#stranger things steve

Steve harrington x fem!reader, 1.8k words, Steve is an adorable loser for his gf <3

summary: Everyone loves Steve's girlfriend, but he just wants a little bit of your attention for himself. Is that so bad?

It starts, as many things do, with Dustin Henderson.

You’re curled on the corner of Steve’s couch, your legs tucked under his thigh while he flicks through TV channels. The doorbell rings, and before Steve can even mutter “I’m not home,” the door swings open.

“Hey, is she— oh, there you are!” Dustin beams, dropping his backpack with a thud. "Hi!"

In which Steve is just trying to love his girlfriend but he forgot he asked for six children.

fem reader, bikini, make out, smut p in v at the end, language, not proof read

The first occurrence was on all accounts, an accident. An annoying one.

"What'd you say, movie, me, you, tonight?" Steve expressed his desire for a date night, leaning over the counter that was splattered with butter and a variation of soda's.

Elevator scene:

You straddle Steve's hips, your thighs clamping down on either side of him as you sink onto his cock with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch. He's already rock hard, thick length throbbing inside your slick pussy, but you don't give him the friction he craves. Instead, you hold still, feeling every inch of him stretch you, your walls fluttering around his girth while you savor the control. Steve's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to show his desperation, but you bat them away with a smirk.

"Not yet, baby," you murmur, leaning forward to brace your palms on his chest, your breasts brushing against his skin. His eyes lock on them, pupils blown wide with lust, but you lift your hips slightly, pulling off him almost to the tip before sliding back down in a torturously shallow grind. He groans, head falling back against the pillow, that perfect jaw clenching as he fights the urge to thrust up into you.

"Fuck, please," Steve begs, voice rough and needy, his cock twitching deep inside you. You ignore the plea, rolling your hips in a lazy circle that presses his head against your cervix, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. This is your show—your sweet boyfriend reduced to a living toy, his body yours to use however you want. You rise up again, higher this time, letting just the first few inches stay buried before dropping down hard, the slap of your ass against his thighs echoing in the room.

He gasps, abs tightening under your hands, but you lift off immediately, hovering with only the tip teasing your entrance. "You're so good for me, Steve. Just lie there and take it." Your words make him whimper, a sound so unlike his usual confident growls that it sends heat pooling in your core. You sink down fully once more, clenching your pussy around him like a vice, milking his length without moving. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more, but you pin him down with your weight, nails scraping lightly over his nipples.

"Ah—shit, I need to move," he pants, brown eyes pleading up at you, sweat beading on his forehead. His cock pulses inside you, leaking pre-cum that mixes with your arousal, making everything slick and messy. You shake your head, starting a rhythm that's all for you—short, sharp bounces that let you grind your clit against his pubic bone on every downstroke. Pleasure builds in your belly, coiling tight as you use him, his thickness hitting just right without giving him the deep thrusts he aches for.

Steve's hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, as he watches you ride him like your personal fucktoy. "You're killing me here," he rasps, voice breaking on a moan when you pause at the bottom, rotating your hips to feel him drag against your inner walls. You lean down, capturing his lips in a messy kiss, tongue invading his mouth while you stay seated, your pussy squeezing rhythmically around his shaft. He kisses back hungrily, but you pull away first, straightening up to chase your own high.

The pace picks up, your bounces turning faster, wet sounds filling the air as you fuck yourself on his cock. Steve's breaths come in ragged bursts, his chest heaving, but he doesn't complain—just stares at you with that adoring, desperate gaze, loving every second of being at your mercy. "God, you feel incredible," he murmurs, even as frustration edges his tone. You reach down, circling your clit with your fingers, the added stimulation making you gasp and clench harder around him.

"This is what you get for being so damn sweet," you tease, voice breathy as the orgasm nears. You lift and drop, lift and drop, using his length to rub that perfect spot inside you, ignoring how his cock swells, how close he must be to the edge. His balls draw up tight against you, but you slow suddenly, grinding deep and still, denying him release. Steve whines, a low, broken sound, his hands reaching for you again only to drop back when you glare playfully.

"Please, baby, let me—" he starts, but you cut him off by slamming down hard, once, twice, your pussy fluttering wildly as you come undone. Waves of ecstasy crash over you, soaking his cock and thighs as you ride out the high, clenching and releasing around him in pulses that nearly push him over. But you don't let him follow—instead, you lift off entirely, his slick length slapping wetly against his stomach, glistening with your combined juices.

