c/w ᝰ.ᐟ coach’s daughter!reader, secret relationship, possessive!garrett, praise, risk of getting caught; in the hockey house kitchen, fingering, handjob, briefff oral (m.) language, teasing, edging, pet names (baby, pretty thing, my girl, gorgeous + no y/n), oh && he refers to himself as a good boy + refuses to leave ☺︎ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You’re barefoot in the kitchen, hair still damp from your shower as you measure out some sugar with the little spoon. A to-go cup for Garrett. And a mug for you.
You stir without really thinking, watching the little sugar crystals disappear into the swirl as you hum some song from the bar last night, lingering in the back of your mind. Ding!
The toast pops out of the toaster. You walk over to the fridge to pull out some jam. You bend at the hips, reaching for the little glass jar tucked behind the mess.
A whistle cuts through the kitchen. You already know who’s standing behind you.
You glance back and sure enough, there he is, caught mid-stare, duffle slung over his shoulder, dressed head to toe in Briar U Hockey workout gear. His dark curls are sticking out from beneath his hat, still messy from sleep, and the gold chain around his neck catches the kitchen light when he shifts.
He looks at you like you’re something he’s not supposed to touch, always seconds away from getting walked in, but that's half the fun at this point. He takes his time looking you over, his hand lifting to turn his hat from the front to the back with a lazy flick.
He’s on you in a second, big hands sliding around your hips as you straighten up; his body pressing into yours.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with sleep—the kind that always gives him away when he’s stayed up too late the night before and woken up too damn early. “What are you doin’ down here, huh?”
“I made your coffee,” you murmur and he groans.
“Saw your text,” he hums, grazing his mouth over your cheek. “You’re too good to me.” His chain brushes your collarbone when he leans in, cool against your skin.
Garrett lets you go, reluctantly, and you start to walk toward the counter. His eyes trail up the length of you.
“It’s just coffee and toast, baby,” you smile, tilting your head slightly.
“Considering everything you did for me last night… I should be the one making breakfast—you don't owe me anything.”
Your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under all this attention as he walks closer. His hands rest on the counter on either side of your hips just as you lean over the counter, reaching for the butter, your ass arching back, right onto his lap. On purpose. You don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t.
“Oh, shit,” he breathes, his voice low and amused as he plays along with the accidental contact, his bag falling heavy to the floor, looking over his shoulder for his roommates. “Real sorry, baby.”
You let out a bubbly laugh as he grabs your body and turns you toward him, lifting you up to set you down on the cool counter.
“What if the boys see you down here, huh?”
His smile’s smug; the man stepping between your thighs as his hands slide up the back of his jersey. His rough thumbs slip under the band of your panties, gripping your hips in his big hands.
Garrett reaches up a little higher, squeezing your breasts before his thumbs brush softly against you. “And what if they did?”
“See you?” His grin widens. “Coach’s daughter wearin’ forty-four and not much else.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, arching into him a little more.
“Well, damn,” he murmurs, looking at you like he’s just remembered he has somewhere to be. “I’d be fucked—I mean, it's pretty risky. I could stop,” he grins against your skin.
“No, you couldn't,” you dismiss it with a teasing laugh.
“No shit. Wearin’ my jersey. No bra… Panties. Textin’ me telling me you made me coffee and breakfast. You honestly think I wasn't gonna thank you a little. Thank you, baby,” he breathes as he leans in, pulling the fabric up, his mouth finding your breast.
He circles it once with his tongue, then again before sucking down, rough enough that your breath hitches and your fingers thread through his dark hair, his curls tangling between your fingers as you hold him there.
“Wish we lived alone,” he grumbles, turning his face further into your chest as his curls tickle your skin.
“Yeah?” You ask breathily as your thighs widen on the counter.
“Whole house to ourselves?” He says, letting the words vibrate against your skin.
He tilts back in, greedy mouth following the curve of your neck as his hands clutch your thighs, holding you open as he leans in close.
“I’d lift up the back—bend you over the counter.” His fingers shift around your body, tracing down your spine, landing on your ass, kneading your flesh.
He smiles against your lips, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin. “Couldn’t have put on some shorts, or somethin’?”
“More comfortable like this,” you whisper, turning his words back on him when you say, “I mean, it's pretty risky. I could run upstairs and put some on.”
“No, you wouldn't,” he hums. “You did this for me and I fuckin’ love it. Just walkin’ around here like you own the place. What if Tuck and Logan see you, huh? Dean?”
“Oh, Dean?” You ask, because suddenly this conversation makes a lot more sense.
“Don’t start,” he scoffs. “You know he likes you.”
“None of you are subtle,” you answer and he lets out a laugh.
“Yeah, well you got no idea how many conversations I’ve sat through, baby.”
Then his hand slips forward, grazing over the thin material between your legs, pressing soft little circles onto your clit until your hips twitch at his touch.
“They think they know what it’d be like to be with you—they got no fucking clue,” his voice breaks a little when he softens it. “How perfect you are—how much you do for me. To me.”
You hook a hand around the back of his neck, thinking about how easy it would be to have him press himself in and lay you out across the counter, but the both of you would never recover from being caught like that.
You pull him closer and his lips suck down on your neck, rough enough to leave a mark.
“Kept my mouth shut. Haven't said shit. It kills me…” He breathes over your collarbone right where the collar of the jersey meets your skin. “I've been such a good boy for you.”
“So good,” you whisper. “And yet, you stopped telling what we would do if this house was ours,” you breathe, nails tracing over the thick bulge in his shorts.
He laughs, liking the sound of that. “Got you bent over this counter. One hand on your hip, the other gripping this jersey in my fist while you cry out that name on your back.”
His fingers trail even lower, dipping just barely between your folds, right above your entrance, the barrier of fabric only adding to the ache between your thighs. So much for all that teasing he accused you of. He’s worse.
“Too bad you have a workout.” Your fingers card through his dark hair. “We could stay back.”
He grins as he chuckles warmly against the column of your neck, dragging your panties to the side. “Fuck, you wanna get me in trouble, huh? Won’t be able to play tonight if I don’t show—you know that. After the game, though. Boys’ll go to the bar,” he breathes as his fingers mimic the tempo of his words.
His breath catches in his broad chest as your finger slips under the band of his shorts, pulling him closer before you slide your hand inside.
“Christ,” he grits through a smile as your fingers wrap around his cock, finding him hard and heavy. You stroke and he hums deep against your lips about all the things he wants to do to you when you're alone.
“Trying to get me all worked up just to send me off,” he whispers. “That’s fucked, pretty.”
He works you with his long thick fingers, slow enough to tease. “How fast do you think I could get you off, huh?” He chuckles, his laugh buzzing against your lips. “Pretty close right now, huh?”
Garrett breathes those words against your jaw. Your hand slaps over your mouth, muffling the sound of his name.
Your pussy squeezes around his fingers and you lose the rhythm of your strokes, but he doesn't, leaning into the counter a little more. The wet sounds of his hand darting in and out suddenly, too loud but it's replaced by the pounding of your heart in your head.
“Come on, baby… Cum on my hand,” he mutters, teeth scraping your neck and your body releases, fluttering around his fingers.
Your thighs squeeze together as he keeps going, whining against your hand, before he slows his pace.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with his heavy gaze locked on yours, the watch on his wrist glinting.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles as you slip off the counter and into his arms. “I love you—”
“I love you too,” you whisper as your lips find his again, hands sliding down his chest. Your hands slip lower. His shorts are already halfway down his hips, cock trapped beneath the waistband.
“What are you up to, huh?” He asks like he doesn’t already know as you back him into the counter. “Yeah?” He laughs softly. “Bet you won’t.” That challenge barely leaves his mouth before he kisses you again, eyes flicking toward the stairwell mid-kiss before dropping back to you as you sink to your knees.
“In my jersey,” he mumbles as he tilts back, hands resting on top.
He sucks in a sharp breath when the air hits him, shivering when your tongue glides up the side of his cock, tossing back his head as he bites down on his lip, holding back a moan—BANG!
“Fuck me,” he hisses, hanging his head between his shoulders when a bag drops in Logan’s room above you.
Your tongue swipes against his tip and he blows out a sharp breath through his nose, his sticky wet precum catching on it.
“Just—Just a little more,” he mutters, holding your head, following you as you take him in your mouth. You bob back and forth and his grip tightens, eyes fluttering shut—THUMP!
You draw away when you hear some more motion upstairs. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, watching as you kiss the tip.
“That’s how we’re playin’ this, huh?” Looking back at you in playful frustration, he tugs you up fast, muttering bitterly under his breath as you tug his shorts in place.
“Sorry, baby,” you smile.
“Teasin’ me, baby. Just wait until later,” he warns with a smile, grabbing his workout bag, walking with you back up to his room.
His fingers find yours automatically as the two of you step into the hallway.
Garrett walks a half-step behind you, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your knuckles. You glance over your shoulder and catch him already looking. He drags a hand across his mouth, trying and failing to hide his smile.
You step up one stair, and by the third he already knows he’s in trouble. His number stretched across your back. His last name stamped over your shoulders. The curve of your ass peeking out each time you take a step higher.
The intrusive thoughts win without effort. His other hand reaches out for you, pulling you back and into his strong arms. “Garrett Graham!” You whisper-scream and his deep laugh echoes through the stairwell.
“You are drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles like he's pissed—smiling like he's in love. “I’m just a man, alright? What do you want from me?” Your arms curve loosely around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you, carrying you the rest of the way. “Plus you were walkin’ up the stairs too slow, you needed my help.”
“My hero.”
“Good thing I'm riding by myself. I need some time alone with my thoughts.”
“You’re dramatic,” you cut in, but that only encourages him.
“You know one hand on the wheel, the other doin’ what you started and didn't finish… you're lucky you're gorgeous.”
“So are you,” you smile and he scowls.
By the time he sets you down inside his room, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, shutting the door before anyone can see. “I mean…” Garrett shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “Maybe I could stay.”
You give him a look. A long look. And his shoulders slump.
“I know,” he mutters. “Goddamn, baby. You run a tight program.”
“Workout,” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
“Hockey,” you remind him.
“Mmm… Mhmm,” he hums, so dreamily you laugh. “Fuck, I love when you boss me around—”
“We’ll have all night—”
“How am I supposed to focus now? All I can think about is how pretty you looked trying not to make a sound.” His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your lips to his. “But you... you gotta be careful, baby. These boys are gonna hear you one of these days. They could have caught us down there.”
You look up at him through your lashes ever so slightly and he melts.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, blowing out a tired breath. “You own me—don’t even know why I try.”
He reaches out, grabbing the jersey on your body, pulling you closer. His nose brushes against yours—his lips doing the same, drawing back and leaving you chasing them just enough to notice before he kisses you.
“You don't have class until ten, yeah?” He murmurs between kisses.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Wishin’ you were me right now, huh?”
“Wishin’ a lot of things honestly.”
Garrett groans, dropping his forehead to yours, his voice dripping honey-sweet as he takes a different approach. “Shit, baby… what about your coffee? I should probably go get that for you, hmm?”
“Seriously—”
“Then, I don’t know…” He continues when that doesn’t work. “Maybe not get my ass beat at the gym. Sweat here instead. Do something better with my time.”
“You’re gonna be late—”
“And, I wonder why,” he cuts in. “Running out of excuses.”
“What are you gonna tell him, Captain?”
He thinks about it for a moment, stalling still. “Pretty thing. Wears my number. Torments me. Tells me I have to stay or else—”
“Or else, huh?” You giggle, and his eyes fall to your lips. “She sounds like a bitch, baby.”
“—Don’t talk about her like that. That’s my girl.”
“Such a charmer, Garrett Graham,” you hum, twirling one of his curls with your finger. “Leave—” Smack! His hand claps against your ass, the mesh barrier, just another reminder that he can't have you how he'd like.
He batts his hand against the door handle, still unwilling to let you go for another moment.
“Send me a picture or somethin’,” he mumbles against your lips. “You know, for the car ride there.”
“I don’t know, baby. You look extra pretty when you suffer,” you whisper, and he chuckles deeply, the sound going straight through you.
“Gonna ruin you later.”
“M’counting on it…” You smile and his groan breathes against your lips when he pushes open the door.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
chapter 2 of my Funny How Love Is series. read chapter 1 here
summary: following the success of your first date, you and Steve catch a movie together. or, at least, that's the plan - before Steve discovers you've shown up to the date with no panties.
pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader
warnings: smut, minors DNI, (light) exhibitionism, dirty talk (a lot of it), steve harrington has a big ole monsterc*ck, tooth rotting fluff, multiple orgasms
words: 16.3k
Miraculously, you survive.
Not without a thorough verbal lashing, but that was to be expected. The moment you walk through your front door, you’re bombarded with questions, and your outfit is fussed with – you don’t think you’ve ever experienced more blind panic in your life than when you have to snatch your skirt out of your mother’s prying hands before you accidentally flash her.
She yells. A lot. You endure it only because the fearful tremor of her voice makes your stomach churn with guilt. You're silent when she demands to know what was so goddamned important you couldn’t bother to pick up a phone to call home, because you can’t very well tell her the actual reason, that you were pretty preoccupied with your longtime crush sucking your soul out of your pussy and so time just sort of…slipped away.
After forty-five minutes, your mother finally quiets and slumps into her recliner, exhausted. You are sent upstairs with a, “If you ever scare me like that again, I will chain you to the foundation of this house. Do you understand me?” You promise you’ll never be out this late without a courtesy call back home explaining your absence, and she waves you away, satisfied for the moment.
You jump in the shower, not because you’re eager to wash Steve’s lingering scent off your skin, but because you’re uncomfortably sticky from the slick smeared between your thighs and the sweat cooling beneath your clothes. Your body is pleasantly warm, even without the water cascading over it, and remnants of that dreamlike serenity you experienced while straddling Steve’s lap swirls around your brain like mist. It enables your thoughts to wander as you scrub shampoo into your scalp.
You imagine Steve in here with you, hair slicked out of his face and soap lingering on his skin, bending down to kiss you while his hands roam the expanse of your body. You didn’t see him naked tonight, but God, you want to. It’s so easy to picture droplets of water clinging to the thatch of dark hair between his hips, and easier still to envision yourself following the thin trail above it with your tongue as you sink to your knees.
After a while, you aren’t even focused on getting clean anymore. You’re just tilted against the slippery tile wall, hands dancing idly over your wet skin as you lose yourself in your fantasies. You forget the amount of attention your pussy’s been shown tonight until you absently reach down to massage your clit, and the ache that bounces up into your stomach makes you hiss through your clenched teeth. Okay, you think, twisting the faucet off and peeling back the shower curtain. Definitely no more of that tonight.
Exhaustion hits the moment you cross the threshold into your bedroom. You toss your towel over the back of a chair and dive beneath your covers, resolving to call Kelsey in the morning and rub in her face just how proficient Steve Harrington is at eating pussy.
It seems like you’ve just shut your eyes when your mother’s voice rouses you from slumber. You can barely make out the vague syllables of your name as you pry one open and holler back, “Yeah?”
“You have a phone call!”
“Tell Kelsey I’ll be there in a second!” You sit up slowly, scrubbing your eyes and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. There’s no helping the low groan that slips past your lips as you stand. You’re sore – your thighs burn with every step you take to grab a robe off the back of your door, and your jaw clicks as you loose a yawn.
“It’s not Kelsey!” Mom shouts. “It’s that Harrington boy you went out with last night!”
That was fast. Delicious memories from the night before flood your brain, and your cheeks burn as you knot the belt on your robe and burst into the hallway. You descend the steps two at a time, and in your haste, you nearly tackle your mother as you rip the phone from her.
“Ow, Jesus! Bent my goddamn fingers back, Y/N!” she snaps, shaking out her hand and retreating to the living room with a sour look on her face.
You mouth a silent apology at her back before inhaling deeply through your nose and rolling your shoulders. There isn’t time to practice your best “nonchalant” voice, so you hope for the best as you bring the phone’s receiver to your lips.
“Hello?” Your voice cracks. Of course it does.
Steve doesn’t seem to notice, thank God. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?”
You tangle your fingers within the curls of the phone cord and lean against the wall, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your ribcage. That smooth, carefree confidence drips from his voice like honey, and you can’t even see him, but you know he’s smiling, so the corners of your mouth twitch upward in return.
“Wonderfully. You?”
“Like a baby. I was just about to head off to work, but I wanted to call to check in about last night, make sure you were…yanno, still okay with everything.”
“I’m still very, very okay, Steve,” you promise. You scan the kitchen and poke your head around the wall to peer into the living room, ensuring your mother isn’t secretly eavesdropping. She’s taking sips of coffee between glances at her magazine and the morning news, but you still lower your voice and turn your face tighter toward the phone when you respond.
“I think the evidence of how okay I am is staining your backseat.”
Steve chuckles, and you bite your bottom lip as your face flushes.
“Good point,” he says. “I also was wondering if, maybe, possibly…you were free again tonight?”
You’re sure you'd spit your heart onto the floor if it bounced harder into your throat. Is he asking you out again? Two days in a row? You knot the phone cord so tightly around your fist that the flesh starts to go white.
“Oh, yeah, absolutely, I’m free,” you say, forcing yourself to sound normal and not like an overexcited middle schooler. “Did you, uh, have something in mind?”
“Well, I get off work early tonight, so if you’re interested…I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?”
“Yes!” you exclaim. You catch your mother giving you an odd look over the lip of her mug before you turn your back to her. “Y-Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to catch a movie.”
“Sweet. I’ll be done at five. I can pick you up after?”
“I’ll just meet you,” you counter, “Family Video’s not that far from my house.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
It’s not that you don’t want Steve to pick you up – it’s moreso that you know your mother will want to talk to him, and you aren’t ready to subject him to her well-intentioned interrogations just yet, not when she’s likely still a little hot about your late arrival last night.
“Alright, you’ll meet me at five, then,” Steve concedes.
“Sounds like a plan. Mind telling me what we’re seeing?”
“Back to the Future.”
You furrow your brow a bit. You thought everyone in Hawkins had seen that movie by now since it came out three months ago, and had assumed it’d already trickled out of the theaters in favor of being burned onto DVDs.
“I didn’t peg you as a sci-fi nerd,” you admonish playfully, and Steve huffs in amusement.
“I tried to watch it when it first came out but, uh…well, I had stuff going on that night, and then Starcourt burnt down….” He trails off, but you nod and suck your teeth in acknowledgment.
You remember the news about the mall burning down the morning after it happened – the police surmised a couple of dumb kids snuck into the building after it had closed and decided it would be a good idea to set off fireworks on the Fourth. Your mother shook her head at the newspaper that day, steaming mug abandoned on the table in front of her and hand pressed mournfully to her mouth. You’d snuck a peek over her shoulder, and Detective Jim Hopper had stared reproachfully back at you, beneath a headline announcing his untimely demise as a hero. His and Heather Holloway’s names were the only ones you’d really recognized in the expansive list of casualties, and you weren’t even close to Heather. You’d had one meaningless conversation with her during one of her shifts at the pool because Kelsey mentioned a band she was traveling to see, and Heather overheard and announced her plans to go to that very same concert – one in Indianapolis, in August. Needless to say, Kelsey was the only one who made that trip.
The second-only movie theater in Hawkins burned with Starcourt, and now all that’s left is The Hawk downtown, in all its crumbling, dusty glory.
“Yeah, I guess scooping ice cream waits for no man, huh?” you ask slyly. You’d never gone to Scoops Ahoy when it existed, mainly because you didn’t trust yourself to not sound like a stuttering idiot if you tried to order from Steve, but you’d never deny yourself the indulgent glances you’d steal from across the food court at him. He was the only man you’d ever seen make sailor shorts and a dixie-cup hat look sexy.
“Hey, I was doin’ much more than scooping ice cream.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Just, yanno…helping some friends with some…stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Stuff.”
You snort.
“Important stuff,” he adds, and you nod.
“Is there any other kind?”
“None that I know of. See you in a few hours?”
“Definitely,” you say.
“Awesome. I gotta go, I have to pick up my friend so we can carpool. I’ll see you later, baby.”
The line clicks dead, and you’re left standing against the wall, wrapped up in the phone cord and blushing bright scarlet as the dial tone groans at you.
Baby.
If Steve never uses your real name again and exclusively calls you “baby” forever, you’ll die a happy woman. You spin around to disentangle yourself and slam the receiver back down on the hook, clasping the front of your robe shut as you hurry back up the stairs.
“I’m going out again tonight!” you call over your shoulder. “With Steve!”
“And what will happen if you’re out past curfew again without calling home?” your mother yells back. You roll your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, chain me to the foundation, I heard you!”
“Just checking! Oh, and Y/N?”
You pause in your bedroom doorway, robe already halfway shucked off. “Yes?”
“When do I get to meet this Harrington boy?”
“Oh, uh, you know…!” You shut your door quickly.
~~~
You have too many clothes.
You come to this conclusion as you’re standing naked in front of your closet, half of its contents belched out into a pile on the floor, hair and makeup already over an hour old. You’ve never thought so hard about what to put on your body in your entire life. The cold air dribbling through your cracked window suggests that you wear pants. But you hate all the clean options in your drawers, so maybe a skirt with some leggings? But then what do you wear on top – something dressy, casual, or a little bit of both?
You blow out a harsh puff of air and flop unceremoniously to the floor, landing on your ass with a thud. Maybe you’ll just go naked. That’ll go off without a hitch, right?
Ultimately, you build your outfit around a plaid skirt you haven’t worn since the previous year's winter. It’s snug on your hips, almost too snug, and as you bend to slip some plain white Keds on, you feel the waistline dig into the soft skin of your belly. The feeling isn’t unbearable, and the skirt makes your ass look stellar, so you decide it’ll be worth the discomfort and the slight waddle you must walk with. Only after you’ve shrugged a denim jacket over a well-loved Heart t-shirt and have your hand on the doorknob to leave do you consider something: your panties.
They’re cute and simple, and you’re sure Steve would praise your choice of undergarment even if they were beige granny panties, but…wouldn’t he be far more surprised if he hiked your skirt up and found no panties at all? You bite your lip.
Well…if last night is anything to go by, he’d just steal these panties, too, right? And then you’d be down two pairs, and you aren’t made of money. You can’t just replace the pairs he tucks away as memorabilia continuously, can you? It’s a smarter, more fiscally responsible decision to go commando, you reason.
Stomach flipping and cheeks burning red hot, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and kick them toward the hamper in the corner of the room.
~~~
You can’t pry your thoughts away from the breeze tickling between your thighs the entire walk to Family Video.
You’d intended to drive the family car here, but your mother was already clutching the keys and shrugging her jacket on as you plodded down the stairs, citing that she’d had plans to meet some girlfriends for a drink, so you’d have to figure out different transportation. You were only sort of pouty about it, but mostly very brave – if you consider loudly complaining at your mother’s back that she must hate you and want you to get kidnapped as she scurried out the front door as “brave,” that is. Luckily, Family Video is a relatively brief walk if you navigate the forest behind your neighborhood as opposed to trying to follow the main road through town.
Before last night, you had never even considered going anywhere without panties – it seemed like a thing women only did in pornos. But now, here you are, out and about in the middle of the woods, pussy completely exposed beneath a skirt that’s barely long enough to cover the swell of your ass. It’s…oddly invigorating. And far more arousing than you would’ve imagined.
The autumnal chill of October seeps through your jacket, sending chills up and down your bare legs, and you wrap the sides tighter around your waist to preserve what little warmth you still have. A few older couples, folks out for an evening walk, you gather, eye you up and down in confusion – or pity – as you shiver past them, and you can’t help but be a little envious of their thick woolen coats and long knitted pants. But the thought of Steve realizing you’ve shown up for your date without panties, and his eyes darkening with arousal as he hitches your legs up to your chest, hot breath ghosting over your exposed flesh as he gazes at you in the way that makes you feel like the single most desirable thing on the planet…
It’s more than worth being a little chilly.
The dark green exterior of the Family Video is almost entirely blocked by a swarm of patrons when you reach the parking lot. You should’ve expected this, seeing as the weekend has just begun, but the sight makes you swallow hard and self-consciously smooth a hand over the front of your skirt. A majority of the clientele for the evening seems to be rowdy teenage boys who raucously mill about the parking lot, some smoking cigarettes, others performing tricks on their skateboards. Shit.
You take a deep, steadying breath and lift your chin as you cut through the drifting crowds filtering in and out of the store. You tuck your hands behind your back as you walk, trying to appear casual as you slide them down over your butt and pin the fabric of your skirt in place. A giggling teenage girl blows a pink bubble with her gum as she holds the door open for you, and you flash her a thankful smile.
The air in the store is warm and a little stuffy, the smell of dust, candy, and stale popcorn hanging like fog between the doorway and the checkout counter. People amble around, most chattering with friends as they bemusedly pick up DVDs and scan the front and back covers for something that piques their interest. An unsupervised little girl shrieks as she darts past you, clenching The Care Bears Movie against her chest as she begs her mom to buy it.
A lithe, busy-looking girl paces behind the counter, wearing a green vest with Family Video emblazoned in bright orange lettering on the lapel. Her hair is a dirty, warm blonde and curls softly just beneath her chin, and her angular features are pinched together in apparent dismay as she worries a chipped blue thumbnail between her teeth. You progress toward her slowly, tapping on the counter’s surface to gain her attention. Despite what you thought was a markedly careful and delicate approach, the girl almost flings herself over the counter’s edge, gasping and exclaiming in surprise.
“Sorry! Sorry, um, hi, I’m Y/N, I’m supposed to be meeting Steve here?” you say hurriedly, and the girl blinks her round blue eyes at you. Silence falls gracelessly between the two of you, and you’re sure it only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity lapses in the seconds the girl’s unblinking gaze is fixed on your face.
It’s…a little unnerving, you’ll admit.
She squints, like she’s trying to glean more information from the nervous smile you’ve pasted on your lips, then snaps her fingers and points in your direction as a sudden realization dawns on her.
“I sat on your underwear!” she announces, loud enough for a father and young child to turn their heads and stare at you both in confusion. If you weren’t trying to conceal your ass from what feels like the entirety of Hawkins right now, you’d bury your face in your hands. The girl, to her credit, instantly realizes her mistake (and her volume) and claps a hand over her mouth.
“I am so sorry,” she says, voice muffled from behind her multi-ringed fingers. “That was…I meant…”
She sticks a hand out before her, offering you an apologetic smile along with the handshake. “I’m Robin. Steve’s told me a lot about you.”
Ohhhh. Robin. She was a key character in many of the stories Steve told you last night, and from the way he described her, her frenetic energy suddenly makes a lot more sense. You return her smile and shake her hand, but Robin doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, she grips you tight while waving your interlocked arms up and down repeatedly as she talks, almost like she’s unaware she’s doing it.
“I wasn’t, like, seeking out your underwear or anything, by the way. I just, like – well, Steve and I drove to work together this morning, and when I sat down, I felt something weird bunched up under me, and I was like, ‘Huh, wonder what that is,’ so I pulled it out and lo and behold,” she mouths the word “panties” silently, laughing a bit awkwardly around it, “and I was like ‘Woah! What the hell!’ and then Steve told me to put them down, and I was like, ‘Whose are these?’ and then he told me about your date and….” She trails off and lets go of your hand once she recognizes she’s been flapping it for about thirty seconds.
“Sorry. I…talk a lot,” she says sheepishly, but you just laugh and shake your head.
“It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you, too, by the way.”
She grins so wide you worry it’ll split her slim face right down the middle. “So, Steve told me you guys have a second date tonight?” she asks.
You nod. “Yep! We’re gonna go see Back to the Future.”
“Ohh, I remember that movie! Michael J. Fox wants to, like, bang his mom, right?”
You giggle and shrug. “Something like that, yeah. Do you know where Steve is, by the way?”
Robin nods and slides out from behind the counter. “Yep, I’ll go grab him. Be right back!”
She flits off, disappearing behind rows of DVDs and throngs of idle customers. You turn, keeping your back pointed at the counter for safety, and lean against it. Oddly, you feel compelled to greet people when they walk in since you’re standing right at the front; you get a few curious looks thrown your way as you wave and welcome people inside the store, clearly not in uniform and rather done up for a supposed Family Video employee.
A minute passes, and while you don’t see Steve emerge with Robin, you certainly hear him.
A display of chocolate bars flies off the counter behind you, clattering to the floor with a loud, metallic clang that makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look. Candy spills across the floor, and Steve stoops to the ground to collect the fallen sweets and discarded metal rack, mumbling apologies at startled customers all the while. He cradles the chocolate in his arms and lets the rack dangle off one crooked finger as he straightens and smiles at you.
“Smooth move, dingus,” Robin teases, patting Steve’s shoulder and resuming her post behind the counter. He shoots her a look and swings the display rack back on the counter. He sloppily dumps the bars next to it before wiping his palms on his jeans and stepping closer to you.
He’s sporting the same Family Video vest as Robin, a slightly baggy yellow sweatshirt, and blue jeans. The yellow makes the greenish flecks in his eyes pop, and the moles along his cheeks stand out even brighter. Once again, Steve Harrington is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, and he doesn’t even have to try.
“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs. A hand slides around your waist and rests on the small of your back, pressing you close enough that he can stamp a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm against your chilled skin, and after a moment, he pulls back with a concerned look.
“Jesus, you’re freezing. Did you walk here?”
“Oh, yeah, uh. Mom had to take the car to a thing, so….” You shrug, trying to appear apathetic, but a shiver slithers up your spine as the front door swings open and a gust of frigid air nips at your heels. Steve hugs you closer, fingers squeezing and sliding up your hip and waist to warm you up.
