argumentative antithetical fangirl

"You know I don't do spiders." You whine while making grabby hands towards your book.

"I know. Which is why I fought them valiantly on your behalf." He squats down to get on your level. A stray damp curl falling over his forehead, you have a sudden overwhelming urge to push it back. "But your payment is... you're gonna get in here with me now."

"Is it all done?" You peer over his shoulder at the pool, which is now officially uncovered and clean.

"It sure is, your Highness." With a smirk, Steve chucks your novel safely onto the grass. "And you, miss 'supervisor,' are the first one in."

That is the only warning you get before a strong arm snakes around your waist, and another behind your knees.

You fight at him, wailing but laughing, your legs kicking uselessly in the air as he hauls you up, making you feel entirely unceremonious.

"Steve Harrington, you wouldn't dare!" You yell as he gets to the edge, grinning like an idiot at your fake protests.

"Oh honey," he says, adjusting his grip. "It's my duty."

With that he tosses you in, your scream cut short by the cool water hitting your skin and making your entire body seize for a moment. It's only a few seconds before you break the surface, sputtering with laughter while shaking water out of your eyes.

Steve stands there, laughing with his arms folded.

"This is why you don't have a girlfriend." You say, spitting out a mouthful of chlorinated water.

He just raises a brow, taking a step forward as he pulls off his t-shirt, before making one huge leap to land in the water right beside you, soaking you again.

"Oh my god—" you gasp as he resurfaces, hair slicked back and streaming water.

He'd always been beautiful. Even when you were kids, you can't remember him ever going through an awkward phase. Even when he was a straight up dickhead for a few years, you couldn't deny he was good looking. 

Your friendship developed after high school, despite being in the same class since elementary school. Hawkins was small, sure, but it didn't mean there weren't social divisions. 

Your job at Scoops Ahoy last summer broke those. You, Robin, and Steve. The most unlikely trio in this backwater town.

Now you worked together at Family Video. The nights are long, sometimes boring. You'd taken to having dinner at each other's houses. Some nights it's a home-cooked meal with your mom. Sometimes it's pizza at his, while the only sound to be heard was his father clicking through paperwork, two rooms away.

It has inevitably led to a comfortable intimacy. A strange closeness you hadn't expected. One that was starting to become more than just friendship, for you at least. More than once you've found yourself thinking about what might happen if you leaned over the counter and—

A sudden splash of water in your face shakes you out of your reminiscing. 

"Hey, I know I'm not your ideal company for pool time, but you don't have to go daydreaming about someone else," he says, a teasing smile on his lips. You notice the moles that dot his face, a detail you find yourself focusing on more and more these days, the urge to kiss each one so softly. 

You swipe a wave of water towards him, which he expertly dodges. "Yeah, maybe a guy who doesn't throw me in the pool with my clothes on."

"You're welcome to take them off."

His words hang in the air for a moment, heavy with unsaid meaning. The playfulness in his tone has been replaced by something deeper, more serious. Your breath catches as you notice the way his eyes have darkened, the way he's looking at you now- not as a friend teasing a friend, but as a man who wants...

"Because your bathing suit is underneath." He corrects himself quickly, that look vanishing as if it never existed, replaced with a normal grin.

Disappointment flares in your chest. Of course that's what he meant. Just a silly joke, nothing more.

You force a laugh that sounds hollow even to you. "Yeah, right. Maybe if this wasn't an old ratty bikini from three summers ago."

"It's just me. Who cares?"

And that, right there. Steve Harrington in a nutshell. He has no idea the effect he has on people. He thinks you're immune because you're friends.

It wasn't a lie, your suit wasn't the most flattering. You'd gained a little weight since graduating, working in an ice cream shop and then a video store had both its pros and cons.

Pros: unlimited access to sweets. 

Cons: You were a nervous snacker and Steve made you nervous.

You'd never been thin, and it usually didn't bother you. But here, in the sunshine, your wet clothes sticking to you, your bikini showing places that weren't a flat stomach, it made you feel more than a little insecure.

"I care..." you mutter, your arms folding over your stomach without even thinking about it.

