LIZMAXIMOFF @lizmaximoff - Tumblr Blog

hurts so good

feat. steve harrington x f!reader

SUMMARY: you convince yourself that silence is safer than confession in a FWB arrangement that feels increasingly like something more. when an offhand remark from robin reveals that steve has been seeing someone else, the fragile balance between friendship and desire fractures. what follows is the truth you've both been avoiding. takes place post-Season 5.

WORD COUNT: 4.4k

CW: smut, FWB, confessions, rough sex, hickies, bruises, spanking, biting, oral (f receiving), piv, crying, slight breeding kink

A/N: based on this prompt from @duttondaddy; shoutout to @babyspiceeeeeeee for sending my way.

MASTERLIST | FIC REQUESTS ARE OPEN (X)

Must be a devil between us / Or whores in my head / Whores at the door / Whore in my bed / But hey / Where have you been? / If you go, I will surely die

Your hand sticks outside of the driver's side window, feeling the cool wind pass through your fingertips. A pair of cherry red sunglasses are perched on your nose, your other hand gripping the steering wheel of your friend's blue and white Chevy Silverado.

Steve sits in the passenger seat, a baseball cap covering his eyes as he tries to get some sleep after already driving the two of you four and a half hours towards Robin's uncle's home in Philadelphia.

Halfway point, my ass.

His small snores tickle the air as the Pixies lowly hum from his speakers. You smile at the sound, the huffs from his nose becoming something that you've come to adore about him the past few months.

The road before you is desolate at 2:45pm on a Thursday, and you take the opportunity to glance over at him dreamily. His right hand cups the bicep of his left arm - you find yourself jealous.

The two of you had been friends for what felt like a million years. It felt like only yesterday when the two of you had batted (or, in your case, axed) away demodogs while babysitting a group of kids you'd never met before that night.

And now, here you are, five years later - the world seemingly at peace. But you both had shared trauma, or, at least, that’s what Jonathan said to you both. You were tied to Steve and he was tied to you. Inseparable. Best friends.

And you weren't sure if the others would be shocked to know how you felt about him. Or if Steve would be, for that matter.

Or maybe he wouldn't be, considering you've been fooling around most nights ever since he started that damn sex ed gig a few months back.

"I just don't know how to talk about this stuff with them," your friend groaned, rubbing his face with his hands - a textbook laying open between you both. "I just know I'm gonna end up saying something extremely graphic on accident and get fired - or worse, imprisoned."

"Per usual, your overdramatics are keeping you from being normal," you chide, picking up the textbook and looking over the paragraph on contraception. "Come on, Harrington. You know all about safe sex."

"Yeah," he grunts, peeking his eyes out between his fingers. "But I'm gonna end up calling it a dick or something inappropriate."

You roll your eyes, passing him the book, which he reluctantly takes with a scowl, "I enjoy coaching the team, I just...I didn't really think too far ahead about this part when I took the job."

"You're gonna be fine," you smile, putting your hand on his jean-clad thigh and rubbing over him reassuringly. "You're great with kids on and off the field. Just pretend you're teaching Dustin all of this for the first time."

"Dustin now?" he asks startled, his brow creased.

"God, no," you shake your head, remembering the borderline graphic conversation the three of you had about Dustin's latest dating adventures in college. "Dustin from when you first met him."

Steve smiled fondly at that memory, "You know - I gave him advice on dating back then. Shit advice, actually."

He shakes his head and you laugh, watching him as he closes the book, "I've never been good at this stuff. Couldn't even get Dustin a girl to dance with him that night."

Steve looks at you bitterly, his lips in a tight line, "And look at me now - at a dead end when it comes to dating. Haven't even had sex since high school."

Your eyebrows peak at this information, and you have to force yourself to react in a way that was unnatural to you, "Well...that's not that bad, Steve. We have been busy, y'know."

You chuckle, grabbing his hand in reassurance. He looks at your entwined hands and then up to you, glancing over your face before he trepidly asks, "Have you?"

You feel the color drain from your face. You and Steve had rarely talked about sex in all of the time that you knew him. Dates? Sure. Kissing? Most definitely.

But sex? No, that was a boundary you hadn’t crossed with him. Until today, it seems.

"Uh, no," you shake your head, pulling your hand back into your lap. "No, I haven't."

He leans closer, his eyes on your mouth, "What about the last time you kissed someone?"

