hi!! i made this blog to repost and share what I find on this app as well as a few of my own thoughts, ideas, and occasional fics! comment on this page if you would like to be added to my taglist
billie eilish / music / songwriting / lyrics / taylor swift / art / movies / halsey / tate mcrae / stranger things / FUCK ICE / FUCK TRUMP / FUCK MAGA / FUCK AI / <3 / enfj / steve harrington / byler / spencer reid
I’m getting so much propaganda of phineas and ferb and I was thinking of two scenarios for request:
1. something like phineas and Isabela where reader just loves steve for years, always being there for him all the time but he doesn’t notice. until the day she just give up and decide to move on, and that’s when he realizes how much he adores her
2. reader being like candace, super in love with steve (jeremy) and thinking he doesn’t like her back but he is absolutely obsessed with her
here is scenario one for you! i will put a link for number two in the post when i post it 💕
a little slow
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader
Warnings: none really. fluff. confessions. idiots in love. friends to lovers. no use of y/n.
_________________
If someone had asked Steve Harrington when he'd gotten used to you, he wouldn't have been able to answer. Because it hadn't happened all at once.
It had happened slowly. One movie night at a time, one drive home after work and one cup of coffee left on his car because you knew he'd had an early shift.
One day after another until your presence stopped feeling like something rare. It just…felt like life, because you were always there.
Waiting outside Family Video when his shift ended or saving him a seat.
Remembering the little things. The way he took his coffee or the songs he skipped on the radio. Even the anniversary of his grandmother's death.
The fact that thunderstorms still made him uneasy after everything Hawkins had become.
You remembered all of it. Steve loved you. He just hadn't realized that was what it was called.
Robin figured it out first. "You know she likes you, right?"
Steve looked up from rewinding a tape. "What?"
Robin blinked. "…Seriously?"
"As a friend?"
She stared at him for so long he became uncomfortable. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"You actually don't know."
"I don't know what?"
Robin laughed once. "Steve."
"What?"
"She looks at you like you hung the moon."
Steve rolled his eyes. "No, she doesn't."
"She absolutely does."
"Robin."
"I'm serious."
Steve shrugged. "She's just… nice."
Robin actually groaned. "I am surrounded by idiots."
You decided to stop loving Steve on a Tuesday. Not because you wanted to but because you had to.
You were tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of reading into every smile. Every lingering hug and every time his hand found yours without thinking.
Only for nothing to happen.
You couldn't keep waiting for a future Steve didn't even know you wanted.
So… You stopped. Not all at once. You still answered his calls. But you stopped reaching first. If he wanted your company…
He'd have to ask.
You told yourself it was healthier this way and maybe it was.
But it still hurt.
Steve noticed after two days. Because something was missing. He couldn't explain it. Family Video felt quieter. He reached for the phone three different nights before remembering…
You hadn't called. Huh. Weird.
A week later Steve walked out of work expecting to see you leaning against your car. You weren't there.
He checked his watch. Maybe you were late.
Robin watched him scan the parking lot. "…Looking for someone?"
"No."
"You've looked outside six times."
"I was…" He frowned. "I thought she'd be here."
Robin's expression softened. "She stopped waiting for you."
"…Why?"
Robin gave him a look. "You really don't get it, huh?."
Another week.
Steve bought Chinese takeout and automatically ordered your favorite. Only realizing when he got home. "…Huh."
He stared at the second carton for a long time. Then he ate alone.
The apartment felt… Wrong and way too quiet. He turned on the TV. Turned it off again.
He actually caught himself reaching for the phone but his fingers stopped over your number. He couldn't think of a good enough reason to call.
So he didn't.
Nancy noticed next. "You look miserable."
"I'm fine."
"You've been staring out that window for ten minutes."
Steve sighed. "I think…" He rubbed a hand across his face. "I think I miss my friend."
Nancy smiled sadly. "Just your friend?"
Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "…Yeah?"
Nancy waited. He frowned. "…Maybe." She kept waiting. "I don't like that she doesn't call anymore."
Nancy nodded.
"I don't like eating dinner by myself." Another nod. "I don't like not knowing how her day went."
Steve's voice had become quieter. "I keep hearing songs she likes." He laughed once but without humor. "I almost bought that stupid strawberry candy yesterday because she always steals mine."
Nancy's smile became impossibly gentle. "And?"
Steve looked at her completely lost. "I just…" His eyes drifted toward the window. "…I miss her."
Nancy reached across the table. Covered his hand with hers. "I know."
"No." Steve swallowed. "I don't think you do." His voice cracked. "I miss…" He searched desperately for the right word. Not seeing you. Not talking to you. Not hanging out. It was bigger than that.
He missed… You. Your existence in his life.
The way everything felt lighter when you were around and the way he looked for you in every room without realizing. How every good story made him think, I have to tell her.
His heart sank. "Oh."
Nancy smiled softly. "There it is. He finally got it."
Steve looked up. Eyes wide. "Oh." Everything clicked into place. Every hug. Every inside joke. Every drive. Every lazy Sunday. Every time you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during movie night. Every moment he'd unconsciously built his life around you.
He hadn't just gotten used to you. He loved you. Hopelessly.
He was just… Too stupid to notice before you gave up.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
Nancy laughed. "Took you long enough."
Steve stood so quickly his chair nearly tipped over. "I have to go."
"Steve."
He was already halfway to the door.
"Don't waste any more time."
"I won't."
He found you at the park, sitting on your usual bench, reading. You looked up as he approached.
"Steve?"
He stopped in front of you. Completely out of breath. "I've been an idiot."
You blinked. "…Okay?"
"No." He shook his head. "I mean yes." Another shake. "I mean…" He laughed helplessly. "I had this whole speech."
"You did?"
"It was really good."
"What happened to it?"
"I saw you and forgot every word."
Despite yourself… You smiled. That smile. The one he'd somehow convinced himself was just friendly. How had he been so blind?
"I've missed you."
Your smile faded. "I've still been around."
"I know." His voice was quiet now. "But not really."
The truth settled between you. You looked down at your book. "I thought giving you some space might help."
"Help what?"
"Help me to ... let go." You looked up again. "You don't owe me anything, Steve."
His heart broke. "I know."
"I don't want you to feel guilty."
"I don't."
"No?"
"No." He stepped closer. "I feel terrified."
Your brows knit together. "Terrified?"
"Because…" He took a shaky breath. "I've spent the last two weeks trying to figure out why everything felt wrong." His eyes found yours. "And then I realized…" A small smile, the kind that trembled.
"It wasn't because you stopped calling or because we stopped hanging out. It was because…" His voice softened. "You stopped letting me love you the way I'd gotten used to."
A tear slipped down your cheek. "I don't understand."
Steve smiled through eyes that had started to sting. "I've loved you for a long time." You stared. He laughed quietly. "I was just the last person to figure it out."
Another tear escaped. "You don't have to say anything." He stepped close enough that your knees almost touched his. "I just ... I couldn't let you walk away thinking you weren't the most important person in my life."
Your face crumpled. "You idiot."
"I know."
"I spent months trying to get you to notice."
"I know."
"I finally gave up."
"I know."
"You picked a terrible time."
"I know."
A watery laugh escaped you. Steve smiled. Then, very carefully… He reached for your hand.
"I know I'm late." His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. "But if there's even the tiniest part of you that hasn't completely given up on me…" His smile was so wonderfully, painfully Steve. Crooked and hopeful. "I'd really like the chance to spend the rest of my life making up for it."
You looked at his hand. Then at him. Then back at his hand and your fingers slipped between his. Like they had a hundred times before. Only this time neither of you had to pretend it meant nothing.
Steve smiled. The kind of smile that reached all the way to his eyes. The kind that said,
I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me and I'm never making that mistake again.
__________________
Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙
warnings: smut (18+, mdni), p in v, public sex, switch!keys, mouth obstruction (panty stuffing), creampie
wc: 1.1k
you were supposed to be staying overtime with keys to help him with a glitch in the game, but somehow you ended up in his lap, on his chair, grinding against his clothed shaft. the usual bright fluorescent lighting in the office is now dimmed with the soft glow of unoccupied computer monitors on empty desks, and faint noises of a vacuum being run by the janitor from outside the cubicle. his hands are everywhere, first groping your tits through your blouse, now kneading the globes of your ass beneath your skirt helping you rock against him.
your lips move together messily, tongues gliding against each other. keys cant help the groans that fall from his mouth, youre such a good kisser, it makes his head spin. the condensation from the heat and intensity from your kiss had caused a light fog to build up in his glasses, which slowly cleared up as you pulled away from his lips. you move to unstraddle yourself off of his lap.
“heyhey,” his hands grip your hips, the wheels of his chair gliding against the floor as he rolls closer to you. “where’re you going?”
“take off your pants.”
key scoffs, slightly caught off guard. he could feel his pants tighten, you werent asking him, you were telling him.
“here?” he asks, his voice higher than usual.
“yes, here,” you roll your eyes playfully.
he fiddles with the end of your skirt.
“keys, no ones here.”
“i know, its just,” his gaze drifts to the office doors, the muffled sound of the vacuum audible out in the hall. “what if we get caught?”
“we wont,” you shake your head, “they only vacuum the office mondays and wednesdays.” you trace your finger along his jawline, “do you know what day it is today?”
keys looks up at you with glossy eyes, his lips slightly parted. “uh-huh,” he nods, already unbuckling his belt and unfastening the zipper of his pants to free himself. “tuesday.”
“thats right,” you smile. “but since youre so worried about getting caught, i guess ill have to shut you up.”
you hook your fingers underneath the hem of your panties and allow them to pool around your ankles.
“im not! its just—” his eyes widen as you stuff your panties in his mouth, abruptly cutting him off.
you giggle at the surprised sound he had made. you straddle his lap again, his desk chair creaks with both of your weight on it. you waste no time stroking him slowly, hes hot and heavy in your hand. you hoist your hips up, gliding the tip of him up and down your core. a muffled groan falls from keys, just feeling how wet you are makes more precum ooze out of his tip. you both moan the moment you sink down on his cock and fully bottom out.
one loud and audible, one quiet and muffled.
you take a deep breath, letting your body accommodate to the size of him. its something you could never get used to, the stretch of him burned so good. his hands grip your waist, his big hazel eyes boring into your own through his glasses. you feel his thumbs affectionately rub either side of your hips, as if its his own way of saying take your time, i got you. you bite back a whimper and slowly start rocking yourself up and down his length.
“fuck, keys.”
you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly into the skin. keys tenderly rubs one of his hands up and down your back, while the other remains on your hips for leverage as he makes an effort to thrust up into you. he times his movements perfectly with each lazy bounce you give him. you can feel every vein of his length, while he can feel every crevice of your velvety walls, and it both sends you reeling.
you lick a stripe up his neck, working towards his earlobe, and nibble on the flesh gently. you feel him twitch inside you and he whimpers at the action. you slowly loosen your arms from around his neck, and brace your arms against his chest for better stability. you ride him with more enthusiasm now, moaning and gasping his name. like earlier, his hands fly to your ass, squeezing the flesh to move you against his cock more efficiently. the desk chair is squeaking rhythmically at every movement.
“mhm?” you whine, “that feel good?”
he hums eagerly against your panties.
“what about this?”
you intentionally lower yourself as deep as you can and swivel your hips against his cock.
keys stomach flips, his back arches ever so slightly off of the chair and his eyes roll back.
you tut, “asked you a question.”
keys nods eagerly at you, desperately moaning, although his sounds were dulled by the fabric. he started drawing quick, uneven breaths through his nose that made his chest rise and fall rapidly.
grasping the hair at the nape of his neck, you tug back gently to get a better glimpse at him. keys eyes are glossy as they meet yours, his glasses skewed. you can tell that your panties are now soaked with a mixture of your arousal from earlier and his saliva. you move one of your hands to take out your bunched up panties from his mouth.
“still scared about getting caught?” you grin
“fuck no,” he shakes his head, scoffing. “just keep riding me like that. shit– im so close.”
never shifting the position, he sits up just a little bit more on his chair so youre properly chest to chest. he tugs your hair back to give himself better access to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin.
“fuck, fuck, fuck,” a needy whine falls from him while hes desperately bucking his hips against yours.
“keys–” you gasp, “im gonna cum.”
“do it,” a cocky smirk plastered on his face, “cum for me.”
this time, he wasnt asking you, he was telling you.
your body stutters as your walls clamp down and flutter against keys length euphoria rushes through your veins and thats all he need to feel to trigger his own orgasm. suddenly, keys arms wrap around your waist as he thrusts up into you one last time, it isnt long before you feel his load fill you up. he lazily grinds up into you, riding out both of your orgasms. you hum contently as the post orgasm haze starts to hit you. keys showered soft kisses on your collarbone as you both catch your breath, the soft hum of the vacuum still moving up and down the hallway just right outside the office.
“they might have to start thoroughly cleaning this place on a daily basis because of us if we keep staying overtime.”
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: your stress levels have been through the roof for weeks and the only person bearing the brunt of your bad mood is your best friend, steve harrington. after too many coments, steve finally calls you out until finally he suggests a way to release the tension, and it's not in the way you expected.
warnings: +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, unprotected sex, fem!reader, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, best friend steve, dirty talk, rough sex, mirror sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, masturbation in pool (f receiving), mention of alcohol, big dick canon, reader being a bitch with steve, fingers in mouth, aftercare.
college was wearing you out, finals were breathing down your neck, and on top of that, you had extra shifts in your horrible and boring work. and that made you absolutely buried under stress for weeks.
you were sleeping barely four hours a night, and the only thing keeping you awake was the excessive amount of coffee and the occasional nap you’d take without meaning to when you’d fall asleep sitting at your desk.
everything annoyed you. everything was too loud, too bright, and just too much for you. and unfortunately for him, steve harrington –who had been your best friend since high school– was taking the brunt of your whole situation, including your bad mood.
you had been a complete bitch to him the past two weeks, but there was one particular situation that lingered in steve’s mind more than he would have liked.
you stormed into family video. the cool air conditioning hit your overheated skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. your shoulders were tight, your jaw locked, and you hadn’t slept properly in days.
between finals and extra shifts, you were one inconvenience away from snapping.
you just wanted a movie. something spicy enough to distract you tonight when you were alone, trying –and probably failing– to relieve some of this unbearable tension by yourself.
steve was behind the counter wearing that stupid green family video uniform that somehow made his shoulders look broader and his arms look bigger. robin was a few feet away, restocking some tapes, but you could already feel her watching you the second you walked through the door.
you went straight to the small adult section and grabbed the first movie that looked filthy enough. a half-naked couple on the cover with a dark lighting and a title that screamed horny.
you didn’t even read the back, you just wanted something with sex, moaning and heavy breathing: anything to help you when you were alone in your room.
with the tape clutched tightly in your hand, you went straight to the corner, slamming it down. steve was leaning against the register, and the second he saw the tape, his hazel eyes lit up with pure mischief.
he picked up the tape slowly and raised his eyebrows, turning it in his hands as he examined the cover with exaggerated interest.
‘’so… what’s this?’’ he said, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. ‘’you have a date tonight and you’re looking for ideas for later or what?’’
your face instantly heated up with a mix of embarrassment and rage.
‘’shut the fuck up, steve,’’ you snapped, glaring at him with pure venom. ‘’just scan the tape and keep your mouth closed today.’’
steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to be deeply wounded.
‘’no, no… you don’t get to say that,’’ he replied, acting completely indignant. ‘’we tell each other everything. everything. since when are you planning spicy nights and not telling me? i thought we had no secrets. i’m… deeply hurt.’’
robin, who was pretending to organize tapes on a nearby shelf, let out a loud snort and walked closer, clearly entertained.
‘’i hope steve doesn’t tell you in detail how he keeps sleeping with half the girls in hawkins,’’ she said, glancing at you with a smirk. ‘’because apparently he’s still very much in game.’’
steve turned to her with a fake smile.
‘’hey! i don’t sleep with all of them,’’ he protested though the little smirk on his face made it very obvious he was lying through his teeth.
he turned back on you, leaning further over the counter, his voice dropping into that low teasing tone that always drove you insane.
‘’but seriously, you didn’t tell me anything. what is wrong with you?’’ your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you could feel your face burning with humiliation and pure anger.
‘’steve, i swear to god’’ you hissed through gritted teeth. ‘’if you don’t shut up your fucking mouth right now and give me the damn tape, i’m going to throw this at your head and walk out.’’
steve chuckled softly, scanning the tape painfully slowly, clearly enjoying every second of your frustration.
‘’damn, you really are wound up today, huh?’’ he said, still smirking. robin leaked against the counter beside him.
you snatched the tape the second it was scanned, practically throwing your money at steve’s chest.
‘’you’re acting like the worst best friend in the entire fucking world,’’ you growled with your voice shaking with anger. ‘’i don’t know why i even bother with you anymore.’’
steve just smiled innocently as you turned on your heel to storm out.
‘’enjoy your movie and your date!’’ he called after you sweetly. the second you were gone, robin whistled.
‘’you’re such an asshole,’’ she laughed. steve stared at the door you had just slammed, a stupid smile still on his face.
after that, the week went on just the same—or even worse. you still were a bitch with him; snapping at his jokes, rolling your eyes when he tried to cheer you up, giving him short answers and telling him to shut up. and steve was patient, really patient.
but he couldn't take it anymore.
it was friday night. steve dropped robin off at her house after closing family video. you were sitting in the passenger seat of his bmw, arms crossed tightly over your chest and your jaw clenched so hard it ached.
you stared out the window like you were offended, and the silence in the car was thick and uncomfortable, almost suffocating. steve glanced at you sideways while his fingers drummed on the stared.
the silence only lasted a few more seconds before he couldn’t hold back anymore.
‘’jesus christ,’’ he muttered while shaking his hand. ‘’you gonna keep sitting there like i ran over your dog?’’
you didn’t even look at him. steve let out a sarcastic laugh.
‘’wow. really mature. you’ve been acting like this for you weeks and now you can’t even speak? what, did i breathe too loud today?’’
that did it.
you whipped your head towards him, your eyes blazing with anger.
‘’god, can you just shut up for once in your life, steve?’’ you snapped with a sharp and venomous voice. ‘’you’re so fucking annoying. always poking, always talking. i’m allowed to be in a bad mood without you making it worse by being a pain in the ass.’’
steve’s eyebrows shot up, but instead of backing off, he smirked.
‘’oh, i’m the annoying one now?’’ he shot back, teasing. ‘’you’ve been treating me like shit for two weeks straight and i’m the problem? come on. you’re being so dramatic.’’
your mouth fell open in disbelief.
‘’are you serious right now?’’ you hissed while you raised your voice. ‘’you’re such a fucking asshole. i told you i’m stressed, i told you i’m tense and all you do is poke at me like i’m so kind of joke.’’
steve’s smirk faltered for a second, but he quickly recovered, still trying to push your buttons.
‘’maybe if you stopped being so uptight and actually talked to me instead of biting my head off every five seconds–’’
‘’pull over,’’ you cut him off coldly. steve blinked.
‘’what?’’
‘’i said pull the fuck over. i’d rather walk home than listen to you right now.’’
steve didn’t pull over. instead, he let out a long breath and softened his tone a little bit.
you let out a long exhausted sight and rubbed your face with both hands, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on you. your eyes burned from lack of sleep and your shoulders felt like they were carrying bricks.
‘’i’m sorry, steve… i’m not mad at you. i swear i’m not,’’ you numbed. ‘’i’m just… really fucking tired. everything irritates me. i’ve tried everything. i went running, took long hot baths, even touched myself and nothing helps.’’
steve stayed quiet for a long moment, driving slowly through the dark streets. the only sound was the low hum of the engine. then, he let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
‘’you know… i did some reading the other day. family video stress the shit out of me and i searched some things.’’ he said casually, glancing at you. ‘’i’ll look into it properly. give me a couple of days. maybe i can find something that actually helps you realise all that tension.’’
you didn't reply. the car fell silent again as he drove you home.
three days. those were the exact days that passed. it was monday night, just past midnight.
steve invited you to his big house. you both had been drinking for a couple of hours by the pool. nothing too strong, just a few beers.
you were sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water, wearing one of steve’s old shirts over your bikini. steve was inside the pool, leaning against the edge right in front of you, shirtless, and with his hair wet and messy.
he looked up at you, water droplets running down his hairy chest and you tried not to make too much eye contact there.
‘’so… i did the research i promised,’’ he said with a soft voice. ‘’i went to the library and everything. looked in actual encyclopedias and medical books.’’
you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.
‘’wow. you actually went to the library and read? i’m impressed, harrington. didn’t know you knew how.’’
steve grinned and grabbed your waist with both hands, yanking you in the water. you let out a surprised squeal as you both fell into the warm water with a big splash. when you came up for air, steve was right in front of you.
‘’you asshole!’’ you laughed, pushing his chest.
the soaked shirt was now clinging to your body like a second skin, and without thinking, you grabbed the hem and pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the pool deck with a wet slap.
steve’s eyes darkened as they roamed over your body for a second before he forced them back to your face.
‘’well, you deserved that. that was cold,’’ he said, pretending to be deeply offended.
‘’start talking before i leave to drink another beer,’’ you said.
‘’i spent actual hours reading about endorphins, oxytocin, stress hormones… all of it. apparently the fastest way to release extreme built-up tension is through really intense physical activity. multiple orgasms.’’
he was getting more nervous the longer he spoke so his usual cocky confidence cracked.
‘’i mean– you don’t have to… obviously,’’ he added quickly while his voice got softer. ‘’it was an idea. we can pretend i never said anything. i don’t want to make things weird between us. i just hate seeing you this stressed and…’’
‘’are you insinuating something, steve?’’ you asked.
you wanted to hear an answer from him to see if they were just empty words coming out of his mouth or if he really meant it.
‘’yeah… i mean, yes,’’ he admitted. then he backtracked. ‘’no, no, nothing like that! i didn’t mean– shit, forget i said anything. i wasn’t trying to pressure you or–’’
you smiled and leaned a little closer to him. steve took it as a signal, so he cupped your face with one hand and kissed you.
the kiss started gentle but quickly turned deeper. you responded, kissing him back while your fingers thread through his wet hair.
after some seconds you pulled back slightly, breathing a little faster, and whispered against his lips.
‘’i’ll keep that in mind.” you started to pull away, but steve gently grabbed your hand, stopping you. he pulled you back toward him.
you smiled, then leaned in and kissed him again — deeper this time, more sure.
he froze for half a second before he melted into the kiss with a deep groan. his wet hands immediately grabbed your waist.
steve was an incredible kisser. girls weren't lying about that.
he started by pressing his lips against yours, then focused on your upper lip –kissing it gently– then with more pressure. his mouth moved perfectly against yours, slow and deep at first, then hungrier.
his nose kept bumping into yours.
you moaned softly into his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. his hands grabbed your ass under the water, squeezing firmly and pulling you flush against him. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, grinding against the obvious bulge in his swim trunks.
steve groaned against your lips, one hand staying on your ass while the other slid between your bodies. his fingers then pressed over your bikini bottoms, rubbing slow and firm circles against your covered clit.
‘’fuck..’’ he murmured between kisses. he kept kissing you on the upper lip while his fingers rubbed gaster, pressing against your clit through the thin fabric.
you held onto his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin as pleasure built rapidly.
‘’that’s it, pretty girl,’’ he whispered hotly. ‘’grind on my hand like a good girl. you’ve been so tense for weeks… you deserve this.’’
he wasn’t as shy as he was a few minutes earlier.
you whimpered, rolling your hips desperately against his fingers. steve rubbed faster, pressing harder while the water made everything slick and intense.
‘’steve– fuck,’’ you moaned.
‘’you touched yourself so many times and couldn’t cum properly, huh, princess?’’ he growled softly. ‘’look how quickly you’re shaking for me, baby. this pretty pussy is so needy for my touch. that’s cute.’’
your legs started trembling violently around his waist. pleasure built higher as he rubbed fast circles. you were right on the edge, thighs squeezing him.
‘’steve– oh god. i’m so close, please.’’ you whimpered.
just as you were about to cum, he suddenly slowed down and pulled his hand away. you let out a broken whimper, burying your face in his neck.
‘’not yet, baby,’’ he whispered. ‘’i want you in my bed. i want to take my time with you, princess. i want to hear every pretty sound you make when i finally let you fall apart.’’
he kissed one last time before carrying you out of the pool toward the house, water dripping everywhere.
the second you were through the front door, steve pinned you against it, kissing you again like he was starving. you stumbled up the stairs together, and halfway up, steve pressed you against the railing, kissing you deeply again.
you finally reached his bedroom door, crashing through it. steve kicked it shut behind him and threw you onto his bed slowly. you landed with a small bounce, still dripping wet from the pool.
steve crawled over you, his hair was still dripping. then he moved down your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin until he settled between your spread thighs. he looked up at you with hungry eyes.
he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms and slowly pulled them down your legs, tossing them aside. he buried his face between your legs and devoured you like a man starved.
steve was completely pussy drunk. he licked, sucked and tongue-fucked you with messy enthusiasm, moaning loudly against your pussy as two fingers pumped deep inside you.
he licked a long slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, moaning loudly at your taste.
‘’fuck, you taste so good,’’ he groaned, the vibrations sent you shocks through your body. ‘’so sweet and sloppy. i could eat this pretty cunt for hours.’’
‘’please– don’t stop. don’t.’’ you moaned, rolling your hips against his face.
he dove back in like a man possessed.
steve licked broad, flat strokes through your folds, savoring every drop of your wetness. he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth, humming happily as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your sensitive bud.
then he pushed his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose was pressed against your clit. he was loud, messy and addicted. the obscene wet sounds of him slurping, sucking and moaning against your pussy filled the entire room.
his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he buried his face deeper.
‘’god, baby… you’re dripping down my chin,’’ he mumbled. ‘’such a messy little pussy. you’re soaking me and i fucking love it.’’
he replaced his tongue with his fingers again, pumping them and curling them perfectly against your g-spot while he focused on your clit again.
‘’fuck, steve… you’re so good at this.’’ you moaned.
‘’you love this, don’t you, princess?’’ he said. his chin was shining with your juices. ‘’love having your best friend eat your pussy like a starving man. bet you’ve been touching this greedy cunt thinking about me every night while you were being mean to me.’’
you moaned loudly, and steve doubled down, sucking harder and pumping his fingers faster. he was completely lost in you.
‘’steve, fuck. i’m gonna cum–’’ you cried out.
he didn’t stop, and you came hard with a loud scream. your thighs clamped around his head as you gusher on his tongue and fingers. steve moaned loudly, refusing to pull away.
he kept licking and fingering you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive, pushing at his head.
he finally pulled back, his chin and lips shiny with your juices and his eyes glazed with pure lust. steve shoved his swim trunks down his hips, kicking them off, and his thick hard cock sprang free.
steve was huge. way too big.
you’d had sex with other guys before, but you’d never seen anything like this.
you always heard him talk about his sexual experiences. that was the normal thing between you two as best friends.
but you just thought he was exaggerating — that it was just an ego boost.
when robin joked about it, or steve said that girls told him it didn't fit in, you just laughed: you thought they were just jokes.
but apparently, they weren’t.
he climbed on top of you and rubbed the head up and down your soaked folds.
‘’look at me, princess,’’ he ordered.
and you did.
‘’i don’t know if it all fits steve. you’re so big…’’
‘’just the tip first.’’ he groaned, and then he pushed a little bit, the head stretching you open. ‘’relax for me… that’s it, good girl. you’re doing so well.’’
he rocked his hips gently, feeding you another inch. then another, watching your face the entire time.
‘’oh my god…. fuck, steve.’’
‘’taking me so good, baby.’’ he praised with rough voice. ‘’look how your pretty pussy is swallowing my cock.’’
then his control snapped. steve pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in hard, setting a brutal pace. the bed cracked as he fucked ou deep and rough, hips snapping against your ass with loud slaps.
‘’take it, princess,’’ he growled. ‘’take every fucking inch.’’
after a few thrusts, he pulled out, flipped you onto your hands and knees, and positioned you so you were facing a full-length mirror in the corner of his room.
the mirror was tall and elegant.
steve had had it since his freshman year of high school, back when he was king steve: the ultimate jock who spent way too much time obsessing over his hair, clothes and appearance. he used to stand in front of it and fix his hair there, and now, some years later, he was fucking you in front of it.
steve got behind you, gripped your hips tightly and thrust back inside you again.
‘’look. look in the mirror.’’
he grabbed your face with one hand, fingers gripping your jaw firmly but not painfully, and he forced you to look straight ahead at your reflection.
“watch,” he ordered, starting to fuck you hard again. “watch how pretty you look getting fucked by my big cock.”
you moaned loudly at the sight. the mirror showed everything in explicit detail; your flushed face, your tits bouncing wildly with every thrust, your mouth open in pleasure, and steve’s body behind you as he pounded into you mercilessly. his thick cock disappeared completely inside your pussy again and again, stretching you wide.
“steve— oh my god. look at how deep you are…” you gasped, unable to look away. “you’re so big…”
“yeah? you like watching me destroy this tight pussy, baby?” he groaned, slamming into you harder. he kept one hand on your jaw, forcing you to keep watching. “look at how well you take every inch. such a good girl for me, princess.”
he fucked you relentlessly in front of the mirror, hips snapping against your ass as the sound of skin slapped loud and filthy. his other hand reached around to rub your clit in fast giving rough circles.
he suddenly pushed two fingers into your mouth.
“suck,” he commanded, voice low and filthy. “suck my fingers while you watch yourself get fucked, princess.” you moaned around his fingers, sucking them greedily as he continued pounding into you.
“cum for me, baby,” he commanded with a low voice. “cum while you watch yourself get fucked by your best friend. gonna breed you so deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days. you want that, princess? want me to pump you full until your belly swells with my load?”
you moaned loudly around his fingers, nodding desperately as you watched yourself in the mirror. steve fucked you even harder as the same time he rubbed your clit faster.