His teasing smile softened, something flashing in his eyes you couldn't quite identify.

"Hey..." He swims closer until there's barely any space between you. The water swirls around your bodies at the sudden movement. "Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That." He reaches out, gently taking your wrists and pulling your arms away from your body. "Hide."

Steve's thumbs brush over your pulse points, sending shivers down your spine despite the warmth of the sun overhead.

"It's summer, it's hot as balls, and we worked hard to get this stupid pool clean. Can we just... enjoy it? Without you worrying?"

The genuine care in his expression melts your defenses a little. He's looking at you with that earnest face that makes your heart do stupid little flip-flops, those puppy dog eyes that once charmed all of Hawkins High and are now focused solely on you.

"Fine. But don't laugh."

You swim over to the edge and hop out back toward the lounger. You shimmy out of your denim shorts with your back turned to him, feeling suddenly exposed despite the privacy of his backyard. Then you slip off your tank top, leaving only your bikini.

Taking a deep breath, you turn back toward where he's floating on his back peacefully, trying to give you space. 

As revenge for earlier, you cannonball into the deep end, a huge splash soaking the surrounding area and, more importantly, Steve.

He comes up sputtering indignantly, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Oh, that's it. You're going down!"

And just like that, the vulnerability dissolves into water fights and laughter. He chases you around the pool, your playful shrieks echoing through the backyard. His fingers graze your sides as he tries to catch you, sending electric jolts through your skin that have nothing to do with the chlorine.

Eventually he corners you, trapping you against the pool wall, bodies pressing together as the water churns between you.

You're catching your breath after laughing and yelling so much that you don't register the change until his fingers graze your shoulder. 

You turn to look as he fixes the string of your bikini top, brushing against your skin.

"Strap was coming undone," he says quietly, face suddenly serious again. His gaze lingers on your shoulder, trailing slowly up to meet your eyes. The playful energy has vanished, replaced by something heavier.

"I..." you swallow, suddenly very aware of how close you are, how the water makes your skin glide against his, the thin fabric separating you practically nonexistent.

"Turn around, I'll tie it better for you." His voice is low, sending vibrations straight through you.

You oblige, presenting your back to him. His fingers work deliberately, taking far longer than necessary to secure the tie. His touch is feather-light against your skin, tracing the line of your shoulder blade, causing goosebumps to rise despite the summer heat.

"Thanks... don't want a wardrobe malfunction," you manage to say, turning back to face him.

His hands trail gently through the water to your waist, not letting you move away. "Wouldn't want that."

You're close enough to count every one of those damn moles, notice the flecks of brown and gold in his hazel eyes, see how his pupils have dilated just slightly.

"Would be... really awkward," you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"Super awkward," he agrees, but makes no move to create distance.

Then he leans in. Your eyes flutter closed as his lips meet yours. The kiss is a question tasting of chlorine and the popsicles you each had earlier. It's nothing like the cocky, assured guy you knew in high school.

Your entire world narrows to this: the sun on your water-logged skin, Steve's hands firm on your waist, and the way your mouths move together, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Your fingers find their way into the damp curls at the nape of his neck, earning a soft sound from him that vibrates through your entire being.

He pulls away ever so slightly, lips just hovering over your and his eyes heavy lidded. He runs a thumb over the string on your hip, the touch sending a deep want straight to your core.

"Wh-what was that for?" your whisper breaks the silence.

His response is a small, confused smile as he finally moves his head away slightly to get a better look at your face. "Well, last time I checked, it's what two people do when they... like each other. I thought that's what we were doing here."

Your pulse thrums in your throat. "We were doing that?"

"Yeah..." he says with a sudden flicker of insecurity in his own eyes. "Weren't we?"

Your eyes flutter closed, taking a shaky breath. "I've been wanting you to do that since last summer. At Scoops"

"The sailor outfit? Really?"

