The Words That Matter Always Stay

He learned how you took your coffee without asking. He noticed when you went quiet in a way that meant you were spiraling instead of just being quiet, and he'd find some excuse to touch your hand, or ask you something small and specific enough that you had to come back into your body to answer it. He introduced you to people as his girlfriend before you introduced yourself as anything at all, like he wanted to make sure nobody got the chance to make you feel like an afterthought, not even for a second.

It scared you a little, actually. How good it felt. You kept waiting for the catch.

You told yourself you weren't waiting for it. But you were.

The Tuesday it happened, the party had gathered at Mike's to map out a plan, something about a pattern in the gate activity that Dustin swore meant something, spread out on the Wheeler basement floor in a mess of graph paper and highlighted notes. You sat next to Steve like always, half in the conversation and half just watching it happen around you, the way you did when you weren't sure your voice was wanted yet.

But you'd noticed something. The pattern they kept circling only worked if you assumed the timing was consistent, and it wasn't, you'd caught it twice while they argued over Dustin's theory, a gap that threw the whole thing off by almost a day each time. It nagged at you long enough that you finally spoke up.

"I think the timing's off," you said, leaning forward to point at the two dates that didn't line up. "Look, here and here. If you shift the interval to account for that, the whole pattern still holds, it just means the next one's not for another two days, not tomorrow like you're planning for."

There was a beat where you thought maybe you'd actually landed on something. And then Mike glanced at the paper for half a second, said, "I don't think that's it," and kept talking to Dustin like you hadn't said anything at all. Dustin didn't even glance up. Lucas asked Max something unrelated. The conversation just closed back over the space where your sentence had been, seamless, like water settling after a stone sinks. They kept the plan the same, tomorrow, like Dustin had originally called it, and moved on to arguing about who'd bring the walkie-talkies.

You sat back. Nobody had been cruel about it, that was almost the worst part, there was nothing to point to, no moment you could hold up and say that, that's what hurt. It was just that your idea hadn't registered as a real idea. It had registered as noise from the girl who came with Steve.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself you didn't actually need to be right, that this wasn't about being right, that you'd only said something because you thought it might help and it was fine, genuinely fine, if it turned out you were wrong or it didn't land. But some old, tender part of you had lit up hoping, just for a second, that this might be one of the times you got to matter to the group on your own, not as an extension of somebody else. And watching that hope get waved off without even the dignity of an argument stung more than you wanted to admit.

You didn't say anything else for the rest of the night. You nodded along, passed someone a pencil when they asked, laughed at the right moments so nobody would look twice. It was a skill. You were good at it.

Steve caught your eye once, halfway through, some silent you okay? passing between you, and you gave him the smallest nod, the one that meant later, not here, don't make this a thing. He let it go, which you were grateful for in the moment and would replay bitterly in your head a few hours later, how easily later had turned into never brought up at all, how the version of you that didn't want to cause a scene had, once again, made sure nothing got said.

By the time you left Mike's, the sting had settled into something quieter and heavier, sitting low in your chest the whole walk to Steve's car. You didn't bring it up on the drive. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that the party just got tunnel-visioned when they were deep in a theory, that it wasn't personal. But some part of you, the part that had spent a lifetime cataloguing every time it got overlooked, filed it away anyway, right where it could fester quietly until something else came along and gave it an opening.

That something else came along about an hour later, in Steve's living room, over a conversation that had nothing to do with the Upside Down at all.

The fight happened on a Tuesday, which felt insultingly mundane for something that ended up cracking your chest open. Steve had come over to your place after school like he did most days, and he'd been off from the second he walked in, jaw tight, answers clipped, the kind of tired that had nothing to do with sleep. You knew Robin had told you Steve had a rough shift at work, some blow-up with his dad on the phone before that. You knew, logically, that his mood had nothing to do with you.

Knowing that and feeling it were two different things.

"You've been weird for like an hour," you said, when you couldn't stand the silence anymore. You didn't mean it as an attack. You meant it as an opening, a door held ajar in case he wanted to walk through it and tell you what was wrong.

"I'm fine," Steve said, in the voice that meant the opposite.

"You don't have to be fine. You can just tell me."

"I said I'm fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, and something about the sharpness of the movement made your stomach drop. "Can you just- not do the thing right now?"

"What thing?"

"The thing where you need me to perform being okay for you every five minutes so you can relax." He said it fast, like it had been sitting loaded in his mouth for a while and your question had just pulled the trigger. "I had a garbage day, I don't have the energy to manage your feelings about my feelings right now."

It landed exactly where it was aimed. You felt your face do something you couldn't control, that old, familiar flinch, the one that used to show up at dinner tables, the one your body remembered even when you didn't want it to.

"Okay," you said quietly, because quiet was what you knew how to do when things got sharp. "Sorry."

"Don't do that either." Steve's voice cracked up a notch, frustration chasing itself in a circle now that had nothing to do with logic anymore. "Don't just- shut down and apologize like I kicked a puppy. I'm allowed to have a bad day without you needing constant reassurance that we're fine."

"I don't need constant reassurance-"

"You kind of do, though." And there it was, the thing that would sit in your chest for days after, long after he wished he could take it back. "I love you, but sometimes it's a lot, okay? You need me to notice everything, remember everything, be on top of how you're feeling every single second, and today I don't have it in me, and I'm sorry, but it's a little clingy, and I can't- I can't be everything for you all the time."

