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andvys · 10 months ago

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Dancing with our hands tied | Prologue

I knew there was no one in the world who could take it I had a bad feeling

Warnings: mentions of injuries, bruises and scars, mention of the upside down, this is post s4, enemies to lovers. mentions of death and the upside down. readers features are not mentioned, besides the accident with the hair dye in the past

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

Word count: 3.6k+

Author's note: A new fic and another shoutout to my queen @hellfire--cult 🤍 thank you for working on the ideas for this story with me, I'm so excited for this one!

You’re running through the darkness, barefoot, the soil feels wet and slippery beneath your feet, twigs and branches scratch your skin open, the air feels icy cold, the wind blows through your hair and goosebumps arise on your skin, though not because of the cold but because of the growling behind you, the creatures that reach for you, that scream for you, that want your blood and your flesh.

Your lungs feel on fire and so do your legs, but you don’t stop running.

You run faster and faster, hoping to find shelter though this forest seems so big and never ending, there is no way out of this, no way out of here.

There is no shelter and there is nowhere to run – and yet, you don’t stop, you don’t let them get to you, you don’t let them touch you.

Rain starts falling, thunder rumbles through the woods and the ground beneath you suddenly starts shaking, making your knees buckle.

Desperation clings onto you, you can’t fall, if you do then you lose.

The sky becomes redder, shining angrily, the lightning now comes for you, crashing down on the ground right before you, causing you to yelp in surprise.

And that is all that it took, an obstacle thrown into the path that was destined for you to stay on. It caught you off guard, you no longer looked at the way before you, you slowed down and you slipped on the muddy ground.

You can feel yourself falling and it feels as though it takes forever for you to crash, you can feel the breath getting knocked out of you, you can feel the tear running down your cheek, you can feel the darkness taking ahold of you and despite knowing that you are going down, the fall still startles you, making you whimper in pain when you hit your head on something, your vision blurs and your skin aches and despite it, you push yourself up but it’s too late.

The vines are wrapping itself around your body, like snakes that are about to poison you. Panic rises in your chest and your eyes widen when you lift your head to see the creatures running towards you, getting closer and closer.

“No!” Your own voice sounds so unfamiliar to you, so filled with fear and desperation.

You struggle against the vines, though they hold you down so strongly. You try kicking against it, you try fighting against it but nothing helps, nothing will help you, nothing will save you.

Suddenly, you feel something sharp in your skin, in your legs, in your calves, in your arms, everywhere. You scream in pain – in pain and in anger. Tears stream down your face, blood seeps from the ripped open skin, the metallic taste now lingering on your tongue and that will be the last thing you will taste, the last thing you will see is the blood red sky, the last thing you will feel is how you’re being ripped apart.

But even now, as you’re slipping into a cruel death, all you think about is him.

You’re awaiting the darkness, the void – though it’s not what greets you when your eyes close. Light greets you. Bright, disgusting light that makes you want to close your eyes again. Fuck. You forgot to close the curtains last night.

A groan falls from your lips and you pull the blanket up higher, hiding your face from the sun that shines directly into your room. You pay no mind to your racing heart or the fear that still lingers from the dream you just woke from – you ignore it, as you always do.

This one was unlike all the others that have been haunting you for weeks now. Instead of hands around your neck, and the cruel blue eyes staring into your soul as he tried to kill you, it’s been the creatures that wanted you dead this time – and somehow they caused you less fear than he did.

You sink deeper into your mattress, enjoying the comfort and warmth of your bed.

Nothing awaits you today, absolutely nothing.

With a sigh, you lift your blanket and sit up, rubbing your eyes before you squint them open. You pull your legs up to your chest and prop your chin up on your knees, looking out your window as you get lost in your thoughts.

You are taken back to your dreams when the sun gets brighter, reminding you of the lights that surged through the red sky when the creatures – the monsters ripped you open. Not shying away from digging their teeth and claws into your delicate skin. – And to think that you once thought that Tommy and Carol were monsters.. Now you know what real monsters look like, feel like..

They never got under your skin like the monsters in your dreams did, not even when they thought they did. They threw cruel words at you, made up rumors about you that circled around school but as entertaining as it was to some of the students of Hawkins High, you just didn’t care what they thought of you, what they whispered about you whenever you passed by the gossiping girls or the boys who would smirk whenever you would walk through the hallways.

Just like all the other new freshman girls, you were fresh meat, a little lamb in the midst of a lion's den, ready to be ripped apart – or at least, that’s what you were meant to be. The first time Kelli Robertson approached you in order to intimidate you and to make it known who she was, she walked away with a split open lip after she tugged at your pigtails and made fun of the way you dressed. She never approached you again after this and neither did her friends.

You were no violent person but it had always been easy for you to lose your temper around girls and boys who loved to think that they were better than anyone else, that their status in school was something deemed special and meaningful outside of it, that they could push around the ones weaker than them.

Maybe you weren’t better than them, you gave them back what they gave to others, but at least they deserved it. And with them, you had the power to fight back whenever they came at you.

But when it came to him, you didn’t have much power to fight back – only luck was on your side, that night. A battered house you were supposed to die in, saved you. It’s ironic, really.

It’s been a few weeks since the evil had been defeated and you had won – since your friends had won, but not without scars and bruises.

Eddie almost died.

Max almost died.

And you, you almost died too.

Maybe you should have.

You drag yourself out of bed, like every morning, ignoring the sharp pain in your side, the ache that still lingers in your neck – you wonder if it will stay there forever now.

You hate to look at yourself in the mirror, but you still do.

You wash your face and brush your teeth and you stare at your reflection, hating what you see. The bruises that have not healed yet, the ones on your face and on your neck, the scar that he left for you to always look at.

With a sigh, you turn away and leave the bathroom. You make yourself a cup of coffee and sit on your windowsill. You pull your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes for a moment, you enjoy the way the sun feels on your skin. You missed it, the warmth, the smell of spring in the air and giving yourself this moment of peace every morning.

You feel the beating of your heart, the kind that fills your body with fear – the fear that will always linger now.

You can’t stand it.

And you can’t stand that the only way to get rid of it is to be around the person who hates you the most.

The one that ripped your heart out more than once, with nothing but cruel words.

You should stay away, but you can’t.

And besides, your words are just as cruel.

Walking into Family Video, a small smile tugs at your lips when Steve’s frown greets you. He is leaning against the counter, a pencil in his hand as he works on the crossword in the newspaper. He instantly straightens up when he locks eyes with you, a sigh already falling from his lips.

He has been seeing you more often than usual in the past few weeks – every time you walk in here, he ignores the relief in his chest and the pain when he sees those fading bruises on your skin.

By the look on your face, he can tell that you are up to no good.

You’re wearing a sweet smile on your face – one that could never be directed at him. An iced coffee in your hand that you got from the shop across the street, he sees you walk in there, every afternoon.

“Hey Steve,” you smile as you walk up to the counter, placing the cup in front of him. “I got you a coffee.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, glancing down at the coffee, not quite believing you or the sickly sweet tone in your voice, you even called him by his name, something that never happens.

“What’d you put in there?”

You chuckle, shrugging at him. “Nothing, I figured you could use some coffee and some company, you look bored.”

The store is empty and he already stacked up all the new tapes. Yes, he is bored but he doesn’t believe you for a second. You’re here because you are bored.

You tap your manicured nails against the counter, tilting your head and looking at him oh so sweetly – your lashes flutter, your lips are curled into a soft smile, you’re wearing a pretty blouse underneath your denim jacket and heart shaped glasses on your head, you smell like cherries. If you weren’t you, he would be flirting away already but unfortunately you are you.

The girl he cannot stand, even now, after you risked your life for a person that means so much to him, after you almost bled out and died fighting someone who was ready to kill you.

He ignores the pang in his chest when he looks at the faint bruises around your neck, you almost got matching wounds now – only his were caused by bats, yours were caused by someone else’s hands. He redirects his eyes to your face instead, not bearing to look at the marks any longer.

He looks into your eyes for a moment, trying to figure you out the way he always does – though you will always remain a mystery to him.

Tempting, he thinks – the coffee, not you, definitely not you.

With a sigh, he reaches for the cup and just as he goes to wrap his hand around it, you beat him to it, snatching it back.

“Oops, I changed my mind.”

You wrap your lips around the straw, keeping your eyes on him as you drink the coffee that you definitely did not order for Steve.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flashing with annoyance as they lock with yours again.

Satisfaction fills your chest, you love teasing him.

“Robin isn’t here, so what the hell do you want, Blondie?”

At that, you clench your jaw.

You can’t stand the stupid nickname that he hasn’t stopped using since Sophomore year.

You wanted that blonde you saw on Dolly Parton in the magazines, only for a bright yellow to end up on your head. You begged your sister to let you stay at home, but she pointed to the door for you to face the consequences of getting hair dye without her permission.

And since then, you went back to your natural hair color, not touching a dye in your life again.

Steve won’t let you live it down, always bringing up the nickname he knows you hate so much.

Though you don’t know whether he gave you the name because of the yellow hair you once sported or because you love the band so much.

“Well, I wanna rent a movie,” you shrug as you play with the straw. “I figured you could recommend one to me. You know, since you work here and everything.”

He rolls his eyes, “just get The Breakfast Club and leave.”

You put your hand over your heart, feigning pain. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Lego head?”

He clenches his jaw harder than before, you can tell that he is trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

“I watched that movie last week. I wanna watch something else now. Give me a few recommendations or I’ll speak to your manager,” you tease him.

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walks around the counter, nodding his head at you to follow him.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You follow him, sipping on your coffee as you look down at the way his jeans are hugging his ass.

“How about Teen Wolf?” He asks as he walks into the horror movie section, he reaches for the movie and turns back to you, gripping the shelf as he gives you a fake smile.

“Hmm,” you scrunch your nose up as you pretend to think. “No thanks, I got enough Teen Wolf in front of me.” You gesture to his hair and the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned shirt.

You try to not look at the scar around his neck, the vision of him being held down against the ground while the bats tried to bite chunks of flesh out of him still pains you and makes shivers run down your spine.

With a snort, he rolls his eyes and puts the tape back on the shelf.

“What do you want, horror, action, rom-com–”

“Do I look like I’d enjoy a shitty rom-com?”

“Right,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks you up and down. You actually do look like you’d enjoy a shitty rom-com. Besides the constant glare or the frown on your face, you actually look like a sweet and approachable girl – that’s where he was wrong. You are unapproachable, you always have been. You’re rough and you’re mean, you never bite your tongue and you don’t shy away from fights or arguments, that is something that caught him off guard the first time he talked to you. The pink skirt, the bow in your hair and the innocent look on your face was a disguise for the little devil that was hiding behind those pretty eyes.

Your looks still don’t match your personality. – Even now, after the horrifying things that you have been through only weeks back, you are still you. Still the same mean girl he always knew you to be.

There was a shift in your behavior after last summer, something had changed in your eyes, a sadness lingered in them, one that hasn’t been there before, he doesn’t know what happened, if you had gotten hurt or if you had lost something or someone, but even if, that clearly wasn’t enough for you to change either.

Nothing seems to change you.

You are just cold and unreachable in your emotions – for the most part.

“Alright then no rom-com,” he sighs.

He continues to offer you movies, ones that you keep saying no to. He can feel himself growing frustrated the longer you do this, knowing damn well that you aren’t here for a movie, especially not for tonight, you’re hanging out with Robin tonight.

