Steve loved naps as much as the next person. I mean, after a long day of unpaid babysitting, monster hunting and hours of dealing with irritating customers at his minimum wage job, he loved the idea of jumping into bed for a few hours of shut eye.

But he definitely didn’t love it as much as his beautiful girlfriend did.

He looked over at where you sat. It was early into the evening hours, you were curled in an adorable ball on the couch of the Squawk, wrapped in a handmade blanket he stole from Lucas to cover you with. Your hair was a little messy, pieces covering your face.

You’d fallen asleep barely a few minutes after Hopper ended the weekly meeting to discuss any new findings to get you closer to Vecna. It was pretty much all the same information as last week and at this point, it was more of a formality than anything else.

Everyone had quietly dispersed after his dismissal. Nancy and Jonathan went home together, El and Mike ran up to the roof hand-in-hand for some alone time, Dustin had quickly made his way to wherever he’s been spending all his time lately. That left himself, you, Robin and Lucas inside.

Steve was standing near the projector, cleaning up papers and blueprints left under the scope. Beside him, Robin helped clean up some of the snacks the kids left behind. It was quiet for the most part, only the sound of your sleepy breathing and the faint hum of the record Robin played for the radio.

Lucas was sitting across from you, and Steve noticed the way he kept glancing over at you. He was ready to ask what his deal was before Lucas spoke up.

“Should I like, wake her up or something?” Lucas asks, looking away from you and up at Steve.

His brows furrow, hands still moving papers into their folders. “What? No, she’s tired. Let her sleep,”

“Yeah, she’s sort of always tired,” Lucas mutters under his breath.

Steve can’t hear even an ounce of attitude in his tone but he’s also not understanding what Lucas is implying. Next to him, Robin huffs a laugh and he whips his head at her. He doesn’t like the idea of them having some sort of private conversation about you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. The papers are long forgotten and he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes flicker from his best friend and the young teen.

“Nothing,” Lucas shakes his head quickly, scrambling to gather his things. Steve’s annoyance spikes: so they are having a private conversation about you. So what if you fall asleep sometimes? It’s not like you’re lazy – is that what they’re trying to say? That you’re lazy?

It’d be an insane implication considering how you’re almost always the first one out in the field during a crawl. El grew pretty attached to you after she closed the gate the first time and ever since then, she’s practically begged you to accompany her everywhere and now that includes the intense training she does with Hopper – not once have you missed a session. You tag along with Steve and Dustin in the van for the late night crawls, and you volunteer for stakeouts with Nancy when it comes to the military cordon.

The last damn thing you were was lazy and he wasn’t about to let anyone, his best friends included, imply otherwise.

Robin seemed to have sense his thoughts and quickly jumped to Lucas’ defense. She sets the bowls of half eaten snacks back on the table.

“That’s not what he means, Steve,” She assures and Lucas looks grateful. Still, he doesn’t soften but he lets her continue. “He’s kinda right though. I mean, I’m a little worried she’s got some underlying medical condition we don’t know about or something. She knocks out at the drop of a hat lately,”

“She does not,” He scoffs but his shoulders loosen. Just barely.

Lucas jumps back in. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, man. I’m just worried. What if she’s not just tired? Max still hasn’t woken up, it could be something like that,”

Finally, Steve softens. He sees the fear hidden behind Lucas’ eyes and he knows how hard his forced separation from Max has been. It’s been six months since that night at the Creel house and there was still no change for her. You and Steve have spent most of your free time with Lucas visiting her.

And no matter how scared Steve is of the possibility of you falling victim to Vecna’s curse, he knows this isn’t that. You don’t have visions, you don’t have nose bleeds and you very clearly have no issue sleeping. It’s been a rough few months and you’re tired. That’s all.

He hopes.

“She’s not Max, Lucas,” Steve says softly and watches the way his face falls. “She’s not going anywhere, she’s just napping, alright?”

The younger boy nods, and Steve knows despite his relent, he’s still worried. Robin gives Steve an empathetic smile and finishes cleaning up the dishes from the coffee table.

“Come on, I’ll drop you off at the hospital,”

Lucas smiles in return this time, happy to see his girlfriend even if she’s still unconscious. He quickly grabs his jacket and backpack, practically running out of the building. She turns towards Steve once he’s out of earshot.

“Maybe that’s all it is. But with our luck, it wouldn’t hurt to check in with her. I don’t think we can handle losing someone else,” She suggests with a shrug. Her words hit uncomfortably under his ribs, and he nods once before she’s turning to follow Lucas.

Steve turns back towards your sleeping frame, where you haven’t even twitched despite the entire conversation that took place around you. He leans down next to you, his hand raising to push the hair from your face. He watches your face and the way you look so peaceful.

The normal pinch between your brows is smoothed out, pretty pink lips slightly parted, there’s a tired flush covering your cheeks and your fingers are loosely gripping the blanket close to your chest.

He smiles to himself, but his mind begins to wander. Maybe they were right – you did fall asleep pretty often these past couple months. He’s not sure when it started but he knows there’s been times he’s noticed.

Whenever he lets you know it’s safe and just a waiting game now, you fall asleep in the passenger seat of the van during crawls. You fall asleep at normal group hangouts, head resting on his shoulder and both arms wrapped around his one. You fall asleep at times like now, after a meeting is over.

He shouldn’t be worried, he doesn’t have a true reason to be. When you’re awake, you’re here. You’re helping Nancy make plans, you’re helping El train, you’re helping keep the boys occupied when they get scared. You’re just a girl who likes extra sleep, that’s all.

Gently, his thumb glides across your cheek in a quiet way to rouse you awake. His other hand comes up and pulls the blanket from your skin. Slowly, your eyes flutter open and when they land on him, a sleepy smile covers your mouth.

“Hey, pretty girl,” He can’t help but wear his own matching smile. Your cheeks redden at his pet name, but he knows how much you love hearing it.

“Hi Steve,” You murmur. He’s pretty sure his heart just physically bursted in his chest – you always talk so softly, so sweetly to him. “Did I fall asleep?”

He hums and nods in response. His hand is still stroking your hair back. “Just for a bit. Everyone left, why don’t we go get somethin’ to eat before we go home, yeah?”

Almost immediately, you perk up. You’re pushing yourself off the couch, using his shoulders for balance. “Milkshakes too?”

There’s that adorable glint in your eyes and he knows for certain if you asked him to bring you the moon, he’d create a plan to have it in the palm of your hands within two hours.

“Of course we can get milkshakes, baby,” He promises. You gleam up at him, more than pleased, and rush to clean up the evidence of your nap. Once you’re satisfied, you’re slipping your hand in his and letting him lead you towards the car.

Steve feels content now that you’re awake and talking his ear off about basically nothing, but there’s still something that tugs at his chest. Part of him that thinks he should bring up your excessive napping, like Robin said, but you seem so happy. If it’s truly nothing, like he knows it is, why risk upsetting you and make you feel like everyone’s talking about your sleeping habits?

He glances down at you, and nods at the random piece of information you throw his way, and he’s made his decision. He’ll keep a better eye on you, but he won’t bring it up to you unless he’s left with no choice.

Later that night, Steve has you wrapped in his arms in your shared bed. The house is dark and quiet, only the sound of your favorite movie playing from the TV. You’d had dinner together at his favorite diner, with two milkshakes of course, and came straight home.

Your head lays on his chest, legs tangled with his and your fingers trace little shapes – Steve is pretty sure they’re hearts – across the skin of his arm that rests on his stomach. His other hand sits comfortably in your hair, gently running his fingers through it. He feels his exhaustion catching up to him and his eyes slowly begin to flutter.

He’s not sure when he finally falls asleep but he’s sure you’re bound to follow right after him.

One minute, Steve is laying comfortably with his beautiful girlfriend and the next, he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes are turned upwards, staring at the swarm of Demobats flying in the dark sky, flashes of red lighting are striking every few seconds and the light it offers shows him the amount of bats multiply as they get closer.

His breathing is uneven, he can feel the terror already carved into his stomach. His heart is racing and the sound fills his ears like ringing. He takes a quick glance beside him and sees he’s surrounded by dead bodies.

Robin’s body is covered in blood, her eyes open but lifeless – her blonde hair is stained red from the blood spilling from every injury on her body. Nancy is next to her in an almost identical manner. He feels his own face wet with tears, and it only worsens when his eyes move to the other side of him and he sees Dustin’s body. He has his homemade spear clutched between his fingers, like he was fighting to the last second. Lucas is next to him, blood staining his clothes and he’s gripping Max’s hand in his. Steve sees how all her limbs are broken, blood seeping from her eyes.

He wants to scream. It all happened so fast, but he was right there. How could he have let this happen? He’s supposed to protect them, and now they’re all gone. Brutally murdered right in front of him and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save them.

He hears the bats screeching and the Demogorgons roaring get closer and he knows he has to find a way out but does he even want to? All his friends are dead.

Suddenly, your face appears in his memory. He looks around around and you’re not here. You could be alive, somewhere out here alone.

Steve forces himself to sit up and nearly cries at the painful sensation that shoots up from his abdomen to his chest. He glances down at himself, sees how his shirt is torn so bad it’s basically ripped in two. He has angry red slashes he can only assume are from Demogorgons across his ribs. There’s smaller cuts, like bites from the bats on his arms and chest. His arms are scratched up, spilling blood all across his skin.

Despite all the pain, he has to get to you. He couldn’t save everyone else but he can save you. He has to.

Ignoring the echos of the monsters getting closer to him, he forces himself to stand – pushing down the pain spiking in his feet and up his spine from the sharp ground of the Upside Down. He tries his best to run further into the forest, but all he can manage is a limp. Still, he moves as fast as he can.

It’s so dark down there, he’s relying on the terrifying flashes of red lighting to give him some sort of light. He moves further and further into the trees, careful to avoid any moving vines, in search of you. He ignores the burning in his weakened legs and the sharp pain from his stomach injuries.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking for you when he finally hears it. It’s distant and quiet but he knows it’s your voice screaming for help. His stomach drops at the way you sound so scared. So weak and broken, but you’re trying. You’re fighting to hold on. It pushes him to move faster.

He forces himself to run towards your voice. He’s shouting your name, begging you to keep talking to him. He’s promising you he’s close, that he’s gonna find you and protect you.

“Steve!” He can hear your voice clearer now and he knows he’s closer to you. There’s a waver in your voice and he has to fight back tears. He walks a few more yards and finally, he finds you. His heart drops at the sight.

You’re near what would be Lovers Lake in your world, lying on your back and a palm pressed tightly to your stomach. He doesn’t know where the strength comes from but all the pain in his body disappears and he’s running to you.

He falls to his knees beside you, hands ready to grab you but he halts when he finally takes in your state.

There’s so much fucking blood.

Your hair is already matted from the blood spilling from the wound on your head. The palm pressing to your stomach is soaked in blood from the slash covering the entire right side of your stomach. Your short covered legs are littered with slightly smaller but deep cuts. But the worst is the one on your neck. There’s a gash that tears open the skin from just under your ear, all the way out to the middle of your throat. The wound is pouring blood, staining your beautiful skin he loves.

Steve lets out a sob at the sight of you and he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s supposed to do. You glance back at him and the only thing he can see in your eyes in pure fear.

“I-I’m here, baby, I’m here,” He cries. Frantically, he looks around for something – anything – to help him but there’s nothing. Only himself. There’s tears streaming down your cheeks and he watches you cough up blood when you try and respond. “Don’t talk, don’t talk,” He rushes out. Steve tears off a large piece of fabric from his own shirt and forces it into a ball, pushing it against the wound on your neck.

You cry out from the pain of the pressure and he feels his heart break.

“I know, I’m so sorry baby, I have – I have to stop the bleeding,” His cheeks begin to stain from his own tears as he watches you struggle.

“C-Can’t bre-breathe –“ You’re coughing out the words and more blood stains your lips. His head nods in understanding and he’s racking his brain to come up with a plan. A way to get you out of here alive.

But he doesn’t even know if that’s possible. You’re bleeding so much, and the pressure of his shaky hands is barely enough to cover the wound on your neck. There’s still the injury to your stomach, the cut on your head, and the deep cuts on your legs. You wouldn’t be able to walk because of them and if he somehow managed to get you up, he’d have to carry you out himself.

He wouldn’t even be thinking twice if he didn’t have his own injuries. The slash across his ribs is screaming in agony at him and the bites along his own legs make him weaker. What if he can’t get you out? He can’t let you die like this.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? I promise. You’re not gonna die in this fucking place,” He swears, carefully taking your hands and replacing his own to hold the fabric to your neck. He glances around to make sure there’s no monsters near before sliding one arm under your knees and the other under the back of your neck and moves to lift you.

Almost immediately, you’re screaming in pain. He nearly drops you out of fear from the loud sound of your pain. Your body is shaking from pain and you’re shaking your head at him, wordlessly begging him to put you down. He knows the two of you are far from the gate and if you were in this much pain from him picking you up, you were going to feel like you were being tortured if he carried you the two mile run back to safety.

He has no choice. Quickly, he drops back down to his knees and eases you out of his arms and back onto the bloodied ground. His vision is almost completely blurred from his tears. You’re gonna die out here, and he feels so fucking helpless.

“Baby please, I have to get you out of here,”

“You can’t,” You suddenly sob and he doesn’t think he can take much more of that sound. His body is shaking – from fear, anger, anxiety, every terrible thing someone can feel. “You were supposed to protect me, how could you let this happen?”

Blood still covers your body and you’re crying as you speak, but your voice is suddenly clear – as if there’s not a ten inch cut covering your throat.

He feels a pang in his chest. You’re right, he’s supposed to protect you. He dragged you into this and now you’re going to die, just like all his friends, and it’s all his fault.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Steve sobs, gently cradling your face in his bloody hands. Blood smears across your skin.

“You did this to me, Steve. Why didn’t you save me?”

From behind him, he hears the monsters screech and clamor again and he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before they get to you both.

“Please. Please don’t leave me,” He begs. His arms are still wrapped around you and he cradles you to his chest. His arms are covered in the blood leaking from your body and it feels like you’re beginning to slip out of his arms from the amount of blood but he holds on tight.

Until you go limp.

Right there in his arms, he feels the way your body stills and falls aimlessly into his chest. No, no, no. He pulls you from his chest and when he looks down at you, your eyes are shut and your chest is unmoving.

He calls your name helplessly, tries to shake you awake but you’re not asleep. You’re dead. His body shakes with sobs as he stares down at your emotionless face, stained with blood and all he can do is remember every time you smiled at him.

And how you’ll never do it again.

The monsters are so close now, probably only a few feet away and for the first time, he wants it to be for him. He wants them to kill him, force him to be with his dead friends .. with you.

His friends are gone, you are gone and he has nothing else to live for. His greatest nightmare just came true and there’s no waking up.

“Steve!”

Suddenly, Steve’s body is jolted upwards and he’s back in his bed.

He’s overwhelmed with the smell of your presence. The soft cashmere and vanilla scent that makes him feel like he’s wrapped up in his very own security blanket.

He can feel your hands across his skin, trying to bring him out of his dream and back to you. He can hear you murmuring soft comforts to him, even if he can’t fully grasp what you’re actually saying.

He tries his best to regain his bearings as fast as possible. His body is all but drenched in sweat, his clothes cling to his skin. There’s a distant ringing in his ears he can’t seem to get rid of but he looks around at his surroundings.

“Shh, it’s okay, it was just a dream,” Your gentle voice whispers comfortingly. You’ve managed to pull him into your arms, his face tucked under the crook of your neck and your hands slowly stroke his back.

He can’t help himself when his arms squeeze you tight, almost too tight. You don’t complain, you hold him just as close. He listens to the sound of your heart and does his best to use it to calm his own racing heart.

You’re here, you’re alive. It was just a dream.

“I’m here baby, I’m right here,”

He’s back on the verge of tears, this time out of relief instead of fear. His nightmares are something he’s dealt with since he fought the Demogorgon at the Byers house and it’s something he’s never gotten used to. He knows for sure it’s not something he ever will.

But you’re there every time, comforting him and reminding him none of it was real.

He buries himself further into you, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin but you don’t seem to care. You’ve dealt with your own share of nightmares but they never seem to be as bad as his.

You hold Steve in your arms for a long time before his breathing has returned to normal and he’s ready to talk about it. When the nightmares first started, he refused to tell you what they were about but it didn’t take long for you to realize it was because it was almost always centered around losing you.

Slowly, he pulls away from your neck and lays on his back, resting against the pillow but he keeps one hand holding yours. You’re still sitting upright, your free hand resting on his chest, just above his heart.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” You ask.

He takes a quick glance at you and sees the concerned look on your face. That pinch between your brows is back, and despite yourself, there’s a small frown on your lips. He takes a deep breath.

“It was the same dream,” He begins. “I woke up down there, dead bodies all around me and you’re screaming for me. And it ends the same way..” He hesitates for a second, looking back into your beautiful eyes he loves so much. “I can’t save you,”

He watches the way your eyes sadden and he hates it. He hates the way he feels like he’s burdening you with his stupid nightmares.

“It wasn’t real, Steve,” Your hand raises to cradle his jaw. “It’s never going to be real. You know why?”

Wordlessly, he waits for your response.

“Because you’ve saved me every single time. You saved me in the tunnels two years ago, you saved me from evil Russian soldiers, and you saved me from the bats down there last year,”

He feels his eyes burn but he lets you comfort him.

“You’re always going to save me, baby. There’s nobody else I feel safer with than you. Nobody,” You promise fiercely and it’s enough for him to let his tears fall.

There’s a faint voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s weak for crying like this in front of you but when you wrap him in your arms again and coo into his ear, he can’t seem to care.

Because he knows you’re right. He saved you all those times and he’d always do it. He’d rather die than let anything happen to you and even if he has to live with these nightmares for the rest of his life, he still wakes up to you every time.

It’s probably an hour by the time he’s completely calmed down from the nightmare and you’ve sat wrapped in each others arms the whole time. When you shift to lay more comfortably, Steve looks around the room again.

He notices the TV is still playing, but it’s no longer the movie he fell asleep to. Instead, it’s Friday the 13th. There’s two other VHS tapes beside the TV, ones that weren’t there before he fell asleep, and he also notices the array of snacks on your bedside table. When he glances at the clock, he sees it’s nearing 4:30AM and that’s well past when he’d fallen asleep but from the looks of it, you’d stayed up.

You don’t seem to notice his confusion until he shifts to lay on his side. Your head tilts up at him and he can physically see the sleepiness on your face.

“Have you been awake this whole time?” You blink up at him, but he notices the way you look almost guilty and that confirms what he’d been thinking.

You nod hesitantly. “Yeah, I-I couldn’t sleep,”

When you nervously bite your lip, he knows you’re lying and you know you’re caught when you see the way he tracks the movement.

Steve would probably be more inclined to believe you if he didn’t have the conversation earlier about you falling asleep so often during the day. But he also can’t make sense of it – you’re choosing to stay up at night and nap at random times instead of getting decent sleep at night?

You moved in with him a few weeks ago and coincidentally, that’s around the same time you started napping more. Could it be his fault? Maybe he’s hogging the blankets, or maybe he moves too much in his sleep. He knows he runs too hot for a normal person, and maybe you’re too uncomfortable to fall asleep.

His mind races with possibilities.

“Alright, what’s going on?” He asks and watches the way you swallow.

“Hmm?”

“Babe, you’ve been falling asleep in the middle of the day and tonight, you’re up and having your own movie marathon till 4am. Somethin’s up,”

He tries his best to ignore the anxiety simmering in his stomach.

“It’s nothing,” You say softly, looking away from him. Gently, he raises his hand to cup your chin and pull you back to him.

“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me,” He sounds so gentle that it breaks you almost instantly.

“I don’t like to fall asleep at night,” Steve’s brow furrow at your words, but you continue, your voice timid. “I want to be there if you have a nightmare. I don’t want you to wake up alone,”

Instantly, Steve is filled with guilt. You’ve been sacrificing your sleep to comfort him – but he’d never want you to do that. His nightmares don’t happen every night but he’s sure you’ve spent every night the past few weeks awake just in case. Probably busying yourself with movies, or a book, or just simply watching him as he slept.

He feels sick.

“Baby, I..” He sighs and he’s not even sure where to begin, and you look even more guilty. “I don’t want you to stay up like that for me,”

Steve watches the way you look away from him, and you’re nervously picking down at your fingers. “I know. I just – when you wake up, you look so scared, and you’re so confused until you see me and what if I fall asleep and you have to deal with it alone?”

When you finish, you look back up at him and he sees the tears lining your eyes. He feels his chest tighten uncomfortably, because he can hear the pure love in the voice, but also the fatigue. You’re exhausted.

Gently, he says your name and presses a kiss to your cheek. “You don’t need to be awake for me to realize where I am. When I wake up and I feel you next to me, your warmth and your breathing – that’s enough for me, baby,”

You raise your hand to hold onto his that rests against your cheek and you sink further into his hold. “I’m sorry,” You whisper and he immediately shakes his head. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone,”  

“I know, and I love you so much for caring, but I need you to be okay too – not running yourself into the ground, trying to make me feel better,”

“I am okay,” You argue, but you both know it’s futile and when he tilts his head at you, you relent. “I’m sorry,”

He strokes the apple of your cheekbone. “It’s okay, sweet girl. I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier,”

“It’s not y’fault,” You squeeze his hand once. “I wanted to do it. Being able to see you so peacefully when you sleep, where nothing can hurt you again .. After everything, it just makes me feel better too,”

Steve’s eyes soften even worse, because you love him so much more than he ever could’ve imagined. He knows the feeling, he’s overwhelmed with it every time he looks at you, but knowing you experience the same feeling – that intense need to protect and comfort him – every night, is enough to have him on the verge of crying again.

He leans down and presses his lips to your own. Every ounce of love and adoration coming from both of you is poured into the kiss. You’re both clinging to each other for the same reasons and he doesn’t ever want to let go.

When he pulls away for air, you have a dazed look in your eyes and he knows he looks the same way.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere and definitely not while you’re sleeping, okay?” He murmurs against your mouth.

You nod, pecking his lips again. “Okay,”

“Promise me you won’t stay up anymore, yeah?”

You’re nodding again, arms wrapping around his middle. “I promise,”

Steve gathers you in his arms again, pulling you to lay on his chest while he settles on his back. “Good. Now let’s both fall asleep for the next twelve hours,”

You laugh softly into his skin. “It’s 5 in the morning. We probably have less than three hours before the kids are showing up on our doorstep with a new crisis,”

Steve huffs. “Let ‘em deal with it alone. You’ve got a lot of sleep to catch up on,” He smiles when he hears you laugh again, but you burrow yourself further into his arms. “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up,”

The pair's eyes scanned over the mall, ignoring the bustling teenagers running into their favourite shops with their arms linked with their friends. “Tall, blonde, not smiling.” Dustin listed, “Also, look for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.”

Steve nodded, “Right, okay, duffel bags.” He tilted his head upwards to scan the second level of Starcourt mall, precisely where you were also scanning the area after Dustin had insisted they needed an extra pair of eyes besides the bottom floor.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve mumbled as his sight landed on you. You were leaning one arm against the railing and angled your body towards your former classmate, smiling politely as he delved into a story to keep your eyes on him.

Dustin snapped his head towards Steve, “What?” He couldn’t decipher if the groan that left Steve’s lips was of pure disgust or loathing, “Your sister’s talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky.”

Dustin sighed and glanced up to where you were standing, noticing how you were standing firm in your place and subtly rejecting his clear advances. It was almost funny to your brother that the first time all summer that Steve Harrington wasn’t practically man-marking you, insistent that he wasn’t harbouring this major crush on you, that guys finally mustered up the courage to see if they had a chance.

“She’s just being nice,” Dustin scoffed, “And if you’re not gonna focus, just gimme the binoculars.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve ignored your brother and tightened his grip on the binoculars as he watched you laugh as the man mimicked his (rather poor) basketball skills, one that he knew wasn’t genuine, “Whatever happened to standards? I mean, Lewinsky never even came off the bench!”

Dustin shook his head beside Steve, whose face had screwed up in judgement, “Dude, you are the worst spy in history, you know that?” He leaned over and snatched the binoculars out of Steve’s hands, “Give me those.”

Steve muttered in protest but kept his eyes locked onto your figure across the mall, watching as you said something to the man opposite you and how his smile faltered slightly.

“Besides, I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Steve furrowed his brows and looked at your brother, “You’ve had all summer to ask out the most perfect girl for you.”

A sigh escaped Steve’s lips as he tore his gaze away from you, “Seriously, if you’re trying to set me up with your sister again--”

“I know you like her.” Dustin cut him off, a small smirk etched across his face. Steve’s cheeks blushed a faint pink as he shook his head rapidly, “No, don’t. No.”

Dustin raised his eyebrows as Steve quickly became nervous, “Since the Snowball, you’ve made it painfully obvious. And that you’ve been flirting with her all summer.”

Steve snapped his head towards Dustin, “You haven’t been here all summer.” He furrowed his brows and tried to catch your brother out. 

“Yet, you didn’t deny it.” Dustin smiled brightly, watching Steve’s face fall and mutter curses under his breath for falling into the trap. “Everyone thinks you’re dating anyway, so why not--”

“Stop, no, no, no. Man, she doesn't like me like that." Steve rubbed his temples, trying to get the domestic image of you being his girlfriend out of his mind before he spiralled more than he has already.

“Come on, you’re perfect for each other--” “No, man--” Steve tried to cut him off.

“She likes you too, you know?” Dustin’s words made Steve tense up and his gaze flickered between you, now standing alone on the second floor, and your brother who had told him earth-shattering news.