You opened your mouth to say something, but he wasn't finished, the words tumbling out now like he'd lost whatever grip he'd had on the dam. "And it's not just this. It's- you barely even try with the guys, you know that? Tonight you said one thing at Mike's and then you just went quiet for the rest of the night, like always, and I get it, I get that it's hard for you, but it's hard for me too, watching you act like everything anyone says is aimed at you. Mike wasn't trying to be a jerk earlier, he just didn't think your theory tracked, and you disappeared for two hours over it like he'd insulted you personally. Not everything is a personal attack. Sometimes people just disagree, or they're busy, or they forget to ask how your day was, and it doesn't mean anything, but you act like it's proof of something every single time."

"That's not-" Your voice came out smaller than you wanted, throat already tightening. "I wasn't making it a big deal. I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to say anything, I could feel it coming off you the whole car ride." Steve dragged both hands down his face, some of the anger already curdling into something closer to exhaustion. "I just- I want you to actually be part of the group. Not just show up because you're with me and then shrink into the corner the second something doesn't go your way. It's exhausting watching you brace for everyone to hurt you before they've even done anything."

Something in you wanted to laugh, except it would've come out broken instead of funny. You'd spent the entire ride over telling yourself, on a loop, that it hadn't been personal, that Mike was just focused, that nobody had meant anything by it, the exact speech you gave yourself almost daily, every time a door closed a little too fast or a conversation moved on without you in it. You worked so hard to talk yourself out of taking things personally that hearing Steve accuse you of doing the opposite, of treating every slight like a wound, felt like being punished for the one thing you actually tried to manage.

The word landed and just sat there. Clingy. You'd been called worse things by people who mattered less, and it had never hurt like this, because none of them had spent the last several months being the first person to ever make you feel like you were allowed to take up space. And now the person who'd built that feeling in you was the one tearing a hole through the floor of it.

"Okay," you said again, except this time your voice wasn't quiet so much as very, very careful, the tone of someone gathering their things off a table before it gets kicked over. "Got it."

"Wait, that's not-" Steve seemed to hear it as it left his mouth this time, the way it must've sounded from the outside. "That's not what I meant."

"You said what you meant." Your hands weren't quite steady, but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction, or yourself the humiliation, of falling apart in front of him. "I think you should go."

"Come on, don't-"

"I'll see you later, Steve."

You walked to the front door yourself and held it open, because it was your house and he'd have to be the one to leave it. He hesitated for a second on the threshold, like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it and stepped out into the evening instead. You didn't slam the door behind him. You wanted to, some petty animal part of you wanted the noise, wanted him to feel the size of what he'd just done. But you'd spent a lifetime learning how to close a door quietly, and old habits, it turned out, came back fast.

You didn't cry until you heard his car pull out of the driveway, and then you cried the ugly kind, the kind that comes with the shame of having believed something too much. You'd known better. You'd known, somewhere in the back of your mind since the very first week, that this was too good to hold, that eventually the version of you that was too much would surface and remind everyone why you'd learned to disappear in the first place.

You didn't call anyone. It didn't even occur to you as an option, not really, you'd spent so long being the one who processed things alone, quietly, without asking anyone to hold space for it, that reaching out felt like a muscle you'd never built. You went up to your room instead, your own house suddenly feeling too big and too quiet around you, your mom working the late shift like always, nobody to hear you if you let the crying get loud. You sat down on the edge of your bed and just stayed there, turning the word over and over until it lost its shape: clingy, clingy, clingy, until it didn't even sound like English anymore, just a sound that meant too much, too much, too much.

You thought about all the small ways you'd let yourself believe things were different with Steve. The chair he moved six inches closer without being asked. The way he said your name like it was worth saying. You'd built something out of those small moments, something you'd let yourself trust, and it had taken exactly one bad day and four sentences to make you doubt every brick of it.

You didn't cry as hard as you thought you would. Mostly you just felt tired, the specific tired of having to talk yourself down from a feeling you'd had a hundred times before and hoped you'd never have to sit with again, the feeling of being someone people kept around out of obligation rather than choice. You told yourself, eventually, in the flat, exhausted voice you used when you were too worn out to argue with your own head anymore, that Steve had had a bad day and said something ugly, and that those two things weren't necessarily the same as the truth. You didn't fully believe it. But you let yourself hold the possibility of it anyway, curled up on top of your covers with your shoes still on, waiting for the ache in your chest to get tired before you did.

Steve showed up at your door around nine, which you knew because you heard the knock and your stupid heart leapt before your brain could catch up and remind it that it was supposed to be angry.

You almost didn't answer. You stood in the hallway for a full minute, arms crossed, doing the math on whether opening the door made you exactly the kind of needy he'd accused you of being, unable to hold a boundary for even a few hours. But that felt like punishing yourself for his mistake, so you opened it.

Steve looked wrecked. tired and sorry in the plain, unglamorous way people looked when they were guilty.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"Can I come in? Or- you can say no. I just want to say something, and then if you want me to leave, I'll leave."

You stepped aside. He came in and didn't sit down, like he didn't think he'd earned the couch yet.

"I've been driving around for like an hour trying to figure out how to say this without it sounding like an excuse," he started, "so I'm just gonna say the true part first and then get to the rest of it. What I said was really messed up. And it wasn't true. Any of it."

You didn't say anything, just watched him, arms still crossed, guarding something.

"My dad called before I came over," he said. "Said some stuff about how I'm never gonna make anything of myself, working retail, no direction, all his greatest hits. And I hate that it still gets to me, but it does, every time, and today it got under my skin worse than usual. And then you asked me what was wrong, which, you always ask, because you care, because that's just who you are, and instead of just telling you the truth, which would've taken ten seconds, I decided to make it about you instead. Because it was easier to be mad at something in front of me than to sit with the thing actually hurting."