Steve groans in agony, hips jerking into empty air, his cock red and straining, tip beading with pre-cum. "Fuck, that's not fair," he complains, but there's a grin tugging at his lips, eyes dark with want. You slide down his body, hovering your dripping pussy over his face for a moment, letting him inhale your scent before you settle beside him, hand wrapping around his base in a loose grip.

"My toy doesn't get to cum until I say," you whisper, stroking him slowly, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the slickness. He bucks into your hand, moaning your name like a prayer, but you keep the pace agonizingly light, edging him closer without mercy. His body tenses, breaths shallow, and just as he teeters on the brink, you release him, watching his cock throb untouched.

"You're evil," Steve laughs breathlessly, though his voice is wrecked, chest rising and falling rapidly. You climb back on, sinking down onto him again, this time facing away so he can watch your ass bounce as you use him once more. The new angle lets him hit even deeper, and you moan loudly, hands on his knees for leverage as you fuck yourself senseless on his dick.

Dialogue spills from your lips between gasps—"Feels so good being filled like this,"—and Steve responds with filthy encouragements, even denied: "Take what you need, yeah, just like that." His hands finally get purchase on your hips, not guiding but holding on for dear life as you grind and bounce, building toward another peak. Sweat slicks both your skins, the room heavy with the scent of sex, and when your second orgasm hits, it's explosive, pussy gushing around him as you cry out.

This time, as you tremble through it, you don't pull away. Instead, you lean back against his chest, reaching up to tangle fingers in his hair while still impaled on his cock. "Cum for me now, Steve," you command softly, rolling your hips in invitation. He doesn't need more—thrusting up weakly but urgently, he spills inside you with a guttural moan, hot cum flooding your walls in thick spurts. You milk every drop, clenching around him until he's spent, both of you collapsing in a heap of limbs and satisfied sighs.

But you're not done yet. After a moment to catch your breath, you slide off, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop, cum leaking from your pussy onto his thigh. You push him onto his back fully, straddling his face this time. "Clean me up, toy," you order, lowering yourself until his tongue darts out eagerly, lapping at the mess between your folds. Steve hums in approval, sucking gently on your clit, hands cupping your ass as he devours you like a man starved.

His efforts reignite the fire, and soon you're grinding against his mouth, using his tongue like an extension of your pleasure. "That's it, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair to hold him in place. He doesn't protest, just works you over with broad licks and firm sucks until you're coming again, flooding his mouth with your release. Steve swallows it all, moaning into your pussy as if it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

you roll off him, curling into his side. He's panting, cock twitching back to half-hardness already, but he just pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Anytime you need your personal dildo, I'm here," he murmurs with a chuckle, voice hoarse from all the begging and praising. You smile, tracing patterns on his chest, knowing you'll take him up on that offer soon enough.

A QUICK FIX. [18+] 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

‎✧˚₊‧ steve harrington fucking you silly after you get stood up !

his cock drills in and out of you, the bed creaking and the headboard cracking against the wall of your bedroom as he thrusts harder.

his hair was a mess, his hands gripping your thighs to the point you could see marks begin to appear on your skin, but you couldn't care. your mind was a jumbled mess, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth remaining agape no matter how many times you tried to keep it close.

steve leans in, pressing a kiss onto your lips, that fails halfway through because of a moan escaping your throat before he could lock lips, smirking against your chin. "poor baby." he whispers, you knew that cocky tone too well, you knew what kind of things it did to you. "can't even kiss me? that's sad... am i fucking you that good?"

your back arched off the bed, nails digging deep into steve's shoulders, leaving red markings on them as each thrust hits you harder and harder. he's always had an effect on you that you couldn't describe, but you didn't push away either.

neither shaking or nodding your head, you tilt your head back, hair sprawled on the pillow as your walls stretch around him. "steve! ngh, fuck! fuck! steve! s'so good..."

he smiles to himself, kissing your cheek as his hands drift down to the back of your knees, pushing your legs back to have your knees hit your breasts, leaning back. "oh yeah? too good huh? your pussy is incredible, baby, taking me so good."