Once you make it to the last aisle, Steve is officially fed up with you. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest while you innocently look at the movies in the thriller section. You are sipping on your drink, eyeing some tape that you just reached for. You put it back and sigh, pretending to be bored.

While Steve had been trying to be less harsh with you than he was weeks before, he can’t help but roll his eyes at you.

“Why are you here?” He grumbles. “We both know you don’t want to rent a movie.”

You turn your head, eying him up and down before you start making your way over to him.

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you,” he mumbles as he takes a step closer to you. “I know you’re here because you’re fucking bored.”

You smirk, tilting your head up as you look into his hazel eyes.

“Get a job and let me do mine,” he rolls his eyes and finally brushes past you, making his way back to the counter.

“I don’t need a job, I have enough money to do… uh.. well nothing for the rest of my life. Just like you, Harrington. Why don’t you take that hush money we were gifted with and get the hell out of here?” You ask, curiously as you follow him. “You could be relaxing, traveling through the country, staying in fancy hotels, taking out hot chicks.”

“How fun,” he snorts as he stops by the register. “You go do that, if that’s what a dream life looks to you. Or get a freaking boyfriend or something and stop getting on my goddamn nerves, Blondie.”

“Who would keep your life so entertaining if I got too busy with a boyfriend?” You ask. “You’d die of boredom.”

Steve picks up the pencil he dropped earlier, trying to ignore you as he continues working on his crossword but you don’t let him obviously. You place the drink you teased him with, in front of him and lift yourself up on the counter, making yourself comfortable next to him.

He rolls his eyes, looking up at you through his bangs to find you looking at him already, a smirk lingering on your lips. You’re close enough for him to smell the perfume on your skin, sweet and flowery, another misleading thing, you’re not sweet, not in any way.

“You really think you have that much of an impact in my life?” He asks. Like the bruises on your body don’t anger him, because he couldn’t help you when you were fighting for your own and someone else’s life. Like he didn’t hold your hand when your cold body was laying in the hospital bed. Like he didn’t pray for you to make it out alive.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, blinking as you continue to look into his eyes.

You nod. “I think you would miss me so much if I was gone.”

He glares into your eyes, taking deep breaths as he moves his tongue along his bottom lip.

How can you speak of such things when you almost lost your life? He wonders.

“Yeah, you would definitely miss me,” you smirk and reach for your drink, only to be stopped by him when he reaches for it first, smirking back at you as he brings it up to his lips, wrapping his lips around the straw – not caring that your lips have touched it first.

Your jaw drops a little, only a little, though enough for him to be amused by the shocked look on your face – that is rare.

He takes a sip of your coffee, humming. “Mhmm, Vanilla? How’d you know it was my favorite?”

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll give me the wrong idea and make me think that you have a crush on me or something.”

What an idiot.

“You wish, Lego head.” You snort and jump off the counter, letting your face drop into your regular expression.

He chuckles, tilting his head at you. “Right, I forgot, you don’t have such a thing as feelings.”

You blink, cracking your knuckles as you meet his eyes again.

Yeah, you heard that before and it stung, really badly.

“Not when it comes to you.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with a bored expression.

“I’m so wounded.”

Nothing you would say or do could ever hurt Steve Harrington.

Not even the cruelest words from you would hurt him.

Because you don’t have the power to hurt him.

You don’t have an impact in his life.

You wouldn’t leave a void in his life if you just disappeared – not like he would in yours if he were to disappear.. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He couldn’t care less about you, he surely wouldn’t care if you left this town like you should have a long time ago, he surely wouldn’t care if you had died that night. You would have been long forgotten by now, a faceless someone in his memories.

“Heidi or Summer or Kayla will surely patch those wounds,” you smirk as you walk towards the door. “Or are you still getting over Nancy… you know after she rejected you… again?”

He nods at you with a glare, clenching his jaw at the reminder.

You chuckle and turn around, you open the door and step out.

“Look both ways when you cross the street, Blondie!” He calls out to you. “You don’t wanna end up in the hospital again!”

You flip him off, rolling your eyes at his chuckle that you hear before the door closes behind you.

The afternoon sun is shining down on you, leaving a warm feeling on your skin, a smile pulls at your lips as you glance at the growing flowers next to trees.

The sky is blue, no cloud in sight to hide the sun, it’s quiet, peaceful – almost too peaceful.

This is how it should be, right?

The war that was fought in secret is over.

But, there is still one upon you.

You and the man you just walked away from.

Will you make it out alive this time?

Or will you be left more broken than before?

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington series #steve harrington enemies to lovers #stranger things angst

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handful0fteeth · 5 months ago

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i was made for lovin' you, baby

chapter 2 of my Funny How Love Is series. read chapter 1 here summary: following the success of your first date, you and Steve catch a movie together. or, at least, that's the plan - before Steve discovers you've shown up to the date with no panties.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, (light) exhibitionism, dirty talk (a lot of it), steve harrington has a big ole monsterc*ck, tooth rotting fluff, multiple orgasms

words: 16.3k

Miraculously, you survive.

Not without a thorough verbal lashing, but that was to be expected. The moment you walk through your front door, you’re bombarded with questions, and your outfit is fussed with – you don’t think you’ve ever experienced more blind panic in your life than when you have to snatch your skirt out of your mother’s prying hands before you accidentally flash her.

She yells. A lot. You endure it only because the fearful tremor of her voice makes your stomach churn with guilt. You're silent when she demands to know what was so goddamned important you couldn’t bother to pick up a phone to call home, because you can’t very well tell her the actual reason, that you were pretty preoccupied with your longtime crush sucking your soul out of your pussy and so time just sort of…slipped away.

After forty-five minutes, your mother finally quiets and slumps into her recliner, exhausted. You are sent upstairs with a, “If you ever scare me like that again, I will chain you to the foundation of this house. Do you understand me?” You promise you’ll never be out this late without a courtesy call back home explaining your absence, and she waves you away, satisfied for the moment.

You jump in the shower, not because you’re eager to wash Steve’s lingering scent off your skin, but because you’re uncomfortably sticky from the slick smeared between your thighs and the sweat cooling beneath your clothes. Your body is pleasantly warm, even without the water cascading over it, and remnants of that dreamlike serenity you experienced while straddling Steve’s lap swirls around your brain like mist. It enables your thoughts to wander as you scrub shampoo into your scalp.

You imagine Steve in here with you, hair slicked out of his face and soap lingering on his skin, bending down to kiss you while his hands roam the expanse of your body. You didn’t see him naked tonight, but God, you want to. It’s so easy to picture droplets of water clinging to the thatch of dark hair between his hips, and easier still to envision yourself following the thin trail above it with your tongue as you sink to your knees.

After a while, you aren’t even focused on getting clean anymore. You’re just tilted against the slippery tile wall, hands dancing idly over your wet skin as you lose yourself in your fantasies. You forget the amount of attention your pussy’s been shown tonight until you absently reach down to massage your clit, and the ache that bounces up into your stomach makes you hiss through your clenched teeth. Okay, you think, twisting the faucet off and peeling back the shower curtain. Definitely no more of that tonight.

Exhaustion hits the moment you cross the threshold into your bedroom. You toss your towel over the back of a chair and dive beneath your covers, resolving to call Kelsey in the morning and rub in her face just how proficient Steve Harrington is at eating pussy.

It seems like you’ve just shut your eyes when your mother’s voice rouses you from slumber. You can barely make out the vague syllables of your name as you pry one open and holler back, “Yeah?”

“You have a phone call!”

“Tell Kelsey I’ll be there in a second!” You sit up slowly, scrubbing your eyes and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. There’s no helping the low groan that slips past your lips as you stand. You’re sore – your thighs burn with every step you take to grab a robe off the back of your door, and your jaw clicks as you loose a yawn.

“It’s not Kelsey!” Mom shouts. “It’s that Harrington boy you went out with last night!”

That was fast. Delicious memories from the night before flood your brain, and your cheeks burn as you knot the belt on your robe and burst into the hallway. You descend the steps two at a time, and in your haste, you nearly tackle your mother as you rip the phone from her.

“Ow, Jesus! Bent my goddamn fingers back, Y/N!” she snaps, shaking out her hand and retreating to the living room with a sour look on her face.

You mouth a silent apology at her back before inhaling deeply through your nose and rolling your shoulders. There isn’t time to practice your best “nonchalant” voice, so you hope for the best as you bring the phone’s receiver to your lips.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks. Of course it does.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice, thank God. “Good morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?”

You tangle your fingers within the curls of the phone cord and lean against the wall, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your ribcage. That smooth, carefree confidence drips from his voice like honey, and you can’t even see him, but you know he’s smiling, so the corners of your mouth twitch upward in return.

“Wonderfully. You?”

“Like a baby. I was just about to head off to work, but I wanted to call to check in about last night, make sure you were…yanno, still okay with everything.”

“I’m still very, very okay, Steve,” you promise. You scan the kitchen and poke your head around the wall to peer into the living room, ensuring your mother isn’t secretly eavesdropping. She’s taking sips of coffee between glances at her magazine and the morning news, but you still lower your voice and turn your face tighter toward the phone when you respond.

“I think the evidence of how okay I am is staining your backseat.”

Steve chuckles, and you bite your bottom lip as your face flushes.

“Good point,” he says. “I also was wondering if, maybe, possibly…you were free again tonight?”

You’re sure you'd spit your heart onto the floor if it bounced harder into your throat. Is he asking you out again? Two days in a row? You knot the phone cord so tightly around your fist that the flesh starts to go white.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely, I’m free,” you say, forcing yourself to sound normal and not like an overexcited middle schooler. “Did you, uh, have something in mind?”

“Well, I get off work early tonight, so if you’re interested…I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. You catch your mother giving you an odd look over the lip of her mug before you turn your back to her. “Y-Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to catch a movie.”

“Sweet. I’ll be done at five. I can pick you up after?”

“I’ll just meet you,” you counter, “Family Video’s not that far from my house.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

It’s not that you don’t want Steve to pick you up – it’s moreso that you know your mother will want to talk to him, and you aren’t ready to subject him to her well-intentioned interrogations just yet, not when she’s likely still a little hot about your late arrival last night.

“Alright, you’ll meet me at five, then,” Steve concedes.

“Sounds like a plan. Mind telling me what we’re seeing?”

“Back to the Future.”

You furrow your brow a bit. You thought everyone in Hawkins had seen that movie by now since it came out three months ago, and had assumed it’d already trickled out of the theaters in favor of being burned onto DVDs.

“I didn’t peg you as a sci-fi nerd,” you admonish playfully, and Steve huffs in amusement.

“I tried to watch it when it first came out but, uh…well, I had stuff going on that night, and then Starcourt burnt down….” He trails off, but you nod and suck your teeth in acknowledgment.

You remember the news about the mall burning down the morning after it happened – the police surmised a couple of dumb kids snuck into the building after it had closed and decided it would be a good idea to set off fireworks on the Fourth. Your mother shook her head at the newspaper that day, steaming mug abandoned on the table in front of her and hand pressed mournfully to her mouth. You’d snuck a peek over her shoulder, and Detective Jim Hopper had stared reproachfully back at you, beneath a headline announcing his untimely demise as a hero. His and Heather Holloway’s names were the only ones you’d really recognized in the expansive list of casualties, and you weren’t even close to Heather. You’d had one meaningless conversation with her during one of her shifts at the pool because Kelsey mentioned a band she was traveling to see, and Heather overheard and announced her plans to go to that very same concert – one in Indianapolis, in August. Needless to say, Kelsey was the only one who made that trip.