"It wasn't the uniform," you laugh quietly, opening your eyes and looking directly into his. "It was the way you hummed to the radio. The way your hands moved when you were scooping. How frustrated you'd get when your stupid hat wouldn't stay on. The way you—"

Your words are cut off by his mouth on yours again, harder this time. He's pressing you back against the smooth tile of the pool's wall, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His tongue parts your lips, exploring, and you meet him eagerly, your hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his chest.

The fabric of your bikini feels impossibly thin as his hands slide from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him.

"This swim suit is really indecent. You shouldn't be wearing this," he mutters against your neck before leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline.

You pull back and shake him off just a little, the comment hitting somewhere deeper than it probably should. "What?"

He stops, sensing the shift in your mood. The passion in his eyes immediately replaced by concern. "No, I didn't... I meant... you look..." he seems to be struggling, running a wet hand through his even wetter hair. "That came out wrong. I meant it in a flirting way. Like a 'lead up to me asking you to take it off' way."

You furrow your brow a little, trying to determine if that's the truth.

"I'm sorry," he says, his sincerity obvious. "That was stupid. Can I try again?"

You nod slowly.

"I meant that it's... indecent... because it makes me want to do a whole lot of inappropriate things to you. Right here. Right now."

A shiver runs through you despite the warm sun. The way he's looking at you, with open, wanton desire, is something you've only ever dreamed of.

"I'm really self conscious lately." You admit fully, a weight being lifted off your shoulders. 

"Well don't be," he says, and you can't tell if he's being genuine or if that's charm leaking through. He must have seen your doubt because he continues, "I mean it. You're so..." He searches for the right word, and you can tell it's not flattery for flattery's sake.

"What?" you urge. "So... what?"

"So beautiful."

Your breath catches. Steve Harrington, dream guy of any girl with half a brain, called you beautiful. And he meant it.

"Did I just ruin the moment by being honest? Because I can go back to being a jerk if it helps." That signature smirk is back, though it's a little gentler than usual.

You laugh, and the tension breaks. "No, god, please don't."

"Then come here."

His lips find yours again, softer this time, sweeter. But the intensity builds quickly as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a growing urgency. His hands roam your body, learning every curve, every dip, mapping you like it's the most important expedition of his life.

His fingers play with the strings of your bikini, tugging gently but not untying—just teasing. Making you ache for more.

"Steve," you gasp between kisses. "Someone could see."

"My parents aren't home," he murmurs against your skin. "The house is empty."

Your mind races at the implication.

"We're surrounded by trees," he continues, sensing your hesitation. "No one can see into the backyard."

His lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "I've been thinking about this all day."

"All day?" you ask, your voice breathy as he palms your breast through the thin fabric.

"All week. All month. All year." He corrects, before pulling the wet fabric aside and capturing a nipple in his warm, wet mouth. Your back arches against the pool wall, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He lifts his head after a moment, that boyish grin in place. "We might need to get out of the pool though. The chemicals probably aren't great for... well."

He glances down, the implication clear.

"Smartass," you mutter, but you're already laughing as he hauls you toward the pool steps.

You watch him climb out before you, water cascading down the lines of his back, muscles shifting beneath his skin. His swim trunks hang low on his hips, and the sight sends another wave of desire through you.

He turns to reach out a hand for you, helping you from the pool, your fingers tingling where they touch his.

Steve grabs both of your towels from the lounger, wrapping one around your shoulders and the other around his waist before leading you toward the sliding glass door that opens into the house.

As soon as you enter the mud room, he shuts the sliding glass door and is back on you, guiding you toward the couch. All the windows are open and the faint sound of the sprinklers filter in.

On the couch with your towel under you and his discarded, his hands slide over your damp skin as he tugs at your suit top. "Are you okay with this?" he asks, voice thick with desire but laced with tenderness.

You respond by bracing yourself on your elbows, making it easier for him to access the strings on your neck and back. He makes short work of the knots, tossing the wet fabric aside.

His gaze sweeps over your exposed upper body with open admiration before leaning down to continue where he left off, worshiping your breasts with attention. His soft kisses, gentle nips, swirling tongue all combine for the best sensation. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to you, soft encouragement falling from your lips.

He looks up at you before finally taking your nipple back in his warm mouth, suckling gently.