Steve’s eyes widened, “Really?” His voice involuntarily broke before he looked back at you. Your eyes scanned the floor before they landed on Steve crouched behind the plant, dressed in his stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform that made your heart skip a beat. 

You smiled at him from across the mall and Steve felt his stomach coil in anticipation, taken aback and lost from words just at the sight of you. You lifted your hand from off the rail and offered him a subtle wave, one that he reciprocated when Dustin whacked him on the back of the head, mumbling something about his staring problem. 

When you finally removed your gaze from Steve, he slowly turned his head to look at your brother who sported an unimpressed face, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He laughed lightly and lifted the binoculars to search for the Russian again before Steve placed a harsh hand on his shoulder and tugged him to face him completely.

“Henderson, this is more serious than any of this end-of-the-world bullshit, does she actually like me?” Steve said seriously which caused Dustin to take a deep breath to suppress a laugh.

“You’re hopeless.” Dustin huffed out and Steve scoffed, “You think you’re some genius now? Because of some stupid shit you learned at Camp… Know Nothing?”

Dustin rolled his eyes, “Camp Know Where, actually. And no, it’s shit I learned from life.” Steve mockingly nodded at his friend, “Instead of making those ridiculous heart-eyes at my sister, why don’t you just bite the bullet and ask her out? You’re basically dating now without the labels.” He shrugged, “Like me and Suzie.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, “Oh, Suzie. Yeah, you mean, ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates.’ Yeah, that Suzie.” Dustin squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as Steve continued, “And, uh, let’s think about how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend? Oh, yeah. With my advice!”

“Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give you the advice, you follow through. Not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?” Steve ranted before looking back at where you stood, unknowingly making his heart beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you.

Steve cleared his throat and nudged Dustin lightly, “But, uh…” He sniffed and wiped the sweat off his palms and only the blue shorts, “She really likes me?” He nodded in your direction.

When Dustin didn’t answer, Steve tore his gaze off you and elbowed his friend, “Dude, I asked a question--” “I know. Shut up.” Your brother mumbled, craning his neck forwards as he adjusted the binoculars against his face, fixated on someone walking across the mall

“Seriously?” Steve squinted, “You make a big deal about me and your sister, and now--” “Target acquired.” Dustin cut him off and Steve immediately swerved his train of thought, “Where?”

“Ten o’clock. Sam Goody’s.” Dustin rushed and quickly shoved Steve the binoculars, “Give me that.”

“Shit.” Steve cursed under his breath as he watched a tall man with long blonde hair, sporting an all black attire and carrying a-- “Duffel bag.”

Steve lowered the binoculars and turned to Dustin, “Evil Russian.” They both said in unison before quickly jumping to their feet, pushing each other out of the way as they rushed to follow him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Steve and Dustin scramble to leave their spot behind the plants. You furrowed your brows as you watched the pair try to subtly jog towards the escalators, while Dustin threw his hands in the air, waving them around like a maniac in your direction.

You squinted at your brother's antics, “What?” You mouthed as he began to break a sweat and shove innocent bystanders out of the way, not even sparing them an apology as he rushed to reach you. You would’ve laughed at how Steve apologised to the people on behalf of your brother, but you were hell-bent on trying to understand your brother's signal.

You watched the pair sigh dramatically and mouth, “Evil Russian!” Your eyes widened and you scanned through the group of people bustling to get into each shop. 

Steve and Dustin sprinted up the escalator and approached you in a haste and Steve gently grabbed your upper arm. “Which one?” You turned to your brother.

Dustin bent over to catch his breath quickly before straightening up and pointing to a retreating figure in front of you, “The one with blonde hair. Go, go, go!” He pushed you and Steve forwards, ignoring your protests.

Not following where Dustin’s finger was pointing, you thought you had spotted the person he assumed was a Russian, “The blonde? Dustin, that’s my friend from high school!”

Your brother covered his face with his hands and repressed the urge to scream out loud, “No, Jesus!” He exclaimed and grabbed your hand, pointing it in the correct direction this time. “That guy! The guy that looks like a Russian! Come on!”

Your face morphed into understanding as breathed out, “Oh.” Steve placed his hand on the small of your back and encouraged you after Dustin who was steps ahead, “It’s alright. Easy mistake.”

Dustin, in front of the two of you, mocked Steve’s words causing the older boy to stick his leg out and catch the back of your brother’s heel, making him stumble off his feet slightly. “Watch it, dickward!” Dustin shot back loudly. Loud enough that the supposed Russian heard and stopped in his tracks.

The three of you froze as the Russian slowly turned around. Dustin rushed towards the telephone and pretended to be on a rather monotonous call. You felt Steve’s hands pushing you backwards by your waist before you even had time to think of a cover up.

Your back collided with the wall as Steve’s body pressed against your own, looking painfully suspicious and out of place in a packed mall as the Russian’s eyes crept towards your own.

Without thinking, you grabbed the collar of Steve’s shirt, making his head snap towards your own with wide eyes, “Steve, kiss me.” You blurted out.

Steve’s cheek instantly tinted pink and his mouth opened and closed a couple times, trying to form a coherent sentence before settling on a choked out, “What?” 

You tightened your grip on Steve’s Scoops Ahoy shirt and tugged his body closer to yours as you tried to avoid the lingering stare of the man you were technically stalking. “It’s a good cover up! Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable!” You stuttered despite your heart beating out of your chest at the close proximity.

Steve swallowed hard as he fought between looking at your eyes or lips, “Cover up?” He said, exasperated. “Yes! We’re just a couple at the mall doing PDA. He won’t look, trust me.” You pleaded.

“No, I’m not gonna kiss you.” Steve forced out and you shook your head, angling your body so the decorative features of the mall would hide your figure at the least. “Kiss me!” You said through gritted teeth.

“Honey--” The nickname left his lips before he could even process it, but luckily your insistence to not get caught by a potential Russian made the moment go over your head, “It’s not a big deal.” You shook your head.

“God! Harrington, just kiss me already!” You raised your voice and stared at Steve’s face torn between longing and reality.

“No! Not like this!” Steve blurted out, his hands gripping your waist so your body was flush against his own.

Silence enveloped the pair of you as you tilted your head at him, a small smile gracing your face as you watched Steve stumble over his words, blinking rapidly as if he could erase the words that fell from his lips, “That, that…”

“What? What does that mean?” Your voice came out quieter than you had intended and Steve mentally cursed you for looking so beautiful as you stared into his eyes, trying to pry the meaning of his words out of him with one simple look.

Steve fiddled with the hem of your shirt and avoided your eyes, “No, I didn’t… Nothing!” You pressed your lips together to stop a chuckle leaving you as he grew more flustered, “I just, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You furrowed your brows and nodded along teasingly, “That’s not…” Steve fumbled with any words that sprung to his mind, “Do you know? Like… It’s very, like, you don’t…”

You squinted your eyes, “You’re not making any sense.” A small laugh left your left and Steve sighed in defeat, ducking his head down and letting it rest on your shoulder.

Both of you were snapped out of the moment as Dustin slammed the phone back in the receiver, casting a look your way before wafting a hand to follow him, “Come on!”

Steve reluctantly lifted his head from your shoulder and removed his hands from your waist. You watched in amusement as they hovered around your body, unsure of where to settle them as his words stained the tip of his tongue still.

He settled for quickly patting you on the head and muttering a barely audible, “If you’ll excuse me.” And turned, leaving you dumbfounded against the wall.

You watched as his shoulders hunched into his body as he walked away, recoiling from the embarrassment of his words and how he left the situation with you. Perhaps, if he worked smarter and not harder, he would’ve kissed you right then and there instead of wallowing in the hole he had just dug himself with three simple words.

You didn’t even bother to follow him on the hunt for the Russian, still trying to comprehend the meaning behind his words while trying to not get giddy over his flushed face. Damn you, Steve Harrington.

You slowly pushed yourself off the wall and followed the trail back down to Scoops Ahoy, pushing the door open to the backroom despite you not working there, the colleagues had seen you enough to assume you were only here for the likes of Steve and Robin.

Speaking of, Robin was perched on top of the table with the translation book settled in her lap. Seeing you enter the room, she peeled off the headphones and offered you a smile, “How’d it go?”

You pulled the chair out and sat beside her, your head clearly someplace else. Robin snapped her fingers in front of your face and you blinked up at her, “Alright,” She turned to face you, “What did Harrington do this time?”

You laughed at your friend, “Nothing… actually.” You answered and furrowed your brows as you replayed the scene over and over in your head. 

Robin squinted her eyes at you, “He did… nothing?” You hummed in agreement. The woman rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the table, walking towards the ‘You Rule / You Suck’ board and picked up the pen.

You chuckled at her actions, “You didn’t even know what he did!” Robin turned back to you and drew a generous line on the ‘You Suck’ side, “I know Harrington. And that’s enough.” She said and tossed the pen back onto the table, sliding you the headphones to help her with the Russian translation.

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 he yanked off the Scoops Ahoy hat, tossing it onto the counter as the final customer of the day left. He ran his hands through his hair and pushed open the back doors, ready to collect his stuff and head home for the day.

He was taken aback as he saw you gathering your things and stuffing them into the bag you brought with you. You looked up as he entered the room and offered him a sweet smile.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, “You’re still here?” He gestured to the translation book you were holding. 

You nodded, “Yeah, just finished the translation for the day. Anything to be those American Heroes, you know?” You chuckled and placed it into your bag, zipping it up and deeming it a problem to fix tomorrow.

Steve nodded stiffly at your words, “Right…” He moved to collect his own things and fiddled with the keys to his car, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” He turned around to face you, watching as you stopped in front of the doorway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and chuckled, “Oh! No, no! Don’t be.” Steve furrowed his brows at your answer, “No?” He repeated.

“No, it’s fine.” You smiled at him and his heart swelled. Steve looked down at his shoes and scuffed the material against the flooring.

“Good,” He mumbled and scratched the back of his neck, “Because I’m not sorry.”

Your chest tightened and your heart raced as Steve slowly approached you, his eyes never leaving your own. He stopped in front of you, his hands resting at his side gently brushing your own and his height towered over you. A soft smile graced his face as he stared at you, resisting the urge to pull you into his arms.

You cleared your throat, diffusing the tension, “I should probably get going. Dustin’s waiting for me.” You whispered.

At the mention of your brother, Steve noticed his lack of presence in the room. It was the first time since he had accidentally blurted out that he couldn’t kiss you in rushed circumstances that he had you alone, and his heart clenched at the thought of it.

“He’s not here?” Steve’s voice matched your quietness, the room felt like it was closing in on the two of you and the silence was suffocating. “No, he’s in the car.” You breathed out.

Steve hummed in response, his fingers toying with your own as his face itched closer to yours. You placed a hand on his chest and pulled back from his proximity slightly, “Good night, Steve.”

He smiled at you and watched you turn your back to him, “Good night.” As you were about to exit the door, Steve didn’t think before he moved again.

His hand grasped your upper arm and tugged you backwards, you turned your head and furrowed your brows to ask him what was wrong, but your thoughts were silenced as he pressed his lips against your own.

You gasped into his mouth and one of his hands cupped the back of your head, while the other squeezed your hip. Steve’s lips were soft against your own as he sighed into the kiss, as if he had been waiting for this moment for ages, like he had been holding himself back.

Your hands immediately threaded through his thick hair, the softness of it making you tug at the strands, forcing Steve to envelop you deeper into the kiss. The hand that was on your hip slipped under your shirt, brushing against your bare skin.

His hands wandered your body, palms flat against your back. You felt him smile into the kiss as it grew more desperate. You had to pull yourself from him to catch your breath, smiling as he chased your lips with his eyes pleading.

You rested your forehead against his own, allowing him to pepper a handful more chaste kisses on your lips, understanding that he’d never get over the feeling of your own against his.

Steve’s nose nudged your own as he broke the silence, “I meant something like that.” The whispered confession made you lift your hands to cup the sides of his face, yearning to stay in that moment forever.

“I told you she liked you.” Dustin’s voice made the two of you flinch and push each other away as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“Jesus, Henderson!” Steve groaned and ran his hands through his hair, trying to replicate the feeling you had given him when you did the same. “What the hell are you doing? Get out!” You shouted at your brother who was leaning against the wall, a smug smile on his face.

“'She doesn’t like me like that!'” Dustin mocked Steve, deepening his voice and adjusting his stance to try and mimic the older boy.

Steve’s face screwed up, “I don’t sound like that!” Dustin laughed from across the room and crossed his arms over his chest, “You kinda do.”

Before the pair could bicker between themselves, you tossed Dustin your bag and shooed him out of the room, “We’re going. Wait in the car.”

Dustin rolled his eyes and shot you a look as he turned his back, “Alright, mom!” You groaned, “Go!”

As you heard Dustin’s footsteps scurry away, you turned back to Steve who was standing closer to you than you had remembered.

You cleared your throat and looked up at him, “I’m gonna go…” He nodded at you and lifted his hands to cup your face, tracing your features with the tip of his fingers, “Yeah, you should probably…”

His words trailed off as he brought you into another kiss, much softer this time. The gentle graze of lips that recognised this was the start of something new, something meaningful. His lips slotted against your own as if that was its only use.

You pulled away at the same time and smiled at each other, “Good night, Steve.” You said once more, standing on your tiptoes to peck his lips one last time before leaving the room, grinning over your shoulder at the boy blushing in his Scoops Ahoy uniform.

Steve lifted one hand to gently press his fingers to his lips, trying to understand if everything that had just happened was real and whether he should revel in it. A wide grin adorned his face as he looked over at the board that sat in the corner of the room.

He shuffled towards it and picked up the blue pen, drawing a bold, straight line down the ‘You Rule!’ side of the board; including a messy smiley face scribbled at the bottom. He picked up his belongings and headed home, knowing that tomorrow morning, when he got to work, he would be greeted with the board and the friendly reminder that his dream was something he currently lived through.

their kiss btw😩😩😩😩

for the cuties who wanted to be reminded love uuuuuu

Steve followed close behind, letting the door swing shut with a dull thud that cut off the muffled bass still thumping from inside. The street was nearly empty now, just the occasional streetlight casting long, hazy glows across the pavement and the faint hum of the city in the distance.

You tried to play it off. Crossed your arms tightly over your chest, tucked your hands under your elbows, and started walking like the chill wasn’t already making your teeth want to chatter. But Steve had always been annoyingly observant.

“You cold?” he asked after half a block, his voice easy but laced with that familiar knowing tone.

You shook your head a little too fast. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad.”

Steve glanced over at you, one eyebrow raised in that very Steve way. The kind of look that said he saw straight through your bullshit but was giving you a chance to save face. “Really? Because your arms are practically glued to your body right now.”

“I’m just… walking briskly. For warmth,” you replied, lips twitching despite yourself.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded slowly, clearly not buying it. “And the fact that you’re doing that little shoulder-shrug thing every ten seconds? Totally normal walking behavior.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but another gust of wind came barreling down the street, rattling the leaves on the trees lining the sidewalk. This one cut deep. A violent shiver ripped through you, making your whole body tremble for a second. You pressed your lips together hard, trying to hide it.

Steve stopped walking immediately.

“Steve, don’t-” you started, already seeing his hands move to his jacket.

Too late. He was shrugging it off with that effortless, decisive motion he always had, like taking care of you was the most natural thing in the world. The white t-shirt underneath clung to his shoulders and chest, and you could already see the goosebumps starting to form on his arms in the cool air.

“You’re going to freeze,” you protested, even as your eyes lingered on the jacket he was now holding open for you.

“I’m fine. I run warm, remember?” He gave you a soft, crooked smile. “I’m basically a human furnace. Put it on before I start worrying about you turning into a popsicle.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. Part of you still wanted to be stubborn, to prove you could handle it. But the cold was winning, and the promise of his warmth was too tempting. With a small sigh, you stepped forward and let him drape the jacket over your shoulders.

God, it was perfect.

The fabric was still heavy with his body heat. You slid your arms into the sleeves, which completely swallowed your hands, the cuffs dangling past your fingertips. It smelled like him, clean laundry, a hint of cedarwood cologne, and that warm, masculine scent that always made your stomach flutter. You pulled it tighter around yourself and let out a quiet, involuntary hum of relief.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there, staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head up at him with a small smile.

“Nothing.” His voice had gone quieter, a little rough around the edges. His eyes traced over you slowly, how the jacket hung oversized on your frame, the way you were burrowing into it, cheeks pink from the wind. There was something disarmingly soft in his expression, almost vulnerable. “You just… look really good in that.”

You felt heat bloom across your face. “It’s just your jacket, Steve.”

“Yeah, but it’s on you,” he said simply. He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost bashful for a second. “It’s doing unfair things to me.”

You laughed lightly and stepped closer, reaching out to tug at the front of his t-shirt. “You’re such a sap. Come here before you actually freeze to death.”

“I’m not that cold,” he insisted, but he let you pull him in anyway. His arms came around you slowly at first, careful, like he was still giving you an out, then wrapped around your back more firmly when you pressed your face into his chest. You felt him exhale, long and deep, his breath warm against the top of your head.

“Liar,” you murmured into his shirt. “I can feel you tensing up already.”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Okay, maybe a little chilly. But worth it.” One of his hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, the weight of it comforting even through the thick jacket. “I was trying to pull off the whole ‘cool, unaffected boyfriend’ thing tonight. You’re ruining my image by being this cute.”

“You don’t need to be cool all the time,” you said, tilting your head back to look at him. “I like you better when you’re just… you. Even if that means admitting you’re cold.”

Steve’s gaze softened, that particular blue in his eyes catching the glow of the streetlight above you. He brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face with gentle fingers. “Yeah? Well, I like taking care of you. Even if it means freezing my ass off.”

You rose up on your toes and kissed his cheek first, then the corner of his mouth. He turned his head just enough to meet you properly. The kiss was slow and sweet, tasting faintly of the whiskey he’d sipped earlier and the familiar warmth that was so distinctly Steve. When you pulled back, his eyes stayed half-closed for a moment, like he was savoring it.

“We should probably keep walking,” you whispered, though you made no move to step away. “Before your arms fall off.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice a little hoarse. He kept one arm draped around your shoulders as you started walking again, pulling you snug against his side. Your hand slipped into his, fingers lacing together naturally. The too-long sleeve kept slipping down, but Steve just smiled and adjusted it for you without comment.

After a minute of comfortable silence, you glanced up at him. “You’re still staring.”

“Can you blame me?” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “My girl looks warm and cozy in my clothes, kissing me on a random street at night. I’m feeling pretty damn lucky right now.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked, the cold nipping at your legs but feeling distant now. “You’re freezing and you’re still flirting. Impressive.”

“Hey, priorities,” he teased, but his voice was warm. “Flirting with you will always come first. Even if my teeth start chattering in about five minutes.”

You laughed and hugged his arm tighter. “We’re almost home. I’ll make you hot chocolate when we get in. With the mini marshmallows you pretend not to like but always steal from my mug.”

“Deal.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there for a second. “And you’re keeping the jacket tonight. Maybe longer. Looks better on you anyway.”

The walk stretched on under the quiet streetlights, your steps in sync, the occasional car passing by and the distant city sounds fading around you. Every few paces, Steve would glance down at you with that small, private smile, the one he only seemed to wear when it was just the two of you. And even though the night was cold, wrapped up in his jacket, his arm, and his quiet affection, you’d never felt warmer.

Steve grabs at your thighs tugging you close enough that your breasts press tight against his chest. He nips just under your jaw before peppering open mouth along the length of your neck. Catching the small roll of your hips with a smile against your skin, he pulls away confidently showing you the whites of them.

Grabbing your chin between two fingers, he tugs your face down just enough for his lips to ghost against yours.

“Let me guess, this is the last time.” He whispers against your mouth with a knowing smirk.

”Yes, I mean it.” You huff, unable to control your own grin, rocking your hips again. “Last. time.”

”Whatever you say.”

Steve snorts, not waiting for whatever smart comeback you have waiting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, he curls his hand around the back of your neck, and catches it on his own.

The moan that escapes out of your throat comes stirring from deep within your chest. He huffs out a small laugh at it before licking into your mouth with the kind of hunger that lights a fire along your already heated skin. Meeting him with equal enthusiasm, you apply more pressure with the next grind of your hips making his confidence stutter.

“Fuck —“ He breathes in between kisses, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.

Doing it again, it’s your turn to smile against his mouth, lashes fluttering open to admire the furrow of his brows.

“Better enjoy it while you can.”

His eyes open at that, something darkening the amber that swirls inside of them.

“Who are you trying to convince, honey? Me or you?” Steve smirks with a narrowed gaze filled with determination, the hand on your hip tightening.

“Shut u— ohmygod.”

Your bratty response is cut off, when he drags you over his lap, the seam of your jeans pressing into where you need it most.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He chuckles darkly, tearing his lips from your mouth to wrap around your pulse point.

He sucks hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head, leaving a bruise you’ll have to deal with in the morning. But when he drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Steve, are you down there? I forgot my keys.”

Robin’s voice freezes you in place with fingers curled into the roots of his hair. Steve’s teeth stop right over the already blooming purple mark, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.

“Steve —?” The stairs squeak with the first steps she takes, and it’s enough for him to find his voice.

“Y- yeah!” His voice cracks, and your giggle that follows it earns you a glare.

“My keys, are they down there?” She calls out again, another creak following.

“Shit.” He blows out a breath, pulling away to look around the room, groaning quietly when he spots them on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I got them. Give me a second.” He lays back, running both his hands down his face before meeting your playful gaze.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go.” You smirk, using his broad chest as leverage to push yourself off his lap.

“What? No, she’ll be gone in like 2 seconds.” He whispers harshly trying to grab at your hips, but you slip through his fingers just like this moment.

“I said enjoy it while you can.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Steve stares you down, watching you with heated eyes as you straighten out your shirt and tug up your jeans.

“Never been more serious.” You wink, swiping Robin’s keys off the coffee table before calling out to her.

and right now, sitting in the middle of family video while robin and dustin argued over which movie to put on for movie night, steve was laughing exactly like that.

“i’m just saying,” dustin said, throwing his hands up dramatically, “nobody wants to watch some three-hour romance where people stare at each other in the rain.”

“it’s not a romance,” you cut in from beside the counter. “it’s literally a political thriller.”

dustin squinted. “there’s kissing in the trailer.”

“there’s one kiss.”

“yeah, and that’s enough.”

steve snorted beside you, leaning back against the shelves. “he’s got a point.”

you looked at him flatly. “you haven’t even seen it.”

“yeah, but i mean it is three hours long..”

robin groaned loudly. “maybe if your attention span wasn’t like one of a goldfish.”

“thank you,” steve said automatically.

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

normally, this was easy. effortless. the four of you slipping around each other in familiar rhythm, arguing over stupid things until someone laughed hard enough to kill the tension.

but today had already been bad before any of them got there.

you’d had a horrible shift at work. your manager had snapped at you in front of customers, your feet hurt, and somewhere between trying not to cry in the employee bathroom and driving over to family video, you’d lost your patience entirely.

so when dustin rolled his eyes and muttered, “your taste in movies is actually insane,” something in you snapped.

“god, why is everyone being such an asshole today?”

the store went quiet.

not silent exactly — the fluorescent lights still buzzed overhead, the rewinder clicked somewhere behind the counter — but the kind of quiet where everyone suddenly becomes aware that something shifted.

dustin blinked. “i was joking.”

“well, maybe i’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“okay,” he said slowly, defensive already. “sorry?”

you exhaled sharply, rubbing your forehead. “forget it.”

but dustin, being dustin, couldn’t let things go.

“seriously, what’s your problem?”

robin immediately winced while steve straightened beside you.

“nothing’s my problem,” you shot back.

“you’re literally biting everyone’s head off.”

“because everyone keeps pushing me!”

“we were talking about movies!”

“dustin,” robin warned quietly.

“no, because she does this sometimes,” he continued, frustration creeping into his voice now. “she gets in a bad mood and suddenly everybody else has to deal with it.”

the words hit harder than they should’ve. mostly because they were true.

your face burned instantly. embarrassment curling hot in your stomach.

“okay,” you said quietly. “cool.”

dustin crossed his arms, clearly still annoyed, but before he could say another word, steve stepped forward.

“alright, enough.”

It wasn’t loud.

that was the thing about steve when he was serious — he almost never raised his voice. he just changed completely. shoulders squared. expression flattening. suddenly impossible to ignore.

dustin looked thrown off immediately. “i’m just saying—”

“yeah, and now you can stop saying it.”

“steve—”

“no.” steve pointed toward the front counter. “she’s had a shitty day, and you’re piling onto her over a movie nobody actually cares about.”

“i care about it!”

“dustin.”

there was warning in his tone now.

real warning.

the kind steve rarely used.

dustin scoffed. “you always do this.”

steve frowned. “do what?”

“take her side even when she’s wrong.”

and there it was.

you felt your stomach twist.

because that was the part that always scared you — not the arguments themselves, but the possibility that eventually people would get tired of you. tired of your moods. tired of needing reassurance. tired of handling you carefully.

you opened your mouth before steve could respond.

“he’s right, actually.”

steve looked at you immediately. “what?”

“i was being a dick.”

“baby—”

“i was.” your voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word. “he didn’t do anything.”

the frustration drained from steve’s face instantly, replaced by something softer. concerned.

you hated that look sometimes. hated how easily he could see through you.

dustin shifted awkwardly now, guilt finally catching up to him. “i mean… i wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

“it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine,” steve said.

you looked away.

and then, because the universe apparently enjoyed humiliating you, your eyes started burning.

oh, perfect.

perfect timing.

