#steve x reader

He held doors open for you even when you were twenty feet away and then just stood there waiting like an idiot. He memorized your schedule 'by accident' and somehow always ended up near your locker. He started hanging around Mr. Clarke’s classroom after school even though science made his brain hurt, just because you were there.

He’d stare during lunch, chin in his hand, smiling like a complete loser while you rambled about scholarships and college applications and how you couldn’t wait to see the world outside Hawkins.

Tommy caught him once and snapped his fingers in his face. “You’re doing the heart-eyes thing again.”

“The what?”

“The pathetic, princess-in-love look. It’s disgusting. I need you to get it together.”

He didn’t get it together.

If anything, he got worse.

The whole school knew. The way he lit up when you waved at him like you waved at everyone else. The way he’d drop whatever he was doing if you so much as looked like you needed help.

Everyone knew.

Except you.

You, apparently, were immune to the obvious because in your head, Steve Harrington was just. . . Steve Harrington. Popular. Nice, lately. Weirdly friendly. Probably like that with everyone.

You never noticed how his entire world tilted toward you.

You had bigger things to think about.

Like getting out of Hawkins.

Mr. Clarke had stopped you after class a week ago, papers tucked under his arm, glasses sliding down his nose. He’d cleared his throat in that hopeful way teachers did when they were about to ask for a favor.

“I’m starting a peer tutoring program,” he’d said. “Colleges love community involvement. It would look very good on scholarship applications.”

You’d said yes before he even finished the sentence.

Anything that helped you leave.

You didn’t hate Hawkins. It just never felt like it belonged to you. It felt small, like a sweater that shrank in the wash. Your dreams didn’t fit here. You wanted big libraries and campus buildings covered in ivy and lecture halls and cities where no one knew your last name.

Your family supported you completely. Your mom already saved college brochures in a neat stack on the kitchen counter. Your dad bragged about you to the neighbors like you’d already made it.

Leaving didn’t feel sad.

It felt necessary.

So you signed up to tutor, figuring maybe a freshman or two would show up for help with algebra or biology. Maybe no one at all. You wouldn’t have blamed them.

Which is why, when you walked into the library after school and followed the little handwritten sign that said PEER TUTORING →, you weren’t prepared to see Steve Harrington sitting at one of the tables.

Waiting.

For you.

For a second, you genuinely thought you’d walked into the wrong place.

Steve didn’t belong here. The late sunlight through the windows caught in his hair, turning it gold, and he looked so out of place it almost made you laugh.

Then he saw you.

And his whole face changed like someone had flipped a switch inside him. He sat up straighter so fast he almost knocked his chair over.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like he’d run here. “Hi. You’re— uh. You’re the tutor, right?”

“. . . Yeah,” you said slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Are you lost?”

His heart actually stuttered.

Lost. God. If only you knew.

“I mean,” you added quickly, “this is the tutoring area. If you’re looking for the magazines or—”

“No,” he said too fast. “No, I’m supposed to be here. I signed up. For tutoring. With you. I mean— not with you specifically. I mean— I guess it is specifically. But like, academically. For school. Obviously.”

You blinked at him.

Steve Harrington. The guy who once asked if The Great Gatsby was a real person.

You stared at the neat pile of books in front of him.

“. . . You need tutoring?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Turns out if you don’t pay attention for, like, three years straight, stuff catches up with you.”

You laughed softly and that sound hit him straight in the chest.

God. He’d do anything to hear that again.

“Oh,” you said, pulling out the chair across from him. “Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at explaining things. What do you need help with?”

Everything, he almost said.

But not the homework.

He needed help with how you were sitting across from him, sleeves pushed up, pen tucked behind your ear, already focuse like this was the most important thing in the world. He needed help with how you bit your lip when you concentrated. How you leaned closer to his side of the table without even realizing it.

Instead, he slid the biology book toward you with slightly shaky hands.

“Cells,” he said. “They’re. . . confusing.”

You smiled at him like this was totally normal. Like he was just another student.

And Steve swore he’d never wanted to be anything more and anything less at the same time.

“Okay,” you said. “We’ll start easy.”

Easy. Right.

Except nothing about this was easy for him.

Because every time your fingers brushed his while passing a pencil, his brain short-circuited. Every time you leaned over to point something out, your shoulder bumping his, he forgot what planet he was on. He nodded along to explanations he barely heard because he was too busy staring at your mouth forming the words.

You thought he was struggling with science.

He was struggling with you.

“You’re actually catching on pretty fast,” you said after a while, surprised. “You’re not as bad at this as you think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re trying. That’s, like, ninety percent of it.”

Trying.

If you only knew.

He’d rearranged his entire schedule to be here. Asked Tommy to quiz him the night before so he wouldn’t look completely clueless. He’d even read the first two chapters so you wouldn’t think he was hopeless.

All because you were here.

Because the idea of you leaving Hawkins one day, chasing some big, shiny future, while he stayed behind. . . it twisted something ugly in his chest.

He wanted you to fly.

He just selfishly wished he could go with you.

“You know,” you said absently, scribbling notes for him, “I didn’t think anyone would actually sign up for this.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said with a little laugh. “But I’m glad you did. It’s nice helping someone.”

He swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

You kept talking and Steve just. . . stared.

Not in a creepy way. Not on purpose.

He just couldn’t help it.

You had this little crease between your brows when you concentrated. You explained things with your hands, fingers tapping the table, drawing invisible diagrams in the air, and every time you leaned closer to underline something in his book, your shoulder brushed his and his brain turned to static.

He tried, really tried, to look at the page.

Cell membrane. Cytoplasm. Nucleus.

None of it stuck. All he could think about was how close you were.

“Okay,” you said, tapping the paper, “so think of the cell like a tiny city. The nucleus is like the mayor’s office. It controls everything. Does that make sense?”

Steve blinked.

You were looking at him so earnestly, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, that actually. . . helps. A lot.”

Your face lit up, proud and pleased. “See? I told you. You’re not bad at this.”

God.

He thought, distantly, that this had to be some kind of cosmic joke. Hawkins High’s former golden boy reduced to putty because you told him he understood a metaphor.

Pathetic.

He’d fought monsters. Literally. And this, this tiny smile from you, was what took him out.

You kept teaching, and he kept pretending to follow along, nodding at the right times, scribbling down notes you handed him. But half the time he was just memorizing you instead. The soft little “okay” you said when he got something right.

By the time the session ended, his chest hurt. Not in a bad way. Just. . . full. Like he’d swallowed too much feeling and didn’t know where to put it.

“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, packing your bag.

He tried not to sound too eager. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

Great. Like this wasn’t going to be the highlight of his entire day.

The week after that, something was different. You didn’t notice it at first because you were busy, always busy but Steve Harrington started showing up in your life.

The first time, you were juggling way too many textbooks outside your locker, stack wobbling dangerously, and before you could even adjust your grip, a pair of familiar hands reached out and took half the weight.

“I got it,” Steve said.

“Oh— thanks,” you said, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. I’m strong. Carrying books is kind of my thing.”

You knew it was not but you laughed, and he swore he’d carry the entire library if it meant hearing that again.

Then you started noticing him at your debate competitions, leaning awkwardly against the back wall of the classroom, pretending he was just “walking by” even though debate club met on the opposite side of the school from literally everything he did. Every time you looked up mid-argument, there he was, watching you like you’d hung the moon, clapping a little too hard when you finished.

In class, he’d somehow snag the seat next to you before anyone else could, sliding into it with an almost shy, “This taken?” even though he knew you’d never say no. He’d save you a chair at lunch, push it out with his foot like it was nothing, cheeks pink when you thanked him like he’d done something special.

And the tutoring sessions. God, the tutoring sessions.

He started getting good. Like, actually good.

He showed up having already read the chapters. He remembered things you’d explained days ago. Once, he even corrected himself mid-problem and you just stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Wait,” you said, leaning closer to check his work, “this is right. Steve, this is completely right.”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.

“Yeah. That’s really good. Good job, Steve.”

Good job, Steve. It was such a normal thing to say.

You said it the same way you’d say it to anyone else. But to him, it felt like you’d reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He actually stopped breathing for a second.

Heat crawled up his neck, ears burning, stomach flipping stupidly like he was thirteen again.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks,” he muttered, staring very hard at the paper so you wouldn’t see the way his smile went soft and helpless.

You didn’t notice, just kept going, already onto the next question.

He thought, distantly, that if you ever said you were proud of him, he might actually die on the spot.

He thought about asking you out a hundred times.

Every single session.

When you leaned over him to point at a diagram. When your knees bumped under the table. When you smiled and told him he was improving. When you got excited explaining something and grabbed his sleeve without thinking.

The words sat on the tip of his tongue.

Do you maybe want to get coffee sometime?

Do you want to go to the movies?

Do you want to go out with me?

But then he’d look at you talking about scholarships and universities and all the places you were going to go, all the things you were going to be, and something scared inside him would whisper, She’s out of your league.

You were brilliant. The kind of person teachers wrote recommendation letters for without being asked.

He was. . . Steve.

Former jerk. Former king. Current disaster with questionable grades.

Even if no one else believed it, even if the whole school thought you were lucky to have him hovering around, Steve secretly thought the opposite.

He felt lucky you even talked to him.

So instead of asking you out, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He tried harder.

He memorized your favorite authors after overhearing you talk about them with Nancy, went home and borrowed the books from the library just so he’d have something to say. He stayed up reading half-asleep, underlining sentences he thought you’d like. The next day, he’d casually drop, “Oh, yeah, I started that book you mentioned,” like it was no big deal while internally panicking.

Your face would light up every time. “Wait, really? You’re reading that?”

“Yeah,” he’d shrug. “It’s pretty good.”

You smiled at him, completely oblivious, and launched into a ten-minute rant about the book and he listened like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

And Steve sat there every single day thinking the same hopeless, aching thought. If he was brave enough, maybe one day you’d finally see what everyone else already did.

How completely, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you he was.

The opportunity came wrapped in cheap tinsel and paper snowflakes taped crookedly to the hallway ceiling.

You were hunched over the library table with Steve again, pencil tapping against your lip while you explained balancing equations for what felt like the fifteenth time, when the intercom crackled to life with some overly cheerful announcement about the Snowball Dance.

You barely registered it beyond a vague mental note that the gym would be unusable for the next week because student council would inevitably turn it into a dance zone.

Steve, on the other hand, heard the words Snowball Dance and nearly swallowed his tongue.

He tried to act normal, nodding along while you talked, but his brain had completely abandoned chemistry and latched onto one thought like a dog with a bone.

Dance.

Dance meant dates.

Dates meant asking someone.

Which meant maybe, possibly, if the universe was feeling merciful, he could finally ask you. His palms started sweating so bad he had to wipe them on his jeans.

You didn’t notice. You were busy drawing little diagrams and saying, “See? You just move the coefficient here.”

When the session ended, you both started packing up, you sliding your color-coded notes into neat folders, him shoving books into his bag with way too much nervous energy, when a familiar voice drifted over.

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite nerds.”

Nancy.

You looked up immediately, smiling. “Hey.”

Nancy leaned against the table, eyes flicking between the two of you in a way that felt suspiciously knowing. “I was actually looking for you,” she said to you. “What are you wearing to the dance?”

You blinked. “The dance?”

“The Snowball,” she said patiently. “This weekend. You are going, right?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I think so. My mom found this amazing blue dress in the back of her closet. It’s kind of old, but it’s nice.” You shrugged, like it didn’t matter.

“And who are you going with?” Nancy pressed, way too casually.

You laughed. “No one? I mean, I’m not entirely sure anyone’s even going to ask me, so I’ll probably just show up and hover near the snack table or something. It’s fine. I mostly just want the extra credit for attendance.”

Steve felt like someone had just set off fireworks inside his ribcage.

Nancy’s gaze slid to him slowly and then she gave him the look.

It was long and pointed and screamed, If you don’t ask her out right now, I will personally strangle you, Harrington.

Steve panicked.

Nancy patted your arm. “Well, you’ll look pretty no matter what,” she said. “Jonathan’s dragging me, so at least we’ll all suffer together.”

You smiled. “Have fun.”

She shot Steve one last sharp stare before walking away.

The silence that followed felt deafening.

Steve’s heart was beating so hard he was convinced you could hear it. You were still organizing your bag, completely unaware that this was possibly the most stressful moment of his entire life.

Just ask her.

It’s not that hard.

It’s literally just words.

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

He closed it.

Tried again.

“So,” he started, voice cracking like a middle schooler’s. He cleared his throat. “So. Uh. The dance.”

“Yeah?” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“You said you didn’t have a date.”

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s fine though. I’m not super big on dances anyway.”

Right. Cool. This was fine. He was dying.

“Well,” he rushed out, words tripping over each other, “maybe you. . . I mean— if you wanted we could, uh, like go together? If you want. Totally cool if you don’t. I just thought, you know, since we’re already tutoring and yeah.”

He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

You just stared at him for a second. Then you smiled. Like he’d just offered you something nice and simple and not the entire fragile state of his heart.

“I’d like that,” you said. “Yeah. I’ll go with you, Steve.”

He stopped breathing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “I mean, you’re basically the only person I talk to after school anyway. Might as well.”

Might as well.

It shouldn’t have made him that happy.

But it did. It really, really did.

The days leading up to the dance were unbearable for everyone around him.

Because Steve would not shut up.

He talked about it constantly. At his locker. In the hallway. During lunch. To Tommy H. and Carol. To random freshmen. To literally anyone who made eye contact for longer than two seconds.

“Do you think blue is, like, a flower color? Should I get her a flower? Is that too much? Do girls still like flowers? What if she hates flowers? Oh my god, what if she hates dancing—”

“You’ve been on actual dates before,” Carol groaned. “Why are you acting like this is your first crush ever?”

“Because it kind of is,” Tommy muttered, annoyed. “He’s gone full loser. It’s painful to watch.”

Steve didn’t even argue. He just grinned like an idiot and kept talking about you.

They were sick of it but he couldn’t help it. He felt like his life was about to start.

