jules

You shot him a look through the mirror. “Says the man who only needs to brush his hair for it to look perfect.” He grinned, unable to argue.

When the iron finally reached your desired temperature, you quickly picked it up without looking.

“Don’t rush.” Steve warned.

“I’m not—” you reached for a loose strand without paying attention, your fingers slipped.

Hiss. “Ow—!” The curling iron clattered against the counter as you jerked your hand back, a sharp, searing pain shot through your fingertips.

Steve was already moving before you’d even finished gasping. “Hey, hey,” he caught your wrist carefully, his previous amused expression immediately falling.

“Let me see.” He urged you.

“I’m okay,” you shook your head, even though your brows were pinched together.

“You literally just burned yourself, you’re not okay.” He gently turned your hand over, a bright red line stretched across two fingers where the barrel had kissed your skin.

His face looked pained. “Ooh,” he sounded, before looking at you with soft brown eyes. “Come here.” He instructed, while still holding your wrist, he guided you toward the sink, and turned on the cold water.

“Just cool.” He muttered to himself while adjusting the temperature, slipping your hand beneath the stream.

You sucked in a breath as the water stung at first before the burn slowly began to ease. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the back of your hand. “You scared me.” Steve admitted.

“I burned my fingers, not my whole arm.” You pointed out.

“I still watched it happen, it was terrifying.” Steve said, voice quieter now. You glanced over, his brows were knitted together, jaw tight and eyes never leaving your fingers.

“You always take care of me.” He murmured. “So when you get hurt…” he shook his head. “I hate it.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know what I hate? The lecture I’m about to get.”

He looked at you as if you reminded him. “Oh, absolutely. You were rushing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was being efficient,” you shrugged.

“Not an excuse—you’re lucky it was only your fingers, you seriously could’ve hurt yourself.” Steve sighed dramatically, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the anxiety you gave your boyfriend.

After several minutes under the tap, he shut the water and inspected your fingers again. “Hmm, doesn’t look too bad. Hold on, you’re missing something.”

Before you could ask, Steve searched through all the drawers, and held a tiny bottle of burn gel in his hand triumphantly. “Aha!” He yelled, and you giggled at his happiness.

He squeezed a little onto his fingertips, then spread the cool gel over the reddened skin as if you were made of glass, softly blowing over your fingers afterwards.

But he wasn’t done, you watched as he picked up a bandaid, you weren’t sure how it would help, but if it put his heart at ease you were willing to amuse him. Steve wrapped it around your wound, then lifted your hand to his lips and pressed the lightest kiss on top.

“Still hurts?” He whispered.

“A little.” You responded, but the sharp ache had faded by now.

Without another word, he reached for the curling iron and stood behind you as he lifted a piece of your hair. “Steve, what if you burn yourself too?” You asked, unable to hide your smile at his effort.

“Steve?” You called out, bouncing your wailing baby daughter against your chest.

The front door slammed against the wall with more force than usual, Steve looked more exhausted than when he had left this morning. His tie hung loose around his neck, hair messy from running his fingers through it all day, he barely looked up when he locked the door behind him.

“Hey.” He muttered, voice almost not loud enough to hear.

“You made it.” Your voice cracked, shoulders coming down slightly. “Can you—” you were just about to ask as the baby let out another piercing scream.

Steve closed his eyes tightly. “Seriously?” He huffed, still not stepping forward.

You frowned. “What?” You asked.

“I’ve been listening to people yell at me all damn day.” He sighed, brows creasing.

His words made you pause, motions coming to a stop. “What happened?” You tried to ask softly.

“One of the parents came in screaming because I gave their kid detention.” Steve rubbed his face roughly. “Then the principal blamed me for escalating it.”

You bit your lip, of course he didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry.” You tried to make him feel better.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, before the baby cried louder, Steve flinched in response.

You shifted her against your shoulder. “Can you take her for a minute? I just—I need to pee, I haven’t—”

“I literally just walked through the door.” He didn’t raise his voice, though the words landed harder than intended.

“I know,” you said. “But—”

“I said I just got home.” Steve repeated, firmer this time.

Silence took over your home, the baby cried and you blinked, feeling nothing. “…okay.” You turned around, trying to keep her rocking, anything to calm her down.

Steve yanked his bag onto the table. “Does she ever stop crying?” He groaned, massaging his head.

You looked down at your daughter, she was a newborn, having only gotten home from the hospital a few weeks away. And you were new parents, you didn’t have a pamphlet that told you what to do, you were just trying your best.

“Not today.” You responded, keeping your eyes on her, or else you wouldn’t be able to keep it together at Steve’s disappointed expression.

“Jesus,” he turned around. “It’s every day.”

Your chest tightened. “I know.” You forced out.

“No, I don’t think you do.” That got your attention, you lifted your head to stare at the side of his face.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“The house is a disaster.” Steve wasn’t yelling, but you could hear how tight his words sounded. “There are bottles everywhere. The laundry hasn’t been done. I come home and it’s just…” he gestured around the living room helplessly. “…this.”

You swallowed, feeling a pit of shame in your stomach. “I’ve been trying.”

He crouched down to look at you at eye level. “Trying?” He repeated, exasperated. “What exactly have you been doing all day?”

The question sucked every ounce of air from the room, you froze as your daughter's cries faded into the background beneath the ringing of your ears. “What…did you say?”

Steve was still breathing hard, but he didn’t answer. Your lip trembled, as much as you didn’t want to break down like this, you were so, so exhausted. “I’ve been—” your voice cracked dangerously. “I’ve been trying to keep her alive.”

His jaw tightened, realizing how badly he messed up. “I didn’t mean—”

“I haven’t eaten.” You hadn’t felt your crying until tears hit your daughter’s blanket. “I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time in weeks.” You pointed out.

Steve stared, chest unmoving. “I can’t remember the last time I changed my clothes.” Another sob escaped you. “I can’t even shower without worrying she’ll start crying all alone.”

You hugged your baby closer, she wasn’t a burden, she was your greatest blessing. “I just wanted you to hold her for five minutes.”

Neither of you spoke, Steve really looked at you. He finally noticed your bloodshot eyes, the dried spit-up on your shirt, the dark circles that lined your under eyes. Then he looked around, the bottles covering the floor weren’t a sign of laziness, they were signs of your effort. The unfolded laundry wasn’t neglect, it was choosing your daughter over sorting some clothes.

His stomach dropped. “Oh god.” He choked out.

You turned away before he could see another tear leave your eye. “I’ll make dinner.” You said, trying to keep your tone steady.

“No.” He shook his head.

You sniffled. “I said I’ll—”

“No.” Steve crossed the room in three long strides, standing in front of you. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes were shining with his own tears now. “I didn’t mean any of that.”

You kept your eyes on the floor. “You still said it.”

“I know.” He sounded horrified with himself.

“I’ve never felt so—” you laughed bitterly. “So useless.”

Steve’s face crumbled in that moment, he was the one who made you feel like that. “You’re not useless.” He tried.

“Maybe you’re right.” You ignored him. “I’m failing.” You didn’t feel like a mother anymore, you felt like a woman who failed at caring for the two people who mattered most in her life.

“You are not failing.” Steve gently reached for your arm, you flinched, barely noticeable, but it had felt like someone had slapped him.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He carefully took the baby from your arms, she cried for a few seconds, before miraculously settling against his shoulder.

Your eyes widened, Steve gave a watery laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumbled as your baby sighed.

He smiled sadly. “I think she just wanted a different view.” He said, and you couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping you. Steve kissed the baby’s forehead before feeding her the pacifier, then he stepped closer.

“I’m sorry I made you think I don’t see everything you do.” He cupped your face gently, brushing away your dried tears. “I see it, every night you stay awake with her, how much of yourself you’ve poured into keeping our little girl happy.” His own voice cracked, resting his forehead against yours.

“And I came home and made you feel worthless.” You closed your eyes, breath hitching.

“You really hurt me.” You whispered, because he needed to hear it. You both had bad days but they were incomparable.

“I know.” Steve responded quietly.

“I don’t know if I’ll forget those words.” You admitted, Steve’s eyes filled again.

“I don’t expect you to.” He kissed your forehead. “But I’ll spend however long it takes trying to prove I didn’t mean them.”

Silence passed by for a couple more moments. “You said you haven’t eaten?” He asked, and you shook your head. Steve immediately nodded, “okay.”

His teacher voice disappeared, and the husband voice returned, the one you loved so much. “You’re gonna go upstairs, and shower—”

“I can’t leave her.” You refused.

“I’ve got her.” He reassured, she was already dozing comfortably against his chest. “You take as long as you need.”

“What about the house? And dinner? And the laundry?” You sighed.

“I’ll order something, the house can stay messy, and the laundry will be there tomorrow. For now, my wife needs me.” He smiled softly.

Steve leaned over and kissed you gently. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again.

“So am I.” You said.

He frowned in response. “For what?”

You reached up to touch his cheek, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “For forgetting that you’re tired too.”

His brown eyes softened, shaking his head lightly. “We’re both drowning a little, so maybe—” he kissed the top of your head. “We can start trying to keep our heads above water together.”

it had been almost two months since everything with vecna.

two months since the nightmares had finally started fading, since the cuts and bruises had healed, since life in hawkins had begun pretending to be normal again.

and somehow, through all of it, steve had stayed.

he was sprawled across your bedroom floor, digging through a box of random stuff he’d left there weeks ago. you barely paid attention at first, too focused on the book in your lap.

until he pulled out that hat.

the hat.

the one he’d worn during the final battle.

“hey, i was looking for this.”

your eyes immediately snapped up.

steve turned it over in his hands before placing it on his head with a lazy grin.

and that was it.

something in your brain short-circuited.

because apparently surviving the apocalypse together wasn’t enough. apparently your boyfriend wearing an old baseball cap was what finally did you in.

“what?” steve asked, noticing the way you were staring.

you shook your head quickly, “nothing.”

the smirk growing on his face told you he absolutely did not believe you.

“it’s nothing.”

steve raised an eyebrow. “right.”

you looked back down at your book, pretending to read.

it lasted maybe three seconds.

“stop looking at me like that.”

“like what?” he asked innocently.

you glanced up again and immediately regretted it. the stupid hat was still on his head.

“like that.”

his grin widened.

“that’s not an answer.”

you groaned and dropped your head back against the bed.

“you’re impossible.”

“and yet you’ve been dating me for over a year.”

you rolled your eyes.

steve pushed himself off the floor and walked toward the bed.

dangerous. very dangerous.

especially when he sat down beside you and bumped your shoulder with his.

“seriously,” he said. “what is it?”

“nothing.”

“liar.”

you laughed despite yourself.

“i’m not lying.”

“you’ve been staring at me for ten minutes.”

“it has not been ten minutes.”

“eight, then.”

“steve.”

“baby.”

the nickname made your stomach flip.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

his arm slid around your waist as he leaned closer.

“tell me.”

you tried to hold his gaze.

you really did.

but then your eyes drifted to the hat again.

and steve noticed immediately.

the realization hit him all at once.

“oh my god.”

your face grew warm.

“don’t.”

“it’s the hat.”

you covered your face with both hands.

“don’t.”

his laugh filled the room.

“it’s the hat!”

“steve, i swear—”

“you think i look hot.”

you groaned.

“i hate you.”

“you absolutely do not.”

when you finally lowered your hands, he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

and somehow that was even worse.

because now he looked pleased with himself.

which, annoyingly, was also attractive.

“say it,” he teased.

“no.”

“say it.”

“never.”

his hand found yours, fingers intertwining easily.

“c’mon.”

you tried to look annoyed.

it didn’t work.

especially when he moved closer, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across his face.

“fine,” you muttered.

his eyes lit up.

“fine?”

“maybe.”

“maybe what?”

you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“maybe the hat looks good.”

steve’s smile softened.

“just the hat?”

your heart skipped.

“don’t push it.”

“too late.”

he leaned in a little more.

the teasing expression faded, replaced by something gentler.

something that always made your chest ache in the best way.

“you know,” he murmured, “i kinda like when you look at me like that.”

your breath caught.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

for a moment neither of you moved.

then steve reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

his thumb brushed your cheek. and suddenly all the joking disappeared.

“hi,” he said quietly.

you smiled.

“hi.”

his eyes flickered down to your lips.

then back up.

giving you every chance to pull away.

instead, you closed the distance first.

the kiss started soft.

slow.

just a gentle press of lips that made steve smile against your mouth.

his hand settled at your waist, pulling you a little closer as you kissed him again.

and again.

until neither of you could remember what the conversation had even been about in the first place.

you kissed him like you meant it. like you actually liked him. not like you were just messing around. steve's eyes fluttered closed, savoring the feeling. his hand at your waist tightened possessively. pulling you flush against him. the kiss deepened, tongues sliding together in perfect harmony.

you pulled back for a moment, just for murmuring “you look hot in that hat.”

opens his eyes, a soft smile on his face "yeah?" his thumb brushes your bottom lip gently "just the hat?" he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth "or do i look hot without it too?"

“keep it on.”

he grins, the dimples appearing on his cheeks "so you like me better with the hat on?" his hand moves from your waist to rest on your hip "noted." he leans in again, pressing kisses along your jawline.

you sigh.

he hears the soft sigh and smiles against your skin, knowing it means you're enjoying this just as much as he is.

"you're kinda cute when you're trying not to smile." he kisses the soft spot right below your ear, feeling your body shiver against his.

“yeah?”

he nods, his lips still pressed against your neck "yeah."

his hand moves up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards him so he can capture your lips in another kiss.

 "i like it." he murmurs between kisses "I like you." you hum as response.

his smile widens against your lips, knowing that soft hum means you're happy. "see, that right there?" he pulls back slightly to look at you "that's what I mean."

"that little hum you do when you're happy or relaxed or whatever. it's cute."  his thumb brushes your cheekbone softly  "and all those little smiles you try to hide? yeah, those are cute too."  he leans in to press a kiss to your nose 

he sees the soft smile and his heart skips a beat. he's falling for you, hard, and he doesn't even care.

"there it is."  he whispers, smiling back at you  "my girl with her cute little smile." he kisses you again, slower this time, pouring all his feelings into it. 

you put your hands in his neck.

his eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch. he loves when you touch him like that. it's possessive and sweet and it makes him feel all sorts of things. "mhm?" he hums, nuzzling into your touch. "you okay?"

you nod.

he pulls back slightly to look at your face, his eyes searching yours. he notices your dilated pupils and the slight flush on your cheeks.

he swallows hard, realizing you're just as into this as he is. his voice comes out husky. "you like this, huh?"

“maybe”

his smile widens, his hands moving to rest on your hips. "maybe?"  he repeats, his thumbs brushing back and forth.

"you’re blushing and touching my neck and you're saying maybe?" he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“i can’t just focus.”

he chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. "can’t focus because i’m kissing you or because you're trying to hide how much you like it?"

his hands squeeze your hips gently, pulling you a little closer. "or both?" he presses a soft kiss just below your ear.

“both.”

he smiles against your neck, his hands sliding up to your waist. "okay, I can work with that." he starts placing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, his hands distracting you by squeezing and pulling gently.

he notices your head tilting to the side, giving him better access to your neck. he smiles devilishly and starts placing kisses and gentle bites along your neck, knowing that always makes you arch into him. "you’re not focusing real well right now, are you?"

“shut up.”

he laughs softly against your neck, his hands sliding up to your ribs as he continues his distracting kisses. "make me." he challenges playfully, knowing that you're too distracted by his touches to actually follow through with telling him to shut up.

his lips find that spot just below your ear again.

you sigh once again.

he smiles against your neck, hearing the sigh. "you’re sighing a lot." he points out, his hands moving up to your shoulders.

"like you're really into this and can't even talk right now." he presses a kiss to the sensitive spot on your neck.

“steve.”

hearing his name on your lips like that—soft and breathless—makes his heart race. "yeah?" he murmurs, pulling back slightly to look at you with those warm brown eyes. his thumbs brush the tender skin below your eyes.

"you okay?" his voice is soft, concerned but also clearly enjoying this. "you’re breathing all funny.”

“can you just shut up and fuck me?”

his eyes widen briefly in surprise at your sudden demand, but then a slow, smirk spreads across his face. "fuck me?" he repeats playfully, his hands squeezing your shoulders gently. "is that how you ask nicely?" he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear again.

“yup”

he laughs softly, the sound turning into a groan as you grind against him slightly. "okay, okay, i'm shutting up." he captures your lips in a rough kiss, finally giving you what you asked for. "god, you're horny right now."

you laugh softly.

he smiles against your lips, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt quickly. "i love it when you're like this." he murmurs between kisses, pushing the shirt off your shoulders. "bossy and horny as hell." his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants.

“do you?”

he nods, his eyes locked onto yours as he pulls down your pants. "yeah, i do." he admits, his voice husky. "it’s hot as fuck. and it means i’m doing something right." he pushes your pants down, leaving you in just your underwear.

“you’re just existing”

he laughs softly, standing up to pull off his own shirt. "existing, huh?" he smirks, tossing his shirt aside. "well, i'm glad i’m existing in a way that turns you on." he reaches out to pull you up with him, his hands going to your underwear. "these too."

he pushes your underwear down, leaving you completely naked in front of him. "look at you." he murmurs appreciatively, his hands roaming over your hips and stomach. "all horny and bossy and naked." he kisses you again, rougher this time.

your hands go to his back, touching him tightly.

he breaks the kiss to quickly unbutton his own pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. he's hard and ready, pressing against you. "condom?" he asks breathlessly against your neck.

“no, wanna feel you.”

his breath catches at your words, his hips bucking against you slightly. "jesus, are you sure?" he asks, his voice strained. he doesn't want to rush you, but he also doesn't want to hurt you if you're not ready.

"we don't have to—" his words cut off with a groan as you grind against him.

he can't take it anymore, your grinding against him is driving him wild. "fuck, okay." he whispers hoarsely, lifting you up suddenly.

you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. he walks over to the wall, pressing you against it.

“please stevie.”

his heart melts at hearing his name fall from your lips like that, desperate and needy. he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in slowly, filling you completely. he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, slow and deep. "shh..."

he keeps his movements slow and steady, even though he wants to pound into you wildly.

he remembers how sensitive you are and how you always need a minute to adjust. "god, you feel so good." he murmurs against your neck, his hips rolling slowly.

the moans began to be heard.

your soft moan makes his cock twitch inside you. he leans back slightly to watch your face as he moves, loving the way your eyes flutter and your mouth falls open.

"that's it, let me hear you." he encourages, his pace staying slow but his hips adding little circles that hit deep.  "you like that?"

“oh my god, steve.” 

your voice, breathless and desperate, saying his name like he's the only thing holding you together, makes his chest tighten in the best way.

"right here," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i'm right here, baby." his thrusts grow a little faster, a little more urgent, but he still keeps them deep.

his mouth covers yours in a rough kiss, swallowing your moans as he starts moving with more force.

one hand remains possessively on your thigh while the other tangles in your hair, holding you in place for the kiss. his hips snap forward harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“fuck”

he groans into your mouth at your curse, his hips stuttering for a moment before he starts pounding into you with more urgency. he knows he's hitting the right spot now, the way your nails dig into his back and your legs tighten around him tells him everything he needs to know.

he breaks the kiss to watch your face, loving the way your mouth falls open on a silent 'oh' as he hits that spot over and over. his thrusts become faster, more intense, but still deep. he can feel you getting closer, your body tensing around him.

“i’m gonna cum—“

his own orgasm is building, but he focuses on you instead. "then cum," he breathes against your lips, his hips rolling in a way that makes your eyes roll back. "let go, baby. i've got you." he increases the pressure, his cock hitting that perfect spot repeatedly. "c'mon, let me feel you."

you come undone around him with a loud cry, your walls clamping down hard around his cock. he feels your orgasm pulse through you and loses control, his own release hitting him like a freight train. he buries his face in your neck, thrusting wildly as he comes inside you.

they stay like that for a few moments, both panting heavily against each other's necks as they come down from their highs.

he doesn't move except to press soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. when he finally pulls back to look at you, he smiles softly.

“what?” you smile softly

he chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "just thinking how fucking beautiful you are right now." he presses a gentle kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out of you. he winces slightly at the sensitivity but ignores it to focus on taking care of you. "come here,"

he carefully sets you on your feet, keeping an arm around your waist to make sure you're steady.

he grabs some tissues and gently cleans you up before pulling you back against his chest, wrapping both arms around you. "you okay?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "not too sore?"

“i’m perfectly fine.”

he smiles against your temple, one hand splaying out on your stomach possessively. "good." he murmurs softly. he loves these moments - the quiet afterglow where he gets to hold you close and feel content. his voice drops to a gentle whisper, "love you."