“okay,” you laughed weakly, grabbing your bag off the counter. “i’m actually gonna go before i make this worse.”

“hey.” steve reached for your wrist immediately. “where are you going?”

“home.”

“no, you’re not.”

you stared at him. “steve—”

“you don’t get to run away every time you’re upset.”

“i’m not running away.”

“yes, you are.”

the store felt too bright suddenly.

robin was pretending very hard not to listen while organizing tapes that definitely did not need organizing. dustin looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

you pulled your wrist gently from steve’s hand. “i just don’t wanna do this in front of everyone.”

that softened him instantly.

his expression changed in that small, heartbreaking way it always did with you — like every sharp edge in him collapsed at once.

“okay,” he said quietly.

then he looked at robin.

“can you close tonight?”

robin blinked. “seriously?”

“please.”

she took one look at your face and sighed. “yeah. obviously.”

steve grabbed his keys off the counter without another word.

the drive was quiet.

not angry quiet but careful. the kind where both people are thinking too much.

streetlights blurred gold across the windshield while steve drove one-handed, the other resting near the gearshift like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

finally, halfway to your apartment, he spoke.

“you wanna tell me what happened today?”

you swallowed hard. “not really.”

“okay.”

another pause.

then softly, “but you’re crying, so i’m gonna need a little more than that eventually.”

you turned toward the window immediately.

damn him for noticing everything.

“my manager yelled at me in front of customers,” you admitted quietly. “and i already felt stupid all day, and then dustin kept poking at me and i just—”

your voice broke again.

“i don’t know.”

steve’s jaw tightened.

not at you.

never at you.

“that’s what this is about?”

“it’s dumb.”

“it’s not dumb.”

“i overreacted.”

“maybe,” he said gently. “but that doesn’t mean you deserve to get ganged up on.”

you laughed bitterly. “dustin wasn’t ganging up on me.”

“he kinda was.”

“steve.”

“what?”

you finally looked at him. “you don’t always have to defend me.”

his eyes flicked toward you immediately.

serious.

almost offended.

“yes, i do.”

your chest tightened painfully.

“even when i’m wrong?”

“especially then.”

you frowned slightly. “that makes no sense.”

steve pulled up outside your apartment building, putting the car in park before turning fully toward you.

“listen to me,” he said quietly. “i’m not defending every bad mood or every shitty thing either of us says. that’s not what this is.”

“then what is it?”

his expression softened.

“it’s making sure nobody makes you feel alone while you’re already hurting.”

that hit you square in the chest.

hard enough to steal your breath for a second.

because steve loved loudly in private ways.

not grand speeches. not dramatic gestures.

it was in the way he always reached for your hand under tables when he noticed you getting overwhelmed. the way he remembered which jokes crossed lines when you were insecure. the way he instinctively moved closer whenever someone spoke to you too harshly.

he stood beside you.

every single time.

even when you didn’t deserve it.

you looked down at your lap, blinking quickly. “i still made things worse.”

“yeah,” he said honestly. “you did.”

you huffed out a watery laugh. “thanks.”

“but that doesn’t mean you deserved to sit there while everybody picked you apart.”

“everybody meaning dustin.”

“dustin can be everybody when he gets going.”

another reluctant laugh escaped you.

steve smiled a little at that.

then quieter, “you know i’ll tell you when you’re wrong, right?”

you nodded slowly.

because he would. that was the thing.

people assumed steve defended you blindly because he loved you, but they didn’t see the private conversations afterward. the gentle honesty. the way he’d sit on the edge of your bed and say, hey, i get why you reacted like that, but maybe next time don’t bite somebody’s head off.

he never humiliated you to prove a point.

never chose other people over you for the sake of appearances.

he protected your dignity first.

always.

you stared at him for a long moment before whispering, “why are you so good to me?”

steve looked genuinely confused.

“because you’re mine.”

the words settled warm and aching somewhere beneath your ribs.

not possessive.

certain.

like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

he reached over finally, brushing his thumb beneath your eye.

“c’mere.”

you leaned across the console immediately, and steve pulled you into him with a soft exhale like he’d been waiting to do it the entire drive.

his hand slid into your hair.

“i’m sorry,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“i know.”

“i’ll apologize to dustin.”

“probably a good idea.”

you smiled weakly against his jacket.

then steve tilted his head slightly, lips brushing your temple.

“but for the record?”

“what?”

“if anybody’s making you cry, i’m gonna be on your side first and ask questions later.”

you laughed quietly. “that’s quite unhealthy.”

“probably.”

“steve.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand still warm against your cheek.

“you never have to earn me standing up for you,” he said softly. “that’s part of the deal.”

it started after you overslept from staying up too late reading. you were hurrying down the hallway, half awake and clutching your books to your chest, when you ran straight into someone.

strong hands caught your arms before you could hit the floor.

“hey, easy there,” steve said with a small laugh, steadying you.

your face went hot instantly. “sorry,” you mumbled before slipping away as fast as you could.

you figured that would be the end of it.

except after that, steve started noticing you everywhere. he’d stop you in the halls just to talk for a minute. he started sitting beside you at lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world. your friends wouldn’t stop teasing you about it, but you kept insisting it didn’t mean anything.

until he offered you a ride home one afternoon.

until you found a folded note in your locker saying he liked your skirts.

until one night, with an uncharacteristically nervous smile, he asked if he could take you out somewhere real.

and somehow, you said yes.

after that, everything seemed to happen all at once.

first kiss

it happened on your front porch after he walked you home from the movies. the night was warm, crickets humming, and you were rambling about how the ending didn’t make sense when steve stepped closer, one hand gentle on your waist.

“you’re overthinking it,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek.

“i overthink everything.”

his smile was slow. “yeah. i know.”

then he kissed you—soft at first, almost careful, like he knew it was your first and didn’t want to scare you. his lips were warm, tasting faintly of popcorn and mint. when he pulled back, eyes dark, you felt dizzy.

“was that… okay?” he asked.

you bit your lips, heart hammering. “do it again and i’ll tell you.”

he laughed softly and did.

first date (that actually felt real)

mini-golf, because steve insisted it was “classic.” you were terrible at it. he was annoyingly good, but he kept “accidentally” bumping your hip, whispering terrible tips just to make you laugh. when you finally sank a hole-in-one on the windmill, he cheered like you’d won the olympics and kissed you right there under the neon lights.

later, in his car, parked at the lookout, he held your hand across the console. his thumb traced circles on your skin.

“i like this,” he said quietly. “taking it slow. with you.”

your cheeks burned. “you don’t have to. i know you’ve—”

“hey.” he turned your face toward him gently. “i want this to be special. we don’t have to rush anything.”

first time he stayed over

your parents were out of town. you’d made cookies (burnt the first batch), and you watched a horror movie even though you hated them. steve pulled you into his lap when you hid your face in his chest during the scary parts, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

when the movie ended, the air felt thicker. you were both on your bed, facing each other.

“you’re nervous,” he observed, brushing hair from your eyes.

“a little.”

“we don’t have to do anything.”

“i want to.” your voice was small but sure. “i really want you.”

he kissed you for a long time—deep, slow kisses that made your toes curl. clothes came off gradually. his hands were gentle, reverent, mapping every new inch of skin like it was sacred. when his mouth moved lower, you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.

“steve—”

“relax, baby. i’ve got you.”

he took his time. whispered praises against your thigh, your stomach, your neck. when he finally slid inside you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked, it stung for a moment. he stilled, breathing ragged.

“you okay?”

you nodded, pulling him closer. “don’t stop.”

he moved carefully, murmuring how perfect you felt, how beautiful you were, how he’d never wanted anyone like this. the pain faded into warmth, then pleasure that built until you shattered around him, clinging tight. he followed soon after, burying his face in your neck.

afterward, he held you against his chest, stroking your hair.

first time you initiated

weeks later, you pushed him back onto his bed in his empty house, straddling his lap with shaky confidence. he looked up at you, surprised and so turned on his eyes were almost black.

“you sure?”

you nodded, leaning down to kiss him.

you explored him with your hands and mouth, learning what made his breath hitch and his hips jerk. steve guided you gently when you needed it, voice hoarse with praise—“just like that, sweetheart… fuck, you’re so good.”

when you sank down onto him, taking control, his hands gripped your thighs, eyes never leaving your face. you moved together, learning the rhythm that made you both moan. he sat up halfway, wrapping his arms around you, mouths crashing as you came together.

all the firsts after that

there were so many more. first time in his car (rushed and giggling). first time in the shower (soapy hands and laughter turning into gasps). first time you told him you loved him—right after, when you were tangled and sweaty and he kissed your forehead like you were precious.

steve never made you feel behind. he made every new thing feel like an adventure you were sharing.

one night, months later, curled up together, he traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder.

“all your firsts,” he said quietly. “i want them. but i want all your nexts too. and the ones after that.”

you kissed him, slow and deep. “i love you.”

“and i love you too.”

he grinned against your lips.

★・・・・・・★★・・・・・★★・・・・・・★

#1- Left on the Doorstep

It starts small.

It always does.

You’re a few months into dating Steve when you end up at the Wheeler house for a not-quite-party, not-quite-game night. Just the usual Hawkins mess: VHS tape humming in the living room, kids yelling over a board game downstairs, Karen trying to feed everybody, Steve drifting from room to room like the unofficial babysitter.

He’s supposed to walk you home.

“It’s dark,” he’d said earlier, warm hand on your knee. “I’ll take you, okay? No arguments.”

You’d smiled, pretending your heart didn’t flip at how natural it sounded. Like you were his. Like he was yours.

Now it’s late. The movie’s over, the kids have migrated, and you’re standing by the front door with your jacket on while Steve helps Dustin find a missing shoe.

“Earth to Henderson,” Steve calls, bent over, checking under the hall table. “You gonna go home barefoot or what?”

Dustin grumbles something.

You laugh softly, hugging your jacket tighter. “Hey, Harrington? I should head out.”

He straightens, grins. “Yeah, yeah—just lemme grab my—”

“Nancy?”

It’s Karen’s voice.

You and Steve both look up.

A second later, Nancy’s voice drifts down. Thinner. Strained.

“I’m fine, Mom! I just… can you send Steve up?”

Steve goes still.

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken, just a little. That old, haunted worry. The one that never really fully goes away.

Karen appears at the top of the stairs. “She’s upset,” she tells him quietly, like you’re not also standing right there. “Could you…?”

“Yeah,” Steve says immediately. “Of course.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Not even a beat between request and answer.

He turns to you like he just remembered you’re there.

“Hey, uh—can you give me, like, ten? I’ll walk you after I make sure she’s okay.”

You smile. Of course you do.

“Sure. Take your time.”

He squeezes your shoulder, already halfway up the stairs. “You’re the best.”

You wait by the door.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Then thirty.

The Wheeler house quiets down around you. Lights click off one by one. Dustin leaves with his mom. The TV goes to a blue screen.

No Steve.

You stare at the staircase for another full minute, then exhale softly.

You could go knock. You could remind him. You could make this a thing.

You don’t.

You open the door by yourself, step into the chilly Hawkins night, and walk home alone.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

He’s just being a good friend. He worries about her. He always worries about her.

It’s just one time.

Just a habit.

You tell yourself that so hard you almost believe it.

★・・・・・・★★・・・・・★★・・・・・・★

#2- Enzo’s or Bust

You spend all afternoon getting ready.

Wearing the blue dress, the one he once tugged at with two fingers and said, half-teasing, half-awed, “If you ever wear this when we go out, I’m gonna have a heart attack.” Your favorite perfume. The good lipstick. A pair of earrings you borrowed from Robin that make you feel expensive.

You’re not usually the “full glam” type.

But tonight there are reservations at Enzo’s. Table actually booked. Day not completely cursed by monsters or teenagers.

Just you and your boyfriend.

By the time seven o’clock crawls near, your stomach is fluttery with anticipation. You check the mirror once, twice, three more times, smoothing the dress down, fixing a stray hair.

The knock comes at 6:55.

You open the door, already smiling.

Steve stands there, jacket half-zipped, hair shoved back like he’s been dragging his hands through it nonstop.

His eyes flick over you for a split second…

Then he blurts:

“Babe, I’m so sorry, but Nancy called.”

The smile on your face falters.

“Oh.”

“She—uh—she’s at her place. Something happened with Jonathan, I guess, I don’t know the details yet, but she sounded… bad.” He winces. “Like, crying bad.”

“Oh,” you say again, softer.

He steps closer, hands warm on your arms, thumbs rubbing little circles like that’ll soften the blow.

“I know this sucks. I swear I didn’t forget, it’s just… she asked if I could come over and talk and I just—I figured you’d understand.”

You look up at him.

Your hair. Your lipstick. The dress he said he’d “have a heart attack” over.

He doesn’t mention any of it.

You swallow the hurt.

“Of course,” you say. “Go.”

“I’ll come back after,” he promises, kissing your forehead. “We can still do something, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He leaves in a rush of cool air and cologne.

The door closes.

The apartment goes silent.

You stand in your pretty dress in the middle of your living room and realize there is no audience anymore. No one to appreciate the effort. No one to say “wow.”

Your reflection in the dark TV looks stupidly hopeful.

You exhale slowly and start peeling the night off:

Earrings. Necklace. Lipstick wiped off with a tissue until your mouth is just…the same as always.

You unzip the dress and step out of it carefully, hanging it back in the closet like you didn’t plan your whole day around wearing it.

You change into sweatpants and an oversized Hawkins High hoodie.

You put a movie in the VCR, but you don’t really watch it.

You keep glancing at the phone.

It doesn’t ring.

Steve, meanwhile, sits on Nancy’s bedroom floor listening to her talk, nodding at all the right moments, focused completely on her trembling voice and crumpled tissue.

He doesn’t realize he never called you.

Not until much, much later.

By then, you’re asleep on the couch, mascara faintly smudged, your pretty dress zipped away in the closet like the night never even tried to happen.

In the morning, when he comes over with flowers and apologies, you tell him it’s okay.

You say, “She needed you. I get it.”

And you do. You really do.

But for the first time there’s a new ache under your ribs.

A quiet, traitorous thought you can’t quite shake:

Why doesn’t my hurt ever get to come first?

★・・・・・・★★・・・・・・★★・・・・・★

#3: Solo Date with… Robin?

It’s supposed to be an easy day.

Antique store. Thrift shops. Fries at that old diner with the cracked red booths and endless coffee.

No monsters. No gates. No end of the world.

Just you and Steve, for once.

He’s at the top of the stairs, rummaging in his room for his wallet when the knock comes.

You’re on the couch, cassette ready, jacket by the door, the whole day pressed like a flower between your ribs.

You expect Steve to call “coming!” and bounce down the stairs.

Instead you hear the door open and a familiar voice slip inside.

“Nancy?” you call, half-standing.

She’s in the doorway, bundled in a coat, hair frizzy from the cold, clutching a worn folder to her chest like a lifeline.

“Sorry,” she says, breathless. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Steve bounds down the last couple steps. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

She spills.

Leads and maps and pieces that don’t fit. Things Jonathan said, things the paper might print, things that don’t make sense alone in her room. She talks fast, hands shaking.

“I just… I needed another set of eyes,” she finishes, voice cracking. “Please.”

Steve’s face softens in that particular way it only does for old ghosts.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he says. “C’mon, we’ll spread it out on the kitchen table.”

He turns, sees you in the doorway.

“Oh—baby. We’ll head out in a bit, okay? Just gimme like — fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen,” Nancy echoes, already stepping toward the kitchen.

You nod.

“Sure. Fifteen.”

They disappear behind the swinging kitchen door.

You sit back on the couch.

You wait.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Thirty-five.

Their voices get sharper, more animated, caught up in the hunt. You hear pages slap the table, chairs scrape, Nancy say, “oh my God, that could be it,” and Steve say, “see? I told you you’d figure it out.”

An hour ticks by.

Something quietly breaks in you.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just a soft, exhausted crack.

You stand.

You take your bag, your jacket, Steve’s car keys from their hook by the door.

You walk out.

The door shuts.

No one notices.

You sit in his car for a moment, fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

Then you pull out of the driveway.

Robin answers her house phone on the second ring.

“Hello—”

“Can you meet me?” you ask, voice small.

She doesn’t ask where, or why.

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

She’s waiting at the corner near her house when you pull up, throwing herself into the passenger seat with more force than necessary.

“So,” she says, breath puffing in the cold. “How bad is it on a scale from ‘Steve is a lovable idiot’ to ‘I’m legally allowed to strike him with my car’?”

You laugh. You weren’t planning to, but it bubbles out anyway, hysterical and sad.

“That bad, huh,” she mutters, then pats your knee. “Alright. Step one: we’re still going on this date. We’re just leaving dingus out.”

“I feel stupid asking.”

She scoffs. “You’re asking your lesbian best friend to go thrifting and eat diner food. That’s my dream Saturday, dingus.”

You smile.

For the first time that day, the tightness in your chest loosens.

The antique shop is warm and vaguely musty, all wood and old glass and faint 70s music playing from a hidden radio.

Robin steals a full pack of Polaroid film from her bag like she’s pulling a sword.

“If Steve Harrington can’t show up for his girl, then the least I can do is document what he missed,” she declares.

“Robin—”

“Nope.” She points at you. “Smile. Pose. Suffer for my art.”

She snaps photos of:

You reaching for a book on a top shelf, eyes bright, fingers stretched. You pretending to model a ridiculous velvet hat, hand on your hip. You inspecting a stained-glass lamp shaped like a swan with faux sophistication. Your reflection in an old mirror, soft and serious both.

She scribbles captions on them in her awful, jagged handwriting.

On the one with you reaching, laughing at something she said, arm stretched toward the book, she writes: we found something you’d like.

Plural.

You roll your eyes, but warmth curls low in your stomach anyway.

You buy yourself a silver ring. A weird little ceramic rabbit bowl you absolutely don’t need. A book with a cracked spine and someone else’s name on the inside cover.

And because you’re you, and because loving him is a reflex you can’t unlearn, you buy a small brass key charm you know Steve will like.

You hate yourself a little for it.

But you buy it anyway.

The diner is all chrome and red vinyl and the smell of burnt coffee.

Robin orders Steve’s favorite milkshake and slides it across the table to you.

“Go on,” she says. “Raise it like a trophy.”

You groan, but lift it, straw pressed to your lips, eyes rolled to the side in exaggerated glamour.

Flash. Click. Whirr.

Robin cackles and writes on the bottom:

for the boy who forgot his date.

You snort so hard milkshake almost comes out your nose.

By the time you drop her off at home hours later, your face hurts from smiling and your heart hurts from everything else.

Both feel strangely earned.

When you slip back into Steve’s house, the voices in the kitchen are still going.

You don’t linger.

You go straight to his room, set your shopping bags down, and carefully spread the Polaroids across his dresser.

The mirror one. The laughing one. The milkshake. The stupid velvet hat.

You set the little brass key charm beside it.

A gift from a date he didn’t come on.

Then you pull on his sweatshirt, crawl onto his bed, and lie down facing the dresser.

You mean to stay awake.

You don’t.

Sleep comes like a wave, heavy and inescapable.Steve doesn’t know how long it’s been until Nancy finally packs up her folder, exhausted.

“Sorry,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. “I took your whole afternoon.”

“It’s fine,” he says automatically. “She’ll understand.”

He believes it.

He believes it right up until he glances at the kitchen clock.

6:10 PM.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters.

He was supposed to leave around noon.

“Baby?” he calls, pushing through the kitchen door.

No answer.

The couch is empty. Your coat is gone. The keys are off the hook.

A cold sliver of panic slides down his spine.

He checks outside,the BMW is in the driveway, but it’s parked slightly crooked.

You drove yourself.

He swallows hard and heads for his room.

“Baby, hey, I’m sorry, I—”

He opens the door and the words die on his tongue.

You’re asleep in his bed.

Curled on your side in his sweatshirt, face tear-streaked, eyelashes stuck together.

The bags from the antique trip sit on the floor.

But it’s the dresser that hits him like a punch.

Polaroids.

Dozens of them.

You laughing, posing with a milkshake he knows by heart, a whole day of happiness WITHOUT him…

He steps closer, fingers shaking as he picks one up.

The book-reaching shot. You, stretched tall, lips parted in a laugh he didn’t hear, wearing an outfit he never saw.

At the bottom:

we found something you’d like.

We.

He swallows.

He picks up the milkshake one.

You, straw at your lips, eyes sparkling, holding his favorite flavor like a peace offering.

At the bottom, in Robin’s unmistakable jagged script:

for the boy who forgot his date.

His vision blurs.

He sees the brass key charm beside them and something ugly twists in his chest. You thought of him. Even then. Even after he left you sitting in his living room for an hour while he played detective with his ex.

He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed.

His hand finds your ankle under the blanket, thumb rubbing gently back and forth.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice shredded. “What did I do?”

You don’t stir.

You just breathe. Slow. Even. Alive.

He bows his head into his hands and, for the first time, lets himself feel it:

This isn’t a one-time thing. This isn’t bad timing. This isn’t you “overreacting.”

This is a pattern.

One he built with his own hands.

And for the first time, he’s terrified he might have finally taught you how to live without him.

★・・・・・・★★・・・・・・★★・・・・・★

#4: The Wrong Choice

The Demogorgon comes through the attic gate like a nightmare made flesh.

One second, it’s just the pulsing, rotten glow of the gate in the ceiling. The next, there’s meat and teeth and too many limbs crashing through splintered wood and insulation.

Karen screams downstairs.

You and Nancy hit the landing at the same time, lungs burning, adrenaline turning everything sharp.

Nancy’s got the shotgun. You’ve got the axe.

The creature screeches, head opening like a rotten flower. The sound claws down your spine.

It moves fast.

There’s only room for one body between it and the two of you.

Steve chooses Nancy.

He doesn’t stop to think. Doesn’t stop to look. He just moves.

Bat up. Body angled. Back to her. Between the monster and his old almost-girl like it’s the most automatic thing in the world.

His back is to you.

For half a second, you see nothing but that.

Not the teeth, not the blood, not the way the floor shakes.

Just Steve’s shoulders, squared between Nancy and death, and NOT between you and it.

Half a second to realize he’s not coming for you first.

Half a second to decide you are not dying because Steve Harrington still doesn’t know how to pick you.

So you move.

You lunge sideways, get the axe haft under the Demogorgon’s swinging claw.

The impact is catastrophic.

Wood explodes under the force. Pain rockets up your arms. You hear something in your chest crack like a knuckle, but louder. Deeper.

You hit the opposite wall hard enough that the breath punches out of your lungs.

Ribs scream. Shoulder tears open in a hot, wet burst.

You taste blood.

But you are still here.

Still breathing.

Still fighting.

You ram the broken handle into the creature’s side, snarling through gritted teeth.

Behind you, Steve is yelling your name, the bat connecting with wet crunches. Nancy fires again, the shotgun deafening in the small space.

Everything becomes chaos and blood and ringing ears.

Then, suddenly, it’s over.

The Demogorgon is a sagging, twitching heap on the floorboards.

You’re standing. Somehow. One hand braced on the wall, breath coming in short, sharp bursts that make your ribs grind and your vision spark.

“Jesus—” Steve starts, turning toward you, face a mask of horror and relief. “Are you—”

You don’t answer.

You look at him.

Really look.

At the way he’s still half-angled toward Nancy. At the way his body went on autopilot and left you exposed. At the way he only noticed you were hurt after the threat was gone.

Something in you goes very, very still.

You step past him.

Down the stairs.

One. Two. Three at a time.

Karen reaches for you, babbling something high and panicked, but you brush past her too.

You leave bloody handprints on the banister and droplets on the hallway floor.

You walk out the Wheeler front door, into the night, down the sidewalk.

You make it as far as the hospital parking lot before your legs finally give up.

The asphalt tilts.

Your knees buckle.

Strong arms catch you just before you hit the ground.

“Whoa, hey—hey, I got you, I got you,” Steve babbles, voice completely wrecked. His face swims in front of yours, pale and wild. “Jesus, baby, why didn’t you say something, why didn’t—”

You try to push him away.

Your arms don’t cooperate.

“I hate you,” you slur into his shirt, warmth spreading down your side like someone spilled a bucket of paint.

The words land like a physical blow.

He staggers.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You sag in his arms, everything heavy.

“I don’t want to hate you,” you mumble, words sticky and slow. “I just needed you to see me. Steve… I love you so much it hurts worse than this.”

His throat makes a terrible sound.

He hauls you up, holds you like you weigh nothing, and stumbles through the sliding doors screaming for help

★・・・・・・★★・・・・・・★★・・・・・★

Actions have Consequences

They cut your clothes away.

They say things like “three broken ribs,” “deep laceration,” “possible internal bleeding.”

You float in and out under hospital lights and hands and voices.

They give you morphine.

Then something stronger when they start cutting.

Through all of it, Steve never lets go of your hand.

You come up out of the haze slowly.

The world is cotton-soft at the edges. Monitors beep somewhere to your left. Your chest feels bound and heavy. Your shoulder aches in a faraway, underwater way.

Steve is there.

He’s hunched over the bed, fingers laced through yours so tight his knuckles are white. His eyes are red, the skin beneath them bruised with exhaustion. There’s dried blood on his collar, a smear along his jaw.

He looks wrecked.

You blink.

“Hey,” you whisper.

He jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. “Hey, baby. Hi. You’re—God, you’re awake.”

You stare at him, slow and hazy.

“Hi,” you murmur. “Why are you crying?”

He chokes out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“What do you mean, why am I—” He breaks off, shakes his head, squeezes your hand like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You almost died, sweetheart.”

You frown, confused.

“No I didn’t,” you say. “I’m right here.”

He laughs again, wet and broken.