The second-only movie theater in Hawkins burned with Starcourt, and now all that’s left is The Hawk downtown, in all its crumbling, dusty glory.

“Yeah, I guess scooping ice cream waits for no man, huh?” you ask slyly. You’d never gone to Scoops Ahoy when it existed, mainly because you didn’t trust yourself to not sound like a stuttering idiot if you tried to order from Steve, but you’d never deny yourself the indulgent glances you’d steal from across the food court at him. He was the only man you’d ever seen make sailor shorts and a dixie-cup hat look sexy.

“Hey, I was doin’ much more than scooping ice cream.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Just, yanno…helping some friends with some…stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

You snort.

“Important stuff,” he adds, and you nod.

“Is there any other kind?”

“None that I know of. See you in a few hours?”

“Definitely,” you say.

“Awesome. I gotta go, I have to pick up my friend so we can carpool. I’ll see you later, baby.”

The line clicks dead, and you’re left standing against the wall, wrapped up in the phone cord and blushing bright scarlet as the dial tone groans at you.

Baby.

If Steve never uses your real name again and exclusively calls you “baby” forever, you’ll die a happy woman. You spin around to disentangle yourself and slam the receiver back down on the hook, clasping the front of your robe shut as you hurry back up the stairs.

“I’m going out again tonight!” you call over your shoulder. “With Steve!”

“And what will happen if you’re out past curfew again without calling home?” your mother yells back. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, chain me to the foundation, I heard you!”

“Just checking! Oh, and Y/N?”

You pause in your bedroom doorway, robe already halfway shucked off. “Yes?”

“When do I get to meet this Harrington boy?”

“Oh, uh, you know…!” You shut your door quickly.

~~~

You have too many clothes.

You come to this conclusion as you’re standing naked in front of your closet, half of its contents belched out into a pile on the floor, hair and makeup already over an hour old. You’ve never thought so hard about what to put on your body in your entire life. The cold air dribbling through your cracked window suggests that you wear pants. But you hate all the clean options in your drawers, so maybe a skirt with some leggings? But then what do you wear on top – something dressy, casual, or a little bit of both?

You blow out a harsh puff of air and flop unceremoniously to the floor, landing on your ass with a thud. Maybe you’ll just go naked. That’ll go off without a hitch, right?

Ultimately, you build your outfit around a plaid skirt you haven’t worn since the previous year's winter. It’s snug on your hips, almost too snug, and as you bend to slip some plain white Keds on, you feel the waistline dig into the soft skin of your belly. The feeling isn’t unbearable, and the skirt makes your ass look stellar, so you decide it’ll be worth the discomfort and the slight waddle you must walk with. Only after you’ve shrugged a denim jacket over a well-loved Heart t-shirt and have your hand on the doorknob to leave do you consider something: your panties.

They’re cute and simple, and you’re sure Steve would praise your choice of undergarment even if they were beige granny panties, but…wouldn’t he be far more surprised if he hiked your skirt up and found no panties at all? You bite your lip.

Well…if last night is anything to go by, he’d just steal these panties, too, right? And then you’d be down two pairs, and you aren’t made of money. You can’t just replace the pairs he tucks away as memorabilia continuously, can you? It’s a smarter, more fiscally responsible decision to go commando, you reason.

Stomach flipping and cheeks burning red hot, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and kick them toward the hamper in the corner of the room.

~~~

You can’t pry your thoughts away from the breeze tickling between your thighs the entire walk to Family Video.

You’d intended to drive the family car here, but your mother was already clutching the keys and shrugging her jacket on as you plodded down the stairs, citing that she’d had plans to meet some girlfriends for a drink, so you’d have to figure out different transportation. You were only sort of pouty about it, but mostly very brave – if you consider loudly complaining at your mother’s back that she must hate you and want you to get kidnapped as she scurried out the front door as “brave,” that is. Luckily, Family Video is a relatively brief walk if you navigate the forest behind your neighborhood as opposed to trying to follow the main road through town.

Before last night, you had never even considered going anywhere without panties – it seemed like a thing women only did in pornos. But now, here you are, out and about in the middle of the woods, pussy completely exposed beneath a skirt that’s barely long enough to cover the swell of your ass. It’s…oddly invigorating. And far more arousing than you would’ve imagined.

The autumnal chill of October seeps through your jacket, sending chills up and down your bare legs, and you wrap the sides tighter around your waist to preserve what little warmth you still have. A few older couples, folks out for an evening walk, you gather, eye you up and down in confusion – or pity – as you shiver past them, and you can’t help but be a little envious of their thick woolen coats and long knitted pants. But the thought of Steve realizing you’ve shown up for your date without panties, and his eyes darkening with arousal as he hitches your legs up to your chest, hot breath ghosting over your exposed flesh as he gazes at you in the way that makes you feel like the single most desirable thing on the planet…

It’s more than worth being a little chilly.

The dark green exterior of the Family Video is almost entirely blocked by a swarm of patrons when you reach the parking lot. You should’ve expected this, seeing as the weekend has just begun, but the sight makes you swallow hard and self-consciously smooth a hand over the front of your skirt. A majority of the clientele for the evening seems to be rowdy teenage boys who raucously mill about the parking lot, some smoking cigarettes, others performing tricks on their skateboards. Shit.

You take a deep, steadying breath and lift your chin as you cut through the drifting crowds filtering in and out of the store. You tuck your hands behind your back as you walk, trying to appear casual as you slide them down over your butt and pin the fabric of your skirt in place. A giggling teenage girl blows a pink bubble with her gum as she holds the door open for you, and you flash her a thankful smile.

The air in the store is warm and a little stuffy, the smell of dust, candy, and stale popcorn hanging like fog between the doorway and the checkout counter. People amble around, most chattering with friends as they bemusedly pick up DVDs and scan the front and back covers for something that piques their interest. An unsupervised little girl shrieks as she darts past you, clenching The Care Bears Movie against her chest as she begs her mom to buy it.

A lithe, busy-looking girl paces behind the counter, wearing a green vest with Family Video emblazoned in bright orange lettering on the lapel. Her hair is a dirty, warm blonde and curls softly just beneath her chin, and her angular features are pinched together in apparent dismay as she worries a chipped blue thumbnail between her teeth. You progress toward her slowly, tapping on the counter’s surface to gain her attention. Despite what you thought was a markedly careful and delicate approach, the girl almost flings herself over the counter’s edge, gasping and exclaiming in surprise.

“Sorry! Sorry, um, hi, I’m Y/N, I’m supposed to be meeting Steve here?” you say hurriedly, and the girl blinks her round blue eyes at you. Silence falls gracelessly between the two of you, and you’re sure it only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity lapses in the seconds the girl’s unblinking gaze is fixed on your face.

It’s…a little unnerving, you’ll admit.

She squints, like she’s trying to glean more information from the nervous smile you’ve pasted on your lips, then snaps her fingers and points in your direction as a sudden realization dawns on her.

“I sat on your underwear!” she announces, loud enough for a father and young child to turn their heads and stare at you both in confusion. If you weren’t trying to conceal your ass from what feels like the entirety of Hawkins right now, you’d bury your face in your hands. The girl, to her credit, instantly realizes her mistake (and her volume) and claps a hand over her mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she says, voice muffled from behind her multi-ringed fingers. “That was…I meant…”

She sticks a hand out before her, offering you an apologetic smile along with the handshake. “I’m Robin. Steve’s told me a lot about you.”

Ohhhh. Robin. She was a key character in many of the stories Steve told you last night, and from the way he described her, her frenetic energy suddenly makes a lot more sense. You return her smile and shake her hand, but Robin doesn’t let go immediately. Instead, she grips you tight while waving your interlocked arms up and down repeatedly as she talks, almost like she’s unaware she’s doing it.

“I wasn’t, like, seeking out your underwear or anything, by the way. I just, like – well, Steve and I drove to work together this morning, and when I sat down, I felt something weird bunched up under me, and I was like, ‘Huh, wonder what that is,’ so I pulled it out and lo and behold,” she mouths the word “panties” silently, laughing a bit awkwardly around it, “and I was like ‘Woah! What the hell!’ and then Steve told me to put them down, and I was like, ‘Whose are these?’ and then he told me about your date and….” She trails off and lets go of your hand once she recognizes she’s been flapping it for about thirty seconds.

“Sorry. I…talk a lot,” she says sheepishly, but you just laugh and shake your head.

“It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you, too, by the way.”

She grins so wide you worry it’ll split her slim face right down the middle. “So, Steve told me you guys have a second date tonight?” she asks.

You nod. “Yep! We’re gonna go see Back to the Future.”

“Ohh, I remember that movie! Michael J. Fox wants to, like, bang his mom, right?”

You giggle and shrug. “Something like that, yeah. Do you know where Steve is, by the way?”

Robin nods and slides out from behind the counter. “Yep, I’ll go grab him. Be right back!”

She flits off, disappearing behind rows of DVDs and throngs of idle customers. You turn, keeping your back pointed at the counter for safety, and lean against it. Oddly, you feel compelled to greet people when they walk in since you’re standing right at the front; you get a few curious looks thrown your way as you wave and welcome people inside the store, clearly not in uniform and rather done up for a supposed Family Video employee.

A minute passes, and while you don’t see Steve emerge with Robin, you certainly hear him.

A display of chocolate bars flies off the counter behind you, clattering to the floor with a loud, metallic clang that makes everyone stop what they’re doing and look. Candy spills across the floor, and Steve stoops to the ground to collect the fallen sweets and discarded metal rack, mumbling apologies at startled customers all the while. He cradles the chocolate in his arms and lets the rack dangle off one crooked finger as he straightens and smiles at you.

“Smooth move, dingus,” Robin teases, patting Steve’s shoulder and resuming her post behind the counter. He shoots her a look and swings the display rack back on the counter. He sloppily dumps the bars next to it before wiping his palms on his jeans and stepping closer to you.

He’s sporting the same Family Video vest as Robin, a slightly baggy yellow sweatshirt, and blue jeans. The yellow makes the greenish flecks in his eyes pop, and the moles along his cheeks stand out even brighter. Once again, Steve Harrington is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen, and he doesn’t even have to try.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs. A hand slides around your waist and rests on the small of your back, pressing you close enough that he can stamp a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are warm against your chilled skin, and after a moment, he pulls back with a concerned look.

“Jesus, you’re freezing. Did you walk here?”

“Oh, yeah, uh. Mom had to take the car to a thing, so….” You shrug, trying to appear apathetic, but a shiver slithers up your spine as the front door swings open and a gust of frigid air nips at your heels. Steve hugs you closer, fingers squeezing and sliding up your hip and waist to warm you up.

“Next time, just call me. I’ll gladly pick you up so you don’t have to freeze your cute little ass off,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear. Before you can reply – not that you had anything remotely intelligent to say anyway – he turns both of your bodies so they’re angled at Robin.

“You two have been introduced, right?”

“Yep. I told her all of your embarrassing secrets before I went and got you,” Robin says flatly, shuffling candy bars in her hands like playing cards and slotting them into their original spaces on the display.

“Awesome, that means I’ll have plenty of time to tell her all of yours in the car,” Steve retorts. Robin rolls her eyes and holds a chocolate bar above her head threateningly.

“I am not afraid to use this.”