“i love you more.”

he laughs softly, squeezing you closer. "impossible." he says back instantly, like he always does during these moments. it's become their little joke - who loves who more.

he turns you around gently to face him, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

The air around him has always rivaled the kind of humidity that suffocates your skin on the hottest Indiana summer day. A palpable energy that's buzzed around the two of you since Robin introduced you at one of Rick’s parties a few months ago. It’s the kind of chemistry that’s recently become very hard to ignore as introductions turned into third wheeling late night shifts at the squawk, and regular invitations to movie nights at their shared apartment. The biggest culprit of them all though? Steve’s incessant need to always drive you home. It doesn’t matter to him how late it is, or out of his way it is, even if it’s a blizzard or a torrential downpour — walking or catching the bus is never an option. Not if he has anything to do with it.

The quiet conversations that happen inside his BMW are always easy, even a little bit flirty when Robin isn’t around. On those nights, he makes it a point to rest his hand on the stick shift so close to your thighs they search for each other, squirming in his leather seat. Those are the ones that always end with him parked in front of your place for hours. Both of you losing track of time talking about anything and everything while learning those little things about each other that turn into something bigger over time. Unfortunately for you, that time feels a lot like now, and the silent promise to never act on whatever this is starting to feel nearly impossible to keep.

Steve’s eyes flit towards you for no particular reason, catching you staring, sparking something inside of them that warms deep in your belly. Something unmistakably dangerous.

Forcing yourself to look away, embarrassment blooms on your cheeks as you clear your throat with a shake of your head. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to find their way back to him because it’s all they seem to want to do these days. With one side of his mouth tugged up, his full attention is on you now while his fingers don’t stop their mission to finish the puzzle he’s solved a million times before. Something about that has you biting the fat of your bottom lip, shifting in your seat perched on the side of his desk.

The whites of his teeth shine in a playful flirty grin as he rocks back in his chair, spreading his legs wider, earning that roll of your eyes he was looking for. Fast clicks of the rubix cube catch louder in your ears as all of the colors line up perfectly in his hands, and that grin on his stupidly handsome face turns into a proud beam like its the first time he’s accomplished this feat.

”Still got it!” He winks, tossing the toy up casually before catching it.

”Were you even listening to me, Dingus?” Robin hisses, smacking the cube out of his hand and you try not to giggle at the dejected look on his face that quickly turns into its factory setting of annoyance.

”Yeah, I was listening to the story you’ve told me three times today.” He snaps, leaning over to grab the toy off the ground, almost falling when the chair threatens to go off kilter. “Maybe, just maybe there’s a reason Vickie keeps getting mad.”

You’ve watched them have this conversation at least once a week for the past month where Steve tiptoes around getting Robin to admit her inconvenient crush on Nancy Wheeler.

“Hey! Who’s side are you on here?” She snaps, with a glare that wrinkles the top of her forehead.

Steve opens his mouth to reply but she quickly cuts him off before he even has a chance.

“You know what, no. No! I can’t be here, I need to go.” Robin deflects like she always does, grabbing her messenger bag she storms out of the soundproof room, and right out of the station’s double doors. Leaving you and Steve alone.

He scoffs, staring out the glass after her, a silent argument with himself on whether he should follow or not evident on his face. He runs a hand through his hair with a bouncing knee, taking a deep breath through his nose before bringing his gaze back to you, that rogue strand flopping back across his forehead.

“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.” He groans defeated with eyes that plead for some kind of reassurance. “Should I go find her?”

“I think she just needs a minute.” You reply softly, legs dangling. “If she does have feelings for someone else, that’s gotta be overwhelming. She’s new at this, ya know?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, jaw ticking taking one last look outside before you see him visibly let it go with a sag of his shoulders.

”Always am.” You tease with a smile, doing your best to lighten the mood.

His eyes shift back to you, that dangerous thing from before returning ten fold twinkling in the gold specs inside of them. Suddenly the realization that the two of you are alone consumes the entire room, air turning thick with something that feels inevitable, that small little joke of yours working too well.

“Now don’t get crazy.” He scoffs, using his long legs to roll his chair towards you.

Something swoops in your belly, fingers curling around the wooden edge of the desk while you try to keep your composure, watching his Nike’s close the space.

“Name one time I’ve been wrong.”

Your challenge comes with a tilt of your chin, and an arch of your brow. The smirk you get in return has your teeth digging into your bottom lip, thighs closing the small gap between them. It still isn’t enough to stop the warmth between them from spreading, especially when he stops right in front of you. His face aligns with your knees from his seat, sending your body humming with his proximity to the place that’s wanted more of him for months now.

”How about when you said Beetlejuice was a good movie?” He snorts, meeting your gaze from under his lashes, something baiting inside of it.

”Are you kidding me? It’s an incredible movie! Tim Bur—“

”It was weird.” He cuts off with an irritated face, like just the memory of it is enough to annoy him.

”You’re weird.” You retort immediately, glaring with a scrunch of your nose.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, before his narrowed gaze trails slowly down the length of your body. It lingers on your exposed thighs that he’s started to see a little more frequently thanks to warm spring days, and he’s never been more thankful to Mother Nature or your sun dresses. You swallow hard seeing him lick his lips, heart skipping a beat at the glazed over look in his eyes that makes your chest ache.

You have to leave.

”I — uh, I should go.” You stammer, starting to wiggle off the desk but Steve doesn’t let you get very far.

”Wait! Don’t — “ Standing up, the rest of that sentence fades as his hands find your knees, electric currents running through his finger tips that spread them apart so he can fit his hips between your thighs. His eyes hold you inside of them, hooded and begging before finishing it in a whisper. “Don’t leave.”

The two of you sit there unmoving, mouths so close it feels like you’re breathing each other in. His hands inch up your bare thighs, goosebumps pebbling along hot skin as his fingertips brush the bottom hem of your dress.

”Steve.” You manage to murmur, somehow finding your voice. “It’s a bad idea and you know it.”

The protest sounds weak leaving your mouth, especially when the backs of your heels hook and pull him closer. Your hands grip harder at the edge of the desk, needing something to anchor you while the tip of his nose runs up the bridge of yours. The spice of his cologne wraps around you, and the hint of cinnamon mixed with the amber is new.

“What’s so bad about it? Give me one reason.” He mocks your previous challenge with a flash of his teeth, grabbing at the soft fat under his palms.

”Robin.”

“Well she doesn’t have to know.” He snorts like it’s obvious, wandering hands sliding up higher.

”Okay, then what happens if this blows up in our face and we end up hating each other?” Your argument would feel more valid if you weren’t straightening your spine, getting so close to him that your chests touch.

”You really think you can hate me?” He fake pouts with a furrow of his brows, that infamous swoop of hair tickling your forehead.

”Steve! I’m being serious.” You whine a little defeated because you know you’re about to give in, and because all you want is for him to just kiss you already.

You think he knows that too.

He exhales a breath through his nose, one hand finally becoming bold enough to slip under your dress to wrap around your hip, while the other cups the apple your cheek. The pad of his thumb tilts your chin up to keep your gaze on him, lips so close that they almost touch.

”And what if it doesn’t blow up in our face?” He challenges, letting his top lip graze your bottom. “What happens if we end up really liking each other? What then?”

Your lashes flutter, feeling his warm breath kiss your skin, butterflies rioting inside the crevices of your ribcage. Your fingers let go of their death grip on the edge of the desk, and spread over his stomach. He inhales sharply at the contact, his grip on your hip tightening as your palms work their way up his chest before sliding along his neck and into the thickness of his hair at the nape of it. Steve tugs you closer as your legs wrap around his waist, the tip of your nose nudging his warmed cheek.

”Because I don’t know if you can’t tell or something but I already really like you.” He confesses hot against your mouth with the softest brush of his lips. “I have for a while. And you know what I think?”

”Hmm?” You manage with lust clouding your vision and fingers curling into his roots.

”I think you like me too.”

You don’t bother giving the answer he already knows, instead you close what little distance is left. It takes Steve a moment to realize what you’re doing, that this is actually happening but when he does, he takes control of the kiss immediately. His lips feel hungry moving against yours, devouring you like it’s been a craving, claiming your mouth like it’s already his.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest at the feel of your tongue swiping along his bottom lip. The blunt ends of his nails dig into the soft skin of your hip when he opens up for you and they finally meet. They massage each other moving languid and slow, relishing in the feeling. Back bending, your fingers curl deeper in his roots, somehow needing more.

As if he can read your mind, the pad of his thumb tugs at the corner of your mouth, opening you up more. He explores every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize it, swallowing all the sounds that are somehow better than his imagination. Your hips rock against him, the thin cotton of your panties leaving hardly any barrier. A breathy gasp escapes the back of your throat feeling just how big he really is.

Steve takes this moment to catch his breath, pulling away with a heaving chest. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips.

“You know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He sighs, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek. That permanent teasing edge to his voice is absent for the first time tonight.

His confession erupts across your body that bends for him, silently asking for more all on its own. Holding his gaze in the depths of yours, the pointed roll of your hips is slow enough to feel the entire length of him pressed against his zipper. It twitches underneath the metal, the pressure against your clit only covered by a thin pair of cotton earning him a quiet whimper.

”I think about you all the time, Steve.” You say in a low voice, looking at him from under the thick hood of your lashes, rolling your hips again.

“Honey.” He hisses through his teeth, his grip on you tightening hard enough to hold you still. A shiver ripples through him as he desperately tries to find his self control. “We should stop —“

Your hands untangle from his hair, sliding down his jaw that you hold in your palms. The pad of your thumb traces the curve of his full bottom lip that you want nothing more than to feel between your teeth. He inhales another sharp breath watching the way your eyes darken, his thick lashes fluttering kissing the tops of his cheeks like he can read your mind.

”What if I don’t want to stop?”

All you’ve ever done with Steve is hold yourself back. And now that you’ve had him, you don’t want to do it anymore. You can’t do it anymore.

”I’m tired of not getting what I want.” You reaffirm, tilting your head to meet his eyes, brushing your lips against his kiss bitten ones before whispering, “aren’t you?”

He holds your gaze down the slope of his nose, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around the small of your back pulling you close, while the other trails down to cup the side of your neck. The pad of his thumb rests at the hinge of your jaw, a flurry of emotions swirling inside his stare as he takes everything in, making sure he’s not misreading any signs. It’s not until he feels the quiet way you say his name against his lips that he comes back to his body, snapping out of his nervous lapse in judgement of what’s happening.

”You have no fucking idea.” Steve growls, finally capturing your mouth without anything holding him back anymore.

This kiss is different from the last one, his lips move against yours with something possessive behind them — greedy. Your tongues don’t wait for permission, tangling together with an intensity that has your teeth scraping together. Completely lost in months of late nights and lingering stares, his hand slides down your neck, and across your shoulders bringing your dress strap with it. He finishes his path joining his other hand under your dress, both of them meeting and curling around the apple of your ass. Squeezing harshly, he pulls you closer with a hard slam on the wood of the desk.

Moaning into his mouth, you tug at the collar of his sweater, silently urging him to take it off. He catches on quickly, but struggles to break himself free, obsessed with the taste of you — the feel of you in his hands. It’s the whine that peels itself from the back of your throat and the way you push yourself closer searching for friction that he finally pulls himself away with a suck of your bottom lip. Letting it go with a loud pop, the pout on your face turns his lovesick grin cocky as he plucks the collar of his sweater from the back and tosses it to the side of the studio in one fell swoop.

Your lids grow heavy, eyes glazing over at the thick smattering of hair on his chest. Throat drying up at the sight of his permanently sun kissed skin dotted with mini constellations of freckles and moles that your fingers itch to trace. He runs a hand through his hair, drinking in the sight of you too. The wild look on your face with your dress rucked up around your hips, legs spread revealing the wet patch in the middle of your panties that he’s the culprit of. Both straps dangle loosely off your shoulders, leaving just the red ones of your bra, the swell of your breasts teasing him.

“Jesus, I knew you were gonna ruin me.” He mutters to himself in disbelief, slowly walking back to his place between your legs.

His hands trail up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough under your dress appreciatively with lick of his lips, before curling his fingers around the elastic. It’s the only thing left keeping him from a part of you he’s thought about more times than he’d ever admit.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes against your lips, brows furrowed with need.

Your fingers find their way to his belt, expertly undoing the gold buckle before popping open the button and tugging down the zipper of his jeans. He hisses at the release as you lift your head, capturing his mouth in something so sure there’s no room left to argue, pulling away just enough to whisper.

”You.”

That’s all Steve needs, yanking your panties down in one swift motion, capturing your lips as he does the same with the straps of your dress. It pools around your lap, just like his jeans do at his feet. Kicking them off along with his shoes, he grabs one of your legs hitching it over his waist, pointedly running his hard covered length along your wet seam. You both moan into each other's mouths at the contact, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him as he licks into you, rolling his hips again.The way your slick instantly wets the fabric of his briefs makes it feel like he’s teasing himself too.

”I don’t — I don’t have a condom.” He murmurs, using all of his strength to pull away with panic set in his eyes like maybe he’s ruined this whole thing.

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let one of your hands slide down his chest, greedily scratching your nails along the dark hair there, before following it down his happy trail. The muscles in his stomach twitch, along with his cock that only grows bigger when you cup it, and the feeling of just how thick he is has you squirming at the thought of making it fit.

“I’m on birth control.” You admit quietly, your fingers dipping into the waist band of his underwear, the tips of them running along his pelvic bone.

”Jesus Christ.” Steve’s eyes pinch closed, the grip on your leg tightening to something almost bruising.

”Is that okay? Do you want to —“

“Yes, yes, god yes, that's okay.” He interrupts with an enthusiastic nod of his head.

Bend bending down, he claims your lips again as your greedy hands push his boxers past his hips. Your touch is tentative wrapping around the weight of him, but the moan you get in return is loud enough to echo off the glass encasing you, encouraging you forward. The first pump has him shuddering underneath your palm, a big hand grabbing your chin, using it to tilt your head to the side. He takes your slow torture out on the base of your throat in the form of open mouthed kisses, dragging his teeth along your pulse point that jumps for him.

“Steve you’re so - you’re so -“

He flattens his tongue, licking a path that has your eyes roll back, killing off the rest of that sentence by latching onto that sensitive spot behind your ear and sucking hard. It’s replaced by a breathy whine that comes out at the same time the pad of your thumb swipes against his leaking tip. He grunts into your neck, hips bucking into your touch.

“I know baby, I know.” He murmurs into your ear, nipping at the lobe before enveloping it into the heat of his mouth, letting it go with a loud pop. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

The endearment has your legs spread wider in a silent plea to keep his word. He smiles wide against your skin, sneaking his hand between you to replace yours that go back to their new home in the hair at the nape of his neck. You decide it’s your favorite place. He pulls away enough for your noses to bump, blown out wild looking eyes meeting yours before they drop down to a view he’s only ever imagined. His mind didn’t even come close to doing it justice.

”Fuuuuck.” He groans to himself, face twisting into something tortured, swiping himself through your glistening folds with another shudder ripping through his spine. “You’re so wet, honey.”

Steve says the last part almost like he can’t believe it, like there’s no world where you’d want him just as bad as he wants you. But when he does it again and you mewl in a way that sounds just as desperate, he knows it's true.

“You’re not the only one who’s wanted this for a long time.” You confess a little shy despite your current position, softening his features with the kind of smile that feels a lot like he’s already smitten.

The pad of his thumb on the hand still wrapped around your hitched leg traces circles on the goose pebbled skin underneath it.

“Yeah?” He sighs, eyes turning heavy bringing himself close enough to fit at your entrance. “Let’s make up for lost time then.”

Your fingers weave tighter in his hair, forehead pressing to his with a slack jaw at the first stretch of your walls. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling you so much as if he has nowhere else to go even though he’s only half way in.

”Oh my god, Steve, you feel — holy shit.” You pant, pulling at his roots so hard you know it hurts as he pushes himself to the hilt with one final stroke.

”You’re doing so good though, look at you.” His praise comes out against your lips, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek. He feels the way his words tighten around him, a new wave of arousal coating every ridge and dip.

Steve gives you a minute to adjust to the size, only starting to move when you lean forward to steal a messy kiss. Desperation evident in the encouraging swipe of your tongue. He starts off slow, rolling his hips in languid strokes that match the way he licks into your mouth basking in the little noises escaping from the back of your throat. It’s not until you nip at his bottom lip that he lets go the way he really wants too.

Breaking away from your lips, he brings his attention to your face, needing to see the way it twists up when he pulls nearly all the way out before slamming himself back in. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, the silk of your walls fluttering, begging him for more that he gives without any hesitation. His palm finds it way back to your cheek that has to be searing against his skin, collecting your mouth again with a hunger that’s easy to lose yourself in.

He keeps a steady pace, hiking your leg further up his hip, somehow going even deeper. The tip of him hits the spot that no one else has ever been able to find, earning a loud moan of his name that he thinks sounds best when it comes from you. Using the opportunity that presents itself to him, he starts a path of open mouth kisses down your jaw, along your neck, gently pushing you back to lay against the desk, peppering them across your collar bone.

The new angle has you trying to cover the scream that's begging to fill the empty studio, and Steve keeps going. Tugging down your bra, sucks your pert nipple into the heat of his mouth. Your back arches, nails dinging into his shoulders when he brings his attention to the other one with a flick of his tongue.

“Perfect, you’re perfect.” Groaning his praise against your skin, he licks a stripe up your sternum before nipping at the curve of your breast.

Steve stands up straight, bringing his hands to your hips stretching you out even more. His eyes take in your heaving chest, dark eyes, and skin shining wet from the work of his mouth and he thinks he might cum right now.

”You ready for more, pretty girl?” He coos with the softest grind of hips, lips twitching at the way your eyes hit the back of your head because of it.

”Please.” You beg, finding the strength to look at him from underneath your lashes.

Your stare breaks any self control he might have left, the first snap of his hips pushing you further up the desk, sending some of the eight tracks clattering to the ground.

“Oh my god.” You cry out, grabbing onto his forearms. The blunt ends of your nails digging into his freckles when he does it again.

”You feel so fucking good.” He grits out between his teeth, the grip on your curves turning bruising as his head rolls back lost in the silk of your walls that keep sucking him in every time he tries to leave.

His praise makes your hips meet the next roll of his, sending another flurry of cuss words spilling out of his mouth, that turn into your name the more you keep up with his pace. Tugging you back to the edge of the desk, he folds over you, palms finding purchase on either side of your head.

That swoop of hair tickles damp against your forehead, his face contouring into something dazed watching the way you try to catch your breath. The quick grind of his hips punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust, the thick thatch of hair at the base of your demise rubbing against your clit with just the right of pressure.

You know you're not going to last much longer as the heels of your feet dig into his ass pushing him deeper. He grunts into your mouth, collecting a sloppy kiss rolling his hips in a circle, the tip of him pushing right against the spot you need him most.

“Come on, honey, let go. I know you want to. Let me finally make you feel good.” He murmurs encouragingly, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above your head, sending a notebook and some pens flying to the ground.

The new position tightens the coil deep inside your gut tight enough to snap, your walls constricting around him as you tumble over the edge with nothing but his name spilling from your lips. Seeing something he’s only ever daydreamed about in the dead of night sends him flying right after you. He lets go of your hands catching himself on the desk, body shaking with a loud groan rumbling from his chest painting your insides with months of wanting you so much that it aches in his chest.

He keeps up the slow grind of his hips until you both come back down, with goofy love sick smiles twisting up your lips. You giggle when he nudges his nose with yours, getting a blinding flash of his white teeth in return.

“What?” Amusement dances in his eyes, brushing the apple of your cheek with the back of his hand.

”This just isn’t where I imagined it would finally happen is all.” You grin, leaning into his touch. “So out in the open.”

”It’s not like anyone’s here —“

”Steve, look, I’m sorry.” The sound of Robin’s voice echoes out through the empty station.

”Oh fuck me.” He yells in a whisper, wide panicked eyes meeting yours before dropping to the ground out of sight. You try your best to adjust your bra and dress into place.

“You know I hate when we figh— oh.” Robin stops in her tracks in the common room, confusion painting her features taking in your disheveled look and the lack of Steve in the room.

“H-hey!” You squeak out, voice cracking and she narrows her gaze at it.

”Where’s Steve?” She asks, the question coming out slowly in that suspicious kind of way.

”Uh - he uh - he went to the bathroom.” You offer, scratching the back of your neck while the man in question scrambles to get his clothes back on at your feet.

Tilting her head to the side, she squints at you clearly not believing a word coming out of your mouth. Realization dawns on her features, annoyance replacing any confusion that was left.

”You have got to be kidding me!” She throws up her hands, “Steve I know you’re there. You guys suck at lying.”

”Shit.” Steve mutters, pulling on his shirt before slowly standing up, buckling his belt with a sheepish smile.

”Hey.” He waves, running a hand through his damp hair.

Steve suddenly hooked his hand under your leg, pulling you to fully straddle him, you sighed at the feeling of his bulge right against your cunt, and instinctively rolled your hips.

“Fuck—baby!” Steve grunted, voice thick and throaty. His tip was leaking beads of precum, darkening the fabric, and if he had to guess, he could imagine the wetness of arousal socking your panties as they clung to your folds.

“Do that again.” He instructed, placing his hands on either side of your hips, throwing his head back when you grinded slowly.

