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violentdelightsandviolentends · 4 months

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Cherry Wine. aka - Cherry, Part Two.

everything feels like love when you're drunk... right?

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption. characters who wouldn't even recognise their own feelings if they smacked them in the face.

word count - 3k

author's note - I love it when people walk each other home... if you couldn't tell. I think some of our most honest conversations happen on the street at 3am. thank you so much for all the love on Cherry!! I hope you enjoy this part two. friends to lovers might just be my favourite trope ever. it gets me everytime :(.

as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics <3. thanks, angels.

part one. part three. series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

His eyes are glued to you.

They have been since he watched you pour just a little too much cherry vodka into your red plastic cup.

He keeps trying to catch your gaze across the smoky room, multicoloured lights clouding his vision. There's some sort of punk song playing through a stereo system somewhere, the beat of the guitar thumping through the wooden floorboards and into Steve's bones.

You're laughing, head thrown back at something Eddie has said. He's funny, Steve thinks. But not that funny. He watches carefully, refraining from intervening right up until the moment you almost trip over your own foot and into the curly haired boy. Steve's moving across the room before he can even process it.

"Cherry," he teases, hand snaking around your waist to hold you upright. "You okay?"

You turn in his hold to throw your arms around his neck, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Stevie."

You say his name so sweet that he stumbles and almost takes you down with him.

"You okay?" you giggle.

"I'm good. You good?"

"I'm good."

You sway with him for a second, closing your eyes and revelling in the warmth of his hands on the bare skin of your waist.

"You're a little tipsy, huh?"

"Just a little."

"You wanna go home?"

You chew on your lip for a moment, weighing up your options.

"Can we go to your place? I don't wanna face my parents like this."

Steve leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, brushing the hair back from your face.

"Of course. Let's go, hm?"

"Let me grab my jacket. I'll meet you by the door."

You slink off upstairs, leaving Steve alone with Eddie.

"Just friends," Eddie mocks under his breath quietly.

"What?"

"Nothin'."

Steve stares at his friend with a brow quirked, stormy look on his face.

"All I'm sayin' is - I don't look at my best friend like that. Don't hold 'em like you just did. Don't have sleepovers either."

"I've known her since we were kids. It's different."

"I've got friends I've known since kindergarten. I don't kiss them on the forehead."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Steve mumbles, finished with the conversation. "Whatever, man. You don't get it."

"Oh, I get it. You're in love. Steve and Cherry, sitting in a tree-"

"Don't call her that."

"See? You're defensive over her nickname, because you gave it to her. Don't be an idiot, Steve. Life's too short."

"Yours will be, if you don't shut up."

Eddie takes that as his cue, shaking his head as he leaves to go and complain about the music choice.

Steve meets you outside, chuckling when he sees you shivering as you hold your jacket.

"Cherry, put your coat on. You're freezing."

You look up at him, slightly bewildered, and he fights to keep the smile off his face. Taking it from your hands, Steve slips the jacket around your shoulders, hands skimming up your arms to warm you.

"Better?"

"Better."

You slip your hand into his and begin to walk away from the noise, finally taking a deep breath when you're down the street.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you reply, nudging him with your shoulder. "Feet hurt though. Fuckin' shoes."

You both stop, Steve kneeling down in front of you to unbuckle your heels. You look at him questioningly and he winks, cheeky and full of love.

He slips them off your feet and sits down on the curb, taking his sneakers off and gesturing for you to step into them.

"No, Steve. I chose to wear these, it's my own fault."

"I know, and they looked cute. But now you're going to wear these."

You step into the shoes reluctantly, holding back tears when he kneels and ties your laces tightly. Rising to his feet, he presses a kiss to your forehead before intertwining your fingers again, picking up your heels with his other hand.

You're both quiet, as you walk. Neither of you needs to say anything. It's always been this way. Steve's not good with silence usually, but with you, it's more than comfortable. Sometimes, you'll sit for hours in his bedroom doing your own things, content to just know the other person is there.

"Minnie Lawson kept asking about you tonight."

You try to keep the disdain from your voice as best you can, praying Steve doesn't pick up on it.

He does. He doesn't mention it.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

You keep walking, smiling occasionally when you catch sight of Steve's socked feet next to yours.

"What did she say?"

You mentally kick yourself for bringing it up, but take a deep breath and tell him anyway.

"Kept asking if you were single."

"And what did you say?"

"Told her she needed to ask you herself and that I'm not your secretary."

Steve cackles at this, loud and endearing. The sound makes you grin, whether you want to or not.

"Shit, Cherry baby. What did the girl ever do to you?"

"I didn't mind when she asked the first couple times, but the more she drank, the more she forgot. She couldn't remember if she'd already asked so kept asking again."

He laughs again, squeezing your hand where it still holds his tightly.

"She didn't talk to me."

"Didn't think she would."