When the night finally came, everything felt. . . good.

And then you walked in and you looked like the only thing in the room that mattered.

Steve forgot every single word he’d ever learned.

You smiled when you saw him, waving a little.

“Hey.”

The night blurred after that. He held your hand during slow songs. You talked in the corner about everything and nothing, about college applications and your favorite books and stupid childhood stories. He told you things he didn’t tell anyone, about feeling lost sometimes, about not knowing what came after high school, about being scared of messing up.

You listened and for the first time, Steve felt seen.

You laughed together, danced badly together, shared terrible punch and even worse cookies. At one point your head tipped back when you laughed and he thought, distantly, If this is all I ever get, it’s enough.

Walking you home felt like the end of a movie. His heart was so full it almost hurt.

At your doorstep, you turned to him, smiling, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Then you leaned up and kissed his cheek.

His brain shut off completely. He thought he might actually pass out.

And then you smiled at him. “Thank you for being such a great friend, Steve.”

Friend.

It hit harder than anything else. Harder than a punch. Harder than rejection.

Friend.

His heart didn’t just drop. It shattered.

He stood there, frozen, mouth open, watching you disappear inside.

The door clicked shut.

He didn’t move. Just stood on your porch for ten whole minutes, staring at the wood grain, replaying everything in his head and feeling stupider with every second. Of course. Of course you only saw him as a friend. Why wouldn’t you? You were you. He was just some guy who needed tutoring and followed you around like a lost puppy. What made him think you’d ever look at him the way he looked at you?

He laughed once, bitter and quiet.

Idiot.

Absolute idiot.

But then something in his chest twisted, stubborn. If he walked away now, he’d regret it forever. So before he could talk himself out of it, he turned back and rang the doorbell again.

Please don’t be her parents.

Please don’t be her parents.

Please—

The door opened.

It was you.

Hair slightly messy, earrings gone, rings off which told him you were already winding down for the night.

“Steve?” you said. “Did you forget something?”

You stood there in the doorway looking at him like this was the most normal thing in the world, like boys didn’t usually show up on your porch ten minutes after dropping you off at midnight looking like they were about to either confess their love or throw up.

Your hair was half falling out of whatever you’d done to it for the dance, little pieces soft around your face, earrings gone, makeup smudged just enough to make you look real and tired and warm instead of polished and perfect. You had on an old sweater, sleeves too long, swallowing your hands, and Steve thought, distantly, that this version of you might actually kill him faster than the dress did.

“Steve?” you asked again, gentler this time. “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing.

Closed it.

His brain was screaming at him to abort mission, go home, save whatever dignity he had left, but his heart was louder, pounding so hard he swore you could probably see it through his shirt.

“I— yeah. I mean. No. I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his hair, messing it up for once. “Can we— can we talk for a second?”

Your brows pulled together immediately, worried. You stepped out onto the porch and closed the door softly behind you so you wouldn’t wake your parents.

“Of course. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Yeah, he thought. I fell in love with you and you called me your friend and now I feel like I got hit by a truck.

Instead, he just looked at you.

God.

You were looking at him like you cared.

Like you were already bracing to help him.

It made everything worse and better at the same time.

“I just—” He exhaled hard, hands on his hips, pacing once like he was about to give a presentation. “When you said that thing earlier. The friend thing.”

You tilted your head. “What thing?”

“When you said thanks for being such a great friend,” he said.

“Oh.” You smiled a little. “Yeah. Because you are. You’ve been really sweet lately, Steve. Like, really sweet. You didn’t have to come to my debate stuff or help me carry books or—”

“That’s the thing,” he blurted.

You stopped.

He looked at you like he was about to jump off a cliff.

“I don’t do this for my friends, okay?” he said. “I don’t match ties and memorize your stupid study schedule and wait outside tutoring for forty minutes just to walk you there for my friends.”

You blinked.

“. . . You wait outside tutoring?”

“Yeah,” he said helplessly. “All the time. Because you always show up early and I didn’t want you sitting alone.”

Your brain stalled.

“I don’t read Jane Austen and whatever that other one is— Brontë?— for my friends. I don’t buy strawberry milk when it’s disgusting just because you like it. I don’t sign up for tutoring I don’t even need just to sit across from someone for an hour for my friends.”

Your mouth fell open a little.

“. . . You hate strawberry milk?”

“It’s terrible,” he said immediately. “I don't get how you drink it.”

You stared at him. “Huh,” you said faintly. “So you didn’t match your Snowball tie to my dress on accident?”

Steve froze.

“. . . You noticed that?”

“It was literally the exact same shade of blue,” you said. “I thought it was a coincidence.”

He let out this small, broken laugh and covered his face with his hand. “Oh my god. I spent two hours at the store trying to match it. Nancy almost killed me.”

“Oh,” you breathed.

Oh.

All those times he showed up. All those little things. The books. The seat saving. The tutoring. The way he looked at you like you were saying something important even when you were just rambling about mitochondria.

Your stomach flipped.

Steve dropped his hand and looked at you again, eyes wide and terrified and so soft it made your chest ache.

“I like you,” he said, finally, simply, like it cost him everything. “Not like a friend. Not even a little. I’ve liked you for months. I just— I didn’t think you’d ever look at me like that. You’re. . . you’re you. And I’m just me.”

You frowned immediately. “Steve.”

“No, let me finish before I pass out,” he rushed. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same. I just— I couldn’t go home with you thinking I was doing all this because I’m nice. I’m not that nice. I’m selfish. I do it because I want to be around you all the time. Because you’re my favorite person. Because when you talk about leaving Hawkins, it freaks me out because I can’t picture this place without you in it.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could hear it in your ears.

He swallowed.

“So yeah. That’s it. I like you. A lot. Like, embarrassingly a lot.”

For a second, neither of you said anything.

And then you stepped closer.

Steve immediately tensed like you were about to reject him and he was bracing for impact.

Instead, you reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket.

He short-circuited.

“Steve Harrington,” you said slowly, “you absolute idiot.”

His heart dropped. “Oh.”

“I thought you were just being nice,” you continued. “I thought you felt bad for me or something. I didn’t think. . . I mean, why would I think you liked me?”

He stared at you. “Why wouldn’t you?”

You gestured vaguely at yourself. “I’m me. I carry six books at all times and talk about scholarships for fun.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Exactly.”

Your throat tightened.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Oh.

The way he looked at you suddenly made sense.

Everything did.

You laughed a little, shaky and fond. “Steve, you’re such a dork.”

He smiled nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“But,” you said, stepping even closer, “for the record. . . I don’t go to dances with just friends either.”

His brain stopped working.

“. . . What?”

“I said,” you murmured, cheeks warm, “I wouldn’t have gone with you if I didn’t like you too.”

The hope that lit up his face was so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“Wait. Really?”

“Really.”

“Like. . . like like me?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Yes, Steve. Like like you. You’re cute. And you carry my books. And you listen to me talk about boring stuff without falling asleep. That’s basically marriage material.”

He laughed, breathless, disbelieving.

“You’re serious?”

“Steve,” you said softly, “I’ve liked you for a while. I just thought you were out of my league.”

He stared at you like you’d just told him the sky was purple.

“Out of— are you insane?”

You both laughed, nervous and giddy and a little overwhelmed.

And then you were just. . . standing there.

Close.

Really close.

His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you.

You noticed. So you took pity on him and slid your hands up into his jacket, gripping the fabric.

His breath hitched.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, like it was the most fragile question in the world.

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “You can.”

He leaned in slow, like he was scared you’d disappear if he moved too fast, one hand cupping your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. His lips brushed yours soft.

When you pulled back, you were both smiling like idiots, foreheads touching, noses bumping.

Steve let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “So. . . not just friends?”

You smiled, kissing him again. “Definitely not just friends.”

"Hi," you say back, grinning up at him, happy to see him.

He mirrors your smile. “Okay, so I need a second opinion on the naming convention for my new campaign NPC. ‘Zargoth the Destroyer’ or ‘Lord Malador of the Shadowed Vale’?"

"Hmmm, I like Zargoth better. It's more intimidating. Plus, short and sweet, you know what I mean?"

Steve stares, remote dangling from his fingers. “Henderson. My house. A ‘hello’ would be nice. An appointment would be better.”

Dustin waves a dismissive hand. “Hi, Steve. This is important.” He plops down on the floor in front of you, effectively blocking Steve from your line of sight.

It doesn’t stop there.

Two days later, you’re helping Steve sort a mountain of mismatched socks that have just come out of the laundry. Weirdly, it's somewhat of a bonding experience, doing laundry together.

Robin lets herself in, her eyes landing on you like a spotlight.

"Oh, thank God you're here," she breathes.

"Where else would I be?" you joke.

She plops down on the bed, messing up Steve's organised sock piles. He sighs.

“My date with Vickie. At Enzo’s. It’s tomorrow. It’s a real, sit-down, checkered-tablecloth kinda date."

You put down the polka dot socks you were holding to beam at her. "That's amazing, Robin! I know how much you were looking forward to that."

"It is amazing! But it's also a crisis!" She grabs your shoulders, her eyes wide. “What do I wear? Do I go cute? Do I go cool? Do I try for both and risk looking like I’m trying too hard? And my hair— can you braid it?"

Steve holds up two socks that are clearly not a match—one black, one navy. "Hello? We're doing laundry. We were in the zone."

Robin spares him a haphazard glance. "This is important, Dingus." She turns back to you. "Please, I need you. I'm vibrating."

You can't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I like your outfit now. It's chic, but doesn't look like you're trying too hard. And I can totally braid your hair, but I think it might look better down? Light makeup I can help you with, maybe a little eyeliner on your waterline. I have one I think'd suit you, it's in the bathroom."

Robin tugs on your hand, pulling you up to stand. "You're a genius."

Steve watches, helpless, as you're swept upstairs in a whirlwind of pre-date panic, then back down at his socks. "They're both dark," he mumbles to himself.

The true test of his patience comes during a Friday night movie marathon in the Wheeler’s basement. You’re on the floor, leaned back comfortably between Steve’s knees, his fingers in your hair, scratching absently at your scalp. It’s perfect. It’s your spot.

The movie plays, and Steve is content, his world pleasantly narrowed to the familiar weight of you against him and the scent of your shampoo.

Then, Lucas slides over from his spot next to Mike. He looks desperate. "Hey," he whispers, his voice strained. "I need help. It's an emergency."

You tilt your head back to look up at Steve with an apologetic smile before turning your full attention to Lucas. "What's wrong?"

"I pointed out a zit on Max's face," he confesses in a horrified rush. "I wasn't trying to be mean! I just noticed it! I said, 'Is that a new zit?' and she... she hasn't spoken to me in two hours. She's just been giving me this death glare. What do I do? Do I apologise? Do I ignore it? Do I buy her nail polish? Is nail polish even an apology gift?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but your eyes are sympathetic. "Oh, Lucas. Okay. First, do not buy her nail polish. That implies you're paying way too much attention to her appearance, which is the problem. Buy her new skateboard bearings, she mentioned she needed some. And definitely apologize. Say, 'I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say.' Keep it simple."

Lucas nods frantically, absorbing the instructions like they're a military briefing. "Got it. Thanks." He scuttles back to his spot, already planning his approach.

Steve’s hand has stilled in your hair. You feel him take a slow, deep breath behind you.

Before you can settle back against him, you catch Max’s eye from across the room. She gestures subtly with her head towards Lucas and rolls her eyes, but you see the hurt in them.

You give her a small smile in acknowledgement. Mouth, 'he's sorry. He'll make it up to you.'

Then, Dustin’s head appears, blocking the TV. “Okay, one more question about the D&D character convention. If a—”

But Steve has had enough.

He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, soft murmur, tinged with a vulnerability that makes your heart clutch. “Hey, angel... can we get out of here?”

You twist to look up at him. In the flickering blue light of the TV, his expression isn’t annoyed. It’s wistful. A little tired.

“Yeah,” you whisper back instantly, without hesitation. “Of course.”

You gently extract yourself from his hold and stand up, reaching for your jacket. "We're gonna head out," you announce.

A chorus of groans erupts.

“What? Now?” Dustin whines.

"Yeah, I had a question to ask you!" Mike exclaims. "It's, like, life or death. I think the Chief's gonna kill me if I go see El again—"

“You can’t leave, I haven’t executed the apology protocol yet!” Lucas whisper-yells, panicked.

Steve opens his mouth, a familiar, defensive retort about how you’re not a UN negotiator clearly forming. But you step in before he can.

You smile, soft but firm, and slip your hand into Steve’s. “You guys’ll be fine,” you say, your tone gentle but leaving no room for debate. You turn your smile up to Steve, eyes warm. You give his hand a little squeeze. “I want some alone time with my boyfriend.”

The groans taper into scattered laughs. Max sends you a not very discreet thumbs up.

Steve looks down at you, warmth pooling in his chest. He gives you this look of such pure, dazed adoration it makes your heart skip. He doesn’t say a word. He just lifts your joined hands and presses a firm, grateful kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You heard the lady,” he says to the room, his voice light and full of happy energy. “We’re off-duty. Emergencies will have to wait.”

He leads you up the basement stairs, the sounds of the movie and the kids’ renewed bickering fading behind you.

The second the Wheeler’s front door clicks shut, sealing you both in the cool, quiet dark of the porch, Steve stops. He turns, and in the soft glow of the porch light, his expression is completely unguarded—all soft eyes and a tender, wobbly smile.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He wraps his arms around you and sways gently on the spot, his cheek resting against your hair.

“My sweet, perfect girl,” he coos, the words a warm rumble against your temple. "You were so patient with them, solving everyone’s problems.”

He pulls back just far enough to cradle your face in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your cheekbones with a reverence that makes you feel dizzy.

He’s beaming at you, his eyes shining with so much affection it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in and peppers a flurry of soft, quick kisses all over your face—your forehead, your nose, each eyelid, your cheeks—murmuring between each one.

"My smart girl... giving everyone life advice... always being so kind and helpful and perfect..."