“that’s it… cum for me, baby. let me breed this greedy little cunt.”
you came hard with a loud scream, your walls pulsing violently around his thick cock. steve followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your pussy with thick hot ropes of cum.
he stayed buried deep inside you, both of you breathing heavily, sweaty and satisfied. then kissed your shoulder softly, still holding your face so you could see your wrecked reflection.
then his entire behavior softened.
steve slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of being empty. he gently turned onto your back and lay down beside you.
‘’you okay?’’ he whispered. ‘’was i too rough or something?’’ you shook your head, still catching your breath.
‘’i’m perfect,’’ you murmured. ‘’i feel relaxed now.’’
steve chuckled softly, sitting in the bed to put his clothes back again.
‘’let me take care of you now, okay?’’
he got up and walked to the bathroom, returning a minute later with a towel. steve gently cleaned between your legs, wiping away the mixture of your juices and his cum. he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed.
after a comfortable silence, steve spoke.
‘’... is this gonna ruin our friendship?’’
you lifted your head to look at him.
‘’no,’’ you whispered. ‘’it won’t.’’
steve let out a relieved breath.
‘’good,’’ he said, smiling. ‘’because next time you feel this stressed… don’t be a bitch to me again. just come to my house. the scientific method clearly works.’’
you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.
⋆˚꩜｡SUMMARY: you walk in on steve pleasuring himself in the bathroom
⋆˚꩜｡TAGS: no y/n, steve x reader, reader insert, college setting, desperate!steve, nervous!reader
⋆˚꩜｡TW: NSFW 18+ content, minors do not interact!! | male masterbation, voyeurism, hand job, praise, multiple orgasms, a tiny bit of overstim
⋆˚꩜｡WC: 1.8k
⋆˚꩜｡A/N: for my djoups<3 this is based on a dream i had in 2023:) enjoy!!
It was a typical Tuesday night. Nearing around 11pm. You sighed, treading down the hall, back towards where your dorm is. Your slippers lazily scraped across the floor, not being bothered enough to fully pick up your feet with each step. You held your towel in one hand, drying your hair as you walked, humming a quiet tune to yourself. The other hand held your overflowing shower caddy.
You preferred showering late at night. The bathrooms were quiet. You were able to actually take your time, not having to rush through your routine.
As you turned the corner you noticed the door to the men’s bathroom was cracked, a soft warm light shining through. You didn’t think anything of it. As you got closer you could hear faint noises coming from inside. You ignored it, too tired to care. Just as you were about to pass it, the sound of muffled moans stopped you in your tracks.
Keep walking. Keep walking.
Your feet betrayed you and began stepping towards the door before you could stop yourself. Your heart began pounding as the noises grew louder the closer you got. You peeked through and what you saw was enough to make your stomach drop.
There stood your best friend, Steve, planted in front of the bathroom mirror. The room was foggy. The air thick and filled with steam from a hot shower. His hair was dripping wet, causing beads of water to fall down to his bare skin and onto the floor.
Your eyes raked down his body. He has one hand on the counter in front of him keeping his balance. His basketball shorts were pulled down in the front just enough so that his other hand could pull and jerk at his aching, leaking cock.
You watch as his head falls back with a quiet moan as he strokes for his own pleasure. The sight has your jaw slacked. Weak. You feel weak. You know this is wrong. You shouldn’t be standing here watching him. Watching your best friend in such a vulnerable state.
And yet, your feet don’t move. They don’t even try. Your stomach tightens. You feel yourself squeezing your legs together to try and subside that stupid annoying feeling that’s happening inside you.
You always knew Steve was good looking. You’re not blind. But you never actually thought about him like this.
You don’t actually know how you never looked at him like this before. I mean…jesus. It was like you were in a trance. His wet hair, the way his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes shut tight. The way his stomach was twitching from the sensations he was causing himself. The occasional flex of his bicep while he jerked himself off.
His hand moved at a steady pace. You almost fell to your knees when he let out a quiet soft whimper of a moan as he worked higher towards his tip.
Oh my god.
Then of course. The universe decided to play its own version of a sick joke on you. Before you could react or even register what was happening, your shower caddy decided right now was the perfect time to finally give out. All of your shower products flew out of the basket and onto the floor with a loud bang.
Steve’s head whipped towards the sudden noise, his eyes immediately finding you. You froze. You looked at all the bottles on the floor and then back at him. Then back at the bottles….then back at him again. What exactly are you supposed to do in this situation?
“I—um—I—sorry I was just—“ you stumble over your words, unable to find anything to say that could possibly make this situation better. You look anywhere but at him, too humiliated to even glance in his direction. “I um…I’m sorry. I didn’t see—“
“Shh, hey it’s okay.” he finally spoke. You were terrified. What he said next was the opposite of what you expected. “Can you help me?” he asked.
Your breathing hitched. You almost choked on your own spit, your body tensing immediately. It’s almost like the world was put on mute. All you can hear is the deep drum of your heart beat. A shiver runs down your spine and you can literally feel your throat close up, struggling to get any words out.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck is going on?
You should leave. You should grab your things off the floor and lock yourself in your room and never come out again. Maybe even transfer schools and forget this ever happened.
That’s not what you do though. Instead, without even realizing it, you find yourself nodding your head to his question.
He speaks again, “C’mere.” His voice was quiet and soft. It was laced with traces of need and want. Maybe even some desperation.
You exhale shakily, setting down the rest of your things. You slowly step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He watches you carefully, as you start to inch towards him nervously.
“I—How do you want—?”
“Get behind me. Can you do that for me? Please?”
Normally you’d be embarrassed by how fast you complied. But right now you couldn’t care less. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire and that’s all you can focus on. Along with the ache between your thighs.
You swallowed hard, your throat feeling dry and heavy. He could see the nerves in your body language. Feeling it radiating off of you.
“Hey, s’okay. I got you.” he looked at you through the fogged mirror, unable to make out any features. “S’just me, mkay? Your best friend. Your Steve.” He reached behind himself, grabbing your hand and rubbing it gently. An attempt to calm your nerves. “Need your help so bad. Would you be a good friend and help me?”
You nod, nervously. You lift your hands to his shoulders, letting them trace gently down his arms all the way to his wrists. Your movements are slow and unsure. You feel him shiver underneath your touch, only to melt into it once your hands find their way to his bare chest. Your fingers gliding over top of his chest hair.
The second he melted into your touch it was like all nervousness left your body. Without a second thought you leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. He exhaled in pleasure, biting his lip to stifle a moan when your hands rubbed up and down his body.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so long. ‘Bout you.” he spoke through deep breaths.
The heat in your stomach only grew at his words. The fresh panties you were wearing were certainly growing wetter by the second.
You pulled your arms back, causing him to frown. The sound of you spitting in your hand quickly replaced that frown with a lazy smile. Your left hand wrapped around his torso, running up and down his chest while your other hand found its way to his aching cock.
He hissed the second you grabbed onto him, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. Your hand finally began to move up and down his length. You started off slow, teasing, pulling a quiet “fuck” from his lips.
Your free hand roamed all over his chest and stomach, wanting to feel every inch you could reach. Keeping your movements slow, you placed a trail of kisses all over his upper back, causing a deep exhale to escape his lips. You squeezed slightly tighter, a real moan finally coming out.
Music to your ears.
It was right then that you stopped holding back. All you wanted was to hear that sound over and over again. The sound of your best friend completely at your mercy. Weak over your touch.
You picked up your pace, your hand moving up and down in a corkscrew motion. His head fell backwards, landing on your shoulder. The bathroom was quickly filled with sounds of his erratic moans and the sound of you jerking him off.
“Doin’ so good—fuck—makin’ me feel so good.” he spoke in between moans.
“Yeah?” you smiled, watching his face scrunch tight through the mirror in front of you two.
You kept a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow. His noises and little twitches encouraging you to finally ask what’s been on your mind since he said it. “You said you’ve been thinking about this? You and me?”
“Mhm, ahh fuck.” he leaned into your touch, trying to steady himself. “You came over one day—shit go faster. Please, please go faster.” a loud moan rippled through the bathroom. “You were wearing that one skirt—“
Before he could finish his sentence, your hand reached the top of his shaft, right underneath his tip. He jolted in your hands, a literal whimper escaping from his mouth.
Your lips immediately quirked up into a wide smile, knowing you’d just found his spot. “That feel good?” you ask, keeping your movements focused on that one spot.
“Ahh—fffuck yes.”
“The skirt. Tell me about the skirt.”
“The short black one—“ he struggled to talk coherently, his breathing growing heavier as he reached his climax. “—you came over wearing it. Dropped your keys—m’so close.”
“I know, I know. Deep breaths, you can do it. Keep tellin’ me.”
“Y-you bent over to pick em up. Your little pink panties on complete display f’me.”
Your face reddened. You don’t even remember that.
“Ever since then, been wanting to get my hands on you.”
His words made your knees weak. Like actually weak. You suddenly felt like jelly. Your core clenching around nothing, begging for some kind of relief.
Your arm was burning but that didn’t stop you from going faster, determined to get him to his release.
After a few more moans and curses, Steve threw his head back once again, landing on your shoulder. A loud, breathless moan ripped through him as his come shot all over your hand and his stomach. But you didn’t stop there. You kept your movements going up to his tip, wanting to hear those whimpers from earlier.
He cried out, knees buckling. You stepped back, his sudden body weight almost knocking the both of you over. You didn’t dare stop.
“Ahh fuck I can’t—“ he whined loudly.
You paid extra close attention to where his shaft and tip met, rubbing up and down in tiny movements. He was putty in your hands. He tried to talk but nothing coherent could come out. The overstimulation too much.
Only when a second orgasm ripped through him did you finally stop. He was completely and utterly spent. His chest heaved, struggling to catch his breath.
You released him from your grasp, bringing your hand up to your mouth. He turned around and watched with awe as you licked his come off each of your fingers until your hand was clean.
With wide eyes and dilated pupils he finally spoke, “Jesus fucking christ.”
You smiled. Before you could say anything he grabbed you by your waist, pulling you close. “C’mere, it’s your turn.”
summary: you and steve promised a long time ago to never go to sleep angry. imagine your suprise when he breaks that promise.
warnings: angst, arguing, steve is stubborn and a little mean, reader is also stubborn as hell, cursing, he doesn’t in fact break the promise, hurt/comfort, crying, kiss and makeup, happy ending! he still manages to be sweet
word count: 3.2k
Dating with Steve Harrington was bliss, it truly was. He was a kind man, always a loyal gentleman. He was protective and was always there for you – physically and emotionally. He was funny and so incredibly charming.
By definition, he was the perfect man.
But with all of his perfections, he had one singular flaw. His stubbornness.
Steve Harrington was as hard headed as a brick wall.
And you? Well, you could almost give him a run for his money.
Any normal day for you two was loving. Except for today.
Today, Steve seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He claimed you hogged the blankets all night, even though it was his monster feet who kicked them to the floor.
At first it felt like tired bickering. Once the sleep washed away from him and he got a little bit of food in his tummy, all would be well.
Wrong.
At breakfast, you argued about who’s turn it was to do the dishes. You told him everything in the sink was left by him the night before – he argued that your name was next on the chore list.
You argued about how he forgot to make the coffee for the morning. He argued that you could’ve done it too – even though he’s always done it.
You argued over his misplaced keys. Over what time Nancy said to meet at the station. Over who gets to drive – this one was entirely your fault considering you don’t even like to drive, but he was really pissing you off.
The car ride there was spent with your arms crossed tight and your legs tucked into the passenger door – away from his touch – and his fingers gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles whitened. By the time you two made it into the station, you both angrily agreed not to talk to each other.
It’s pettiness and stress masked as arguments about nothing. The tension between you two was palpable and the group picks up on it quickly.
You’re all standing around the common room, ready to disperse into your own jobs. You and Steve always go with Dustin to monitor Hopper – leaving everyone else back at the station to take care of things.
You’re dreading the idea of sitting in the pre-existing tension between Steve and Dustin, and it doesn’t help the fact that you’re now arguing with him too.
You move to grab your jacket when he speaks up.
“Not you.” Steve says, his voice firm but cold. You blink up at him. “Byers is taking your spot tonight,”
You laugh incredulously. “Wha – Jonathan?”
He nods down at you, zipping up his own jacket. “He knows how to handle the navigation,”
Your face pinches at his answer. “So do I,”
Steve avoids your eyes as he gathers the rest of his things. It’s not because of shame or fear, but from annoyance. “Do you?”
Your eyes narrow and you can feel the fury bubbling in your chest. “Do I?” You repeat. “You know what Steve, you really have to get over whatever bug crawled up your ass today, alright? You’re acting like –.”
Steve cuts you off before you can finish.
“No, do you know what?” He slams his walkie down on the cushion of the couch. When his eyes meet yours, they’re dark and clouded. There’s not a trace of patience or love in them and for a moment, that scares you. “This isn’t about you. Who knows how many more chances we’re gonna get if this goes wrong and the last thing I need is you fucking up the navigation. So for once, I need you to listen to what I’m saying and quit nagging me, alright?”
Everything around you seems to still.
All that you can focus on is the irritation covering your boyfriends face and for the first time, maybe ever, it’s all aimed at you. For whatever reason, he seems to think you’re the root cause of his sour mood today.
So what if you don’t have the best track record with reading the map? Steve’s lived in his town his entire damn life, he should know the streets by now.
It’s not just frustration you feel anymore. Now it’s shame and insecurity and embarrassment. Shame because apparently, you nag him enough for him to remember. Insecure because you couldn’t even guess how long he’s been holding this in. And embarrassed because everyone around you has also stilled – now staring at the two of you like you’re a pair of animals in a cage.
That thought angers you even more.
Your jaw clenches so hard you can almost hear your teeth grinding against each other and you can feel the way your nails dig into the skin of your palms as a way to calm yourself down.
Steve stares back down at you and after a beat of silence, he seems to register exactly what he said. His eyes flutter shut and he sighs, raising his hand to gently grasp your hand.
Your face is steel as you take a step back before he can reach you. You won’t cause a scene and you also won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you just now.
“You should go then.” You tell him. He grimaces at your cold tone and makes no move to leave.
He says your name gently. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just – just come with and we can –.”
You cut him off this time. “No thanks, I wouldn’t want to fuck up the navigation again.”
Steve’s shoulders deflate when you echo his earlier words.
It looks like he’s ready to say something else but before he can, you’re spinning on your heels and downstairs to the basement to meet with Joyce at the intercom. You can feel his eyes following you as you disappear but not once do you turn or falter.
It didn’t matter what was causing his sudden attitude change. You were done trying to be empathetic and understanding. He wasn’t about to use you as an emotional punching bag – if he didn’t want to be around you then you would give him that.
It’s hours later when Steve finally arrives back at the station. In that time, his voice cracked over the intercom a few times with updates about movements and any military activity. Each time you ignored the pang in your chest and let Robin respond.
The crawl ended up being just another tally mark under the dead end section and you all began to filter home, completely defeated.
Steve didn’t offer any words as you climbed into the car together, but neither did you. It was still tense but not as tense as when he left. His foul mood is still obvious but it’s no longer white hot anger. It gives you a little bit of hope.
When you finally make it home, it’s after 10. He still hasn’t spoken to you but he lets you shower first, and you take the opportunity to try and get rid of your own anger.
You weren’t sure if he really cared it wasn’t your voice he was hearing. It didn’t seem like he cared about your absence in the van, but then again it wasn’t the focus of the night. His earlier words rang in your head.
It’s not about you.
Yet here you were, making it about you.
You’re smart enough to realize his blow up had little to do with you. It was a culmination of stress of the crawls, stress from his newly strained relationship with Dustin, stress from everything. You were just the only constant in his life and it seemed like you were the best thing to take it out on.
It doesn’t make it right, but at least you understand.
Still, you’re annoyed at the very least.
But you two have made a promise years ago – to never fall asleep mad and with the way exhaustion is clawing at you, you’re ready to climb into bed and apologize for arguing all day. It’s nothing a few sweet words and a few more sweeter kisses can’t fix and the more you think about it, the more you crave it.
Fighting with Steve was one of your least favorite things in the world.
You quickly clean your mess in the bathroom and change for bed but when you step out of the bathroom and into your shared room, you freeze.
It’s not the darkness or the quietness that stops you. It’s the fact that Steve is already on his side of the bed, his back turned towards your side and asleep.
That asshole actually fell asleep.
You stand there, five feet away from him, in complete disbelief. It was his stupid idea to promise that and he’s the one who broke it first.
Your newly dissolved anger reignites and this time, it’s scorching. You have to fight the urge to abuse him with your pillow as you look at his sleeping frame. You’ve spent the last few hours trying to think of ways to make up with him and he’s just sleeping.
Your body is tense as you finally climb into bed. You make it a point to leave as much distance between your bodies you can without falling off the bed.
Steve is unmoving as you settle on your side and it angers you even more.
Now it’s not just the arguments from today. It’s everything.
It’s the arguing, it’s his careless words from earlier, it’s the coldness you’ve been getting from him all day, it’s the short temper he’s met you with.
You feel small and almost like you mean nothing to him. It’s a stretch considering all he actually did was fall asleep but damnnit, it’s the principle of it all.
Before you know it, tears are slipping from your eyes and soaking the pillow beneath your cheek. You bite your lip to keep the sounds as muffled as possible because the last thing you want is for him to see you cry.
For the first night in your entire relationship, you don’t want to be anywhere near him.
You’re not sure how much time passes when you finally stop crying.
You feel pathetic for it but it’s not out of sadness – because he didn’t hurt your feelings (he did) – it’s because you’re just frustrated about the whole thing.
He’s laid beside you, peaceful and still as he lets his body loosen and forget all its troubles. All the while, you’ve been lying here crying.
There hasn’t been a second where your frustration has even slightly dwindled. Instead, it keeps building and your exhaustion isn’t helping matters.
The sound of Steve’s slow and even breathing behind you is enough to make you break. You don’t take a second to rethink things before you’re shoving the blankets off of you and snatching your pillow in one hand.
You trudge into the darkness downstairs and throw your pillow against the couch. You pull the blanket that rests over the back cushion and settle into the couch.
It’s achingly lonely down here but somehow it feels better than trying to stay beside Steve. You know you’ll wake up in an even worse mood because of how uncomfortable the couch is. The cushions are lumpy, it’s almost too short for your body, it’s colder down here without the warmth of Steve comforting you.
Still, you force yourself comfortable and take another chance at sleep.
Upstairs, Steve’s subconscious has him flipping over in his sleep and his arms instinctively reach out for you. His hand slides across your side of the bed, ready to grab your waist and pull you into his chest but he feels nothing.
His eyes flutter open at the feeling of emptiness beneath his palm. It takes him a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room but when he finally does, he sees your side of the bed is empty and cold.
He leans up on his elbow then, taking a quick glance at the bathroom but the light is off and the door is shut. He scans the rest of the room but is met with nothing. It doesn’t really register for him until he realizes your pillow is also gone.
He feels his stomach twist with nerves before he pulls himself out of bed.
His feet pad against the hardwood floor of your shared home as he makes his way out of the bedroom. The rest of the house is quiet and dark – he almost worries you left entirely.
He makes his way down the steps, into the living room and that’s when he finally sees you.
Steve feels guilt hit him like a truck when he sees your small frame squished uncomfortably on the couch. You’re lying on your side, knees curled into your chest and a small throw blanket covering your body.
He hates seeing you like this and even more, he hates being the cause of it. He knows without a doubt it’s his fault. He knew what he said earlier was cruel and completely uncalled for – and he didn’t blame you for a second when you chose not to talk to him over the radio.
When he got back and saw how angry you still were, he felt like the best thing to do was give you space. He’d been blowing up over the tiniest things all day, the least he could do was give you time to yourself.
So when he climbed into bed, it wasn’t to break his promise – it actually wasn’t even on his mind. He just didn’t want to overwhelm or upset you even more.
Obviously that was the wrong choice.
His feet pull him towards you and he bends down so he can lift you up. He carefully pulls the blanket from you and slides one arm beneath your neck. He’s ready to slide the other under your knees when you begin to stir.
Your head turns, lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks as you try to focus on what woke you up. There’s a softness in your eyes, one personally reserved for your boyfriend and he feels his heart ache at the sight.
But just as fast as it appeared, it’s gone when you blink.
You pull away from his hold and Steve lets his arms fall to his sides.
“What?” Sleepiness laces your voice but he picks up on the anger beneath it.
He swallows and kneels beside the couch so he’s eye level with you. “Come back to bed,” He whispers.
“I’m comfortable here,” You lie easily. Your hands grab the blanket at your feet and pull it back up to cover yourself, just before you shift to turn away from him.
Steve stares at the back of your head for a moment, immediately missing the sight of your beautiful face.
“Baby..” He sighs. He’s ready to argue more but you cut him off.
“I don’t want to sleep next to you, Steve.” Your voice is detached and cold.
His heart cracks at your response.
His ego tells him to walk away. To leave you to deal with your temper tantrum and to enjoy the bed to himself.
He’s never ignored a thought so quickly.
“Then let me sleep on the couch. You go to bed, babe,” He offers softly.
Your anger aimed at him and your exhaustion has you groaning into the air. You twist your head just enough to face him.
“Just forget it, Steve. I want to sleep.”
Steve feels his own stubbornness filter back. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.” He says your name firmly – like a parent scolding a child.
You glare at him, your eyes so dark, there may as well be daggers shooing out of them.
“Why not? You were sleeping so peacefully a few minutes ago. Go back and do it again,” You huff before turning your head to face the cushion again.
Steve’s jaw clenches, not from anger but from more guilt. He never wanted to make you feel like this – like you didn’t matter.
Carefully, he moves to sit on the couch with you. You grumble something like go away but he ignores it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, and you try to pull away but his hold is firm.
“I’m sorry, baby,” He whispers, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheeks. It’s a little damp and sticky from your earlier tears you didn’t even bother to wipe away. He watches the way you avoid his gaze and the way your jaw ticks. “I shouldn’t have spent all day arguing with you, and I definitely shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was pissed off about these crawls and the way Henderson’s been acting lately and I took it out on you,” His voice is so soft and gentle – it’s a dangerous contrast to how he spoke earlier. “You didn’t deserve that, baby and I’m sorry.”
Your eyes gloss over again at his apology and you can slowly feel your resolve break. You’re so tired and all you want is to wrap yourself in his arms again.
But you’re still pissed.
“I’m not your punching bag, Steve.” You say firmly. There’s a hint of a waver in your tone but he doesn’t catch it. He nods, his eyes sad and regretful.
“I know you’re not,”
“And you don’t get to take it out on me every time you’re pissed off.”
He nods again. “I won’t, I promise.”
Your eyes narrow, but it’s not as angry this time. “And you’re not allowed to go to bed without me again.”
Steve breaks a smile at your words but quickly tries to cover it, worried you’re not ready to joke with him again. It technically was meant to be lighthearted but the sentiment was serious.
“I’ll stay awake forever if you asked me too, baby,” He responds, his hand gently stroking your skin.
You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he doesn’t miss the ghost of a smile on your lips.
He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. He doesn’t try to deepen it – just lets you both feel the other close and intimate. When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours. “I really am sorry, baby.” He whispers.
You nod gently. “I know,” You bring your own palm up to his cheek this time and he plants a kiss to your palm before letting himself lean onto your hold.
It’s quiet for a few seconds as you hold each other before you speak up.
“Can you carry me to bed now?” You breathe out, a smile plastered across your face. Steve grins down at you and within seconds, you’re in his arms bridal style. You gasp in surprise from his swiftness and he’s easily carrying you up the stairs.
He plants kisses across the skin of your face the entire way back to bed and once you’re finally settled in, he doesn’t let you go for a second.
summary: Thunderstorms always make Steve's old wounds ache. And there's only one thing that helps.
tags: MDNI [smut] [established relationship] [handjob] [language] [coach!Steve] [caring] ['let me help'] [rainy day]
1.6k words
The moment Steve steps through the door, you know something’s wrong.
You watch him from your place on the couch, a sweet 'welcome home' dying on your lips. He toes off his shoes one by one, hands braced on the wall for support, and winces as he shrugs off his coach’s jacket and hangs it on the hook.
His movements are slow, spinning inky shadows in the lamplight. It’s not quite night yet, but the sky is dark with black clouds, the summer air thick and humid.
The baseball cap comes off next, and when his eyes raise to yours, he grimaces and rakes a hand through his hair. Like it’s just occurred to him that other people exist in the world. That they can see him.
Your brows furrow in concern. "How was practice?"
“It got rained out,” he says, voice tight.
Ah. The storm. Yeah, everything makes sense now.
You nod once in understanding and pat the couch. "C'mere.”
Steve moves towards you, messing with his hair on the way, but when he starts to sit beside you, you stop him with a hand on his arm.
Scooting backwards, you press yourself into the cushions and spread your legs to give him space to sit in front of you.
“Wha—right there?” he asks, blinking down at you, mussed hair haloed by the light of the TV.
"Yes, right here.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head before turning around and collapsing into the makeshift seat you've provided.
"This what you wanted?" he grunts, letting all his weight fall back onto you and press you into the couch. “You sure?”
“Mmhhm,” you breathe, wrapping your legs around his hips, and your arms around his broad shoulders. He's so warm. You bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling the scents of fresh grass and humid summer air. “Where does it hurt today?”
He sighs, absently watching the sitcom on the TV from under heavy lashes. “Everywhere.”
You rest your chin on his shoulder. The laugh track plays quietly through your house just as the first raindrop hits your window pane.
Every time a storm rolls in, Steve gets this way.
His old wounds have long since healed by now, but under intense shifts of barometric pressure, they come back to haunt him, driving a gnawing, clamping ache into his body that whisks away his concentration and make it hard for him to breathe.
When the weather changes, he’ll say that bone in his nose aches, or that joint in his shoulder is killing him. But his side hurts the most. Those frayed nerve endings and hairline fractures in his ribs never got proper care thanks to his neglectful parents who never noticed their son was in pain.
Through the years, you’ve found a way to help him. Fill his mind with pleasure instead, and make him forget—even just for a minute.
So, your hands start to roam. Traversing him in that way only lovers do—those who know someone else’s body better than their own. Curling over his forearm, brushing the hair there with your thumb. Caressing the rough knuckles on his hands. Trailing the bulge of his bicep, his capped shoulder, until finally skimming up the side of his head to plunge your fingers into this hair.
Steve sinks further into you with a groan, but his shoulders tense when he hears you take a stuttering breath.
His hands fly to hold yours still on his body. “Shit, ‘m not crushing you, am I?"
You shake your head, lips trailing the vein in his neck. “Relax, Steve. Let me make you feel good.”
You hear him swallow hard, hesitating. Then, finally, his hands fall away from yours, giving them permission to drift down to his waistband. He helps you out, undoing the button on his khakis for you. You shift behind him and reach down further until your fingers brush his cock, already straining against his boxers.
Steve sighs, hips shifting as he chases your touch. “Baby, you know you don’t have to if you don’t wan—”
“I want to,” you say. “Let me fix it.”
His heavy palm comes down on your shin in his lap, warmth bleeding from his fingers. It’s a grounding, touch, not meant to stop you. Something to keep him centered while pleasure and pain war inside, threatening to pull him apart.
You brush your fingers across his hard length, earning a soft groan of approval. Weighing the velvet steel in your hand, you wrap your fingers around him and squeeze at the base, just how he likes it.
He curses, his head falling back against your shoulder just as thunder rolls in the distance. His lashes flutter shut, throat bared in the TV light, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
You stroke him slowly. Languidly. The pleasure glides through his veins like silk, stealing the bite from his wounds, relieving the teeth digging into his ribs, before pooling into a different kind of pressure low in his abdomen. One that’s dull, and drugging, and promises relief.
“Relax,” you whisper again against his ear.
Steve obeys, his body going a little more pliant. His thighs fall further apart, pinning you into the soft cushion. But his weight on you isn’t the only thing that steals the breath from your lungs. It’s the way he finds sanctuary in you. You love him like this. Open, and trusting, and wanting. Needing you, even when he’s in pain. Especially when he’s in pain.
Your hand falls into the tempo he needs without him having to ask. It’s still slow, but steadily grows harder, grabbing that thread of need from inside his hips and pulling it tight.
His back rises and falls with uneven breathes against your chest, but he stays still. He knows better than to buck up into your touch. If his hips lock up, your hand disappears. His shoulders tense, and your kisses stop.
He has to be relaxed, pliant, and totally at your mercy for this pain relief to work.
Outside, the sky darkens further, turning that mottly shade of blue. The one you’ve seen bloom on his body time and time again over the years. The rain starts to fall steadily, tinking and plunking onto the glass pane.
Your knuckles rasp against his pants as you touch him, your forearm catching on his shirt with every stroke, and when your tongue darts out for a taste of his salty skin, and you’re rewarded with a moan that sends heat licking up your spine.
He must really be hurting today. By this point, he’s usually trying to catch you by the ankle and pull you underneath him, pushing your legs apart and dragging his tongue through your pussy before you're done with him.
You shift underneath him, the heavy, slick weight of your arousal pooling in your panties, but you’ll deal with that later. Right now, you just want him pain free.
His cock jerks in your hand, precum smearing across your fingers as his hand squeezes your shin, the other grasping uselessly at the couch cushion beside him.
From this position—his head resting on your shoulder—you can only see the slope of his nose against the storm clouds, but his eyes are screwed shut, his brows furrowed even as little huffs leave his parted lips.
You drop a sweet, reassuring kiss to one of the moles on his face.
Steve’s always struggled with accepting care. It’s taken a long time to get him here.
Hooking your ankle around his knee, you pull your leg towards you and spread his thighs even wider so your other hand can crawl underneath his arm and disappear into his shirt.
