#colouredbyd

“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”

You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”

Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.

The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.

If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.

Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.

The woman —who’s name you learned to be Mrs. Dunne—sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”

She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.

You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.

“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”

Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”

She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”

“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”

You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.

“Can I take a look at you?”

“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”

Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”

She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.

“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”

“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”

You try. The breath stutters anyway.

“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”

She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”

“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.

You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”

“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. Oh, God—the car—”

She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”

You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally paid an insane amount of money for it and shows it off every chance he gets.”

A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”

Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”

“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”

“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”

Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”

The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his furious rage leading him to probably— rightfully so— break up with you. Your stomach twists at the thought, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.

Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”

Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.

Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—

A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.

You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.

You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.

Terrified.

His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.

Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”

They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register.

Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”

The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.

He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.

“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”

You can’t.

Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”

“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”

Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.

“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”

“—look at me,” he says, low and steady.

Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.

Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.

“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”

You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.

“That’s it, good job,,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.

“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”

Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.

“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.

You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he leans closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.

“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”

You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you. 

His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.

You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”

He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.

You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They saw the accident. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”

Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”

In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, or worse; not breathing.

He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.

You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”

His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”

He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”

You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”

He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”

You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”

“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”

Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.

“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”

You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”

“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”

You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.

steve harrington masterlist

The streets of Hawkins were back to how they were before the earthquake years ago. She had barely stayed for the reconstruction, as she was finishing high school when the city limits reopened, and even though she said she wanted to stay, her mother practically dragged her to college, fearing that, like her, her daughter would be stuck in Hawkins forever.

Not that the girl would care much about it. She had always loved the city, the flower fields, the lake, her job at the record store, the life she had there. But she couldn't disappoint her mother, even if it meant breaking her own heart by being away from home for so long.

Something she decided to change during spring break. The first year she hadn't even gone home, she was so busy with homework and the job she'd gotten at the campus bookstore. But this year she'd decided she wouldn't care, to hell with it all. She needed to smell the earth, see the flowers blooming in spring, she needed to go home.

And that's what she did, barely containing her joy when she finally got off the bus in the city she loved so much. She knew she missed home, but upon setting foot in Hawkins she realized that this longing was even more overwhelming than she had imagined.

It wasn't long before her mother started nagging her, saying there was no reason for her to leave college and come to Hawkins. Just as it didn't take long for her to catch up on everything that had happened in the town in her absence. But of all the information, the one that interested her most was that Steve Harrington had become the new coach of the children's baseball team, and not only that, a sex education teacher.

She felt a chill when she heard that information. She didn't know if it was from imagining him taking care of the children, or from the impure thoughts that arose in her mind when she thought about Steve Harrington and anything related to sex together.

She'd been in love with Steve Harrington since she was 15, when he sold her ice cream at that damn Scops Ahoy. He looked so gorgeous in that ridiculous uniform that it only made him more handsome. And she couldn't help but go back there almost every day hoping he'd look at her, but he never did, always busy with the older and popular girls.

Still, she hadn't been able to get him out of her head. In the following years, when he worked at Family Video, she made a point of personally renting movies for the family on weekends. And he, as always, had been kind to her, but not in the way she wanted. And when the whole city went to hell, she always called the radio station to request songs at the time she knew Steve would be collecting the requests, not Robin.

From that point on, she engaged in silly and funny conversations with Steve Harrington, something she would never have done in person. And inevitably, she ended up falling even more in love with him.

Including a moment when, armed with the courage given by anonymity and the wine she had stolen from her mother's stock, she had some embarrassing conversations with him on the phone. Something involving thinking he was the most handsome man in Hawkins, and that if he wanted, he could have her in the blink of an eye.

When he asked who was speaking, she, as always, hung up. Never saying who it was, never revealing her own name. But she loved it when he said on the phone that her voice was the most beautiful and maddening he had ever heard, and at that time, that was enough to make her smile in a world where joy was quite scarce.

But then, all hell broke loose, life went back to normal, and she, well, she went to college. She never had the courage to speak to Steve Harrington in person, never told him how much she desired him. She'd dated a few guys in college, and it'd even been nice, she had to admit, but none of them reached the ultimate ideal that was Steve Harrington.

And all of this led her to an important conclusion. She needed to sleep with Steve Harrington. It wasn't just a crush or a silly dream anymore; it had become a matter of life, something related to sanity. If she didn't have him, she would never be able to have anyone else, and she had already convinced herself of that.

Every time she met a guy, it was the same script: he wasn't as tall as Steve, he was taller than Steve, his hair wasn't as nice as Steve's, his voice wasn't as pleasant to listen to as Steve's, he wasn't as funny and kind as Steve. It had become hell. So maybe, if she had Steve, her silly idealizations about him would die and he would just become another guy.

It was with all this in mind that she changed her clothes a million times until she chose a short black skirt and a black and white striped blouse with short sleeves. According to a friend who worked at Hawkins High, Steve had said he was going to use the spring break to organize his own classroom and get everything in order for the rest of the year. It was the perfect opportunity for what she wanted.

It felt strange walking through those hallways now; she felt out of place, even more so because she was wearing such a short skirt, which would have earned her at least a month of detention from the principal. Fortunately, that time had already passed, but she would be very happy if Steve decided to punish her.

The room she had discovered to be his seemed empty at first glance, much to her disappointment, until he emerged from a small adjacent cupboard at the back of the room carrying a dusty box and placed it on the table as soon as he saw her standing there.

"Do you need anything?" He looked at her, adjusting his hair with his left hand, asking in a gentle tone that made her shiver.

The madness and courage that had guided her there suddenly seemed to drain from her blood, and for a moment she wanted to say she'd gone to the wrong room and run far away to find a place where she could die of shame in peace. But that's not what she did.

"Actually..." She smiled, taking a step forward and looking at him. "I need to."

"Well, I'm all ears..." He smiled, throwing some of the old professor's belongings from the table into a trash bag. "Feel free to make yourself at home, whatever you need." He shrugged with a gentle smile, trying to figure out what that girl, who seemed vaguely familiar, wanted there.

Acting on Steve's words, she smiled and sat on the table he had just cleared, crossing her legs in a carefully planned way, making her already short skirt seem even shorter.

Steve's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he subtly choked, trying to look away from the deliciously exposed thighs of that strange girl. Something almost impossible, because he wasn't made of steel, and his last encounter that had ended pleasurably had been over a month ago at this point.

"Listen, if you want, I can get a chair..." He murmured, confused, blinking slightly incredulously with his hands on his hips.

"I'm comfortable here, Mr. Harrington, thank you." She smiled sweetly at each word as she rested her head on her arms and leaned subtly toward him making him shiver, since there was something familiar about her voice that stirred something within him.

"The thing is..." She began, pouting slightly and tilting her head gently to the right. "I have a problem, Mr. Harrington, and a friend told me that you happen to be an excellent sex education teacher..."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed uncontrollably as air was suddenly sucked from his lungs, while one part of his brain tried to process what the hell was happening and the other part just spun in circles screaming about how hot that girl was. He knew what was happening there, and as a responsible adult he had an obligation to say that it was inappropriate and to tell her to leave. But that's not what he did...

"And what would be the nature of this problem?" Steve asked, crossing his arms behind his back and looking at her with an interested gaze, curious to see where this would lead.

"Well..." She began with a smile, tilting her head to the other side. "There's this guy, Mr. Harrington, I can't get him out of my head..." She rolled her eyes, drawing soft circles on her thigh very close to the hem of her skirt.

"It doesn't seem like such a big problem." Steve smiled, trying to sound relaxed, while his eyes followed her fingers tracing across her thigh.

"It's when I can no longer feel aroused by any other guy without thinking about him, Mr. Herrington..." She sighed, biting her lower lip and staring at him from under her eyelashes.

"This... this is a problem." Steve coughed slightly between words without taking his eyes off her fingers that were moving higher and higher up her thighs, lifting the black fabric of her skirt in the process.

"Isn't Mr. Harrington?" She gave him a subtle pout as she spoke, the hem of her skirt drawing ever closer to her crotch. "I can't even get wet, you know?" She sighed, her skin completely covered in goosebumps as she stared into his eyes.

"That's quite a problem..." He murmured, taking a step forward without even realizing it. "And how are you now?" Steve asked before he could stop himself. He was sure she was wet without even thinking about that guy right now because he could almost smell her arousal.

"Why don't you tell me yourself?" She grinned like a wicked cat and slowly pulled the rest of the skirt up her thighs, exposing her naked pussy completely to Steve's gaze, who for a moment thought he must be hallucinating with that beautiful, sexy girl spreading her legs on his desk.

"Shit." He muttered as the specific thought that he was at work came to mind. He shouldn't be doing this, and he should have told that girl, who might very well have been a cheeky student for all he knew, to leave as soon as she walked in.

"What do you think of my pussy, Mr. Harrington?" She smiled, spreading her legs wider, resting her feet on the wooden tabletop, and gently caressing the wet slit for Steve's eyes.

"Damn it, honey, don't do this to me..." He murmured, both hands on his head, unable to tear his gaze away from her moist and inviting folds, begging for his finger to take the place of hers.

"Don't do what, Mr. Harrington?" she asked with an innocent pout, making light circles with the tip of her index finger over her clitoris. "You teach sex education, don't you?" She laughed mischievously, sliding her index finger from her clitoris to her own entrance along with her middle finger in a gentle caress, threatening to penetrate herself with both fingers.

"Then help me with my sexual problem..." she murmured as she slid both fingers inside without taking her eyes off Steve's, which were fixed on her pussy.

Steve was breathing heavily; seeing her fingers sliding through that sweet moisture almost made him faint. His cock ached against the zipper, and he felt like he was on the verge of completely losing control.

"Please just answer me one thing..." He pleaded in a hoarse voice, taking a cautious step toward her. "How old are you?!"

"21..." She replied, rolling her eyes as she sighed and dug her fingers a little deeper into herself. "Want to see my ID?" The irony dripped from her voice, only making Steve more excited.

He knew she wasn't a student at Hawkins High School; he would have seen her there if she were, so... what harm would it do to get something he really wanted at least once? Even if it was in the most inappropriate place in the world.

It was with this thought in mind that he knelt before the table and in a single movement grabbed both of the girl's thighs tightly, falling between her thighs and taking her sweet pussy in his lips, satisfying the insatiable desire of both.

The moment Steve Harrington's tongue touched her clitoris for the first time, she moaned and screamed against her own wrist like she never had before. He devoured her pussy like he was starving, his tongue penetrating where her fingers had been before, while his nose caressed her clitoris in movements that drove her wild.

Her sighs escaped her lips uncontrollably, which only made Steve's lips take hers more forcefully, occasionally rising to suckle her clitoris and then revealing her entrance again with his tongue. Her gasps grew louder, and the tremors made her arch over the table. She sang his name softly, making him smile against her pussy as he remembered she had said she couldn't forget that guy.

Well, it seems I'm better...

Steve thought arrogantly, eating her pussy with even more fervor while feeling its walls contorting around his tongue. Her taste grew stronger with each passing second, and the instant he curved his tongue against the top of her vulva, she writhed in a beautiful moan and came all over his mouth, collapsing limply onto the table, leaving him staring in ecstasy at her half-clothed body.

"Holy shit." Steve pulled away abruptly, his lips still wet with her excitement, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sanity that seemed to have Robin's voice. "I shouldn't be doing this, damn it!"

"I'm not really your student..." She sighed with an easy smile on her lips after having come, while wrapping both her legs around his hips and pulling him back.

Without letting her smile falter, she brought her hands to the hem of her striped blouse and slowly pulled it off under Steve's watchful gaze, leaving her now covered only by the thin strip of black fabric of her skirt, which was gathered at her waist.

"Damn it, you..." Steve gasped, gripping her hips tightly. "You're driving me crazy..."

"Fuck me, Mr. Harrington..." She pleaded, looking him in the eyes as she gently lifted her hips toward him. "Show me how you do it..." She lifted her torso from the table, moving closer to him and grabbing his neck, almost rubbing her naked body against his clothed one as she murmured softly in Steve's ear, "Show me what it's like to be really fucked, Mr. Harrington..."