He finally lands on your lips, kissing you slow and deep, a kiss that tastes like gratitude and awe. When he breaks away, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’m gonna melt into a puddle right here on Mrs. Wheeler’s porch,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with feeling. "The way you handle them all, and then you just… you turn those big, beautiful eyes on me and say that? In front of everyone?” He lets out a shaky laugh, his nose nuzzling against yours. “I’m done for. Completely done for.”

He hugs you again, squeezing you tight and lifting you just an inch off the ground. “C’mon, my love,” he says, "let's go to my place. I just want to look at you for a while. Is that okay? I just wanna hold my girl and look at her.”

You laugh, the sound full of softness and affection for your sweet, adorable boyfriend. "It's more than okay. Take me home, please, baby. I'm all yours."

A soft, almost wounded sound escapes him and he hugs you impossibly tighter for a second, his face buried in your neck. "Oh, my heart. You're gonna kill me. You're so perfect."

Steve finally lets you go, but only to take your hand, lacing your fingers together in a grip that feels reverent. He leads you to the car, opening the passenger door for you with a soft, "In you go, gorgeous."

The drive to his house is quiet, but the silence is thick with a new, syrupy sweetness. He keeps your hand in his lap, his thumb stroking incessantly over your knuckles when he's not changing gears.

"Just look at you," he murmurs at one red light, his free hand reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're so beautiful. I can't believe you're mine."

"I am," you remind him softly, leaning into his touch.

"I know," he breathes, like it's the greatest mystery and miracle of his life at the same time, somehow. "I know, baby. And I'm never letting go."

Once home, he doesn't even turn on the main lights. He guides you to the living room couch by the faint glow from the kitchen. He sits down and pulls you into his lap, arranging you so you're sideways, your legs draped over his, your head tucked perfectly under his chin. He wraps both arms around you, letting out a long, contented sigh.

"Here we go," he whispers, his lips against your hair. "Right where I wanted you all night. Just my girl and me."

You hum, a soft, contented sound as you melt into his warmth, all the busy energy of the night finally draining away.

Steve presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You must be so tired, sweet thing," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble in his chest. "Taking care of everyone all the time." His hand rubs slow, comforting circles on your back. "My sweet, exhausted angel."

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "But you know what?"

"Hmm?"

"Steve, baby, you do realise I work at the movie theatres?" you asked, boxing up popcorn for someone who had brought tickets.

"Yeah, and I work at family videos, still wanna see you."

You had to admit, with the both of you in between jobs and babysitting gigs you somehow always got roped into it had been hard to get alone time together. But date night at the place you worked wasn't your idea of magic.

But Steve had turned up, his family video vest still hanging on only half an hour or something after his shift because he wanted to spend a night with you.

It was also humanly impossible to say no to Steve. "Fine. Weekend at Bernie's is on tonight at seven and that's one I haven't actually seen yet."

"Perfect," he grinned. "I'll pick you up when you're done here, drop you off at yours so you can get ready then I'll pick you up for six-thirty."

"Steve, that's too much driving, I can get the bus back."

"The bus?" he gasped dramatically. "I'd never have my girl on a bus." Steve pushed himself over the counter, pecking your sweet and salty lips from the popcorn you swiped between customers.

So at seven on the dot the two of you were walking through the cinema. The perks of working there was the tickets and treats you got on discount that Steve still insisted on paying for. He had Reeses and Boppers while you had the largest box of popcorn that Steve wasn't even sure was an option for regular customers.

You settled into your seats in the rather packed cinema and Steve threw an arm around you as the previews started.

"See, this is nice," he uttered to you. "Just you and me, date night."

Even if this was a room you swept more than fives times a day even you could admit, it all felt different with Steve.

You laid your head back on his arm. "Yeah."

Steve admire you. "I love you."

His lips were as soft as always as they kissed you, not daring to go any further while sitting in the middle of the cinema. If it was the back row, on the other hand-

"Shit, shit, I can't see,"

"Dustin, just move,"

"I am, geez, I just paid for this popcorn I am not spilling it,"

"You're walking like a grandma,"

"Grandma Henderson is spry for her age, asshole!"

Steve's nose brushed yours as he pulled back, dread marking his features. "It can't be."

Your heart sank. "No."

"Holy shit, hey guys!" said Dustin Henderson.

There was a chorus of surprise from them all: Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. They piled in, pushing and shoving each other on the row below you.

"Huh, what are the chances?" Dustin grinned.

Steve laughed through clenched teeth. "Ha ha, tell me about it."

Lucas frowned at you. "Hey, I thought you worked here."

"I do."

"So don't you see movies on shift? You know, for free?"

"Woah, genius, I hadn't thought about that."

Max rolled her eyes, tugging on Lucas's arm. "They're on a date, leave them alone."

"Oh- oh!" said Dustin in loud exclamation. He apologised to those around him. "Sorry, sorry. We'll just take our seats, don't worry, you two carry on, you won't even know we're here."

Steve and you were not convinced even before they sat down. They sat down right on front of the two of you, the curls of Dustin bouncing as he tried to situate himself with his large soda and even larger popcorn.

Lucas and Max were arguing over who sat where while Will took the seat on the end, quietly munching on his popcorn and watching the preview intently.

"He's my favourite kid," said Steve to you.

Dustin's head turned back. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Steve pushed his head around. "I wasn't talking to you."

"Oh right, yeah," Dustin apologised. "Not even here, we're not even here."

The movie started and they seemed on their best behaviour for all of five minuets. It was really Steve that started it, un-able to stop himself when he saw Lucas yawn and dramatically stretch out his arms until one of the laid across Max's shoulders. He couldn't not lean in to tell you that was his move.

"It's a classic," he whispered to you. "I've taught all of them that but Lucas executes it flawlessly."

Lucas looked back to the two of you and Steve threw a very proud thumbs up.

The quiet of the cinema room was interrupted when Will opened a large pack of chips. A collective 'shh' came from every party in the room.

Will lit up in red. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Hey, Will," Dustin tried to call as quiet as possible which for Dustin was not quiet enough. Another round of 'shh' started. "Shh yourselves."

"Dustin," you lectured.

"What? I just want some chips!"

Will took some before passing along the bag, letting Lucas take a generous hand full before handing it over to Dustin. The crinkle of the bag as he dove in was louder than the movie.

Dustin turned around to the two of you. "Any for yourselves?"

"No," said Steve. "Turn around."

"Alright, alright, was just asking!"

The rest of the movie went more like that. A passing of snacks and whispers that led to glares from everyone trying to watch the film. Every time you and Steve tried to settle in with each other, his arm around your shoulder or you leaning into his side, Dustin would turn to look at the both of you, seeing if you guys were laughing at the right times or Lucas poking you in the knee to have some popcorn.

It turned into just a regular baby-sitting gig.

When the movie finished everyone seemed happy to be up from their seats.

The four were ahead of you and Steve, talking about their best parts and throwing the last of their snacks away.

"Can't escape them for two hours, huh?" said Steve, fingers entwining with yours as he swung your arms back and forth.

"No, I guess not."

"Hey," he tugged at your arm, stopping you. "I'm sorry about them, we'll get a quiet night, I promise. How about my place, Friday? My parents won't be home."

You grinned. "I guess it's a date."

Steve's lips curled up as he kissed you, hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you there, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip practically begging for enterance-

"Ew, gross!" Will complained.

"Steve, c'mon!"

Max huffed. "Leave them alone!"

"Steve, can give us a lift home!"

Steve pulled away, his hand curling in on itself on the back of your neck but his thumb was still loose to sooth you. "Shitheads-"

You couldn't help but chuckle. For all the complaining he might give you knew Steve loved those kids like they were his own. Just as you did. You couldn't really be angry at them if you tried. "Take them home, I'll go see Stacy, she'll be finishing up. I'll hitch a ride with her."

"What? No, no, no what kind of boyfriend would I be? Those little a-holes can bike home," he said, hands running up and down your arms.

"Steve," you said. "You'll be a great boyfriend- and even better one- if you take them home. Please, for me." It never did sit right with you that the kids were fine biking home in the dark. What with all the monsters you've already faced.

Steve couldn't say no to you so he decided he wouldn't even try. "Okay, fine but take this-"

The kids awed and cooed as they watched Steve peel of his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes. "Steve-"

"The walk to the car will be cold." He draw you in, pulling at his jacket to do so to kiss your popcorn lips.

"Steve!" Dustin yelled.

"I'm gonna kill him, I swear," your boyfriend mumbled against your lips. He pecked them once and fetched the keys from his pocket before pulling it closer around you. "Call me when you get home, I love you!" he called, trotting back to the kids.

"I love you!" you called after him.

Max turned back, winking. "Yeah, love you too!"

You held your middle finger up to her, with affection.

Lucas clasped his hands over his chest as Steve pushed the kids ahead. "Oh Steve, I love you so much, mwah mwah-"

Dustin and Will laughed, the former making obscene kissing noises while rubbing his arms up and down himself.

"Cut it out!" Steve whacked him on the back of the head.

Really, after all this time, should the kids have been surprised at how the two of you were?

The next Friday came around with sweltering heat. Steve had turned on all the fans he could in his house but he had something better.

A swimming pool.

You'd stripped to your bikini almost immediately, sliding into the water that instantly cooled your body while Steve was upstairs trying to find his trunks and if you knew him getting distracted by his hair in the mirror for an extra ten minutes.

You swam a lap or two before relaxing on the side, arms slung out and head tilted back, letting the droplets of water slide down your neck. The pool stilled, the sun beamed-

"Cannonball!"

Before you could react Steve bombed into the pool splashing you in the process and sending shock waves through the water.

"Steve!"

He popped back up to the surface, shaking his hair out like a dog and wiping down his face. "Oh, now that feels good!"

You laughed. "You're ridiculous."

Steve found you once all the water was out of his eyes, heading your way. "You're beautiful," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in. "So beautiful, sexy-"

"Steve-" he kissed along your shoulder, playfully nipping at the skin.

"-mine."

You hummed when he kissed you eagerly, as if he hadn't greeted you the same way when you walked through the door. It had been a hassle enough to get to the pool without Steve un-dressing you then and there.

You wrapped your arms around his waist as Steve's hands cupped your backside, fingers digging into the flesh as if there were no bikini bottoms there. The two of you moved back through the water until you gently hit the wall of the pool.

You gasped at the feel of the tile.

Steve broke away at once. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Your legs squeezed around him, bringing him in until his lips were on yours again, starving.

His hands sort out your back, travelling the expanse and toying with the straps of your bikini top-

When the sound of his backdoor closing alerted you both, followed by the sound of six voices struggling.

"I told you Steve would have ice, you didn't need to bring a bag!"

"Well shit Mike, it's for the cooler."

"Maybe Steve's got some beer for us?"

"He has nice wine," said Max. "y/n told me he has nice wine."

The two of you were still practically entwined at the edge of the pool.

"Please tell me I'm not gonna turn and see what I think I'm gonna see," said Steve, pulling away enough so you could hear him.

The kids, that being all of them, waved at the two of you when Steve turned to look.

Dustin was already throwing an inflatable bed thing into the pool while Max, El and Mike were setting down bags on the lounge chairs Steve had, Mike helping El out with lying out her towel.

"Lucas?" Max called over, clearly wondering if he was gonna make sure she was comfortable.

Lucas was already filling up water balloons with Will's help.

It was as if they hadn't even realised you and Steve were there... at his pool.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dustin grinned. "Hey Steve!"

The rest of them copied his grin at the two of you, waving and greeting you.

Stunned, you held your hand up in a wave.

"I repeat- what are you doing here?" Steve asked.

"You gave us a key!" said Dustin.

"Yeah, for emergencies!"

"This was an emergency!"

"What?" you asked, immediately jumping into action. You pushed yourself out the water, grabbing a towel that wasn't too far and started to dry yourself off. They were all too calm in the face of an 'emergency' "What emergency? Is everything ok?"

"No," said Lucas.

"Well what, what is it?"

"None of us have pools in our back yards."

You deflated.

"Are you serious?" asked Steve, sending a splash of water over to Lucas and Will.

"Hey."

"You can't just waltz in here and make yourselves at home!" argued Steve, reaching out to you to try and pull you back in the pool as you got to your feet.

"It's hot!" said Dustin.

"So hot," added Mike.

"And we needed to cool down!" said Max.

"We were almost dying," said El, "it was really sad."

You smirked to yourself, knowing that if Max and El pulled out the pouted lips and puppy dog eyes, he was done for. The girls were his weakness.

"Yeah... well..." Steve wasn't even trying to argue when he looked up at you.

The red bikini that framed your curves perfectly, the little droplets of water that slid down your body. He tracked each one doing down, rolling down your sternum and further down your legs-

"Steve!" yelled Dustin.

"Wh-what?" he reluctantly forced his gaze away from you to look at him.

Dustin gestured to the floaty that was drifting from him. "Hold it steady!"

"My god," he grumbled.

You had your towel, patting yourself down and sitting with Max and El as Mike went to join Lucas and Will's efforts. You sat with them in the shade.

"Nice suit," said Max. "Pretty sure Steve's eyes were about to jump out his sockets."

"Oh, ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "You guys got swim suits?"

El nodded. "We went shopping."

"Show me!"

Steve was, once again distracted by you. Sure, it was annoying not getting a spare second alone with you. Really he should have pulled you into his room and made it quick before getting in the pool. But the kids meant best... he hoped and the way you were with them, especially Max and El who deserved kindness more than most, warmed his heart.

He could just picture you with the children he hoped to have with you one day. The care that you had, the love. And of course the way of making babies was not lost on him-

"Okay, okay," said Dustin as he stood at the edge of the pool, clearly thinking of the best ways to get onto the float. "Hold it steady... hold it steady..."

"I'm holding- I'm holding it steady!" said Steve.

"Steady!" yelled Dustin.

Steve held it for him but at the last second- when he realised Dustin was going to jump on it- he moved it, sending Dustin crashing into the pool.

The group of them were left laughing as he broke through the water, paddling around. 'Shit! Shit!'