you moan louder as he changes the position, feeling your heels hit his shoulders, toes curling up in the air as your hands find themselves in the bedsheets, curling the material.

you see, you were supposed to be going on a date at this time... keyword; supposed.

you were all dolled up, nice smelling perfume, lingerie ready because you were interested in this guy, you weren't going to front... but then, when you drove yourself downtown and went to the restaurant... he wasn't there.

minutes passed by, and he didn't show up, you even gave this bastard an hour to show up... he never came.

which left you, slightly embarrassed, more pissed if anything, in this nice restaurant, with no date. your interest in this guy immediately died after that.

but luckily, your friend, steve harrington, was at work at the family video right down the street from the restaurant, so you drove over to the family video, rented out a couple of movies, and definitely sensed steve's brown eyes on you.

so now, you were here, in your bed, completely naked, make up ruined and steve's cock bulldozing in and out of your wet folds.

"steveeeee, oh fuck! don't stop, don't fuckin s-stop!" you slur out, words getting mixed together and cut off, pleasure seeping into every fiber of your bones as he brings you closer and closer to your orgasm. you couldn't even feel half of your body, tingles running up your body, it felt so good.

"don't worry, hun." he whispers, squeezing your legs which fit perfectly in his palms. "don't worry 'bout me stopping. with this perfect cunt? how could i?" he asks, almost himself.

his voice alone makes your cunt flutter, but you squeeze around him anything, your version of telling him that you're close.

you're not close enough to bite him anyway.

his voice rings out again, mixing in with the wood cracking and the sloppy sounds of wet mixing with wet. "this pussy is so wet f'me... it's cute, honey, especially because you were waiting for someone else to ruin it only an hour ago."

your face heats up. "ste- steve, don't. please."

"oh but why not?" he shakes his heads, purposely dragging his cock against your walls slower than usual but going deeper. "because you know it's true? you know this sweet girl is so needy for some cock that she lets me fill it? it's perfectly okay sweetheart, just be honest 'bout it."

fuck him. fuck him for being able to ruin you so good, and fuck you for deciding to let him fuck you... especially because you know damn well he was going to act like this.

but thank any god above that your date bailed out on you, cause it got you a good taste of harrington cock!

click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

AUTHOR'S NOTE: seriously, I am addicted to writing about this fuck ass dude, I can’t stop. he’s so fun to write for too, he can be pathetic but so dominant at the same time… I’ve been thinking of creating some au’s for him and for other characters… having sum thoughtssss.

thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: Steve doesn’t hesitate when it comes to you. He will not tolerate if someone hurts his girl. And he will take care of you in any way he can.

Warnings: violence. hurt/comfort. attempt of SA (nothing graphic but please read with care). blood. Steve saying all the right things. dating Steve Harrington. no use of y/n.

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Steve’s almost done closing the Family Video Store. 

He’s halfway to flipping the sign to CLOSED when the phone rings. He hesitates because normally no one calls this late. But that’s also why something in his chest twists. That can’t be good, right? 

He picks up. „Family Video, this is…“ 

„Steve.“

Immediate relief floods his mind. It’s you, his lovely girlfriend. 

Then he hears it. Your breathing goes fast and shallow and your sobbing. Every nerve in his body goes electric. „Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?“ His voice drops instantly, steady but tight. 

„He won’t leave,“ you whisper. „Steve, he won’t leave me alone.“ 

His racing thoughts come to an abrupt stand. „Who.“ 

„My brother’s friend. He’s drunk. He…“ Your voice cracks. There’s a loud bang on the other end of the line. You gasp. „He’s trying to get in.“ 

Steve is already grabbing his keys. „Where are you?“ 

„My parents room. I locked it. He’s…“ Another bang, harder this time. „He’s hitting the door. Steve, I’m really scared.“ 

„Listen to me,“ Steve says with his fingers almost breaking the phone. „You stay locked in. Don’t open the door no matter what you hear. I’m coming.“ 

Steve doesn’t remember the drive. He remembers red lights blurring. His hands shaking on the wheel. Nearly missing a turn. The sick, crawling fear in is stomach. 

When he stops the car, he jumps out without bothering to close the door behind him. He doesn’t care. Loud music blasting from the basement. He doesn’t care. Steve takes the stairs two at a time. The hallway is a mess. The bedroom door is open … broken by some guys hands. 