Steve couldn't resist. He couldn't anymore. He grabbed her and kissed her senselessly, almost devouring her lips while squeezing her thighs so hard it hurt. The kisses traveled down her neck, sucking, biting, taking... with each touch she moaned his name and sighed, driving him even crazier.

His hands slowly caressed her thighs, making them both sigh. Steve caressed her sensitive clitoris with his fingertips, causing her to cling even tighter to his back. Slowly, Steve slipped his fingers between her tight, moist folds, almost moaning with lust against her neck and feeling her gently biting his shoulder.

Little by little, Steve's long fingers began to fuck her pussy at a steady pace, and she clung tightly to his back, rolling her eyes and moaning with pleasure at each kiss and suck he gave to her breasts.

"Your cock..." she begged between gasps as she writhed against his fingers. "I want your cock fucking my pussy, Steve." She moaned those words, cupping his face in her palms and looking him in the eyes with something bordering on savagery.

"Holy shit..." Steve growled as he unzipped and pulled his pants down just enough to free his own cock, making her moan with delight at finally seeing him naked.

"Is this what you want?" He groaned, sliding his cock along her wet folds, past her sensitive clitoris, and teasing her eager entrance as she writhed, trying to pull him inside.

"Yes... yes Mr. Harrington..." She pleaded, trying to lift her hips toward him, but to no avail as Steve held her firmly by the hips.

"Then take it, my dear..." He gasped as he slowly entered her, feeling the tight walls of her pussy compressing his cock, almost massaging it in a way he had never felt before.

For the first time, she felt complete. Steve's cock seemed to fit her perfectly, as if it were made for her to take, made for her to revel in. And she couldn't contain the sounds escaping her lips, no matter how much she wanted to. With each thrust, he seemed to hit all the right places. Besides, those damned chocolate eyes staring intently at her while he fucked her with abandon didn't do much to help her restrain herself.

She gasped his name and whimpered with each touch; it was already too much, but she still wanted more. And when Steve picked up the pace, making the table creak against the floor as he fucked her as if consumed by lust, she could do nothing but cling to his hair, moaning softly and whimpering in his ear, begging for more and more.

Steve was so close, and he knew she was too. Her pussy tightened around his cock like a vise while her voice murmured incoherent things in his ear, almost driving him completely insane. He knew he recognized that voice, he was sure of it, but he couldn't place it, and he was so consumed by lust that even if he knew, he wouldn't remember.

"Steve, please..." She moaned as she kissed his neck and rubbed her perfect breasts against him.

"What do you want, honey?" He smiled sideways against her messy hair, fucking her slowly and deliberately.

"Please let me cum on your cock..." She begged, writhing against him, and Steve couldn't deny a request from such a maddening voice.

"Cum my cock then, darling..." Steve whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe and increasing his thrusts, becoming brutal, making her pussy spasm around him, collapsing into an overwhelming orgasm, milking his cock and pulling him into the abyss along with her in a way that made his legs weaken to the point where he fell onto her soft, sweaty body on the table.

The strength in both their bodies seemed to have vanished, and no matter how hard Steve wanted to get up, he couldn't. He could only lie there on top of her, trying to breathe normally again and trying to feel his own legs once more. It didn't help him regain his physical strength that she was distractedly playing with his hair, making him want to stay there and sleep more than anything else.

Suddenly he remembered how it had all begun, and with a furrowed brow he couldn't help but ask. "Were you able to forget about that guy?" It came out more bitter than he intended.

At that moment, her sweet laughter filled the room, and Steve could feel it as that sweet laugh left her ribcage. It was there, listening to that laughter, that he discovered where he knew that voice from.

"You're the girl who used to call the radio every night." He stated without preamble, making her laughter stop as suddenly as it had begun. "Aren't you?"

She simply lay motionless beneath him, the breath that Steve had previously felt flowing smoothly against his skin now seemed still as he listened to her heart racing against his ribcage.

"Why do you want to know?" Her voice came almost in a whisper a few moments later, both of them motionless against each other.

"Maybe this way... things would make a little sense..." Steve sighed against her chest, now certain that the half-naked girl beneath him was the same girl with whom he'd had hundreds of absurd conversations during the Hawkins quarantine.

The same girl he'd spent hundreds of nights talking to until sunrise, laughing at her silly jokes while making her laugh back. The girl who had become so important that he waited for her call like a fool by the radio station every night, and then... simply disappeared without a word, leaving him unsure if she had even survived the dark things that plagued Hawkins.

"What would you say if I told you it was me?" She gasped, almost breathless, feeling her palms go cold and her heart skip a beat with each word she spoke.

"I would ask you where you went..." Steve murmured, his gaze lost on the empty flowerpot on the closed windowsill.

"My mother took me out of Hawkins the moment the borders opened." She sighed the half-truth, making Steve frown.

"And they didn't have a damn phone where she took you?" His voice again sounded more bitter than intended.

She didn't know what to answer; she felt her chest burning along with the rest of her body. She had only planned this up to a certain point, and having this conversation with Steve while his penis was still soft inside her vagina certainly wasn't part of the plan.

"I didn't know what to say to you," she murmured back sincerely. "The last time we spoke, you asked to see me in person," she confessed, still motionless beneath him. "And I thought, what nonsense, he'll just think I'm a silly when he sees me in person."

Steve was certainly thinking many things about her right now, but not that she was silly.

"And why did you decide to come all the way here now?" He asked, feeling confusion overwhelming him as he tried to understand it all.

"Because two years have passed, and even though I'm miles away from Hawkins..." She gasped, closing her eyes. "I can't stop thinking about you, Steve Harrington."

Steve stood motionless for a few moments, his mind seeming to melt little by little with each new piece of information added, and then it seemed to click into place.

"I'm that guy." He murmured, lifting his head from her chest and looking into her eyes.

Her face was flushed with embarrassment, and she barely had the strength to continue looking Steve in the eyes after all that madness. But considering where the whole situation had already led, she simply nodded, holding her breath.

"Do you want to know an interesting secret too?" Steve asked without taking his eyes off hers, making her nod slowly as she got lost in those beautiful brown eyes.

"I never forgot about you either during these two years." He murmured with a look that mixed seriousness and melancholy. "I still go to the radio station every day to ask the people who took over there if, by any chance... anyone called asking about me."

"If you called, asking for me," Steve corrected himself, his breath trembling.

"Steve, I..." She sighed, gently cupping his face in her palms. "I'm sorry."

"Just please tell me that this meant more than just sex to you." He gasped, his eyes shining with expectation, feeling his chest burn with fear that disappointment might come and consume him entirely.

"Steve, this... this meant the whole world to me." She sighed sincerely, barely blinking, feeling her own skin burn against his.

"Well, that's good." He smiled, caressing her cheek with his fingertips and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Because I'm currently not interested in being a casual sex guy anymore."

"Do you really want to try to make it work?" She smiled, feeling her heart burn in her chest and her skin crawl at the thought.

"We spent two whole years talking on the phone and it worked." He shrugged with a smile. "I think we can do that for another two years until you finish college..."

"Oh Mr. Harrington, I'm going to love this." She wrapped her arms around Steve's neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

And if the two spent the remainder of their first break lying in the field of flowers laughing and talking while finally meeting face to face, well, that was nobody else's business.

And then there are two figures hovering over him, silhouettes at first. One of them lets out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Holy shit—he’s awake. Oh my god, Harrington, you scared the living—”

“Robin,” another voice cuts in quickly, firm but gentle. “Would you quiet down your voice? He’s probably still processing the situation.”

Steve would love to process the situation. He just… doesn’t know what the situation is.

His vision sharpens bit by bit, the haze clearing enough for faces to come into focus. On one side of the bed is a girl with short hair and an expression that’s equal parts relief and barely-contained excitement. She’s smiling way too hard, like she’s waiting for him to say something

On the other side—

Oh, what a beautiful sight he’s greeted with.

Steve’s breath stutters, completely against his will.

She’s closer, standing just within his line of sight, her hands clasped together like she’s been holding herself back from touching him. 

Her eyes are glassy, rimmed with exhaustion and something else he can’t name yet, and she’s looking at him with so much worry and love. Like he scared her. Like she’s been here a while.

Steve isn’t one to discriminate. He appreciates beauty in all forms. But holy shit—his chest tightens in a way that feels familiar and frightening all at once.

He doesn’t know you. He’s almost sure of that, and yet the pull is immediate, instinctive, like his body recognizes you before his mind can catch up.

“Uh,” he croaks, except pain shoots through his body as he tries to speak.

“Easy, easy.” you say right away. Your voice is calm, but your eyes are worried, scanning his face like you are checking for cracks. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

Steve frowns, trying to piece things together. “Why am I in a hospital,” he asks, then winces when the movement makes his head pound harder. “And who are you people?”

Robin lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “We, buddy, are your friends.”

"And how did I end up here?"

“You got hurt on a crawl,” you say gently, keeping your voice calm as your thumb traces small circles on the back of his hand. “You crashed your car into a pole on the way back. The doctors said it’s a concussion, and your memory might be temporarily affected.”

“I… don’t remember any of that,” he admits slowly, panic threading through his voice.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, keeping your tone steady even though worry is slipping through. “Temporary memory loss is part of the recovery.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he’s not sure why. “I just—”

And then, because apparently whatever they’ve got pumping into his veins has removed his filter entirely, he blurts, “You’re just really pretty.”

Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, as you huff out a disbelieving laugh and shake your head at his bluntness. “Awww, you think I’m pretty?”

Robin snorts loud enough to break the moment. “Okay, wow. Guess the concussion knocked his filter clean out.

She steps back toward the door, already reaching for the handle. “I’m gonna go tell the others he’s awake before Dustin gets more worried.” She pauses, smirks at Steve. “Don’t flirt yourself into another head injury.”

And then she’s gone, leaving the room quieter than before.

The room settles into the sound of machines humming as Steve shifts slightly, then freezes when he realizes how close you still are.

Your hand is on his.

He blinks at you, then grins slowly, a little mischievous despite the wires attached. “Soooo… are you gonna tell me who you are so I can figure out a way to take you out on a proper date once I’m out of this bed?” His eyes flicker with a mix of earnestness and teasing, and you can’t help but grin at how genuinely sweet he sounds.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “A proper date, huh? You’re already in a hospital bed and thinking about that?”

Steve leans back slightly, still staring at you with a goofy, love-struck grin. “Hey, priorities, okay? First I survive this concussion, then I take you out somewhere nice. Gotta make it worth your while.”

Your chest warms at the sincerity, and you reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Well, Mr. Harrington, you better survive then, or you’re never getting that date.”

“Oh, I’m determined, baby. It’s not every day a man wakes up in a hospital bed and finds a pretty girl like you at his bedside. Can’t let that chance slip away.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head. “You’re gonna have to stop saying stuff like that or I’ll start thinking you’re hitting on me.”

He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “And what if I am?”

Your brows lift, amused. “Is that so?”

“Well,” he says, warming to it now, “would that be such a bad thing?”

You laugh again, cheeks pink. “No, I guess not.”

He opens his mouth, clearly about to say more—then cuts himself off. “—Unless you don’t think I’m awesome. Which, not to brag, but I am. I mean, I’m just… not at my best right now. My hair’s usually fixed and I'd be in way better shape.”

“I know that, Steve,” you say, fond and familiar in a way that makes his stomach flip.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asks, squinting at you like he’s solving a puzzle. “You got a boyfriend or something?”

You hesitate for half a second. Then nod. “I do."

“Oh.”

Oh.

The warmth in his chest caves in on itself, replaced by1 something hollow and sharp. His head throbs suddenly, a spike of pain behind his eyes, and images he doesn’t understand flash through his mind; your laugh, your hands laced with someone else’s, your mouth pressed to another person’s lip.

Someone who isn’t him.

He swallows, forcing a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Figured so.” A quiet breath out. “Guess it would’ve been kinda crazy if a girl like you didn’t already have someone.”

You reach up without thinking, fingers sliding into his hair, smoothing it back. The touch resets something in him instantly. Whatever ache was there dulls under your hand.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m really flattered.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then nods. “Well,” he says, trying to sound casual and failing just a little, “your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

You hum, noncommittal, then sigh and slump forward, burying your face into the sheets.