"God, Steve," you gasp, arching into him.

You're vaguely aware of the sunbeams cutting across the living room, dust particles dancing in the light, the smell of chlorine mixed with the freshly cut grass outside. It all feels dream-like, unreal.

His hands are working what his mouth can't, like he wants to make sure you're getting all the attention in the world, all over, simultaneously.

"You always this responsive?" He laughs quietly against your breast before sitting up to look down at you. His hair is drying in fluffy tufts and his pretty eyes are half-lidded but focused.

"Only for you," you manage, feeling your cheeks flush at the admission.

"God, I hope so." He's on you again, moving down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses that make you twitch and giggle. His hands follow, tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver.

When he reaches the bottom ties of your bikini, he pauses, looking up at you.

"Gonna need these off," he says, fingers toying with the strings on your hips. "If that's okay."

You nod, lifting your hips slightly to help him as he unties and slides the last piece of wet fabric down your legs, leaving you completely exposed on the mud room couch. The thought sends a thrill through you.

"Look at you," he breathes, just looking at you. "Just... look at you."

Your body hums with anticipation as he positions himself between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart with his hands on your knees. The vulnerability of the position sends another jolt of awareness through you, but with Steve, it feels safe, exciting.

"Steve..."

He doesn't respond with words, but with action, lowering his head until you can feel his warm breath against your most sensitive skin. He waits for a second, giving you a chance to protest if you wanted.

You don't.

His tongue traces your folds slowly, deliberately, tasting you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as your hand grips the back of the couch. 

He caresses your thigh, as the other hand holds you open so he has better access. His tongue starts exploring, gentle at first, getting a lay of the land before finding your clit and circling it slowly. Your hips buck, seeking more pressure.

"I've got you," he whispers against your wetness.

He's determined in his approach, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you arch your back.

Your toes curl as the pressure builds, his tongue working magic, alternating between gentle laps and firm strokes that have you spiraling.

Your hands card through his hair and he looks up at you, tongue still working diligently, your arousal glistening on his chin and cheeks. He smiles a little at seeing your face then doubles his efforts, slipping a finger into your tight heat.

Your breath hitches at the intrusion, a gasp tearing free as he adds another finger, curling them just right against your inner walls.

"Don't stop," you pant, "Please, don't stop."

"Never." His voice is muffled by your flesh.

He goes back to your clit, sucking softly, then firmer, his fingers finding that perfect rhythm.

"Could stay down here all day, you know that?" he says as he breaks away, a wide smile on his face. "You taste so good."

He licks a fat stripe up your center, before putting all his attention back into that little bundle of nerves that's still begging for him. Your breath catches in your throat, hips rising to meet him, a low groan passing your lips.

"Steve," you whine out.

"I'm here," he says. "Come on, beautiful. I've got you." He pumps his fingers into you as your body starts to tremble.

It crashes over you without warning, your back arching, a cry tearing from your throat as waves of pleasure course through your body.

Steve redoubles his efforts, taking you closer to the edge with each movement, each sensation building on the last until your entire body tenses, releasing in a wave that leaves you gasping and breathless on the couch.

"And you said I couldn't get a girlfriend," he jokes softly as he makes his way back up your body, pressing kisses against your stomach, your chest, your collarbones.

"That's because you got me soaked throwing me in the pool." You breathe out. 

"I got you soaked a second way, too, so..."

Before you can even roll your eyes, you feel the hard press of him against your thigh through the swim trunks. That realization brings you back to life, reaching between your bodies to palm him through the wet fabric.

His breath hitches. "Wait, wait, wait..."

You pull back, slightly concerned.

He looks a little pained. "Not like that. I just need to get a condom."

Your cheeks heat up. Of course. You were so wrapped up in it all, you didn't even think of that. And yet still...

"You don't have to..." you say softly, not wanting to seem too forward but needing to say it anyway.

"As much as I like you, I don't think either of us are ready for that kind of surprise."