After that you and Steve got busy. It was summer break, so people wanted films all the time and ran Steve off his feet, his days dragging. By the time he picked you up from your shift (which he insisted on) he could sneak a kiss before dropping you off, or sometimes you'd stay with him but the two of you were always too tired for anything. A quiet meal, watch a show then go to bed to do it all again.

Any small moment was special, Steve just wished they'd last.

One day he was at work, fixing up messy shelves and updating the posters at the windows when the door opened.

"Hey Steve!" El and Max called, rushing to two different sections.

El to romance and comedy.

Max to action but Steve knew she'd watch any romance El wanted.

He smiled and was ready to greet them when you practically fell through the door next, arms overflowing with bags.

"Hey!" you smiled, breathless.

"Hey, hey," Steve was in front of you at once, kissing your cheeks and looking down at all the bags. "What's this? You finally moving in with me?"

"Girls day."

Girls day had ran you dry, clearly. You were leaning on the door, feet aching.

"Shopping, snacks and now a film," you said. "And I wanted to see you."

Steve grinned. "Well isn't that sweet." He kissed you deep and slow, dragging the moment out to last.

"Oh gag me!" Robin called from behind the counter. "Porno's are over there, people!"

El peeked up from a shelf. "What's a por-no?"

Max went red in the face, laughing wildly as she turned to you and Steve. "Yeah guys, what's a porno?"

Steve blushed and stuttered.

"Nothing, El, hurry up and get a movie, we need to catch the bus back."

Steve turned back to you. "Bus?"

"Not again," you rolled your eyes.

Steve didn't have an aversion to the bus. He had an aversion of you getting a bus when he could've been using that time to spend a few extra precious minutes with you. "No, no, tell you what, we're almost done here-"

"No we're not!" said Robin.

"Well, we'll close up and I can take you all back and we can all enjoy girls night, how about that?" he asked, inviting himself and Robin along.

Your cheeks ached with the smile Steve brough to you.

Max thought less so. "No, no, no, this is a girl's night, Steve. No boys allowed."

"Yeah, no boys," Said El, joining her friends side.

"Guys c'mon, it's Steve," you argued.

"I couldn't bring Mike," said El.

Steve cringed. "Mike's Mike."

El's brows furrowed in thought. "Mike is... Mike?"

You turned to Max, batting your lashes. "Please..."

Max didn't want to be the 'bad cop' but she also wanted a girls night. And perhaps she was worried, after all, besides Steve she didn't have that much of a positive out look on 'man'.

Lucas wasn't there yet.

Steve jutted out his bottom lip.

Max crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

Steve knew Max, knew her well. It had come with the years of looking out for each of them. "Okay, how about I get us all a tub of each others favourites ice cream? Vanilla and sprinkles for El, Mint choc-ship for Robbin and strawberry for you?"

It worked a treat, you could practically see Max's body melting at the suggestion.

"Fine," she said, still feigning her annoyance. "But you don't get to pick the movie!" she said, rushing off.

Steve scoffed. "Please, I work with movies," he leant down to your ear. "I cannot watch pretty in pink again, please."

You shrugged as Steve's hands ghosted yours. "Tough luck, babe. That's what happens when you invite yourself to girls night."

He shrugged. "Just spend time with my girl, and hey, if you can't beat them, join 'em." His eyes wondered down to your lips before he kissed you again, slower.

"Earth to Dingus's!" called Robin. "You're blocking the door from actual customers!"

The two of you shuffled away from the door, abashed and apologising as a customer awkwardly made their way in.

"Okay, we've chosen," said Max as El signed out her movie with Robin. "So let's go!"

El joined Max's side after sliding the tape into one of your bags, leaving you stumbling with the bags.

Steve was conflicted. If he were with you he would have taken the bags from you in an instant but clearly you were carrying them for the girls so they would be free.

Max's eyes lit up in mischief. "Oh, if only you had a car, y/n. Then we wouldn't have to walk so far," she pouted.

"With such heavy bags," El added, eyes downcast.

You gave the girls a look but it wasn't enough to stop them.

Steve's eyes rolled and he dug into his pockets before you could tell him no. They had him wrapped around their finger. Never mind El could move things with her mind, she get Steve to do just about anything she wanted. Steve looked at you. "Take my car-"

"Thanks!" Max plucked the keys from him instantly, rushing out with El.

Steve followed her, poking his head out the store. "You're not driving!"

You chuckled and stood tall to peck Steve's cheek. "They have you whipped."

His eyes rolled, mocking you. "Drive safe."

And though Steve wished you could have stayed, or he could have gone with you, at least he'd wormed his way into 'girls night'.

Finally, Steve received the invite he was waiting for. Your family out of town, your house all alone... just you and him.

It wasn't like he'd never been alone in your home with you but it had certainly been so long. Your house was warmer than his, sign that a family might love you whereas his parents didn't know he was in another dimension half the time.

He had a little night bag in the back of the car for the weekend you would have together. Your favourite sweater of his, along with sweatpants and an extra pair of his clothes for you. Snacks, a film and.... a box of condoms. Steve had big plans.

He sped away from work, not even caring if he hadn't clocked out right and trusting Robin would correct it or berate him for it- either way it could wait. He drove quick through Hawkins but took roads that wouldn't take him by Lucas's house in case he got roped in giving Lucas or Erica a ride. He avoided town in case Mike and El had gone on a date and spotted him. At one point he saw a kid with curls on a bike and he swerved, trying to duck in case it was Dustin.

They were great kids. But the only thing greater than them was getting time alone with you.

Finally, after an extra half an hour de-tour of Hawkins he parked up in front of your house, checking over his shoulder in case one of them popped up.

Steve rattled his knuckles on the door.

It took a moment but you swung it open, breathless. "Hey!"

"Hey," Steve stepped in, hands on your shoulders and pecking your cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late, I took the long way, I didn't want to risk the kids-"

"They're here," you said.

Steve frowned. Was your family back? Was their a maintenance guy around. "What? Who's here?"

"The kids."

At your word there was a crash from your kitchen.

Your head whipped around. "Shit- shit-shit- no, no, no!"

Steve was hot on your heels.

Lucas and Dustin stood over a pie that now laid in pieces along with the dish it was in.

"Oh, come on!" Steve deflated against the wall with all his hopes and dreams.

"Sorry," said Lucas.

"It's fine," you sighed, reacting quickly when Dustin went to clean it. "Careful, you'll cut your hands!"

Steve surveyed the area. Max and Mike were having an argument about... well, with them it could have been anything. On the sofa Will was watching the film with El who painted her nails on the coffee table. "Are you serious right now?"

Dustin and Lucas went back to searching through your cupboards, assuming it's for a snack.

Steve knelt next to you, helping you clean the shards and crumbs up. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know," you whispered. "I knew El was coming around for some nail polish but I didn't think she'd bring Max and then Lucas followed her and he radioed Mike who was with Dustin and Will-"

"And you answered the door every time?"

"It was that or they break a window climbing in!"

"Y/n!" Max called.

Your head sagged but you quickly perked up when Max and Mike stood in front of you.

"Can you please tell Mike that Jean Grey is obviously more powerful than the Scarlet Witch!"

Mike spluttered. "What? Wanda Maximoff is literally a Nexus being and can warp the minds and reality around. She created children with nothing but her mind-"

"Jean Grey has the Phoenix force!"

"Like that means shit!"

Their argument started up again and Steve pulled you up, tugging you back into the corridor while everyone was distracted in their own chaos.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you rambled at once. "I wanted it to just be us, I did, but then El started to paint her nails and Max starting opening up about how hard things have been and I've been trying to get her to open up and then Lucas appeared and you know things have been tough between them and then the others came and I couldn't throw them out without kicking them all and they're good kids and-"

Steve grasped your cheeks and kissed you. Only partly to stop your rambling, and the other because he'd been wanting to kiss you all day. He let himself indulge a moment too long before pulling away. "It's fine. We babysit tonight and then tomorrow, we're not leaving your bed, deal?"

You licked your lips of the taste of him and smiled. "Deal."

Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead as the stairs creaked.

"Oh hey Steve," greeted Robin as she casually walked down the stairs as if he hadn't left her at Family Video not long ago. "I didn't know you were coming tonight too." She pat his back and moved past him.

Steve wondered if Jonathon and Nancy were lurking somewhere in the garden. It seemed half of Hawkins knew you had the place to yourself.

"Oh fuck, Steve!"

"Yeah, yeah baby, you like that?"

Steve had made sure of his promise.

The night ended at midnight exact when Steve realised you had fallen asleep on the sofa. He draped a blanket over you and quietly but urgently shoved all the kids away, putting them on their bikes or cars (their parents collecting them) and sending them on their way.

Steve didn't want to wake you so he carried you upstairs and fell asleep with you.

The next morning you were up early to make breakfast, dressed only in one of Steve's flannels and panties. Just to drive him mad. You were half way through pancakes when Steve's arms wrapped around your middle and all but threw you on the sofa, flattening you there.

That's how you both ended up naked on your parents sofa, you in his lap, his cock stretching inside of you and moans bouncing off the walls.

You mewl into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders.

Steve rocked his hips into yours as you continuously grinded down on him. "Wanted you so long, baby, was- was going mad."

"I know, I know!" You groaned, pulling back and holding his face in your hands, laying your head against him.

The two of you bodies sweat together, the cushions on the sofa already fallen off the floor and your clothes thrown anywhere other than around you.

Steve meant what he said. He kissed you, all tongue and teeth, desperate to get as deep inside of you as possible and then some more.

You pulled back, Steve's lips dragging down your neck, collecting your sweat and pulse. "Ah, St-Steve!"

His hand held the small of your back, pushing you deeper into him leaving you biting down on your lip to stop screaming out. "You feel me there, huh? Feel me deep?" he all but whined.

You nodded. Your back arched, cunt squeezing him harder as you leant back, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "Steve- Steve- I'm gonna-"

There was a sudden pounding at the door.

Your whined but not in the way Steve wanted as he felt your climax escaping him.

"No, no, no baby, focus," he cupped your chin, forcing your gaze on him. "Focus on me baby, let them knock."

You both had already guessed who it was.

Steve's eyes screwed shut as he rutted into you quick but the knocking was just as insistent.

"Steve! Y/N, we know you're in there!" Dustin called.

Steve shook his head, rocking you against him. "They-they don't- arg-"

"Steve! We can see your car outside!" added Lucas.

You sat up on him, a hand on the back of the sofa and another on Steve's shoulder. "Steve-"

You both knew you'd never have the day to yourself if they were there, knocking at the door every time you were going to finish.

Steve looked at the door and back to you.

"Maybe there's a spare key?" suggested Will.

"That's it!" Gently Steve helped you off him and almost regretted it at once at the sound of your small whine and the sight of his hard cock leaking and everything coming out of you-

Quickly, Steve grabbed a blanket and tied it around his waist, brushing his hair back as you picked up another discarded on the floor to cover yourself.

He kicked his jogging bottoms out the way as he went and swung open the door, catching the gang of them scrambling for a spare key under the flower pots.

Dustin noticed the hair on his chest and the sweat first, chuckling. "Damn, Steve, all that hair got you stressing-" he realised half way through just why he was sweating and standing there in only a blanket.

"No!" he said. "You cannot have either of us today!"

Will had the decency to blush and look away, Max's jaw was on the floor at what they'd clearly interrupted.

"We just want-" Mike tried.

"No! Nop! None! Zero! We are closed today!"

"Well, actually you seem pretty open-"

"You want to finish that sentence, Sinclair?" Said Steve. "All I want is a day alone, of peace with my girlfriend, and yes that means doing adult things."

El frowned. "Adult?"

Sometimes he forget El didn't know all the ins and outs of the world.

And sadly they'd caught Steve on the precipice of bursting (literally).

"Sex! Yes, that is what happy and loving couples do, that is what we have been trying to do but we keep getting interrupted! So, no, you cannot come in and no you cannot go to my house to eat snacks or go in the pool cause guess what? We're gonna do it there to!" he actually had no plans for that but he just might. "So please, please just move along and let us get to it!"

Lucas chuckled.

Dustin cleared his throat, his voice stuck in a higher pitch. "Okay. We'll er... we'll just... move on."

"Yes, thank you!" Steve waited at the door, waving them down and watching them go all the way down the street. Every time one of them looked back, he waved. He saw El leaning into Mike and his ears going red but he decided he'd let Mike deal with that one.

When he was sure they'd got far enough, Steve slammed the door, locked it and put a chain on for good measure.

You were laughing, face hidden in the blanket when he returned, standing over you with his hands on his hips. "I cannot believe you just did that."

“You’re gonna burn holes in the back of Jonathan’s head,” you murmur.

Steve startles, blinking down at you. “I… what? No, I’m not!”

“You’re glaring.”

“I’m not glaring,” he mutters defensively, straightening. “I’m… observing.”

“You look constipated.”

He snorts despite himself, shoulders loosening a little. “Wow. Thanks.”

You shrug. “Just being honest.”

You look up at him, really look, and the vulnerable tightness in his expression is impossible to ignore.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

He hesitates, then gestures vaguely toward Nancy nonchalantly. “She just… used to look at me like that.”

“And now she looks at Jonathan.”

He doesn’t respond and your stomach twists in sympathy—and something else you don’t want to examine too closely.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “You know… there are ways to make someone remember you.”

He gives a humorless laugh. “What, walk over there and give a dramatic speech?”

“No,” you say, amuse, “something that actually works.”

His brows lift slightly. “…Like what?”

You look away for a moment, gathering the courage, because saying this out loud feels surprisingly intimate.

Then you turn back to him.

“You could make her jealous.”

Steve goes very still.

You keep your voice light, “It works. People don’t usually realize what they’re missing until they think someone else has it.”

He studies your face for a long moment, something soft and uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

“And… how would I do that?” he asks, slow, cautious. “Hypothetically.”

The question sends a pulse of warmth through your chest.

“Hypothetically?” you echo. “You’d need someone to… pretend with you.”