"That doesn't really-"

"I know it doesn't fix it. I'm not saying it to fix it. I'm saying it because you deserve to know none of it was about you actually needing too much. You don't need too much. You ask if I'm okay because you love me, and instead of being grateful for that, I used it as a weapon because I was in a bad mood, and that's on me, not you." His voice cracked slightly, and he pushed forward before he could lose the thread. "You're not clingy. I don't even know why I reached for that word, I think I knew it would hurt, and I said it anyway, and I've hated myself for it every minute since."

"It hurt," you said quietly, "because it's the thing I've been scared of the whole time. That eventually I'd be too much. That the version of me that notices everything and needs to check in and gets scared when people go quiet would finally be the thing that made you tired of me. Everyone else got tired of it eventually. My whole life, I've been- extra. Tolerated. And you were the first person who made me feel like I wasn't, and then today you took that away in like four sentences."

Steve's face did something complicated, guilt and grief tangled together. "Can I tell you something, and I need you to actually hear it, not just let it bounce off?"

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

"You're not extra to me. You've never been extra to me. Every single thing you think is too much, the checking in, the noticing, the needing to know we're okay, those are the things I love. You're not hard to love. You've just never had anyone stick around long enough to prove that to you, and I am so sorry that today, of all days, I made it feel like I was going to be one more person who didn't."

You felt your composure slip, the careful wall you'd built over the last few hours finally giving out. "I don't want you to just say the right things because you feel guilty."

"I'm not saying the right things. I'm saying the true things, and they happen to also be the right things, because you're not actually the problem here, I am." He took a step closer, slow, giving you room to stop him if you needed to. "I'm gonna do better with my bad days. I'm gonna tell you what's actually wrong instead of blowing it up at you. And you don't have to apologize for needing to know we're okay. I want you to ask. I want to be the person who always tells you the truth when you do."

You let him close the distance then, let yourself fold into him the way you hadn't let yourself do with anyone in years, hiding your face against his chest while he wrapped both arms around you like he was trying to make up the difference all at once.

"I'm sorry," he said again, quieter, into your hair. "You've spent your whole life not being put first. I don't ever want to be one more person who made you feel that way. Not when I've spent the last few months trying to be the opposite of that."

"You are the opposite of that," you admitted, voice muffled against his shirt. "Most of the time."

"I'll work on all of the time."

You stayed like that for a long while, not saying anything else, just breathing each other in until your heartbeat slowed down to match his. Eventually he pulled back just far enough to tilt your chin up, searching your face like he needed to see for himself that you believed him.

"For the record," he said, thumb brushing gently under your eye where a tear had escaped without your permission, "I like that you need me. I like being needed by you. I just had a bad day and forgot how to say that in a way that didn't sound like an insult."

You managed a small, watery laugh. "You're bad at fighting."

"I'm bad at fighting," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'm better at this part, though."

"The apologizing part?"

"The making sure you know you matter part." He guided you over to the couch, tucking you against his side once you'd both sat down, one hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together like it was the easiest thing in the world. "You're not an afterthought here. Not to me, not to Robin, not to any of them. You never have been. I just did a really bad job of showing it today."

You let your head rest against his shoulder, the tightness in your chest finally starting to loosen for the first time since that Tuesday afternoon.

"I'm still a little scared," you admitted. "That it'll happen again. Not the fight, I know people fight. Just- the part where you say I'm too much and mean it."

"I know." Steve pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I can't promise I'll never have a bad day again. But I can promise I'm not gonna let you carry the blame for it when I do. You're allowed to need people, especially me. I want to be the person you get to need."

The phone rang before you'd even settled into the quiet, the landline in your hallway shrieking loud enough to make you both jump. Steve kissed your temple and went to grab it, since it was closer to him than to you, and you heard Dustin's voice come through frantic and tinny even from across the room, something about the gate reading wrong, about numbers not lining up, about how they were about to head out to the spot they'd marked for tomorrow and everything had just started going haywire an hour early.

"Wait- say that again," Steve said, and something in his tone made you sit up. "It's happening now? Tonight?"

You didn't need to hear the rest of it. You already knew, with a cold, sinking certainty, exactly what had gone wrong, they'd planned around tomorrow's date instead of tonight's, the same gap you'd tried to point out on Mike's basement floor hours earlier, the one nobody had bothered to double-check.

"It's tonight," you said, loud enough for Steve to hear over Dustin. "Tell him it's tonight, not tomorrow- I told you guys the interval was off, remember? It shifts it up a day. If they're seeing activity now, that's exactly what I said would happen."

Steve relayed it word for word, and you heard the scramble on the other end, Dustin swearing, someone shouting for Mike, the sound of the party mobilizing a full day earlier than they'd planned because the girl they'd waved off in the basement had been right the whole time.

By the time everyone regrouped, breathless, half-dressed for a fight they weren't ready for, arriving at the gate site with minutes instead of hours to spare, Mike had the decency to look almost sick about it. "You said this," he admitted, catching your eye across the yard, "and I just- I didn't even really look at it. That's on me. Good catch. Seriously."

It wasn't a grand apology. It wasn't the party suddenly treating you like you'd always belonged. But it was something, an acknowledgment, out loud, in front of everyone, that your voice had been worth listening to the first time. Steve's hand found yours in the chaos, squeezing once, and you caught the small, fierce pride on his face that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with I told you she was right.

You didn't get to dwell on it long, the night dissolved into flashlights and static and the kind of adrenaline that didn't leave room for feelings until it was over, but hours later, once the gate had been sealed back up and the party had scattered home to sleep off the scare, you ended up back on your own couch anyway, Steve staying behind with you, exactly where you'd started the evening.