“Next time, just call me. I’ll gladly pick you up so you don’t have to freeze your cute little ass off,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear. Before you can reply – not that you had anything remotely intelligent to say anyway – he turns both of your bodies so they’re angled at Robin.
“You two have been introduced, right?”
“Yep. I told her all of your embarrassing secrets before I went and got you,” Robin says flatly, shuffling candy bars in her hands like playing cards and slotting them into their original spaces on the display.
“Awesome, that means I’ll have plenty of time to tell her all of yours in the car,” Steve retorts. Robin rolls her eyes and holds a chocolate bar above her head threateningly.
“I am not afraid to use this.”
“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Steve yanks you to the right as the bar soars past your head, pinwheeling onto the floor and almost knocking against the ankles of two teenage girls by the front door. They both look up sourly, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and Robin squeaks out an apology before they strut away.
“Good one,” Steve taunts, slipping his work vest off and dropping it on the counter behind him in a heap. Robin swipes it away with narrowed eyes, chastising Steve about not being his mother as she folds the fabric into a neat, green square. He slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you out of the store, calling out to Robin over his shoulder.
“Don’t forget to lock the front door when you leave!”
“One time, Steve. It was one time!”
~~~
The drive to the theater is a pleasant blur of conversation.
The smell of Steve’s cologne envelops you the second the passenger-side door shuts, woody and sweet and perfectly him. As you toss your purse into the backseat, you find yourself staring intently at the upholstery. It doesn’t appear that your previous escapades have actually maimed the leather.
At one point, as Steve talks about a particularly belligerent customer he had to deal with earlier in the day, he reaches over and rests his hand on your thigh. It’s not an insinuation or expectation – he hardly even applies pressure, just idly rubs his pinky back and forth over your skin while he continues his story. His ministrations do slightly disturb the hem of your skirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
You entertain the idea of just guiding his fingers between your legs, allowing him to feel you entirely, letting him play with your cunt while he drives, but just as you’ve built up the necessary courage, the car is pulling into the parking lot behind The Hawk.
He squeezes your leg before hopping out of the car, and you’ve barely gathered your purse strings in your fist before he swings your door open for you and extends a hand down to help you out.
“Madame,” he says, bowing his head slightly. You giggle and take his hand.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, and as you step onto the cracked asphalt below, Steve shuts the door and crowds you up against the side of his car.
His lips are instantly on yours, warm, soft, and hungry, and you can’t help but sigh against his mouth. You didn’t know how addictive kissing Steve Harrington would be until you went without it; now that you’re here, you’re tempted to forego the movie entirely so you don’t have to stop making out with him. He nudges his knee between your legs, and you tense up involuntarily, inhaling sharply through your nose. You feel him start to pull away, having noticed your apparent hesitance, but you remedy that quickly by bringing a hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and locking your right ankle around his calf. You lick at his lips, and he parts them readily, excitedly. He tastes minty, something you weren’t expecting but aren’t displeased with.
“You smell good,” Steve mumbles, kissing a trail down your neck and tugging the collar of your shirt to one side so he can better access the skin beneath. He hums approvingly before latching onto a pre-existing hickey, suckling and nipping at his handiwork.
“If you do that, they’re never gonna go away,” you breathe. He chuckles.
“Good. They look so pretty on you.” His hands glide down your waist and settle on your hips, kneading circles into your flesh and pulling you flush against his body. You notice how comfortably you fit together, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place for the first time. When he straightens, you find yourself tilting your head to meet his eyes.
“You have the softest mouth,” he says quietly, raising his hand and ghosting it along your jaw. His curled pointer finger settles beneath your chin, and his thumb presses into the center of your lower lip. “I could kiss you all day.”
“We’d miss the movie,” you warn, words slurred slightly by the presence of his thumb. You have to admit, though, that spending an entire day holed up with Steve, doing nothing but making out and allowing his hands to roam wherever they pleased on your body sounds like heaven on earth. He smiles at you, that perfect crooked smile, and gives you one last peck on the lips before stepping back.
“Better get a move on, then,” he says, sweeping his arm out and moving to the side. Cold air rushes to fill the space his body occupied a moment ago, and you shiver. You smooth the front of your skirt with one hand and slot the other inside his, keeping in step as you both navigate the alleyway next to the theater.
Empty cardboard boxes loom above your head, stacked haphazardly and tilted into the walkway. Puddles of opaque liquid splash beneath your shoes as you walk through them. A rumor Kelsey whispered to you ages ago floats to the forefront of your mind.
“Hey…didn’t Jonathan Byers kick your ass back here a few years ago?” you ask. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. Then, he smacks his lips and walks ahead, tugging on your arm and dragging you through the alley.
“So, what size popcorn did you want? I was thinking we’d get a large to share!”
~~~
Your sneakers stick noisily to the floor as you and Steve slither through the narrow rows of the mostly empty theater. You’re clutching the large Coke you’re going to share and the box of Sour Patch Kids Steve insisted upon while he’s balancing the unnecessarily massive bucket of popcorn on the tips of his fingers. You eye it cautiously, ready to leap to catch it if it pitches forward.
The seats you’ve picked in the top middle row, away from what little crowd is scattered about the theater, creak as you sit down, and the decrepit padding sags under your weight. You’ve missed the previews but are just in time to watch Marty McFly hitching a ride on the back of a truck to get to school. You pass Steve his candy and take a sip of your drink as he settles in and sticks the popcorn bucket between his knees.
“So, what’s happening?” Steve whispers, leaning down to your ear.
“Hardly anything yet. He’s on his way to school from Doc Brown’s house.”
“He who? And who’s Doc Brown?”
“He is Michael J. Fox,” you murmur, pointing at Marty as Principal Strickland berates him. “Doc Brown is Christopher Lloyd, the crazy scientist.”
“Ohh. Wait, isn’t he the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest guy?”
You lean back in your seat enough to give Steve an incredulous look.
“You’ve seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”
He shrugs, ripping the cardboard lip of the Sour Patch box open and spilling a few multi-colored gummies into his palm. “Robin and I have movie nights every Sunday. She chooses artsy shit on her turns. My last pick was Gremlins. You should come this weekend, but I can’t promise she’ll give up her turn for you. She’s suuuuper anal about that stuff.”
You smile and relax into his side. “As long as she’s cool with me bringing hot chips, she can pick whatever she wants.” This date isn’t over yet, and he’s already talking about seeing you again. If it weren’t the least cool thing you could do right now, you’d squeal over it.
Steve silently holds a blue Sour Patch beneath your nose as an offer, pinched between thumb and forefinger. You take it, gently pulling with your front teeth, and before he can retract his hand, you surge forward. Your tongue laps at the sticky sugar left over on the pads of his fingers, and in the flickering light of the film, you catch Steve staring at you, surprised.
He bites the inside of his cheek when you draw his thumb inside your mouth and give a tentative suck. His gaze darkens as you blink up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. As you start to pull away, he presses a finger beneath your chin and hooks his thumb downward against the backs of your bottom teeth, locking you in place. He leans toward you, mouth so close to your cheek that you feel the rumble of his voice across your heating skin.
“Do you really think it’s smart to tease me like that in public, baby?”
It is by the grace of God you don’t moan in the middle of the theater.
You shift in your seat, trying to discreetly cross one leg over the other to squeeze your thighs together. His tone, the unrelenting grip on your jaw, and the change in his body language make you want to challenge him. You want to nod in agreement, to meet his gaze defiantly, do something that’ll make his eyes flash. But someone a few rows down from you loudly clears their throat, and Steve’s eyes dart toward the noise.
You bite back the disappointed whine that builds in your throat as Steve slowly pulls his thumb from your mouth, eyeing the thin string of glittering saliva that keeps it briefly connected to your bottom lip before snapping. A beat passes where you both stare at each other, your lips barely parted, ready to welcome anything Steve deigns to slide past them again, but he rests that hand in his lap instead.
“Watch the movie,” he murmurs, smirking at your open-mouthed and dazed expression.
Yeah, like that’s possible.
You swallow hard, uncrossing your legs and squirming. He hasn’t even done anything, not really, but your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re genuinely concerned you’re going to start leaking all over the cushion below your ass. The potential embarrassment of standing up and discovering the shiny wet spot, a definitive indication of your arousal, thrills as much as it fills you with dread.
Steve seems to get absorbed into the movie rather quickly, mindlessly alternating between popping gummies and kernels of popcorn in his mouth, but your brain is buzzing, making it impossible to focus. When Steve places the popcorn bucket in the empty seat next to him, you can’t help yourself – you glance down at his empty lap, staring at his dick through his jeans like a fucking pervert. You gnaw the edges of your fingers, which doesn’t come close to sating the desire to have anything of Steve’s back inside your mouth..
The 1950s version of Marty’s father has just knocked Biff Tannen unconscious when Steve leans over the armrest between you again, and his voice is light with amusement when he asks, “What’s got you squirming so much?”
You breathe out sharply through your nose.
“I thought you wanted us to watch the movie,” you snark. Steve’s smile widens.
“I told you to watch the movie,” he corrects. His elbow nudges into your side slightly as he bends toward you. “But it seems like you’re havin’ a hard time with that. I’m just curious as to why.”
“You know why.”
“Mmm, no, I don’t.” Smug motherfucker.
Your hands rest on your thighs, clenching and unclenching as you contemplate your next move. He watches you intently, eyes roaming from your undoubtedly flushed face to where your hands are fidgeting in your lap.
You won’t tell him why you can’t sit still – you’ll show him.
Wordlessly, you slide your fingers down the sleeve of his sweatshirt until you’re grasping his hand and guiding it toward your skirt. His fingers are cold as they brush against the soft, warm flesh of your inner thighs, and you grin as a gasp flutters past his lips.
“Fuck,” he growls. He pulls his hand back, and before you can whine at the loss, he adjusts himself in his seat so he’s angled toward you and reaches between your legs with his other hand, the one that offers better leverage. You duck your face into the crook of his neck as his two fingers slide up the length of your slit, collecting the slick that’s puddled near your hole and smearing it up your lips. You can’t part your legs any further, or you’ll rip your skirt right up the seam, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You whimper softly as Steve crowds you up against the back of your seat.
“I can’t believe you went out with no panties on,” he breathes raggedly. That same fervent, desperate arousal he displayed last night while nose-deep in your pussy bleeds into his voice, making it husky as it washes over your ear, and you shiver.
Steve dips the tips of his fingers inside you, a groan stifled against the back of his teeth, and you suck in a breath. Is he really going to finger you here, in the theater? You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting, but knowing that anyone could turn around and see you both right now makes you simultaneously nervous and stupidly horny.
“God, you’re already so wet,” Steve rasps, fingers nudging deeper inside of you. “Have you been thinking about this the whole movie? Teasing me ‘til I played with your pussy?”
“M-Maybe,” you whimper. “I didn’t…have a concrete plan…oh, fuck–”
Steve claps his free hand over your mouth before you can loose the moan bubbling up your throat, snickering as his two fingers slide inside you. They curl as he drags them almost entirely out of your hole, leaving only the tips inside before slowly stuffing you full again. He keeps this devastatingly slow pace, fucking his fingers in so deep you ache, only to leave you mostly empty, again and again. You pant and whine against his palm, hips bucking off the seat to try and make him go faster, God, you need him to fuck you properly, but he won’t be swayed.
“You should see yourself right now,” he says against your ear. His fingers still inside you, the tips rubbing against your g-spot so that despite the people around you, you’re confident you’ll scream in frustration if he doesn’t start fucking you the way you want, the way you need. “Your cunt is drooling all over the seat, baby.”
He removes his hand from between your thighs, smirking at how you fuss and strain in an attempt to coax him back inside you. He frees your mouth, but only briefly, as his slick-soaked digits push past your lips the second you open them to protest. They don’t stop, either, sliding across your tongue and toward the back of your throat. He presses down, nearly activating your gag reflex.
Steve watches hungrily as you hollow your cheeks and suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue over and between them to clean what remains of your slick off. The subtle way he shifts his weight catches your attention, and your gaze drifts down to his lap again.
He’s hard, you can tell, even with the inconsistent light the movie affords you.
Embarrassingly, your mouth floods with saliva at the thought of kneeling on the sticky theater floor and swallowing Steve Harrington’s cock while the people around you innocently watch Back to the Future.
“Please,” you mewl once Steve pulls his fingers from your mouth. He hums inquisitively, tracing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
You straighten and push yourself into Steve’s space, crushing your mouths together as you reach into his lap and stroke the bulge in his jeans. A shudder ripples through his body as your fingers squeeze and rub insistently, and it only spurs you on. You deftly unhook the button on his pants and drag the zipper down as Steve explores your mouth with his tongue, hands curling around your jaw and holding you in place.
“You gonna stroke my cock in front of all these people, baby?” Steve chides playfully, nipping your bottom lip.
“If you’ll let me.”
He seems a bit taken aback by your answer, enough to where his mouth hovers above yours, and his dark eyes blink open. Steve examines your face, almost as if he’s trying to discern if you’re serious or just so mind-bogglingly horny that you’ll agree to anything.
You sink your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grasp his cock, too eager to let the cogs finish turning in his head. His flesh is burning hot to the touch, and as you swipe your thumb over the swollen, thick head, you smear a pearl of precum down his shaft.
The sound he makes once he captures your lips in a kiss again is sinful.
If it weren’t for the armrest, you’re sure he’d be pulling you into his lap right about now. Steve’s breath comes in shallow bursts as you stroke him, slow and deliberate, mimicking the pace at which he fingered you. He reaches for you, wrenching your shirt from where it’s tucked into your skirt and sliding a hand up your stomach. When he cups that hand around your breast, you gasp, and he swallows the sound greedily before pushing your bra down and out of the way.
Two things happen just as Steve brings his other hand down between your legs again: lightning crashes into the clocktower on the screen, and someone unleashes a sustained, phlegmy round of coughing.
Steve jerks back from you, panting, pink high on his cheeks and his hair dangling in his face. He looks around, tongue darting out to wet his red, swollen lips. After a moment, he laughs and leans back, closing a hand over the one you still have jammed down his pants.
“Why’d you stop?” you ask.
“'Cause if I don’t, I’m gonna fuck your brains out in front of all these people,” he admits, eyes shining mischievously.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you purr, squeezing the base of his cock. He twitches but gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, guiding it out of his underwear.
“You say that until Chief Powell locks us both up for public indecency,” he laughs. “Do you wanna come back to my place, baby? It’s a lot more comfortable and…private.”
You start nodding before he’s even got the whole sentence out. He smiles, popping a quick kiss on the tip of your nose before reclining in his seat to tuck his dick away and do his pants back up. You have to do a bit of awkward twisting and shuffling to get your bra back into place without accidentally flashing the whole room, and Steve grabs your hand before carefully leading you down the steps and toward the theater door.
“So, uh, just in case I don’t get to see it ‘til it comes out on DVD,” he whispers over his shoulder, “how’s the movie end?”
“Uh, Marty hooks his mom and dad back up, and they all end up better off in the future. His dad’s some hotshot author and makes Biff chauffeur him everywhere.”
“Good for George!”
“Oh, and Doc lives.”
Steve stops cold, holding the door halfway open before turning to face you with a puzzled expression.
“Wait, what, how’d he-”
“Steve, do you wanna stand here talking about it, or do you wanna go have sex?” you ask, patting his chest and urging him out the door.
“Right, right, sorry, just – tell me later!”
~~~
Steve’s mouth finds yours the moment his front door shuts behind the both of you.
His hand slides behind your head, partially to tangle in your hair and keep you where he wants, but also so you don’t smack it against the wall as he pins you there. A few picture frames dotted along the entryway rattle from the force, and the sound stirs a thought.
“Wait, Steve, your parents…” Your protest is weak and breathless, swallowed by a gasp as Steve kisses a trail down your neck and laves his tongue over a healing hickey.
“Not home,” he breathes.
“Are you sure?”
“They never are,” he murmurs into your skin.
Paranoia still flickers dimly in the back of your mind, so you crack your eyes open to look around. The oak floors beneath you gleam as if freshly polished, and the cream walls you’re pressed against are stippled with a few small pieces of geometric art. There’s a side table just beyond Steve’s back, shiny and black and dimly illuminated by a single lamp, and while you don’t spot the glint of anyone’s keys on it right away, you still aren’t convinced that means no one’s home. Stairs are crushed against the furthest wall, thick ivory fabric carpeting each step, flowing upstairs into a rectangle of darkness on the top landing.
Steve sinks his teeth into the flesh above your pulse point, ripping your attention away from the decor. You moan louder than you intended and tip your head further to the side to give him better access.
“Such a little fuckin’ tease,” Steve growls against your throat. His fingers clench, tugging your hair by the root. The pain stings sweetly across your scalp, and you suck in a breath. “You have no fucking idea how much self-control it took to not bend you over in that theater, Y/N, Jesus Christ.”
You whimper, snaking your hands up under the back of his sweatshirt. He radiates heat, and the sensation of his smooth, unblemished skin beneath your fingers makes you want to scratch grooves into it. You won’t, not yet – you don’t have a read quite yet on how much pain Steve likes intermingled with his pleasure, if any.
His free hand glides down your thigh before hitching itself behind your knee, and you gasp as Steve hikes your leg up and over his hip, leaving you suddenly exposed. Steve’s warm, solid body swiftly replaces the cool air that tickles between your thighs as he presses himself flush against you, his bulge straining against your bare pussy in a way that makes you shiver.
“God, I could fuck you right here,” he breathes, and you’re grateful for his iron grip because, without it, your buckling knees would’ve sent you straight to the floor. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, baby. Y’know how bad I wanted to drag you back inside my car last night? Keep you all to myself?”
“Fuck, Steve,” you whine, voice muffled against his soft, sweet-smelling hair. Arousal sinks itself between your hips like lead, hot and insistent, and you grind against Steve’s denim-clad cock desperately. You’ll let him fuck you anywhere he likes – against the wall, on the floor, bent over the railing of the stairs. A perverse thrill rushes through you at the thought, and you’re about to open your mouth to beg Steve for just that when he releases his grip on your hair and leg.
By the time you realize what’s happening, Steve’s knees have already hit the dark blue rug below you, and his fingers are squeezing your skirt over your hips. He tilts your lower half away from the wall, toward his face, by grabbing a greedy handful of your ass and pulling; you stumble a little and have to tangle both hands in his hair to keep from falling over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along your inner thigh, turning his face into the soft, malleable flesh, and you see the flash of his teeth before you feel them, nipping the juncture where your pelvis and leg meet.
“Let’s see if I still remember our lesson,” he murmurs, a sound that vibrates up into your core and shakes a moan from your lips. His voice, though faint between your legs, is dark and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself back from ravaging you right where you stand. You don’t know how to verbalize quite yet that you want, more than anything, for Steve to just fucking take you already. You worry the wicked thoughts swirling around in your head right now, tapping their claws against your skull and whispering encouragement to you, will freak him out if you dump all of them on him at once.
Steve’s tongue flattens against your cunt, and the noise he makes as he licks up to your clit makes you shudder. He crushes you closer to him, so close you can feel the tip of his nose bumping between your folds as he gets right to work eating your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.
“Still so fucking wet,” he mumbles. He pulls away, just far enough to spread you open with two fingers, and teases the tips around the rim of your hole. You whimper, hips bucking involuntarily, your grip tightening in Steve’s hair to keep yourself steady. His dark eyes flicker to your face; his swollen pupils eclipse the color in his irises, leaving them almost black in the dim light of the entryway.
“You want my fingers, baby?” he asks. You nod, breathless.
“Y-Yes.”
“Yes, what?” He traces around your twitching entrance, gaze unwaveringly intense. You swallow hard and swear you see the corner of his mouth tic amusedly when he catches how your throat bobs with the effort.
“Yes, please, Steve,” you offer, and he sucks his teeth in admonishment.
“C’mon, pretty girl, I thought you learned how to beg for me properly last night,” he chastises, and your stomach flips. The high, squeaky sound that ekes out of your mouth is wholly unintentional, but how the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s talking like that, looking at you like that, touching you like that?
“P-Please, please, Steve, I need your fingers inside me, please,” you mewl, and Steve makes a satisfied noise low in his throat. He places an approving kiss right above your clit, and if the thought of falling directly on top of him wasn’t mortifying, you’re sure you’d collapse.
“Do you wanna take my cock tonight baby?” he asks. He pushes his two fingers inside you just as your mouth drops open to answer, and you suck in a breath sharply as they curl and brush over that spot inside you.
“God, fuck, yes, I do, please. I want your cock,” you babble.
“Are you sure? You’re not too sore?” It’s a sincere question. Truthfully, you are still sore – not terribly, not the way you were in the shower last night, but the ache pulsing in your muscles as Steve slowly, so fucking slowly, draws his fingers in and out of your pussy, is inescapable. Admittedly, though, it doesn’t discourage your arousal even one bit – you want him to fuck you until you can’t walk, to have that dull pain twinge throughout your body for days as a reminder.
And considering how big he is, you don’t think that’ll be hard to accomplish.
“No, I’m okay, not too sore,” you assure him.
“Yeah? You’ll let me know if it hurts too much, won’t you, pretty girl?”
You nod, breath hitching as the pads of his fingers rub gentle circles over your g-spot. “I can take it, Steve.”
He smiles, sweet and innocent, his sunshine yellow sweatshirt rumpled and perfect hair ruffled across his forehead. He kisses your thigh again and pulls his fingers almost all the way out.
“You’ll need to take more than two fingers if you wanna fit my cock inside you,” he says simply, and plunges three fingers inside you up to the knuckle while latching his mouth over your clit.
The only reason you don’t scream is because all the oxygen has been sucked from your lungs.
Steve drives his fingers home again and again, spreading them apart inside you while his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit. Your fingers claw at the smooth wall behind you, desperate for anything that might aid you in remaining upright, and when you can’t find it and the tremoring in your thighs threatens to overtake you, you thrust your hands into Steve’s hair, pushing it away from his face. It gives you an unencumbered view of his dark, thick eyelashes fluttering over his cheekbones as he focuses on your slit and the faint flush hueing his tanned skin.
When your head falls back against the wall, and you moan, high and desperate, you unthinkingly ball your hands into fists. The strands of Steve’s hair go taut in your grip, and just as you’re about to whisper an apology, he groans into you.
“Harder,” he says, breathless, a gleaming string of saliva tenuously connecting his bottom lip to your cunt.
“Wha…” You’re borderline delirious from pleasure, which makes forming an intelligible sentence very difficult. Sensing this, Steve lifts the hand not buried knuckles deep inside you and rests it over yours, squeezing gently.
“Pull harder, baby.”
You swallow hard. His eyes are wide open now, staring directly at your face, bright and blazing. When you oblige him, clench your fingers and tug at the root of Steve’s hair with both hands, hard enough to make his head tip back, his lids flicker, and a smirk sprawls across his reddened lips. The gasp that passes through them clenches your stomach, and his approval inspires you to pull his head back further.
“Fuck,” he growls.
“That feel nice?” you ask, and Steve nods as best he can. He looks fucking divine like this; slick lips parted to allow shallow breaths, gazing up at you like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. You wonder if he’ll ever let you take the reins, if he’d let you pluck him apart, piece by piece, just as he’s done to you, only to paste him back together at your leisure.
The thought makes you shiver, and you gush a bit around his fingers.
He’s broken free of your grasp just as quickly as he invited it, however, and when he dives back into your cunt, he’s abandoned all pretense. He laps at your clit with long, flat strokes of his tongue and purposefully thrusts his three fingers against your g-spot, curling them tight and pumping so fast you can see the veins twitching in his bicep. Your pussy makes wet, obscene sounds as he fucks into it, and the embarrassment that tinges the edge of your arousal at that fact brings you closer to orgasm than you were expecting.
“S-Steve, Steve, God, fuck, I’m gonna cum, please, I wanna cum,” you blurt out, and he hums affirmatively. Without warning, you feel the tip of his pinky finger nudging against your hole.
“Cum for me,” he says – rather, he demands it of you. “Cum on my fingers if you wanna earn my cock, baby.”
Earn it. That thought, and the sweet, burning stretch of his four fingers inside your spasming pussy send you tumbling over the edge. You scream so loud you worry any neighbor Steve has will think he’s trying to kill you. In all fairness, he may be – you cum so hard that once your scream fizzles out, it’s impossible to draw in an adequate breath, so you’re just left paralyzed, choking on your own tongue, trembling on Steve’s deft fingers and mouth.
He milks it for as long as he can, chuckling against your folds when you finally gather the wherewithal to whine and push weakly at his forehead after your pleasure ripens into pain. When he pulls his fingers out, all four shimmer with slick, and it takes you a beat to realize your thighs are warm and wet from your orgasm, all the way down to your knees. The small puddle of your own cum that’s collected between your shoes glistens mockingly up at you.
“Okay…you have to at least let me clean that up,” you pant, jutting your chin toward your mess. Steve laughs and sucks a kiss into one of the few unblemished areas of your inner thigh you have left.
“It’ll dry, don’t worry about it. You can clean this for me, though.”
Steve reaches up and presses all four fingers into your mouth. You moan, a wholly compulsory sound, but obediently twirl your tongue over the digits, doing precisely as he asked and cleaning your cum from his skin. As you do, Steve murmurs praise into your flesh between featherlight kisses, trailing them across both thighs and either side of your hips as he raises himself higher on his knees.
“Good girl,” he purrs, retrieving his fingers from your mouth. You’re about to thank him when he presses you flush against the wall again. You find yourself upside down before you can ask what he’s doing.
Steve has hoisted you up and over his shoulder, not unlike a literal sack of potatoes, and you’re now completely inverted, blood rushing to your head but enjoying an eyeful of Steve’s ass in his jeans. The fabric of your skirt is still bunched up around your hips, leaving your bare ass fully exposed, and you reflexively reach back to cover it as Steve darts up the staircase. Your body bounces on the rounded edge of his shoulder, which digs a bit unpleasantly into the soft pouch of your stomach, but you find yourself giggling uncontrollably all the same. His strength impresses and arouses you all over again.
“Sorry, baby, I just don’t fully trust you to walk all the way to my room on those shaky legs,” Steve says, mirth belying his apology. You’d like to argue, but he isn’t wrong. Even as they dangle uselessly across Steve’s torso, your thighs tremble. At this rate, you would’ve been lucky if they cooperated enough to let you crawl after Steve to his bedroom.
Although…
Before you can entertain that thought, you’re flying through the air. The springs of Steve’s bed shriek as you land atop it in a heap, making you wonder if they always squeak like that.
“Sorry about the mess,” Steve says, arms crossed over his torso and hands gripping the hem of his sweatshirt. You look around – aside from a few crumpled pieces of paper on a desk and a moderate pile of rumpled clothes in one corner, the room is spotless. The walls and curtains are matching shades of plaid, and more oak furniture crowds the corners. You take a deep breath, expecting Steve’s cologne to waft sweetly up your nose, but instead, you inhale the scent of dust. There isn’t much here to denote that the room belongs to a college-aged man, let alone that he spends any meaningful amount of time in it. It looks more like a well-used guest room, aside from the forest green sleeve of Steve’s varsity jacket peeking out from the cracked closet door and a singular framed picture on his desk. The features of the two figures are bathed in shadow, but you can tell by the exaggerated swoop of hair on the taller one that it’s Steve with…someone.
It makes you sad, Steve’s room.
You sit on your knees and shuffle toward him as he peels off his shirt, laying your hands over his to stop him.
“Let me,” you whisper.
He pauses, a sliver of smooth skin visible through the gap he’s made in his clothes, and you catch a glimpse of his happy trail just above his belt buckle. One hand drifts downward, and your fingers press tentatively into that thatch of hair. Steve’s stomach is a hard wall of muscle protected by soft flesh that pudges out around your fingertips slightly, and the way he tenses beneath your touch doesn’t escape your notice. His eyes glitter in the room's dim light, flickering over your face, searching.
“Please?” you add, and he smiles.
He drops both arms to his sides, allowing you to slide your palms along his waist and lift the sweatshirt from his body. Dark, coarse hair swirls across his chest, dipping between his pectorals in a thin line before reappearing above the waistband of his jeans; beneath the sparse edges of his body hair, you’re able to pick out dozens of freckles and beauty marks dappled along the lean, tan expanse of his torso. The sleeves of his sweatshirt flip inside out and cling to his wrists as you tug the last of it off, and you both giggle when the neckline snags on the tip of his nose before snapping over his forehead.
You sit back on your haunches, hands hovering above his body, unsure of where to settle first. He’s so fucking pretty, you want to touch everywhere at once, from the broad line of his shoulders to the divots along his pelvis.
You don’t have long to think about it. Steve slips both hands behind your knees and pulls; your back hits the bed in a squeal of springs and a whoosh of air, and as your thighs spread instinctively, the riiiiip of your skirt splitting clean up the seams catches his attention.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Steve chuckles, pinching a jagged flap of fabric between his fingers. It’s unsalvageable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You squeeze what remains of the waistband down your hips and drop the scraps off the edge of his bed, giggling.
“You’re gonna owe me a whole new wardrobe at this rate,” you say, and Steve presses an apologetic kiss to the bridge of your nose.
“I’ll get you the best a Family Video salary can buy,” he promises. Then, two fingers are buried inside of you to the knuckles, and any witty retort you had loaded up for him dissipates on the breath that hisses out through your teeth.
“Fucking – oh, my God,” you groan, stretching out the last word as Steve plunges his fingers in and out of your cunt. He tilts his hand slightly so that he’s brushing up against your g-spot every time, and you would be embarrassed about the pathetic little whimpers tumbling from your lips if you had the wherewithal for shame at this juncture. Your back arches, driving your head into the pillow, but Steve’s free hand tangles itself in your hair and forces you into a semi-sitting position.