You lift your good hand with clumsy effort, thumb brushing his cheek where a tear has carved a clean track through the blood.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” you tell him solemnly. “Did something happen?”

He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Steve’s thumb rubbing the exact spot on your hand where he measured your pulse the night you thought you were dying. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I fucked up. Really bad.”

You squint at him.

“No you didn’t. You’re Steve.” The words come slow, earnestly. “You’re good. You save people. That’s your whole thing.”

“Not tonight,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

You consider that.

“Well,” you decide, “then tonight doesn’t count. We’ll just delete it. Like a bad save file.”

The tears spill over again.

“Don’t—” You frown as his face crumples. “Don’t cry, pretty boy. I love you even when you’re dumb.”

A shocked laugh bursts out of him.

He presses his forehead into your palm. You can feel him shaking.

“I don’t deserve that,” he says, voice wrecked.

You hum thoughtfully.

“Probably not,” you agree. “But I’m very high and very stubborn, so you’re stuck with it.”

He laughs, truly laughs, for the first time in hours, even as fresh tears streak down.

You smile, dazed and fond.

“Also your hair looks amazing,” you add. “Like tragic Disney prince. Ten out of ten. Want to kiss.”

He huffs, half-sob, half-laugh.

“Do you?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

You nod, serious.

“But only if you promise to choose me first next time there’s a giant flower monster.”

His face shatters.

All the guilt, all the fear, all the images of you slamming into that wall, the Polaroids on his dresser, the abandoned dress, the empty doorstep— they all rush back in a single crushing wave.

“I swear,” he says, and it sounds like a vow. Raw. Holy. Desperate.

“I swear on everything, on my life—on all of it. I choose you. I should’ve chosen you. I’ll—” his voice breaks, “—I’ll spend the rest of my life choosing you first. Always you.”

You beam, satisfied, eyes glassy.

“Good boy.”

Your eyelids start to droop again, heavy.

“Stay,” you whisper. “Just… stay. Please?”

He lifts your hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles like a promise.

“Always,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again.”

You believe him.

Not because he said it. Because you saw it, just for a second, in his face when you told him you loved him more than it hurt.

The drugs pull you under.

The last thing you feel is his hand, warm and steady around yours.

You wake eight hours later in recovery.

The room is dim. The world is quieter.

Your shoulder throbs, your ribs ache, and your throat feels like sandpaper.

Steve is in the chair beside you, asleep, head tilted at an awful angle. He’s still holding your hand in both of his, fingers laced through like he’s physically afraid to let go. Tear tracks have cut clean lines down his cheeks through the grime.

You squeeze his hand.

Just once.

He jolts awake instantly, eyes wild until they find yours.

You look at him.

At the wreckage of him. At the way he looks at you like you’re a miracle he doesn’t deserve.

Your voice is cracked, but steady when you say:

“Hi, boyfriend.”

He makes a sound like breaking glass.

His head drops to the bed beside your arm and he sobs. Not quiet, polite sniffling. Big, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that he tries to swallow and can’t.

You’re too tired to fix everything tonight.

Too tired to list all the times he didn’t show up, all the ways he forgot that loving you isn’t the same as choosing you.

But you don’t pull your hand away.

You curl your fingers around his and hold on.

Some things can’t be undone in one night. Some patterns don’t unlearn themselves easily. Some loves are too stubborn to die from one terrible mistake.

You’ll fight about it tomorrow. You’ll make him listen, make him understand, make him earn the right to keep calling you his.

Tonight, you just let him hold your hand and cry.

For the first time in a long time, Steve Harrington isn’t looking over his shoulder at anyone else.

He’s right here.

With you.

And for the first time in hours….he breathes.

All he gets from you is a soft and airy moan, but it makes his stiff cock jerk in your quivering confines anyway.

“Then tell me.”

His words fall over you like summer rain. You don’t know if it’s a command or a plea — and he doesn’t, either, really — but he just wants to hear you.

Your mouth parts in a silent moan when his hips rock back and forward again, never quite pulling all the way out of you before fucking into you again, inch by agonizing inch. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulder blades, and Steve revels in the distant burn.

“C’mon, sweet thing…” he pants above you. The breath of his words fans warm against your chin as his broad nose nudges against the side of yours. “Tell me… Tell me I’m making you feel good…”

A flicker of panic dashes across your fucked-out features at the simple command — you wouldn’t know what to tell him, how to tell him without sounding utterly un-sexy. But then his hips tilt back between your parted thighs, dragging his stiff cock out of you until your drooling pussy clenches around the bulbous tip, and then pushes slowly back into you again.

He forces you to feel all of it — every inch of his cock as he fills you once more. The thatch of hair above his happy trail that ruts mercilessly along your swollen clit, more so when your hips buck on their own accord. The scruff of his chest that brushes your sensitive nipples when you tighten your hold around his shoulders.

You couldn’t make out the words if you tried.

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut tight, missing the look of worry that flashes across Steve’s scruffy face. His measured thrusts falter at your silence, lean hips stilling between your thighs.

“Does it… Does it not feel good?” he mumbles awkwardly into the quiet of his bedroom.

Your eyes fly open then, heavy-lidded and swimming with a leftover pleasure. You almost can’t believe he’s asking you that. Like you aren’t already so close to your orgasm, like you haven’t already drenched the sheets below you.

“Yeah… It— It feels good…” you tell him through panted breaths, quiet and hardly audible. Your eyes dart back and forth between his chocolate ones. Something short of agony twists at your pouting features. “Why— Why’d you stop?”

Steve grins all over again, though it wavers at the edges with a lingering worry.

“You got all quiet on me…” he murmurs, smoothing one wide hand over your cheek. The skin there is slightly sticky from a thin layer of sweat as he smooths rouge tendrils of hair from your temples with a softly calloused palm. His touch is as warm and firm as his heavy balls still pressed against your ass. “I wanted to make sure it was good for you, too…”

You shift slightly, caged beneath his golden body and the mattress below. You shrink into yourself instinctively, though there isn’t anywhere to go with you pressed so intently against him.

“Sorry…” you whisper.

Steve shakes his head. The chestnut tresses hanging over his forehead sway over his eyes, which go squishy around the edges when he smiles down at you with a melted chocolate gaze.

“You don’t have to apologize… I get it. It’s okay.”

He punctuates his reassurance with a kiss. His lips taste like spearmint, nicotine, and the sweet-salty tang of your cum when they press against yours. Your mouths slot together in a lingering, longing thing like they were meant to do it — like he was made to kiss you, like his only purpose was to kiss you.

Your lips smack when you pull away.

“Can you…” you hear yourself ask, then trail off a second later when you catch yourself.

“Can I what?” Steve hums knowingly. His lips curl into a lazy smile moments before he leans down to press them to your cheek. He doesn’t really kiss you there, but rather brushes the plush skin along your sweat-slick one. The breath of his words fans across your jaw and sends chill bumps pebbling across your bare body. “Use your words for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

My cock, he means. Or the world. Or the ocean. Whatever you could possibly ask for, he’d fight like hell to get.

Your breath catches when his wet mouth meets your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the thrumming of your rapid heartbeat there. “Can you keep going?” you plead in a breathless whisper.

Steve grits his teeth to fight back a moan when your words make his cock twitch inside you. The scruff of his chin scratches your shoulder when he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I can… I do that for you…”

The process starts all over again, the merciless rocking of his hips. He pulls out just enough to make you sigh at the empty feeling, then he fucks back into you until his balls slap the plush skin of your ass. Your back arches off the mattress as your nails dig into his golden shoulder. Your moan gets buried in your throat, in a hardly audible whimper.

“Let me hear it, baby,” Steve pleads through labored breaths as his fists ball into the pillows on either side of your head.

His lidded gaze, glassy with a layer of honey, flits across your fucked-out features — eyes squeezed shut, head tossed back, bottom lip caged between your teeth. The sight of you below him is heaven alone, especially compared to how demoniacal your cunt feels wrapped around him.

“Let me make you feel good. C’mon.”

You vaguely feel his right hand squeeze between your sweaty bodies as he continues his measured thrusts. His finger brushes over your stomach, and past the thatch of hair above your pussy, before finding purchase on your clit — already sensitive from your previous orgasm, which he had given to you with nothing but his mouth.

Your body reacts before your mind does. Your hips buck with a shock of electricity. Your thighs clench around his lean hips. Your mouth parts to exhale a broken whimper.

“Right there,” you hear yourself say. “Oh, my god— Right there.”

The praise makes Steve’s even thrusts falter for a moment. A groan rumbles in the depths of his throat. “Yeah… There you go,” the boy slurs. “You sound so pretty for me— Fuck. I knew you would…”

His words make you keen. “Steve…” you whimper when you feel your orgasm suddenly approaching, like a knot in the pit of your stomach that’s growing tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

He tries not to burst entirely at the way you say his name.

“What is it, honey?” he coos. “You close?”

“Yes…” you sigh.

“I know you are, baby— I can feel it,” he says through gritted teeth, as his own pleasure starts to build. “You’re getting so tight around me, baby, I can— shit. I can barely move—”

Your pussy clenches tighter around him, all but weeping for him now. Steve’s fingers on your swollen clit only add to the ache, which feels borderline overwhelming now. Your face screws in a pained sort of look as your thighs tremble on either side of his waist. You writh beneath his golden body, trying to both chase your orgasm and run from its intensity at the same time.

“Please, please, please…” you hear yourself begging, though for what, you couldn’t say. “Please, Steve…”

“I’m right here, baby,” the boy coos, words slurring from his own encroaching orgasm. He keeps one merciless hand on your clit, which swells beneath his fingers, while his other shifts to hold you. He keeps himself propped up with his elbow while his palm settles over the crown of your head. His fingers curl gently in your hair as he murmurs to you, “I’m right here. Take what you want. You know I’ll give it to you. You just gotta… holy shit— You just gotta fucking take it, baby—”

Something about his words sends you over the edge. The way he says them to you so softly, maybe, or the way they come out slightly strangled as he fights back his own pleasure.

“There you go…” Steve sighs when he feels you cumming around him, velvet walls clenching through the silk you leak for him. He watches through the haze of bliss clouding his vision as you finally succumb to your orgasm, twitching and writhing behind him through every wave of pleasure. “Take it, baby. Take it—”

His voice breaks. A pain sort of groan sounds deep in his throat as his own orgasm threatens to unravel him. He punches into you once, hard, and then buckles down over you. He suffocates you beneath his warm, heavenly body while his aching cock jerks within the pulsing walls of your pussy, spitting several ropes of warm cum deep inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers into your neck, where he hides his flushed face that screws in a pained look of overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck—”

He stills against you with one last, shallow thrust. The remaining tension floods from his body as he sinks heavily onto yours, with every intention of melting with you there. It’s the closest to heaven he’s ever felt — hell, probably the closest to heaven he’ll ever get — with his sweat-slick skin sticking so deliciously to yours.

“Stay…” he hears you whisper when he goes to pull out of you.

The soles of your feet press into the back of his scruffy thighs. Steve pulls just far enough to see your face, and finds you wearing a pleading, pitiful sort of look — brows scrunched, eyes wet, mouth pouted from his kisses.

“Don’t pull out,” you beg through heavy breaths. “Please. I… I wanna stay like this for a while…”

Halloween - now.

“Sour candy or chocolate?” Steve asks deep in thought, he’s standing in the brightly lit Halloween aisle of the local Piggly Wiggly with two different ‘Family Size’ bags of each in his equally big hands. 

His eyebrows are pinched in the center of his forehead, marrying just below the swoop of hair that always fails to stay tucked behind his ear as he scans the shelves for a third, possibly better option with his full bottom lip tugged between perfect teeth. 

This was peak Steve Harrington concentration. 

“Sour candy, obviously.” You scoff, grabbing the neon Warheads bag out of his grasp, dumping it into the small cart that’s already full enough to make you regret not getting the large one Steve had suggested at the door. 

It’s fine, you were supposed to be practicing self control tonight anyway, plus you would never tell him that he was right about something. Not unless you wanted to hear about it for the next week.

Self control is a new concept when it comes to Steve, but you are good at trying to practice it, refusing to meet his eyes as you brush past him, and again when you ignore the glimmer of electricity that’s sparked between the two of you since your friendship’s conception. It’s a lot harder to pretend now though, because touching him feels like sticking a wet hand to a power grid these days, all because of a childish dare to prove Eddie Munson wrong. A plan that backfired in your face pretty quickly after drunkenly locking lips with your best friend at the metal head’s bonfire last week, because neither one of you can back down from a challenge. 

Or admit the truth. 

Your friendship with Steve has always been a series of ‘what if’s’. An unspoken tension that everyone in the room could feel when the two of you were in it, but honestly Steve had chemistry with everyone. He was just one of those guys, and your bond only intensified it, at least that’s what you’ve told yourself over the years. Kissing him though? That was always the kind of ‘what if’ you’d only ever dared to think about in the dead of night - alone, in your room, before shoving it back deep down into the dark crevices of your mind. It always happened after a movie night that got a little too cozy under a shared blanket, wandering hands a little too daring in the dark, cinnamon and clove clinging to all the fabrics of your clothes.  

Only now, it was a reality. One that hasn’t stopped playing on a loop since. 

“I think we should get both.” Steve finally decides like it’s been something that’s kept him up at night, coming up behind you so close that his chest brushes against your back as he reaches around to dump the chocolate in the cart. His cologne tempts your senses like the devil trying to make a deal for your soul, and you wonder if holding your breath would be too dramatic.

”We’re going to have so much left over if we get both.” You argue with a smile twisting up the corners of your lips, but you make no effort to correct the situation. The uneven wheels squeak as you keep pushing the cart down the linoleum floors.

”Or we can be the best stop on the block, let these kids clean house.” He suggests as if he were a coach coming up with a play, pounding his fist into his open palm for the words ‘clean house’ before pushing the dark green sleeves of his Hawkins Community College sweater up his arms. A galaxy of freckles reveal themselves to you, clustering and spreading along his permanently sunkissed skin. They stand out even more under the fluorescents. 

“I know you like winning, but I feel like I have to remind you that this isn’t a competition Harrington.” Grinning, you finally meet his amused eyes.

”Just getting into the Halloween spirit, that’s all honey.” Steve winks, pushing the wild strand back, just for it to fall across his face not even a second later. He ignores your protest when he bumps you to the side with his hip to take over pushing the cart. “Now the real question is what are we watching tonight?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of Army of Darkness, or Nightmare on Elm Street. Neither are very scary, I know how you get.” You couldn’t help but throw the little dig in retaliation for taking the cart from you, a giggle slipping past your lips at the side eye you get in return.

”I just don’t like being scared? Is that such a crime? You can go watch whatever you want with Eddie like the little weirdos you are.” He does a good job at keeping a straight face as the two of you get in line behind a family of five, but you catch a peek of his smirk when he leans over to put the divider on the black belt. 

“Do I need to remind you that you invited yourself tonight? I should make you watch The Exorcist.” 

It’s the genuine disbelief that paints his features that gets a full bellied laugh out of you, a big smile pushing up your glossed lips, and you can’t help notice how his gaze falls to them for a split second. 

Self control.

”Sorry I want to spend my best friend’s favorite holiday with her, sue me.” Steve scoffs dramatically, setting the bags of candy on the moving belt first, the family ahead of you wrapping up.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms stubbornly, cheeks burning hot at the smirk he gives you.

”Listen, I don’t actually care about what we watch, what I care about is that you’re going to let those pumpkins we carved finally see the light of day.”  He pushes the now emptied cart ahead, leaning back against the wooden panel of the register, leaving just a few inches between you. An amused eyebrow arches at your annoyed groan in response.

”Steve, they are hideous.”

”Speak for yourself, I put my blood, sweat and tears into mine, he deserves his moment. He’s going outside.” He decides it with the kind of finality in his tone that you know means it’s going to be the first thing he does as soon as you get back. 

”No one is going to come to the apartment, it will look like serial killers live there.” 

“Or a couple of undiscovered artists. Who are also going to be the number one candy dealers on the block.”  He argues, completely unphased by your protesting.

“Steve!” You whine, despite the smirk that creeps up your lips, and it makes Steve’s face split in two. 

“Fine, but we’re watching whatever I want then.” You challenge, doing your best to ignore the flutter in your stomach when his foot brushes against yours and he keeps it there.

”Like within reason.” He succumbs with genuine concern, rubbing his palms nervously against his tight fitting light wash jeans at the thought of what you’re sure is the last movie Eddie made him sit through.

”I’m not a monster Harrington.” You wink, quietly thankful for the fact that the line starts to move, because like magnets you’d unconsciously migrated deeper between his spread legs. 

Seizing the moment, you put some space between you just in time for Delores, or as her name tag reads to greet you both, popping the bubble you’d unknowingly trapped yourself in with him and bringing you back to reality.

Self Control.

Halloween - Three Years Ago.

“I really can’t believe you’re choosing to go to Eddie’s Halloween party over Tina’s.” Steve yells over Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’ from his bathroom.

”And I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Brenda, again.” You retort, recalling the last time he tried to date her six months ago, and how he had to disconnect his landline after he ended things.

Granted he was breaking up with her because the new foreign exchange student at the time was showing interest, and he’d rather have a semester of fun with her than spend the winter playing boyfriend with Brenda. So you definitely understood where she was coming from, in fact you constantly reminded Steve you were on her side every time he’d try and complain about the mess he made. Messes he always seemed to make.

You ignored the unreasonable pit of jealousy that formed in your gut then, just like you are now, cause in no universe are you going to allow yourself to have a crush on  your best friend. There was no way you were going to fall victim to the Harrington charm just like everyone else, you liked hanging out with him too much for that. It would be a cold day in hell if you ended up as one of Steve’s messes, because in an alternate reality where you gave in to the ‘what if’ and it didn’t work out, there’s no way you’d be able to go back to watching him do exactly what he’s doing right now. 

You wouldn’t be able to have movie nights where maybe you both sit a little too close, laughing until your sides hurt and snacking on whatever is in front of you. No more late drives to lovers lake, just so you can get a better view of the moon when it's full, and staying out till sunrise, stopping at Denny’s to share a grand slam on your way home. No more talks about the future and how much the uncertainty of it all scares you both. No more having someone you can be completely yourself around. Someone who won’t judge you for your faults, someone who shows up when no one else will. Neither one of you could lose that.

”Look, it’s been a few months. She seems over it, besides it’s not like it’s anything serious.” He tries to reason, finally stepping out of his bathroom to give you the first look at his costume. ”What do you think?”

You never thought Indiana Jones was hot, even when he made you watch all three movies in preparation for this, but Steve as Indiana Jones was another story entirely. 

His dark brown pants are tucked into black boots, fitting his waist perfectly with a chocolate colored belt wrapped around his hips only extenuating it more. The cream colored button up leaves little to the imagination since he only has the bottom two done, half hazardly tucked into the front of his pants. You notice the silver chain that you’d gotten him for Christmas last year hanging from his neck, the dog tag at the end of it getting lost in the thick thatch of hair on his chest and it leaves your body warm. He opts out of the fedora because according to him it would hide his “best asset” so that wild strand swoops across his forehead like it's on purpose.

Steve Harrington looked like a movie star. 

Brenda didn’t know what was coming for her, and you have to swallow that sour taste in your mouth for the second time tonight. 

“I’d say Stephen Spielberg needs to seriously consider recasting you as the lead instead of Harrison Ford.” You feed into his delusion, because that’s what best friends are for.

”Right? Right?” He spins around one more time, flashing that million dollar smile of his that devastates anyone he directs it at. You have to remind yourself of everything that you could lose again.

It’s Steve’s turn to take in your costume. Golden brown eyes sparkling with amusement and the kind of adoration that was hard to ignore. You’re a Venus fly trap from the Little Shop of Horrors, wrapped up in a dark green form fitting tube top dress that stops at the middle of your thighs with jagged cut ends you made yourself with a dull pair of kitchen scissors. The silk gloves that go up to your elbows are the same shade of emerald, along with the little paper mache fly trap heads that Robin helped you make sticking out of the top of your pinned up hair. Glitter covers every exposed inch of your chest, and shimmers in the corners of your eyes. You had felt confident enough to even reconsider going to Tina’s instead when you applied your red lipstick before leaving for Steve’s. His reaction only makes it soar. 

”What do you think?” You smile, taking your turn to spin. 

”Who are you trying to impress at this party again?” Steve quirks an eyebrow, a darkened gaze lingering over all the details of you, taking his time where a best friend shouldn’t and it makes you squirm.

”Jonathan’s friend that’s visiting from California. You know him, Argyle." 

He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand before moving past you to grab his cologne from the top of his dresser.

”Him? Why? He’s only here for like two more days anyway.” He challenges with his back turned, and you know it’s on purpose.

”Okay? And?” You snap, his hypocrisy quickly snuffing out the jealousy that seemed to get comfortable in your gut and turning it into anger. You prefer it. So you lean into it. “You’re the only one who get’s to fuck around with no strings attached?”

”He’s a stoner pizza delivery man, I don’t really know what you’d see in that. Don’t lower your standards just to hook up with someone because you look cute tonight.” 

Because you look cute tonight. 

It’s your turn to scoff.

“You’re being a complete ass, Harrington. Like working at a video store is any better. He’s nice, and makes me laugh. We already hung out the other night. Then guess what? He walked me home and kissed me at my front door. I don’t think I need to impress anybody.” Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, hands balling into fists at your side. How dare he.

What makes you even more mad is that it feels like it’s Steve who’s jealous. Steve who’s getting ready to go on a date with someone else. Steve who didn’t ask you when you were always right here.

”Oh, so that’s why we didn’t hang out the other night, got it.” He raises his eyebrows, lips turning into a frown before nodding his head. 

“We hang out almost every other night Steve, I don’t say anything to you when you go out on dates, and you go out on a ton of them. I think you’ve dated almost every girl in my Liberal Arts Class. I’m not appreciating this double standard, or you questioning my judgment.” Your words carry the kind of venom that stings, and you can see it all over his face. The worst part was how you immediately feel bad, frustrated tears threatening to spill over the shimmer that covers your cheeks. 

Steve’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He meets your eyes after a few seconds, soft and apologetic, traces of unmistakable regret in the dark pools of his irises.

”You’re right, I’m sorry.” He sighs, straightening up, shifting his belt buckle around. “I don’t know why I’m being so-, I just think, I just -“

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and decide if he really wants to say what’s trying to escape from the tip of his tongue.

”I just don’t think anyone’s good enough for you.”

You let his words sink it. They make the anger that fueled you cool down to a low simmer so that jealous pit can come back to reclaim its rightful throne.

”Well I could say the same thing for you too.” You mutter, refusing to meet his gaze, you weren’t ready to yet.

The silence that fills the space between you is full of those what if’s and half truths. It stays there just long enough for you to finally look at him with the mask you’re used to wearing. 

”Apology accepted. The game plan then is for you to try and not to end up getting tied to Brenda’s bed, and I’ll try to make sure Eddie doesn’t burn his trailer to the ground.”

Steve stares at you for a while, like he knows the conversation needs to move on but he doesn’t want it too. Logic wins out no matter how forced it seems, because he follows your lead.

“He’ll need you, buddy needs to cool it with the lighter fluid. And for what it’s worth your costume looks amazing. You guys did great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

He spots the whip at the end of his bed, playfully flicking the head of one of the fly traps with his fingers as he walks past, and you have to stop yourself from inhaling the cedar and honey that invades your senses from his cologne. It’s not the one with cinnamon that you love, the one he only wears in the fall, the one that he wears for you. 

“Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way.”

Halloween - Now.

“So what’s the game plan chief?” Steve grins, leaning over your kitchen island, long fingers digging through the freshly filled candy bowl for a pack of Swedish fish.

”There’s no game plan, we hang out, kids walk up, they ring the door bell, then we give them candy and they walk away.” You swat his hand from the treats, but let him keep the gummy candy he searched so hard for. “No good supplier eats his stash Harrington, and I can’t believe I just had to explain the concept of trick or treating to you.”

You don’t tell him about the pile you already set aside to share later.

“What? I’m rusty! And, you gotta test the quality of the product honey, I’m a professional, I know what I’m doing.” He argues with his mouth full.

”Eww keep your mouth closed please and you can’t be rusty and a professional at the same time.”

He sticks his tongue out in response with a whole mini bag of half devoured Swedish fish on it.

”I hate you.”

”No you don’t.” He smirks, chewing the rest before pushing himself up right with a big gulp, letting you admire the cozy attire he changed into after you got back from the store. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone make grey sweatpants and a black crew neck sweater look so good. A sweater he made sure to tell you he wore just for you today, the only black top he owns. 

“I’m still mad you didn’t get me any Halloween socks.” Steve points to the fuzzy black ones with jack o lanterns on your feet.

You’d opted for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, Steve’s oversized sweater actually, he’d left at your place almost a year ago and never bothered to reclaim it. The dark burnt orange color of it reminded you of fall, and for a while it smelt like him too. You’d never admit that last part to anyone, or that you were excited at the prospect of getting that smell back after tonight.

”You could have easily grabbed a pair at the store earlier, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to be festive.” 

The roll of your eyes is hard, but the smile that twists at the corner of your lips is soft for him as you grab the bowls of candy, silently indicating for him to follow you to the living room.

”I’d like to think I’m pretty festive.” He scoffs, tube sock covered feet padding loudly against the old wood floors of your apartment. “This is the first year I’m not dressing up, actually.”

”Because you don’t have a girl you can do a couples costume with this year.” You retort, setting the candy down on the coffee table before lazily flinging yourself onto the blanket and pillow covered couch. 