And that’s when he sees it. You’re against the wall. Lip split and a bruise darkening your cheek. That guy - drunk, ugly and furious - has his hand on your wrist. The grip too tight for you to get away. His other hand near your throat and leaning in. 

You’re struggling. Saying no. 

Steve doesn’t think. He sees red. 

„Get your hands off her!“ 

The guy barely turns before Steve is on him. He rips him back so hard, the guy stumbles. Steve’s fist connects with is face once. Twice. Three times. Years of bottled restraint and rage cracking wide open. 

„You touch her again,“ Steve snarls, voice unrecognizable. „I will end you.“ 

The guy tries to swing back but he’s sloppy. Drunk. Steve’s rage is sharp and focused. Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your brother shouting. Other voices pulling them apart before Steve can actually lose control and murdering your attacker. 

The guy is dragged out and the door slams shut behind them. 

Silence. Steve’s chest is heaving. His knuckles sting. His whole body trembling with leftover fury. Then he turns to you and the rage melts into something else entirely. 

You’re shaking. Eyes wide in fear. Breath uneven, trying so hard to hold yourself together. 

Steve’s voice changes. „Hey,“ he says softly. Careful, like he’s about to approach a wounded animal. „It’s me. It’s just me.“ 

You flinch at first - not from him, just from everything. He notices and it nearly breaks him. Steve drops to his knees in front of you. Slowly and without touching, so he wouldn’t scare you even more. „I’m here,“ he whispers. „You’re safe now.“ 

Your face crumbles and you fall into him. 

He catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you tight but gentle. One hand cradling the back of your head away from his shoulder so he doesn’t press against your bruised cheek. 

You break into full shaking sobs. „I told him no,“ You cry into his chest. „I told him to stop.“ 

„I know,“ Steve says quietly. „I know you did.“ 

„He wouldn’t listen… I swear I did…“ 

„That’s not on you.“ His voice is firm now, protective in a different way. „None of that is your fault. Not one second of it.“ 

Your fingers clutch his shirt like you’re drowning. „I was so scared.“ 

„I know,“ he says again and his voice cracks this time. „I should’ve been here sooner.“ 

„No,“ You choke out. „You came. You came to me.“ 

He presses his forehead gently to yours, careful of your injuries. „I’m so sorry,“ he breathes. „I’m so sorry you had to be scared like that.“ 

You shake your head weakly. „He said it was nothing. That I was overreacting.“ 

Steve pulls back just enough to look at you. His jaw tightens. „You said no,“ He tells you. „That’s it. That’s the whole sentence. That’s enough.“ 

You nod, tears still slipping down your face. His thumb brushes gently under your split lip, checking the damage like you’re made of glass. 

„Does it hurt?“ He asks quietly.

You shrug. He exhales shakily. 

„I need you to hear me,“ he says, voice softer that you’ve ever heard it. „You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t lead him on. You didn’t owe him anything. You don’t have to be polite when someone makes you uncomfortable. Not ever.“ 

Your breathing starts to slow. Steve shifts so you’re sitting on his lap on the floor, holding you fully now. One hand rubbing slow circles into your back. You bury your face in is neck and for a long time, he just stays like that. 

Letting you cry. Letting you shake. Kissing your hair. Murmuring soft reassurances between two breaths. 

When you finally quiet down, he pulls back slightly. „Can I clean your lip?“ He asks gently. „Just a little.“ 

You nod. He does it so carefully. Like he’s handling something sacred. After, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

„I’m really proud of you,“ Steve says suddenly. 

You blink at him. „For what?“ 

„For fighting back. For locking the door. For calling me.“ His thumb brushes your cheek, avoiding the bruise. „You did everything right.“ 

Your eyes fill again - but not from fear this time. He presses his forehead to yours one more time. „I love you,“ he says. „And if anyone ever makes you feel unsafe again, I will be there. Always.“ 

„I love you too, Steve,“ You lift your chin and he closes the small distance between your lips. The kiss is soft like a feather. So gentle it almost shatters you into a million pieces. 

When you part again, you catch his gaze. „Can you take me to your house? I - I don’t want to stay here tonight.“ 

Steve doesn’t hesitate. „Yeah. Yeah, of corse.“ 

He helps you stand, one arm firm around your shoulders, the other holding your hand. When your brother tries to approach - face pale, stammering apologies - Steve doesn’t even look at him. „Not now,“ he says calm but final. 