“I want you to watch, baby,” he murmurs. “Watch how you take me.”
“Please, Steve, more, please, I can take it,” you pant, eyelashes fluttering as you watch Steve’s glistening fingers vanish and reappear rhythmically. He laughs against the shell of your ear before kissing your temple.
“I know you can take more of my fingers, pretty girl. I watched you do that,” he coos, voice rife with singsongy condescension. “Unless that’s not what you mean.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” you whine, and you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so petulant in your entire life. Steve’s fingers still, and he makes a quizzical Hm? sound high in his throat before deliberately dragging tight, fast circles around your g-spot. The veins in his forearm pulse and bulge with the effort, and he’s gone and sucked all the air out of your lungs, so you can’t even answer him when he says, “Then use your words and tell me what you need.”
For a few seconds, your brain goes blank. Pleasure thrums through every nerve in your body until your skin is prickling with heat, gooseflesh rising on your thighs despite the sweat beading at your hairline, and the realization that you’re already close again cracks through your skull like lightning. You grab Steve’s wrist, though you’re torn on if you want to push him away or pull him in deeper. It’s too much, it’s far too much and yet it’s not nearly enough at the same time because it’s not his cock, and you need his cock, so finally, you draw in a shallow breath, swallow what little saliva remains in your mouth, and you tell him.
“I need your cock, please, Steve. I need your fucking cock so badly, please just give it to me.”
“That’s my girl.”
Steve crawls between your legs, aptly slipping his belt out of his jeans and whipping it to the other end of the room. As he strips his pants off – you bite back a laugh, watching him struggle to rip his foot out of one of the legs – you sit forward slightly and peel off your Heart T-shirt. Fresh air cools your flushed skin while you reach behind yourself, awkwardly attempting to unclasp your bra and still look sexy, a feat you don’t think has ever been accomplished.
“I got it,” Steve says, and as he presses himself against you, head hanging over your shoulder and fingers adeptly unhooking the tiny metal hoops, something hot and hard rubs between your legs. You look down and realize he’s already stripped himself of his briefs, and once your bra falls away, discarded alongside your shirt, you see the flushed length of his cock bobbing slightly between his hips.
Your mouth fills with saliva. It’s like you can still taste him, heady and salty and perfect, on the back of your tongue, and for a moment, you want to beg him to fill your throat over and over again.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Steve murmurs, lips trailing down the side of your neck, then your collarbone, before both hands rise to cup your now bare tits, and his mouth glides along your heated flesh. When he closes it around a nipple and laves his tongue around it in slow circles, you arch your back, moaning with abandon; Steve inches closer, the head of his cock nudging more insistently against your cunt. He repeats his ministrations on the other nipple, hands kneading and squeezing the pliant skin of your chest gently until you’re whining and bucking against him.
“You ready, baby?” he purrs. He lifts his eyes to yours, pupils blown so wide and black within his dark irises that it’s like staring into twin pools of ink. You open your mouth to respond just as Steve grips himself by the base of his cock and grinds the shaft against your soaked slit, up and down, up and down, grazing your clit with every stroke. If you weren’t so smitten by him, you’d fucking kill him.
Growling, you plunge both hands into his hair, tugging hard at the locks by his temples as you did before, and Steve’s shocked gasp skitters across your face.
“Fuck me before I lose my goddamned mind,” you pant, voice much less authoritative than you’d like it to be. You compensate by jerking Steve’s head back, punctuating your demand, and he laughs.
“If you insist.”
Both of your wrists are swept up in one of his hands and pinned above your head so fast you don’t have time to react. The head of his cock presses against your hole, thick and hot. Despite his thorough prep work, you can tell this will still be quite the stretch. You hitch your legs up over his hips as he prods further, keening and squirming as your pussy struggles to accommodate the sheer girth of him – it fucking burns, but the pain doesn’t discourage you in the slightest. Still, you can’t help the pitiful mewls that fall from your lips, nor the way your body thrashes against Steve’s iron grip.
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, voice rough with arousal. “You can take it. I know you can. Just relax. Does it hurt?”
“K-Kinda.”
“Do you need me to stop?”
“Fuck no, please don’t stop,” you plead, and Steve huffs out a laugh.
When the head finally pops inside you, you reflexively bear down on it and release a broken moan through gritted teeth, and Steve’s low groan reverberates through your body. “So fucking tight, fuck baby,” he moans, and just as your lips part to beg him to keep going, he thrusts in another inch. Steve pushes inside of you slowly and steadily, sucking air through his teeth and screwing his eyes shut so tight you wonder if he’s consciously keeping himself from cumming already.
Then – he pulls out.
Fuck it. You’re gonna kill him and kill him slowly.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, scrambling off the bed and leaving you with a spasming, achingly empty hole and questions on your tongue. The low lighting doesn’t afford you much clarity on what Steve is doing. Under normal circumstances, you’d probably find the way he’s frenziedly flitting about the room, naked as the day he was born, funny, but you are legs akimbo on his bed, alone, with nary an explanation as to why he pulled his dick out of you in the first place.
It dawns on you when he finds what he’s looking for and kneels on the bed again, and the slim plastic wrapper in his hand gleams in the lamplight.
Duh.
“I completely forgot,” he says, smiling bashfully as he frees the condom from its wrapper and rolls it down over his flushed cock. You can’t help it – you’re disappointed he’s not gonna be fucking you raw tonight. You understand why he can’t, why you can’t let him, of course, and if you’d had your wits about you, you’d have reminded him about it yourself. But still.
Steve kisses your forehead as he lines himself up with your cunt again, and this time, he doesn’t make you beg at all – he thrusts almost half his length inside of you in one go, and you forget all about the condom for the moment.
“Fuck, fuck, yes, Steve!” You twist his sheets up into your fists, shocked you don’t tear a hole clean through the fabric, and your mouth hangs open as Steve bullies his cock deeper inside you. Pleasure rumbles through him, something you feel rather than hear at first because he leans over you, one hand supporting the small of your back, lifting you partially off the bed, and presses your bodies together. He plants wet kisses along the side of your neck and down your chest, breath washing over your skin as he pants raggedly.
“You have no idea how hard it was to not just fuck you raw, baby,” he murmurs. A shiver ripples down your back and you moan, the sound swinging high and cracking in your throat because that is maybe the hottest thing he could have said in this moment.
“I would’ve let you,” you admit, the words slipping from your mouth without much thought given to them, and perhaps you’d be embarrassed at your stark honesty, or how desperate you sound if Steve didn’t groan so deliciously in your ear afterward and start snapping his hips forward faster.
“Yeah, baby?” he asks, breathless. With every thrust, he buries himself just a bit deeper inside you, and the ever-increasing fullness makes it hard to think, let alone maintain any sort of filter on your words. It still burns just that little bit, enough to remind you that you’ve never had anything – or anyone – this big inside of you before, and it just makes this sweeter.
“God, yes, absolutely,” you huff, because it’s true – you’d never admit it to him, would never tell a single soul or even pen it in the margins of your diary, but you have spent more than one sleepless night in your life with your hand jammed down the front of your underwear, fantasizing about Steve Harrington filling your pussy with load after load until his cum dribbled steadily out of your thoroughly used hole. You’d always flush with embarrassment afterward, when the warm glow of your orgasm had faded and you had to deal with your soaked sheets before they went cold under your ass, mostly because, at that point, you’d hardly said five words to the guy.
Steve adjusts his grip, hands sliding from your back to behind both knees before he pushes them toward your chest. When he bucks against you next, it’s all you can do not to scream. He can get so fucking deep at this angle, with your hips tilted up and Steve looming over you, and you’re positively flabbergasted when you look down between your bodies and realize he hasn’t even pushed his entire length inside of you yet. You’re brimming with him, entirely full, you don’t think you could take another inch, but still you whine and look up at him through your lashes.
“Deeper,” you plead, weakly gripping his elbows for purchase. “P-Please, deeper…more…”
He chuckles, a low sound that rolls like thunder through your body and makes gooseflesh prickle across your skin, and when he pushes a sweat-damp clump of hair from his eyes, you realize just how bright they are. The way they flash at you, coupled with the sheen of sweat glistening off his pinked cheeks and the parting of his red, swollen lips to allow passage for his heaving breaths makes you wish you had a camera. You’d live in this moment forever if you could, Steve pounding you into the mattress and gazing at you like this, like you’re the only thing in the world he cares about.
“You’re fuckin’ twitching around me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” he asks, and the question drops you back into your body at once, though you weren’t aware you’d been floating out of it in the first place. He’s right – without having even acknowledged your clit the entire time Steve’s had his cock inside of you, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your cunt fluttering sporadically around his length. You open your mouth to reply, but no sound beyond gasping breath comes out, and this is apparently greatly amusing to Steve.
“Oh, you are, aren’t you? My pretty girl’s gonna cum all over my cock and I’ve barely even started, huh?”
His words are like a crank winding an invisible cord that stretches from your core to your clit, one that has already been pulled so taut that you don’t think it’ll withstand his mouth much longer. You want to cum so fucking badly, but you also don’t want to be finished yet, and before you can verbalize any of that to Steve, he’s bearing down on you and pushing your thighs even further back. You’re not sure how you manage it, because you could’ve sworn you were not this flexible before tonight, but Steve forces your legs almost flush against your shoulders and slots both arms behind your knees, so you can’t close them even if you wanted to; he crowds against you, the full weight of his body now accompanying each thrust as he obliges your earlier request and sinks deeper into your drooling pussy than you thought possible.
Your mind goes blissfully blank. The tether in your belly snaps, and you start cumming so hard on Steve’s cock that you can’t even manage a scream – your mouth opens, a perfectly rounded O as your eyes screw themselves shut, and your back arches off his bed, your orgasm igniting every nerve in your body until you’re little more than a writhing live wire. It’s intense – that’s the only word you have for it, understatement of the century though it may be. You clench so tight around Steve that you’re shocked you don’t force him out of you, and he just keeps fucking you through it.
“That’s it, baby,” he croons, swiping the hair from your face with one hand and holding you in place. “That’s it, good girl, keep cumming for me, fuck, I can feel you soaking my cock–”
“Steve, fuck, fuck, God, don’t stop, please,” you wheeze, your pleasure ebbing just enough for you to draw a small breath and find your voice again. You reach up, fingers shaking before settling in his hair, and tug the locks at the nape of his neck as your body trembles uncontrollably. Though he does moan in that way you’re rapidly becoming addicted to as you pull his hair, he slows his pace to a devastatingly slow grind and releases your legs. They flop uselessly down onto the bed, tingling with pins and needles, and you whimper pitifully as Steve takes this moment to sit up on his heels.
“Steve–”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby, it’s okay,” he assures you, resting both hands on your aching hips and kneading small circles into the soft flesh with his thumbs. “I’m here.”
“Did you…?” You glance down at where your bodies are still joined, and Steve snorts.
“Almost. That’s why I had to stop for a sec. You just feel too fucking good.”
You can’t help the smug grin that creeps across your lips. You’re tempted to rock against him anyway, or perhaps even knock him backward and ride him until he can’t take it anymore, but your leaden limbs forbid you from making any significant strides toward either option. Steve pants above you, hands slowly migrating up the squishy expanse of your stomach, past your breasts, and finally landing on either side of your jaw before he licks his lips and bends toward you. He kisses you, chaste and gentle, a featherlight brush of his mouth against yours, and his thumbs press somewhat insistently at your temples.
“You’re crying,” he informs you, and again, it’s Steve’s observation that brings you back to your body – the sides of your face are wet, and if you turn your head at all, you can feel your damp hair sliding around on the pillow. “Are you okay?”
“Mmhmm…very, very okay,” you purr. “Jus’ felt good, that’s all…”
If your orgasm was like a firework shooting off and exploding inside of you, the afterglow you’re nestled in is like a warm bath, with every inch of you buzzing pleasantly in sluggish pleasure. Steve kisses you again, trailing his lips up past your cheekbone so he can plant them square in the middle of your sweaty forehead. The juxtaposition of this tenderness, the capacity he has to be so gentle with you after he just had you bent in half and seemed hellbent on fucking you through the bed, makes your stomach flutter with the kind of girlish giddiness only Steve can bring out of you.
“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks. His cock throbs inside of you, but when he pulls back far enough to flash you that sweet, lopsided smile of his you know he’d roll off in a heartbeat if you asked him to. But you do not want him to do that, not even slightly, so you find the strength to lift your thighs and wrap them around his hips before you nod, grinning dopily, and say, “Please keep fucking me, Steve.”
His mouth is on yours before you’re finished saying his name. His movements have slowed, from the glide of his tongue past your lips to the roll of his hips, and he greedily swallows the keening whines that bubble up from your throat as his cock drags along your oversensitive walls. Your breath hitches every time he pushes himself as deep as he can go, something he makes a note of with a laugh and a playful nip to your bottom lip.
“You like being full of my cock, huh, beautiful?” he murmurs, ducking his head. He’s seemingly decided you need more hickeys, as evidenced by the way he starts sucking on a patch of flesh just beneath your ear like he’s trying to draw blood from the thumping veins below.
“S-So much, yeah.”
“Yeah? That’s not even all of it, baby.”
“It’s not?” you whine, incredulous, and Steve snickers against your skin, shaking his head.
“No, but I think it’d hurt if I tried to fit it all inside of you,” he says, and there’s something sharp in his voice – something mocking.
“You don’t know that,” you huff, and Steve hums against your throat.
He takes one of your hands in his, guiding it toward where he’s buried inside you, and says, “Feel that? Feel how nice and full you are now?”
You nod. Steve drops your hand. “Now feel how much of me is still left,” he says.
You do, fingers twitching along the length that remains outside of you, and you’re shocked. There must be at least two inches that Steve has yet to stuff you with, or perhaps that he physically can’t stuff you with, and while you want so badly for him to just shove the rest of it inside, you consider he may be right. His thick cockhead pulses where it’s resting inside your pussy, nestled against the very back of you; any deeper, he’d certainly hit your cervix, something you’ve experienced before with other (clumsy, inconsiderate, douchey) partners and would very much so like to never experience again. Still, your pride weathers this slight blow, and you compensate by wrapping your fingers around the bit of Steve’s cock that you can’t accommodate.
“Fuck,” he moans, drawing the word out nice and long as you start to jerk him off. He lifts his head from your throat, mouth curling into a shocked smile as he rocks his hips into your fist and, consequently, your cunt. “That’s…fuck, that’s really hot, Y/N.”
“Yeah?” Your voice is breathy, and pleasure sparks anew throughout your core. You have to twist your wrist at a slightly odd angle to get a grip on him with both of your bodies in the way, and your fingers keep slipping in the ample lubrication your pussy supplies, so it’s perhaps the clumsiest handjob you’ve ever given, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He thrusts into you messily, brows pinched and swollen mouth dropped open as he chases his peak inside you, and your free hand raises to cup the side of his face.
“Cum in me,” you whisper, and the broken sound that tumbles from Steve’s lips spurs you on. You push back against him and bear down on his cock at the same time you squeeze your fist, the rubber rim of the condom skidding beneath your fingers. He slumps forward, pressing his cheek into your palm, hands shooting out to catch himself before he falls headlong into your chest. Sweat beads at his hairline and trickles down the long column of his throat before pooling in the hollow at the base, and the sight is so tempting you sit up and lave your tongue over his salty skin.
“Cum in me,” you say again, “please, Steve. I need it, please, please.”
“God-fucking-dammit,” he growls, his hips stuttering, chest heaving, and not a second later, he’s cumming. You can’t feel his load inside you – a fact that inspires a non-zero amount of disappointment that hasn’t abated since the second he slid the condom on – but watching him cum is enough to make that disappointment vanish. He goes silent for a beat as his peak overwhelms him, but when his cock starts to pulse inside your cunt and within your loose fist, fresh moans rip themselves from his throat, and you are so fucking thankful that Steve Harrington is not afraid to be loud for you. His body tenses and shudders as he pumps into you erratically.
Just as you think he’s finished, and you’ve begun to take your cramping hand back, Steve stops you. He’s panting, gasping for air like he’s just finished a marathon, and his eyes are positively sparkling. He places your hand back on your pussy, and when you don’t move, he nods his head.
“Make yourself cum for me again,” he says simply, and it’s all you can do not to balk at him.
“But you just–”
“Don’t care. You can give me one more, baby.”
Of all the things you’ve done tonight – in the last 48 hours, really – touching yourself in full view of Steve is the thing that makes you blush the deepest. You swallow thickly, fingers hesitating over your admittedly swollen clit, and Steve chuckles. He’s not as hard as he was moments ago, and you can feel him softening the longer he remains inside you, but that doesn’t stop him from jerking his hips forward harder in encouragement.
“C’mon, you’re gonna give me one more,” he insists. “Touch that pretty pussy for me, show me how you do it when you’re all by yourself.”
Well, when he says it like that.
You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and make quick work of your clit, rubbing circles around the throbbing bud as Steve fucks you fast and sloppy. You really didn’t think you had it in you at first, but once again, your body seems to have an endless capacity for orgasms when you’re around Steve – the coil in your belly winds itself quickly this time, burning blood-hot between your hips and readying itself to snap faster than you’ve ever experienced before. A wicked thought crosses your mind then, one that involves Steve testing just how quickly he can make you cum, and how many times he can replicate that speed, and you resolve to bring it up to him at a later date as your pussy spasms and Steve moans above you.
“Fuck yes, I can feel you getting close, that’s it,” he babbles, breathy laughter carrying his reassurance, and with one last well-placed thrust, you’re cumming on his cock again. God help you, there’s a splash, and wet heat soaks between your fingers as Steve fucks you through your orgasm, audibly impressed with how much you cum this time.
“Good fucking girl, I knew you had it in you. Shoulda put a towel down.”
You’d shush him if you had any air in your lungs.
He pulls out and delicately unwinds your trembling thighs from his hips, beaming at you the whole time he peels the condom off his dick and disposes of it in a small wastebasket. When he returns to the bed, he scoops you up and rolls you over, placing himself in the wet spot you’ve created and dragging you on top of him so all you can feel is his solid warmth. He peppers kisses along your dampened hairline and gently strokes both hands up and down the length of your spine, pausing above the swell of your ass to knead his fingers into your heated flesh a few times. Your hearts are pounding, and for a moment, you swear they beat in sync. You tell yourself it must be the post-orgasm endorphin drop making the world a little rosier than it truly is.
“I’m so proud of you, pretty girl,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead and tilting your face toward his. His cheeks still have an adorable flush to them, and his hair is slicked away from his face with sweat. You note the twin moles stamped on the left side of his face, right on the apple of his cheek, and surge forward on your elbow to capture them in a kiss.
“You feel okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
You shake your head. “Not at all. I kinda wanted you to, but–”
“Oh?”
Motherfuck. You and your big mouth.
“Uh…” Steve stares at you, eyes bright and curious, and the corner of his mouth flirts with a grin. He looks…intrigued? You don’t know why that’s so shocking, considering you’ve yanked on his hair like they were a horse’s reins multiple times tonight and he nearly melted in your hands, but you blush all the same under his gaze and chew your bottom lip.
“We can definitely talk about that,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft given the mischievous look on his handsome face.
“Really?”
“Well, I mean, kinda depends on what you mean by “hurt” you,” he adds, raising two fingers to twitch around the word “hurt.” “D’you mean, like, get a lil’ rough with you, or…like, stick you with a cattle prod?”
“Cattle prod,” you deadpan, and in the beat of silence that follows, genuine fear flashes across Steve’s face. You snort, smacking him lightly in the center of his chest, and his abdominal muscles relax noticeably beneath you.
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy everything that you just did, by the way,” you clarify, flattening your palm between his pecs and idly mussing his chest hair. “‘Cause I did. I just…like it a little rougher, sometimes, too.”
“I can do rougher,” Steve asserts, pinching a lock of your hair between thumb and forefinger and delicately tucking it behind your ear. Your belly flutters at the prospect, and though you already have suggestions bubbling up your throat, your tongue feels too thick in your mouth to adequately communicate any of them. In fact, the more Steve caresses your body, the heavier you feel, and it’s only after his face begins to blur that you realize that your eyelids are drooping.
“Tired?” he laughs as you blink a few times.
“Mmm,” you mumble, noncommittal, even as your head comes down to nuzzle into his neck and your thoughts go fuzzy at the edges. “Can’t sleep…curfew…”
“I’ll wake you up,” he promises. “Just nap, baby, it’s okay. I got you.”
You grumble again, a piss-poor argument that Steve does not heed. Instead, he drags his fingers through the hair on the side of your head, careful not to snag on any tangles, his touch so light it makes you shiver. It is impossible to ignore the pull of unconsciousness when someone is playing with your hair, that’s just an objective fact, and so you sigh, limbs loosening and body going slack on top of Steve’s as he lulls you deeper into darkness.
~~~
Turns out, Steve’s sweatpants fit you.
Well, maybe “fit” is being generous – you had to knot the drawstrings as tight as they would go to keep the waistband above your hips, and it still slings well below the curve of your pelvis if you don’t bunch the front up in your fist and manually hold it up. They’re also comically long, and you’ve had to cuff the legs three times over just to make sure you don’t trip over the fabric that otherwise puddles around your feet.
The heater purrs as it drools warmth into the interior of Steve’s car, a welcome reprieve from the freezing October air that presses against the windows. They’re fogged, and you absently draw little doodles on the misty glass with one finger. Queen’s second self-titled album plays faintly, a throbbing bassline and Freddie Mercury’s crooning vocals filling the narrow space between you and Steve.
“I didn’t peg you as a Queen guy,” you say, gesturing in the direction of his cassette deck, your hand interlocked with his and beside the gear shift. He scoffs.
“You kidding? I love Queen,” he says emphatically and takes his hand off the steering wheel for a moment to spin the volume dial. As he does, the song changes, bleeding seamlessly into the next one; Freddie’s voice reaches its peak just as a few bright notes are plunked on a piano, and a beat is thudded out on the drums. Steve sings along, loudly, and though you can tell he’s not being serious about it, his voice is smooth and clear. You’re so enamored by the sight of him that the lyrics don’t register right away, not until he leans into your space, eyes pinned fastidiously to the darkened road ahead, and sings at you.
“Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see.”
They’re just words, not even Steve’s words, but your cheeks color nonetheless.
“Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.” His gaze flickers from the road for a moment, one singular moment, and he looks right at you. Your belly flips, and the heat in your face burns all the way down your neck. If it were anyone else, literally any other human being on the planet, you’d be tucking and rolling out of the car the moment they started serenading you, even as a joke – but this is Steve, and he’s smiling so wide, and he’s fucking harmonizing with Freddie Mercury, and he shakes your intertwined hands to the beat as he does it, so you’re content to sit here and let him give you a rendition of the entire rest of the album if he wants to.
You definitely don’t get hung up on the fact that he looked you in the eye while he sang about love. Nope. Not at all.
The song peters out just as Steve pulls up to your house, and he checks his watch as he puts the car in park, nodding at the glowing numbers proudly.
“Back, and with five minutes to spare this time,” he announces.
“I’ll have to tip you for the excellent service,” you tease.
“I accept cash, credit, or a kiss on the lips,” Steve shoots back, already dragging you toward him and leaning his body over the gear shift. You giggle, and he swallows the sound, pressing his warm mouth against yours so tenderly you’d hardly believe the filth it’s capable of if you weren’t a firsthand witness.
He helps you shrug your jacket on before you step out of the car, and the chill of the night gusts against you so intently you can’t help but shudder. You stoop down as he rolls the passenger side window down for you, just as you had the night before.
“You comin’ to movie night on Sunday?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it. D’you think Robin will let me pick if it’s my first time? And I ask her so nicely?”
“I think you’d have a better shot at winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning on the same day,” Steve estimates, “but I can check. Who knows, maybe she’ll be feeling generous.”
“Tell her I’ll bring extra hot chips if she is.”
Steve laughs, and both hands come up to cup the sides of your face. He kisses you again, and this time it’s slower, languid, a purposeful prolonging of your departure. You gladly accept it, and again, there’s a pang in your stomach, a desperate want to hop back in the car with him and not let the night end. When he pulls away from you, playfully nipping your bottom lip, Steve murmurs something against your lips that makes you feel like Earth has stopped spinning.
“D’you wanna be my girlfriend, Y/N?”
The innocence, the painful earnestness of the question strikes you, makes the breath catch in your throat, and Steve’s eyes glitter with starlight as he looks up at you. “It’s probably kinda silly, considering…well, considering, but, I mean, I wanted to…yanno, ask, formally…I know it’s only been two dates, but, I just, I really like you, and I wanna keep doing this, seeing you, and I wanna be the only one seeing you –”
“Like there could be anyone else,” you breathe, and this time it’s your own words that shock you. You could see the whirlwind beginning in his head, the anxious avalanche of words to defend himself from potential humiliation, so you just blurted that out because, well, duh, of course there isn’t anyone else you’d want to be with. You knew that from the second he picked you up with flowers in his hand last night.
He perks visibly. “Is that a yes?”
“Of course, it’s a yes.”
You hear the door whoosh open, slam shut, and gravel crunching underfoot before you register that Steve has gotten out of the car and is rounding on you. When he grabs you, one hand supporting the small of your back, the other plunging into your hair, and dips you backward to plant a kiss on your mouth, you try your damndest not to focus on the fact that not only is he not wearing shoes, but his socks are mismatched – one white tube sock, one black with green swirls. You mostly succeed, and you think the giggle that tickles against his lips passes as one of shock.
As he tips you upright, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A light is flickering from your house, and as you squint against it, you realize it’s not the flicker of an old bulb fizzling out. It’s measured, a steady pattern, and the reason for this is quickly made apparent as the dark shape of your mother floats in front of the curtains. She’s flicking the porch light on and off, signaling for you to hurry it up, and you’re torn on whether you wanna die right on the spot, or march up the driveway and throttle her.
“That’s my cue,” you sigh, but when you turn to look at Steve, there’s something odd about his expression. He’s fixated on the light, which casts scattered shadows across the angles of his face, and his eyes are sort of…glazed. There’s a faraway look to them, as though he’s gone somewhere in his head that you can’t reach.
“Steve?” You thump his chest once, not too hard, and he inhales sharply through his nose. He blinks a few times before shaking his head, like he’s physically shucking whatever unpleasantness was burdening him off, and just like that, he’s himself again.
“I’ll pick you up Sunday afternoon,” he says, kissing you one last time on the forehead before allowing you to step out of his embrace. You want to ask what that was, where he went just now, why his eyes keep flitting almost nervously between you and your porch light – perhaps the threat of your mother scares him that much? – but you don’t have time. You both part from each other slowly, him walking backward toward his car, you retreating up your driveway.
“I’ll pick something good!” you holler, and Steve nods.
“See you then, baby.”
You’re backing up against the front steps of your house as Steve disappears into his front seat, and the sound of your front door opening is muted by the revv of his engine.
“Right on time,” your mother says from behind you, shadow obstructing the yellowy light that spills onto the porch. You look over your shoulder at her, eyes narrowed.
“You know, I’m legally an adult,” you point out, “I shouldn’t have a curfew.”
“He’s got a nice car,” Mom says, craning her neck to look around you and tucking the fuzzy blue halves of her robe tighter against her body. “Does he drive like a maniac?”
“Yes, he’s like Dale Earnhardt but worse,” you snark, eyes glued to the glittering shell of Steve’s BMW as it curves down the street and into the yawning mouth of the night.
He does have a nice car…your boyfriend has a nice car. The word is like helium, lifting you off the ground and floating you inside the house.
“Wait…weren’t you wearing a skirt when you left?” Mom asks as you glide past her. “Where did you get those sweats from?”
Oops.
taglist: @celestialwaavelength , @bornslippys , @silky-luxe , @pettydonuts , @littlered000 . interact with this post if you'd like to be added to my taglist!
summary: you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.
summary: Steve is a needy, needy drunk, and you just can't get enough of it. 18+ MDNI
cw: smut, fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, sub!steve, dubcon (they are both drunk), unprotected p in v (don't try this at home), mention of oral (male receiving)
author's note: always need more sub!steve in my life, so i got a little carried away. my first piece of writing on tumblr in, like, 5 years. enjoy!
masterlist
Tonight was one of your favorite kinds of nights.
Eddie’s trailer was littered with empty bags of snacks, beer bottles, and nearly bursting at the seams with how loud the music was playing. In the middle of the room, Robin and Nancy were holding hands, jumping around in a circle, screaming out the lyrics to I Wanna Dance With Somebody; they were just drunk enough to go full slumber party mode, which was highly typical. Coincidentally, Eddie was just drunk enough to sing along, sat back on the couch with a huge grin on his face.
You would’ve joined the pair, had Steve’s arms not been so cozy around you. You were sitting in his lap, hips between his thighs, his arms snugly around your waist. Now and then, he’d drunkenly rest his head on your shoulder, nuzzle his nose into the side of your face, or press a kiss to your neck. God, he’s adorable, you thought. You thought that every day, but when you were drunk, it turned into every minute or so.
During one of his nuzzles, Steve’s lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “Take me home.” His voice was breathy, higher in pitch.
There were lots of reasons tonight was one of your favorite kinds of nights, but one in particular: Steve was a needy drunk. Needed to kiss you, needed to touch you, and needed you to take care of him. It was a special, wonderful change of pace from being constantly cared for by him—one that sent a warm, jittery feeling down your spine.
You could feel his arms around your waist tightening as he began to pepper soft kisses behind your ear, down your neck. It made thinking through the logistics of getting your drunk selves back to his house harder, to say the least. And speaking of hard…
You turned your head towards him, trying to keep it together. “We’ll have to walk. There’s no way either of us are driving.”
“I don’t care.” He replied immediately, his lips coming off of your neck just long enough to say it.
