can i get childhood friends to lovers, angst/smut, “but friends don’t look at each other like we do” and “shut up and kiss me already” with steve harrington please!
thank you! steve harrington x fem!reader. (700 words)
It wasn’t the group's brightest idea. In all honesty, it was a truly silly one. You realized that now, but you’d each had a couple beers and shared a joint before a roaring fire pit, when suddenly Argyle threw out the brilliant—or not so brilliant—suggestion of ‘spin the bottle.’
The group groaned collectively, a mixed blend of “Are you serious?” with Eddie throwing in, “What are we, five?” into the midst.
It was how you ended up sitting breathlessly on your lawn chair in the backyard of Steve’s parent’s place, heart pounding in anticipation as the bottle spun around and around for the umpteenth time. You’d all taken turns by that point. Nancy kissed a giddy Argyle, you kissed Robin, all cherry chapstick sweetness lingering on both your lips. Eddie had jovially barked out a laugh when he’d spun and landed on Steve. Shouted into the fold, “Plant one on me, big boy,” as Steve stretched an arm across the space between them and tugged him forward for the briefest press of lips.
But nothing prepared you for the awkward silence when Steve spun and landed on you. Heat arose in your belly. Your palms, splayed across your thighs, moved to fiddle with a frayed edge on your jean shorts. Curious eyes flickered about the group, awkward laughter bubbled.
“You two are going to just stare at each other or get to the lip smackin’?” Argyle asked, and dropped back against his chair, the neck of his beer bottle pressed to his lips to take a sip.
“Steve?” Your voice sounded small.
Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word, really. Only stared at you, face illuminated by the fire in an orange glow, with a look on his face you couldn’t quite place. Growing frustrated and increasingly uncomfortable under the wide-eyed stares of your friends, you tutted, muttering impatiently, “We going to just…get on with it?”
Steve glanced around the group, palms up and shaking in the air. “I can’t kiss her. Not right now and definitely not right in front of you all—”
Rejection settled in your gut. Worry and upset swirled over the thought that Steve must have thought a kiss with you would be the worst thing in that moment—that he couldn’t even fathom doing so to settle the bunch.
He floundered once more, letting out a garbled, “I just—”
It happened quickly after that. Fingers pressed into a broad chest as he lifted from his lawn chair and curled an arm around your waist. As he tugged you flush against his form. He tasted like beer, too many sugary snacks and popcorn. Smelled like smoke, that signature honey shampoo he’d used since high school, and beneath all of that, the cologne you bought him for Christmas. But he felt like home, like running through the front door after school to jump in his pool as kids, like first heartbreaks where he’d held you when you cried and you did the same for him, like ice cream dates, mall trips, movie nights and Family Video hangouts.
The realization sparked fire against your skin as you reared back and looked into those dark eyes. The horror of the looks on your friends' faces all around you had your lungs tightening, throat hitching, because you’d kissed your best friend.
But friends don’t look at each other like we do, a voice in your mind whispered. Friends don’t kiss friends like we do.
Because Steve’s kiss felt like leaping off the edge of a cliff into a river below. Steve’s kiss felt like jumping into your favorite book, watching your favorite movie, listening to a favorite song. It felt like butterflies brushing against your stomach, like the drop when you drive down a hill, like a plane taking off a tarmac.
“Come with me for a minute?” Steve’s voice broke into silence, cursing when the group broke out in kissy noises and drawn out ‘oooohs.’
You slipped in through the sliding glass door of his home, your hip brushing against the kitchen counter when he dragged you further away from proving eyes, closing the curtains for added measure. And then it was a rapidly babbled mess of words pouring from his lips, “You felt something, right? Like it wasn’t just me? I just—we’ve been friends forever—and I—”
“Yeah,” he asked, all soft features and pouty lips that had your head spinning.
“Steve, just shut up and kiss me already.”