“S-Steve—ah, feels so good.” You whimpered, the friction of his jeans were catching repeatedly over your clit, causing shocks of pressure to ripple through you.

“Mmm, I know sweetheart, don’t stop.” Steve pushed his hips upwards, helping you with your movements, as your jaw dropped open at the stimulation. “Gimme a kiss.” Steve pulled you closer, reconnecting your lips to lick sloppily into your mouth.

“F-Faster, please—ugh! You cried out, holding tightly onto his biceps as Steve increased the pace of your hips, panting loudly.

“Need you to cum for me like a good girl.” Steve said, watching you with hooded eyes. “Can you do that for me, baby? Cum for me while you keep rubbing that pretty pussy all over my cock?” You moaned at his dirty words, nodding profusely.

“Yes, yes—I will—fuck,” you slowed down as you felt your high approaching, but Steve continued to rut up against you.

You buried your face into his neck as you came, he couldn’t feel it but the sounds you were making directly into his ear were enough to send him over the edge, cumming in his boxers as he finally stilled his hips.

“Fucking shit,” Steve groaned, realizing you both had just gotten each other off without touching one another. You sat up and giggled at his expression, rocking your hips lightly again over him. He hissed at the overstimulation and lifted you off his sensitive cock.

He existed naturally in the way he had become a part of the house itself like the way the kitchen light flickered above the stove your mother always nagged at your father to fix or that one warped floorboard outside your bedroom that always creaked.

Steve was just there. Mostly because of his emotionally negligent home life. He would always be draped over the couch with your brother with his stupid spiderman printed socked feet he'd get embarrassed about, kicked onto the coffee table. He would rummage through the cabinets for snacks he didn't ask for permission to eat or laugh way too loudly at midnight while your mother had yelled from upstairs for the boys to keep it down.

You grew up around the sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne that trailed through hallways after basketball games. Around the low rumble of his prized BMW pulling into the driveway to pick up your brother. His stupidly bright smile and the way he effortlessly moved through rooms had always irked you the most.

When you were little, Steve treated you in that affectionately dismissive way most young boys do with their best friend's siblings.

"Move, airhead," "Quit following us," "Tell your brother he still owes me five bucks!"

There had never been cruelty in his voice or irritation enough to hurt you. Sometimes when your brother got irritated with you or ignored you, Steve didn’t and instead gave you a sense of understanding.

At ten years old, you were sitting cross legged in the living room, watching the two of them play video games on your brother's Atari for hours. When Steve handed you a third controller after your brother complained you were annoying, you pretended your heart didn't skip a beat. Despite being terrible at every game, Steve let you play anyway.

At twelve years old, you had scraped your knee badly against asphalt when trying to skateboard down the Harrington's driveway after overhearing Steve mention he thought girls who skate were 'cool.' You remember sitting on the pavement blinking back tears while your brother had cackled and Steve crouched down in front of you with a sigh.

"Why are you always getting yourself hurt." He'd said, his hands gently pushing your sock down to your ankle. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

You had only shrugged out of embarrassment.

Even then, he had disappeared into his house before coming back with bandages and peroxide. The smell had been medicinal in the hot summer air and he'd sat cleaning the blood from your knee.

At fifteen years old, your crush had become something incurable. The year Steve had started driving. The year he started showing up on the driveway in his burgundy BMW with one hand lazily hooked over the steering wheel and his sunglasses hiding half his face while girls from school had prayed to get his attention. It'd also been the age silly jealousy had warped your heart.

You knew Steve Harrington was someone you'd never get close to touching. He belonged to everybody and that was the problem.

At sixteen years old, every girl in town had a story about him, but also forgave him too easily when he had reached that stage in his life where he'd been known as the charming, wealthy, party boy who knew his way around. Eventually, he'd calmed down despite having the certain cockiness to him you'd always known.

But there were fragile moments where the performance would slip.

Late nights when your brother had gone upstairs to watch TV, Steve would sink further into the couch with an exhausted look on his face. Sometimes your mother would hand him leftovers wrapped in foiled. He would just smile with gratitude and pull her in for a hug.

The nights he stayed over were your favorite.

One time you woke up at two in the morning for water. When you walked downstairs, you would find him knocked out on the couch with one arm thrown his face. He'd always been such a restless sleeper.

Looking back, maybe you had started loving him in those moments, not just a silly crush.

Deep down, you knew it was because you knew a version of him nobody else knew, a version that was just him and not King Steve.

You knew the way he got quieter when something bothered him, the way he tapped his fingers when anxious, and the way he hated going home more than he would ever admit out loud.

By your junior year of college, at twenty years old, you had gotten good at convincing yourself you were over Steve Harrington. Distance helped, especially when Purdue University was four hours from Hawkins.

Classes, new friends, late night walks across campus with music playing in your headphones, and boys who flirted with you had given you experiences that you almost forgot about a version of yourself that doodled in her notebook over a boy with big brown eyes.

Steve had become someone easier to manage when he had only existed mostly through rushed stories from your brother on phone calls.

Steve got promoted. Steve got into some fight at a bar and lost. Steve was seeing some girl. Steve bought a new car.

He couldn't touch your life anymore.

Until May.

Finals week had exhausted everyone by the time summer break finally arrived. Outside your dorm window, students drag bags down sidewalks, the sky gray and threatening rain. You can only hope the weather doesn't worsen.

The telephone begins to ring on your nightstand. Walking over and removing it from the hook, you wedge it between your shoulder.

"Hello?" You answer distracted, struggling to zip your duffel bag.

"Your brother's an asshole."

You freeze, stomach fluttering. His voice was still able to do that to you. "Well, hello to you to. You sound so surprised." You managed.

"I am," Steve replied. "He told me he forgot he promised to pick you up and he already made plans, which is now my problem somehow."

"Sooo, you're coming instead?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"You're such a gentleman," You croon, tossing your duffel bag aside. "Will you help me with my bags too?'

"You know I will." "I'm calling from this diners telephone box, had to take a bathroom break because the drive is so damn long."

"Tell me about it. Why do you think I wanted someone else to do the driving for me in the first place?"

"You sneaky little witch. Just using people aren’t you?" He comments, making you laugh. "Anyways, I'm like twenty minutes away. Try not to bring your whole dorm with you."

The line clicks dead before you can answer and place the phone back into it's rightful place.

Immediately, you hate yourself for checking your reflection in the mirror to check your hair. On instinct, you reach for your lip gloss and swipe it against your lips.

This was so ridiculous. You were twenty, not fourteen anymore, yet you were hyperaware of everything about you all because Steve Harrington was about to drive four hours alone with you.

By the time you have your bags ready and make your way outside after checking out your dorm, you spot the BMW parked against the pavement. Girls passing turned to look as Steve stepped out from the driver's seat as rain began to fall. Some things never changed did they?

Your stomach drops at the sight of him. He looked different, less boyishly pretty and now more manly. His shoulders broader beneath his dark blue crewneck and fitting his arms just right.

Steve uses one hand to push back his damp hair from his forehead and his eyes land on you, making you freeze. He smirks, calling out, "Hey! You coming?"

You roll your eyes, walking over. "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, traffic backed up from the rain." He frowns and takes a quick glance at his watch. "If we go now we should be fine though."

He takes the largest bag from you, tossing it over his shoulder, before you can argue. Steve opens the trunk, tucking in the bag and reaching a hand out in gesture for you to hand him the rest.

"Your roommates going to miss you at all?" He asks, shutting the trunk and locking it with the keys.

"Mmm, yeah I think so. One of them cried."

He lets out a low whistle, "Damn. You breaking hearts at Purdue now? I thought you were sweet?"

"Shut up." You snort. "I doubt she'll send a postcard anyways. She only used me for homework answers in statistics."

"No worries, we'll have a better summer without people like that. Like old times." He grins in the familiar way you knew.

Steve opens the passenger door and flashes you a wink. "After you."

You just smile, sitting down and adjusting the seat to your height as he shuts the door behind you, jogging around the hood of the car before the rain could get you both anymore wet.

Steve slides into the driver's seat, starting the heater to warm up. He inserts the keys into the ignition, giving it a couple turns, and sighs. "You hungry?"

"Ummm, a little." You confess.

"There's leftover fries in the bag from the diner if you want some" He turns over the seat as he backs the car out of is spot, managing to grab the paper bag sitting behind. "They got kinda wet though."

You eye the soaking wet paper bag and scrunch your nose, "What the hell, Steven. You're disgusting."

"What! They're still good!"

"Soggy fries are good? Would you eat those?" You deadpan, raising a brow.

There's a pause of silence until, "...Nah. Maybe you're right." He coughs and clears his throat. "We'll grab some dinner in a couple hours in the next town. Promise."

You laugh despite yourself and turn your head to look outside the window, watching as the campus begins to empty out, students hugging goodbye and loading up cars.

Steve glances at your direction briefly as you begins to make a turn out of the campus, "You going to miss it?"

"Huh? Purdue?"

"Mhm."

You hum, pondering for a moment. Sure, you'd been homesick when you'd started, but overtime you'd found another place and friends to call home. Out the window, you watch the buildings blur past as you drive farther. Finally, you admit, "Yeah, more than I thought I would. I'll probably try and make plans for my friend Beth to come down to Hawkins."

"Do you like being away?" He asks, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other tapped against his thigh. "From Hawkins, I mean."

Truthfully, no. You liked being able to ignore your feelings, but you didn't like not being able to communicate with loved ones mostly through mail and telephone.

"I like..." You stop to carefully consider your words. "being somewhere where nobody knows every single thing about me. So, no and yes."

"Yeah, that sounds nice. I don't blame you." Steve gives a faint smile.

The roads begin to stretch longer as buildings become fields then empty highways, Steve cautiously keeping distance from other cars.

You blow a puff of air, bored, reaching into the dashboard to search through Steve's collection of cassette tapes. Steve catches you from the corner of his eyes. He clicks his tongue, "Hey, you thief. What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing music?" You snip as if it's obvious. "It's too quiet in here that it's going to drive me insane."

"Is my own voice not enough for you?" He mockingly pouts but snatches the cassette of your choice out of your hand, inserting it into the player of the radio.

"You'll never be Bruce Springsteen, sorry to tell you."

"Are you still seeing that girl?" You ask, trying to sound casual.

Steve looked confused, "What girl?"

"The one Anthony mentioned. Blonde, brown eyes, in STEM..." You explain, listing of the traits your older brother had mentioned over the phone last Winter. You remember hooking up with some guy afterwards.

He huffs a laugh, "Oh. No."

"What do you mean no?" You press.

"That lasted like two months. It's been long done." He says casually as if it had been nothing. You truly thought he'd liked her, even if she'd been one of many girlfriends that wouldn't work out.

"What happened? I thought you liked her?"

He pursed his lips, "I mean, yeah she was nice."

Steve seemed almost reluctant, like there was more to the story than he wanted to give.

"Anddd?"

"And that's it." He sighs. "Look, I could give a thousand of excuses of why it didn't work but I can't besides saying I just wasn't feeling anything. Nice isn't enough and I didn't want to waste her time."

"Oh..." You say.

You'd be lying if you said you were disappointed at the fact his love life had once again failed. You're a horrible and selfish person, you think.

"Plus, I think I've made too much mistakes doing that in the past. It wouldn't be fair, y'know?"

"Growing up, Harrington?"

"Watch it," He scolds.

You stick your tongue out playfully before resuming your session of staring out the window in distraction of your nerve wracking thoughts and the fact Steve was sitting a foot away.

Shivering, the feel goosebumps rise on your arms and you rub your hands against them in hope to ease.

Steve seems notice and frowns, glimpsing at you before turning back to the road. "Are you still cold?"

"Nope."

"Liar," He chuckles. Turning the heater on with the dial, he reaches his arm behind his seat afterwards, grabbing hold of a folded up blanket and tosses it to you.

"Oh, no, no, Steve. You don't have--" You reassure, holding your hands up.

"I know, it's okay." He cuts you off. "Just give it back when you're done. We both know you're a thief."

"Yeah, yeah."

The droplets of ran pounds against the windshield, the dark clouds swirling in the sky as thunder erupts threateningly. It stirs fear in your chest, heart picking up its pace.

"Shit, it's getting bad." Steve points out. Trying to ease the mood, he jokes. "Think some force of nature is trying to kill us?"

"I don't know about me, but maybe just you. I hope the lightning picks you over me once we get out." You sass.

His mouth is gaped in shock. Finally, he says under his breath, "Psycho."

You try to focus on the music the next couple of minutes, but you can’t stand the silence between the two of you.

After years, you always want to know every single detail about him, to hear him talk about the special things his life and what he has going for him.

Every time you hope it’s something good. It’s all he’s ever deserved.

"How's work? Aren't you doing this whole coaching gig?"

"Don't forget sex ed teacher on the side. But, yeah, it's great so far." He seems to light up, happy you asked. "Really great."

He switches lanes before he continued, "For so long I was so confused and didn't know what I wanted, but now? I don't think I've been happier. Sure, my dad thinks the pay is shit, but at least I'm doing something with my life now."

“I think it’s good, Steve. You’re starting somewhere and I think it fits you perfectly.”

He’s shy then and goes quiet. You think the conversation is done with until:

"I- I really want to try college again. Get a degree in physical education. I know, it probably sounds stupid. I slacked so much in High School. I cared too much about the wrong things, now I'm paying for it."

Your heart breaks at his self deprecation. He’s always struggled with his self esteem underneath all that confidence he paraded around with. Deep down, he just wanted to be worth something in anothers eyes.

"It's not silly, not at all." You study him, staring at the slope of his nose down to the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "A lot of people lose their way too like you did, and you found your way back. You're trying and I think that's enough to be proud of, Stevie."

Steve gives you a quick look of shock, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Thanks." He coughs before the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You're still holding on to that nickname? Jeez, you don't change."

"It reminds me of Fleetwood, it's cute!" You protest.

"Okay, then." He simply laughs.

"The more you hate it, the more I'm going to keep using it."

"Uh huh,"

Rain slammed against the windshield so violently that Steve had to lean forward, squinting his eyes to get a good look at the road. The wipers moved back and forth as the highway stretched ahead, the only thing visible being the headlights illuminating the road and the flashes of lightning in the sky.

Suddenly, the car swerves slightly, making you gasp. Before your brain can process, Steve's arm is bracing against your chest and pushing you back against the seat.

"Fucking hell," He curses, glaring daggers at the truck that zooms past. Steve removes his arm and asks, "You okay?"

Placing a hand over your chest, you nod. "Shit, yeah. It happened so quick, I wasn't expecting it."

Steve hums in agreement and directs his attention back to the road where water pools and the wind starts push hard enough against the BMW that your stomach hurts.

"Damn it," He mutters, directing the car to pull off to the next exit that definitely wasn't part of your plans. "We're not going to be able to make it back tonight. I'm not trying to have us soaring off a cliff when there's idiots who can't drive."

You sit up straighter, frowning, "What're we doing then if not going home?"

Steve rubs a hand across his jaw tiredly, "There should be a motel like ten minutes off this exit. We can grab food before we get a room. We'll just leave in the morning when this calms down."

Calm down, you think. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington sounds terrifying in theory, but what other choice did you have? This was the practical choice, you'd be stupid if you let your feelings get in the way of your safety.

"Unless you'd rather we soar off the cliff to our deaths?" Steve jokes in attempt to lighten the mood.

You'll be fine.

You wave a hand in dismissal and laugh, "Whatever. Yeah, the motel should be fine."

"And if we get murdered? We'll just haunt Anthony and tell him this was mostly his fault."

That was not comforting.

The motel, when you arrived after thirty minutes of driving in pouring rain and a quick fast food pick up, was old but comfortable looking enough that you were able to feel relieved.

The sign buzzed as streams of water poured off the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty except for Steve's BMW and an old truck. Inside, the lobby air smelled faintly like burnt coffee and mildew.

"I'm scared Steve," You whisper, eyeing your surroundings as Steve signed the check in receipt. "What if we get murdered like you said--"

"Okay, first of all, I was joking." Steve says, taking the room key from the old woman behind the desk, who didn't bother to look up from her crossword puzzle. "Second, you watch way too much movies. I think they're starting to rot your brain."

"Have you seen 'Psycho?' That could--"

"Relax!" Steve gives you an incredulous look as if he's unsure whether to laugh. He grabs the greasy paper bag from you. "Let's go to our room, eat, shower, and before you know it you'll feel fine. C'mon."

When you and Steve walk outside and up the rickety stairs to unlock your room, you’re met with the sight of a muted floral bedspread and a television sitting on the dresser. One bed.

"Shit, I asked for a two bed." Steve scoffs and tosses your duffel on the bed along with his overnight bag. Thankfully he came prepared based on weather before he left. "You want me to go ask for a new room?"

Not wanting to complain, you shake your head nervously, "No, this is fine."

Steve just nods, seating himself down at the edge of the bed with a long exhale. You stand still, unable to move from your spot. Maybe it was because there was no brother nearby, no parents, and no friends, but just the two of you in such a vulnerable space.

Steve yawns with a stretch, "You can go ahead and shower first."

You nod, practically running to the shower. The bathroom fills with steam as you turn the faucet, undressing and stepping inside.

You find yourself standing beneath the hot water longer necessary, letting the heat unknot the stiffness aching in your shoulders. Your thoughts felt loud. This is ridiculous, nothing is happening and is going to happen. Steve is Steve, your brother's best friend who you've spent majority of your life trying not to embarrass yourself around. You're going to go back in there and act normal. You'll be back on the road before you know it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the sound of the microwave beeps and you smell the delicious scent of fries and burgers. Steve turns his head, pulling both yours and his food out on to plates.

"You took forever. Were you swimming in there?" He says, handing you your plate before he goes to sit cross legged on the bed against the headboard.

"You're so dramatic, it was only thirty minutes." You join him and take a bite out of your burger.

"Thirty minutes too long," He quips, grabbing the remote and flipping through the television channels. "So, what are we in the mood for, Seinfeld or Beverly Hills? Take your pick."

"Seinfeld. I don't have the attention span for dramatics right now," You reply, stealing one of Steve's fries.

"Seinfeld it is," Steve muses and throws the remote away.

The tv plays on the next twenty minutes as the two of you eat, the episode plot being one of the character's apartments getting robbed, leading to an argument over who gets to move into a new apartment. You weren't paying attention much if you were being honest, more focused on the heat of his body next to you and trying not to seem obviously affected.

"Y'know..." Steve starts and you recognize his familiar tone of mischief. "this episode kind of reminds me of all the arguments you and Anthony have."

You turn to look at him, raising a brow. "Yeah because he's hardheaded."

"Must be a genetic thing." He muses, not turning his gaze away from the screen.

You gasp, smacking his arm. "Don't compare me to him! He's ten times worse than I'll ever be."

"Oh trust me, I believe you." He ponders for a moment before breaking into laughter. "Shit, remember when he jumped off the roof to backflip into my parent's pool?"

In fact, you do. It was one of your favorite embarrassing moments to blackmail your older brother with. He'd been bawling all the way to the emergency room while your mother laid it into him.

"Yes! He's was so stupid. I even told him it probably wasn't a good idea, but no, he insisted he'd look like those superheros from those comics you guys liked so much." You scoffed.

"Man, my mom was so pissed."

"Well, you technically encouraged him on, so I'd be too." He only laughs at your words, giving you a small nudge.

The conversation from there unraveled from one memory to another before you knew it as time passed. From middle school disasters of your brother getting into ridiculous fights, terrible haircuts you cried your eyes out over and threatened to never step outside again, and to Steve accidentally lighting fireworks too close to the garage one Fourth of July, the two of you laugh as you bond over the past.

Steve remembered everything which you couldn't decide was good or bad, especially since he remembered the most embarrassing moments like the time he and Anthony walked in on you kissing your James Spader poster in High School.

"You got so red that you yelled at us to get out," Steve cackled while laying on his side, hand rested under his chin, full attention now only on you.

"I was 15! That was traumatizing! How would you feel if someone walked in on you and found your old magazine collection under your bed."

"Shut up."

"Nope," You say, popping the p.

The both of you watch about three more episodes before trash is discarded in the can next to the bed and somewhere along the way the lamp on the nightstand is turned off, the room lit up only by the blue screen of the television.

"Anyone special in your life?" Steve randomly asks, sounding almost playful if you ignored the weird tone. "Only fair I ask you since you interrogated me earlier."

"Pft, no not really. Robin keeps trying to set me up with this guy though."

"Oh." There's a weird pause. "Are you gonna...see him or anything?"

You scrunch your nose and turn away from the TV. "Uhh I don't know? Why?"

Steve's teeth a clenched, body going rigid. He scoots away to give some space and now you know something is deeply wrong. "No reason just-- I don't know. Maybe you should let her."

"Steve, I don't even know the guy."

"So? If you like him then you like him" He shrugs, resting his weight by laying his palms flat on the bed.

Since when did he dictate what you do or don't do with your life and your romantic life at that.

You stand abruptly and cross your arms over your chest. “Why the hell are you so mad? I never even said I liked him.”