Unsure if you could last another minute without taking him on Eddie’s couch, you redirected your attention to the group; a lull in the music made for perfect timing. “I think we’re gonna head out.” You bit back a smile, trying to be discreet. Oh, who were you kidding, Steve was still mouthing at your neck, he’d just moved to the other side now.
Eddie laughed out loud when he noticed the spectacle, kicking his feet like a little kid. Robin did much the same. “No driving!” Nancy, as motherly as she could in her state, wagged a finger at you. “Why don’t—” She hiccuped. “Why don’t you just use Eddie’s room?”
“Absolutely the fuck not!” Came from Eddie, causing Robin to drop to the ground in an even bigger fit of giggles. Even Steve was laughing now, all five of you trying to catch your breath.
“We’re walking!” You managed to get out, patting Steve’s leg to signal you were getting up. “And I would not be caught dead banging in your room, Eds, no offense. I don’t think you’ve cleaned in… like… seven years.”
“Eight, actually.” He held back more laughter, the stupidest things hitting everyone’s funny bones at this point. Within a few moments, you and Steve were saying your sheepish goodbyes, the rest of them poking fun until the door was closed behind you.
Absolute idiots, you thought, and I love them to death.
The walk to Steve’s was cold, but the promise of what was to come paired with the alcohol in your systems made it bearable. He was all smiles and gentle touches; at one point you said you’d race him, but you both nearly fell flat on your face, so that stopped pretty quickly.
By the time you reached his door, he could hardly keep his hands off of you—clinging to you anyway he could, kissing any spot he could reach. His silly grin had been replaced with a furrowed brow and a desperate look in his eyes. He had no idea how crazy it drove you to see him like this, needing you so deliberately, hair messy, nose red from the outside air. So, as soon as you were inside the house, you kissed him with a ferocity you’d been holding back since Eddie’s.
It was enough to make him stumble backward, but he immediately adjusted, gripping you like you might float away any moment. It was messy, a little rough, not how you’d usually handle him in this state, but you needed to get it out. Your hands slid into his hair, grabbing the strands with your fingers, and he practically whined. “Need you, baby, please.”
“I’ve got you, Stevie.” Your voice was warm and low as you thumbed across his pouting lips. “Gonna take care of you, babe. Let’s go upstairs.”
He nodded, entwining your fingers with his and leading the way to his bedroom. He immediately flopped onto the bed, causing you to giggle as you fumbled with your shoes, tossing each one aside. Soon enough, you were crawling into the bed as well, lowering yourself so that you were lying on top of him.
You put your lips on his gently, and he brought a hand up to cup your face, deepening it. “You’re so pretty like this,” You whispered between kisses, feeling him harden against your abdomen. “Needy for me.” You needed to tell him now, instead of sober, when he’d get all shy and embarrassed about it. One of these days, you’d convince him it was the sexiest thing ever.
His hips softly bucked up against you, unintentionally, and he made a beautiful noise. “Couldn’t stop thinking…” He pushed some of your hair aside to kiss your jaw. “...At the party.”
“What were you thinking about?” You asked sweetly, hand traveling down to palm him through his jeans. “About—oh—about you r-riding me,” His hips began moving to meet your hand, fingers squeezing your hips. “Cumming in you.” God, help me, you thought.
“I can make that happen.” You bit your lip, resisting the urge to absolutely ravish him right now. It’s always better when you wait. “Need some of these clothes off, though.”
Steve nodded, already completely lost in you, and pushed himself upright, allowing you to grab the edge of his t-shirt. You pulled it over his head, and quickly did the same to yourself, his hands immediately finding your chest as he laid back again. His eyes were open wider than they had been the past three hours, and it made you chuckle.
“I love this one,” His fingertips traced over the red lace on your bra. “S’my favorite one.”
“I know it is.” You preened, consistently amazed at how you’d bagged the sexiest dork in history.
His fingers traveled around your back, and it took a bit more effort than usual to undo the clasp. Once he did, though, he was kneading at your breasts, his hips beginning to cant up again. “Fuck, baby, so gorgeous,” His eyes squeezed shut, and the combination of his hands, hard-on, and praise made your breath hitch. “Need you so bad, so, so bad.”
Your head fell back, enjoying the sensation for a few more seconds, until you started toying with the button on his jeans. You were trying with all of your might to go slowly, to fight against the way your brain was going fuzzy, but Jesus Christ, you just wanted him mewling beneath you—and you knew he would be soon enough. The role reversal was intoxicating.
Both of you were nearly nude within a few moments, Steve straining even harder against his briefs as he felt the warmth pooling in your underwear. You leaned down to kiss him, lifting your hips to keep him from grinding against you, though everything in you screamed to let it continue.
“Want you in my mouth, Stevie,” You breathed against his neck, kissing the moles there. “You want that?”
He whimpered then, at both the loss of contact and the proposition. “I do, but, don’t think I’d last,” His hands ran down you wildly, your neck, stomach, thighs, as if they wanted to be everywhere at once. “Close just from this.”
Embarrassingly, a small noise left your lips just from hearing that; it almost sounded like a beg. You quickly decided that you couldn’t deny him anything else. “That’s okay, baby.” You cooed, brushing some stray hairs away from his forehead. “Want you so bad, gonna take care of you, okay?”
He was all uh huhs and pleases now, and you moved down to slowly remove what was left between the two of you, chests heaving in anticipation. Steve was achingly hard, which made him look even larger than usual—you wanted to take a photo of him like this, a sheen of sweat on his skin, hair mussed, lips kiss-bitten and pink. A piece of heaven.
“D’you need me to,” He panted, far too gone to form a full sentence. “Don’t want it to hurt.”
On a normal day, he was insistent about getting you ready for him, opening you up with his fingers; he refused to let you experience any kind of discomfort, unless, of course, you asked for it. You found it highly endearing that he considered it now, as desperate as he was.
“No, baby.” You laced your fingers with his, a small smile on your face. “I’m ready for you, promise. Sit up for me, yeah?”
He nodded quickly, removing his hand from yours to push up from his palms, his back now against the headboard. You moved forward to straddle him, and his hands found your waist, squeezing the skin there. “Love you so much,” You cooed, drunkenly, pressing more kisses to his jaw. “My boy.”
“My girl.” Was all Steve could manage, though you knew that meant I love you, too.
You reached between the two of you, rubbing the head of his cock between your soaked folds, and it made him keen beautifully, jaw slack, eyes closed. Finally, you began to sink down on him, elliciting a long, low moan from both of you.
“Baby, baby,” He whined, his face finding the crook of your neck, and your hand slid up the back of his neck. “I know, Stevie, feels so—” A groan broke through your lips, feeling yourself filled to the hilt. “—so good, you feel so good.”
You moved your hips, beginning to slowly grind against him. His fingers immediately dug into your back, pulling you as close as possible. His skin against yours was warm, safe, perfect. The small, choked noises he made caused you to clench around him, making his cock twitch in return. You were both completely adrift in each other, sure that the house could be burning down around you without notice.
His hands began to wander again, searching for purchase, and you could feel his breathing grow more labored against your neck. “What do you need, baby?” You whispered softly, hips still moving at an agonizing pace. When his head tilted back, you had to choke back a sound at the way he looked. A complete and utter mess.
“Need—just,” Words failing him, his fingers gripped at your hips, pushing you down on him even harder with each grind. It hit you right where you needed him, and a filfthy sound fell from his lips, the combination making you wonder how longer you’d last.
“Shit, baby,” You breathed, your fingers coming up to card through his hair. “Need it harder, yeah?” Steve nodded furiously, nosing against your cheek. There was no way you could deny him this way, pupils blown, jaw slack.
Your fingers wrapped themselves in his locks, like an anchor, before picking up the pace with your hips. He cried out immediately, pressing himself even deeper in you, making that familiar warm feeling spread through your abdomen. “Sh-shit, fuck, thank you, thankyouthankyou,” He babbled, fingertips certainly leaving bruises on your hips, and you relished in the feeling, your mind an endless stream of Steve Steve Steve.
“M’gonna, fuck,” He sounded almost pitiful, and it made staving off your release difficult.
“Let go, Stevie, c’mon,” You coaxed, giving his hair another tug, and that was all he needed to turn white-hot.
The noise he made was obscene, hips stuttering up into you, face pressed to your chest. It sent you straight over the edge with him, your walls squeezing him desperately, amplifying the near-pornographic sounds between the two of you. You clung to each other through it, coming down slowly, entirely blissed out. Your grip on each other subsided, but you stayed where you were, chests heaving, tangled together sweatily.
“Thank you.” Steve kissed your collarbone, coming to rest his forehead against your own. He was smiling sweetly, eyes hooded from drunkenness and exhaustion.
“Thank you.” You emphasized, probably looking much the same. “You’re… God, you’re something else.”
He chuckled at that, and you slowly rose from his lap, careful not to overstimulate either of you. You grabbed one of his t-shirts from the dresser, sliding it on, and padded your way to the bathroom for your responsible, post-sex pee. Once you’d returned, Steve was tucked beneath the comforter, already asleep.
You took a moment to admire him from the doorway, shaking your head softly, before climbing in beside him, drifting off just as fast.
“Last night was amazing.” You smirked, seated at Steve’s kitchen table the next morning, tucking into some breakfast. “Love it when you get like that.”
“Like what?” He asked from the kitchen, feigning innocence. He rounded the corner, holding his own plate, and took a seat next to you. You gave him a look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The smug look in his eyes said he definitely did know what you were talking about, and he had enjoyed every second. You decided two could play at this game.
You shrugged, taking another bite. “Maybe you should ask Eddie, Robin and Nance.” He choked a little on his food, making you grin. “You started pretty early.”
He groaned, bringing his hands to his face. “No I did not.”
“Oh yes,” You stifled laughter, “But, it’s alright, I’m sure they’ll have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His fingers parted over his face, one eye peeking through. Your smile was enough to break him, both of you dissolving into a fit of giggles, his face slightly redder than it was before.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
JJ oneshot coming tonight because I have no self control and I like making new headers 🙃
“A shared joint at seventeen, fingers touching, legs tangled in the hammock at John B's, your head on his chest and his hand resting on the curve of your stomach because the constant need to touch each other was normal normal normal.”
disclaimer: all fics are written with an oc that is introduced in my series for each pairing - I would highly recommend reading the series first before anything else!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: you and steve have been in this situationship for too long now. is it worth ruining what you've got for the sake of an official relationship?
read two time (part one).
oh my actual fuck, i normally despise reading back anything i've written but i can't stop re-reading this. it's a part two to two time but really could be read on it's own :) i also imagined readers room as my first year uni halls and i know it's different in america but it just would not work lol
fratboy!steve makes me crazy, idk what it is
your head is leaning in your hand, ever so slowly your eyes droop and it becomes too heavy to hold up.
‘hey! don’t you fall asleep on me now,’ steve bangs his palm on the table, jolting you awake.
‘steveee.. it’s..,’ you tap your phone screen, ‘three am! please can we just finish in the morning, i’m so tired,’ you pout, you were helping him finish his project. which, by the way, he had only started at six the night before. it was due at eleven the next morning.
‘do you want me to fail? i’ll have to move back home and then you’ll never ever see me again,’ he crosses his arms and tilts his head, just like a little puppy dog.
‘maybe you should’ve started earlier instead of partying so much, hmm?’ you imitate him, crossing your arms across your chest and tilting your head in the opposite direction.
‘well if someone wasn’t so obsessed with me, always begging me to hang out, then maybe i would’ve started earlier,’ he shrugs. lying through his teeth, he could’ve had a year to get this done and he still would’ve been sat here hours before the deadline.
‘hey, i would never beg you, i’m better than that,’ you wink at him. his golden eyes creasing into a smile, all you had to do was call and he was already halfway to your dorm. hell, he virtually lived there.
‘how much have you got left?’ you lean over and glance at his papers, to be absolutely fair to the boy, he was a pro at cramming.
‘i still need to finish the conclusion and sort out my references, but i need you to help me with that,’ try as he might, he had still never figured out how to academically reference his sources. meaning the task always fell on you.
‘okay.. so if i set an alarm for.. say seven, that gives you enough time to finish your conclusion and me enough time to do all your referencing, sound good?’ you pout again, this time extending your bottom lip out further. you knew that’d convince him.
he sighs but his smile is evident, ‘fine, but i’m setting the alarm, i know what you’re like,’ he stands up gathering the collection of papers spread across the desk and places them inside his bag.
‘yay!’ you stand up, grabbing your bag from the floor.
‘if i fail, you will pay,’ he saunters up behind you.
‘oooh no i’m sooo scared, whatever will i do!’ you sarcastically quip back with a giggle.
‘right, i’ve had enough of your lip,’ and with that he grabs your waist, lifting your body up and over his shoulder, smacking your ass rather hard.
you respond with a shriek, the other students late-night studying roll their eyes. you’d both been distracting them all night, relieved that you were finally leaving.
he carries you in this position all the way back to your room across campus. dropping you onto your bed with a suspicious sounding crack.
‘you fucking idiot, you broke my bed!’ you roll off of said bed and strip down to your underwear, reaching for one of steve’s extra large t-shirts.
‘well, we both knew that was gonna happen one day, honestly surprised it’s not happened sooner,’ he chuckles, peeling off his sweater.
the sight still made you bite your lip, he was seriously sexy and you’d never get over it.
‘and technically, it was your body that broke the bed, i just put you down,’ he holds his hands up in innocence.
‘threw me down, but okay babe,’ you climb into the bed, moving over to leave space for him. he follows you, pulling the duvet over you both.
you roll over onto your front, slinging your leg over his as his arm wraps across your back.
‘yeah, yeah.. goodnight,’ he plants a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you in closer to him.
‘alarm?’
‘shit,’ he groans, reaching for his phone, rushing to set the alarm.
‘and you didn’t trust me to do it,’ you scoff, your hand resting on his chest.
‘fuck off, go to sleep,’ he sets his phone down, finding your waist once again. you can’t help but smile at the boy.
you wake up to the blaring sound of steve’s phone alarm. your groggy groan vibrates on his chest.
‘shit, i’ve still got so much to do,’ his arms holding you tighter. you loved his morning voice, it was so gruff and husky. it honestly just reminded you of when he fucked the shit out of you on those early mornings you both had classes, his voice still deep with sleep.
‘get up now, before i fall back asleep and you won’t be able to move,’ you move your leg off of him, he shudders slightly as your thigh brushes over his semi-erect cock.
you’d give anything to just mount him and ride his cock until you were crying out. but, you knew he genuinely could not fail this class, or he’d lose his scholarship and have to move all the way back across the country.
he kisses your lips as he gets out of the bed, your hands wrap around his neck instinctively, kissing him with pure lust, keeping him bent down over you.
‘don’t do this to me,’ he mumbles, internally deciding if fucking you into the mattress right this moment was worth the fail.
you let go, a smirk plastered across your face, ‘sorry, go and finish and i’ll be here.’
he collapses into your desk chair with a sigh, pulling the papers out of his bag and spreading them across your already messy desk.
not only did he have to finish this project, he now had to do it a raging boner and with you lying there in his shirt, only 2 feet away.
‘you bitch, i thought you were menna help me?’ you were already dropping back off to sleep.
‘oh, i am, just give me five minutes and i’ll be there..’ you mumble, sleep already preoccupying your mind.
he lets you sleep, god knows he'd pay for it later when you were moody and quite frankly mean to him.
he reaches for his phone, opening up snapchat and facing his phone towards your sleeping body. the blanket pulled up to your chin, messy hair framing your face.
it was one of the few times he got to see you so peaceful and quiet.
'sleeping beauty' he captions it, debating whether to post the picture and piss you off or to keep it for his own collection of candid pics of you. he settles for posting it to his private story.
it was now nine, and he was now bored of doing this on his own, watching you sleep peacefully next to him. he leans over and shakes your shoulder lightly, 'wakey wakey, time to get your ass up.'
'no,' you grumble, 'five more minutes mom,' your eyes open to peer over at him, a smile erupting on your face.
'i'm okay with daddy, but mom is just fucking weird,' he's gripping onto your hand, trying to pull you out of your duvet cave. you chuckle at his words, gripping onto the bed as to not slip out.
'i'm bored and i need your help, so get up,' he juts out his bottom lip and softens his eyes, how could you say no?
'you woke me up because you were bored? err you're such a simp,' you stand up, pulling his oversized shirt down over your thighs.
'only for you,' he grabs your waist, pulling you into his chest, 'anyway, can you do my references pleaseee,' you sit down onto his knee and glimpse at the stack of papers on your desk.
'sweet, are you all finished then?' you grab his pen and grab the scribbled list of books he'd used.
'all done, just need you to do this and then i can go and hand it in,' he presses his cheek to your back, arms wrapped around your waist. you'd probably jump off of a cliff if he asked like this.
you sit and copy out his list, just much neater and in the correct format. you'd taught him to always make you a list with the information you needed so you could rearrange it and make it presentable for him.
you finish and tuck the sheets of paper at the bottom of the pile, standing up off of his lap.
'it's half ten, get changed and run,' you walk to your en-suite, wetting your toothbrush, 'oh and sort out that disgusting morning breath.'
he follows you into the bathroom, copying your actions on his own toothbrush, he'd bought it especially for your room.
you spit the minty foam into the sink just as steve gags as he brushes back teeth, 'pussy,' replacing the toothbrush to its rightful place.
he spits, 'just because you don't gag, whore,' putting his toothbrush back right next to yours, smacking your bare ass as you exit the bathroom.
'you're gonna be late, and then you'll fail and then you'll never get to bully me again,' you smirk, holding his sweater out to him.
he takes it from your hand, pulling it over his head, 'i'm going, i'm going!' slipping on his jeans and shoving the papers into his bag.
you pout your lips, making a kissing sound.
he plants a kiss to your lips and practically sprints out of the door.
-
'steve, you need to hurry the fuck up,' you brush out your curls with your fingers, bouncing them around your shoulders.
you look into his oddly stained mirror, readjusting the white feathery wings on your back.
'i'm ready.. i was just admiring how fucking good you look,' you spin around to face him, a shy smile creeps to your face. he's complimented you countless times but it still made you blush every single time.
'well thank you darling,' you siddle over to his position on the edge of bed, resting your hands on his shoulders, he places his hands on your hips and looks up.
you could hear the party already thumping downstairs, steve had so very kindly offered to host your birthday party at his frat house. you were hesitant and first, knowing exactly how they usually ended up.
you had practically forced him to wear the corresponding devil costume to your angel outfit.
'it'll be so cute, and it's so accurate,' you pleaded, picking up the red horns. you could've convinced him to wear anything in that white mini skirt, soft thighs adorned with white fishnets.
'mmm,' his hands slide down to your half-exposed behind, tongue peaking out the side of his lips.
'they'll be waiting for us,' squeezing his shoulders.
'i know.. before we go, i've been thinking..' his fingers pressing into your rear.
'oh no, that's never a good thing,' your hands run through the back of his hair, not wanting to mess it up too much.
'shut up, no- i was thinking about you actually,' he smiles at the thought.
'right.. go on,' he was either about to ruin the incredible thing you had going on or was about to gain a girlfriend.
'well, you basically are already but.. d'ya wanna be my girlfriend?' his grip tightens, pulling you in closer to his chest.
you beam down at him, 'jeez, i thought you'd never ask,' kissing his smile with such passion it causes his body to rock back.
'well thank fuck for that,' he murmurs into the kiss.
'y'know i'd never say no to you,' you smirk, had he genuinely believed you'd turn him down? not a chance.
'we actually do have to go now, it being my birthday n'all,' you pull away from him, grabbing his hand from your ass cheek and yanking him to the door.
'sorry, sorry, my boyfriend takes too long to get ready,' your friends squeal as you and steve approach them. the pair of you were basically already married for christ's sake, but they were still just as delighted to hear he'd officially asked you.
the party boomed on, you and steve had lost each other to your respective group of friends. the alcohol beginning to make you slightly, very tipsy.
nelly's 'hot in herre' blared out of the speaker, the music causing your hips to move all on their own, your hands tracing up your body seductively.
steve meets your eye from across the room, adjusting his position on the couch to see you better.
'i wanna take my clothes off,' you mouth over to him, biting on your bottom lip.
'fellas, i'll see you later, yeah?' he slaps his buddy on the back as he walks over to you. their gaze following him, rolling their eyes and laughing when they realised why he ran off.
he's essentially dragging you up the stairs, your feet tripping over each other on the way up.
not wanting to wait any longer to rip those filthy fishnets off of you.
summary steve harrington is your boyfriend now. your boyfriend. and having a boyfriend means doing lots of new things, like dinner dates and movies, cuddling on the couch and kissing — lots of kissing. but there’s one thing you guys haven’t done yet, and steve’s just asked you to spend the night. [17.3k words]
warnings SMUT 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff heavy, new established relationship, first time, an overload of intimacy and affection, p in v sex, pet names, steve being the most loving dork on the entire planet and r being equally infatuated, mentioned that r has stretch marks, proofread not perfect
this is a companion to have you seen her? you don’t have to read it to understand, but if you want to it’s here <3
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Inside a sea of flowers lies a girl. Her skin glows with colour, the reflection of pigments. Sunspots of darkest red buffeted by buttery orange, indigo stretching into magenta, whites; endless whites ranging from creamy ivory to the violet shine of snow in the nighttime.
It's as if the flowers themselves bloom over your skin. Steve blinks and everything settles, your skin returns to skin, the reflections fade from focus. You stretch your leg out absentmindedly and lean forward to follow the book resting against the top of your thigh, entirely distracted.
The room smells as bright and fresh as the florist's itself. The flowers he'd given you, more than he could ever name, permeate everything. Most remain in good condition two weeks later, where some wilt despite your dedicated care.
Your fingertips are pin-pricked by the thorns of a rose's stem, injuries sustained in the hours you've spent preening each bouquet. You bring one such fingertip to your lips and suck lightly for a moment like it'll draw the small pain from your skin.
He leans against the doorway and takes in your appearance indulgently. Plaid pyjama bottoms hug your thighs. Your socked feet wiggle along to the sounds of your Walkman, music loud enough that you've missed his entrance.
He doesn't want to scare you into flinching and ruin the content little bubble you're in but he's certainly not about to turn around and leave after waiting all day to see you, no matter how selfish it might be to disturb you. I'm only human, he thinks.
"Hey, beautiful," he says. You don't hear him.
Steve bends at the waist to unlace his shoes before stepping onto the plush carpeting of your room. He weaves between vases and skinny buckets, repurposed cookware and every mug you own, worried that one wrong move will domino your intricate arrangements and spill flowers everywhere.
You catch sight of him before he's made it to your side. You flinch as he suspected you would, only a small jump but a jump nonetheless.
Steve's face creases in sympathy as you pull off your headphones, orange foam padding around your neck. "I'm sorry," he says, expecting you to be at least a little peeved at his sneaking. "I knocked, I swear."
You abandon your book carelessly and are only slightly kinder to your Walkman as you tug the headphones from your neck.
"Steve," you say, smiling.
"That's me. Hey."
You swing your legs over the side of the bed, white sheets rumpled in your wake as you scramble to your feet. Steve doesn't know who does what first but he opens his arms and you've opened yours and you fit into the circle of his embrace like you were made to.
"Sorry to scare you," he says.
You're not as confident as he is. Where Steve throws his arms over your shoulders, quick to press his mouth to the skin of your forehead, your hands draw tentative lines up his back.
To be touched so carefully is numbing in the best way. Steve wonders how his affection for you can continue to grow, more when you laugh half-breathless into his chest and look up, pinning him with your bright gaze.
"That's okay," you say, your happiness to see him palpable. It makes his chest hurt.
Steve puts some space between you to hold you at arm's length, one hand clasping your shoulder and the other following the curve of your neck.
He feels almost too happy to speak, like the words won't come out right. You seem to feel similarly, smiling wide, your lips pressed together tightly.
"I missed you," he says finally. Your reaction emboldens him; your eyes crease with pleasure and he has to duck down for a kiss.
Just one, pressed chastely to the skin left of your cupid's bow. You lift your chin in reaction, your hands searching up towards his shoulder blades.
"I missed you too," you say.
He decides to push his luck and kiss you properly. Your lips are warm under his and your cheek is aflame under his hand as he cradles your face.
"Haven't been lying out in the sun again, have you?" he asks as he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open.
"Huh? No, I've been reading inside all day."
"Good. You'll get sick, you sunbathe so much," he chides with no real heat.
He squeezes your face mildly and you steal another quick kiss. Steve would let you steal as many as you want to no matter the duration, but you stick to just one.
"Are you hungry?" you ask. You don't wait for an answer, skirting around him.
His hands miss your skin as soon as you're out of reach. He follows you to the kitchen like a lost dog hungry for scraps – scraps of your voice in the shadow of your exhale, any small flash of your skin, the back of your wrist as you pull open the refrigerator door. Steve situates himself by the sink so he can see your face. Your arms quickly grow heavy with fresh vegetables and a precarious china dish, a familiar carafe slipping in your fingers.
"Here," he mutters, reaching for the glass carafe with both hands.
"Thank you," you say, giggling. "Thought I was gonna drop it."
You set everything down on the clean counter. The sun kisses your skin where it shines golden-orange through the window. A bouquet of tulips sits in the sill, thin petals translucent and bright like the bulbs are made up of sweet maraschino cherries.
"I would've caught it."
"Yeah?"
"Uh-huh. Super fast reflexes. LaRusso style," he says, putting down your carafe. Fruit slices and rose petals bob on the water's surface.
"The Karate Kid?" you ask, pushing up your sleeves.
He smiles as you walk towards him. "Exactly. You like that movie?"
You turn on the faucet and wash your hands without looking, your eyes drawn to his face. "I loved that movie. I've only seen it twice, though. Once at the movies, once with Dustin."
"You watched it with Dustin?" he asks.
Your eyes flit between the sink and his face as you turn off the faucet and shake your wet hands over the basin. "Yeah, and his mom. She's really nice, you know?"
"She's a real treasure. It's her kid I'm not too sure about."
You laugh and he loves it, less when you flick your still-wet hands at him and pattern him in tap water.
"Stop, idiot," he protests, leaning away from you.
"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather."
"Sure."
You grin over your shoulder and flounce to the counter where your wooden chopping board resides. He's desperate to be close to you but doesn't want to look it.
It's too early to show her how much of a total loser I am, he thinks, turning to the sink and washing his hands so he can help you make dinner and steal some closeness.
"Did you have a crush on him?" he asks.
"Dustin?" you ask, horrified.
Steve laughs and rubs the slippery bar of soap between his palms. "No, weirdo, Daniel LaRusso. The Karate Kid."
"Nah, Mister Miyagi was more my type."
Steve drops the bar of soap into the basin and struggles to pick it back up, only pausing in his panic when he hears your self-satisfied giggling. It's infectious.
"That's so sick. Dude was ninety years old," he says, rinsing the suds off.
"I'm kidding!"
You're still laughing to yourself when he joins you. You've already chopped the inedible tops off of three long carrots and peeled them. You start to cut them into uniform batons, your quick peeling and knife work both impressive and daunting to Steve, who's only just weaned himself off of a steady high school diet of TV dinners and chips.
He shakes his hands at you. Flecks of water hit you and shine on your skin like the fine mist of morning dew, a dampened flower. You smell like one, though Steve supposes that's inevitable when you're sleeping surrounded by a crush of petals every night.
"Can I help?" he asks.
You blow a raspberry. "I should kick you out."
He flicks more water at you and you hide your face in your shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek pulled cruelly.
"Don't hide."
"Stop flicking me."
"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather," he says dryly.
Finely spritzed, you open your eyes just enough to see him through your lashes, smiling like you wish you weren't. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, mostly because they're dry enough now that any flickage is negligent, and because you're much too pretty to be hiding away. The sun has begun to set, its descent marked by a gaussian blur spreading across the countertops and cabinets, your arms blanketed in a glow. Steve finds your face practically dietific to begin with – the light makes you something else entirely.
He wants to say something too heartfelt, say, Fuck, you're so pretty.
He's not that brave.
"You want a drink?" he asks.
"Yes please. You know where the cups are?"
He grabs two glass cups from the cabinet othweise pillaged for makeshift vases to your left and you cut the celery, a small lull in conversation filled only by the crisp crunch of your preparations and the slosh of Steve's pouring. The flower petals have bled their pigments into the carafe's cold water and turned it a transparent vermillion, something so quietly inordinate that he can't not mention it.
"The water's purple, babe," he says.
"Huh?" you ask. You hold the cutting board aloft, your knife guiding chopped vegetables into a shiny metal colander.
"The water," he says, punctuating his claim with a sharp click as he puts your glass down in front of you.
You discard your knife distractedly. "Oh. It must've been the rose petals."
"Can we still drink it?"
"Sure we can. Rosewater is really good for you. Though I'm not sure if this counts as rosewater, actually, I think you have to steep the petals in hot water first."
You shrug your shoulders and bring your glass to your mouth.
Steve frowns. "Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. He doesn't want you to get sick, especially from flowers he brought you.
You get a crease between your eyebrows, lips pursed quizzically. "I'm sure. You worry too much, Stevie," you say.
It's like being struck. You've never called him that before.
The nickname had sounded easy as breathing for you to say and had felt easier, felt right, like you'd used it a hundred times before.
He laughs, says, "Fine, but if you turn purple don't say I didn't warn you," and proceeds to work himself into a poorly contained frenzy.
He takes the colander to the sink and washes the carrot and celery sticks more thoroughly than he needs to whilst he composes himself. He listens with ears made keen by his racing heart as you turn on the stove. The fan hums. There's a loud crackling as you peel back the aluminum foil covering a medium sized casserole dish.