"No, I mean..." your cheeks are on fire now. "I'm on the pill. For cramps. Not that you'd have to believe me, but-"

"Are you serious?" He lifts himself onto an elbow, looking genuinely surprised and then a lot turned on.

You shake your head a little, embarrassed that you'd suggested something so intimate already. "Sorry, that was--"

"No! God, no. Don't apologize." He leans down, pressing a hot kiss to your lips. "Are you sure? Because if you're sure..." His hips roll against yours and you both gasp at the friction.

"Positive."

He sits up then, shedding those trunks quickly, and kicking off the offending clothing in one swift motion.

As he stands up, you finally see all of him- the toned planes of his chest, the soft give of his tummy, the trail of hair leading down to where he stands hard and thick against his stomach.

"Oh," you breathe, unable to help yourself. You had an idea about how well endowed he was, but seeing it in person was a whole other story. A mix of excitement and a little bit of apprehension swirls within you.

The grin he shoots you is undeniable male pride, softening immediately when he sees the slight worry in your eyes.

"Hey," he says softly, lowering himself over you again. "We can take it slow. We can stop if it's too much."

His hands are on either side of your head as he positions himself, aligning with your entrance but not quite pushing in. He looks down at you, a genuine question in his eyes that makes your heart ache with tenderness.

"I, uh, I'd lose my mind if I hurt you."

"Only if it hurts bad," you joke weakly, wanting to ease that furrow in his brow.

His expression softens as he lowers himself, propping up on one arm, the other hand gently stroking your hair away from your face.

"I'm serious. I'm not one to brag to everyone, but I know I'm... yeah."

He's trying so hard to make this about more than just the physical, to separate himself from his reputation, to show you this is different. Your Steve. Not King Steve, not the boy you watched use girls and discard them.

This sun-kissed, glistening, genuine Steve is something else entirely. You look at him with such affection. 

"I'm not exactly surprised, it's not like you wear baggy jeans..."

He laughs a little and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your nose.

"You were checking me out? My, uh..." He gestures vaguely between his legs, "... jeans?"

"I have a pulse, yeah. Every girl in Hawkins has checked out your 'jeans' at least once, Harrington."

"Jesus, okay. Enough." He's smiling though.

You run your hands up and down his back, feeling the strength of him, the warmth of his skin still carrying the heat from the sun outside.

"Hey," you say softly. "I trust you."

Something shifts in his expression, that playful, slightly arrogant smirk dissolving as his hips push forward slightly. The thick head of him pressing against you, seeking entrance. Your breath catches at the sheer promise of it. 

"What else were you checking out?" he asks, teasing, but you can hear the underlying sincerity, the need for reassurance that this hasn't all been in his head.

"Suddenly, I have no thoughts." you breathe out as his hips gently rock into you, easing your aching pussy to take him.

"That good, huh?"

A whimper escapes your lips as he pushes a little deeper. The stretch borders on too much, but in that perfect, overwhelming way that makes you want to simultaneously push him away and pull him closer.

"Yeah, seems like it's that good..." he's kissing your neck and whispering into your ear.

His large hands grab at the plush flesh of your thighs, opening you wider. With each slow, deliberate push of his hips, he seats himself further inside you, making you whimper with need.

"That's it... doing so good f'me, baby..." he whispers as he watches your reaction through lidded eyes.

The full feeling is almost too much.

You can't help but watch as your breasts bounce with every roll of his hips, watching as the flush on your own skin continues to creep lower.

His thumb finds its way between your bodies, and you look down as he's pressing insistently against your clit in tight circles, making you clench around him. You're so wet and he still hasn't even bottomed out.

"You like watching?" he whispers against your ear. "I like watching you."

You meet his eyes and you swear you see them roll back as you squeeze around him as a response to his words, unintentionally. He loses himself a little, pushing in with a sharp thrust that steals the air from your lungs.

Finally, he's fully inside you, buried to the hilt. You can feel him throbbing, every part of him pulsing in anticipation.

"You okay?" he asks, voice strained.

You nod, unable to form words as he starts to move.

His pace is initially gentle, cautious, giving you time to adjust before he finds a rhythm that makes your toes curl again, your head thrashing back against the arm of the couch. Immediately one hand cradles your head as the other grips your hip. 