"Whatever." He scoffs.

"Why do you even care?"

"I don't"

"Then why are you acting weird!" You yell, wincing. You don't need the owner marching down here and banging at the door.

He doesn't answer, turning back to the television instead. You know he's just trying to avoid the confrontation of whatever was going on in that head of his. You hated how stubborn he could be.

Fine, he wants to act that way? You'll let him.

"I need air." You announce and start to head towards the door, hand already turning the knob.

The seems to alert him because he snaps his heads, face falling. "Wait- shit- no. I'm sorry."

“Leave me alone.” You snapped.

"I don't know what's up with me, seriously." He pleads. You can tell he's apologetic and not just saying mindless sorrys just to get you to shut up. "Please, I'm sorry. It's raining"

You want to be mad and leave him alone in the dark, probably go to the nearest vending machine and grab a snack, sit somewhere so the rain doesn't soak you.

But you don't have it in you.

"Fine."

"C'mere." Steve said quietly, making your stomach drop.

He gestures with his hand, sitting upright now, facial expression calm and giving you the opportunity to say no. Except, you don't want to.

Your body is moving before you can stop yourself, sitting yourself back on the bed, scooting closer to him and sitting on your knees, brushing against his own. The feeling of his leg against you is enough to stir excitement deep in your belly.

Neither of you speak, the only sound in the room being your breathing, the rain tapping against the window with the occasional crackle of lightning, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Was this actually happening or were you deluded?

“‘M sorry…”

“It’s…it’s okay, Stevie.” You say shakily.

“I just get…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, chewing his lip.

His fingers brush against your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. You shiver at the contact. "What are you thinking?" He murmurs.

"That--" You swallowed. "that I don't know if I'm dreaming or not."

"I'm right here," He hums, his eyes gazing down at your lips. He nibbles at him bottom lip as if he were fighting temptation. "are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Here with me."

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and you nod, "Yeah...I am, Steve."

His lips slowly catch your own, molding together as you gasp against his, before slowly letting yourself melt into his warmth. Your hand catches against the front of his shirt as the kiss deepens.

It was warm and dizzying, so different and overwhelming compared to fantasies you'd imagined over the years.

You'd been completely wrong about Steve being a great kisser. He was momentous and no man you'd been with before could compare to the way his hands drifted down to your waist, drawing you closer onto his lap.

Steve rubs a hand up and down your spine, sneaking a hand under your top. His hands are warm against the coolness of your skin, his whole presence inviting.

His hand leaves and he pulls at the hem of your top. "Off." He orders, no questioning in his tone.

Inclined to listen, you throw your tank over your head, the air hitting your naked breasts and torso immediately.

You feel sheepish when Steve's hazel eyes unapologetically stare hard at your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A soft sound leaves his swollen lips as he brings his hands up to give an experimental squeeze.

When you let a whimper slip, unable to contain it, Steve smiles. "So fucking pretty. Are they sensitive, hm?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to play around a bit just to see what he'd do, so, you shake your head. "No."

"Really? Not even if I..." He mused and pinches your nipples, causing you to jolt. "do this?"

"Shit!" You're so wet by anything he does, even a little bit of touching your damn tits had your panties sticking to your pussy. "Want more...please."

"Yeah?" Steve peppers kisses against your jaw and makes his way down to your neck, chest, and ending at your sternum. "Gonna suck these pretty tits then."

You suck in a sharp breath when his lips wrap around your right bud while his hand teases the left, thumb rolling it in between his thumb and index. He gives a couple of suckles and flicks his tongue against your right, moaning. Steve could cum in his pants right here right now by simply doing this, nothing else.

You mewl, your fingers gliding into his brunette strands of hair and tugging them hard. Steve hisses at the pain but makes no move to stop you, giving your nipple a scolding bite before moving to your left one to give it the same treatment.

If you weren't so distracted, you'd be nonstop apologizing.

Steve moves his right hand, exploring down your navel into your pj shorts. They come off and you're left in just your panties. Giving one last harsh suck to your breast, he pulls off to stare you deep in the eyes, his pupils dilated, "You're so beautiful..." Steve traces the outline of your clothed pussy with his fingers, ghosting over your sensitive clit. You shiver and dig your nails into his shoulder. "prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"You're just saying that," You giggle, avoiding eye contact as he takes off your panties, a your wetness clinging to it before snapping.

His thick brows furrow and says sternly, "I'm not. You know why?"

"...Why?"

"Because," He starts, teasing his middle and ring finger against your hole before dipping them inside with an obscene wet sound. Your breath stutters at feeling of them beginning to move in and out of you with practiced skill. "besides you obviously being fucking gorgeous, you're also the same person who has the biggest heart I know."

"Th- that's-- fuh-- ckk-- you." You moan, eyes shutting closed. He spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls and stretching them wide.

"Not at all. You? You look at people with the kindest eyes and care about everybody, you always have. You remember the smallest details people tell you, you sit with them when they're hurting, you're funny without trying," He laughs, finding your sweet spot and prodding at it. "and you make every room warmer when you walk in. I mostly like how you cry over the silliest movies."

"I do all that...?" You slur.

"Mhm. Dunno how you see the beauty in everyone but miss it all in yourself."

His praise hits you like a truck and you can practically feel a heartbeat within your cunt, your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers, not wanting him to leave.

Needing more, you begin to lift your hips up and down, bouncing and steadying your weight by grabbing on to his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it. Ride my fingers justtt like that.” He coos, meeting every roll of your hips with a curl of his fingers against your walls.

Your lashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a low whine. Cunt sucking in his fingers, you lift the weight of your body up and down, up and down, attempting to reach the peak of pleasure you so desperately longed for.

“Steve. Mfmh…feels so good.”

“What does honey? C’mon, tell me.” He hums, pressing wet kisses against the nape of your throat until he elicits a whimper out of you, confirming that he’s found that certain spot that turns you into mush.

“Your fingers,” You pant, grinding harder down on his hand. “so thick and so deep in me."

You let out a ragged whine at the pressure slowly building up deep in your lower belly.”

Steve groans, smacking your ass in response. “Love that you talk so fucking nasty.” He begins to speed up, the pads of his index and middle pressing deep inside you. You arch your back with a cry. “You close? I can feel it with how tight this pretty wet pussy is getting.”

You nod profusely, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face in it with a moan. Your hips and thighs begin to ache, your movements beginning to slow.

“Yeah, mhm- but can’t- ” You said, grabbing Steve’s wrist pleadingly. “Steve…”

“You’re already tired, honey?” He clicks his tongue in faux sympathy, but nonetheless holds you down to force you still, thrusting his fingers up into you. “Well, that can’t do. Can’t leave my pretty girl hanging.”

"'m cumming, m' cumming, oh fuckkkk--" The second his thumb hits your clit, rubbing firm circles, your orgasm crashes over you like a dam and you cum with a broken moan, your words spilling out.

He hasn't even fucked you properly yet and you already feel dumbed out.

Steve’s fingers continue for a minute to help you ride it out before he pulls them out, slipping them into his mouth. "So good."

You lift your head from his shoulder, mouth dropping in shock as he sucks your arousal clean from him. The heat of embarrassment hits you and you feel inclined to look away from the dirty sight yet you can’t pull away.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop and he moans in satisfaction. A dirty part of you secretly wishes he’d shove them in your mouth.

Steve shifts you off his lap and lays you down on your back oh so gently, kissing you in between words, “Trust me,” kiss. “I wanna get a real taste but,” kiss. “need to feel you around me real fucking bad.”

He pauses, pulling away to look at you, "Only if you want to though. I don't want to pressure you or anything--"

You pull him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and he instantly smiles into it, tongue sliding against your bottom lip for permission. Parting your lips, his tongue slips inside, the wet muscle flicking against your own as it explores your mouth.

You both pull apart, the two of you breathing heavily. A string of saliva being the only thing connecting the two of you now.

"I want to." You say finally, staring up at the man you've yearned so long for, the man who'd always been so kind to you.

A grin tugs at Steve's lips and he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off by the hem, revealing patches of hair on his chest leading down to the delicious happy trail down his soft tummy into his pants (he always complained he didn't have abs, but if anything you thought it was the hottest thing).

You note the thick bulge restrained by his jeans and suddenly you feel intimidated.

You'd heard the rumors before, rumors that made you pout in jealousy at one point in your life where you felt you could never know Steve in such a vulnerable way. You wouldn't believe yourself a year ago if you knew you'd be having sex with your older brother's best friend.

The metal of his belt clinks and he yanks the belt out of the loops and pulling down his jeans. After his boxers are off, your eyes widen at the sight of the thick hard cock slapping against his stomach.

Steve grunts, giving it a couple tugs. Like you suspected, the dark patches of hair trail down to the pubic hair tousled around his cock. It's long in length and incredibly girthy, the veins running up until the pink swollen head leaking with precum.

The thought of him fucking your throat and guiding you by your hair while praising you with sweet nothings while you gag, turns you on more than it should and you clench your thighs together.

He takes notice of your nerves and frowns, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You say too quickly.

He shakes his head, "I wanna make this as comfortable for you as possible, so I need to know what's" He gently taps your forehead. "going on in that head of yours. Okay, honey?"

You're quiet, unsure whether it's such a miniscule thing to point out in the first place. Giving in, you mumble, "You're just...huge."

Steve blinks before he bursts into a fit of laughter, his eyes crinkling. You're absolutely mortified. "Don't laugh at me! You told me to tell you."

He stalls his laughter and is immediately crawling on top of you, brows furrowed in concern. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, honey. I'm more so with..." His eyes flick down to his obvious erection. "the situation, I guess."

"...Is it even going to fit?"

He huffs a laugh, leaning in to give your forehead a quick kiss, "I'll make it, don't worry."

Shit.

"You trust me, honey?" He asks one more time.

Exhaling, you nod. "Yeah, yeah, I do."

Suddenly, his face drops and he curses, "Fuck, I don't have protection." He drags a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry--"

"It's okay," You smile. "I have an IUD, should be fine."

He pauses, processing the information before returning your smile. "Alright then, you're full of surprises aren't you?"

"I'd say so," You shrug.

Nudging your legs apart with his knee, he readjusts and rests his left arm beside your head and uses his free hand to wrap around his dick, guiding the swollen tip to your leaking entrance.

He slides it up and down your slit before dragging it up to your clit, slapping it firmly a couple times, sending a jolt of pleasure.

"Put it in!" You complained.

He taunts, "I thought good girls were patient?"

"I am," You pout, bucking your hips up. "But it doesn't mean I don't want you to fuck me sensele--"

You're unable to finish your sentence, words breaking into a high pitched moan at the feeling of his huge cock intruding, the hot skin of him filling you whole as he bottoms out.

"You were saying?"

"Just- just move, please."

Steve starts off slow, moving his hips back and thrusting forward with a couple shallow thrusts before he grinds against you deeper than his fingers had been able to reach.

Picking up the pace, he draws his cock out all the way to barely the tip and slamming back in to begin a series of devoted thrusts.

Mewling, you slide your hands to his back, nails scratching against the skin of his shoulder blades. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him as you shamelessly moan. (The both of you should be expecting a complaint from the motel owner later...)

He leans down to lick the base of your neck, tongue flat as he drags up to a stop and sucking multiple spots, marks blooming as proof of the passionate night that will soon become a memory.

You feel grief knowing this will be over in just a few minutes, but you won't worry about that now, you'll just make the most of it.

The bed creaks under your weight, the rhythm of him fucking into you relentless with the disgustingly filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"So goddamn tight and wet," He breathes into your neck. "this all for me?"

"Yes, yes," You urge him on, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and he moans. "all for you, Steve- mmf fuck."

"Yeahhh?" You can feel him smile against your skin, giving a couple more kisses before pulling back to get a good look at you. "All mine?"

Word coils at your throat, unable to fully get anything out besides broken sobs.

"C'mon baby. Talk to me like the good girl I know you are. Need to hear how good you feel as I fuck this tight pussy."

"Love you," You drawl out with a whine, squeezing your eyes shut. "Love you so much, Steve."

Suddenly, his hips come to a stop and you're left in confusion until it hits you. Oh no.

Eyes snapping wide, your palm slaps against your mouth as you stare up at Steve.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, eyes wide, hair tousled in a mess, and he’s so still you can’t tell if he’s currently present in the moment or debating on packing and leaving you stranded in the motel.

You need him to say something, anything. Anything to reassures you didn’t destroy everything.

Blinking back tears threatening to spill, you start, “Steve—“

"You love me?" He whispers.

He’s going to curse you out, call you disgusting and a perverted loser who’d been pathetically yearning for someone that knew he wasn’t her own.

Don’t leave. Please.

"I'm so, so, so sorry Steve. Please just forget I said anything, I didn't mean to--"

He shuts you up with his lips crashing against yours and his thrusts resuming, the wet slap of his balls mixed with your arousal against the fat of your ass.

You cry out in surprise, legs immediately wrapping around his waist as his cock drives hard and fast in to you.

His thrusts grow frantic at your words, his free hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips high as he keeps your grip on your right thigh, driving his swelling cock deeper. He kisses you sloppily, swallowing your whimpers as he whines against your mouth.

His thrusts grow messy and his hips stutter. Breaking away from you, a groan rattles through his chest, "Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck-- I can't hold it--"

With every hit of the bulbous tip against your g-spot, you feel closer and closer to the edge.

"'M gonna cum, Steve!"

"Shh, I know, baby," His jaw is tight, attempting to restrain himself from finishing before you. "I got you, I got you. 'M close too...tell me where you want it, 'kay?"

"Shittt-- inside." You gasp.

He moans loudly at your words, eyes fluttering, that he almost came right there. "Ah, fuckkk. You sure?"

Instead of answering, you press the heels of your feet against the dip of his back, pushing him forward and deeper into you, profusely nodding.

He doesn't have to ask again and jackhammering his hips against you until finally the band deep inside you snaps and you cum around him with a high pitched whine, arching your back.

Ropes of cum fill you as he releases with a groan, stilling his hips deep inside you and grinding deep against you to ride both of your orgasms out.

"Fucking love you so much," He pants, kissing you from your cheeks, forehead, jaw, and finally planting several on your swollen lips. "love you, love you, love you..."

Your heart does a flip. Did he truly mean it? Your mind had barely begun to return back to it's fully conscious state after mind blowing sex.

Trembles coursing through your legs, they weakly fall from Steve's waist.

It takes a minute for Steve to gain enough energy to pull his cock out before breathlessly slumping the weight of his body next to you. He pulls you against his chest without hesitation, so naturally that you don't know how to move forward from here.

"Did you..." You finally say as his free hand rubs up and down your thigh soothingly. "did you mean what you said?"

He stiffens, "What do you mean?" He knows exactly what you mean.

"That..." You gulped.

"That I love you?"

"Mhm."

"Of course I meant it," He smiles when your finger tips graze against his face, dragging against his moles delicately. "meant every single word. You're everything, y'know?"

You stop your movements and blink.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs awkwardly.

"Umm, like what?"

He groans, dragging a hand up his face. "Like- I don't know! Like you regret it or something."

"No, no, no," You shake your head, internally cursing at your own dumb silence for making him think otherwise. "that's not it, it's just that...it's just I'm having a hard time processing what just happened."

"Besides the obvious?" He raises a brow.

Immediately, you smack his chest and he just chuckles, grabbing your wrist and giving it a brief kiss.

"You know what I mean you big dummy." You roll your eyes before your tone grows serious, almost shy. “Just…did we do it because…?”

Finally understanding where you were going, his brows furrow sternly and he shakes his head, “Stop. Baby, I don’t want you thinking we had sex because of some storm or because we got stuck in a motel.”

Your pulse quickens. “Okay…”

“Like I said, it’s because I love you and have been for months now.”

His words hit you and you stop, thinking you misheard, “Wait. What? Months???”

“Ah…” Steve’s cheeks grow hot with blood and he’s no longer looking at you now, distracted with the ceiling fan spinning.

You’d assumed this was a very recent thing, not something that had been going on for the past year directly under your nose.

"Steve, when?"

"Um," He coughs. "around Christmas."

“Christmas???” You gasp loudly and he cringes. “That was like six months ago!”

“I’m aware…”

You can’t help the stupid smile that grows on your face and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling your face into his chest deeper, looking up at him. "Aww, Stevie you had a crush on me? Is that why you got all like that a bit ago?" You then pause, furrowing your eyebrows. "Are you actually being serious? If you're messing with me I'll shave your head while you're asleep."

"You wouldn't."

"Mmm, I dunno."

"Brat." He smacks your ass and you squeal, kicking him in the leg, causing him to grunt. "And duh, I'm serious."

He seems to ponder, sentimental at the memory of snow falling and your family gathered together when he'd been invited to celebrate with like every year. "I realized when you and Anthony were making the stupid gingerbread houses. Man, you're so competitive. You begged me to be the judge of who made the better house and everything. When I said you, you were so happy over something so silly and I just...I don't know, I guess it hit me."

You remember. You'd layered your house in pastel blue and pink frosting with gumdrops sprinkled across. You insisted yours was the epitome of a perfect house compared to Anthony's absolute mess that had no theme nor color coordination. So, you'd look to Steve who'd been wearing that sweater of his he'd looked ridiculously good in, with big eyes and hands clasped together.

"I had no idea." You whisper, running a hand through his messy hair. "I honestly thought you didn't care, that I had some stupid little crush for years."

"Years?" He asks in genuine confusion.

"Don't tell me you didn't know."

"No, swear." He then laughs. "Wow, years?"

Now you feel embarrassed, regretting you even said anything in the first place. "Shut up, Steven."

He gives a half smirk and flicks your forehead, "It's okay, I'm not judging. Just took us some time, that's all."

"...Hmph."

Moments pass and it’s silent but comfortable, easy enough to ease into together as you sigh into his chest, hiding your face into it as he holds you close.

If you could, you’d melt together and become one with him.

“Fuck.” Steve curses. “He’s going to kill me.”

You freeze, realizing what he means. Not wanting to worry about the issue of your brother at hand, you scoff. “So?”

“So?” He says exasperated, hiding his face in your hair, voice miserable. “So, he might actually kill me. Do you realize that?”

“Maybe you deserve it.”

“Hush.”

With confessions and sex, you wonder what’s the next step in the both of yours complicated relationship you were sure wouldn’t be exposed to anyone outside the two of you anytime soon. Privacy seemed the best route, especially if wanting to avoid…potential conflict.

Sure, he confessed his love, but did he want to take this seriously?

“What are we exactly?” You blurt out.

He just stares out, mouth opening and closing and you immediately regret your words. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer that—“

“I want to be your boyfriend.” He says quickly, flushing afterwards. “Um— if you’ll let me. I meant it when I said I love you. This isn’t just messing around to me. Even if…a certain someone beats my ass.”

You don’t give a response for a couple seconds, leaving him holding his breath. Finally, you smile and lean up to kiss his lips then the tip of his nose in finality. “Is that a good enough answer?”