"I forgot to ask you, you like buffalo wings, right?"
He turns off the faucet and almost misses your question, too busy thinking So she called you Stevie, are you twelve? Get a hold of yourself, you-
"What?"
"I can make something else, if you don't."
Steve shakes the colander to drain any excess water as he reassures you. "No, that's okay. That's perfect. I love wings, and I'll love them double if you're the one making them." After all, you make a mean BLT.
The oven door swings open and he turns in time to watch you bend at the waist and insert the dish of chicken wings, your eyes narrowed. Adorable.
You straighten up and dust your hands off, bumping the door closed with your hip. "Awesome. Here, let me-" You take the colander from his hand like you're going to whiz away and then evidently change your mind, stuttering to a jolting stop. "Thank you," you tell him earnestly.
"You're welcome. You did all the hard work," he says, caught off guard.
"Super hard work, cutting up some carrot sticks," you say, mock-agreeably.
Steve reaches out to pinch your side. "Just because you made it look easy doesn't mean it is. It would've taken me double the time to make something, and it would've been, like, a grease fest," he says. "You already made the chicken, too, so that's more hard work you're not thinking about."
"The chicken marinades itself," you admonish lightly. You step on toes to kiss the high point of his cheek. "But thank you."
You turn to tip your veggie sticks into a bowl with a quarter inch of water at the bottom. Steve prods your kiss mark unthinkingly, the skin tingling from a combination of your gifted kiss and the affectionate tone you'd used.
"I got all kinds of dip. Hummus, artichoke and spinach, tahini, ranch. Do you like those?" you ask hopefully.
If he didn't he'd try and find a way. "Who doesn't like ranch?"
"I'll make fries too, okay?"
He really, really likes you.
-
Steve still looks kind of silly eating at your small kitchen table. You're in the seat that's crammed against the refrigerator and he's in the opposite. You're so close that your calves keep touching, often enough that you both forgo apologies in favour of sending the other a small smile. Less of an 'I'm sorry,' and more of a 'We touched again,' a confirmation that he's real and you're real and you're eating a home cooked meal that you made together.
He's so handsome, so ridiculously lovely, and the food is good but not good enough to keep your attention. Not when Steve takes a sip of water and his arm moves, the muscle beneath his skin shifts, pulls taut, and his shirt tightens around his bicep and you're just as hopeless as you were the very first time you'd invited him in.
He's saying something and it must be pretty funny because he's laughing, a chesty, giggling thing that sounds boyishly happy, like he just can't help it. You're not sure what he's laughing at but it's enough to set you off, infectious as it is.
"So Robin's in the back pretending to search for this movie that doesn't exist, and I'm thinking, shit, maybe I should call the police. Because he's got both hands in his pockets and, whaddya know, one pocket is like bulging out."
"Steve?" you ask, trying to sound forceful, befuddled that he's laughing at all. "Someone came into the store with a gun?"
His laugh peters off. "No," he says reassuringly. "Klondike bar."
He chews through a big mouthful of celery and you dissolve into giggles.
Cleaning up with Steve ends up being just as fun as cooking. He stands at your side with a hand towel wiping off dishes as you wash them, hip to hip.
"I can wash them," he says.
"That's okay."
You pass him a wet plate. He wipes it dry and sets it to the side. It could only be five minutes of this before you're done. Weirdly, you wish it had taken a little longer.
It's nice to spend time with him.
"I was thinking you could come over to my place tomorrow, if you wanted to."
Your heart flutters and you're hit with the realisation that you might get to do dishes with him tomorrow, and again, that today isn't a one off. That Steve likes you enough to kiss you and buy you flowers and invite you over.
"I've never been to your house," you say.
"I know. It's supposed to be really hot out tomorrow until seven. I thought you could sunbathe for an hour and I could keep an eye on you, you know. We can get takeout, listen to music," he continues, his voice soft, a melodic cadence to his suggestions.
Why is he trying to sell you on it? You hand him the last plate and twist, holding your dripping hands in the basin.
"I'd love to," you say, smiling. "Though I resent the idea that I need to be supervised."
"I just don't want all those brains to turn to mush." He puts the plate down on top of the others and reaches for your hands without saying anything, eyes on your face as he dries off your fingers gently. "Though you were super adorable when you had heat stroke. All clingy and giggly," he teases.
"Heat exhaustion," you correct. You feel like there's water in your ears.
"Mh-hm."
When your hands are to his satisfaction he swings the towel over his shoulder and takes them into his own, your fingers hooked gently over his. He rubs the fingernail of your index finger and then moves up, smoothing a path over your knuckles. He arrives at your pinky finger and wraps his index finger around it, massaging the length of it with the pad of his thumb.
"Are they still hurting?" he asks, hushed.
"A little bit. Not really, though. It's like after a splinter."
He holds your hand open, palm bared, his thumb pressed to the bottom of your last three fingers as he bends to look at your fingertips. Every touch, every detail, every movement he makes feels urgent to you, your heart racing fast as a mouse's.
"Poor girl," he mumbles to himself. He looks up and sees what must look similar to panic on your face. "Are you sure they're not hurting you? They look sore."
You're gonna say Yes, I'm sure, but he straightens up and brings your hand to his lips before you can muster the strength. He kisses your smattering of tiny injuries and grins when he's done, your entire body awash with a dizzying pleasure.
His hair is falling in his face. You take your kiss-warmed hand from his grip to tuck the longer strands behind his ear. Your heartbeat plays loud. You worry he can hear it.
You stall with your index finger shaking over his skin. Steve covers your hand with his, the look in his eyes unreadable, and you know he's going to kiss you.
You shut your eyes. His breath warms your lips as he closes in, his nose sliding against yours slowly. Your anticipation is a hand closing around your throat, at first a welcome touch and then dizzying breathlessness, an aching for the brush of his lips. He squeezes your hand where it cradles his cheek.
"Breathe," he whispers in bemusement. "Breathe, baby."
You suck in a breath and lift your chin as Steve knocks your nose with his and crosses the distance, his lips parted just slightly. Your head moves back under his kiss, your eyes screwed too tight. Steve takes your hand from his face and guides it over the slope of his shoulder until you're cupping his neck, his fingertips trailing down the length of your arm and moving under, palm to your shoulder blade. He pulls you in, makes the softest little sound against your lips that tickles madly and has a warmth like the setting sun filling your chest.
He kisses slow and sweet, his lips a softness against yours. You can feel as he starts to smile, as he takes your face into his hand, almost pulling at your skin in efforts to be impossibly nearer.
He laughs first, a huff that fans over your twin smile. You can't help but join in as you search up, ardent and excited, laughing into his open mouth until every kiss is a struggle.
"Y/N," he says. It doesn't even sound like your name. He could've said babe or baby or sweetheart and it would've burned the same.
"Do you have to go home?" you ask knowingly, reluctantly opening your eyes.
He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.
It's getting late, a warm Thursday evening becoming night. The street lamps outside burn yellow-white in the darkening sky and the flowers on the sill have lost their shine. Steve is the brightest thing in the room.
He checks his watch and frowns. "I probably should."
"But I'll see you tomorrow?" you check.
"Did you wanna stay the night? I'm not working Saturday."
You have the first thought that most girls your age might have at a new love asking that question: sex. For a moment, a split second of a moment, Did you wanna stay the night? becomes Do you wanna have sex with me?
You give him a guilty smile and he mistakes it for something else. He says, "You don't have to, I can drive you home. And uh, you know, I would…" You bring your hand back to his face. "We wouldn't do anything you don't wanna do."
"I know," you say quickly. "Yeah, I wanna stay the night." Which is scary to admit. Scary to want.
Whether anything happens or it doesn't, you want to go.
You walk Steve out and he kisses you goodnight chastely. You watch him all the way to his car and wave as he drives away, standing in the doorway until his tail lights are a mere suggestion of white in the distance, small and bright as a pearly star.
-
Robin shrieks as her chair reclines back as far as it can. "Shit, why does it go back this far?"
Steve is more than tired from a full day of work and while he loves Robin to the point of dying for her, he can't handle stupid questions. His short fuse is further shortened by missing you, and he groans.
"You fucking reclined it all the way?"
Steve watches in the rear view as she raises her eyebrows and hugs herself with both arms. "It went down too easy, is all I'm saying."
"That's all?" he asks.
He knows exactly what she's implying and he refuses to feed into it, even when she hums to herself happily. Her happiness lasts for only a few seconds before she's springing up and giving herself whiplash.
"You haven't actually fucked in this seat, right?"
"Christ, Robin."
Her nose wrinkles. "Have you?"
"No! No, I haven't done anything in here… in a while. And me and Y/N haven't-" He bites his tongue.
"You haven't?" she asks. There's no teasing to be detected in her voice, only curiosity.
He keeps his eyes on the road but his thoughts travel elsewhere. You're so close he convinces himself for a second that he can smell your sweet floral scent, a hundred different flowers clinging to your skin. He lets himself sink further, imagining the feeling of your cheek under his hand and the softness of your skin and fine hairs, the shape of your eyes as he leans in.
"Loverboy?" Robin asks expectantly.
Steve clears his throat. "What?"
"Ew, you're being disgusting."
"I didn't say anything!"
"You didn't have to," she says, and then laughs. "In deep, huh?"
"Shut up."
"I'm serious! I'm serious, you like her. And it's nice," she draws the word out hesitantly, "to see you happy. I guess. After I broke your heart, and all."
He doesn't blush like he might have before. Steve had liked Robin, a lot, and it was easy to understand why: she's the first real friend he's ever had. He's more than over his crush now, platonic (with a capital 'P') suits them well.
"Thanks, Robs," he mutters, rolling his eyes.
"You're welcome." She whistles. "So, you haven't fucked?"
Steve turns his face. "Don't you think that's, like, a private thing?"
"I'm your best friend."
"Y/N is an entire other person who isn't your best friend."
"I'm not gonna tell anybody."
Steve knows that. He sighs to himself, conflicted. He doesn't wanna kiss and tell but he does need advice. "She's staying over tonight."
"Ah, huzzah!" Robin cheers. Steve worries his eyes might get stuck inside his head from all the rolling. "And you're gonna…"
He chews his lip. "I don't think so. I think I scared the shit out of her when I asked her to spend the night."
"I doubt that, she still said yes. But, you know. Not all of us lose our V-card when we're in junior year."
He hadn't even thought about that. "Shit. Having a girlfriend is terrifying."
Robin laughs and throws the seat back up. "If she's scared, it might not even be about hooking up. You've been together for, what, a week?"
"Two weeks today."
Robin nods thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Forget about sex and everything and just have fun."
"I'm not a nympho." He isn't. He doesn't care if you want to hook up or not (though care might be indelicate – he won't lie and say he hasn't thought about it).
"I know. I'm just saying, there's no point worrying about if you will or won't."
He takes the turn onto Robin's street. Her house comes into view, and he suddenly realises, "I wasn't worried until you brought it up!"
"Then forget I said anything!" she shouts back, laughing.
Steve laughs too as he pulls up at the curb outside of Robin's house.
"It's fine," he says decidedly. He's still worrying about it because if you do want to hook up he's not exactly in practice right now, but underneath it is that building anticipation, an excitement. "Fuck, she's so fucking pretty, Robin."
"Sure is, idiot," Robin agrees, unbuckling and kicking open the door. "Wear a rubber or your kids will be pretty, too."
She closes the door with a smug smile.
"You're awful!" he calls at her retreating figure. She waves over her shoulder and doesn't look back.
Steve drops his head into the wheel and startles himself when it beeps.
By the time he's pulling up outside of his house he's forgotten all his sex-related nerves, any anxiety occluded by a want to see you. He rushes to clean up the huge mess he's made over the week in the kitchen and the smaller mess in the living room, soda cans and take out and all the gross things he'd rather die than have you see.
He throws open every window and heads out to the back yard to make sure the pool is actually swimmable. The sun is high but falling. The day's most punishing heat is over. Perfectly safe for sunbathing.
He doesn't have anything fancy but he fills a jug with water and tops it with badly cut orange slices to cool in the fridge while he waits for you.
Steve stretches, smells himself, realises he smells like sweat and checks his watch in alarm. Your visit is fast approaching but if he does it quickly he can shower before you get here.
He's not right. He's still in the shower when you knock the door. Steve almost kills himself as he scrambles over wet tiles. He's still basically soaking as he drags his clean clothes on, hair sopping and quickly saturating the neck of his shirt.
You smile when he opens the door, though your smile quickly fades. "I'm sorry, were you showering? I know I'm early, I just wanted to see you."
You look like you always do – pretty, so pretty, your hair a little messy, your shirt crinkled at the bottom, the slit in your skirt showing a tantalising stripe of your thigh. A breezy, thin outfit for the hot weather.
Steve couldn't say why but he needs to kiss you badly. He takes your shoulder into his hand to hold you in place and kisses the corner of your smile, your cheek, the small stripe under your earlobe. He lingers there for longer than the others, feeling the ever-present heat of your skin beneath his lips. He presses a second kiss over the first and then pulls away.
"Don't be sorry," he says. He pats your face. "I'm glad you're early. I wanted to see you more, I swear."
"You make everything a competition," you grumble, though your eyes evidence your bliss.
Steve leads you into the living room and you drop your backpack onto the couch. The sight of it makes him fawn, because you really are staying the night and you look cute and you'd wanted to see him. It's enough to make him ecstatic. It likely shows on his face.
You turn on your heels, taking it all in. "You have a really nice house, Steve."
"I'd say thank you, but it's all my parents'."
"Where are they?" you ask.
Where are they usually? He doesn't really know. "Chicago, I think? My dad's on business and mom always goes with him, so…"
You turn your eyes from the open patio door and back to Steve where he stands in the middle of the room towel drying his hair. "Lucky me, I get you all to myself," you murmur.
"Do you wanna take your shoes off?" he asks. "There's water in the fridge. Are you hungry?"
You peek up at home where you've bent down to unstrap your sandals and smile. "I'm good, Stevie," you say softly.
When you've stepped out of both sandals you hold them by the straps and they dangle from your hand, swaying with your steps as you walk towards him.
You look up at him and tilt your head to one side. Always charming, Steve's fondness for sky rockets.
"Are you okay?" you ask, a murmur, raising your hand to his bicep. Your fingers slip under his sleeve. "You seem frazzled. Long day?"
It felt endless, knowing that you'd be waiting for him.
"I'm fine. I'm good. I'm great, actually. Got a whole night with my girl."
"And tomorrow, too," you say, sounding as happy as he feels.
"What are we gonna do with it all?" he says teasingly.
Again, a flash of that nervous smile. He hadn't meant to insinuate anything at all. He's about to clarify when you bring your hand to his collar and kiss him.
Steve really likes your hands, he's fascinated by them, the way you move them and the way they feel, their tentative but tender touch as you feel along the ridge of his collar bone. You come to a stuttering pause as he kisses you harder, the wet of your tongue addictive as he opens you up.
He takes your face into both hands and pushes your face to one side so he can move in closer, thumbs careless where they press into your cheeks. You taste like something sweet and the sound you make is sweeter as he dedicates himself to your top lip, a quivering breath as he slows.
He tries not to feel smug at the lost glaze in your eyes when they blink open.
Your bottom lip shines. He wipes it clean with his thumb. "You wanna go sunbathe now?" he asks mildly.
You nod like he thought you would, slow, but then there's a sudden clarity on your face. "I brought you something."
You move out of his reach and he follows. You're only stepping towards the couch where your backpack rests, unzipping it and in no rush as you pull your pajamas out and lay them on the cushion. He tries very hard to pretend he hasn't noticed your underwear, a pair of pink lacy panties, but he thinks maybe you can tell as you turn to him with a tupperware of cookies in your hands.
"More flower shortbread?" he asks happily. "You spoil me."
"I think you're someone who deserves to be spoiled."
Steve's mouth goes dry. He holds his hands out for the tupperware and hugs it to his chest, throwing a hand around your shoulders to tug you close. He presses a kiss to your forehead.
"Thank you," he says.
"You're welcome."
He takes your hand and pulls you out into the backyard. You beam, your head tilting back to take in the warmth of the fading sun.
Steve drags two sun loungers close together and you waste no time in stretching out on one.
You bloom.
There's no other word for it. You unfurl like the petals on your beloved flowers. Your body relaxes completely. Steve reaches across the gap to take your hand again and they hang between your languid bodies.
You're smiling as you balance your red shiny Walkman across your chest and click play, adjusting the volume until the feminine scratch of Cyndi Lauper echoes over the concrete space of his backyard. You close your eyes soon after, and Steve knows he might not get as much conversation out of you as he craves but it's worth it to see you like this, to hold your hand.
He struggles to open your tupperware with one hand but doesn't consider letting you go, eyebrows furrowing at the stubborn lid.
When it clicks it's loud and he inhales fast, worried the entire thing is gonna topple off of his chest and your perfect shortbread biscuits will be destroyed. Flower petals adorn the top. Steve picks them off while you're not looking – they're beautiful, of course, and don't taste like much, but the texture is super weird.
"How was work?" you ask.
He takes a big bite of shortbread. "It was fine. I mean, it was fucking boring as hell. We watched Back to the Future again."
"I've never seen that movie."
"Never?"
"No. Is it good?"
He squeezes your fingers and pushes the rest of the shortbread into his mouth. It's not too sweet. You've dusted the tops with fine sugar that melts in his mouth and the crumbly texture is awesome, better than any store bought cookies he's ever tried.
He swallows and lets his head fall back, greedy enough to pick up a second one. "Wanna hear a story?"
You turn your head towards him and your eyes crack open. "A good one?"
"Depends on your politics."
You close your eyes. "Tell me."
"The first time I saw Back to the Future was at the Starcourt mall with Robin. We were high out of our minds, total whitey's. And I had a concussion, so I was… worse."
Your eyes open fast. Your one shoulder lifts, like you might have to protect him from something. "What?" you ask, frowning.
He pulls your hand towards him, a tug, not to come closer but more in an everything is okay, kind of way.
"It's fine. Anyways, we laughed our asses off and left before the end. The first time we watched it sober I thought it was the wrong movie."
"Why did you have a concussion?"
He shakes the tupperware at you until you take one. Only when you've bitten into it does he answer, though he's not entirely truthful, "It was like, you know how there was a fire?" he asks. You nod. "Well, everything in starcourt was fucking janky, and we went down this one elevator shaft and- concussion." He explains without explaining. He doesn't lie.
No way is he ready to tell you about all the weird shit he's had to deal with. Not yet. He doesn't wanna scare you off or scare you at all, and the upside down shit is fucking terrifying.
You take his explanation without any suspicion and he feels a little guilty.
"You should get workers comp," you say, brows pinched.
He chuckles and rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. Being cared about like this is so weird, he thinks. How mad and worried you are over something that happened before you knew him makes him feel hot, something electric and melting on top of his chest.
"You wanna be my lawyer?" he asks, grinning.
You reach for another shortbread. "I wouldn't know the first thing about it."
"You'd look cute in a suit, though."
"Shush," you mumble. You roll your thumb over your shortbread until the flower petals fall off. "They're so pretty but they feel so weird. Maybe I shouldn't put them on there."
He looks at the scattered flower petals on the floor to his left where you can't see them. "Nah, I like 'em."
You glow. "If you like them I guess I'll leave them on there."
"That's generous. You'd never be a good lawyer."
"Lawyers can be generous! They do stuff for free, right? Pro-bono. Like that one movie last year, with the guy who kills his wife, but he doesn't kill his wife, but he totally does, um…"
"Jagged Edge."
"Jagged Edge! Exactly."
"Was she pro bono?" he asks sceptically.
"Maybe not," you say, and laugh. "That movie sucked."
"Better than Back to the Future."
You choke on a laugh and pull your hand out of his to dust yourself off. He misses your touch but doesn't complain, clicking the lid back onto your tupperware and hiding them under the lounger from the heat. The sunshine is amazing, not too suffocating but definitely warm enough to melt him into jelly. He'd been a little worried about wearing shorts rather than jeans but you hadn't mentioned anything.
He combs his hair out of his face and wonders if it looks awful. It probably does. Only the strands closest to his neck feel chilly with damp, half dried by the sunshine.
"Steve," you say shyly.
He turns back to you and you're sitting up, one leg off the lounger.
"What?"
"Can I… you don't mind if I take off my shirt, do you?" you ask.
He's quick to assure you. "No way, beautiful. Throw it off."
You huff a laugh and cross your arms. Steve's fascinated by the way you take off your shirt, how you've dragged the front over your face where he would've grabbed the back and pulled indelicately. Your back arches and your chest moves up as it comes off.
You're wearing some sort of animal print bikini top underneath, a cheetah or a panther or something. Steve watches the curves of your breasts rise as you breathe in and then snaps his gaze to your face, guilty. You aren't looking at him, busy fiddling with the Walkman in your lap.
"Do you have anything you wanna listen to?" you ask him offhandedly. "I brought this and A Night at the Opera, but if there's something else you wanted to-"
"Night at the Opera?"
"Queen?" you ask.
"Like Hammer to Fall?" he asks.
You turn to face him entirely, skirt ruffled by a gentle breeze. "That's their new one. Night at The Opera is from, like, '76? '75? It has that really long one. And there was," you start giggling, your words all jumpy and honeyed, "there's one called 'I'm in Love with my Car.'"
"Sounds like an album for me. I'll go get it."
You spring up, something he can't read on your face. You look fucking insane shirtless, all soft and shiny, the lightest sheen of sweat illuminating the hills and dips, the slope of your shoulder, the lengths of your arms. "No, I'll do it. I'll get the water at the same time."
He watches you pass back into the house from over his shoulder. "It's in the fridge!" he calls.
"I guessed!"
He wonders for a second why you'd sounded nervous before remembering your underwear. His cheeks go a similar colour as he tries not to think about it, only he can't not think about it. They had not constituted a great deal of fabric, and then he's wondering how much the current ones are made up of and feeling guilty for that too.
She's my girlfriend, he thinks. I can think about these things. Not, like, obsessively. But in passing. God, she's fucking beautiful. He descends into a panicked reasoning.
Steve scrubs his face with his hand and looks out over the pool. It's been a while since they used it. He can't say he wants to use it after last time, and he definitely wouldn't consider any night time swimming but if you want to splash around in there in the daylight hours he's not gonna stop you.
You flounce back onto the patio with the cold jug in your hands and two glasses hugged to your chest, the cassette in the other. "Here, Stevie, can you-"
"Yeah." He stands up. He takes the cassette and jug from you and you manoeuvre the glasses into your hands. "Swap?" he asks.
You swap one glass for the cassette and the two of you sit down in tandem. Steve pours water for you both as you take Cyndi Lauper out, the cold a blessing. He holds his glass to his face and sighs.
"It's still hot even though it's late," you say knowingly.
"Endless Indiana summer." You're struggling with the cassette, your lips puckered in confusion. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"I think I jammed it."
He watches you struggle with the lip that doesn't wanna open. "Pass it over?" he offers.
You pass it as soon as he asks, moving to sit by his side. He's very gentle with the small machine that you've once or twice affectionately monikered your 'baby'. He doesn't know a lot about tech and doesn't know why he offered. It had felt automatic. You had a problem and he just wanted to fix it.
The button that usually opens the door is pressed down, but the door is closed. He digs his fingernail under the button and pulls it up until it pops back into place and tests the play button.
The cassette starts to spin.
"Sticky button," he says easily.
Your thigh presses into his. "You're a genius, Harrington."
"That's Steve to you, babe."
You laugh and shift ever closer, until your arm is pressed to his arm, both perspiring lightly and too warm to really be touching like this. He should pull away, or you should. One of you should.
"Whatever you say…Harrington," you murmur through the corner of your mouth, smiling so nicely that he can't be bothered to argue.
He tucks his hand between your arm and your naked chest and pulls it toward him. You drop your head against his shoulder and turn the Walkman in your hand.
"How's your brain? Jello?" he asks lightly, flexing his fingers against the crook of your elbow and resting his head on top of yours carefully
"Jello pudding pops," you say wistfully. "You remember those? I haven't had one of those in years. Think they still make 'em?"
Your question is out of the blue. Enough to worry him some more.
He brings the arm furthest from you to your head and brushes his pinky finger up from your eyebrows to your hairline. "You feel warm."
"I'm perfectly fine, nelly."
"I'm allowed to be nervous. You were kind of out of it last time."
"We've barely been out here for thirty minutes," you argue with barely any heat.
His hand smooths down to your neck and then back up. He pulls your cheek back with his thumb and then drops his hand. "Just tell me if you feel sick, okay?"
"I promise I'm fine."
"Jeez," he groans, his lips barely parted. A fond annoyance. "Think a guy was asking the world."
You let your weight lean on him, the hand of the arm he's hugging moving around his back until you've found his side. You move it up and down sluggishly.
Like this, Steve has a perfect view of your lovely shoulder. One hidden behind, the other bared.
"You're beautiful," he says.
You tense up and he hates it, bringing his hand to your coveted shoulder. He rubs a line up the soft slope, the curve of your neck and then down again until you've relaxed.
"You… can't even see my face," you murmur. Your breath is a small hot patch into his sleeve.
"I don't need to see your face," he says, feigning a frustration he doesn't feel. "Think I haven't stared at you enough to know? And I was talking about your shoulders."
You laugh and drag your face up. "My shoulders?"
"Well I can only see one. But I assume the second is just as nice."
"You're weird," you say.
There's a certain weakness to it. He thinks maybe you need to hear him say it again. He doesn't hesitate.
"You have nice shoulders."
You shake your head almost imperceptibly. Steve takes the player from your lap and turns it down by half, putting it on the floor with the water jug.
Your legs poke into his as he encourages you towards him.
"Come on," he says, "I don't bite, babe. 'Less you ask me to."
"You'd like that, you sicko."
He laughs and really bundles you up, a too warm hug where your face presses to his shoulder and his hovers above yours. He squeezes and drags his hand down your arm, rough but not cruel.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Shh, I'm busy."
You've wrapped your arms around his waist loosely. Steve tugs your thigh over his until your legs are overlapped, as close as you can be while sitting side by side like this. He'd pull you completely into his lap if he thought you'd let him.
He can feel your smile.
His hand soothes a kinder path over your arm before he gives in. Shyly at first, Steve drops his mouth to your shoulder and leaves it there, barely a kiss.
Don't be a loser, he thinks.
Cautious but sincere kisses. He drops them in a uniform line down your arm, your sunned skin hot under his lips. Kisses not meant to be anything but kisses, little worships, a scattering of affection. Indiscriminately. His mouth passes over blemishes, beauty marks, the fine hairs at the top of your arm. You curl tighter around his waist.
He kisses back up the hill of your shoulder and his lips part. He sucks very, very gently, kissing the same spot until he's adorned your skin with shiny crescent moons. He doesn't know how long he kisses you for. He doesn't want to stop, or pause, or do anything but this.
His hands have moved to your back. One toys with the tie of your bikini top unthinkingly, the other rubbing your shoulder. You're limp in his arms.
He rubs his nose against your shoulder for long, quiet minutes. Perfumed by a thousand flowers and yet you still smell like yourself underneath it, your skin an indescribable scent and secret, something he selfishly doesn't ever want to share. Steve can't make himself move from you and you don't seem inclined either.
He groans. "Alright, you hungry?" he asks.
Your fingers stretch across his back. "Maybe."
"I'll call Mazzio's. What do you want?"
"Anything."
Steve pulls back to give you a fierce look. "Just tell me. I gotta know your favourite toppings. S'like, a boyfriend thing."
"A boyfriend thing?" you repeat, smiling wide.
You tell him what you like and he squeezes your shoulder, disappearing into the house to call the pizza place. When he returns you've laid out in his lounger, your eyes closed like you're sleeping. The worst of the heat has fallen away and cloud cover threatens to give you the chills.
"Come inside?" he asks from the doorway.
"No… come and give me another hug. It was nice."
"I bet it was," he mutters, a feigned irritation that's completely overturned by how quickly he does what you tell him to.
The lounger isn't big enough for both of you. Steve's already laughing as he climbs on top of you, careful but not really as he crushes the fabric of your skirt with his knees and thighs and wraps his arms tightly around your neck, rubbing your foreheads together roughly.
"This what you meant?" he asks through a grin.
"No."
-
Steve's bed smells of him unequivocally. You're trying to withhold from lying down and sniffing, wondering curiously if that's something you're 1) allowed to do, and 2) supposed to want to do. Is it odd to like the way he smells as much as you do? That familiar bergamot, the almost smokey undertone of lavender, cedar. It makes you feel doped up. Your happiness has you heavy-limbed.
"You head up, okay? I'm just gonna lock the door," he'd said.
So here you are, backpack at your feet. After greasy takeout and an entire movie holding hands you think you're probably as content as it's possible to be in this body and in this life.
You hear Steve's footsteps up the stairs and lie down flat against his pillows, turning your face to sniff indulgently, the fabric cold under your cheek.
He walks in and he's all rumpled clothes and smiles, his hair in total disarray like you've never seen. As soon as he's crossed the threshold he's pulling off his polo and you think Oh fuck, that was quicker than I imagined this happening. Your heart feels fit to explode but he's barely looking at you, his sights set on the huge oak dresser at the end of the room.
You watch his arms as he walks past, your heart a hummingbird as Steve says, "Did you pick a movie?"
You gawp at what you can see of his naked chest, the side of a pec. You've never seen him undressed like this. Your distraction leaves you quiet, and Steve turns to you with a soft looking t-shirt in hand.
"Baby?"
"I didn't," you say, your voice scratchy. "Uh, sorry. I just laid down and…forgot."
He bends forward a little before he puts the shirt on and his entire chest moves. You can't help but look at it. Steve has… Steve has pecs. Pillowy-
"Y/N?"