“One, I could have very easily gotten a date for Tina’s party tonight, let's not pretend that you and I don’t both know that. And two, that’s not true either, the year before last I didn’t have a date, I went with Robin as Mario and Luigi. You were the one that had a date that year, it was that douche bag Ryan from your English Lit class.” He snorts at the memory and the boy you’d almost forgotten about, but clearly your best friend hadn’t. 

Dropping into the spot he always takes next to you, Steve lets himself melt into the familiar cushions. His knee bumps yours when he spreads his legs wide with an appreciative groan before leaning his head back against the headrest closing his eyes. 

“Ryan was not a douche bag.” He was.

Steve opens one eye, a lopsided grin pulling up on your favorite cheek dotted with two moles. 

“Yes, he was and you know it. He wrote you one poem and you were smitten, one shitty poem. I could’ve written you a better one.”

”Then why didn’t you.” 

Steve’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t answer you, instead the two of you just sit there in silence smiling at each other in a silent dare that's always there. His knee presses into yours harder, and the butterflies that’d you’d done a good job at keeping dormant flutter back to life. Then you see his gaze flick down to your lips again.

Self control.

”L-lets start the movie.” You stutter, unable to tell if you yelled the words or if it really was just that quiet. 

Leaning over, you grab the remote off the coffee table with a kind of quickness that would make you think there was a gun pointed to your head. Steve’s continued silence doesn’t help anything either, he just drapes both arms across the back of the couch, wiggling himself deeper into his spot. The movement has your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you press play, starting the VHS. You had finally settled on Nightmare on Elm street on the car ride back.

It’s second nature to lean over Steve to turn off the lamp, although after last week it feels taboo but it’s too late to stop by the time the realization dawns on you. The light disappears with a loud click leaving just the small one over the stove in the kitchen as your only source besides the TV and the porch light that bleeds through your blinds from outside.

Electricity sparks and fizzes in the air around you the moment the room succumbs to darkness, and your chest accidentally brushes with his as you plop back into your seat. Steve sucks in a sharp intake of breath from the unexpected contact, but still he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up like he always does, long fingers wrapping around your knees to drape your legs over the top of his thighs. 

Tucked under his arm like this, it’s easy to inhale him, bask in him and the warm cinnamon that mixes into his usual amber in the fall. He’s wearing your favorite. You nuzzle your cheek into his chest becoming greedy, the cozy scent calming your nerves, you get lost in it, and if he notices he doesn’t show it. He squeezes you closer, the top of his chin finding a new home on the crown of your head, while the pad of his thumb rubs circles on the sore muscle of your calf with pointed pressure.

Secretly, you always knew this moment, the one right here, was the cheat code every time you had ‘movie nights’ just the two of you. The excuse to let yourselves have this one thing. A silent agreement to never ruin the friendship by giving in just enough to keep the temptation at bay. An equal craving for the kind of affection that only feels good with someone you love, but as the years go by, the bolder both your touches get under the cloak of a dark room and a blanket, you wonder if it’s more than that. If there’s a world where he thinks about risking it all too.

Halloween - Two Years Ago.

You weren’t supposed to end up at Tina’s Halloween Party, but Ryan wanted to make an appearance after the two of you left Reefer Rick’s. He’d offered to be the DD, but three group shots of pickle bombs into it, you and everyone could tell he wasn’t having a good time. So since your apartment was walking distance from Tina’s, it made sense to end the night there or at least that’s how he explained it when he told you he wanted to leave. 

The usual anxiety that tightens in your chest returns at the thought of seeing your best friend, somersaults in your stomach you refuse to call butterflies. In fact, you’ve done a good job at convincing yourself this is totally normal, because you can’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like this to see him.

Robin would be there too thankfully, because the two of them had entered Tina’s annual costume contest as Mario and Luigi. Costumes you watched them both make all week, sprawled out across Robin’s bedroom floor, pricking fingers till they bled trying to sew. The worst part about it though, was how cute Steve made the oversized mustache look. Some people really do have it all.

Ryan keeps you close to his side when the two of you enter the packed house dressed as Frankenstein and his bride. Monster Mash blares from the speakers so loud you wonder how much time you have left before Hopper comes knocking on the door to shut it down. You scan the crowd for the familiar red and green in a sea of witches, mermaids, and Top Gun characters, finding the two of them in the corner closest to the kitchen. Closest to the booze.

You can’t fight the way your face lights up when Steve’s gaze meets yours through the crowd, his own smile growing so big that half his mustache falls off. Suddenly coming to Tina’s was the best idea Ryan’s ever had. You tug at his arm, leading him towards the two Mario brothers that wave eagerly at you.

”Oh, great. Steve’s here.” Ryan mutters, sounding less than thrilled but you choose to ignore it, and the very obvious tension between the two men that’s existed since they met.

”Finally you come to the superior party!” Robin exclaims hugging you tight, before giving Ryan an awkward side one.

”She’s aliiiiive!” Steve who is clearly feeling very good yells over the music, before scooping you up in his arms. 

He gives you the kind of hug that’s usually reserved for the long goodbye after a self indulgent movie night. The kind that has his big palms splayed across your back, pulling you flush against him, the thin material of your ripped white dress and his ramshackled overalls leaves little to the imagination. His lips find their way to the shell of your ear, tequila and lime warm on his breath, pebbling goosebumps along the back of your neck. He’s wearing your favorite cologne.

”You look beautiful, honey.”

He lets you go with that, and you catch the smug way he looks at Ryan over the top of your head. The smile on Robin’s face is awkward as you meet her gaze with a silent plea for help, you don’t know what exactly you want her to do, but your body is on fire and someone needs to put it out. You stare a little longer as if to communicate this delima to her telepathically even though you would never admit it to her with your words, only giving up on your dead end mission when you feel Ryan tug you back to his side by your hip.

”She does, doesn’t she.” Ryan agrees, fingers threatening to dig bruises in your side unknowingly. Steve always did this to him, but tonight the alcohol intensified it.

“Seriously, literally always so stunning.” Robin agrees on your beauty nervously, giving you an apologetic look that she couldn’t think of anything better.

”Let’s get some shots!” You try with mock excitement in a desperate attempt to remind Ryan why you came here and that it’s not to punch Steve’s teeth in with a squeeze of his hand. It’s a fruitless effort to try and ignore the growing heat that warms under your cheeks and churns deep in your gut where your body always seems to betray you.

”Great idea!” Robin exclaims doing her best to copy your tone, it seems to be enough to shake the boys out of their silent dick swinging contest.

”Tequila or rum?” You ask your date, laying a hand on his chest doing your best to ignore the heat of Steve’s stare on the back of your head.

“Tequila.” He answers, placing his palm on the top of your hand, bending down, his eyes flick towards your best friend before kissing you. Marking his territory.

You’d think it was hot if your body had any kind of reaction to him, but it’s still practically humming for the one behind you and you hate yourself for it.

”I’ll be right back.” You wink, giving Ryan’s fingers a squeeze before slipping through the crowd towards the kitchen without looking back. 

It’s quieter in the yellow light of Tina’s kitchen, the music a low thump instead of overpowering all your senses at once. A shaky breath slips past your black painted lips, while uneasy hands half hazardly read the labels on the cheap bottles of liquor. The bold letters that spell Tequila finally catch your eye on the most generic looking bottle. You grimace at the thought of the hang over that seals your fate tomorrow, but then you remember the way the lime smelt on Steve’s breath.

“You look beautiful honey.”

Fuck it. You take one straight from the bottle for good measure. No salt, no lime, just regret. 

“Your boyfriend’s a little insecure isn’t he?”

As if thinking about him makes him appear, Steve walks through the kitchen pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the direction Ryan’s in.

“He’s not my boyfriend yet, and he won’t be because you keep egging him on,  Harrington.” You sigh exasperated, ignoring the way he chuckles not taking you seriously at all before turning around to face him, your palms finding purchase on the kitchen counter behind you. 

“Maybe, just a little.” He pinches his thumb and index finger together with a devious smirk that looks even more absurd in his costume. At least his oversized mustache must’ve been left with Robin. “I just don’t like him is all.” 

“You don’t like anyone I’m interested in, Steve.”

You want to ask him why. The alcohol almost starts to make you brave enough to do it too. Why does he do this every time it’s your turn to date around? Why does he always have a list of issues on how they simply aren’t good enough? Why is it always a competition? Sometimes you wonder if it’d just be easier to hear him say it out loud instead of doing whatever this is. 

“Well, that may be true, but you also have terrible taste.” He closes the space between you, mimicking your stance on the kitchen island across from where you face him. The tips of your shoes are close enough to touch. 

“Who would you like me to date then?”  Your question is supposed to sound snarky and mean, not quiet with weight wrapped around it like it does

The look in his glossy eyes steals the air from your lungs, like he’s daring you to say it. 

You both know you won’t and he changes the subject.

“I can’t believe I caught you doing a tequila shot without salt and lime. Especially that tequila.” He tsks, pushing himself off the counter and invades what little is left of the  space between you. You can smell the cinnamon again.

“Well I needed a quick stress reliever, no thanks to you.” You should be embarrassed by how breathy it comes out, but when he holds your gaze like this, like he wants to eat you alive, it’s hard to care. 

It's just the liquor you tell yourself, Steve’s been drinking all night. 

He mutters a ‘hmm’ under his breath, long fingers wrapping just tight enough around your wrist that you could pull away if you wanted too. You don’t though, instead you bite your bottom lip, too selfishly invested in what he might do next.

Steve reaches behind you, grabbing the salt shaker that dwarfs in his grasp, lifting your hand up to your mouth. 

“Lick.” He smirks devilishly, and you realize you’re getting the full force of his charm. 

“Steve.” You whisper, just barely audible over your heart thrumming out of your chest. You can feel it in your ears.

Thump, thump, thump, thump

“We’re gonna do a shot together, the right way.” He reasons like this is a completely normal interaction between two friends while the gold shimmering in his eyes darkens. 

You don’t say anything, searching his face for any sign of this being some kind of prank just to see how you’d react. But the way he licks his lips tells you pretty quickly that it’s not. 

So you do it. Holding his eyes the whole time, and you swear they turn onyx. 

It’s his turn to stay silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he taps the shaker over the corner of your hand before doing the same to his own, and now it’s your turn to stare as his pink tongue licks a perfect straight line. All the stories you’ve heard about him flood to the forefront of your mind, the endless pillow talk about Steve Harrington that fills the college halls. 

You hate that the motion has your thighs pressing together, especially with Ryan just outside waiting for your return, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to leave. Your eyes trace the veins in his neck, silently counting the freckles that explode across his skin as he pours up two shots. 

“Here honey.” He whispers, like he’s scared for this bubble to pop too. 

The two of you cheers, glass clinking loudly in the silence, eyes staying trained on each other like you need to memorize every detail of this moment. Like this was never going to happen again. 

The tequila doesn’t taste as bad followed up with the salt and the lime. Steve does it like a pro, like a boy who’s been to every party this small town has to offer. He doesn’t even take that ‘this is disgusting’ suck of breath through his teeth, he just smiles at you setting the shot glass down. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Do you need help? Oh.”

It’s only fitting that it’s Ryan who pops your carefully crafted bubble, and you know it will be another fight about Steve on the walk home. Another night to get buried with all the others just like this, and a night that has you and Steve avoid being alone together for a week.

Halloween - Now.

It’s hard to concentrate on Freddy terrorizing a young Johnny Depp when the tips of Steve’s fingers move from your calf to the top of your thigh, a motion he’s repeated for half the movie. A move that gets bolder, higher, pushing the boundaries with every swipe. He has to feel the way it makes you squirm, in fact, you think it’s spurring him on. Especially when he gets dangerously close to the soft outline of your underwear, a quiet gasp escaping past your lips.

Luckily, you're saved by the sound of your doorbell, the first trick or treaters of the night making you both jump.

“Finally!” Steve exclaims like he wasn’t just actively tempting you to cross the line for the second time this week, like he didn’t already know what your tongue tasted like. 

The bonfire comes back in flashes, teeth scraping, nipping, the whistles that got drowned out when his hand came up to your cheek opening you up more when it was just supposed to be a peck.

”Hello? Are we just going to keep them waiting?” He snaps you back to reality, standing over you with his hands out for you to take. “I don’t really want to beat you at your own game.”

”Again Steve, this is not a sport, you can’t win at something when there’s no prize.” You groan, refusing to meet eyes but slide your hands into his. 

“Sure you can.” He winks, letting you go the moment you get on your feet, extending his arm for you to lead the way. 

His playful demeanor has you feeling like maybe you just imagined the last thirty minutes. Was he not affected the way you were? Has it always just been you? Did the kiss not make him question everything?

”Whatever you say Harrington.” Sighing, you try for the hundredth time this week to push the thoughts of your bottom lip between his teeth down where they can’t see the light of day.

So distracted by the man behind you, the lack of candy in your hands has you stopping dead in your tracks without thinking, the domino effect slams his hard chest right into your back.

”Foul ball.” Steve huffs, steadying you both with hands on your hips. The warmth of them bleeding through the thick fabric of your sweater. “I thought you said this wasn’t a game.”

What you hated most about Steve Harrington was that he always knew how to make you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

”Well if this were a game, we’d be losing.”

Genuine panic paints his features like a truly serious offense has occurred. 

“We forgot the candy.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair that you wish was your own. 

”Wow, total rookie mistake, we gotta get it together or we’re gonna get benched.” Clapping loudly he turns on his heel to grab both bowls, “I do not wanna get on the coach's bad side.”

”You don’t have to bring both.” You try your hardest to fight the smile that wants to twist up the corners of your lips. “And who’s the coach?”

”We’re not going to be under prepared this time sweetheart, and I need to see who picked the better candy, if they’re even still there!” Steve tutts with a shake of his head gliding past you. “And you’re the coach, duh.”

”Why do you always like to participate in competitions you know you’re going to lose?” Crossing your arms, you light up at his narrowed gaze, his long fingers wrapped around the door handle, “I mean, we might as well take a poll of the ugly pumpkins you made us put out too while we’re at it.

“Sounds like a great idea.” He grins smugly, “I love how much you lean into intimidation tactics when you know you won’t win by the way.” He doesn’t give you any time to respond, swinging the door open with the kind of excitement that would rival a kid on Christmas morning.

Then you watch it drain from his face almost instantly, quickly replaced by pure annoyance. 

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Steve, stacks one of the candy bowls on top of the other, leaning on your door with a hand on his hip.

”What does it look like we’re doing?” You hear Mike Wheeler’s voice before you see him, but when you meet Steve at the door, you realize it’s all four of his ‘children’ and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles past your lips because they’re all dressed as The Cone Heads. 

“It looks like legal adults going to strangers' houses asking for candy, instead of being at a party, meeting girls. Will you’re excluded in that last part, obviously.” Your best friend runs another irritated hand through his hair.

“I’m not sure they’ll be able to chase tail dressed as Beldar Conehead, Steve.” You can’t stop giggling. “Just give them some candy.”

”Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Harrington.” Dustin antagonizes, shaking his empty pillow case in front of him. “Give us the sour candies and we’ll get out of your hair.”

”One, she’s not my girlfriend, dip shit, and two, what's wrong with Snickers?” 

“Sour candy’s just better.” Lucas shrugs, “Now hand over the Warheads.”

She’s not my girlfriend.

It feels like an expected punch in the gut. The final nail in the coffin your last shred of hope lays in. You should have known better, but the kiss made everything fuzzy, the self control you prided yourself on waning in a way that you weren’t sure you could ever get back. 

“You guys can have as much as you want.” You say ignoring Steve, snatching the bowls from his hand. 

“Seriously? They can buy their own!” He groans, leaning his back on the door crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s not your girlfriend, huh? You seemed pretty whipped to me,” Mike laughs knowing just how much this is getting under Steve’s skin.

You know it’s supposed to be somewhat of a compliment but it just adds salt to a wound that won’t stay closed.

”Shut up, that’s enough,” Steve smacks the back of Mike’s head hard enough to get an ‘Ouch! Asshole!’, the cone on top wobbling. “Get out of here and go to a god damn party.”

The boys take half the bowl of Warheads, walking away arguing about who can put the most in their mouth without spitting them out. They only took a few pieces of Steve’s chocolate, leaving you the clear winner this round, something you’d be more excited about rubbing in his face if you weren’t trying to actively avoid it. The taste of disappointment is bitter on your tongue, but you do your best to swallow it down. A hard lesson learned, but one your heart can’t bear to repeat again. All you know is that you can’t go back to being best friends with wandering hands in the dark.    

Self control. 

The Bon Fire - Last Week

Eddie Munson’s filter always disappeared when he was drunk, it was part of the fun of drinking with him. Except for when his unfiltered thoughts were about you.

”Oh give me a fucking break!” Eddie yells at you from across the flames that lick the night sky violently. The excessive amount of lighter fluid he’s sprayed into them should be illegal. A half smoked cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth, dangerously close to falling out as he finishes.

“The only reason you and Steve are still single is because the two of you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you’re clearly in love with each other!”

”Fuck. Off. Munson.” Steve glowers from the lawn chair next to you, taking a swig from his 5th beer of the night.

”What? ‘Fuck off’ because I got your ass?” Eddie adjusts in his seat, saving his cigarette, fully prepared for this debate like he’s been waiting for it all his life.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You argue weakly, following Steve’s lead and taking another “sip” of your empty beer.

The metal head guffaws.

“Please, I’ve been watching the two of you for the past four years. Steve scares off any guy you try to date and you let him, which makes me believe you feel the same way, and Steve only dates girls he knows he’ll never have a connection with!” Eddie claps his hands every few words to really drive his point home, and it leaves your argument a jumbled mess on the tip of your tongue.

The vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington. 

”One, she dates horrible guys -“ Steve starts but immediately gets cut off by Eddie’s sarcastic “Sure!” And your “Hey!”

“Are you going to let me finish?” Your best friend narrows his eyes, polishing off his beer with an apologetic glance flashed briefly in your direction.

”You can if you want, but it’s not going to change my mind or anyone else’s at this party.” Eddie eggs him on more, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose like a bull. Taunting you both.

You look around the fire for help foolishly thinking your friends were going to be on your side only to realize literally everyone is avoiding your gaze, even Robin.

”Robin!” The gasp that escapes you shouldn’t sound so surprised. She spends the most time with both of you.

“What?! I’m not Eddie! Yell at him!” She exclaims defensively, but her eyes are still everywhere but yours.

”Then look at me.” You cross your arms, arching a brow with a tilt of your chin.

She mumbles something about killing Eddie under her breath, messing with the empty beer bottles next to her like she’s looking for something. She was procrastinating.

”Oh my god! Seriously?” 

Eddie chuckles victoriously and you swear you hear Nancy giggle from the spot next to Robin. Sinking into the hard plastic of your chair, you dare to sneak a glance at Steve who’s face is entirely unreadable. This was worse than your worst nightmare, this was reality. 

”Look,” Eddie starts again, leaning forward in his chair like some sort of evil mastermind from a bad action movie, “If it’s all in our heads like you keep saying it is. That she really does have terrible taste in men and that you’ve really just exhausted all your options in Hawkins. Kiss then.”

Robin gasps dramatically.

”Are you really doing this right now, Munson?” Steve glowers through gritted teeth before shooting Robin a look so harsh she covers her face.

”Why not? What’s it going to hurt? I’m sure you’ve both thought about it before.” He shrugs, a cheshire smile poking dimples into both his cheeks. “Unless you’re too scared to do it, which would then make me continue to believe everything I just said was true.”

God, Eddie Munson knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to press Steve’s buttons. He knew exactly how dug in both your heels were, holding up that invisible line that’s saved you for the past four years. And you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to kill him, and dump his body into the lake or be eternally grateful for someone finally ripping this old bandaid off. You just didn’t know if there was going to be a scar underneath.

”And why’s that?” You chime in finally finding your voice, snarky and rude. You’ve decided to lean into the anger, and ignore the heat of Steve’s stare warming the side of your face.

“Guys, this is getting a little weird.” Robin tries to intervene, the rasp in her voice uneasy, holding both her arms out like both boys might jump through the fire at each other soon.

”I dare you both to prove me wrong, and then I’ll let it go.” He sits back in his chair, a cigarette put out by his combat boots, and folds his hands in front of him. ”Just a peck.”

”Eddie, come on-“ Robin starts but Steve cuts her off.

”No, no, no it’s fine Rob.” 

That’s when he does it, he turns to face you because Steve Harrington never backs down from a dare. Even if it means throwing a boulder at your glass house. Eddie was playing chess while Steve played checkers, and you start to believe all the drunken stories he told you about the campaigns he wrote for his DND club in high school. Your best friend will unfortunately always be an easy target.

“It’s fine, if this freak wants a little show to get off to later, we’re perfectly capable of a peck. My Mom gives out pecks like they’re candy! N-not like to me alone specifically,” He clears his throat awkwardly, “Like the rest of my family too.”

You grimace at the idea of Steve kissing you like his Mom and Eddie’s eyes sparkle.

”Okay,” Steve waves his hands, eyes closing tight in frustration, “This is coming out wrong! All I’m trying to say is, no big deal Munson, if it’ll get you to shut up, we’d love to prove you wrong, right?”

Wait, was Steve really agreeing to this? Were you really going to have your first kiss with him in front of all of your friends? A kiss you’ve shamefully thought about more than you should. Did he actually want to kiss you? Is he really doing this to shut Eddie up?

”Yeah, not a big deal. You’ll see, and then I’ll be expecting free weed for at least a month.” You try to over compensate with a brave face, but Eddie sees right through it.

”Sure.” He grins, utterly pleased with himself.

”Well what do I get?” Steve glares at his friend expectantly.

”You don’t get anything Harrington, shut up.” 

“Wow, doesn’t seem fair, but whatever.” He mumbles, before finally focusing on you, and you aren’t sure you’re ready.

It feels kismet the moment your eyes meet, the sounds of the party fading around you, leaving only the crackling fire and your heart beating so loud it rings in your ears, and thumps through the tips of all ten of your fingers. The bubble you’ve carefully made together, the one that’s kept you safe for this long comes out like a shield. The last defense.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.  

Steve licks his lips, eyes silently communicating with you to make sure this is really okay, that you guys were actually going to do this and all you can muster is a nod. He scoots his chair close enough for the sides of your hands to touch, amber and cinnamon wrapping around you like a spell.

”Just me and you okay?” He whispers loud enough for your ears only.

”Yeah,” you agree, hooking your pinky with his, “me and you.”

Steve smiles that smile he doesn’t give anyone else, and suddenly you don’t care about the answer to any of those questions swirling around loud in your brain. You want this. You want him. Even if it’s just for right now.

His nose brushes against yours, miller lite and mint hot on his breath. It makes your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, your skin warming as if you were standing in front of the sun. It’s so gentle when his bottom lip connects with the top of yours, it almost tickles. He exhales a deep breath through his nose, mouth hovering for what feels like an eternity.

Thump, thump, tump, thump. 

When the soft silk of his lips finally meets yours, you swear the earth shakes, and after a few seconds when he pulls away with that dazed look on his face you wonder if he felt it too. He blinks a few times, slow and bewildered, something shifting behind his brown eyes that you can’t figure out. Steve doesn’t give you much time to try before his lips are on yours again, that big hand of his finding your cheek, tilting your willing chin up just enough to open you up. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip asking for more and you give it to him without question tasting him for the first time.

Steve Harrington was kissing you, really kissing you. 

“I hope those aren’t the kinda pecks your Mom’s handing out like candy, Harrington!” Eddie gloats loud enough to break through the haze, causing both of you to remember where you are.

Steve’s in no rush to pull away though, in fact, he takes his time, perfect teeth nipping gently at your bottom lip for good measure. He lingers like stopping this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours, and for a second you think he might keep kissing you. His eyes are already fixated on yours when you meet his stare with fluttering lashes. He holds your gaze like he’s desperately trying to read your mind, the pad of his thumb swiping against your bottom lip not once but twice before finally letting you go. 

”You happy now, Munson?” Steve huffs flopping back into his chair with rose colored cheeks. He leans down to grab his beer, running a hand through his untamable hair before taking a swig like that didn’t just change everything.

Oh no.

“Literally couldn’t be happier, Harrington. I think I’m going to start charging double for my eighths now, actually.” Eddie grins winking at you, only for his face to soften meeting your unreadable expression. 

Frozen in your seat, your fingers press against your lips. You could still feel his teeth.

“What do you mean?” Steve interjects, refusing to look in your direction.

Oh no.

“What do you mean?” The metal head challenges, with a confused raise of his eyebrow. “There’s witnesses Harrington.” 

He waves his ringed finger in a circular motion reminding you both of the still very much ongoing party around you. It’s hard to feel the familiar ache of disappointment when your bones won’t stop buzzing. They don’t get it, they don’t realize they bore witness to the kind of moment that moved tectonic plates for you. The kind of moment that you know is going to change everything no matter how hard you try.

”We did your dare, she gets free weed.” Steve continues like it’s obvious.

“Yeah, no. You two were practically eating each other alive. I actually think people started to feel awkward, that’s how insane it was.” Eddie’s disbelief furrows his brows together, head cocking to the side. “So, clearly, I was right.”

At least he’s got the balls to say it. 

“When I win, I like to win big, okay?” Steve smirks with his kiss bitten lips, making the next thing he says sting even more. “You’d never let it go if it was just a peck.”

Oh no.

Your eyes meet Robin’s, and the expression on her face makes you wish you hadn’t. 

”Right?” It takes you a minute to realize Steve is talking to you, in fact it’s not until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder from the hand that was just cupping your cheek. 

He’s asking you to agree that it meant nothing, that you both got Eddie, that you two are only everything you’ve ever said you were. Everyone stares at you, and for the second time tonight you wish this was a nightmare. You wonder if you should just pinch yourself to see.