AUTHORS NOTE: sooo…maybe might write part 2 where anthony finds out and shit hits the fan? you can kinda tell i got lazy towards the end lol.

ever since the military quarantine, you had nothing to do. and it was incredibly difficult to get condoms, so a lot of the times you guys just risked it for the biscuit

not the best idea but hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

you had been pent up all day. all of the stress from the events recently had you going crazy, and it didn't help that you were ovulating, and you needed steve so bad. but you were at the squak, you didn’t have any condoms

but of course, steve can always tell when you need something. so when everyone's bickering over plans, he pulls you aside

“what’s up with you baby? you’ve been actin’ weird all morning” he says as he closes the storage room door behind him

“stevie, need you so much” you whine "baby, everyone's outside” he whispers, cupping your cheek. you look up at him with those doe eyes he can’t resist. he pulls away and locks the door, moving over and he sitting on a table, patting his thigh “c’mere then"

you eagerly hurry over climbing on his thigh. he grabs you hips and lifts you slightly to put a towel over his leg and slides your panties off under your sundress

after all, he couldn’t just let you soak his jeans with everyone sitting out there

“go on, use me baby” he coos and you rock your hips forward, letting out a soft gasp at the friction. you wrap your arms around his neck

you moan softly as you buck your hips quickly, desperately chasing your release. he kisses your neck softly, sucking small marks onto your skin

you bury your face in his neck as his hands grip your hips, guiding your movements. you bite your lip to hold in your moan as your orgasm hits you

your legs shake as you cum, his hands still guiding your hips to ride it out

you pant, catching your breath and lifting your flushed face to look at him. he presses kisses all over your face. you tug at his belt

he chuckles, watching your needy movements “you’re so needy today” he teases, but his hands move to his belt to slide it off

the buckles clicks and you quickly tug it off and toss it aside. he unzips his jeans and stands up suddenly

he pushes his jeans and boxers down to his ankles and picks you up. wrapping your legs around his waist, he pins you against the wall

you gasp softly as the shelf next to you rattles slightly. he doesn’t mind, he slowly pushes his cock into your throbbing hole

he grunts into your neck as you clench around him. he picks up his pace slowly, fucking into you with passion

you moan his name and he covers your mouth “shh, don’t want everyone to know im fucking you in here do you?” you shake your head

he slides his thumb in your mouth, speeding up. your whimpers and moans are muffled as you suck his thumb

“thaaats it, good girl” he groans as he pounds into you with force. you feel that knot forming in your stomach and grip his shoulders

“you gonna cum for me?” his voice is raspy in your ear as his own orgasm nears. you moan around his thumb as you cum, legs shaking again

he buries himself deep, cumming inside you, painting your velvet walls with his warm cum

everyone had assumed you were just on your period or just plain moody. you only thought you were sick or something, so you didn’t do anything about it

you didn’t think much of it when your period was late. with all the stress you had been under, it never crossed your mind that it could be anything serious

nobody wanted to comment on the way you had gotten slightly bigger. it was barely noticeable, and they all figured it was just normal weight gain

plus, everyone knows you don’t ask a girl about her weight

and yeah, you had been having some weird cravings, but that’s not odd, right?

the thought had never crossed your mind. until one day, it seemed to cross somebody elses

it was grocery delivery, and murray was unloading everything. he pulled you aside after everyone had grabbed everything

“here, you might need these” he hands you a bag. you peek inside it and see three pregnancy tests and a few plan b’s. your eyes widen at the implication

“might wanna check” he suggests before patting your back and walking back to the truck

you shove them in your jacket and walk back inside, hiding them in your purse when no one’s watching

when you and steve were home later, you head upstairs. he was busy working on something, so you decided to sneak off

you walk upstairs to the bathroom, bringing your purse and close the door, grabbing the tests from the bag

you look at the boxes, chewing your lip. you rip one open and pull out the test. you turn the box, reading the instructions

pee on the stick, wait five minutes. easy enough

you take all three tests, setting them on the counter and setting a timer. you pace the bathroom, chewing your nail

what if they’re positive? what would steve think? how could you be pregnant rught now with everything going on? how would you raise a kid in this life you’re living?

the timer pings

you snap out of your panic and close your eyes. deep breaths.. three, two- “one” you whisper and flip them over, looking at the results on the tests

positive. every. single. one. all three

you grip the counter, mind racing. your heart pounds and your mind spirals with a million thoughts at the speed of light and-

“hey baby, you okay up there?” steves voice calls out from downstairs. shit. you fumble with the tests, bumping them off thw counter

you quickly shove them in a drawer

he frowns when you don’t answer and walks upstairs. he knocks on the bathroom door

“baby, is everything okay?” he asks softly. you open the door, looking up at him with a nod

he knows you’re lying. of course he does. he knows you better than you know yourself

“what’s going on baby? did something happen?” he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, scanning your face for any signs of harm

his eyes catch something and he looks over. a pink box sticking out of the trash can

he recognized it immediately, eyes widening and heart rate picking up

“is that…?” his voice is quiet, stunned. all you can do is nod, holding back a sob. he pulls you into his chest “hey, hey it’s okay. it’s gonna be okay”

he tucks your head in his chest, confused and shocked "is it..?" he whispers and you nod again. he lets out a shaky breath

he presses a kiss to your hair, your shoulders shaking with sobs. he strokes your back as he processes the information

pregnant. his baby was growing inside you

he was excited and terrified. but he didn’t want to get his hopes up, not yet

when your sobs died down, he tilted your chin up “what do you want to do? do you want to keep it? or..?” the question hangs in the air

you quickly shake your head “no, i’m keeping it”

he nods, tucking your hair behind your ear “okay, we’re keeping it then” his soft eyes scan your face “how are you feeling?”

“terrified?” you sniffle, a shaky smile on your lips “yeah, me too” he cups your face “but it’s gonna be okay” he promises

you two stand there for a moment, processing everything. everything was going to be okay, you keep telling yourself

but was it really?

steve refused to let you join the fight against vecna. so you were forced to stay at home. you hadn’t told the party yet, focused on surviving

you pace the living room, repeatedly glancing out the window. you couldn’t handle being stuck here, not knowing if they were okay

you sit down, thinking over and over how the hell you were going to tell everyone. the girls would probably be thrilled, along with joyce

dustin would probably either be thrilled or pissed at steve for knocking you up in the current situation. either way he would be happy as long as you are

you bounce your leg nervously as you chew your lip. they’re okay, they’re okay. you’re just overreacting

but what if they weren’t? what if something happens or ir doesn’t work and vecna is still alive or something happens to them-

your thoughts are cut off by the sound of wheels in the driveway. you jump up and rush to the door glancing out rhe window

you watch as everyone climbs out from the back of the van, tapping your fingers nervously on the doorframe as you look for steve

you let out a breath of relief as you watch him step out of the front. you open the door quickly and rush out

he looks over as you run over to him, throwing your arms around him and hugging him. you bury your face in his chest

“hey, i’m alive, just like i promised, remember?” he whispers. you nod. you finally come to your senses, smelling the putrid scent on him

“oh-jesus-what is that smell?” you cough, covering your nose “not sure” he answers, seeming unbothered

you open your mouth to speak but then you see dustin. you pull away completely from steve and rush over, hugging dustin tightly

he hugs you back. you both stand there for a moment, clinging to eachother to remind yourselves your safe. you pull back and smell the same stench on him

“god-seriously what the hell is that?” you motion to the slimy substance on them “i think you’d rather not know” he pats your shoulder

“you both need a shower” you scrunch your nose and shoo him away. he ruffles your hair and heads upstairs

aftwr everyone has showered and gotten changed, you all sit in the living room

everyone is comforting each other and happy to be back together. you notice will and mike a bit closer than usual, and you smile to yourself but don’t say anything

you and steve sit in front of everyone and you take a deep breath

“we need to tell you guys something” you say, voice steady and serious enough to make everyone quiet down and look over

“uhm..well i-we’re..” you look over at steve, and he gives you a nod, squeezing your hand

you take another deep breath “i’m pregnant”

everyone freezes, shocked. you sit nervously, leg bouncing again. nancy breaks the silence “you’re pregnant?” she asks softly

you nod “so there’s like, an actual baby inside you right now?” will asks “yes, that’s how pregnancy works will” you say

“i mean we noticed you had been acting off bur we didn’t want to say anything” mike admits

“yeah and we thought that weight gain was just normal weight” lucas says and max elbows him.

“so you’re like, really pregnant?” dustin asks “yeah, really pregnant” you nod

“you’re going to be a great mother” joyce says, taking your hand and squeezing it “you really think so?” you ask

“totally. you’re like, already so motherly” mike says “yeah, you guys have been like our parents for years” max adds

“i’m gonna be an uncle” dustin says, and you nod. he smiles widely

everyone starts talking about baby names and everything their going to teach the baby

you look over at steve, who’s smiling. you rest your head against his chest and watch everyone with a fond expression

you didn’t know what the future has planned for you, but you did know that no matter what, you would have this family by your side

and that was enough

a/n: so this has been in my drafts for like two months.. like since march.. haha.. rip sorey for disappearing AGAIN i’m tryna be more consistent i swear

taglist: @athenaelle @antivenus @alexturnerisamonchhichi @herrorthesunn @scarletchangelingpyramid @lacywithdrawal @sexyvixen7 @sshxamy @babygirldoll @djoscomet @mutual-future-repeat @bl3ssedp0etry @nakano-nanami @fyuge @hermionelaufeyson @callmeurfool @izzyc290 @nerdyphantomlady @mcereals @sweatydjoshoes @reiikei12 @miahslt91 @randomlyfuturisticgremlin @maarsini @m00nknightswife @snoopylalala @amirafloral @stoneyggirl2 @sgtprongs @protectingpluto @natxcps @rosecolorgardens @reallblacksapphire @ditsy-bitch @zoereyna @doriangray228 @projections-mortal @emolovverr @princesssofthefrogss @kennedyinchains @minitasworld @dailyluvrsxxm @bunnybunnns @smileymilee @kayjon47858 @sscunck @qiuekr @lexi8712 @joekerryluvr @brand-new-babygirl @duckyfuz @slut4bigbiceps @fersitay

to be added to my taglist

please do not steal, copy or repost my works on other platforms

divider creds: @chrisssiren

you were dustin henderson’s old sister.

the one who spent most of her time trying to study or trying to stop your little brother from blowing up the basement.

you weren’t unpopular, exactly, but you weren’t part of the spotlight either. you kept your head down. got good grades. and tried to survive without drawing too much attention.

steve harrington was the opposite.

king steve. 

the guy who ruled the school.

he had everything — looks, money, status, and a different girl on his arm every other week. 

and you had never been on his radar.

until tommy hagan started loudly crushing on you.

tommy had clearly not gotten that memo. 

and for weeks, he had been bothering you.

every morning he’d lean against your locker like he owned it. flashing what he probably thought was a charming grin. making lame jokes. trying way too hard to flirt. he wasn’t subtle at all. 

he told anyone who would listen that he was going to ‘’bag henderson’s sister’’. it was embarrassing and annoying, especially because you had zero interest in him.

you turned him down politely the first few times. then less politely. but tommy was nothing if not persistent. 

and then steve harrington noticed. his best friend. 

one afternoon after the final bell, you were at your locker switching out books when you overheard them. steve was walking down the hallway with tommy, carol, and a couple of the other guys. tommy was being loud and obnoxious as usual.

“i’m telling you, man, i’m gonna ask her out this weekend,” tommy bragged loudly. “she’s fucking hot. she keeps playing hard to get but i know she wants it. i’m wearing her down.”

steve stopped walking.

“you’re serious?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “dustin henderson’s sister?”

“yeah, dude,” tommy laughed, puffing out his chest. “she’s quiet, but i bet she’s a freak once you get her alone.”

something shifted in steve’s expression. 

he didn’t laugh along like he normally would. 

instead, his eyes narrowed slightly, almost like he had just decided something.

then, steve started paying attention to you.

it began small.

he nodded at you in the hallway. then he started saying “hey” when he passed by. soon he was waiting by your locker in the mornings, leaning against it with that famous king smirk.

“you know tommy’s got a massive crush on you, right?” he said one morning, arms crossed.you rolled your eyes, shoving books into your locker. 

“yeah. he’s not exactly subtle.” steve chuckled, low and warm. 

“he’s an idiot. you deserve way better than that tool.”

from that day on, steve turned up the charm.

he started walking with you between classes, even when it took him out of his way. 

he teased you about the stack of books you always carried. 

he made sure to sit near you at lunch sometimes, right next to him, much to tommy’s visible annoyance. 

carol was catty at first, throwing little comments your way, but steve shut her down every single time with just a look.

tommy’s dirty looks became more frequent. steve seemed to enjoy it. 

every time tommy tried to talk to you, steve would appear out of nowhere, sling an arm around your shoulders, and pull you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

what started as steve stepping in to shut tommy down quickly turned into something else. 

but he never asked you to be his girlfriend. 

he never took you on official dates. 

it was a fling. a messy, heated situationship that neither of you defined. you would make out in empty classrooms, in his car after school, and sometimes in the bathrooms.

and you? you felt completely out of your depth.

you kissed a couple of boys before, but never like this. 

you always felt awkward, unsure, like you didn’t know how to kiss properly. you never took control. you just followed steve’s lead, hoping you weren’t doing it wrong.

it happened again during lunch.

steve found you in the hallway, didn’t say a word, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the male’s bathroom near the gym. 

“steve—” you started, heart racing.

the second the door was locked, he pushed you against the sink and kissed you hard.

his mouth was hungry, tongue sliding against yours as he pressed his body into you. 

you tried to kiss him back, but you felt clumsy, unsure. you never quite knew what to do with your tongue or how much pressure to use.

steve didn’t seem to mind. he kissed you deeper, tilting your head the way he wanted, dominating the kiss completely.

steve pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark.

you moaned softly into the kiss, your hands gripping his polo shirt. 

then steve didn’t waste time. he lifted you onto the sink, stepping between your legs, his hands sliding under your sweater.

“fuck, i’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he muttered against your lips.

you let out a soft sound when his lips moved to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly on your skin. 

his body was warm and solid against yours, and for a moment you forgot where you were.

just as steve’s hand started sliding higher up your side, the door handle rattled.

“steve…” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair.

he smiled against you and sucked your upper lip while one hand squeezed your thigh under your skirt.

just as his fingers started sliding higher, a loud knock came from the door.

“harrington! you in there, man?” tommy’s voice called out. “we’re gonna be late for that thing with carol. hurry the fuck up!”

steve groaned against your chest, clearly frustrated.

“shit,” he muttered.

he lifted his head and looked at you, eyes dark with want, lips slightly swollen. He gave you one last slow kiss, deep and lingering, before pulling back.

“i gotta go,” he whispered, regret heavy in his voice. “i told tommy i was going to the bathroom and that i’d meet him and carol after lunch. if i don’t show up he’ll come looking.”

you nodded, still breathless, cheeks flushed and lips tingling. steve helped you down from the sink, fixing your sweater and skirt with surprisingly gentle hands.

he cupped your face and kissed you once more, softer this time.

“i’ll make it up to you later, okay?” he said, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “promise.”

then he unlocked the door and slipped out, giving you one last smirk before disappearing down the hallway to meet tommy.

you stayed there for a moment, with your heart still pounding, legs a little shaky and trying to process what had just happened.

later that same day, carol pulled you aside during the last period and dragged you out to the bleachers behind the school. she looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

‘’so,’’ carol started, smirking. ‘’you and steve were getting nasty in the bathroom? bold move, girl.’’

you felt your face heat up instantly.

“it wasn’t… we didn’t—” you tried, but carol cut you off with a laugh.

“relax. i’m not judging. just surprised you let him drag you in there during lunch. tommy’s been sulking all week because steve basically stole you from under his nose.”

you sighed and sat down on the cold metal bleacher. carol sat beside you, crossing her legs.

“i don’t know what i’m doing, carol,” you admitted quietly. “every time steve kisses me, i feel like i’m doing it wrong. i just stood there and let him lead. i never know what to do with my hands or my tongue. i feel so awkward and inexperienced.”

carol looked at you for a second, then let out a short laugh, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth.

“oh honey, you really are a baby at this, aren’t you?” 

she said it not unkindly. 

“steve’s used to girls who know how to kiss back. but he also likes the whole innocent thing you’ve got going on. still… you can’t just be a passive doll forever.”

carol continued, more direct this time.

“next time he kisses you, don’t just open your mouth and wait for him to do everything. bite his bottom lip gently. grab the back of his neck or pull his hair. press your body against him. guys go fucking crazy when you do that.”

you listened carefully with your cheeks burning.

“and if he puts his hand between your legs,” carol continued, smirking, “don’t just let him touch you. push against his fingers. show him you’re enjoying it. whisper shit in his ear too. steve acts cool but he’s easy when you talk dirty.”

then you stayed quiet for a moment, processing everything she said. carol glanced at you, almost gentle for once.

“i just don’t want to look stupid,” you said softly. “i feel like he knows so much more than me.”

“you are inexperienced. own it. steve clearly likes you exactly like this or he wouldn’t keep chasing you.”

you touched your neck self-consciously and stood up, walking beside her back toward the school building.

even though carol could be sharp and mean, her advice felt strangely useful. maybe you really did need to stop overthinking and just try taking control for once.

then two days later, you were at steve’s house after school.

his parents were out of town again, so the big empty house felt even quieter than usual. 

you went under the excuse of ‘’studying together,’’ but now you were both in his room, sitting on his bed and supposedly watching movies. 

the movie was playing on the tv across the room, some action flick with loud explosions, but neither of you were paying attention for a while.

now steve was half on top of you, kissing you slowly and deeply. his body was warm and heavy in the best way, and one of his hands was resting on your waist. the other cupped the side of the side of your face. 

his kisses were confident, smooth. he tilted your head exactly how he wanted. his tongue brushed against yours in that rhythm that made your stomach flutter.

then you remembered carol’s words.

you wanted to try. you really did. you wanted to be better for him.

so when steve kissed you again, you gathered all your courage. 

you slid both hands into his hair and pulled him closer, kissing him a little harder than usual. you sucked gently on his bottom lip, then brushed your tongue against his more confidently.

for a few seconds it felt good.

steve made a low sound on his throat, almost surprised,and his hand tightened on your waist.

you tried to take more control. 

you deepened the kiss, moving your tongue against his, pressing your chest closer to his body. you even tugged lightly on his hair the way carol said guys liked.

but then the thoughts crashed in.

is this too much? am i being too aggressive? what if he thinks i’m bad at this? what if he’s just pretending to like it?

your confidence vanished in an instant.

your movements became hesitant and stiff. you didn’t know what to do with your tongue anymore. 

you pulled back slightly, breathing faster. cheeks burning with embarrassment and frustration.

steve noticed right away.

he lifted his head and looked down at you, his hazel eyes were soft but concerned. his thumb gently stroked your cheek.

“hey… you okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and careful.

you forced a small smile and nodded quickly.

“yeah… i’m fine,” you whispered.

“we can slow down if you want,” he said gently. “or stop. you know that, right?”

“no, it’s okay,” you replied, shaking your head. you didn’t want to explain how nervous and insecure you felt. you didn’t want him to know you were overthinking everything. “let’s just… watch the movie.”

steve hesitated for a second, searching your eyes, but eventually nodded.

“alright,” he said softly.

he shifted beside you, lying on his back and pulling you against his chest. 

his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close as he turned his attention back to the television. 

the movie continued playing — loud gunshots and dramatic music filling the room — but your mind was somewhere else completely.

you lay there with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, pretending to watch the screen. inside, you felt stupid and frustrated with yourself.

carol’s advice had sounded so easy when she said it, but when you actually tried, your brain had sabotaged everything. 

you kept replaying the kiss in your head, wondering what you did wrong, why you couldn’t just relax and enjoy it like other girls seemed to.

steve’s fingers traced slow patterns on your arm. 

every now and then he would press a soft kiss to the top of your head, completely unaware of the storm happening inside you.

after a few minutes, he spoke casually, trying to include you.

“this part’s supposed to be cool,” he murmured with relaxed voice. “you like action movies, right?”

you nodded against his chest.

“yeah… it’s good,” you whispered, even though you had no idea what was happening on screen.

steve squeezed your shoulder lightly and continued watching, his hand still gently stroking your arm. 

he seemed good just holding you, completely happy with the simple closeness.

but you couldn’t stop the quiet voice in your head. you stayed quiet, curled up against him, pretending everything was fine while your mind kept spinning.

days passed after that afternoon at steve’s house. 

you tried to act normal around him, but the insecurity still lingered in the back of your mind. you kept overthinking every kiss, every touch, wondering if you were doing enough or if you looked inexperienced. 

steve noticed you were a little quieter than usual, but he didn’t push. 

he just kept being sweet and patient with you.

one afternoon after school, steve was leaning against his car in the parking lot with carol. 

tommy wandered off somewhere, leaving the two of them alone. steve pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke toward the sky.

carol leaned beside him, arms crossed.

“so,” she said, smirking slightly. “how’s it going with henderson’s sister? you two are still sneaking around like horny teenagers?”

steve let out a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. he took another drag from his cigarette before answering.

“it’s going… okay,” he said. “i really like her. more than i thought i would. but she’s different.”

carol raised an eyebrow.

“different how?” steve hesitated, tapping ash from his cigarette.

“she gets in her head a lot. i can tell she’s nervous. like she thinks she’s doing everything wrong. i try to go slow but… i don’t know. sometimes i feel like i’m pushing too much.”

carol was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

“yeah, well… she talked to me the other day.” steve turned his head quickly, surprised.

“she did?”

“mhm,” carol nodded. “poor girl was spiraling. told me she feels awkward as hell when you kiss her. she thinks she doesn’t know how to kiss properly. she’s scared she’s bad at it and that you’ll get bored.”

steve stayed silent, staring at the ground as he processed her words. he took another long drag from his cigarette, clearly thinking.

carol continued, more gently than usual.

“she really likes you, steve. but she’s intimidated. you’re experienced, you’ve been with a lot of girls, and she’s… basically starting from zero.”

steve exhaled slowly, smoke curling in the air.

“fuck,” he muttered. “i didn’t realize it was that bad. i thought she was just shy.”

“she is shy,” carol said. “but she also really wants to be good for you. so maybe stop always taking control. let her lead sometimes. tell her it’s okay if she’s not perfect. tell her you like when she tries. girls like her need to hear that shit out loud.”

steve nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. he flicked ash from his cigarette and stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“yeah… you’re right,” he said finally. “i’ve been going too fast with her. i get carried away because i really like her, but… i don’t want her feeling like she’s not enough.”

carol smirked a little.

“good. don’t fuck it up, harrington”

that night your brother were out for dinner with friends and your mom was downstairs making a lot of noise with some friends.

you had your bedroom door closed, desk lamp on, trying to focus on your history notes even though your mind kept drifting.

you were halfway through rewriting a paragraph when you heard the familiar soft tap on your window.

your heart jumped. you turned around and saw steve’s face smiling at you through the glass, his hair a little messy from climbing. 

you quickly got up and opened the window.