Steve watches you, heart doing something stupid again. You look… comfortable and so, so soft. Like a cat curling up somewhere it feels safe.

“As I said, you’re really pretty,” he murmurs, voice rough and nasal from the concussion. “But… you must hear that all the time, don’t you?”

You shrug, brushing a strand of hair from your face, lips barely parting. “Not really,” you admit quietly, almost inaudible.

Steve blinks, then slowly pushes himself up in the hospital bed, propping on one elbow. “Really? Your boyfriend doesn’t… call you that?”

You place a hand lightly on your chin, lips pouting just slightly, hair falling across your face.

The soft tilt makes your eyes shine in the bright hospital light, and Steve swallows, heart thudding in a way that’s equal parts awe and helplessness.

He wants to lean forward, brush his thumb across that pout, kiss it gently, but he doesn’t.

You shake your head slightly, still face-down. “Not really.”

“God,” he murmurs, sincerity slipping through before he can stop it, “your boyfriend sucks.”

You glance up at him, surprised.

“If I were him,” Steve continues, voice quiet but sure, “I’d tell you you’re pretty every single day.”

And while Steve wants to tell you to dump that clueless idiot of a boyfriend already, he bites his tongue. He’s not here to be a homewrecker, he just wants you to realize your worth before that poor sap completely wastes it. Besides, it’s painful watching someone else fumble what should be his.

You groan. “My boyfriend’s a total jerk sometimes. He doesn’t notice half the things I do, and he spends all his time driving around with a bunch of kids and getting into trouble”

Steve’s grin is lazy but affectionate, eyes crinkling despite the fever. “That bastard’s missing out! How can he hang out with kids when he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting for him? What a schmuck.”

You snort. “That’s exactly what I keep telling him.”

He smiles lazily, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite how tired he clearly is. “Yeah,” he says, words starting to blur together now. 

“Y’know what I think.” He pauses, fighting sleep. “I think you should tell that boyfriend of yours he’s gotta do better.”

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, amused.

Steve’s eyes flutter, but he manages a crooked smirk. “Then,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna come and sweep you from right under his nose.”

You laugh, warm and fond, and reach out to tuck the blanket more securely around him. “Big talk for someone who can barely keep his eyes open.”

He hums softly, already drifting to sleep. “M’just sayin’,” he mumbles. “Pretty girl like you deserves better.”

****

Two weeks later, Steve is supposed to still be taking it easy.

Keyword: supposed to.

He’s on the edge of the bed, wrestling with his shoes, one hand rubbing at his temple like that might fix the very real concussion he’s ignoring. You’re in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with the look that says your patience ran out five minutes ago.

“Steve! You’re being unbelievable,” you say. “The doctor said to rest and not to stupid shit.”

Steve scoffs. “I wasn’t trying to be stupid.”

“You went into a tunnel full of demobat slime!”

“—to save you and Dustin,” he shoots back, turning to look at you. “Which, by the way, I did. So maybe a thank-you instead of whatever this is?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re so annoying lately.”

He laughs once, sharp. “Oh, I’m annoying? Sorry my brain injury is inconvenient for you.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You’re such a shitty, horrible boyfriend.”

Steve blinks. “Wow. Okay. And you’re an inconsiderate girlfriend who apparently doesn’t care that I almost cracked my skull because you and Dustin are absolute idiots.”

You huff, turn on your heel, and start pulling the blanket off the bed. “Fine. I’m not sharing a bed with you tonight.”

He frowns immediately. “—Wait, what? Where the hell are you going?”

“Anywhere that’s not next to an ass,” you snap, grabbing a pillow.

Steve watches you for half a second, then stands. A little wobbly, but determined. “Okay, yeah, no. I’m following you.”

You glare. “If you don’t quit it, I’m gonna find someone else who treats me right.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” you say, annoyed and dramatic on purpose now. “At least they won’t be reckless and stupid.”

Steve steps closer, incredulous. “Is that so? And where exactly are you gonna find someone who can tolerate your ass? Because I bet there isn’t a single soul in Hawkins who can handle—”

You whip the pillow at his chest.

“I actually know someone,” you say smugly, pointing a sharp finger at him. “Who said he’d sweep me from right under your nose, Steve Harrington!”

The color drains from Steve’s face.

 “—Wait, what?” he blurts, eyes wide. “Who?”

What a dumbass, you think, smirking as you turn away.

based on this request: right here!! + idea was inspired by the lovely @kiboutie on ao3! (credits)

a/n: this was so lovely to write! i hope it meets your expectations nonnie, and thank you for all the detailed ideas <33 much love xx

So yes, Steve sucked at keeping secrets. Making the fact that he was hiding something, something big, from Dustin Henderson of all people felt like a sick joke. Like the universe was daring him to fuck it up.

Because this wasn’t a fling. This wasn’t some temporary, easy thing he could shrug off when it got complicated. It was you. 

Yet Steve couldn’t find it in himself to end whatever had started between you both, bcause dating you was somehow the easiest thing he had ever done and the hardest thing he had ever survived.

Easy, because being with you made everything lighter. You slipped into his life without force, without noise, and suddenly he wasn’t so tense all the time. He laughed without thinking. He breathed without bracing for impact. The constant knot in his chest loosened, replaced by something warm that stayed with him long after you walked away.

Yet, it was so hard because it had to stay hidden.

Steve did not entirely hate the secrecy, and that fact made him feel like a bit of an asshole. There was something selfishly intoxicating about it, about having you all to himself, about the way your smiles and touches belonged only to him in stolen moments and half-lit rooms. Still, the logistics were a nightmare. 

Timing everything down to the minute, picking places that were quiet enough to be safe but not suspicious, constantly looking over his shoulder like he was doing something criminal instead of just falling in love.

All of that made it hard, yet the worst part of it all was Dustin.

Dustin was the one person Steve hadn’t lied to yet. Which was impressive, considering he was your brother and more than capable of beating the living shit out of him if he found out about your relationship.

So yes, in short, Steve hated lying about your relationship.

Though unlike Steve, you were an exceptional liar.

It was a talent you wielded effortlessly and oh so smoothly, never hesitating and never overexplaining. You could look someone dead in the eye and spin a perfectly believable story without your pulse so much as fluttering. 

Steve did not value dishonesty as a character trait. He really didn’t. But you were devastatingly good at it, and watching you lie with that calm, confident ease was — if he was being honest with himself— a huge turn-on. Which probably said more about him than it did about you.

Which was how he ended up now knocking quietly on your bedroom window at 8:30 in the evening.

You opened the window almost immediately, already grinning like you had been waiting there the whole time. Steve barely had time to step inside before your hands were on him, fingers curling into his jacket as you kissed him. 

He was about to say I missed you, baby, but it came out muffled and stupid as your mouth moved against his, sounding more like “I miffed you” than anything intelligible.

You pulled back just long enough to smile at him. “Missed you too, Stevie.”

He laughed under his breath, hands finding your waist automatically as he nudged you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. He pushed you down with gentle insistence. “You called me over like it was an emergency,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “What’s going on?”

You pouted dramatically. “What, I can’t wanna spend time with my boyfriend?”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “You can, but you were very ominous about it.”

“It’s boring here,” you complained, propping yourself up on your elbows. “All Dustin does is run around with his friends doing weird shit. I swear, if I hear about another goddamn radio one more time—”

“Yeah,” Steve cut in, grinning, “exactly. Which is precisely why I should not be here right now.”

You waved him off, completely unbothered. “Relaaax. He’s across the hall and deeply invested in something grossly scientific. We’re fine.” you said, dragging out the words.

Steve glanced toward the door anyway, nerves prickling despite your confidence. “You say that, but I am one unexpected door opening away from ruining my entire relationship with your brother.”

“You’re dramatic,” you said, reaching out to tug him closer by the collar. “Sit.”

Steve leaned back against the headboard while you talked, filling him in on your day in a rambling, animated stream. He listened the way he always did, half-lidded and indulgent, kissing your neck like he had all the time in the world as you complained about something Stacey–or whatever her name was— from gym class did.

“She actually said it was my fault,” you scoffed, waving a hand. “Like I tripped her.”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, lips brushing your skin again. 

You snorted. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am,” He finally looked at you then, eyes hazed and heavy-lidded, that familiar warmth darkened into something lazier, hungrier. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to pull you back against him.

Then, softer, almost amused against your skin, “You know… I don’t think you realize how unfair you’re being right now.”

You hummed, a quiet sound that made him smile into your neck. “Unfair how?”

“These shorts…” he said, kissing just beneath your ear, lingering there. “You look really good in them. Like distractingly good.”

You laughed softly, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. “They’re literally just pajamas, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and amused, “and yet somehow they’re ruining my ability to think straight.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, cheeks warm as you leaned forward to kiss him properly this time. He kissed you back without hesitation, familiar and easy as his hands slowly started to trail lower until they slipped past the waistband of your shorts.

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the faint sounds of the house settling around you.

Then there was a loud thud from across the hall.

Steve stiffened instantly, hand pulling away from you as you pushed him away. You froze too, heart jumping straight into your throat.

Footsteps followed, quick and careless, moving closer.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” Steve whispered, pulling back completely.

“Window,” you hissed.

He scrambled off the bed, movements suddenly frantic as he headed straight for it, fumbling with the latch. He had just shoved it open when the door flew inward.

“Hey, I was just gonna ask if you—”

Dustin cut himself off.

He stood there, a bunch of wires in his hand, staring like his brain had completely short-circuited.

“…Steve?” he said slowly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Steve turned around, caught mid-motion, hair messy, nerves written all over his face. For half a second, he genuinely looked like he might faint. His mouth opened yet nothing came out.

You stepped in immediately.

“Oh,” you said easily, swinging your legs off the bed and standing up like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Steve’s fixing my window.”

Dustin blinked. “Your window?”

“Yup,” you said, nodding toward it. “It’s been rattling for days. You just don’t notice because you’re always blasting that weird static crap in your room.”

“It’s not static,” Dustin said automatically, then frowned. “Wait. Since when does Steve fix windows?”

You didn’t hesitate for a second, the lie slipping smoothly. “Since he fixed his car window last week. Remember? When it got stuck halfway down and he couldn’t roll it back up?”

Dustin glanced at Steve. “You fixed that yourself?”

Steve nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean—car windows, house windows… glass goes up, glass goes down. It’s all the same at the end of the day..” he laughed nervously.

That seemed to satisfy him. Dustin stepped further into the room, peering at the window inspecting the damage. “Huh. That’s actually kinda cool. You should’ve told me you knew how to do this. We could use that at Cerebro. The latch keeps sticking.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, forcing a smile. “Totally. I can look at it sometime.”

“Does it really rattle?” Dustin asked you.

“All the time,” you dragged out the words. “Especially when it’s windy. It’s annoying as hell.”

Dustin nodded thoughtfully. “Weird. I’ve never noticed.”

“That’s because you’re never in here,” you shot back.

He shrugged. “Fair.”

You grabbed your hoodie from the chair and headed for the door. “I’m gonna get the screws from the garage. I think they’re in the toolbox by the washer.”

As you passed Steve, he glanced down briefly, then back up at you, eyes wide and desperate. His expression screamed that this situation had become deeply inconvenient in more ways than one—mostly thanks to the very obvious bulge in his pants from your previous activities.

Steve desperately hoped he could pray this boner away (fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, amen).

“So how long is this gonna take? Mom said dinner’s in like twenty minutes and—”

“Uh,” he said, voice strained as he tried to angle himself away, hiding his little (but apparently not-so-little) friend, “not long. Just gotta… make sure it’s secure.”

Thankfully, Dustin seemed convinced and retreated back to his room, not even slightly suspicious. Steve let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing he would have been absolutely fucked if Dustin had noticed he had a boner while fixing his sister’s window.

2.

“Honey, you want butter or salt on that popcorn?” Steve called from the counter, holding a bucket that looked way too big for what you asked for.

“Is there caramel?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll get that,” he said, and you heard the familiar shuffle of his shoes on the tiles as he walked toward the popcorn dispenser.

You followed behind, pretending to look around but really just watching him—Steve, who somehow looked like the absolute model of a gentleman right now, carrying your purse and filling up two massive buckets of popcorn. You’d asked for a medium, but of course he insisted on spoiling you, like he hadn’t just ripped your dress off a few hours ago in his car. God, you really had it bad for that man.