"Sorry," you say, blinking hard.
"Are you tired or something?" He turns back to the dresser and opens a different drawer and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. "Don't look," he says teasingly.
You avert your eyes.
"Do you wanna change?" he asks when he's done, leaning back against the dresser with his arms crossed.
You don't know what Steve wants, if he wants to hook up or if he doesn't, and you don't mind either way. (A bad lie – you really, really want to.) (But it's cool if he doesn't want to.)
You won't be upset if he doesn't make a move, but if he does you'd prefer to be less sweaty.
"Can I shower? Not to wash my hair, just…"
"Sure you can."
Steve holds out his hand and you take it, grabbing your backpack as he pulls you off of the bed and into the bathroom. He drops your hand as fast as he'd taken it to open the cabinet under the sink. "Listen, the shower doesn't work. Well, it does, but the hot water only gets lukewarm and I don't know how to fix it. But the bath works fine. Uh…" He pulls a basket of girly toiletries out. "You can use whatever you want, my stuff or my mom's, whatever."
You stand by the tub. "She won't mind?"
"It's fine. I'll have to get you stuff next time you stay over." He moves you to the side with his hand on your hip and you look up as he moves down, turning the faucet. He holds his hand under the stream and messes with the temperature until he's satisfied. "Sorry. I should've thought about all of this before I asked you to spend the night."
"It's okay," you say quietly. "I didn't think about any of that stuff either. It's like I said, I- I just wanted to see you. Wasn't thinking about shower gel."
You laugh awkwardly. It ebbs when he grabs your shoulder and gives you a little shake. "Half as much as I wanted to see you."
He ends the shake with a good rub of his thumb.
"Want me to get in with you?" he asks with a smirk.
You laugh and start shoving at his chest playfully. "Get out," you whine.
He puts his hands up in surrender and you close the door between you, unsurprised when his voice rings out against it. "You come here often?" he asks.
"Do you?" you ask. Your voice sounds loud.
You strip off your clothes and your bikini top and slip into the water.
"Every morning for the last twenty years."
"What do you recommend?"
"The three in one."
You gawp and giggle, horrified at his suggestion. You know he's lying, his hair's too nice to use something like that. There's a few seconds of silence where you shudder at the new heat and rub yourself down.
"Which shower gel is yours?" you ask, looking between bottles unsure.
"Just use whatever you want. What movie d'you wanna watch?"
"Can't you choose?" you ask, bringing each gel to your nose until you find the one that smells like him. You lather the soap between your palms and run it over your body.
"I picked the last one."
"And you're good at it!" You reason, laughing loudly at your own joke. Steve's reluctant chuckles echo from the other side of the door.
You go to ask, Why are you still standing there, dork? But you're afraid that asking will make him move, and you like him too much to want that to happen.
"You were half asleep, how do you know it was good?"
"You were rubbing my hand!" you argue.
"You liked that?" he asks. His tone is honest.
You cup water in both hands to wash off your shoulders. You don't want to answer and give yourself away. Of course you'd fucking liked it, is he kidding? Boys. No, you think, not boys. Steve.
And after the stunt he'd pulled in the back yard, too. The nerve.
Warm water laps at your naked stomach. You think about his lips running over your shoulder and how tenderly he'd held you. Suddenly the water feels scorching, and you climb out over the lip as Steve says, "How much longer?"
"Stop stalking me."
"You're taking forever."
It's barely been five minutes. You go dizzy with pleasure at the idea that he might miss you so badly, the implication that he likes you that much.
You wrap a towel around yourself and squat down to sort through the contents of your bag for your pajamas and underwear.
"I'm getting dressed," you inform him, putting your clothes on the counter so you can dry off.
"I've never been any good at that," he says.
You pull your underwear over damp thighs and laugh under your breath so he can't hear it and get spurred on. "At getting dressed?"
"Right. Just awful. You should see me in the mornings, it's like, what limb does this go on?"
You stop scrubbing the towel over yourself to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"
"I'm trying. You're dodging the punchline."
"Wouldn't you want me to teach you how to take them off, rather than on?"
"How presumptuous!" You can hear his smirk.
"What was the punchline?" you ask, eager to draw the attention back to his bad joke rather than your suggestion.
You pull your shirt over your head and step into your pyjamas pants, tying the strings into a neat bow.
"Well, because you're so ridiculously nice I thought you'd offer to teach me how to do it, and then I'd get to say something like, 'Baby, I'm a visual learner.'"
"That's awful," you mumble, bent at the waist as you hop into your socks.
He hears it anyways. "Say it to my face."
You look yourself over in the mirror. Fresh faced, shirt sticking to your damp chest, pajama trousers high on your hips. You tug your shirt over the waistband. An entirely normal outfit for a normal night.
You open the door and Steve falls onto his back into the bathroom, looking up as you look down. He must've been sitting with his legs hiked, too much weight on the door to fall in readily. You laugh guiltily.
"Are you okay?"
He blinks. His eyes look impossibly wide.
"Steve?" You tilt your head to the side.
"You look killer," he says.
You mime like a slasher over his prone body and try to do the sound effects. Steve giggles and you decide it's your new favourite sound. He covers his face with his hands, one shoulder lifting from the floor with the force of it. You've never heard him laugh like this, all high pitched and gasping.
You can't decide whether you want to kneel down and kiss him or kneel down and pretend to stab him to death. You think the latter will make him laugh some more and you'll do anything for that next hit, falling to your knees with a threatening hand poised above you.
When Steve laughs really hard his mouth opens in a big smile, all his top teeth on display and shining.
You drop your hand to his chest, having lost all steam. The need to tell him how handsome he is, pretty, lovely, beautiful, all of it, is maddeningly high. You don't want to ruin the moment and you won't, spreading your palm flat over his chest and leaning down.
"I'm gonna kill you," you murmur, lips barely parted as you look between both of his eyes, memorising their flush of dark lashes. You drag your hand down his torso. "Why are you laughing?"
"I mean, if I'm gonna die-" He blows a big puff of air up his face and his hair moves like sea grass. "I'm okay with it being you who kills me."
"You'd let me kill you, baby?" you ask, still quiet, bemused and endeared and on the precipice of something big.
"I'd let you do a lot worse," he says.
You brush the hair out of his face. "I don't wanna do any of that stuff."
"Good. I was getting nervous. Here, give me-" he lifts up off of the ground to kiss you once. A chaste peck that leaves you a smiling mess.
You climb off of him before he has to ask and put your hand out to help him up. He takes it but doesn't need it, surprisingly lithe as he stands and pushes you back into his room. You laugh when he encourages you none too gently into his bed again. He flips on the TV, swaps the VHS out for one you can't see and then joins you at the top, lying down with a suffering sigh.
He stretches and groans. You ogle him.
"What's the movie?"
"Don't laugh?" he asks.
"No, I won't."
He shifts so you're two halves of a heart curved towards each other. "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." You nibble the inside of your lip. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"
"Am I laughing, Steve?"
"Just about," he grumbles.
You don't know why but it feels more than natural to curl up towards him. Any insecurity is fixed quickly when he pulls you close, one arm behind your head and propping him up tall, the other coming over your waist loosely, his wrist to your hip but his fingers not touching you.
You have to turn your neck to see the TV across the room. After a few minutes it aches and you consider moving, then Steve manoeuvres to press his lips to your head and you forget all about it.
His shirt's ridden up. His stomach is soft from the way he's on his side, and you can see the dark trail of hair leading from his navel that disappears into the plaid of his pants.
You reach out to slip your fingers under the hem and wrap your arm around him, feeling the croft of silky hair at the small of his back. You trail up, your finger bumping over the smoothed ridges of horizontal stretch marks.
"Can you feel that?" you ask.
Steve slowly moves his elbow. His face level with yours, he asks, "Can you feel this?" He scratches his fingers lightly over your hip.
You giggle with your mouth closed. "Yeah, I guess it was a stupid question."
Steve moves back and you turn to look at him. You're very close. You're in bed.
"Wasn't stupid," he says quietly.
You raise your brows and incline your head to his until he's laughing.
"It was misguided," he allows.
"I don't know why- I mean, I have enough stretch marks. I know they're not-" you laugh, a bubble of sound that warms his lips, "not dead."
"Maybe yours are special," he teases.
"Wanna find out?"
He laughs and kisses you. Pressure that slowly builds, a chaste pressing of his lips to yours. It's miraculous how quickly your breathing syncs, how you're inhaling at every parting, how your mouths open at the same time. He takes in a big sigh that lights you up and pulls you in like it's nothing.
He dedicates himself to your top lip. There's urgency there that wasn't before, and you're feeling it too. His mouth a crescent of heat, he takes your lip between his and sucks gently. You gasp and your hand twists in his shirt.
"Shit, sorry," he says, "I haven't done this in-"
"It's okay. It's okay, I liked it."
"Yeah?"
You huff against his lips. He's smiling as he does it again. You shudder at the feeling of his teeth, his careless nipping, your hands searching for comfort.
Everything goes slow. He kisses slow, he touches slow. His hands move over your back, slip under your shirt and climb up. Not looking for anything, just looking.
Your hand climbs over his chest. You brush your fingers through the ends of his carefully before pushing up, weaving into the soft strands at the back of his neck. You rub his thumb over his skin in time with your kisses.
Steve encourages you onto your back. You feel a heat growing in your chest, somewhere lower, as he hovers over you, his lips pushing you down into a space that doesn't exist. Your fingers are busy learning the back of his head, fingertips moving over his scalp, scratching lightly as you trail back down to hold him in place.
You kiss up. Steve's hand knocks your shirt up your chest as he squeezes the skin just below your breasts, breathing hard.
He hesitates. His fingers pinch your shirt as if he's going to pull it back down.
"Steve," you murmur. "It's okay."
He kisses your cheek without looking at you, his eyes on your naked skin. "You sure?"
You bring your knees up until they brush his hip and push them away from him, petting the hair out of his face. "Yeah," you say, smiling.
More kissing. Steve ducks down and holds your face steady in one hand, giving you short-lived, wet kisses as his fingers approach your chest. He pauses, watching your face as his fingertips bump into the swell of your breast. "Okay?" he asks.
You lift your chin. "It's fine, Harrington."
"Steve," he corrects steadily, the pads of his fingers ghosting under your nipple to caress the side. His thumb rubs a quarter circle just underneath and you feel the soft skin perk up.
"Steve," you utter.
From there you endure some of the worst kisses of your life – worst as in, life changing, as in sticky, as in everything you've ever wondered about and more. You know you're hopeless. You feel yourself melt into nothing as he massages your peaking nipple, laughing into his mouth when he squeezes and hitching when he squeezes harder.
He pushes the small nub between his index and middle finger and his teasing stutters. He holds you like this and kisses you and you don't know how much time passes. With him, time feels implausible. Like a guideline you ignore.
When you think you might be more him than yourself he pulls away, leaving your lips hot and bruising.
"Can I take this off?" he asks, pulling the hem of your shirt over his finger. His eyes are so brown. You can't believe how brown they are.
"Please."
"Don't- You don't have to say please with me. Not with this, okay?" He rubs his hand over your breast and presses it deep into your heart. "Not with anything."
"You'll regret that," you say, heat like nothing you've ever felt in your chest and the tips of your ears.
"I don't think I will."
He kisses you again like he just can't help it and sits up enough to work your t-shirt from under your back. The excitement gets mixed up with enough insecurity then to make you nauseous.
Steve drops your shirt onto the floor and plants his hands on either side of you. "Oh, you're fucking pretty."
His eyes take you in. It surprises you when he spends half the time staring at your face, entirely too much of it at your eyes. "You know how pretty you are?"
"You tell me enough, Stevie," you mumble, aflame.
"Wanna hear it again?"
You don't say anything. His eyes bore into yours. His lashes kiss.
His grin is practically dietific as his lips curve up. "You're beautiful. 'So fine and pretty,'" he says, almost but not quite singing.
"You're just as handsome," you say, bringing your hands to his defined cheeks. You smooth your hands over his face and ears and hair, holding it all away from him. "You're…" You drop your hands to the curve of his neck and follow over his trap muscle. "You're amazing."
"Stop," he says. You take it for 'keep going'.
"Handsome sounds too formal," you mutter, almost to yourself, "but it's true. You're handsome. More than handsome, you're- you're funny and kind and-" You shake your head. "I think you're the first person I've ever wanted like this."
You don't mean to get emotional. 'This' comes out so rough it burns, and you swallow it all down, blinking fast.
"Like 'this'?" he asks.
He brings a hand to your face, holding your cheek like you're made of solid silver, like you might bend under his touch.
"Like this," you say again. "If you want to."
"I want to," he says, nodding happily. "Of course I do."
You laugh and he laughs. There's a gap where you're both thinking, Oh, we're doing this.
And then Steve's in motion.
He pulls his shirt over the back of his head and you're starstruck. His hair's a dark mess, the ends cast light by the TV. You reach up to smooth them down and it's too late, Steve's ducking down for a smattering of heavy kisses across your lips, one corner to the other. His nose taps into yours and you turn your face to accommodate him, his tongue a wet heat as he pushes it into yours. You reciprocate as best you can, eyes closed tight and hands all over the place. You start at his collar. One hand runs over the twisting of chest hair over his pecs and the other holds his face to yours. He curls his fingers around your wrist, the other paying some much needed attention to your neglected breast. He plays until both nipples are aching and then some.
He spreads your legs and your heart skips as he puts his knee between your thighs, lips starting a ruinous journey downward. He sets kisses like tiny sparks of heat against your jaw and under it, nose dragging down your neck as he turns. You cup the back of his head as his lips part, as he takes your flesh between his teeth and sucks tenderly.
"You smell like flowers," he says, kissing his half-hearted hickey.
"Some idiot bought me a florists," you tease.
His hand slides under your back. His knee presses to the bump of your cunt. "Best decision that idiot ever made," he says, words soaking into your neck, smothered.
You roll your hips shyly against his knee, a negligible friction as he rubs your back and scandalises your neck.
You lift your hips high and he gets the idea very quickly, fingers pinching at fabric until your thighs are out. He tries to move away and you hold him there, dazed by his ravenous attentions.
He laughs and strokes your arm. "I'm gonna take them off, okay?"
You drop your hands from his hair sheepishly and he moves back onto his knees.
"Pretty panties," he says. You don't think he's teasing.
"I thought you might like them," you tell him honestly.
"I do. They're dainty," he says, sliding your pajama pants off of your ankles. "Almost don't wanna take 'em off."
You feel a little bit nervous and decide to direct your attention to his own pants. There's a noticeable bulge at the seat of them. Your cunt twinges at the sight.
Steve's hands worship at your ankles. "Is everything okay?" he asks.
"This is the first time you're seeing me like this. I'm just nervous."
He pulls your foot onto his thighs and fiddles with the elastic of your sock. "If you could see what I'm seeing, I don't think you would be."
You try to imagine yourself as he sees you. Mostly naked and kiss mussed after a day of sun and fun and his affection, the dopey, slightly shy smile, with one arm crossed under your breasts and the other picking nervously at the lace of your underwear.
"You're fucking killer." He mimes a stabbing motion and you giggle. "I don't have to let you kill me, seeing you like this might just do it."
You let him keep your ankle in his lap but bring the other leg up, folding it across your thigh to hide your cunt from view. His eyes dip to the twin globes of your ass and he groans. Your ears strain to hear it.
"Are you gonna take them off?" you ask, eyes on the curve of his dick, eyebrows raised cheekily.
"You don't wanna take them off for me?" he asks. Your startled expression makes him giggle as he slides off of the bed and hooks his thumbs in the waistband.
He kicks them off, his boxers tighter than you'd pictured. You hike up on your elbows and bring your knees together, biting the inside of your lip as his hand drops to his cock. He readjusts the sizable length and a hiss of breath escapes him as he does.
"Fuck," he groans. "Shit, you're fucking- you're fucking everything."
You rub your thighs together coquettishly. "Come back and kiss me?" you ask. He takes a step forward. You tilt your head towards your shoulder. "Are you gonna take those off too?"
You had your suspicions, but the real thing makes your heart stop.
Steve kicks out of his boxers and holds his hands out. You spread your legs and he climbs on top of you, hands braced above your shoulders until he's negotiated himself into the gap. You feel the curve of his cock press into your stomach as he kisses you.
You try your best to be casual and let him kiss you, but you're curious and excited and you can't not think about it now that it's happening.
You stroke your hands down his back and leave them loose at his waist. "Steve," you whisper, breaking the kiss early.
"You wanna touch me?"
"Please?" you whisper.
"What did I say about please?" he murmurs. He doesn't sound very scolding.
"That I don't have to say it."
He leans back on his haunches. "So don't."
You sit up, hands between your laps and wringing. "Uh," you reach out. "Tell me if I do something wrong?"
He softens. "Sure, baby."
You lean in and Steve pulls you closer by the calves. Your hand trembles as you take his cock into your hands. He's thick. Fat. Girthier than you'd thought he would be and twice as hairy, though trimmed neatly at the outskirts, you slide your hand down to the underside of his shaft and pause.
When you align your hand, bottom of your palm to the very start of his shaft, the tip of your index finger misses the tip by two whole inches. You encircle him curiously.
"Spit in your hand," he says gently.
"Oh."
You spit into your hand and press it back into his cock, spreading it with loose strokes over veined ridges. The curls of his pubes brush your hand as you reach the bottom. The entire length of him jumps.
You're honestly dazzled. You laugh out of the corner of his mouth and look up at him with a happy smile. "You're packing a lot of heat here, Harrington."
He looks relieved. "Do you know how fucking scary it is when your girl has your dick in her hand and gets the giggles? I started second-guessing everything I thought about myself."
"I can see why you're popular with the ladies," you murmur, eyes bright with mirth as you dip down and kiss the tip where a dot of precum wells.
"Oh, don't, baby."
"Huh?" You sit up tall. "Do you wanna stop?"
"The opposite. I don't know how long I'll last, especially," he pulls you by the chin to his lips, "in this pretty mouth."
More giggles. He swallows them in their entirety, hand wrapped around your wrist to pull your fingers from his length. Your hands go limp, languid under his gentle kisses and featherlight touching.
You pull away from each other but fight to kiss anyways, cheeks aching with a smile as he steals one, another, a handful of sweet, catching pecks.
You pout as he pulls away.
"D'you wanna lie back?" he asks, hand behind his neck. He rakes his fingers through his hair.
You lie down with his pillows under your head.
Steve smooths his thumbs against the waistband of your panties.
"It's okay," you say, wiggling your hips from left to right encouragingly.
He drags them down. Over the slopes of your thighs and the hills of your knees, he slides them down to your calves. He pulls them off one ankle and they hang off of the other. You lift your leg and let the dampened pink fabric fall onto his rumpled sheets.
He crawls forward, hands hooking under your knee. "Lemme see you, babe."
You bring your legs up and spread your thighs, feet between his knees.
He takes his cock into his hand and tugs. "Fuck," he says, eyes heavy, "fuck, are you wet?"
"You've been kissing me for hours," you say bashfully.
"I'd kiss you longer if you're gonna let me. Can I touch you?"
You push your palm down to your cunt and spread yourself just slightly, more to get used to it than to tease him. "Yes, please."
Steve crawls until you're close and you settle your legs either side of him. He does as you'd done, pushing his thumb to the small well of slick at your entrance and spreading you open with his fingers. "Fuck," he says again. "Shit, baby. Look at you…"
He pushes his slick-wet thumb into the waiting bead of your clit. "There?" he asks.
You remember to breathe. "Yeah," you say, eyes drifting closed as he familiarises himself. You drop your head into his pillows, neck aching. "Right there."
"Aww," he says sympathetically, free hand pressed flat to the inside of your thigh, holding you open. "You have the cutest fucking pussy ever. Shit, i'so wet, you must have such a crush on me."
You smile to yourself and hide your face in a pillow that smells like him. "A huge one. It's kind of embarrassing."
"I bet it is."
His fingers probe your clit. It pulses under his touch, swollen and sensitive to every brush of skin.
"Can you come kiss me some more?"
He looks like he wants to argue.
"Please, Stevie."
Steve reaches over your chest and pulls open his nightstand, procuring a new box of rubbers. You flick his chest. "Is that a new box?"
"Maybe."
You kiss his shoulder and he rips one open with his teeth. "How many's in there?"
"Enough, you minx." He rolls it on.
Kissing. His weight pressed over you, his cock against your mess of slick. You whine as he grinds down into you hard, his tangle of dark curls a blessed friction.
His hips jerk back and the tip of his dick hits into your clit.
"Are you gonna tease me all night?" you ask.
"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, dropping his head next to yours, his arm wrapping around your neck. You turn your face to his. His eyes are closed and his smile is nearly peaceful, though the crinkle between his brows speaks to his growing desperation. It's as casual as any cuddle with him before. "I could."
"But you won't."
"No, I won't."
Steve gives you one last kiss and situates himself between your legs at full height, pushing your legs back until the tops of your thighs kiss the bump of your stomach. He takes his cock into his hand and guides the tip down the length of your crease. His head bumps your entrance.
You let one leg fall to the side, arm crossed under your rising chest, looking at Steve with bright, adoring eyes. He's beautiful above you, pumping his cock with one hand. The other plays at your weeping hole, fingertips dipping inside two at a time.
You clench around his fingers as they ease in.
"Shit, you're tight. You okay?"
You nod voraciously.
He spreads his fingers wide, his eyes rolling back showfully. "Fuck, babe… Gonna spread you wide open, yeah? Is that what you want?"
"Want you inside."
"Yeah?" His eyebrows are furrowed, a certain stress to his voice.
"Are you gonna make me say please?"
He takes your thighs into both hands and lines up. His grin is both salacious and adorable, a familiar mischief adorning his pretty features. "Never."
The stretch is a lot but he takes it slow. Really slow, his hands on your skin and constantly measuring your reaction. Which must be a super ego trip for him, because your face goes slack with pleasure and you have to focus a lot of energy on smiling rather than frowning; there's somethingwonderful about being this close to him. His cock pushes into you and you gasp with every gentle intrusion, every half inch of space he takes until he's halfway inside and staying there.
He bends over you and takes your face into his hand. You hadn't realised before you met Steve how often your face could be held by someone, and how safe it could make you feel. How the brush of someone's fingertips over your cheek could tickle and somehow you never want to move away. He pulls his hips back, rolls in, and your eyes crease with pleasure, lashes touching as you squint.
He smells like everything you're used to. He must be thinking the same thing as you, because he smiles, and says, "You might as well be a flower for how much you smell like one."
Bergamot. He touches something sensitive, gummy walls stretched around him. You whine under your breath.
Lavender. "Make that sound again?" he asks.
Cedarwood. The murmur of the TV fades away entirely. The only things you can hear are you and Steve. You; your panting, the high warping of every breath as his thick cock works you open. Steve; a panting all his own, a scratchy roughness. You try not to make too much noise in efforts to hear him.
The slightest hint of citrus. An impression. Maybe his breath, something lingering from the orange-infused water you'd sipped on earlier. His breath fans out over your collar as he bottoms out, a sound like a hiccup ripped from him.
You wrap your hands around his back. "Oh my god, Stevie."
"How's that feel? That okay?" He stays very still. "Pretty baby, taking all of me right now." He starts to move his hips in leisurely circles.
You pull him down for a kiss, a world away from being able to answer intelligibly. You're so full it aches, so full – the blunt tip of his cock pushes into your sweet spot and you have to break the kiss to gasp for air.
"Feels so good," you whisper, rubbing his back unhurried.
A shiver courses down your spine as he pulls out to push in again. The sound is filthy, an erotic slapping as his thighs hit into yours and he moans. He fucking moans.
"Fuck, Steve. Can you go faster?"
Steve forces his forearms under your shoulder blades and his forehead presses to your collar, lips sluggish as they kiss your chest. He pulls your nipple into his mouth as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically, sucking and nibbling and twisting, his ministrations sending little bolts of pleasure down to your throbbing cunt.
He kisses hickey after hickey into your chest. You're too busy getting fucked out to notice, lavished by his mouth and numbed by his cock. Every thrust starts to hit deep, and every thrust pulls an unintelligible sound from you. Panting turns to moaning, moans turn to mewls.
"Hear how wet you are? Do you hear that?" Steve asks as he pulls away. He flicks at your bruising nipples and pouts when you jump. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Not my fault you have the cutest rack ever."
"Steve!" you cry, flushing with an embarrassed heat.
"What? It's fucking true." He takes your hips into his hands and hits in hard, cock prodding your spongey g-spot unapologetically. "Cutest pussy, too."
He brings his hand down to your cunt and slows his pace, thrusts shallow and eyes wide as he spreads you open. You can feel your hole shaping around him, the stretch as he opens you up. His thick fingers press into the bead of your clit and he starts to draw, tight messy circles in time with his thrusts.
"Taking me so well, babygirl."
You cup your aching tits and feel them sway with every thrust, every hit of his thighs into yours. A sticky mess grows between you that leaves your clit wet with slick. Steve fights to find purchase as he spreads your lips, thumb coming up to pinch at it.
He moans and looks up at the ceiling, his throat bared as he rolls his hips and pulls you onto his cock. "Fuck…" he groans, beggy and out of breath.
You stare at him, unabashed in your rabid attraction.
"Fuck, Steve," you say between hitching breaths, "I'm lucky you're mine."
His gaze jumps to yours. He snaps his hips and you squeal happily. "Say that again."
"I'm lucky you're mine," you say without missing a beat. It's true.
He holds your hips in an iron grip and ruts into you, deep-seated and unrelenting. He's barely a half-inch back when he's rubbing back in, moulding you to the shape of his cock. Dark curls press into your clit as he leans forward.
"You wouldn't believe how perfect you look on my dick." He grinds down, pulls out and thuds back in.
Your face screws up.
"You like that, baby? You want me to do it again?"
You nod and open your arms. Steve falls into them, letting you wrap him up in a grip so tight you can feel the suggestion of his ribs, his chest hair scratching your chest as he repeats the motion. You squeeze your eyes closed and whimper into the top of his head, hands pulling at his back as he rocks in again and again and again.
"Y'making such a mess on me."
You're not surprised. Every thrust into your sopping heat sounds loud in the quiet of his room, and your slick is everywhere. Wetting the thatch of pubes around his cock, the insides of your soft thighs.
"Steve, can you- can you-"
He presses his fingers back to your clit. "This? Sorry, you're just gripping me tight, I had to hold onto something," he apologises, sounding a short fall from reverential. "I got you."
Your sticky thighs start to shake as he fucks into you, the quick rub of his fingers against your clit tightening the coil inside you until it's snapping hard. You can't even warn him, chasing the circles he's making with your hips as you force your face into his pillow and fall apart.
You want to hate the sound that you make. It's an embarrassing combination of a squeal and a breathless gasp, only partially muffled by the fabric under your lips. You find yourself unable when Steve chokes on his words, stuttering, "F-fuck, oh fuck, sweetheart, you sound like- like heaven. You fucking feel like it, clamping down on me."
Steve fucks into that extra snugness and you can see on his face that he's close.
You blink out of the haze of your climax and cover Steve's hand where it teases your overstimulated clit, pulling it up and around your neck. You slide your arms around him and scratch up his back lightly, his hips staggering into yours as you say, "You gonna cum too, baby? Please?"
"Fuck," he groans through gritted teeth.
You clench your walls down around him and the drag is insane, better when he gets his final burst of energy and fucks into you with big, rough thrusts, your knees clamped around his hips. His teeth close around your shoulder and he bites you, maybe harder than he means to, a white hot pain that lasts a split-second, his hitching breaths hot in your skin. His hips slow and his entire weight falls into your tummy, wrought with post-orgasm aching.
You rub his back, damp with perspiration.
He kisses an apology over his cruel hickey.
"Fuck," he whispers.
His kisses move up and he moves too. You both hiss – disturbed, sweaty, blood still pumping fast. He's only adjusting for the height advantage, his mouth at your ear.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." You have a lot more to say, but you need a second.
Steve makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. "Can I go get a towel? I'll be right back."
"Yeah, Stevie. Whatever you wanna do," you say lightly, rubbing his back and hoping each pass of your palm implies the depth of your fondness.
Steve is cautious as he climbs off of you. You close your eyes and bring your hands to your sweaty face, fingers over your eyes before pushing them to either side of your forehead to stare at his ceiling, entirely blissed and in disbelief.
Steve climbs over you with a towel in hand. You can feel the warmth coming off of its wet corner.
He drops it onto your stomach and you go to pick it up. He grabs your hands in both of his and holds them, joined, against your shoulders. "I'll do it, but just-" He ducks his face to yours. "Let me kiss you."
You smile happily and close your eyes, fingers flexing in his grip as he brushes his lips against yours, at first gently and then with an enthusiastic pressure. You're worn out from everything and can't respond how you want to, but if Steve minds he doesn't say anything, hands squeezing your hands and his lips all lazy and curled up against yours.
Your chest hurts.
Steve keeps a hold of one hand as he breaks the kiss in favour of cleaning you up though quickly drops it to take your shaky thigh into his hand. Spread wide, he wipes every trace of slick he can find, especially kind to your centre.
He's already discarded the condom and wiped himself down. You reach out to stroke the start of his damp snail trail as he throws the towel on the floor next to your discarded clothes. Pulling the sheets where they'd fallen to the bottom of the bed over your naked bodies, Steve slouches onto his side.
"Come here," he says, pulling you into his chest with infinite tenderness.
You turn into his hold and ram your face into his skin, hand searching for the tempting curve of his bicep.
He drops a kiss into your temple and then another. You feel surprisingly awake, his body a hot and heavy thing beside you.