He looks at you for a moment too long, your eyes meeting the floor to avoid his gaze.

"Mikey was asking about you tonight, you know."

You'd had a crush on Mikey in ninth grade, the summer after he'd gotten tall and started to look less like four walking limbs and more like a man. He was a nice guy, if not a little boisterous sometimes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Said you looked pretty. Wanted to know if you were still with the Douchebag."

You chuckle at the hatred in Steve's voice at the mention of your ex boyfriend.

"And you said..."

"That he was in the wind, thankfully."

"Dodged a bullet with that one."

You lean into his arm, savouring the warmth of his skin you can feel through your jacket and his long sleeve shirt.

"Mikey wants to ask you out."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Is that so hard to believe? You're a catch, you know."

"I don't know. Boys like Mikey never look at me, usually."

"I look at you."

Your breath hitches in your chest. It's like your heart has forgotten how to beat.

"Yeah," you whisper. "But you're Steve."

After a moment, you add,

"My Steve."

You rest your head onto his bicep, still clutching his hand. He leans down to press a kiss into your hair, resting his cheek there for a moment.

"You're worlds apart from boys like Mikey, Steve. He's nice, but he's not you."

You're not sure where all this sudden truth is coming from, but you're wondering if the cherry vodka has maybe hit you a little harder than you first thought.

"And you and Minnie Lawson aren't even in the same league. You've got nothing to worry about."

You both process Steve's words, before he starts stuttering.

"I mean, not that you, not that - it's not like you were worried, I'm sure. I bet you weren't. I just mean... you know what I mean, right?

Thankfully, you do.

"I know what you mean. I always do."

He stops walking, turning to face you on the sidewalk, hand never dropping yours. You're not sure where you are, but you know Steve knows. He'll keep you safe. Always.

"Okay," he breathes.

"Okay," you breathe.

"I love you," he breathes.

"I love you," you breathe.

"I don't want you to date Mikey Carter," he breathes.

"I don't want you to date Minnie Lawson," you breathe.

You both inhale deeply, following the other person's lead.

"I can't stop thinking about the other night," Steve whispers, so quietly you'd have missed if it you weren't so in tune with him.

Your lungs constrict for a second, all the air leaving you at once.

"Me neither."

You're stood in the street whispering to each other, frightened you'll burst the bubble you've accidentally created.

"I feel bad," you confess.

"Why, honey?"

"Because I... I didn't return the favour. I just let you get into bed and fall asleep. Sorry."

Steve's hands come up to cradle your face, eyes searching yours as if he's reading his favourite book.

"I didn't want you to. I told you, it wasn't about me, it was about you. I didn't... I didn't initiate it so I could get something in return."

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising, Cherry. You've got nothing to apologise for."

"Sorry," you reply without thinking, causing both of you to double over into fits of laughter.

Steve wipes the happy tears from your cheeks, gaze never leaving yours. You look at each other for a moment, feeling the atmosphere shift. The world could collapse around you both, and neither of you would notice. It's just you and Steve. Nothing more, nothing less.

He leans in gently, pressing his lips to yours in a featherlight kiss. He tastes like beer and spearmint.

"You're wearing your lipbalm."

"You've been chewing your gum."

He chuckles, kissing you again softly.

"You wanna go home?"

"Please. You're in your socks, and I look like a clown."

He looks at your feet and laughs, the sound much too loud for the early hours of a Sunday morning.

"Let's go, Cherry baby. My warm bed awaits us."

The stars guide you home hand in hand, Steve stealing the occasional kiss when you happen to be looking in his direction. You kick off his shoes by the door, running straight up the stairs to change out of your uncomfortable dress. Steve stops by the kitchen to grab you both a glass of water, bounding up after you and spilling half the liquid in the process.

He stops in the doorway when he reaches his room, breath caught in his throat. You're stood in just your panties, bare back to him, rifling through his drawers to find the soft grey shirt you always steal.

It's a sight he's seen before. Something is different this time.

"Where is it?" you ask, not turning around.

You know he's there. You know he knows what you're looking for.

This is what love is, he thinks suddenly. The knowing. The unknowing. The knowing that the other person knows. The other person knowing that you know. Unspoken knowledge.

"Bottom drawer, left," he chokes out. "Washed it."

You slip it on and turn around, pouting. The boy quirks a brow at you in question.

"Doesn't smell like you. Smells like your detergent, but not you. Will you wear it, when I leave?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, fighting the blush from rising across his chest. "Anything you want, baby."

Steve shrugs off his clothes, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers before sliding into his side of the bed. You're in the bathroom, humming a tune that he can't quite place but knows he heard tonight. He watches you through the open door as you sway gently, ready to jump up and catch you if need be. You pee with the door still open, and Steve chuckles. It's like you've been married for twenty years.

"Can you please turn the fan on? I'm hot."

"Anything for you, Cherry Pie."