”I’ll take my first free eighth tonight.” You finally manage, giving Eddie a weak smile.

Oh no.

Halloween - Now

Steve feels miles away on the other side of the couch, a conscious choice you made after his teenage children left, after he made it abundantly clear where he still stood with you. It’s a choice you’re going to dig your heels into no matter how much your body physically aches to be close to him, or how his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing almost three movies and a whole lot of trick or treaters later. 

The clear pink digital clock on your mantle reads 12:18 AM in bright red numbers, A Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors lights up your TV and despite the distance, Steve still hasn’t left. You know he wants to ask why you’re so far away, why you’re not wrapped up in his arms like it doesn’t matter, like last week never happened but then he would have to talk about it. Acknowledge it.

You fucking hated, ‘It’, and maybe Eddie Munson too.

Shadows dance across Steve’s face, eyes intent on the TV with knitted brows that meet in the middle of his forehead. Those hands that had wandered your body under blankets woven with secrets and what if’s for the past four years sit propped behind his head as he leans back into the cushions. His legs are spread wide, in a position that looks uncomfortable, letting you know he’s lost in whatever argument he’s been having with himself since the second movie after you had grabbed your own blanket. 

You were going to break the vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington, right here, right now. While you still had a shred of willpower left. 

“I-I think I saw a full moon out there earlier.” His voice breaks through everything like it always does, hoarse from its lack of use, he clears his throat turning his head to look at you biting his nail.

The warm red lighting from Freddy’s boiler room illuminates his features in a way that dares those butterflies to wake back up from the eternal rest you banished them to. His sharp jaw, those high cheek bones kissed with freckles and moles. The dark pools of his irises beg you for something, surrounded by sparkling brown and gold. You couldn’t look away even if you tried. Movie star. 

”Yeah?” You manage, voice coming out quieter than intended, it softens his features almost instantly, like he missed the sound of it.

”Do you maybe wanna go for a drive?” 

You make him wait for an answer to a question you could never say no to even if you tried, doing your best to hang onto your fleeting self control for just a little bit longer before giving in with a,

“Let's go.”

Steve was right, there was a full moon tonight. It sits half hidden in the clouds but it still manages to shine bright enough to coat the sleeping town of Hawkins in an incandescent opal. He cranks the heat all the way up so you can rest your head on propped up hands along the open passenger window. Strings of orange and violet bulbs wrap around trees, twinkling off fences and front doors, lighting the dark spots that the moon can’t kiss. Flames still flicker and dance inside jack o lantern mouths that sit on front doorsteps, and you can’t help but inhale the bitter crisp fall air that hits your face. It even smells like Halloween outside. You can faintly hear the sound of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ spill from his speakers, and it curves up the corners of your lips. Closing your eyes, you let yourself bask in this moment, including the unmistakable feeling of Steve’s gaze.

The thing about Steve’s car is that it feels like you’re completely surrounded by him when you’re in it, wrapped up in him, consumed by him. The warm leather underneath you always smells rich, especially in the summer after it bakes in the sun. It’s soft to the touch, freshly lotioned by him at least once a week to prevent cracks, while the amber of his cologne permanently clings to the threads in his carpets, and soft chenille lining of his doors. Some days, you’ll catch hints of that Farrah Faucet spray he used in high school, but that was usually after a date. Loose change jingles in his cup holder, along with the stick of gum you almost always inevitably steal from it, and despite the internal battle you’ve been having with yourself, tonight was still no exception. Steve’s car felt like home.

Neither one of you talk as he drives the familiar path towards your favorite spot by the lake. His headlights illuminate the fog that wraps up the base of the trees, crawling up slowly to the dying leaves in a way that makes everything look like magic as you pass town lines. Including the boy next to you. It takes you a few minutes to work up the courage to steal a glance in his direction, but when you do he’s already looking at you too. His soft laugh after you both get caught makes your cheeks ignite, the corners of your lips twitching. 

”Eyes on the road, Harrington.” You manage, fighting the losing battle with your growing smile. You don’t look at him again, not until the BMW slowly rolls to a stop. 

Still, you waste no time jumping out of the car parked on the secret cliff you’d both discovered lost on a drive a few summers ago. Wind hits you in a heavy gust, free from anything that can slow it down up here, pebbling goosebumps along your skin. The cold ground cracks underneath your slippers you didn’t bother to change out of, while cinnamon and crimson leaves flutter in the trees. Crickets chirp in the distance, creating a melody with the wind howling through the dense forest that feels fitting for the holiday. Your heart swells from the feeling of nostalgia, filling you with the kind of joy something that a party could never do. 

“Spooky.” Steve whispers in your ear, coming up from behind you. The warmth of his spare jacket he keeps in the back seat drapes around your shoulders. It smells different than the one he wears regularly, but it's still him, so you selfishly pull it closer.

“Mmhmm.” You agree, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of his breath against the soft skin at the back of your neck before his arms wrap around your waist like they belong there.

Steve pulls you close, mumbling something about being cold too and how you need to share. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear before burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, openly, like an addict that’s been denied his favorite drug and he’s finally got his hands on it. So just as quickly as they were banished, the butterflies come migrating back and you don’t have the energy to stop them, or to practice that new concept of self control because this feels too good right now. Maybe you’re an addict too.

Thin clouds spread out in wisps along the dark night sky, messily painted there by an invisible brush, the stars twinkle around them, shimmering bright even underneath it all. Your gaze traces the invisible lines of the Big Dipper, and it reminds you of the time you’d spent nearly twenty minutes trying to get Steve to see the formation sprawled out on a blanket at this very spot. You would’ve spent the whole evening if you had to. 

“Are you having a good Halloween?” He whispers, voice vibrating deep inside your bones while his cold fingertips trace along the waist band of your leggings under your sweater. You don’t remember when they got there.

You roll the answer around in your head with a thoughtful hum, admiring the orange glow of the town below. An owl calls out into the darkness and Steve’s lips curl into a grin pressing into your neck at the noise.

”Yeah, this is pretty perfect.” You start, thankful he can’t see your own smile that pushes up your cold cheeks, “Especially after getting the confirmation that I do have better taste in candy than you. I love when I’m right.”

He snorts loudly, and it vibrates against your skin making you giggle, his grip on you tightening playfully before pulling you deeper into his chest.

”I threw the game, I felt bad, you know, I didn’t want to outshine you on your favorite holiday. I purposely picked the candy no one would like.” His voice comes out right next to your ear, the baritone of it going straight to your legs threatening to turn them into jell-o.

“Mmmhmm.” You manage, voice cracking with nerves as the palm of his hand finds the plushness of your stomach and keeps it there. You wonder if he can feel the butterflies too. “Whatever you have to say to yourself to sleep better at night, Harrington.”

Steve laughs into your shoulder, the blunt end of his nails scratching lightly over the soft skin of your navel. Neither one of you try to fill the quiet after that, letting the million things that need to be said hang over you in the eerily beautiful silence of the canyon. They cling onto every swipe of his fingers, and the sighs that come from the back of your throat. The two of you stay wrapped up in each other like this for what feels like an hour, swaying back and forth, too scared to pop your favorite bubble. It’s not until a shiver runs up your spine, the frost in the air numbing the tip of your nose.

”We don’t have to leave, but we should at least sit in the car with the heater on for a while.” Steve breaks the silence with a slight chatter in his teeth, the pad of his thumb swiping against the smooth skin of your hip before untangling himself from your clothes. This was starting to feel like a sunrise kind of night.

”Yeah, that’s probably smart.” You clear your throat with a small smile, already missing the feeling of being surrounded by him, for once you don’t push it down.

You follow him to the car, letting your gaze greedily trace the outline of his shoulders in his crew neck sweater. His hair whips around wildly in the wind, the little product that was left in his hair standing no chance. He walks past the passenger door to open the back one instead of your usual spot in the front. The change makes you pause, you’d never really hung out in the backseat together, always using the center console as a barrier to stop you from doing the unthinkable. Everything always seems more romantic in the dead of night. 

“I had an idea earlier when I saw it was going to be a full moon tonight, I- uh, brought us a blanket.” He explains before the question even has a chance to leave your mouth, pink dusting his cheeks that you aren’t entirely sure is just from the cold.

It almost goes over your head, but the bashful way he won’t meet your gaze catches your attention. This wasn’t just some coincidence he saw the full moon from your front door, he had already known, probably with the help of the very kids that showed up dressed as Coneheads. 

Steve Harrington planned something for you. 

”I uh, stole this blank tape from Henderson too and recorded the re-run of Radio Mystery Theater, Eddie had told me about. Thought it might be something you’d like.”  

Your heart swells, threatening to burst in your chest with the unmistakable feeling of wanting to kiss him again.

“I can’t believe you did this Steve, I’ve always wanted to listen to an episode.” You practically beam, taking a few steps closer, looking up at him from under your lashes. “You remembered.”  

The crimson that deepens in the apple of his cheeks this time is definitely not from the cold.

”We’ve had a lot of shitty solo Halloweens, and since this was our first one together, I just wanted, I- I guess I just wanted to make this one special. Maybe we can start a new tradition or something?” he shrugs, muttering the last part with a scratch at the back of his neck pretending to be nonchalant but you can always see right through him.

”Yeah, I’d like that.” Your admission is quiet, but the smile he bites back threatens to be megawatt before reaching out his hand, ushering you into the car and out of the two am chill

”I’m gonna go grab the blanket.”

He closes the door gently after making sure you’re comfortable, and you watch him with hungry eyes from the back window pull out a down comforter from the trunk. It’s the one from his bed, the fabric a deep plush deep burgundy with a black trimming around the edges, it looks so warm in his grasp as another chill rattles through your bones. He comes around to his side, opening the door to hand it to you with a grin that only grows wider when you snatch it eagerly before popping to the driver's seat to turn his car on. The heat starts to blow through the vents instantly, sending another shiver up your spine and a chatter of your teeth. Your gaze falls on the sliver of skin that reveals itself to you where his sweater rides up his back as he leans over the center console to grab the cassette tape from his glove compartment. Of course there’s another cluster of moles and freckles there that make you want to explore where the rest hide.

He pops it in with ease, pressing play and waits until he hears the opening crackle through the speakers, a quiet ‘yes’ slipping past his lips. A gust of cold air follows him when he opens the passenger door again as he slides into the leather seats next to you, knees knocking into yours before shutting it. He wastes no time finding you under the covers, torturing you with his cold hands by slipping them back underneath your sweater.

”Steve!” You jump, scolding him with a giggle without pushing him away, and he takes this opportunity to pull you back into the position you were in on your couch at home before you tried to find some semblance of boundaries.

He keeps his hands under your sweater, even when they’re warmed back up, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles along your rib cage. His cheek rests on your forehead, full lips tickling your skin when he talks. You can feel his heart beat against your palm, and how it speeds up every time your fingers curl into the cotton of his sweater whenever you laugh, instinctively pulling him closer. He doesn’t fight it, instead his grip tightens on the soft dough of your thighs draped over his knees, making sure every inch of you stays pressed firmly against him.

This doesn’t feel like best friends. This feels like something more, but it’s always felt like something more.

In fact you think you’ve known you were in love with Steve Harrington long before you ever admitted it yourself. Burying it so far deep, the fleeting idea just didn’t exist to you anymore, but tonight in the soft glow of the moon sitting in the back seat of his car, you were sure of it and its existence. 

It feels like he can read your mind when his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. The stars twinkle in the gold of his auburn eyes like he plucked them from the sky and hung them there. So close, you can see those freckles you’d discovered the last time he looked at you just like this. That one badly behaved swoop of hair tickles the top of your forehead, and your fingers twitch to push it back for him. Movie star.

The tape stops with a loud click, leaving nothing but the low whistle of wind outside, and it mixes with your heavy breaths, electric currents stinging at your fingertips. His heart thumps wildly against your hand, like he was working himself up for something big. The notion sets a fire ablaze on every inch of your skin in anticipation.

”I want, I want to talk about something.” He says just barely above a whisper with a gaze so intense, it makes you want to look away. You don’t.

“What about?” Your voice comes out somehow even quieter, eyes falling to his lips on their own accord. He catches it, kicking his heart rate up even more. 

Was he going to do the unthinkable? You try to push the thought down, but it fights back this time. Refusing the denial exile you’ve shoved it in for the past four years. 

“Last week, at um, at Munson’s.” His eyebrows pinch together, visibly swallowing his nerves, as the tip of his nose dares to brush against yours. “God, I-I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The last part comes out like he’s being tortured by it. At least it’s not just you.

“If we’re being honest though,” He continues, his palm running up your thigh to squeeze at your hip, keeping you close, “I don’t think I ever stop thinking about you.”

His words crack your chest open, shining light on all the dark places that you’ve kept him in, just like the sunshine Steve Harrington is made of. 

”Really?” You manage to say, after fighting with the words that keep getting tangled up on the edge of your tongue, desperately trying to give him more than a one word answer but failing miserably. Years of daydreaming about this moment in silent shame freezing you up. 

He nods, pressing his forehead against yours, yearning eyes searching inside the dark pools of your pupils down the slope of his nose. 

“You just, you brushed it off so easily, I thought -“ You start, replaying the way he’d rolled back into his seat, sipping his beer so casually like nothing happened. The confidence in his voice bragging about how Eddie got it wrong, that he wasn’t in love with you.

”What’d you think?” He encourages gently, the hand on your hip coming up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along the bone. 

”I just thought I was the only one.” You confess, that same defeated feeling from that night creeping back in despite the way his gaze softens all of your edges. 

“That night at Eddie’s, I freaked out. Robin told me it was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you and it got me in my head that I was secretly making you uncomfortable because if she noticed it, surely you did too. So I completely overcompensated after I lost control at the bonfire, there was just no way I could stop kissing you, and then I panicked again earlier at your house-“

“Steve.” You say his name like it's something romantic, successfully ending his rambling with another brush of your nose against his. .

”Yeah?” He breathes, the tension leaving his shoulders like hearing your voice was enough. 

You meet his heavy stare from underneath your lashes, the foggy glass of the windows creating a halo around his head from the soft glow of the moonlight. 

“I dare you to kiss me again.” There’s confidence in your voice you don’t recognize, and the corner of his mouth quirks at it. 

“What if I just wanted to kiss you because I wanted to?” Steve whispers, closing more of the little space that’s left between you.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Then, I’d say…” You brush your top lip against his bottom one, a low simmer starting to boil in the pit of your gut, spreading warmth between your thighs at his sharp intake of breath, “what are you waiting for, Harrington.”

His lips are curved into a smirk when he presses them to yours, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth to open you up just enough for him that your lips move like they were made for this, for him. He handles you differently in the back seat of his car than at the bonfire, he’s gentle, taking his time without prying eyes, savoring you. Your fingers curl into his sweater, pulling him closer because of it, like he can never be close enough, nose pressed into his cheek. He hums in response, and you can feel his smile return before his hand moves to the back of your neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip begging you to finally let him in, and when you oblige, you both moan at the taste of each other.

It feels like Steve is everywhere, surrounding you with all of the little details of him embedded in every inch of his car. He’s in the leather underneath you that squeaks with your movements, in the amber and cinnamon that warm the air around you, comforting your nerves that threaten to fizz and burst like a live wire. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth like he’s hungry for it, like nothing else could satisfy him, massaging against your own in a way that earns a moan from the back of your throat. One you have no control over, but you’re starting to realize that maybe you never really had control when it came to Steve.

He breaks away just enough to whisper the word ‘perfect’ with a swipe of his nose against your own before pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feel of him as your knees press into the seat on either side of his hips. The effect you never really knew you had on him pressing into your heat with only the fabric of each other's pajama pants as a barrier, a feeling that only ever existed in your day dreams. But this was real, and he was closer to you than you’d ever allowed each other to be, dark wild eyes staring up at you like you were the one who painted the moon and the clouds in the sky. That swoop across his forehead has an extra curl to it from the sweat that beads at the top of his head, auburn hair turning into a wild untamable mess. His big hands grip the tops of your thighs, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to him.

”You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He confesses with an exhausted laugh, as if carrying the burden of ‘what if’ had been weighing him down. “I’m going to be insufferable now, I hope you know.”

His teeth shimmer in the white glow as his kiss bitten lips pull up into the kind of smile that’s contagious, even getting a giggle from you that cuts through the tension like a knife making Steve pull you closer. The tips of his fingers return to their favorite place under your sweater where they trace like a whisper against the warm skin of your lower back, and it makes your eyelids grow heavy. You slump more of your weight into him burying your head into his neck, your own hands traveling up his sweater, finger nails scratching against the rough trail of hair there before your palms rest on the thick thatch on his chest. Your lips press a kiss the two moles that had been begging you to do it for four years just below his ear, and he hums squeezing you closer despite running out of room to physically be able to.

”I want to do this with you all the time,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against your ear, “not just tonight, not just this.”

Hearing Steve say it out loud, confess the one thing you always had to pretend didn’t exist blooms something deep in your chest that you didn’t know could grow there. Shining light on all the darkness and doubts that had made themselves a far too comfortable home. Why keep denying something you both clearly want so bad?

”D-do you feel the same? Please tell me you feel the same.” You can hear the doubt creep into his voice from your misperceived silence when he whispers the plea hot against your lips, begging you to turn your head and meet them.

You almost want to laugh at the idea that Steve Harrington had reservations that you might not feel the same way about him. Wasn’t it obvious?

”Listen, Harrington.” You sigh, meeting his gaze from under your lashes, his heart kicking back up against your palm, his fingers going still. “If you think you’re going to be insufferable, you clearly have no idea who I really am.”

It takes Steve a minute to absorb your words, but when he does, the deep bellied laugh it earns you vibrates against the windows of the car and wraps around your heart. He pulls one hand from under your sweater, fingers curling under your chin again to get to what both of you want more of. A lopsided grin pushes up the vampire bites on his cheek, full lips hovering just over yours and it feels like the first time all over again. Part of you thinks it might always feel this way with him. 

“Don’t underestimate my capacity to yearn, baby.” His lips brush against yours with every word, a shiver running up your spine.

Baby.

“What if I dare you to show me?” You whisper, teeth nipping at his bottom lip enjoying the feeling of the blunt end of his nails digging into your back.

“Careful, you know I can’t say no to that.” He huffs with a grin, warm breath against your skin, silently offering up his own dare for you to close the rest of the distance and give in.

”I’m counting on it.”

steve sat at the table with a screwdriver in his hand, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, your dad standing next to him holding the loose hinge from the cabinet door.

your mom was hovering near the stove.

everyone looked very comfortable. too comfortable.

steve noticed you first.

his head lifted and his eyes landed on you instantly, the way they always used to when you walked into a room, like some invisible string had pulled his attention straight toward you and then he smiled.

that stupid soft smile that used to make you forget what you were mad about.

“hey.” he said.

you stared at him.

“why are you in my house?”

“he’s fixing the cabinet hinge.” your dad answered before steve could.

steve lifted the screwdriver slightly like proof. “your dad said the door’s been crooked for two weeks.”

you dropped your bag on the chair.

“so you called my ex-boyfriend?”

“he called me.” steve corrected lightly.

your mom turned around from the stove and pointed a wooden spoon at you.

“don’t start. steve was being very helpful.”

steve’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

you narrowed your eyes at him.

he had the decency to look a little guilty but not guilty enough to leave.

that became the problem because he kept showing up. sometimes it was because your dad “needed help” fixing something, lie, he just wanted to spend time with steve. sometimes your mom invited him to dinner.

once he showed up with a grocery bag because he said the store had a sale on the cereal your dad liked.

your parents adored him.

and steve… steve was annoyingly good at acting like nothing had changed. like the two of you hadn’t broken up. like he wasn’t still

it drove you absolutely insane because the worst part was how natural it all felt.

you’d come downstairs in the morning and he’d already be there drinking coffee with your dad, hair messy, wearing that faded sweatshirt he’d had since senior year.

and he’d look up and grin at you like this was completely normal. “morning.”

like he hadn’t kissed you in this house a hundred times.

you tried ignoring him.

that lasted about three days because steve was terrible at being ignored.

one evening you were standing in the kitchen pouring yourself a glass of orange juice when he wandered in behind you.

no parents.

just you and steve.

he leaned his hip against the counter like he’d always done, arms crossed loosely.

“you’ve been avoiding me.”

you didn’t look at him. “i live here.”

“yeah,” he said. “and yet somehow i only see the back of your head.”

you set the carton down harder than necessary. “what do you want, steve?”

there was a pause.

long enough that you finally looked at him.

he looked nervous, which was weird.

steve was many things, dramatic, stubborn, occasionally dumb, but nervous wasn’t usually one of them.

he rubbed the back of his neck. “i just think it’s weird.”

“what’s weird?" you ask.

“that we broke up and suddenly you act like i’m radioactive.”

you scoffed. “we’re not friends, steve.”

“we were before we dated.”

“yeah, and then we dated.” you sigh.

“so?”

you stared at him. “so you don’t get to just… keep hanging around like nothing happened.”

his eyes softened a little. “something did happen.”

“exactly.” you murmur.

“you broke up with me.” he whispers.

you flinched slightly. steve noticed immediately. he always noticed when something hurt you.

he pushed away from the counter slowly.

now he was standing closer. so close you could smell his cologne. the same one he’d worn since senior year. it made your chest ache in an annoying, familiar way.

“you said you needed space.” he said quietly.

“i did.”

“so i gave it to you.”

“i know-”

“i didn’t call,” he continued. “i didn’t show up at your job. i didn’t beg or make a scene or any of that stuff guys in movies do.”

you opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“but your parents still like me.” he said with a small shrug. “what am i supposed to do, tell them no when they invite me over?”

“yes.”

he huffed a quiet laugh. “your mom made pot roast last week and literally told me to take leftovers home.”

you rubbed your forehead. “that’s not the point.”

steve watched you for a moment and then he said softly, “you don’t actually want me gone.”

“excuse me?” your head snapped up.

“you keep saying you do,” he said. “but every time i come over you still look at me like-”

“like what?”

he hesitated, and then he said it anyway.

“like you’re trying really hard not to remember you still love me.”

your stomach flipped hard enough that you hated him a little for noticing.

“you’re unbelievably full of yourself.”

“maybe.” he said but he didn’t sound convinced.

he was even closer now, close enough that if you leaned forward even a little your shoulder would touch his chest.

you hated that your body remembered him so easily. how tall he was. how warm he always felt. how his presence filled a room.

“why do you keep coming here, steve?” you asked quietly.

steve didn’t answer right away. he looked down at the floor, nudging the tile with his sneaker, then he looked back at you.

and there it was.

that soft, open expression he only ever showed you.

“because,” he said, voice low. “your house still feels like home and i can see how you´re doing, if you´re okay...”

your throat tightened.

you looked away first and steve stepped closer.

his hand came up like he was going to touch your arm but stopped halfway, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed anymore.

that hesitation hurt more than if he’d just done it.

“i- you-” you hesitate.

he swallowed, big brown eyes staring right into you. “yeah?”

“you can’t keep doing this.”

“doing what?” he asks.

“being here.”

he studied your face carefully.

“you’re the one who told me i wasn’t allowed in your room anymore.” he shrugged slightly. “you never said anything about the kitchen.”

you shoved his shoulder. “you’re impossible...”

he laughed and for a second it felt exactly like it used to.

then your mom’s voice called from the living room. “steve, honey, are you staying for dinner?”

steve glanced toward the hallway, then back at you, one eyebrow lifted slightly like he was asking permission.

you stared at him.

he smiled just a little.

“your call, baby.” he murmured.

your heart was beating way too fast for someone who had supposedly moved on from their ex-boyfriend.

your mother didn’t even try to hide how pleased she was when you walked into the dining room with steve a few minutes later.

she looked from you to him, eyebrows lifting just slightly in that knowing way that made your skin crawl.

“good,” she said, placing a bowl of mashed potatoes in the middle of the table. “i was hoping you’d stay, steve.”

steve, who had somehow already ended up with his hand on the back of your chair, smiled easily.

“i mean, it’d be pretty hard to say no to your cooking.”

your dad laughed from the head of the table. “smart man.”

you shot steve a warning look before sitting down.

he just grinned like he hadn’t noticed or like he had and was enjoying it.

the chair beside you scraped softly as he sat. too close.

not technically inappropriate. there were only four chairs at the table but still close enough that when he shifted, his knee brushed yours under the table.

you immediately moved your leg.

steve noticed.

he glanced sideways at you, mouth twitching slightly before he reached for the basket of bread.

“so,” your mom said brightly, settling into her chair, “how’s work been, steve?”

“same as always.” he said, tearing off a piece of bread. “the team is getting better. i think..."

you laugh.

steve’s eyes flicked to you instantly.

there was something annoyingly pleased about the way he looked at you, like he’d just scored a small victory.

“glad you think that’s funny.” steve muttered, reaching for the potatoes.

your dad kept talking, oblivious.

“didn´t you go to one of his games just a few weeks ago, honey?" your dad asks.

“um, yeah...” you admit slowly. "marie had to drive her brother there so we stayed."

steve leaned slightly toward you.

just enough that you could hear him over the conversation.

“you were watching my game?” he said quietly.

you stabbed a green bean.

“i was...”

“and you didn´t talk to me there?”

“i had nothing to say, steve.”

“you absolutely did.”

you finally turned your head to glare at him.

“stop, steve.”

steve raised his eyebrows. “didn´t even congratulate me on the win...”

"you lost that day, steve." you roll your eyes.

steve blinked once.

then he leaned back in his chair, slow and dramatic, one hand pressing to his chest like you’d personally wounded him.