“You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Steve yanks you to the right as the bar soars past your head, pinwheeling onto the floor and almost knocking against the ankles of two teenage girls by the front door. They both look up sourly, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and Robin squeaks out an apology before they strut away.

“Good one,” Steve taunts, slipping his work vest off and dropping it on the counter behind him in a heap. Robin swipes it away with narrowed eyes, chastising Steve about not being his mother as she folds the fabric into a neat, green square. He slings an arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you out of the store, calling out to Robin over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to lock the front door when you leave!”

“One time, Steve. It was one time!”

~~~

The drive to the theater is a pleasant blur of conversation.

The smell of Steve’s cologne envelops you the second the passenger-side door shuts, woody and sweet and perfectly him. As you toss your purse into the backseat, you find yourself staring intently at the upholstery. It doesn’t appear that your previous escapades have actually maimed the leather.

At one point, as Steve talks about a particularly belligerent customer he had to deal with earlier in the day, he reaches over and rests his hand on your thigh. It’s not an insinuation or expectation – he hardly even applies pressure, just idly rubs his pinky back and forth over your skin while he continues his story. His ministrations do slightly disturb the hem of your skirt, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

You entertain the idea of just guiding his fingers between your legs, allowing him to feel you entirely, letting him play with your cunt while he drives, but just as you’ve built up the necessary courage, the car is pulling into the parking lot behind The Hawk.

He squeezes your leg before hopping out of the car, and you’ve barely gathered your purse strings in your fist before he swings your door open for you and extends a hand down to help you out.

“Madame,” he says, bowing his head slightly. You giggle and take his hand.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, and as you step onto the cracked asphalt below, Steve shuts the door and crowds you up against the side of his car.

His lips are instantly on yours, warm, soft, and hungry, and you can’t help but sigh against his mouth. You didn’t know how addictive kissing Steve Harrington would be until you went without it; now that you’re here, you’re tempted to forego the movie entirely so you don’t have to stop making out with him. He nudges his knee between your legs, and you tense up involuntarily, inhaling sharply through your nose. You feel him start to pull away, having noticed your apparent hesitance, but you remedy that quickly by bringing a hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck and locking your right ankle around his calf. You lick at his lips, and he parts them readily, excitedly. He tastes minty, something you weren’t expecting but aren’t displeased with.

“You smell good,” Steve mumbles, kissing a trail down your neck and tugging the collar of your shirt to one side so he can better access the skin beneath. He hums approvingly before latching onto a pre-existing hickey, suckling and nipping at his handiwork.

“If you do that, they’re never gonna go away,” you breathe. He chuckles.

“Good. They look so pretty on you.” His hands glide down your waist and settle on your hips, kneading circles into your flesh and pulling you flush against his body. You notice how comfortably you fit together, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place for the first time. When he straightens, you find yourself tilting your head to meet his eyes.

“You have the softest mouth,” he says quietly, raising his hand and ghosting it along your jaw. His curled pointer finger settles beneath your chin, and his thumb presses into the center of your lower lip. “I could kiss you all day.”

“We’d miss the movie,” you warn, words slurred slightly by the presence of his thumb. You have to admit, though, that spending an entire day holed up with Steve, doing nothing but making out and allowing his hands to roam wherever they pleased on your body sounds like heaven on earth. He smiles at you, that perfect crooked smile, and gives you one last peck on the lips before stepping back.

“Better get a move on, then,” he says, sweeping his arm out and moving to the side. Cold air rushes to fill the space his body occupied a moment ago, and you shiver. You smooth the front of your skirt with one hand and slot the other inside his, keeping in step as you both navigate the alleyway next to the theater.

Empty cardboard boxes loom above your head, stacked haphazardly and tilted into the walkway. Puddles of opaque liquid splash beneath your shoes as you walk through them. A rumor Kelsey whispered to you ages ago floats to the forefront of your mind.

“Hey…didn’t Jonathan Byers kick your ass back here a few years ago?” you ask. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches. Then, he smacks his lips and walks ahead, tugging on your arm and dragging you through the alley.

“So, what size popcorn did you want? I was thinking we’d get a large to share!”

~~~

Your sneakers stick noisily to the floor as you and Steve slither through the narrow rows of the mostly empty theater. You’re clutching the large Coke you’re going to share and the box of Sour Patch Kids Steve insisted upon while he’s balancing the unnecessarily massive bucket of popcorn on the tips of his fingers. You eye it cautiously, ready to leap to catch it if it pitches forward.

The seats you’ve picked in the top middle row, away from what little crowd is scattered about the theater, creak as you sit down, and the decrepit padding sags under your weight. You’ve missed the previews but are just in time to watch Marty McFly hitching a ride on the back of a truck to get to school. You pass Steve his candy and take a sip of your drink as he settles in and sticks the popcorn bucket between his knees.

“So, what’s happening?” Steve whispers, leaning down to your ear.

“Hardly anything yet. He’s on his way to school from Doc Brown’s house.”

“He who? And who’s Doc Brown?”

“He is Michael J. Fox,” you murmur, pointing at Marty as Principal Strickland berates him. “Doc Brown is Christopher Lloyd, the crazy scientist.”

“Ohh. Wait, isn’t he the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest guy?”

You lean back in your seat enough to give Steve an incredulous look.

“You’ve seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

He shrugs, ripping the cardboard lip of the Sour Patch box open and spilling a few multi-colored gummies into his palm. “Robin and I have movie nights every Sunday. She chooses artsy shit on her turns. My last pick was Gremlins. You should come this weekend, but I can’t promise she’ll give up her turn for you. She’s suuuuper anal about that stuff.”

You smile and relax into his side. “As long as she’s cool with me bringing hot chips, she can pick whatever she wants.” This date isn’t over yet, and he’s already talking about seeing you again. If it weren’t the least cool thing you could do right now, you’d squeal over it.

Steve silently holds a blue Sour Patch beneath your nose as an offer, pinched between thumb and forefinger. You take it, gently pulling with your front teeth, and before he can retract his hand, you surge forward. Your tongue laps at the sticky sugar left over on the pads of his fingers, and in the flickering light of the film, you catch Steve staring at you, surprised.

He bites the inside of his cheek when you draw his thumb inside your mouth and give a tentative suck. His gaze darkens as you blink up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. As you start to pull away, he presses a finger beneath your chin and hooks his thumb downward against the backs of your bottom teeth, locking you in place. He leans toward you, mouth so close to your cheek that you feel the rumble of his voice across your heating skin.

“Do you really think it’s smart to tease me like that in public, baby?”

It is by the grace of God you don’t moan in the middle of the theater.

You shift in your seat, trying to discreetly cross one leg over the other to squeeze your thighs together. His tone, the unrelenting grip on your jaw, and the change in his body language make you want to challenge him. You want to nod in agreement, to meet his gaze defiantly, do something that’ll make his eyes flash. But someone a few rows down from you loudly clears their throat, and Steve’s eyes dart toward the noise.

You bite back the disappointed whine that builds in your throat as Steve slowly pulls his thumb from your mouth, eyeing the thin string of glittering saliva that keeps it briefly connected to your bottom lip before snapping. A beat passes where you both stare at each other, your lips barely parted, ready to welcome anything Steve deigns to slide past them again, but he rests that hand in his lap instead.

“Watch the movie,” he murmurs, smirking at your open-mouthed and dazed expression.

Yeah, like that’s possible.

You swallow hard, uncrossing your legs and squirming. He hasn’t even done anything, not really, but your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re genuinely concerned you’re going to start leaking all over the cushion below your ass. The potential embarrassment of standing up and discovering the shiny wet spot, a definitive indication of your arousal, thrills as much as it fills you with dread.

Steve seems to get absorbed into the movie rather quickly, mindlessly alternating between popping gummies and kernels of popcorn in his mouth, but your brain is buzzing, making it impossible to focus. When Steve places the popcorn bucket in the empty seat next to him, you can’t help yourself – you glance down at his empty lap, staring at his dick through his jeans like a fucking pervert. You gnaw the edges of your fingers, which doesn’t come close to sating the desire to have anything of Steve’s back inside your mouth..

The 1950s version of Marty’s father has just knocked Biff Tannen unconscious when Steve leans over the armrest between you again, and his voice is light with amusement when he asks, “What’s got you squirming so much?”

You breathe out sharply through your nose.

“I thought you wanted us to watch the movie,” you snark. Steve’s smile widens.

“I told you to watch the movie,” he corrects. His elbow nudges into your side slightly as he bends toward you. “But it seems like you’re havin’ a hard time with that. I’m just curious as to why.”

“You know why.”

“Mmm, no, I don’t.” Smug motherfucker.

Your hands rest on your thighs, clenching and unclenching as you contemplate your next move. He watches you intently, eyes roaming from your undoubtedly flushed face to where your hands are fidgeting in your lap.

You won’t tell him why you can’t sit still – you’ll show him.

Wordlessly, you slide your fingers down the sleeve of his sweatshirt until you’re grasping his hand and guiding it toward your skirt. His fingers are cold as they brush against the soft, warm flesh of your inner thighs, and you grin as a gasp flutters past his lips.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pulls his hand back, and before you can whine at the loss, he adjusts himself in his seat so he’s angled toward you and reaches between your legs with his other hand, the one that offers better leverage. You duck your face into the crook of his neck as his two fingers slide up the length of your slit, collecting the slick that’s puddled near your hole and smearing it up your lips. You can’t part your legs any further, or you’ll rip your skirt right up the seam, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. You whimper softly as Steve crowds you up against the back of your seat.

“I can’t believe you went out with no panties on,” he breathes raggedly. That same fervent, desperate arousal he displayed last night while nose-deep in your pussy bleeds into his voice, making it husky as it washes over your ear, and you shiver.

Steve dips the tips of his fingers inside you, a groan stifled against the back of his teeth, and you suck in a breath. Is he really going to finger you here, in the theater? You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting, but knowing that anyone could turn around and see you both right now makes you simultaneously nervous and stupidly horny.

“God, you’re already so wet,” Steve rasps, fingers nudging deeper inside of you. “Have you been thinking about this the whole movie? Teasing me ‘til I played with your pussy?”

“M-Maybe,” you whimper. “I didn’t…have a concrete plan…oh, fuck–”

Steve claps his free hand over your mouth before you can loose the moan bubbling up your throat, snickering as his two fingers slide inside you. They curl as he drags them almost entirely out of your hole, leaving only the tips inside before slowly stuffing you full again. He keeps this devastatingly slow pace, fucking his fingers in so deep you ache, only to leave you mostly empty, again and again. You pant and whine against his palm, hips bucking off the seat to try and make him go faster, God, you need him to fuck you properly, but he won’t be swayed.

“You should see yourself right now,” he says against your ear. His fingers still inside you, the tips rubbing against your g-spot so that despite the people around you, you’re confident you’ll scream in frustration if he doesn’t start fucking you the way you want, the way you need. “Your cunt is drooling all over the seat, baby.”

He removes his hand from between your thighs, smirking at how you fuss and strain in an attempt to coax him back inside you. He frees your mouth, but only briefly, as his slick-soaked digits push past your lips the second you open them to protest. They don’t stop, either, sliding across your tongue and toward the back of your throat. He presses down, nearly activating your gag reflex.

Steve watches hungrily as you hollow your cheeks and suck on his fingers, swirling your tongue over and between them to clean what remains of your slick off. The subtle way he shifts his weight catches your attention, and your gaze drifts down to his lap again.

He’s hard, you can tell, even with the inconsistent light the movie affords you.