“steve,” you whispered, half surprised.. “what are you doing here? mom is downstairs with some friends”

“i know,” he said quietly as he climbed inside, careful not to make too much noise. “i waited until i saw them all sitting down. figured it was safe enough.”

once he was inside he closed the window and immediately pulled you into a gentle hug, kissing the top of your head.

“missed you,” he murmured against your hair. “been thinking about you all day.”

you hugged him back, breathing in his familiar scent of cologne. 

after a moment you both sat on the edge of your bed. steve looked at the open textbooks scattered across your desk.

“still studying?” he asked, a hint of mockery in his tone. “you’re such a good little student, aren’t you?”

“history test tomorrow,” you sighed. “i’m trying to focus but my brain keeps wandering.”

steve nodded, then stayed quiet for a second, like he was thinking about something. he reached over and gently took your hand, playing with your fingers.

“can i ask you something?” he said, voice lower than usual.you looked at him, a little nervous. 

“sure.”

he kept his eyes on your hands for a moment before speaking.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice lower. “you’ve been weird the last couple days. carol told me you talked to her.”

you felt your cheeks heat up. you looked down at your lap, embarrassed that he had noticed.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered. “i just… i feel like every time we do it, i freeze up because i’m scared i’m doing it wrong. i don’t know how to take the lead or… be good at it like you are.”

steve stayed quiet, listening carefully. his thumb kept gently stroking the back of your hand.

“i keep thinking you must get bored,” you admitted, voice small. “because you’ve been with girls who know what they’re doing and i’m just… following.”

steve was silent for a few seconds. then he gently squeezed your hand.

“you’re really overthinking this, huh?” he said, smirking. “it’s just kissing, baby. you don’t have to be perfect at it. you think i give a shit if you’re a little clumsy?”

you lifted your eyes to meet his. his expression was serious but incredibly warm.

“i’m not bored,” he said firmly. “not even a little. i like kissing you. i like everything we do together.’’

you were both half-lying on your bed, propped up against the pillows. steve shifted a little closer, his body relaxed beside yours.

“if you want,” he murmured, voice gentle, “you can kiss me. however you want. i’ll stay still. no moving. you’re in complete control tonight. just… experiment. do whatever feels good to you.”

your heart started beating faster. 

you nodded slowly, nerves and excitement mixing in your stomach.

steve lay back a little more against the pillows, looking up at you with calm, patient eyes. he rested his hands on the bed beside him, clearly showing he wasn’t going to touch you unless you wanted him to.

“i’m all yours,” he whispered.

you hesitated for a second, then leaned over him. 

at first you just kissed him softly, lips brushing against his. steve stayed perfectly still, letting you set the pace. 

you kissed him again, a little longer this time, trying to relax. 

when you tilted your head and pressed your lips more firmly against his, he let out a quiet hum but didn’t move.

feeling a bit braver, you parted your lips and slowly slid your tongue against his bottom lip. 

you sucked gently on it, just like carol had suggested. 

steve’s breathing changed slightly, but he kept his promise — he didn’t kiss you back, didn’t touch you. he let you explore.

you kissed him deeper, sliding your tongue into his mouth, tasting him. 

you experimented with different pressures, sometimes slow and soft, sometimes a little harder. 

“not bad,” he said, voice teasing. “but you’re still thinking too much. you kiss like you’re scared i’m gonna grade you or something.”

then you sucked on his tongue carefully, then kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and came back to his lips again.

“you’re doing so good,” he whispered, voice a little rough. “keep going if you want. i’m not going anywhere.”

but after a few more moments of letting you lead, steve couldn’t hold back any longer.

with a low, quiet groan, he finally took control.

one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he tilted his head and kissed you deeply. his mouth devoured yours — slow at first, then hungrier, more intense. 

his tongue moved against yours with confidence, tasting you, claiming the kiss completely. 

he sucked on your upper lip, gently biting it before soothing it with his tongue, then did it again, focusing on that soft sensitive skin like it was his favorite thing in the world.

his nose brushed against your cheek and almost pressed into the corner of your eye as he kissed you, the closeness making everything feel even more intimate.

you could feel every small movement, every warm breath against your skin. 

he kissed you like he had been holding back for too long, like he couldn’t get enough.

you let out a soft, surprised sound against his mouth. 

steve used that moment to gently push you back until you were lying flat on the bed. 

he moved with you, hovering over you without putting his full weight on you, one elbow supporting him while his other hand stayed at the side of your face.he never stopped kissing you.

his lips moved against yours with slow, deep strokes, occasionally pulling back just enough to kiss your upper lip again, sucking on it softly before diving back in. 

his nose kept brushing the side of your face, warm and intimate, as he angled his head to kiss you even deeper.

you were breathless, gripping his shirt, when his hand slowly slid down your body. 

he moved patiently, giving you time to stop him if you wanted. 

his fingers traced over your stomach, then slipped under the waistband of your pajama shorts and panties.

“is this okay?” he whispered against your lips.

you nodded quickly, whispering back, 

“yes… please.”

steve kissed you again as his fingers finally reached your bare pussy. 

he groaned softly into your mouth when he felt how wet you already were.

“fuck, baby… you’re soaked,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “all this just from kissing me?”

his fingers moved slowly, gently parting your folds and rubbing soft circles around your clit. 

he wasn’t rushing.

every touch was deliberate, patient, like he wanted to learn exactly what made you tremble.

you tried to stay quiet, biting your lip hard, but a small whimper escaped when he slid one finger inside you.

“steve…” you whimpered, voice shaky and a little too loud. “oh my god… steve—”

“shhh,” steve whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “gotta be quiet, sweetheart. your mom’s downstairs. can’t have them hearing how pretty you sound when i touch you.”

he added a second finger, curling them gently, stroking that sensitive spot inside you while his thumb kept rubbing slow, perfect circles on your clit. 

his mouth stayed on yours, swallowing every soft moan you couldn’t hold back.

“that’s it,” he breathed against your lips. “feel how wet you are for me? so warm and tight around my fingers… you’re doing so good, baby.”

your hips started moving on their own, grinding against his hand. 

steve kept the pace steady and gentle, never going too fast, just enough to make your legs shake.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing your upper lip again. “let go for me. cum on my fingers like a good girl. i want to feel you.”

when your body finally started to relax, he slowly pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips, licking them clean while looking into your eyes.

“you’re killing me,” he whispered, voice rough. “so fucking wet and responsive… and those little sounds you make—”

you blushed deeply, still breathing hard.

“i’m sorry… i couldn’t help it,” you whispered, embarrassed.

steve smiled softly and leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, gentler.

“don’t apologize,” he murmured against your lips. “i love hearing you. i just don’t want your brother and his friends running up here thinking something’s wrong.”

he kissed you for a long moment, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

“i want you,” he whispered, voice husky. “i want to be inside you… if you’ll let me.”

you nodded, heart hammering. you breathed. 

“it’s okay.”

steve groaned softly and kissed you again, harder this time. 

he helped you out of your shorts and panties, then pushed his own jeans and boxers down just enough. 

his cock was hard and heavy as he rubbed the tip against your soaked entrance.

“tell me if it hurts,” he said seriously, looking into your eyes. “or if i should slow down or whatever”

“i trust you,” you whispered.

steve kissed your upper lip softly, then pushed in slowly.

you gasped at the stretch. 

he was big, and even though you were soaked, the pressure was intense. 

steve groaned deeply. his forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing the side of your eye as he sank deeper.

“fuck… you’re so tight, baby,” he breathed, voice strained. “so fucking tight around me… you feel incredible.”

he moved slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully inside you. you let out a shaky whimper, gripping his shoulders. 

steve stayed still, kissing your upper lip again and again, his nose almost pressed into the corner of your eye as he tried to stay patient

.“you okay?” he whispered. “talk to me, sweetheart.”

“it’s a lot…” you breathed, “but… it feels good. keep going.”

steve groaned and started moving, slow and deep thrusts. his mouth stayed on yours, kissing your upper lip, sucking on it gently while he fucked you.

“that’s my good girl,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and low. “taking my cock so well… your first time and you’re already squeezing me so fucking tight.”

he started moving slowly, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in deep. every thrust was careful but firm, his hips rolling against yours. 

his nose kept brushing the side of your eye as he kissed you, focusing on your upper lip, sucking and licking it between thrusts.

“steve…” you whimpered, a little too loud.

he quickly covered your mouth with his, kissing you deeply to muffle the sound as he picked up the pace.

“shhh, princess,” he breathed between kisses. “you have to be quiet for me. can’t let them hear how good i’m fucking you.”

he thrust deeper, grinding against you with every stroke. the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy filled the room. 

steve groaned quietly into your mouth, clearly struggling to stay quiet himself.

“you feel so fucking good,” he whispered hotly. “so warm and tight… i’ve wanted this pussy for so long, baby.”

you moaned against his hand as he covered your mouth again, his thrusts becoming a little faster, deeper. every time he bottomed out, his hips pressed firmly against your clit, sending sparks through your whole body.

“that’s it… take my cock,” he murmured, voice rough with lust. “such a good girl for me… letting me fuck you in your own bed while your mom’s downstairs.”

he kissed your upper lip again, sucking on it hard as he fucked you steadily, his nose brushing your eye with every movement. 

the closeness, the heat, the way he filled you so completely — it was almost too much.

your moans grew louder despite trying to stay quiet. steve kept kissing you, swallowing every sound, his hand occasionally covering your mouth when you got too loud.

“cum for me, baby,” he whispered, voice breaking. “i want to feel you cum around my cock.”

you came hard, back arching, thighs shaking as your pussy clenched tightly around him. you cried out into his mouth, the sound muffled by his deep kiss.

steve groaned loudly, hips stuttering as he followed right after you, burying himself as deep as possible and filling you with warm, thick pulses.

for a few seconds he stayed there, breathing heavily against your neck. then he slowly pulled out and sat up, running a hand through his messy hair.

he looked at you for a moment, eyes still dark, before he started pulling his jeans back up.

“shit… i gotta go,” he whispered, voice low. “your mom and her friends are still downstairs. if i stay any longer they’re gonna wonder what the hell is taking so long.’’

you watched him, a little dazed.

steve ran a hand through his hair and finally glanced at you.

“you good?” he asked, but it sounded more like a quick check than real concern. “i’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

he leaned down and gave you a quick, almost casual kiss on the forehead — nothing like the intense kisses from minutes ago.

“don’t overthink it, alright?” he said as he moved toward the window. “it was good.”

and just like that, he climbed out the window and disappeared into the night, leaving you alone on your bed, half-naked, sore, and suddenly feeling very small.

You are still a virgin, and Steve being… well, Steve makes you nervous. He is hung. You have felt him pressed against you plenty of times during heated make-outs, thick and heavy, and it always leaves you equal parts excited and anxious. What if I can’t take him? What if it hurts too much and I ruin everything?

Tonight, with his parents out of town, the big house feels like it belongs to just the two of you. A horror movie plays downstairs, but you have both stopped paying attention long ago. Steve’s hand slips under your shirt on the couch, and before you know it you are kissing your way upstairs, laughing softly between heated touches.

The dim glow of the bedside lamp in Steve’s room casts long shadows across the walls, painting the space in warm amber hues. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, like pine after rain, mingled with the faint, salty tang of summer sweat from the two of you. Your heart hammers against your ribs as Steve’s hands roam your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt. You have wanted this for so long. Months of stolen glances at the video store, late-night drives in his BMW where his laughter fills the car like music, and quiet moments on the couch where his knee brushes yours and lingers. King Steve, the boy who once ruled Hawkins High with effortless charm, now looks at you like you are the only thing in his universe.

His mouth tastes like the cherry cola you shared, sweet and fizzy, and his lips are soft yet insistent as they move against yours. You do not tell him it is your first time. Why ruin the moment? You have imagined this so vividly, touched yourself to thoughts of his strong hands and that cocky grin. You can handle it. You want him.

Steve pulls back slightly, his hazel eyes dark with desire, breaths coming in short, warm puffs against your cheek. “You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. His thumb strokes your bottom lip, sending shivers racing down your spine.

You nod, pulling him back down. “Yes, Steve. Please.”

He groans softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. Clothes come off in a haze of fumbling hands and breathless laughter. Your shirt first, then his, revealing the expanse of his toned chest, lightly dusted with hair that feels surprisingly soft under your palms. His skin is warm, almost feverish, and you press your lips to the hollow of his throat, tasting the salt there. He smells so good, like home and danger all at once.

Steve’s hands are gentle at first, exploring. He cups your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble under his touch, drawing a gasp from your throat. The sensation is electric, a spark that travels straight between your legs. You arch into him, feeling the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his boxers. He is bigger than you imagined, thicker, longer, and a flicker of nerves twists in your belly, but you push it down.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, kissing down your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point until you whimper. His mouth is hot, wet, leaving trails of cooling saliva that make your skin tingle. Lower, he goes, lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking in lazy circles. The wet sounds of his mouth fill the room, obscene and intoxicating. Your fingers tangle in his famous hair, those chestnut strands silky and slightly damp with sweat.

You reach for him, palming the bulge in his boxers. He hisses, hips bucking into your hand. “Careful, honey. You keep that up and this’ll be over too fast.” His voice is strained, playful, but edged with raw need.

Pants and underwear join the pile on the floor. Naked now, the cool air of the room kisses your heated skin, raising goosebumps. Steve hovers over you, his body a wall of warmth. The size difference hits you then, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, his thighs thick and muscular bracketing yours. He is all man, solid and real, while you feel smaller, softer beneath him.

He takes his time with you, or tries to. Fingers dip between your legs, finding you slick and ready. “So wet already,” he murmurs approvingly, circling your clit with practiced ease. Pleasure blooms, hot and liquid, your thighs trembling. The scent of your arousal mixes with his, musky and intimate. You moan as one finger slides inside, then two, stretching you gently. It feels good, so good, the fullness, the curl of his fingers hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. But you know it is not enough for what is coming.

“Steve… I need you,” you breathe, pulling him closer.

He positions himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. It feels enormous, hot, velvety skin over steel. You bite your lip, willing your body to relax. He pushes in slowly at first, inch by inch, groaning deeply. “Fuck, you’re tight. So perfect.”

The stretch burns, a deep, aching pressure that makes your breath hitch. You grip his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there. He is so big, filling you in ways you have never felt, the veins along his shaft dragging against your walls.

Halfway in, he pauses, panting. “You okay?” His eyes search yours, tender even in the haze of lust.

You nod, forcing a smile. “Don’t stop.”

He thrusts deeper, and the pain sharpens, a tearing sting that steals your breath. But beneath it, there is pleasure, coiling tight. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on. Steve loses himself then, hips snapping forward with more force. The bed creaks rhythmically, the headboard thumping softly against the wall. Skin slaps against skin, wet and loud. His cock drives deep, bottoming out with each thrust, the head kissing your cervix in a way that blurs pain and ecstasy.

You cry out, a mix of moan and whimper. The room smells of sex now, sweat, arousal, the faint metallic hint you do not yet register. His body covers yours completely, chest rubbing against your breasts, the friction delicious on your sensitive nipples. Every thrust sends jolts through you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit.

Steve’s pace quickens, lost in the feeling. “Shit, baby, you feel incredible,” he growls, voice husky. His hands grip your hips, fingers bruising in their hold as he pounds harder, deeper. The intensity builds, your body adjusting somewhat, pleasure cresting in waves.

But then, he pulls back and thrusts in particularly deep, and you feel it. A sharp pop inside, followed by warmth trickling. Steve freezes mid-thrust, his body going rigid.

“What the—?” He looks down between you, eyes widening in horror. Blood. A smear of red on his cock as he withdraws slightly, staining the sheets beneath you. It is not much, but in the lamplight, it is unmistakable, vivid against your skin and his.

“Oh god,” Steve gasps, pulling out completely. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching, a dull throb where he had been. He scrambles back, sitting on his heels, his erection flagging slightly in shock. Panic floods his face, those pretty hazel eyes wide and guilty. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I went too rough—I didn’t mean to… Are you okay? Shit, your period? I should’ve been more careful. I’m such an idiot.”

He reaches for you but hesitates, hands hovering like he is afraid to touch. The guilt in his voice is thick, raw. Steve Harrington, who has faced down monsters and survived, looks utterly devastated over this.

Your cheeks burn. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, shy and vulnerable. The blood is from your virginity breaking, not your cycle. You had not expected it to show so clearly, had not prepared for this moment. “Steve… it’s not my period,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The room feels too quiet now, the air heavy with the coppery scent of blood mixing with the musk of your bodies.

He blinks, confusion creasing his brow. “What? Then what—?”

“It’s… my first time.” The words come out in a rush, shy whisper turning into confession. You pull the sheet up slightly, covering yourself, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “I didn’t want to tell you because… I’ve wanted you for so long. I didn’t want it to change anything.”

Steve’s face crumples. Devastation hits him like a wave. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “Your first time? Oh god, honey… I ruined it. I wanted it to be perfect for you—romantic, slow, with candles or some shit. Not me jackhammering like a damn animal.” His voice cracks, thick with self-reproach. He looks at the blood on the sheets, then at you, eyes glistening. “I hurt you. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Tears prick your eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming love in his reaction. You sit up, ignoring the twinge between your legs, and reach for him. “Steve, no. You didn’t ruin anything. I wanted this. I still do.”

He pulls you into his arms anyway, careful now, like you are made of glass. His embrace is warm, enveloping. You can feel his heartbeat, frantic against your cheek as he presses your head to his chest. “I should’ve known. You were so tight… I got lost in it. God, I’m the worst.” But his hands are gentle, stroking your back in soothing circles, fingertips tracing your spine with feather-light touches. The scent of him surrounds you, comforting, familiar.

You pull back enough to look at him, cupping his face. Stubble rasps under your palms. “It wasn’t perfect, but it’s us. Real. That’s what matters.” Your voice gains strength. “I trust you, Steve. Please don’t stop loving me over this.”

His eyes soften, the panic ebbing into something deeper: affection, protectiveness. “Love you? Yeah… I think I do.” The words hang between you, tender and new. He kisses your forehead, then your eyelids, tasting the salt of unshed tears. “We’re gonna do this right. Slow. Tell me if anything hurts.”

He lays you back down, propping pillows under your head. The sheets are cool where they have not been stained, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he settles beside you, not over you. His hands explore again, but differently, reverent. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach: the dip of your collarbone, the soft swell of your breasts, the curve of your hip. Each press of his lips leaves a lingering warmth, his breath ghosting over sensitive areas and raising gooseflesh.

Between your legs, he is careful. A warm washcloth from the bathroom, damp and soothing, cleans the traces of blood and arousal. The water is just the right temperature, not shocking your overheated skin. “Does this hurt?” he asks each time, voice a low rumble.

“No,” you sigh, relaxing under his care. The sting has faded to a dull ache, overshadowed by the butterflies in your stomach.

Steve takes his time building you back up. Fingers return, slick with your renewed wetness and a bit of lube he fetches from the nightstand. The glide is easier now, two fingers scissoring gently, curling to find that spot again. Pleasure returns in slow waves, coiling low in your belly. You moan softly, the sound mingling with the wet, rhythmic sounds of his hand. His mouth joins, tongue lapping at your clit with long, flat strokes, warm, velvety, insistent. The taste of you on his tongue seems to drive him wild; he groans against you, vibrations adding to the sensation.

Your orgasm builds gradually, unlike the frantic climb before. It crashes over you in shudders, thighs clamping around his head as you cry out his name. Stars explode behind your eyes, body pulsing around his fingers. He does not stop until you are boneless, whimpering.

Only then does he move over you again, but slower. His cock nudges your entrance, slick and hot. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. The size difference is still there, his broad frame dwarfing yours but now it feels safe, protective.

He pushes in inch by inch, watching your face. The stretch returns, but gentler, the lube and your arousal easing the way. Fullness blooms, deep and satisfying. “Breathe, baby,” he coaches, pausing often. His hand intertwines with yours, thumb stroking your knuckles. Sweat slicks your joined bodies, making skin slide deliciously.

Fully seated, he stills, buried to the hilt. You feel every throb of him inside you, the heat, the girth. “So good,” you gasp, adjusting. The initial discomfort melts into pleasure as he begins to move, shallow rolls of his hips at first, grinding rather than thrusting.

The rhythm builds naturally. Steve’s breaths are ragged in your ear, hot and damp. “You feel like heaven,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. One hand supports his weight while the other caresses your breast, pinching lightly. Your bodies move together, slick sounds filling the air again, but softer, more intimate. The bed creaks in time with his thrusts, which grow deeper but controlled.

Pleasure mounts, different this time, fuller, more connected. You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his lower back. His pubic hair tickles your skin with each meeting of hips. The scent is overwhelming: sex, sweat, Steve. You taste his skin when you kiss his shoulder, salty and warm.

“I’m close,” he groans, pace faltering slightly. His free hand slips between you, thumb circling your clit in perfect time. The dual sensation pushes you over first, orgasm ripping through you, walls clenching around his thick length. You moan loudly, nails raking down his back.