“Two tickets for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial ,” he said, grinning at the cashier. He added, just for good measure, “The best seats, please.”

After getting the tickets and ordering, yet again, two large slushies, Steve turned, and started walking toward you. He leaned in, presumably for a kiss until you both were interrupted by a round of laughter.

A very familiar, very annoying, very fucking loud laughter.

You both froze. Slowly, you turned.

Dustin, Lucas, Will, Mike, Eleven, and Max were all marching into the theater like they owned the place. Max’s eyes locked on you two first as she saw you both standing right at the ticket counter. 

“Steve… and Y/N??” she asked, voice rising in shock.

Steve sighed, a long defeated sigh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, as he tried to figure out how the hell you’d all just become the center of attention without even knowing.

Dustin’s mouth hung open for a second, then he leaned forward, pointing a finger at Steve. “Why are you two…here?”

“Oh, hello everyone!” you laughed nervously and very much annoyed at the aspect of your date being ruined.

Steve gestured vaguely around the lobby. “Uh. We are here to watch  E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.”

Dustin blinked. “Together?”

Steve laughed. “What, no. No, man. Jesus. We just came here because—” 

Before Steve could finish his horrible half-assed excuse, Mike suddenly stepped forward, voice cracking just slightly as he blurted, “I invited them!”

Every head snapped toward him.

“You did?” Dustin asked.

Lucas frowned. “You did?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Mike nodded nervously. “Ehm–yeah! Thought you guys would enjoy the movie. Y’know, fun group outing. No big deal.”

You shot Mike a look, half confused, half relieved.

Dustin let out a long, dramatic “Ooooh,” instantly forgetting his suspicions. “Well. I mean. If Mike invited you...”

“Then you’re welcome to join us! We are also watching E.T!” Will exclaimed after Dustin.

“Yeah,” El added. “You’re welcome!”

Steve exhaled through his nose as the tension eased and the kids started drifting toward the ticket counter, already arguing about seats. He leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Well, our date is ruined.”

You snorted, slurping your slushie. “Be thankful it’s only ruined. If Mike hadn’t jumped in, you’d be six feet under once Dustin put the pieces together.”

Steve grimaced. “Fair point.” He watched Mike for a second, still baffled. “But I don’t understand…why the hell did he do that?”

You took another slow sip as the sound of the slushie left a grrrrr sound, eyes following the group. “Let’s just say I caught him a few days ago in a… similar predicament to ours.”

Steve frowned. “With who?” He paused, then frowned harder. “El?”

You shook your head, nodding toward the counter instead.

Steve followed your gaze. Mike and Will were standing too close, shoulders brushing, heads bent together like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Something clicked behind Steve’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “He’s screwing Byers?”

You laughed, nearly choking on your slushie. “Lower your voice, Jesus.”

Steve stared, stunned, then let out a breathy laugh. “Holy shit. That explains everything.”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “He owes me one for keeping his secret.”

Steve shook his head slowly, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. “This town is insane.”

“Tell me about it.”

3.

Dustin knew Steve was hiding something.

It was obvious, painfully so, even to someone like him. Dustin liked to think of himself as reasonably perceptive, and even if he wasn’t some kind of psychic genius, his best friend was not subtle.

Although Steve had many talents. Secrecy was surely not one of them. The signs were everywhere. The constant disappearances, the excuses that made no sense if you thought about them for longer than five seconds, the sudden inability to hang out because he was “busy”. Everything was pointing at one obvious conclusion.

And then there was the glow.

Dustin usually didn’t buy into that whole love makes you glow bullshit. It sounded fake, like something Shakespeare would’ve thrown into a sonnet just to sound deep. But Steve had been walking around lately with this stupid look on his face, like his brain had short-circuited and decided to replace all higher functions with glitter and rainbows.

Which was really pathetic, if one asked Dustin.

He was smiling at nothing, laughing under his breath like an idiot, and generally acting like someone had slipped something into his morning coffee that Dustin was starting to reconsider his stance about the whole glow thing.

Dustin was currently slouched in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, watching through the windshield as Steve stood at the counter of the gas station’s grocery shop loading up on sodas. 

The cashier rang everything up at a painfully slow pace, and Steve just stood there tapping his fingers against the counter, completely zoned out, grinning at absolutely nothing in particular.

“Jesus,” Dustin muttered under his breath. “Get a room with your own thoughts, man.”

Steve didn’t hear him, obviously, too busy living in whatever fantasy world had apparently taken up permanent residence in his head. 

Yeah. No question about it. Steve was in love, and therefore, almost definitely dating someone.

The realization did not make Dustin mad. If anything, it made him weirdly relieved. Steve deserved good things, deserved someone who made him smile like that instead of wearing that tight, exhausted look Dustin had gotten used to over the year. 

Still, there was a dull, uncomfortable tug in his chest that he could not quite ignore. Because Steve had not told him.

And Steve told Dustin everything. That had always been their thing, right? So why the hell was he suddenly holding something back now, of all times?

Steve was still inside, taking his time, so Dustin shifted in his seat. eyes drifting around the car. The car was a mess, as usual. Empty wrappers, crumpled receipts, a couple of cassette tapes shoved haphazardly into the compartment between the seats.

Dustin leaned forward, absently opening the little storage drawer built into the dash. He wasn’t snooping, not really. He was just bored, and that was a perfectly reasonable explanation to look around.

His fingers brushed against something small and solid in the drawer. He frowned, then pulled it out.

It was a box; red, neatly packaged, tied with a thin ribbon that had clearly been adjusted more than once. Dustin stared at it for a second, his curiosity getting the better of him. Slowly, he undid the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a golden, delicate necklace with a small heart pendant resting against the velvet lining. Definitely did not look cheap in any means. 

“Ohhh” he murmured quietly.

That settled Dustin’s suspicions; Steve was definitely dating someone, and the idiot was clearly head over heels.

He closed the box immediately and retied the red ribbon, and slid it back into the drawer exactly where he’d found it. 

Steve climbed in seconds later, arms full of junk food, that stupid, soft smile still firmly glued to his face. He dumped everything in the space between the seats and tossed a soda toward Dustin without looking, who caught it out of instinct.

“Got your favorite,” Steve said easily. 

Dustin cracked the soda open but kept his eyes on Steve as he leaned back in the driver’s seat, humming quietly while he sorted through the bags. “You’re in a good mood,” he said, keeping his tone casual.

Steve glanced over. “Am I?”

“Yeah, man,” Dustin said flatly. “You’re glowing. It’s gross.”

Steve scoffed. “Must be the new face wash I’ve been using then. Glad to know it works ‘cause that shit cost me 20 bucks.”

Not that kind of glow, Dustin thought.

“You spent a good three minutes smiling at a bag of chips back there,” Dustin shot back. “So either you’re in love or you’ve finally snapped.”

Steve froze for half a second, his panic showing through. It was subtle, but Dustin caught it anyway.

Interesting.

“In love? Nah man. Where the hell did that come from.” he laughed nervously.

Dustin said slowly, eyes widening. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’?”

“What?” Steve laughed, and far too quickly. “No, I don’t.”

Dustin tilted his head, unimpressed. “Steve.”

“I don’t,” Steve insisted, shaking his head as he started the car. “I’m just, y’know, in a good mood.” he shrugged.

“Gosh,” Dustin said, rolling his eyes. “You suck at this. You’re actually terrible at lying.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. Yes!”

Dustin grinned. “Yes, you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Steve admitted. “I have a girlfriend.”

Dustin let out a loud, undignified noise, twisting in his seat so fast he nearly smacked his knee against the glove compartment. “Holy shit,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed front-row tickets to something incredible. “That’s amazing. Seriously. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Steve hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel like it might give him guidance if he squeezed hard enough. “I just… I’m keepin’ it on the low right now, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Dustin snorted. “You? Steve Harrington? The guy who once announced he had a crush to the entire video store after one date? You’re doin’ ‘low’ now?”

“Okay, shut up,” Steve shot back, but the words were undercut by the way his mouth curved into a smile anyway. “I mean it. I’m just… takin’ my time with this one.”

Dustin’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, this is serious then.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to be let in on a state secret. “So who is she? Do I know her?”

Steve shook his head without missing a beat. “I’m not sayin’.”

“Oh, come on,” Dustin groaned, dropping back against the seat. “You can’t drop that on me and then clam up. I’m happy for you, Harrington. This is huge!”

“I know,” Steve said, quieter now, eyes fixed on the road. “I just need a little time, alright? That’s all I’m askin’ for.”

Dustin studied him for a moment, and whatever he saw there seemed to soften his hurt. He nodded once. “Alright. Fine.” Then his grin came back. “But for the record, I fully expect details eventually. Also, congrats on finally having consistent sex.”

Steve nearly swerved into the next lane. “Jesus Christ, Dustin!”

“What?” Dustin asked, it wasn’t like the topic of sex was taboo between them. 

“You’re clearly happy. And besides, it’s kinda comforting to know you’re finally screwing someone on a regular basis. So honestly, you might as well spill some details.”

“Fuck no,” Steve said immediately, horrified. “Absolutely not. I would rather drive this car into a ditch than talk about that with you. And I’m pretty sure you don’t wanna hear it either.”

“Oh please,” Dustin shot back. “I have heard all the details about your hookups. Tammy Thompson, Carol Perkins, Emilia from—”

Steve winced. “Okay, first of all, you were not supposed to hear about half of those, and second of all,” he added quickly, “you really wouldn’t wanna know about this one.”

“Whatever, I’m just happy for you.” Dustin shrugged.

4.

There’s a saying that goes: even when life takes so much from you, it also gives a lot back. Time heals all wounds, but that was hard to believe when your nights were haunted by the things you’d seen in the Upside Down. 

Even though it had been over a year since the painful experience, the monsters, the screams, there were nights—far too many nights—where the images came back, vivid and cruel. 

Which is exactly how you found yourself lying on the cold kitchen floor at one in the morning, phone pressed to your ear, body curled slightly as though curling into yourself might make the world feel safer. That old wired phone—the one that belonged to your parents—was pressed just so, and your nose was red from quietly sniffing.

“No, Steve, it’s fine,” you whispered, voice tight. “You really don’t need to come over. I… I’ll be okay.”

There was a pause on the other end before Steve’s voice came, tight with worry. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re okay? I don’t care about the time. It’s a ten minute drive, maybe less, and I can be there before you even blink.”

You sniffled again, blinking against the tears you didn’t want to admit were falling. “I… I just want to hear your voice,” you admitted softly. “That’s enough.”

“No, that’s not enough,” he said, frustration and concern threading through his words. “Y/N, you woke up from a horrible nightmare all shaken up and you’re telling me you’re fine? I don’t think so. I’m coming over. I can’t not.”

You let out a soft laugh, barely audible. “Steve…please. I don’t need you to drive over. Just—just talk to me for a minute. I’m too tired to deal with…everything else right now.”

There was a long pause, then the faint sound of him running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stay on the phone. But if you change your mind, I’m out the door in ten seconds.”

You shivered slightly, clutching the phone closer. “I’m… trying. I’m tired, Steve. I just… the nightmares won’t let me sleep.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured softly. “I know. And I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s not fair. You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask to see all that shit, to go through all of it. But I’m here. I’m right here. And you’re not alone, alright?”

You sniffled again. “Mhm. I just… sometimes it feels like it’s back, y’know? Like it’s all around me, and I can’t… breathe.”

Steve’s voice came soft, almost a whisper, like he was leaning over you even through the phone. “Hey… shhh, hey, it’s okay, baby. I know it feels heavy right now, I know it does. But you’re still here. You’re safe and I won’t let anything harm you. I’ve got you, alright? I’ll stay right here on the line as long as you need me.”

A quiet tear escaped, and you pressed the phone harder to your ear. “You really mean that?”

“Every word,” he said. 

“I… I’m really tired,” you whispered, eyelids heavy. “But… thank you. For staying on the phone.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he said. “You hear me? And tomorrow, if you want, we can hang out, eat some junk food, and watch some dumb movies, how’s that sound?”