Embarrassingly, your mouth floods with saliva at the thought of kneeling on the sticky theater floor and swallowing Steve Harrington’s cock while the people around you innocently watch Back to the Future.

“Please,” you mewl once Steve pulls his fingers from your mouth. He hums inquisitively, tracing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

You straighten and push yourself into Steve’s space, crushing your mouths together as you reach into his lap and stroke the bulge in his jeans. A shudder ripples through his body as your fingers squeeze and rub insistently, and it only spurs you on. You deftly unhook the button on his pants and drag the zipper down as Steve explores your mouth with his tongue, hands curling around your jaw and holding you in place.

“You gonna stroke my cock in front of all these people, baby?” Steve chides playfully, nipping your bottom lip.

“If you’ll let me.”

He seems a bit taken aback by your answer, enough to where his mouth hovers above yours, and his dark eyes blink open. Steve examines your face, almost as if he’s trying to discern if you’re serious or just so mind-bogglingly horny that you’ll agree to anything.

You sink your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and grasp his cock, too eager to let the cogs finish turning in his head. His flesh is burning hot to the touch, and as you swipe your thumb over the swollen, thick head, you smear a pearl of precum down his shaft.

The sound he makes once he captures your lips in a kiss again is sinful.

If it weren’t for the armrest, you’re sure he’d be pulling you into his lap right about now. Steve’s breath comes in shallow bursts as you stroke him, slow and deliberate, mimicking the pace at which he fingered you. He reaches for you, wrenching your shirt from where it’s tucked into your skirt and sliding a hand up your stomach. When he cups that hand around your breast, you gasp, and he swallows the sound greedily before pushing your bra down and out of the way.

Two things happen just as Steve brings his other hand down between your legs again: lightning crashes into the clocktower on the screen, and someone unleashes a sustained, phlegmy round of coughing.

Steve jerks back from you, panting, pink high on his cheeks and his hair dangling in his face. He looks around, tongue darting out to wet his red, swollen lips. After a moment, he laughs and leans back, closing a hand over the one you still have jammed down his pants.

“Why’d you stop?” you ask.

“'Cause if I don’t, I’m gonna fuck your brains out in front of all these people,” he admits, eyes shining mischievously.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you purr, squeezing the base of his cock. He twitches but gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, guiding it out of his underwear.

“You say that until Chief Powell locks us both up for public indecency,” he laughs. “Do you wanna come back to my place, baby? It’s a lot more comfortable and…private.”

You start nodding before he’s even got the whole sentence out. He smiles, popping a quick kiss on the tip of your nose before reclining in his seat to tuck his dick away and do his pants back up. You have to do a bit of awkward twisting and shuffling to get your bra back into place without accidentally flashing the whole room, and Steve grabs your hand before carefully leading you down the steps and toward the theater door.

“So, uh, just in case I don’t get to see it ‘til it comes out on DVD,” he whispers over his shoulder, “how’s the movie end?”

“Uh, Marty hooks his mom and dad back up, and they all end up better off in the future. His dad’s some hotshot author and makes Biff chauffeur him everywhere.”

“Good for George!”

“Oh, and Doc lives.”

Steve stops cold, holding the door halfway open before turning to face you with a puzzled expression.

“Wait, what, how’d he-”

“Steve, do you wanna stand here talking about it, or do you wanna go have sex?” you ask, patting his chest and urging him out the door.