He turns his head and trails his lips across your cheek, your jaw, until finally you turn and capture his mouth with yours. His tongue dips into your mouth as your hand travels over his ribs, his scars, with soothing, sure touches that have him groaning into the kiss.
But when his socks start to whisper against the carpeted floor as he tries to get leverage to shove his hips up into your touch, you break apart and pull your hand from his dick.
You’ve practiced edging Steve many times, so you don’t even have to say anything for him to get the picture.
“Just feels so good,” Steve groans. “Sorry, I—yeah.”
Rain pelts the window now, drowning out the distant laugh track on the TV, and Steve's heartbeat kicks up against your palm.
A hiss of pleasure escapes him when your touch resumes, but you tighten your grip, jerking him steadily until he swallows hard and relaxes again.
You press gentle, openmouthed kisses along the column of his neck, his curls brushing your ear as his sounds grow breathier and louder. And when his cock thickens in your hand, you know he’s close.
You bite your lip as his hips go stiff. Listening to him pant like this is really working you up. Finally, he groans, and jolts in your hold as hot ropes of come paint your knuckles.
You slow to a stop, still kissing his neck to bring him down, making sure he's utterly relaxed before slipping your hand free.
Steve tips his head back onto the couch and looks over at you, his eyes shining with love, but they darken swiftly as he watches your fingers disappear into your mouth, your pink tongue swirling around to catch every salty drop of him.
“You gonna let me take care of you, now?” he rasps, eyes on your mouth.
You smile softly. “Steve, you’re hurting—”
“Not anymore.”
His arm wraps around your waist, and then he shifts you lengthwise across the couch, his body following you down.
“You gave me my fix," he says, trailing a hand between your bodies, and your breath hitches as his long fingers disappear into your panties. “Now, let me give you yours.”
a/n: Woke up this morning to a thunderstorm and plans to write something completely different. But, when I put pen to paper, this is what happened instead. It's been a minute since I've written something completely new and not from my drafts, so I'm not complaining. (It’s probably also due to the fact that I'm still thinking about Steve and reader from Truce)
steve masterlist | banner from @cursed-carmine
steve taglist: @s3xytosomeone , @xoxocelestial , @another-widow , @calelundaa , @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, if you'd like to be added, comment here.
sypnosis: Gator Tillman is notorious for not knocking on the door before entering
pairing: Gator Tillman X (friend)fem!Reader
cw: lowkey perv!gator, female masturbation, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial?, subish gator
a/n: I hope you guys like this!! requests are open!!❤️
Gator Tillman is infamous for walking into rooms without knocking.
There had been plenty of times when Gator had “accidentally” walked in on you while you were changing. At first, you brushed it off as Gator being clueless. Still, as it kept happening, you started to get annoyed, telling him he needs to start knocking. After that, he started to knock, but as time went on, his progress of knocking decayed, and you just started to deem it as a regular thing.
One evening, you invited Gator over to watch a movie and get some takeout. You told him six, giving yourself some time to prepare. You cleaned your room, made your bed, and put away your clothes. But you finished early, leaving you with an hour until Gator was going to come over. Throughout cleaning, every time you thought about Gator, you felt this needy ache grow between your legs; you tried to ignore it, and now, with time left over, you felt yourself needing to relieve your needs, so you do. Thinking about Gator as you begin to remove your bra from under your shirt, then groping your breasts as your nipples harden at the sensation, causing soft wimpers to leave your mouth. Toying with your nipples long enough to get yourself dripping wet, you slip one of your hands into the waistband of your panties. Gathering the slick on your fingers, then rubbing your clit as you grope one of your boobs in the other, biting on your lower lip to muffle the pretty moans that are escaping your mouth, but it’s no use; you are so worked up and needy you can’t muffle your moans of pleasure. That's when the door swings open. You don’t hear it at first because you're so caught up in your pleasure, you can feel yourself nearing your end, and begin to rub your clit mercilessly, bucking your hips up and rolling your eyes back, letting Gator's name slip from your soft lips.
“Gator?!?” You shout, confused, seeing him lean against your bedroom entrance.
“Gator, get out!” You say, panicked, trying your best to cover yourself with your blanket.
“I’m sorry, what was that, sweetheart? Didn’t quite catch that.” He says in a smug tone as he licks his lips, striding confidently towards you. “Cuz I think I heard ya say my name more than once,” He says, looking down at your flushed face.
“You really need to learn how to knock,” You say in a bratty tone. “You weren’t supposed to be here for another hour; what are you doing here?” You huff, looking over at your alarm clock.
“Got off early and picked up your favorite,” He smirked, lifting the takeout bag.
“Whatever, just go set up in the living room, and I’ll be there in a second,” You say in a frustrated tone, sitting up with the sheet still wrapped around you. Gator didn’t move; he just stood leaning against your bedroom entrance with that dumb, smug smirk on his face. So you decide to shoo him away, locking the door behind him, dropping the sheet off your body once you hear his boots trail off and into your living room. You quickly toss your shirt back on and exit your room and into the living room to be met with Gator actually doing what you said; he plated the food onto some dishes and already had the movie chosen.
“Thanks,” You say softly, joining him on the couch.
“No problem, princess.” He smiles and turns on the movie, already digging into his food.
You pick at your food, barely paying attention to the movie on the screen, wondering how to bring up what just happened. Gator takes notice of this and speaks up.
“So you always moan my name when yer touchin yourself?” He says in an unfazed tone before taking another bite of his food.
The abruptness of his words causes you to choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” You choke out.
“I think it’s hot that you think about me when ya get yer self off,” He says, shooting you a wink and a smirk.
You were at a loss for words; you wished the floor would just cave in and eat you at his point.
“I-I do not think about you when I’m doing that.” You lie horribly.
“Really?” He says, turning to look at your face that has clearly grown flustered from his words. “So I guess I must have misheard you whining my name then.”
“Probably, I mean you're so self-absorbed, you think everything is about you.” You shoot back in a witty tone.
“Sweetheart, I know what I heard.” He says in a more possessive tone now, looking at you with lustful eyes. “Now, I’m gonna ask ya one more time: do you think about me when yer getting yourself off?” He says in a steady voice, his eyes trailing your face to observe you further.
You look down at the couch to hide your embarrassment and answer softly, “Sometimes.”
“Say that one more time for me, baby.” He says, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.
“Sometimes”
“Tell me what you think about?” He says, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.
“I just think about you, the way you do things for me without asking, how good you look in your uniform.” You smile, grabbing onto his hand on your cheek and removing it, bringing your face closer to his. “Do you think about me?” You ask, your lips brushing against his.
“Shit, baby, all the time.”
You smile at his answer and give him a soft peck, pulling away to see his reaction. He pulls you back instantly, running his hands through your hair, gripping your neck lightly, and pulling you into his lap.
You break the kiss for a second and just cup his face with your hands, looking at him with admiration. “You still owe me,” You say before kissing along his jawline.
“For what?”
“I didn’t get to come earlier.” You say into his ear, nipping at it. “You ruined it.” You pull away, looking at him with a fake pout.
“Poor baby, let me make it up to you,” He says, pulling you back in for a kiss and gripping your waist.
You roll against the growing bulge in his pants as the kisses become more sloppy and heated, until you both are gasping for air. You break the kiss, panting. You snake your hand down to Gator's belt and begin to work it off eagerly as you look up at him, your eyes full of desire. You push down his pants and his boxers in one go; your eyes widen at Gator’s impressive length and girth. You look up at him only to be met with his dumb, smug smile he always has on his face. You spit a little in your hand and begin to work your hand up and down his length, his tip oozing with pre-cum.
“Fuck, baby,” He groans, bucking his hips up into your hands. You continue to jerk him off until you can tell he is reaching his end, and pull away your hand.
“What’d you do that for?” He pants, with a slight undertone of frustration.
“You don’t get to come until I say so,” You say, standing up and stripping off your clothes. He looks at you, watching your movements with predatory intensity.
You sit back on his lap and align his girthy, sensitive tip with your dripping pussy. You sink painfully slow, clawing at his shoulders as you do so, adjusting to his cock. Once you sink slowly, you begin to move your hips up and slam down hard onto his cock, moaning each time. Every time you do this, Gator lets out a helpless whimper as your pace grows faster.
“ ‘m p-please let me come,” He begs hopelessly, squeezing the flesh on your waist intensely.
“Not until I say so; you did ruin my orgasm earlier, didn’t you?” You say, grabbing his jaw tightly. “Didn’t you?” You ask again, your grasp on his jaw growing stronger.
“Y-yes, yes I did, I’m sorry,” He pants.
“You can come once I come, okay baby,” You say in a cynical tone, placing a kiss on his flushed, plump lips.
You fuck yourself harder on Gator's cock, moaning each time his tip hits your spongy walls.
“Fuck Gator,” You moan out, as you feel yourself reaching your peak. “Your cock is so big, filling me up so good.” You pant as your rhythm is now gone and you’re now fucking yourself faster to reach your orgasm.
“S-shit” You yelp as your pussy flutters around his cock. Your ears begin to ring, and your vision goes white, at the similtaniously, Gator comes, filling your cunt with his hot seed.
You lie your head on his chest, and his head drops to the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses along your neck and stroking your hair as you both come down from your high. You turn his face to meet his and kiss him passionately as his cock begins to soften inside your cunt.
“Think I need to start walking in on you more often.” He laughs against your lips. “Let me get up and clean you so we can eat,” He says, placing soft smacks against your ass. You begin to sit up, whincing at the loss of him as his cum drips out of your cunt. You lie back on the couch as he gets up and returns with a damp washcloth, cleaning his and your spend from your thighs and your pussy. He carefully helps you get redressed, then pulls himself together. After you sit back on the couch, curled in his arms, picking out a new movie and continuing to eat the food you abandoned.
“It’s cold now.” You frown as you chew on your food. “You owe me new food,” You joke as you continue to eat your food and watch the movie, playing with his hand in your lap.
“I’ll get you anything you want; you just say it, and you've got it.” He smiles as he takes a bite from his food.
Summary: Your Deputy boyfriend Gator Tillman keeps seeing constant Tumblr notifications on your phone. One night while you’re distracted, he sneaks a look and discovers your very popular (and very explicit) deputy x reader blog complete with dozens of filthy fics. Shocked but ridiculously turned on by how nasty your little Tumblr community actually is, Gator decides to show you exactly how much he appreciates your “research.”
Word count: 1.4K
Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, uniform kink, Gator being a smug little shit
A/N: this one is for all my fellow writers girlies, love ya
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Gator Tillman had been dating you for almost four months now, and he still couldn’t figure out half the shit that lived inside your phone. You kept it face-down on the counter most nights, or tucked in your back pocket when you were over at his place but those little buzzes kept catching his eye.
Notifications from “tumblr.”
What the fuck is Tumblr? he thought the first dozen times. Sounded like some kinda app for artsy kids or book nerds. He figured it was one of those social media things girls used to post pictures of coffee and sunsets. No big deal. You were allowed your hobbies. Hell, he spent half his free time scrolling through truck mods and dumb memes on his own phone.
But the notifications kept coming. Dozens a day sometimes. Little red bubbles popping up with usernames he didn’t recognize and snippets of text that cut off too quick to read. One night, after you’d both crashed on his couch watching some old action flick, you got up to grab a drink from the kitchen. Your phone was right there on the coffee table, screen lighting up again.
tumblr: someone just reblogged your post…
Gator glanced toward the kitchen. You were still rummaging in the fridge, humming under your breath. He wasn’t proud of it, but curiosity won. He snatched the phone quick, your passcode was your birthday, easy enough and swiped open the notification.
The app loaded. Black background, weird white text, a dashboard full of posts. His thumb scrolled before he could talk himself out of it.
At first it was just pictures: aesthetic shit, some fandom stuff he didn’t recognize, a lot of quotes about mental health and “touch grass.” Then he hit your blog. Your username was something cute and random: @deputywhore with a little badge icon. Profile pic was you smiling in the snow, the one he’d taken last winter.
He scrolled faster.
Reblogs. Comments. A whole feed of you interacting with other users. Hearts, fire emojis, long strings of keysmashes. Then he saw the tags.
#deputy x reader
His stomach did a weird flip. Reader? Like, fanfiction reader?
He tapped one of the posts. It was a reblog of something you’d written.
The title: “Patrol Car Confessions – Deputy x Female Reader (18+)”
Below it, your writing started:
The cruiser smelled like pine air freshener and gun oil. Deputy’s hand was heavy on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. “You’ve been teasing me all shift, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel. “Think you can get away with that?”
Gator’s eyes widened. He kept reading.
You bit your lip, spreading your legs wider in the passenger seat. “Maybe I want you to do something about it, Deputy.” His belt buckle clinked as he freed himself, thick and hard and already leaking. He didn’t bother with niceties just shoved your panties aside and thrust in deep, one hand clamped over your mouth so no one outside would hear you moan his name.
Jesus Christ.
He scrolled down further. There were dozens. Some were short drabbles, quick and dirty: Deputy eating you out in the station bathroom, Deputy bending you over the hood of the cruiser at 2 a.m., Deputy tying your wrists with his handcuffs while he fucked you slow and mean. Others were longer, almost story-like, with plot and feelings mixed in with the filth. You wrote about him being possessive, jealous, a little pathetic underneath the tough-guy act. You wrote him begging. You wrote him making you squirt. You wrote him calling you “good girl” while he came inside you raw.
And the comments. Holy shit, the comments.
“OP I’m deceased this is so in character”
“the way you write Deputy’s dirty talk… ma’am I’m on my knees”
“more breeding kink pls the community is starving”
“girl you’re feeding us SO well, this is why you’re the queen of deputy x reader”
There were hundreds of notes on some posts. Reblogs from blogs with names like @deputygirl69, @deputythirst, @deputywhorehours. People tagging their friends: “@mutual read this and tell me you don’t need him to ruin you.” Kudos. Asks in your inbox begging for continuations, headcanons, “what would Deputy do if he caught you touching yourself thinking about him?”
Gator sat there frozen, thumb hovering. His face felt hot. His dick twitched in his jeans, traitor that it was.
He heard the fridge door close. Footsteps. He barely had time to lock the phone and drop it back on the table before you walked back in with two beers.
“You okay?” you asked, handing him one. “You look kinda… flushed.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, taking a long swig. “Just… hot in here.”
You settled beside him again, legs tucked under you, completely unaware. Gator stared at the TV without seeing it. His brain was spinning.
All this time he thought he was the nasty one in the relationship. He’d whisper filthy shit in your ear while he was balls-deep, call you his little slut, smack your ass hard enough to leave handprints. You’d moan and take it and give it right back, but he always figured girls had a limit. That deep down they wanted the romance novel version, flowers and slow missionary with eye contact.
Apparently not.
Apparently you and a whole army of other girls on that weird blue app were writing shit that made his own dirty thoughts look tame. Breeding kinks. CNC. Somno. Public risk. Him degrading you one paragraph and worshiping you the next. And they ate it up. Thousands of likes. Girls thirsting openly in the comments, talking about how they’d let “Deputy” do whatever he wanted, how they’d drop to their knees in the snow if he snapped his fingers.
He stole glances at you for the rest of the night. You looked so normal. Sweet smile, soft laugh when something funny happened on screen, head on his shoulder like always. But now he knew there was this whole other world in your head. A version of him that was cocky and cruel and tender all at once, a version you shared with strangers who got off on it.
Later, when you were both in bed, lights off, your breathing slow and even, Gator lay awake staring at the ceiling. His hand rested on your hip under the covers. You shifted closer in your sleep, pressing your ass back against him.
He was hard again just thinking about it.
The next morning he waited until you went to shower. Then he grabbed your phone again, guilt twisting in his gut but not enough to stop him and went straight back to Tumblr.
He read more. A lot more.
One fic had him pulling you over for “speeding” on a back road, then fucking you against the trunk while the lights flashed. Another had him coming home after a bad day with Roy, crawling between your thighs and eating you out for hours like it was the only thing that could fix him. There was even one where you wrote him as a little pathetic, whining when you edged him, tears in his eyes while you rode him slow and told him he was a “good boy” for once.
He snorted softly at that one. Yeah, right. Like that’d ever happen.
But the comments… girls losing their minds over it. “The vulnerability mixed with the filth is chef’s kiss” “I need a Deputy who cries when he cums, I don’t make the rules.”
Gator rubbed a hand over his face. He felt… thrown. Not mad. Not even really embarrassed for you. More like his whole view of what girls wanted had cracked open. He’d grown up around guys who talked big, locker room shit, bragging about conquests, calling women names behind their backs. He did it too sometimes, when he was trying to fit in with the other deputies.
But this? This was next level. Women writing whole essays about wanting to be manhandled, degraded, praised, filled up, marked, claimed. And doing it publicly, with usernames and avatars and little heart emojis. Supporting each other. Hyping each other up. Building a whole community around wanting to get absolutely railed by a fictionalized version of him.
He found your masterlist. Over thirty fics, all tagged #deputy x reader. Some had warnings: dubcon, knife play, daddy kink (that one made him raise an eyebrow, Roy would have a stroke). Others were soft: aftercare, cuddling, him whispering “I love you” while he was still inside you.
You had a little bio at the top: “27 | she/her | writing filthy deputy dreams in the frozen north | minnesota girl in ND | asks open for thots & requests”
And a pinned post: “thanks for 5k followers!! you guys are the horniest, sweetest bunch. keep sending me your nasty little ideas, I live for them.”
Five thousand followers. For writing about him. Or at least a version of him.
Gator set the phone down when he heard the shower turn off. He was still half-hard, brain buzzing.
When you came out in one of his old t-shirts, hair damp, he couldn’t help himself.
“Hey,” he said, voice casual even though it wasn’t. “What’s Tumblr?”
You froze mid-step, eyes widening a fraction. “Uh… why?”
He shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. “Saw notifications on your phone. Looked like you got a lot of ’em.”
You laughed nervously, climbing onto the bed. “It’s just… a blogging site. For fandom stuff. Memes. Writing. Whatever.”
“Writing, huh?” He smirked, but there was heat in it. “Like stories?”
Your face went pink. “Maybe.”
“Stories about me?”
The color drained then flooded back. “Gator—”
“I read some,” he admitted, no shame now. “When you were in the kitchen last night. And again this morning.”
You stared at him, mouth open. “You… went through my Tumblr?”
“Yep.” He reached over and tugged you closer until you were straddling his lap. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs stroking. “Found your whole deputy x reader collection. Real popular, baby. Five thousand people following you just to read about me fucking you in the cruiser.”
“Oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled your hands away gently, forcing you to look at him. His voice dropped lower. “Kinda hot, actually. All those girls out there reading your nasty little stories. Getting wet over the same shit I do to you every night.”
You bit your lip, squirming on his lap. He could feel you getting warm through the thin fabric of your panties.
“I didn’t think you’d ever see it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… fun. Fantasy. They’re all so supportive and it’s a whole community of girls who like the same stuff. It’s not like real life.”
“Some of it’s pretty close to real life,” he pointed out, grinning. One hand slid up under the t-shirt to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple. “The way you wrote me talking dirty? Spot on. And that one where I bend you over the hood? We did that two weeks ago.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well… inspiration strikes.”
Gator’s other hand gripped your hip, rocking you slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. “What threw me is how freaky y’all are. I always figured guys were the nasty ones. Talking shit in the locker room, watching porn, whatever. But reading those comments… girls are out here begging for breeding kinks and handcuff play and wanting me to call them my little cumslut while I’m still in uniform.”
Your breath hitched. “We’re not all like that. It’s just fantasy.”
“Bullshit,” he said softly, leaning up to kiss your jaw. “You wrote it. You get off on it. And so do thousands of other girls. Makes me wonder what else is in that pretty head of yours that you haven’t told me yet.”
He flipped you suddenly, pinning you to the mattress with his body. You gasped, legs wrapping around him instinctively.
“So,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing skin, “you gonna show me the rest of your blog? Or do I gotta keep sneaking your phone when you’re not looking?”
You moaned softly as he ground against you. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole deputy.” He kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “And apparently the star of your horny little fan club.”
Later, after he’d fucked you slow and deep while making you read one of your own fics out loud, voice breaking every time he hit that spot. He lay beside you, both of you sweaty and satisfied.
“You really not mad?” you asked quietly, tracing patterns on his chest.
“Nah.” He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Kinda proud, actually. My girl’s out there writing smut that gets thousands of notes. And learning that women are just as filthy as men? Eye-opening.”
You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder. “Welcome to Tumblr, Deputy.”
Gator grinned into your hair. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna need my own account. Gotta keep up with all the competition.”
You swatted his chest, but you were smiling.
He didn’t tell you that part of him wanted to read every single thing you’d ever written about him. That another part wanted to live up to the version of him you’d created: cocky, rough, devoted, a little broken. That knowing you fantasized about him like that, shared it with the world, made him feel wanted in a way his father’s approval never could.
For the first time in a long time, Gator Tillman felt like he might actually be a winner at something.
Even if it was just being the hottest fictional deputy on some weird app full of horny girls.
summary: during a summer of heatwaves, arguing, and a chance encounter with your high school bully, your least favorite coworker ends up being your biggest supporter. in more ways than one...
wc: 17.5k (promised you guys a long one)
cw: coworkers to enemies to friends to lovers, curvy!reader, bisexual!reader, good ally (but slightly oblivious) steve, slight homophobia, talks of queerbaiting and bisexual fetishization, college burnout, feelings of inadequacy from both parties, TENSION, slowburn, maybe too many inner thoughts about steve in that slutty little uniform, making out, dirty talk, teasing, body insecurity (on both parts tbh), oral (f recieving), bigdick!steve, grabbing that mans ass because we need more of it, p in v sex, fluffy ending, cuddling
love notes: yet another long curvy!reader x steve harrington fic because i love him so very much. off the bat i want to make it clear that this reader is bisexual and its a large part of the story. i've always dealt with a lot of these struggles as a hyperfemme curvy queer woman and this was really cathartic to write about. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it, even though it took me forever. i'll just say half the reason is because sometimes its hard to think about writing when you have to picture him in those stupid little shorts... (⸝⸝♡﹏♡⸝⸝)
(also, not a face reveal but the photo on the banner is me in my Robin cosplay since pinterest was a failure on finding anyone curvy in the scoops cosplay. when in doubt, be self indulgent i guess!)
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A small bead of sweat started to roll from Steve's forehead to his brow as he slumped into one of the backroom chairs. He could see you grimace as he wiped it away with that stupid hat before dropping it on the table.
"What?" his exasperated tone was laced with heat exhaustion, "Am I not allowed to sweat in front of you?"
"No, by all means, sweat all you want," your fingers twitched around the straw in your drink, the plastic crinkling under the pressure, "Just try to get more on your uniform. It adds to the… aesthetic."
He rolled his eyes in that bitchy way you'd come to almost admire.
"Yeah well maybe if I get sweat stains all over the hat, I won't be forced to wear it anymore."
You give a fake pout after taking another sip. "And the heats already ruining that perfect hair, your life is so difficult."
He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand, the blue of his uniform making his hazel eyes look impossibly more brown, "You have no idea."
The door swung open, letting in a blast of mall air that did little to cool the room.
"Eugh!" Robin practically wretched from the doorway. "Can you guys get rid of that rancid trash? I'm pretty sure there's kiddie puke in there and the heat is not helping."
It was true. The break room smelled horrendous. The freezers and the sale floor were cold to protect the product, but back here was a stuffy, sticky coffin of recycled air.
One of the mall's maintenance guys was supposed to fix it this morning but he hadn't been back yet. And to be honest, he looked a little sketch. No tools, very short sentences, and a vaguely Russian accent.
"It's your turn, Buckley," Steve grumbled without moving.
"Nuh-uh. I did it yesterday. You two can duke it out but it's not gonna be me."
The swinging door to the shop floor shut behind her and she was gone.
Great.
You didn't even need to look at him to know he had that stupid, lazy grin on his face.
"You two can duke it out," he mimicked in a higher pitch, still slumped in the chair, clearly having no intention of moving.
"Look, there's two bags already, we can each just take one. For once this summer, I don't have the energy to argue with you. I'm sweating from way too many places I'd rather not be, I think my deodorant gave up hours ago, and my drink is already mostly water."
With a dramatic sigh, you pushed yourself up from the chair, the red vinyl sticking to the back of your thighs with an embarrassing noise. Steve watched, an unreadable expression on his face, as you went to the corner by the door where the offending bags sat.
"What?" you echoed his earlier tone. "I can't help it if the shorts don't come in a bigger size."
You yanked one of the black plastic bags from the pile, and Steve finally stood up. The shorts they had you wear were ridiculous on your frame, a size too small, digging into your hips and thighs. Usually you didn't care, but today, with the heat melting everything in the mall to a sticky pulp, you felt like you were suffocating.
"Trust me, I'm not looking," Steve said. But he was.
He grabbed the other bag, his arm brushing yours. The contact lasted less than a second, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the oppressive heat. You blamed it on static, on the friction of the plastic bags, anything other than some pretty boy in a sailor suit. He was the antithesis of everything you were supposed to like.
You made it to the employee entrance at the back of the mall, near the loading docks. The heavy metal door groaned open, and a blast of real, unconditioned air hit you.
The groan Steve let out was dramatic, even for this heat. "It's worse out here."
You couldn't argue. The air smelled of hot asphalt and distant trash. The sun beat down on the concrete as you trudged toward the giant green dumpster, the plastic bag scraping against the pavement.
"Let's just get this over with," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.
Steve tossed his bag in with a lazy heave. It landed with a sickeningly wet thud. You did the same. As you turned to go back inside, you tripped over a deep crack in the pavement.
"Fuck!" you grunted out, turning to take a look at your knee, which was now stinging and bleeding. You ripped your knee away from the searing concrete and inspected the damage.
A deep scrape, a little bloody but more dirt and grime than anything else. You huffed out a frustrated breath, your already frayed patience wearing even thinner. You lay back on the hot pavement, one knee propped up, and awaited the sweet release of heat induced death.
"Looks like someone hasn't gotten her sea legs." Steve stood over you, blocking the sun in his eyes with his hand, the other settled on his hip. "Oh, shit, that actually looks bad..."
"Brilliant observation, Captain." you snapped, the pain making you sharper than usual.
He crouched down, the shorts stretched tight across his thighs. This uniform was truly ridiculous, but the way it fit him was… infuriating. Being near eye level with his crotch was not helping matters.
"You're bleeding," he said, his voice softer now. He reached out as if to touch your knee, then thought better of it, letting his hand hover for a moment before dropping it.
"Again with the astute observations. You missed your calling, Harrington. Should've been a detective."
"C'mon." he rolled his eyes again, extending a hand to help you up. "Let's get you back to the break room. We've got a first aid kit in the stockroom. I'm pretty sure I saw it when I was looking for places to hide the day they made us film that embarrassing commercial."
You ignored his hand and pushed yourself up, your palm stinging on the hot pavement. He gave you a raised eyebrow and you sighed before reluctantly taking his help. His grip was firm and warmer than you expected. You tried to pull away as soon as you were standing, but he held on for a beat too long, steering you toward the door.
The break room was still a sauna, but at least it wasn't the blazing sun. He sat you down in the same chair you'd vacated earlier and rummaged through a cabinet, finally emerging with a white plastic box with a red cross on it.
"Alright, tough guy," he said, kneeling in front of you. "Let's clean this up."
"I can do it myself." You protested, but he was already wordlessly cleaning the wound.
He was really good at this, you thought. Much more than you expected someone like him to be.
"What, did you patch people up after you and your jock friends threw them against lockers or something?"
It was an unnecessary jab, but you needed to say something to break the otherwise tender moment.
He looked up at you with an almost hurt expression as he ripped the gauze packet open with his teeth. The motion was quick and efficient.
"Yeah, that was me," he said, not looking at you, focusing on cleaning the scrape with an antiseptic wipe. "King Steve. Got the T-shirt and everything."
He sounded so bitter, like the name tasted wrong coming from his lips.
"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling a pang of something you didn't want to name. "That was..."
"Forget it," he cut you off, but his touch gentled even more. "People are allowed to think I'm an asshole. I was an asshole."
You stayed quiet as watched him gently pressed the fabric to the cleaned wound, noticing how such big hands could be so precise. How someone who you knew could be a clumsy, arrogant moron could now have a look of intense focus.
He's quiet for a long moment, before glancing up at you again. "Had my ass kicked more than a few times. You learn a few things. Like how to clean a scrape."
There was something more there, something in the way he said it that you couldn't quite place. He wasn't talking about a simple schoolyard scuffle. But you didn't have the energy to press.
"Well if they didn't build this mall so fast maybe all the pavement wouldn't be cracking..." you muttered, both embarrassed by your fall and desperate to move on from an impending heavier topic.
He lets out a short, amused breath of air and he's taping a fresh piece of gauze over your knee. He's so close you can smell him, a clean scent of soap and a tinge of sweat. It's a musky, surprisingly comforting smell that has no right to be this intoxicating.
"All done, think you'll survive."
He pats your good knee and sits back on his heels, surveying his work before looking up at you, as if asking with his eyes if there's anything else you may need.
It was a cruel joke seeing him like that, practically on his knees in front of you. His hair was sunkissed, brushed slightly more away from his forehead. His eyes were unfairly puppy dog-ish and you swore he had to actively put balm on his lips with how pouty and shiny they always looked.
Steve was pretty, and you hated it. You hated how easy he was to look at.
"Guess I'll have to." You push the chair back and stand. "Thanks, I guess. For the medical attention and not, you know, leaving me to die out there."
"Yeah, well, Buckley would have my head if I came back without you." He stands too, his height suddenly imposing in the small space. "Can't have you bleeding out on my watch. Bad for business."
He walked over to grab his hat and did a little trick where he flipped it onto his head. You tried to look unimpressed, but a ghost of a smile tugged at your lips.