A soft laugh broke past your exhaustion. “Okay,” you murmured. “Tomorrow sounds… good.”

“Good,” he said, smiling through the phone. “Now close your eyes. Try to rest and I’ll be right here. I promise.”

You yawned, the sound muffled against the phone, and whispered, “I’ll try.”

You were too drowsy to notice the quiet shift on the staircase. Dustin had stopped midway, listening to the faint conversation after he woke up from the sound of rustling downstairs only to find you on the phone. 

His heart twisted hearing your soft, shaky voice. He couldn’t hear Steve's side of the conversation—only your side. But from the way you spoke, he could tell Steve was there comforting you and keeping you safe.

The alarm bells went off in his head, but he shoved them aside. If Steve was the one who could help you through the nightmares, then Dustin didn’t need to dig any deeper for answers or suspicions tonight. 

With a quiet sigh, Dustin crept back upstairs, leaving you to your whispered reassurances and the fragile sense of peace settling over the kitchen floor.

He was, after all, too sleepy and exhausted to think too much of it.

+1

If there was one thing you hated more than anything, it was fighting with Steve.

And somehow, against all odds, he was currently sitting in the living room of your house with Dustin, like this was totally normal and not driving you completely insane. 

Worse, there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t exactly kick your secret boyfriend out in front of your brother. You also couldn’t scream at him, or throw something at his head, or do any of the other deeply satisfying things you’d been imagining for the past two days.

Steve hadn’t even been subtle about it. He’d shown up under the excuse of “hanging out with Dustin,” which was bullshit, because Dustin was busy ranting about some new gadget and Steve hadn’t been listening to a word of it. 

He kept glancing toward the kitchen like he was waiting for you to look back at him, like that would somehow fix everything.

It wouldn’t.

You were in the kitchen, cutting watermelon into uneven slices, jaw clenched so tight it ached. You told yourself you were being efficient, but really, you were being petty. Every slice you set aside for Steve had as many seeds as you could stuff in there—a small, vindictive way to get back at him for the kind of shit he’d pulled.

You didn’t even feel bad about it. He deserved to suffer a little after pulling the kind of shit he had.

You dragged the knife through the rind harder than necessary. And then it slipped.

“Shit,” you hissed as pain flared across your palm, sharp and immediate. The knife clattered onto the counter before you could even process what happened.

Before you could grab a towel, the knife was gone.

You looked up, heart jumping, and there was Steve, standing way too close behind you in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing,” you snapped, instinctively pulling your hand back. “Why are you following me in here? Isn’t it enough that I have to pretend we’re fine in front of Dustin?”

He didn’t argue or even joke. He just sighed, long and tired, like this had been weighing on him for days too.

“Let me see your hand,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“Don’t do that,” he replied, gentle but firm, already reaching for you. “You’re bleeding.”

You hesitated, then let him take your hand. His grip was careful, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. He grabbed gauze from the drawer without even thinking, muscle memory kicking in, and turned the faucet on low.

“This is exactly what I mean,” you muttered. “You act like this and then expect me not to be mad.”

Steve cleaned the cut slowly, eyes fixed on your palm. “I know. And I fucked up. I know I did.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the sound of running water filling the space between you.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel hidden,” he continued, voice low. “I just… every time I thought about telling him, I pictured his face. And the questions. And the way he never shuts up. And I panicked. That’s on me. Not you.”

He wrapped the gauze around your hand, careful not to pull too tight. “You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to feel like I’m ashamed of you, because I’m not at all. I’m just an idiot.”

You swallowed, throat tight, still not looking at him.

“I should’ve done better, but I—” 

“What’s going on in here?”

Both of you froze up. You turned just in time to see Dustin standing in the doorway, eyes locked on your hand in Steve’s, on the gauze, on how close he was standing.

You both turned around quickly, trying to act casual. You held your hand up like nothing happened. “It’s fine,” you said, forcing a shrug. “I’m not, like… we’re not holding hands or anything. Steve was just helping me because I cut myself.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “I mean it, Dustin. It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” he said with a shrug. Then, without warning, he held up a necklace in his hand. A delicate gold chain with a heart-shaped locket dangling from it.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Where—where did you find that?”

Dustin turned toward you, raising the locket so you could see it better. “I went to your room to look for that Indiana Jones DVD you mentioned,” he said casually, “and well… this was just sitting on your dresser.”

Your jaw went slack. “You went in my room?”

He ignored the mini-panic in your voice and glanced at Steve with a sigh that could’ve crushed the both of you. “And you, Harrington…”

Steve straightened, trying to look casual, and opened his mouth. “Listen, it’s not—”

“—so, this is not the same necklace I saw in your car a few weeks ago that was meant for your secret girlfriend?” 

Steve froze for a second, hands halfway raising in defense. “Woah, okay. Uh, I don’t think we should be talking about this like that.” he said, voice cautious.

You jumped in, waving your hands. “Dustin, wait—you need to calm down, okay?”

“Calm down?” Dustin repeated, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “You mean the part where he's been screwing my sister and I find out by a fucking necklace?”

Steve threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it! Look, I wasn’t trying to hide it, not exactly. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I thought you’d get mad. And I didn’t wanna risk our friendship, man. I swear, I was gonna tell you soon, like really soon. It just… happened. And, things kinda happened.”

Dustin tilted his head, holding the necklace up again like it was evidence in a murder trial. “ Steve, you’ve been sneaky and going around hiding stuff, and I get it—you’re happy—but come on!”

The room felt too small all of a sudden. Steve opened his mouth again, clearly ready to keep apologizing and explaining himself, but Dustin didn’t even look at him this time.

His eyes flicked to you instead, sharp and searching in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Can we talk alone?” Dustin said, already turning toward the hallway. It wasn’t really a question.

Steve hesitated, glancing at you with eyes full of worry. You squeezed his fingers once before letting go, a quiet reassurance, and nodded. He stepped back, lingering near the counter.

Dustin led you out into the porch where you sat on your mom’s fluffed up garden couches.  For a moment, neither of you spoke. He stared at the floor, the necklace looped around his fingers now instead of held up like a weapon.

“I’m not mad,” he said finally, voice lower than usual. “Okay, maybe a little mad. But that’s not what this is about.”

You waited. You knew better than to rush him.

He glanced at you then. “I just wanna know if you’re… happy. Like, actually happy.”

You leaned back into the couch, shoulders brushing his. “I am,” you said honestly. “Steve makes me happy. He makes me feel safe. He listens to me, even when I’m being stubborn or when we argue. And yeah, we fight sometimes—but I am happy.”

Dustin was quiet, picking at the chain in his hands. “He better,” he muttered. “Because I swear to God, if he ever—”

“I know,” you said softly, bumping your knee against his. “And I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he’d hurt me. I promise.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He let out a slow breath and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “So why hide it? I mean… I’m annoying, yeah, but I’m not, like gonna sabotage your relationship if you’re both happy.”

You huffed a small laugh. “I know. It wasn’t about not trusting you. It was just… complicated. You’re my younger brother. He’s your friend. And I didn’t know how to tell you without making it weird or feeling like I was crossing some invisible line. Plus, we wanted to keep it private for a while. Just… us.”

Dustin nodded slowly. “You could’ve told me,” he said, quieter now.

“I know,” you replied softly, voice a little tight. “And I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t want the first time you found out to be like this.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching despite himself, a reluctant little smile tugging at the corner. “Yeah… well. Finding out via incriminating jewelry isn’t exactly ideal,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You let out a small, rueful laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. He didn’t pull away, and you let yourself stay there for a beat longer than you should have. “I’m really sorry, Dustin,” you whispered, tone earnest. “You’re my baby brother. I shouldn’t have kept this from you, especially since I know how much Steve means to you. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Dustin’s fingers flexed around the necklace in his hand, and he let out a long, slow sigh, finally pushing himself to his feet. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said quietly, voice calmer now. “I get it. I just… I wanted to make sure you’re actually happy. Not just saying it because I asked. I needed to know that he… that you’re good with him.”

You smiled, warm and a little tender, and stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. 

He froze for half a second, then awkwardly hugged you back just as tightly. 

“Awwww,” you teased softly, pulling back just enough to peek up at him. “My little baby brother, all protective and worried about me.”

Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes but smiling despite himself. “Shut up, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not your baby.”

“Sure you’re not,” you said, still smirking, giving him a playful squeeze before letting go. “Now go. Go tell Steve what’s what before he freaks out even more.”

Dustin muttered something under his breath, tugging the necklace off his fingers, then straightened and strode toward the door. 

You couldn’t help laughing quietly to yourself, watching him go, knowing that underneath the eye-rolling and teasing, he really did care—and that you were lucky to have him in your corner.

Dustin slipped back inside. He found Steve standing near the couch, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. When Steve finally noticed him, his gaze sharpened, and it was full of regret and worry.

“Uh… hey,” Dustin said slowly, shifting from foot to foot. He swallowed, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Can I… can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied immediately. “Anything.”

Dustin swallowed. “Were you ever friends with me just because you wanted her?”

Steve’s stomach dropped at the question.

He straightened, brow furrowing. “What? No. Dustin—”

“Because if that’s the case,” Dustin rushed on, voice tightening despite himself, “I just wanna know. I can deal with it, I just— I don’t wanna be the idiot who thought this meant something if it didn’t.”

Steve took a step closer without thinking. “Hey. No. That’s not—” He scrubbed a hand over his face, searching for the right words. “Man, I didn’t even know she liked me when you and I started hanging out. You were just… you. And you mattered to me before anything else did, you were—are my best friend before anything else.”

“I just—” he hesitated. “I keep thinking maybe I was stupid. Like maybe you were always here for her and I just didn’t see it.”

Steve stepped closer, shaking his head. “You weren’t stupid. And I wasn’t using you. I swear.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What happened with her wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a thing I decided to do.”

“Then what was it?” Dustin asked.

Steve exhaled. “You know how people say you fall in love?”

Dustin nodded slowly.

“Sometimes it’s not like that,” Steve said, voice low, almost careful, like he was trying to measure every word. “Sometimes it’s not this lightning strike or a moment that hits you and knocks you off your feet. Sometimes…it’s more like…you walk into it.” 

Dustin seemed stunned at Steve’s words, not expecting this amount of vulnerability. 

“You walk into it slowly, one step at a time. And at first, you don’t even notice. You think it’s just…life. Just…routine. You don’t realize it until you’re already in the middle of it, completely surrounded, and there’s no going back without losing something you didn’t even know you had.”

Dustin’s voice dropped, small and uncertain. “You couldn’t…help it?”

Steve shook his head, a short, humorless laugh escaping. “No. I couldn’t. Not at all. I thought I could, you know? I tried. I tried to keep it at a distance. I told myself it was a really bad idea.” He stopped, his jaw tightening. 

“But it wasn’t. It was everything. Little things. The way she laughed at the stupidest jokes, even when I was barely funny. The way she listened when I rambled about shit that didn’t matter. The way she could look at me and make me feel like I was enough, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved to feel that way. It’s all those moments, one after another, stacking up quietly until suddenly…it was overwhelming.”

He paused, and his hands flexed against the counter, knuckles white. “And I kept telling myself I was imagining it. That it would pass. That I could step back before it got too…real. And then one morning I woke up and looked at her, really looked at her, and I realized I had it so bad, Dustin. So completely, hopelessly bad. And by that point, it wasn’t a choice anymore. I didn’t even know how to stop. I didn’t want to stop. And I was terrified—terrified that if I stepped away, I’d lose both of you. I’d lose my best friend…your sister…everything.”

He swallowed, eyes glimmering. “And that’s when I understood that I couldn’t help it, Dustin. I didn’t want to.”

Dustin’s shoulders sagged a little. “You were scared.”

“Yeah, terrified.” Steve admitted. “I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want you thinking I crossed some line on purpose. I was just… trying to figure out how to be honest without blowing everything up.”

For a long second, Dustin didn’t say anything. Then he stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, hugging him hard.

Steve froze, then hugged him back just as tight.

“I don’t like it,” Dustin muttered into his shirt. “But I get it.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Dustin said, pulling back and wiping his face with his sleeve. “Just—don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t,” Steve promised. “I swear.”