“Right, right, sorry, just – tell me later!”

~~~

Steve’s mouth finds yours the moment his front door shuts behind the both of you.

His hand slides behind your head, partially to tangle in your hair and keep you where he wants, but also so you don’t smack it against the wall as he pins you there. A few picture frames dotted along the entryway rattle from the force, and the sound stirs a thought.

“Wait, Steve, your parents…” Your protest is weak and breathless, swallowed by a gasp as Steve kisses a trail down your neck and laves his tongue over a healing hickey.

“Not home,” he breathes.

“Are you sure?”

“They never are,” he murmurs into your skin.

Paranoia still flickers dimly in the back of your mind, so you crack your eyes open to look around. The oak floors beneath you gleam as if freshly polished, and the cream walls you’re pressed against are stippled with a few small pieces of geometric art. There’s a side table just beyond Steve’s back, shiny and black and dimly illuminated by a single lamp, and while you don’t spot the glint of anyone’s keys on it right away, you still aren’t convinced that means no one’s home. Stairs are crushed against the furthest wall, thick ivory fabric carpeting each step, flowing upstairs into a rectangle of darkness on the top landing.

Steve sinks his teeth into the flesh above your pulse point, ripping your attention away from the decor. You moan louder than you intended and tip your head further to the side to give him better access.

“Such a little fuckin’ tease,” Steve growls against your throat. His fingers clench, tugging your hair by the root. The pain stings sweetly across your scalp, and you suck in a breath. “You have no fucking idea how much self-control it took to not bend you over in that theater, Y/N, Jesus Christ.”

You whimper, snaking your hands up under the back of his sweatshirt. He radiates heat, and the sensation of his smooth, unblemished skin beneath your fingers makes you want to scratch grooves into it. You won’t, not yet – you don’t have a read quite yet on how much pain Steve likes intermingled with his pleasure, if any.

His free hand glides down your thigh before hitching itself behind your knee, and you gasp as Steve hikes your leg up and over his hip, leaving you suddenly exposed. Steve’s warm, solid body swiftly replaces the cool air that tickles between your thighs as he presses himself flush against you, his bulge straining against your bare pussy in a way that makes you shiver.

“God, I could fuck you right here,” he breathes, and you’re grateful for his iron grip because, without it, your buckling knees would’ve sent you straight to the floor. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, baby. Y’know how bad I wanted to drag you back inside my car last night? Keep you all to myself?”

“Fuck, Steve,” you whine, voice muffled against his soft, sweet-smelling hair. Arousal sinks itself between your hips like lead, hot and insistent, and you grind against Steve’s denim-clad cock desperately. You’ll let him fuck you anywhere he likes – against the wall, on the floor, bent over the railing of the stairs. A perverse thrill rushes through you at the thought, and you’re about to open your mouth to beg Steve for just that when he releases his grip on your hair and leg.

By the time you realize what’s happening, Steve’s knees have already hit the dark blue rug below you, and his fingers are squeezing your skirt over your hips. He tilts your lower half away from the wall, toward his face, by grabbing a greedy handful of your ass and pulling; you stumble a little and have to tangle both hands in his hair to keep from falling over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along your inner thigh, turning his face into the soft, malleable flesh, and you see the flash of his teeth before you feel them, nipping the juncture where your pelvis and leg meet.

“Let’s see if I still remember our lesson,” he murmurs, a sound that vibrates up into your core and shakes a moan from your lips. His voice, though faint between your legs, is dark and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself back from ravaging you right where you stand. You don’t know how to verbalize quite yet that you want, more than anything, for Steve to just fucking take you already. You worry the wicked thoughts swirling around in your head right now, tapping their claws against your skull and whispering encouragement to you, will freak him out if you dump all of them on him at once.

Steve’s tongue flattens against your cunt, and the noise he makes as he licks up to your clit makes you shudder. He crushes you closer to him, so close you can feel the tip of his nose bumping between your folds as he gets right to work eating your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

“Still so fucking wet,” he mumbles. He pulls away, just far enough to spread you open with two fingers, and teases the tips around the rim of your hole. You whimper, hips bucking involuntarily, your grip tightening in Steve’s hair to keep yourself steady. His dark eyes flicker to your face; his swollen pupils eclipse the color in his irises, leaving them almost black in the dim light of the entryway.

“You want my fingers, baby?” he asks. You nod, breathless.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He traces around your twitching entrance, gaze unwaveringly intense. You swallow hard and swear you see the corner of his mouth tic amusedly when he catches how your throat bobs with the effort.

“Yes, please, Steve,” you offer, and he sucks his teeth in admonishment.

“C’mon, pretty girl, I thought you learned how to beg for me properly last night,” he chastises, and your stomach flips. The high, squeaky sound that ekes out of your mouth is wholly unintentional, but how the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he’s talking like that, looking at you like that, touching you like that?

“P-Please, please, Steve, I need your fingers inside me, please,” you mewl, and Steve makes a satisfied noise low in his throat. He places an approving kiss right above your clit, and if the thought of falling directly on top of him wasn’t mortifying, you’re sure you’d collapse.

“Do you wanna take my cock tonight baby?” he asks. He pushes his two fingers inside you just as your mouth drops open to answer, and you suck in a breath sharply as they curl and brush over that spot inside you.

“God, fuck, yes, I do, please. I want your cock,” you babble.

“Are you sure? You’re not too sore?” It’s a sincere question. Truthfully, you are still sore – not terribly, not the way you were in the shower last night, but the ache pulsing in your muscles as Steve slowly, so fucking slowly, draws his fingers in and out of your pussy, is inescapable. Admittedly, though, it doesn’t discourage your arousal even one bit – you want him to fuck you until you can’t walk, to have that dull pain twinge throughout your body for days as a reminder.

And considering how big he is, you don’t think that’ll be hard to accomplish.

“No, I’m okay, not too sore,” you assure him.

“Yeah? You’ll let me know if it hurts too much, won’t you, pretty girl?”

You nod, breath hitching as the pads of his fingers rub gentle circles over your g-spot. “I can take it, Steve.”

He smiles, sweet and innocent, his sunshine yellow sweatshirt rumpled and perfect hair ruffled across his forehead. He kisses your thigh again and pulls his fingers almost all the way out.

“You’ll need to take more than two fingers if you wanna fit my cock inside you,” he says simply, and plunges three fingers inside you up to the knuckle while latching his mouth over your clit.

The only reason you don’t scream is because all the oxygen has been sucked from your lungs.

Steve drives his fingers home again and again, spreading them apart inside you while his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit. Your fingers claw at the smooth wall behind you, desperate for anything that might aid you in remaining upright, and when you can’t find it and the tremoring in your thighs threatens to overtake you, you thrust your hands into Steve’s hair, pushing it away from his face. It gives you an unencumbered view of his dark, thick eyelashes fluttering over his cheekbones as he focuses on your slit and the faint flush hueing his tanned skin.

When your head falls back against the wall, and you moan, high and desperate, you unthinkingly ball your hands into fists. The strands of Steve’s hair go taut in your grip, and just as you’re about to whisper an apology, he groans into you.

“Harder,” he says, breathless, a gleaming string of saliva tenuously connecting his bottom lip to your cunt.

“Wha…” You’re borderline delirious from pleasure, which makes forming an intelligible sentence very difficult. Sensing this, Steve lifts the hand not buried knuckles deep inside you and rests it over yours, squeezing gently.

“Pull harder, baby.”

You swallow hard. His eyes are wide open now, staring directly at your face, bright and blazing. When you oblige him, clench your fingers and tug at the root of Steve’s hair with both hands, hard enough to make his head tip back, his lids flicker, and a smirk sprawls across his reddened lips. The gasp that passes through them clenches your stomach, and his approval inspires you to pull his head back further.

“Fuck,” he growls.

“That feel nice?” you ask, and Steve nods as best he can. He looks fucking divine like this; slick lips parted to allow shallow breaths, gazing up at you like you’re the only person in the universe who matters. You wonder if he’ll ever let you take the reins, if he’d let you pluck him apart, piece by piece, just as he’s done to you, only to paste him back together at your leisure.

The thought makes you shiver, and you gush a bit around his fingers.

He’s broken free of your grasp just as quickly as he invited it, however, and when he dives back into your cunt, he’s abandoned all pretense. He laps at your clit with long, flat strokes of his tongue and purposefully thrusts his three fingers against your g-spot, curling them tight and pumping so fast you can see the veins twitching in his bicep. Your pussy makes wet, obscene sounds as he fucks into it, and the embarrassment that tinges the edge of your arousal at that fact brings you closer to orgasm than you were expecting.

“S-Steve, Steve, God, fuck, I’m gonna cum, please, I wanna cum,” you blurt out, and he hums affirmatively. Without warning, you feel the tip of his pinky finger nudging against your hole.

“Cum for me,” he says – rather, he demands it of you. “Cum on my fingers if you wanna earn my cock, baby.”

Earn it. That thought, and the sweet, burning stretch of his four fingers inside your spasming pussy send you tumbling over the edge. You scream so loud you worry any neighbor Steve has will think he’s trying to kill you. In all fairness, he may be – you cum so hard that once your scream fizzles out, it’s impossible to draw in an adequate breath, so you’re just left paralyzed, choking on your own tongue, trembling on Steve’s deft fingers and mouth.

He milks it for as long as he can, chuckling against your folds when you finally gather the wherewithal to whine and push weakly at his forehead after your pleasure ripens into pain. When he pulls his fingers out, all four shimmer with slick, and it takes you a beat to realize your thighs are warm and wet from your orgasm, all the way down to your knees. The small puddle of your own cum that’s collected between your shoes glistens mockingly up at you.

“Okay…you have to at least let me clean that up,” you pant, jutting your chin toward your mess. Steve laughs and sucks a kiss into one of the few unblemished areas of your inner thigh you have left.

“It’ll dry, don’t worry about it. You can clean this for me, though.”

Steve reaches up and presses all four fingers into your mouth. You moan, a wholly compulsory sound, but obediently twirl your tongue over the digits, doing precisely as he asked and cleaning your cum from his skin. As you do, Steve murmurs praise into your flesh between featherlight kisses, trailing them across both thighs and either side of your hips as he raises himself higher on his knees.

“Good girl,” he purrs, retrieving his fingers from your mouth. You’re about to thank him when he presses you flush against the wall again. You find yourself upside down before you can ask what he’s doing.

Steve has hoisted you up and over his shoulder, not unlike a literal sack of potatoes, and you’re now completely inverted, blood rushing to your head but enjoying an eyeful of Steve’s ass in his jeans. The fabric of your skirt is still bunched up around your hips, leaving your bare ass fully exposed, and you reflexively reach back to cover it as Steve darts up the staircase. Your body bounces on the rounded edge of his shoulder, which digs a bit unpleasantly into the soft pouch of your stomach, but you find yourself giggling uncontrollably all the same. His strength impresses and arouses you all over again.

“Sorry, baby, I just don’t fully trust you to walk all the way to my room on those shaky legs,” Steve says, mirth belying his apology. You’d like to argue, but he isn’t wrong. Even as they dangle uselessly across Steve’s torso, your thighs tremble. At this rate, you would’ve been lucky if they cooperated enough to let you crawl after Steve to his bedroom.

Although…

Before you can entertain that thought, you’re flying through the air. The springs of Steve’s bed shriek as you land atop it in a heap, making you wonder if they always squeak like that.

“Sorry about the mess,” Steve says, arms crossed over his torso and hands gripping the hem of his sweatshirt. You look around – aside from a few crumpled pieces of paper on a desk and a moderate pile of rumpled clothes in one corner, the room is spotless. The walls and curtains are matching shades of plaid, and more oak furniture crowds the corners. You take a deep breath, expecting Steve’s cologne to waft sweetly up your nose, but instead, you inhale the scent of dust. There isn’t much here to denote that the room belongs to a college-aged man, let alone that he spends any meaningful amount of time in it. It looks more like a well-used guest room, aside from the forest green sleeve of Steve’s varsity jacket peeking out from the cracked closet door and a singular framed picture on his desk. The features of the two figures are bathed in shadow, but you can tell by the exaggerated swoop of hair on the taller one that it’s Steve with…someone.

It makes you sad, Steve’s room.

You sit on your knees and shuffle toward him as he peels off his shirt, laying your hands over his to stop him.

“Let me,” you whisper.

He pauses, a sliver of smooth skin visible through the gap he’s made in his clothes, and you catch a glimpse of his happy trail just above his belt buckle. One hand drifts downward, and your fingers press tentatively into that thatch of hair. Steve’s stomach is a hard wall of muscle protected by soft flesh that pudges out around your fingertips slightly, and the way he tenses beneath your touch doesn’t escape your notice. His eyes glitter in the room's dim light, flickering over your face, searching.

“Please?” you add, and he smiles.

He drops both arms to his sides, allowing you to slide your palms along his waist and lift the sweatshirt from his body. Dark, coarse hair swirls across his chest, dipping between his pectorals in a thin line before reappearing above the waistband of his jeans; beneath the sparse edges of his body hair, you’re able to pick out dozens of freckles and beauty marks dappled along the lean, tan expanse of his torso. The sleeves of his sweatshirt flip inside out and cling to his wrists as you tug the last of it off, and you both giggle when the neckline snags on the tip of his nose before snapping over his forehead.

You sit back on your haunches, hands hovering above his body, unsure of where to settle first. He’s so fucking pretty, you want to touch everywhere at once, from the broad line of his shoulders to the divots along his pelvis.

You don’t have long to think about it. Steve slips both hands behind your knees and pulls; your back hits the bed in a squeal of springs and a whoosh of air, and as your thighs spread instinctively, the riiiiip of your skirt splitting clean up the seams catches his attention.

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Steve chuckles, pinching a jagged flap of fabric between his fingers. It’s unsalvageable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You squeeze what remains of the waistband down your hips and drop the scraps off the edge of his bed, giggling.

“You’re gonna owe me a whole new wardrobe at this rate,” you say, and Steve presses an apologetic kiss to the bridge of your nose.

“I’ll get you the best a Family Video salary can buy,” he promises. Then, two fingers are buried inside of you to the knuckles, and any witty retort you had loaded up for him dissipates on the breath that hisses out through your teeth.

“Fucking – oh, my God,” you groan, stretching out the last word as Steve plunges his fingers in and out of your cunt. He tilts his hand slightly so that he’s brushing up against your g-spot every time, and you would be embarrassed about the pathetic little whimpers tumbling from your lips if you had the wherewithal for shame at this juncture. Your back arches, driving your head into the pillow, but Steve’s free hand tangles itself in your hair and forces you into a semi-sitting position.

“I want you to watch, baby,” he murmurs. “Watch how you take me.”

“Please, Steve, more, please, I can take it,” you pant, eyelashes fluttering as you watch Steve’s glistening fingers vanish and reappear rhythmically. He laughs against the shell of your ear before kissing your temple.

“I know you can take more of my fingers, pretty girl. I watched you do that,” he coos, voice rife with singsongy condescension. “Unless that’s not what you mean.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you whine, and you don’t think you’ve ever sounded so petulant in your entire life. Steve’s fingers still, and he makes a quizzical Hm? sound high in his throat before deliberately dragging tight, fast circles around your g-spot. The veins in his forearm pulse and bulge with the effort, and he’s gone and sucked all the air out of your lungs, so you can’t even answer him when he says, “Then use your words and tell me what you need.”

For a few seconds, your brain goes blank. Pleasure thrums through every nerve in your body until your skin is prickling with heat, gooseflesh rising on your thighs despite the sweat beading at your hairline, and the realization that you’re already close again cracks through your skull like lightning. You grab Steve’s wrist, though you’re torn on if you want to push him away or pull him in deeper. It’s too much, it’s far too much and yet it’s not nearly enough at the same time because it’s not his cock, and you need his cock, so finally, you draw in a shallow breath, swallow what little saliva remains in your mouth, and you tell him.

“I need your cock, please, Steve. I need your fucking cock so badly, please just give it to me.”

“That’s my girl.”

Steve crawls between your legs, aptly slipping his belt out of his jeans and whipping it to the other end of the room. As he strips his pants off – you bite back a laugh, watching him struggle to rip his foot out of one of the legs – you sit forward slightly and peel off your Heart T-shirt. Fresh air cools your flushed skin while you reach behind yourself, awkwardly attempting to unclasp your bra and still look sexy, a feat you don’t think has ever been accomplished.

“I got it,” Steve says, and as he presses himself against you, head hanging over your shoulder and fingers adeptly unhooking the tiny metal hoops, something hot and hard rubs between your legs. You look down and realize he’s already stripped himself of his briefs, and once your bra falls away, discarded alongside your shirt, you see the flushed length of his cock bobbing slightly between his hips.

Your mouth fills with saliva. It’s like you can still taste him, heady and salty and perfect, on the back of your tongue, and for a moment, you want to beg him to fill your throat over and over again.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Steve murmurs, lips trailing down the side of your neck, then your collarbone, before both hands rise to cup your now bare tits, and his mouth glides along your heated flesh. When he closes it around a nipple and laves his tongue around it in slow circles, you arch your back, moaning with abandon; Steve inches closer, the head of his cock nudging more insistently against your cunt. He repeats his ministrations on the other nipple, hands kneading and squeezing the pliant skin of your chest gently until you’re whining and bucking against him.

“You ready, baby?” he purrs. He lifts his eyes to yours, pupils blown so wide and black within his dark irises that it’s like staring into twin pools of ink. You open your mouth to respond just as Steve grips himself by the base of his cock and grinds the shaft against your soaked slit, up and down, up and down, grazing your clit with every stroke. If you weren’t so smitten by him, you’d fucking kill him.

Growling, you plunge both hands into his hair, tugging hard at the locks by his temples as you did before, and Steve’s shocked gasp skitters across your face.

“Fuck me before I lose my goddamned mind,” you pant, voice much less authoritative than you’d like it to be. You compensate by jerking Steve’s head back, punctuating your demand, and he laughs.