His throat bobs. “Pretend.”

“Fake date,” you clarify, shrugging lightly like your heart isn’t pounding. “Hold your hand. Lean into you a little. Maybe let you put your arm around them so Nancy sees it.”

He keeps staring at you and it makes your skin heat.

“You’d do that?” he asks softly.

You try for a casual tone, even though your pulse is everywhere. “I mean… unless kissing me is some terrible burden.”

A breath of a laugh escapes him, his mouth curving. “No. I wouldn’t call it a burden.”

Something shifts between you.

“So?” you murmur. “If you want the help… I’m offering.”

He looks at you like he’s weighing the whole world.

Like he’s finally seeing something he should’ve seen sooner.

Then, quietly, almost gratefully…

“Yeah. Okay,” he shoots you a faint smile, “let’s try it.”

And just like that, the pretending begins.

Pretending turns into its own sort of torture, because Steve commits.

Hand on your lower back when you walk into a room.

Thumb hooked into your belt loop when he stands behind you.

His palm resting casually on your knee when you sit together.

Little touches that are supposed to be for show.

Supposed to mean nothing.

Except they aren’t nothing.

Not when your body reacts every single time.

He looks at you differently, too.

Like he’s studying your face when he thinks you’re not looking.

Like he’s memorizing your laugh.

Like he’s trying not to cross invisible lines he desperately wants to cross.

And sometimes, when the fake dating act requires a quick kiss to your cheek or your temple, you feel his breath stall. Feel him linger just half a second too long.

You don’t bring it up and he doesn’t either.

But the tension builds, slow and relentless, like water pressing against glass.

And then the crawl happens.

The group is buzzing with nervous energy as plans are finalized. Supplies are checked, flashlights tested, weapons distributed.

Joyce is talking too fast, Robin keeps pacing, Nancy and Jonathan are coordinating routes.

But Steve keeps you close. A gentle touch at your back, a quiet glance to make sure you’re near. The kind of protectiveness that never feels like an act.

Nancy doesn’t say a word when she spots you and Steve standing a little too close near the van, but the shift in her expression is unmistakable. Her eyes flick down to where Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back, casual, but not that casual—then back up to your face, lingering just long enough to read a truth you hadn’t meant to show. It’s not the first time this has occurred, and you hope Steve notices your plan has worked

When the crawl site is declared ready, your stomach tightens.

You’ve been through it before. You know the dark, the vines, the suffocating air. The way the Upside Down swallows sound.

You try to steady your breathing, but Steve sees it immediately. He always sees you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing your arm. “We’re riding in the van. Dustin’s a no-show, come with me.”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Inside, it’s dim and quiet. A temporary bubble away from the chaos. Steve closes the door behind you, and suddenly it’s just the two of you in the muted half-dark.

He sits across from you at first, elbows resting on his knees.

“You’re nervous,” he says softly. Not accusing. Not teasing. Just noticing.

You swallow. “A little.”

He shakes his head gently. “No. More than a little.”

Your eyes sting, not because of fear, but because he sounds like he cares too much for it to be pretend. He scoots closer, still giving you space to pull away. “Come here.”

You go without hesitation.

He pulls you in, slow and carefully, one arm around your back, the other hand warm at the nape of your neck. Your forehead rests against his collarbone, his chin brushing your hair.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

You clench your fist in his shirt. “Steve…”

His hand slides up your spine, soothing… except soothing is the wrong word. Because every stroke of his fingers sends a shiver down your skin.

He breathes against your ear, voice low and soft:

“I’d get between you and anything. You know that, right?”

You pull back to look at him, and everything changes.

His hands stay on you. Your knees touch.

You’re close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

His gaze drops to your mouth. You see it, no.. you feel it.

The exact second the dam cracks.

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to steady yourself. “This is… pretend.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, featherlight.

“Not right now,” he says, “not for me.”

Your heart stutters.

“And not for you either,” he adds quietly.

Your pulse answers him before you do… and you kiss him.

It’s soft for half a second, just the barest brush of lips, before he exhales sharply and pulls you in like he’s been denied this for weeks.

His hand cups your jaw, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into his lap. The kiss deepens. Hungry, desperate, starved.

Every tiny piece of restraint he’s shown shatters the moment you open your mouth to him.

He groans into the kiss, low and rough, like he’s been holding it back.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “I knew it. I knew the second I said yes to this fake dating thing I was screwed.”

Steve kisses you like he’s already fucked you a hundred times in his head.

Your back hits the bench seat and he follows, mouth devouring yours, hands everywhere at once—your waist, your ribs, the underside of your thighs. His fingers tremble with adrenaline and want, but his touch is deliberate, hungry, carving you into memory.

When he pulls back, both of you are breathing hard.

“Take this off,” he pants, tugging at your shirt.

You lift your arms, and he strips it off like he’s starving for what’s underneath. His eyes drag over your chest, slow and reverent, then wrecked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmurs, palms sliding up to cup your breasts. “How the hell am I supposed to pretend after this?”

You grab his wrist and guide his hand lower. “You don’t.”

That breaks him and he kisses down your throat, your sternum, then lower.

Nipping lightly, sucking harder, leaving a trail of open mouthed heat over your skin until you’re arching into him. He mouths your nipple, tongue dragging lazily before he sucks, deep and firm. You gasp, threading your fingers into his hair.

“That good?” he asks against your skin, voice smug and breathless.

“More.”

He groans, an animal sound erupts from his chest and his hand slides between your legs over your pants, pressing right where you need him. You cry out and he bites your shoulder gently in response.

“Fuck yeah,” he pants. “Let me hear you. No one else is close enough to hear us.”

That thought alone makes your stomach flip.

He unbuttons your pants with frantic fingers, and you help shove them down. He drags your underwear aside and his jaw drops when he sees how wet you already are.

“Holy shit.” His thumb sweeps across you, slow and claiming, “you’re soaked.”

“Been waiting,” you breathe.

His pupils dilate, “for me?”

You nod, and he curses viciously.

“Get over here,” he growls, tugging you up and onto his lap.

You straddle him, and his hands slide under your thighs, squeezing, positioning you exactly how he wants. His mouth returns to yours. Hot, urgent, wet—and he grinds up into you through his jeans, making your breath catch.

You tug at his belt.

“Get these off.”

“Bossy,” he teases, undoing it with shaking hands. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

You help shove his jeans down, his boxers following. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking.

Your eyes widen and he smirks., “yeah? You like what you see?”

You wrap your hand around him and stroke once, slow.

Steve’s head drops back. “Oh—fuck—”

You lean in and kiss his throat while your hand works him, dragging your thumb through the slick at the tip.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you pulled me against you for show,” you whisper. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

His grip on your hips tightens. “I did… but I didn’t know you wanted me back.”

You line him up, hovering over him.

“Find out.”

He sucks in a breath so sharp it sounds like pain.

Then you sink down onto him.

Slow. Stretching. Inch by inch.

Steve’s entire body locks. His hands seize your hips. He swears—low and broken—eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying not to explode right there.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight I can’t—”

You take him until your hips meet, both of you shaking.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You can move.”

He exhales shakily. “Baby… if I move right now, I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Do it anyway.”

He snaps.

His hands grip your ass and he guides you up his length, then slams you back down. The van rocks hard. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“That—Steve—oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he pants. “Ride me just like that.”

You start moving to the best of your ability in the small space. Lifting, dropping, grinding—using him, taking everything he gives you. Steve’s eyes are glued to where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear into you again and again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, thrusting up to meet you, “taking all of me like you were made for it.”

Your pace stutters. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He grabs your face and kisses you, filthy and wet. “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking.”

He flips you onto your back so fast you gasp. He mounts you, driving into you deeper than before. Hard, relentless, your thighs shaking around his hips.

Your moans echo in the van. His breath is hot and ragged against your neck. Skin slapping, bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with sex and desperation.

He presses a hand lightly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, pinning you in place while he fucks into you.

“You feel so good,” you choke out.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he pants. “Cum on my cock. Want to feel you clench around me.”

His fingers drop to your clit, rubbing fast, perfect, ruthless. Your hips lift off the seat, back arching.

“Steve—Steve—I’m close—”

“I know,” he growls, “C’mon babydoll, it to me.”

You break apart, screaming his name, body trembling violently as pleasure crashes through you. Your walls clamp around him so hard he swears, thrusting fast and sloppy, chasing his own release.

“Shit—shit—baby—” He pulls out just in time, stroking himself once before he comes all over your stomach, your hips, your thighs—hot, messy, thick.

He collapses down onto his hands above you, panting like he just ran a mile.

You’re both shaking.

He looks down, taking in the sight of you: legs spread, panting, covered in him, and groans again like he might get hard all over.

He leans down and kisses you slow, messy, devoted.

“I wasn’t pretending,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not once.”

You pull him into another kiss.

You freeze. 

What the—

He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door. 

“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out. 

“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”

The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.  

“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”

“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap. 

“Who said what?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet. 

But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset. 

Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours. 

“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time. 

Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair. 

“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts. 

It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”

“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”

You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side. 

“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”

Oh. Okay. 

Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing. 

That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever. 

You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?” 

Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”

The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one. 

“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”

Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”

Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?” 

“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”

You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs. 

You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate. 

You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”

 His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”

“Between us.”

Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face. 

Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”

Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”

He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”

“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”

You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick. 

In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip. 

 “Yes,” you breathe. 

He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space. 

“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”

“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband. 

Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.

“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”

Shit. 

You’re not strong enough for this. 

But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done. 

And you should. 

God, you should. 

But you don’t want to. 

So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak. 

As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you. 

His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold. 

He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.

 Then there’s that wet heat. 

His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance. 

“Oh, God,” you whimper. 

His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. 

He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”

Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it. 

Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind. 

His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more. 

You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment. 

Steve eats pussy like he wants to. 

You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face. 

Too pretty for his own good.

A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes. 

The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button. 

But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down. 

His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks. 

Hard. 

You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively. 

Then, without warning, he pulls back. 

You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that. 

“Is that it?” You squeak. 

“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down. 

He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”

“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands. 

He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off. 

And this time, he doesn’t tease you. 

Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.

As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches. 

Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes. 

He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations. 

The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it. 

The way your heart slams against your ribs. 

A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing. 

That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in. 

That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt. 

It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink. 

“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”

The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks. 

Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.

Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away. 

When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth. 

You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough. 

“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours. 

You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.

Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss. 

This one is different. 

Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful. 

He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious. 

“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.

You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”

He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”

“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that. 

“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”

His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it. 

“You could do it again.”

a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol

You’re smart enough not to question why he’s suddenly so interested in gap’s summer collection. You can assume why, as his mood is gloomier than ever due to having a silly fight with max again.

It’s not something to get worried about though, he’s a pretty sappy romantic kid and you’re sure he’ll get her back in no time.

The door opening sounds through the basement, steps following down the stairs as Steve comes into view.

He throws the bag of popcorn to the two boys by the armchair, ignoring Mike’s complaints as they land right on his face.

“A diet coke for the lady.” He hands the can to you smoothly, though your gaze stays focused on the movie.

“Mhm.” It’s enough of a thank you to him, knowing you too well to disturb your focused moment.

Fishing out the bag of peanuts from his pocket, he throws himself rather loudly to the spot on the couch beside you, smiling at your annoyed tap on his leg for him to be quiet.

Without saying a word, he opens the packet on his hands, picking out peanuts one by one and cracking the shells open before handing them to you.

“Aren’t you gonna eat some too?” You say after a moment of realizing they’re appearing on your hand way too fast for you to be sharing.

“No, i’m good.” He affirms, so gentle it makes you momentarily glance at him.

Except seems to have the same idea as you, eyes focused on your face as if he’d been staring for at least a little while. It makes you grow all hot, though you blame it on the july weather.

Shaking out a confused nod, you turn back to the tv. Refusing to ask why he’s doing this. You really don’t want to know the answer.

It’s not that Steve’s not a nice guy, he’s always been kind to you for all you know. But then again you never really interacted with him back in school.

He’s just been extra nice for the last couple of months, and you would love it. You would. Except to you he pretty much seems to be obsessing over getting someone to date. And you don’t want to be one of them, not when he’s doing it all to get over someone.

Besides, Nancy is a really nice girl and the last thing you want is to get yourself into some kind of rivalry with her. That’s not you.

While you’re distracted you don’t notice Lucas approaching Dustin, whispering something to him while pointing at the magazine from before.

“Will you two let us watch the movie? Jeese.” Steve grumps, throwing you a ‘are they serious?’ look, although you know he doesn’t really care.

“Yeah so, about that- we gotta go!” Dustin suddenly jumps up from the couch, excited in a rather suspicious way.

“What?” You frown.

“We’re so sorry but i just found like the perfect gift for Max and it’s on sale! I need to go get it before someone gets their grabby hands on it.” Lucas points to the golden necklace on the catalogue.

It is pretty, you can’t deny that.

“Ok well, you two don’t take long cause the sun’s setting soon.” It’s a bit weird to be sounding like one of their moms, but you’ve gotten used to it.

“Us four, actually.” Dustin cuts in, pointing to Mike and Will you look like they are just as confused as you.

“That must be some heavy necklace for you to need four of you to carry it.” Steve answers amusedly, as if he knows exactly what the boy is doing.

Damn them and their way of communicating. Sometimes you really believe they were separated in birth, even with the age difference.

“Dude, you seriously are so out of touch. We need an extra opinion in case there’s no necklaces left.” It’s some stupid excuse, but you’re too tired and hot to retaliate.

“Just don’t take long. Your parents will all kill us if they knew we let you out till late.” You give in easily, finding yourself to be way more accepting than Steve.

“Be back before 8 or i’ll come get you!” Steve exclaims as the teenagers start running up the stairs.

“Yes, mom!” Dustin yells sarcastically.

Steve huffs beside you, not moving even a bit even with the extra space on the couch now.

“Could’ve at least called me Dad. Mom.” He scoffs the end of the phrase out.

“Oh no, you’re definitely mom.” You giggle, more bubbling out of your chest at his faux offensed face.