Dustin dug into his pocket and pulled the necklace back out, the gold chain glinting under the kitchen light. He held it out to Steve, not like evidence this time, but like an offering.

“For the record,” he said, tone almost shy now, “it’s a really nice necklace.”

Steve blinked, then let out a breathy laugh as he took it. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

There was a pause as Dustin leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the front door.

“So,” he said casually. “Why were you guys arguing before I caught you?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

“Oh. Shit.” He looked at the necklace in his hand as he realized he forgot about the argument you both had.

“Oh shit, I—fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, panic setting in fast and unfiltered. “I gotta go. I really screwed it up. Fuck, man, fuck.”

And before Dustin could even respond, Steve was already moving, shoving the door open as he hurried outside.

Dustin watched him go, lips twitching. “I’d say get a pair of earrings this time!” he called after him, laughing when Steve shot him a frantic look over his shoulder and kept going.

He stayed where he was, drifting toward the window without really meaning to. Outside, Steve was already rambling, hands flying as he talked, apologizing in that messy, earnest way of his, clearly trying to fix whatever dumb thing he had managed to screw up.

You stood there with your arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, expression unimpressed in a way Dustin knew very well. The bratty attitude of yours was all there.

Not even halfway through Steve’s frantic explanation, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Steve froze for half a second before melting into it, relief written all over him as he broke the hug to clasp the necklace around your neck, murmuring something Dustin couldn’t hear. 

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

Dustin immediately turned away. “Gross,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Still, he smiled.

Because even if he wasn’t ready to watch it, even if it was weird as hell seeing his best friend kiss his older sister, he knew it was right. He knew you were happy.

And he knew, deep down, that Steve had somehow managed to stumble into exactly the person he was meant to love.

steve harrington masterlist

a/n: for some reason this fic took me a whole 40 days to write, but nonetheless it was a very fun and cute experience <3 i enjoyed exploring more of steve and dustin's dynamic, so hopefully i did it all justice!!

He had only signed up to be a baseball teacher for a bunch of eleven-year-old kids who couldn’t hit a ball to save their lives. That was the plan. An easy plan that does not involve any hot college girl.

That was until he got that stupid damned promotion: coaching first-year college students for the upcoming Hawkins baseball match next month. The pay was good. The kids weren’t bad. In theory, it was a really fucking great idea

Reality, however, had one glaring flaw.

You.

A bratty, infuriating girl who acted like she owned the field. One particularly sharp corner of reality that Steve had not anticipated.

And right now, of all times, you were leaning against some smug jock named Jacob, laughing too brightly, shifting your weight in those short shorts that—Steve was certain—violated every dress code in existence. The top wasn’t helping either. It clung tightly to every curve he was trying hard not to catalog.

So yeah, in short Steve was fucking annoyed.

Not because he was jealous, he was a professional. He could separate work from desire. But seeing you, right now, ignoring his practice orders, teasing this bastard, and moving like you had every right to do whatever the hell you wanted on his field infuriated him.

And while Steve did not enjoy taking privilege of his job, he also did not enjoy the situation he was put in. So, he proceeds to interrupt whatever flirty conversation you're having with that jock.

“Jacob!” he shouts, voice cutting clean through the chatter. “You plan on actually doin’ somethin’ today, or you just here to decorate the field?”

Jacob startles, straightening instantly. “I was just talking, Coach.”

Steve fixes him with a look. “C’mon, man. Five laps now across the field and back. Hustle.”

A collective groan ripples through the team as Jacob mutters something under his breath, then starts jogging off, throwing you a lazy wink over his shoulder like he has won something.

You laugh and wave, arms crossing over your chest, clearly entertained by the attention.

Steve stalks over, boots crunching against dry grass, stopping directly in front of you. He crosses his arms, jaw tight.

“So,” he says, voice low but sharp. “You gonna just stand there flirtin’ with half the team, or you plannin’ on actually participatin’ today?”

You roll your eyes, entirely unimpressed. “I wasn’t flirting, Coach. I was talking. He’s just my friend.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, looked real friendly from where I was standing.”

“Oh, please,” you reply. “You’re acting like I committed a felony. Besides, you don’t yell at the guys when they’re joking around.”

“That’s ‘cause they still get their drills done,” he shoots back. “You’re distracting people.”

Your brow arches. “Funny. I didn’t realize talking to people was a distraction.”

He exhales through his nose, already regretting letting this turn personal. “Storage room,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the far end of the field. “Grab a bucket of practice balls and the extra gloves. We’re short.”

You huff, clearly annoyed, but turn on your heel anyway. “Whatever.”

Steve watches you go before he can stop himself. The way you move is effortless, confident, like you belong anywhere you choose to stand.

Eyes on the field, he reminds himself, dragging his attention back to the team.

Inside the storage room, the air is cooler, dust hanging thick and familiar. You drop onto a bench with a sigh just as your friend Bree jogs in after you, shutting the door behind her.

She leaned back against the shelves, arms loose, eyes drifting lazily as if she were seeing something far more interesting than the boxes stacked around her.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, voice low and dreamily reverent. “Coach Harrington is so fucking hot. I swear, he could bend me over this bench and I wouldn’t complain for a second.”

You winced, gripping the edge of the bench. “Bree,” you said, cutting her off sharply. “Stop. Jesus.”

She laughed, soft and unapologetic, her eyes sparkling. “What? You’re telling me you don’t see it? The way he moves? The way he—ugh, forget it, you’re blind.”

“Too bad he’s annoying, then,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, trying to sound casual though your stomach fluttered at the thought. “Otherwise, I might’ve let him do… whatever the hell he wanted to me too.”

Bree’s mouth fell open, already primed to argue, eyebrows shooting up in mock scandal.

“Ha!” she whispered, leaning closer, conspiratorial. “You’re not even pretending to be innocent, are you?”

Before she could get any further, the storage room door creaked open.

Steve stood there, one hand braced against the frame, the other rubbing tiredly over his face as though he had just walked into the exact last thing he wanted to deal with today. His messy hair fell into his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in equal parts irritation and disbelief.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re in here chattin’ like it’s a coffee break.”

You and Bree froze instantly, caught mid-gesture. Steve’s eyes flicked from your face to the bucket in your hands, then to the gloves still half-scattered across the bench.

“Drop it,” he said, tone sharp enough to make your stomach tighten. “Both of you. Out on the field. Line up, now.”

Bree gave you a sideways glance, lips twitching with barely contained laughter, and you groaned, standing reluctantly. “He’s lucky he’s hot,” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself.

Steve didn’t miss it. His eyebrows shot up, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh, I heard that,” he drawled, mock-scolding but impossibly close to amused. “You’re lucky I’m not marking up your ass for talking back.”

You smirked, brushing past him, arms crossed over your chest just enough to irritate him. “Yeah, well, maybe I like being marked,” you teased.

And Jesus Christ, when the hell did first year college students get so damn kinky?

You don’t cast a look back on your coach as you set the bucket down a little too fast, gloves clattering to the floor as Steve steps aside, ushering you out with a pointed tilt of his head.

Out on the field, the rest of the team watches with thinly veiled curiosity as you and Bree take your places at the front. Steve positions himself a few feet away, posture straight, whistle resting against his chest.

“All right,” he says. “Basic swing form. Bree, you’re up.”

Bree steps forward confidently, adjusting her grip before swinging. The hit is sloppy, her stance uneven.

Steve sighs. “Okay, stop. Your feet are too close together. Open your shoulders a bit. There. Try again.”

She follows his instructions, swings once more, and this time the contact is cleaner.

“That’s it,” he says, nodding. “Good job. Head back.”

Bree shoots you a smug grin as she jogs off toward the bleachers.

Steve’s gaze slides back to you. “Your turn,” he says. “C’mon.”

You step forward, gripping the bat, jaw tight. You swing.

Steve clicks his tongue. “Nope. Wrists are stiff. Loosen up.”

You adjust and try again.

“Still wrong,” he says. “You’re rushin’ it.”

You grit your teeth. “That’s literally the same thing Bree just did!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Focus.”

You swing a third time.

He exhales slowly. “Jesus. Are you even listenin’?”

Your head snaps toward him. “I am listening.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies coolly. “You’re droppin’ your elbow.”

You stare at him, heat crawling up your neck. Bree’s form had been worse. You are sure of it. Yet Steve had corrected her once and sent her on her way.

With you, he seems intent on dissecting every movement. What a fucking asshole.

Your grip tightens. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

He shrugs lightly. “Just doin’ my job.”

The bell rings across the field as groans erupt as the team disperses, collecting bags and heading off. Steve raises his voice. “Everyone’s dismissed!”

You relax, already turning to leave.

“Not you,” he adds casually.

You stop. “What?”

“Your form sucks. You’re stayin’ after to practice. We’ve got a match next month, and I’m not sending you out there like that.”

The field empties around you, the noise fading until it is just the two of you standing beneath the late afternoon sun.

Steve rolls a ball into his palm and tosses it lightly, watching you with focused intent.

“Grab the bat,” he says. “We’re not done yet.”

****

“You see this?” Steve says, tapping the knob at the base of the bat with two fingers. “Grip alignment. You don’t choke up unless I tell you to. Got it?”

You nod quickly, nerves buzzing under your skin. The bat feels lighter than expected, but your palms are slick, trembling. Your body betrays you in the worst ways.

Steve watches, chest tightening as he notices your hesitation, the way your fingers curl around the bat. Fuck, he can feel his cock swell in his pants at the thought of adjusting your hands. He steps closer.

“No, here,” he murmurs, already reaching for you. His large, warm hands close around yours, guiding your fingers into place with deliberate precision. Both hands now, his thumbs brushing knuckles, steadying you in a way that feels too intimate, too close.

You try to focus. You really do. But every brush of his gloves, every press of his chest against your back, makes your mind fray, your body react, and you curse yourself for wanting it.

Steve circles behind you, hips brushing yours as he shifts you just enough to feel the curve of your ass against him. 

Every nerve in his body hums with awareness. He presses lightly, just enough to make you inhale sharply. Fuck, he thinks.

“Feet shoulder-width,” he murmurs near your ear, chest still brushing your back. “Don’t lock your knees.”

You inhale, exhale, lift the bat.

“All right. Swing.”

The ball skews off to the side. “Fine,” Steve says. “First attempts suck. Try again.”

Before you can respond, he’s right behind you again, hands over yours. He nudges your elbow, tilts your shoulders, presses just enough to make your breath hitch. His hips are against yours, and for a second, you swear you feel him hardening further.

“Pay attention,” he murmurs, voice low, hot against your neck. “We don’t have all day.”

Every nerve is alive. Every thought is filthy. You want him there, want this, and Steve knows it. He can feel it—the way your body leans into his, how your hips press back just enough to tease him. God, he wants to fold you over the nearest bench, fuck you stupid right here.

“See that?” he says softly, angling your swing. “Feel it?”

You nod, chest tight, words lost somewhere in your ribcage.

Steve steps back finally, folding his arms, but the heat between you doesn’t dissipate. His cock is still painfully evident, his mind racing with filthy thoughts.

“Again,” he says, eyes dark. “And this time, don’t fight it.”

You lift the bat, heart still racing, and swing.

You concentrate hard on shutting out the awareness of how close he is, drawing in a slow breath as his hands settle over yours, guiding your grip and angling the bat toward the incoming pitch.

“Right there,” he murmurs.

You swing, sending the ball flying forward before striking the target and dropping to the dirt with a satisfying thud.

“Good girl,” Steve breathes near your ear.

The words hit you instantly, legs weakening before you can stop the reaction. You shift back without thinking, searching for balance, only to find him solid behind you. 

His body presses fully into yours now, close enough that every point of contact feels unavoidable. Your back arches slightly as you steady yourself, the movement instinctive, and your hips brush against his before you can catch yourself.

You can feel his bulge pressed against your behind, and it feels so good. 

“Coach, please,” embarrassment burns through your body at what you just did, but before you can try to pull away from him, Steve's hands grasp your hips and pull you right against him, his hands keeping you in place as you hear his breathing pick up and feel his cock grow harder in pants.

“Come on,” Steve murmurs, grip tightening. “You swing clean, follow through the way I showed you, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

The bat feels warm beneath your palms as your hands shake just slightly, excitement thrumming through you. You've wanted this for so long, and to hear that you're so close to getting it has your pussy soaking your underwear. 