Your lips part momentarily, suddenly nervous, "That's...that's a bit embarrassing to admit, actually."

He looks up into your eyes with a hum, his gaze understanding and non-judgemental, "You deserve to be kissed, I think."

"Oh? That so?" you chuckle, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

"Yeah," he agrees, his face a bit closer. "Maybe we can...help each other out?"

You laugh, shaking your head in embarrassment, "Oh, ha-ha, Harrington."

"I'm serious," he smiles, his voice airy before he clears his throat. "I mean, you're an attractive girl. I'm a handsome man."

"You meant to say 'cocky,'" you correct, leaning forward in defiance.

He tuts, a slow shake of his head as he lifts a hand to touch your hair, "You're saying you've never thought about it? Me and you?"

You felt your stomach twist. Hard.

Of course you had. Ever since the night you met him, you forced yourself to push down any attraction you had to him. He was your friend, and you refused to ever even attempt to make a move. His friendship was what mattered the most to you.

He looks at your mouth again before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to your lips, "I'm not hearing you deny it, princess."

You swallow loudly, turning your head just-so, your lips hovering over his, "Have you?"

He smiles, the hand that once twirled your hair now cupping your jaw, "Oh, yeah."

Your nose brushed against his, "I don't...I don't want this to ruin our friendship."

His eyes darted to yours, licking his lips, "It won't. I promise."

With that reassurance, you press your lips to his mouth. A soft taste of his lower lip is all it takes for you to lose control, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him on top of you.

You'd both fucked each other three times that night.

And since then, you’d probably fucked each other in numerous permutations at least one hundred times. But only as friends.

Friends who fucked each other.

It was good for what it was, you reckoned. Sex with Steve was the best you’d ever had, and you ventured to believe he would be the best you would ever have. He ate you out with the most precise tongue that ever existed, he always insisted you came at least twice before he got his, and his dick alone was the largest you’ve ever seen with your own two eyes.

He was insatiable, just like you were. And you both kept up with each other on lonely nights.

It was after the orgasms and heated moments when you lied in bed together - the time you spent inhaling the scent of his shampoo, the feel of his chest hair under your palm, the way he snored.

You loved his little snores.

You loved your best friend.

Despite your best efforts, including going out with a handful of guys here and there, you weren’t sure you were ever going to fall out of love with him.

So you took what you could get without ruining this thing between you, even if it was just sex.

The boy beside you started to stir, lifting his hat off of his face and looking around him, “We almost there?”

“I’ve been driving for an hour,” you deadpan. “So, no.”

“Damn,” he groaned, crossing his arms. “I thought I was asleep longer than that.”

You fight the urge to stare at his bulging bicep, knowing you’d have no choice but to pull off to the side of the road to bite it. You shake away your thoughts, “I’m getting bored over here. Talk to me.”

He grins, reaching over and rubbing his hand up the inside of your thigh, “Just talk?”

You whimper, switching hands on the steering wheel and grabbing his hand, putting in back on the console between you, “Hands to yourself. I’d like to get us to Philly in one piece, please.”

He tsks, throwing himself back into his seat like a petulant toddler who was just told he couldn’t have a cookie before dinner, “No fun.”

You smirk, gripping the wheel with both hands, “Tell me about your weekend.”

He looks over at you with a quizzical expression, “You were with me the whole weekend, what are you talking about?”

“Not the nights,” you shrug, trying to spur conversation.

“Nothing important,” he sighs, looking down at his lap. “You were obviously the highlight of my weekend.”

Your cheeks flush at the compliment, feeling the same about him, “That’s just because I sucked your cock for, what? An hour?”

The boy bites his lower lip, “You say that as if I wasn’t eating you out at the same time.”

“Touche,” you smile.

The rest of the car ride went quickly after that. One small Prince karaoke session, a pit stop for gas and a deep conversation about Steve’s parents later, and you were pulling into the driveway of Robin’s uncle’s townhouse.

Robin’s uncle was out of town during this month’s gathering, but Robin, Jonathan and Nancy were already there by the time you arrived. Settling in and a friendly dinner at the Olive Garden a few blocks away came and went easily.

And now, you were getting sloppy with your friends in the basement as some random Madonna song played on the record player.

The five of you quickly took your third (or was it fifth) shot of vodka. You lost track after the two wine coolers you had an hour prior, but based on the warmth in your legs, you figured you were on your way to getting sloshed.