"Mike's gonna be insufferable about owing you an apology for a week," Steve said, tucking the blanket around you both. 

"I didn't do it to be right," you murmured, already half asleep against his chest.

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "But it's nice, isn't it? Being right and being heard, both at the same time, for once."

You fell asleep on your couch that night, tucked into his side under a blanket that smelled like his cologne anyway, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your arm long after you'd drifted off. And for the first time in longer than you could remember, the quiet didn't feel like something to be afraid of. It just felt like being home.

"Tea," you scold him gently, though making absolutely no attempt to pull away from him. "Dinner is almost—"

But you're cut off by your own gasp as Travis presses his hips forward, letting you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal against your ass.

"Dinner can wait," he hums, his large hands moving to the swell of your hips and giving them a squeeze before he spins you around to face him.

You should scold him again, you should tell him that dinner was nearly ready and that he could until after but one look at your boyfriend's face and you couldn't find it in yourself to resist him.

Travis seems to know it too, judging by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Want somethin' a little sweeter for starters," he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup one side of your face before he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss that makes your core ache. Your lips part on instinct, all thoughts about the sauce shimmering away behind you replaced by only ones about the man who was currently kissing you as though he was starving.

You feel one of Travis' hands lift from hips, feel him reach behind you to switch off the stove but you find yourself no longer caring about dinner as the wet heat of his tongue licks into your mouth and causes a syrupy warmth to spread right down to your gut.

Travis' hands settle back on the swell of your hips, unable to stop himself from groaning against your mouth as he feels your curves beneath his palms. He couldn’t help himself because, to put it lightly, Travis Meacham was fucking obsessed with your body. He loved your curves, loved the softness of your stomach, the thickness of your thighs and the feeling of your breasts pressed against him. And so, it was no wonder that you soon felt your boyfriend’s large, rough hands smooth over your hips before he reached the fat globes of your ass, squeezing them over your skirt and coaxing a soft moan from your mouth.

“Fuck,” Travis murmurs against your mouth before he pulls away to press wet kisses over the skin of your neck, his tongue gliding across the flesh and causing heat to surge through your body, making your pussy throb in anticipation. “You feel fuckin’ incredible, baby. Like a damn fuckin’ dream with these curves. So perfect.”

Your response came in the form of another breathless moan, the sound making Travis grin against you as he began to walk you backwards, towards the table that he had set for dinner only a few minutes prior. You let him, tilting your head back and letting him explore the expanse of your throat with his mouth as the backs of your thighs hit the wooden table.

“Tea—” you begin, your lips parted and wet with spit as you look back at Travis. Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt as you try to control yourself, despite the fact that you could feel wetness already pooling between your legs.

Travis hums by way of a reply, his lips still moving over the skin of your neck and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Heat surges through your body, burning in your veins and leaving your gut feeling as though it was made of goo. 

“What about din—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not when Travis’ large hands wrap themselves around the backs of your thighs and he lifts you up onto the dinner table.

“—what about dinner?” Travis finishes for you with a smile that was anything but innocent, one of his hands beginning to lift the skirt of your dress over your hips, the material bunching up around your waist and exposing your dampened panties to Travis as his other hand runs along the skin of your inner thigh. “Got my dinner right here.”

Heat swoops low in your stomach at his words and you couldn’t find it within yourself to be even remotely annoyed at him as his fingers dance along the skin of your thighs. You watch, your chest heaving as he drops down to his knees between your legs, his large hands coaxing your thighs further apart on the table, his big brown eyes fixed on the damp patch in your panties, unable to stop the low groan from leaving his lips at the evidence of your arousal.

“This,” he murmurs, his breath hot and hitting the skin of your inner thigh, causing you to shudder beneath him, “is my favourite place in the whole fucking world.”

You let out a breathless sort of laugh, one that has Travis looking up at you with a dopey smile on his face. His fingers dig into the meaty flesh of your thighs, his cock feeling painfully hard as he gently massages the skin with his fingers because fuck, he loved your thighs. He loved how thick they were, how strong they were, loved the feeling of them wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you, loved the feeling of them squeezing his head between them as his tongue laps needily at your soaked cunt.

Travis leans in, breathing your heady scent through your panties and making your body thrum with want as his nose briefly nudges against your clothed clit.

“You smell delicious, baby,” he tells you, turning his head to press a wet, open mouthed kiss over one of your stretch marks, causing fresh heat to coil deep in your gut. You feel his fingers brush over the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, feel them move over your skin until they find the material of your panties and hooking them into the waistband.

“But Tea, the pasta—”

“—fuck the pasta,” Travis breathes against you as he begins to tug the lace down your thighs, exposing your glistening folds to him and making his mouth water at the sight of you practically dripping onto the wooden table beneath you. “I’m hungry for something else.”

You don’t get to breathe, you barely even get to catch your breath before Travis’ mouth seals itself over your aching cunt with a sound that was so desperate, so loud and so obscene that you felt it in every damn nerve in your body, pleasure blooming through you, burning like molten lava.

“Tea!” you gasp out, your hands flying to grab onto his bleach blonde wavy locks, needing something to hold onto as his tongue went straight to your swollen, puffy clit, circling your sensitive bud with the very tip of his tongue.

“Shhh, baby,” He murmurs against you, the slight vibration from his lips sending waves of pleasure through your body, “just lay back and lemme eat, yeah?”

All you could do was nod, your body falling back against the wooden table as your boyfriend’s mouth was back on you—his tongue broad and flat as it licked a stripe through your folds, parting them as he slurped up your slick messily before pressing his tongue into your needy hole.