You jump into your side of the bed, sitting up to face the boy next to you. It might be 3am, but you're both wide awake, veins buzzing with endless possibility.

"I've been thinking," you murmur quietly.

"Never a good sign."

"Shut up."

You both laugh, and you can't help but grin. What a miracle, you think. To be alive at the same time as a boy like Steve Harrington. To know him. To love him.

"Will you let me return the favour?"

It's a vague question, but Steve knows exactly what you're asking. He chokes on his breath, tilting his head to look at you.

"Babe, you don't have to-"

"-I want to. So badly."

Steve inhales deeply, willing himself to calm down.

"I don't have to, if you don't want me to. But I can't stop thinking about the way you'd taste."

The boy thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Dreaming, maybe.

"Honey... fuck."

Steve nods, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Please. Jesus."

He's breathing so frantically, you're worried he might pass out. The last thing you need is your best friend unconscious.

"Breathe, Stevie. It's just me and you."

"Me and you."

"Always."

He comes back down to Earth, so you lean in to kiss him, all tender and cherry flavoured. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you push him backwards so he's leaning against the headboard. You straddle his hips, plush lips pressing into his neck, his chest, his collarbones. Steve's practically melting, a puddle of love and affection beneath you.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper into his ear, and who is he to deny you when you ask so sweet?

You crawl down his body until you're situated between his legs, thick thighs bracketing you in. You kiss along the inside of the muscle, nipping as you go and revelling in the way he jumps and hisses. It's nice to be the one in charge for once.

You scratch your nails along the bulge in his boxers, smirking when his hips buck up into you. You think, for a moment, that you'd happily lie here and tease him like this for hours, just to see when he'd snap. But this isn't the time for games, so you store that thought for another day.

"This still okay?"

"More than okay," he replies, all breathy and ungrounded. You link your fingers with his and squeeze, and all his nerves melt away.

You don't let yourself begin to think about why he's nervous. You know Steve's a ladies man, you know he's done this many times... so why is it different with you? You wonder if maybe you should talk about it afterwards. You're not sure if either of you are ready for that.

Mouthing at him over his underwear, you hum in contentment at his warmth. He's always run hot, every part of him. It's one of your favourite things.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug them down, throwing them onto the floor somewhere. The room is dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand, the lightbulb casting shadows across Steve's slightly sweat damp skin. The fan acts as a soundtrack, white noise breaking up the silence.

You look at him and bite your lip, buzzing with anticipation. It's not like you haven't seen each other naked before, but it's different like this.

"Just... tell me what you like or what you don't like as I go along, okay?"

Steve smiles in adoration, running his thumb over your cheekbone gently.

"Okay."

You wrap your hand around him and curl your wrist, holding back a smirk when the boy whines. It's a pretty sound. You'd like to hear it again and again until he loses his voice.

Leaning in, you lick up the length of him, groaning at the salty musk. His taste, his scent, his sounds... it's all so Steve. He's the centre of your universe, everything around you just Steve Steve Steve.

Taking him fully into your mouth, a hand flies into your hair, tangling his fingers. He doesn't move you, just tethers himself to something real, something grounding. You take him as much as you can, working up a rhythm between your tongue and your hand. Steve's breathing as if he's just ran a marathon, chest heaving and lungs burning.

He finds his voice, suddenly.

"Oh fuck, baby."

"Shit, Cherry. Fuck, just like that."

"That's it, atta girl. Perfect girl. My girl."

"Oh, you're so good. So fucking good."

He tenses, fingers tightening in your hair once again.

"So close, baby. Don't stop. Please."

You double down on your efforts, twisting your wrist in that way you've figured out he likes as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The boy sees stars, vision going white.

The noise he lets out as he finishes will be forever engrained in your mind, a never ending symphony that no orchestra could ever recreate.

He goes lax, collapsing back against the bed as you swallow, never breaking eye contact. You stick your tongue out as proof and he groans, deep and gutteral.

"Kiss me," he chokes, too blissed out to move.

You crawl up his body and press your lips to his, squeaking in surprise when he slips his tongue into your mouth to taste himself.

"Filthy," you laugh, resting your forehead against his.

"You love it."

You shake your head, but can't wipe the grin from your face.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

After a second, you giggle.

"What's funny?"

"I'd like to see Minnie Lawson do that."

Steve laughs, loud and melodic in the low light of the room.

"She's got nothing on you, Cherry baby. No one does."

You process the words, heart stuttering in your chest.

"We should talk about this," you whisper.

"We will," he assures, tugging you into him so your head is resting on his chest. "Tomorrow."

Lines have been crossed, lives have been changed, but the stars above your heads remain the same. They'll always guide you back to Steve.

The lamp flickers, the fan hums, the crickets sing their night time lullabies.

The boy leans down to press his lips to yours. He tastes like cherries and every kiss for the rest of your life.

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