With every correction he drilled into you echoing in your head, you line up your stance, fix your grip, and swing, sending the ball cleanly into the next target with surprising precision.

Steve's hands slide under your shirt and move up from your hips to just below your breasts, his thumbs brushing against the underneath of them teasingly. You whine desperately, wanting his hands to go further, but clearly he has no intention of moving them.

“Just— just touch me.” you breathe, frustration and need tangling in your voice. A quiet chuckle ghosts your ear.

“I am touching you,” he murmurs, voice smooth, infuriatingly calm. “Just two more,” he says quietly. “C’mon. I know you’ve got it.”

You reset your stance, replaying his instructions as you swing again. The contact is solid, the ball striking the next target hard enough to jolt it, though not quite enough to send it toppling. A soft sound of frustration slips from you before you can stop it.

“So close,” Steve murmurs, approval threading his tone. “See? That was good.”

Steve’s hands remain on you, steady and instructive, but the closeness makes it hard to concentrate. Your focus fractures, thoughts drifting not towards practice but towards his fingers now teasing around your nipples.

“God,” he mutters, voice thick now. “Such a good student when you’re desperate.”

You whine, hips rocking back into him without permission. 

“One more,” he murmurs. “Give me one more good swing.”

You steady yourself, then swing again, and by some miracle it hits, even though you can't focus on it anymore. 

“Stop being a fucking asshole and just touch—” you gasp.

And that was it. That was all it took.

Because suddenly he spins you harshly around and his mouth is on yours.

It’s not hesitant. There was no warning, no moment of restraint. Steve moved first, decisive and unyielding, cutting you off mid-insult as his mouth claimed yours like he had been waiting for the excuse all along. 

The sound you make is soft and startled, swallowed immediately by the press of his lips.

Your hands come up to his chest on instinct, meant to push him back, meant to create distance. They do the opposite. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt instead, knuckles tightening as you pull him closer.

His teeth catch your lower lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your breath hitch. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, and his body shifted just enough that you could feel the hard line of him pressing against your hip.

Steve breathes, his gloved hands trailing down your curves. Your breathing becomes heavy as he does, and your cunt is soaked by now, leaving a wet patch on your underwear.

You break the kiss and1 grab him across the field without hesitation, tugging him into the storage room with a force that makes him stumble slightly, the door slamming shut behind you with a sharp click. 

Your pulse races at the thought that a student—or even the janitor— walking in at any second, and it only sharpens the fire burning through you.

Before he can catch his breath, you crash into him, pressing your body against his and taking the kiss, hard and demanding. 

Your fingers dig into his hair as you tug him closer, needing every inch of him pressed against you. Your desperation hums through your chest, claiming him again and again, every second a frantic, heated battle against the risk of being caught.

“You should’ve started using all that energy like this an hour ago,” he muttered into your mouth.

“God, shut up,” you whispered

He takes off your shirt, begins to undo your bra, and soon it's forgotten on the floor as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing your hardened nipples. A moan escapes your mouth, and your head tilts back, eyes closing in ecstasy.

His brown eyes held you captive, deep and intense, stirring a twist of anticipation in your stomach you could not ignore. 

Strands of his messy hair fell across his forehead, soft and disheveled, demanding to be touched. His hands moved with precision, sliding along your sides, tracing the line of your waist, and brushing across your ribs in a way that made it impossible to stay composed. And then lower. Fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts. 

“Please.”

“Shhh,” he whispered, lips trailing down your throat. His hand slipped beneath your underwear, and his fingers dipped into the slick heat of you without hesitation. “You’re soaked.”

You exhaled, hips jerking.

“Stay quiet. You don’t want anyone catching us here, do you?”

“No,”

“Can you keep a secret, baby?” he whispers as his fingers start teasing your entrance.

“Fuck you—ah!”

He rubbed slow circles over your clit, light at first, then firmer when you tried to grind down against his palm. “Sounds like you’re trying to.”

A sharp sound slipped from you, half gasp, half curse. His fingers moved with maddening precision, teasing every reaction. You rocked your hips without meaning to, chasing the pressure of his hand, chasing the heat pooling low in your belly. 

He groaned, clearly enjoying the show you were putting on in between his arms, and you hated that it only made it worse — how good it felt, how good he was at this.

“How long’ve you been thinking about this?” he asked, voice low and warm in your ear. “About me touching you like this?”

“S-shut up, just keep going.”

“Tell me,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Or I’ll stop.”

You shook your head. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He chuckled, cocky and smug, his fingers sliding lower to push one, then two, inside you. You moaned, back arching, hands fisting in his shirt.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pumping his fingers slow, curling them just right. “Say it.”

You hated him, hated how he made you betray yourself, hated that your body obeyed him while your mind screamed no. And yet, you needed it.

“Been…thinking about it,” you rasped, eyes fluttering closed. “Ever since I started practicing baseball. Since I saw you out there on the field with the kids.”

His groan was filthy. “Really?”

You nodded, unable to stop yourself. His fingers moved faster, thumb pressing against your clit just right, and your thighs trembled around him.

“You gonna come for me, sweet thing?” he asked. “Right here, on my hand?”

Your nails dug into his chest as the heat coiled tight, tight, tight—

Then snapped. 

“Oh God—” You came with a sharp gasp, trembling against him as his fingers worked you through it, drawing every last wave out until you were shaking in his arms, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

He smirked as he pushed you into the wall of the storage room against a box of sport supplies. “Wait—what are you—”

“Oh baby, we aren’t done yet.” he said as he started to slowly peel your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare in front of him. 

For a moment you feel bashful, wanting to cover yourself to hide from his intense gaze, but before you can think to do anything, his hands are on your hips, turning you around and pushing you down so you're bent over the massive box of supplies.

His hands spread your thighs open, leaving your glistening cunt exposed for him to see. You hear him let out a whimper at the sight.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty and wet,” Steve mumbles, running his fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. One thick finger circles your tight hole before slowly pushing in, drawing a deep groan out of you. 

It's only one finger, and it's already stretching you out so much. You have no idea how you'll manage to take his cock.

“It's too big,” you whine pathetically, pressing your face against the wood of the container . Behind you, Steve chuckles, curling his finger inside you.

“You can take it,” he encourages you, his tone soft and teasing.

His finger pushes against that sweet spot inside you, making you moan louder than you did before and causing your cunt to clench around his digit. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” Steve muses before pushing another finger in and thrusting them both in and out of you quickly, stretching you out for him. 

You can't help but blush at his praise, feeling your pussy leak even more. The pleasure builds in your stomach, but you're still not quite there. 

At first, you held your breath, but the moment his head dipped, a sharp gasp tore from you, hips jerking instinctively. His hands pressed firmly against your thighs, holding you open as his mouth closed over your clit. His tongue started with gentle, teasing flicks, then grew harder, faster, mirroring the ragged rhythm of your uneven breathing.

“Fuck—” you moaned, hips instinctively rolling into him. He pinned you down, one arm braced across your stomach, the other sliding lower, two fingers pushing deep inside you.

“Shit! I—fuck, don’t stop!” Your hands clawed at the edges of the box, nails digging in, desperate for something to hold.

“Fucking hell, you taste unreal. Like this cunt was made for me.”

Embarrassment should have hit you at the sounds leaving your lips, but Steve gave you no room for shame. He devoured you relentlessly, sucking and teasing your clit as if he intended to claim every sound from your throat.

“Ah! Please, please, please!” you gasped, fist tangling in his messy hair.

A low groan rumbled from him at the sound of your begging, tongue flattening over you while his fingers sped inside you.

“Yeah? Begging now?” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, lips glistening with your slick. “Didn’t think that mouth of yours could beg. All that attitude earlier and now look at you.”

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimpered, thighs quivering on either side of him. Your body arched over the box, cries escaping as his fingers struck that perfect spot again and again. “Fuck—oh god—Steve—”

“That’s it,” he hissed, eating you out like a man possessed. “Say my fuckin’ name. Let everyone hear who’s making you come like this.” 

You were so close it hurt, your body coiled so tight you were seconds away from breaking.

He spat on your clit. “Filthy little thing,” he panted, rubbing the wet slickness in with the pad of his thumb and spreading your ass cheeks further apart. “You like that? You like when I get messy with you?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, yes—!”

“Say it. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to ruin you.”

“I want it!”

The second orgasm hit like a freight train. Your body slumped over the edge of the sports supply box, thighs tightening around nothing as a scream tore from you. Your hands gripped the sides of the box, knuckles whitening, legs trembling violently as waves of pleasure ripped through you.

Steve groaned low behind you, tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm, drawing every shudder and gasp from your trembling, soaked body. 

There’s a rustle of clothes behind you before you feel his cock pressed hard against your slick, twitching hole. You spread your legs instinctively, aching for him after wanting this for so long.

“Easy, baby,” he rasps, his voice low and rough. “I’m gonna put it in, yeah?”

He rubs his cock along your slit, gathering your wetness, dragging you slowly mad with need.

“‘S too much” you whine, desperate, trembling.

“Shhh, you can take it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, guiding himself inside with deliberate pressure. 

You cried out, eyes flying wide as his cock stretched you open inch by inch. He was thick, the kind of deep burn you’d fantasise about and wish you’d get it but you knew you couldn’t take it, the kind of stretch that left you clenching and gasping. 

It felt like too much, like you couldn’t possibly take it all — but your body betrayed you, greedy and slick, pulling him deeper.

“That’s it,” he groaned, burying himself fully with one slow, brutal thrust. “Takin’ me so fucking well.”

You were keening, mouth open, nails scraping the mat as he bottomed out inside you. “Steve—!”

“I know, baby. I know it’s a lot,” he growled, hips pressing against you. “I’m big, huh? But look at you—fuck—this tight, pretty pussy’s taking me so well.”

Once you adjust, the sting melts into pure need, and you push back, urging him deeper. “Fuck, yeah—just like that,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, driving you harder, relentless, insistent. 

“Gonna fuck you real good.”

All you can do is hum in agreement, unable to answer him properly with the pleasure coursing through your body with each thrust of his hips. Another orgasm is already building up inside you, but you know him fucking you isn't enough to make you cum.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for his that’s pinned right beside your head, dragging it down between your legs. 

Pressed over the sports supply box, it’s awkward, but Steve angles his hand expertly, slipping two fingers against your clit and rubbing it harsh and fast, making you fuck yourself against him at the same time.

Groans and moans spill from your mouth, but through them you catch the sound of his low, ragged panting. The thought that you affect him just as much as he affects you makes your cunt clench around him, and he groans, pressing his forehead against your back.

“You take me so damn well,” he growls, voice thick with need. “Feels like you were made for this, just for me.” His words pull a high, desperate whine from you, and he chuckles darkly. “Like that, huh? You want me to fill you up?”

You nod frantically, barely able to process anything beyond the fire in your body, hips trembling as your pussy spasms around his cock and his fingers dig mercilessly at your clit. “Bet you’d look so good leaking all over me,” he rasps, “hell, you’d look even better with my baby in your belly.”

The filthy words push you over the edge. You cum hard around him, body shaking, tears spilling down your cheeks as pleasure overwhelms you again. 

He doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting harder and harder, slow now on your clit but relentless in driving into you, letting you ride out the aftershocks.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, hips snapping into yours with measured force. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Coming all over me like a slut, yeah?”

All you can do is whine and whimper at his words. Words have never made you feel so good before, but it isn't surprising that a man you have craved for so long would have you feeling this way.

You slowly begin to come down from your high when all of a sudden Steve pulls out of you with a hiss, and you want to whine at the loss of contact. 

However, Steve begins to lift you up by your hips and turns you around, making you sit on the container with your legs spread, your juices leaking out of your cunt onto the surface below you.

“I want you to look at me when I cum inside you,” Steve orders, but the words come out rough and shaking, like he’s barely holding himself together.

You do. God, you do — eyes locked on his, breath stuttering as you spread your thighs wider while he pushes back into your wet folds. 

The sound you both make is broken, helpless, like relief and need crashing together all at once.