Your friends started to laugh and cheer as the glasses slammed on the table. Steve wrapped his arm around your waist, slurring his words about a particular Madonna lyric he wasn’t sure about.

“It’s a euphemism for sex,” Nancy spoke.

“No, it’s about religion,” Jonathan argued.

“She’s literally down on her knees,” she pushed back.

“Yeah, saying a prayer.”

“No,” she shook her head. “She’s about to give this guy a blow job and she’s saying she can make him come.”

Jonathan’s eyes go as big as saucers as Nancy takes another sip of her once forgotten cocktail. She snickers into her cup, “They don’t teach you that at that big fancy film school of yours?”

“No,” he defends. “We don’t talk about pop trash at NYU.”

Robin groans, “Okay, Coppola, calm down.”

You lean into Steve, laughing into his neck. He looks down at you like you were precious glass, afraid you would break. He smiles into your hair, his grip pulling you closer to him.

“Speaking of blow jobs,” Robin sings, looking over at Steve. “How did Saturday go, big guy?”

You look up at Jonathan, waiting for him to respond, but furrow your brows in confusion when all eyes are trained on the boy holding you in his arms. You look up slowly as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers, looking down at the floor.

“What happened on Saturday?” you ask, sobering up very quickly.

Steve goes to open his mouth, his cheeks red before Robin cuts him off, “You haven’t told her about Ashley, yet?”

Your eyes go wide and you scoff, “No, uh, he didn’t.”

You sit up straight, crossing your legs and looking at him with your full attention, his arm falling by his side as he looks at you with equally sober eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he waves it away.

“Nothing?” Robin asks with a chuckle. “Wasn’t that, like, your third date with her?”

“Robin,” he says, his voice completely sober and stern now. “Drop it, okay? It didn’t work out.”

You swallow the lump down in your throat, taking a sip of Nancy’s drink and shrugging your shoulders, “Sorry it didn’t work out. That’s a shame.”

Steve looks at you, his eyes crestfallen as he searches your face. You don’t allow him to speak again, turning your attention to a different topic and recommending a movie.

The Naked Gun - something funny that would take your mind off of the earth-shattering news you just received.

You spend the next two hours sobering up, opting to sit next to Nancy rather than your usual spot attached to Steve’s hip. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked the entire movies, his eyes glancing towards you every fifteen minutes, his stomach a bit that threatened to swallow him whole.

You try to laugh at the jokes, nudging Nancy whenever there’s an innuendo. To everyone else, you were having a good time.

But Steve knew you. He knew you were not having a good time.

And because of that, he wasn’t having a good time.

A few hours pass and everyone has retired to their parts of the house - Robin in the guest room, Nancy on the couch in the living room, Jonathan in a sleeping bag next to her and you and Steve sharing the pullout couch in the basement.

You’d both been staring at the ceiling in silence for what felt like years. And you knew he was wide-awake.

He wasn’t snoring.

“You up?” he whispers, knowing damn well that you are.

“Yes,” you reply sharply.

“Look -”

“Why did you lie to me?” you croak, gripping the comforter in your hands like a vice grip, willing yourself not to cry.

Despite your feelings for him, you still considered him to be your best friend. And the fact that he lied to you was the most heartbreaking thing of this entire situation.

“I didn’t lie,” he sighs, trying to find the words. “Nothing important happened. You were the best part of my weekend.”

You shake your head, clutching your forehead and bracing for a migraine that you felt coming on quickly, “You made it seem like you didn’t do anything, Steve. And…three dates? What the fuck? Why didn’t you ever bring her up?”

He groans, turning his body so he was facing you, “Because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Right,” you scoff, turning your neck to face him. “Didn’t want to lose your fuckbuddy, right?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “That’s not what that’s about.”

“Yeah,” you shake your head, looking back up at the ceiling. “Okay.”

“Please listen to me,” he begs, cupping your cheek so your gaze is back on him. “I didn’t tell you about Ashley because I felt guilty.”

“Why?” you ask sharply. “We aren’t dating - I’ve gone on dates, too, Steve. But we’re friends first, always.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies frustrated, releasing his grasp on your cheek. “That’s the problem.”

A hush falls between you as he rakes his hair with his fingers, “I don’t feel like I’m friends with you.”