Steve follows with a deep, guttural sound, burying himself deep as he comes. Heat floods you, pulse after pulse, his cock twitching inside. He collapses carefully, not crushing you, face tucked into your neck.

For long minutes, you stay like that, connected, breathing each other in. His weight is comforting, grounding. Slowly, he pulls out, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. More cleanup, tender and unhurried. He fetches fresh sheets from the linen closet, the fabric cool and crisp as you help remake the bed, laughing softly at the awkwardness.

Lying together afterward, limbs tangled, Steve holds you close. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, raising tiny shivers. “I’m still sorry it wasn’t perfect,” he says quietly, voice thick with emotion. “But damn… being with you like this? It’s the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

You snuggle closer, inhaling his scent. “It was perfect because it was you.” Your hand rests over his heart, feeling its steady beat.

The night stretches on with more touches, soft kisses, whispered stories of how long you had wanted each other. Steve’s protectiveness shines through in every caress, every check-in. The size difference that had intimidated you now feels like shelter; his larger body curls around yours, one thigh thrown over your legs, arm draped possessively.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

warmth from tequila floods through your body, making the sound of house music feels much louder to you at the moment even though the night is calming down.

you’ve found yourself drunk rambling to dean, fully convinced nobody would even notice you drank. logan puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to let you know he’s back.

“logan! where have you been? i missed you! dean, say hi to logan! i was just telling dean how… i was telling him something.” you ramble, wrapping your arms around him like you’re scared you’ll lose him again in the crowd. meanwhile, all he did was leave to to the bathroom for 60 seconds.

“oh yeah, hey man. you missed out on such a great story.” dean tells him with sarcasm that flies over your head, mouthing a (she’s so gone) to him when you’re not looking.

“damn. well hopefully i’ll catch the next one.…” logan amuses you, mouthing a (thanks for watching her) back. “well you are cut off for the night, and we are going to bed.”

before you can protest, he lifts you up into his arms. it’s hard to fight back when you can’t stop drunkenly giggling but you do your best at hitting his back. “you’re evil. i was finishing my drink… and i don’t want to go to bed. my bed isn’t even here.”

“yeah, well lucky for you i have one.” logan teases, doing his best to not look at your pouting face and pay attention to the stairs. he’s certainly not wasted like you, but that last tequila shot garrett poured in his mouth definitely has him tipsy.

too tired to push anymore, you nuzzle your head comfortably on his warm shoulder while everything starts to spin and his hold around you tightens. all you hear his soft mumble of “i got you. c’mon.”

when you open your eyes back up, you’re in the familiar feeling of his bed. you’ve laid here more than friends probably should. you slip on a shirt he gives you, then curl up under the comforter like it’s your own.

he sits down next to you with a wet washcloth and motions for you to turn your head towards him so he could wash your face.

“you’re treating me like a baby.” you huff, still tilting your head obediently so he can get it all. “and washclothes are bad for your skin.”

“forgive me for my lack of makeup remover on hand. and maybe if you didn’t want to get treated like a baby, you wouldn’t of drank so much.” he says, deeply focused on getting everything off your face.

even though it’s a rough cloth, it somehow feels gentle with how careful he takes his time. he swallows heavy when moving it along your lip to get off the lipstick. it doesn’t help you’re looking at him with such bright eyes, and keep glancing at his lips not even thinking straight.

“are you mad at me for drinking?” you gulp. he stops in his tracks for a second, knowing how much you know about his family history.

“never. i want you to drink with us. tucker on the other hand, will be hearing from me for giving you that last shot.” he says trying to make you laugh which he succeeds.

“why don’t you have a girlfriend?” you randomly ask thinking out loud. he almost chokes taken back by the question.

“you sound just like my grandmother…” he deflects. “you think there would be space in this bed for another girl?”

“maybe but i don’t really like to cuddle people, logan.” you say obliviously, missing the point taking his phrasing literally.

“you love to cuddle me though.” he says.

“you’re not people. you’re my best friend. that doesn’t count.” you say, making him swallow. he didn’t drink enough for this.

“mhm.” he manages with a half effort smile. he locks his door hearing people still lingering downstairs, trusting nobody when it comes to you. he’s not in the mood to kill anyone tonight for even accidentally opening the wrong door.

“why don’t you want to fuck me?” you ask abruptly, deep in thought.

“jesus christ–” he reacts startled.

“i heard you tell the boys you don’t want to fuck me.” you sigh. he can’t handle you saying fuck me again and starts to panic.

“do… what, did you want me to? wait, don’t fucking answer that– fuck. that’s not even what i said.” he rambles, making you giggle. you’re too drunk to take this conversation seriously, even though before you drank it was burning deep inside you and still is underneath all the nausea.

“you did! you said i don’t want to fuck her.” you insist.

“i said i don’t want to just fuck her. besides, boys say stupid shit. please, don’t even think about that right now.”

“that’s the same exact thing. i don’t understand…” you groan, too nauseous to think about words.

“you don’t have to. you weren’t even supposed to hear that. just get some rest, okay? worry about… that. tomorrow.” he tries to convince you in your current state of mind.

“you fucking me?” you raise an eyebrow at what that means and he can’t take it anymore.

he playfully covers your mouth with his hand while laughing, “you need saying that– fuck. ow?! did you just bite me?”

“how else was i supposed to breathe?” you ask. before he can try to reason with your dramatics, you cut him off again. “wait you said tomorrow. so you’ll fuck me tomorrow?”

“if it will make you stop saying that then sure.” he sighs, unable to hear you talk about him fucking you any longer. he knows he’s not going to be able to fall asleep anymore, already spiraling at the thought of you basically just said fuck me just put differently a hundred times.

he knows when tomorrow comes, you will wake up to an empty bed while he’s at practice.

you’ll take the advil & water he left for you on the nightstand.

you’ll fold up the shirt you’re wearing neatly on the bed when he wishes you would just take it home with you.

you’ll steal your favorite snack of his mini fridge and still won’t put together he hates those but only keeps buying them for you.

you’ll text him “home. thanks for letting me sleep in ur bed :)” when you get back, and all he will be able to cowardly reply is “np :)” then suffer in his own guilt that all he’s capable of doing is acting like he doesn’t care.

lucky for you, you’ll have no memory of saying any of this including the conversation you overheard.

unlucky for him, it’ll be the only thing on his mind all week.

he crawls into the bed next to you, giving you enough space to lay on your side but you still lean towards him instinctively. he runs his fingers through your hair while his mind races, not sure if he’s doing it to soothe you or himself.

you fall asleep pretty quickly. he kisses your forehead gently, appreciating the soft hum you let out when he does it. “m’love you. fuck you tomorrow.” you mumble into pillow falling asleep.

Your hair was falling across your face as you scribbled notes into the margins of your textbook, every few seconds you’d push back the strands behind your ear before they slipped forward again. Steve found himself watching the repetitive motion, and how your nose scrunched when you concentrated, and how you smiled to yourself after writing something down. Have you always been that adorable?

The bell suddenly rang, snapping him out of his daydreaming as you quickly stood up to gather your things, Steve realized he’d spent an entire period doing absolutely nothing except staring at you.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered under his breath, but the feeling only got worse after that.

Every lunch period his eyes found your table, how you’d be hunched over reading a book, completely oblivious to the rest of the world around you. In the hallways, instead searching for his usual friend group, he caught himself searching for your face before anyone else’s.

Steve hated how impossible it was to stop—how other people got your attention without even trying, hated the way you smiled at everyone but him, hated how you didn’t seem to think about him since the night he snuck in your house to see you.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you as his. You had gone to the bathroom to freshen up in the morning before class, you fixed your hair and straightened your clothes, but couldn’t shake off the feeling of something waiting for you, the same one you had been feeling all week.

Just as you were about to leave, the bathroom door flew open, you gasped and flinched back at the sight of Steve stalking in, his dark eyes immediately falling onto you.

“You—You can’t be in here, Steve! This is the girls bathroom!” You shouted, but your attempts were ignored as Steve pinned you back against the wall in less than a second.

His face immediately buried into the side of your neck, he took a moment to inhale deeply, groaning at your sweet scent, before pressing open mouthed kisses up and down your skin. “Steve—what are—what are you doing?” You could barely speak, his hold tight on your waist as he sucked a hickey right above your collarbone.

“Shh, just take it, baby. I need you so badly, ‘been wanting to do this all week.” He moaned, turning your face to the side to mold your lips together. Not wasting any time in shoving his tongue between your lips, licking sloppily into your mouth.

“Mmm—we have class, Steve,” you panted, pushing his head away as he chased your lips for more. You were used to his possessive nature but this was on a different level, he had ambushed you out of nowhere.

“Listen to me.” Steve whispered darkly, breathing heavily into your ear, keeping your chest flushed against his. “I can’t stop fucking thinking about you, I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t eat.”

Your mouth hung open, at a loss for words. Your eyes flickered between his brown ones, but the crave for lust was dimmed, replaced by something you couldn’t identify, something more powerful.

“I love you. I love you, and I hate it.” Steve gritted out, his jaw tight.

“What?” You choked out, not believing you had heard him right. “You can’t, you can’t love me, Steve.” You shook your head, trying to push him off of you, but he didn’t budge.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t feel for you.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “I said, I love you, and I’m not taking it back.”

The confession hung heavily between you. For so long, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone, to stop cornering you at every chance, to stop making your life harder. And now he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

It casts an uncanny image now.

Now, he comes to you again gingerly on hands and knees. His body, his bearing, his very presence swallowing you whole as your heels slid across the mattress.

But his dilated eyes—that look of patient cruelty deciding how long to keep you—never changed.

The ancient house has gone unnaturally still, as if the old timbers and groaning beams have chosen, at his command, to hold its breath. It listened in on the mingled rhythm of your breathing and his, and the faint rustle of sheets as you retreat.

And then.

Faintly—

G

F

E♭

The velvety, distant murmur of piano keys rising through the floorboards.

Around this time he would have been at that bench, pressing birthday sorrow into the keys. Now, it was Ballade No. 1 unfolding delicately.

It was real. It wasn’t real. You couldn’t decide.

But one thing rang true: Draco had a way of being present and elsewhere simultaneously. He could be inside you and you would still feel empty-handed.

—

You thought you'd managed to wrest a piece of him just a few heartbeats ago, the two of you lying on the grass, your confession still hanging hotly in the night air.

"How did it make you feel?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"What else?"

"Nothing else. Nothing."

He had frowned then, sitting back on his heels.

This, you knew. Had seen it all before, had seen it enough times to tick down his list.

Step one: Look down. Bite your bottom lip. Quiver.

Step two: A sniffle. Fidget with your fingers.

Step three: Look up. Slowly. Let the light catch it. One tear is sufficient. One tear is art.

And then, right on cue—the guilt,

"Am I not your best friend anymore? Just tell me."

And he said it so heartbreakingly, so uncharacteristically that for a moment, it genuinely rushed to your lips—all of it, Theo, earlier, the feeling you'd carried with you on the way to the lake. You wanted to surrender it to him, of all people.

But then you remembered him as a spoiled child—the wielding of his tears. How he wept when Narcissa refused him, more fervently when you dismissed him, and most convincingly when there was someone to blame. How many house-elves had endured those meticulously staged displays to get him to mellow.

It bred a peculiar dread in you—that he would be so desperate as to use schoolyard tactics just to wrestle this out of you.

If you told him, what exactly was he going to do?

You sidestepped it entirely.

“Crying? Really. You know I invented that.”

His eyes cleared.

And then, like he had closed his fist around this page and ripped, you were back—apparated to the house in an instant.

—

G — F♯ — G — A♭ — G — F♯ — G —

Your back met the headboard.

The piano had become a ringing in your ears now, the Furioso climbing, the rhythm turning aggressive—Chopin's careful architecture coming apart at the seams.

"Grow up. It was just a kiss," you said defensively, heart curiously thundering. "Nothing to be envious about.”

He stifled a laugh. For a moment, he longed for the simplicity of it—that he might be as banal as a jealous boyfriend.

Would you still love me when my mind was so malevolent?

He took you by the ankle. Pulled. Flipped you over.

Yes, Boyfriends are like this, he wanted to say. They are jealous and mean.

He will feed you a charitable pill to swallow.

Because the reality of him was so much worse.

—

BUMP. BUMP. BUMP.

The piano had long since gone quiet—he was playing a different instrument entirely.

There were things you’d catalogue about him even in moments like this, when he unraveled you.

One—

That he had absolutely no regard for noise.

Not for the violent banging of the headboard colliding with the wall. Not for the strained arthritic groan of the frame, or the restless rattle of the tassels draped from the four-poster.

And certainly not for that rhythm beneath it all: the ruinous cadence of bodies colliding in the dark, echoing through the wax smoke bedroom, half-animal, half-desperate.

You reached forward, wedging one of his silk pillows between the wall and the headboard in a feeble attempt to dampen the sound—some lingering courtesy for Theo, who, through the thin and age-warped walls, could likely hear everything as distinctly as if he stood just beyond the bed curtains.

Draco let out an amused laugh and pulled it away.

The pounding resumed.

In another bid for composure, you crushed your palm to your mouth, trying to stifle the echoing cries he was drawing from you. The sharp jut of his hips slamming against your soft ass jostled you. You felt him so deeply—the smothering, seething press of his tough body melting against the arch of your back; the devastating burrow of his cock; his nipping, syrupy mouth branding your neck.

“Stop that.”

He stripped your hand away, the hard coil of his bicep adjusting around your throat to hold you exactly where he wanted you. His other hand rose, fingers hooking into your cheek and prying your mouth open so that not even the ghost of a whimper could be contained.

I want him to hear.

Make him hear.

—

Two—

It seemed he was a prodigy in this as well. For there were a myriad of ways he could play you—each one its own composition.

He would take you standing, your fingers braced around the carved bedpost for purchase, only for the full brutal drag of his manhood to drive you forward until your slick thighs threatened to falter. Your spine would curve into a prayer, cheeks crushed, whimpering his name against the polished wood.

Through it all the furious Boyfriend played his role, surfacing between thrusts in a low, fractured litany:

You're mine—he’s nothing—I kissed you first—you forgot me—how could you—

You traitor.

You don’t love me at all.

Though, he couldn’t seem to push down the genuine ache in his chest as he said it.

Then he fed his cock into you sideways, which you couldn't pretend wasn't your most cherished—how it felt like he was simply holding you, lulling you to sleep with his legs intertwined with yours. How his hand spanned your waist, fingers clawing at the soft give of your stomach. How the position coaxed him into a slower, more sluggish pace. How his moans came out almost-wheezing, your twin pleasured expressions facing each other.

And then the way he would look at you—the way his eyes would thaw to jelly and urging, pleading for his sweet girlfriend to offer something.

I’m terribly sorry for forgetting. I love you.

The foolish Boyfriend would reward her with a kiss then for this was enough for him—still gently cradling her back and forth against him.

Yet there was a position you weren't quite fond of—when he had you on top, your nails scratching against the wooden headboard. He wouldn't even look up at you properly, just dazed beneath you, mouth slack and brows furrowed, watching you take him with a kind of stupefied reverence. His hand supporting around your ribcage, fingers cupping the underside of your breast. His other thumb would trace the barely-there ridge of his cock against the flat your stomach. Oh, fuck.

It wasn't the pleasure—no, it was never just that for him. It was seeing the girl who was once thrilled to slide down his banisters now thrilled to slide him inside her. Vertiginous, that recognition—like finding your underwear twisted against his in the laundry basket. A part of him making its home with you.

But the reality was arduous. Taxing. The angle such that every movement drove him into you at a pitch that ached more than it gratified. You had done your best: grinding, tilting, rolling your body in search of a more forgiving angle. But your moans had a strained, wounded quality to them that betrayed you. He was too much.

"What is it?"

"I can't."

"N–No?"

He blinked, the pleasure receding from his expression at once, his gaze sharpening back into clarity. He shifted, guiding your hips off him and lay back down.

"Come here. On my face instead.”

—

Three—

You'd come to understand, after a great many perilous orgasms—frustratingly, you could never quite prove that the world had ended each time—that your male counterpart was not going to finish any time soon. What remained unknown to you, through no fault of your own, was a matter of his physiology: once spent, men required an infuriating amount of time before they could be roused again.

And in turn, he had discovered the breathtaking elasticity of female pleasure.

It suited him perfectly. More than that—he delighted in your endlessness. That he could use his stamina to go on stoking and sating you in equal measure, hurling you over the edge again and again in rapid succession with just a firm press to your sensitive bud, wringing you out until you only smelled like him. Until he had milked every last ‘mhm—!’ and ‘oh, Draco..’ from your body.

He didn't sought for his own release at all. Having you beneath him—boneless, ruined, clinging to him in the aftermath while Theo remained helplessly aware somewhere in the house, was better than sex.

—

He eventually stopped when it robbed you of sound entirely and left you only limp at the over saturation.

Afterward, he buried up against you selfishly and you nearly pushed him away on account of the heat, but the impulse faded as quickly as it came.

Because this was what you’d longed for. His candidness that drifted into ungodly hours—gravelly voice that soothed like rain beside yours, both of you barely coherent, speaking at the ceiling void. The months apart seemed suddenly to contract into parentheses: a brief, graceless interruption in a conversation that had never truly ended.

“Gods, your parents will kill me.”

“I wonder how your mum would feel if she knew how foul-mouthed you are.”

“Your mum should know then, that it turns you on.”

“Slut.”

“Whore.”

You chuckled, dimly tolling in the back of your mind: there you are.

A ship returning unfailingly to its lighthouse, a maritime pilot yielding only to that distant, faithful pulse across the dark to the harbour. Inevitable the way certain things are inevitable, not because you were perfect—far from it—but because you simply could not help each other.

As sleep pulled steadily at both of you, the strangeness of your sex seemed to recede to nothing. You touched and talked to one another like you were kids again.

Next morning, Draco would crave chocolates for the first time in a long time. The sun would no longer hurt his eyes and the fruit would be less sour.

You spoke in languid fragments about Harry while he blew cool air absently against your overheated neck; he, in turn, drawled about Pansy as you traced the shape of his lips with idle fingertips. He talked awkwardly, like he might recite potion instructions.

“You liked her, didn't you?”

He snapped when he said—

“You've no idea what I like. No idea.”

And he must have noticed how hysterical he sounded and pivoted back to you.

"Do they hurt?" He palmed your breast.

"Not particularly."

"Mm." He pecked your nipple like he was patting your hand.

“You?”

"Sometimes. In the morning."

—

This, naturally, prompted you to return the favour.

It was nearly noon by then, the sobering sun brazen, pouring through the curtains and rendering what you were about to do undeniable. Draco lay princely in the sheets, one arm cast above his head, sheets riding low across his bruised hips. The outline of his resting arousal visible beneath the fabric.

You nipped the inside of his thigh first. Just enough to stir him. He was only half awake when you took the supple, endowed length into your mouth, the crown grazing the back of your throat each draw. All he could do was groan into his pillow, face buried and rose-blossomed, fingers flexing weakly against the sheets.

And though he relished at the dizzying sight of his cock tucked into your usually defiant mouth, he knew that last night had left him with little in the way of stamina.

"Stop—please—" he breathed hoarsely, "I'm going to come."

He twisted as though to turn away, but you held him with a hand firm against his hip. A moment later he spilt helplessly against your mouth, glut and thick, sweetness pulsing to your lips like honey drawn slowly from a spoon.

He covered his face outright with both hands, bashful by his boyish excess while you laughed softly at his side.

There was something about its forbidden nature—the virility, his self-restraint you always liked to provoke—that drew you in despite yourself. You moved to straddle him childishly, but he clamped you firm at your waist.

“I can’t have it inside you." He bit his lip. "Don’t look at me like that, you know why.” He dreaded wanting things. Being spoiled, he rarely wanted without expecting to have.

He ground you onto him instead, come-soaked cock rubbing your folds. The distance between almost and forever at your entrance.

In a half-forgotten part of the Broads in the nineties, two old friends do their dance again, tiptoeing back to the rhythm.

1:53 PM

“Get off of meeee—"

The day started proper with Draco being footed off the mattress, rolling to the edge and slumping onto the floorboards with a thud. He had forgotten what it was like to sleep next to her.

“Wake up, it’s late,” he grumbled—she had knocked him out senseless—he liked to wake earlier. This will irritate him quietly throughout the day.

In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth. She sat on the toilet next to him and peed. Does it hurt at all? Your.. No. Let me see. Not right now!

He shaved his face. She tried a concealment charm on her neck. Failed. Tried again. 

I think I'm going to faint. Draco, you missed one breakfast. I'm craving steak. A proper one, bloody and rare. You remember Belladonna? Oh, I loved that place. Next week? Yes. Yes. And you know exactly what I'll have.

He washed her hair. She did the parts on his back he says he no longer could reach. He drew shapes with her wet hair against the tiles. She traced the little port-wine stain on his ribs. He nosed along her neck, licking at the scent.

Mm… Stop, before we prune.