Steve groans your name and suddenly he can’t help it anymore. He bends down and kisses you — hard and desperate — like he’s been starving for it. His mouth claims yours, messy and hungry, swallowing your gasp as if he needs it just as badly as the way your body takes him.

His pace turns fast and rough, one hand gripping your hip like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, the other digging into your thigh as if grounding himself. You kiss him back just as desperately, clinging, mouths open, breath mixing while your overstimulated cunt tightens around his thick length.

“Steve,” you gasp into his mouth, sore already but aching for more, for everything. 

“Never seen anyone look this good. You were made for this. You were made to take my cock, weren’t you?”

You nodded helplessly, tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt.

“Say it.”

“I was,” you gasped. “I–I was made…for…it—”

“Good girl…God, you’re so fucking tight. So perfect for me. Gonna come inside, fuck—”

Steve groaned low as he came, thick and hot inside you, every twitch of his cock driving you tighter around him. 

He pressed himself flush against your shoulder, panting and growling, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt his teeth bite you hard making you let out a loud moan at the mark he probably just left.

You could feel his warm cum as he filled you so completely you were certain it would spill out the moment he pulled out.

He slowly pulled back, and as gently as possible pulled his cock out of your and tucked himself in. You winced just slightly at the loss of contact making him freeze immediately. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, chuckling softly, still perched on the sports supply box. “No, I’m okay,” you said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He smiled, tugging your underwear and gym shorts back into place and leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You did so good for me,” he murmured against your lips.

You smirked. “Ehh… you were okay,” you teased, letting the bratty grin spread.

“Oh, really?” he said, mock-offended, eyes glinting. “That’s all I get? After all that?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Coach,” you warned.

He chuckled, leaning closer. “Well… I guess I owe you a date then—after, apparently, not fucking you well enough. How about Thursday night? I’ll come pick you up.”

You nodded, trying not to blush. “Fine… I’ll hold you to it.”

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, the storage room door burst open.

You both froze as a loud gasp filled the tight space. Your eyes landed on Derek, standing there with a shocked expression looking at your messy hair, wrinkled clothes, and your hands wrapped around Steve’s neck.

“You’re screwing college students?!” he screamed at his coach.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. He was probably stuck at work late, or Robin had roped him into some unnecessary crisis, or he had finally crashed after a long stretch of pretending life in Hawkins could be normal again. 

You left a voicemail anyway telling him to call you back when he got the chance. Except he did not.

The next morning came and went without a word. He did not show up at Family Video. He did not swing by your house orsneak through your window with a grin and an excuse already prepared. He did not even call to say goodnight.

By the second day, the quiet had begun to crawl under your skin.

You called Robin first, trying to keep your voice casual, like you weren’t counting the hours since you’d last heard him breathe on the other end of the line. 

Robin hadn’t seen him and neither had Dustin, who sounded more relaxed than worried and assured you Steve probably just needed space. Nancy hadn’t heard from him either, which finally made your stomach drop.

Forty eight hours passed with nothing. No calls, no messages, no sign of Steve at all. By then, the worry had settled deep in a way you could not shake. Hawkins had taught you too well what silence could mean. Fights turned ugly. People got hurt. Gates opened where they were never meant to, and monsters followed. 

That was when you stopped pacing, grabbed your jacket and keys, and left. The drive blurred past in a haze, every red light stretching your nerves thinner as you headed straight for his house.

Steve’s house looked the same when you pulled up, painfully ordinary in the late afternoon light. His car sat in the driveway, exactly where it always did. The sight of it sent a rush of relief through you, followed immediately by something sharper and more frightening.

If he was here, then why hadn’t he answered you?

You didn’t bother knocking. The front door was unlocked, just like always. The house was quiet in a way that made your chest ache, the air stale and heavy, as if it hadn’t been disturbed in days.

“Steve?” you called, your voice already tight with fear.

No answer.

You stepped inside anyway, your heart racing as you moved further into the house, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.

There is usually music playing somewhere, or the television running in the background, or Steve himself calling out when he hears the door. Now there is nothing. No lights on. No footsteps. Just the dull thud of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Your hand closes around the bat leaning against the wall by instinct more than logic. You hate how natural it feels, how easily fear slips into your grip. 

You call his name once, softly, then again a little louder, but the house does not answer you back. The stairs creak under your feet as you climb them, your breath shallow, your mind racing through every worst case scenario you tried so hard not to think about on the drive over.

Steve’s door is half closed.

You push it open only to find him in bed.

The sight of him hits you so suddenly you almost forget to breathe. Steve is buried beneath a mound of blankets, hair a complete mess, pillows shoved wherever they fit. For one terrifying second you think he is asleep too deeply, until he shifts. A pair of tired brown eyes peek out at you.

“Baby,” he says hoarsely, blinking like he is trying to focus. “What are you doing here?”

He does not get another word out before his face scrunches up and he turns away, sneezing once, twice, then again in quick succession, loud and miserable.

“Bless you,” you say immediately.

He sniffs, rubs at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, and squints up at you like the light itself is offending him.

You sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blankets back just enough to look at him properly. He looks ridiculous and adorable and very clearly sick. Your hand goes to his forehead, then to his cheek, cool skin contrasting with the heat you can feel underneath.

“Steve,” you say softly. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were feeling ill?”

His eyes soften immediately when he looks at you, even now. “Didn’t wanna worry you,” he says, though it comes out more like, didn’t wanna worr yew because of his stuffed nose.

You stare at him for a beat, then reach out and press the back of your hand gently to his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” you murmur, palm pressing gently to his forehead.

Steve barely reacts, only letting out a miserable little sound as he sinks deeper into the mattress. You shift closer without thinking, worry tightening in your chest as you take him in properly. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, coaxing rather than scolding, “you can’t just… rot in bed like this.”

His face scrunches immediately, nose red and shiny, lips pulling into that pout that would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s infuriatingly cute. Endearing in a way that makes you want to kiss it and shake him at the same time.

“I’m not rottin’,” he mumbles thickly, voice clogged and slow. “I’m… restin’. ‘S cold and I’m sick. This is how people—” he sniffs hard, “—people die alone.”

You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself. “You have a fever and the sniffles. You’re not dying.”

He cracks one watery eye open to look at you. “That’s what they all say.”

You sigh, fingers already tugging the blanket down. “You need to get up and have a warm bath and actual food. Then you can get back in bed like a dying sick person.”

He opens his mouth to argue and sneezes instead three times in a row. “Bless you,” you say automatically between each sneeze.

You smile, even as the knot in your chest tightens. “That’s the fifth time in ten minutes, baby.”

“Not my fault,” he mutters, pushing himself upright with clear effort. “M’body’s turnin’ on me.”

“Which is why you gotta get out of bed and let me take care of you.”

“Don’t wanna.” He gets all stubborn as he pushes the blanket up.

You pull the blanket away and reach for the hem of his sweater and gently tug. “Come on, arms up.”

“If I take this off, I’m gonna freeze.”

“You’ll survive the walk to the bathroom,” you say dryly.

He pouts as you pull the sweater over his head, hair sticking up even worse than before. The sight makes your chest ache in the softest way. His nose is red, his eyes glassy, lashes clumped together slightly from sneezing so much.

“God,” you murmur without thinking, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He flinches slightly.

You pull back, confused, until you see the way he is looking at you now, worried instead of sleepy. “Hey,” he says quietly, hands coming up to your sides. “I don’t want you getting sick from kissing me.”

You soften, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Steve, I’ve already been worried sick for two days. If I catch the flu, it’s probably happening anyway.”

He exhales, then pulls you closer instead, arms wrapping around you tight and warm. You laugh quietly as he buries his face against your shoulder.

“What do you want, hmm?” you ask, teasing gently, fingers combing through his hair.

He sighs, voice small and earnest. “I want love and affection.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m hugging you right now.”

He shakes his head, stubborn even like this. “Not enough.”

You laugh again, kissing his cheek this time, then his temple. “Okay. Deal. You go take a bath. I’ll make you something to eat and change the sheets. Then you get back in bed and I’ll give you all the love and affection in the world.”

He considers that for a moment, then nods solemnly. “Okay.”

You guide him toward the bathroom, hand firm at his back. He shuffles his feet the whole way, dramatically miserable, pausing in the doorway like he might simply collapse there instead.

“I’m going to freeze,” he insists.

“You will be in warm water.”

“And then I’ll get out and freeze again.”

“I will have towels ready.”

“And then I’ll die.”

You roll your eyes. “Steve.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then softens, shoulders sagging as he steps into the bathroom. “You’re being really, really bossy,” he says.

You turn the water on for him, testing the temperature until it is comfortably warm. “Sit,” you tell him, pointing at the edge of the tub.

He obeys without complaint, watching you with open affection as you move around the room like this is second nature. When you straighten, he reaches out and hooks a finger through your sleeve, stopping you.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You look at him. “Yeah?”

He swallows, gaze dropping before he looks back up at you. “Thanks for coming,” he murmurs, voice rough and a little clogged. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just… didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Your heart twists. You reach out, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Next time you’re sick,” you say softly, with a small smile meant only for him, “you call me. I don’t care if you sound ridiculous or weak. I want to know and I want to be there for you.”

He smiles faintly. “Deal.”

You squeeze his hand once before leaving him there, steam already beginning to fill the room. As you step away, you head for the kitchen, already thinking about the soup you’re gonna make for him.

You return to the bedroom with the bowl balanced between your palms, steam rising in soft curls that blur the room at the edges. The house is hushed in that suspended, late afternoon stillness, and for the first time since you arrived, the tightness in your chest finally loosens and you’re not worried anymore.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed where you left him. He looks freshly showered, hair still a little damp and curling at the ends, pushed back in a way that makes him look younger somehow. 

He has changed into one of his hoodies, oversized and soft, and a pair of worn sweatpants. What really gets you, though, are the socks. Two thick pairs pulled up almost to his calves like he is bracing for the arctic.

He is watching you with an attention that makes you slow without meaning to. Not hazy or unfocused like before, but steady and present, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely laced together as his eyes track you across the room like he is afraid you might vanish if he looks away. 

You set the bowl down on the nightstand beside the bed and glance back at him, quieter now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His mouth tilts into a smile that is still a little crooked from congestion, his voice coming out warm and stuffed. “Nothig,” he says, sniffing. “I just… really love you.”

Your heart does that stupid, immediate thing it always does with him. You step closer, standing between his knees, and he tips his head back to look up at you, hands automatically settling at your hips like that is where they belong.

“I love you too, Steve,” you say, leaning down just enough to brush your nose against his.

His grin spreads, way too pleased with himself for someone with sneezes and sniffles. “Sooo,” he drawls, leaning back like he is pitching a very serious idea, “is this the part where I get my love and affection?”

You laugh quietly. “Aren’t I giving you plenty right now?”

He shakes his head, dramatic as ever. “Nope.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding like he has thought this through very carefully. “I had something… more specific in mind.”

You narrow your eyes, already suspicious. “Which is?”

He smirks, or at least attempts to. “I think we should have sex.”

You narrow your eyes. “Steve, you're sick and—.”

“—Okay, rude because I’m not that sick,” he interrupts, sniffing. “I am mildly compromised. Big difference.” He leans forward a little. “Also, I have not fucked my girlfriend in fifty one hours.”

You blink. “You counted.”

“Obviouly,” he says, offended. "And this little guy really missed you.” He gestures to his crotch.

You cut him off before he can spiral any further, reaching for the bowl and the spoon with a patience that is starting to fray. 

“Okay. That’s enough,” you say, sitting beside him and angling the bowl into your hands. “Open your mouth.”

He immediately leans back, eyes widening like you have just threatened him. “No.”

You blink. “I swear to God if you do not eat it, I will shove this–.”

He immediately takes the spoon and swallows a bite.

“So,” he says slowly, thoughtfully as he chews the vegetables. “Does this mean after I eat we’re gonna have sex?”

“No, Steve,” you say, very calmly, as you scoop up another spoonful. “It means you eat your soup and get better.”

“But babyyyy—”

You shove the spoon into his mouth before he can finish, eyebrows lifting in warning.

He swallows, eyes flicking up to you again, still soft despite the pout tugging at his mouth. “…I love you,” he says, like it might change your mind.

You smile despite yourself and lift the spoon again. “I know. Now eat.”