and smiling when you whimpered.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmurs against the skin of your navel as his fingers tug at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips in a silent invitation and Steve’s quick to slip both your skirt and panties down your legs. 

The moment you were laid bare for him, Steve’s expression changes. There was still hunger of course but Steve? He was in complete and utter awe of your body.

“You’re fucking beautiful baby,” he tells you reverently, hands shaking slightly on your hips as though he didn’t quite know where to start. “Fucking perfect.”

He leans down, his lips on your inner thigh, causing you to moan out in anticipation. You were so wet—so fucking wet it was embarrasing—but Steve seemed to marvel in it. He breathed you in as his lips moved higher.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs as his eyes feast on your glistening folds.

You want to tell him to stop teasing you, to stop making you wait. But before the words could come out—Steve dove in.

The first swipe of his tongue against you has your fingers curling into your bedsheets beneath you and your back arching off the bed. You don’t bother holding back on your moan—you let it out and it was all the encouragement he needed.

And Steve? This man was made to eat pussy.

Steve was relentless. His tongue was hot, eager, swiping a broad stroke from your entrance right up to your swollen, needy clit. You cry out, unable to stop yourself. Your hands find his hair, already messy from your fingers and you grip the strands tightly as Steve’s tongue circles with your clit with delicate precision.

“You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling away from you for a few seconds. You make the mistake of looking down at him and seeing his chin glistening with your sweet juices. “My girl tastes so good.”

You barely have time to process him calling you my girl before you feel his fingers sliding between your folds.

“Oh—fuck!”

You cry out as two of his thick fingers dip inside of you as his mouth continues its gentle but tortuous assault on your clit. Your body felt on fire and you were so fucking wet you could hear the squelching of your slick, mixed with his spit as Steve began pumping his fingers in and out of you. You were so close already and the fact that Steve himself was starting to moan, grinding against your thigh so you could feel his thick and heavy cock through his jeans—well, you knew you weren’t going to last very long.

“Gonna come already, baby?” Steve asks you as he curls his fingers, tongue peeking out to play with your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you that had your back bowing off the bed. “C’mon, you’re doing so fucking good. Look at you. So fucking good f’me.”

Your moans were wanton, your neighbours would definitely complain. But that didn’t matter as Steve’s fingers moved in and out of your dripping pussy, as his mouth sucked at your sensitive bud. You wanted to hold out for a little longer, wanted to remain in your bed with Steve’s head between your legs for the rest of time but you made the mistake of looking down and seeing Steve looking at you—it was the thing that tipped you over the edge.

Your entire body shakes. Your orgasm hit you so hard that for a few moments, your vision whites out. Steve Harrington had sent you to another planet, perhaps another universe with his mouth and the only thing keeping you tethered to the bed was him. His hands gripping your thighs, wet lips lapping up every last drop of your sweet release.

He only pulls away when you tug at his hair. He looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet from your slick and you can’t help yourself. You were still trembling from your orgasm but you didn’t care. You tug him up roughly before kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it was the hottest fucking thing you had ever experienced.

“Take your fucking jeans off,” you breathlessly tell him.

Steve’s eyes widen a little at your tone but he doesn’t need telling twice.

He stands, eyes on you as unbuckles his belt. You sit up because fuck—you had thought about his cock a lot. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he tugged his jeans down his legs. The first sight of the bulge in his boxers had your eyes widening.

“Is that a weapon of mass destruction I see or are you happy to see me?” You ask, lips twitching into a teasing smile.

Steve looks a little bashful, eyes soft as he looks down at you. “A bit of both.”

You almost laugh—about to tease him further—but then Steve pulls his boxers down and every smart quip you had lined up vanishes.

“Holy—fucking hell, Harrington.”

“What?” Steve is trying his best to seem coy as his cock hangs heavy over his soft tummy. Your eyes are shamelessly taking in every inch—and god, was there a lot of inches—of his beautiful cock. Your lips part, mouth feeling awfully dry as you gaze at the sheer size of him, at the slight curve of it, at the tip that was flushed a needy pink, already dribbling precum.

“It’s just—you’re really big,” you tell him bluntly, unable to stop yourself from reaching out to wrap your hand around him.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses at the touch and you look up at him, seeing the way he was clenching his jaw. You decide to put him out of his misery.

You let go of his cock, taking his hand and pulling him back down onto the bed. Steve lets you pull him down willingly and your lips find each other in a kiss that was somehow sweet despite the situation.

“You know I’m ruined for anyone else, right?” Steve murmurs as you gently push him back onto your mattress.

“I figured,” you say as you straddle his lap. Your wet heat pressing right against his achingly hard cock. “But the feeling’s pretty mutual."

Steve wanted to say more, wanted to tell you everything that he had never told you. But there’d be time for that.

“You um—you wanna grab a—”

“No,” you shake your head as you reach down to wrap a hand around the base of his heavy cock to guide him to your entrance. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters, his hands back on your waist and gripping tightly. “Does that mean I can—”

You don’t let him finish the sentence, too busy sinking yourself down onto his cock to let him. The stretch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Nancy hadn’t been lying about worrying about being split in two because Steve’s cock was allconsuming. You felt your head fall back and eyes roll as you lowered yourself down onto him completely.