"Do you feel like talking?" he asks softly.
"Yeah," you say, giggling. "Yeah, sorry. God, Steve."
He bends at the waist to cuddle you like he's shielding you. "I know."
You lie there in his embrace and you can't stop thinking about it. That was perfect. That was fucking perfect. Right? You want to ask him. You'd never felt that pretty or pleased before in your life.
"God, that was fucking perfect," Steve says.
You rub your nose against his chest and giggle, an overabundance of joy bubbling messy at the surface. "I was just thinking that."
"Yeah?"
"Oh my god."
"I'm kind of pissed off. Like, if that's the standard, how am I gonna live up to this every time?"
Every time, you think.
"Maybe we just got really lucky. We're never gonna have sex that good ever again," you theorise.
He starts laughing, big, contagious chuckles that boom from the centre of his chest and catch you by surprise. He sounds as happy as you feel.
"Don't jinx it." He rubs his hand over your shoulder blades.
You kiss his chest lazily and he slinks down under the sheets with you, dragging you up until your face is eye-level with his. His eyes are closed and you close your own, moaning as he crushes you to his chest and starts to pat your back.
It's an immense domestic pleasure. You couldn't explain why, but the continuous, steady rhythm of his firm patting makes it easier to calm your racing heart.
"You look really beautiful," he says.
"Your eyes are closed."
"So? You looked beautiful when I closed them. I just want you to know. And your sounds… God, I'm gonna be touching you all the time if that's what you sound like."
"I love how you sounded too." You rub his chest with your knuckle. "I love that you sounded like that for me."
"Because of you."
"I meant what I said. I'm really lucky."
Steve pushes his hand behind your ear and draws your face from his. You open your eyes and find him already looking at you, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for telling me?"
"Shut up! You know what I mean. I'm lucky to have you."
"If you're lucky I'm fucking blessed."
"I've never heard you swear that much."
"And it's entirely your fault," he jokes.
You're okay with that.
You tuck yourself into Steve's neck and trace the lines of his body. The small roundness of his Adam's apple and the ridges of his collarbones, the small dip between his chest muscles and the line underneath his pec. You go to just below his ribs before needing your hand between his torso and his arm, hugging him like he's hugging you.
The hickey he'd given you on your shoulder twinges, reminding you of his maltreatment. You place your lips against his throat and mouth lazy kisses until he sighs in content. When you know you've lulled him into a false sense of security, you take his skin between your teeth and nip.
"What's that for?" he asks in bemusement.
"You tried to take a chunk of me."
"Shit," he says.
You kitten lick the tiny welt you've bitten into his pale skin and he tenses. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, wondering if he likes that, and deign to give him a smattering of wet, sloppy hickeys to find out.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, fingers brushing over the small embeddings of his teeth in your shoulder.
"Not really," you say, mouthing up until your nose is to his cheek. You close your eyes as he turns his head. You can feel his breath against your lips. "No, I like it, anyway."
Your arms slide over his back as he pulls back to take you in. You stare at each other, not sure how to say anything that hasn't already been said or anything that hasn't been felt. He looks pretty and ragged, perfect hair mussed and dainty brown lashes in damp triangles. The dim lighting shadows his face, the lightest brightness under the well of his eye.
"I wish I was one of the old masters."
He smiles. "What's that?"
"Like, the great artists. Painters, masters of their craft. Like the guy who painted The Girl with a Pearl Earring."
Steve starts to shift onto his back. You lay your arm across his chest and hold your weight off of him. He doesn't like that very much, pulling you in with one arm crossed over the small of your back, the other held high but loose. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, fingernails sliding over your skin. "Is painting something you like to do?"
Your heart melts at his genuine interest and his willingness to listen to something seemingly tangential. "I wish I could paint like they could. I would paint you."
"Yeah?" he asks, clarity brightening his face. His eyes are lined with pleasure.
"I would. The," you raise your hand to his face and start to trace each feature as you go, "bridge of your nose. The slopes here," his brow, the dip underneath, careful of his eye, "your cheekbones. Your lips. This line here, and this one. This one, too."
"Are you trying to tell me I have wrinkles?" he jokes.
"Only this one." You smooth the pad of your thumb between his eyebrows. "Though I think it's inevitable."
"Oh you do, do you?" he asks, abruptly loud. You're startled into giggling, dropping your hand over one of his eyes in your shock. He kisses your palm.
You fall silent. You take your hand to his jaw and press the invisible remains of his kiss to his cheek as you lean in.
"I think… I think I'd want to paint you. Just so people know," you murmur, touching your forehead to his, "that you were this handsome."
You wait for him to laugh and he doesn't. Like the trepidation of a sneeze that doesn't come, you feel off-kilter.
"Steve?"
He shushes you and kisses you for the hundredth time tonight. You could happily take another hundred, eyebrows pinching up at his silence.
He kisses you until you forget what you'd been saying, until the aching in your abdomen can't be ignored.
"I need to go to the bathroom," you announce regretfully.
"Yeah, okay. Want me to come with you?"
You laugh and climb off of him. His hand reaches for you as you go, his fingers catching yours until you pull away. You grab the damp towel and your sleep shirt off of the floor, slipping it on as you walk away. Steve acts like he's been grievously injured.
In the bathroom you clean up properly and pull on the spare underwear you'd had the foresight to bring. You stretch until you moan.
"You okay?" Steve calls.
"Stop listening to me in the bathroom, perv."
You can hear him stand. His footsteps in the bedroom. You shiver in the cool bathroom and smile at yourself really hard in the mirror.
When you return he's done the same as you, changed into new boxers. You stare at his thighs unabashed as he steps into his pyjama bottoms, yours rescued and folded on the end of the bed. Steve holds his hands out at your approach and tugs you towards him, not hugging but close. He pushes your shirt up to your ribs and you struggle to see what he's doing, craning your neck.
"What?" you ask.
He follows the impression of a stretch mark down your skin. "Did you feel that?" he asks genuinely.
You'd more than felt it. He pulls up the waistband of your panties thoughtlessly and traces another stretch mark. "You're pretty," he murmurs.
You hug him hard enough that he has to take a step back to avoid falling over. His hands stop their studying, braced at your waist and walking you backwards toward the bed. He pushes you down and you fall onto your back, clinging to him as he tries to pull away.
"Come on," he says, laughing, "I'm gonna get you something to drink. Let go."
"Whatever," you grumble.
Steve disappears downstairs and you sit up, eyes bright like you're seeing his room for the first time all over again. Fast Times at Ridgemont High looks to be nearing its end. You switch off the TV with a triumphant smile and move your attention to his dresser, where the cassette player you'd 'loaned' him sits. You're half hoping Van Halen II will be inside but it must still be in his car. Your disappointment ebbs quickly when you see what's really inside.
Steve has the good graces to blush when he returns. You've clicked play and sit with the tape deck in your lap, beaming. "American Pie?" you ask knowingly.
"It's a good album."
He presses a cold glass of water into your hands and you sip feverishly, best pleased when he sits beside you, thigh to your naked thigh.
"Softie."
He dips his fingers into his glass and flicks you. It feels good and you move back encouragingly. He indulges you, flicking cold water over your face and neck until you're finely misted as a flower in the morning dew.
The best part of American Pie starts to play. You gasp as Steve pulls the glass from your hand and sets them heavily on the dresser, hands wet with condensation as he sews your fingers together and pulls you up.
"What are you doing?" you ask curiously.
His shoulders move back. "Dancing?"
"You wanna dance?" you ask. Your legs are tired – his must be double.
"You're old enough," he says, encouraging your hands from side to side.
You were gonna give him what he wanted anyways, but that small smile toying over his pretty pink mouth spurs you on. You jump on toes and follow his lead.
-
Steve digs a short fingernail into the deep orange skin of what he thinks is a tangerine and watches as citrus spritzes into the air. It leaps from the fruit with every slice of rind he pulls away, and his hands quickly smell of it.
You lay in the grass with his sunglasses perched over your nose. Steve worries you might be sleeping, your smile demure and your arms still where they've crossed over your chest. Your cotton dress blankets the grass around your thighs, the hem waved as the thin edge of a peony petal.
"You better not be sleeping, Y/N," he warns.
You'd definitely been dozing. You hide it well, your hand hardly trembling as you stretch it across the grass towards him. "I wasn't."
"You know what happened last time."
"You're here to protect me."
He can't argue with that. Orange juice stains his fingers as he splits the segments apart, pulling white pith from the flesh until each slice is clean. He drops two into your hand. "For you."
"Thank you," you say, sounding genuinely excited. You sit up slow and your dress falls down enough to expose the top of your breast where Steve had hickied at a risk of excess the night before.
He moves across the grass until your knees knock together and presses his hand to your forehead. You're definitely hotter than you should be but not about to burst into flames. Steve ushers more tangerine into your hand and reaches for the grocery bag to grab your drink and put it in your lap. You gasp at the sudden cold and gasp again when he pulls the strap of your dress up your shoulder. There’s no hiding the worst one at the meeting of your neck and shoulder. Every time he looks at it, he blushes.
"Was I flashing?" you ask worriedly through a mouthful of fruit.
"Not really? But, uh, you know. Hickey."
"Ohhh," you say knowingly. "Well, that's your fault."
"Did I say otherwise? Have some water. We're gonna have to go soon, it's too hot."
"Steve."
"I'm serious."
"Let's just go buy one of those little hand crank fans."
"So I can crank it all day? No way."
"You'll dictate-"
"Dictate!"
"-my sunbathing but won't crank a little fan for me? What kind of relationship even is this?"
"Stop it," he says concisely.
Your lips pull into a self satisfied smile and you drink your drink like he'd asked you to. "What are we gonna do after?"
You'd woken Steve up early, before the sun had really come out, a vision and perfect and everything he'd known you would be in the mornings. Hands on his shoulders, you'd kissed him until he'd stirred, skipping kisses over his neck and chest.
"Ba-by," you'd whispered, dragging the last syllable, your voice croaky with tiredness, "let's go get breakfast."
Breakfast at a sticky diner that consisted of pancakes with too much syrup and whipped cream on strawberries. You'd dragged him into the fancy grocery store across the street and filled a basket with fancy drinks, pretzels, lip balm and a net of tangerines.
Now, hours later, sweaty from the outpour of ultra-hot sunlight and your company, Steve doesn't know what's left to do that could be any better than this.
He spread his legs and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind his ear. "What do you wanna do?"
You twist the cap back onto your drink and push onto your knees, grass crushed. "I don't know. Anything. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, so you can keep me as late as you want."
He doesn't feel bad when he says, "Could I keep your for the night again?"
You hesitate. He doubles down.
"I'll take you to your place and you can get some more clothes. And I'll make you something better than takeout, if you want," he promises, thinking of your home-cooked meals, the evident love poured into each one.
"No, it's not-" You smile at him, your eyes soft. "Of course you can keep me. But I'm not staying up to dance with you again." You yawn to drive the point home.
He breaks grass between his fingers. "Fine, no dancing."
You nod in agreement and take his shoulder into your hand, throwing your leg over his to straddle his thigh. You look comfortable despite the 'w' shape you're in, settling down with a harrumph of breath.
Steve tries not to think about the silk of your underwear against his leg, but of course he does. The pink colouring his cheeks isn't from the sun.
You look shy but happy as he grabs your hands, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. "We can make something cool for the weather," you suggest lightly, the skirt of your dress ruffled by the breeze. "Sanwhiches. And something sweet for dessert 'cos we didn't have any yesterday."
"I don't know about you, but I think I had more than my fair share of dessert."
You drop the top of your head into his chest. "Sicko."
"A little. When it comes to you."
You start to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, humming something very quietly. The Waterboys or something like that, your lips pressed together tightly. You lashes flutter and you rub your cheek with your shoulder.
"What?" he asks.
"I'm just really happy," you confess.
What's he supposed to do? Not kiss you silly? He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you in.
summary: you come over to family video after a halloween party and steve can't keep his hands off you? idk what this is tbh i was on drugs when i wrote this.
warning(s): 18+, steve being an absolute slut for you, making out, dry humping, unprotected sex, semi public sex, finger sucking, you giving steve hickeys, mentions of you dress as daphne blake but that doesn't last long and idk if i would qualify this as a halloween fic, it's just steve lovingly railing you <3 AND UNEDITED WORK SO DON'T BULLY ME!
"I'm sorry I had to work tonight babe." He apologized placing some movies in there rightful places before turning his head to see where you stood behind the counter playing with the necklace on your neck that he had gotten you for your birthday.
His eyes ran over your Daphne Blake costume, he remembered rolling his eyes when you told him that you and the rest of the group had planned to be the Scooby Gang.
He was supposed to be Fred but he had to work and he couldn't call off again this week.
"It's okay" you hummed "It was only the most important night of the year." You sounded mad but the playful glance you threw made him laugh.
"Halloween is the most important night of the year? Not my birthday or our anniversary?" He asked crossing his arm over his chest.
You looked up at him "No" you shook your head with a smile and he rolled his eyes.
"You didn't have to come you could've stood at the party." He told you running a hand through his hair as he made his way towards you leaning against the opposite side of the counter so he could get a better look at your face.
He always liked to admire you.
"It's fine, it wasn't all that anyways plus I much rather watch you slave around here with those tight jeans on than be at some stupid party." You grinned at him leaning on your elbows, He laughed reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your face "Yeah?"
"Yep, what can I say I'm a fool for a man with a nice ass."
"You're sick" he joked leaning down "For you" you joked meeting in the middle so you could kiss him. His hand cupped your cheek as you slipped your tongue into his mouth.
He wanted to pull you closer but the counter between the two of you stopped him from moving any closer to you.
You tasted like candy with a faint hint of beer, he let out a low moan against your lips when you sucked on his tongue before pulling away, a thin string of spit between the two of you that broke of when you pulled away.
"You're a fucking tease." He huffed wiping your wet lips with his thumb, his cheeks reddened from your interaction "Am not." You shot back shaking your head "I just know you have work to do."
"You think I wanna do work after that?" He asked, you laughed "That's a sneak peek of what you'll get if you finish." His hand slid down to your neck, his thumb now caressing the vein on your nexk.
"Not enough." He said a slight pout on his lips now that you weren't giving him what he wanted.
"No?" He shook his head and you rolled your eyes "Fine." Your fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt pulling him down to face and he thought you were going to give him another kiss but you didn't.
"What if I told you that I accidentally left my panties in my car?"
"Oh?" You nodded at his response letting him go "Accidentally?" He questioned raising an eyebrows "Of course" you said innocently "I would never purposely do anything like that" you picked at your bottom lip playing coy with him.
He felt himself harden in his jeans at the thought of you in that tight purple dress with no panties underneath, how easy it would be just to bend you over the counter and take you right here.
He knew realistically couldn't not with the cameras but the idea had him throbbing.
Fuck.
He quickly tried to grab all the movies on the counter in his hands almost dropping a few and you laughed at the desperate look on his face "Shut up."
"Sorry" you said stifling your laugh.
Steve honestly hadn't worked as fast as he was working right now, he didn't care that he looked desperate for you because he was. He'd always be fucking desperate for you.
Finally he had finished and he was speed walking behind the counter before you could process anything he was turning you around to kiss you.
His hand finding a place on your hips pulling you closer and slightly off your feet so he could kiss you properly.
You threw your arms over his shoulders, you gasped when he pressed you roughly against the counter, rattling the stuff on top. "You're gonna break something."
"I don't care" he said, he need you so badly. He lifted on leg against his waist the rough material of his jeans rubbing against your bare pussy.
You bit your lip, your hands sliding under his shirt scratching his skin lightly "You're so hot" you whimpered leaning up to kiss his neck.
You sucked marks on his necks that you knew he'd wear with pride, he never did bother to cover them up and always bragged about them to everyone.
He grinded against you a bit harder bringing you out of your thoughts noticing the lost look in your eyes when you pulled away from his neck "What are you thinking about?" He asked "You, just you." You moaned.
He gripped your hips tighter when he felt your wetness through his jeans letting out a groan after, this whole thing almost being too much for him.
The thought of what the two of you looked like running through his brain, how greedy he must've looked dry humping you in the middle of the store but he needed more, he needed to feel you.
He picked you up placing you on the counter "I can't take it." He whimpered pulling away from you pushing your dress higher almost letting out a moan at the sight of your pussy looking all puffy from him grinding against you.
He unbuckled his jeans pulling his cock out, he slid himself through you wet folds loving the way you looked so fucking needy for him.
"You sure you can take it?" He teased, he knew you could take it, you were always so good for him.
You huffed "You know I can fucking take it." He smiled, you were always got angry when he didn't give you what you wanted.
He opened his mouth to tease you some more but you glared at him and he couldn't help but chuckle "Fine, fine, needy girl" he hummed before pushing into you in one thrust "Steve!" Your nails dug into his shirt throwing your head back. He gave you time to adjust "Ready baby?"
You nodded "Always" His body towered over you as he thrusted into roughly. Your head leaned against his chest moaning, he brought his hand to your hair pulling lightly "Look at me, Look at me."
You pulled your head to stared up at him, he held your face in his hands just wanting to see you as he fucked you, pulling out just to slam back in to see the way your eyes glossed over and you mouth fell open.
You would never understand what effect you had on him, no one had ever had this hold on him. You made him crazy, he was fully obsessed with you.
One of his hands dug into your thigh while he brought the other one to your face shoving two fingers into your mouth when your moans got too loud.
"You feel so fucking good." He moaned as you sucked on his fingers, your tongue running over the pads of his fingers, your eyes shut.
His hips moved harshly using his full force causing his knees bumping into the rough wood of the counter but he didn't care about the bruises that would replace the ones he had from when he ate you out in the bathroom.
He felt his orgasm coming closer but he need you to come first, he pulled his fingers from your lips, your eyes fluttering open to stare up at him through your wet lashes.
He brought the two fingers that were in your mouth to clit rubbing in circles just the way you liked. You looked down at where the two of you met and you whimpered.
He felt like he was on fucking fire, the way you felt around him, everytime he fucked you it felt just as amazing as the first time.
"Come on baby." He whispered taking your bottom lip between his and pulling on it lightly "Cum for me, come on" you eyes squeezed shut as your mouth fell open no actual sound leaving your lips as you came around him.
He moaned as you milked his cock, cumming inside you soft whimpers leaving his lips.
He let out a breath once you both relaxed "You're a whore" you laughed your head against his chest "You corrupted me." He hummed playing with your hair.
"Eddie stole a bag of candy from some trick or treaters and gave it to me? Wanna go home and eat it?" You asked looking up at him and he nodded pecking your lips.
"We'll worry about the cameras tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
so sorry this sucked <3, feel free to request and tell me what you think.
SERIES SYNOPSIS; JJ and Y/N have always had a relationship that runs a bit deeper than that of a friendship. When boundaries have already been pushed but neither party is willing to face the consequences, it's only a matter of time before one end of the rope snaps and what's supposed to be a fun vacation with friends turns into an emotional rollercoaster and grounds for confessions.
CHAPTER SYNOPSIS; [3.9k] It's their second day in Florida and things are speeding up. A case of mutual pining and suggestive innuendoes plus a thrilling trip to Universal and a food-truck adventure lead our two resident fools in (secret yet, not so secret) love to end the day with cuddling and a movie, leaving Y/n slightly more confident in how JJ may or may not feel about her.
CHAPTER WARNING(S); swearing, brief mentions of vomit/throwing up, mentions of food, suggestive comments, mutual pining
A/N; You get more of Y/N and JJ's dynamic in this (and just how oblivious yet not so oblivious they are) and some cute moments that I personally love. I hope you enjoy!
series masterlist. jj masterlist.
I JUMPED UP IN THE BED I SHARED WITH JJ AT THE SOUND OF THE BEDROOM DOOR SLAMMING OPEN. “Why are you two still sleep?!” John B hissed from the doorway looking mildly disheveled. “Get up before Sarah kills you both.” JJ was beginning to stir awake next to me, groaning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
I was half-awake and mumbled a reply to John B, assuring him we’d get up before falling back into the mattress with a thump, closing my eyes for just a few more seconds. I didn’t get those few seconds before a soft object was hitting me hard. “What the fuck?” I groaned. I sat up once more and glared at the puppy-eyed brunette standing in front me, pillow in hand. I snatched it from his hand and put it back on the bed.
“I’m serious!” He whisper-yelled. “Sarah thinks we’re going to be late. And before you ask, I don’t know how you could be late to an amusement park but- just, get up before she blows a fuse. Now.” He urged us both before leaving the room.
JJ was sitting up, hunched over trying to shield the light from his eyes. I pat his shoulder before sliding off of the bed. “I’m gonna get us towels and stuff so we can shower.” He gave a hum of approval and I went to exit the room, walking the short distance to the closet down the hall that held all of the toiletries and such.
Things were moved around on the shelves, assuming the rest of our friends woke up before us and already finished their routines. I grabbed a bottle of body wash, a small tube of toothpaste and a couple of rags. I looked up and down the shelves for the towels and when I spotted them, I sighed.
They were on the top shelf, which was abnormally high to be considered even remotely accessible. I sat the things I had retrieved on the very bottom shelf, which was empty. Of course it was. Looking around, I spotted a tall kitchen stool. Moving it in front of the shelves, I used it to retrieve two towels for JJ and myself. Coming down, I kicked the stool back to its original position and grabbed the things I previously put down, stacking them on top of the soft, pillowy towels in my arms.
Exiting the closet, I nudged the door shut with my heel. “Do not tell me you are just now showering.” A high-pitched and rather agitated voice spoke behind me. Turning I was met with Sarah’s annoyed expression. I gave her a shy smile and shrugged. By the looks of her pinched eyebrows and curled lips, she was ticked off.
“Sorry. John B woke us up late.” I’ve come to learn that Sarah was a very strict planner. She needed things to go according to plan otherwise she felt off-balance and frustrated at times. She rolled her eyes and ran a hand through the top of her hair. She set off down the stairs, grumbling almost inaudibly.
“You are all unbelievable….’s ridiculous…..gonna be so late.” I had to hold back a small giggle. It wasn’t funny that she was upset but seeing Sarah almost in the state of a disapproving mother was amusing.
ENTERING JJ AND I’S SHARED ROOM, I noticed he was no longer on the bed and I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. I don’t know why he didn’t just wait for me to come back with what he needed but I figured I would just sit it on the sink counter for when he hopped out.
Knocking on the bathroom door, I announced it was me with what he needed and he gave me the okay to come in. Turning the door handle and pushing it open, I expected to see his blurred silhouette behind the noisy glass shower doors, but I was met with a shirtless JJ with a towel wrapped around his waist.
His clothes were discarded on the floor to be dropped into the hamper in the actual room later. “Oh, shit. I thought you'd be in-”
He laughed and came closer to grab the items in my hands, his palms closing over each of mine. “Are you nervous?” I tried to send him an eye roll, a glare, or even a snarky comment but it was like seeing him half-naked and knowing that towel was the only thing obstructing my unjust fantasies sent me into a frenzy. My brain short-circuiting and unable to send signals to my body and I could feel myself staring at him, more specifically his chest and his blonde hair that was falling slightly due to how steamy the enclosed space was becoming. “Y/n?”
Shaking my head to clear it of whatever the hell I was fantasizing about, I averted my gaze back up to his face where he was making no effort to hide his smirk, lips parted and eyes wide with my cheeks on fire.
“You plan on joining me?” He teased.
“What?” I asked, shocked and frozen in place. Did he just-
“Well, considering you have a death grip on the towels," He used his head to motion to the bundle of shower essentials clutched in both our grasps. "I just assumed you planned on staying.” It was clear that he was making a joke, or so I assumed.
Heat rose to my face as I looked down at our hands clutching the objects, my knuckles visibly a shade lighter than the rest of my hands. I quickly loosened my grip, allowing him to take the towel from the bottom, handing him a rag and the bottle of body wash.
“Right, sorry.” I muttered shyly, avoiding eye contact as if the walls of the plain white bathroom suddenly became the most mesmerizing thing in the world.
“Don’t be.”
I looked up at him and he was staring at me so…intently. Like he would pounce on me at any given moment. And I could’ve taken the opportunity to do it myself. Make a move. But what do I do? None of that is what.
Instead, I broke our stare and stumbled over my words before setting the small tube of toothpaste on the sink and telling him, “I’m just gonna leave that here and wait out there-” I said, jabbing my thumb in the direction of the bedroom that was still visible as the bathroom door was open.
Turning around quickly and closing the door, I tried to calm my racing heart beat and will the heat in my cheeks to subside. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the door, careful not to thump against the wood and letting my own towel and rag fall to the floor.
“Well that was painful to watch.”
My eyes shot open to find Kie in the doorframe. Why do all of my friends appear like ghosts? I grumbled inaudibly and pushed my frame off of the door, picking up my belongings off of the floor and tossing them onto the queen sized bed. “How long were you standing there?”
Kie entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Long enough to hear JJ give you a potential invitation for shower sex.”
I groaned and turned away from the curly-haired girl, making my way over to where we sat the bags the night prior in search of an outfit for the day. “He was not inviting me to have sex. And would you keep it down? He’s literally on the other side of that door.”
“He was totally inviting you to have sex. Can you blame him? You’re hot, Y/n. Embrace your inner-”
“Kie.” I spat out. Dropping the shirt in my hands and craning my neck to face her, “I will literally tape your mouth shut. Quit playing matchmaker and help me pick out an outfit.”
WE WERE STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PARK AS SARAH AND POPE TRIED TO READ THE MAP. Well, more like figure out where to go first. It was more crowded than we anticipated but we were already here.
“What about this ride that’s literally in front of us?” John B said as if it was the obvious course of action, gesturing in the direction of the Minion Mayhem attraction.
“Dude,” I started. “It's like an hour and a half wait.”
“Plus, it’s not even a real ride. It’s like a simulation type thing.” Sarah added.
“I don’t care where we go as long as we make it to Diagon Alley.” Kie affirmed, She’d been talking about it the whole car ride. I didn’t peg her as one to be into Harry Potter but she was so anxious to make it over there.
“I second that.” Pope added.
“Let me see the map.” JJ requested, Pope willingly handing it over. He looked it over for a minute and then spoke. “Let’s just walk forward. It’ll take us in a full circle so we’ll pass everything.”
“Look at Mr. Helpful. Maybe we should recruit JJ as our tour guide.” John B teased, ruffling the blonde’s hair before his hand was swatted away.
WE WERE IN THE NEW YORK SECTION OF THE PARK NOW, it was mainly food stops with a ride or two. We’d all collectively agreed to get on Revenge of The Mummy, JJ and Pope hesitant. We’d been standing in line for a while but we were nearing the front now, the ride carts in view as the previous passengers got off.
Walking ahead a couple more steps, the park employee said “How many?”
“Six.” Since there were 4 seats in a row, she put 3 of us in one and 3 in the other, strangers filling in the empty seats at the end of each row—Kie, JJ, and I to one row, Pope, Sarah, and John B to another. We were in the front row with the other 3 behind us so we were still close. We were instructed to pull down the lap-bar as an employee came by to push it down, doing a final check. Once the ride operator was given a thumbs up, the cart was strolling forwards.
“Why is it so damn dark?” JJ asked.
I chuckled. “Because it’s no fun when you can see what’s up ahead.” He let out a deep and semi-shaky breath and I dropped the jokes, seeing that he was actually nervous. I sat a hand on his forearm. “Hey, it’s just a ride, alright?” I assured, removing my hand and putting my palm flat out for him. “You can hold my hand if you want.”
It was only a half-joke to ease his tension but when his warm palm met mine with a tight squeeze, fingers threading in between mine - I froze a bit before relaxing.
The ride continued and when the voices started to play and get frantic, a machine came out, giving a spiel about ‘ruling the earth for eternity’ or whatever.
“Holy shit, I thought he was real.” Spoke Kie, a bit loudly considering the speakers muffled our voices a bit.
The cart turned a corner, getting closer to a talking head and some statues when all of a sudden, the bowl like structure in front of us emitted an uproar of flames and JJ jumped a little. “What the hell, man?” He said whipping his head toward me. “Was that real fire? Can they do that? Is that allowed?”
He was still nervous but I thought I spotted a hint of amusement in his face, like he was easing up. Sometimes, I had to remember that JJ was very sheltered in the Outer Banks. We all were, truthfully. But sometimes he just needed a little extra coaxing.
Just when he spoke, the ride sped up and he leaned back in his seat. “Woah-ohhh, my god-”
I laughed out loud and gave his hand a small reassuring squeeze. The ride came to a stop in front of a wall then suddenly descended backwards, now it was my turn to be a little frightened. It felt like we were spinning back and forth but it was so dark that you couldn’t tell. Then rapidly, the cart went uphill and fast. The other riders were screaming, cursing, and laughing and I swore I could see Kie gripping the lap-bar for dear life. I could hear John B letting out a string of curses behind me and Sarah and Pope laughing.
A glimpse of light came through allowing us to see the rails on which the cart was moving and they were slanted. “Are we- Are we fucking sideways? Oh shit, oh shit-” JJ rambled, gripping my hand tightly. I giggled and squeezed his hand just as tight.
“You’ll be fine. At least if we fall, we’ll fall together.” I joked.
I caught a glimpse of his smile in the passing lights and couldn’t help but send one back. “You gonna take me down with you?”
“Not if you come willingly.” We both let out light laughs that could barely be heard by one another as the ride leveled out and slowed down, sending every passenger slightly forward as it abruptly stopped. JJ’s hair was flown back and I reached a hand up to ruffle it back to its effortlessly messy state, never breaking eye contact. “Not too bad, huh?”
JJ chuckled and shook his head, catching his breath a bit. “Not too bad.”