You let out a sound that you couldn’t hold back even if you tried. A wanton moan mixed  with words of utter nonsense fall from your lips as you tug at his hair—the feeling of him fucking you with his tongue causing your back to bow off the table, hips burying his face further into your pussy. Travis moans against you, one of his hands sliding beneath your ass, lifting you slightly off the table to get a better angle, his tongue thrusting deeper into you and making stars burst behind your eyes.

“Trav,” you gasp out, the nickname—the one that only you were allowed to call him—slips from your lips and makes Travis moan against you a second time.

Fuck, he loved it when you called him that. It made his cock twitch beneath his jeans, so fucking hard the it was almost painful. Seeing your body writhe beneath him, being between those delicious thick thighs of yours and the sweet taste of your pussy on his tongue—it had him aching and leaking beneath his jeans.

But he was too focused on you right now to even care about that.

“You close, honey?” Travis asks, pulls away for a moment to look up at you, his mouth glistening with with, saliva and your slick driving down to his chin.

You open your mouth to answer but the moment that you do, you feel two of Travis’ fingers suddenly gliding between your folds. 

“I asked you a question, baby,” he hums, a teasing lilt to his voice as he begins to smear the mix of your slick and his saliva over your folds before pressing both of his thick fingers deep inside of you, your wetness allowing him to glide right in. “C’mon, be a good girl and answer me.”

You let out a whimper, one that you couldn’t control as Travis curls his fingers inside of you, pressing firmly against your front wall and making you mewl beneath him.

“Y-yes,” you gasp out, back arching off the table as you feel the coil deep in your gut tighten, feel your fingers tug at his hair again without your say so. “S-so close. Pl-please don’t stop, Trav.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” Travis murmurs before his head dips back down to press kisses over the skin of your inner thigh, lips brushing over the stretch marks as he begins to pump his thick fingers in and out of you, dragging through your gummy walls as the schlick, schlick, schlick sounds from your soaked pussy fill the room. “Now, wrap those perfect fuckin’ thighs around me and squeeze. C’mon, baby. Need to feel you.”

You don’t need telling twice, not when he was diving right back in, his fingers still fucking into you as his tongue found your clit that was begging for his attention. You lift your hips, bringing your thighs up to press against the sides of his face, creating a pressure that had him moaning against your clit.

Travis presses his fingers deeper into you, his mouth now sucking at your clit messily and in absolute ecstasy at your thighs pressing against the sides of his head, the pressure making him feel dizzy with want because Travis was happy to admit that he was more than happy to be trapped between there for all eternity.

And you? You were writhing on the table beneath him, your fingers tugging at the dark roots of his hair as you tried to hold back. You were a mess. A complete and utter mess of moans and whimpers at the dual sensation of his mouth on your clit and his fingers that were pumping in and out of you. All you could hear was Travis moaning between your legs and the wet sounds coming from him sucking at your clit while fucking you with his fingers. 

It was too much. It was too—

You came with a cry that was sure to make your neighbours complain, your thighs clamping around Travis’ head as you gush around his fingers.

Travis lets out a muffled moan of your name, his mouth still on you as he fingers continue to move gently in and out of you, riding out your orgasm while your thighs continue to tremble around him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling away only to catch his breath as you let your thighs rest over his shoulders. “You taste fuckin’ delicious baby.”

You were still trembling, still feeling pleasure coursing through your body from the intensity of your orgasm. Travis’ face swims into view above you as he smiles down at you, his face glistening with your arousal and looking so fucking gorgeous you felt your pussy clench around nothing.

“You good?” He asks you, lifting a hand to brush your hair away from your face and looking at you with such reverence that you can't help but smile up at him.

“M’great,” you murmur back quietly. “You distracted me from making dinner though.”

Travis laughs, a loud laugh that warms your insides and makes you feel lighter. He then slowly withdraws his fingers from you, his eyes flickering down to marvel at your slick that coats the digits before he lifts his hand to his mouth to lick them clean. Your pussy throbs at the sight of his tongue licking up your slick from his long fingers, at the way he was looking at you as he did so.

“Sorry,” he hums, not looking the slightest bit apologetic he withdraws his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop before he takes your hand to pull you into an upright position on the table. “Couldn’t resist. You were looking all sexy, y’know dancing around the kitchen like that. You know that I can’t resist you when you move your hips like that, baby.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile as you look back at him. 

“You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as Travis leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You can finish dinner now, baby, “ he murmurs against your skin before pulling away. “I might have to warn you though, I’m pretty full of you so I can’t promise that I’ll eat it all.”

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He’s mouthing at your cunt through your underwear that is quickly soaking through from your slick and Steve’s saliva. Your dress is bunched up to your waist by Steve’s needy hands and you writhe on the bed, your head spinning from the alcohol in your system and the feeling of Steve’s mouth just out of reach of where you really need him.

He pecks and licks at you until you let out a little whine that he knows is asking him for more.

But Steve is moving a little slow. As much as he’s hungry for you, his appendages don’t respond to his brain’s commands as quickly as normal.

Steve peels off your drenched underwear like he’s in a movie being played on half speed.

When he gets his lips to the ones between your legs, skin on skin, he picks up the pace.

It’s like the taste of you sobers him and then makes him drunk all over again. His mind clouded by your taste and smell until all he can think of is you.

His fat tonge licks right up through your slit and you thrust your hips into his face. Steve takes your encouragement and runs with it, his arm lifting your thighs over his shoulders so he can sink deeper into your wetness.

He laps up your building arousal selfishly, focusing more on tasting you than getting you to cum. But the side effects of Steve devouring you quickly makes you tip over the edge.

You grip his hair and hold him to you, feeling his tongue lazily swirl around your clit to draw it out the aftershocks.