“Am not!” He squeaks.

“You sure are very motherly towards them. Sound exactly like my Mrs. Wheeler scolding at them.” You poke his bicep jokingly.

He rolls his eyes, though a little smile is at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t for the next few seconds and you don’t wait to turn back to the tv.

“Does that mean you’re like the dad?” You freeze at his silly question.

Because he doesn’t mean for it to be silly and you don’t even have to process it to know it. He sure as hell doesn’t mean it in a ‘friendly divorced parents’ way.

“What?” You blurt, scraping your nails against the can on your hands anxiously.

He notices your demeanor, almost frowning but pulling the happy mask before his eyebrows get to pinch together.

“Like- cause i’m mom and all.” He laughs awkwardly. “We’re like their parents at the point with how much we babysit.”

“Right. Of course.” You smile tightly.

Your heart soars at the way he seems upset due to your dry tone. It almost makes you want to tell him that it’s okay, that you don’t mind it, that you wish you were actually a couple.

“I mean- i did feel like a dad with you bringing me a drink while i watch tv. You’d make a pretty good housewife.” Your eyes gleam when your comment lightens his smile.

“Look at us breaking stereotypes.” Steve muses, pretty teeth impossible not to look at when he smiles just for you.

You can only smile too, head leaning slightly back against the couch as your body feels suddenly aware that he’s close to you. Enough that your legs touch and your shoulders brush with every slight movement.

“I would make a nice housewife.” He affirms to himself, voice filled with ego.

“Yeah, don’t let it get to your pretty head.” You mock.

“You think i’m pretty?” He whispers, almost like a secret.

The air you’re about to let out catches on your throat, chest heavy in the worst best way. He’s so gorgeous - the most.

And you really want to feel it naturally, what he’s trying to give you. But you can’t. Because there’s always that little voice at the back of your head, like a string that makes you trip every time you try to go through the door that leads to him.

So you pull back, turning from his searching eyes and desperately trying to find something to say to make this less awkward.

“Oh look, Leia and Han are about to kiss for the first time.” Great. That so makes it better.

“Yeah.” Steve croaks after a moment.

It makes you want to dig into the couch, hide yourself inside the cushions until everything is okay. It makes it worse that he feels more hurt than angry at the rejection.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” He gets up, almost skipping steps as he goes up the stairs.

There’s a bathroom in the basement.

“Steve-“

“I’ll be right back.”

You dig your nails into the palms of your hands, feeling like a jerk and definitely lonely and weirdly not because of the empty basement. It’s for the best.

You’re tiring, he’d get tired. You’d tire him, is what you tell yourself to make it seem like a good decision.

He only comes back to tell you he’s picking the kids up, not quite looking you in the eye but acting like normal all over again. Almost as if he still wants to be overly nice to you. Still opens the car door for you. Still puts on your favorite radio station.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“I just really have a feeling that he likes someone.” Robin rambles while organizing the mountain of tapes on their correct shelves.

“Steve?” You ask, shuddering a bit at the thought.

“Yeah, i mean- he hasn’t told me about any recent date. But then again i might have just made him think i don’t care about those.” She looks slightly apologetic as she says.

“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” You reassure, rubbing her arm comfortably as you come closer to help sort.

Robin hums, putting on the expression she has when she’s trying to remember something.

“He did tell me about this girl. I didn’t think much of it at first but now that i’m thinking, he hasn’t mentioned anyone after that.” You try to process her words, trying to hide the way your stomach drops.

“And like he didn’t wanna reveal her identity. But he said it was someone he’s know for a long time, that he thought he finally found his person.” She goes on before adding, “‘said she’s different from other girls.” She scrunches her nose at the phrase.

“Oh yuck.” You laugh with her, forgetting the problem in question for a moment.

“So original of him, right?” Robin bumps her hip with yours.

“Please tell him to never confess to her by saying that.” You smile through it.

Then it hits you. Someone he’s known for a long time. He thinks she’s the one. Nancy.

“Actually, i was thinking you could talk to him.” She puts out, raising her eyebrows in question.

“Me?” You’re more confused than ever. Why would you need to speak to him? He can like whoever he wants to like. None of your business.

“As much as i want to find out who it is, i don’t think i’ll get it out of him. He acts all weird whenever i talk about it. And you’re his best friend, too. Maybe you could help him out.” She explains, though it seems like she’s holding back.

You’re Steve’s best friend. Did he say that? You hope he did.

It’s not a good idea that he might still be in love with Nancy. She’s got a boyfriend and they’re happy together.

“I guess that makes sense.” You agree, “Nancy would probably be upset if he tried something right now.”

“What?” Robin practically gasps.

“He seems like he wants to make a move, doesn’t he?”

“No, no, no- that’s not-“ Her eyes widen as she speaks, but the bell makes a loud noise as the store’s door opens, interrupting her mid sentence.

Steve smiles widely at you both, “I’m back!” As if you can’t see him right there.

It makes you smile a bit more, more so when he looks right at you. “You’re here. Hi.” He sounds rather excited about it.

“Yeah, Robin said i should keep you company since you’re covering for her.” You tell him.

“That’s nice of you, thank you.” He says.

“‘Course, it’s nothing.” You wave him off, sticking your hand into your pocket as you forget what to do with your hands.

“Okayyy…” Robin drags the word, leaving some kind of suggestion in the air. “That’s my cue to head out for a date with my lovely lady.” She bows dramatically.

“Yeah, okay. Brag.” Steve teases, though you see it in his smile that he loves that she’s happy.

“Bye, Rob. Have so much fun.” You receive a happy thumbs up before she’s out the door.

You smile to yourself, sorting through the tapes as you feel Steve come to stand beside you and let out a big breath before getting to work. Dramatic.

“Had fun with Buckley?” He asks, glancing at you with his soft deer eyes.

“I sure did. She’s much less boring than you.” You tease.

He brings his hand to his chest, “Oh wow, you wound me.” While giving you his best pout and it make it even harder for you to keep the friendly act going. “You totally love my company.”

“You’re okay.” You give in, refusing to look him in the eye as you know it’d crack your smile in one second. He notices.

“Did you have lunch?” He blurts randomly, as if remembering something.

“Uh- not yet, no.” You look at him amusedly.

“I brought you that sandwich you like, the one with the pretty wrapping. Cause, you know, i went there for lunch and i thought it would be nice.” He confesses nervously.

“Thanks, Steve.” You give in the urge to squeeze his bicep, your usual and mutual understanding thank you.

You let the comfortable silence fill the store, empty of customers due to it being lunch time.

Thoughts gear through your head, trying to put whatever you’re about to say in the right words so they don’t come out in a way that makes you look like a jerk.

Why couldn’t Robing be the one to speak to him? God, you feel like a mom having the conversation with her kid for the first time.

“So, there’s something i kinda need to talk to you about.” You start, words uneasy.

Steve nods slowly, as if processing. “‘Kay.” He urges you to go on.

“Robin tells me you like someone.” And fuck, you probably weren’t supposed to tell him she said that. Some good start you just picked for yourself.

“She does?” His expression seems to flicker with panic for a moment, before he practically shakes out of it and changes it into a confused one.

“Yeah, and i know it’s really none of my business but as your friend-“

“Best friend.” He corrects naturally.

“As your best friend,” The words feel nice to say, coming out too easy for the conversation you’re trying to have. “i feel like i have this duty to tell you when i think you’re gonna make a stupid decision. You know?”

Now he looks actually confused, eyebrows pinched together and thoughtless look. “Sure?”

“This to say that i understand you’re still on her,” It feels impossible to let her name out. “But i don’t think it’s a good idea to do something about it, quite unfair if i can be honest with you.”

“Wait, what?” He practically squeaks, dropping the tapes back in the cart. You try to understand why he’s avoiding it, but there’s no reason that comes to mind.

“Nancy.” You decide to be direct.

“Nancy? I’m not following, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls out his tongue easily and it leaves you in absolute despair.

“You’re thinking on making a move, are you not?” You try to have him catch up.

“No! I don’t know why Robin told you that, i really don’t. But i’m not doing anything with Nancy, there’s nothing with Nancy. Seriously.” He seems truthful enough as he speaks and you hate yourself for not fully believing him.

“But you like someone?”

He hesitates, “I do.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry for assuming, Robin didn’t actually say it was Nancy.” You give him a guilty quirk of the lips.

“That’s okay.” He reassures, sweet as always.

Steve shuffles on his feet, opening his mouth a few times as if he’s about to say something a but never seeming to muster the courage. You give him time.

“This girl-“ He cuts himself off, words coming out in a harsh breath, “she’s amazing. The most amazing girl i’ve ever met. And even though i have known her for a good while, i’ve looked at her with different eyes for the last few months.”

Your breath catches, you start to understand his words. Hate and love is what you have for them, no in between.

“She’s a breath of fresh air, although i do seem to be out of breath whenever she’s around. She’s the best with the kids, probably more caring than me. Has really good taste in music and movies - i wouldn’t have gotten this job if she didn’t make me decorate the name to every Star Wars movie.” He laughs but it seems more like relieved sigh.

You feel stuck to the ground, eyes wide and motionless. You don’t encourage him to go on, but he takes your silence.

“And most of all she makes me not care about what others think. Makes me wanna be a good person and nothing else.” He finishes, carefully leaning closer without stepping towards you.

You didn’t think this would happen like this, thrown right on your face like some splash of freezing water that leaves you freezing on the spot.

He’s lovely, his words are everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. But you’re filled with dread, because you know what’s about to come and you’re going to reject it.

“What do you say?”

It’s complicated, you’re not sure why you want to say no. You don’t fully believe him for one. It’s not fair to make him have someone who has doubts by his side.

“No.” You state, simply.

“What?” He asks, straightening up immediately and drily gulping.

You laugh, but it’s really more cause you don’t know what to say. “There’s no way you actually think we’d work.”

“Why not?” He sounds defensive, “I do think that, i think about it everyday.” His voice is more hurt than anything now.

“Steve, this is crazy. We’re best friends. No way.” You shake your head.

“Did you just hear all that i said? I don’t wanna be your best friend - at least not just that.” He exasperates, searching for your eyes when you refuse to look at him.

“Now, this was the kind of stupid decisions i was talking about a moment ago.” You scoff.

You’re trying to play it cool, but it’s like he sees right through it. He reaches for your hand, loosely enough that you can let go of it if you want.

“It’s not a stupid decision. If anything, it’s the best decision in think i’ve made in a while.” His thumb brushes your knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, eyes feeling with tears at the confrontation.

He frowns, “Tell me you don’t like me.”

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t like me back and i’ll leave you alone.” He asserts, focused on making it work.

“Steve, that’s not the point.” You say desperately, “I’m not your usual, you’re interested by this idea of me because we’re close and you want someone.”

“Wow, that’s what you think of me?” He looks truly offended now.

You purse your lips, feeling unfair for acting like this. “No, i’m sorry.”

“But we’re so different, truly different. And i don’t think there’s anything you can do right now to change my mind.” You want to reach out and pull him into a hug, but it really wouldn’t be a good idea right now.

“Sweetheart-“

You’re saved by the door opening, two clients coming in. Steve looks the most disappointed. But not angry, and that’s always a relief.

“I’m just- gonna get onto that sandwich while you take care of that.” You look apologetically at him, smiling at him to try amend the situation.

“Yeah- sure.” He rubs his temple for a second before turning away from you.

You’re certainly a jerk after that. But it’s only a few days later when he starts acting normal again, sweet as usual towards you and keeping you close as his best friend.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

A weird shiver runs across your back as you enter the abandoned house, even more when the big group turns into just you and Steve. The idea of the group being separated turns your stomach.

The flashlight on your hand doesn’t feel enough to light your path through the somber hallways, headache tingling on your temples as you try to find anything useful.

It’s not that things have been weird with Steve, which they have, but they’ve been weird with everyone. You lack the energy to try and even have a conversation with anyone. If you were to be honest, you’re not even sure why you’re here because your mind is all but up to having ideas that will actually help find Vecna.

It started a few weeks ago. The ultimate feeling of emptiness, like everything and everyone is moving and you’re stuck on the same spot. All the things happening in Hawkins don’t help your case either. Eddie being accused of being a murderer, sweet Chrissy’s death, Max almost being sentenced to that end too.

You don’t feel like you have a major thing ruining your life and making you miserable, but you feel sad even without it. And that leaves you to wallow in self pity and to think you aren’t anything but selfish. There are people who are in real danger around you and all you can think about is your unreasonable sadness.

The conversation at Radio family was a few months ago, not that you feel the need to track it. You thought you could pull yourself together after it, told yourself all you needed was time to get over it.

But all you can think about when he’s kind to you, when he brings you food, when his hand brushes your arm while he’s standing next to you — is that he actually mistakes it for real feelings for you. And the worst of it all is that you find yourself enjoying it, the idea of him loving you. Selfishly you wish he’s still confused, hoping he sometimes thinks about you at night like you think about him.

You feel his stare burn into the back of your skull as you walk slightly ahead of him, avoiding to walk beside him and having to make small talk.

The old wood board floor cracks under your shoes, filling the awkward silence that creates a barrier between the both of you. You stop in front of some type of wardrobe with glass door, pointing inside with your flashlight to get a look at what’s inside.

Steve keeps his distance, seemingly looking at the rest of the furniture in the room. “Someone sure liked bugs.” His face is scrunched when you turn to see, light pointed at a few glass jars with dead bugs inside it.

Your stomach turns at the sight, displeased but acknowledging hum ripping through your throat.

A small smile forms on his lips, “Scared?” He wiggles one of the jars, though the way he keeps it away from his body tells you he’s terrified.

In another occasion you think you would’ve made fun of him, teasing him relentlessly for being scared of dead bugs inside a jar.

“No, just gross.” You settle for answering, shrugging your shoulders without much emotion.

“Right.” He sighs, setting the jar down slowly before brushing his hands against his jeans. He stands a bit awkwardly, even more clueless than you about what to look for.