"C'mon, Harrington, don't flatter yourself. My death would probably improve sales."
His laugh was real this time. "I disagree. We'd have far less preteen boys trying to order extra scoops just to get you to lean over the counter."
You paused, your hand on the panel of the swinging door. That was… new. A warmth that had nothing to do with the weather spread through your chest. You risked a glance back at him.
He looked as if he was surprised at himself, too. He was leaning against the table again, trying to regain that careless facade, but something had shifted. You saw it in the slight tension in his shoulders, in the way he couldn't quite meet your eye for a second.
"The shirt." he gestured, clearing his throat. "It's, y'know, tight."
Any hint of flirtatious energy inside you evaporated at that. You were suddenly acutely aware of the way the company mandated top stretched across your stomach and chest. The casual, almost clinical observation stung more than any deliberate insult could have.
Steve could practically feel an icy chill when you wordlessly pushed through the door and it had nothing to do with the AC from the sales floor.
"Shit..." he muttered to himself, relaxing against the table with a deep sigh, running a hand down his face. He knew that look. He had said the wrong thing. Again.
The rest of your shift was a special kind of hell. The soft serve machine seemed determined to only dispense melted soup, the toppings station was a sticky mess that no amount of wiping could fix, and the endless loop of corporate-approved pop hits drilled directly into your skull. Every interaction felt like a performance. Your smile for the customers was a brittle mask, your sarcastic remarks to Robin were forced and thin.
"Are you good?" she asked when it was close to closing and the Friday rush had died down.
"Yeah. Fine."
Your words were short as you marked your clipboard for the nightly inventory.
"Okay... well you're practically putting your pen through the paper there..." She gestured with her scoop, "and you haven't made a single joke about the mall cop that looks like Tom Selleck if he was raised by wolves."
You glanced at the man leaning against one of the columns outside the store, sporting a truly glorious yet questionable mustache. You shrugged and went back to your clipboard.
You could feel her looking at you before letting out a dramatic sigh and going back to her duties.
Steve didn't try to talk to you. He worked with a quiet efficiency, wiping counters, restocking syrups, avoiding your line of sight.
Eventually Robin shut the gate and you counted the money in the till.
"You missed a twenty."
It comes from over your shoulder, not in a malicious way, but a simple statement of fact. The fact that it was his voice though, that made you clench your jaw.
"No I didn't." Your reply was clipped.
"Yeah, you did. It's stuck to the back of the tray." He reached over you, not quite touching you, but close enough that the scent of him - that faint musk- washed over you again.
His thumb brushed the bill loose from its hiding place. He set it on top of the stack without another word and turned to wipe down a spotless display case.
The silent ride home with Robin was just as bad. Your hands gripped the wheels a little too hard.
"He's not that bad." Robin finally said from your passenger seat.
"Who? Tom Selleck wolf-cop? No, I think he's probably a pillar of the community." The sarcasm was so thick it was nearly solid. You knew exactly who she meant.
"No, Steve."
You sighed, letting your shoulders slump as you pulled into her driveway.
"I mean, he's a total dingus, sure, but he's not malicious, you know?" She was unbuckling her seatbelt, gathering her bag. "He's just… post-prime Steve Harrington. He's still figuring out the new manual."
"It's weird of you to defend him."
"It's weird of you to get your panties in a twist over a stupid sailor boy." She shot back with a grin, hopping out and leaning back in through the open window. "Look, all I'm saying is... don't take whatever dumb shit he says to heart. He's probably just scared of your... you-ness."
You raised an eyebrow.
"Anyway," she said with a yawn. "I have the morning shift tomorrow so I need sleep."
"Wait... you're not closing on a Saturday?"
"Nope. You're on your own with Captain Hair Care." She wiggled her fingers in a wave. "Don't let him get under your skin."
She was gone before you could formulate a decent comeback, a skip in her step as she trotted toward her front door. You watched until she was inside, the porch light flicking on. Alone with the quiet hum of your car's engine, you leaned your forehead against the steering wheel.
Robin's words bounced around your head. Scared of what? Your tendency to swear like a sailor? Your less-than-perfect figure in a ridiculous uniform? Your ability to form complete sentences without the word 'like'? The thought of the former King of Hawkins High being intimidated by you was so absurd it was almost funny.
But it was the last thing she said that stuck. Don't let him get under your skin.
Too late. He was already there, a low-grade fever you couldn't sweat out, even in this miserable heat. The image of him kneeling in front of you, his focused expression, the gentle pressure of his fingers on your knee... It played on a loop behind your eyelids.
Right next to all the annoying shit. Forgetting to restock the cherries. Leaving sticky rings on the counter. The way he tried to charm every mom who came to the counter. And that comment. The clinical, almost detached observation about your shirt being tight.
He was under your skin alright, like a parasite.
Saturday afternoon arrived with the subtlety of a jackhammer. The heat was worse. It shimmered off the asphalt in visible waves, ready to fry an egg or melt your skin off.
You walked into Scoops Ahoy at 1:59 PM, a minute before your shift. The blast of frigid air of the mall was a welcome shock. When you clocked in, Steve was already behind the counter, wiping down the surface that was already immaculate.
"It's been surprisingly dead for a Saturday," he said without looking up, breaking the silence. He sounded tired. "Guess everyone's at the pool."
"Smart people are at the pool," you mumbled, tying on your own ridiculous apron. The uniform felt like a punishment, the fabric scratching at your already overheated skin.
Robin popped out from the back, changed in some normal summer clothes.
"Lemme guess," you sigh. "The pool."
"Right you are my fellow corporate slave! Some of the band kids are getting together, and I cannot miss an opportunity to make fun of Brad Johnson's new haircut." she beamed. "You two have fun. Don't burn the place down."
She gave you a pointed look, then one at Steve, before she disappeared out the front with a jaunty little wave.
"I would give anything to have the morning shift right now," you grumbled to no one in particular.
"You and me both," Steve sighed, finally looking up at you. "I could be at the pool right now, seeing how the summer is treating the female population of Hawkins."
A familiar irritation sparked in your chest.
Of course.
That's where he'd be. Scoping out chicks in bikinis. The thought made your stomach clench for a reason you refused to examine.
Instead, you grabbed a rag and started wiping down the already clean topping bar.
"I already did that..." he started.
"Don't you have a pool of your own?" your voice came out judgey and sharp, but you didn't look at him.
"Uh, yeah... I do. But it's no fun by yourself." He gestured vaguely with the rag.
"I'm sure you have a rolodex of numbers you could call."
There. The perfect jab. Annoying, bordering on cruel, and it would hopefully shut him up for a few hours.
"Right," a bitter, short little laugh escaped him. "Look, could you just... not do that?"
"Do what?"
"That thing you do. Where you act like you know everything about me."
Your hands stilled on the counter.
"I don't. I'm just making conversation based on the public record."
"Look, I know what my 'public record' is, alright?" His voice wasn't angry, just... weary. "You've made it pretty clear you think I'm some shallow, womanizing douchebag. But maybe..."
He trailed off, tossing the rag into the sink behind the counter with a wet slap.
"You know what? Never mind."
The silence that followed was thick as the hot fudge congealed in the drip tray.
A few hours went by and the after dinner rush finally slowed.
You managed to have a civil, albeit short, conversation about the best Muppet. You argued for Animal, obviously. He was a Kermit man through and through. It was the most you'd talked to him without the conversation taking a sharp, veiled turn.
As the night progressed, just a few hours left of your shift left, you both found yourselves people watching in between customers.
"Oh shit, that's Stacey Carmichael," Steve said, a little too loud, a spark of that old King Steve charm suddenly igniting. He instinctively ran a hand through his hair. It was a reflex. "She, uh, she used to be a cheerleader."
You rolled your eyes as you watched the tall, gorgeous blonde talking with a group of other equally gorgeous girls in the food court.
"Yeah, I'm aware. She was in my class."
"Oh shit... yeah you were a couple years ahead, right?" he looked at you with genuine curiosity, which somehow was more annoying.
"A gap year and then the failed college stint," you said, quoting the air with your fingers. "I was supposed to be a sophomore this year."
"So what happened? If you don't mind me asking..."
"Another gap year." was all you offered. You didn't want to get into the messy details of your spectacular failure. Of the crippling anxiety and the pressure of it all. How you'd locked yourself in your dorm room for three days before finally calling your parents in tears to come get you.
He seemed to understand this was a door you didn't want to open. He nodded, his eyes drifting back to Stacey, who was now laughing at something her friend said, a bright sound that carried across the food court.
"She turned me down for prom, you know," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Her prom. My sophomore year. I was so sure I had it in the bag. I'd just gotten my car."
"And already going for senior girls, huh?" you couldn't help but poke, a genuine, small smile gracing your lips. "A real legacy player."
He flushed, a deep pink creeping up his neck. "Shut up. She was... mature. For her age." He winced at how that sounded.
"Code for: she had boobs and long legs. Still does." you summarized, taking a sip of the soda you'd poured yourself a while ago.
"Yeah, well," he leaned against the counter, mirroring your posture. "She's still pretty."
"So go talk to her." The words were out before you could stop them. "You're a changed man now and all."
He looked at you like you'd just suggested he go wrestle a bear. "No way. Not now. Not... not here."
"Why not? She'd probably still swoon for the old Harrington charm."
"I'm in a sailor suit," he deadpanned, gesturing down at himself with a look of utter revulsion. "The magic's kind of gone when you're asking for their order of banana splits instead of asking them to dance."
You had to stifle a laugh.
"Girls aren't that complicated. If she's still shallow like she was in school, she already peaked anyway."
"You really think that?" He looked at you, and for a moment, the usual smirk was gone, replaced by a genuine, searching expression. "That people just... peak?"
"I think some people do," you said quietly, your gaze drifting to Stacey's group again. "She once asked me in English class if my hair was a 'political statement'. So, yeah. I think her peak was probably getting crowned queen of the winter formal."
The corner of Steve's mouth twitched.
"You had that pink streak in the front, right? That was cool."
Your eyes snapped back to his. Cool?
Coming from him, that felt like a betrayal of the natural order.
"Principal Higgins would disagree. He called it a 'deliberate act of insubordination' and threatened to suspend me if I didn't wash it out."
"He was a dick," Steve said with surprising vehemence. "He gave me detention once for a week when Mrs. Click caught me and Tommy H. trying to see how many pencils we could fit in the ceiling tiles."
You made a disgusted look at the mention of Tommy Hagan. That was a name you could have happily gone the rest of your life without hearing again.
"You were a child of privilege, Steve," you said, your tone light but sharp, trying to steer the conversation back to safer, more familiar territory.
He picked up a stray cherry that had rolled onto the counter and popped it into his mouth. The way his lips closed around the small red fruit was distractingly... something. "I think I was a bored little shit with too much time on my hands. There's a difference."
Seriously, why were his lips so—
"And now you're a bored little shit in a sailor suit," you shot back, grabbing the cherry stem from his fingers and throwing it in the trash. Your fingers brushed his lips only just slightly. A current ran up your arm that you blamed on the static from the stupid poly-blend uniform.
You turned back to see Stacey and her friends heading to the ice cream parlor.
"And, sailor, here's your cue."
You leaned against the back counter, a gesture that forced Steve to take the lead and serve them. He straightened up immediately, that lazy, charming smile sliding into place like a well-worn mask. He was good at it, you had to give him that.
"Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, ladies. What's your pleasure?"
Stacey giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Steve Harrington? I haven't seen you in ages. You work here?"
"Just for the summer," he said with a casual shrug that was anything but. "Living the dream. So, what can I get for you? On the house, for old times' sake."
Her friends tittered. You rolled your eyes so hard you were worried they'd get stuck.
You busied yourself with wiping down yet another spot on the counter that was already perfectly clean, trying to ignore the easy way he worked them.
You heard that sickeningly sweet voice say your name and you looked up at Stacey. Her perfect pink lip curled a little as she looked at you. "You're still doing... this?" She gestured vaguely, an all-encompassing wave that clearly meant your entire existence— your curvy frame in the too-tight uniform, the dark eyeliner that was slightly smudged at the end of the day, your complete lack of interest in her conversation.
A hot prickle of shame and anger started at the back of your neck. Until you looked up at her and noticed a familiar tell you'd only seen from a few girls in your college.
It was less judgmental curiosity and more... interest.
You held her gaze and gave her a slow, deliberate smile before leaning over the counter. You knew exactly what this did to the uniform top.
"Yep. But now I have a deep and abiding passion for corporate-mandated polyester and the art of the perfect swirl," you said, your voice dripping with mock sincerity, giving her exactly the right amount of sarcasm and confidence.
To your left, you heard the soft clink of a metal scoop hitting a ceramic bowl.
Steve had stopped.
Stacey's perfectly composed mask wavered for a second, a flicker of... something in her eyes.
"Oh. Well. Good for you," she said, her smile becoming more genuine.
Steve, bless him, was clueless. He made an attempt to steer Stacy's attention back to him. As if he was doing you a favor. Getting you away from her taunting.
"Alright ladies..." he started, trying to regain control of the situation, but he didn't understand.
You already had it.
Stacey's friends lost interest and started ordering their sundaes.
While Steve was occupied, Stacey leaned a little closer to you, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hey, so, me and some friends are having a little get together tomorrow night. A bonfire, out at Lovers Lake. You should come."
‘Little get together’ was code for summer rager. You knew the type. Keystone lights and weed stolen from older brothers.
She was watching you, waiting. Not mocking. Expectant. And in that moment, the pieces clicked into place without any apprehension. Her initial judgment wasn't about you being beneath her. It was about her trying to figure out if you were like her.
A packed party meant no one was looking too much at any two people slipping off into the woods. A bonfire at Lovers Lake was prime real estate for secret encounters.
Steve's head popped up from behind you, a look of pure confusion on his face. He was completely lost.
"A party?" he asked, trying to smoothly join the conversation he wasn't a part of. He turned to Stacey. "Cool. Who's all going?"
Stacey didn't even look at him. Her gaze was fixed on you.
"We're not really advertising," she said, her tone dismissing him so completely it was almost masterful. "But... you're both welcome to join. Just some of us who are home for the summer. Hanging out."
The offer was still aimed at you. Steve was an afterthought, a necessary addition to extend the invitation to the other half of the current Scoops Ahoy duo.
He didn't seem to realize that Stacey Carmichael, the girl who had turned him down for prom, the girl who represented the peak of the very social hierarchy he used to rule, had just completely shut him out to talk to you.
"We'll think about it," you said, your voice casual, as if you got invited to ragers by reformed mean girls every day of the week. You gave her another slow smile, this one with a little more teeth.
"Cool. Hope to see you there," she said, finally turning to collect her sundae from a flustered-looking Steve. "Thanks, Stevie. It's... cute. The uniform."
The name 'Stevie' was the final twist of the knife. She sauntered away with her friends, their laughter echoing back from the polished linoleum.
You let the silence hang in the air for a solid ten seconds after they were gone.
"I think that went well," he said, crossing his arms and nodding his head. "She did a little volley there by mentioning the party to you and then looped me right back in. Classic misdirection. She's interested."
You stared at him. He was genuinely analyzing this like it was a sports play.
"Steve," you said, your voice dangerously quiet.
"Yeah?"
"She wasn't interested in you."
"What are you talking about? She was totally flirting. I think she wants me to go to that party tomorrow." The hope in his voice was pathetic. "She even called me Stevie. That's pretty straightforward."
"That's not what was happening." You leaned forward, lowering your voice even though you were completely alone in the ice cream shop. "She wasn't interested in you."
The gears in his head were turning visibly.
"Okay...?" He drew out the word. "So... she was just being nice?"
"Let me spell it out for you, Captain. Her invitation wasn't for you. It was for me."
He blinked. The full, glorious impact of your statement seemed to short-circuit his brain.
"So she wants to be friends after bullying you in high school? Yeah, right."
"I didn't say she wanted to be friends." You met his bewildered gaze head-on, your own expression a mixture of pity and amusement.
And then, you saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. A lightbulb, dim and far away, but it was on.
"Oh," he breathed out. He leaned against the counter, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "Oh. Wow."
He looked from you, to where Stacey's group had disappeared, and back to you again, as if trying to solve a complex equation.
His gaze settled on your face, not your body, not your clothes, just your eyes. He was looking at you differently.
Not as a coworker, not as a friend of Robin's, not as the girl who made sarcastic comments. He was looking at you as a person with a secret, a life beyond this stupid counter.
"So she's...?" he trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.
You just gave a simple nod.
"Holy shit," he whispered, a slow grin spreading across his face. It wasn't the cocky, practiced smile he used for customers. "Okay, now the prom thing makes so much more sense."
You couldn't help it. An honest-to-god laugh escaped you, echoing slightly in the empty shop.
"So that's what you get out of all this? An explanation for your bruised teenage ego?"
"What did you want me to say?"
It wasn't rude or judgemental like a small part of you had suspected he may be. He was confused and you had thrown a lot at him all at once.
"I was prepared for you to be an asshole, honestly."
"I can be," he said, shrugging on a surprising wave of vulnerability. "But, you know, not about... that." He gestured vaguely between you and the direction Stacey and her friends had left. "It's not... I don't see why it's a big deal."
Your laugh was a little softer this time. "You're the last person I expected to have that reaction."
His smile was a little softer now, something unreadable in his eyes as he cleared his throat a little. He busied himself with grabbing the clipboard and starting the closing inventory checklist before he spoke again.
"So are you, uh, also..." he didn't look at you as he spoke, focusing hard on counting the boxes of cones like they held the secrets of the universe. "...like Stacey?"
"Gay?" you finished for him, the word feeling foreign and loud in the quiet shop. "No. Not... exclusively."
You watched the back of his neck turn pink as he nodded, processing the new information.
"Okay," he said to the inventory sheet. "Okay. That's... fine."
"Wow, Harrington," you deadpanned. "Don't get too excited. You might pull something."
He finally turned to look at you, and the smile was back, but it was different. It was real. "Sorry. My brain is just... rebooting. You know, Steve, circa '83, probably would have had some deeply stupid and offensive thing to say right about now."
"Yeah, well," you leaned against the counter, trying to act casual, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. "He's not here right now. Just the sailor."
"Good," he said, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. "The sailor is much better company."
The last hour of your shift passed in a strange, comfortable silence. It wasn't tense or awkward, just...
Unnerving?
You kept catching him watching you. Not staring, not leering, just... watching. When you'd catch his eye, he'd look away quickly, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and pretend to be intensely fascinated by the nutritional information on a can of whipped cream.
"I'm not interested in Stacey." You finally say, much more casually than you feel, as you count the till.
Steve looked up from where he was sweeping the floor, leaning on the broom. "I figured."
"Did you?" Your tone was laced with skepticism.
He shrugged, pushing a stray sprinkle into a dustpan. "Yeah. I mean, you called her 'shallow'. You don't seem like the kind of girl to go for people you think are shallow."
He paused, then added, "Even if they do have incredible legs."
A small, unexpected laugh bubbled out of you. "Okay, fair point. Her legs are pretty great."
He grinned, a genuine, easy thing that made your stomach do a little flip. "See? We agree on something."
"Miracles do happen," you said, bagging the cash. "I just genuinely can't believe you didn't pick up on what was happening. I thought you were supposed to be the expert on girls."
"Former expert," he corrected, a wry twist to his lips. "My certification expired. Turns out, knowing how to get a handjob in the back of your car at a party doesn't exactly make you an authority on the female mind. Or... you know. Any mind but your own, really."
You made a disgusted noise. "Charming."
"I'm just being honest," he said, resting the broom against the wall and leaning against the counter opposite you. "It was all a game. And I was good at the game. But that's all it was. It was all... surface."
The words hung in the air between you, until he added the most vulnerable part. "You know, until Nancy."
You stopped counting the cash. This was the most he'd ever said about Nancy Wheeler outside of a few offhand comments you'd overheard, and it felt significant. Nancy Wheeler, the quiet, smart, headstrong girl who had brought Steve Harrington to his knees in a way that no cheerleader or social climber ever could.
"Surface?" you prompted gently.
"Yeah," he said, looking down at a worn spot on the linoleum. "She... she wasn't... She cared about things. Like, real things. The newspaper, and... college, her family and friends, and the future. And she saw right through the bullshit. Through me. It was... terrifying. And also maybe the best thing that ever happened to me."
The sincerity in his voice was disarming. He wasn't performing. He was just... talking. To you.
"And I'm guessing it didn't end so well," you said, finishing up the till and sliding the tray into its slot.
His smile was sad, a ghost of the easy charm he usually wore. "I, uh, didn't handle some things well. After her best friend went missing... I didn't... I wasn't there for her the way I should have been. I was still playing the game. And then... Jonathan Byers happened."
You knew Jonathan Byers. The quiet, intense photographer with the difficult home life. Another one of Hawkins High's outliers.
"Let me guess," you said, leaning on the counter, mirroring his posture. "They're together now?"
"I'm not angry," he said, and to your immense surprise, he sounded like he meant it. "I was, for a while. I was an asshole about it. But... they make sense. They actually, like, talk to each other. He gets her in a way I never figured out how to."
The only sounds were the low hum of the freezers and the distant muzak trickling from the mall's main speakers. You watched him, this boy you had so neatly categorized and dismissed, and saw the edges of the caricature start to fray.
"You're not so bad, Harrington. For a washed-up jock."
He looked up, a flicker of that old, lazy grin returning. "Coming from you, that's practically a marriage proposal."
"In your dreams," you scoffed, but the retort lacked its usual bite.
"You're right, my legs aren't nearly as good as Stacey's," he let out a dramatic sigh.
You couldn't help the way your eyes glanced downward to see what he was talking about. The uniform shorts, while stupid, did little to hide how strong his legs were. How much they must've been toned from years of sports. How they hugged his thighs just right. How they hugged his--
"You're staring."
Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "I was not."
"Were too," he sing-songed, that stupid, completely gorgeous grin spreading across his face. "Don't worry, I get it. The uniform is a lot to handle."
"I was admiring the craftsmanship of how the seam is coming undone on your left thigh," you shot back, your face feeling hotter than the summer pavement outside. "Shoddy workmanship. I should report it to corporate."
He looked down, genuinely inspecting the seam in question. "Oh, hey, you're right. The thread's all popped." He fingered the loose string. "Huh. Probably from when I had to haul that new container of sprinkles out of the back. Nearly gave myself a hernia."
You internally were grateful for his complete obliviousness to your real line of sight and rolled your eyes. "Yeah, a real hero. The sprinkles would have been lost without you."
He shrugged, unbothered. "A hero's work is never done."
The weekend went by without much issue. You didn't go to the party. Something about getting high with a bunch of vapid teens you went to high school with, while trying to pretend you weren't having a mid-college crisis, felt about as appealing as licking the floor of the ice cream shop.
Instead, you’d stayed home, listened to records on repeat, and tried to write a short story that was going nowhere.
Tuesday night was when you always closed with Steve.
It was dead. A Tuesday night in Hawkins in mid-June was the definition of purgatory.
You both did your closing duties with practiced ease, a silent, efficient rhythm that you'd fallen into. He'd sweep, you'd wipe.
"So, like... the other night..." Steve started as he swept, his tone betraying the fact that it had been weighing on his mind.
Him speaking had broken the zoning out you were currently doing.
"What about it?" you asked, feigning disinterest as you scrubbed at a stubborn spot of dried fudge on the counter.
"Did you, uh..." He paused, leaning on the broom. "Did you and Stacey...?"
"If you're asking if we had some secret girl on girl rendezvous at Lovers Lake, the answer is no," you said, not looking at him. "I didn't go to the party."
He let out a small breath, and you couldn't decipher if it was relief or disappointment.
"Oh. Okay."
"It's not like porn, you know," you said, glancing over your shoulder at him. "The concept isn't a free-for-all for any man's viewing pleasure."
He bristled, his brow furrowing. "That's not what I was asking. I was... curious."
"What, wondering if we would go back home and wear silky pajamas and hit each other with pillows?" The sarcasm was a familiar armor, and you pulled it tight around yourself.
He almost looked angry now. He slammed the dustpan down on the counter a little too hard. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Assume the worst of me. Every single time. I ask a simple question and you turn it into me being some kind of... of..." He struggled for the word.
"Scumbag?" you offered helpfully. "Caveman? Horndog?"
"I was going to say moron," he shot back, his voice low and surprisingly hurt. "But I'm not that guy. And it's... it's getting really fucking tiring trying to prove it to you."
You were silenced for once, before you let out a deep sigh and put the rag down for a minute.
"Look," you started. "College was... hard for me. On like, so many levels. I guess I thought the one way it would be easier is that I didn't have to hide certain parts of myself like I did here. And then I quickly realized that there were new reasons it was hard being... like me."
You couldn't bring yourself to put a label on it. You hadn't quite figured out what one worked and that was okay.
"But anyway, one of the biggest hurdles, and maybe the most surprisingly common reaction I got from both men and women was to... treat it like it was for them. That it was a performance."
"Okay," he said, leaning against the counter, listening.
"You know, I’d meet a girl at a party and we'd chat and flirt and once it got to anything more than that, anything physical, she was usually just trying to catch the eyes of some pervy frat guys." You let out a self depreciating sigh, a little embarrassed to be telling him all this.
"And then if I tried to start something with a guy, they acted like it was a free pass for a threesome. It wasn't genuine interest in me, you know, just in what I could offer them. What my... existence could do for their sexual fantasy."
Steve watched you, his eyes soft and serious. There was no smirk, no hint of judgment.
"So when you get that look in your eye-like you're trying to work out some kind of complicated puzzle that would probably earn you a prize if you solve it, it's... hard not to assume. So I'm sorry. That I was an asshole. It's an ingrained defense mechanism."
The confession left a raw, buzzing silence in its wake. You had laid a piece of yourself bare on the grimy linoleum floor, a piece that you'd been holding on to since you decided to take a gap year, and it was in front of him of all people.
"Okay," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Okay, I get that. I'm sorry that happened to you. That's... shitty. People are shitty."
He looked down at the floor, kicking at stray sprinkles before looking back at you.
"For what it's worth, I'm not asking for a show." he said, a little sadly. "I don't... I wasn't picturing that."
He paused. "I just... I was just trying to figure it out. Figure you out."
You looked at him, your heart giving another one of those little, painful flips.
He cleared his throat and picked up the dustpan. "The good thing is, I'm a very slow study. So you'll have plenty of warning before I solve any of your complicated puzzles."
You watched as he fell back into the rhythm of sweeping. You noticed the way the muscles in his back moved under the thin fabric of that ridiculous shirt. How the shorts rode up just a bit as he bent over. How the back of his neck, where his hair started to curl with sweat, was surprisingly vulnerable-looking.
You were humanizing this man. You were seeing him as Steve. A guy who worked a shit job, who had a complicated past, who seemed genuinely, achingly lonely sometimes. A guy who, for some reason, was putting in the effort to be decent to you, even when you were a complete bitch to him.
"Why do you want to figure me out?" You asked, busying yourself with meaningless cleanup to hide the softness in your own voice.
He finished with the dustpan, straightened up, and leaned against the broom handle again. He looked out over the deserted food court, at the mall security guard making his slow, predictable rounds.
"I don't know," he said after a moment. His gaze was distant, fixed on the flashing lights of the arcade. "I guess I've realized there's more to people than I thought. A lot more. And I feel like I spent years… just not seeing any of it."
He turned to look at you, and the sincerity in his eyes was so disarming it almost felt like a weapon.
"You're interesting. And you don't like me. I'm trying to figure out what I did. And... maybe if I do, I can stop doing it."
The honesty of it was a punch to the gut. He wasn't trying to charm you, wasn't trying to get anything from you. He was just a guy trying to understand why he kept failing.
"I—" you started, but no words came out.
He saved you by pushing off the counter and grabbing the clipboard for the closing checklist. "Alright, what's next on the shutdown protocol?"
He was letting you off the hook, changing the subject, giving you space. And you were ridiculously grateful for it. But you also didn't want to take it.
"You didn't do anything, Steve," you said, the words quiet but firm.
He paused, pen hovering over the checklist. "Come on. Every time I talk to you, I feel like I'm putting my foot in my mouth."
"That's not your fault," you clarified. "I don't dislike you. I dislike the idea of you. The version of you that lived in my head. The guy who had it all. The guy who never had to try."
You gestured vaguely around you. "The guy who was probably going to get a sports scholarship and have a summer fling and never think about the people who had to clean up after him."
Steve finally looked at you, really looked at you, a small, frown line appearing between his brows.
"Little fun fact? I am trying. All the damn time," he admitted. "And the summer fling? Not exactly panning out. And the sports scholarship..." He scoffed, a short, bitter sound. "Let's just say my dad and Coach had a little talk about my 'priorities' last year and I didn't listen. I don't think college is in my future."
You felt a strange pang of something in your chest. It almost felt like guilt. You had built this whole narrative in your head about him, this perfect, easy life, and here he was, chipping away at it with every quiet, honest word.
"Oh," you said, brilliantly.
"Yeah, 'oh'," he mimicked, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He set the clipboard down, moving to the back to start emptying the sanitary bins. "The universe has a funny way of kicking you in the teeth. Turns out I'm not as special as I thought I was."
"But!" He turned to you and pointed, before pushing the door open with his back. "I'm kind of okay with that now."
You watched the door swing shut behind him, waiting a beat before following.
"Well, I guess I'm sorry for underestimating-"
You're suddenly chest to chest with him in the back room. He'd forgotten the trash bag. He'd turned right around and you walked straight into him.
"-you." you finished, your breath catching in your throat.
One of his hands was braced on your waist, grabbing to steady you. You could feel the warmth of his palms seeping through your uniform. You could smell him again, that clean, soapy, slightly sweaty scent that was becoming infuriatingly familiar.
"Whoa, easy there," he said, but his voice was lower than usual. He didn't move away, the softest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Your eyes, almost of their own accord, flicked down to his lips. They were slightly parted. And in that split second, you wanted to know what they tasted like.