“Fuck—baby—shit—you’re fucking squeezing me like—fuuuuuck—”

The moment he bottomed out, his cock kissing your cervix, you let out a noise that was so obscene that Steve twitched inside of you.

“If you keep making noises like that—”

You shut him up with a kiss. It was messy and yet, it was everything.

You pulled away from him so you could start to move. You watch as Steve’s eyes drop down to where you were joined, to watch how his cock disappeared inside of you—seeing the way your pussy was stretched obscenely around him.

“Fuck—you’re so fucking perfect, y’know that, baby? Look at you. Made for me.”

You whimper because his words were having such an effect on you and you were trying to maintain some semblance of control. You lifted your hips up before slamming back down onto him in a rhythm that had the both of you moaning out. Steve’s hands move to grab your ass, helping to guide your movement as he thrusts upwards. The bed frame begins smacking against the wall but the both of you are too far gone to care.

You were riding Steve like it was the last time, not the first. Your hips rolling frantically, Steve meeting your movements with upwards thrusts that had your eyes rolling back. The sounds coming from you were obscene. Between your moans, Steve’s groans and the wet sounds that filled the room, you were sure to wake up to the whole apartment building complaining.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me,” Steve encourages, eyes on your breasts that were bouncing in his face. He was close, you knew it from the way he was starting to babble nonsense. How his moans had turned into whimpers when your fingers dug into his back. You slam yourself down harder onto his cock and there’s a slapping of skin as your ass hits his thighs. The slight curve of his cock meant he was hitting that spot inside of you perfectly. You held onto him as you chased your orgasm, wet sounds growing louder as high pitched moans left your lips that you couldn’t control. 

“Fuuuck! Steve—I’m going to—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs shook, back arched and you fell forward, collapsing against his chest.

Steve came right after you. His hips stuttered once, twice and then he came with a noise that you never wanted to forget. You felt thick ropes of his cum deep inside of you, flooding your pussy with his release.

You were both spent, sweaty and panting but Steve’s arms remained around you and you hoped he would never let go. He didn’t move and neither did you, his thick cock buried deep inside you, a mix of your releases dripping on your bedsheets. 

Steve is the first to pull away, just to look at you.

“What?” You ask him, breathless and still, wanting him several more times before you even consider going to bed.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your jaw, then to your cheek, another to your nose, then a final one to your lips before he pulls away again. “Just—really glad to be your roommate.”

You snort with laughter and shove him playfully. He doesn’t budge. He just laughs along with you.“I think we’re way past roommates, Steve.”

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It was busy for a Thursday. You felt rushed off your feet—you were short staffed since Matt had called in sick (even though you had a sneaking suspicion he was actually heading for Coachella this weekend) and you and the other barista Marie were struggling to keep on top of orders, cleaning and manning the till.

And it was inevitable that a customer would make things worse by snapping at you.

"Fucking hell," the middle aged man whose drinks order you had just messed up grumbles loud enough for you—and every other customer nearby—to hear. "Could the staff here be anymore fucking useless?"

The embarrassment feels hot in your stomach. It spreads, moving up to your chest and making your heart beat a little quicker before it reaches your face and burns your cheeks. You don't respond—you can't respond. But you feel the eyes of the other customers all staring at you and it makes you feel exposed in a way that makes your stomach churn.

"Hey man, don't talk to her like that. She's just doing her job."

You had been so frazzled that you didn't even know Travis had walked in. Didn't even know that he was the next customer in the line.

You look up just in time to see the rude customer glance at Travis—at his large frame, at the snake tattoo on his forearm—and seems quick to decide to not retaliate. Not when you had a guy like Travis on your side.

You look over at Travis to see him already looking at you. His hazel eyes were soft and full of concern. You feel hot again, but not from embarrassment.

You manage to fix the guy's order and though he doesn't leave a tip—he does mutter a small 'thank you' before rushing towards the exit.

"Sorry you have to deal with pricks like that," Travis says when he stands in front of the till, eyes soft and looking at you like he wanted to be sure you were okay. "You don't deserve that."

You shrug like it was nothing. People like that were part of the job, you learned not to take it to heart.

"It's nothing," you say, forcing a smile and looking at guy who had your attention for months without him even knowing. "Part of the job. You want your usual?"

You can tell Travis wants to say more—he always does—about the guy who had been rude to you but he also knew you were busy. There was a long line of people behind him and he didn't want to make you anymore stressed than you already were.

"Yeah, the usual," Travis says with a smile.

You make his coffee, wishing it wasn't so busy so you could talk to him the way you always did. You loved hearing about his job. About the strange people he had met that week. About the bad movies he had watched recently. But you knew you had to keep the line moving. And so when you hand him his cup and your fingers brush for the briefest of moments, you can't help but feel a little sad to see him go.

"Thank you," he says with that easy smile that makes you feel a little giddy. You try not to smile even more when you see him slip ten bucks into the tip jar before walking away.