Your head aches all around, pressuring your eyes and temples.

You hear Steve hum to himself, a slight bored look as he seems to do it almost without noticing. He flicks the ruffles on a curtain with his fingers, immediately regretting it as dust spreads in the air and right on his fingers. You find yourself stifling a smile against your palm, realizing now you might have missed his antics a bit too much.

Palming his pocket, Steve pulls out a pack of gum that you know he carries around with him. You watch him awkwardly play with it after fishing one out for himself, taking a step towards you in false confidence after a second.

“Want some?” His arm reaches out to signal for you to take one, not leaving you much option but to accept it. Not that you could get yourself to anyway.

“Sure.” You reach to grab it, cursing when your fingers hit the it with too much force and it tumbles out of his hold.

Both of you bend to pick it up at the same time, but you’re the one who regrets it immediately. You don’t know if it’s because of the way his fingers graze yours or because of the hot liquid that starts running down your nose.

You flinch away immediately, head knocking against his forehead with force and making you stumble back with a pained groan.

“Fuck- i’m sorry!” He exclaims, a groan escaping his lips too as he reaches to touch his forehead with his fingers.

The hit makes your headache even stronger, eyes closed in attempt to make it go away. Although you’ve know for a while that it won’t. That’s also been going on for a few weeks, paired with nightmares that leave you sweaty and terrified to ever sleep again. It feels impossible to ever have a good dream again, not when your living life feels like a nightmare itself.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s panicked voice reaches your ears over the high stinging noise of your own head, eyes trying to get a good look at your face that you’ve turned away from him.

“‘M fine.” You try to dismiss, lifting a hand that helps nothing with keeping him away.

“Hey, don’t do that.” You know he means pulling away, grabbing you by the arm and gently pulling you to face him when you don’t necessarily go against it. “You’re bleeding.”

You’re reminded by why exactly you stood up so fast, and as if on cue the blood running from your nose touches your lips. He looks alarmed at the sight, eyes wide with worry and hands around your biceps with the most featherlight touch — you almost think you might be imagining him touching you.

“Here-“ Steve moves without thinking, stretching the fabric of his shirt sleeve so it covers his whole hand and bringing it to your nose.

His shirt will probably be stained forever, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it the least, cleaning the area around your nose like it’s his second nature to be attentive. He taps your skin with care, covered thumb brushing your lips to wipe the blood and lingering for a second too long.

Your hand rests on his arm as if it’s a natural instinct, watching the way his throat bobs when he accidentally pulls your lips open with a rather clumsy wipe and you grip his shirt lightly. “Sorry…” He mumbles, not needing to speak at a proper tone when standing so close, “for that and for hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” You throw him a confused look.

“Dunno if you remember but i hit you so hard your nose started bleeding just a second ago.” He tries to tease, smile tugging at his lips.

“I hit you.” You reason, huffing at the way he’s so sweet about it. Ready to take the blame when it’s not supposed to be his. “And-“ It was already bleeding before i hit you, is what you wish but step back from saying.

You don’t want him to think this is just like other people, the ones who get headaches and nosebleeds and visions and then get cursed and bones snapped to death. You can’t possibly be going through that — can’t believe you’re going through that.

“And it’s fine, anyway.” You settle for saying, brushing the possibilities off.

Steve hums, brows pulled into a frown that tells you he doesn’t necessarily believe you. But he doesn’t pressure you and you feel guilty for making him feel like he can’t do it just a little, like a best friend would out of worry. You’re quite sure all the pushing away and closing yourself off from him have taken a tool on making him think he can’t ask you about things.

You become too aware of how close he’s standing to you and how he takes in your features with soft eyes like he hasn’t been able to take a look at you in ages. Subconsciously, you tug his arm away and look at your feet.

He’s hit with how intimate the moment might have looked, arm dropping to his side as his mouth moves exasperatedly trying to find the right words. “I wasn’t trying anything, i swear.”

You know he wasn’t, Steve would never. Not after you told him not to, that’s not who he is. You just couldn’t handle it.

The gears in your head move as you try to keep yourself together, “Let’s just keep looking, Steve. Please.” You practically begging, eyes looking at his face for once.

“Of course.” He relents easily.

You’re taking steps away from his as soon as the words leave his mouth, flashlight on again as you suddenly find the celling so interesting. A simple excuse to have you look up and stop the tears from fully forming and falling down your face. Because why would you even cry?

The background noise of Steve’s presence suddenly disappears, you’re too embarrassed to look back and make sure he’s there.

The same shiver from earlier leads its way up your spine and forms a cold sweat. A clock ticks from the corner of the room, making your turn towards it with a gasp. That wasn’t there before.

And Steve, who was there just a moment ago, isn’t anymore. A panicked whimper pulls through your mouth, heart beating so hard against your ribcage you think it might crack a rib.

Cracking bones. You can already see it. Your own body getting the future it’s destined to have.

A hand finds your shoulder with a shake, pulling you out of what you can’t call a daze — because it feels more like a living nightmare. Steve calls your name, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You breathe in with force, ignoring the sweat that’s starting to drip down your back. “Yeah, i’m good.”

It gets harder to lie by the minute. You pretend to observe the empty corner of wall that just had a clock stuck in it.

He sighs from his spot behind you, “You can speak to me. You know that, right? Because i’m your friend, i want to be your friend.” He tries, as if he’s been holding back from speaking the whole time, “And i worry, so much it hurts. I’m sorry that i acted so impulsively before — but i’m not sorry for feeling it.” Not sorry for loving you.

“I know i can.” You nod, “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make it weird, there’s just so much going on.” But you leave out everything else.

Steve waits for you to say something else, but it doesn’t come. You do your best at throwing him a warm smile, “This place just creeps me out, that’s all.”

He agrees, “That’s putting it lightly.”

You bounce slightly on your feet, not sure on what to say. It’s turned into this when you’re around him, awkward conversations and things left unsaid.

“C’mon, we should get some ice for your nose. I’m sure they’ve done enough searching for today.” He motions for the door with his head.

“Yep.” You walk ahead, once again ahead of him. It would make it harder to have his arm around your shoulder like it once was normal.

The imminent future makes it impossible to think of it as enjoyable. Him loving you means getting left without you, because your headache is stronger than ever, your nosebleeds are more intense and you think you’ve just had what all the victims had before they died — a vision.

Steve watches you refuse to walk beside him, finger coming to touch the spot on his shirt that’s stained with your blood.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

It happens fast, too fast. One moment you’re with your friends, setting up a trap with Robin while Steve and Dustin bicker on the back about something you’re too tired to pick up on. The next, just as you reach down to pick up a tool, everything feels darker.

They all look at you wrong. Even Dustin, who’s ever so sweet to you, has his eyes set on you with an uncharacteristic angry expression.

At first you believe it, as if your mind has been telling you to wait for the moment they all call you out for your bullshit. Warning you that they have every reason to turn against you.

When Steve speaks you think your heart might beat out of your chest, harsh words slicing you like a knife against your back. Yet his voice doesn’t seem his, a rough undertone and malice that isn’t Steve’s — not even when he’s mad.

You feel stupid once you realize what’s happening, recognizing the cloudy sky that erupts with red thunder that Max has told you about. So you run ignoring the calls from your friends, because you know they aren’t real.

The day that you’ve known was coming is finally here, the dread on your stomach turning into the drop of it at the knowledge of what’s going to happen next. And the worst part is that it’s only now that you feel guilty for not telling anyone. About the headaches, about the nosebleed, about the nightmares.

A droplet of sweat makes it’s way down your forehead as you move as fast as your feet allow you to, thinking about how confused everyone probably is. Because how could they have known?

You hate the choice you made of not allowing yourself to process it. You wish you would’ve told your friends how much they matter to you, how it’s not their fault that you feel miserable. You think about telling Steve that you were just so scared of exactly the situation what you’ve come to be in that you couldn’t allow yourself to love him at your fullest.

It’s not like you know why you didn’t tell them. Was it because you were scared? Or was it really just knowledge of what you were designed to go through?

The anxiety building in your chest makes it harder to breathe, slowing you down in the process.

You feel helpless and alone, trapped in a part of your mind with your worst nightmares. A vine wraps around your ankle and yanks you with force to the ground, elbows erupting with pain as soon as you hit it.

But it doesn’t compare to what you feel once you spot him, the creature that you’ve all been looking for a long time but that you wish was nowhere in sight now.

You claw at the death grip of the vines around your ankles, clumsily making an effort to regain your blood circulation as a sob escapes your mouth. Tears fall down your eyes and across your cheeks at the sight of them not budging.

He calls your name, to which you shake your head with a shaky breath and try your hardest to ignore. Even when you feel yourself slide through the ground as the vines pull you towards him.

You can’t run from what’s been planned for you. It sounds through your head like a reminder, leaving a ringing on your ears.

The last thing you want to do now is give up, not without getting to tell everyone everything you want to say. You refuse to leave like this.

And it’s like some force seems to hear you, a familiar melody sweeping through somewhere around you. It’s your favorite song, the one you’ve heard countless times on your walkman and that you take the liberty to turn up the sound of the radio when in Steve’s car.

It brings a warm feeling in contrast to the cold that surrounds you.

Distracted, the grip on your leg loosens. With a swift movement, you slide the vines off of you and scramble to your feet. This time it feels freeing when you run, towards the sound and the image of your friends.

They’re right there, so close. You can see them looking up at your floating figure, voices panicked as they call for you.

So you fight against your sore ankles until they reach their limit and you’re falling again, but this time you have arms around you as you reach the ground.

You’re breathing heavily when you come back to reality, frantically looking around to make sure you made it. Steve has his arms secured around you as he situates you between his legs with his chest pressed to your back, his voice cracking once he says your name.

“You’re okay— i’ve got you. It’s okay, baby. I promise.” His mouth is close to your ear as he speaks, reassuring you over his own worries. “I’m right here, not letting you go anywhere.”

A sob bubbles out of your throat and you grip onto the arms around you, probably a bit too tight — to which he doesn’t complain. Your chest heaves with struggle to breathe, tears clouding your vision as they fall down your face.

You feel him press a hand to your chest, “Can you take deep breaths for me?” The touch grounds you as you nod in agreement. “Come on. There you go, honey.”

His heart beats at an erratic pace against your back, you can tell he’s trying his hardest to be calm for you. “Steve.” Your voice is hoarse, fingers shakily grabbing his that are still pressed to your chest.

“Yes, ‘m right here.” His voice breaks mid sentence, tone desperate.

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, breathing starting to feel like an easier task.

“No don’t say that,” You can picture him shaking his head even without seeing him. “Look at me.” Steve turns you in his arms, never letting go of you.

“This is not your fault, okay?” He’s cupping your face with gentle hands, eyes red and teary as his lips turn into the saddest pout you’ve seen. It almost gets you to smile.

He brushes your tears away, “Does anything hurt? Tell me, baby.” Eyes inspect at your face.

You shake your head with a sniff, wincing slightly as the cold wind hits your arms. “No.”

“Here.” He’s quick to take off his jacket, draping it around your shoulder and helping the sleeves into your arms. “All good.” His smile is forced but a good way of lightening the mood.

Not satisfied yet, Steve pulls you into his arms once again for a proper hug now. He ignores then way your knee pushes into his thigh a bit too hard, pressing you as close as possible with his nose buried in your hair. You slump your weight onto him, hands sprawled on his back as you press an impulsive but small kiss to his neck.

He sighs, “Oh my god.” The whisper comes out before he can stop it, more to himself than anything else as he finally relaxes. As if still in disbelief of the whole situation that just hit him like a truck.

You stay in his arms for a moment longer, only letting go when Robin and Dustin come back from filling the others in through the walkie.

“Thank god you’re okay.” Robin smiles with worry all over her face, pulling you into a bear hug that Dustin joins into. She drapes an arm over your shoulders as you walk to the car, sharing the worry of leaving you alone.

Steve stops you before you get on the backseat, hand to your bicep protectively. “Stay at my house?” You don’t have it in you to deny.

“We’re going too.” Dustin quips as if it’s a given.

For once, Steve doesn’t answer with a remark.

He helps you in even when you protest, pulling your seatbelt on. For the whole ride there your head rests on Robin’s shoulder, sharing occasional glances with Steve as he looks at you through the rear view mirror.

Once you arrive at his house, it’s not long before the others show up. They elaborate plans, ones that you feel too exhausted to pay attention to but try your hardest to. You notice the way they keep a close eye on you, not letting you be alone in any occasion.

And as they settle on his living room, Steve grants you some privacy as he pulls you into his bedroom. The offer of a shower is something you can’t deny, fresh clothes that belong to him awaiting for you after.

You leave the bathroom with your hair still wet, dripping on his shirt on your torso. He’s right there, laying out blankets on the floor beside the bed.

“Hey, do you feel better?” He’s worried and looking at you with wide eyes.

You shrug, “Shower felt good.”

Steve nods, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I hope it’s okay that i sleep here— i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.” He shifts awkwardly as he speaks.

“It’s okay.” You smile, slightly endeared.

It’s not that you think you’re going to get much sleep. But being alone right now is the last thing you want. You’re not even sure if you’re out of the woods yet.

Settling inside the covers of his bed, you hear him sit on the floor against the bed over the blankets. You don’t think he intends to sleep at all.

You try to sleep, you really do. But the fact that he’s right there after months of not allowing yourself to be close to him is killing you. So you move without thinking, finding yourself taking a seat beside him without saying a word.

He doesn’t budge, contemplating.

“I love you.” Steve cuts through the silence, frowning as if it pains him to.

Air gets caught in your throat, “What?”

“You told me i just needed someone. Maybe i do. But that someone is you, and i’m more sure of it now than ever.” Guilt forms in your stomach at your harsh words from before. He remembers. Word by word.

“You don’t love me, Steve.” You start with a shake of your head. “Not that way. Because it would never work.”

“Why not?” He exasperates sadly.

You don’t answer, turning your head away once you feel the tears build up.