You feel your heart break at that, “What?”

“I mean, I do, I just -” he groans, sitting up and facing you. “It always feels like more with you.”

You sit up, continuing to grip the sheets as you stare at him.

“When you went on those dates with Justin and then Brad, I just…I didn’t think that you felt…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck as he refuses to look at you.

“God, Steve just spit it out -”

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” he snapped, looking you in the eyes. “I have just been waiting around like an asshole, hoping - praying, but I didn’t want to ruin what we had, so I figured I would try to move on. Date around.

“Ashley is a nice girl,” he sighs. “She’s not you.”

You feel your stomach drop at his confession and you find your mouth dry as you try to come up with the words. He looks at you expectantly and you release your grip on the covers, reaching for his hand.

“Justin and Brad,” you whisper. “They’re nice boys. They’re not you.”

His lips part briefly before he squeezes your hand, “Are we…are we doing this?”

You smile, nodding your head slowly, “If you want to.”

“God,” he breathes. “I want to. I really want to.”

He crawls over you, pressing his mouth over yours fluidly, taking your breath as he cups your cheeks in his hands. You sigh into his mouth, reclining back as he slots himself between your legs, his lips bruising yours in the process.

“I hated the idea of you with them,” he murmurs against your lips, his right hand travelling down to trail under your shirt and over your stomach to your hips. “Their hands on you, their lips on you…”

You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist as he begins to press himself into your core, “Touching what’s mine.”

He breaks a part from the kiss, going straight for your neck and biting down hard. You yelp, causing him to kiss you again in an attempt to quiet you, “You can’t be so loud - they’re gonna hear you up there.”

You nod your head, biting your lip as he refocuses his attention on the delicate skin between your shoulder and your neck. He laps at the bite mark, sucking and forming a bruise, “Won’t matter, though - they’re gonna know you’re mine as soon as they see you tomorrow.”

You breathe heavily through your nose, your hands caressing his upper back as you relish in the feeling of his mouth on you. He continues to lavish you with his tongue as he hikes up your shirt, encouraging you to lift it over your head and toss it towards the foot of the bed.

He groans at the sight, his hands grasping the supple globes of your breasts. He shakes his head in awe, “Never get tired of holding your tits like this. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You grin as his mouth kisses over your plump flesh, hands fondling your breasts as he begins to bite and nibble over you.

By the time he has had his fill, your tits are marked all over, nipples red and sensitive after he’s sucked and bit over them, too.

His kisses drag over your stomach, pulling your pajama pants down your legs.

“Shit, Steve,” your curse, kicking off your pajama pants and lying bare before him.

“No underwear?” he teases, spreading your legs apart and kissing along your inner thighs. “Dirty girl.”

You laugh quietly, threading your fingers through his soft hair and giving him a yank, “Stop teasing.”

He looks up at you, his eyes staring at you intensely before smacking your pussy lips hard with his hand, “We go as slow as I say, understood?”

You whimper, tossing your head back, “But it hurts, Stevie.”

“Looks like it,” he growls, biting your inner thigh. “Wettest I think I’ve ever seen this pussy, and that’s saying a lot.”

You blush under his words, unable to take your eyes away from him as he pets one thigh with a reassuring hand and sucks a large bruise on the inside of the other one. He takes his time, just like he promised, savoring the plump flesh between his lips, his teeth.

You think the bruises will stay for weeks.

You hope they stay for years.

You feel yourself dripping from your center, the cool air from the basement hitting you in a way that turns you on even more. Like you have never been this exposed in front of him. Looking down at him, you shiver when you see that his eyes are trained on your pussy. His pupils are blown, he can’t look away as he continues to kiss over your inner thighs.

“Please, Steve,” you whimper, combing his hair back. “Please, touch me.”

His arms go under your thighs, wrapping around them and pulling you closer so that his mouth hovers over your cunt. Teasingly and with a glint in his eye, he blows air onto your wetness, causing a moan to bubble up in your chest.

“Fucking drenched,” he says in awe, leaning forward to press a kiss right above your clit. “You like when I mark you up, huh?”

You mewl, nodding your head as he presses kisses all over you, except the place you really want him.

“Gonna have to wash these sheets before someone sees the mess you’ve made,” he growls, finally dragging the tip of his tongue from your wet opening to your throbbing clit.