"That's what I thought..." he's grinning as you whine for him.

Steve picks up the pace with your encouragement, pistoning into you, harder and faster. The sound of skin on skin mixes with your breathless gasps and his guttural groans, creating sounds more erotic than anything you've ever heard before.

"That's it, sweet girl," he pants, his hips beginning to stutter. "Take it... take all of me."

His words ignite something within you, and you arch your back to meet each thrust, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. The coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, your muscles trembling with the buildup of your impending orgasm.

You whine his name in tiny bursts, hands looking for purchase wherever they can reach on his body.

"It's okay, let go," he urges, his movements becoming more erratic.

His angle shifts, hitting a spot inside you that sends stars flying behind your eyes. Your cries become wanton, uninhibited.

"Right there, don't stop," you gasp.

"I won't... not until you're soaking me..." he grits out before your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench around him, pulling him along with you as he finds his own release.

His entire body goes taut as he groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He's spilling so deep you feel him leak out and it makes you shudder again at the feeling.

For a long while, there's nothing but your ragged breaths cooling each other's heated skin. Steve keeps murmuring soft praises as he kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your temple.

"That was..." he starts, then pauses like he's searching for the word.

"Yeah," you agree, even though you're not sure what you're agreeing with.

You laugh a little at your own response, and soon he's laughing with you. It feels better than you could have ever imagined. You're slick with sweat and other fluids. There's nothing romantic about the scene beyond the two of you.

He braces his hands above you, pushing himself up to look down at the mess. His hair is stuck to his forehead and his face is so beautifully flushed. A goofy, content grin on his lips.

"Look what we did," you whisper as you reach out to brush back his hair, glancing at the mess leaking out between your thighs.

Steve leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Don't talk dirty or I'm going to get hard again."

"I didn't know that was off limits," you tease, your hands slowly running down his chest.

His chest puffs out under your touch, like he's preening. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't love that you had this effect.

"I mean, feel free to. But you owe me some popcorn and a movie. And that won't happen if you're making me go again."

"Oh, do I 'owe' you now?"

"No, no," Steve pulls out of you, leaving you feeling suddenly very empty in the sticky wake of him. You wince a little from the size of him and he notices. "Sorry, sorry."

He grabs your discarded towel and gently cleans the mess from between your thighs before cleaning himself off and tugging on his swim trunks. Your eyes fix on how he pulls them onto his hips, the fabric still wet and clinging.

"Hey, eyes up here," he winks, then holds out a clean t-shirt from the mudroom laundry basket.

You sit up and pull it over, the shirt a little tight on your curves. Especially across the chest, but soft from many washes and smelling like him. You wrap the clean towel he hands you back around your waist.

He watches you for a minute before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

"So..." you hesitantly start the inevitable conversation. "Where do we go from here?"

Steve frowns a little. "To the kitchen for popcorn, like I said."

"No, I mean... us."

"Well," he says seriously, taking one of your hands in both of his. "I'd like to take you on a date. And then another one. And then maybe another one after that until you finally get sick of me."

You search his face, trying to read past the casual bravado. He's trying to play it cool, but there's genuine hope in his eyes that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think that's going to happen," you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

"The dates? Or getting sick of me? Because I've really committed to this plan and would hate to renegotiate terms." A slow grin spreads across his face.

"You're an idiot."

His smile is soft, like he's remembering something fond before he speaks. "Yeah, well, in my experience that's what a girl says when she actually likes me. So, I'll take it." His thumbs rub gentle circles on the back of your hands.

"So we're..." you trail off, suddenly unable to form the words.

"Dating? Exclusively? Going steady?" He supplies them for you, the phrase sounding somehow much less cheesy when he says it. "If you want."

"I want."

The relief that washes over his face is obvious. "Good. Great. Then my plan is still on track. Popcorn, movie. And maybe round two later." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you giggle.

"Only if the movie sucks."

"Ah, I'll put on a real stinker then."

'ahoy, ladies!' [steve taglist]