You expect to hear the bell chime above the door. But you don't. You move onto the next customer, not really thinking too much about it. Until you go to grab some soy milk from the fridge and notice that Travis had sat down on a nearby empty table. The sight made you freeze for a few moments.

Because Travis had never sat down in the coffee shop. He always grabbed his coffee and left.

You quickly return to doing your job, but your mind wonders. You wondered if he was here to meet someone, a friend maybe. Your stomach dropped when wondered if he was here to meet a date. Just the thought alone was awful enough.

But as the lunchtime rush settled and that long line of customers died down, nobody sat down on the empty chair opposite Travis. He was just sat there, sipping his coffee, wired headphones in and listening intently to what you presumed was that audiobook he had told you about a few days ago.

With the shop in a much more manageable condition, you told Marie that you were going for your break. You slipped off your apron before heading for the staff room to grab a jacket and your bag.

When you return, you find Travis still sitting at that table. Your hands twitch as you fight the urge to go over. He still had his headphones in and you were pretty sure he wasn’t interested in you—his lack of reaction to your various hints over the past month had told you that much. And so, you shove down the ache building in your gut and make your way towards the exit, thinking you’ll grab a sandwich from the place down the street again—

But the sound of Travis calling your name stops you dead in your tracks.

You turn and, sure enough, Travis was scrambling out of his chair—tugging his headphones out of his ears and shoving his empty coffee cup into the nearby bin before making his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says with a smile as he stands in front of you. “I um, was waiting for you to finish. Not in a weird way—but thinking about it now it is kind of weird. Oh god, I hope you don’t think I’m weird—”

He had been waiting for you.

That’s all you could focus on.

You’re not even listening to his rambling, which had somehow transpired to something about restraining orders and you’re just looking at him with wide eyes and a barely there smile.

“—I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After that guy earlier. If you weren’t, I was going to suggest we get something to eat to cheer you up but if you are okay then um, forget I said anything—”

“Yes,” you cut in before Travis could say anymore.

“Yes?” Travis repeats, brows furrowed in an expression you find stupidly endearing. “Yes as in you’re okay or—”

“Yes as in to lunch. I’m okay about the guy. Really. But lunch sounds nice if that’s…still on the table.”

Travis looks at you for a long moment before he smiles, reaching out to open the door for you.

You try not to be too pleased about it. Try not to think about the way he’s walking beside you down the street. Try not to think about how his arm keeps brushing against yours, about whether or not the contact was purposeful or not.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for lunch for a stupidly long time,” Travis tells you as you’re waiting to cross the street. You feel your insides turn, feel them move about in a rush of giddiness that had everything to do with the man stood beside you.

You’re so shocked by his admission that you forget to respond and of course, Travis continues talking. “I just—you’re like really pretty. Not that that’s the only reason I wanted to take you out for um, lunch. But you also make a really nice coffee. Not that um that means anything either because you’re more than your job, you know? You’re kind, funny. Did I mention pretty too?”

You have the biggest smile on your face now and when Travis finally notices, he smiles.

“You mentioned it a few times, yeah.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re really pretty.”

Warmth floods your cheeks, you look away.

“You know—you could have asked me ages ago. I’ve been dropping hints for months,” you tell him.

Travis goes back to looking like a confused puppy for a few seconds before his eyes widen comically. “Oh—shit. You—ah, fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

“Well, better late than never,” Travis says with a shrug before he reaches down to take your hand. Your heart does things in your chest that defies science. He’s doing it under the guise of tugging you safely over the road but you hope that he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t.

He holds your hand the entire time you’re in the queue for sandwiches. He insists on paying for you. Even jokingly offers to feed you your damn sandwich (that you had been a little tempted by). And then he walks you back to work—his hand still in yours. A stupid smile on his face.

“What time do you finish?” He asks once you arrive outside the coffee shop.

“Four,” you tell him.

“Four,” Travis repeats with a small nod. “I’ll pick you up. Take you out somewhere nicer than Earl’s sandwich shop.”

You wanted to play it cool, perhaps make it seem like you were busy before inevitably agreeing. But the confidence in which he told you that he’d pick you up without really asking was incredibly hot. It made you feel as though your insides were made of goo. Any thoughts you had about playing hard to get vanished as quickly as they appeared.

“Sounds like a plan Travis,” you say with a smile.

“Call me Teacake.”

You blink. “Teacake?” You repeat with a raised brow—not judgemental, just curious.

“Long story,” Travis says by way of explanation.

“How about Tea?” You suggest, head titled to the side.

Travis does something then you didn’t expect—he flushes. A generous dusting of pink on his cheeks that doesn’t help the whole stomach feeling like goo situation.

“Tea—yeah, Tea’s um, it’s cool.”

The fact he was flustered over a damn nickname made you want to know him. Know all of him. Learn what else made him flustered.

“Okay, Tea,” you say as you step closer to the coffee shop entrance. “I’ll see you at four.”

“On the dot,” Travis calls out to you. “See you later, Gorgeous.”

dividers by @cursed-carmine

🧡 oh teacake, you will always be famous in this house

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