“wow,” he said. “okay. first of all, that was unnecessary.”

you gave him a flat look.

your dad frowned slightly. “you lost that game?”

steve pointed his fork at you without looking away.

“technically? yes.” he said. “emotionally? i was doing great until about ten seconds ago.”

your mom tried to hide a smile behind her glass.

you scoffed and went back to pushing food around your plate.

steve didn’t, he was still looking at you.

you could feel it. that steady, familiar stare that used to make you forget whatever you’d been trying to say.

“so,” he said after a moment, voice thoughtful. “you were there the whole time?”

you didn’t answer.

your dad did.

“she came home talking about the game.” he said casually.

you choked on your drink. “dad.”

steve’s head snapped toward him. “she did?”

your dad nodded, cutting into his steak like this was normal dinner conversation. “said it was loud. that the other team kept fouling.”

you closed your eyes briefly. great. steve was smiling now.

you didn’t even have to look to know it.

“huh.” he said slowly. “that’s funny.”

you sighed. “what?”

“because i don’t remember seeing you.”

“i was in the stands.”

“yeah.” he said. “i checked the stands.”

“what...?” you froze, your fork hovered mid-air.

he shrugged, very casually. “habit.”

your mom glanced between you two. “steve always looks for you at his games.”

your heart skipped in a very inconvenient way.

you turned toward him slowly. “you… checked?”

steve seemed to realize he’d said something revealing.

he cleared his throat and focused on cutting his food.

“i mean. not like… obsessively or anything.”

you raised an eyebrow.

he kept going. “just, you know. out of curiosity.”

“curiosity.” you repeated flatly.

“don’t make it weird.” he stabbed a piece of potato.

“you’re the one who was apparently scanning the bleachers.”

“i glance up sometimes.” he says.

“you said you checked.”

he finally looked at you again. that little teasing smirk that meant he’d decided to double down instead of backtracking.

“well,” he said lightly, “i used to have a pretty good reason to.”

you hated how warm your face suddenly felt.

your dad, completely unaware of the tension, leaned back in his chair. “you were a hell of a player in high school, steve.”

“yeah, well. that was high school.” steve laughed under his breath.

“still got the moves.” your dad said.

steve tilted his head slightly toward you. “apparently not impressive enough for some people.”

you rolled your eyes.

under the table, his knee nudged yours again.

you shot him a look. he didn’t move it. instead he reached across the table for the salt.

“pass the pepper?” he asked casually.

you slid it toward him.

your fingers brushed briefly when he took it, steve didn’t pull his hand away right away. neither did you.

your mom noticed immediately.

you could tell by the way her eyes lit up.

“you know,” she said thoughtfully, “steve used to come over after every one of his basketball games.”

you groaned.

“mom, i know... i was here. no need to mention.”

“what?” she said innocently. “it’s true.”

your dad chuckled.

“covered in sweat and complaining about that boy, billy.”

steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay.”

your mom continued like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“and you would sit right there,” she pointed to steve’s chair, “and eat half the food in the fridge.”

steve nodded solemnly. “i was a growing athlete.”

“you were a terrible at basketball, steve.” you corrected.

he grinned.

then he glanced sideways at you again.

“well, someone used to bring me ice packs.”

your stomach flipped.

you stared down at your plate. “i was being nice.”

“you were worried about me.” he says.

“i was worried you’d bleed on the carpet.”

steve laughed softly. “sure.”

“you two were always attached at the hip.” your dad took a sip of his drink.

there was a small pause at the table.

steve’s smile faded just slightly.

he glanced at you.

you kept your eyes on your plate.

then he nudged your foot gently under the table.

not teasing this time, just a soft little bump to get your attention.

you looked at him.

“hey.” his voice was quieter when he spoke.

you frowned. “what?”

he nodded toward your plate. “you still haven’t eaten.”

“why are you monitoring my dinner?” you blinked.

“because you’ve moved the same green bean around like six times.” he shrugged one shoulder.

you stared at him.

your mom laughed softly. “he’s right.”

you looked between them, betrayed.

steve slid the bread basket a little closer to you.

“eat.” he said, voice gentle but teasing at the edges. “or your mom’s gonna think i stressed you out.”

“you do stress me out.”

“yeah, but not about dinner.” he smiles.

you tore off a piece of bread just to prove a point.

steve watched you take a bite.

then he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

you glared at him while chewing. “don’t look so proud of yourself.”

he lifted his hands in mock surrender, but the smile stayed.

“hey, i’m just making sure you survive dinner.”

“i was surviving just fine before you started monitoring my vegetables.”

your dad shook his head with a quiet laugh, cutting into another piece of meat. “you two pick at each other like this everywhere or just in my house?”

“oh, everywhere. she loves me.” steve answered immediately.

you kicked his shin under the table.

he winced.

“wow,” he muttered. “violent tonight.”

“you deserve it.”

your mom was watching the whole thing with a suspiciously delighted expression.

after a moment she set her napkin down and looked straight at you.

“why don’t you two go upstairs for a bit after dinner?”

you blinked. “what...?”

she waved her hand casually. “you haven’t caught up in months.”

steve coughed into his drink.

your dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t look particularly bothered.

“yeah,” he said. “go talk.”

you stared at both of them like they’d lost their minds.

steve leaned closer to you slightly. “your parents are very confident in me.” he murmured.

“don’t flatter yourself.” you shot him a look but your face was warm again.

dinner wrapped up not long after that, and before you could even think of an excuse, your mom was already waving the two of you toward the hallway.

“go on!” she said. “i’ll handle the dishes.”

you looked back once. she was smiling too knowingly.

steve noticed.

“she definitely thinks something’s happening.” he whispered as you walked toward the stairs.

“nothing is happening.” you muttered.

he didn’t answer which somehow made it worse.

you reached your bedroom door first.

for a second you hesitated with your hand on the knob.

steve was right behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back.

“you gonna make me wait out here?” he asked softly.

you rolled your eyes and pushed the door open. “don’t get used to this.”

steve stepped inside like he’d been there yesterday instead of months ago.

his gaze moved slowly around the room, the same posters, same desk, same bed tucked under the window.

“wow.” he let out a quiet breath.

you leaned against the door. “what?”

“nothing. it just… looks exactly the same.” he shook his head, smiling faintly.

“it’s my room, steve. i didn’t redecorate because we broke up.”

“yeah, i know.”

he walked a little farther in, running his fingers along the edge of your desk absentmindedly.

then he looked back at you. “feels weird, though.”

“why?”

“last time i was in here,” he said slowly, “you were yelling at me.”

“i wasn’t yelling.” you winced slightly.

he raised an eyebrow. “you definitely were.”

“you were being annoying.” you crossed your arms.

“i usually am.”

you huffed out a breath.

for a moment neither of you spoke.

the quiet felt different up here.

closer.

more dangerous.

steve leaned back against your dresser, watching you carefully.

“you didn’t talk to me at the game.” he said.

“we’re still on that?” you groaned softly.

“yeah.” he said simply. “kinda.”

you looked at the floor. “i didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“why wouldn’t i?” he asks.

“because,” you said slowly, “i’m the one who broke up with you.”

steve studied your face for a long moment then he pushed away from the dresser.

one step closer.

“that doesn’t mean i stopped wanting to see you.”

your chest tightened.

“steve-”

“you think this has been easy?” he asked quietly.

another step.

now he was right in front of you.

you could feel your heartbeat climbing.

“seeing you around town and pretending it doesn’t mess with my head?”

“you’re the one who keeps coming over.” you swallowed.

“yeah...” he said softly.

his hand lifted slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

the touch was gentle like he wasn’t sure he was allowed anymore.

“because staying away was worse.” he finishes.

your breath caught.

his thumb lingered briefly near your temple.

then slid down lightly along your cheek.

“i miss you.” he murmured.

“steve…” your eyes dropped to the floor.

“no,” he said softly. “look at me.”

you did and the look in his eyes made your stomach flip.

he’d been holding something in for months.

“you still came to my game.” he said quietly.

“i told you-”

“and you sat there the whole time.”

his hand slid down to your wrist.

not gripping, just holding it loosely.

“that means something.” he whispers.

“not necessarily.”

another small step closer.

now there was barely any space between you.

“it does.” steve says.

your heart was beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“i miss you so much.” he said again, softer this time.

his thumb brushed slowly over your wrist.

“i miss this.” he continued. “talking to you. you glaring at me every five minutes. being in here with you.”

despite yourself, your lips twitched.

he noticed immediately. “there it is.”

“don’t.” you sigh.

“that little smile you try to hide.”

you pushed lightly at his chest. “you’re insufferable, steve.”

he didn’t move back. instead his hand came up to catch yours.

your breath hitched.

for a moment the room was very quiet.

then steve leaned in, slow enough that you could’ve stopped him.

but you didn’t.

his lips met yours, firm, and the second it happened something in your chest unraveled.

the kiss deepened quickly.

months of tension snapping tight all at once.

his hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling gently in your hair as he pulled you closer.

you grabbed the front of his shirt without thinking.

steve made a quiet sound against your mouth.

“god.” he murmured between kisses, voice rough. “i missed this.”

his forehead rested briefly against yours.

your breathing was uneven.

so was his.

his thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.

“you have no idea how hard it’s been not doing that.”

you tried to steady yourself. “steve…”

but he kissed you again before you could finish.

softer this time.

slower.

like he was savoring it.

his voice was low when he spoke again.

“tell me to stop if you want me to.”

you didn’t.

instead your fingers travelled to his chest.

and steve smiled faintly against your lips like that answer was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“so just to be clear, you came in here looking like a war veteran, you’ve got the thousand-yard stare and you’re trying to tell me nothing happened.” she says slowly, leaning forward.

you stare at her.

she stares back.

“fine…” you sigh.

robin immediately points at you. “i knew it.”

“don’t look so excited.” you sigh.

“i’m not excited.” she says, already grinning. “i’m invested. those are two very different emotional states.”

“i met someone last night.” you drag a hand down your face.

“okay, that alone is not dramatic enough to produce this level of despair, so either he turned out to be secretly married, secretly insane, or secretly terrible in bed.” robin nods thoughtfully.

you hesitate.

robin’s eyes widen. “oh. my. god.”

“don’t say it like that, rob.” you groan.

“it was bad sex, wasn’t it?”

“robin.”

“was it catastrophically bad or just awkward bad? because there’s a difference and i need to know which scale we’re operating on here.”

you slump against the table. “i swear to god if you laugh at me-”

“i’m absolutely going to laugh at you.” she says immediately, “but it’ll be supportive laughter. like a caring friend who is also deeply entertained.”

you take a deep breath.

“okay,” you say slowly, pointing at her. “i need you to listen to the entire story before you react, because the context is important and if you interrupt me every five seconds i’m going to lose my nerve and never speak again.”

robin salutes. “understood. go on.”

you sigh.

“so i met him at the bar some random night, right? and before you start giving me that look, he was actually cute. like genuinely cute, not the ‘it’s midnight and everyone looks better after two drinks’ kind of cute. he was funny, he was charming, he had that whole slightly awkward but confident thing going on where you think, wow, maybe this one is actually normal.”

robin nods slowly. “okay, promising start.”

“exactly!” you say, pointing at her like she’s proving your point. “so we’re talking for like an hour, maybe more, and the conversation is good and he’s making me laugh and at no point does he say anything weird or off-putting, which in hindsight should have been suspicious because statistically speaking that’s very unlike my usual luck.”

robin presses her lips together to keep from smiling.

“so then eventually,” you continue, “we end up going back to his place, and at that point i’m thinking, okay, maybe the universe is finally doing me a favor for once, maybe this will be one of those nights where everything just works and i don’t end up questioning my life choices afterwards.”

“i’m noticing a lot of past trauma being implied here.” robin tilts her head.

“that’s not the point.”

“continue.”

you gesture dramatically. “so everything starts off normal, right? we’re talking, we’re laughing, we’re kissing, and at first i’m thinking okay this is fine, this is good even, maybe i judged my luck too harshly, maybe tonight will actually break the curse.”

“ah, the curse…” robin repeats.

“don’t make fun of the curse.”

“i’m respecting the curse.”

you stare at her.

“anyway,” you continue, “things escalate like they normally do, and right when we get to the point where he’s supposed to… get us there… he just- starts narrating.”

robin leans forward eagerly.

there’s a beat of silence.

robin blinks.

“…narrating.”

you nod slowly. “like a nature documentary.”

“you’re lying.” robin’s mouth falls open.

“i wish i was.”

“like- like play-by-play?”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes.” you gesture helplessly. “i’m not exaggerating when i say that man started explaining every single thing he was about to do like he was giving a presentation to a room full of students. it was like he thought he was hosting a seminar called ‘intro to pleasing women’ and i was the unfortunate volunteer for the demonstration.”

robin presses both hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “stop.”

“i’m serious,” you say, staring at the ceiling. “and then after a few days i went on a second date with him, trying to convince myself that maybe he wouldn’t do it again… he did it again.”

robin makes a strangled noise. “oh my god.”

robin loses it.

she slides halfway down her seat, clutching her stomach.

you glare at her. “i’m glad my suffering is hilarious to you.”

“i’m sorry.” she says immediately, not sounding sorry at all. “i’m really trying to be supportive but the mental image of some guy treating sex like a presentation is killing me.”

“it got worse.” you drop your head onto the table again.

robin straightens. “how could it possibly get worse?”

“now every time i try to get off, his fucking voice starts playing in my head and i just- i can’t.” you run a hand through your face.

“please tell me you’re joking.” robin stares at you.

“i wish i was joking.”

“have you tried maybe watching something while doing it?” robin suggests.

“i’m not a guy, rob. i can’t watch porn to get off…” you sigh.

“works for me…” she shrugs her shoulders.

you cover your face.

“this keeps happening to you, doesn’t it? even with different people?”

“yes.” you groan.

robin wipes her eyes and squints at you thoughtfully. “interesting.”

“what does that mean?” you narrow your eyes.

“i’m just saying, at some point we have to acknowledge a pattern. because if this kind of bizarre bedroom disaster keeps happening with multiple unrelated men, then either you have unbelievably bad luck or you have some kind of invisible magnet that attracts guys who think sex should come with a commentary track.” she shrugs.

“i hate that theory.” you stare at her.

“i’m just analyzing the data.”

“stop analyzing my sex life.”

“have you ever had really good chemistry with anyone?” robin leans back, tapping her chin like a detective piecing together a mystery.

you hesitate.

her eyes light up immediately.

“wow,” she says slowly. “that pause was something.”

“i did not pause.”

“you absolutely paused.”

“this conversation is over.” you cross your arms.

“you know who would have a field day with this information?” robin grins.

your stomach drops.

“robin, absolutely not.”

“steve.” she grins even more now.

“robin.”

“imagine his face.”

“if you tell harrington about this i will actually never speak to you again.” you point at her threateningly.

“who said anything about telling him.” she raises her hands innocently.

“i’ve been friends with you for years, robin. you can’t keep your mouth shut.” you narrow your eyes.

she smiles sweetly and that’s when you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake trusting robin with anything.

the kitchen at steve’s house is quiet and dark, like usual.

steve is slouched in a chair with a half-crushed bag of chips in one hand, staring at literally nothing while waiting for robin.

robin walks in carrying two sodas and the unmistakable expression of someone who knows a piece of information that is about to ruin another person’s day.

steve doesn’t even look up before he says, “whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

robin pauses mid-step. “i didn’t say anything yet.”

“you didn’t have to.” he replies, still staring at the movie case. “you’ve got that look.”

“what look...?”

“that look where you’re clearly about to say something that’s either extremely embarrassing or extremely annoying.”

she sets one of the sodas in front of him and drops into the chair across from him.

“wow.” she says. “you really think the worst of me.

“robin.” he finally looks up.

“steve.”

they stare at each other for a moment.

then she takes a sip of her drink, pretending to be casual.

“so,” she says lightly, “i had a very interesting conversation yesterday.”

“i swear to god if this is about work schedules-” steve groans and leans his head back against the chair.

“not work.”

“about dustin?”

“not dustin.”

“thank god.” steve sighs.

“it’s about my best friend.” she taps the table slowly.

“what about her?” steve immediately looks back at her.

robin pretends to think about how to phrase it.

“well,” she says, dragging the moment out just a little, “hypothetically speaking… if someone told you that they keep having deeply awkward experiences with guys in bed… what would your first thought be?”

“that’s a weird question.” steve blinks at her.

“just answer it.”

“why?!”

“because i asked.”

“this is about her, isn’t it?” he squints suspiciously.

robin raises her eyebrows innocently. “maybe.”

“wait…” steve slowly sets the chip bag down.

she watches the gears start turning in his head.

“she told you that?” he asks.

“in detail.”

“like… bad awkward?” he straightens in his chair a little.

“painfully awkward.” robin nods.

“that doesn’t make sense.” steve frowns, clearly trying to picture that.

robin tilts her head. “what doesn’t?”

“that.” he replies.

“why…?”

“because- i mean-” he gestures vaguely like the answer should be obvious.

he stops, realizing how that might sound.

robin’s grin spreads slowly. “…because?”

“i’m just saying… she’s like… you know.” steve rubs the back of his neck.

“no…” robin says sweetly. “i don’t know. please elaborate.”

“she’s… attractive.” he sighs.

“that’s your word choice?” robin stares at him.

“what’s wrong with attractive?” steve stares.

“attractive…?”

“yes.” he says.

“steve harrington, former king of dramatic compliments, looked at a girl you clearly like and said attractive.”

“you know what i mean.” he rolls his eyes.

“do i?”

“she’s hot, okay?” he says, exasperated. “like really hot. anyone with eyes can see that.”

“oh we’ve upgraded to hot.” robin raises both eyebrows now.

steve gestures with both hands like he’s explaining something obvious.

“i’m just saying, it doesn’t track that she’d keep having bad experiences. any guy with half a brain would be trying not to screw that up.”

“you have an incredibly generous opinion of men.” robin snorts.

“i’m serious,” he continues. “like if you somehow end up in bed with someone like her, that’s not a situation where you start doing weird stuff.”

“weird stuff?” robin repeats.

“yeah. like talking too much or trying to be clever or whatever.”

“funny you should mention talking too much.” robin leans forward slightly.

“don’t tell me.” steve points at her immediately, shaking his head.

she grins. “he narrated.”

“what…?!” steve freezes.

“the whole thing.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“like… explaining what he was doing?” steve asks.

“like a documentary.” robin replies.

“oh my god.” steve drops his head forward into his hands.

robin laughs. “apparently every five seconds he was saying things like ‘most women enjoy this’ and ‘statistically speaking this works really well.’”

“who the fuck says that?” steve looks up slowly.

“i know… those were her exact words.”

he sits back in his chair, stunned. “that guy is an idiot.”

“that was also my conclusion.” she says.

“like genuinely stupid.”

“mhm.”

“you don’t do that.” steve runs a hand through his hair.

“apparently he did.”

“no i mean- you don’t do that with someone like her.”

“with someone like her.” robin tilts her head.

steve nods firmly, now fully invested. “yeah. because the second you start acting weird like that you’re gonna ruin it.”

robin tries very hard not to laugh. “thank you, dr. harrington.”

he ignores her.

“seriously, if a guy manages to get that far with her and then starts acting like a weirdo, that’s on him.”

“you sound personally offended.” robin rests her chin on her hand, watching him.

“i kind of am.”

“why?”

“because it’s dumb.” he shrugs.

“or,” robin suggests slowly. “maybe it just means she keeps picking the wrong guys.”

“maybe.” steve considers that.

she raises an eyebrow. “yeah. you don’t sound convinced.”

“i’m not. because if you ask me, it’s probably the guys.” steve says.

“interesting. i’m noticing that you’re getting weirdly invested in this topic.” she grins.

“i’m not invested.”

“you’re defending her honor like you’re her lawyer.” robin chuckles.

“i’m not defending anything.” steve makes his point.

she gestures toward him. “you just called the guy an idiot three times.”

“because he is.”

“you don’t even know him.” robin mumbles.

“i don’t need to.” steve says.

robin laughs under her breath, then she adds casually. “she also said she’s never really had amazing chemistry with anyone.”

steve stops moving.

“really?”

“really.”

“that’s surprising.” he looks genuinely confused now.

“why?” robin sips her soda.

“because,” he says slowly. “she seems like the kind of person who would.”

“the kind?”

“you know what i mean, robin.”

“do i...?”

steve shrugs again, but there’s a small grin creeping onto his face now. “i’m just saying… maybe she hasn’t been with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

robin stares at him for a long moment. then she leans back in her chair, laughing. “oh my god.”

“what?” steve asks, smiling at her laughter.

“you want to fix it.”

“i did not say that.”

“you absolutely implied it, harrington!” she laughs more.

he spreads his hands defensively. “i’m just saying if someone keeps having bad experiences-”

“steve.”

“- maybe they just need better chemistry, with some who knows what they’re doing in bed!”

“and you’re volunteering to test that theory.” robin wipes a tear from her eye.

“i’m offering a public service.” steve smirks slightly.

she points at him. “you are unbelievable.”

“i’m helpful.”

“you are so obviously into her.” she rolls her eyes.

“i mean… can you blame me?” he shrugs, completely unbothered now.

robin just stares at him. “wow...”

steve grabs another chip. “what?!”

“nothing.” she shakes her head, grinning.

the café is quiet in that late afternoon way where the rush has already passed but the evening crowd hasn’t arrived yet.

sunlight spills through the big front windows, warm and soft, catching in the dust floating lazily through the air. there’s the low murmur of someone reading a newspaper near the door, the quiet clink of cups behind the counter, and the smell of coffee that’s just strong enough to make everything feel a little slower.

you’re sitting at a small table by the window with a book open in front of you.

you’ve read the same paragraph four times.

you know exactly why.

because steve just walked in.

he hasn’t noticed you yet. he’s talking to the barista, leaning casually against the counter like he’s been there a hundred times before, baseball cap pushed back slightly on his head, one hand resting on the wood while he smiles at something the guy says.

you try to look back at your book.

then you hear his voice.

“wait-” a pause. “hey.”

you look up.

steve is standing a few feet away now, coffee in one hand, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“i didn’t expect to see you here.” he says.

“that’s disappointing.” you close your book slowly.

he laughs under his breath.

“not disappointing,” he corrects, walking closer. “just… surprising.”

you tilt your head. “why?”

“because usually when i run into you, there are twelve kids around me with baseball bats nearby.”

“occupational hazard.” you say.

“yeah,” he says with a small grin. “i figured.”

he gestures lightly to the chair across from you. “mind if i sit?”

you hesitate for half a second, mostly because you know he’ll notice if you do, then shrug. “it’s a free country.”

“good to know.” he pulls the chair out and sits down across from you, settling comfortably like this wasn’t even a question.

for a moment, neither of you says anything.

steve takes a sip of his coffee.

then he says, casually, “so.”

oh god.

you close your eyes briefly. “if the next sentence out of your mouth includes the word robin, i’m leaving.”

“wow.” he smiles into his coffee. “you’re assuming a lot about where this conversation is going.”

you give him a flat look.

“steve.”

“okay. okay.” he admits. “fair."

“she talks too much.” you lean back slightly in your chair.

“she does.”

“and she absolutely did not have permission to tell you anything.” you sigh.

“technically she didn’t tell me everything.”

“how much is ‘not everything'?” you ask.

“enough to know that you had a… less-than-ideal experience recently.” he taps the rim of his cup thoughtfully.

you groan quietly, dropping your forehead briefly onto the table. “i cannot believe this is happening.”

“hey.” steve laughs softly.

“what?” you lift your head again.

“for the record,” he says, “i’m not laughing at you.”

“really?” you stare at him skeptically.

“really.”

“you expect me to believe that, harrington?”

“yeah.” he shrugs.

“why?”

“because the only part of that story that’s actually funny,” he says. “is how badly the guy managed to screw it up.”

“you’re very confident about that.” you blink.

steve leans back slightly in his chair.

“you told robin the guy narrated everything.”

“i regret every decision that led to this conversation.” you close your eyes again. “including talking to robin.”

“i’m serious.” he continues. “who the hell does that?”

“apparently the kind of men i keep meeting.” you chuckle sarcastically.

“yeah.” he says thoughtfully. “that’s the part i don’t really get.”

“what do you mean?” you look at him.

“i mean it doesn’t really track.” he gestures vaguely toward you.

“what doesn’t track?”

“that you’d keep running into situations like that.”

you cross your arms lightly. “that’s a very polite way of saying you think i’m exaggerating.”

“no.” he says immediately. “not exaggerating.”

“then what?”

steve hesitates for a second. then he sighs softly, like he’s deciding whether to say the next part.

“i just mean,” he says. “you don’t exactly seem like someone who would make it easy for people to be… bored.”

“that was… vague.” you blink.

“yeah.” he says with a small smile. “i’m trying to be as polite as possible.”

“don’t.” you grin.

“don’t what?” he asks, his voice dangerously low.

“be polite.”

he watches you for a moment, then he nods once. “okay.”

he leans forward slightly now, forearms resting on the table.

“you’re smart.” he says simply. “you’re funny. you’re confident in a way most people wish they were. and- again, trying not to sound like a complete idiot here- you’re also really attractive.”

you stare at him.

steve holds your gaze calmly, like he’s just stating a fact.

“so when i hear that some guy finally gets you alone,” he continues. “and his big move is turning the whole thing into something terrible…”

he shakes his head lightly. “my first thought is that the guy’s an idiot.”

“wow.” you let out a quiet laugh despite yourself. “um.”

“what?”

“you say that very confidently.” you say.

“because it’s obvious.” steve says like it’s something clear.

“you don’t even know him.”