“If you insist.”

Both of your wrists are swept up in one of his hands and pinned above your head so fast you don’t have time to react. The head of his cock presses against your hole, thick and hot. Despite his thorough prep work, you can tell this will still be quite the stretch. You hitch your legs up over his hips as he prods further, keening and squirming as your pussy struggles to accommodate the sheer girth of him – it fucking burns, but the pain doesn’t discourage you in the slightest. Still, you can’t help the pitiful mewls that fall from your lips, nor the way your body thrashes against Steve’s iron grip.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, voice rough with arousal. “You can take it. I know you can. Just relax. Does it hurt?”

“K-Kinda.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

“Fuck no, please don’t stop,” you plead, and Steve huffs out a laugh.

When the head finally pops inside you, you reflexively bear down on it and release a broken moan through gritted teeth, and Steve’s low groan reverberates through your body. “So fucking tight, fuck baby,” he moans, and just as your lips part to beg him to keep going, he thrusts in another inch. Steve pushes inside of you slowly and steadily, sucking air through his teeth and screwing his eyes shut so tight you wonder if he’s consciously keeping himself from cumming already.

Then – he pulls out.

Fuck it. You’re gonna kill him and kill him slowly.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, scrambling off the bed and leaving you with a spasming, achingly empty hole and questions on your tongue. The low lighting doesn’t afford you much clarity on what Steve is doing. Under normal circumstances, you’d probably find the way he’s frenziedly flitting about the room, naked as the day he was born, funny, but you are legs akimbo on his bed, alone, with nary an explanation as to why he pulled his dick out of you in the first place.

It dawns on you when he finds what he’s looking for and kneels on the bed again, and the slim plastic wrapper in his hand gleams in the lamplight.

Duh.

“I completely forgot,” he says, smiling bashfully as he frees the condom from its wrapper and rolls it down over his flushed cock. You can’t help it – you’re disappointed he’s not gonna be fucking you raw tonight. You understand why he can’t, why you can’t let him, of course, and if you’d had your wits about you, you’d have reminded him about it yourself. But still.

Steve kisses your forehead as he lines himself up with your cunt again, and this time, he doesn’t make you beg at all – he thrusts almost half his length inside of you in one go, and you forget all about the condom for the moment.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, Steve!” You twist his sheets up into your fists, shocked you don’t tear a hole clean through the fabric, and your mouth hangs open as Steve bullies his cock deeper inside you. Pleasure rumbles through him, something you feel rather than hear at first because he leans over you, one hand supporting the small of your back, lifting you partially off the bed, and presses your bodies together. He plants wet kisses along the side of your neck and down your chest, breath washing over your skin as he pants raggedly.

“You have no idea how hard it was to not just fuck you raw, baby,” he murmurs. A shiver ripples down your back and you moan, the sound swinging high and cracking in your throat because that is maybe the hottest thing he could have said in this moment.

“I would’ve let you,” you admit, the words slipping from your mouth without much thought given to them, and perhaps you’d be embarrassed at your stark honesty, or how desperate you sound if Steve didn’t groan so deliciously in your ear afterward and start snapping his hips forward faster.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, breathless. With every thrust, he buries himself just a bit deeper inside you, and the ever-increasing fullness makes it hard to think, let alone maintain any sort of filter on your words. It still burns just that little bit, enough to remind you that you’ve never had anything – or anyone – this big inside of you before, and it just makes this sweeter.

“God, yes, absolutely,” you huff, because it’s true – you’d never admit it to him, would never tell a single soul or even pen it in the margins of your diary, but you have spent more than one sleepless night in your life with your hand jammed down the front of your underwear, fantasizing about Steve Harrington filling your pussy with load after load until his cum dribbled steadily out of your thoroughly used hole. You’d always flush with embarrassment afterward, when the warm glow of your orgasm had faded and you had to deal with your soaked sheets before they went cold under your ass, mostly because, at that point, you’d hardly said five words to the guy.

Steve adjusts his grip, hands sliding from your back to behind both knees before he pushes them toward your chest. When he bucks against you next, it’s all you can do not to scream. He can get so fucking deep at this angle, with your hips tilted up and Steve looming over you, and you’re positively flabbergasted when you look down between your bodies and realize he hasn’t even pushed his entire length inside of you yet. You’re brimming with him, entirely full, you don’t think you could take another inch, but still you whine and look up at him through your lashes.

“Deeper,” you plead, weakly gripping his elbows for purchase. “P-Please, deeper…more…”

He chuckles, a low sound that rolls like thunder through your body and makes gooseflesh prickle across your skin, and when he pushes a sweat-damp clump of hair from his eyes, you realize just how bright they are. The way they flash at you, coupled with the sheen of sweat glistening off his pinked cheeks and the parting of his red, swollen lips to allow passage for his heaving breaths makes you wish you had a camera. You’d live in this moment forever if you could, Steve pounding you into the mattress and gazing at you like this, like you’re the only thing in the world he cares about.

“You’re fuckin’ twitching around me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” he asks, and the question drops you back into your body at once, though you weren’t aware you’d been floating out of it in the first place. He’s right – without having even acknowledged your clit the entire time Steve’s had his cock inside of you, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, your cunt fluttering sporadically around his length. You open your mouth to reply, but no sound beyond gasping breath comes out, and this is apparently greatly amusing to Steve.

“Oh, you are, aren’t you? My pretty girl’s gonna cum all over my cock and I’ve barely even started, huh?”

His words are like a crank winding an invisible cord that stretches from your core to your clit, one that has already been pulled so taut that you don’t think it’ll withstand his mouth much longer. You want to cum so fucking badly, but you also don’t want to be finished yet, and before you can verbalize any of that to Steve, he’s bearing down on you and pushing your thighs even further back. You’re not sure how you manage it, because you could’ve sworn you were not this flexible before tonight, but Steve forces your legs almost flush against your shoulders and slots both arms behind your knees, so you can’t close them even if you wanted to; he crowds against you, the full weight of his body now accompanying each thrust as he obliges your earlier request and sinks deeper into your drooling pussy than you thought possible.

Your mind goes blissfully blank. The tether in your belly snaps, and you start cumming so hard on Steve’s cock that you can’t even manage a scream – your mouth opens, a perfectly rounded O as your eyes screw themselves shut, and your back arches off his bed, your orgasm igniting every nerve in your body until you’re little more than a writhing live wire. It’s intense – that’s the only word you have for it, understatement of the century though it may be. You clench so tight around Steve that you’re shocked you don’t force him out of you, and he just keeps fucking you through it.

“That’s it, baby,” he croons, swiping the hair from your face with one hand and holding you in place. “That’s it, good girl, keep cumming for me, fuck, I can feel you soaking my cock–”

“Steve, fuck, fuck, God, don’t stop, please,” you wheeze, your pleasure ebbing just enough for you to draw a small breath and find your voice again. You reach up, fingers shaking before settling in his hair, and tug the locks at the nape of his neck as your body trembles uncontrollably. Though he does moan in that way you’re rapidly becoming addicted to as you pull his hair, he slows his pace to a devastatingly slow grind and releases your legs. They flop uselessly down onto the bed, tingling with pins and needles, and you whimper pitifully as Steve takes this moment to sit up on his heels.

“Steve–”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby, it’s okay,” he assures you, resting both hands on your aching hips and kneading small circles into the soft flesh with his thumbs. “I’m here.”

“Did you…?” You glance down at where your bodies are still joined, and Steve snorts.

“Almost. That’s why I had to stop for a sec. You just feel too fucking good.”

You can’t help the smug grin that creeps across your lips. You’re tempted to rock against him anyway, or perhaps even knock him backward and ride him until he can’t take it anymore, but your leaden limbs forbid you from making any significant strides toward either option. Steve pants above you, hands slowly migrating up the squishy expanse of your stomach, past your breasts, and finally landing on either side of your jaw before he licks his lips and bends toward you. He kisses you, chaste and gentle, a featherlight brush of his mouth against yours, and his thumbs press somewhat insistently at your temples.

“You’re crying,” he informs you, and again, it’s Steve’s observation that brings you back to your body – the sides of your face are wet, and if you turn your head at all, you can feel your damp hair sliding around on the pillow. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm…very, very okay,” you purr. “Jus’ felt good, that’s all…”

If your orgasm was like a firework shooting off and exploding inside of you, the afterglow you’re nestled in is like a warm bath, with every inch of you buzzing pleasantly in sluggish pleasure. Steve kisses you again, trailing his lips up past your cheekbone so he can plant them square in the middle of your sweaty forehead. The juxtaposition of this tenderness, the capacity he has to be so gentle with you after he just had you bent in half and seemed hellbent on fucking you through the bed, makes your stomach flutter with the kind of girlish giddiness only Steve can bring out of you.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks. His cock throbs inside of you, but when he pulls back far enough to flash you that sweet, lopsided smile of his you know he’d roll off in a heartbeat if you asked him to. But you do not want him to do that, not even slightly, so you find the strength to lift your thighs and wrap them around his hips before you nod, grinning dopily, and say, “Please keep fucking me, Steve.”

His mouth is on yours before you’re finished saying his name. His movements have slowed, from the glide of his tongue past your lips to the roll of his hips, and he greedily swallows the keening whines that bubble up from your throat as his cock drags along your oversensitive walls. Your breath hitches every time he pushes himself as deep as he can go, something he makes a note of with a laugh and a playful nip to your bottom lip.

“You like being full of my cock, huh, beautiful?” he murmurs, ducking his head. He’s seemingly decided you need more hickeys, as evidenced by the way he starts sucking on a patch of flesh just beneath your ear like he’s trying to draw blood from the thumping veins below.

“S-So much, yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s not even all of it, baby.”

“It’s not?” you whine, incredulous, and Steve snickers against your skin, shaking his head.

“No, but I think it’d hurt if I tried to fit it all inside of you,” he says, and there’s something sharp in his voice – something mocking.

“You don’t know that,” you huff, and Steve hums against your throat.

He takes one of your hands in his, guiding it toward where he’s buried inside you, and says, “Feel that? Feel how nice and full you are now?”

You nod. Steve drops your hand. “Now feel how much of me is still left,” he says.

You do, fingers twitching along the length that remains outside of you, and you’re shocked. There must be at least two inches that Steve has yet to stuff you with, or perhaps that he physically can’t stuff you with, and while you want so badly for him to just shove the rest of it inside, you consider he may be right. His thick cockhead pulses where it’s resting inside your pussy, nestled against the very back of you; any deeper, he’d certainly hit your cervix, something you’ve experienced before with other (clumsy, inconsiderate, douchey) partners and would very much so like to never experience again. Still, your pride weathers this slight blow, and you compensate by wrapping your fingers around the bit of Steve’s cock that you can’t accommodate.

“Fuck,” he moans, drawing the word out nice and long as you start to jerk him off. He lifts his head from your throat, mouth curling into a shocked smile as he rocks his hips into your fist and, consequently, your cunt. “That’s…fuck, that’s really hot, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is breathy, and pleasure sparks anew throughout your core. You have to twist your wrist at a slightly odd angle to get a grip on him with both of your bodies in the way, and your fingers keep slipping in the ample lubrication your pussy supplies, so it’s perhaps the clumsiest handjob you’ve ever given, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He thrusts into you messily, brows pinched and swollen mouth dropped open as he chases his peak inside you, and your free hand raises to cup the side of his face.

“Cum in me,” you whisper, and the broken sound that tumbles from Steve’s lips spurs you on. You push back against him and bear down on his cock at the same time you squeeze your fist, the rubber rim of the condom skidding beneath your fingers. He slumps forward, pressing his cheek into your palm, hands shooting out to catch himself before he falls headlong into your chest. Sweat beads at his hairline and trickles down the long column of his throat before pooling in the hollow at the base, and the sight is so tempting you sit up and lave your tongue over his salty skin.

“Cum in me,” you say again, “please, Steve. I need it, please, please.”

“God-fucking-dammit,” he growls, his hips stuttering, chest heaving, and not a second later, he’s cumming. You can’t feel his load inside you – a fact that inspires a non-zero amount of disappointment that hasn’t abated since the second he slid the condom on – but watching him cum is enough to make that disappointment vanish. He goes silent for a beat as his peak overwhelms him, but when his cock starts to pulse inside your cunt and within your loose fist, fresh moans rip themselves from his throat, and you are so fucking thankful that Steve Harrington is not afraid to be loud for you. His body tenses and shudders as he pumps into you erratically.

Just as you think he’s finished, and you’ve begun to take your cramping hand back, Steve stops you. He’s panting, gasping for air like he’s just finished a marathon, and his eyes are positively sparkling. He places your hand back on your pussy, and when you don’t move, he nods his head.

“Make yourself cum for me again,” he says simply, and it’s all you can do not to balk at him.

“But you just–”

“Don’t care. You can give me one more, baby.”

Of all the things you’ve done tonight – in the last 48 hours, really – touching yourself in full view of Steve is the thing that makes you blush the deepest. You swallow thickly, fingers hesitating over your admittedly swollen clit, and Steve chuckles. He’s not as hard as he was moments ago, and you can feel him softening the longer he remains inside you, but that doesn’t stop him from jerking his hips forward harder in encouragement.

“C’mon, you’re gonna give me one more,” he insists. “Touch that pretty pussy for me, show me how you do it when you’re all by yourself.”

Well, when he says it like that.

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and make quick work of your clit, rubbing circles around the throbbing bud as Steve fucks you fast and sloppy. You really didn’t think you had it in you at first, but once again, your body seems to have an endless capacity for orgasms when you’re around Steve – the coil in your belly winds itself quickly this time, burning blood-hot between your hips and readying itself to snap faster than you’ve ever experienced before. A wicked thought crosses your mind then, one that involves Steve testing just how quickly he can make you cum, and how many times he can replicate that speed, and you resolve to bring it up to him at a later date as your pussy spasms and Steve moans above you.

“Fuck yes, I can feel you getting close, that’s it,” he babbles, breathy laughter carrying his reassurance, and with one last well-placed thrust, you’re cumming on his cock again. God help you, there’s a splash, and wet heat soaks between your fingers as Steve fucks you through your orgasm, audibly impressed with how much you cum this time.

“Good fucking girl, I knew you had it in you. Shoulda put a towel down.”

You’d shush him if you had any air in your lungs.

He pulls out and delicately unwinds your trembling thighs from his hips, beaming at you the whole time he peels the condom off his dick and disposes of it in a small wastebasket. When he returns to the bed, he scoops you up and rolls you over, placing himself in the wet spot you’ve created and dragging you on top of him so all you can feel is his solid warmth. He peppers kisses along your dampened hairline and gently strokes both hands up and down the length of your spine, pausing above the swell of your ass to knead his fingers into your heated flesh a few times. Your hearts are pounding, and for a moment, you swear they beat in sync. You tell yourself it must be the post-orgasm endorphin drop making the world a little rosier than it truly is.

“I’m so proud of you, pretty girl,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to your forehead and tilting your face toward his. His cheeks still have an adorable flush to them, and his hair is slicked away from his face with sweat. You note the twin moles stamped on the left side of his face, right on the apple of his cheek, and surge forward on your elbow to capture them in a kiss.

“You feel okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I kinda wanted you to, but–”

“Oh?”

Motherfuck. You and your big mouth.

“Uh…” Steve stares at you, eyes bright and curious, and the corner of his mouth flirts with a grin. He looks…intrigued? You don’t know why that’s so shocking, considering you’ve yanked on his hair like they were a horse’s reins multiple times tonight and he nearly melted in your hands, but you blush all the same under his gaze and chew your bottom lip.

“We can definitely talk about that,” he says, and his voice is surprisingly soft given the mischievous look on his handsome face.

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, kinda depends on what you mean by “hurt” you,” he adds, raising two fingers to twitch around the word “hurt.” “D’you mean, like, get a lil’ rough with you, or…like, stick you with a cattle prod?”

“Cattle prod,” you deadpan, and in the beat of silence that follows, genuine fear flashes across Steve’s face. You snort, smacking him lightly in the center of his chest, and his abdominal muscles relax noticeably beneath you.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy everything that you just did, by the way,” you clarify, flattening your palm between his pecs and idly mussing his chest hair. “‘Cause I did. I just…like it a little rougher, sometimes, too.”

“I can do rougher,” Steve asserts, pinching a lock of your hair between thumb and forefinger and delicately tucking it behind your ear. Your belly flutters at the prospect, and though you already have suggestions bubbling up your throat, your tongue feels too thick in your mouth to adequately communicate any of them. In fact, the more Steve caresses your body, the heavier you feel, and it’s only after his face begins to blur that you realize that your eyelids are drooping.

“Tired?” he laughs as you blink a few times.

“Mmm,” you mumble, noncommittal, even as your head comes down to nuzzle into his neck and your thoughts go fuzzy at the edges. “Can’t sleep…curfew…”

“I’ll wake you up,” he promises. “Just nap, baby, it’s okay. I got you.”

You grumble again, a piss-poor argument that Steve does not heed. Instead, he drags his fingers through the hair on the side of your head, careful not to snag on any tangles, his touch so light it makes you shiver. It is impossible to ignore the pull of unconsciousness when someone is playing with your hair, that’s just an objective fact, and so you sigh, limbs loosening and body going slack on top of Steve’s as he lulls you deeper into darkness.

~~~

Turns out, Steve’s sweatpants fit you.

Well, maybe “fit” is being generous – you had to knot the drawstrings as tight as they would go to keep the waistband above your hips, and it still slings well below the curve of your pelvis if you don’t bunch the front up in your fist and manually hold it up. They’re also comically long, and you’ve had to cuff the legs three times over just to make sure you don’t trip over the fabric that otherwise puddles around your feet.

The heater purrs as it drools warmth into the interior of Steve’s car, a welcome reprieve from the freezing October air that presses against the windows. They’re fogged, and you absently draw little doodles on the misty glass with one finger. Queen’s second self-titled album plays faintly, a throbbing bassline and Freddie Mercury’s crooning vocals filling the narrow space between you and Steve.

“I didn’t peg you as a Queen guy,” you say, gesturing in the direction of his cassette deck, your hand interlocked with his and beside the gear shift. He scoffs.

“You kidding? I love Queen,” he says emphatically and takes his hand off the steering wheel for a moment to spin the volume dial. As he does, the song changes, bleeding seamlessly into the next one; Freddie’s voice reaches its peak just as a few bright notes are plunked on a piano, and a beat is thudded out on the drums. Steve sings along, loudly, and though you can tell he’s not being serious about it, his voice is smooth and clear. You’re so enamored by the sight of him that the lyrics don’t register right away, not until he leans into your space, eyes pinned fastidiously to the darkened road ahead, and sings at you.

“Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see.”

They’re just words, not even Steve’s words, but your cheeks color nonetheless.

“Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.” His gaze flickers from the road for a moment, one singular moment, and he looks right at you. Your belly flips, and the heat in your face burns all the way down your neck. If it were anyone else, literally any other human being on the planet, you’d be tucking and rolling out of the car the moment they started serenading you, even as a joke – but this is Steve, and he’s smiling so wide, and he’s fucking harmonizing with Freddie Mercury, and he shakes your intertwined hands to the beat as he does it, so you’re content to sit here and let him give you a rendition of the entire rest of the album if he wants to.

You definitely don’t get hung up on the fact that he looked you in the eye while he sang about love. Nope. Not at all.

The song peters out just as Steve pulls up to your house, and he checks his watch as he puts the car in park, nodding at the glowing numbers proudly.

“Back, and with five minutes to spare this time,” he announces.

“I’ll have to tip you for the excellent service,” you tease.

“I accept cash, credit, or a kiss on the lips,” Steve shoots back, already dragging you toward him and leaning his body over the gear shift. You giggle, and he swallows the sound, pressing his warm mouth against yours so tenderly you’d hardly believe the filth it’s capable of if you weren’t a firsthand witness.

He helps you shrug your jacket on before you step out of the car, and the chill of the night gusts against you so intently you can’t help but shudder. You stoop down as he rolls the passenger side window down for you, just as you had the night before.

“You comin’ to movie night on Sunday?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it. D’you think Robin will let me pick if it’s my first time? And I ask her so nicely?”

“I think you’d have a better shot at winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning on the same day,” Steve estimates, “but I can check. Who knows, maybe she’ll be feeling generous.”

“Tell her I’ll bring extra hot chips if she is.”

Steve laughs, and both hands come up to cup the sides of your face. He kisses you again, and this time it’s slower, languid, a purposeful prolonging of your departure. You gladly accept it, and again, there’s a pang in your stomach, a desperate want to hop back in the car with him and not let the night end. When he pulls away from you, playfully nipping your bottom lip, Steve murmurs something against your lips that makes you feel like Earth has stopped spinning.

“D’you wanna be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

The innocence, the painful earnestness of the question strikes you, makes the breath catch in your throat, and Steve’s eyes glitter with starlight as he looks up at you. “It’s probably kinda silly, considering…well, considering, but, I mean, I wanted to…yanno, ask, formally…I know it’s only been two dates, but, I just, I really like you, and I wanna keep doing this, seeing you, and I wanna be the only one seeing you –”

“Like there could be anyone else,” you breathe, and this time it’s your own words that shock you. You could see the whirlwind beginning in his head, the anxious avalanche of words to defend himself from potential humiliation, so you just blurted that out because, well, duh, of course there isn’t anyone else you’d want to be with. You knew that from the second he picked you up with flowers in his hand last night.

He perks visibly. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, it’s a yes.”

You hear the door whoosh open, slam shut, and gravel crunching underfoot before you register that Steve has gotten out of the car and is rounding on you. When he grabs you, one hand supporting the small of your back, the other plunging into your hair, and dips you backward to plant a kiss on your mouth, you try your damndest not to focus on the fact that not only is he not wearing shoes, but his socks are mismatched – one white tube sock, one black with green swirls. You mostly succeed, and you think the giggle that tickles against his lips passes as one of shock.

As he tips you upright, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A light is flickering from your house, and as you squint against it, you realize it’s not the flicker of an old bulb fizzling out. It’s measured, a steady pattern, and the reason for this is quickly made apparent as the dark shape of your mother floats in front of the curtains. She’s flicking the porch light on and off, signaling for you to hurry it up, and you’re torn on whether you wanna die right on the spot, or march up the driveway and throttle her.

“That’s my cue,” you sigh, but when you turn to look at Steve, there’s something odd about his expression. He’s fixated on the light, which casts scattered shadows across the angles of his face, and his eyes are sort of…glazed. There’s a faraway look to them, as though he’s gone somewhere in his head that you can’t reach.

“Steve?” You thump his chest once, not too hard, and he inhales sharply through his nose. He blinks a few times before shaking his head, like he’s physically shucking whatever unpleasantness was burdening him off, and just like that, he’s himself again.

“I’ll pick you up Sunday afternoon,” he says, kissing you one last time on the forehead before allowing you to step out of his embrace. You want to ask what that was, where he went just now, why his eyes keep flitting almost nervously between you and your porch light – perhaps the threat of your mother scares him that much? – but you don’t have time. You both part from each other slowly, him walking backward toward his car, you retreating up your driveway.

“I’ll pick something good!” you holler, and Steve nods.

“See you then, baby.”

You’re backing up against the front steps of your house as Steve disappears into his front seat, and the sound of your front door opening is muted by the revv of his engine.

“Right on time,” your mother says from behind you, shadow obstructing the yellowy light that spills onto the porch. You look over your shoulder at her, eyes narrowed.

“You know, I’m legally an adult,” you point out, “I shouldn’t have a curfew.”

“He’s got a nice car,” Mom says, craning her neck to look around you and tucking the fuzzy blue halves of her robe tighter against her body. “Does he drive like a maniac?”

“Yes, he’s like Dale Earnhardt but worse,” you snark, eyes glued to the glittering shell of Steve’s BMW as it curves down the street and into the yawning mouth of the night.

He does have a nice car…your boyfriend has a nice car. The word is like helium, lifting you off the ground and floating you inside the house.

“Wait…weren’t you wearing a skirt when you left?” Mom asks as you glide past her. “Where did you get those sweats from?”

Oops.

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