You yell out, immediately covering your mouth with your hand as he licks slow and deliberate circles over your nub.

It honestly felt like a magic trick, the way he effortlessly elicits such profane and dirty noises from you without you even realizing.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks rhythmically with a low hum, the vibrations making your womb shiver. You groan, back arching and pushing your cunt as tightly against his mouth as physics would allow. His hands rub up and down your legs as he continues to suck and lick over you.

“You think you can take me just like this?” he murmurs against your soft flesh, wagging his tongue over you like a dog in heat. “No fingers - just with how fucking wet you are?”

You curse under your breath with a quick nod, wanting nothing more than to feel him. To be split open by him. To be pummeled into by him relentlessly.

You never needed anything more.

He drags his lips up your stomach, keeping your legs over his shoulders as he leans over and presses a wet kiss to your lips. You breathe heavily through your nose, licking into his mouth and shivering at the taste of you on his tongue.

He pulls your lower lip teasingly with his teeth as he guides his leaking cock into your entrance slowly at first. Your breath hitches, suddenly impatient, “Just fuck me, please.”

Steve doesn’t need further instruction.

In one swoop, he’s fully sheathed inside of you and you suddenly see stars. Both of your lips are parted, bewildered at the sudden tightness and fullness of one another. He’d never been this rough with you before, but, god, did you hope this became a pattern.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts, his hips starting their relentless assault against your own. “God, just like that - perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

You’re biting the skin of your hand now, knowing if you take your hand away from your mouth you’re going to start screaming.

His cock hurts and brings tears to your eyes, the feeling of him pounding into you without warning. The harsh drag of his dick against your soft walls, unrelenting as it pounds against the sensitive flesh of your cervix. The sound of your skin slapping together, the squelching wetness between you, the springs of the shitty mattress squeaking with every thrust of his hips.

God, you were in fucking heaven.

“Mine,” he moans, kissing over the bruises on your tits. “Fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, guiding one of his hands down your body until it’s resting over your ass cheek.

He gets the hint, smacking the curved flesh there so hard that it leaves a small welt.

“Harder,” you beg, feeling yourself approaching your release with every harsh action done against your body. “Fucking harder. Don’t stop, please.”

He growls, his hand spanking over you again and again until his hand starts to throb. Your eyes are wet with shed tears, dampening the pillow beneath.

With a shaking hand, you reach between you two to rub over your clit and you yell, coming around his cock violently, your whole body shaking and tensing.

“Fuck,” he yells, his hips pumping twice more into you before painting the inside of your walls with his cum. “God, baby, don’t stop squeezing me like that, fuck.”

You weep loudly, continuing to milk him through both of your orgasms. He finally collapses on top of you, both of your bodies slick with sweat and sex.

You breathe heavily into the otherwise quiet air of the basement before Steve begins to laugh, his lips slotting against yours lazily with a satisfied noise.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mutters against you before looking over your face, awestruck as he pushes a few stray strands of hair that were now strewn across your forehead. “You like being filled up like that, huh?”

Your nipples harden, hands rubbing over his chest and neck - wherever they could take purchase.

“And what about it?” you giggle, biting your lower lip and looking up at him with the widest set of eyes he’d ever seen on you.

He shakes his head - another kiss to the cheek before whispering in your ear, “Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna make sure you’re leaking my cum out on one of those upholstered chairs at breakfast in the morning.”

You moan, pecking his hairline and lightly dragging your fingernails up his back, “Keep talking like that and I might let you.”

Hours later, you awake in his arms, limbs wrapped up in each other and warm under the blankets. Steve’s hair is a complete nest, those adorable snores pressing against your neck over one of the dozens of hickies he left on you last night.

You shift slightly, wincing at the soreness between your thighs. You flush as you feel the sticky, sweet remnants of last night, just as he promised.

You kiss his cheek, whispering apologies as you sneak away in favor of taking a shower upstairs.

Once you’re done, you walk over to the breakfast table, where Robin is plating pancakes for each of your friends. You sit next to Steve and force yourself not to smile as he immediately goes for your hand.

The five of you discuss the plans that lie ahead for the group this holiday weekend before Jonathan leans over with a whisper.

“You both sleep well last night?”

You begin to choke on a rogue piece of pancake, Steve nodding as he pats your back gently.

“That’s good,” he grins teasingly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Could have sworn I heard you crying.”

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