“Stop doing that.” He’s gentle even when frustrated. “Why do you do it? You tell me you don’t want it yet i see the way it hurts you to say it.” A hand slips to your cheek, angling towards him.

“Because— you have this idea. Your whole suburban dream. I can’t give you that, it’s not me.” You brush your eye with frustration.

He gulps the lump in his throat away, “Don’t you get it? I want whatever you want. Whatever you want. I will do it. Because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise, not to me. I would do anything you want me to do, sweetheart.”

You feel tired of hiding it, the need you feel to have something with him. Tired of pretending you don’t want it as if something is holding you back from it. Your own mind, your own insecurities, your own doing.

So you don’t stop yourself this time. Your lips press to his in a long waited kiss, fingers grabbing his shirt by the chest. Steve hums in surprise but doesn’t pull away, hands coming to hold your face in a ghost gentle touch.

His heart beats fast against your hand, his nose bumping against yours when you smile against his lips.

“I love you, Steve.” You allow yourself to say.

“I know.” He references, smug smile full of affection. His face is still leaning towards yours, giving you a good look at his shiny eyes.

There’s no doubt he does too.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, “For the things i said. And for pulling away.”

“Don’t be.” He reassures. “Didn’t deserve to have you just— whenever i wanted to. I shouldn’t have expected you to just take it. I needed you to know for sure that i love you. And if that meant i had to fight and wait, i’d do it. I did. I’d do it again. I love you.”

Steve’s thumb brushes against the pulse on your neck, leaving you space to lean against him.

“You’re still my best friend.” You mumble, head slumping on his shoulder.

“Don’t want it any other way.” A kiss to your head, then a pause. “We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna be okay.”

You believe him through the doubt, humming against his collarbone.

“Sleep. I’m right here, baby.” The smooch he presses on your forehead is comforting, his hands pulling you down to lay against the blankets.

You fall asleep with your ear pressed to his chest, hand laying on his stomach as he hugs you close.

“You’re staring,” you say with a shy laugh, your thumb stroking the back of his neck where your hand rests. You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Prettiest girl in Indiana.” He raises his eyebrows, smirking down at you, fingers tracing along the skin of your cheek.

You feign your best look of dejection and whisper, “Just Indiana?” You hope your tone sounds as hurt as you want it to.

He falls for it, because he’s Steve.

His smile fades instantly and mild panic flashes in his eyes. “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

You giggle as he stammers and he groans then, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so mean.”

He bites you gently and you let out a little yelp that turns into a soft moan, fingers digging into the flesh of his bicep. He chuckles and lifts his head, resting his forehead against yours.

“You love it.” Your free hand reaches up to ruffle his hair. He never lets anyone touch his hair, but he lets you do it without batting an eye. You never mention it but it’s one of those things that holds more weight to you than you think he realizes. 

“I love you,” he says without thinking, eyes boring into yours. His voice is painfully honest, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. The words falling out before he can catch them or think twice. 

Your heart does a leap in your chest, your breath catching as the reality of his words sinks in. You know it, you feel it when he touches you, you see it in his eyes when he looks at you—but he hasn't said it yet. You’ve certainly been too afraid to say it first, though you’ve loved him as long as you can remember. 

“I’m sorry, I just—” he begins, but you cut him off, pulling him down by his neck into a rough kiss. He pulls back slightly, trying to talk against your mouth, but you don’t let him.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips, laughing and shaking your head in disbelief.

He looks down at you in awe, mouth agape, eyes soft and full of emotion. Slowly, a wide, toothy, Steve Harrington smile spreads across his face. He laughs with you before wrapping himself around you, burying his face in your neck. Steve has never felt so lucky, or so loved, in his whole life.

–

Lovers Lake

The view at Lovers Lake is as stunning as ever as the sun sets between the trees. It is as beautiful a view as you can get in Hawkins, the low sun casting a glow across the water that makes the atmosphere even more romantic. It’s one of those Indiana evenings where the heat doesn’t break even as the sun disappears; it lingers and clings to you.

Steve’s Beamer is parked just far enough off the path to be invisible to any passing cars, but close enough that the trees don’t stop the fading light from bouncing off the hood. Not that either of you are looking at your surroundings at the moment.

You are pressed firmly against the passenger door of the car, the familiar warmth of Steve’s chest against yours. One of his hands cradles the back of your neck while the other holds the small of your back, keeping you flush against him.

The kiss is dizzying. You can’t tell if the heat is from the outside air or the fact that every time Steve touches you, you feel like you are going to burn from the inside out. He tastes like the cherry Slurpee you shared at Hawk Theater earlier. Your fingers are hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, and every time you tug him a little closer, he lets out a low, ragged groan that makes your knees feel weak.

“Fuck,” he murmurs your name into your mouth in that way that always makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle breathlessly. “Can’t believe I’m all yours.”

He stills for a moment and pulls back to look at you, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen. He looks wrecked—cheeks flushed, hair tousled, and lips swollen. Your gaze shifts lower just briefly between your bodies to see his cock straining against his jeans; the sight makes your mouth water and your palms sweat.

“Say that again.”

“Can’t believe it,” you repeat, suddenly a little embarrassed by the statement.

He tilts his head. “Not that part.”

You gnaw on your lower lip and shrug. “I’m yours.”

The statement is casual because you are. You have been for a long time. 

His eyes drop to your lips briefly and then he is on you again, his hand dropping from the back of your neck to the front of your throat—not squeezing, just resting there with a natural weight. “You’re gonna kill me, I swear,” he whispers before licking into your mouth so well that you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

“That means those pretty little sounds are all mine, too.” The hand at your back slips under your shirt, gently kneading the soft skin there. His knee nudges your legs apart so he can rub against you right where you want to be touched most.

“Always, Steve,” you moan, your head falling back. His hand around your neck squeezes experimentally as you bare your throat for him. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your lips fall open at the euphoric feeling. The relinquishing of control—the realization of how much you trust him—hits you like a semi-truck.

Steve can’t even form words, so he just nods, his breath coming out in heavy puffs.

“So pretty, so perfect... I’m so lucky.” He rambles, drunk on you, rutting up against you, peppering sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along the bare skin of your shoulder.

It is a little reckless, but the way you love each other makes you that way. Maybe you should care, but in this moment, neither of you cares about anything besides the feel of each other and the possibility of forever.

—

The Apartment

The kitchen of your modest apartment is filled with the smell of toast and bacon. Some Duran Duran song plays from the radio on the windowsill. You flip another piece of bacon as you bob your head and sway your hips to the beat.

“Did Henderson leave?” Steve pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes settling on you cooking and dancing. You look so in your element, so very much you, that it makes his heart ache.

“A few minutes ago. Why?” You furrow your brows, looking over your shoulder at him.

He groans in frustration. “That little shit. He stole my hairspray—my last can, too!” He runs a hand through his messy brown locks. “That is the last time he sleeps over.”

You roll your eyes and gasp dramatically, your voice dripping with heavy sarcasm. “Oh no! The King of Hawkins will have a flat mane for one whole day! What a tragedy. You know, I may just have to break up with yo—”

Steve doesn’t let you finish the sentence; he is on you as quickly as the words leave your mouth. He crosses the kitchen in two steps, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He grabs you, spinning you around and plopping you onto the opposite counter. The cool tile is jarring as it hits your thighs, your feet dangling. A squeal of surprise leaves your mouth in the process.

“Steve! I’m gonna burn the bacon!”

“The bacon can wait,” Steve murmurs, stepping between your knees. His hands go to your hips to pull you flush against him.

“See how clearly you think without all that aerosol?” you tease, looking at him with pure mischief in your eyes as your hands come to rest against his chest.

He grabs your waist then, his fingers giving your ribs a squeeze. You jolt and let out a little yelp. The sarcasm dies in your throat as his gaze darkens, dropping to your lips. Your faces are so close that his breath mingles with yours.

“You’re a real comedian today, huh? Real brave.” He leans in, his lips brushing yours. You rush to catch his mouth, but he moves to the side, trailing his lips along your jaw to that spot just under your ear that makes your brain short-circuit.

God, it’s so much fun to tease him. 

“Mmmhh.” The sound is low and soft from your closed lips as your head falls back, resting gently against the cabinets.

The sound only spurs him on. He nips at your collarbone, his breath so hot against your skin that it makes you shiver. “You like that?”

“You know I do,” you respond breathily, your voice shaking as you try to think straight. One of his hands slides into the back of your hair, fisting it just enough to pull, and he holds you there. His mouth moves back to your throat, peppering open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin he can find.

Your eyes flutter shut, desire rushing through you. “Steve…”

“God, I love that sound,” he whispers, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly register that makes your toes curl. “Makes me want to forget that Robin will probably be home soon.” He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You chuckle softly. “The door has a lock. We probably only have a few minutes, though.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls back to smirk at you. “I can do a lot of damage in a few minutes.”

“That’s awfully cocky of you,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows.

“Challenge accepted. Lock the door, baby.”

—

The Phone Call 

Steve is obsessed with eating you out. He has been from the moment you spread your legs for him for the first time. He loves spending ample time between your thighs. Some days he takes his time, making his way from your mouth to your neck, then to your chest, slowly working toward where you want him most. He loves to get you worked up first, wanting to hear you whine and arch for him; sometimes he even makes you beg a little so that by the time he arrives, you’re soaked for him.

Other days, he gives you no warning. One moment you’re kissing or lounging on the couch together, and the next, your legs are over his shoulders and he’s licking you so enthusiastically that you see black spots in your vision. Nothing else exists for him in those moments—just the taste of you on his tongue and the rest of the world muffled by your thighs pressed to his ears. His only focus is making you tremble. He is fueled by your praises and the euphoric sting of your fingers tugging on his hair.

Then there are days like today, which fall somewhere in between.

All you want to do is finish your phone call with Max. She called to ask for advice about a fight she and Lucas are having—something she does often—and you are always there for her. Your boyfriend, however, does not care. He has plans of his own.

You are leaning against the wall, one hand fiddling with the spiral phone cord. Suddenly, Steve is behind you, pressing his body against yours. His hands rub down your waist to your hips and then lower, before rising again to reach around and unbutton your jeans. You smile fondly at first, until you realize exactly what he is doing. Your eyes go wide and your cheeks flush instantly as he shucks your jeans down. And you let him—because, goddamn, this boy makes you crazy.

You can’t help the small gasp of surprise that leaves your lips as he rids you of your underwear and the cool air of the kitchen hits your bare skin. The sound causes Max to ask if you’re okay, but you don’t respond. Couldn’t form a goddamn word if you tried. Your chest heaves as you struggle to form even one coherent thought. Steve’s hand covers yours, pulling the phone from your grasp and bringing it to his ear.

“Hey, Max. Yeah, she’s gonna have to call you back,” he says into the receiver, his voice low as his chin hovers over your shoulder. You hear Max mutter her disgust before Steve chuckles and hangs up the phone.

“Damn kids, always taking my girl.” He mutters, more to himself than you, shaking his head and tucking your underwear into his back pocket. Christ.

Nervous excitement rushes through you.

He spins you so you are facing him, slowly lowering himself to his knees before you—a sight that makes your breath hitch. “Jesus, Steve.”

“What is it?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder as he looks up at you with hungry eyes. “You like the sight of me on my knees for you?” He leans forward to press a kiss right where you are nearly dripping for him.

Your head falls back with a broken moan, and you steady yourself with a hand against the wall.

“Nuh-uh, baby. Eyes on me,” he whispers, his hand grabbing your ass to pull you closer. “Want you to watch what I’m gonna do to you.”

—

WSQK

You follow Steve into the sound booth, shutting the door behind you. He lets out a breath it seems he’s been holding since it was decided that the party is moving forward with his plan. The sky is quite literally falling, and the lot of you are going to smack right into it. The stakes feel high, and the impending risk—and possible grief—feels heavy. You lean against the edge of the soundboard and cross your arms, tilting your head as you look at him.

“I’m not even going to try and convince you not to go, because I know you won’t, and you’ll tell me to shove it, but—”

“Not a chance in hell—” you start, but Steve puts his hands up.

He takes a step forward, closing the gap until he’s right up against you, hands rubbing your arms comfortingly. “I know, baby. I know.” He pauses. “I just—” He sighs, rubbing one hand down his face.

“I don’t want you up there any more than you want me to be, Steve. But I go where you go. We do this,” you gesture around you, “together. Vecna or no Vecna.”

He swallows, his jaw clenching. “This is the most I’ve ever had to lose, and it scares the shit out of me.” He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut.

Your hand comes up to rest on his cheek. “Me too.” Your voice shakes noticeably.

“Promise you’ll stay close to me?”

“Always,” you respond.

His mouth is on yours—not gentle or tender, but rough and full of pent-up emotion. If a kiss could bruise, you think this one should. His hands fist in the fabric of your jacket as your back arches to meet him. You kiss back with the same fervor, pouring every ounce of desperation and fear into the movement of your mouth against his.

He lifts you slightly so that you’re sitting on the soundboard. Your hands scramble for purchase as you steady yourself, pushing buttons and flicking levers, but you couldn't care less. He nudges your legs apart with his own, pushing his hips between them. His mouth is demanding; his hands drop to your thighs, kneading the flesh through your pants while your fingers find purchase in his hair.

His mouth drops to your neck, sucking at the space below your ear that always makes you melt. “Steve,” you moan, your voice trembling softly.

“God, I will never get tired of hearing that,” he breathes against your skin.

Sudden banging on the glass makes you both jump apart, hearts racing. “We, on the other hand, are VERY tired of it!” Murray’s voice is muffled but discernible as he yells, throwing his hands around.

Steve steadies you as you nearly slide off the soundboard and into him. Mortification is the only word that can accurately describe what you feel as you gape at him in pure confusion and embarrassment.

“You’re on the mic, lovebirds!” Murray yells again, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if you’re both idiots. He points to the speakers on the ceiling and the glowing ‘ON AIR’ light.

You bury your face in your hands as you feel the heat rush into your cheeks. Steve just shakes his head, rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “I just know Robin is somewhere cackling.”

-