This was bad. This was so, so bad.
You pushed gently against his chest. "Personal space, Harrington."
He blinked, the spell broken. He let go of your arm and took a half-step back, running a hand through his hair in that nervous way he had.
"Right. Sorry." He looked anywhere but at you. "My fault. Should've worn a bell..."
It had been four days since the almost-kiss. It's all you could think about, but neither of you spoke about it.
The silence that settled between you now was different. Before, it was laced with tension and disdain. Now, it was charged with something else.
Luckily, the busy Saturday night crowd had left you both too busy to think about anything but orders and cash. You moved around each other in the small space with a new, careful choreography, your hands brushing, your shoulders passing close, each touch a tiny jolt.
A mother with three screaming kids finally left, leaving a sticky trail of melted strawberry ice cream across your clean counter.
Robin was at the register, her head in her hands.
"I swear to God, if one more kid asks for gummy worms on their chocolate ice cream, I'm going to scream."
"It's a culinary revolution, Buckley. Don't stifle their creativity," you said, scrubbing at the sticky spot with maybe a little more force than necessary.
"It's gross." Steve chimed in, wiping down the scoop well.
You both looked at each other at the same moment before quickly looking away.
Robin's head shot up, eyes narrowed. "You two have been weird all week. Weirder than usual. What's going on?"
"Nothing," you both said in perfect, damning unison.
"Oh, my God," she breathed, a look of dawning, horrified comprehension on her face. "You had sex."
Steve dropped his scoop. It clattered into the metal well with an almost ear-piercing clang.
"No!" he yelped, his face turning a shade of red you'd only previously seen on a sunburned tourist.
"No!" you echoed, your voice slightly higher than you intended. "What the hell Buckley!"
You both looked at each other again, this was the last person you wanted to be in this interrogation with.
Robin stood up straight, planting her hands on her hips. She looked back and forth between your panicked faces with a gleeful expression.
"Relax, you two. I'm messing with you," she said, waving a dismissive hand, although her eyes still held a speculative glint.
Robin was too good at her job, her specialty being pattern recognition. She had you two pinned, at least enough to know something had shifted in whatever weird, antagonistic ecosystem you and Steve inhabited.
Steve picked up the scoop, wiping it on the side of his apron. "Hilarious. In no world would that ever, in a million years, happen."
The words were a slap in the face, even if they were said in a panicked attempt to deflect Robin's teasing. You felt a hot surge of anger, but you didn't even have the energy to fight him on it. You just bit the inside of your cheek, focusing intently on scrubbing the last of the sticky pink sludge from the counter.
"Yeah, Steve only goes for girls of a certain pedigree, isn't that right?" The words came out sharper, more acidic than you intended, but you were hurt. "He has standards to maintain."
Robin looked between you two again, her grin faltering as she sensed the shift from playful banter to something real.
Steve winced, physically recoiling from your words as if you'd slapped him. He looked at you, his expression a mess of regret and pleading, but your back was to him.
"Alright, I think I've overstimulated the weird little... whatever you two have going on here," Robin said, grabbing her bag from under the counter. "I'm taking my break before I have to witness an extinction-level event."
She gave you both one last, inscrutable look before disappearing through the swinging door, leaving you and Steve alone in a silence that was so loud it hurt.
You kept scrubbing at the counter, the rough texture of the sponge a welcome, painful distraction. Your shoulders were tight, a knot of anger and humiliation lodging itself right between your shoulder blades.
"You know that's not what I meant," he finally said, his voice quiet, rough.
"Wasn't it?" you shot back, not turning around.
A customer came to the counter just then— a worn out looking dad with two kids hanging off his legs— and you had to switch on your customer service face. It felt like a mask that was cracking. You took their order with a brittle cheerfulness that you knew Steve could see right through.
He took over making the sundaes while you worked the register, a silent, tense dance. His hands were clumsy, fumbling with the hot fudge pump. He was off-balance.
When the family left with their ice cream, the silence descended again, heavier this time.
The line picked up again and the two of you were too busy to even look at each other. He made the ice cream, you rang it up. There was no room for error or emotion. It was the most efficient you two had ever been.
Robin had the mid shift, so you and Steve closed yet again. For the last hour, the only sounds were sloshing of the mop bucket and the click clacks of the calculator.
The cleaning was almost done. You'd wiped down every surface, emptied the sanitizing buckets, and were now in the backroom hunched over the final inventory sheet. The numbers swam in front of your eyes.
You couldn't wait for your day off tomorrow. Maybe you'd hit up the pool or see if a new album had dropped at the record store. Anything to get out of this polyester prison and away from the suffocating silence.
"I'm not going to apologize for saying something dumb to Robin to get her to back off," he finally said, his back to you as he restacked the crates we had been counting. "Because I didn't mean it. I think you know I didn't."
"Why do you think I care if you meant it or not?" you said, not looking up from the clipboard. "It doesn't matter to me who you do or do not want to sleep with."
"Because I hurt your feelings," he stated, simply, matter-of-factly. He wasn't asking. He knew.
Your head snapped up. "You have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"
"No," he said, turning to face you. "I just feel like every time I get close to saying something right, I trip over my own feet and say something monumentally stupid instead."
He took a step closer, the backroom suddenly feeling much, much smaller.
"Look, I'm not sorry for trying to get Robin off our backs," he said, his voice low. "but I am sorry for how I did it. That's all. End of story."
He stood there, waiting. He wasn't pleading or demanding. He was just... present. He was holding himself accountable, and it was maybe the most attractive thing you'd ever seen him do.
You slammed the clipboard down on a crate before turning around, the noise echoing in the small room. "Why do you even care?"
"Because!" he burst out, his frustration finally boiling over. He ran both hands through his hair, messing it up. "Because for some insane reason I can't figure out, I like being around you! And I'd rather do that without you looking at me like you want to set me on fire!"
The confession held more weight than you realized, your breath hitching slightly at his earnestness.
You stared at him, truly and completely speechless for the second time that week. This whole conversation had careened wildly off the rails you'd laid.
You didn't know what to say. So you just watched him pace in the cramped space. He was like a caged lion, all restless energy and barely contained frustration.
"I've had my life fall apart, okay?" he said, stopping to face you. "My girlfriend left me for a guy who's probably a better person than I am, my dad looks at me like I'm a monumental disappointment, and my crowning achievement is a hairdo that gets compliments from either freshman girls or lonely housewives."
You didn't mean to laugh, but a small hysterical sound escaped your lips. It wasn't mocking; it was just the pathetic honesty of it.
"And then you show up," he continued, taking a step closer, a wild, desperate light in his eyes. "You're smart, and you're funny, and you're... you just don't give a shit about any of the stuff I spent my whole life trying to be good at. You see right through it, and it's infuriating. And it's... good. It feels real. For the first time in a long time, something feels real."
He was so close now. The space between you was humming with a new tension.
"So, yes. I care. Not because I see you as some novelty or a challenge or whatever fucked up things you think guys like me think. I care because you're the most interesting person I've talked to in months. And because I said something stupid that made you look at me the way you looked at Stacey Carmichael and I can't stand it."
You couldn't move. You could barely breathe. Every carefully constructed wall you'd built around yourself was crumbling, brick by brick, at the blatant sincerity pouring out of him.
"Do you always give romantic movie speeches or is it a special occasion?" The words came out quiet, stripped of their usual bite.
He didn't even smile. "I'm not trying to be romantic. I'm trying to be honest."
Oof. You should say something. You should deflect. But he spoke again before you could.
"Not that... I mean, not that you're unattractive because you're very much..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you. He was so close you could feel the warmth coming off him, see the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "You know."
"Squished into this uniform?" you offer with a laugh that has zero humor to it.
"What? No!" he frowned. "You look… good."
Now it was your turn to blush, a heat creeping up your neck that you prayed he couldn't see.
"Yeah, well, you'd look good in anything," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "That's your whole... thing."
You didn't want to admit it before, but you knew. Even in this stupid uniform he was handsome, but there was something else there.
Steve's smile was lopsided and soft.
"So you forgive me? For being an idiot in front of Robin?"
"I'll consider it."
He took another step closer, and this time you didn't back away. The fabric of your uniforms nearly brushed. You were close enough now that you had to tilt your head back to look at him.
"What, are you gonna kiss me or something? To seal the deal?"
It was meant to be a joke, a final test. A way to push him away and see if he'd flinch. You expected him to laugh, to roll his eyes, to step back into the familiar safety of sarcastic banter.
He didn't.
He just looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and the lighthearted air in the room vanished. Your bravado evaporated.
His gaze dropped to your lips, and then back to your eyes.
"I might," he said, his voice a low murmur. "If you wanted me to."
Your breath hitched. This was a bad idea. A terrible, no-good, very-bad idea.
"Do you want to?" you whispered back, the words barely audible.
He answered by closing the final inch of space between you.
His lips were softer than you imagined. It was a careful, searching kiss, nothing like the confident, performative smooches you'd witnessed him bestow on girls in school hallways.
You responded in kind, a soft sigh escaping you. Your hand, as if of its own accord, came up to rest on the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair there. That seemed to be the permission he was looking for.
The kiss deepened. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. He tasted like mint toothpaste and a faint, lingering sweetness from the strawberry flavoring he'd been ‘testing’ earlier.
Your free hand found its way to the front of his ridiculous shirt, your fist clenching in the fabric. He was solid, warm, real. Not the caricature you'd built in your head.
He angled his head, the kiss becoming more insistent, more desperate, his free hand steadying on your waist. He pulled you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt his body against yours.
The rational part of your brain, the part that was still screaming about what a monumentally bad idea this was, went completely silent. All that was left was the feeling of him. The smell of him.
You were tentative as your hands trailed down his torso, palms flat against his toned pecs to the softness of his stomach and back up to his strong shoulders. You wanted to feel him.
"Hey," he murmured against your lips, a slight smile in his voice.
You pulled back just enough to see his face, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt. His hair was a mess from your hands, his lips were swollen and wet, and his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with want.
"Hi," you breathed back.
"This is," he started, then seemed to change his mind, leaning in to kiss you again, a soft, brief press of lips. "This is not a good place for this."
"No," you agreed, your brain slowly coming back online. "Not really."
He looked past you, towards the door that led out to the shop floor. "We need to go before that weird mall cop comes by."
You were suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings. The scent of dry goods, the hum of the freezers. You could still faintly smell the disinfectant and the sickly-sweet cherry flavoring.
"I'll go lock the gate and we can leave through the back." He kissed you again quickly and practically jogged out of the room, not giving you a chance to respond.
You took a minute to try and calm your racing heart before grabbing your bag. You could hear the heavy clank of the metal gate from the front of the shop.
You met him by the back door, the silence between you now charged with a different kind of electricity. You followed him out into the oppressive heat of the Hawkins night.
The air was wet, clinging to your skin. The parking lot was a sea of asphalt, shimmering under the orange glow of the mall lamps. The cicadas were screaming their summer song from the trees beyond the lot.
"Which one's yours?" he asked.
"The blue shitbox over there." You pointed to your car.
"Classy." He grinned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously short shorts. "Mine's the Beamer."
"I know."
He walked with you to your beat-up car, the silence stretching out between you. You could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your lips.
"So," he said, stopping next to your door, his proximity making it hard to think. "Now what?"
You looked up at him, at the hopeful, uncertain look in his eyes. "Aren't you the expert in this stuff? Master of the..." you trailed off, not knowing what to call this.
"Post-shift makeout session in a stuffy back room?" he supplied, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, kind of a new one for me, too."
He wasn't trying to play a part, not with you.
You leaned back against the warm metal of your car door. "Do you work tomorrow?"
"You don't have my schedule memorized yet?" he asked, a flicker of the old Steve in his tone. You decided you liked this version better. "I'm off. So are you, according to the board."
"Right."
"So," he said again, rocking back on his heels. "Do you wan--"
"I don't do hook ups." The words tumbled out of your mouth, blunt and defensive. It was your last line of defense, a final test to see what he'd do with the rejection. “Not… any more. Since, you know.”
He stopped rocking, his smile fading. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable in the lot’s lights.
"Okay..." he said, his voice quiet as he drew out the word. "I wasn't asking for one."
You winced internally. You hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly.
"I just mean, I don't..." you struggled to explain yourself, the heat from the asphalt and the heat from your blush making it hard to breathe. "I'm not that girl."
"I know," he said simply. "I wouldn't be standing here if I thought you were."
The certainty in his voice was disarming. He stepped closer again, crowding you against the car door.
"Is that what you thought this was?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine despite the humid air. "That I'd kiss you in the back room and then expect to... what? Come home with me and...?" He didn't finish, just let the question hang in the heavy air.
You almost hated that you wanted to be more than a forgotten hook up.
The idea that the one guy you've been trying not to want for weeks, might see you as just another notch on a bedpost, was a rejection that would sting more than anything else.
"I mean... I wouldn't want to get fired," you deflected. "Hypothetically, workplace fraternization would be very frowned upon by our corporate overlords at Scoops Ahoy."
God, that was weak. He knew it, too.
A lazy grin spread across his face. "If I did bring you home with me, hypothetically, it wouldn't be a hook-up."
And that, that right there, was what made you feel lightheaded. The casual certainty in his voice. He wasn't just trying to get you into bed. He was trying to get you.
"I mean... I'd be lying if I said I'm not thinking about it, or that I'd be against something happening..." he admitted, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "But I'm also thinking about seeing you tomorrow. And the day after. And maybe taking you somewhere that doesn't require a sailor hat."
You felt a smile tugging at your own lips, unguarded. "Oh yeah? Like where? The food court?"
"Even better," he said, leaning in, his lips ghosting over yours. "The movie theater."
You couldn't help it. You laughed. "Wooing me with all the high-class hotspots, Harrington."
"I aim to please," he whispered, and then he kissed you again. "I can also do restaurants, if you're feeling particularly adventurous. Maybe even that fancy Italian place out by the highway if I save up my tips for a month."
You were smiling against his mouth. "A whole month of Scoops for a plate of spaghetti? You drive a hard bargain."
"I like you." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Simple. Direct. A fact.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "That's all this is. It's not a game. It's not a hook-up. I just... really like you."
You held his gaze, feeling the warmth fill your body.
"Do you like diner food?" you whisper.
"Is that a serious question? Of course, I like diner food." The hopeful, ridiculously bright look that came back onto his face was worth more than you thought it would be.
It gave you the confidence to be bold.
"I could... follow you home. And maybe in the morning you could take me to the diner for pancakes."
He blinked. "Seriously?"
"I'm not into hook-ups, Steve." The words were a little shaky, but you were sure of them. "But I'm not a nun, either."
He blinked again, trying to process. "So... you're coming home with me?"
"I'm following you home," you corrected, your own lips curving into a smile. "My car is my escape route. Don't make me use it."
"I won't," he promised, his voice dropping into that low register that made you want to melt into a puddle on the asphalt. "I won't."
He leaned in for one last kiss in the parking lot, a sweet press of lips that tasted like promise.
Following his BMW through the darkened streets of Hawkins in your hammydown car was one of the more surreal experiences of your life. The juxtaposition was almost funny. His clean, expensive car cutting through the night, you rattling along behind it, engine groaning in protest.
You'd driven by his house plenty of times. Large, sprawling, and dark. The kind of house that was meant for a family that was whole and happy, but instead there was an emptiness to it that you could feel from the driveway, a silence that had nothing to do with the late hour.
You hadn't asked if his parents were home, you already knew the answer. It was common knowledge that the Harringtons were never really around. You'd assumed he loved it. An endless party house. But seeing the stark reality of it, not even a single light on at the entrance, the cavernous windows all dark, you felt a different kind of understanding. A strange wave of pity and protectiveness washed over you. He was all alone in that big, echoing house.
He parked in one of the garages.
(Seriously, why were there so many?)
You had to park yours in the drive, a small, rebellious speck of automotive failure in the middle of all that success.
Steve must have gone in through the garage, because he was opening the front door as you got out of your car. You didn't miss the way he was still a little nervous about this whole thing. The confidence he had in the mall parking lot had retreated behind a wall of shyness that you had yet to see.
You walked up to where he was waiting at those red double doors.
"It's huge," you managed, feeling small.
"Yeah, well. My mom likes to entertain," he said, the words flat and devoid of any real emotion. He wasn't bragging; he was just stating a fact of a life that didn't feel like his.
He led you inside and locked the front doors as you toed off your shoes. The stairs were right by the entry way, carpet over wooden slats, the hall into the living space on the other side.
He turned a small lamp on by the wall before turning to you, hands on his hips and looking at the floor, trying to break the silence.
"Alright," he said, finally looking at you. "This is it. Casa del Harrington. Don't touch anything."
You could hear the smile in his tone.
"Wow, what a tour. So many highlights," you played along, your own lips tugging into a grin.
"I'm saving the best for last," he said, grabbing your hand. His was warm and a little sweaty, and your fingers linked together like they'd been doing it for years. He led you upstairs.
The hallway was long, half balcony, half doors to other rooms. One floor was bigger than your whole family home.
He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. "And this," he announced with a flourish, "is my room. The grand finale."
It wasn't what you expected. It was... plaid. Like, beige and black plaid walls and matching curtains.
"I swear I have a personality," he said, noticing your amused expression. "My mom's interior decorator did not get the memo."
"It's very... masculine," you managed, looking around the random items. A bowling pin on the desk, a poster of a car, a poster of a bikini clad woman he clearly flinched at when you saw.
The king-sized bed, the sheets on top slightly rumpled from this morning, seemed to take up half the room.
It felt... intimate. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him no one else was supposed to. The messy pile of clothes on a chair, the photo on his dresser of him and a younger boy with curls and a goofy smile, a half-empty bottle of cologne.
"I'm gonna..." he cleared his throat. "Go change from this... stupid uniform." He gestured down at himself before turning to the door.
"Don't!" The protest slipped out before you could stop it.
Shit.
"Uh... I mean..."
He turned back slowly, his eyes wide, surprised. "Don't what? You afraid to be alone in here?"
"No, it's not that," you said, feeling your cheeks flush. You bit your lip, trying to find the words that wouldn't make you sound like a complete lunatic.
"I mean, don't... not because I don't want you to," you stammered, your gaze dropping to his chest. "It's just... I've been looking at that stupid uniform all summer. And I have this stupid image in my head of you in it and I..."
You trailed off, mortified. What were you even saying?
A slow grin spread across his face, a flicker of the cocky Steve Harrington you knew, but it was tempered by something softer.
"Oh," he said, the understanding dawning in his eyes. He took a step back into the room, closing the door behind him. "So... this is a thing for you, then?"
"It's not a thing," you denied, but your voice was weak and embarrassed. "It just... fits...well?"
That was also a bad choice of words.
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole, but then he started walking towards you with a slow, deliberate pace.
"Fits well?" he asked, his tone low and teasing. He stopped directly in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze was heavy, searching your face. "You think so?"
You couldn't speak. You just nodded, your eyes locked on his.
"Is it the shorts?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Or does the dumb little scarf thing get you going?"
"Steve," you whispered, a pathetic attempt at shutting him down.
But instead of backing off, he took a hold of your waistband, tugging you flush against him. His hands were confident but not rough.
"Because, you know…" he continued, leaning down so his lips were right next to your ear. "I was thinking the shorts are a little short. Show a little too much thigh."
You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady, rapid beat of his heart under your palm.
"I take all my nice words back, you are actually evil."
He chuckled, the sound a deep, warm vibration against you. "Only a little bit."
One of his large hands found the red tie of your own uniform and played with it a little, not quite touching your chest, but his eyes were there.
"You're one to talk, you know..." he confessed. He traced the collar of the blue and white striped top. "Gotta say, I'm more than a little curious to see what's underneath. Not really leaving much to my imagination here, sailor." He says pulling at it a little to see your neck line.
"You're the one who said it was tight on me last week," you reminded him, your own hands slowly, nervously sliding up to wrap around the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the soft hairs there. "Wasn't really a confidence booster..."
"Is that why you were quiet the rest of the day? You thought it was, what, an insult?" He was genuinely confused. "It wasn't. I was trying not to stare, god, I was trying so hard not to stare."
Your fingers stilled in his hair. "Really?"
"Yeah," he breathed, leaning in again. His lips brushed your jaw, a fleeting, warm touch. "I spent the rest of the shift trying to think up ways to get you fired, just so I didn't have to look at you in this stupid uniform anymore."
The laugh that escaped you was half-shock, half-desire. "That's the most romantic and simultaneously psychopathic thing anyone has ever said to me."
He nipped at your earlobe, and a full-body shudder wracked its way through you. "God, when I was patching up your knee? And you kept flinching and your shorts were riding up your thigh and I could feel you shaking... you have no idea what I was thinking."
"I have a pretty good idea," you gasped as his lips trailed down the column of your throat. His hand was still on the ridiculous scarf-thing, one thumb stroking the skin just above your collarbone.
"No, you don't," he murmured against your skin. "But I'll show you. If you let me."
You didn't answer with words. You answered by tilting your head back, giving him better access, and by pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He took the invitation, his kisses becoming open-mouthed and hungry against your throat.
His hands finally moved to the hem of your uniform top, warm fingers brushing against the sliver of exposed skin on your stomach. You sucked in a sharp breath. His touch was a brand.
"Is this okay?" he breathed against your skin, pausing.
You answered by grabbing the hem of your own shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor.
Your eyes were searching his face, trying to gauge his reaction, half-expecting a flicker of disappointment or the detached calculation you'd imagined from the old Steve. Instead, you were met with clear want.
"Wow," he breathed, his gaze sweeping over you. He looked dazed. "Wow."
"Stop," you said, but it was a weak protest.
"No, I mean it," he said, his hands coming up to rest on your waist, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there. "Those are... wow."
He was looking at your breasts like he'd just discovered a new continent, but it was the reverence in his expression that did it for you.
"They're boobs, Steve," you said, your voice shaky with a nervous laugh.
"They’re great boobs," he countered, leaning in to kiss you again. This kiss was different. Deeper, more possessive. One of his hands slid up your back, his fingers tracing the clasp of your bra.
It was a simple, utilitarian, beige thing. Nothing lacy or special. You suddenly felt a pang of self-consciousness.
"This is the least sexy bra in the history of the world," you murmured against his lips.
"I'm not really looking at the bra," he said, a smile in his voice. He deftly unhooked it with one hand and you felt the straps fall loose.
He pulled back just enough to slide the bra down your arms and let it join your shirt on the floor. The cool air of the room on your bare skin made you shiver.
"Jesus," he breathed, his eyes wide, devouring the sight of you. He looked like a kid in a candy store who'd just been told he could have whatever he wanted.
He didn't say anything else. He just looked, his gaze hot and heavy, and it was somehow more intimate than if he'd touched you. You'd never had anyone look at you like that. Like you were a masterpiece.
Then he was kissing you again, and this time his hands were on you, warm and sure. They weren't tentative or clumsy. He knew what he was doing.
One hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple, and a jolt went through you so intense you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, as he rolled the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger.
You pulled his shirt up, your hands flattening against the warm, bare skin of his back. You could feel the muscles there, tense and solid. He helped you pull the stupid uniform shirt over his head, and then it was your turn to look.
His chest was smooth and defined, a patch of chest hair trailing down to a soft tummy that you wanted to lick.
"Got a little soft from all the ice cream," he said, a self-deprecating note in his voice.
"I like it," you said, and you meant it. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. His breath hitched. "You're hairier than I thought though."
He let out a surprised laugh, a real, genuine burst of sound that rumbled through you.
"You been thinking about my hair distribution a lot?" he teased, his hands settling on your hips.
"You'd be surprised," you murmured, kissing your way up to his collarbone.
"Let me get my hands on you before I explode" he whispered, and he was tugging you towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, pulling you to straddle him. His hands roamed over your back, your hips, your ass, appreciating your shape.
Your breasts were pressed against his chest, the coarse hair a delicious friction. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back. You kissed him, a slow, deep kiss that you felt all the way down to your toes.
"God, you feel good," he breathed against your lips, his hands squeezing your ass.
He was hard, you could feel it through the layers of fabric between you, a rigid, insistent pressure against you.
"Steve," you whispered, rocking against him. The friction was maddening.
"Tell me what you want," he said, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark and serious.
You took a shaky breath. You weren't used to this. Guys usually just took what they wanted, assuming they knew.
"Touch me," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "Everywhere."
He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "My pleasure."
He guided you onto the bed, your back sinking into the plush comforter. He followed you down, settling over you, propping himself up on his elbows so he wasn't crushing you.
He started slow. His lips traced a path from your jaw down to the hollow of your throat. His hands mapped your body, savoring every curve.
"I can't believe this is happening," he murmured, mostly to himself.
"Me neither," you admitted, your hands stroking through his hair as he kissed a path across your collarbones.
When he finally took one of your nipples into his mouth, you arched off the bed with a choked gasp. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, his other hand coming up to toy with its twin.
"Look at these... God," he said, pulling away with a wet pop. His thumb and forefinger rolling the sensitive nub, pulling a little making your hips buck. "Fucking perfect."
The compliments, the reverence, it was overwhelming. It was too much, but also exactly what you needed. He wasn't treating you like a conquest. He was worshiping you. You were the only thing in this cavernous, lonely house that mattered.
He shifted, moving down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your hips.
"Can I show you what I was thinking about when I patched you up?" he asked, his gaze flicking up to meet yours from his position above your shorts. His fingers were hooked into the waistband, teasing the elastic.
You nodded, unable to speak, your throat tight with anticipation.
He grinned, that wicked, knowing grin, and slowly, torturously, peeled your shorts down your legs. He tossed them aside, leaving you in nothing but your plain cotton underwear.
He settled between your thighs, pushing them apart. His gaze was heavy, and you felt a fresh wave of self-consciousness wash over you. You started to close your legs, to hide, but he held you in place, his hands firm on your thighs.
"No," he said, his voice a command. "Don't you dare hide from me."
He leaned down, and you felt his breath, hot and damp, through the thin cotton of your panties. Your hips bucked, a silent plea.
"God, you're already so wet for me," he murmured, his thumb pressing against your clit through the fabric.
You whined, a high, desperate sound you didn't recognize as your own. Your hands fisted in the comforter.
He took pity on you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down.
"Look at you," he breathed, spreading you open with his thumbs. "Pretty. So fucking pretty."
He didn't wait. He leaned in and licked a flat, broad stripe up your center.
The world tilted on its axis. Your back arched, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat as you fought to keep your eyes open. He looked up at you from between your legs as he did it again, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of you. His perfect nose nudged against your clit. He groaned, a low, rumbling sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and the vibration of it shot through you like lightning.
"Steve... oh, god..."
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a rough whisper against your sensitive skin. He settled in, alternating between broad, lazy strokes of his tongue and focused, precise circles around your clit. His hands held your thighs apart, his grip firm and grounding. He wasn't trying to impress you with some frantic, porno-worthy performance. He was trying to make you feel good. He was paying attention.
He watched you, his eyes dark and intense, cataloging every reaction, every twitch, every gasp. When your hips started to cant up, meeting the rhythm of his tongue, he knew he'd found it. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked.
"Fuck!" you cried out, your hands flying from the bedspread to tangle in his hair, holding him to you. "Don't stop. Please, god, don't stop."
He didn't. He doubled down, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves in a relentless, perfect rhythm. He slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them in a 'come here' motion that made you see stars.
"Steve," you whimpered, his name a prayer on your lips. "I'm... I'm..."
He knew. He could feel it. The fluttering of your walls around his fingers, the way your thighs were starting to tremble uncontrollably. He was good at this. He'd learned a thing or two, a quiet voice in the back of your mind supplied, before the thought was obliterated by the coiling tension in your stomach.
And then you were falling. The world shattered into a million pieces. Your back bowed off the bed and a long moan was torn from your throat as the orgasm hit. He didn't stop, didn't let up, working you through it until you were a boneless, panting mess beneath him.
He finally lifted his head, his face glistening, a satisfied grin on his lips. He crawled up your body, pressing a kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on him, the intimate flavor making your head spin.
"Your thighs are shaking," he whispered, the words a warm puff of air against your cheek. His hand came up to stroke your hair tenderly.
"Blame the sailor uniform," you managed, your voice hoarse. Your brain felt like it had been scooped out and replaced with cotton candy.
"And let it take all the credit? No chance. That was all me, baby."
Baby.
"You're insufferable," you whispered, but you were smiling, pulling him down for another kiss. You could feel him, still hard against your hip through the fabric of those ridiculous shorts.
"You don't seem like you're suffering too much." He rocked his hips against you, a deliberate, delicious friction that made you gasp.
"Conceited, too," you retorted, your hands coming down to cup his ass, pulling him tighter against you. The muscles were firm and perfect in your palms.
The move must have surprised him a little because he flinched away. Not in a bad way, he looked confused by the feeling of your hands there.
Truthfully, you hadn't been with a guy in a while, and your reflexes were a little rusty on the male body.
"Uh...sorry..." You whispered as you moved your hands back to the bed.
He just shook his head. "No, no. You just surprised me is all." The look on his face was a mixture of confusion and awe. "I... uh..." He was stammering again, which was weird.
"I'm not used to girls... well, touching my ass," he admitted with a little laugh. "Usually it's just been about what I can do for them."
You hadn't even thought about it. You'd been more interested in the feeling of him.
His smile was gone, replaced by that serious, searching look again. He was watching you, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"You've definitely had girls touch you before, Steve." You whisper, hands impatient back on his lower back.
"Yeah... yeah. Just not like this." He leaned down, kissing your shoulder. "Not where it's about... me."
He had no right to look so vulnerable. Not with the reputation he had around Hawkins. Not with everything you'd heard. But as he hovered above you, all you saw was a boy who was used to being wanted for what he could provide, not for who he was.