“So good,” he mumbles.

One orgasm does not satiate Steve in the slightest.

Because now there’s more of you for him to consume. More of your sweet nectar to drink. And much like he did with his drinks earlier that night, he downs every last drop.

He’s moaning into you, his jaw wide and slack over your trembling pussy. His tongue feels like it’s everywhere. In his messy haze, Steve’s tongue dips a little lower that it might normally, circling briefly around your other tight hole. It makes you jolt, pull on his hair and shout out his name from both surprise and pleasure.

When Steve is inebriated there’s no filter between the filth on his brain and his mouth. His words are just as toe curling as his tongue.

Fucking perfect cunt.

Made for me to eat.

Been starving for you all day

Could stay here all night long, baby.

You want that?

Want mouth on your pussy all the fucking time don’t ya?

Me too, baby, me too.

Yeah…grind on me, c’mon.

You can do it baby, cum again for Stevie.

Make me take it.

I want it all.

As he speaks, completely wrecked on the taste of you, Steve’s hips desperately grind into the mattress to feel something on his aching cock.

He sucks harshly on your clit, releasing it with a wet pop and letting a moan escape him as the friction in his dress pants builds.

When he feels he’s about to cum from eating you out, he shoves his tongue into your hole and reaches a hand between your legs to thumb at your clit.

Another wave crashes through you and into Steve’s face, flowing all the way down his throat to his cock. He keeps humping the bed as he feels the dampness spread between his legs but he’s too far gone to care.

Steve’s vision starts to blur as he languidly laps at your still pulsing cunt. A drunken haze of sleepiness floods his head. His tongue gets a little softer with each pass through your folds until it stops all together.

You feel the weight of Steve’s head fall agaisnt your inner thigh and you look down to see Steve has fallen asleep between your legs. His mouth still glistening, his cheeks still red, soft, satisfied snores rumbling from him.

“Steve?” you say quietly, your own tiredness creeping up on you too.

He doesn’t respond.

You tug on his hair a little to try and wake him but he tightens a hand around your thigh, snuggling into the warmth between your thighs, his nose just grazing your folds.

You laugh at him and give his scalp a gentle scratch like he likes before you feel sleep take you along with him.

Steve is surprised to say the least when he wakes up the next morning with a pounding in his head and a face full of your naked cunt.

⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡⋆˚꩜｡

a winter day. it was too cold to chill by the pool and the harrington’s were home. so you were confined to his horridly designed bedroom. god awful lamp lighting the room dimly as the sun was beginning to set. steve was propped up on the floor, back against his mattress as he tossed a baseball up and caught it. over and over. he looked as bored as you felt.

you got up from the floor and decided to go digging through his bedroom. not entirely sure what you were looking for but there had to be something entertaining in here. you start with his desk, opening drawers and scoping out the insides.

“yeah, just go through my stuff,” steve says with a shrug, voice dripping in sarcasm, “that’s totally cool.”

“oh, wah,” you mock him, “i’m bored. there’s gotta be something interesting tucked away in here.”

steve throws you an annoyed look, “yeah and that’s why i’m playing catch with myself.”

you ignore him, continuing to file through his belongings. you manage through his desk, then his dresser drawers and nightstand. it’s when you drop to the floor and peek under his bed that you find something. a box. you pull it out and steve scrambles to slam his hand on top of it.

“alright, ha ha ha, you had your fun! stop going through my stuff,” he says, eyes wide and worried.

you scoff, lips curling up with the exhale, “oh, no, that reaction tells me i just found the jackpot. what’s in the box, steven?”

“none of your business,” he says sternly, moving to slide it back under the bed but you stop it, fingers hooking into the lid and steve lunges forward, almost crushing the box with his body as he looks up at you panicked. “i mean it, y/n.”

“now i really gotta see what’s in here,” you go to tug it away and steve bear hugs the box. “c’mon, steve, i know every single one of your secrets. this can’t be that bad.”

“it’s personal, something’s you don’t need to know,” he insists, lips dropping into a frown.

you pull again, resulting in the pair of you wrestling for the box. the motions knock it over, spilling the contents out on the rug. to no one’s shock, it’s porn. magazines and two tapes. but kind of surprisingly, there’s panties and uh, Polaroids of Nancy. Not explicit by any means. Just photos of her smiling.

“oh, Steve,” you grab one of the photos and hold it up to inspect, “Nancy made it in the spank bank? Ya know, these aren’t even dirty, you don’t have to like, hide them.”

“Please, for the love of God,” his face is as red as a fire truck, it’s kind of… cute, seeing Steve so embarrassed. He’s usually so calm and collected. The coolest dude you know. “Stop looking.”

“Why?” you giggle, “This is by far the most interesting thing in this room.”

Then you tilt your head as you see it. Oh. That’s why. There’s Polaroid of you. In a bikini. In the backyard, lounged by the pool. Steve scrambles for it but you’re able to snatch it first.

“Oh, my god,” you gasp, examining the photo carefully. You remember the day it was taken. Just this past summer. You’d gotten a new bikini, you were excited to wear it. Red. “Like Phoebe Cates,” Steve had said and you uh, surprisingly didn’t pick up on it. That Steve looked at you like that. Looking back, it makes sense, the way he ran in to get his camera. The fact he compared you to a celebrity he’d been Gaga over.