Steve moves you quickly and careful. No one else gets to see you like this. 

The drive is quiet. His hand never leaves your thigh. You’re starring out the window, but you’re not really seeing anything. 

When you reach his house, he’s out of the car in seconds, coming around to open your door like he always does - except this time there’s no teasing. No princess comments. 

Inside, the house is quiet and dark. Empty. Safe. 

You stand there for a second in the hallway like you don’t know what to do with yourself. Then you whisper, „I feel … dirty.“ 

Steve’s heart squeezes. He steps closer but doesn’t crowd you. „You’re not,“ he says softly. „Not even a little.“ 

You swallow hard. „I just … I need a shower. I need it … him off me.“ 

„Okay,“ he nods immediately. „Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll get you one.“

You turn toward the bathroom, then pause. „Steve?“ 

He’s there instantly. „Yeah?“ 

Your voice trembles just slightly. „Will you … will you come with me?“ 

He blinks, clearly unsure what would be the right thing to say. 

„Not like …“ you stutter. „Not like that. I just… I don’t want to be alone. And I don’t want to feel like it’s just me in there.“ 

Something protective and tender settles over his features. „Yeah,“ he says. „Yeah, I’ll come with you.“ 

Hey keeps his movements slow. Gives you control and let’s you set the pace. Te bathroom fills with steam, the water runs warm and you step in first. For a second, you just stand there under the spray, shoulders tight. 

Steve steps in behind you a moment later, careful to give you enough space. The closeness is different tonight. Not playful or charged like usual. Just present. 

Then you turn around and press your forehead against his chest. His arms come around you immediately. 

„I can still feel the grip,“ you croak. 

Steve exhales slowly, one hand cradling the back of your head. „I’ve got you,“ he murmurs. „I’ve got you now.“ 

You guide his hands. „Can you… wash me?“ 

It nearly undoes him - not because it’s intimate in a romantic way, but because you’re trusting him with something fragile. „Okay,“ he says gently. 

He lathers soap in his palms first, warming it so it’s not cold against your skin. Then he starts at your shoulders. Slow and careful. 

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t stare. Steve just focuses. 

His thumbs glide down your arms, washing away sweat, fear and the ghost of someone else’s grip. 

„You tell me if anything feels wrong,“ he says, voice heavy with affection. 

„It doesn’t,“ you answer. „It feels better.“ 

When he reaches your wrists, he pauses - thumb brushing softly over where the grip had been too tight earlier. His jaw tightens at the thought of that. But he doesn’t say anything angry. Instead the presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

„You don’t belong to anyone but yourself,“ he murmurs against your skin. 

Tears mix with the water on your cheeks. You turn so he can wash your back. His touch is featherlight at first, then steadier. The steam wraps around you both, warm and cocooning. For the first time all night, your breathing starts to slow down. 

You lean back into him. He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. „Still feel dirty?“

You shake your head. „No. Just tired.“ 

Steve rests his cheek against your damp hair. „Good,“ he says gently. „Your safe here.“ 

You tilt your face up and he kisses you - not desperate, not heated. Just slow, tender and reassuring. His hands stay respectful. Protective without being possessive. 

When you finally step out of the shower, wrapped in his towel, he dries your hair with one of his own like it’s the most important task he’s ever had. 

Later in his bed, your curl into him. His clothes feel like a shield on your body. His arm is around you. Solid and strong. 

You press your face into his chest. „Thank you.“ 

„For what?“

„For not making me feel ashamed.“ 

He tightens his hold just slightly. „You never have to be ashamed,“ he says. „Not with me.“ 

And when you finally fall asleep, it’s the first deep, steady rest you’ve had all night. Steve doesn’t sleep much. He just holds you. And makes sure you stay safe. 

_____________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader Warnings : MDNI ! 18+ heavy touching (f! receiving), dry humping, heavy making out, Steve and reader getting caught

Hawkins in the summer was a sticky, humid mess, but nowhere was hotter than the interior of Steve Harrington’s BMW when the windows were rolled up.

It had been going on for three months. Three months of stolen glances across the room at Family Video. Three months of hands brushing against each other a little too lingeringly when passing popcorn bowls to the kids. Three months of sneaking out of your window, or him sneaking into yours, figuring out exactly which floorboards in the Henderson house creaked and which were silent.