"Also it's... been a while for me." he admitted, his lips against your neck again like it would help hide the confession.
The idea that you were the one to make him this nervous, this unsure, was the most intoxicating thing you had ever experienced.
Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex under your touch. You wanted to memorize the slope of his shoulders, the ridge of his spine, the dip at the base of his back.
"I like it, for the record." He says after a moment of your hands playing with the waistband of those shorts, lost in the feeling of your hands on him. "I like how handsy you get when you're turned on."
You smile and your hands move back to his ass to push him more firmly against your core, you let out your own moan against his lips. He was still so frustratingly clothed.
"It's your turn," you breathed, your hands tugging at the fabric. "Lose the shorts."
He kisses you quickly before pulling back to take them off. There was a significant wet patch on the front from where he'd been pressed against you. You watch his eyes trail down to it.
"Oops..." you whisper with a smirk.
He just shakes his head with a chuckle before he finally, finally slides them and his boxers down in one go, kicking them to the floor.
And then he was naked. All of him. And your brain had to recalculate.
You'd heard the rumors, of course. Locker rooms were a breeding ground for exaggerated gossip. But seeing him in the flesh... seeing the hard, thick length of him, curving up towards his stomach... the rumors hadn't been exaggerated. They'd been an understatement.
He followed the path of your eyes, and you watched a flicker of something- pride, maybe, or just deep-seated insecurity- cross his face.
"You're staring," he said, a nervous edge to his teasing tone.
"I can't imagine a person who wouldn't."
You reached for him, your curiosity overriding any lingering shyness. He was deliciously heavy in your hand, the skin velvety soft. He let out the prettiest moan as you gave a slow, tentative stroke, your thumb smearing the bead of moisture at the tip. His hips stuttered forward, an involuntary movement.
"Jesus," he breathed, his head falling back. His hands braced on the mattress on either side of your head, caging you in. "Okay. Yeah. That's... okay."
He looked wrecked already. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted. It was a heady kind of power.
Your other hand slid up the back of his thigh, over the firm curve of his ass. You gave a little squeeze and he swore again, his hips bucking into your fist.
"Tell me what you want, Steve," you murmured, your voice low and sure.
He looked down at you, his eyes dark, a muscle working in his jaw. He's never been asked that. Not like this.
"Jesus Christ," he said again, as if that were the only coherent thought he could form. "I want... everything."
"Be more specific," you pressed, your thumb swirling over the head of him.
"I want to be inside you," he ground out. "I need to be inside you."
"Good," you whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. "Get a condom."
He blinked, then nodded, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at the loss of your touch. He rolled off you, rummaging in the drawer of his bedside table. He came back with a little foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth.
You watched him roll it on, your own body revving with anticipation. He hovered over you again, one hand braced on the bed, the other lining himself up with your entrance.
"Just... go slow..." you say with a steadying breath. "I'm eager, yeah, but like I said, it's been a minute for me too. And you're... not exactly... small."
He looked genuinely relieved that you'd acknowledged it. "Yeah. I know. It's... it's a lot sometimes, for people. I'll be careful, I swear."
The vulnerability was back, but this time it wasn't about your reaction. It was about the act itself. He was scared of hurting you.
He pressed forward, and you felt the stretch, the welcome pressure of him entering you. It was a slow, deliberate push, and you felt him inch by inch. You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming up to grip his biceps.
He paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "You okay?"
"Just...really love touching you," you gasped out in lieu of a real answer. And it was the truth. Your hands were on him, feeling the toned muscle and the warm skin and the slight tremor in his arms as he held himself still. "You can keep going."
He kissed you, a slow, sweet kiss, almost overwhelming feeling of him filling you. He started to move again, shallow rocking that gradually built into a deeper rhythm.
"God," he breathed against your lips, burying his face in your neck. "You feel... you feel incredible."
Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, silently begging for more. The feeling of your plush, soft thighs around his hips made Steve lose all train of thought. He was breathing into your neck and making these small helpless sounds, like he couldn't believe this was really happening.
He set a pace that was both leisurely and deep, rolling his hips in a way that made you see stars. One of those strong arms made its way under you when you arched into him, pressing your chest to his. The movement shifted you, and he slid deeper, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out.
"Right there?" he asked, a smug satisfaction in his tone. He rolled his hips again, deliberately, grinding against that spot.
"Steve..." you whimpered, unable to form a coherent thought.
"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice a low growl against your ear. His lips moved along the shell of your ear, nipping gently. He was chasing the praise you gave him, hungry for it.
"Steve," you repeated, louder this time, your hands tangling in his hair.
"You feel incredible, fuck you're so soft everywhere" He panted.
He was losing control, the careful rhythm faltering as his hips began to snap harder, more erratically. Your hands slid down his back, your nails trailing just enough before grabbing onto his ass to keep him deep inside you. You didn't want this to end, but you were already climbing again, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"I'm..." you started, but you couldn't finish. The words caught in your throat as he shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. "Holy fuck..."
The new angle was putting his cock impossibly deep, hitting that spot with every thrust. His name became a mantra on your lips, a prayer to the only god you currently believed in.
"I know, baby, I know," he panted, his face buried in your neck. "Doing so good f'me... taking it so good."
The praise was your undoing. Your world went white. You clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you breathless and shaking. A cry tore from your throat, needy and real.
The feeling of your walls closing in around him, the sound of you crying his name, it was too much. He drove into you once, twice more, a whimper tearing from your own lips at the overstimulation. Then he stilled, burying himself deep as he came with a long, shuddering groan against your neck.
For a moment, you both just lay there, a tangle of arms and legs and heavy breathing in the oppressive heat of the room.
Slowly, he lowered your leg back down to the bed, but not before kissing the inside of your knee like a silent 'thank you'. He brushed a sweat-damp piece of hair from your forehead, a gesture so soft and tender it made your heart clench. He was still breathing heavily, each pull almost leading in so a loft laugh.
"Usually I can last longer than that." he's quiet, confessing something you didn't even ask for. "You just..."
He didn't finish.
You just what?
You wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. You were too spent, too content. He carefully pulled out of you, and you both winced at the sensation. He dealt with the condom, tossing it in the small trashcan by the desk with perfect aim.
You expected him to roll over, to put some space between you. That's what the other guys had done. A moment of awkward silence, then the shuffle of sheets and a mumbled 'I'll be right back'. But he didn't. He shifted, pulling you into his arms until your head was resting on his chest, right over his heart. The beat was still fast against your ear.
His arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. One of his legs tangled with yours, a possessive but gentle weight.
"Your chest hair is sweaty." you mumble against him, but your teasing tone gave away that you didn't actually mind. In fact, you kind of liked it.
"I'm aware," he laughed. "You did this to me."
"Oh, so this is my fault?" You laughed with him, your fingers tracing abstract patterns on the soft skin of his stomach.
"Entirely," he confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
The comfortable silence that settled over you was warm.
"So," he started, his voice quiet in the dim room. "Diner pancakes in the morning. You still on for that?"
You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. His hair, which you now realized was grown out a bit more than usual and slightly sunkissed, was fanned out on the pillow, a complete mess. His eyes were soft in the low light, a perfectly warm mix of green and brown.
"You're so beautiful." The words slipped out.
A faint blush crept up his neck, coloring his cheeks. He turned his head for a moment, a boyish gesture that was so at odds with the confident way he'd been looking at you earlier.
"Was that weird?" You asked, suddenly self-conscious. You hadn't meant to say it out loud.
"No," he said, turning back to you, his gaze catching yours. "Just... not what I'm used to hearing."
He reached up, his thumb stroking your cheek. "The girls I'm used to... they'd call me hot, or tell me they liked my car. They wouldn't say that. Don't really think I'd like it from them anyway."
"Maybe you've been talking to the wrong girls," you whispered, leaning into his touch.
"I'm starting to realize that, yeah," he agreed, his hand sliding around to the nape of your neck, pulling you down for a slow, gentle kiss.
You shifted, settling more fully against him, your leg draped over his. Your body was pleasantly sore, a lingering reminder of the way he'd touched you, the way he'd moved inside you.
You were both slick with a cooling layer of sweat in the humid, still air of the bedroom. The window unit was rattling away, doing a valiant but ultimately futile battle against the heatwave and your combined body heat. The sheets were twisted around your legs.
"Your parents aren't, like, gonna come home, are they?" you asked, a flicker of anxiety cutting through the post-coital bliss.
He let out a soft, bitter laugh. "No. My dad's in Chicago until August. My mom's on some retreat on the east coast. Supposed to 'celebrate the woman within' or some phony shit." He paused, tracing the line of your spine. "I think the only thing within her is a tanned tennis instructor named Todd."
"Ouch," you murmured, kissing his collarbone.
"It would be, if my dad didn't spend so many late nights at the office with just his secretary," he said, the words devoid of any real emotion. It was just a fact of life. "This house has been a revolving door for their issues for years. But I'm used to being alone here."
He squeezed your shoulder. "So, no. We're not going to get interrupted."
You felt the weight of that admission, the casual mention of a loneliness so profound it had become normal. It explained a lot about him, the desperate need for attention, the endless parties. He was just trying to fill the silence.
"We could... spend more time together tomorrow. After pancakes," you offered, your own nerves fluttering. "If you wanted."
He went very still. You could feel the change in his breathing, the way he held it.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice a little rough. "You'd want to?"
"Do... you want to? I don't want to get in the way of you, like, hanging out with your friends or..."
"At this point my friends are a group of preteen nerds I was forced to babysit," he said, a small smile in his voice. "I think I'd rather hang out with you."
"Preteen nerds?"
"It's a long, very weird story," he said. "Involved a lot of digging and a very big bat."
"A bat? What, were you playing baseball?"
He huffed a quiet laugh against your hair. "Something like that. If you keep seeing me, maybe I'll tell you all about it one day."
"Are we seeing each other? Is that what this is?" You tried to keep your tone light, but your heart gave a little lurch at the prospect of putting a name to this thing between you.
"I'd like to," he said, so quiet you almost missed it. "If you would."
"I would," you whispered back, the answer easy and true.
He rolled onto his side, shifting so he was facing you, propping his head up on his hand. The little bedside lamp cast a warm, golden glow over him, highlighting the soft curve of his lips, the earnestness in his eyes.
"Good," he said, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. "So, pancakes in the morning? Then maybe we could go to the lake? It's supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. We could go for a swim."
"Trying to see me in a swim suit?"
"Is it working?" he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Maybe."
"Should I try to convince you?"
"You're welcome to try…" you challenge.
A slow, predatory grin spread across Steve's face. He leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his and giving it a gentle, suggestive nip. "I think," he murmured against your lips, "I can be very convincing..."
Summary: When Steve's voice starts calling for help somewhere deep inside the Upside Down, your only instinct is to find him. That's exactly what Vecna is counting on.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, set around the events of season 4, psychological horror, canon-typical violence, anxiety, fear, fluff (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 8.3k
A/N: this one is HEAVILY inspired by a recent rewatch of hunger games: catching fire, specifically the scene with the jabberjays. this fic has been sat in my drafts, half-written, since, honestly, about march. i finally got round to finishing it this evening, and i feel incredibly proud of it. also probably not canon-accurate in any way, but we can all pretend. enjoy <3
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
If you want to be added to my taglist, leave a comment to lmk!
The Upside Down is quieter than it has any right to be.
Not silent - never silent - but subdued in a way that feels almost expectant, as though the whole landscape is listening rather than breathing. Ash drifts lazily through the air, settling in your hair, your eyelashes, the shoulders of your jacket, while every now and then something groans somewhere overhead, the sound echoing through the skeletal remains of Hawkins before disappearing into the endless red-grey haze. Every shadow seems to linger a fraction longer than it should. Every abandoned house feels as though it's watching you back.
Nobody speaks unless they have to anymore. After everything that's happened over the past few years, you've all learnt that unnecessary noise rarely ends well in this place.
The six of you move carefully along what used to be a residential street, flashlights sweeping slowly across abandoned cars, collapsed fences and gardens swallowed whole by impossible roots. Your boots crunch through brittle leaves that never seem to decay, disturbing clouds of pale spores that drift lazily back towards the ground as though gravity itself behaves differently here. Somewhere nearby, something creaks - a long, drawn-out noise that could just as easily be an old house settling as something waking up - and without thinking, the entire group pauses for half a second before continuing on.
Nancy walks at the front, shotgun resting across one shoulder as she periodically unfolds the increasingly battered map tucked into her jacket pocket, comparing hastily scribbled landmarks against the warped streets around you. Robin stays close enough to mutter the occasional nervous observation whenever the silence starts pressing too heavily against her chest, her voice never quite loud enough to carry beyond the group. You fall into step just behind them, while Lucas and Max keep pace a few feet back and Mike brings up the rear, glancing over his shoulder often enough that it's obvious none of you are particularly comfortable being separated.
Splitting into two groups had been necessary.
Nobody had liked it.
Least of all, Steve.
Even now, you can still picture the expression he'd worn before you'd gone your separate ways, bat slung over one shoulder, jaw set so tightly you'd thought he might crack a tooth. Every instinct he possessed had been arguing against leaving you somewhere he couldn't immediately reach, and it had taken Nancy reminding him - twice - that covering more ground was the only way this plan stood a chance of working before he'd reluctantly given in.
"Yeah," he'd muttered, still unconvinced. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
You'd smiled despite yourself, reaching across to squeeze his hand through the fingerless leather glove he refused to throw away, reminding him that if anyone in Hawkins knew how to survive the Upside Down by now, it was probably the woman standing in front of him.
That hadn't impressed him nearly as much as you'd hoped.
Instead, he'd simply sighed, stepped closer, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Dustin wasn't looking, and pressed a quick kiss against your forehead.
"Be careful."
"Always am."
"Liar."
You'd laughed, nudged his shoulder, and watched him disappear into the crimson mist with Dustin, Jonathan, Eddie, Will and Eleven until the trees had swallowed them completely.
The memory still tugs at the corner of your mouth.
Until-
"...Hey."
The smile disappears instantly.
You stop so abruptly Robin almost walks straight into your back.
"What?" she asks, steadying herself with a hand against your shoulder.
You don't answer.
Your head turns slowly towards the trees to your left, every muscle in your body suddenly taut.
It isn't loud.
If anything, it's strangely distant, the sound drifting through the dead forest like smoke on the wind. For a heartbeat there's nothing else - only the soft hiss of spores falling through bare branches and the faint crackle of your flashlight.
Then it comes again.
"Hey!"
Closer this time.
Urgent.
"I'm over here!"
Your stomach drops so violently it almost hurts.
You would know that voice anywhere.
"Steve?"
The name leaves your mouth before you've consciously decided to say it.
Nancy's head snaps around immediately. "What?"
Before you can answer, the voice comes again.
"Honey."
The nickname punches the air from your lungs.
Nobody else calls you that.
Not Robin. Not Nancy. Not your parents.
Only Steve.
"Honey!"
There's something beneath it now that wasn't there before.
Fear.
Not the loud, frantic kind, but the tight, restrained panic of somebody desperately trying to keep themselves together. The kind of fear that makes your own pulse spike before you've even had time to think.
"I can't-"
The sentence breaks apart abruptly, swallowed by the trees.
Your heart lurches into your throat.
"Steve?!" you shout, already stepping forward. "Steve, where are you?!"
For a moment, the world answers with nothing.
Not even the ordinary silence of the Upside Down, but something heavier, stranger, as though the entire landscape has paused to listen.
Then, impossibly, the voice comes again.
Closer.
Close enough that you instinctively turn your head.
"Come find me..."
The words catch on a ragged breath before the final one arrives, quiet enough to almost disappear beneath the drifting ash.
"...Please."
Everything inside you seizes.
You've heard Steve angry before. Exhausted. Bleeding. Terrified enough to stand between monsters and children with nothing but a baseball bat clutched in white knuckles.
But you've almost never heard him sound helpless.
You don't think.
You run.
The forest surges towards you as your boots hammer across uneven ground, branches clawing at your sleeves while ash billows around your legs. Somewhere behind you, Nancy shouts your name, followed almost immediately by Robin yelling, "Wait!" but neither voice properly registers. Steve sounds hurt. Steve sounds alone. Steve needs you, and every instinct you possess drowns beneath that single overwhelming certainty.
"Steve!" you yell back, your voice tearing through the trees. "Steve, where are you?"
Nothing.
Then-
"Honey!"
Further ahead now.
You change direction immediately, scrambling over the twisted roots that split the road apart. He sounds closer this time. You can get to him. You just have to keep moving.
Behind you, Nancy's voice grows sharper.
"Wait!"
This time she's running too.
Robin isn't far behind, crashing through the undergrowth in your wake, and neither of them is trying to stop you anymore.
They're following. Because they'd heard him too.
Somewhere further back, confusion suddenly erupts.
"Wait - what's happening?" Mike calls.
"What are you doing?" Lucas shouts, his voice carrying faintly between the trees.
Max's follows a heartbeat later. "Guys?"
You never hear the answer.
The forest swallows their voices almost immediately, leaving only the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears, your breathing growing harsher with every step, and somewhere ahead, drifting through the ash like a lifeline you can't bear to lose...
Steve.
Calling your name.
Nancy doesn't waste a second.
The moment you're swallowed by the trees, she snatches the walkie-talkie from her belt without breaking stride, thumbing the transmit button as she runs, branches whipping against her sleeves and catching in her hair while Robin struggles to keep pace beside her. Both of them are still searching desperately through the dead woodland for any glimpse of your torchlight, but you're already disappearing deeper into the crimson mist, moving far faster than either of them can hope to match.
"Dustin," Nancy says sharply, breathing hard between each word. "Dustin, come in."
For one agonising second, only static answers her, the familiar crackle hissing through the speaker loud enough to make her grip tighten instinctively around the radio. Robin glances sideways, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and fear, before Dustin's voice finally bursts through the interference.
"Nancy?" he says, sounding perfectly ordinary. "You guys okay?"
"No." Nancy doesn't even attempt to soften the answer. "Where's Steve?"
There's a pause.
"...What?"
"Dustin." Her voice is tighter now. "Where is Steve?"
Another beat passes before Dustin replies, and this time the confusion in his voice is unmistakable.
"...Uh..."
The radio crackles again.
"...He's here."
Nancy almost stumbles over an exposed root. "What?"
"I said he's here."
Robin's head snaps sharply towards her, eyes already widening as Nancy presses the walkie harder against her ear, convinced she'd simply misheard. "What do you mean he's there?"
"I mean..." Dustin sounds genuinely baffled now. "...he's standing right next to me."
There's the muffled sound of movement, someone taking the radio, and then Steve's voice comes through the speaker.
"Nance?"
The blood drains from Nancy's face.
"...What's going on?"
She stops so abruptly Robin nearly crashes into her shoulder before managing to catch herself, both of them standing motionless amongst the twisted trees as the impossible settles between them. For a long moment neither woman says anything, because the voice coming through the walkie is calm, confused, completely steady. It bears absolutely no resemblance to the terrified voice that had been echoing through the forest less than a minute ago.
"...Steve?" Nancy manages eventually.
"Yeah?"
"...Are you okay?"
"...Yeah."
"You sure?"
Steve lets out a small, bewildered laugh. "I mean... considering where we are? Sure enough."
Nancy looks at Robin. Robin looks back. Neither of them says it aloud, but they both reach the same impossible conclusion at exactly the same time.
Robin leans towards the radio first.
"...Steve." Her voice comes out far quieter than she'd intended. "...We just heard you."
Silence.
Nancy forces herself to continue. "You were yelling for help. You kept calling out and..." Her throat tightens painfully as she glances in the direction you'd disappeared. "...and she ran after you."
Another silence follows, longer this time, until Dustin finally breaks it.
"...What?"
Steve sounds equally lost. "...What yelling?"
Nancy can hear her own heartbeat now, loud enough that it almost drowns out the radio. "You were calling her name."
"I wasn't."
"You said-"
"I never said anything."
There's no hesitation in the reply. No uncertainty. No searching through his memory to make sure he hasn't forgotten. Steve says it with the absolute certainty of someone stating an indisputable fact.
"I never yelled."
The words settle over both groups like falling ash.
Nobody speaks.
Not Nancy. Not Robin. Not Dustin.
Even the radio seems to fall silent.
It is Robin who finally whispers the question none of them wants to ask.
"...Then who did we hear?"
Nobody has the chance to answer.
Very faintly, through the crackling speaker, another voice reaches the other group.
"Jonathan!"
Jonathan's head jerks upright on the other end of the radio. "Nancy?"
Again.
Closer this time.
"Jonathan!"
Jonathan is already moving before anyone can stop him.
"Nancy!" he shouts instinctively into the darkness. "Where are you?"
"No!" Nancy's voice tears through the walkie. "Jonathan, wait!"
He freezes mid-step.
"It's not me!"
The forest falls deathly quiet.
Jonathan lowers his flashlight by fractions, his eyes never leaving the darkness ahead, while beside him Steve has gone completely still, every muscle in his body suddenly taut.
Then the voice comes again.
"Jonathan..."
It sounds closer now.
More desperate.
"...Please."
Jonathan's face empties of colour.
"...That's..."
The sentence dies unfinished.
Chaos erupts almost immediately afterwards. Questions crash into one another from every direction, nobody waiting long enough for an answer before another voice cuts across it.
"What the hell is that?"
"How is it doing that?"
"It sounded exactly like-"
"Jonathan, don't move!"
"Steve, wait-"
Because Steve has already taken a step towards the sound.
Just one. Instinctive. Automatic. The sort of step you don't realise you've taken until somebody points it out.
Will's voice is so quiet at first that nobody hears him.
"...It's learning."
The panic rolls straight over the top of him. The radio continues crackling with overlapping voices while Steve stares into the trees, every instinct screaming at him to run after Jonathan before it's too late.
Will looks up.
"...Guys."
Still nobody listens.
Then, louder this time-
"It's learning!"
Everything stops.
Even Steve.
Will has gone frighteningly pale, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees as though he's finally recognised a pattern that's been sitting just beyond reach this whole time.
"It isn't just copying us."
Nobody interrupts him. Nobody even breathes.
"It's finding the voices we'll follow."
The words settle over the group with all the weight of a death sentence.
Steve feels something cold slide slowly down his spine as every conversation he's ever had in this place suddenly replays itself in his mind. Every frantic shout across a battlefield. Every nickname. Every desperate search through the dark. Every time someone had called Robin, Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, Max... every time somebody had shouted his own name, or called you Honey across a room without thinking.
The Upside Down had heard it all.
It had listened.
And somewhere, somehow, it had remembered.
Not simply the sounds of their voices, but the relationships behind them. The people those voices belonged to. The ones each of them would instinctively run towards without stopping to think.
It wasn't imitating them.
It was studying them.
The realisation lands with such force that Steve feels physically winded.
His head snaps towards the walkie.
"...Where is she?"
Nancy and Robin don't answer immediately. Instead they look at one another, horror spreading slowly across both their faces as they finally understand what had just happened. Robin is the one who finds her voice first, though it barely rises above a whisper.
"...She went after the voice."
Steve doesn't wait for another word.
He tears into the trees at a sprint, Dustin and Jonathan following without hesitation while Eddie, Will and Eleven race after them. Behind him, Nancy forces herself back into motion as well, raising the walkie while she runs.
"East," she says breathlessly. "She headed east, towards the old woods. She thought..." Her voice catches for the briefest moment before she forces the words out. "...she thought she was coming to you."
Steve doesn't answer.
He can't.
Because only one thought is repeating over and over in his head now, louder than his own footsteps, louder than the pounding of his heart, louder than the forest rushing past him.
It knew you'd come.
Steve is moving before Nancy has even finished giving the direction.
"...East-"
It's the only word he hears.
His boots are already pounding across broken tarmac before his mind has caught up with the decision, the walkie still crackling uselessly somewhere behind him as Eddie swears, Jonathan shouts something he doesn't quite catch, and somebody - maybe Dustin - is barking for everyone to stay together. It barely registers. As far as Steve is concerned, he is staying together. You're out there somewhere, alone in a place that has just learnt exactly how to separate people from the ones they love, and everything else falls away beneath that single, brutal certainty. The plan, the map Nancy had spent hours drawing, the routes they'd carefully agreed to follow, even Vecna himself - all of it is pushed aside by one overwhelming instinct. You are alone, and he has to get to you.
He tears through the dead woodland without slowing, branches whipping violently across his face and shoulders, leaving thin scratches he doesn't even feel as they catch against his jacket. Thick vines snake across the forest floor, looping around his boots often enough that he nearly loses his footing twice, while ash swirls through the beam of his flashlight so densely that the trees seem to dissolve into shifting silhouettes before reforming again.
Every movement in the corner of his vision demands a second glance he doesn't have time to give. Every twisted trunk looks like somebody standing just beyond the light until he gets close enough to realise it's only another dead tree.
"Honey!"
His voice tears through the forest, louder than he intends, echoing strangely through the endless stillness before disappearing into the red-grey haze.
Nothing.
He doesn't hesitate.
"Honey!"
Again, only silence answers him. Not true silence - the Upside Down is never truly silent - but the slow groan of old trees, the distant crackle of vines shifting somewhere beyond the flashlight beam, the soft hiss of ash drifting endlessly from a sky that has forgotten what daylight looks like.
Less than two minutes ago, something in this place had been shouting your name over and over again, loud enough to pull you halfway across the forest without a second thought.
Now...
Nothing.
The silence feels deliberate somehow, as though the Upside Down has already said everything it needed to say.
Steve runs harder.
He can hear the others crashing through the undergrowth somewhere behind him, Dustin already beginning to fall behind while Jonathan stubbornly refuses to let him disappear entirely from sight, but they're little more than background noise now.
His own heartbeat pounds so violently against his ribs that it drowns almost everything else out, each breath burning harder than the last as one thought repeats over and over with desperate, unbearable simplicity.
Please answer.
Please.
Please-
A scream tears through the forest.
Steve stops breathing.
It isn't his name.
It isn't even words.
It's one raw, involuntary cry, ripped straight from somebody's chest before cutting off so abruptly it feels as though the air itself has been stolen away mid-breath.
His stomach drops.
Not because he recognises the voice, though he does immediately.
Because he recognises the fear.
The voices that had lured you away had been almost unnervingly perfect. They'd sounded exactly like him, exactly like Nancy, every sentence carefully chosen, every plea just convincing enough to override reason. Looking back, they were almost too perfect, polished in a way real panic never is.
This...
This isn't like that.
This scream isn't performed.
It isn't trying to imitate terror.
It is terror.
"Hurry!" he shouts to the others behind him, though he barely realises the words have left his mouth.
He changes direction instantly, boots skidding across loose earth as he throws himself towards the sound with reckless desperation. Branches claw at his sleeves, vines wrap around his ankles, ash blinds him for a heartbeat at a time, but none of it is enough to slow him down. Every instinct in his body is screaming that he is running out of time, and he pushes harder, lungs burning, muscles protesting, the forest seeming to resist every step as though it doesn't want him reaching you.
Then, without warning, the trees fall away.
Steve bursts into the clearing so fast he almost loses his footing entirely, stopping so abruptly that Dustin crashes into his back a second later before Jonathan catches them both.
Nobody moves.
Nobody speaks.
Even the forest seems to hold its breath.
You're suspended several feet above the ground.
Your head is thrown back so far it looks painful, your eyes rolled white beneath half-closed lids, arms drifting slowly outwards as though invisible hands are pulling them wider inch by inch. Your feet hang limp beneath you, toes barely disturbing the ash swirling below, while your fingers twitch and curl into impossible, unnatural shapes that Steve has seen once before and prayed he'd never have to witness again.
His mind doesn't even need a second to make the connection.
Another girl.
Another impossible choice.
Another body floating helplessly beneath a blood-red sky.
Max.
"Oh, God..."
The words escape him before he realises he's spoken them.
Everything inside him turns to ice.
No.
No.
God, no.
He's too late.
By the time Nancy reaches the clearing, Robin is only a step behind her, Lucas and Mike close on their heels, all of them arriving breathless enough that the sight before them steals what little air they had left.
Dustin reaches for Steve's arm instinctively, fingers wrapping around his sleeve before he even seems to realise he's done it, while Robin says your name just once, so quietly it barely sounds like a word at all. It comes out as disbelief more than anything else, as though saying it aloud might somehow make what she's looking at impossible. Lucas swears under his breath, a sharp, horrified sound swallowed almost immediately by the dead forest, and Nancy doesn't waste a second. Panic has always made her practical. She's already scanning the clearing, already looking for an answer, already searching for something - anything - they can still do.
Everyone is talking at once.
"What do we do?"
"Get her down!"
"El-"
"Steve!"
"The music-"
The voices blur together into meaningless noise. Steve hears them, but they never quite become words. His entire world has narrowed to the impossible image hanging in front of him.
To you.
Your head is still thrown back unnaturally, your body suspended several feet above the ash-covered ground, but then he notices something that turns his blood to ice.
Your lips are moving.
Slowly.
Almost conversationally.
As though you're talking to somebody standing right in front of you.
No sound comes out.
For one terrible, endless moment, Steve feels completely useless.
He has always known what to do. Swing the bat. Get between the monster and the kids. Buy everybody enough time to run. Keep moving until the danger passes. Even when he was terrified, there had always been something practical to hold onto, some action that made fear feel manageable.
Now...
There is nothing.
He takes one step forward, instinctively positioning himself beneath you before stopping again, his hands lifting helplessly as though he might somehow be able to catch you despite the impossible distance between you. Every instinct tells him to reach for you, to pull you back, to fix this somehow, but he can't even touch you.
His gaze flicks desperately towards Eleven, searching her face for reassurance she doesn't have, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he realises he genuinely has no idea what he's supposed to do.
Then something clicks.
The backpack. His backpack.