He’s completely silent as he watches you connect the dots. Steve is attracted to you. Steve jacks off to you. You’ve made it in the spank bank. This information is intoxicating. It’s a mutual attraction. Hell, you can’t even count the amount of times you’ve laid back and flicked the bean with your best friend, Steve Harrington, in mind. The day he sprouted chest hair and his body got a little more muscular, you’d been bombarded with an overwhelming attraction to the guy. You swallow hard, then your eyes drop as Steve’s hand moves to grab a pair of underwear that was also in the box. You drop the photo and grab his wrist, eyes meeting his and the absolute panic in his eyes is… weirdly arousing to you. Then you see the pair, eyes scanning over the white cotton and faded print of cherries decorating them.

“Are those my underwear, Steve?” you ask, glancing back up at him.

“No,” he lies, won’t meet your eyes as he stares down at them in his hand.

“Did you steal my underwear, Steve?”

“Why would I do that?” he replies, looking up at you finally, trying to look nonchalant.

You swallow hard, you should be furious but you’re… you’re not. You’re turned on. This absolute creep behavior, but coming from Steve, it’s so… sweet and vulnerable. Makes you look into those big brown eyes and want to kiss his face all over. But Steve seems to like the humiliation. And it’s making your body erupt in desire.

“Because you’re a pervert,” you tell him, watching as his pupils double in size and he inhales sharply. He swallows and you see his Adam’s apple bob with the motion.

“No, I’m not,” he says, voice quiet and breathy.

“Yes, you are,” you tug the underwear from his hands and look down at them, trying to remember the last time you’d worn them. You and Steve has countless sleepovers, your parents trusted him beyond belief and his parents were rather distant. There were so many opportunities to fool around but it never happened. Which now you think is a little surprising, considering there was that attraction and you’d shared beds as hormonal teens. Can’t believe you’re discovering it now as “adults”. But maybe that’s why you feel bold enough to push him on his back, crawling over to straddle his waist and you can feel his erection hidden underneath his jeans. You hold up the panties, “You smell these while you jerk off to me?”

It’s almost as if you’re not yourself, watching this unfold from a outside perspective. You haven’t even been this confident with boyfriends before but you know Steve, and you’ve been wanting more than a friendship for quite some time. Steve jerks off to you, it’s new information that makes this almost impossible not to act on. It inflates your ego, makes your heart swell twice in size. Because the implication, he knows you better than anyone else, clearly the attraction has to be more than purely physical.

He doesn’t reply, swallows hard again and just stares up at you. His big brown eyes look hazy, aroused and you can feel that he is where your ass is sat against his crotch. He can’t deny he’s turned on. And you wiggle against him, to silently tell him you are too. Fuck, he’s your best friend. How long as he felt this way? Because you’re sure you’ve been in love with him for years. And to find out this way? Not to mention that he seems to be reacting to you calling him a pervert.

You shove the panties up against his nose, “You totally do. You sniff these and stare at the picture while you jerk off! You’re such a perv, Steve!”

He writhes against you, moaning pathetically against the cotton.

“That’s disgusting,” you laugh, playing the part and he whines this time, closes his eyes and sniffs the panties. it’s so hot, and embarrassing at the same time. You’re almost at a loss for words but he seems to like when you make fun of him. “You’re so pathetic, oh my god.”

He opens his eyes, begging you silently. You inhale sharply before continuing. “Bet they don’t even smell like me anymore. I’ve been missing these for months,” you comment, shoving them against his nose once more before standing up. Steve watches you intently, frozen on the ground. You slide the pair of panties you’re currently wearing down your thighs, kicking them off and picking them up before you straddle Steve again. You can feel how soaked they are in your palm. So you shove them against his nose, giggling as you ask, “They used to smell like this?”

Steve’s eyes widen before they roll back as he inhales your scent, no doubt feeling how wet they are.

“You like that?” you laugh cruelly, “god, steve. i didn’t know you were such a sad, pathetic pervert.”

“fuck,” he moans, rolling his hips up at you and the rough denim catches against your clit, pulls a noise from you that has your eyes widening and your dominant demeanor faltering as you grind back down on him. Steve’s eyes meet yours and Christ, he looks pretty and desperate.

“You like me telling you what a perv you are, huh?” you ask.

“yeah,” he breathes out, hands closing into fists by his sides as he rolls his hips up again.

you gasp, trying to maintain composure as his jeans run against your clit again. you wonder if steve can feel how wet you are, if you’re soaking through his denim.

“such a pathetic loser,” you mutter, rubbing your soiled panties against his face, “so desperate for your best friend. wanna taste? go ahead, pervert, taste them.”

with your permission, steve opens his mouth and licks against your underwear. you shove them against him harder and he closes his lips around a bit of them, sucking your juices from the fabric. Moans when he does it, which makes you grind down harder against him.

“bet you’ve been dreaming about the real thing,” you breathe out, “huh, Stevie? you stroke your cock and imagine licking my pussy?”

“mhm,” he replies, still sucking on the cotton. his eyes are so wide and pretty as he stares up at you.

“such a loser,” you pout, tilting your head as you watch him. “think you deserve it?”

“please,” he begs, rolls his hips again.

“desperate for my pussy, aren’t you?” you ask but it’s funny, because you’re desperate for him.

Steve keens, jerks his hips up as his hands venture towards your hips before he drops them back at his sides. Like he’s nervous to touch you. You lean down, tossing your underwear aside as you hover your lips over his. Then you whisper, “Do you wanna eat me out, Steve?”

“Please don’t be fucking with me,” he replies, all soft and wrecked.

“That a yes?” you retort, licking your lips.

He nods, the motion makes his lips graze slightly against yours and it’s difficult not to kiss him. But your core is aching, just the idea of his gorgeous mouth on your heat has you a little feral and you rut down against him before inching up.

“Can I sit on your face, Stevie?” you ask, voice coming out more wrecked than you’d intended. Sounds weird on your ears. Didn’t know you could sound so sultry.