To the world, you were just Dustin’s older sister. The cool one. The one who actually understood D&D references even if you didn’t play, and who drove the kids to the arcade when Steve was "off the clock."

To Steve, you were... well, you weren't entirely sure what you were yet. But judging by the way his hand was currently sliding up the inside of your thigh while he kept his eyes on the road, you were definitely more than just "Dustin’s sister."

"Eyes on the road, Harrington," you murmured, though you didn't push his hand away. You leaned your head back against the headrest, watching the trees blur by.

"I am an excellent driver," Steve scoffed, his fingers tightening just slightly against your denim shorts. "I could drive this road blindfolded. Also, stop distracting me."

"Me? I'm just sitting here."

"Yeah," Steve breathed, glancing over at you, his eyes dark and dilated. "Exactly."

The kids were occupied. It was the golden hour of opportunity. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will were entrenched in a ten-hour campaign in Mike’s basement. Max and El were at the mall. For the first time in weeks, the Harrington house was empty, the parents were out of town (as usual), and the babysitting duties were suspended.

Steve turned the car into his long driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine hadn't even fully cut out before he was unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Coast is clear?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

"Clear," Steve confirmed. "Nobody is coming by. I told the little gremlins I had a date."

You raised an eyebrow as you stepped out of the car, the humid air hitting you instantly. "A date? With who?"

Steve walked around the hood of the car, meeting you in the middle. He grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. He smelled like hairspray, expensive cologne, and the faint, sweet scent of cherry slushie.

"With a very hot, very secret mystery girl," he grinned, that signature Harrington charm in full force. "She’s kind of a pain in the ass, though."

"Is she?" You looped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Maybe you should dump her."

"Can't," Steve whispered, his voice dropping an octave, becoming rougher. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours. "I’m pretty obsessed with her."

He kissed you then, not a soft, sweet greeting, but a hungry, desperate collision of mouths that told the story of two people who had been pretending not to look at each other for six hours straight.

The door to the Harrington house slammed shut, locking out the humidity and the rest of the world. The air conditioning was humming, a blessed relief, but it did little to cool the heat rising between you two.

You barely made it past the foyer.

Steve had you pressed up against the wall before you could even kick your shoes off. His hands were everywhere, tangled in your hair, gripping your waist, sliding down to cup your ass to lift you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, a routine perfected in the dark corners of the Hawkins Lovers' Lane and his bedroom.

"Bedroom," you gasped, breaking the kiss for air. "Steve... bedroom."

"Too far," he groaned against your neck, finding that sensitive spot right below your ear that made your toes curl. He bit down lightly, soothing the spot with a swipe of his tongue. "Couch. Now."

He carried you into the sunken living room, the one with the pristine carpets that his mother obsessed over. He deposited you onto the plush sofa, following you down immediately, his weight heavy and grounding.

This was the part of Steve no one else really saw. Everyone knew Steve the babysitter, the guy who wielded a nail-bat and fought Demodogs. Everyone knew King Steve, the high school legend. But this Steve? The one who looked at you with half-lidded eyes, lips swollen, hair a mess because your fingers had been running through it? This Steve was yours.

He hovered over you, bracing his weight on his forearms. "You look so good," he murmured, one hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. "God, you have no idea how hard it was to watch Eddie try to flirt with you earlier."

You laughed breathlessly, arching up to meet him. "Eddie wasn't flirting. He was asking for a ride to the stash house."

"He was looking at your legs," Steve argued, his voice dipping into a possessive growl. "I wanted to strangle him with his own bandana."

"Jealousy is a bad look, Harrington."

"Not on me."

He kissed you again to shut you up, and the playful banter evaporated, replaced by a heavy, electric silence filled only by the sound of friction and harsh breathing. His hands were impatient now, sliding under the hem of your tank top. His palms were warm, slightly rough from work, sending shivers racing up your spine as he mapped out your ribs.

You arched your back, helping him pull the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Steve wasted no time, his mouth descending to the skin of your collarbone, moving lower. You tangled your hands in his hair, guiding him, a soft moan escaping your throat as his stubble grazed your sensitive skin.

"Steve," you breathed, his name feeling like a prayer on your lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with intent. He sat back on his heels, shucking off his polo shirt in one fluid motion. His chest was heaving slightly, a sheen of sweat already forming.

"You okay?" he asked, checking in. He always checked in. For all his bravado, he was incredibly careful with you.

"Better than okay," you promised, reaching out to pull him back down.

He settled between your legs, the friction of denim on denim maddeningly good. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you, a promise of what was coming. His hands fumbled with the button of your shorts, his movements slightly frantic.

"Damn buttons," he muttered, frustration leaking into his voice.

"Patience," you teased, brushing your thumb over his lower lip.

"I have zero patience left," he admitted. He finally popped the button, the zipper following with a harsh rasping sound. He slid his hands inside the waistband, his fingers warm against your hips, pushing the denim down.

The air in the room felt charged, thick with static. You kicked your shorts off, leaving you in just your underwear. Steve groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. He leaned down, capturing your lips again, but this time it was slower, deeper. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting you, owning you.

His hand slid beneath the elastic of your underwear, finding the heat of you. You gasped into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand.

"So wet," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked. "For me?"

"Only you," you managed to choke out.

He began to move his hand, a rhythmic, teasing pressure that made your vision blur. You threw your head back into the sofa cushions, your hands gripping his shoulders, his back, needing to anchor yourself. He knew exactly what you liked, exactly how to touch you to make you unravel.

"Steve, please," you whimpered, the tension coiling tight in your belly.

"I got you," he soothed, kissing down your throat to your chest. "I’ve got you, baby."

He shifted, his hand leaving you only to fumble with his own belt. The sound of the buckle jingling was the loudest thing in the room. He was ready to take this further, to finally bridge the gap you’d been building toward all day.

He positioned himself, his face hovering inches from yours, eyes searching yours for that final confirmation. You nodded, breathless, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

"I love you," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

"I love you t—"

CRASH.

The front door didn't just open, it flew open with the force of a battering ram, hitting the wall with a deafening thwack.

"STEVE! CODE RED! IT’S A CODE RED! WE NEED THE—"

The voice was unmistakable. It was the voice that had narrated your entire childhood. It was a voice that was currently cracking due to puberty.

Dustin.

Time seemed to freeze.

Steve froze. He was hovering over you, shirtless, his belt undone, his pants unbuttoned, your legs wrapped around his waist, your shirt on the floor, and your bra on full display.

You froze. You were pinned beneath the former King of Hawkins High, looking thoroughly ravished, with your little brother standing in the foyer, clutching a walkie-talkie and looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

Dustin stopped mid-sentence. He stood in the sunken living room entrance, his curly hair wild, his hat askew. He looked at Steve. He looked at you. He looked at Steve’s hand, which was... well, placed rather compromisingly. He looked at your discarded shirt.

The silence that stretched between the three of you was heavier than the Upside Down.

Dustin’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. His face went through a complex journey of emotions: Confusion. Recognition. Horror. absolute, unadulterated repulsion.

"OH MY GOD!" Dustin screamed. It was a scream that could shatter glass.

Steve scrambled backward so fast he nearly fell off the couch. He tripped over his own unbuckled belt, flailing wildly as he tried to cover himself with a throw pillow.

"Dustin!" Steve yelled, his voice cracking higher than it had since 1983. "Dude! Knock! You have to knock!"

"MY EYES!" Dustin yelled, turning around and covering his face with his hands, but then immediately spinning back around to point an accusing finger. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT IS MY SISTER! THAT IS MY BLOOD RELATIVE, STEVE!"

You grabbed the nearest blanket, an afghan Steve’s grandmother had knitted, and pulled it up to your chin, your face burning so hot you thought you might actually combust. "Dustin, get out!"

"GET OUT?" Dustin screeched. "I WALK IN ON... ON... THIS AND YOU TELL ME TO GET OUT? STEVE IS NAKED!"

"I am not naked!" Steve shouted, holding the pillow over his crotch like a shield. "I have pants on! Mostly!"

"YOU WERE EATING HER FACE!" Dustin looked like he was going to be sick. "I thought you were my friend! I thought you were my brother! You betrayed me! You’re sleeping with the enemy!"

"I am not the enemy!" you yelled from the couch.

"You are now!" Dustin retorted. "This is a violation of the bro code! Subsection C, Paragraph 4: No sisters! Especially not my sister!"

Steve stood up, trying to regain some semblance of dignity despite his disheveled hair and unbuttoned pants. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Henderson, listen to me—"

"No! Don't you 'Henderson' me!" Dustin paced frantically in a circle. "How long? How long has this been happening? Is this why you were 'busy' last Friday? Is this why you smelled like her perfume at the arcade?"

Steve and you exchanged a guilty glance.

"Oh my god," Dustin whispered, the realization dawning on him. "It’s been months. You guys have been... you’ve been..." He made a vague, disgusted hand gesture toward the couch. "On my spot! That is my D&D spot!"

"It’s my couch, Henderson!" Steve snapped.

"I sit there!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," you said, trying to inject some authority into your voice despite the situation. You stood up, wrapping the blanket around you like a toga. "Dustin, take a breath. You’re hyperventilating."

"I am traumatized!" Dustin yelled. "I need bleach! I need to scrub my corneas!"

"Dustin," Steve said, stepping forward. He looked serious now. The panic was fading, replaced by that protective instinct he always had for the kid. "Look, man. I know it’s weird. I know. But... I really like her."

Dustin stopped pacing. He peered through his fingers at Steve. "You what?"

"I like her," Steve said firmly, glancing back at you with a soft, apologetic look before turning back to Dustin. "Like, a lot. I’m not just... messing around. I care about her."

You felt your heart squeeze. Amidst the chaos and the shouting, Steve Harrington was standing there, half-dressed, declaring his feelings to your little brother.

Dustin lowered his hands. He looked at Steve, searching for the lie. He looked at you, seeing the blush on your cheeks and the way you were looking at Steve.

The silence returned, but it was less explosive this time. Just awkward.

"You... you like her?" Dustin asked, his voice skeptical. "Like, girlfriend like?"

"Yeah," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, girlfriend like."

Dustin grimaced. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. He let out a long, suffering sigh.

"Jesus," Dustin muttered. "If you guys get married, that makes you my brother-in-law."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," you said quickly.

Dustin pointed a finger at Steve. "If you hurt her, Harrington, I will end you. I know where you sleep. I know your fears. I have Suzie, and she can hack into your bank account."

Steve chuckled, a nervous, relieved sound. "I believe you, Henderson. I’m not gonna hurt her."

Dustin looked between the two of you one last time, shook his head, and turned toward the door. "I’m leaving. I’m going to Mike’s. I’m going to try to forget I ever saw Steve’s nipples."

He grabbed the doorknob, then paused.

"By the way," Dustin said without turning around. "The code red? Lucas got his braces stuck on a Coke can. But I guess you guys are... busy."

He opened the door and marched out, slamming it behind him.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The echo of the slamming door faded, leaving only the hum of the air conditioner.

Steve let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. He dropped the pillow onto the floor and looked at you. "Well. That went... poorly."

You couldn't help it. A giggle bubbled up in your chest. Steve walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your blanket-covered form. "He threatened to have Suzie hack my bank account. The kid is terrifying."

"He’s protective," you smiled, leaning your forehead against Steve's bare chest. "And he loves you."

"He hates me right now."

"He’ll get over it. Especially since you told him you... you know."

Steve went quiet. He pulled you closer, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. "I meant it, you know. What I said."

You looked up at him. The playfulness was gone, replaced by that intense, warm gaze that made your knees weak. "I know. I love you too, Steve."

He kissed you then, sweet, slow, and full of promise. It wasn't the frantic, heated desperation of earlier. It was something solid. Something real.

"So," Steve murmured against your lips. "Dustin is gone. Lucas has a can stuck to his teeth. And we have the house to ourselves again."

You smirked, letting the blanket slip just a little. "Are you suggesting we continue where we left off? On Dustin's 'D&D spot'?"

Steve grinned, lifting you up into his arms effortlessly, making you squeak.

"Absolutely not," he said, carrying you toward the stairs. "We’re going to my room. I am not having Henderson walk in on me again. I don't think my heart can take it."

"Good plan," you agreed, burying your face in his neck as he carried you up the stairs.

The secret was out. The chaos had descended. But as Steve kicked his bedroom door shut and laid you down on his bed, you decided that dealing with Dustin’s drama was a small price to pay for this.