Before anyone can even finish shouting over one another, Steve is already dropping to his knees, wrenching the zip open with shaking hands and throwing supplies blindly into the ash as he searches. Flashlights. Rope. Spare batteries. Bandages. Everything he'd packed because somebody might need it. Dustin starts to ask what he's doing, but Steve barely hears him.
His fingers close around cold plastic.
The Walkman.
Hidden beneath spare ammunition and first-aid supplies is the cassette he'd tucked away weeks ago without ever mentioning it to you, your favourite album carefully rewound and ready to play.
He'd packed it after Max. Quietly. Secretly. Not because he'd expected to use it, but because the idea of ever standing helplessly beside another person he loved without at least trying had become unbearable.
Of course he'd brought it.
Of course he had.
Somewhere else, somewhere that doesn't feel like a place so much as a memory that's forgotten how to end, you are running.
The world around you is wrong in ways your mind can't quite untangle. Streets fold into childhood bedrooms, school corridors open into empty forests, and every familiar place seems to shift the moment you look away from it, rearranging itself into something almost recognisable before slipping just beyond understanding again.
Faces appear in the distance - people you love, people you've known your whole life - but something about them feels subtly, nauseatingly off. Their smiles linger too long. Their eyes don't quite meet yours. Their voices sound as though they're being remembered by someone who has never actually spoken to them.
Ahead of you, Steve appears between two dead trees.
He smiles.
He lifts a hand.
"Come here."
Relief floods through you so suddenly your legs almost buckle.
You take one step-
The image tears apart like paper caught in a fire.
The smile vanishes.
The trees dissolve into darkness.
And from somewhere beyond the endless red horizon, something begins to move.
Vecna emerges slowly, impossibly tall against the crimson landscape, each measured step echoing through the empty expanse until the sound seems to come from every direction at once.
He doesn't hurry. He doesn't need to.
One grotesquely elongated hand stretches towards you, fingers unfurling with terrifying patience, while his voice settles around you like smoke.
"You've always been so willing to follow."
You stumble backwards.
He keeps coming.
"There was never any question."
His hand reaches your face.
Long fingers press gently against your temple.
Your vision whites out.
Back in the Upside Down, your body jerks violently.
Robin gasps.
Steve looks up just in time to see you rise higher, another few feet lifting you into the air until you're suspended almost twelve feet above the ground, your arms beginning to spread wider as though invisible vines are pulling every joint apart one careful inch at a time.
The cassette clicks into place.
Music erupts from the tiny portable speaker, far too small for a clearing this large, the sound fighting desperately against the endless groan of the Upside Down.
Nothing happens.
Steve turns the volume higher.
Still nothing.
It can't have been more than a minute.
It feels like hours.
He stares up at you, desperately searching for any sign that you've heard it - that your fingers twitched differently, that your breathing changed, that something, anything, reached you - but your expression never changes.
Around him, nobody says it aloud.
Nobody has to.
They're all thinking exactly the same thing.
They're losing you.
Inside the vision, everything begins to unravel.
Your memories spill around you in broken fragments, recognisable enough to hurt but twisted just enough to become unbearable.
Steve turns away from you without looking back.
Robin laughs as she walks past, pretending not to know your name.
Empty rooms stretch endlessly before you, years of your life collapsing into quiet apartments where nobody ever comes to visit, birthdays forgotten, phone calls unanswered, photographs fading one by one until every face disappears.
You try to run.
The world doesn't let you.
Invisible vines wrap themselves tighter around your ribs every time you struggle, stealing each breath before it can properly fill your lungs.
"I told you," Vecna's voice murmurs somewhere behind you, everywhere at once. "Nobody ever loved you."
The memory changes.
Steve smiles sadly.
"I just felt sorry for you."
Another.
You watch your own funeral.
Nobody cries.
"The others will barely notice you're gone."
"No..." you whisper.
"They'll move on."
"No!"
You fight harder now, twisting violently against restraints you still can't see, tears streaming freely down your face as panic overtakes reason.
Nothing works.
Every desperate movement only seems to tighten whatever is holding you in place, until your screams barely escape your throat at all.
This is it.
You're never getting out.
And somehow, impossibly, the worst part isn't even that you're about to die.
It's Steve.
You heard him.
He sounded terrified.
He needed you.
You never reached him.
As another tear slips down your cheek, all you can do is pray that wherever he is, whatever found him, he made it out.
Please let him be okay.
Please let him survive this.
Even if you don't.
Suddenly-
another voice.
So quiet at first you almost mistake it for another trick.
"...Hey."
Not Vecna.
Steve.
Real Steve.
It barely reaches you, no louder than a memory, but you'd know that voice anywhere.
Vecna's words continue, louder now, trying to drown it out, but Steve keeps speaking anyway, his voice weaving itself carefully through every lie.
"Remember Family Video?"
The darkness flickers.
"The day I asked you out? You spilt that whole thing of popcorn all over the floor, then looked me dead in the eye and tried to convince me it'd already been there before you got there. You were so serious about it, I almost believed you."
Another memory.
Your first date.
"Remember when I tried so hard to impress you that I spent twenty minutes pretending I knew what I was talking about, and then you asked one follow-up question and I had to admit I'd completely made it up? You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the bench. I thought I'd ruined the whole date. You told me afterwards it was the moment you actually started liking me."
The first time he'd kissed you.
"Do you remember our first kiss? I kept saying goodnight and then not leaving. I think I said it three times. You finally laughed and told me, 'Steve, either kiss me or go home.' So I kissed you… And then I still stood there for another five minutes because I didn't actually want to leave."
The first time he'd laughed so hard he'd nearly fallen off the bonnet of his car.
"Remember when we stayed in the Family Video parking lot for almost two hours after my shift because we kept saying, 'Okay, one more story,' and then neither of us ever left? You got halfway through telling me about the weird dream you'd had where Robin somehow became President, and you were doing all the voices. I laughed so hard I nearly fell straight off the bonnet of the car. You laughed because I was laughing, and neither of us could stop."
Every story arrives exactly as it happened, warm and ordinary and completely, stubbornly true.
Vecna's voice rises in fury.
Steve's doesn't.
It just keeps talking.
Keeps reminding you.
Keeps loving you loudly enough to be heard.
The vines around your wrists loosen.
Only slightly.
But enough.
You pull.
They give.
Suddenly you're falling forward onto solid ground instead of hanging helplessly in the endless red expanse, and for the first time since this nightmare began you can see it.
A tear in the darkness.
Beyond it-
the clearing.
Your own body suspended in the air.
Nancy.
Robin.
Max.
Everyone looking up at you in horror.
And directly beneath you...
Steve.
His face is streaked with ash and panic, his mouth still moving as he tells another story, another memory, another reason to come back.
You can hear him now.
Perfectly.
Each word grows louder as you begin to run towards him, the impossible distance between you shrinking with every desperate step across the crimson landscape. He's reaching for you, even though he can't possibly touch you from where he stands, and somehow you know exactly where the gap in this red hellscape leads.
You're almost there.
Close enough to see the tears in his eyes.
Close enough to hear him say your name.
Close enough that if you just keep running-
For one suspended, impossible heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then your body drops.
There isn't a graceful descent, no slow drifting back towards the earth. One moment you're hanging impossibly high above them, the next the invisible force holding you gives way entirely, and you plummet towards the ash-covered ground.
Steve is already moving.
He catches you before you can hit the forest floor, the force of your body slamming into his hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. His knees buckle beneath the impact, Dustin grabbing his shoulder just in time to stop both of you crashing into the roots behind him, but Steve barely notices. He's already wrapping both arms around you, pulling you instinctively against his chest as though he can somehow shield you from whatever has just happened simply by refusing to let go.
"Hey, hey, hey..." His voice is shaking so badly he barely recognises it as his own. "I've got you. I've got you."
He lowers you both gently to the ground, pulling you into the safety of his lap.
You don't answer.
Not immediately.
Your body is trembling violently in his arms, each breath catching somewhere high in your chest before dissolving into another sob, your eyes squeezed shut as though opening them might drag you straight back into whatever nightmare you've just escaped. Steve's heart lurches into his throat.
His other hand cups your jaw instead, carefully tilting your face towards him just enough to check your pupils, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly across the tears still clinging to your cheek.
"Hey."
Nothing.
"Honey."
His voice breaks completely on the nickname.
"Come on."
Your eyelashes flutter.
Then, slowly, your eyes open.
They don't focus immediately. They dart frantically around the clearing, pupils wide with panic, as though you're still trying to work out which world you're standing in. For a terrifying second, Steve isn't sure you recognise him at all.
Then your gaze catches his.
Relief floods across your face so suddenly it almost hurts to look at.
Your fingers seize handfuls of his jacket before he can say another word, clutching the fabric with desperate, shaking hands.
"Steve."
"I'm here."
"What..." Your voice catches painfully. "Why were you screaming?"
Steve freezes.
"I heard you." The words tumble out faster now, tripping over one another as tears continue spilling unchecked down your face. "You sounded scared. You kept calling me and I- I tried to find you, but..." You shake your head hard, still gripping him so tightly he can feel your hands trembling through the denim. "Are you hurt? What happened? Where were you? Steve..."
Every question lands like a punch to the ribs.
You still think you were trying to save him.
You have absolutely no idea what really happened.
Steve opens his mouth.
He almost tells you.
Almost explains the voices, the mimicry, the impossible horror of hearing himself call your name while standing half a mile away. He almost tells you how close he'd come to losing you, how he'd watched you floating beneath that ruined sky exactly the way Max had, how for one unbearable moment he'd genuinely believed this was the last time he'd ever hold you.
Then he really looks at you.
You're shaking so violently your teeth chatter between words. Every breath is too quick, too shallow, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts that never quite seem to fill your lungs. Even now, even after everything, your hands are moving over him in frantic little checks, brushing across his shoulders, his face, his arms, searching desperately for injuries that aren't there.
You're still trying to make sure he's okay.
This isn't the moment for explanations.
What you need isn't the truth.
You need certainty.
Without saying another word, Steve slides one hand gently to the back of your head and pulls you against him, his other arm wrapping securely around your shoulders until there's barely any space left between you. He can feel your heartbeat hammering wildly against his chest, completely out of rhythm with his own, and so he simply holds you there, one hand stroking slowly through your hair as though reminding you, over and over again, that he's solid.
Real.
Alive.
"I'm here," he murmurs quietly, resting his forehead against yours. "You're okay."
You shake your head weakly.
"No, but-"
"I'm here."
"I thought-"
"I know."
"I couldn't get to you."
"You don't have to."
His voice is impossibly gentle now, every word spoken with the same quiet certainty.
"I'm here, baby. I'm not hurt. I promise."
Another sob catches somewhere deep inside your chest.
"I'll explain everything when we get out of here, okay?"
He waits until your eyes find his again before continuing.
"But right now..." His thumb brushes carefully beneath your eye, wiping away another tear before it has the chance to fall. "...I've got you."
Your breathing catches.
Then, slowly, almost without either of you noticing, it begins to change.
One shaky breath.
Then another.
Steve doesn't ask you to breathe with him. He simply breathes himself, slow and steady, holding you close enough that your body has something solid to follow. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the frantic rhythm of your breathing begins to match his own, each inhale a little deeper than the last until your shoulders stop shaking quite so violently.
Only then does Steve finally lift his head.
Over your shoulder, the rest of the group stand scattered around the clearing in complete silence.
Nobody speaks.
Robin's hands are still clasped tightly over her mouth. Dustin has gone unnaturally pale. Eddie stares fixedly at the place where you'd been hanging only moments before, while Nancy slowly lowers the shotgun she'd forgotten she was still holding. Even Eleven, exhausted as she is, looks quietly shaken.
None of them need to say what they're all thinking.
The Upside Down hadn't almost fooled them.
It had almost taken you.
And for one unbearable moment...
it very nearly succeeded.
By the time you all make it back to Hawkins, the adrenaline has long since burnt itself out, leaving behind only the kind of exhaustion that settles somewhere deeper than your bones.
Nobody feels much like talking.
The drive back is almost entirely silent, broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio somebody had forgotten to switch off and Robin quietly asking if anyone wants to stop for food before immediately deciding she isn't actually hungry after all.
You end up back at Steve's house.
Somebody makes tea. Somebody else disappears upstairs and comes back with blankets that don't quite match. Dustin spends five solid minutes insisting he isn't tired before promptly falling asleep in the armchair with his head tipped awkwardly against the cushions. Jonathan and Nancy sit shoulder to shoulder on the opposite sofa without saying much of anything, content simply to exist in the same room now that they're all accounted for.
Relief, it turns out, isn't loud. It doesn't arrive with celebration or triumphant laughter. It arrives softly, in mugs of tea gone cold before anyone remembers to drink them, in blankets tucked carefully around shaking shoulders, in the quiet reassurance of counting heads every few minutes and finding that everyone is still there.
You're lying along Steve's sofa, a blanket pulled loosely over you despite the warmth of the room, your eyes half-closed with exhaustion.
Every muscle aches. Your head feels heavy, your thoughts slower than usual, as though some part of you is still trying to find its way back from wherever Vecna had taken you.
Steve hasn't left your side once.
He's sitting on the floor beside the sofa, his shoulder resting lightly against the cushions, one hand absently cradling the back of your head where it hangs over the armrest, his thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles through your hair every now and then as though reassuring himself that you're still solid beneath his fingertips.
He waits.
Not because he's unsure whether to ask, but because he's spent the last hour watching you slowly return to yourself, and he isn't willing to rush whatever fragile peace has finally settled over the room.
Eventually, when everyone else's conversations have faded into comfortable background noise, he speaks so quietly you're almost convinced you've imagined it.
"...Can I ask you something?"
You turn your head just enough to look at him and give the smallest nod.
He hesitates for a moment, eyes dropping to where his hand still rests against your hair before he quietly asks, "...What exactly did it sound like?"
You know immediately what he means.
"The voice?"
Steve nods once.
"It sounded like..." You swallow. "...You."
He smiles sadly, shaking his head almost before you've finished.
"No." His voice is gentle. "Not who it sounded like."
A beat passes.
"...What did it say?"
You frown.
At first, all you can remember is the panic. The fear. The overwhelming certainty that Steve was somewhere ahead of you, frightened and alone. The details blur together, slipping through your fingers every time you try to hold onto them.
Then, slowly, one sentence surfaces.
Your expression changes.
"...It said..." You stop, hearing it again exactly as you had in the forest.
"'Come find me.'"
The room falls quiet.
Steve doesn't answer straight away.
Instead, he looks down at the floor between you for a long moment, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly as something clicks into place.
You see it happen.
The same realisation finds you a heartbeat later.
"...You'd never say that."
Steve looks back up. "... No. I wouldn't."
You keep turning the memory over in your mind, examining it from every angle now that you know it wasn't real, and suddenly the whole thing feels obvious in a way it hadn't before.
"You'd tell me to stay where I was."
Another slow nod.
"Yeah."
Silence settles between you again.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he quietly adds, "...Or I'd come to you."
You stare at him.
Because he's right.
Of course he's right.
If it had been true - if Steve had genuinely been lost somewhere in the Upside Down, terrified and unable to reach you - he would never have asked you to run blindly towards him. He'd have told you to stay put. To hide. To wait. He'd have found a way to reach you himself, even if it meant walking straight back into danger.
The voice had been perfect.
Every inflexion. Every hesitation. Every tiny detail that made it unmistakably Steve.
But it had made one fatal mistake.
It had copied his voice.
Not his heart.
You let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sob.
"It knew how you sounded," you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. "It just... didn't know you."
Steve's expression softens.
"No," he agrees quietly. "It didn't."
Because that's who Steve is.
The Upside Down had understood your fear. It had understood your memories, your instincts, the people whose voices would make you run without thinking. But it had failed to understand something much simpler, and much harder to imitate.
Steve Harrington has never asked the people he loves to walk into danger for him.
He goes first.
Always has.
Always will.
For a long while, nobody says anything.
The house settles into one of those rare silences that only follows genuine fear, where nobody quite trusts themselves to speak because doing so would mean acknowledging how close they'd all come to losing someone.
The mugs of tea on the coffee table have long since gone cold, and outside, somewhere beyond the curtains, a car passes along the quiet suburban street, blissfully unaware that the world has almost ended again.
You find yourself looking around the room instead.
At Robin, curled awkwardly into the corner of the sofa with her knees tucked beneath her chin.
At Nancy, staring absently into her untouched cup of tea.
At Jonathan, who hasn't taken his eyes off Nancy since they got back.
At Max, quieter than usual, her expression unreadable as she turns an empty cassette case over and over between her hands.
And at Steve, still sitting beside you on the floor, his shoulder resting lightly against the sofa, as though moving even a few feet further away from you somehow feels impossible after what happened.
It is Will who finally breaks the silence.
His voice is quiet enough that everyone has to look up to hear it.
"...We need a new rule."
No one answers immediately.
Not because anyone disagrees.
Because they all know he's right.
The old rules had kept them alive this long. Stay together. Keep the radios on. Don't make unnecessary noise. Don't split up unless you absolutely have to.
Now those rules weren't enough anymore.
Will draws a slow breath before continuing.
"If you hear somebody calling your name..."
He trails off, unable - or perhaps unwilling - to finish the sentence himself.
Steve does it for him.
"...Don't answer."
The words land heavily in the room.
Nobody argues.
Nobody even questions them.
Robin swallows hard, her eyes fixed somewhere on the carpet as she quietly adds, "...Even if it sounds exactly like us."
Another silence follows.
Longer this time.
Because that is the part none of them wants to say aloud.
Not just don't answer a stranger.
Don't answer Dustin.
Don't answer Nancy.
Don't answer Steve.
Don't answer the people you love most in the world.
The room feels colder somehow.
You glance at Steve beside you, and for the briefest moment you wonder whether, if you heard him calling for you again tomorrow, you could really ignore it.
The thought alone makes your chest tighten.
Dustin is the first to move.
Without a word, he reaches for the battered Hellfire emergency pack that's been dragged through almost every disaster the group has survived, unzips the front pocket and rummages around until he finds a thick black permanent marker.
He hesitates only briefly before uncapping it.
Then, kneeling on the living-room floor with the backpack balanced across his knees, he opens the inside flap where every previous rule has already been scribbled in increasingly cramped handwriting over the years.
He doesn't ask whether everyone agrees.
He already knows they do.
Slowly, deliberately, he writes beneath the others.
RULE #8
IF YOU HEAR SOMEONE YOU LOVE CALLING YOUR NAME...
DO NOT FOLLOW THE VOICE.
The ink is still wet when he snaps the cap back onto the marker.
Nobody comments on it.
Nobody laughs.
Nobody suggests a better wording.
Because you all understand something they hadn't understood that morning.
The Upside Down hadn't simply learnt your voices.
It had learnt your hearts. Your trusts. Who you love most.
And from now on, surviving would mean learning not to trust them.
The weeks that follow are, by all outward appearances, wonderfully ordinary.
School starts again. Family Video reopens. Robin complains about customers with renewed enthusiasm, the kids fill Steve's house almost every afternoon as though nothing has changed, and somebody inevitably starts an argument over whose turn it is to choose the film.
Life, stubbornly and almost offensively, continues.
Some days you're almost convinced you're beginning to forget.
Not what happened.
Just the feeling of it.
The constant certainty that something terrible is waiting just beyond the next corner gradually loosens its grip, replaced by familiar routines and evenings spent piled into living rooms with takeaway cartons balanced on your knees, laughing over things that would've seemed impossibly trivial only a few weeks earlier.
It gets easier.
Not better.
Just... easier.
Until one quiet evening.
Steve's house is unusually still, the late afternoon sunlight spilling lazily through the bedroom curtains in soft golden stripes that stretch across the duvet. You'd meant to stay awake. You'd only gone upstairs to lie down for half an hour while Steve started making dinner, but somewhere between closing your eyes and listening to the muffled sounds of cupboard doors opening downstairs, sleep had begun to pull gently at the edges of your thoughts.
You're hovering somewhere between dreaming and waking when you hear it.
Your name.
Quiet. Unhurried.
Floating up the staircase from somewhere below.
For one impossible moment, your body forgets where you are.
Your eyes snap open.
Every muscle locks.
Your heart lurches so violently it almost hurts, adrenaline crashing through you before your mind has had the chance to catch up.
You don't answer.
You don't move.
You simply stare at the bedroom door, every instinct warring with itself as the silence stretches on around you.
Because you know that voice.
You know it better than your own.
But you also know where that certainty almost led you.
The room remains perfectly still.
Downstairs, you hear nothing more than the faint clatter of something being set on the kitchen counter, followed by footsteps crossing the hallway.
A minute passes.
Maybe less.
It feels much longer.
Then the floorboards outside the bedroom creak softly, and a gentle knock sounds against the half-open door before Steve appears in the doorway, one hand still holding a tea towel he'd evidently forgotten to put down.
He smiles when he sees you're awake, though it fades almost immediately when he notices the way you're sitting rigid against the headboard, your breathing still just a little too fast.
"...Hey."
You don't answer straight away.
He tilts his head, confusion flickering briefly across his face.
"I called you."
A beat.
"...Why didn't you answer?"
Your throat tightens.
You look at him.
That's all you do.
You look at him, and in the space of a heartbeat you watch the question disappear from his expression.
Understanding arrives quietly.
Painfully.
His shoulders soften almost imperceptibly, and something in his eyes breaks - not dramatically, not with tears or visible grief, but with the quiet devastation of somebody realising that a wound they desperately hoped had healed is still there beneath the surface.
"Oh."
The word is barely louder than a breath.
Neither of you says anything else.
There isn't really anything to say.
Steve crosses the room without another question, sits carefully on the edge of the bed, and opens one arm in silent invitation.
You move before you've consciously decided to, the tension finally leaving your body as you fold into him, burying your face against his shoulder while he wraps both arms around you with the same steady certainty he always has. One hand settles instinctively at the back of your head, his fingers slipping gently through your hair, while the other rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades until your breathing begins, little by little, to settle again.
He doesn't apologise.
He doesn't tell you that it was only him.
He knows none of that would help.
Instead, he simply holds you, solid and warm and undeniably real, allowing his heartbeat to become the only sound worth listening to.
Outside, the world carries on exactly as it always has. Cars pass along the street. Somewhere, a dog barks. The neighbours laugh over dinner in their garden. Hawkins continues with the blissful normality it has always pretended to possess.
Inside the house, though, something has changed forever.
The tragedy isn't that you failed to answer when Steve called your name.
It's that, somewhere beneath a blood-red sky, the Upside Down had managed to reach into one of the most instinctive acts of love a person can know - the automatic certainty that the voice of someone you love means safety - and twist it into something to be feared.
You escaped.
You survived.
But some echoes don't stay behind when you leave.
And every now and then, on quiet evenings when someone calls your name from another room, you still have to remind yourself that not every voice asking you to follow is trying to lead you into the dark.
“C’mon, baby. You don’t know if you don’t like it until you try.” Steve pushed, when the question had left his mouth, you’d stopped dead in your tracks.
“I—w-what! You can’t be serious, Steve. You actually want me to…” you asked, mortified at even the thought of putting all your weight onto his face. It wasn’t like he never ate you out, if it was up to him he’d be in between your thighs all day.
But that position just felt much more intimate, and though you felt a trickle of arousal seep out of your cunt from thinking about it, you were still hesitant.
“Of course I want you to sit on my face!” Steve exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. “Let’s just try it, alright? And if you don’t like it, we’ll stop.” He said gently, but he was already pulling you closer by the arms.
You sighed, nervously biting your lip, but something in you gave in. Actually, you knew why you broke so easily, it was because you were unbelievably horny for him. Luckily for Steve, you were wearing a short skirt as he helped you straddle his stomach on the bed.
“C’mere sweetheart, I won’t bite—at least not yet.” Steve coaxed, you gasped loudly and swatted his chest.
“Steve!” Your eyes widened, already about to climb back off of him, until his hands secured around your waist.
“Alright, alright, but get on with it. I can’t wait much longer.” You could see the dilation of his pupils that proved he was speaking honestly, feeling a surge of energy go through you when you realized he wasn’t joking around.
You slowly made the rest of the way up, allowing Steve to manhandle your thighs on either side of his head, gazing down at him worriedly. “See? Nothing to be afraid of, I just want you to feel good, baby.” He squeezed your plush skin.
“Are you sure you can breathe?” You asked, but less than a second later, Steve was already bunching your skirt up to find your soaking hole.
“I’ll show you I don’t need to.” Steve only said, your words being turned into a mess of a moan as he quickly pushed your panties to the side and brought your pussy firmly against his mouth.
“O-Ohh, Steve—slow down!” You forced out through a moan, but he only groaned against you in denial, licking fat stripes through your folds.
You grabbed onto his hair with one hand while the other clutched the headboard, trying to keep your balance upright. You cried out in pleasure, having no idea it would feel this good with him inhaling you directly.
Steve wrapped his mouth around your clit and hummed low, causing you to jerk back in surprise. “Mmm—don’t—do that!” You gasped, he stared up at you with a toothy grin, your wetness coating his chin.
“Why not? Seems like your pussy likes it?” Steve immediately wrestled you sit back down on his face, eyes rolling back as he was unable to get enough of your taste.
You couldn’t help but grind your hips down, accidentally bucking your clit against his sturdy nose, making your back arch. “God, don’t stop, Steve—please, please don’t stop!” You begged, increasing your pace of your movements while the bed rattled beneath you.
“Fuck, baby. Give it to me, you taste like fuckin’ heaven on my face.” Steve’s word only spurred you on, finally feeing the blissness of being filled up once he entered two fingers inside you.
“Ah—ah, so so close, gonna cum!” He could feel you right on the edge by the way your walls clenched around his digits, focusing on flicking your clit harder now with his tongue.
That made your vision go white, suffocating him with your thighs while he rode you through your high. You jumped up once his mouth turned overstimulating, panting hard as you tried to catch your breath.
“You’re amazing.” Steve stated in an even more daze than you, licking his lips where your release still remained. Your cheeks reddened, realizing you were still seated on top of him and quickly climbed off.
As soon as you were sitting back on your knees, Steve pulled you into a breath taking kiss, allowing you to taste your own cum while he kissed you messily,
You pulled back, eyes instantly dropping to his hardened cock hidden behind his jeans and the wet spot right over it. Steve noticed where you looking, a smirk forming on his face. “Lay down, baby. It’s time I have my turn.”
Synopsis: Steve says that it's casual when everyone knows it's not, including himself.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Words: 2.8k
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, uses of baby, reader is anxious, Steve's a bit insecure, I think that's all, lmk if I missed anything :>
Thanks to @uzmacchiato for the divider(s) <3
Being Robin's friend had its perks.
You have so many funny stories with her, you knew each other's deepest secret. And of course, you used to have free ice cream when she was still working at Scoops Ahoy, even if it led you to Russians and weird monsters. And now you get to be able to give back tapes a bit later than you should.
And needless to say, one of the best perks has to be Steve. You weren't fond of him at first, the high-school image that you had of him was still engraved in your mind. But when you saw him for the first time in his ridiculous sailor outfit being so awkward at every interaction he had, yeah, maybe he wasn't that bad.
Unsurprisingly, fighting monsters that shouldn't even exist and Russians that were convinced that you knew more than you were telling made you way closer to Steve. Going from acquaintance to friends to maybe something more now.
Since they started to work at Family Video, you went almost every day. At first, it was to mainly see Robin after your own work, needing to rant about those awful customers at the record store. But Steve quickly involved himself in the ranting. And he was always so supportive of any story you were telling. His big brown eyes were so focused on you, hanging on every word you were saying like it was the most interesting thing he got to hear all day. And it probably was with how little things were happening in the store.
And recently, you were starting to feel like he was caring more than the stories you were telling. Each time you were being upset about something that happened earlier in the day, you could be sure that his hand would find any part of your body. A hand squeezing your shoulder, fingers brushing yours, or even his arm wrapping around your shoulders.
He was always dropping you off knowing that you were taking the bus to come here, and those moments were dragging since you were always speaking for ages about everything even when you were already stopped in front of your house.
You even had some 'friendly dates' on your rest days, going to take a coffee or just going at each other for movies that could escalate to some cuddles while rewatching Blade Runner because it was your favorite, and Steve just wanted a good reason to hold you close.
You always tried to brush it off, thinking that Steve was just being affectionate and caring as a friend, even if Robin always told you that it was anything but friendly. He has always been touchy with his friends. And you didn't want to have your hopes up because it had been easy to fall for Steve.
But it had also been easy to know that you weren't really Steve's type.
You weren't the type of girl that he went for. You weren't some flirty girls, giggling at every dumb joke he was throwing at them. You were awkward, not really comfortable with social interactions, and absolutely not a flirt.
But when Steve started to show even more interest in you, starting to even kiss you, after making sure you were comfortable with it, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be his type.
One night, after dropping off Robin, you stayed together in his car, his hand around the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the skin there.
"Are you free Saturday night?" You heard him ask, his head getting closer to yours, his breath warm against your skin.
You blinked at him before nodding. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"You, me, and the restaurant at the corner? Your favorite?" Steve asked, a big grin on his face.
The question didn't even really register that you were already nodding, your cheeks feeling warmer.
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Perfect. See you tomorrow, baby." His lips went on your cheek, leaving a long kiss before waving at you the moment you were getting out of the car.
You couldn't wait for Saturday to arrive.
You opened the door of Family Video with your feet, your hands holding two cups of coffee, still hot and ready to be consumed by your two favorite persons.
As you were about to knock on the rest room's door, you heard them talking, and you couldn't help but listen when you heard your name.
"So... you two?" Robin asked, and even without seeing her face you could hear the smile on her lips.
"Us two?"
"Yeah, dingus. You're all over each other. And she's always so comfortable around you. Which means a lot coming from her." She says, and you smile as if you were hearing Robin.
"Oh, yeah, I mean... she's nice and pretty and all. But I'm not sure if this could work actually." You heard Steve shrug before continuing to talk. But you were too focused on what he previously said to even follow the rest of the conversation.