“Please,” he begs, writhing underneath you. “Fuck, please, pretty please sit on my face.”

You’re languid with the motion, pulling your skirt up as you climb up him and into position. He’s staring at your cunt, lips parted and pupils as wide as saucers. Licks his lips and you giggle, peering down at him as you begin to speak, “Look so desperate…”

He replies by wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down on him. His mouth is warm and wet and determined. Steve elicits a moan as soon as he makes contact and it sends vibrations through your whole body. You gasp, holding your skirt up with your left hand while you push his hair off his forehead with the other. Steve is working his mouth on your cunt like he’s making out with it, tongue lashing and lips sucking all while he stares up at you and keeps moaning against your folds. You’ve had other men eat you out before but never like this. Never so determined, never seemed to be enjoying it so much.

There were rumors about Steve, you’d heard girls talk about this. You’d always feigned disgust. He was your best friend, you didn’t wanna hear about his bedroom skills. But deep down, you’d always wondered what he did differently. You haven’t ever had the urge to brag about the men you’d been with. They’d all been pretty mediocre.

The difference is Steve loves this. He’s hungry for it. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you firmly against his mouth and he’s… he’s moving his head with the motions. Groaning into you.

Your lips fall open, brows knitting together as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. Staring down at your gorgeous best friend as he devours you. Then his hands move up, snaking under the hem of your shirt and he unclasps your bra in quick time, impressing you briefly before his hands move knead and grope at your breasts. With the grip on your thighs gone, you’re able to move your hips and they grind down on his face on their own volition. Fuck, you’re trying to keep quiet but it’s hard. His tongue flicks against your clit, flat and repetitive as his fingers swirl around your pebbled nipples. You whine, riding his face as you chase your high. The deep, tight coil in your stomach is threatening to snap at any second. You don’t think you’ve ever cum so fast in your life.

“God, you fucking pervert,” you whine, writhing against his mouth, “Feels so fucking good.”

Steve moans his appreciation, eyes rolling back slightly. He pinches your nipple and you’re a goner. Eyes squeezing shut as bright stars of light dance around behind your lids. Steve’s taking it well, sucking and licking up all that you give him. Doesn’t stop until you’re pulling off of him and rolling onto your back beside him. You’re breathing heavily and it quickly turns into pleasure fueled giggles. Then Steve’s reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers, squeezing.

“So, uh, now you know my biggest secret,” he breathes out, and you turn to see the sweetest smile on his face.

You smirk, “That you’re a sick pervert? I did know that already.”

He flushes, turning and shoving his face against your neck. You roll over to wrap your hand around his middle and squeeze him. Your mouth against his ear as you whisper, “I uh, also touch myself to you. Just like thoughts though, not uh, not pictures.”

“I get it,” he mumbles, “I’m a giant perv.”

“You are,” you giggle, “But I like it. Should’ve known it when I wore that bikini and you said it reminded you of phoebe cates.”

Steve laughs at that, “Yeah, you’re kind of oblivious.”

“Shut up, perv,” you reply, moving your hand lower and palming against his cock strained by his jeans, “Or I won’t help you get rid of this.”

“Oh, you wanna help?” Steve asks, the humor wavering as he rocks his hips up at your hand.

“Uh-huh,” you pull back just slightly, so you can look at his face while you unbutton his jeans. He helps you get them down his thighs, briefs following suit. You lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around his cock, glancing down and gasping. Fuck, he’s huge. Your eyes dart back up to his face and he’s smiling, all cocky. He knows it’s big. You’re sure he’s been told so a hundred times so you don’t say anything. You squeeze him while gazing into his beautiful brown eyes, you’d always loved how they sloped just slightly down. And they were so big and wide, so expressive. They are right now as you start to slowly stroke him. He blinks rapidly, licking his lips.

“Can’t believe you look at a photo of me while you jack off,” you mumble, “Seriously, Steve. It’s pretty pathetic.”

There go those expressive eyes, full of arousal— desperation. You don’t avert yours as you squeeze his base, slow and deliberate as you stroke up and swipe your thumb against his weeping tip. You raise an eyebrow, “You get this wet when you’re jerking off to me?”

He whines, bites his lip as his eyebrows furrow. Looks so sweet and needy. It’s the prettiest Steve’s ever looked.

“It’s pathetic because Stevie, you could’ve had me this whole time,” you mumble against his lips, fingers spreading his precum down his shaft and he’s really so wet, you can hear it as you stroke him up and down. Making sure to squeeze where it counts, base and head. Repeatedly. He whines against you. Bucks his hips because you’re going too slow. So you pull your hand away, “Ah-ah, you need to be a good boy for me, Steve.”

He whimpers, music to your ears, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Don’t stop, baby.”

The pet name warms you all over. Can’t help but grip his cock again, stroking him more deliberately this time. He whines, all high pitched and pretty against your lips. You give up the teasing, determined to get your best friend off. Curving your palm on every upstroke, whispering against his lips, “Cum for me, baby. Show me what a sick, little pervert you are.”

Steve groans, moves his hand up to cup your jaw as he bucks his hips again. But you let him. Let him fuck your fist. His mouth falls open in a silent moan as he coats your hand in his release, eyes squeezing shut. It’s so hot, you feel your own slick coating your thighs from it.

You let go of him, he rolls on his back and smiles as he sighs, eyes still closed. You clean his mess up with your skirt, a problem to deal with at another time. And for the first time in your friendship, you and Steve are absolutely speechless. Laying side by side. But he’s the one to break the silence.

“Should we like, make out now?” he asks, propping himself on his elbow as he looks down at you, “Ya know, so it’s not weird.”