WE DECIDED TO SKIP SAN FRANCISCO IN FAVOR OF GOING TO DIAGON ALLEY. Something Kie was ecstatic about. I never mentioned it but I was kind of into Harry potter. Not like know all the spells, read all the books—into it. But I thoroughly enjoyed the movies and found it interesting.
“Uh, I don’t see an entrance. It’s just this…train station?” John B noticed.
Pope and Kiara sent sly smirks each others way and walked off behind a wall. I’m assuming they put some kind of pieces together and knew where to go. We followed them, sending each other shrugs and confused expressions. I was beyond concerned until they stumbled upon a brick wall and it all clicked as we walked through.
“No fucking way.” I looked up in awe. I wouldn’t say it was exactly like the movie but it was impressive enough and so pleasing to look at. There was a crowd of people just standing under the dragon statue on top of Gringotts.
“Welcome to nerdville.” John B muttered, though even he couldn’t deny that this was cool. Sarah muttered a ‘shut up’ under her breath.
“You know, I think I understand the hype around Harry Potter now. I kind of like it here.” Said JJ.
“I’d have to second that.” Sarah agreed.
Just then, the dragon statue let out a gust of fire. The people recording and letting out cheers as they got what they wanted and continued to explore this division of the park or walked off to discover the others. “Now that was cool as shit.” JJ spoke. “Remind me to record it next time.” He nudged me, to which I nodded.
Kie and Pope began walking further into the hidden area, the rest of us following in tow. We came to stand in front of the entrance to a ride, Harry Potter and The Escape from Gringotts.
“3 hours?! Guys, we are not standing in line for 3 hours.” Sarah exclaimed, reading the red-lit sign at the entrance signaling the 180 minute wait for the ride, not to mention that was just an estimate.
“It won’t feel like it. Those signs are so inaccurate.” Pope pleaded.
“Plus, I’ve watched videos. It’s so worth it. Back me up, Y/n.” Kie begged. They looked so helpless and actually excited to ride this thing but 3 hours for a ride that would last less than 5 minutes? I wasn’t really up for it.
“Sorry, Kie. 3 hours is a little out of my comfort zone.” I hated how their faces fell like children who were told they couldn’t get ice cream. We were here to have a good time and I wanted to leave with good memories. “But hey, I think I saw something better.” I spoke towards two of my best friends, their faces twisting in confusion and curiosity.
ENTERING MADAM MALKIN’S ROBES, IT WAS LESS CROWDED THAN I THOUGHT. Kie gasped and Pope had a huge smile on his face. JJ, Sarah and John B opted to wait outside the shop, not being too keen on coming inside. Plus, JJ was waiting for the dragon to breathe fire again so he could record it for himself, he promised he’d send it to me.
Kiara immediately made a beeline for the small backpacks and novelty robes, while Pope roamed in the farther end of the store where the more casual clothing items were held—hoodies and zip-ups and such.
I stayed near the front of the store, close to the the register, eyeing the small trinkets like keychains and necklaces. I wanted something simple and cute. I spotted some lanyards that had the school tie patterns in each of the house colors, a smile making its way onto my face as I plucked one off in the colors of my favorite house before I heard name being called.
I made my way towards Kiara who was twirling in the mirror with a robe on, checking herself out. “Honest opinion; should I get it?” She asked, not even moving to face me, enthralled with the robe adorning her frame.
“How much do they want for it?”
“One-hundred fifteen. Before you say no, I have the money for it.” She shrugged, moving her gaze to me. “My dad put money on my card after I begged for it. I wasn’t leaving this park empty handed.”
I laughed and tilted my head. “In that case, you should. It could be fun to have.”
“Then it’s settled.” She smiled. Just then, Pope skipped over to us, sporting a gray, red, and black patterned jacket with a Hogwarts emblem in the corner.
“What do you guys think? It’s not too nerdy right?” He asked with a bright smile that was slightly worried. I smoothed the arm of the jacket and took a step back to examine it.
“Nah, I think you’re good. But you do know JJ and John B are gonna rag on you either way, right?” I asked, half-joking. Pope sighed and groaned.
“Of course, but I want something to take home. I’ll keep it in my closet most of the time, anyway.”
“Then if everyone has their items, let’s go.” I prompted, leading everyone to the counter. We put our respective items on the counter one after the other, Kie offering to pay for everyone and headed out to meet back up with the other half of our group.
WE HAD LEFT THE PARK A WHILE AGO. The temperatures were rising and we were hungry, not too fond of eating park food. Pope mentioned that he spotted a couple of food trucks on the way there so we followed his guide.
Pulling into an empty space, it was more like a large patch of grass and trees decorated with picnic tables and a handful of food trucks. It was quite pretty though. The space was littered with people, both eating and waiting in line. At this point the sun was starting to set, casting a nice orange-ish hue over the area.
“I think I’m gonna go for the tacos.” John B pointed towards the colorful truck with the menu full of various tacos.
“Yea, I’m gonna try out the kabobs over there.” Kie stated. Everyone chose from their options and went to retrieve their meals. I chose a wing truck, they had some odd flavors but I just stuck with a classic—buffalo.
I spotted my friends at a table already eating, me being the last to get my food. Making my way over, I sat in the empty space next to JJ, across from Kie, Pope, and Sarah. Sarah had a huge salad, Pope had some sliders and fries, John B munching down on some crunchy tacos without a care in the world for the mess he was making on his plate, Kie had some kind of kabobs that I couldn’t deny looked delicious, and JJ had a bacon burger with potato wedges.
“These are so good.” Kie groaned in satisfaction, her shoulders slumping. “And, oh! Look,” She said, holding up her drink cup and shaking it. “Paper cups and paper straws.” She smiled, causing us to laugh a little. “Laugh all you want, you turtle killers.”
Meanwhile, I spotted a tanned hand reaching for my food. Quickly swatting his hand away, he shook it off in mock pain. “I haven’t even touched my food yet and you have half a burger left.”
“But yours smells so good. Just one, c’mon. You have 12 of them.” He whined.
I rolled my eyes and picked up a wing, biting off a piece. “Uh-uh. You have your own, you’ll live.”
JJ sighed and shook his head, “Can’t believe this.” He muttered. We all chuckled and finished our meals before loading back into the rental car and heading back to the house.
WALKING INTO THE HOUSE, EVERYONE WAS ALREADY HEADING OFF TO THEIR ROOMS. Mumbled ‘goodnight’s and yawns could be heard. I, however, was nowhere near tired for some odd reason considering I was typically one of the first to doze off. As everyone went off to their rooms and JJ walked into ours to sleep, I assumed, I trudged over to the living room and clicked on the TV.
They were streaming Corpse Bride on some random network and I grabbed the throw blanket, settling in to watch the movie. That is, until I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and JJ’s tall frame entered the space, dressed in sweatpants and shirtless.
“I thought you were gonna go to sleep?”
“The bed felt weird without you in it.” He spoke through a yawn as I willed a smile not to break through. He drug his frame over to where I was on the couch and slouched down next to me, taking some of the small blanket to drape over himself as he allowed his head to fall on my shoulder. “What’s this?” He asked, referring to what was playing on the screen.
“Corpse Bride.”
“It looks like the last movie you made me watch. The one from a couple of weeks ago with the talking cat.”
“Coraline?”
“Yeah, that one. It was weird.”
“...Don’t ever say that again. I feel like I should push you off of me for even letting something like that fall from your lips.” He laughed sleepily but he was still looking at the screen.
We were a couple minutes into the movie at this point and Victor was telling Emily how he could never love her. “I feel bad for her,” JJ started. “Saying he would never marry her is one thing but reminding her that she’s dead is just cruel. Why does she like this dude?”
I shrugged, careful not to move his head around too much. “She sees something in him, I guess. I think she just wants to be loved.” JJ hummed in contemplation, continuing to stare at the screen. He was a bit more awake now, the movie actually capturing his attention.
We had arrived at the near-climax of the movie, revealing that Emily and Victor’s marriage wasn’t exactly proper. “What does he mean their marriage isn’t real? That Van Dart dude basically brought her back to life.” The blonde complained.
“Van Dort.”
“What?”
“His name is Victor Van Dort, J.”
“Same difference.” I scoffed and shook my head. The movie continued, not without JJ’s never ending questions and commentary. He didn’t seem to be a fan of Victoria, no matter how much I tried to explain that she didn’t really do anything wrong. He was really rooting for team Emily and Victor.
We reached the end and JJ’s eyebrows furrowed as he witnessed Emily walk into the moonlight and vanish into a swarm of butterflies. “What- Don’t tell me she died.” He said in a flat tone that held a hint of disappointment, looking up at me. Though, my eyes were starting to close.
I shook my head ‘no’. “She went back to the land of the dead. Her home. At least I think so. She couldn’t stay in the land of the living, forever.” I spoke tiredly.
“Is there a second movie? Does she ever find love?”
I shrugged my shoulders lazily, sleep getting the best of me. “I don’t think there is. But hopefully she found love. In herself or someone else.” My sentence ended with a yawn.
JJ sat up but my body felt heavy, so his shift in position allowed me to slump against him. “Do you want to go upstairs?” He asked gently, wrapping his lean yet muscular arms around my limp frame that was snuggled against his chest, head against his heart. I shook my head ‘no’ and wrapped my arms around him.
“Seems too far.” I mumbled, a small laugh bubbling in his chest. But he didn’t move away or leave me to rest alone. I vaguely remember him making movements to change the channel before sleep overtook me and the now prominent drum of his heart lulled me to sleep.
taglist (please use my inbox to be added, just ask:)); @totallynotkaibiased
splice phrases “the devil is in the details” and “the proof is in the pudding”, you get “the proof is in the details” (makes sense) and “the devil is in the pudding” (omen)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Heat. Liquid heat is what I feel washing over my entire body. Down to my toes. What kind of dream is this? I can't move but there's fire in my veins, tingles running up my spine, my toes threaten to curl.
"JJ." I hear my name but I don't see her. Where is she? I try to sit up again but I can't. I hear a sultry laugh and my dick twitches. My balls are so tight they hurt. What is going on? Am I dead? This doesn't feel like death?
"Wake up, baby." I hear her silky moans in my ear and my dick twitches, begging to be relieved of the tension. I feel her clenching me and it feels so real.
Wait.
It is real.
I blink, rapidly. I look up at her, tits bouncing as she does. Shes fucking me. I barely bring myself to her eyes and then she's cumming, her head thrown back, long hair tickling my thighs as she rides out her high. I know I’m stroking her sweet spot just right. God, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen. Her using me like this. Like I'm here for her pleasure and that's it.
"Fuck." I groan, moving to grab her hips but I realize why I can't move. She handcuffed me to the headboard. I start to chuckle when she drops down on my chest, smashing her mouth to mine. I let her tongue invade my mouth, licking and tasting me.
Owning me.
"Did you have a good dream?" She taunts, nippling my bottom lip. I feel my body tensing under hers. I can't hold back anymore.
"I'm going to cum." I grunt, digging my heels into the bed as she starts to bounce harder.
"Do it. Fill me up. Fill me so full that I fucking taste it." Her hand reaches behind her and fondles my balls and I cum with a choked groan, trembling beneath her as I paint her insides. I swear I black out for a second because suddenly my hands are free and she's plastered her tits to my chest, kissing my neck softly.
"Fuck, that was so--." I turn my head, capturing her lips. I needed more.
A/N: This chapter is deeply personal to me as it's a trauma I actually experienced and live with daily. I didn't add a ton of detail and I changed names. It was tough to write but also therapeutic. I'm also open to talking about my experience and I love helping others who have been through similar things so don't hesitate to ask questions. Aldo, this series will not be as dark as DIAFU but there has to be some drama lolol
Warnings: Language, fluff, mentions of fatal stabbing, knives, trauma, Rafe being a dick bag
Word Count: 3.9k+
Y/N's POV:
You stirred slightly as the sunlight hit your face. You cursed yourself for not closing your blinds last night. You felt JJ's strong arms wrap around you tightly.
"Morning, Barbie doll." He whispers into your hair.
"I don't want morning." You respond.
"Me either." He chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead.
"Y/N!" Marley yells, busting into your room.
"Ugh, Marley! What did I say about knocking?!"
Marley's expression softens when she sees JJ. "Hey, J!" She gushes.
"Hey, Mars. What's up?" JJ responds, propping himself up on his elbow as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"Uhm, mom wants you guys to come down for breakfast."
"We'll be down in a minute, Mars. Fucking knock next time!" You scold as you throw your pillow at her her.
Marley leaves without another word. She was only a year and a half younger than you. She'd been crushing on JJ since the first night you brought him home. She acted much more civil when he was around.
"Ugh," You groan into your pillow.
"Let's not keep them waiting," JJ says, placing a kiss on the back of your head before hopping out of bed and going to your closet to find a shirt.
You pull yourself out of bed. You rub your eyes, grateful JJ had taken off your make up the night before.
"Lemme brush," JJ said, running to your bathroom and grabbing your hair brush. He took your hair out of it's ponytail and slowly ran the brush through your long locks, being careful not to pull your hair. He handed you your favorite leopard print headband so you could push your hair back before the two of you made your way downstairs.
"JJ, my man!" Your dad cooed, passing the joint he was smoking to JJ.
"Mr. Y/L/N, how've you been?" JJ says, giving your dad a bro hug as he took a drag of the joint.
"Not bad, kid. How are you?"
"Never better!" JJ says, sitting beside you at the kitchen table.
Marley sat next to JJ as she drooled over him. He was the only thing that grabbed her attention away from her phone.
"Stop being a creep, Mars!" You hissed at your sister.
Your mom set a plate of bacon in front of you to add to the pancakes, eggs, fruit bowl, and waffles she had prepared.
"Jeez, how stoned are you guys at 9am?" You chuckle, taking the joint from JJ.
"Just enough to make breakfast for our family!" Your mom says gleefully as she sits next to your father.
"It looks fire, mom." You praise, passing the joint off to Marley.
You all fill your plates with food and dig in. "So what do you two have planned for the day?" Your father asks, motioning to you and JJ.
"John B wants to go fishing I think," JJ responds. "Then party at the Boneyard tonight? I think?"
You nod in agreement.
"I want to go!" Marley says.
"No, Mars!" You spit.
"Y/N, let your sister go with you." Your mom demands.
"Ugh," You groan.
"Of course you can come, Mars." JJ smiles at her.
You roll your eyes but go back to you food.
After breakfast, you head up to your room to get ready. "Will you do my make up, Y/N?" Marley asks as she follows you and JJ.
You sigh. You couldn't say no to your sister. Annoying as she was, you loved her. "Yeah, come on." You say, wrapping your arm around her neck and pulling her towards your bathroom.
JJ made himself comfortable in your bathtub and lit up a joint as you helped Marley with her make up. She smiled as you helped her match her make up to yours.
"There," You said as you finished gluing on a pair of false lashes to her eyeliner.
"Twinning!" JJ squeals, handing the joint to Marley.
You laughed, realizing Marley was practically a spitting image of you. You went to your closet to find some clothes. You pulled on a pair of black jean shorts and a red crop top to match Marley's purple one.
"Alright, let's go!" You said as you grabbed your purse. Marley and JJ followed you as you headed downstairs.
"Headed out?" Your dad asks from the couch.
"Yup! Be back later!" You said as you push JJ and Marley out the door.
"Make good choices!" You hear your dad say.
"Always!" You respond. You head to your car. JJ opens the passenger door for Marley. You sigh slightly, wishing JJ was sitting next to you. But sweet JJ Maybank was too much of a gentlemen to let your sister sit in the back seat.
You pulled into the Chateau to find everyone sitting outside. John B and Pope playing hackey sack while Kie and Sarah sat in the hammock.
You all pile out of the G-Wagon. "We fishin' or what?" JJ says as he approaches the boys. Everyone eyes you approaching with your sister. "Mars is joining us today."
They've all met Marley before. They've been to your house plenty of times. But it wasn't often that she joined you guys for your everyday adventures.
"Hey Marley!" Sarah says, getting up and hugging your little sister.
"Hey!" Marley says. You could tell she was shy but excited.
"Let's get this show on the road!" John B says, heading towards the Pogue.
Sarah takes your sisters hand and skips down the dock with her. JJ throws his arm around your neck, as he always does, leading you down to the boat.
You glance back at Kiara for just a moment, locking eyes. She was less than happy that you were here and even more bothered that your little sister was here as well. But she wasn't about to ruin everyone's good time.
You and Mars sat at the front of the boat, passing back and forth a blunt as you watched the boys fish.
"You really let your little sister smoke?" Kie judges you.
"Kie, it's a nice day out. You really wanna kill the vibe?" You ask, not bothering to look at her as you kept your head leaned back into the sun.
"I'm 17," Marley hisses. "I can take care of myself."
You chuckle at your sisters response.
"Should we head to the Boneyard?" Sarah asks, breaking the tension as usual. The sun was beginning to set and you knew the party would be popping off soon.
"Let's do it!" You say.
John B pulls the Pogue up to the Boneyard and docks it. You happily skip out, pulling Marley with you.
"Wait up!" You hear JJ say. He practically slams into you as you stop. "Hey," He smiles down at you.
"Hey," You respond, getting lost in his ocean eyes.
JJ just stares at you, speechless, a wide grin on his face.
Marley rolls her eyes and grabs both of your hands. "Come on, love birds, let's get a drink." She says as she pulls you towards the keg.
Once you all get your drinks, you stand around in a circle joking and laughing about the days events. JJ wraps his arms loosely around your waist and leans his head into your shoulder. You wrap an arm around his neck and run your fingers through his blonde locks. Sarah and John B clung to each other as usual. You notice Kie and Pope standing awkwardly close. Kiara eyed you and JJ while Pope stared at her, trying to suck her into a conversation.
"You smell so fucking good," JJ mumbles into your neck as he ran his fingers through the ends of your hair.
You could feel the liquid courage course through your veins and you gently bit his shoulder, sucking lightly as you tasted the salt on his skin. "Let's go for a walk," You suggest.
JJ chuckles and tightens his grip on your waist, quickly leading you towards the beach.
You both stand in the shallow waves, kicking water at each other. "Y/N," JJ says.
"Yeah?" You ask, calming down a bit at his serious tone.
"Uhm..." He begins. "We, uhmmm...we-"
"Kissed?" You smile, finishing his sentence.
He nods his head, looking down to hide his smile. "Yeah. Kissed."
You take a few steps closer to him. Pressing your breasts against his chest, you looked up at him. "We did indeed." You smile.
He bites his lip as he looks down at you, placing his hands firmly on your hips.
"Kiss me again, JJ." You whisper.
He wastes no time smashing his lips against yours. He brings one hand up to cup your cheek, pressing his other hand against the small of your back to pull you as close as possible.
You moan into the kiss as you tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue slides across your bottom lip, asking for entrance and you gladly accept. The way his hands explore your body have you melting. He was so hungry for you and you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right there on the beach.
"Y/N! JJ!" John B's voice, once again, ruining the moment.
You both groan as you take a step back from each other.
"Sorry to ruin the moment but we have a problem." John B says as he approaches you. He turns and points to Marley, sitting uncomfortably close to Topper Thornton.
"What the fuck," You say as you storm off in her direction. JJ following close behind you.
"Mars, what are you doing?" You ask.
"Uh, having a beer?" She says, waving around her red solo cup.
"Why are you chillin' with them?" You scoff as you eye the Kooks sitting around her.
"Ah, Y/N! Join the party!" A drunk Rafe says, patting his thigh, inviting you to sit on him.
You scoff and roll your eyes. "Come on, Mars, we're going home." You say as you grab her wrist.
"No!" She says, pulling back from you. "I'm having a good time!"
"She's having a good time, Barbie! Why not join us?"
Rafe calling you Barbie made your stomach turn. When JJ said it, you melted, but Rafe's rapey eyes and seething smile just boiled the anger in the pit of your stomach.
"Fuck you, Cameron!" You spit. "Marley, we're leaving."
Rafe stood up and approached you. You looked up at him as he towered over you. You swallowed you fear as you kept your eyes locked on his.
Marley tried to stand up but Topper grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his lap.
"Let go of her, Topper!" You could hear Sarah yell.
You pushed Rafe back but he grabbed your wrists as soon as your hands met his chest. "You know you're too pretty to be hanging out with these fucking Pogues." He whispers.
"Let go of me, Rafe!" You scream.
Rafe threw you to the ground and before you knew it all hell breaks loose. JJ, John B, and Pope were all swinging on Rafe and Topper.
"Marley!" You yell as you watch her fall to the ground after being pushed aside by Topper.
Sarah was quick to grab her and drag her away from the chaos. "Come on!" You hear a familiar voice as she grabs your hand. Kiara pulls you away from the fight, leading you to where Sarah and Marley were.
You wrap your arms around Marley and hug her head to your chest. She was crying now. All you could do was watch the boys fight as you comforted your sister.
"JJ!" You screamed. Rafe had him on the ground and you felt the anxiety boil up inside you.
The last time you saw this scene, the love of your life ended up dead.
You passed Marley off to Kiara and Sarah before running full force at Rafe and tackling him to the ground, luckily catching him off guard. There's no way you could take him down otherwise.
You whipped out your butterfly knife and held it to his throat. Rafe's eyes went wide as you pressed the knife to his skin, his hands coming up in surrender.
"Y/N!" You heard JJ yell.
Your breathing was heavy as you stared Rafe in the eyes.
"Y/N, don't!" Marley screamed.
"Y/N, give me the knife." JJ's voice calmed you down as he rested a hand on your shoulder.
You kept your eyes locked on Rafe's as you tried to steady your breathing. You slowly handed the knife to JJ and allowed him to help you stand up.
"Hey, you're good!" JJ says, taking you face between his hands. "You're good."
You close your eyes and nod.
"Fucking bitch," Rafe mutters underneath you. You turn and kick him hard in the stomach.
"Alright, let's dip!" JJ says, leading you off towards the boat before you could do any more damage.
The party had died down immensely after the fight that had just broken out.
You all climbed into the boat and Marley wrapped her arms around you. "Are you okay?" She whispered.
JJ sat in front of you, concern written all over his face. He'd never seen the way you acted tonight.
You clung to Marley's arm as you tried to suppress the memory of Bandit's murder. The murder you'd forever blame yourself for.
"JJ's fine, he's right here." Marley reassured you, knowing all to well the thoughts running rapid in your head.
Everyone else in the van was confused. No one knew who Bandit was or why your bubbly personality was suddenly silent. Or why you had just nearly cut Rafe Cameron over a fight that happened at least twice a month.
Marley pushed you forward so you collapsed in JJ's lap. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him.
JJ's POV:
"What's going on?" I mouth to Marley as I hold on to Y/N, running my fingers through her fluffy extensions.
"Later," Mars mouths.
John B pulls up to the Chateau. I pick Y/N up and carry her inside. Marley follows as I bring her to the pullout couch I've been sleeping on. Y/N was asleep, thank God. I rested her head on a pillow and pulled a blanket over her, pressing a kiss to her temple before I walked away to talk to Marley.
"What the hell just happened?" I asked. The other Pogues were gathering around now, all curious to what made their sweet Calabasas angel turn demonic.
Marley backed away, intimidated by everyone approaching her. "Yo, back up!" I said, leading Marley slightly away from the others.
"She-Her last boyfriend..." Marley started. "They were at a party and...this guy went crazy. Being an asshole to all the women there. He pushed Y/N down...Bandit tried to stop it. The guy stabbed him to death. Y/N saw it all happen."
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was something Y/N never mentioned, and I can't blame her for that.
"Shit," Kiara said.
"Oh, now you care, Kie?!" I snapped. I didn't mean to but I couldn't help it.
"JJ, I didn't know-"
"None of us did! She's carrying around this fucking trauma but still manages to be the kindest fucking person we've ever met!"
Kiara stays silent.
I scoff and walk off. I lay down next to Y/N, pulling her body close to mine, tucking her head into my chest. Marley walks over and lays down on the other side of her sister.
"How can I help her?" I ask.
"You already do." Marley responds. "I've never seen her so happy."
"She never told me about Bandit." I said, running my fingers over her skin.
"She never tells anyone about him. When we moved here and she met you, she left our old life behind. She was Queen Bee at our old school and she was so depressed. She didn't have real friends. They just wanted to be her friend cuz of the money. And when she started dating Bandit, they all judged her. He wasn't popular like the rest of them."
"What was he like?" I asked. I couldn't help but feel insecure, knowing Y/N was inlove with someone before. Someone probably way better than me.
Marley chuckled. "He was like...this emo kid. All these piercing, played guitar, the darkness to Y/N's light. He really loved her though. He died saving her."
I bit back my tears. "I owe him a thank you."
Marley leans up and looks at me. "JJ, she'll always love Bandit, but that doesn't take away the love she has for you."
I look over at her with a puzzled look. "Come on, J," Marley chuckles. "She's been in love with you since she met you. She's just been...scared. That's what happens when you lose the person you never expected to."
I let her words resinate for a moment. Of course Y/N would always love Bandit. I'd never take that from her. But I will do everything in my power to make her know love still exists in this world. And that I'm never going anywhere.
Y/N's POV:
"Bandit?" You cock your head to the side as he approaches you.
"Hey, babe."
You run to him, wrapping him up in a hug. "B, I thought I'd never see you again!" You cry into his shoulder.
"I can't stay for long, pretty girl." He whispers into your hair. "I just wanted to tell you something."
"B..."
"Listen, baby." He says, pulling you back. "I'm dead. I miss you so much. And I know you miss me. But you are so vibrant and beautiful. Watching you thrive in life makes me so happy. I need you to keep living. Stop holding back. As much as I hate not being yours, I like this JJ kid. He really cares about you."
"Bandit, I'm so sorry..." You cry.
"Baby girl, it's not your fault."
"But I-I hit him..."
"He deserved it. He was about to stab you. I'll never regret preventing that."
"Ban-"
"Shhhh, Y/N. I died so you could live. Now go live. I love you."
He presses a kiss to your lips and you pull him closer, savoring every last moment before he disappears into your memory once again.
Your eyes flutter open. Your face was pressed against JJ's chest and you sighed happily, squeezing your arm around him tighter. Bandit visited you last night and gave you his permission to move forward. You felt at peace waking up in JJ's arms.
"JJ?" You mutter against his skin.
"Yes, Princess?" He asks softly. You melt at his words.
"I'm sorry." You whisper, nuzzling closer to him.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Cuz I was mean last night."
"You weren't mean,"
"I hurt Rafe."
"Rafe's a dick. He deserved it."
"But I don't want to hurt people. Last time I hurt people..."
"Shhh," JJ said. "You didn't hurt anyone, baby."
You bit back tears. "Where's Marley?"
"She's outside with everyone. I think she ordered McDonald's."
You chuckle. "Sounds like Mars." JJ helps you off the pull out couch and leads you outside. Everyone's eyes turn to you and you sigh, knowing Marley told them everything."
"Y/N! I got your favorite!" Marley says, holding up a McDonalds bag.
You laugh and stumble over to her. "Thanks, Mars." You say as you lean against her.
"You okay?" Kiara asks.
You look up at her as you nibble on your fries. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks." You say bitterly. You didn't mean for it to sound that way but you also weren't in the mood for small talk. "Mars, can I speak to you in private please?" You ask, standing up and pulling her towards the dock.
"What the hell were you doing with Topper last night?" You ask once you'd made it far enough away from the others.
"I don't know! You were off with JJ, Sarah and John B were all over each other. Kie and Pope are fucking weird. Topper came up to me and offered me a beer so I sat with them."
"They are assholes, Mars."
"Yeah, I gathered that." She says with an attitude. "A-are you okay?" She asks. "You almost lost it last night..."
"Did you tell them? About Bandit?"
Marley looks down, avoiding your gaze. "They were really worried, Y/N."
"Doesn't give you the right to bring up his name."
"Y/N, you can't just avoid it forever. It's been three years. If you don't face it you'll never be able to-"
"Shut up, Mars!" You were sick of hearing it. You liked keeping Bandit to yourself. He was yours. Forever. Other people didn't need to know your business. You wanted to leave the trauma of Calabasas behind you and start fresh here. But now your old life was surfacing.
"You can't just move away and act like it never happened!" She yelled back at you. "It happened, Y/N! He's dead! You have to let people help you! You have to move on!"
You ran your fingers through your hair. "I don't need help!" You screamed, loud enough for the others to hear. You clung to the sleeves of JJ's oversized flannel. The one he wrapped you up in during the night. His scent being the only thing keeping you from from absolutely losing it. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. "I-I am...moving on. I just, I wasn't really ready for that information to be out in the open."
Marley nods. "I get that. I'm sorry. I just didn't know how to explain why you went nuts on Rafe."
"It's fine, Mars."
"You guys okay?" JJ asks as he walks towards you and Marley.
"I'll be in the car...mom and dad want us home soon." Marley says, smiling at JJ and heading back towards the G-Wagon.
"Hey, yeah...I'm okay." You smile sadly, leaning into JJ's arms. "I just, uhm...there's some stuff I'm just not ready to talk about yet."
"I understand," JJ says, running his fingers down the length of your spine. "I'm always here for you, you know that, right?"
You pull back and look up at him. "Yeah, I do. Thank you." You smile. "I'm gonna go home and rest a bit. I think I'm a little hungover." JJ looks slightly sad but he nods, knowing you needed some time. "I'll text you later, yeah?" You say, fiddling with your hair as you back away.
"Yeah, yeah sounds good, sweetheart." JJ smiles at you.
You take one last look at him before turning around and heading towards the car. "Bye guys!" You say to everyone as you pass.
You climb into the car, offering a small smile to Marley before you flip on one of your CD's. Yo blasted Bandit's favorite song as you headed home. Smiling instead of crying for the first time in years.