It was like everything around you disappeared. Your ears were ringing, your breath getting heavier as his words were repeated over and over in your head.
Not sure if this could work.
He said it so easily, like what you did together was nothing. Like every kiss, every date that wasn't labeled as a date but definitely was, every sweet word whispered in the middle of the night meant absolutely nothing for him.
The burning sensation of the hot cups in your hands brings you back to reality, and you quickly take a big breath before knocking on the door, your eyes a bit misty as you enter the rest room, your gaze focused on Robin.
"Coffee delivery." Your voice lacked the usual jolly tone you usually had around them. It was obvious you were seconds away from breaking down.
"You're a lifesaver, baby, thank you so much." Steve said as he stood up, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your forehead before taking the cup.
"Yeah, thank youuuu... Today is way too long, it's hell... I swear I will start hallucinating customers if no one is coming." Robin spun on her chair, looking like she was seconds away from breaking down.
You just gave them a small smile that didn't even reach your eyes. And unfortunately for you, Steve was good at noticing that.
"You okay there?" He nudged his nose against your temple, a frown on his stupidly perfect face.
"Yeah, just tired. I... I think I'm just going to head home." And the moment you said that, you saw the way Steve was getting pouty, a sad frown taking place on his lips.
"Yeah? You need anything? The store is dead, I'm sure I can drop you off."
You just shook your head, not wanting to stay longer here. "I'm okay. Thank you, Steve." You pushed yourself away from him, his warmth leaving you.
"Okay, be safe, baby. Call me if you need anything." Steve leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips, but you were quicker than him, and you were already at the door, waving them goodbye.
The moment you were gone, Steve gave a confused look at Robin, and she could only respond with the same look, not sure what happened for you to act like that.
After that day, you didn't come after work to see any of them. You were feeling bad for your best friend because she didn't do anything to you. But it's not like you could separate them. They were attached to the hip. And seeing Robin meant seeing Steve. Which was what you were trying not to do.
You spend your nights getting in your head, thinking about what made Steve want to keep things casual. If you were maybe too much or not enough. You didn't have much experience with boys, maybe that was a turn-off, especially for someone like Steve. He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he choose you? He probably just liked the attention you were giving him so easily after being rejected for way too long.
Your thoughts were cut short by the sound of the phone ringing. You were too tired to even think that it could be Steve, so you answered, voice low.
"Yeah?"
"Thank god I thought you weren't going to answer." Steve's voice could be heard on the other line of the phone, relief obvious in his tone.
You gulped at his voice, tempted to just end the call. You were silent, not really in the mood to make conversation.
"Are you okay there, baby?" He asked, and you could hear how confused he was.
"Why did you call?" You finally asked, trying your best to not let your voice shake.
Steve scoffed at that question like it personally offended him. "Because I'm worried? I barely saw you this week. I miss you."
"If you say so." You whispered to yourself.
"What do you mean if I say so? You don't believe me?" He sounded hurt by your words.
"I don't know, Steve... I'm sorry."
"What do you mean you're so—" But you hang up before he can finish. You weren't ready to have that discussion now. And even if it was killing you to ignore him all week, you needed time for yourself.
Eventually, Saturday came, and you were sure that he wasn't going to come for that date you planned. Why would he when you ignored him for a week and hung up on him?
But, oh boy, you were so wrong because three loud knocks were heard at 7pm sharp. And you did open the door, thinking it would be someone other than Steve. You had been stupid enough to think he would give up that easily.
The moment the door opened, you were met by a cleaned-up Steve, pretty polo on, hair done nicely, and flowers in his hand.
"Hi." Steve said, his breath short, almost like he was nervous to even be here.
"Hey." You whispered back, fingers curling around the knob of your front door, unable to know what to do in this situation.
"So... I wasn't sure if you still wanted to see me. So the reservation is still available, we can go if you want. Or maybe something less fancy if you prefer. Or, uh, maybe I can cook for you if you want to stay home. Which is completely fine. Or I can just leave if you really hate me now. But the flowers would be yours no matter the choice." He rambled, eyes never on you as he talked.
The silence was deafening after that. You weren't sure what to say. You weren't sure if you even wanted to say anything.
But being horrible at social interaction made you say things when you didn't want to.
"Is it casual?" You asked, gaze fixed on his shoes.
Steve blinked a few times before shrugging. "I mean, you can dress however you want. It's not like a super fancy restaurant. So as long as you're comfortable, I'm happy."
Your lips quivered a bit, fighting the urge to smile at his answer. It wasn't what you were expecting him to say at all for that question.
Your fingers tightened their grip around the door handle, your eyes finally gazing up to meet his, seeing how full of hopes they were.
"I mean... is it casual between us?" You finally asked, voice quivering a bit.
It was the first time you saw Steve so lost, no word coming from his pretty pink lips.
"Casual? Why would... baby, why would that be casual?" He was completely panicking, the flowers falling from his hands, not caring about them at all, before he cupped your cheeks to force you to look at him.
You tried to look away, an embarrassed smile on your lips. "I heard you last time with Robin." You shrugged, trying to act like it didn't bother you when it was the only thing you could think about for the last days.
His thumbs were brushing small circles on your cheeks as he leaned even closer, noses touching. "So you heard what we said with Robin and thought that what I wanted was casual?" He asked, and you couldn't even be more confused. Was he playing dumb because he knew he hurt you?
"Uh, yeah? You said that you weren't sure if this could work between us. And, and if you want casual, that's okay. I... I just... I don't think I want that. S'not my thing, I mean... I'm serious about you, and if that's not... I mean, yeah." You started to ramble, hands coming to grip Steve's wrist, needing something to anchor yourself.
What you weren't expecting was to hear Steve laugh. A deep and honest laugh leaving his parted lips as he looked at you with the most confused and endearing face ever.
"And after that?" He asked.
"What do you mean after that?" Now you were the one confused.
"After I said that I wasn't sure if this could work. Did you hear what I said after that?"
You shook your head, not remembering any of the words that he could have said after. You just remember the way your throat tightened and your chest felt hollow after you heard that, heart beating so loudly you could only hear it.
Steve just smiled at the admission before pecking your nose. "Okay. So... after I said that, Robin threw a pen at me because she thought I was being an asshole. And I can understand because that sounded awful now that I think about it."
A small smile made its way onto your lips at his words, and Steve couldn't help but lean to gently peck those lips that he missed so much during those last days, letting you have the time to pull back if that wasn't something you wanted to do. But he was happy you didn't push him away.
"So I made myself clear and said that I thought you were too good to me." He mumbled against your lips. "Because you're so kind to the others, always thinking about their well-being even when you're not comfortable yourself." He kissed the corner of your lips. "You're actually really pretty it's kinda hard to stop looking at you." He smiled when you squeezed his wrist at his words. "You always make me smile and happy when you're there even when I'm not in the mood. Like wow, you're the sun in person." His fingertips were still rubbing small circles on your cheeks.
"And I'm not used to all that serious shit. I don't think I'm good enough, and I don't want to hurt you in the process of whatever you want to become. Can't say I've been the best with my past relationships. So yeah, I thought us being casual would be easier. But I was so wrong. So so so wrong. It's harder knowing you're not mine officially, and I want that. To be official with you, being able to scream to everyone that you're my girlfriend."
You never thought you would hear Steve say that one day. Not to you. But when you thought you were just a background character in his life, you had been his whole damn world the entire time.
"I... I thought you didn't want me." You whispered, embarrassed to even admit that.
"I know I'm dumb but not that dumb." He rolls his eyes playfully at your words, earning a giggle from you.
"I just, I let the thoughts in my head get the best of me."
"You should have talked to me, baby. You know I'm here for you." He hummed before kissing you again. "Okay?"
"Okay, I'm sorry for ignoring you instead of talking. I just didn't want to face you when I thought you didn't want me like I wanted you." You mumbled, your voice a bit muffled by his lips still so close to yours.
"It's okay. We can talk better about it later. For now, I'm going to cook whatever you want because you deserve it after being sad all week. Showing you that I'm a good boyfriend." Steve said as he wiggled his eyebrows, warm eyes looking at you with so much love.
"Sounds good to me, boyfriend." You giggled, the weight of the week finally off your shoulders.
His arms went around your waist, pulling you in a big hug, his body surrounding yours completely. His scent was so strong as your face was hidden in his neck, enjoying the way he was hugging you.
"Just need to hold you, if that's okay." His voice rumbled against your head.
You just nodded against his neck, sighing happily that every bad thought you had for the last days was just your brain making up things.
Back again with some Dom!Keysman headcanons this time 🫢
As a big time fan of the Keys & Gator MMF pairing concept…I couldn’t help but start to wonder what it’d be like to have them both as your Dom at the same. damn. time. 🫠 This one got a little unhinged I cannot lie. So I’m just gonna hit post and hide the rest of the day lmao
Author’s Note: I fear pretty much all of these ended up being NSFW 😭 🥴 and intended for 18+ readers only - MDNI. As always, this is written with a prior agreed upon, fully consensual D/s relationship in mind!
Dom!Keys who follows you into the bedroom after you shower and sits in a corner while watching you get ready for date night like it’s the most interesting show in the world. He doesn’t touch you once, just tracks every movement with intense, loving eyes, until you sweetly ask if he can zip up your dress. Which he does every time because he loves being in charge of that finishing touch.
Dom!Gator who comes up with the idea of making you wear vibrating panties when the three of you go out to dinner and passing the remote back and forth with Keys, both smirking as they see how many times they can discreetly get you off in public. Keys at least has the decency to turn down the intensity from time to time to give you a break, whereas Gator always cranks it up full blast
Dom!Keys who runs you a bath to help with the overstimulation as soon as you get home while Gator carries you into the bathroom and undresses you
Dom!Gator who sits next to the tub and cleans you thoroughly, paying close attention to every curve and plane of your body. His method is probably a little extra considering you just showered earlier in the day, but you know better than to try to rush the process.
Dom!Keys and Dom!Gator who like keep you laid out over both their laps while the three of you are hanging out, Gator’s fingers combing your hair while your cheek is pressed against his thigh and Keys massages your feet
Dom!Keys whose hands start to wander higher and eventually he pushes your panties to the side, thrilled to discover you’re already soaking wet just from them petting you
Dom!Gator who watches Keys fingering you and about to let you have the release you want with dark eyes. He huffs and tells him that he spoils you too much
Dom!Keys who pulls his hand away abruptly, making you whimper, and says, “Fine. Hold her down for me.” right before he shifts to hook your legs over his shoulder and starts eating you out slowly, drawing out his teasing and never quite pushing you over the edge
Dom!Gator who keeps your hands pinned above your head with one hand and kneads your tits with the other, kissing your tears away as you’re still being tortured by Keys’ tongue. He’s hard as a rock seeing how desperate you get when they take full control of your pleasure
Dom!Keys and Dom!Gator who stare at each other over your shoulder while they’re fucking you at the same time, wondering if they’re starting to love each other the same way they love you as you come on both of their cocks
pairing: keys mckey/f!reader
wc: 2200
tags: semi-public sex, oral sex (f receiving), keys is down bad, munch keys, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, masturbation (m), coming in pants
prompt by anon: “Keys wanting to have sex in public so he takes you to a bookstore or library to see how quiet you can be and if you can avoid being caught.”
a/n: you said bookstore or library and my brain said “or she works at gamestop and takes keys into the back of the store”
&&
Keys showed up at exactly 6:15 on the dot, because that was when you’d told him your half hour dinner break started, and he’d said he had some ideas he wanted to go over for your next Baldur’s Gate 3 run.
“It’s literally not that deep,” you said, waving to your coworker, Jere, as you headed into the back office, that you, the manager for the evening, had exclusive access to.
“It is,” he said. “I found this Astarion build I wanted to try. For a monk.”
“You mean you don’t want to class him into gloomstalker ranger?” you asked, as the door to the office closed, and you felt Keys’ hands on your waist from behind as he pulled you closer to him, your back against his front as his lips found your neck.
“I could be coerced,” he said, and you spun in his hold. He’d been holding an entire folder of papers, which were now scattered on the floor of the office as he rearranged his arms around you, hands on your lower back now.
“Walter…” you said, because you only called him by his real name when you meant business, and you were, you know. At your job. An actual place of business. Where you were, under no circumstances, about to fool around. “You know I only get a half hour.”
“Ok,” Keys said, kissing you. Reluctantly (not really) you kissed him back, even going so far as to try and chase him when he broke away from you. “Asking for a friend, has anything we’ve ever done given you the impression I can last longer than 30 minutes?”
You laughed, batting at his chest, then just rested your arms on his shoulders and leaned in to kiss him again. “Unfortunately, babe, no.”
He just grinned at you, sucking your lower lip between his before reaching up to toy with the collar of your shirt. “You can, though.”
Your smile turned lascivious. “Oh, just me?”
“Your shift’s almost over. I can wait ‘til you get home.”
Kissing him one more time, you smoothed your hands over his back. “We have to be quiet.”
“You have to be quiet,” he corrected you. “My mouth will be a little, um, occupied.”
“Keys!” you said, but you were laughing, hands sliding around to his front. You curled them into his shirt, like you wanted to pull it off him, but he took your wrists gently in hand and tugged them away.
“This isn’t about me,” he said, voice low, kissing you slower this time, deeper, because you only had 30 minutes and you’d already wasted a few of them talking.
“Ok,” you said, biting your lip, and let him guide you over to the edge of the desk, leaning into you for a moment before he untucked the polo shirt you were wearing from your jeans一business casual wasn’t really Gamestop’s thing, but as a manager, you tried to keep it a little more professional一then let his hands slip inside your jeans, the backs of his fingers pressing into your stomach. Your breath stuttered, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, and you met his eyes before he sank to the floor, kneeling before you.
He slipped the button of your jeans, tugged down the zipper, and then slowly worked the waistband down to your ankles, glancing up at you. “Off?” You nodded. He untied your sneakers and slipped them off your feet, then carefully lifted each of your legs as you leaned back on the edge of the desk, easing your jeans off as well. Skimming his hands back up your thighs, he leaned in to press a slow trail of kisses up your thigh until he finally reached the fold where your leg met your mound, still covered in the cute, yellow-striped panties featuring the word “Thursday.”
“You know it’s Monday, right?” Keys asks, and you just huffed, carding your hand through his hair while the other remained braced on the desk.
“Whatever,” you said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Nope,” he replied, closing the distance between the two of you and mouthing at you through the cotton boyshorts you wore, tongue licking against the seam of your lips even through the fabric.
“Fuck,” you mumbled, partly because you loved when Keys ate you out一he was fucking god tier at it一and partly because it felt like he was so desperate to get his mouth on you, he couldn’t even wait to get you bare in front of him, spread open, ready and wanting.
“Sh,” Keys hushed you, a quiet reminder, moving his hands to the front of your hips only to pull them right back down, dragging your underwear with them, exposing you, finally.
The short, curled hair covering you was already a little wet with your arousal一you caught his self-satisfied smirk before he shifted himself closer to you, knees nudging your feet as he neared you, and then he was ducking his head, shoulders pushing into your thighs as he angled himself just enough to be able to lap at your pussy. His tongue slid through your folds and you sighed, breath stuttering through your nose as you tried to keep your jaw clamped shut. He was going to get off on you trying to hold back, knowing how much he was affecting you and you forcing yourself to rein it in.
Keys pressed his face even closer to you, eyes fluttering closed as you looked down your body at him, hand still loosely gripping his hair. He was burying himself between your legs, his mouth parting your labia as his nose brushed your clit, and you whimpered quietly as his tongue entered your slit, fucking you with it shallowly. He barely let you take any pleasure from that, pulling back and making you whine louder than you should have at the loss of him一and then louder still when his tongue slid over your clit, drawing it into his mouth to softly suck it, the little bead hardening at his ministrations, your lips parting as he works on you.
“W-Walt-er, fuck,” you said, and again, it was way louder than you should have been.
He pulled away and you whined for real because that time, he didn’t immediately make contact with you again.
“Did you forget where we are?” he asked, breathless, his lips wet with you. “Gotta be quiet, soldier.”
You huffed a short laugh even through how turned on you were, because of course he’d use the pet name Karlach used when you were fighting not to get caught.
“Shut up,” you managed, your smile overtaking your mouth for a moment before you were forced to draw your own lip between your teeth and bite down on it一because Keys had trailed his tongue through your folds again, flicking the tip against your clit before reaching up with one hand, curling his fingers up between your legs too, slipping them inside your slit and making you slide down a little off the edge of the desk. You released his hair, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands now, needing to prop yourself up with both arms lest your legs give out under you.
Keys only worked his fingers into your cunt, fingering you open, sucking at your clit, your thighs quivering on either side of him as you moaned, muffled, your lip still pinched between your teeth. You weren’t sure how much time had passed一it couldn’t have been that long, but time always seemed to slow down when Keys was going down on you, because he drew it out, kept you on edge, played with you so deviously, so tenderly, so thoroughly that you’d be shaking from the orgasms he’d given you before he even thought about letting you do anything for him.
“Walter, babe, I一” you said, your voice wavering, tight. You were close and you didn’t want to stop, but your thighs were warm and your arms were tensed and you could tell, as soon as you let go, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up anymore.
“Mm?” he hummed against you, his tongue wet and slick against your clit as he pulled away. “You ok?”
Your heart fluttered in time with your cunt as his concern for you mixed with the way he was still curling his fingers inside you, even as he checked.
“Yeah I just一I need一fuck, I’m close, I一more?”
Without missing a beat, Keys slipped his soaked fingers most of the way out of you before teasing entrance with another, and then he was stuffing all three into you, your walls clenching down around him, your hips rolling into his hand, toward his face, and you caught his lips with your mound as he leaned in, sucking at your folds without any reticence.
“You taste so good,” he enthused, and you whined low in your throat, keeping it as quiet as you could. “Could do this all night.”
“I wish,” you murmured, head tipping back as Keys lifted one of your legs, moving it over his shoulder, then licked into your core again, fucking you with his fingers as he sucked your clit.
Vaguely, you noticed that the hand that had been resting on your thigh was absent, the other very much between your legs, and you leaned a little sideways, looking down at Keys. Your hips kicked forward when you realized he was cupping himself between his legs, rubbing his palm over his clothed dick, working himself even through the denim of his jeans, and you felt a huge rush of arousal to your pussy, the idea of Keys touching himself through his pants while he was getting you off, only turning you on even more.
“Wait一fuck, I’m一oh god, Walt, I’m一I’m一”
He didn’t wait, didn’t stop, did nothing other than keep his mouth on you until you were shaking, trembling above him, your hands white-knuckling the desk as you rode out your orgasm on his face. And still he didn’t pull away, didn’t relent一he kept his tongue moving over your clit, teasing it, feeling it pulse against him as he tried to get you to come again. You knew he could一he did it regularly, spoiling you rotten with his attention and care.
Your hands moved up onto the desk, holding yourself up as your back arched, your hips grinding into Keys’ face as you fucked your cunt onto his fingers, pushed your clit against his tongue, and he just flicked the wet muscle against you, drawing you toward another orgasm, the quick succession making you buck into his mouth.
Sliding back further, you heard the clatter of papers and pens and the other manager Pete’s thermos fall to the floor without realizing that you’d been the one to knock them over because of your hands trying to find purchase, sliding back over the surface to rest on your elbows. You didn’t care, even though you should have, because that was louder than any noise you’d made thus far.
Keys kept going because he could read every tell you had, and he knew一you were right fucking there. Curling his tongue against you, he dipped it down to lick at your gaping slit, taking three of his fingers, tasting you were you were dripping for him before moving back to your clit, and once you had the stimulation there again一you came a second time, body nearly convulsing as your arms failed you and you collapsed back onto the desk, the thud probably alerting Jere that something was happening back in the office, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care just at that moment.
“Oh, fuck,” you sighed, feeling Keys stand up, one hand flat on your thigh as he used it to brace himself as he got to his feet.
“I’ll say,” he said, still rubbing absently at his cock. As you watched, he met your eyes, though you dipped them down to where he was touching himself, and after a moment, he gripped your bare thigh again with his free hand, squeezing it tight as he very obviously came, leaning over you, breath leaving him in small puffs as he kept himself quiet, filling his own fucking underwear with come.
“Dirty,” you commented, and he just snickered.
“You should talk,” he replied, and you licked your lip before you tried to get up, but Keys pushed you back down, your ass still hanging off the desk. Carefully, he guided your underwear and jeans back onto your legs, tugging them up as far as he could so you could redress yourself once he did actually help you back to your feet. You tied your sneakers back on as he shifted a little uncomfortably, come probably dripping down his leg at this point. “See you at home?”
You laughed, leaning in to kiss him before brushing his hair back off his forehead. “See you at home. We’ll get some Baldur’s Gate in?”
Keys chuckled, looking at the papers he’d let scatter everywhere. “Yeah. Let’s act out the Minthara evil romance scene.”
You crouched down to pick up the papers for him, pushing them into his chest after you’d collected them all. “Only if you’re Minthara,” you said, and he couldn’t help the shock that appeared on his features, before it phased into a grin.
“Deal.”
&&
if you have any questions about the minthara romance scene i can explain i swear
tags ; blind!gator tillman x fem!reader, grumpy x sunshine, tooth-rotting fluff, kind of domestic fluff.
word count ; 1,821
previous part .ᐟ
It took a couple of days for Gator to knock on your door, and even when he did, it was a quiet, timid knock, like he wasn't sure if you genuinely meant what you had offered.
But still, you opened the door with a smile. "Hi!" You exclaimed, not missing his small smile on the corner of his lips. Gator stepped forward, his hands slightly braced.
You allowed him in, unsure if you had to guide him anywhere, but he seemed fine how he was, just doing it at his own pace, which was fine with you, of course.
"So, are we going to figure out your favourite?" You asked cheerily, Gator just standing in the middle of your apartment, his hands awkwardly by his sides. He looked uncomfortable, like a fish out of water.
"I told ya, I don't have a favourite." He mumbled.
"Well, that's why we... figure it out." You trailed off slightly at the end, feeling just as awkward as he did. "I don't have to bake, I could cook you something?" You offered, your voice perking up slightly.
Gator just shrugged, his shoulders tense, almost like he was guarded. He was far too aware that he was stood in an apartment that he didn't know the layout of, he didn't know if he was going to trip over a rug or walk into a table, and he really didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.
"Are you hungry?" You asked, feeling at a loss.
"Course, ya told me ta knock if I was hungry."
"Okay," You started, feeling slightly exasperated now, "What's your favourite meal?"
"I don't 'ave a favourite."
"How do you not have a favourite?!"
"Food is for fuel, don't need ta be enjoyed." Gator snapped, feeling slightly irritated at your insistence. Truthfully, he had never been asked what he wanted, so he didn't know what to say.
"That is so wrong!" You laughed, and he felt slightly relieved that you seemed to be amused instead of annoyed. All of his emotions were very conflicting.
"Tha's how my-" He hesitated, almost talking about Roy and his childhood, but he opted out of it. "Tha's just how it is." He mumbled.
"I'll cook you something so good that you'll forget any of that, how does that sound?" You chuckled, but Gator only nodded. "Great!" You grinned, going to the kitchen.
Gator stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure where you had gone. "Lil' help here?" He mumbled, feeling pure humiliation wash over him at the thought of asking for help, let alone you.
You stared at him for a moment, confused. He had never actually told you he was blind, and even though you sort of figured it out, it had felt rude to assume. After all, maybe he just really liked wearing sunglasses indoors... and living in the dark...
"Oh, sorry. I-"
"'M blind." He mumbled as you walked over to him. "Case you hadn't figured tha' out."
You weren't sure what to say, so you just took his hand. Your hand was small within his, and incredibly soft. Gator had never felt softness. Hands were for hitting, working, or holding a gun, and he had never considered the possibility that someone's hand could be used for other things, gentler things.
It was so small, and so stupid, but it felt important to him.
Gator's hand was large and calloused, his skin rough from years of shooting guns and getting into fights. You lead him over to the kitchen, helping him sit on one of the barstools. "There." You smiled, your voice soft.
He suddenly felt very vulnerable, "Thanks." He mumbled, a rare occasion for him to use the word, that was how much you small actions had suddenly meant to him.
"No problem." You smiled. Gator appreciated how you didn't press him for details about how he had lost his sight, or what had happened, or if you could see his eyes. He hated when people stuck their nose in his business, and he'd be lying if he said if didn't make him slightly fonder of you. It allowed him to feel normal.
You began opening your cabinets and refrigerator, looking what you could possible make him. "Hm..." You pondered aloud, closing the cabinets with some force so that Gator knew what you were doing, "I know you said you don't have a favourite, but is there anything you like?"
"Not fussy."
"Any allergies?"
"No." He responded, his tone slightly suggesting he thought allergies were for a weaker man.
You sighed, he really wasn't giving you anything to work with. "How about... some chicken?"
"Sounds good." Gator replied, once again not caring about any personal preferences that he may have but won't admit to. He liked chicken after all, and he wasn't convinced you'd be able to change his mind about food being for fuel and nothing else.
"Great!" You began taking ingredients out of the refrigerator, "I have this amazing recipe from my mother, although I think it's technically from my grandmother—" You rambled, and Gator just listened.
He liked your voice, it was soft and sweet, and you didn't speak to him in a way that seemed like you were babying him, or that you thought he was otherwise less mature due to his disability. You treated him like another person, something which he, surprisingly, hadn't experienced that much.
He liked that he could probably prove himself to you... Not that he was thinking about you in any way other than just a chef right now. Definitely not.
He wasn't thinking about the way your perfume seemed to have made a permanent home in his nose, and he definitely wasn't still thinking about how your hand had felt in his.
You continued to talk while you cooked, Gator's replies being short, and he still sounded grumpy, but since he seemed content where he was, you just assumed that was his cadence. After all, you didn't want to think that he didn't like you, because you had really taken a liking to him.
Eventually, you served him the food, adding a side of homecooked noodles and some veggies, everything made with your own sauces and spices, something you knew that Gator would never have had before.
He took a bite, and you saw his eyebrows raise immediately. "Good?" You asked, smirking slightly. He just nodded, but that was all you needed.
You watched him eat, trying to take in every subtle facial expression. You noticed the way that he started to take smaller bites in an attempt to make the meal last longer, you noticed how his face fell when he realised that he had finished the chicken, and the same later with the noodles and veggies.
"How was it?" You asked, your voice slightly sly as you knew his true answer regardless of what he told you.
"Good... We might need ta be havin' dinner tagether more often."
"It was that good?!" You exclaimed, so happy to have broken the grumpy man inside of him. Enough to confess that he liked it, anyway. He liked it enough to want more, and you liked him enough to want his company.
"Don't get ahead a' yourself-"
You interrupted him, "No, no! I'm so glad you liked it! I have so many recipes and i'd love to cook them all for you!"
Gator cracked a small smile, he had never been doted on in such a way, and he genuinely couldn't believe that you wanted him to come back. He wasn't providing anything for you.
He stayed for the rest of the evening, and you just watched TV together, although Gator could only listen, and you were just staring at him.
"I can feel ya starin'." He said after a while of quiet.
"Really?" You asked, giggling slightly.
"Ya lose one sense, the rest get stronger."
"I suppose." You smile, "Sorry."
"Don't be. Wish I could... stare right back at ya." He confessed, his voice quiet. You shuffled closer to him, and Gator brought his arm down from the back of the couch to wrap around you tentatively. He had never given such gentleness.
His head turned to face you, and he spoke with such an uncharacteristically soft voice it actually surprised you for a second, "Thanks for invitin' me over."
"No problem." You smiled, his arm tightening around you ever so slightly. "I mean it, I want you back."
Gator smiled, chuckling slightly. It was quiet for another moment, before he brought his hand to your face, administering the softest touch he could muster. He brought his other hand up, and cradled you for a second, before they began to wander across your face, sweeping across your cheeks and nose, feeling every nook and cranny.
You let it happen, wanting to laugh or say something, but by the look on his face, you knew how incredibly vulnerable he must be feeling right now, and you didn't want to disturb him when he clearly felt safe.
He dropped his hands once he finished, his arm returning to it's place wrapped around you. "Yep, like I thought. Real pretty."
"Thank you." You blushed, looking down bashfully. "Could you tell what I looked like?"
"No clue." Gator chuckled, brushing down your arm until he could take your hand, silently hoping you'd deliver the same softness that you did earlier.
You laughed too, it was quiet in the calm evening. You laid your head down on his shoulder, and you felt his muscles relax for what you could imagine was the first time in a while.
"When can I come back?" He asked, still holding your hand. He sounded a little bit desperate.
"Oh, um... Whenever you want. I'll cook you something different every day until we find your favourite."
He chuckled again, "I don't have a favourite."
"You will." You smiled, bringing your head off of his shoulder so you could look at him. You noticed immediately how he seemed to stiffen up once you went away.
"Where ya goin'?" He asked, squeezing your hand tighter in case you left him for good.
"Just looking at you." You replied simply, your voice soft. You leaned back against his shoulder, his body relaxing like clockwork.
He breathed in the scent of your hair, your vanilla shampoo fighting for a place in his nose against your perfume. The moment went quiet again, comfortable, the only noise being the television, although neither of you were paying much attention to it anymore.
You felt his head turn to face you once again, and you looked up to meet where his gaze would be. Your lips met softly, gentle but not lacking any passion, and Gator's arm squeezed around you, pulling you into his chest.
When you broke apart, he smiled, but was terrified deep down, as he couldn't gauge your reaction.
When he heard your heaven-sent laugh, he exhaled with relief. You kissed him again, longer this time, and he grabbed your waist until you had straddled his lap, the kiss developing to a much more heated one.
Gator broke the kiss, your foreheads still touching. "Fuck," He groaned, "I wanna see you."
"I know." You whispered, stroking your hand across his cheek.
