⋆｡𖦹° are you lucid? ⭒˚｡⋆

except... in the first month of your relationship, max has been hurling insults his way tenfold. to the point where even lucas has noticed and has encouraged her to "chill out on harrington", which resulted in her breaking up with him for an entire week.

(it was the longest week of your life, because lucas sinclair wouldn't stop calling your landline phone. when his efforts there weren't sufficient enough for max to take him back, he started showing up to your doorstep every morning, biking over with a bouquet of flowers in one hand.

eventually, max ended his misery when he promised to never tell her she's doing something wrong, ever again.)

that friday night, steve whisks you away from the wheelers' basement, driving you over to lovers lake so you can finally get some privacy in the back of his car. it's not ideal, but max is still calling your space a "no harrington zone", and you'll take whatever alone time you can get with your boyfriend.

"have you figured out why max hates me more than usual?" steve asks as his hand works the bra clasp behind your back. you furrow your brows and disconnect your lips from his, a confused look on your face.

"are you really thinking about my sister while we're making out?"

"ew, no," steve says before ducking down to press a series of kisses along your neck. you hum, feeling the confines of your bra loosen, and he pushes the straps down your shoulders, "i was thinking about how she looked like she wanted to murder me when we left mike's just now, though."

"does max intimidate you?" you ask, combing your fingers through his messy hair. steve shrugs, burying his face into the junction between your shoulder and neck.

you notice the very distinct lack of kisses being seared into your skin, and you exhale lowly, scratching gently at his scalp. he nuzzles closer into your touch.

"i don't think she's ever liked me too much, but now that you're my girl, her opinion really matters to me." steve finally admits.

a gentle smile crooks at the corners of your lips.

"i can talk to her," you murmur, thumbs finding his warm cheeks, brushing over his skin. "d'you wanna see my tits now?"

steve looks up and presses his chin against your chest.

"yes, please. i think that'll make everything better."

that night, steve drops you off at the trailer you and max live in.

it used to house billy and his dad, too, but the latter split after his son died. your mom also technically lives there, though she hasn't been all too present since everything with billy happened.

if it weren't for max and now steve, you think you would've left hawkins a long time ago.

you're not surprised when you walk through the front door to find all the lights still on, max eating cereal and watching some late night television in your makeshift living room. you send her a small smile as you dump your bag on the counter, then plop down next to her.

"hey, killer," you greet, bumping her knee. "how was the rest of your night?"

max shrugs, jaw working through a mouthful of soggy cheerios.

"fine," she eventually answers. "the usual."

she turns to you, shifting her position slightly so she's angled closer to your body, blue eyes sweeping over you. you wrinkle your nose as she juts her chin at your neck, fingernails covered in chipped green polish suddenly yanking at the collar of your worn tee-shirt.

"what are you—"

"god, why do you let that leech leave marks on you like a vampire?" max asks, poking hard at the fresh hickey steve left at the top of your breast.

"oh my god, max, haven't you ever heard of a little personal space?!" you exclaim, shoving her away. she rolls her eyes and gets up to dump her empty bowl in the sink. "what's your deal with steve, anyway? i thought you liked him."

max laughs bitterly at that. in her sad excuse for pajamas — an oversized hawkins high tee-shirt that used to be yours, now passed down to her — she reminds you so much of the little girl she used to be.

it scares you a tiny bit, how much she still looks like her — the same bruised knees and freckles and frizzy red hair, except this version of max seems to hate you a little bit, and you can't figure out why.

"night." max mutters, and it's the last you see of her that night.

"can i take you out tonight?"

it's the first thing steve asks when you call him the next morning. you smile to yourself, all loved up and thoroughly charmed by steve harrington, who is already experiencing severe withdrawals after being away from you for less than 10 hours.

"i don't think so," you murmur into the receiver, twirling the phone cord around your fingers, "max was seriously peeved when you dropped me off last night."

steve groans on the other end. "we have to figure this out, mayfield. i'm not letting a teenager dictate my love life."

"you rescheduled a date once so you could take dustin to the arcade."

"that was different."

you roll your eyes, "regardless, i feel like i should be spending more time with her. maybe she's still reeling from the whole billy thing. i don't know."

"i could come over. bring some ice cream and steal a tape from family video."

"you're sweet. thievery and all," you tease, biting your lip, "lemme just try to handle this one, though. we can catch up tomorrow after your shift."

"promise?"

"pinky promise."

"holding you to it, mayfield."

you giggle as you each hang up the phone, just as max walks into the living room. she already has that look on her face — the one that's half a pout, half an evil eye — and you smile at her, playing dumb.

"hey, do you wanna have some sister time tonight? i got paid yesterday, i could order us a pizza and paint your nails or something. watch a movie, too, maybe?"

the hopeful tone in your voice is impossible not to pick up on, and it kills you a little bit when max's frown only burrows deeper into her face.

"don't you have plans with your little airhead boyfriend?" she asks.

"no, and he's not an airhead, max. i told him i was busy hanging out with you tonight."

"so what, you ditch him for one night and think you're sister of the year?" she rolls her eyes. "i already have plans with lucas anyway. you're off the hook."

"max," you sigh, blocking her from walking any further as she goes to leave. "come on, we have to talk about this. what's your deal with steve? why don't you like us dating?"

max crosses her arms over her chest. she's as stubborn as the day she was born, when she refused to fall asleep anywhere but your mother's arms.

"you're gonna think it's stupid."

"nothing you think is stupid."

she hesitantly twirls a braid in her hand.

"i just... look, mom's always brought him these absolute losers, so who's to say steve isn't one of them?"

you blink. the anger in your throat immediately subsides.

"you're scared i'm gonna end up like her," you say, and max, though looking off to the side, still looking uninterested, nods her head. "i get it, maxie. letting steve in was a risk for me, too. it took me some time to decide he was worth it."

she chances a glance at you. you reach out to brush over her knuckles.

"he's not like the bad guys mom dates, and he's not like billy, either. he's good. he... he takes care of me, and he takes care of all of you, right? just because we're dating now doesn't mean that's gonna change. a label isn't gonna change that."

max shrugs. "but what if he wants you to, like, leave hawkins before i graduate? won't you go with him?"

you smile gently.

"never in a million years," you say. "he knows better than to ask me to ever do anything like that. and he knows that you'll always be my number one priority."

max, looking slightly less uncomfortable now, nods her head. her arms are at her sides, and her lack of response tells you that she's processing, if not at least pacified by your explanation.

"okay, well," max swallows, then clears her throat. "you can tell... steve that he can come over whenever he would like, then. and he can come to the next sister night we have."

you grin.

"thank you, maxie," you step forward to wrap her arms around her shorter frame, to which she reluctantly accepts. you laugh into her messily parted hair before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "steve is a good guy, okay? i promise."

"if he's so good, he can cool it on the hickies," she bites, grabbing her skateboard as she wiggles out of your embrace, "seriously. you look like you're in a bad halloween movie half the time."

you stick her tongue out at her and wave her off, following as she jogs down the short flight of stairs at the entrance of your trailer.

You were working a late shift with Steve, subbing in for Robin as she attempted to make amends with Vicki. Your friend had blown off her date with the girl in favor of assisting Nancy plan the next Crawl. You'd certainly stay out of that catfight.

After queuing the next fifteen minutes of music, you'd signaled back to Steve that you were clear to go off the air for a break. He'd easily switched off your mics on the board before flicking the 'On Air' sign off. It'd been a pretty smooth broadcast so far, with few callers and, thankfully, no government interruptions.

You excused yourself to the restroom while Steve made his way upstairs to check on Dustin and Lucas. The quartet of boys had been found guilty and nearly suspended from school after Dustin instigated a fight in the lunchroom. The boy hadn't wanted to go home yet, noting that his mother was certain to fret over his concerning behavior. While Mike and Will biked home an hour ago, Lucas remained in hopes of getting through to his friend.

Once you finished up in the restroom, you made your own way to the stairs. As you started up, Lucas came scurrying down with a huff, his book bag tossed over his shoulder. You called after him, "Get home safe – call if you need anything!"

He simply gave you a dismissive wave, still muttering a small goodbye under his breath. Your shoulders slumped as you glanced up the brick stairs.

Finally, you began your ascent, moving slowly in hopes of gauging exactly what you would walk into. You paused near the top of the flight when you heard the echoes of another argument — this time it was Dustin and Steve. They'd had their spats here and there, yet from their tone, this was a whole new level.

You stayed still, catching every other word Dustin threw while Steve's volume kept growing. They were going in circles, and it was getting ridiculous.

"I can take care of myself!" Dustin snapped, raising his voice to match Steve's.

"Really now? Because from where I'm standing, you're acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum," Steve shot back, hands firmly planted on his hips, "Christ, Henderson, for someone so smart, you don't even seem to think about what you're doing."

The small creak of the floorboard gave you away. Both boys snapped their heads to glare into the doorway, yet only Dustin seemed embarrassed at being caught in the middle of another fight. The younger boy snatched his bookbag off the couch before rushing down the stairs, likely to find and follow Lucas on his bike.

"Give the kid a break, he'll be fine for one night," You stopped Steve from following Dustin down the stairs to continue their argument. The frequency of their disagreements had been steadily increasing over the past month.

"Whose side are you even on?" Steve scoffed as he turned away from you. His fingertips pressed against his temples, rubbing circles into the sensitive spots.

Your eyes narrowed at him, his snide tone catching you off guard. "Watch the attitude, Harrington."

"So now you're gonna start with me?" His lips pursed as he lowered his arms to cross over his broad chest.

Your jaw clenched, keeping a firm demeanor. Your stomach flipped as his voice took on a darker edge, and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. But he wouldn't get the upper hand this time.

"I'm not starting it, I'm ending it," You corrected him, "So watch your mouth."

You pivoted on your heel, ready to return downstairs to the booth and continue with the broadcast. And yes, you expected him to follow in step without another word, because no matter how much you pushed each other, you hadn't crossed that line yet.

Both of you entered the glass case, the air thick with unspoken words. Usually, you were able to separate work, love, and monsters. Yet right now, tension was at an all-time high, especially with each sound effect played so loudly it drowned out your voice.

At the next program break, you took the initiative to shut off the mics, tugging the headset off your head. You shot her a cold glare, skin prickling with anger, "What the fuck is your problem?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve scoffed, shoving his headset down to rest around his neck, "You're being crazy."

"Crazy?" You blinked in surprise at his choice of words. Clearly, the boy wasn't in his right mind.

You stood to your full height, glaring down at him as he remained seated on his designated stool. You knew he was just trying to rile you up, especially with that bitchy smirk on his face, and it had worked. But you wouldn't let him have all the power over the situation. Two could play at this game.

With a sudden movement, his jaw was cradled in your hand, your fingertips digging into the line of bone. Steve took a sharp intake of air, eyes widening in surprise. Your head dipped closer, and for half a second, Steve thought you might take it easy on him and give him what he clearly needed.

When you paused just a breath away from his lips, his brown eyes searched your face with confusion, silently begging you to close the distance. Yet you remained in place, withholding your kiss. His large hands settled at the back of your thighs, gently insisting you move forward to close the distance. His desire for you was outweighing his need to keep up the fight.

Your free hand landed on his shoulder before trailing down his chest and teasing the length of his zipper. Steve's eyes glossed over with barely contained need, "I— sweetheart, please."

"You've been real sassy tonight," you hummed, slowly tugging the metal zipper down before undoing the button of his jeans. Finally, your hand dipped inside his pants to cup his growing bulge, giving a teasing squeeze. "You know the magic words I want to hear."

Steve gave a shy roll of his hips, searching for a fraction of friction to relieve the ache. He, too, was far too proud to admit to any wrongdoing. Yet you had a way of turning him to putty with a sultry voice and a wave of your hand.

Steve's bottom lip trembled as you removed your hand from between your bodies, a small whimper escaping him, "I'm sorry."

"What was that?" You leaned closer as you finally pressed your full weight into his lap. Steve gripped your sides, fingers lacing through the belt loops as his knuckles turned white.

"I'm sorry," he whined, giving you another tentative roll of his hips. His boner strained against your thigh, pulsing from need.

"Well, I hope this has taught you a valuable lesson." You smirked before crawling off his lap. You sauntered back to the rolling chair, popping on your headset as the song ended.

Steve gawked in surprise, his face paling as you prepared to continue on with the broadcast. "I- Uh... Baby, please—"

"And we are back on air in 3... 2..." You counted down, not even giving him a chance.

"Shit," Steve shifted in his seat, trying to pull himself back together in order to keep the show going in hopes that you might give him some reprieve once you were both off shift.

@cha0ticstranger

Worrying your bottom lip, you look down at your masterpiece. It’s not bad, actually! It’s round, golden brown, and smells like vanilla. 

Now, for the frosting. 

It doesn’t take long for you to whip it up, and it glides onto the spongey surface better than you expected. You’re so focused on layering it on smoothly and evenly that you don’t even hear when the shower turns off. 

Finally, after one last swipe of your spatula, you stand back to survey your work. Thick, white frosting coats the cake, and your mouth waters just looking at it. 

Just then, a door opens past the kitchen and your pulse leaps. Swiping a hand under the plate, you balance the cake in your arm and turn—right as Steve rounds the corner. 

You gasp and try to recover at the last second, but it’s too late. 

“Hey, babe, what are you—”

Steve stops short, lips parting in surprise, as the cake slips down the plate and plants right onto his hairy chest. 

You’re caught red-handed, but you can’t help but notice how the evening light paints his broad shoulders in a dusky glow, and turns the water droplets from his hair into little sunlit beads that roll down his strong stomach, disappearing into the towel wrapped around his waist. 

At the sight of that towel, you seem to remember that he just showered— and now he’s literally wearing a cake. 

Your eyes meet. 

“S-shit!” you stammer, springing into action. “Steve, I’m so sorry!” 

You try to scoop the cake back onto the plate, but his warm hand finds your hip and your grip slips, sending a glob of white frosting down into his happy trail. 

“Was this for me? I told you not to do this,” Steve warns with a soft laugh. “Here, just—”

He grabs the plate with his other hand and pushes the smeared cake back onto it, then gently pries it from your hands and sets it on the counter. 

Now, with his birthday gift out of the way, you have a mouthwatering vision in front of you. You should definitely be helping him clean up, but right now, you’re too busy staring. The frosting mats down his chest hair, smearing down his toned torso, and you can’t help yourself. 

Before he can say anything, you lower your mouth to his chest and lick a line through the soft sugar, right between his hairy pecs.

His breath stutters out of him, and his fingers tighten on your hip. Sugar blooms bright and sweet on your tongue, and mixed with the salt on his skin, and the soap from his shower—the concoction is heavenly. 

“Jesus,” he huffs when your tongue flicks his hard nipple. “Baby…”

His chest hair tickles your nose as you press into him, licking him with broad, firm strokes, making sure you get every bit of it. 

“You just had a shower, Stevie,” you sigh against his skin, lips fluttering over his racing heart. “And I got you all messy. Let me clean you up.”

A rush of arousal pools between your legs as you fall to your knees right there in the kitchen to mouth at that line of course hair, sinking your teeth into the softness of his stomach right where the towel sits as you swallow another mouthful of frosting. 

His erection tents the towel, and he sucks in a breath when his length bumps into your chin, but your hands find his calves, thumbs pressing into the muscle there, a soft reminder that you’re here, worshiping him, wanting him to feel desired.

Steve rakes a hand through his hair, tipping his head back with a groan before looking down at you again through heavy lashes. 

“Yeah, okay,” he rasps. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind on the whole birthday thing…”

a/n: what if I told you that i pictured steve & reader from sugar rush the whole time I was writing this.