2:36 PM

In the kitchen, he took a spoonful of olive oil. He did this everyday. Since twelve, with his head held high. She stretched by the window after saying hello to the spider in the corner that took care of all the bugs. Outside, the orchard sighed in the afternoon light. Her gaze went amber with it. Something was missing from the composition.

Draco, where’s Theo? His father, you know how he is. Might be gone awhile.

He poured another spoonful. She immediately backed away.

Aah. Don't start this again. Aah. No. It's good for you.

3:05 PM

At the table, late lunch, he picked at his latest book and she was buried in hers. He slid his leg and nudged her foot.

How is it? I’ve just started.

He moved his foot over hers, toying with his arches.

What do you think so far? Draco, I've just started.

He pulled back. Crossed his ankles and turned a page he hadn’t read.

She leaned in gingerly and drew her ankle along his calf.

I missed you too.

He turned another page.

Mhm.

3:46 PM

Outside, the two stood out in the open field like the first people on earth, the world lying new at both their feet. He hummed appreciatively at the tufts of his hair fallen on the grass. His head resting on the soft of her hip, tracing D-R-A-C-O with his fingertips.

And how will you repay me for this great haircut? Whatever it is you already have in mind.

He leaned in for a kiss. She whipped her head away, the grass rustling. He chased. She rolled away again, snickering.

I’d like a date. I’ve taken you out on many, many dates.

As friends. You haven't earned me yet, you know. Oh, really?

We've done this all backwards. Alright then, as you wish, my dear.

He brought a peach slice to her mouth. She pursed her lips.

I’m sick of peaches after last year. Would you like them better if they came from my terribly sorry mouth? They’re very ripe.

No. No kissing until we do this properly. Fine!

5:54 PM

She glanced at the makeshift tools assembled on the sink's edge. She hadn't thought to bring a lick of rouge—summers had no room for fussy things—and so had resorted to pinching her cheeks for flush, crushed cherries for lips, and twigs standing in for curlers.

Her first date. The thought of what high society might have made of her—fruit-stained and improvised—had the evening been at Belladonna or The Parliament's with its old timers and their press, made her stifle a laugh.

It made her think suddenly of three years ago, just before her sixteenth birthday, when she still wore femininity like an ill-fitting costume and resented every stitch of it.

THREE YEARS AGO

"Hello-you."

A familiar chime from the doorway.

"Hello-you."

Fondness spilled into her voice unbidden. Whenever Draco visited her these days, her skin buzzed expectantly for the brief reprieve to the tedium of her new normal.

"Oh, you really mustn't see her now, Mr. Malfoy, she isn't appropriate—" the young seamstress startled, stepping forward, before the head couturière caught her elbow and gave a quiet, firm shake of her head.

She then offered Draco a brief, almost apologetic look that said plainly: She's new.

He seemed to not see them entirely.

"You look like a mille-feuille," his gaze moved over her teasingly.

"I do, don't I?" she scoffed, pulling irritably at the layers.

She turned back to the head couturière.

"Must my corset be laced so tightly?"

"It must be worn this way, my lady."

"Why are the heels this high?"

"You will grow accustomed to it, my lady."

"Draco isn't made to endure any of this."

"He has his own responsibilities, my lady."

She turned to him, exhaling frustratedly as if to say, we read the same books, don’t we? We are so much alike I could never understand why they treat us so differently.

—

Her exasperation had been heightened by the recent onslaught of expectations that accompanied womanhood. By the way relatives had begun to speak of her.

"She'll have no shortage of suitors." 

"No doubt. She'll make a beautiful wife."

From the balcony where they both stood in practiced stillness, Draco attempted, as he always did, to calm the coiled ire only he could read beneath the firm set of her mouth.

"How strange these adults, hm?" He murmured, resting his chin against her shoulder.

He didn’t see the undercurrent of jealousy.

She turned to him bitterly.

“You are not belittled that way.”

He knew she didn't want to be short with him in that moment but the heaviness sought somewhere to land.

For his sixteenth birthday, Lucius began taking him to the private gatherings that followed Ministry functions. After-dinner conferences held in drawing rooms stuffy with cigar and Benedictine. Ancient ledgers were opened, Wizengamot figures reviewed, and Septimus' maps unfurled across green leather tabletops. Entire futures, legislation appeared to hinge upon a gentleman's observation offered at precisely the right moment.

She had possessed the same intellect for politics, the temperament for strategy, the ambition for power. The stronger iron fist, if he was being honest with himself.

Had she been born a son, they would have called it promise.

Before he could answer, she pushed away sharply. Heels stomping against the parquet, hands clenched in the folds of her skirts.

—

He looks up to her now—the wistful statue on the podium. Whatever happened to the girl I knew?

His gaze drifted over the Chantilly lace and layers of silk tulle draped around her, the half-finished gown taking shape.

The indignation had ebbed.

It was grief now. The bewildered grief of discovering herself beholden to a pattern far older than her; of realizing that, despite all her gifts, the ground beneath her feet had never been level.

"Come with me," he whispers softly below, taking her hand.

"What?"

"Let's ditch them."

She stared at her partner for a moment, feeling the grounding pressure of his thumb against her hand. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She leapt from the dais without another word, the measuring tape still trailing from her waist as the seamstresses cried out in collective horror behind them. Two sprightly runaways, hand in hand, chasing their youth down the gilded hall.

She returned home hours later soaked to the skin and bright-eyed, her new gown satisfyingly ruined. Mud streaked at the hem, every painstaking detail rain-flattened, the hours of patient artistry dissolved into a very expensive mess.

Draco would say it was his fault and bore the brunt of the reprimand. He would hardly care.

Some things he would not allow to change.

You would be my best friend first, my equal before all others in our household. I swear it.

PRESENT

6:37 PM

She kept turning the memory over, testing its edges for weakness, searching for some overlooked crack where he might have changed his mind. But found too many ruined dresses, too many scoldings, too many rendezvous that had never been called dates because they had never needed to be.

She studied the girl in the mirror one last time, the sun dipping low over the broad, offering the last generous light before dusk settled in. Her fingers lingered in her hair before smoothing an imaginary crease.

She could have shown up in her pyjamas if she'd wanted to.

This would do.

7:30 PM

So, where are we?

We’re at Belladonna’s, don’t you recognise the steak? Hm… I see a rather charred steak and a familiar rickety table.

He chuckled. He had attempted to bring the supper club to her. Unfortunately, anything involving homemaking remained well beyond his talents.

Still.

He rose when she arrived. Kissed her cheek. Pulled out her chair. Confiscated her wand the moment she sat down.

No wands at the dinner table. You sound eighty.

It went the way it usually did. He complained she was late. She toyed with his cuffs and told him he looked good. He cut her food quietly as she talked about her coursework. She accused him of putting too much on her plate. He told her she hadn't eaten properly since the exams. She ate the food despite its unfortunate condition, mostly because she noticed he'd given her the better portions. He topped up her second glass. She brings up the Daphne story again. He nods as intently as when he was hearing it for the first time.

Once the present had been picked clean, they retreated into the ping-pong game of hypotheticals.

The would-you-rathers. The what-ifs. The what-would-you-dos.

They thought they loved the challenge of it. The sparring. The pleasure of finding the sharpest answer, the cleverest angle. They thought it was about being quick enough to keep up with each other. But it wasn't.

It was the certainty that he would answer honestly, every time. The certainty that she would listen. It was the strange intimacy of knowing not only who someone was, but who they would be. Of reaching into tomorrow and finding them unchanged.

The questions were merely an excuse. What they loved was the accumulation of knowing. The future memories stolen and spent in the present. The inevitable moments years from now when she would laugh and say, of course he did. When he would begin a story with, she always used to. The instinctive he would understand, especially when someone thought her jokes were rude.

Because it was her. Because it was him.

This and this and this. If there's no truth left in the world, there was always this.

When she grew quiet, he edged closer until her shoulder brushed his and a moment later, her head found its usual place.

She reached for her wine. His hand landed over the glass first.

Draco. No. Oh, come on. No, I don't want you to fall asleep yet. You always do.

9:41 PM

The sensual caress of a saxophone. The velvety surrender of the cello. The piano's teasing reply.

Where are we now, Draco?

We're on the floor. Don't you recognise the music? Hm... I do, but that crackle sounds oddly like our own record player.

He laughed softly and tucked his face into her neck, swaying her so slowly it was less dancing than holding. Like candlelight. How you cupped your hand around it not to have it but just to keep it from going out.

Indeed, he was cursed to know everything when he was young. He knew she will wander. That she will change with the seasons, became someone slightly different each time, and that he would love that version too, helplessly, the way he had loved every version before it. After this summer. Back in Wiltshire. Who knew.

But after every crude argument—every silence, every winter—he would look up and she would be there, stretching in the balcony. After the thrill. After the novelty wore its way down to the bone and left her with nothing but the truth of what she actually wanted—she would return. Her bathing suit in the window like a foreign flag of occupation—which is to say, she had conquered him, and he had been glad to fall again.

This and this and this. If there’s no truth left in the world, there was always this.

So please, won’t you stay awake a little longer?

Let us be those two who stubbornly kept dancing on the dim empty floor, who loved too much to let go.

10:26 PM

Where are we now, Draco?

We're at my place but, I don’t want to let you go yet. So, I tell you it's cold outside. Hah, in the dead of summer? Yes, it's cold and dark and the world is filled with awful things. Stay inside with me.

..My father will be furious.

Alright, it can't be helped then. Till next time, my dear. Can I get a kiss goodbye?

She gave him The Kiss. Then she turned away, already giddy, tauntingly reaching for the door handle. The door was scarcely half-closed before he yanked her back in, laughing, pressing kisses wherever he could find—the illusion collapsing.

Now, aren't you glad we skipped that part? He wanted to say. That we need not perform, not wait for each other to write, not act coy and pretend we don't feel the way we do for each other?

He would take her shoes off and toss them down the stairs mid-climb. She would loosen his tie, knowing how much it annoyed him.

The night's adrenaline left them—no longer lady and gentleman—tossing and laughing until he was pink in the face. Polaroids taken at unsightly angles they'd argue over tomorrow. Their first date in memoriam.

Have I told you I loved the way you looked tonight? It's your turn now, Draco. Look at the camera, stop looking at me.

They would fall asleep then, soft-bellied and incandescent.

The underlying sigh of relief that they could not be romantic, because romance suggests a beginning and an end. Not built from desire, though desire lived within it. Not built from ownership, though they belonged to one another in some impossible way.

It had no reason to exist. And yet it was there.

THE PREVIOUS NIGHT

If she lies, at least she's lying with me. Draco thought, brushing your hair, before untangling himself from your resting body.

The Boyfriend would have slept with her peacefully, incompetently. Draco Malfoy would certainly not.

When he traipsed downstairs, Theo was already waiting, wand raised as naturally as a second arm. What he hadn't expected was skin.

Draco hit him before either of them could speak—a fist to the jaw that sent them crashing through the doorway and into the garden. Theo went down hard, Draco on top of him, knuckles finding cheekbone, nose, brow, again and again, until the only taste left in Theo's mouth was blood and dirt. When the world finally stopped flashing white, his nose was broken and his eyebrow had split clean to the bone.

"I should have known," Draco hissed. "You were always a thief."

Theo spat a mouthful of blood into the grass. "I do wonder, Draco, if she'd still love you if she knew how violent you are."

"And you're such a saint?" Knuckles splitting now, both of them past caring. "You think I don't know it was you who let that fourth-year into our dorm? You're the only one who laughs like a damn chimney sweep."

Another hit.

On the grass they were slum teens. All that breeding, all that bloodline—reduced to this. Dirt on their faces and a dirtier sneer. Blood-bright teeth. Bruises already darkening. Gravel-coated sweat and the veins standing out in their necks like accusations, as if their bodies themselves were condemning them.

"It can't be worse than how you treated Pansy." Theo's voice had changed. Lower now.

Draco's fist faltered. 

"How you treated me."

The years of it were there suddenly—not in a rush but in a sediment. Even how Draco said Nott sometimes, just his surname. The way old families spoke of the provinces. The way you say it when you mean: quaint, and charming, but small, egalitarian, and not anything useful, and we both know it.

Theo had settled. Had sunk to the bottom of the bottle and stilled there. Only you had shaken it.

The pain you've caused for her, for your selfishness, Theo wanted to spew.

Draco leaned in close.

"I promise you, Theo." He said it with such intimacy it sounded as though he were speaking to a lover.

"I'll make sure your father sends you back to Italy in a box if you ever speak to her again."

His words were cutting but not precise. Draco knew him too well to believe exile was a punishment. Theo would have given anything to go home. If Draco truly wanted to hurt him, he would have reached for different wounds.

He would have mentioned his mother. The Thestrals Theo still shouted at when they dared too close to him. Because Draco would go there, for you.

Theo tilted his head, eyes roving around Draco's face.

He's tired. Too tired to use his magic.

While they rivalled in intellect, Theo could always beat him when it came to fists. Draco had been all knobby knees and angles when they were young, the type to go pale and poorly with a shift in temperature, whose mother sent letters about his constitution.

Draco preferred wands. Precision. Distance.

So when had he gotten strong enough to pounce Theo into the dirt?

Oh.

Theo's gaze dropped briefly to Draco's forearm.

The Dark Mark.

He laughed, his Cheshire smile splitting wide across his ruined face.

"Why don't you show her that mark on your arm, Draco."

Draco stilled. Theo had to admit it was odd to see him relent—he went rigid, as if refusing to let the future arrive.

After a long, cathedral silence, he sat down almost clumsily, like a child would, knees folded to his chest, and stared at the ground blankly. Then, like a weary sigh:

"She's my family. I would do anything to—" He stopped himself like he had given something away.

His softened eyes, so striking a moment ago, met Theo's. "Duty, Theo. You'd never understand. You have freedom. All you have to do is enjoy it."

"You think I'm free? Constantly in your shadow? Constantly overlooked by my own father?"

"It looks like heaven to me."

"What you have looks like heaven to me."

Draco laughed bitterly.

"Next to you I'll always be the evil, feckless thing—when you're the one with the most creative malice," Theo spat.

"It's a cruel world, isn't it?"

4 DAYS LATER

Back at Malfoy Manor, it seemed Narcissa had once again orchestrated a birthday dinner that rivalled the previous year's in both extravagance and restraint—that alchemy by which excess disguised itself as taste.

The dining room had been opened in its entirety, revealing stretches of parquet so highly waxed that the candlelight floated across it like water. The table stretched almost absurdly long beneath its linen. White damask. Georgian silver polished to the point of cruelty. Crystal thin enough to suggest daintiness but expensive enough to survive another hundred years.

Wine that had survived a war. Silver epergnes held clusters of lily of the valley, cultivated months beyond their natural season. Langoustines transported overnight from distant coasts.

In the midst of the guests, Draco seemed intent on clinging to you, peacocking you around the room. Look, he seemed to say. See? We're together again.

There were the twins, the prying aunts—he'd caught your eye once, silently begging help me—and the little cousins underfoot, scattering like ducklings across the floor.

Valentin, predictably, had arrived with his plus one again this year and was practically dragging her across the dance floor, twirling her until she was just a happy whirl of chiffon—so much so that the rest of the cousins had abandoned any attempt to draw her into their game.

Draco laughed, he couldn't help but see himself. How vicious these circles.

Then, there was the other side of the circle.

Far more merciless.

"Twenty, hm? Big age to be, Draco."

Her voice was quiet, but recognisable well enough.

Draco turned to Augusta Malfoy.

Wife of Abraxas Malfoy, though that was the least impressive of her titles. Small in stature, almost birdlike, she had buried one husband, outlived two Ministers of Magic and outmanoeuvred considerably more. The Malfoy fortune carried her husband's name, but it was Augusta's acumen, her carefully cultivated alliances, and an implacability bordering on the glacial that had rendered the family untouchable for three generations. The only person who could make Lucius shift in his seat as though he were fifteen again.

While Lucius and Narcissa were strict with Draco, they spoiled him all the same. Augusta made no such concession. Draco received from her exactly what his father had: no more, no less, no exceptions.

In short, a formidable woman.

"Grandmother," Draco said.

Then, before she could continue:

"Oh, would you excuse me? I desperately need the restroom." Draco disappeared before you could object, carefully avoiding the look you sent after him. But you let him go without protest. Whatever Augusta was to the rest of the family—and you'd heard the stories—she had only ever been soft with you. You'd long since stopped asking why.

"That boy looks more and more like his father every year." Her mouth thinned, watching his figure disappear into the crowd.

"Yes, but he does act like his mother,” you offered fondly.

"Well. Narcissa bore only the one chick in this big coop, after all. But she ought to be less precious about him."

The words settled between you.

I made that mistake myself, they seemed to say. With Lucius.

"Do be wary of him," she continued. "The family tapestry has had them believe pure blood is what binds us. I've buried enough people to know better."

For a moment, she sounded like neither matriarch nor grandmother, but like a woman who had spent a lifetime standing both inside and outside the family—much like yourself—only she saw it with far clearer eyes.

You couldn't tell if it was warning or memory speaking. Either way, you said,

"I will, Grandmother."

—

"There you are. Have you said hello to everyone?"

At the table, Narcissa's hand rose out of habit to smooth Draco's hair back, though it was already immaculate.

"What is that?" Her gaze lingered on a mark his throat, before he swiftly adjusted his collar. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"No."

Her eyes slid over to you imperceptibly.

And found your mouth held the same shade.

—

Just a few hours ago as you got ready, he had been lingering at your vanity when you finally let him apply the lipstick on you. Only for him to keep missing your mouth. Oops.

So you sought your revenge by wiping it off with his lips and neck instead. He had only preened and said yes, have me, with his stained mouth.

In return, he had ruined you on your bedroom carpet, his fingers pumping deeply, just watching your face each time you came. Your slick wetting the cuffs of his freshly pressed shirt.

That corner of his room would be sacred eternally. Your hair clinging onto its walls, your dress in a melted pool around you. He made you look like a misplaced doll, eyes glassy and unfocused as he kept murmuring against your skin—one more. One more. One more.

A parting gift before he had to share you later.

"I can't," you finally whispered, breathless after a while. "I need you."

So he took your hands and held them against the surface of your vanity, your reflection shuddering with every thrust.

Until several house-elves knocked, politely at first, then nervously, demanding that he come out.

Until, unexpectedly, Narcissa herself was at the door.

"Draco?" she called. "You're late to your own party."

His hand clasped over your mouth.

"I'll be right there," he answered, voice strained.

Then, more quietly, only for you—

"Oh, gods," he panted. "I'm right there."

—

He flushed beneath his mother's gaze. He wanted to point fingers at his hormones, or his age, or any number of excuses. But he knew there was only one reason he was so damn hard all the time now.

Some wine, yes. He needed something for his dry throat.

On his way to find a house-elf, a familiar flash of long brown hair crossed his path.

"Draco."

"Honey."

Everyone called her that.

Astoria "Honey" Greengrass was what you'd call everyone's girl. Among her older sister's classmates, she was everyone's little sister, doted upon and fussed over wherever she went. Everyone's, it seemed, except Draco's.

"Happy birthday. The manor looks beautiful."

"Thank you, though it can't compare to your birthday last year. You looked like a princess."

She flushed, though she knew better than to read too much into it. Astoria understood him that way—that she could tell the difference between what he said out of detached courtesy and what he actually meant. It was, she thought, what made her suited to him. It took someone like him, after all, to recognise him at all.

And already, Draco's attention was wandering.

Valentin appeared between his legs, seemingly out of nowhere, and Draco immediately reached down to tousle the boy's hair.

Then he looked up.

Across the room, a crown of dark curls.

His eyes found it with alarming speed.

What is he doing here?

"Excuse me," Draco muttered, already stepping away.

Astoria's hand closed around his sleeve before he could get far.

"Well—I'll be eighteen this year..."

Whatever she said next failed to register.

Draco had already dropped to his cousin’s height.

"You'll understand, won't you?" he whispered conspiratorially, their eyes matching in mischief. "Go find out what he's saying to my girlfriend."

Valentin's eyes lit up at the challenge.

He slipped through the crowd with all the stealth a twelve-year-old could muster, which was to say, none whatsoever. Yet he appeared at your side and tucked himself against your skirts seamlessly. Your arms instinctively came around him, and from your distracted embrace, played the perfect spy.

Draco was close enough to overhear your surprised laugh.

"Theo. You made it.”

Theo's reply was lost beneath Astoria's voice.

"...I'd love if you could come..." She droned.

Theo’s mouth kept moving for what felt like a lifetime.

But he decided he no longer needed to hear it. There was no need to turn Astoria away, no need to have sent Valentin at all, no need even to come over himself.

Your astounded expression said enough. The ringing in his ears muffling everything else, was enough.

It felt like he was watching from the bottom of a pit he'd dug with his own hands, tunnel vision narrowing to nothing but you.

No. You shook your head. He wouldn't said so quickly he almost missed it.

His heart slammed once, hard. That was enough.

The look in your eyes, turning to him, was enough.

Summer was over.

This and this and this, Theo had said.

And there was no truth left in the world.