“don’t need to.” he shrugs.

“you’re weirdly invested in this, harrington.” you rest your chin on your hand, studying him.

“i just don’t like hearing that someone had a bad experience.”

“that’s very noble of you.” you chuckle.

“thank you.” steve replies, not even bothered by how sarcastic you just were.

there’s a brief pause.

then steve adds, casually. “robin also mentioned that this apparently isn’t the first time.”

you immediately glare. “oh my- she is unbelievable! why would she tell you this?!”

“i’m just saying,” he continues lightly. “it sounds like you’ve had some pretty bad luck.”

“or bad taste.” you sigh.

“because you seem pretty good at reading people.” he tilts his head lightly.

“apparently not good enough.”

“or…” he says slowly. “maybe you just haven’t had good chemistry with the right person yet.”

“that sounds suspiciously romantic coming from you.” you raise an eyebrow.

“i’m a complex man.” he smiles faintly.

“that’s one word for it.”

he takes another sip of his coffee.

“can i ask you something?” steve asks, almost in a whisper.

“sure.” you sigh with a soft smile.

“have you actually had really good chemistry with someone before?”

you hesitate. again.

steve notices immediately. “wow.”

“stop reacting like that, harrington.” you whine slightly.

“i’m just observing.”

“you’re judging.”

“i’m analyzing.” he grins.

you roll your eyes.

“maybe i’ve just been unlucky.” you say.

“maybe.” he says.

then he leans forward just a little. “or maybe you’ve just been with guys who think they know what they’re doing but actually don’t.”

“and you would know the difference.” you glance back at him.

“i like to think so.” steve’s mouth curves slightly.

“your confidence is impressive.”

“my confidence is earned.” he mumbles.

“of course it is.” you laugh softly.

he watches you for a moment longer.

“i’m just saying… if your track record really is that bad…”

you immediately narrow your eyes.

“maybe you just need a better point of comparison.”

“did you just subtly volunteer yourself to fuck me?” you stare at him.

“i didn’t say that.” he shrugs, completely unbothered.

“you absolutely implied it.”

“i implied,” he says calmly. “that sometimes experience helps. and i’m very dedicated to hands-on teaching.”

you shake your head, laughing under your breath. “you are unbelievable.”

“maybe.” he grins.

you stand up, grabbing your book.

“in your dreams, harrington.”

he leans back in his chair, watching you with that same easy confidence. “hey.”

“what?” you pause.

his smile widens just a little, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “let me take you home.”

“why exactly should i let you take me home after this conversation?” you blink.

steve lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, turning his coffee cup slowly between his fingers.

“it’s getting late.” he says.

you narrow your eyes slightly and hesitate.

not because you don’t want to go.

more because you know exactly what accepting the ride might imply.

steve notices the hesitation immediately.

he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

“relax.” he says lightly. “it’s a ride home, not a marriage proposal.”

you study him for another moment.

then you sigh, picking up your book. “fine.”

his eyebrows lift slightly. “fine?”

“it’s a ride.” you simply say. “don’t get too excited.”

“too late.” steve grins, standing up and grabbing his keys.

his car smells faintly like leather and mint gum.

the engine hums softly as he pulls away from the curb, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other taps lightly against the gear shift.

you glance out the window at the passing streetlights.

for a moment, neither of you speaks.

then steve says. “so.” he pauses for a second before continuing. “you keep telling me you have bad luck yet you keep agreeing to one night stands.”

you groan quietly and glance at him.

“it’s a genuine question.” he says. “i’m curious.”

“maybe because i keep thinking the next person won’t be weird about it.” you shake your head.

“reasonable theory.” steve hums thoughtfully.

“thank you.”

“unfortunately your sample size seems to suggest otherwise.” he mumbles.

you laugh under your breath.

“you’re very analytical about my sex life for someone who just met me in a coffee shop.”

“i didn’t just meet you.” he points out. “we’ve known each other for years.”

“you haven’t known me in years, steve. you used to see me around high school.”

“still counts.”

you watch the road ahead for a moment.

“robin told you too much.”

“robin told me just enough to make me curious.” he says.

“that’s worse.”

he glances at you briefly, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

“well,” he says. “i still think those guys were idiots.”

“you keep saying that.” you say.

“because it’s true.”

“or maybe i’m the problem.” you sigh for what feels like the millionth time today.

“i doubt that.” steve admits.

“why?”

he slows slightly at a stop sign, glancing toward you again. “because you’re like super hot.”

you look at him, cheeks heating up.

“you flirt like a teacher.” you roll your eyes but you’re smiling a little.

“what does that mean?” steve laughs.

“confident but slightly annoying.”

he laughs quietly. “i’ll take it.”

the rest of the drive is quieter, but not awkward.

there’s something easy about the silence, like the conversation hasn’t ended, just paused.

eventually he turns onto your street.

it’s one of those quiet residential roads where the houses sit back from the sidewalk and the streetlights are spaced too far apart.

barely anyone is out.

he slows the car.

“which one?” he asks.

“third on the right.” you point toward the end of the block.

he nods.

but instead of pulling all the way to the driveway, he stops a few houses short, easing the car into a quiet spot along the curb.

the engine goes still.

for a moment, neither of you moves.

you glance at him. “you… missed the house.”

“did i?” he scratches his neck, pretending he doesn’t know it already.

“harrington.”

he turns slightly in his seat, resting his arm along the back of your headrest now.

“can i ask you one more thing?” he asks.

“how many questions do you have?” you narrow your eyes.

his gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“are you always this suspicious?” he asks softly. “or just with me.”

fuck.

“i’m cautious.” you cross your arms.

“same thing.” he mumbles.

“not really.”

there’s a small pause.

the air inside the car suddenly feels warmer.

steve studies you for a second longer.

“i’ve been trying very hard not to do something stupid for the last five minutes.”

“what?” you blink.

“this.” his mouth tilts slightly.

and then he closes the space.

the kiss isn’t hesitant.

it’s immediate. his hand sliding up to your jaw as he pulls you toward him, mouth warm and firm against yours like he’s been thinking about it the entire drive. which he has.

you make a soft surprised sound against his lips, but it melts into the kiss almost instantly.

steve deepens it without rushing, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he tilts his head to catch your mouth better.

he knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s taking his time with it.

your hand instinctively grips the front of his shirt.

he notices.

his other arm slides around your waist and then, smoothly, he pulls you closer, guiding you across the center console until you’re half turned toward him, perched against his lap.

the movement is easy, natural.

he doesn’t even break the kiss while doing it.

instead he pulls you closer with one hand at your waist, the other still warm against your jaw as he kisses you again slower this time, but deeper.

like he’s trying to make you feel it.

when you pull back for a breath, his breathing is heavy and his eyes dark.

“still think those guys knew what they were doing?” he whispers close to your mouth almost making you melt under his touch.

“harrington.” you laugh quietly, a little breathless.

“yeah?” he asks.

“you’re very smug right now.”

“i’m not smug.” he defended.

“you absolutely are.”

he glances over his shoulder toward the empty street behind the car.

when he looks back at you, there’s that spark in his eyes again. the same one from earlier in the café.

playful and bold.

“come to the backseat with me.” he whispers.

“you do realize my house is literally right there?”

“yeah.” he glances toward it briefly.

“so why exactly are you suggesting the backseat of your car?”

“because walking you to your door feels like it would end the night too quickly, plus, i don’t need a bed to make you feel better than they did.” he shrugs lightly.

you laugh quietly. “that was suspiciously charming.”

“i contain multitudes.”

you shake your head, but there’s no real resistance in your expression anymore.

steve notices that immediately.

his voice softens a little.

“hey.” he says quietly.

you look at him.

“if you’re not into the idea, we don’t have to. i’m not trying to rush anything.”

the way he says it is steady. not pushy, not joking.

god.

you watch him for a second longer.

then you sigh softly. “you’re very convincing, harrington.”

“is that a yes?” his eyebrows lift slightly.

“don’t make it weird.” you open your door.

“too late.” his grin appears instantly.

you step out onto the quiet street, the cool, now night air brushing your skin. the neighborhood is still porch lights glowing faintly, trees rustling softly somewhere down the block.

by the time you reach the back door of his car, steve is already there.

he opened his door and walked around without you even noticing.

“show-off.” you mutter.

“i try.”

he opens the back door, gesturing dramatically. “after you.”

you roll your eyes but climb in anyway, settling against the seat.

steve follows right after, pulling the door shut behind him.

your knees brush his almost immediately when he shifts toward you.

“still want me to stop?” he asks quietly.

you shake your head. “no.”

that’s all the confirmation he needs.

his hand slides back to your waist as he leans in again, pulling you gently toward him.

he easily pulls you onto his lap, strong arms wrapping around your waist to settle you against his chest. one hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

he growls softly, his lips brushing your pulse point.

his lips and teeth working over your neck, hands roam your curves possessively, one slipping under your shirt to caress the warm skin of your back while the other grips your hip, pulling you flush against steve.

“steve.” you pant.

“say that again f’me.” he grins at you actually saying his name since you always called him harrington.

“steve.” his name leaves your mouth again.

“fuck, baby.” steve groans and kisses you.

his lips move against yours with a hunger bordering on desperation. one hand tangles in your hair, gripping tight enough to sting deliciously as he angles your head to deepen the kiss.

his other hand roams your curves greedily, mapping out the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the soft swell of your breasts.

steve breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

“let me treat you good, yeah?” he whispers against your mouth as his hips buck up involuntarily, grinding you down against the growing hardness in his jeans.

you moan softly and arch into him, craving more of his touch but at the same time overwhelmed with so many informations at the same time. you’re in steve’s car, on his lap, making out with him… jesus.

satisfied by your responsive moans, he redoubles his efforts, kissing and licking a burning path down your neck. you could say he’s already proud of his work on you so far, but he’s not gonna get too cocky. at least not yet.

steve sucks particularly hard at the juncture of your throat, determined to leave his mark on your flawless skin.

“that's it, baby. have barely touched you yet.” he growls approvingly when you arch into him. “let me hear those pretty sounds.”

well, hearing steve praise you is definitely better than hearing someone narrating their next move while fucking you.

large hands skim up your sides to cup your breasts, kneading your boobs through your shirt. steve's thumbs find your nipples, circling the hardening peaks until they strain against the fabric of your top.

“wanna make you feel so good.” steve whispers.

he sits back just enough to yank your top off, exposing your perfect tits. steve ducked his head to capture your nipple, sucking as his hand slides under your skirt to grab your ass.

steve smirks against your boob when he hears your soft moans.

“let me hear those pretty moans.” his voice husky with a certain intensity.

the way his voice echoes in the air is driving you crazy.

he lays you down on the leather seat, hovering over your body. steve kisses a trail down your stomach, fingers hooking in your skirt and panties at the same time. he slowly drags them down your legs.

steve’s eyes follow your panties but stop at the sight of your bare cunt as soon as he notices it.

“steve, please.” your voice comes out raspy.

“patience, baby. i know.” steve whispers, a grin playing on his lips.

he lowers his head, trailing feather-light kisses along your stomach and inner thighs, tanking his time mapping out each curve with touches and open-mouthed kisses.

“god, you’re so beautiful. makin’ me so fucking hard.” his hot breath ghosting over your inner thighs driving you crazy.

steve’s mouth moves closer to your cunt, his nose running along your slit, inhaling your scent. then, he drags the flat of his tongue softly up your folds in a slow lick, barely grazing your clit.

he peppered light licks along your outer lips, teasing you, occasionally dipping just the tip of his tongue inside to taste you before pulling back. steve’s hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread wide open.

soft moans leave your mouth at the feeling of steve’s tongue on you. he lets out soft praises, his voice sending vibrations through your cunt.

steve seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. he alternated between bold strokes and targeted flicks, watching your reactions to find what made you moan louder.

“steve ohh-st-t-ohh-mmhmphh.” you manage to get his name out, pleasure flowing through your body.

you reach down to grab steve’s hair, fingers running through the thickness of it.

feeling your thighs tremble and hearing your increasingly desperate whimpers is making steve harder than ever.

steve thrusts two fingers knuckle-deep into your tight hole. he pumped them in and out, curling to stroke that special spot inside you as he flicks and circles your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“mmm c’mon, baby.” steve rumbled against your flesh, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. he can feel you reaching the edge.

he curls his fingers inside you relentlessly just right before he pulls away abruptly. steve sits back a smug grin on his face as he watches you squirm with denied release.

“not gonna let you do that already.” steve smirks, big fingers slowly pulling out of you, leaving you feeling empty again.

“steve- why’d you do that?!” you pant, frustrated.

leaning in close, stev nipped at your earlobe before murmuring. “because i want to feel you squeezing me when you cum.”

jesus, he can make you melt just by talking.

steve’s hands quickly work their way to his belt and zipper, freeing his cock.

he was so thick and so big.

“fuck.” you think out loud.

steve’s hips buck involuntarily as your hand wrap around his cock. his control was slipping away, hands mapping the curves of your body.

a loud moan tore from steve’s throat as you pumped his shaft but when you aligned him with your entrance, the swollen head of his cock nudging at your folds, he lost the last piece of his restraint.

“need to be inside you.” he rasped, voice strained with the effort of holding back. '"m so hard, baby. gonna stretch you open f'me, yeah?"

"mhm." you nod, gripping his biceps.

you moan at the feeling of him slowly entering you. your tight walls swallowing him.

then, with a slow but steady thrust of his hips, steve’s cock found its way to the hilt of your pussy.

“shit, so fucking tight f'me, angel. jesus." steve groans, setting a hard, deep pace, angling to hit your cervix with each snap of his hips.

"steeeeve, fuck." you moan loudly, grabbing onto his back, your nails scratching, leaving marks.

"yes, baby. this pussy was made f’me. oooh fu-uuck." steve manages to keep talking somehow, looking absolutely wrecked and pussy-drunk.

he continues his relentless pace, each thrust driving his thick length deep into your pussy. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills his car, windows already fogging.

your explicit loud moans are music to steve’s ears.

“can make you feel so much better than they did, baby.” steve whispers through gritted teeth, punctuating his words with harsh snaps of his hips, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust.

“yes yes yes, fuck, steve.” you moan each word with each thrust.

steve's hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles over your pulsing clit, to push you closer to the edge.

"shit shit shit." you cry along with each thrust of his hips again.

leaning down, he captures your lips in a messy kiss again, swallowing your cries and moans.

“turn around, baby. turn around.” steve asks lazily, painfully pulling his cock out of you.

you whine at the loss of his dick and turn around anyways, getting on all fours on his backseat.

“my perfect little cockdrunk girl.” steve groans, giving your ass a sharp slap.

"please, steve. please." you beg him, pussy clenching around nothing.

“please what, angel?”

“your cock.” is the only thing you’re able to say.

his mouth twitches into a slight smirk when you say that.

one large hand gripping your hip bruisingly tight while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head slightly back.

in one swift motion, you align his red tip at your entrance, making a soft wet sound when in contact.

"ah- fuck." steve moans at the feeling.

without even thinking straight, steve roams his hips into yours, stretching you fully. a loud moan leaves your mouth.

“takin’ me so well. shit.”

"yes, steve." you moan as he starts moving again and sets a taster pace, holding your hips in place.

the obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoes through his car again, driving him crazy. you can feel his balls hitting your clit whenever he thrusts into you.

“fuck, i’m close.” he groans, slowing his movements to a torturous grind, changing the angle of his thrusts, making sure to hit that spot deep inside you with every roll of his hips.

steve continues his moves, alternating between deep, grinding thrusts and shallow teases, keeping you on the edge of pleasure. one hand snakes down your spine to grip you ass hard.

your loud moans and the way you push your ass back against him bring him closer, his thrusts growing harder, faster, more desperate.

“s-steve.” you whisper.

“yeah, baby?” he grins.

“c-cumming.”

“gonna cum inside you. fuck, let go, baby.” he purrs, feeling your walls close around him.

the feeling of your pussy tightening around him pushes steve over the edge. with a loud groan, he hilts himself inside you one last time, thick ropes of hot cum painting your insides white as he cums.

"oh, uh fuck baby!" steve moans into your open moaning mouth.

he groans softly as he feels your walls clench, milking him out, cumming around him. steve grinds against you.

he collapses against your back, peppering your neck and shoulders with biting kisses as the aftershocks roll through him.

"jesus." steve pants, his arms and legs feeling tired and sore, but already missing the feeling of thrusting into you so much that if you asked him to do it again, he would do it without thinking twice.

now the car is quiet again. not the same quiet as before.

the windows are slightly fogged, the air thick with that lingering heat that hasn’t quite settled yet. somewhere outside, a distant car passes, headlights briefly washing across the interior before fading again.

steve moves to the small space on the seat to lay down next to you, his cock leaving your hole.

you two are closer than ever, his thumb drifts along your side, slow and almost lazy.

“so…” steve murmurs, still out of breath.

you let out a quiet breath that’s almost a laugh. “so.”

he shifts slightly, just enough to look down at you better, his chin tilting toward you.

there’s that look again.

the one that’s way too self-aware.

“whatever you’re about to say, don’t.” you narrow your eyes immediately.

“wow.” he huffs a soft laugh. “i haven’t even said anything yet.”

“you’re about to.”

he studies you for a second, clearly entertained.

you shift slightly, propping yourself up just enough to look at him properly too. “you’re being smug.”

“i’m not being smug.” steve says.

“you are absolutely being smug.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a grin pulling at his mouth now.

“i’m just… evaluating.”

“evaluating?” you blink.

“yeah.”

“this is not a performance review.” you whisper.

“could be.”

“you are unbelievable, harrington!” you push lightly at his shoulder.

he catches your hand without thinking, fingers wrapping around yours easily.

“relax.” he says, softer now.

“you relax.”

“i am relaxed.” steve says.

“you’re not relaxed, you’re pleased.” you try to hide the smirk that’s trying to show on your face.

he exhales a quiet laugh.

“okay,” he admits. “maybe i’m a little pleased.”

“a little?” you ask.

“a reasonable amount.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull your hand away. his thumb brushes slowly over your knuckles.

“can i ask you something?” he says.

“why does that never sound harmless when you say it.” you groan quietly.

“because you assume the worst.”

“experience has taught me.” you smile.

he smiles faintly. “fair.”

“fine. ask.” you sigh.

he pauses for a second. not long, just enough to make it feel intentional.

“was it good?” he asks, casually.

you freeze.

then slowly turn your head to look at him.

“you did not just ask me that.”

“what?” he shrugs lightly. “i’m asking a simple question.”

“that is not a simple question.” you say.

“it is.”

“it’s not.”

he watches you, clearly enjoying this.

“so that’s a no.” he says thoughtfully.

you immediately sit up straighter. “that is not what i said.”

“kinda sounds like what you said.”

“i didn’t say anything.”

“exactly.” his mouth twisted.

“you are so annoying.” you stare at him, trying to hide a smile.

he grins. “you’re avoiding the question.”

“i am not avoiding-”

“you are.”

“steve.”

he leans in slightly, voice lowering just a bit.

“c’mon,” he murmurs. “i’m just curious.”

you let out a breath, shaking your head.

“you already know the answer...”

“do i?” his eyebrows lift.

“yes.”

“i don’t know,” he says, clearly not buying it. “you haven’t confirmed it.”

you stare at him for a second longer. then you huff out a quiet laugh, looking away briefly.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“still not an answer.”

“you are not getting a formal review.” you let out a honest laugh.

“i don’t need formal,” he says lightly. “i’ll take honest.”

“you’re really going to keep pushing this?” you glance back at him.

“absolutely.”

you shake your head again, but there’s a smile tugging at your mouth now.

“fine.”

he waits.

you hesitate just long enough to make him lean in a fraction more.

“it was good.”

his mouth curves immediately.

“good?” he repeats.

he tilts his head, studying you. “just good.”

“steve.” you narrow your eyes.

“what?!”

“don’t push it.”

he leans in a little closer now, voice dropping just enough to feel it. “that didn’t sound like just good.”

“you’re impossible.” your breath catches slightly.

“and yet,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth, “my cum’s dripping down your thighs.”

you don’t answer that.

mostly because you can feel the shift again, the way the space between you tightens without either of you really moving.

his hand slides back to your waist, firmer now.

“say it again.” he murmurs.

you blink. “say what?”

“say it again.” he repeats, softer.

“you’re insane.” you stare at him.

“maybe.”

“i’m not repeating myself.”

“no?” steve pouts slightly.

“no.” you shake your head.

there’s a beat.

then his mouth tilts slightly. “okay.”

and before you can ask what that means he pulls you back into him.

the kiss is immediate.

stronger than before, less teasing, like he decided he’s done asking and he’d rather show you instead.

his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you closer as his other comes up to your jaw, tilting your face just right.

you make a soft sound against his mouth, and he reacts to it instantly, deepening the kiss, slower but more deliberate, like he’s paying attention to every little response.

when he finally pulls back, it’s only just enough to speak, his forehead brushing yours.

his mouth curves slightly. “that didn’t feel like just good.”

“yeah, maybe it was a little bit more than just good.” you let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

his thumb brushes your side again, slower now.

“don’t worry,” he murmurs softly. “i’ll keep proving it.”

Your scolding of your boyfriend smashing your favourite mug was cut off as he slammed his heavy cock back inside of your dripping cunt from behind.

"What was that, baby? What were you saying?" Steve grunted as his fingers dug into the flesh on your hips. He leant over your body so you were fully bent over the kitchen countertop as he pulled his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back home again. You let out a wanton moan, his name falling from your lips as your hands scramble for purchase and only finding the chopping board.

"What's wrong, baby?" Steve coos gently, a stark comparison to the way his thick cock was thrusting into your needy hole like it was the last thing he would ever do. "Use your words. C'mon, baby, you can do it."

You try, you really do but the thick head of his cock had just kissed your cervix and all words had suddenly failed.

"Fuuuuck," you moan out, fingers scraping the edge of the chopping board as the power behind Steve's thrusts made his balls slap against your ass, made you arch your back a little more, made the lewd sounds of your soaked cunt echo throughout the kitchen. "Fuck, Steve. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

You and Steve had officially been together for maybe six days. In those six days, you had pretty much had sex in almost every square inch of the apartment. Both your respective beds, on the floor, against your apartment door, on the pink couch, in the shower, the hallway and Steve even had you bent over the washing machine this earlier this morning. Your pussy was sore and you should probably be beginning to be sick of it. But honestly? You couldn't get enough. Because sex with Steve Harrington was nothing short of life changing.

Steve let out a guttural groan, feeling the way your walls pulsed around him—warm, wet, sucking him back in like you never wanted him to leave.

"Shit, you're so fucking hot," Steve tells you breathlessly as one of his large hands ghosts over the skin of your inner thigh before he finds you aching clit with ease. "Fuckin' made f'me, takin' my cock so fucking well, baby."

Your reaction was instant. You let out a loud, needy noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan—one that you would have been embarrassed about had Steve's cock not been slamming into you at a punishing pace. The chopping board slides off the countertop to join your smashed mug on the floor as your pussy flutters around him.

"Steve, I'm gonna—"

You can't even get the words out, your body consumed by an overwhelming pleasure that shook your entire body. Your orgasm rips through you—from head to toe, every nerve on fire.

Steve follows right after you, your sobbing pussy soaking his cock as he spills inside of you, holding you close through every last pulse of his release.

"Fuck," Steve murmurs against the skin of your shoulder as he presses soft kisses there. "You make me fuckin' crazy. Can't get enough of you. I'm not even tired yet."

You laugh, your body still humming beneath your skin, your legs still feeling as though they were made of jelly and a mix of your releases beginning to drip down your thigh but there wasn't a part of you that wanted to stop.

"Back at you, Harrington," you turn your head so you could look at him over your shoulder. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, lips wet and swollen and eyes on you like you were the only thing that mattered. "You want to make dinner or—"

"—we can order in," Steve interrupts, his cock already hardening inside of you once again. "Not done with you yet, roomie."

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You freeze. 

What the—

He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door. 

“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out. 

“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”

The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.  

“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”

“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap. 

“Who said what?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet. 

But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset. 

Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours. 

“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time. 

Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair. 

“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts. 

It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”

“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”

You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side. 

“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”

Oh. Okay. 

Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing. 

That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever. 

You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?” 

Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”

The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one. 

“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”

Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”

Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?” 

“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”

You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs. 

You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate. 

You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”

 His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”

“Between us.”

Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face. 

Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”

Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”

He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”

“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”

You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick. 

In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip. 

 “Yes,” you breathe. 

He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space. 

“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”

“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband. 

Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.

“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”

Shit. 

You’re not strong enough for this. 

But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done. 

And you should. 

God, you should. 

But you don’t want to. 

So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak. 

As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you. 

His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold. 

He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.

 Then there’s that wet heat. 

His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance. 

“Oh, God,” you whimper. 

His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. 

He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”

Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it. 

Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind. 

His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more. 

You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment. 

Steve eats pussy like he wants to. 

You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face. 

Too pretty for his own good.

A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes. 

The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button. 

But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down. 

His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks. 

Hard. 

You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively. 

Then, without warning, he pulls back. 

You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that. 

“Is that it?” You squeak. 

“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down. 

He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”

“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands. 

He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off. 

And this time, he doesn’t tease you. 

Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.

As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches. 

Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes. 

He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations. 

The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it. 

The way your heart slams against your ribs. 

A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing. 

That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in. 

That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt. 

It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink. 

“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”

The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks. 

Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.

Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away. 

When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth. 

You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough. 

“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours. 

You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.

Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss. 

This one is different. 

Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful. 

He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious. 

“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.

You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”

He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”

“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that. 

“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”

His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it. 

“You could do it again.”

a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol