♡ Because loving you? That’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever done.
Warnings: Emotional themes, past trauma, angst (?) with a happy ending, hurt/comfort and fluff. Friends to Lovers.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader.
Word count: 2.5k
Summary: A small wedding, a slow song, and the quiet miracle of being loved when you never thought you could be.
Author’s note: Based on this beautiful request ♡ Writing this healed me and broke me in equal measure.
Hopper and Joyce’s wedding isn’t big or fancy. But it is perfectly them.
A few strings of lights, an arch covered in the wildflowers that El and Max picked that morning, a couple of folding tables draped with borrowed tablecloths.
The night is soft and golden. Laughter rings loud, like the sound itself is glowing — clinking glasses, old songs, people who have earned their happiness a hundred times over.
You try to hold onto that feeling—really, you do.
Watching Joyce spin under Hopper’s arm, her laugh catching the light while Max leans against Lucas’s shoulder nearby—it’s all so painfully real. It’s all borrowed warmth.
Steve sits beside you, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, hair somehow still perfect; looking every bit like he walked out of a dream. Your dream to be precise.
His arm rests easily on the back of your chair. He’s telling some ridiculous story about Dustin, and you’re laughing—until you catch yourself and realise how easy it is to laugh with him. How easy it is to be yourself around him. Your true self.
And that’s when the ache starts.
You’ve always been good at pushing it down—that hollow place where love is supposed to live.
You’ve learned how to survive without it, how to mistake usefulness for belonging. But nights like this, surrounded by people who are brave enough to love out loud, it stings worse.
Then the music starts.
Some old love song, slow and scratchy through the speakers, and couples start swaying under the fairy lights. Hopper and Joyce, Nancy and Jonathan, even Robin dragging Eddie out with a grin.
Everyone's smiling and teary-eyed and safe.
Robin’s laughing too loud at Eddie’s two left feet, Dustin’s dramatically spinning Suzie, and Steve… Steve’s beside you, off to the side of the makeshift dance floor.
When he catches your eye, he grins that crooked grin that always knocks the air out of your lungs. The one that's equal parts sunshine and mischief.
“C’mon,” he says, offering his hand. "Just one dance.”
You laugh. “You hate slow songs.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes glinting, “but I like you.”
And maybe it’s the lights or the champagne or the way he’s looking at you like there’s no one else around, but you take his hand.
It’s awkward at first: his hand finding your waist, your other hand hovering uncertainly on his shoulder. You don’t look at him. You focus on the rhythm, on not tripping, on pretending this doesn’t mean anything. But then he pulls you just a little closer, and something inside you cracks open.
The world goes soft around the edges: laughter blurring, fairy lights turning hazy in the summer air. The song is slow, and for a while, it’s fine.
You can do this. You can sway and smile and pretend that your heart isn’t pounding because you’re too close.
Steve’s hand settles low on your back during the next song, fingers brushing bare skin where your dress dips. The touch is barely there, but it sears — gentle, grounding, impossible to ignore. His thumb traces an idle circle, and you feel the air leave your lungs.
He leans down, voice brushing against your hair. “Never seen Hop smile like that.”
You manage a small smile, though it feels wobbly. “Joyce’ll keep him in line.”
“God, I hope so,” he murmurs. His breath fans your temple, cologne mingling with smoke from the far-off bonfire Jonathan and Will started. The scent is summer and safety and something that feels dangerously close to home.
You close your eyes—just long enough to memorise it: his warmth, the music, the quiet hum beneath your ribs. But then you make the mistake of looking up.
He's already looking down at you, eyes soft, searching—smiling like he’s seeing something you can’t. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says softly.
You freeze. When you don’t look away, he adds, even gentler:
“You are beautiful.”
His words feel like warm honey pouring into your chest—sweet and suffocating. Because you know deep down that belonging isn’t yours to keep. It’s borrowed. Like Joyce’s tablecloth draped over the folding chairs. Like Hopper’s rented suit jacket.
You flinch as if stung, your hand sliding off his shoulder. “Sorry,” you choke out, stumbling backward. “Need air.”
His hand catches the empty space where yours was a second ago. “Hey—where are you going?”
You don’t answer. You slip past the lights, down toward the darker edge of the yard where laughter fades into the hum of crickets. Your chest feels too small, your dress too tight.
You’ve spent a lifetime earning scraps of love: by being good, useful, quiet.
You know better than to think it comes for free. But on nights like this, when love is loud and easy, it hurts to know that warmth like that is never meant for you.
You stop near the trees, the music thinning into something faraway. The fairy lights don’t reach this part of the yard; everything is half-shadow, half-moonlight.
Footsteps crunch on the grass behind you. He finds you anyway. Of course he does. You should have expected nothing less.
“Hey,” he says, voice low, a little breathless. “You okay?”
You keep your eyes on the grass. “Yeah. Just— needed some air.”
“You left in the middle of a song.”
“It’s not a big deal, Steve.”
He exhales through his nose, that overly familiar mix of concern and irritation ghosting across his face. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
He laughs under his breath—low and rough—then runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back like he’s trying to gather himself. “You pull away. Every time it gets close, every time it feels like we’re finally—” He stops, swallowing hard, shaking his head. “God, I don’t even know why I keep trying to say it.”
You blink, stunned. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he cuts in, voice breaking a little. “You pull away when it gets good. When it gets honest. You smile and make it all a joke so I don’t say what I actually want to say. What you know I want to say.”
His words land heavy, each one sharp enough to draw blood-or break your heart. Take your pick.
“You don’t get it,” you whisper. The words come out thinner than you mean them to.
He steps closer, slow but certain, until you can feel the warmth rolling off him. His voice drops to a hoarse whisper—not angry, just tired. Frayed.
“Then make me get it. Please. I’m right here, and you keep running like I’ve already hurt you. Just tell me what I’m doing wrong. I’ll fix it—I’ll do whatever it takes.”
When his voice cracks on the last word, he doesn’t even try to hide it.
You blink hard, throat burning. You’ve seen Steve bruised and bloody before, but this—this looks like it hurts worse. His hands flex uselessly at his sides, like he’s trying not to reach for you again.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you manage, but it sounds small. Hopeless.
“Then why do you keep running from me?”
The question hangs there—raw and trembling, like he’s barely holding himself together.
You shake your head, because you don’t have the words. You never have the words. Your throat feels tight, your chest even tighter. It's like everything you’ve spent years keeping locked down is clawing to get out.
“Because,” you choke, “people don’t love me, Steve. They just—they like what I can do for them. They like me when I’m quiet, when I’m helping, when I’m not too much. But not me. Not for who I am.”
Your voice trembles; it’s barely more than a whisper now.
“And I can’t—” The words splinter apart in your mouth. “I can’t watch you turn into one of them.”
You can’t look at him. You stare down at the grass instead, hands shaking at your sides. “You’d get tired of me eventually. They all do. And I don’t think I could survive that. Not from you.”
For a long moment, all you hear are the crickets and the dull thump of the music from the yard. Then Steve exhales—a rough, disbelieving, broken sound that cuts straight through the quiet.
“Jesus,” he says softly, and you can hear the hurt in it. “You really think that about me?”
“No.” You whisper immediately, your voice cracked and quiet. “I think that about me.”
He takes a step closer, and when he speaks again, it’s a vow, not a plea. “Then let me prove you wrong.”
You look up, startled. The fairy lights don’t quite reach this far, but they catch on the wetness in his eyes—not pity, not anger. Just hurt. And you think.. maybe… love?
“Steve—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t get to decide what I feel”
His voice wavers, but he steps closer. “You don’t get to tell me you’re impossible to love and expect me to just agree.”
He drags in a shaky breath, like he’s trying to keep it together, and then everything just spills out. “I love that you hum when you’re nervous. That you always double-check the oven even when you didn’t use it. That you talk to stray cats like they understand you.” He laughs once, low and broken.
“I love that you care about people who never notice it. That you look at me like I’m worth something, even when I’m not.”
You blink, stunned, half-laughing through the disbelief. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I do.” He steps closer. “You think you’re too much, or not enough, or whatever the hell they made you believe. But you’re wrong.”
“I love you,” he says, like it’s something he’s been holding in for years.
“I love you when you’re quiet. When you’re mad. When you don’t know what to say. I love you when you shut down and pretend you don’t care, even when I can see right through it. I love the way you overthink everything because it means you care.”
His breath trembles. He drags a hand through his hair and lets out a shaky laugh. “God, I love everything you think makes you hard to love.”
You don’t mean to cry, but your vision blurs, stinging with it. You press the heel of your hand against your mouth, trying to swallow it down, but he’s still talking—still unraveling—like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll run.
“You don’t have to be easy,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“You just have to be you. Because loving you? That’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever done.”
That breaks something open in you. Something that’s been locked up for years. You make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and before you can think, you’re moving.
Your hands find his shirt first, twisting in the fabric. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, and for a heartbeat you just stare at each other—both of you breathing hard, waiting for the other to flinch.
Then he kisses you.
It’s messy—teeth and salt and trembling hands. You miss each other’s rhythm at first, but then he exhales into it, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other still fisted in your dress like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.
You taste the salt of your tears on his lips, feel the shiver that runs through him when you kiss back. The world tilts and softens, air humming with music, crickets, and your uneven breathing.
When you finally pull apart, you’re both still trembling. His forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths mingling in the space between you.
“You’re going to regret saying that.”
“Not a chance,” he murmurs back. His thumb traces your cheek, slow and reverent.
The sounds of the wedding drift faintly through the trees—laughter, the end of another song—but here, everything feels still. Like the world’s holding its breath just to make room for this.
You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. For the first time in your life, love doesn’t feel like something you have to earn. It just is.
For a while, neither of you moves.
You should probably go back. You should probably do a hundred things that don’t include standing here, your pulse still stuttering from the way he said I love you.
Steve shifts first, the corner of his mouth twitching into something small and crooked. “Hey,” he murmurs. “We never finished our dance.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “There’s no music.”
He shrugs. “Don’t need any.”
“Of course you don’t.”
He just grins—that soft, boyish kind that never fails to make you both roll your eyes and blush—and holds out his hand. You hesitate, then take it.
He pulls you close, one hand finding your waist, the other guiding yours to his shoulder.
It’s clumsy at first—the ground uneven beneath your shoes, your heartbeat still wild from everything that’s just happened. But then he starts to move.
It isn’t graceful. It isn’t perfect.
It’s imperfect. Terrifying. Real.
But it’s yours.
“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper.
He grins against your hair. “You like that about me.”
You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. The warmth of his chest, the slow sway, the quiet steadiness of it all; it’s too easy to just sink into.
He hums under his breath—some half-remembered tune that doesn’t quite match the rhythm—and you can’t help smiling.
“That’s not even close to being in key.”
“Didn’t say I was serenading you. Said I was dancing with you.”
You glance up at him and immediately step on his foot.
He winces. “Ow. Okay, that’s gonna bruise my ego more than my toes.”
“Oh my god, I’m sorry—”
He huffs a quiet laugh, his breath brushing your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. Then softer, closer—right against your temple: “Still love you.”
Before you can respond, he presses a gentle kiss there, lingering just long enough for your chest to tighten. Then he rests his chin on the top of your head, swaying with you again, slower this time.
You close your eyes, the world narrowing to the sound of his heartbeat and the faint echo of music from the yard.
It’s imperfect. Terrifying. Real. And somehow, that feels like enough.
P.S. To those waiting for The Warmest Lie chapter seven it is in the works - this just momentarily distracted me.
♡ You were the first person I looked for. In every room, it will always be you.
Warnings: 18+ / MDNI! • Enemies (ish) to lovers, smut (shower sex, unprotected), slight angst (blood, bruises, smoke/fire references), and themes of trauma and comfort
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 2.9k
Summary: Starcourt burns, the world feels broken, and Steve Harrington looks worse than you’ve ever seen him—bruised, bloodied, but alive. For some reason, you can’t walk away. What starts as helping him through the aftermath turns into something neither of you can ignore: steam, scars, and the kind of closeness you’ve both been fighting for years.
Author's note: This idea’s been rattling around my head for a while and I finally got it down! It’s also my first time posting smut (!!). I wanted to give Steve softness after the chaos—trauma-bonding but make it hot™. Hope you enjoy, and as always let me know what you think ♡
The smoke clung to the air—thick, bitter, inescapable. Behind you, Starcourt burned, neon flickering out like dying stars. Red and blue emergency lights strobed against the black sky.
You stood at the edge of the chaos, scanning fire and flashing lights like you could make sense of it. You couldn’t. But you looked anyway.
To your left, Eleven stood barefoot on the asphalt, covered in grime and blood, her face crumpled in Joyce’s arms. Joyce whispered something—soft, broken words meant to comfort, but her own face was streaked with tears she couldn’t hide anymore.
A few feet away, the boys clung to each other like lifelines—Dustin around Will and Mike, Lucas pulling them all in, as if holding tight might keep them from slipping away again. Torn clothes. Eyes too old. No words. Just holding on.
Your heart ached. Everything did.
And then—him.
Steve Harrington.
Slouched on an ambulance bumper. Split lip. Purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone. Dried blood at his temple. His stupid sailor outfit torn and singed. In short: he looked like hell.
Even now, your gut twisted at the sight of him. You hated that it did.
Steve freaking Harrington. Swagger, sarcasm, smug grins. Always pushing your buttons—always on purpose. For years it was snide comments, eye-rolls, bickering in hallways and backyards and cars during missions. He made your blood boil.
So why were your legs already moving?
He didn’t see you—head down, raw knuckles on his knees, dried blood in the creases of his fingers. You stopped just short, unsure why you were even there.
He looked up.
Your eyes met and everything shifted.
“You look like hell.”
He cracked a smile through split lips. “Sweet as ever.”
You rolled your eyes—automatic, familiar. But your voice softened: "You’re lucky you’re alive.”
His gaze flicked to your fists, tight at your sides. Then, soft enough that you barely heard it over the chaos: "You were the first person I looked for."
Your breath caught.
He didn’t dramatize it, didn’t even meet your eyes at first. Just said it like it cost him something. Maybe it did.
“Why?”
That made him glance at you.
“Because I knew if I didn’t make it,” he said, “you’d never let me live it down.”
You huffed a bitter laugh.
Steve nodded slowly, then added, quieter now: “And because… I didn’t want to do this without you.”
The air between you shifted again—heavier now. Fragile.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire. The sirens. The voices. All of it faded.
All that remained was the stupid sailor uniform, the bloodied knuckles, and the boy beneath it all—the one who used to drive you insane, and now made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to name.
You stepped closer. Just a little.
Steve didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. He just watched you—eyes tired, open, like he didn’t want to miss this moment.
The air between you felt breakable. Like if either of you breathed too hard, it would all fall apart.
“Come on,” you said, voice rough. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He didn’t argue.
You weren’t sure how you got back to his place. Someone gave you a ride, maybe. Maybe you drove. It was all a blur—blood, smoke, and the silence between you in the car, thick with everything you didn’t say.
You didn’t ask why you were the one taking him home.
You didn’t ask if someone else should be.
You didn’t want the answer.
Inside, the house was dark and quiet. Outside, the world was stained with blue and red. Here, everything still stood.
Steve leaned against the wall just inside the door, swaying slightly. The adrenaline was gone. What remained was weight. You saw it in the way his shoulders slumped. The way he blinked too slow.
“Shower,” you said, voice low. “You need one.”
He gave a faint laugh, wincing when it tugged at his lip. “You offering to join me?”
You raised an eyebrow, but your voice stayed soft. “I’m offering to make sure you don’t pass out and crack your head open.”
“Sexy.”
Still, he let you lead him down the hall.
You turned on the water and found a towel in the cabinet like you’d done it a hundred times before. Like this wasn’t new.
Like this wasn’t terrifying.
Steam filled the bathroom, curling between you. Steve slouched on the toilet lid, bruised and wrecked, watching you.
“Don’t think I can lift my arms,” he muttered.
You stepped between his knees, fingers brushing the first button of his ruined uniform. His breath hitched.
“You sure?”
“Just… let me take care of this.” Of you.
One by one, you stripped away the smoke and blood, his shoulders bowing under your touch. By the time the costume hit the floor, only bruises and bare skin remained—vulnerable, beautiful, infuriatingly him.
Steve didn’t speak—just watched you, jaw tight, eyes searching like he couldn’t figure out why you were being so gentle with him. Why you weren’t teasing, scolding, calling him an idiot like usual.
When you reached the waistband of his boxers you froze, eyes flicking up.
A nod. Barely there. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
You swallowed, eased them down, let the fabric fall to the floor. Then you opened the shower door.
“Go slow,” you said. “If you fall, I’m not catching your naked ass.”
That pulled a huff of laughter.
He stepped in carefully, braced a hand on the tile, eyes closed as water poured down, washing away blood but not what was underneath.
He stood still, steam rising around him, watching you with something raw in his eyes—a body mapped in bruises, cuts, tension.
Then, softly, “Stay with me.”
Your breath caught.
He didn’t turn. Didn’t push. Just stood there, voice low.
“Please.”
The softness in it undid you.
Shoes, jacket, shirt—gone in clumsy, shaking motions. Each layer falling like you were shedding the night itself.
Then you stepped into the shower, silent, breath unsteady.
The water hit hot, but not half as hot as what burned in your chest. You didn’t touch him. Not yet. But close—closer than ever.
You reached up, brushed the bruise on his cheek. He leaned into your palm like he needed it to stay upright.
Water slid down his shoulders, over bruises, blood, ash.
“Let me.” Just above a whisper.
A nod. Stillness. Trust.
You soaked a cloth, pressed it to his skin—slow, careful, reverent. Wiping away blood. Dirt. A little of the night.
Silence stretched. Your hands drifted from cleaning to simply resting on his chest, steady, grounding. His hand covered yours—not to stop you, just to hold.
You leaned your forehead against his. Steam curled around you.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered.
“So are you.”
You hadn’t noticed. But with your palm flat on his chest, his heartbeat under bruised skin, you felt every tremor in your own fingers.
“Thank you,” he said. Two words, heavy.
Your throat tightened.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” you cut in. Gentle. Firm.
That shut him up.
You pressed the cloth to his ribs again, slower this time—if that was even possible.
“You scared the hell out of me,” you whispered. “When I couldn’t find you—”
His exhale broke, half-laugh, half-sob. “You think I wasn’t looking for you?”
Your throat closed. No words would come.
The cloth slipped from your fingers, forgotten where it fell.
Your palms spread across his chest instead. His eyes weren’t just tired anymore. They burned with something you’d ignored for far too long.
“You’re here,” he murmured. “You’re really here.”
The words tore you open. "I didn’t want to lose you."
His chest rose and fell sharply. Something shifted, and you felt it—like a wall had broken between you.
He leaned in slow, giving you space to pull back. You didn’t.
Foreheads touched first. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck, water dripping from his fingers, and his lips brushed yours.
It wasn’t urgent.
It wasn’t adrenaline.
It was quiet, grounding—and somehow, it felt like he was checking if you were really here.
You kissed him back, salt on your lips—water, tears, you couldn’t tell.
When he pulled back, he only pressed his forehead to yours again, breath shaky, warm.
The world outside the water didn’t exist.
Just you. Him. Steam curling over bare skin.
And the fragile truth between you: you’d made it through. Somehow, still standing. Together.
Steve looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Like you weren’t just someone he survived with—you were someone he’d been waiting for.
His hand lifted, fingertips brushing your cheek, pushing damp hair back. You leaned into the touch.
Then he kissed you again.
This time, it wasn’t careful.
This time, it wasn’t asking permission.
It was need.
“Sweet as ever,” he rasped against your lips again—but this time it wasn’t sarcastic. This time it was reverent.
His mouth moved against yours, desperate, unwilling to let go. Your lips parted, and he groaned as the kiss deepened. Not rushed, but hungry.
You pressed closer, skin to skin, hands sliding over his chest, tracing bruises you’d just been so careful with. He winced, but didn’t stop you.
“You okay?” you whispered.
He nodded, voice rough. “I am now.”
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you had nothing to do with the water.
“You always do this to me,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw.
“Do what?”
“Make me forget everything else.”
His mouth grazed your neck, deliberate, devastating. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. He pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, jaw tight.
“Tell me if you want to stop.”
You shook your head. “I don’t. Not anymore.”
Something broke open. His hands claimed your back, your hips, the line of your spine. Every insult, every eye-roll, every sharp word had only ever been smoke.
Maybe, underneath it all, you’d been burning for him all along.
The kiss turned heavier, messier. His hands tangled in your hair, your mouth hot against his. He kissed like he fought—intense, focused, all in.
Steam thickened. Your breath hitched as his lips grazed your shoulder, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.
“Steve—” You never called him that. Always Harrington.
“Say that again.”
You smiled against his mouth. “Steve.”
He kissed you like the sound wrecked him.
His hands slid down your back, heat trailing his touch. Your fingers traced his ribs, his hips, until he gasped into your mouth—quick, shallow, undone.
His grip on your waist tightened like he needed to be sure you were real.
“Let me clean you up,” he murmured, voice thick.
You let him. His touch softened, reverent now, washing soot and blood from your skin. His eyes tracked every inch like he was memorising you, branding you into him.
You cupped his face, thumb brushing his jaw. He leaned into it, starving for the contact, his eyes searching yours.
“What are we doing?” he whispered.
You didn’t answer. You didn’t know. All you knew was you didn’t want to stop—not tonight, not after everything. You wanted something soft. Something safe.
Steve.
You kissed along his jaw, his neck, his chest—his pulse stuttering beneath your lips. His hands kept moving, mapping you, committing you to memory.
The night’s pain began to dissolve, replaced by a warmth blooming between you. A warmth that had nothing to do with the water, and everything to do with letting go.
Letting him in.
Your breaths mingled in the steam; gasps and groans echoing off the tiles. You weren’t in Starcourt anymore. You were nowhere but here. Just the two of you.
You felt your body respond to him, your pulse racing in a way it never had before. Your hands slid down his back, gripping his ass to pull him closer. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing harder against you.
His hands rose to your chest, tentative at first, then bolder as you arched into him. You could feel him hard against your stomach, and suddenly there was no thought of waiting.
You lathered soap in your hands, then stroked him slowly, deliberately. He hissed, head dropping back, a broken sound slipping from his throat. The sight—Steve Harrington unraveling under your touch—sent a rush of heat between your thighs.
His mouth found your neck, teeth grazing until you moaned. You slipped a hand between your legs—he stopped you, rough and pleading.
“Don’t. I need to feel you.”
You let him take over, his fingers replacing yours, teasing then circling until you cried out. His mouth was on yours again, swallowing the sounds, his rhythm steady and devastating. The pressure built fast, unbearable, and when you came it was with his name torn from your lips, echoing off the tile.
You trembled against him, weak-kneed, but his arms held you steady, his hand coaxing you through the aftershocks until you sagged against his chest.
When you reached for him, wrapping your hand around his length, his eyes locked on yours—dark, undone. He covered your hand with his, guiding your pace until his breath hitched and his voice cracked.
“I need more.”
He lifted your leg around his waist and slid into you in one smooth stroke. The stretch stole your breath, the fullness dizzying. You clung to him, gasping into his mouth as he moved—slow, deep, relentless.
Every thrust drove the air from your lungs, replaced with heat that coiled low in your belly. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching, as if needing to be sure you were there, that this was real.
“You’re here,” he whispered.
You kissed him like an answer, nails biting his shoulders, urging him deeper. His pace quickened, water and steam blurring everything but the sound of your bodies, the ragged rhythm of your breaths.
The pressure coiled sharp and tight, unbearable but not yet enough. Every stroke, every circle had you teetering. His lips were everywhere—your jaw, your cheek, your temple—his voice breaking in your ear as if he was right there on the edge with you.
You whimpered his name, and he stilled for half a second, forcing you to breathe, dragging it out until you thought you might shatter. Only then did he press harder, faster, relentlessly until release crashed through you, your whole body shaking as his arms held you together.
“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And you did—pleasure ripping through you, your whole body shaking as he held you steady. He followed with a groan, spilling against you, clutching like he’d never let go.
For a moment, nothing existed but water, heat, and the hammer of your hearts. His lips brushed your temple, softly.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t have to. The world outside was gone. There was only this—him, you, and the fragile truth that somehow, you’d made it through. Together.
You leaned into him, forehead against his shoulder, his heart racing beneath your skin. The water poured over you both, steady and unrelenting, but the world outside—the fire, the monsters, the fear—felt impossibly far away. All that remained was this: his arms around you, holding like he didn’t plan to let go.
Steve pressed soft kisses—forehead, cheek, neck—each one wordless, reverent. Finally, with a sigh, he eased out of you, setting your leg down gently. The cool air rushed in as you stepped apart, the heat of the shower falling away. He turned off the water, then held out his hand.
You hesitated, then took it. He wrapped a towel around you, and you lifted your arms without thinking, letting him tuck the fabric close. He handed you another for your hair before grabbing one for himself—simple gestures, suddenly heavy, proof of something that had shifted between you.
For a beat, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, he pulled you close again, grounding you against his chest. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Smoke still clung faintly to your skin. But in his arms, it all felt far away.
Time stretched. Silence settled. The weight of what you’d both survived hung heavy between you.
When Steve finally spoke, his voice was rough, quiet. “Come on.”
You nodded, letting him lead you into the dim hallway. The floor was cold under your feet, but his hand—warm, steady—kept you anchored. He didn’t let go, didn’t look away, as if afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.
His lips curved just faintly despite the bruises. “Still not catching me if I fall?” he whispered, echoing your words from earlier. You swallowed, heart tight. “Not a chance.”
In his room, the sheets were messy, the bed unmade. He slid beneath the covers and you followed, curling against his side, bone-deep exhaustion finally pulling at you.
His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, steady, solid. The world outside could wait. For now, there was only this—his warmth, his breath, the fragile certainty you weren’t alone anymore.
Steve’s fingers brushed through your damp hair, his lips ghosting your temple. His voice was soft, wrecked, but with that familiar edge of teasing you knew too well.
“You look like hell,” he murmured.
This time, you laughed—quiet, shaky. “Sweet as ever,” you whispered back, stealing his own words.
His chest shook with a breath that broke somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he held you like he finally understood he didn’t have to let go.
The fire was over. But you knew you’d keep looking for him—in every room, every moment. And for the first time, you thought maybe he’d already be looking, too.
♡ He makes you come like he’s dragging you back from the dark.
Warnings: 18+ / MDNI! • unprotected rough sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, possessive language, post-Upside Down trauma, emotional intensity, crying during sex
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 3.1k
Summary: The Upside Down doesn’t follow you home but the anger does. Steve comes back wired tight, furious at a world he can’t control, and you offer him the one thing he can hold onto: you.
Author’s note: I said I was accepting less-than-PG requests. This anon said “bet.” Say thank you to anon ♡
Your house feels so very quiet compared to the version sitting in the Upside Down.
Too still. Too normal. The walls don’t breathe here like they seem to there. The lights don’t flicker with that sickly red pulse. There’s no distant shriek echoing through the bones of it. Just the hum of the fridge. The faint sound of your own breathing — too fast, too loud in your ears.
The silence presses in until you’re really glad you’re not claustrophobic.
Steve closes the door behind you, and the click of the lock sounds final in a way that makes your chest ache. You both just stand there for a second, covered in grime and dried blood and adrenaline that hasn’t figured out the danger isn’t present behind these doors.
He looks at you like he’s still counting.
From head to toe, checking for injuries you’ve already told him about. For ones you don’t have.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
“So are you.”
He huffs out something that might be a laugh, but it doesn’t quite land. His hands come up, hover for half a heartbeat like he’s asking permission without words, then settle on your waist. His thumbs press in just enough to feel your warmth through the fabric.
You lean into him before you even realise you’re doing it.
Down there, everything felt unstable — like the ground could split at any moment. Like if you were to reach for him you’d come up empty.
Up here, he’s solid. Breathing. Real.
“You’re here,” he breathes, almost to himself.
“I am. We both are.”
The words seem to steady something in him. He pulls you flush against his chest. You can feel how hard his heart is pounding. You’re not sure if it’s mirroring yours or causing it.
He kisses you without buildup.
It isn’t sweet. It isn’t slow. It’s hungry in that specific way that comes after fear — when your body hasn’t decided whether to cry or fight or cling.
You cling.
His mouth is warm and insistent, hands sliding up your back like he’s memorising the shape of you. Every time you gasp for air, he follows, not giving you space to drift too far from him again.
It’s not about impatience.
It’s about certainty.
He needs to feel you respond. Needs to feel your hands in his hair, your nails in his shoulders, your breath catching when he presses closer. The more you react, the steadier he becomes.
You back into the wall without meaning to, and he follows seamlessly, bracing one hand beside your head. His forehead rests against yours for a second, both of you breathing hard.
“I thought—” he starts, then shakes his head. A stubborn strand of hair falls in front of his eye, and you thread it back through his messy hair.
His eyes flicker all over your face, like he’s still seeing flashes of that other place layered over you: red light, tearing ground, the second your hand slipped from his before he grabbed you again.
You kiss him before he can finish the thought. Hoping to erase whatever image is replaying in his mind.
For a moment, he kisses you back with that same urgency but then something shifts. He pulls back abruptly, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake it off.
He steps away from you.
And then he starts moving.
Pacing. Left. Then right. Then again. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid, hands flexing like he’s still holding his bat.
“This is bullshit,” he mutters, shoving a hand through his hair, way too aggressively for your liking. “It’s never over. It’s never actually over.”
You watch him, chest still heaving from the climb back through the gate. There’s grime streaked along his cheekbone. A smear of something dark at his collar. He looks furious.
And you can’t say you blame him.
“I’m so sick of it,” he snaps, turning toward you. “Sick of it touching everything. Sick of dragging you into it. Sick of—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard enough it almost looks painful.
You step into his space before he can spiral any further. He’s actually vibrating with it now — frustration, fear.
“Steve.”
He looks at you, wide-eyed, and it breaks your heart. “I should’ve gotten you out faster.”
“I know, baby.”
It throws him for a second. You see it in his eyes — the way his hands still, the way his mouth opens and then closes just as fast. You reach up, thumb brushing over the tight line of his cheek, stroking slowly. Trying to pull him back to you. Your palm cups his jaw, warm against his skin.
“I know you’re pissed,” you continue, brushing your thumb under his eye, over the faint smear of grime there. “You’re angry. You’re frustrated. You have every right to be.”
His breathing falters just slightly.
You drag your thumb across his cheekbone again, slow, deliberate, eyes locked on his.
“Take it out on me.”
It’s not taunting. Not reckless.
It’s exactly what it sounded like — permission.
And he takes it. It’s not half a second later that he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him like he needs the impact.
The kiss that follows is deeper than before, edged with all that swallowed rage. Not cruel. Just intense in a way that steals the air from your lungs.
He presses you back into the wall again, mouth hot against yours, breath uneven.
Every time you respond — every little sound, every shift toward him instead of away — something steadies in his movements. The anger funnels into focus. Into the way he holds you. Into the way he kisses you like he’s reclaiming something the Upside Down tried to take.
You feel the shift as it happens. The storm in him finding somewhere safe to settle.
“Baby, you don’t get to say that,” he practically pleads against your lips, “and think I’m not going to—”
You cut him off with your lips and that’s all he needs. His lips never leave yours as he walks you further into your house. You feel the backs of your knees hitting your mattress before you can even register how you got from the hallway to here.
And by the time you both sink into your bed, the fear has burned into something softer. His arm wraps around you immediately, holding you close.
“I hate that place,” he mutters.
“I know.”
“I hate that it touched you.” His hand stills at your hip, thumb tracing a slow line over the slither of skin peaking out of your top.
Heat simmers beneath the exhaustion and adrenaline you both share. His lips graze the curve of your jaw — not quite a kiss, more like a reminder. “I love you.”
“God, I love you.”
One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other strips away the last layers between you. He swallows a gasp you don’t remember letting out, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that leaves you dizzy.
When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, lips slick and parted. “I need—”
He cuts himself off, dragging his palm down your thigh, pushing it up and out of his way. The rough pad of his thumb brushes over your clit through damp fabric, and your hips jerk involuntarily.
He takes that as a sign to hook his fingers into the waistband and pulls it down in one sharp motion. Cold air kisses your skin but only for half a second before he’s there again, mouth at your pulse, hand sliding between your thighs.
He groans against your throat, the vibration sending a shudder down your spine.
“Fuck,” he breathes, dragging two fingers through you before curling them inside without warning.
His gaze locks onto you, like if he looks away you might disappear. “That's it," he murmurs, dragging his tongue over your collarbone when your thighs start trembling.
"Stay with me."
His fingers crook harder, hitting that spot inside you that always makes your vision blur, and suddenly you're coming—hard, his name tearing from your throat as your body clenches around his hand. He keeps moving, needing to feel you respond.
When you try to squirm from the overstimulation, his hand catches your hip holding you there. “I’ve got you,” he breathes.
Even when your legs shake violently, when you gasp out a broken “Steve—” and your fingers twist in his hair, he keeps his eyes on yours. Dark, yes — but searching.
Not watching you come apart. Making sure you’re still here.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, softer now. You blink up at him through the haze. “Hi, baby.”
By the time he finally stills his fingers, you’re boneless beneath him, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.
His hand stills against your thigh.
For half a second, the slick shine on his fingers looks darker. Thicker.
Red.
His breath catches.
“Steve?”
The sound of your voice snaps the room back into place.
No red. No blood.
Just you. Warm and alive.
His fingers, still glistening with your slick, trail down your thigh before gripping hard enough to leave marks. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with something possessive. “My girl.”
He shifts, giving you barely enough time to catch your breath before he’s stripping off his own clothes with rough, impatient movements. Releasing his cock, hard and flushed against his stomach.
Steve braces one forearm beside your head, his other hand guiding himself into you — one sharp thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. You arch into him, legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he sinks deeper, your body still fluttering from the aftershocks of your last orgasm.
He groans, low and rough, his forehead dropping to yours as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. “You’re still so tight, honey.” His voice catches.
Steve moves with urgency immediately, like momentum is the only thing keeping the panic away, driving into you in sharp, deep strokes that leave your toes curling against his lower back.
At this moment, you don’t care that his grip may leave bruises on your skin. Not when this is the first time in hours that he’s looked at you without checking for blood. Not when he’s moving like he’s trying to burn every memory of the Upside Down out of both of you.
"You feel that?" he growls against your lips, pushing you up the mattress until your shoulders hit the headboard.
His rhythm only stutters when your breath hitches wrong. His eyes snap to yours immediately, “You okay?”
When you nod — when you pull him back down with an all-consuming kiss — he exhales. Only then does he move again.
“Look at me. Let me know you’re here with me.” You nod frantically, words failing you. But he shakes his head, catching your chin to force your gaze to his. "Say it."
“Need you to say it, baby,” he repeats, voice thick with need, fingers tightening at your jaw.
His hips snap forward again, and the sensation knocks the words out of you — "I’m here," you gasp, nails biting into his shoulders as he drives into you with a groan. "Fuck, Steve—"
Whatever else you were going to say dissolves into a moan when he shifts slightly, angling just right, and suddenly every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you. Your muscles lock as pure pleasure fractures through you. But Steve keeps his pace even as your body convulses around him.
And then you feel it — a rush of heat between your legs, spilling over him, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sound is loud in the quiet room.
Your breath catches when his movements falter, something shifting in his expression, pupils blown wide with something deeper than lust.
You shift like you’re about to apologise, and he tightens his hand, shakes his head once, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Jesus. Don’t.”
His palm spans your hip, thumb pressing deep into the curve like he’s anchoring himself there, his eyes following the slick that drips down your thighs.
You whimper when he thrusts again, overstimulation making your nerves sing. His hand slides higher on your hip, holding you steady. "Please," you gasp, hands scraping at his chest hair. "Let me—"
You can’t help the whine that cuts you off when he pulls out almost completely—just to shove back in with a rough snap of his hips. His teeth graze your pulse point as he growls, “That’s it, honey.”
You press your palms against his chest and give him a small push. He taps your thigh in warning, but you bite his lower lip in response before murmuring, "Let me ride you."
Steve goes still above you. His fingers twitch against your hips. "You sure, baby?" he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. His thumb brushes over your hip — slow, questioning, steady.
You answer by pushing as hard as you can against his chest - which admittedly isn’t very hard but he pretends and lets you sit atop him. "Yeah," you breathe, nipping at his jaw. "Want to feel all of you."
His cock brushes heavy against your stomach, slick with your arousal, and you both watch as you guide him back inside.
You sink down slowly, letting yourself feel every inch stretch you open until your thighs press flush against his.
You both sigh at the stretch, his fingers tightening at your waist as you roll your hips forward once before lifting again. His next groan is broken, his head tipping back against the pillow when you repeat the motion.
The pace you set is deliberate — maddening. Your hips roll in slow, fluid circles. Every time you lift yourself almost to the tip of him, his hips jerk upward, chasing the heat of you, but you deny him, sinking back down at your torturous pace.
"Baby," he grits out, gripping you like he’s barely holding back from flipping you back over and taking control.
But then — something shifts.
He looks up at you and for a heartbeat, you don’t know where he’s gone.
The bedroom is no longer your bedroom. It’s red. Breathing. Wrong.
His hold on your waist turns iron-tight, like he’s scared you might vanish.
“Steve.” You cup his face, forcing his gaze to yours.
“Look at me. I’m here.”
The red fades.
His grip softens immediately, his thumbs tenderly brushing over the slight red marks he left.
His arms slide around your waist, pulling you forward as he sits up until your chest presses against his, your thighs bracketing his hips in a way that changes the angle, deeper somehow. The shift makes you gasp, your nails scraping against his shoulders as he holds you there, his mouth hot against your collarbone.
He guides your hips into a slower, grinding rhythm that has you seeing stars.
The embrace is almost suffocating, his chest pressed flush against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're so fucking perfect," he mutters, voice wrecked, lips brushing your pulse point with each breath.
"My perfect girl—god—" His words dissolve into a groan when you clench around him, your thighs trembling against his sides.
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, fingers twisting in his sweat-damp hair as he rocks into you, slower now but somehow even deeper.
"Steve—" You cry, half-moan, half-plea, and he responds by somehow holding you tighter, one hand splaying across your lower back.
"Y’know what you do to me?" he murmurs, lips skimming your jaw.
You whimper when his hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. "That's it," he breathes, pulling your hair to see you clearly. "Wanna see you, honey."
You realise he’s not chasing the orgasm. He’s chasing proof.
The pressure builds low in your stomach, coiled tight like a spring wound too far. You gasp his name into the sweat-damp hollow of his throat as his cock drags against that spot inside you again and again and —
"Close," you pant, the word fracturing into a moan when Steve bites down on your shoulder, his hips thrusting upward with desperation.
His voice breaks when he murmurs, “Let go, honey.”
Your body obeys before you can think. Your back arches as pleasure pulls you under, vision blurring at the edges. This time you hear it before you feel it — the wet rush of heat.
The slap of skin is drowned out by your choked cry as your body convulses around him.
Steve groans — low, guttural.
Your body pulses around him in slow, rhythmic clenches, and his thrusts turn erratic, breath breaking against your lips.
"So beautiful," he grits out, the words rough. Sounding like they’ve been ripped from somewhere deep inside him.
His mouth finds yours in a messy, open kiss, teeth knocking, the taste of salt and sweat and something desperate between you.
When he finally comes, it’s with a shuddering gasp of your name against your lips, hips grinding deep as he spills inside you. He holds you like you might slip through him.
"Fuck, I love you so much."
His lips brush your cheekbone, your temple, the corner of your mouth. Tears shine at the corners of his lashes, catching the dim light as they fall. You feel the wetness against your cheek before you see them as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
"I’ll never let anything hurt you," he rasps. His arms close around you like he could shield you from every horror this town has conjured up.
His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head with a gentleness that contradicts the bruising grip he’d had moments before.
“I promise.”
"I know," you murmur against his temple, your fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair as his shuddering breaths warm the hollow of your throat.
Steve brushes his nose against your pulse point. You can feel the rapid flutter of his heartbeat against your chest, the uneven rise and fall of his shoulders as he struggles to steady his breathing.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are red-rimmed, lashes clumped together with moisture, and something in your chest cracks open at the sight. You brush your thumb beneath his lower lash, catching the dampness there, and he leans into the touch like a man starved.
“I love you, Steve.” You punctuate the words with a kiss, catching another tear at the corner of his eye before it can fall. You press your foreheads together, the heat of his skin seeping into yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space between your lips.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
His nose nudges yours, the gesture almost shy despite the fact his body still covers yours completely, his cock still inside you.
“I love you, Steve Harrington. I always will.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the moment the ground split beneath you.
You don’t think he will ever fully stop looking for blood.
But for now, he’s looking at you.
And in the quiet of your house — too still, too normal — he finally lets himself rest.
P.S. @harringtons-cupid showed me how to do gradient font so please prepare yourselves as I will be overusing this immediately.
best friend! steve harrington x best friend! female reader
warnings: angst, 18+ smut. unprotected p in v, worshipping, nipple play, praise kink, female oral receiving, size kink, he talks you through it, spanking, cream pie. i think thats all!
summary: you and steve meet at the lake at the same time, every day, every summer. this time he brings a girl with him.
wc: 4k
A/N: this is a thank you for 200 followers! i can't believe how much love i get on these silly little one shots! but just know i appreciate it! i really loved writing this one so i hope you enjoy it! also if anyone has requests please send them! thank you!!!!! <3
my masterlist <3
Every summer, you and Steve made a promise to meet at the same spot every day at 6pm sharp.
Lovers Lake was known in your small town as a place where lovers went to hide, but to you guys, it was where two best friends met to spend extra time together on a hot summer night.
Of course, you had thought of going to Lover's Lake as more than just best friends, but he would never see you in that way.
You both just graduated a week ago and had been meeting here every night so far.
It was something you looked forward to every day. The reason why you woke up, or got out of bed. To spend time with your best friend, with whom you wanted something more.
Sometimes you guys would take a dip in the lake, which was your favorite because you got to see Steve without a shirt on. Other times, you would sit and talk for hours about pointless things. He’d let you lay your head in his lap. He played with your hair while you spoke, and he sat there listening.
You checked the clock and saw it was 10 minutes until 6. Your bike was against the side gate of the house. You grabbed it and started pedaling away, riding into the sunset, no directions needed.
Steve should already be there; he’s always early.
As you ride into the woods to the rock near the lake, Steve is nowhere to be seen.
That’s weird, you always showed up to him leaning against the rock, waiting for you with a smile on his face.
Twenty minutes go by according to your watch, and you think to yourself, where the heck is he?
You’re about to leave when you hear laughter and the sounds of a bike coming towards you. The bike is being driven by a face you have memorized by heart, while the person behind him is one you haven’t seen a day in your life.
Steve has brought another girl to Lovers Lake. You and Steve’s special spot. Your heart dropped to your ass.
“Hey Y/N! Sorry, I’m late, lost track of time.” He laughs as he gets off the bike first, then puts his hand out to help the girl, his hand lingering a little too long for it to be in a friendly way. “This is Becky.”
You don’t know what to do. Do you pretend like this isn’t ruining you from the inside? Maybe it’s nothing serious. Steve has never mentioned her before.
The girl who you now know as Becky puts her hand out in front of you, “Hi Y/N, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Steve talks about you all the time!” She says with the biggest smile on her face.
You stare at her hand, and you get looks from both of them. Steve raises his eyebrows in a way to tell you to greet her. “Nice to meet you!” You say with a fake smile while shaking her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m just caught off guard right now. Steve hasn’t mentioned you before.”
You didn’t mean for it to come out rude, but it was true. You’ve never heard the name Becky come from Steve’s lips once, and you have seen him every night of summer so far.
Becky looks at Steve, confused as he sends you a glare. “Y/N, mind if we talk for a second?” He tells Becky he’ll be right back before dragging you further into the woods.
“What the hell, Y/N? Way to be welcoming.” He scoffs.
“Steve, I waited 20 minutes for you, and you come late with someone else? Who even is she? I’ve never heard of her until 5 minutes ago.” You say.
It wasn’t about him being late or him bringing a ‘friend’. It was about you having feelings for your best friend, and he just couldn’t see it.
“I’ve been seeing her, alright? Now, can you just calm down a bit? She’s been wanting to meet you.”
All your feelings hit you at once: anger and sadness.
You don’t want to be here with both of them. This doesn’t feel like how it used to. You and Steve should be laughing right now, swimming in the lake as the sun goes down. Now you just want to get on your bike and ride back to your house.
So you do just that.
“I guess, I just thought it would be us two like always. I think I’m just going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.” You say before pedaling your way back to your house, tears stream down your face.
You made it back into your house, changed into pajamas, and lay in bed staring at your ceiling until you drifted off into sleep, tears staining your pillow.
It was the next day, you woke up with puffy eyes from crying yourself to sleep the night before.
Steve is seeing someone, and he decided it was a great idea to bring this person to your special spot, without telling you. Awesome.
You don’t even feel like getting out of bed, but you can’t let this stop you from having a good summer.
So you get up and get ready for the day.
Later in the day, you decide to take the grocery list your mom had started to make and go get it for her. The grocery store was just a short ride on your bike.
As you walk down the aisles, you feel eyes on you. It’s a boy who seems to be your age, restocking shelves.
He’s cute with his brown fluffy hair. It reminds you of someone you know so well, so you smile at him and walk away.
You get back to your grocery shopping, grabbing potatoes and other vegetables your mom had on the list, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.
“Hi.” The boy from earlier says.
“Hi.” You say with a smile. You never thought he would actually come up to you.
“I saw you earlier while I was stocking the shelves, thought you were super pretty.”
Blush flushes across your cheeks, “Wow. Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet of you.”
“I was wondering if I could possibly get your-.”
He’s quickly interrupted by a familiar yet annoying voice.
“Y/N!” You look across the aisle at Steve, speed walking up to you and the boy. Not far behind him is Becky. When they reach you, he places his arm over your shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here. Who’s your friend?” Steve looks him up and down.
The boy now looks uncomfortable with the new guests, “I should get back to work. I’ll see you around?” You nod in agreement.
Becky decides to join the conversation, “He’s super cute, Y/N!” You roll your eyes and turn around.
“Hey? Where are you going?” Steve shouts as you walk away.
“Check out, I got everything I needed.” He catches up to you.
“What’s her problem?” you hear Becky ‘whisper’ to Steve.
“Nothing!” You say loud enough that you get some stares. “Sorry, it’s just I’m not having a good day.”
Steve tried to read the look on your face; he knew something was wrong. After spending so much time with you, he knows how to tell.
“Let’s just go, babe. We have those reservations at 6, remember?”
You shoot a glare at him, and he knows he’s in trouble now. Really? Dinner reservations at your designated time with him?
“Yeah, ‘babe’ better get going to your dinner reservations.” You grab your bag of groceries and take it to your bike.
You hear footsteps leading up to you.
“Y/N, I’m sorry, it was the only time they had open. I was going to tell you.”
“Were you Steve? Or was I going to be waiting all night for you like I did yesterday?”
“It was twenty minutes.” He shoots back.
“Yeah, but it was twenty minutes too long, you never make me wait.”
“It’s just one night, Y/N! We spend every night together anyway.”
You don’t really know what to say anymore, you get on your bike now, ready to leave.
“Have fun on your date.” You say and bike away.
You should be down at Lovers Lake with Steve, but instead you’re bed rotting, wondering what they are doing on their date.
Where did he take her? Have they kissed? How long has this been going on? Did he love her?
The thoughts have been non-stop since meeting Becky the day before.
Your parents are out for the night, on their own date, leaving you home alone and lonely.
While cooking dinner, the doorbell rings. You quickly check the time to see it's 6:33pm. You weren’t expecting anybody, but still you opened the door. No one is there, but a piece of paper on your front door mat.
You already know who it’s from; he didn’t need to sign it.
The smile on your face doesn’t leave until you realize that he should be on his date with Becky.
If you rode to the lake and saw her there with him, you would turn around without a doubt.
But you were willing to risk that.
After putting your dinner away, you grab your bike and head out to Lovers Lake.
It’s dark as you bike into the woods. The only thing creating light is the moon.
You see Steve leaning against the rock. He came by himself, and excitement fills your body as you get off your bike.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” You ask him.
“Hey, to you, Y/N,” he says as he gets up from against the rock. “It didn’t work out.”
It’s silent for a few moments, “I’m sorry, Steve. I know you liked her.” Even though it hurt to say, you wanted to comfort your best friend.
“You’re not, though.” He stares into your eyes. “I thought you would be happy for me, for trying to find someone to spend my life with.” It feels like he stabbed you right through your heart. Why couldn’t he see what was in front of him? “You know, I tried to reschedule tonight with her so I could be here with you, but she didn’t like that very much. We fought over you.” Guilt takes over the excitement you originally had. “She made me an ultimatum, can you believe that? I had to pick between my best friend and the girl I was dating.” Fuck, you think to yourself. Is this why he gave you that note? To tell you, he picked her.
“Who did you pick?” you whisper.
You start to prepare yourself if he does end up picking her.
He walks up to you, now face-to-face.
“You, Y/N, it’s always going to be you.” He cups your cheek. “This whole time I’ve been looking for a girl I see a future with, but she’s always been in front of me. I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t see it sooner.” He confesses.
You’re frozen and don’t know what to do with what Steve just told you. He likes you, but you’re too lost in your own thoughts to see him lean in towards you.
His lips meet yours in a kiss, and moans come from both of you while your tongues roll over one another’s. You’re the first to break it.
“What the fuck, Steve!” You push him by his chest, and he looks scared. “You scared me, I thought you were telling me you picked her.” He laughs.
“You think I’d pick a girl I’ve known for a month, over a girl I’ve known basically my whole life?” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.
You smile up at him, and heat rushes to your cheeks at the thought of him telling her that he had picked you. “I can’t believe she made you pick.”
“Yeah, well, she was already mad at the fact that I wanted to invite you everywhere with us. She opened my eyes to who I really wanted to be with.”
You stare into each other’s eyes, the moment you dreamt of every summer is finally happening.
“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, and you answer with your lips back on his.
He walks you to the rock, your back against it. His hands begin to wander, gripping your hips and rubbing over your back.
It starts to get heated when he cups your ass and pulls you against his clothed center; he’s hard.
“Mmm, Steve.” He starts kissing up your neck, your sounds go straight to the place where it hurts the most. “I’ve always wanted this.”
“Yeah?” His hand comes up to feel your boob over your top. You help him take it off, leaving you in a white lace bra. His eyes get wide before he remembers what you had just said. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Just didn't want to risk anything." You reach your hand down between the two of you to rub over the tent in his pants.
"Fuck," He whines. "I think it's worth risking." He says before grabbing your hand and leading you to the dock on the lake.
"What are we doing?" You ask him, out of breath and confused.
"I'm not fucking you against a rock, Y/N." He guides you to lie on your back at the end of the dock. You look across the lake, nothing but the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and crickets in the distance. It's peaceful and perfect.
He kisses you on your lips one more time before making his way down your body. One hand teases your nipple through the lace, while his mouth flicks over the other, all while he hasn't stopped looking at you.
"When we would go swimming, I could never take my eyes off your tits. Let me finally see them, baby." You sit up on your elbows while he unclips your bra from the back, releasing your breasts for his eyes to see.
Your puffy pink nipples are hardening from the slight summer chill, and his eyes on you. You move your hand to go and cover them, feeling exposed, but Steve objects.
"Don't hide them from me. I want to see you." He dives into your boobs, sucking on your nipples, going back and forth.
"Fuck, Steve. That feels so good." You softly moan, your hands playing in his hair to keep him close.
He releases your nipple and blows on it before leaving open-mouth kisses down your stomach. His fingers play with the top of your cotton shorts. He looks up at you to get permission on what he's about to do, and you nod.
He wastes no time in pulling down your shorts, the matching white lacy panties now on show for him.
"Jesus, Y/N, You look so fucking sexy." You notice that he keeps them on. "Gonna play with you now, okay, baby?"
The throbbing between your legs is getting worse; you need some sort of relief. "Please, Steve, it hurts." You beg.
"I'm gonna make it better, baby, I promise." You feel his mouth hover over your lace-covered pussy. His hot breath is on you before you feel him make contact. You're so wet, and he can taste it.
He licks and sucks on you over the lace. You squirm your hips, wanting more. His thumb rubs over your aching clit, and you jerk from how sensitive you are to his soft touch.
"Does that feel good? Me rubbing on your little clit?" You nod in response, your eyes watering at the pleasure.
"More, I want more." You cry. He takes that as his green light to fuck you with his tongue over your panties. The feeling is pleasurable, but it still leaves you wanting more. "Take them off, Steve, I need your mouth on me."
He rips them off of you before he shoves his face into your bare pussy. The sounds that come from his mouth while he laps up all your delicious juices are erotic. His nose against your clit. Every time he shakes his head a little, it sends shocks throughout your body.
"Fuck! Steve!" You scream and hope no one is around. He grabs your thighs to keep them open. You feel a finger start to tease your entrance before he plunges it inside of you.
He releases his mouth from your pussy, and looks up at you as he fingers you. Your head is thrown back, mouth open, tits glistening with his saliva, and your eyes are shut. He wishes he could take a picture of you in this moment, full of pleasure.
"I can feel you pulsing around my finger, baby. Come for me." He tells you. His finger leaves your pussy, and starts to rub quickly over your clit.
"Shit, I'm coming, I'm coming!" You scream before you come all over his hand.
"That's it, that's my girl," he soothes you while rubbing up and down your shaking thighs. He can't help himself from cleaning you up a bit with his tongue. Your eyes are shut when you feel licking through your folds.
"Fuck," you breathe out. You place your hand in his hair again and stare at him while he stares back. You pull his head off your pussy, lips glossy from your come, and bring his face to yours to kiss him.
You both moan into the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"You taste so good, baby," he says in between your kisses. Your face flushes red as you put your hand underneath his shirt, scratching across his abs. He takes the hint and throws his shirt off.
You kiss up his neck, biting down on his earlobe before you whisper. "I want you to fuck me, Steve."
He feels like he actually might die at hearing those words coming from your mouth. He always fantasized about you saying that to him while he jerked off alone in his room after a night out with you.
This time it was real.
You push him back this time, so he’s lying on the dock, and you crawl over him. He can’t even believe what is happening right now.
He quickly takes off both his boxers and pants, not caring where he kicks them off to. For all he knows, they could be floating away in the lake, but he didn’t give a single fuck because of how beautiful you looked on top of him.
You felt his cock spring up and hit your stomach. You look down, seeing it for the first time ever. It was huge and veiny. Steve could see on your face that you were trying to figure out whether or not it would fit inside of you.
He sits up and cups your face before bringing his hands up and down your back, “It will fit, baby, I’ll make sure of it.”
You nod and straddle over him, one of your hands wraps around his leaking cock, before guiding it to your hole.
He stops you before you start to sink down. “Wait, shit, I don’t have condoms.” He looks defeated.
You never told him this, but you’ve been on birth control for a while now for your periods. It just never seemed like a topic to tell your guy's best friend.
“I’m on birth control, it’s okay. I want to feel you, all of you.” You tell him, and he nods.
His cock is back in your hand, and you sink down onto the tip. You both moan out, foreheads against one another’s.
Steve stares at your face while you continue to sink down. Your eyebrows are scrunched up in pleasure, mouth open.
“I can’t- I can’t,” you whine, head falling into his shoulder. “It’s too big.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I got you.” he rubs your thighs. “Just got to stretch you is all.” He slowly brings down your hips, and you cry into his neck. It feels like he's splitting you in half. “Good girl, see you’re taking it so well,” he tells you.
You bite down on his shoulder as he continues to bring your core flush with his.
“Mmm, Steve, is it all in?” You ask.
He laughs, “It’s in, baby, I knew you could do it.” He praises you. “Just feel it, feel me inside of you, okay?”
You’ve never felt so full before sitting in his cock. Sure, you’ve had sex with others, you even thought they were big. But no one will compare to Steve. This will change you forever.
He lets you adjust and waits until you give him the green light to start moving.
“Fuck me.” You say into his neck, and he doesn’t quite know what you said.
“What was that, baby?” he brings your face out from his neck to look straight into your eyes.
“Fuck me, please.”
He leans back and pulls you down with him, chest to chest. His cock pulls out of you slightly before you feel him buck his hips up and back into you.
Your face is buried back into his neck, so you place soft kisses there.
“Steve, Fuck! You’re so deep inside me.” This angle has him hitting places inside of you that no one else has before.
Your legs on both sides of his hips, ass in the air, tits against his chest, with his cock pounding up into your pussy.
“Perfect fucking pussy, baby.” Sweat starts to form on his forehead. “Feels so amazing around my cock.” He brings his hands to rub your ass before slapping it.
All you can do is moan his name and curse. The feeling of his cock and hands on you is so overwhelming.
You crave more of him, so you start to push back on his cock and meet his thrusts.
“Fuck on my cock, baby, shit, keep doing that!” You put ur hands on either side of his head and pull yourself up so you can be on all fours.
Your tits bounce in front of his face, and he takes one of them in his mouth.
He pops off your nipple, “Shit, I’m gonna come. You keep pulsing around my cock, baby.” His hands grip around your hips, guiding you back and forth.
“Come inside of me, Steve. I want you to fill me up.” You moan while continuing to fuck yourself with his cock. You bring one of your hands down to your clit and start rubbing to reach your end.
“Fuck, Y/N!” He screams while he shoots his warm load inside of you. You’re right behind him, and coming all over his cock. You both stop your movement, just taking in the feeling of his come deep inside you, and your juices covering him.
You lay on top of him, his arms around your back, holding you as if you would ever leave him.
Steve starts to move around, gripping under your hips as he gets up. You wrap your legs around him to prevent you from falling.
“What are you doing?” You ask him, a big smile on his face.
“Want to go for a swim?”
You don’t have time to answer him before he jumps off the dock and into the lake with you wrapped around him. The cold water engulfs both of you before you break apart and swim to the surface for air.
“What the fuck, Steve!” You laugh and splash water at his face.
“Just thought we could wash away the smell of sex on us.” He wipes water off his face.
You both swim around each other, like all the other times you have. Blush across your guys' cheeks and smiles that haven’t left your faces for the past ten minutes.
Steve looks over at you. You look so calm in this moment, like an angel.
“You know I love you, Y/N.” He breathes out. “Always have and always will.”
You swim closer to him, goosebumps spread across your body from his confession.
“I love you too, Steve.” You kiss him, the taste of the lake water on his lips. “Always have and always will.”
You’ve never been happier than here in this moment.
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: watching your cute coworker strike out romantically all day should be a turnoff. not for you, though, because today might finally be the day you finally get what you want.
wc: 2.4k
cw: 18+ mdni, fluff, smut, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, masturbation, cum eating, cock biting, i think that’s all?
a/n: this is a rewrite/overhaul of an older version of this fic, entirely in prose instead of screenplay format with added detail (linked here if you’re curious)
Steve was oh-for-six, according to Robin’s dry erase board, where she’d been gleefully keeping track of his flirting failures for the day. It was, admittedly, a pretty bad record for someone who’d been known as ‘King Steve’ to the student population of Hawkins High just a few short months prior. But things had changed quite a bit since then. He was supposed to graduate, go to college, and let his parents push him into a successful but boring life. Well, he’d done one of those things and now he was stuck here, slinging ice cream in this hideous sailor uniform for the foreseeable future. It was downright humiliating.
“Ahoy ladies! Didn’t see ya there!” he nearly shouted to the group of college-aged girls who had just walked up to the counter. You sat in the back with Robin, eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream and pretending not to ogle Steve through the tiny window that overlooked the whole dining area. You couldn’t help it. Any pair of shorts that gave you a good look at those hairy muscular thighs was a win in your eyes.
“What about this is attractive to you?” Robin gestured out to where Steve was failing miserably with the college girls.
You shrugged. Then, with a mouth full of ice cream: “When do you think he last got laid?”
“JESUS. I do NOT want to think about that.” It was just so easy to get her riled up. And way too much fun. You cackled loudly.
Steve spun around from his place behind the counter, looking into the window. “Do you think maybe one of you would actually like to come out here and, I dunno, work?” Ooh, somebody was getting grumpy. You wouldn’t mind fucking the attitude right out of him.
Robin rolled her eyes, flipping him the bird. You slid out of your chair and walked around the counter, sidling up to Steve with an exaggerated southern drawl. “How ever can I make it up to you, sugar? Ice cream?” You offered him the remains of your break room snack.
“I guess,” he grinned, fingers lighting grazing yours as he accepted the bowl, sending a warm buzz up your spine. He dug in ravenously, like only a teenage boy would. Even at eighteen, he hadn’t grown out of the habit.
“You got a little something,” you gestured to an invisible spot in the general vicinity of his face.
“Where?” he asked, his brows furrowed.
“Riiiight…” you trailed off, reaching into the bowl, “...there,” you finished, tapping a dollop of ice cream on the tip of his perfectly straight nose.
His jaw dropped, shock evident across his features. You gave him a playful smirk. You had him right where you wanted him. It was a challenge, played coyly, that said ‘And what are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?’ If the girls of Hawkins wouldn’t give him the time of day, wasn’t that just more opportunity for you?
He reached into the bowl, scooping a handful of ice cream and waving his vanilla-covered fingers at you. You backed away, giggling and shrieking the whole time. “Steeeeeeeve, noooo!”
His eyes flashed, a predator stalking his prey. He caged you in and…God, weren’t his eyes pretty? Big and shiny and expressive. Hazel up close. You caught a whiff of expensive cologne he probably couldn’t afford to buy anymore on his Scoops Ahoy paycheck.
And then you felt it: his hand swiping across the side of your face, down your jaw, freezing and sticky. You gasped with an open-mouthed smile and smacked him. “Asshole!”
He cocked his head. “What’s that? You want some more?”
“Don’t you dare.” An empty threat if you’d ever made one.
He lunged at you with another handful. You reached out to block his hand, maybe give him another little smack. Too late. He was already painting your lips with ice cream. Smug bastard. Smug, hot bastard. You looked him dead in the eye, grabbed his hand, and worked his ring and middle finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and pulling off with a pop.
His jaw went slack, pupils dilated, hand frozen mere centimeters from your mouth. Suddenly, the air-conditioned ice cream parlor felt like it was 100 degrees and neither of you seemed to remember what was so funny just a couple short minutes ago.
He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away like he’d been burned. “Do you want like…a napkin? Sorry. I just–napkin?”
“Yes, napkin. Thanks.” But your eyes were locked on him, the way he was fighting the blush creeping up his neck, the way he shook his shoulders out as he walked into the back.
He came back with a wet paper towel, offering it to you meekly. Your voice dropped to barely above a whisper, forcing him to lean in. “You made the mess. Clean it up.”
You tilted your head up, giving him easier access to the scene of the crime. His hands trembled as he gently wiped the remainder of the ice cream with the paper towel.
He couldn’t help but notice the faint blush across your cheeks, the delicate features that adorned your face. Perfect, full lips now coated obscenely in white. Lips that he couldn’t help but picture wrapped around his–fuck. No. He told himself to think of something else. Anything. Baseball cards, grandma, the stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform…your Scoops Ahoy uniform, perfectly hugging every curve. Annnd now he was picturing you naked. Shit.
“You’re gonna get me fired,” he blurted out.
You batted your eyelashes at him and pitched your voice just a tad higher. “How come? I was playing nice.”
“‘Cause you’re a troublemaker.” You snuck a peek at the now very-obvious semi he was sporting. What you wouldn’t give to see it in all its glory.
“Well, if you’re looking for more trouble…or, you know, a little relief…you know where to find me.” And with that, you flounced away, swinging your hips freely, leaving him to ache in his cute little uniform shorts.
***
You were on your knees, locked in the employee bathroom, face to face with Steve’s bare lower half, his briefs and shorts carelessly bunched up at his ankles. And damn if he wasn’t even better than your imagination. Long and thick, the swollen tip an angry pink. You could almost feel the ache in your jaw before you even opened it.
“Damn.” And it came out shakier than you expected.
He smiled coyly. “Yeah?”
“Steve.”
He just laughed. You flicked the hem of his shirt up, peppering kisses below his navel, moving to his hip, then his inner thigh. His hungry eyes followed your every move, his cock painfully hard and leaking with precum. You took him in your hand, swiped your thumb over the weeping slit at the tip, and spread his arousal generously over his length. His breath hitched. “Oh my God.”
You grinned. Then finally, mercifully, you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You were immediately overwhelmed by the heady taste. He groaned, low in his throat. “Shit, that’s good.”
“Yeah? You like that?” you asked, tapping it on your tongue a couple times, before enveloping it with your warm, wet mouth again.
His hands fluttered helplessly at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. You took both and shoved them haphazardly into your hair. “S’okay?” he slurred.
“Yeah, it’s okay. I like to choke on it,” you smirked up at him. At that, his cock twitched hard. You just giggled and took him deeper until you could feel him touching the back of your throat. The weight of his hands felt heavy on your head, not pushing, just resting, allowing you to take control. The fact alone had your core dripping with arousal.
Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth. Messy. Obscene. You looked up at him through your lashes at your head bobbed quicker. Deeper. Fucking your throat with his cock now. Nose touching his pelvis, gagging on it.
He screwed his eyes shut. “Fucking hell. You keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
“So don’t.”
You grazed your teeth gently down the shaft. He shivered. “Too much?” you asked, looking up carefully.
“Uh-uh.”
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I bite it?”
He nodded frantically with wide eyes. You gently sunk your teeth into his meaty length from the side, stroking him near the head, fingers tracing around his slit again. His breathing was getting more frantic. You licked a stripe up the underside, fondling his balls as you went back to deepthroating him.
He was babbling nonsense now. “So good–fuck. I’m so close…keep doing that. Don’t fucking stop. Yeah, there’s my little cockslut. Good girl.” He was so close you could feel him twitching violently, sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. You were so fucking desperate for friction on your throbbing pussy.
“Fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna cum–” You hummed around him. A long, low vibration. He clenched suddenly, shooting hot ropes of cum down your throat. Enough to fill your mouth too. Salty, thick, and a little bit sweet. You swallowed some and let the remains of it sit on your tongue.
“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” you asked, curling your tongue to hold it in your mouth. He shook his head slowly. “Do you want to?” He nodded, eyes darkening.
He helped you up and you fisted your hands into the front of his uniform shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. It was hot and messy, sharing his cum like it was something sacred. “Fuck…that was hot,” he whispered, breathing still ragged. He was so lightheaded he needed a minute to recover.
“Your turn,” he murmured, redressing himself carelessly and sinking to his knees. He made quick work of your uniform shorts, rubbing the wet spot in your panties and kissing your clothed slit, tongue peeking out to kitten lick you.
“Can I?” he asked, looking up for approval. You nodded, chest already heaving, and with that, he pulled your panties off in one swift motion and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder.
“Holy shit. She’s so pretty. And dripping. All this for me?” He traced the wetness between your legs with his thumb, holding your pussy lips open to see your hole. He couldn’t wait to make it clench. He blew the tiniest bit of cool air on your pussy, sending a shiver through you.
“Ste–eve, don’t tease me.”
“Gotta tell me what you want then, pretty girl.”
“Fuck. Your mouth.”
He breathed you in deeply. “Fuck, you smell so good.” Then, licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, he added, “Taste so sweet too.” His tongue circled around your twitching clit, then back through your velvety petals. He sucked one of the lips into his mouth, then the other. He flicked his tongue over your entrance, feeling you shudder again and again. He brought his tongue to a point and began shallowly thrusting into your pussy. You took a fistful of his hair, alternating between pulling and lightly scratching his scalp.
“Feels so good.”
“Yeah? You want more?” he asked, his voice sending vibrations through your pussy.
“Please.”
He brought his middle finger to your core, dragging it through the wetness and plunging easily into your hole. “You like that?”
“More…moremoremore please.” You were breathing hard now. He added a second finger, scissoring you open. You didn’t even really need him to. You were so turned on it was barely a stretch. Felt fucking good too. He curled his fingers into that spongy spot on your front wall, earning a cry from you. And just having him so close, touching you, focused on your pleasure, left you teetering on the brink of an orgasm.
You brought your fingers down to your clit while he worked his fingers inside you. He swatted your hand away, replacing it with his thumb. His middle and ring finger thrust into your clenching hole with reckless abandon, squelching obscenely while his thumb rubbed quick, tight circles on your clit. The pressure built in your fluttering pussy while you chanted his name like a prayer. “Steve, Steve….ugh, fuck. Steve, Steve mmmmm…”
“Yeah, that’s it. Squeeze my fingers. Just like that.” And just like that, you were tumbling over the edge, orgasm crashing over you in white hot waves. You moaned loudly, rocking and grinding through it, walls pulsating with each wave until finally the aftershocks were small enough that you could open your eyes and catch your breath. He pulled his fingers out slowly, careful not to overstimulate you, and sucked them clean.
“Holy shit,” you breathed out, hands still tangled in his hair.
“Holy shit?” he grinned.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.” He was absolutely beaming now as he helped you back into your underwear and uniform shorts with great care. You couldn’t help but admire him in your post-orgasm haze, the planes and long lines of his body. And his skin. Jesus, he was almost glowing. You wondered what his dick would feel like inside of you, dragging against your velvety walls until you were writing beneath him. Maybe on a bed, even. You hadn’t even fucked the guy and you were already greedy for him. You needed to cool down. Maybe with more ice cream.
Throttling yourself back to reality, you whispered, “You think Robin will notice how long we’ve been gone for?”
“Robin took like, a forty minute break. It’s okay for her to actually do something, you know.” You both laughed.
“I just don’t wanna get caught at work. That’s like, so embarrassing.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, fiiine. I guess we have to go back out and work now.” As he unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out, he turned back to you. Quieter, more vulnerable. Almost shy. “Can I um…can I take you out? Like maybe to the fair on Friday?”
“Like a date?”
“...yes? I mean, unless this was like a one-time thing and you’re not interested. Or you’re just interested in sex. Which is cool too…” He was furiously blushing. The guy that just came down your throat and had you unraveling above him was suddenly bashful. And the sheer sweetness of it made your stomach flip.
“No, yeah. I’m–I’m interested.”
“In sex or in me?” He was teasing now.
“Both.”
He tapped his finger to his temple, nodding slowly. “Good to know. Then…it’s a date, pretty girl.”
Authors Note: Thank you so much for this request I hope it's just what you wanted! I am again so sorry this took so long to come out life is very hectic lmao. was listening to this song while I made this and I feel like this is just such a Steve Harrington song OMGGGG. Based on this request.
Warnings: Cheating (readers bf cheats on her), angst, yearning (Steve has always loved reader), cursing (I have a potty mouth), fighting, Steve has a bloody fist, Kissing, groping, hickeys, unprotected sex (I want Steves Nuggets), very little prep, Dom!Steve, praise kink, breeding kink, cumming inside, fluff, love confession, not proofread
Word Count: 2,145
The house was packed with drunk people dancing and laughing. The music was too loud and the alcohol too strong. That didn't stop you, though, from throwing back shots with your friends and asking your boyfriend, Jake, to dance with you in the living room. He rolls his eyes at you and huffs out a tense laugh.
“Can't you see I'm talking with my friends?” He asks while he looks at the guys around him in the loving room. They glance up at you silently, almost apologetic for the way he talks to you.
“Sorry, I shouldn't have even fucking asked, I guess.” You say not taking his tone in the slightest and walking away back to your friends near the entrance.
Sitting down, you pick up your drink and take a sip before looking around the house. Steve comes in through the front door, wet from the rain that is pouring outside, and carrying a pack of beer on his hip. You wave at him and then resume your conversation with your friends. He sets the beers down on the table in the living room. The rest of the party cheers as he laughs and grabs one for himself before coming and sitting on the couch beside you. You look up at him, the alcohol making you a bit lighter, and the earlier tension gone.
“Hey princess,” He smiles down at you, “Are you drunk already? Its barley even 11.” he laughs gently and takes a long sip of his beer.
“Mmm, not drunk, just a little tipsy is all…” You look over at Jake whose talking to a group of girls. You roll your eyes, making Steve look over at what you were looking at before. It was no secret to you that Steve hated Jake and the way he treated you. Many times, Steve had told you that he thought you deserved someone who treated you better and was a better man. You look back at him, and he looks back at you. He smiles down at you, and before he can say anything, you stand up.
“I think I'm going to get another drink. Do you want anything?” You ask Steve and the girls around you.
“No thanks, princess, I'm ok.”
“Ok, I’ll be back in a few.” You say, before walking through the crowd and avoiding getting trampled or bumped into, you grab yourself a bottle of mystery alcohol and pour it into a red solo cup. You leave the kitchen with your drink, taking a sip before returning to the living room and sitting back down next to Steve. You look around the room, trying to find Jake before you realize he's disappeared.
“Have you seen Jake?” You ask Steve, “I think he wanted to leave soon so he could take me home.”
“Oh no, I didn't see him. Some of the guys walked by, and I got distracted.” He says before looking around with you.
“Maybe he went to the bathroom.”
“I'll go ask around, see if anyone's seen him,” Steve says, getting up. Even though he hated Jake, he didn't want you to stay at the party later than you wanted to. You wait on the couch for a few minutes while Steve goes looking for Jake. You hear some raised voices further along in the house, and the attention of other partygoers turns towards the sounds. You hear Steve's voice loudest of them all, yelling something. You get up and start to push your way through the crowd, trying to reach Steve and figure out what happened. By the time you reach steve hes halfway in the bathroom, yelling at someone inside, you step closer, putting a hand on steves back and glancing inside. Inside, you see Jake half-naked with a girl holding her shirt over her chest to hide her breasts. You stop in your tracks, all the words leaving your throat.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you!” Steve shouts at Jake, who realizes that you're standing there, the anger leaving his face and being replaced with terror.
“Are you kidding em you brought her into this! This should have stayed between me and you, bro. She didn't have to see this shit!” Jake shouts at Steve. Jake tries to walk towards you, but Steve puts his arm in front of you, shielding you from him.
“Don't you dare touch her,” Steve says sternly.
“Or what? She's still my girl, Steve, or have you forgotten that I'm her boyfriend, not you.” Jake says. The girl sneaks out of the bathroom behind Jake, running out of the house.
“Were done, Jake, were so fucking done..” You say after finally snapping out of it.
Jake looks shocked and then looks back at Steve before he swings at Steve, almost hitting him in the face. Steve narrowly dodged the punch before snapping his arm back and then hitting Jake straight in the nose with his fist. The crowd gasps at the sight and watches Jake stumble back before his friend rushes to hold him back. Before Steve can do anything, you hold his arm and cling to him, trying to hold yourself together.
“Please just take me home…”
Steve had taken you home in his beamer. One of his sweatshirts keeps you warm as you stare out the window at the dark, rainy landscape of Hawkins. Your parents weren't home for a few days, so it was only you at the house, so you let Steve come inside with you. The rain was soaking both of you to the bone as you entered the threshold. He gets you upstairs and in your bedroom before you sit down on the edge of the bed and look at him. He comes and sits beside you, wrapping his arm around you. His other hand is in his lap, and you can still see the blood from when his fist had connected with Jake's nose. You reach down hesitantly and touch his fist. He winces slightly but lets you continue to touch him.
“I'm sorry, Stevie… I didn't want you to fight for me.”
“Hey, hey, none of that, ok?” He lifts your head with his finger under your chin to look him in the eyes, “You deserve better than him…. You deserve someone that can love you and defend you and keep you happy… treat you like the fucking goddess you are.” Your breath hitches as you look into his dark, deep eyes. The rain had made his hair damp and stick to his forehead. He glances at your lips and then back at your eyes, almost silently begging for a taste of you. You look at his lips and then back at him, and before he can hesitate any longer, he pulls you towards him and connects his lips to yours. The kiss starts hesitantly, new feelings and emotions coming to the surface after hiding for a long time. You bury your fingers in his wet hair at the back of his neck as he lifts and pulls you into his lap. The kissing starts to intensify as he reaches his strong hands under the hoodie and feels the heat of your body. You pull away from his lips, gasping for breath, and then smile down at him as he lifts the hoodie off you and then your shirt after. You're left in your bra and skirt while sitting in his lap. You pull his damp shirt off of him, revealing his body, not too muscular, but he also has some definition in his arms. He smirks at the sight of your lacy bralette and reaches his hand up to cup your breast in his palm through the fabric. Letting his thumb roll over your covered nipple. He then reaches behind you and unhooks your bra strap while leaning his head into you and biting at your collarbone. Moaning, the bra gently falls off of you, and Steve helps you get it off before he tosses it onto the floor. He attacks your nipples as soon as they are free, licking and sucking at them. He rolls the two of you over so he is on top of you, and you help each other strip down. He pulls your skirt off and finds you bare.
“No panties? Really?” He ask breathless, looking at your bare pussy before teasing his finger through your folds.
“No baby…” You say, moaning and arching into him. He starts to kiss his way down before you stop him. “Please Stevie, I need you now… I'm ready, I just need you inside me now.” He crawls back up and kicks his jeans off, and yanks his boxers down as well. You kiss him as soon as he's back over you again. He spits on his fingers and runs them through your folds again, getting you nice and wet for him. He leans back and grabs his cock in his hand, giving himself a few fast pumps before looking at you and leaning down to kiss you gently. He positions himself at your entrance and looks at you one more time.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, Stevie, I'm sure I'm ready.” You nod before he starts to push inside of you. The head of his cock breaching your tight hole as he goes slowly, stretching you out around him. You both moan as he sinks further inside of you slowly to let you get used to him. When he finally pushes all of his length inside of you, he pauses and stares down at you. A love-sick and blissed out look on his face. He runs his fingers over your cheek gently.
“Shhhh its ok, baby. I've got you, gonna take care of my girl, help her forget all about tonight.” He says before he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward. You gasp, arching your back and wrapping your thighs around him. He continues to push thirst into you, picking up his pace. The headboard of your bed slams into the wall behind you, and you would be worried it would make a dent if you weren't so cock drunk. He groans in your ear as he bites and suckles at your neck, leaving behind angry red marks. You try to do the same to him, but have to stop to moan or breathe. He groans at the feeling of your nails raking down his back before it encourages to start snapping his hips harder against yours. You practically scream at the feeling of his balls slapping against your ass.
“Oh fuck Stevie, Fuck!” You say, tossing your head back and trying to hold onto him.
“Yeah? Yeah, you fucking love this cock, huh, don't you, sweetheart? He laughs to himself and leans down to kiss you. “Fuck I love you, fucking love your body, and this pussy… yeah, this pussy is mine.” He says, before going back to using your body and making you forget all about your shitty ex-boyfriend. You can't comprehend the fact that he loves you because his hand had reached down and he was now playing with your clit. He's rubbing it in tight circles and now giving a hard, determined thrust into your G-spot. He's breathing heavily as sweat drips down his neck and chest. He's determined to make you cum on his cock and forget all of your problems. When he feels you clench around him, he picks back up the pace.
“Do it, sweetheart cum for me. Cum on my cock.” he says, rubbing your clit harder and applying more pressure before you burst around him. Your pussy clenches around him while you toss your head back and rock your hips against him, trying to ride out your orgasm. It's one of the best you've ever had, the feeling of him helping you through it, and his hard cock pounding into you is overwhelming. Steve had wanted to last longer, but his body said otherwise as his balls tightened and he started to spill inside of you.
“Ohhh fuckkk..” He moans and practically whines at the feeling of filling you so deeply. As soon as hes done he pulls out of you hissing at the feeling of his cock leaving your warmth. He crash on top of you, lying on your chest with his head lying on your breast. You bring your hand to run through his damp hair. Looking down, you see his eyes are closed, and he has this blissed out expression on his face. He has one of his hands resting on your hip and is trying to catch his breath. Before you can stop yourself or even think about what this might mean for your future, you tell him how you feel.
“I love you too, Steve.” He looks up at you and smiles, and that's enough for both of you for now.
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend loves you with his whole heart. and sometimes, you’re not sure what to do with something that big.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, established relationship, touch/love-starved reader, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, brief smut, implied past trauma/abuse but nothing explicitly mentioned, heart-aching fluff, character analysis
𝐚/𝐧: flipping my favorite trope onto reader. this one's for all my peeps who have a tough time with physical touch and emotional intimacy
♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡
Your boyfriend loves easily.
Affection stitched directly into the lining of him, inseparable from the rest of his body.
Touch, to Steve, is instinct before intention.
Automatic and unthinking, his hands find you the way roots find water.
Waiting in line at the fall fair, he hooks two fingers through your belt loop and sways you gently side to side while the Ferris wheel spins overhead in smeared red and gold light.
The air smells like fried dough and cinnamon sugar, cold autumn wind carrying bursts of laughter through the crowds. Steve stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder, warm chest pressed loosely to your back while he argues passionately about kettle corn versus popcorn.
Once in a while, he'll slide his thumb beneath the cuff of your sleeve mid-sentence, stroking the pulse point at your wrist, completely unaware that your heart is beating itself raw under his fingertips.
It’s impossible to explain it.
How overwhelming it feels to be loved by someone so thoroughly.
Because Steve never hesitates.
Never acts like affection is something shameful.
Love pours out of him, as naturally as body heat.
If your hands are cold, he interrupts himself halfway through a story just to catch your fingers and tuck them into his jacket pockets alongside his own, rubbing warmth back into your knuckles while continuing his sentence without missing a beat.
If you yawn during movie night, his arm is around your shoulders before the sound can finish leaving your mouth. “C’mere, sleepy girl,” he murmurs automatically, pulling you sideways against his chest.
If your shoelaces come untied in the middle of the sidewalk, he drops immediately to one knee with a distracted, “hang on, baby.”
Rainwater hisses along the curb while he reties the bow tighter this time, fingers quick and practiced, one hand steadying lightly against your ankle. His knuckles brush your skin through your sock and you have to stand there, holding your breath until your lungs ache with it, staring down at the concentration pulling his brows together.
Wondering what it must be like to love someone with your whole heart and not feel like it’s going to break you open.
He’s warm everywhere, your Steve. Warm hands, warm mouth. Warm stomach pressed against your back beneath blankets. He smells like laundry detergent and faint cedar cologne rubbed into the collar of his jackets. Sometimes vanilla chapstick, sometimes mint gum. Always Steve.
And the kisses are constant too.
Quick, thoughtless ones, born entirely from fondness.
The corner of your mouth while waiting for the microwave to beep. Your forehead when he passes behind you in the kitchen. Your shoulder while you lean over the sink brushing your teeth side by side. The back of your neck when he reaches around you for orange juice in the fridge, mumbling a sleepy, “morning, honey,” against your skin before kissing beneath your hairline.
Sometimes he just looks at you for a second. Expression softening imperceptibly, like some private thought crossed his mind, and then he leans over and kisses your cheek with this quiet little hum in his throat.
Like loving you tastes good.
And god, the neck kissing.
It’s terrible.
And right now, in the middle of a museum gallery so quiet you can hear shoes squeak against polished floors, he’s doing it again.
You’re trying to read the plaque beneath some enormous renaissance painting—something about divinity and grief, oil on canvas—but Steve is behind you, arms folded around your waist while he scans the museum brochure one-handed.
One of his hands has slipped beneath your cardigan, warm palm spread low across your stomach.
“Okay, so,” he murmurs near your ear, voice low enough that the sound vibrates through you, “there’s the Greek sculpture thing upstairs, or... there’s apparently a room with these like, tiny dollhouses?”
You wrinkle your nose. “That sounds horrifying.”
“Right?” His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Like what if one of them’s haunted?”
Then his mouth finds the hinge of your jaw.
One lazy, distracted kiss.
His lips are soft, slightly chapped from the cold outside. Warm breath spills across your skin afterward, making your pulse jump beneath his mouth. He lingers there, nose nudging lightly against your neck while he keeps mumbling off different sections of the museum.
You feel the shape of his smile against your skin when he finds another ridiculous exhibit.
“Apparently there’s a room that’s just chairs.”
“That can’t be true.”
“No, I swear to god.”
Then his mouth drifts lower.
Open-mouthed kisses this time.
Slow enough that warmth blooms beneath every press of his lips. You feel the faint scrape of his teeth catch your skin playfully before he smooths over it with another softer kiss, his thumb stroking across your stomach.
Your entire body tightens around the feeling.
The worst part is knowing that he isn’t trying to fluster you.
Steve isn’t performing intimacy.
He just never second-guesses affection.
Unlike you.
For you, every touch feels catastrophic.
The second Steve touches you, awareness crashes through your body all at once—your pulse, your breathing, the weight of his hand, whether your hair smells okay, whether your stomach feels too soft beneath his palm, whether someone across the gallery can see this.
Whether you deserve to be loved this openly at all.
“....and Robin said there’s some painting of a guy eating his own son which honestly seems kinda—”
He stops, hand stilling against your stomach.
“Babe?”
You blink hard, staring at the plaque without reading a single word.
Steve leans back, concern creasing immediately between his brows.
“Hey,” his hand slides higher, rubbing gently over your ribs. “You okay?”
“Hm? Mhm.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Another lie.
Your skin still burns where he kissed you.
And underneath all the panic is something worse.
Fear and hunger, knotted so tightly you can’t separate them anymore.
Wanting him closer, wanting him to keep touching you forever. Wanting to crawl inside every warm, gentle thing he gives you and stay there.
Not knowing what you’d do if he ever stopped.
Because as terrifying as it is to be loved this softly, you think losing it might actually destroy you.
“You wanna sit down for a sec?” Steve asks quietly. “I think I still have that granola bar in my bag if you’re hungry.”
You almost laugh, because of course that’s where his mind goes.
Care.
Always care.
“No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “We can keep going. The uh, Greek sculpture thing sounds good.”
He watches you for a beat longer than comfortable, thumb rubbing against your hipbone through your jeans.
“Okay,” he says finally.
His hand slides up your arm, gently fixing the cardigan slipping off your shoulder. His fingers brush your neck in the process, absentmindedly smoothing your hair back into place too.
And then, because he’s Steve—because affection lives inside him so naturally he doesn’t know how to love except with his whole body—
He reaches down and interlaces your fingers with his.
Warmth immediately fills the spaces between your knuckles, his callused fingers curling around yours with steady, secure pressure.
He keeps holding your hand the entire walk toward the staircase, thumb stroking across your skin while he talks about haunted dollhouses and ugly marble babies and whether you think ancient Greek people had chest hair.
And isn’t it terrifying, how quickly your body has learned what safety feels like in someone else’s hands?
...
It isn’t just the touching.
You almost wish it was.
Because that would be easier to understand.
A touch can be explained away:
Steve’s just naturally affectionate. Steve likes physical contact.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the way he loves you without condition. Without making you earn it first.
A few weeks into dating, he showed up at your apartment carrying a bouquet so enormous it nearly blocked his entire face.
When you opened the door, all you could see were flowers.
Soft cream roses crowded against pale pink delphiniums, petals curling delicately at the edges like silk ribbon. Deep burgundy dahlias bloomed low in the arrangement, velvety and dark as spilled wine, white baby’s breath drifting between everything like tiny bursts of snowfall.
And hidden right in the middle were your favorites.
Blue hydrangeas.
Dusty-blue petals clustered together like storm clouds at dusk, edges fading lavender where the light caught them.
You had pointed them out exactly once while passing a florist downtown.
Three seconds, maybe.
You remembered slowing briefly in front of the shop window because they looked beautiful beneath the warm yellow display lights. Rain had just started misting softly against the sidewalk and Steve had been halfway through ranting about some middle schooler trying to rent an R-rated horror movie with a fake ID. You’d smiled at his story before murmuring, almost absentmindedly, “Those are so pretty.”
That was it.
You hadn’t even thought he heard you.
But Steve Harrington has a habit of holding onto the tiniest details about you like they're something precious.
“Baby, I swear to god,” Steve was saying now as he stepped inside your apartment, nudging the door shut with his foot, “I had the craziest day today. This guy at work tried to return a tape completely melted.”
The bouquet landed in your arms before he shrugged off his jacket.
“Melted,” he repeated, horrified, running a hand through his hair. “Like, fully warped. Looked like somebody cooked that thing in a microwave.”
You stared down at the flowers.
The bouquet was heavy enough that you had to support it with both arms. Thick stems pressed cool and damp against your palms beneath layers of cream florist paper, the wrapping folded slightly unevenly around the flowers and tied together with rough twine that looked suspiciously hand-done.
Not florist-perfect, but Steve-perfect.
The flowers smelled dizzyingly alive: sweet rose perfume softened by rainwater and the cool, earthy scent of freshly cut stems.
“…um, Steve?”
“—and Keith asked me if I did that,” he huffed, toeing off his shoes. “I mean, can you believe that shit? What does he think I do at work all day, destroy tapes for fun?”
“Steve.”
“Yeah?”
You blinked at him slowly.
“What’s…” Your throat tightened strangely around the words. “What’s this for?”
He looked down at the bouquet like he’d genuinely forgotten he walked in carrying it.
“Uh…” His brows lifted slightly. “Flowers?”
He laughed softly after saying it, confused.
But you didn’t laugh.
Because your brain was already doing what it always did: rummaging frantically for conditions. For expectations and hidden meanings tucked beneath kindness.
Your heartbeat started creeping unpleasantly high in your throat.
Was it an anniversary?
Oh god.
Had you forgotten something?
Your stomach dropped, dates scrambling uselessly through your head too fast to follow. One month? Six weeks? Was there something couples were supposed to celebrate this early? Had Steve done something thoughtful and now you were standing there empty-handed like the worst girlfriend alive?
The cellophane crackled beneath your tightening grip.
“Did I…” You cleared your throat quietly. “Did I forget something?”
Steve’s forehead wrinkled.
“Huh?”
“The flowers.”
“What about ‘em?”
Your voice came out impossibly small. “Why’d you get these?”
“Uh, ‘cause I…” He huffed a tiny laugh through his nose, head tilting. “’Cause I wanted to?”
His confusion only made your chest tighten more.
“Is it our anniversary or something?”
His frown deepened. “What? No.”
“Then… why?”
Steve stared at you for a second, slightly open-mouthed now, the soft amusement on his face fading into gentle concern.
“Baby, they’re just flowers.”
You stared back helplessly.
“But why?” you asked again, quieter this time.
“Well, I…” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “I saw them. And I thought about you.”
The apartment suddenly felt very quiet.
You looked back down at the bouquet in your arms.
The hydrangeas were even prettier up close, petals shifting between pale blue and soft lavender depending on how the light hit them. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath caught between larger blooms like stars scattered through clouds.
A single sunflower tucked near the back, drooping sideways because Steve probably had the bouquet strapped into the passenger's seat on the drive over.
Your throat burned.
“That’s it?” you asked quietly.
Steve let out a soft breath through his nose.
His socked feet whispered against the floor as he stepped closer, one hand rising to cup your cheek.
Big enough to hold the entire side of your face, his palm enveloped you in warmth. Your lashes fluttered at the feeling of his thumb sweeping beneath your eye, brushing over the apple of your cheek, soothing something there without even knowing what hurt.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s it. I saw ’em and thought you’d like them.” His mouth tugged into a small smile. “You stared at those flowers for like, ten minutes.”
You huffed weakly. “It was not ten minutes.”
Steve’s smile widened, encouraged by the sound of your laugh.
“There was this whole wrapping station thing too,” he added, gesturing proudly toward the bouquet still overflowing from your arms. The cream paper rustled softly as he touched it, uneven folds bunching around the stems where the twine had already started slipping loose on one side. “The lady kept trying to help me but I told her I could handle it.”
He tipped his head, inspecting his own work. “Pretty good, right?”
You looked down again.
The wrapping really was crooked. One corner folded inward strangely while another flared too wide, baby’s breath poking free through gaps in the paper.
It couldn’t have been more beautiful.
Steve’s grin turned sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I think she stopped helping 'cause I was stressing her out.”
A quiet bubble of laughter escaped you, and the second it did, you noticed the way his face changed. Grin softening, eyes gone warm at the realization that he’d made you smile.
That was the other unbearable thing about him.
How carefully he watches for your joy, waiting for the next chance to do it again.
He really had done all this just because he wanted to.
No special occasions—he just saw something beautiful and immediately thought of you.
You blinked quickly, staring down at the velvety rose petals before he could notice the dangerous sting gathering behind your eyes.
Nobody had ever remembered little things about you before.
Not enough to act on them later.
Certainly not enough to drive across town carrying an absurdly oversized bouquet because of one passing comment you barely remembered making yourself.
But Steve noticed everything.
The tea you always reach for when you’re sick. The songs you hum in the car without realizing. Which side of the bed you like to sleep on. Which sweatshirt you wear when you’re sad. The way you peel pepperoni slices off pizza before eating.
The flowers you paused to admire for three seconds on a rainy sidewalk weeks ago.
Your fingers tightened carefully around the bouquet.
“Thank you,” you managed quietly.
Steve smiled, stepping closer until the bouquet crushed lightly between your bodies, cellophane crinkling in the quiet of the apartment.
“Yeah. Anytime, baby,” he hummed, bending down to press his smile into the curve of your mouth, as natural as breathing.
...
You don’t know why you get like this.
Why your body reacts like it’s bracing for impact when all he’s doing is being gentle. Why his affection makes your chest ache the way it does.
Why your first instinct is always to freeze.
Body going stiff whenever Steve wraps himself around your back in grocery store checkout lines, chin hooked over your shoulder while he complains about magazine prices and rubs his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt.
Sometimes he brushes your hair behind your ear mid-conversation and keeps talking without even realizing he did it. Sometimes he reaches for your hand in his sleep, eyes still closed, finding you beneath the blankets when his body notices your absence before he does.
And you wonder why, in all those sweet, wonderful moments—when he kisses your forehead while waiting for the microwave to beep, when he pulls you against his chest during movies, when he drops to his knees on dirty pavement because he doesn't want you to trip over your laces, when he holds your face in both hands like it’s something precious—you feel this horrible urge to apologize afterward.
Sorry I’m difficult.
Sorry you picked me.
Sorry you don’t realize yet there are easier people to love.
Love had always arrived transactional before him.
Conditional.
Dependent on being easy enough, pretty enough, quiet enough, useful enough.
But Steve loves you without condition.
And being seen that intimately by someone so good—someone as warm and earnest and sincere as Steve Harrington—feels unbearable sometimes.
Maybe that’s why nights like this overwhelm you so badly.
A fancy dinner downtown stretches long past sunset, candlelight flickering gold across Steve’s face while he steals bites from your plate despite insisting twenty minutes ago he was “seriously so stuffed.”
Wine leaves his cheeks faintly pink by the time you leave the restaurant. His tie hangs loose, crooked around his throat, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Summer heat still clings to the sidewalks even this late at night, thick with blooming jasmine spilling from flower boxes outside storefronts. Somewhere farther downtown, music drifts through open bar doors, muffled bass and laughter carried through the warm air.
Steve's hand never leaves your lower back, fingers flexing gently against you whenever the crowd thickens, pulling you instinctively closer to his chest.
By the time you drift into the park, your heels are dangling from one hand and your body feels pleasantly heavy from the wine.
The grass is cool beneath your bare feet. Damp earth presses between your toes as you wander deeper along the meadow paths, fireflies blinking through the dark around you like floating embers.
Steve is halfway through retelling some ridiculous story his students had told him earlier that day, pausing every other sentence because he keeps getting distracted trying to kiss you.
Grass stains smear across the knees of his expensive slacks when he finally pulls you down beside him into the field.
“Steve,” you protest weakly, glancing at his pants.
“What?” he asks innocently, tightening his hands around your waist.
“Those are gonna stain.”
“Mm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, grin lazy. “Worth it.”
You lose track of time there.
Talking between kisses, lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass while Steve points out constellations he names wrong on purpose just to make you argue with him. His fingers comb slowly through your hair while your head rests against his shoulder, skin sticking together in the humid night air.
And by the time he gets you home, you’re half-floating.
Steve crowds you against the apartment door before the lock has even clicked shut.
Both hands on your waist, lips sealing over yours. The force of it nudges you softly into the door, his body fitting against yours as he grunts low into your mouth like he’s been holding himself back all night.
Sweet burgundy wine still lingers on his tongue when his lips part against yours.
He’s warm everywhere.
Warm hands sliding beneath your dress, warm mouth against your throat. Warm breath ghosting over newly exposed skin every time he pauses to look at you.
And he does pause, constantly.
Heavy-lidded hazel eyes drag across your face, your throat, the curve of your body beneath his hands, lips gone slack from that third glass of Merlot though his smile tells you he’s drunk on more than just the wine.
His palms skim along the back of your thighs while he kisses down your neck, the soft scrape of his stubble pulling a shaky breath in the shape of his name.
He smiles against your skin, feeling your fingers clutch tighter at his shoulders.
“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.
The bedroom lights stay low when he walks you backward toward the bed.
Blue comforter wrinkling beneath you when he eases you onto your back, following you down, kissing over every inch of exposed skin while your heartbeat stutters harder with each press of his mouth.
Broad palms smooth upward beneath your dress while his lips trail lower, the slow descent of it dizzying; his mouth dragging across your collarbone, the center of your chest, down your stomach, your ribs, each kiss separated by warm breaths and playful nips that make your muscles jump.
And when he kneels at the foot of the bed—nudging your legs apart carefully, lovingly, thumbs stroking slow circles into the soft skin inside your thighs as he settles himself in between—he lets out this quiet little sigh.
Like nowhere else on earth could possibly compare to this.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, pressing the words directly into your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”
His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear while he glances up at you through heavy lashes, tongue darting briefly to wet his lower lip.
You reach for his hair quickly, panic flaring.
“Steve,” you whisper. “Wait.”
His hands still immediately where they rest on your hips. “What’s wrong?”
You swallow hard. “Nothing, I just...”
Your head spins pleasantly and horribly all at once from the wine and the heat and the sweet boy kneeling between your thighs looking at you like you hung the moon.
“I should shower first.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because,” you laugh weakly. “I’m sweaty.”
Steve smiles at that, like it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard all day.
He leans in even closer, nose brushing over your clothed mound before he presses a slow kiss there.
“Baby,” he murmurs against you, “I don’t care.”
“Steve...”
“I mean it.”
His hands glide upward along your waist, warm and heavy as velvet, fingertips grazing your ribs on the way up.
“I like you like this,” he says softly.
Then he takes in a breath.
A deep, deliberate pull through his nose, the warm drag of air against the damp fabric making your thighs twitch around him.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, kissing you there again. “Like summer.”
Your face burns, but Steve only smiles wider, already halfway gone.
“Just stay,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. We can take a bath after, promise.”
He turns his head to the side, nose nudging affectionately along your inner thigh before he closes his lips around the sensitive skin there. The suction is soft at first, teasing warmth into you before the pressure deepens just enough to sting pleasantly.
A new love bite starts to bloom, petal-soft and tender, like a flower kissed awake by rain. His mouth traces over it, soothing the flush of it back into softer color with gentle, unhurried pecks.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss over the bruise-tinted skin. “My perfect girl.”
To be loved this intensely feels like it could swallow you whole.
Like the warmth of it could burn straight through you.
You don’t even realize you’ve started crying until your breath catches sharply in your chest, a raw, jagged gasp tearing from your lungs.
Steve’s head snaps up instantly.
You jerk your face away in horror, both hands flying to cover your eyes before he can see.
God.
Oh god.
Not now.
Why now?
“Baby, are you—”
His voice cuts off the second your breath stutters again, louder this time.
The mattress jolts beneath you as he pushes upright, fast enough that the bed frame gives a small protesting creak.
“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”
You can feel him at your side immediately, his quick, uneven breaths brushing against your hands where they're pressed tight to your face.
“Baby, what happened?”
His fingers curl around your wrists, firm but impossibly gentle.
Always gentle.
“Did I hurt you? Did I do something?”
“N-no,” you choke out immediately.
“Then what?” His voice starts to break slightly, turning sharp with worry. “What is it? Honey, what’s wrong?”
You shake your head helplessly, unable to form the words, unable to explain.
The lamp clicks on beside you. Warm amber light spills across everything at once: rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, Steve kneeling beside you, shirt open at the collar, belt buckle undone and tie hanging loose around his neck.
The flowers from dinner are on the dresser.
Slightly uneven in their vase, waterline crooked, the hydrangeas beginning to open wider in the warmth of your apartment.
Embarrassment crashes over you like a wave.
Perfect.
A night he’d planned so carefully—reservations at the candlelit Italian place downtown, your favorite wine already waiting at your table, flowers arranged before you’d even walked through the door—
And now you’re crying halfway through sex because your brain can’t handle something as simple as being loved.
You turn your face away again instinctively, shoulders curling inward, but the tears don’t stop. They come harder, messy and humiliating, gasps of air ripping through your chest no matter how hard you try to swallow them down.
You feel Steve’s hand slide up your spine.
Slow, slow passes between your shoulder blades, fingertips pressing gently.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to hide, okay? You don’t have to hide from me.”
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, wiping at your face uselessly. “I-I don’t know w-why I’m—I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry—”
“No, hey, don’t apologize, baby. Don’t say sorry.”
You resist him weakly when he tries to gather you in his arms.
You can’t look at him.
Can’t stand the thought of seeing the concern on his face after ruining this.
“I just—” You let out a shaky breath, voice cracking completely. “Fuck, I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Steve stills at that.
Then slowly, carefully, he takes your wrists fully in both hands.
You let him this time. Arms trembling the entire way down as he lowers your hands into his lap. You still refuse to meet his eyes, staring instead at the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His crisp white shirt is wrinkled, open at the collar, a faint pink bite mark just above his collarbone where you kissed him during the taxi ride home.
His gaze presses into you, heavy and intent, trying to read what you can’t say.
“I need you to look at me,” he says quietly.
“I can’t.”
“Yeah,” he answers immediately. “You can.”
Another tear slips down your cheek. He catches it without hesitation, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.
“Please,” he whispers, softer now. “Look at me.”
You finally do.
Steve’s hair is a mess, chestnut strands falling across his forehead where your fingers had been tangled moments ago.
His eyes—warm honey and green and amber all blurred together beneath the low light—are pained, tight with worry and unbearably expressive.
“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, unshakably certain. “Nothing.”
His lips are swollen from kissing you, parted slightly with how hard he’s breathing.
It’s so painfully clear, how panicked he is.
Steve’s face never hides anything
It doesn’t know how to.
When he’s happy, it shows in the soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
When he’s worried, it gathers in his brows, in the tight set of his mouth.
And when he loves, it radiates from him so naturally it feels endless. Like sunlight.
You wonder what that must feel like.
To love someone without fear.
To offer tenderness without expectation, without the quiet dread that grows the more there is to lose.
He reaches up slowly, clearing tear-sticky strands away from your temples, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Still trying to read what hurts, the furrow in his brows asking without words.
You want to tell him.
For him, you’d try.
But the truth feels monstrous once it reaches your throat.
How do you explain that being loved by him feels unbearable sometimes?
That every touch lands somewhere deep inside you that still expects pain?
That he gives and gives and gives, asking for nothing in return, and yet some terrified part of you waits for the bill to come due?
How do you explain that it makes you feel broken, not knowing how to take something he gives so easily?
You part your lips, throat dry and aching.
Steve waits, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your wrists.
Patient.
Always so fucking patient with you.
“I just...” Your voice shakes. You stare at his mouth instead of his eyes, because it’s easier than being seen.
“...I just really love you.”
It rushes out so quickly.
And in a horrifyingly beautiful moment of clarity, you realize it’s the first time you’ve ever said it to anyone.
Ever.
Steve goes still. His brows soften, eyes drooping at the corners. His lips part soundlessly for a second.
“Oh,” he breathes.
You feel his hands twitch against yours, squeezing your fingers unconsciously.
“I love you too,” he says, immediate and certain. “I... I love you so much it’s kind of insane.”
He watches you for a moment, thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles.
“Is that... is that why you're crying? 'Cause you love me a lot?”
A small, startled laugh breaks through your tears; it sounds so simple when he says it like that.
It isn’t simple.
But maybe it also is.
So you nod, watching him visibly come back to himself, drawing out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping heavily like he’d been bracing too, just in a different way.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. C’mere.”
This time you don’t hesitate.
You fold into him, feeling his arm wrap securely around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
And what you always used to brace against—tonight, you sink into willingly.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair.
You let your eyes slip shut, burying your face in the crook of his neck, fingers crinkling his shirt as you hold on tight.
“I love you,” you whisper again, the words pressed softly against his skin.
Thank you, you mean.
Thank you for being gentle with me.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for loving me like it’s easy.
some munch!steve harrington thoughts this evening...
warnings: 18+, shy-ish!reader, oral f!receiving, certified loverboy steve
♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡
Call it devotion, call it curiosity. Call it his ego, if you want.
The need to know exactly what he’s doing to you. To understand it in every possible way: see it, hold it, breathe it in. That distinct aftertaste of the two of you entwined, becoming something shared.
Because once Steve Harrington realizes how easily he can switch from fucking you to tasting you, he never wants to stop.
It’s over for you, really.
He loves the closeness first; chest pressed tight to yours, the solid heat of him anchoring you into the mattress while he fucks those breathless, broken sounds out of your throat. His mouth hovers over yours, sometimes kissing, sometimes just there, close enough that every breath you take turns into his.
His eyes never leave your face. They flicker restlessly, near burning in their intensity to read you, from the tension in your brow to the way your lashes flutter when the angle hits just right.
He’s obsessive about it.
About learning exactly what you like. How deep to go, how slow to drag it out, when to snap his hips a little sharper to make you whine.
He loves telling you how beautiful you are. Loves feeling you clench when he asks if you can hear how wet you've gotten for him.
But even then… it’s not enough.
Because, see, his mind doesn’t stop there.
It starts to wander, fixate.
On the mess he’s making. On that slick, warm drag between you, the evidence of it everywhere—on his fingers, your thighs, soaked into the sheets beneath you.
On what that must look like.
On what you must look like.
On what you must taste like, fuck—
And once the thought takes hold, it doesn’t let go.
His head dips, rhythm faltering as his gaze drags down your body instead of staying locked on your face.
And then he’s sliding out, the sudden absence making your breath catch, that soft, wet sound of his cock slipping free from your pussy.
He mumbles a breathless apology, a gentle hold on, baby, and before you can even process the loss, he’s kissing his way down your body, lips worshiping the swell of your lower stomach, the delicate arc of your hips.
He doesn’t go far—never far—but he just needs to see.
Needs to check.
Needs to know what he did to you. To know what you look like after he’s spent hours making you his—round after round of slow, patient love-making, nothing short of worship—unraveling you piece by piece, then putting you back together the way he wants.
Warm, broad palms settle against your thighs, coaxing them apart.
His thumbs press into your skin, gentle but insistent when he spreads you open.
He just stares for a while, taking in the view like a man starved.
Tongue licking at the corner of his mouth, eyes gone dark at the sight of your swollen pussy; all puffy and fluttering around empty air, gaping from the way he’s stretched you open.
You usually turn away from this kind of intimacy, still a little shy about being seen this closely—but in the rare moments he can get you like this, completely undone and unmoored, he knows he only has a brief moment to take it in, and he makes the most of it.
He can’t stop staring at that fucking gape, can’t help the low groan that slips past his lips when another line of your arousal trickles down and soaks into his sheets.
“Shit, baby...”
And then he’s gone.
Once he starts, he doesn’t hold back.
Can’t, not when he’s down here. There’s always this moment—right before he presses that first, tender kiss to your pussy—where something in him splinters, and the version of him that survives doesn't hesitate.
He always gets a little too into it.
More than he should, probably. Past the point where it’s normal.
It unsettles him, sometimes, how far his mind drifts when it’s just you and him inside it. Things he’d never say out loud, things that'd have his face going red if he lingered on them for too long. Everything he imagines doing to you—doing with you—if he ever let himself lean fully into the feeling.
He loses himself in that thought, same way he loses himself in your pussy. The scent of it, the wet, velvety heat that glides across his tongue as he slowly laps at your entrance. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezes your hips, vision tunneling until everything else fades out, until even his own breathing stops feeling automatic—it breaks into quick, shallow bursts, and he pauses just long enough for the light dizziness to pass before he dives back in for another taste.
Gentle, always gentle at first, savoring your flavor, melting you on his tongue. Though it doesn’t take long for him to get a little carried away—how is he supposed to help it when start squirming underneath him like that, rolling your hips to try and chase his mouth?
“Yeah? Right here?” he murmurs, muffling a smile against your plush warmth, nosing into your clit. A soft laugh follows when your hips buck up into his face.
This is his favorite part—seeing you give in, letting go of the careful restraint you usually carry. He doesn't want you to hold back, never with him.
He moans into you, chasing the quick, erratic motion of your hips with his mouth, sucking at your swollen clit with a pressure that makes you gasp, thighs twitching against his ears.
And when you start to whine—when you start begging for him to come back to you, for him to fill you in a way only he can—he just huffs out a quiet laugh, breath warm against your pussy.
“I know, baby, I know,” he rubs his palm against your thigh, barely pulling his lips away to speak. “Just hang on a sec, okay? I just... just need to taste you—god, you’re so fucking perfect.”
He buries his nose into your mound, takes a deep breath like he’s running out of air, when really it’s just an excuse to linger a little longer. To press closer, inhale your scent in greedy, shuddering pulls, letting it sustain him until the next inevitable return.
When you finally tug at his hair, fingers clenched between sweat-damp strands, demanding kisses with quiet whimpers that make him ache for you all over again, he can’t resist.
How could he?
He lets you drag him back up, mouth parted, chest heaving. His whole face is flushed, nose and cheeks shining with your arousal.
And there's this quiet, adoring stillness in him when he looks at you like this, propped up on his elbows, eyes heavy with something he doesn’t try to hide.
Watching his girl, an angel if he’s ever seen one, glowing against his pillow like you're lit from within.
“Steve...” you whine softly, clutching at his shoulders. “Need you.”
“Yeah? You need me?” he pushes your hair back, thumb dragging lightly along your cheek. “Need me so bad, huh?”
He presses a tender kiss to your mouth—one pair of lips just as sweet and velvety as the other—as he slides back home, the warm, tight clutch of your pussy welcoming him inside.
And when he settles into you again, like he never really left, he lets a quiet sigh brush against your lips.
“Could stay here forever, baby,” he admits. "I love you."
He eases back into a familiar rhythm—slow, deep strokes, just the way you like them—his forehead resting against yours like he really could stay right here, suspended with you, for as long as you’d let him.
But it's his eyes that give him away, betraying him with the smallest glance downward.
includes: bf material, fluffy comfort, joe being the sweetest person ever, anesthesia silliness, teasing, soft cuddles, forehead kisses, clingy post-surgery affection.
the nurse had barely wheeled you out of the procedure room when the anesthesia hit its peak. your eyes were half-lidded, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, and a little trail of drool threatening to escape the corner of your mouth. joe was already standing right there in the recovery area, arms crossed, wearing that fond, amused smile he saved just for you.
you blinked slowly at him, then your face crumpled.
“i want my boyfriend,” you mumbled, voice thick and lispy from the gauze. “where’s my boyfriend? i need him…”
joe’s eyebrows shot up, eyes sparkling with mischief even as he stepped closer and gently brushed a stray hair from your forehead.
“hey, sweetheart. i’m right here,” he said softly, voice warm like honey.
you squinted at him, clearly not computing. “nooo… my boyfriend. he’s tall… and has fluffy hair… and he smells really good. i want him.”
joe bit his lip to keep from laughing. he pulled up the chair beside your recovery bed and took your hand, thumb stroking over your knuckles.
“sounds like a great guy. what’s his name?” he asked, all innocent.
you made a little frustrated noise. “joe… my joe. he’s the best. he always brings me snacks and lets me steal his hoodies and… and he kisses my forehead when i’m sleepy.”
joe’s heart did a full cartoon flip. he leaned in closer, still teasing. “does he? wow. he sounds kinda perfect. better than me?”
you nodded seriously, eyes glassy. “way better. he’s mine. you’re nice but… i want my boyfriend.”
the nurse in the corner was pretending not to smile as she checked your vitals.
joe chuckled under his breath and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, careful around the swollen cheeks. “alright, baby. i’ll go find him for you. just rest, okay?”
you hummed happily, already drifting again, fingers weakly clutching his shirt like you knew exactly who he was even if your brain was currently offline.
—
a couple hours later you were home, tucked into bed after joe carried you in. you’d fallen asleep curled against him, and when you woke up you were completely tangled together—your leg thrown over his, face buried in his chest, one of his arms wrapped around your waist while his fingers played lazily with your hair.
you blinked slowly, wincing at the ache in your jaw. “how long was i out…?”
joe smiled down at you, voice warm. “a while. you feeling okay, baby?”
you nodded, then noticed the amused little smirk on his face. “what? why are you looking at me like that?”
he chuckled softly and brushed some hair away from your forehead. “you don’t remember anything from recovery, huh?”
“…no. what did i do?”
“you kept asking for your boyfriend,” he said, eyes sparkling with teasing. “told the guy holding your hand, ME, that you wanted your real boyfriend because he’s tall with nice fluffy hair and brings you snacks—”
your eyes widened in horror and you immediately buried your face against his chest with a muffled groan. “oh my god,” you mumbled again, careful of your sore jaw. “please tell me you’re joking.”
joe laughed quietly, his chest vibrating under your cheek as he wrapped his arms tighter around you. “baby, you literally looked me in the eyes and told me i was nice, but not as nice as your real boyfriend.”
“stop,” you whined, hiding even more. “i was drugged.”
“mhm.” he pressed a kiss into your hair. “and apparently very loyal.”
you let out another embarrassed noise while he grinned down at you, clearly enjoying every second of this.
“i’m serious, the nurse was trying so hard not to laugh,” he added. “you kept talking about my hair like i was some celebrity crush.”
that finally pulled a reluctant laugh out of you, even though it made your jaw ache a little. “okay, enough. i get it.”
“no, wait,” joe continued dramatically, tightening his hold when you tried to escape. “‘he brings me snacks,’” he quoted in a dreamy voice. “‘he kisses my forehead when i’m sleepy—’”
“joe!”
he broke into laughter while you hid your burning face against his neck again, and after a second his teasing softened into something gentler. his fingers slid slowly through your hair as he smiled into the top of your head.
“for the record,” he murmured, quieter now, “i liked hearing you talk about me like that.”
your expression softened immediately.
even half-conscious and completely out of it, you’d still reached for him first. and judging by the way joe was holding you now, warm, close, almost a little protective, it had clearly meant more to him than he was pretending.
you tilted your head just enough to look up at him, smiling shyly despite the swelling in your cheeks. “well… it’s true.”
something in joe’s expression softened even further at that, the teasing finally melting away completely. he leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second.
“i’m never recovering from this,” you groaned dramatically.
he laughed softly and pulled you even closer against him, like he couldn’t help it. “good. i’m gonna accept the title of real boyfriend from now on.”
“oh my god,” you muttered into his shirt, already smiling again while he buried another fond kiss in your hair.
i just wanted to post some fluffy content<33, let me know what you think:)
Summary: You’re in love with Steve and Robin says he feels the same way back. So why does Steve keep on choosing Nancy Wheeler over you? Why is he trying so hard to impress her?
Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Warnings: ANGST, heartbreak, cuss words, a little rude Steve, maybe more idkk SET IN SEASON 5 SO SPOILERS
a cute, little, 400 word blurb based on robin's inappropriately timed joke.
You’re not exactly sure why Steve can’t look you in the eye, especially because Robin hasn’t revealed a hidden secret. At least, not one that’s been hidden to you. You know very well about Steve and how well endowed he is in the bedroom, and you had ever since you’d first slept with him all those years ago. Yet somehow, it seems to him as though this is your first time learning about this.
“Steve?” You mutter, nudging his shoulder with yours. He hums, glancing at you with a curious but bashful expression, cheeks pink despite having been your boyfriend for multiple years now. “Yeah, sweetheart?” You breathe out an amused laugh, bringing a hand up to Steve’s cheek and caressing his soft skin with your thumb. It’s a familiar touch to him, and he can’t help but lean into your hand, exhaling deeply.
“Robin’s joke hit too close to home?” You try joking, but by the way Steve tilts his gaze down, you instinctively furrow your eyebrows in concern. Your hand leaves Steve’s face to rub at his back smoothly, bringing him closer to you. “Hey, honey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just a little humiliated.” Steve admits, chewing at his bottom lip. “It’s different to get these jokes when you’re in a committed relationship, you know? I feel like it tells them more than I want them to know about us.” Steve blinks softly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks when you press a kiss to the side of his face. “Steve, everyone in that room was either a child who can’t look far into things people say, or an adult too scared about their child dying in the next day. I’m sure everyone has already forgotten about Robin’s comment, and if we make it out of tonight alive, it will only be important to one person who was in that room, okay?”
Steve smiles at you, bringing up his one hand to cup your face, guiding it closer to his. His noses nudges against the side of yours, and he mumbles quietly “You?” You giggle, nodding your head softly. “Gotta make a start on those kids, Harrington, don’t you think?”
“All six of them?”
“How about we start with one?”
“Twins?”
“Sure, if you can control it.”
Steve laughs, the sound lighting up the room as he brings you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile into the kiss, which brings out your own grin. “Alright, let’s go kick some Vecna ass so I can put a baby in you.”
summary: 18 months after the upside down is destroyed, much life had bloomed in hawkins, including you and steve's married one.
wc: 1.6+
cw: FLUFF
The sunset is nostalgic for the three who returned; red and orange strands of paint colouring the sky as the sun dissolves into the horizon. It reminds them of Hawkins in ways they’d pray to eliminate from their memory and they’re surprised that Steve is so happy to stay here. In his sleek suit, nothing like the silly uniforms Jonathan, Nancy and Robin have seen him wear over the years. He smiles at the sight of his old friends on the WSQK’s roof, all so familiar and yet painfully changed over the years.
Steve waits for you as he listens to his friends’ stories, nodding attentively, yet a thought still lingers in the back of his mind throughout their conversations. “Okay Steve, and what time does this wife of yours finish her little work thing? I’m only staying here a day extra to see her, you know?” Asks Nancy, a teasing smile on her face yet she’s only half joking. Steve laughs, raising his beer to his lips. His eyes catch on the silver band he has on his finger, and he smiles widely. The last time everyone had been gathered back here at Hawkins had been for your wedding. Steve had insisted you do it properly, no matter how small it would be.
He remembers like it was yesterday: You, him, Dustin, Nancy, Robin and Jonathan all hidden away in a room with an officiant. He had been able to do the ceremony an hour earlier than you had previously agreed due to your and Steve’s change of plans. It felt rebellious, loving words shared in a setting much more personal to you without telling anyone. Your four best friends had been there in your empty apartment, boxes and unmade furniture littering the space as you said your vows and exchanged your kisses. Jonathan had taken all the photos he could through teary eyes, and when you finally made it to the Byers’s back yard, where three round tables had been set by a makeshift dance floor, you had announced that there was no need to listen to boring speeches that would make people cry. That all that was left to do was to celebrate.
Dustin had still been in tears, but insisted on giving a speech, and everyone followed with stories of their own before you could all dance. “Six little nuggets, eh?” Nancy had teased at some point while you were dancing, and you laughed with her, saying “We’ve actually settled on four.”
“She actually doesn’t have a work thing.” Steve sheepishly admits after swallowing his mouthful. Nancy straightens up, crossing her arms over her chest. “No work thing?”
“She said she was dropping something off for work but she’s actually picking something up from home. Wanted to show you guys.” Robin hums in interest, eyebrows raising slightly. “It’s nothing, you’ll see.”
“So how’s the married life treating you?” Jonathan asks with a smile, fully grinning when Steve’s face softens, eyes overtaken by love. “It’s better than anything I could imagine. On Mondays I teach sex ed, and I always have to leave quickly afterwards so I can pick her up from work and we have lunch together - it’s our little tradition. And every week the kids tell me to say hi to her. Some of the girls ask me where I took her over the weekend, or if she'd like them with their hair done like hers. Holly and Derek walk with me to my car a lot of the time, just telling me things to tell her.”
“I don’t believe middle schoolers can be cool like that.” Robin argues, but she’s smiling nonetheless, entranced by how happy her friends are.
“Hey, is that her?” Jonathan asks as he watches you pull up the street in your husband’s car. “Wow, you let someone drive your precious car?” Gasps Nancy, but Steve stubbornly shakes his head. “No I don’t let someone drive my car. I let my wife drive my car and only her.”
The four friends watch with matching grins as you race out of the car, waving joyously at them from below before disappearing into the building. It takes you a couple of minutes, but you finally appear out of the staircase, slightly out of breath. You greet your friends with hugs as though you haven’t already seen them today for the graduation, then finally make your way to your husband. Steve hugs you close to him and keeps you there, walking you with him as he moves to sit down on the cooler again, landing you in his lap. “Did I miss anything?”
Jonathan’s face morphs as he makes an exaggerated thinking face, and Steve sighs, already knowing he’s going to be deeply humiliated. “Mhm, not much,” Jonathan starts, “Only Steve talking about how much he loves being married to you. And, you know, his sex ed students loving you.”
“Dude, stop talking.” Steve whines when you cup his cheeks in one hand, pulling his face closer to you so you can quickly press a kiss to his pouty lips.
“So, speaking of kids…” Nancy starts, trailing off with a small smile. “Six little nuggets?” Robin adds, and the three of them laugh together, missing the way you and Steve glance at each other quickly before looking back at them. Steve squeezes your thigh, and you nod quickly, telling them “Soon.” You trail a hand to the back of Steve’s head, running your fingers through his hair as he hums in agreement. “Yeah, soon.” He echoes, watching with a knowing smile as you dig deep in your pocket, explaining “Yeah, soon like in six months? Six and a half?”
Immediately, Nancy and Robin freeze, their eyes going wide. Robin tilts her head as though asking if you’re saying what she thinks you are. Meanwhile, Jonathan is only smiling, as he rethinks your words, but he suddenly sits up, exclaiming “Wait!” You giggle as you pull out the sonogram image from your pocket, extending your arm out for them to take it. Nancy gasps loudly, frozen in her chair, but it’s Jonathan who jumps up to grab the photo as Steve announces “We’re going to have a baby.”
“Oh my god!” Robin cries, running to give you a hug. She’s instantly followed by Nancy, and you barely have time to stand up before you’re engulfed in a bone crushing hug that has Steve momentarily worrying about you and the baby. But he’s soon scooped up into a hug of his own by Jonathan, who still clutches the sonogram in his hand. When Nancy lets go of you, she snatches the photo from him, pouting in adoration at the sight of it. “Oh my god, you’re going to be a mom.” She whispers, before adding “Oh, you’re going to be the best mom in the world.”
“You guys are gonna be such awesome parents.” Says Robin as she gives Steve a hug, pulling a strand of his hair softly. “And those kids are going to have wicked hair, are you kidding?” Steve laughs, finding you in the crowd of friends to bring you close to him again, his arm settling comfortably around your waist. He presses a kiss to the side of your face, laughing quietly when you turn your head to catch his lips in a kiss.
“Does anyone know?” Asks Robin, looking back and forth between you. You purse your lips as you glance up at Steve, a shimmer in your eyes when he hums, mumbling “Uh, this kid you guys may know called Dustin Henderson?” They laugh knowingly, Jonathan throwing a comment of “Of course” as you cuddle into Steve, adding quietly.
“And, also Mrs. Wheeler.”
Nancy’s head snaps towards you and she shrieks “My mom found out my best friend is pregnant before me!?”
You shrug, biting at your lip as you admit “We didn’t tell her anything, she just noticed, you know? Came up to me once when Steve and I were picking up Dustin from yours and we were stood in the living room, and she kind of came to me and put a hand on my shoulder, and she like - she looked at me with this knowing look on her face. And she just asked if me and Steve had started setting up the room for the baby.” Steve chuckles quietly, rubbing the sides of your arms up and down. “And I asked how she knew, and she just winked at me and said she was asking ‘generally’ because she knew we wanted kids, but we both knew.”
But the next day, when you were over at the Wheelers’ again for the night and Lucas asked you to pass the big bucket of DVD’s, Mike stood up sharply, stepping in your way and bringing it over to them, snapping “Dude, you can’t ask a pregnant woman to carry stuff for you.”
The entire room went silent, and Steve straightened up, staring at Dustin and asking “You told them?”
Lucas had scoffed, putting his feet up on the coffee table with a shake of his head. “No, it’s just obvious.” Explained Will as Jonathan and Nancy once again took offense to finding out so late. “How is it obvious, I’m not even past the first trimester?” You asked, watching as Max cozied into Lucas’s side, casually saying “It’s not you, it’s Steve.”
Steve’s face went red and he nervously glanced at you, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah,’ Mike started, “he’s always been attached to you, but he’s been extra attached lately. And his hand always used to be on your waist, but now it goes all around your waist and rests on your stomach.”
“Yeah, we were suspicious but we really got confirmation like a month ago when Dustin got drunk and spilled.”
summary: steve harrington is lucky enough to have a girlfriend who cooks for him. other people, however, seem to be really picky about it
wc: 1.1k+
cw: suggestive, kind of gender stereotypes.
The time of day comes in which productivity couldn’t be lower. Announcements have been made, friendly competition between Steve and Jonathan over, and you’re nowhere in sight. The squawk is silent, and despite the squeaky door that swings open, the new company that announces itself isn’t the one Steve hopes for. Robin spins her chair away from the door in boredom, head leaning back on the highest point of her chair so her neck strains slightly.
Despite the pda that would come with your company, Robin admits to herself that she’d still enjoy it more than Mike, Lucas and Will’s presence. She sighs; only more kids for them to baby sit, and she already has Steve here.
Steve, who now bends down to retrieve the packed lunch you had prepared for him. He figures that if whatever the kids are telling Nancy is important, she’ll relay it back to them. But for now, it’s lunchtime. Robin eyes Steve’s movements and reaches for her sandwich, the sound of unraveling tinfoil filling the room. But as she brings her sandwich up to her mouth, her lips pinch upwards into a smile she tries to hide, because in a moment, everyone will be in on the joke.
And surely, without a second to spare, Jonathan’s voice breaks Steve’s silent bubble. “Dude…”
Steve glances up from his food without moving his head up and his hair falls in his eyes, creating a comical image that Robin immediately stores deep in her memory. Instantly, three more voices join in to humiliate Steve, including Mike’s insolent comment of “The girlification of Steve Harrington.”
Steve frowns, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What?” Despite herself, Nancy chuckles with a small shake of her head. Steve, still confused by the reaction, scoops up more food onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth, chewing happily. He’s so lucky, he thinks, to have someone who loves him enough to pack him lunch, even when you’re only his girlfriend. His girlfriend who doesn’t even live with him yet. He remembers this morning, picking you up in his BMW before dropping you off to work, how you’d leaned over the console to kiss him longer than necessary, and placed a lunchbox in his lap. When you pulled away, lips still close to his, he had looked down at his lap, grinning softly before pulling you in for another kiss.
You had started this little tradition only a little while ago, unhappy with how poorly your boyfriend fuelled his body, and it made you feel helpful. If you couldn’t protect Steve during crawls, at least you could have this. And you didn’t pause to think that Steve might not be a fan of the containers you put his food in, because you knew Steve. But apparently, you didn’t think enough of those whom he surrounded himself with.
Steve shoves another mouthful of food into his mouth, humming in satisfaction, and it’s only when his eyes catch on the pink colour of the tupperware again that it clicks in his brain. The moment is obvious to everyone in the room, noticing the way Steve’s eyebrows drop and his jaw slacks with annoyance. He’s clearly unimpressed with the rest of them, and if his face didn’t show it, the way he gestures widely with his hands does.
“We’re in an apocalypse you’re bothered by my pink tupperware?”
“It’s not just pink, it’s hello kitty.” Insists Lucas, eyeing the container. Steve leans back in his chair, unbothered despite the fact that everyone still has their eyes on him. “You’re all just jealous I have a wonderful girlfriend who has a job and cooks for me.” He jabs, turning his attention back to his food.
He misses the way Jonathan and Nancy shoot each other a look, then shrug, turning away from him, but Mike only raises his eyebrows, adding “And she couldn’t get you any other tupperware?”
“Seriously Mike!?” Mike jumps at his sister’s stern voice, and he shrinks in on itself when she elaborates “An unmarried woman isn’t doing enough by having a job and cooking for her boyfriend!? She has to get him the tupperware that follows societal gender norms too? If you have a problem, you buy him a new tupperware!”
“Hey!” Steve snaps, cutting Nancy off “I don’t want a new tupperware. I love these, they remind me of her. When she’s working away and I can’t see her, I can taste her delicious food and look at her adorable tupperwares and it’s almost like I’m home.”
“You don’t even live with her.” Comments Will, who’s instantly shut down by Steve’s dreamy sigh. “Home is where the heart is.” He stabs at a couple of pieces of meat and sticks them into his mouth, ignoring the disgusted groans he receives from all around.
The door to the room slams open again, and as if you’ve been summoned, you enter the room in all your beautiful sunny glory. Steve straightens up, smiling widely when you beeline towards him. He lifts the tupperware off his lap to let you take a seat in its place, and secures his free hand on your hip, swallowing quickly so he can return the quick kiss you give him.
“They’re making fun of my tupperware.” Steve pouts, and you giggle quietly, asking softly “What do you think?”
“Of the tupperware?” He starts, “I love it, it reminds me of-” “No Steve, not the tupperware. The food. I wasn’t sure how you like your meat cooked so-”
“It’s perfect, honey.” You relax at Steve’s answer, shoulders loosening in a reflexive response. “What are you doing here?” He asks now, murmuring to create an illusion of privacy in the occupied room. “Oh, Hopper gave me a ride. Picked me up from work - apparently there’s something important.”
All heads in the room snap towards you at your words, and in unison they all stand up and rush upstairs. You grin as you hear their retreating footsteps, and Steve tilts his head to the side when he finally catches on to your smile, whispering “There’s nothing important?” You shake your head with an elated laugh, wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders when he leans to the side to slide the tupperware onto a table. His hands settle on your waist, and you smile sweetly before reconnecting your lips with his. Steve hums, letting his arms snake around you to hug you close to him instead, and you trail your kisses from Steve’s lips to his jaw, and then lower down to his neck.
“I like your sexy business woman outfits.” He mumbles, and you chuckle quietly between kisses. “Yeah, the skirt’s not so practical though.”
Steve grins, binding you in his arms before standing up. You gasp as you’re hoisted upwards, letting Steve drag you into recording booth. He shuts the door, grinning widely before asking “Not practical for who?” He knows the answer fully well, but prays that you won’t stop wearing them because they’re just about the most practical thing for him. For easy access.
summary: you and jonathan's calm living room cuddling is interrupted by his brother and his undeniably annoying friends. so you take things somewhere a little more private, and somehow jonathan becomes the annoying one.
wc: 1.4k+
cw: suggestive themes, jonathan likes tits, groping
The calm evening you and Jonathan had was an absolute miracle. No boys in the house, a clean living room, and most importantly space on the couch for you to cuddle. You sat with your knees to your chest, feet planted on the couch in front of you with Jonathan cuddled by your side, squeezed between you and the back of the couch. His head rested on your shoulder, face snuggled in the crook of your neck, long legs extended on the couch. He hugged your legs, fingers absentmindedly brushing your soft skin with loving strokes.
Jonathan’s eyes kept fluttering shut at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, nails softly massaging his scalp. The television in front of you was muted, but neither of you were watching the moving images on the screen anyway, too busy enjoying each other’s mere presence. Jonathan sighed deeply, and you glanced down at him, a soft smile stretching on your lips when you saw his peaceful face.
But of course, good things never lasted.
The front door slammed open, and four loud figures entered the house, still panting as they loudly conversed, recovering from their bike ride over. You sighed as you watched the four boys throw their backpacks off and onto the floor, already reaching for paper to draw something out — inevitably to do with another theory of theirs. You glanced down at your boyfriend again, laughing quietly at the way his eyes tightly shut in annoyance.
“Can you guys go be loud in Will’s room?” He asked, and the four boys looked over at you boys as if just noticing your presence. Mike’s face twisted in disgust at the sight of you two cuddling, and retorted “You think the four of us are going to fit in Will’s room?”
“If you try hard enough, yeah.” Jonathan groaned, exposing his face from hiding as he sat up a little, his hand gripping the arm of the couch behind you to support his weight. “We were here first anyway.”
“Isn’t the whole point of a living room to welcome all living people?” Sassily asked Lucas. You licked your lips in amusement, watching the argument unfold. Jonathan huffed “Yeah, all living people, which we won’t be if you talk us to death.” Jonathan’s shoulders loosened a little when you returned your hand to his hair, running your fingers through it once. You turned back to the boys, catching Will’s eye. He smiled at you, raising a hand up to wave it at you, and you mimicked his actions with a smile.
“If you’re so annoyed by us, maybe you should be the one to leave.” Said Lucas again, shrugging his shoulders. Dustin rolled his eyes, gesturing to the piece of paper on the coffee table they were surrounding. “We’re doing science here, it shouldn’t matter if it annoys you or not. This is important.”
“Baby, how about we go to your room?” You offered as Jonathan slumped down onto you. You spread your legs open so he could slant his body between them, resting his head on your chest as he hugged your torso. He mumbled something incoherent, and you grinned, suggesting “Or we can go to mine.”
Jonathan lifted his head up, eyes hopeful. “Mhm, smells nice in your room. Your sheets are so soft and your bed is so comfortable.”
“Dude, they’re disgusting, how do you live with them?” Asked Mike loudly, the spot where he sat forcing him a view of the two of you. The three other boys turned to look at you, and Jonathan grinned at you as he lifted his weight off you, ducking his face down to capture your lips in a long kiss. Will smiled despite himself as his friends groaned, knowing exactly what his older brother was doing. Jonathan broke the kiss with a loud smooch, and your giggle filled the air as he instantly went in for another kiss. “Man, come on!” Dustin cried, “We’re trying to focus on science!”
Jonathan pulled away with a wide grin, pulling you off the couch with him. “Come on, let’s leave these nerds to their science.”
You quickly slipped your feet into your shoes, letting Jonathan cross the room to find his car keys. The journey to yours was quick, Jonathan’s hand not leaving your thigh once until he was forced to when he pulled into your drive way. He inhaled deeply when he stepped foot into your room, instantly making way to your well made bed and throwing himself onto it. You giggled as he shuffled on the bed, making himself comfortable. He opened his arms wide for you, but you mumbled “Just a sec”, reaching your hands under the back of your shirt and unclasping your bra.
Your boyfriend’s eyebrows rose slightly in amusement, and you shook your head at him. “Don’t get any ideas, I’m just making myself comfortable.” Jonathan watched attentively as you slid the straps down each arm before finally pulling your bra out from underneath your shirt. He swallowed thickly, eyes immediately dipping down to stare at your nipples, constraining against the tight fabric of your shirt. “Jonathan,” You warned, “No ideas.”
“No ideas.” He echoed, licking his lips as you approached him. You laughed in disbelief as you laid down on the bed facing him. “Jonathan.”
“They looked at me first!” He cried, whining when you shimmied around to face away from him. “Baby, that’s not fair. Want to see your beautiful face.”
“Want to see my beautiful face so you can stare at my tits?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip when Jonathan pressed his front to your back, arm snaking around your front to secure you there. “How about we go back to how we were sat at mine?” He suggested pleadingly, kissing your jaw softly. “Are you going to pull any stunts?” Jonathan shook his head eagerly, smiling when you sat up.
“Alright,” Jonathan scrambled up at your confirmation, freezing when you held a finger up. “Go get me one of your hoodies.” He nodded quickly, pecking your lips before jumping off your bed. He opened your closet, eyes widening at the sight of his hoodies hung up in your closet. He knew you had one or two, but this? No wonder he can never find any of them to wear. He sorted through the hoodies, humming when he spotted his favourite, taking it out by the hanger. Once he stood in front of your bed again, he held out the hoodie, eyes going wide when you gripped the hem of your top, pulling it over your head. You reached for the hoodie, but suddenly Jonathan snatched it back. You scoffed in surprise at your boyfriend’s audacity, looking up at his face to find him looking just as surprised as you.
“Jonathan.” You warned again, holding your shirt to your chest, however you were unable to help yourself from laughing when Jonathan dropped the hoodie to the floor, climbing back onto the bed. His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of you, and he leaned over you to press a kiss to your neck. “I don’t pull stunts,” Jonathan insisted, his hand coming down to pull your shirt away from your chest.
“No?”
“No, the stunts pull me.”
Jonathan smiled against the skin of your neck when you laughed softly, letting his kisses trail downwards until he could finally take one of your nipples in his mouth. He glanced up at you, sucking harder on your nipple when he found you staring down at him unimpressed. His second hand came up to pinch your nipple, and he chuckled softly when your body jerked, a hand coming up to his hair.
“Not trying anything.” Jonathan mumbled, biting down on the flesh of your breast. “Just doing this.”
“Because this isn’t trying anything?” You questioned, glancing down at where Jonathan toyed with one of your nipples. He shook his head, lips coming back up to the side of your neck. “No.”
You let out a breathy moan when he nibbled on your neck, cold hands groping your breasts. You held him close to you, arms slung over his shoulders as he played with you. Though his body was in the way, you desperately wanted to rub your thighs together, feeling your panties get wet. “Well you might want to try something,” You started, pausing when Jonathan lifted his head up to make eye contact with you. “I need you so bad Jonathan.” A smile spread on Jonathan’s face and his eyes lit up as you pulled him into a passionate kiss.
But even with his tongue in your mouth, Jonathan couldn’t help but pull away slightly and joke “I don’t know, I’m just making myself comfortable.”
Summary: You kiss both Jonathan Byers and Steve Harrington and quickly realize that avoiding the truth only creates more problems than it solves.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader x Jonathan Byers
Warnings: 18+ content, smut, threesome, unprotected piv (don’t do this), oral (m!receiving), fingering, creampie, kissing, no mentions of Y/N, love triangle but all three end up together, poly relationship, sunshine!reader, nancy never dated jonathan or steve here, light angst, fluff, playful arguing
Word Count: 12k
Note: I love both Steve and Jonathan and wish I could have them both. Anyway, I honestly don’t know how I feel about this. Maybe I’ll write another part but I’m not quite sure. I’m just hoping you all like it and that I didn’t disappoint 😭😞
Stranger Things Masterlist
♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡
You should’ve known something would go wrong the moment you woke up optimistic.
Moving day was never supposed to be easy, but you’d at least expected it to be straightforward. You would just rent a van, bribe your friends with pizza, survive the stairs, and be done. Simple as that.
You believed it would be so simple that you hadn’t thought twice about calling Steve Harrington. Or Jonathan Byers. Separately.
The first knock comes right on time. You were still taping up the last box when you opened the door and found Jonathan standing there, hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” he says, offering a small smile. “You ready?”
“Almost,” you say, stepping aside. “Thanks for coming, Jonathan!”
He waved a hand, giving you a smile. “Yeah. Of course.”
Jonathan steps inside, immediately scanning the almost empty apartment that was now filled with boxes.
Then you hear a second knock.
You frown. “Huh. That was fast.”
Jonathan glances at the door, confused, just as you open it again. Steve Harrington stands there in a fitted t-shirt, sunglasses perched on his head despite the fact that you’re inside, holding a roll of packing tape you asked him to bring.
“Oh,” he says.
“Oh,” Jonathan echoes.
The air goes weird instantly.
Steve’s smile falters just a fraction as his eyes flick past you to Jonathan. Jonathan stiffens, shoulders squaring subtly.
“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, tone casual but edged.
Jonathan blinks. “Helping her move?”
Steve lets out a short laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”
You look between them, then grin. “Great! You’re both here!”
Neither of them looks particularly great about it.
Jonathan steps aside awkwardly to give Steve room to enter, and they brush shoulders slightly. Though they pretend it didn’t happen and step away from one another.
The two don’t exactly hate each other. They just don’t know how to exist in the same space without everything feeling like a competition neither of them signed up for. It’s always felt like this since high school, even more so when you came into the picture.
Steve sets the tape down, then gently grabs your arm and steers you a few steps away.
“What’s Byers doing here?” He mutters.
You blink at him, tilting your head. “I called him?”
Steve frowns. “Okay, but then why am I here?”
You stare at him for a second, then snort. “Steve. You’re both here to help me. Obviously.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then exhales through his nose. “Right. Yeah. Sure. That makes sense.”
Behind you, Jonathan pretends very hard not to be listening. His arms are crossed, eyes glaring into the back of Steve’s head.
Before things can get any more awkward, the door swings open again.
“MOVE DAY, BABY—” Robin Buckley announces, stopping short when she takes in the scene. Her eyes flick from Steve, to Jonathan, to you, then she grins. “Oh. This is fun.”
“Robin!” You light up, unaware of the growing tension between the two men. “Thank God. Please tell me you brought caffeine.”
She lifts a bag. “I came prepared. Unlike whatever this is.” She gestures vaguely at the boys. She leans over, quietly speaking to you so that the other two can’t hear. “Did you mean to summon them both, or are you just that powerful?”
You groan. “We’re just friends, Rob.”
Robin hums, unconvinced.
The moment moving starts, the competition kicks in.
Steve grabs a box labeled BOOKS, grunting as he picks it up but quickly masks it with a cough. “I’ll take the heavy stuff.”
Jonathan reaches for the same box. “I’ve got it.”
Steve tightens his grip. “I said I’ve got it.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “It’s not a contest.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You watch them wrestle it for a second before letting go entirely. You slid right in, picking it up with a smile. “It’s fine, I’ll take it.”
Steve and Jonathan glance at each other, eyes narrowing.
“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath, and before Jonathan can react, he slaps Jonathan’s arm lightly.
Jonathan flinches, then frowns. “Really? That’s your move?”
Steve ignores him and jerks the box out of your hands. “Nope. I got it,” he says, strutting a little as he walks out the door.
Jonathan rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest. Instead, he bends and picks up another box, muttering under his breath. “Jackass.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “Yay, this is so much fun!” You say, choosing to ignore their antics. “Everything seems like it’s going well.”
Robin looks at you with a smirk, arms crossed. “Look at you,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “They are literally kissing the ground you walk on.”
You feel your face grow hot. “Stop, Robin.”
She hums knowingly. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. They clearly like to compete for your attention while pretending they don’t.”
You roll your eyes again, grabbing a lighter box to distract yourself from their antics. Steve winks at you over his shoulder, and Jonathan glances briefly, that faint blush creeping up his neck.
You drop the box into the van with a thud. “I need a snack already.”
Robin snorts. “Yeah, me too. And maybe a ringmaster for this circus.”
You hear Steve call out Jonathan’s name as he smirks at him. “You’re making it too easy for her to pick favorites, Byers.”
Jonathan sighs, lifting his next box. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m not here to show off and I’m simply here to help my friend, Harrington?”
You glance at them, before looking back at Robin. “Those two are going to give me gray hairs before we even unpack.”
Steve then disappears down the hallway and comes back a second later hauling what is clearly the heaviest box you own. The bottom is bowed slightly, the tape straining.
Jonathan pauses suddenly, his eyes widening.
“You know that one’s labeled ‘fragile,’ right?” He says.
Steve adjusts his grip, jaw flexing. “Yeah. I can read.”
“You’re holding it upside down.”
Steve freezes. Slowly, he flips the box.
You clap again, delighted. “Aw, look at them communicating! I love teamwork.”
Robin snorts from behind you, carrying a box of her own. “This is not what teamwork looks like.”
Steve strides past anyway, nodding at you with a big grin. He takes exactly three steps before the box lets out an ominous shift.
Jonathan’s hand shoots out automatically, steadying it. “Hey—”
Their hands touch, making them both pause. There’s a very brief moment where they look at each other like they’ve both just realized something. Though what they realized was unclear.
Then Steve jerks his hand away. “I got it.”
Jonathan exhales through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Right. Of course.”
You tilt your head, smiling. “Wow, you’ve got great reflexes. You’d make a great goalie, Jonathan.”
Jonathan blinks at you. “Uh, thanks?”
Steve preens a little, even though the compliment wasn’t his.
Jonathan immediately bends down and grabs another box. This one seemed to be even heavier.
Steve turns his head and immediately notices. “Oh, no you don’t,” he says, reaching for it.
Jonathan lifts it before Steve can. “I do, actually.”
Steve scoffs. “That’s heavier.”
Jonathan shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
You grab a small box yourself, humming as you pass them. “Just don’t hurt yourselves, okay? I need you both alive.”
Robin watches the three of you shuffle toward the van and mutters to herself, shaking her head. “Idiots.”
As you all continue to move your things, the guys continue to compete with one another. Steve nearly jogs to the van, determined not to be outpaced. Jonathan follows at a steady pace, his jaw set.
You trail behind, squinting up at the sky. “It’s actually really nice out today. Moving in this weather is kind of perfect, right?”
Steve slams his box down in the van with a little more force than necessary. “Perfect,” he agrees quickly.
Jonathan sets his box down more carefully. “Yeah. Perfect.”
You hop up onto the edge of the van, legs swinging. “Thanks again for helping me, all three of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Steve and Jonathan both freeze, looking at each other with narrow eyes before turning back to you.
Steve clears his throat. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Jonathan nods. “Of course.”
You hop down, still smiling. “Okay! Next load!”
Steve straightens immediately. “I’ll grab the dresser.”
Jonathan also speaks at the exact same time. “I’ll take the dresser.”
You blink between them. “Or…you could both carry it?”
They stare at you, then at each other.
Then Steve sighs. “Fine.”
Jonathan mutters quietly. “Fine.”
Robin cackles behind you.
By the time the last box is dragged inside, your new apartment looks like a mess.
Boxes are stacked along the walls, some opened and some still closed, labeled in your handwriting, and the faint smell of dust and fresh paint hangs in the air. The windows are open, sunlight spilling across the floor.
You spin once in the middle of the living room, arms out. “Okay, but tell me this isn’t already better.”
“It’s not bad,” Steve admits, hands on his hips as he surveys the space. “You’ve got decent lighting. I like that.”
Jonathan nods. “It’s nice,” he says quietly. “It has a lot more space than the old one.”
You beam at that. “See? It’s such an upgrade.”
Robin drops onto one of the boxes with a sigh. “I am officially starving. I moved approximately three boxes and watched you two argue all day. I deserve compensation.”
“Oh!” You perk up. “Pizza! There’s a place literally right down the street. It’d be kind of silly to get it delivered.” You grab your keys from the counter. “You guys stay here while I go get it.”
You don’t even make it two steps before the guys call out your name.
“I’ll go,” Steve says immediately.
“I can go,” Jonathan says at the same time.
They stop, slowly turning to look at each other. They glare at one another, clearly annoyed.
Steve speaks again, sharper now. “I’m already up.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightens. “So am I.”
“I know where it is.”
“So do I.”
You laugh lightly, trying to smooth it over. “Guys, it’s okay—”
Robin groans loudly. “Oh my God, I’m going to lose my mind.” She stands, grabs Steve by the arm, and starts physically dragging him toward the door. “Congratulations, dingus. You’re on pizza duty with me.”
Steve resists just enough to be noticeable. “Wait—why me?”
“Because,” Robin says sweetly, “Jonathan and our sunshine here can unpack. There’s a lot that needs to be done.”
Steve hesitates, his eyes flicking to you, then to Jonathan. Jonathan was already kneeling by a box, sleeves pushed up, focused very deliberately on cutting open the box as if nothing just happened. Something tightens in Steve’s chest.
“Uh,” he begins, his eyes on the two of you. “I—fine.”
You smile, completely unbothered. “Be safe! Don’t fight over toppings!”
The door shuts behind them, and the apartment feels different once Steve and Robin are gone. The noise they carried with them fades, leaving the space noticeably quieter.
You hum to yourself as you open another box, pulling out plates and stacking them carefully on the counter. Jonathan works nearby, carefully placing books onto the shelf, taking his time with each one. You watch him for a moment before smiling.
“You don’t have to be so careful with those, Jon,” you say lightly. “They’re just paperbacks.”
Jonathan shrugs, still focused as he slides another book into place. “Still.”
You laugh softly and go back to unpacking. The silence that settles between you isn’t awkward. It usually never is with him. You’ve always liked that about Jonathan, the way he doesn’t rush to fill the quiet or make it feel uncomfortable.
You move around the kitchen, opening boxes, setting things down, occasionally glancing over at him. He’s focused, brows slightly furrowed, careful with everything he touches. It makes your chest feel warm in a way you don’t really stop to think about.
You realize then how much you enjoy his presence, not because he’s loud or trying to impress you, but because he’s calm. You like being around him because it feels easy. You don’t have to perform or talk just to fill space. You can just exist.
You glance over at him again. “Thanks for staying, Jonathan.”
He looks up from the box he’s unpacking, clearly caught off guard. “Yeah. Of course. I mean—someone had to,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as if he doesn’t know where to put his hands.
You grin at him. “I’m glad it’s you.”
His ears go pink almost instantly, the color creeping up his cheeks as he looks back down at the box in front of him. Jonathan pauses for a moment before opening another one to distract himself from what you said.
You then hear him clear his throat. “You’re way too cheerful for someone who just carried half their life up three flights of stairs,” he says, trying to be casual.
You laugh as you pull clothes from a box and toss them onto the couch. “What? This is exciting. Can you blame me? I’m finally in my new apartment, which is a hundred times better than my old one.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “No, you’re right. I’d be excited too if I got away from my creepy landlord.”
You glance over your shoulder, pointing at him. “Don’t even bring him up. I should’ve fought him.”
Jonathan smiles despite himself, shaking his head. “I should’ve brought my camera to document the fight.”
You grab a sock from the open box and toss it at him. “I swear, you and your camera.”
He dodges it easily, laughing, and the sound makes you laugh too. He picks up the sock and throws it back, deliberately missing so it lands somewhere behind you.
“Wow,” you tease. “Nice aim, Byers.”
“Hey,” he protests, grinning, “I was distracted.”
“By what?” You ask with a giggle, stepping closer to see the book he’s holding.
He starts to answer, then stops short when he realizes how close the two of you are. You notice at the same time, freezing where you stand. The laughter fades, the two of you going quiet.
You’re closer than you thought, close enough to notice the small freckle near his jaw, close enough to feel the way his breathing changes when he realizes it too. Neither of you step back, and it seems like neither of you were willing to, anyway.
For a moment, it’s hard to tell who moves first. All you know is that suddenly his lips are against yours, initially hesitant, like he’s giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t, instead you put your hands on his shoulders. The kiss is gentle, the two of you going slowly to figure it out together. His hands come up to your face, and you lean into him without thinking.
When you finally pull back, you’re still smiling, your heart fluttering and your cheeks warm. Jonathan looks stunned, as if he was dreaming this.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
You laugh softly, brushing it off like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Oh.”
Before he can respond, the front door opens, Robin’s voice carrying through the apartment. “We’re back!”
You turn immediately, bright and cheerful, like nothing happened at all. “That was quick! What did you get?”
Jonathan blinks, still trying to catch up, his hand flexing at his side as his mind replayed the kiss over and over again.
Steve freezes just inside the doorway when he notices how close the two of you are standing. His smile falters for a moment before he forces it back into place.
“We, uh—mushrooms,” he says, lifting the box slightly. “And whatever that green thing was you like.”
“Basil!” You say happily, walking over to him and grabbing the box. “You remembered!”
Steve nods, but his eyes flick back to Jonathan without him meaning to. Jonathan steps back, only a small movement, but noticeable enough. Something flashes across his face before he realizes it’s there.
You don’t mention the kiss for the rest of the day. You act like yourself, like nothing happened, talking and laughing with all three of them the way you always do. You ask Robin and Steve about work, and ask Jonathan normal questions that make his head spin because everything suddenly feels different to him.
It confuses Jonathan more than anything else. He keeps waiting for you to mention it, to acknowledge what happened, but you never do. Every time you smile at him, every time you casually pass him something to unpack, his stomach twists. He answers you automatically, still a little dazed, wondering if he imagined the whole thing.
Steve watches from across the room, quiet in a way that’s rare for him. He notices how Jonathan looks at you constantly, like there’s something he wants to say but keeps swallowing back. Steve doesn’t know what happened while he and Robin were gone, and not knowing makes his chest tighten. He keeps replaying the moment Robin dragged him out the door, wishing he had stayed with you instead.
He knows what he feels for you isn’t just some stupid crush. He likes you, loves you, even, and he has for a while now. You have this way of making people feel lighter just by being there, and it’s hard not to fall for someone like that. Being around you feels warm.
And then there’s Jonathan. Steve knows Jonathan feels the same way, even if neither of them ever say it out loud.
Jonathan wants to be the one who takes care of you, the one who makes you feel happy and secure. After the kiss you shared, Jonathan felt hopeful in a way he hadn’t let himself feel before. Now that hope feels fragile, thinking it may disappear if he presses too hard.
So Jonathan decides not to push, at least not today. Not with everyone here, not with the apartment still needing to be unpacked and Steve and Robin sitting right across the room. He tells himself he’ll talk to you later, when it’s just the two of you again. He needs to know what that kiss meant to you, because it meant everything to him.
The competition suddenly stops feeling like a joke to both of them.
The bell over the door chimes softly when you step inside Family Video. Steve looks up first, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and his face lights up when he sees you.
“Hey,” he says, grinning. “You stalking us now?”
Robin snorts from behind the counter. “Don’t flatter yourself, dingus. She’s here for me.”
You laugh, resting your elbows on the counter. “Obviously. Bold of you to assume I’m here for you, Harrington.”
Steve gasps, clutching his chest. “Wow. I helped you move into a new apartment and this is the thanks I get?”
Robin rolls her eyes. “You remember when you carried that lamp and complained the entire time?”
“That lamp was heavy,” Steve argues.
You and Robin exchange a look before bursting into laughter, and Steve just shakes his head, smiling despite himself. You wanted to visit your friends while they were working, trying to pretend like things have been fine. You’ve been pretending things are normal a lot lately.
You haven’t talked to Jonathan about the kiss. It wasn’t because you didn’t like it, because you did. You think about it more than you probably should, replaying it in your mind when you’re alone. But every time you think about bringing it up, your stomach knots. You don’t want to ruin what you have with him, don’t want to make things awkward or hurt anyone’s feelings. You know Steve and Jonathan have been circling each other for months now, both of them trying in their own ways to get your attention, and you don’t know how to untangle yourself from it without breaking something important.
So you keep smiling and joking, acting like everything is fine.
Robin glances toward the door when it opens again, signaling a customer. “I’ll go deal with it,” she says, already moving to help the person. “Make sure you put up all the tapes while I’m gone.”
“Whatever,” Steve says, then sighs when she disappears down an aisle. “She never trusts me.”
You grin. “For good reason.”
Steve grabs a stack of tapes and nods toward the shelves. “Come on. You can help me put these back.”
“Oh? You just expect me to come and help you without getting paid?” You said, hearing him laugh as he walked away.
“You’re the one who decided to come,” Steve teased, making you scoff. You still followed him anyway, walking between the rows. Steve hands you a few tapes, and you slide them into place while he reaches for the higher shelves.
“This place is dead today,” you say.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Kind of nice, actually. I hate dealing with customers.”
The two of you go quiet and then you realize how close he’s standing. You try not to think about it, about how familiar this all feels, and how easy it is to be around him. Steve glances at you, then away, then back again, like he’s working up the nerve to say something.
“I haven’t seen you around lately,” he says finally.
You shrug, pretending to focus on the tapes. “Work’s been a lot, and I’m still settling into the apartment.”
“Right,” he says, but there’s something else he wants to say before shrugging it off.
You continue to make a joke about his terrible organization system, and he laughs, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. The contact lingers longer than it should. When you look up at him, the teasing fades. It feels familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
You don’t know who moves first. You just know that suddenly he’s leaning in, and you’re not pulling away. His lips meet yours in a soft and hesitant kiss, checking to see if you’re okay. For a moment, everything is okay. It feels nice but risky all at once.
You pull back first, smiling because that’s what you always do, even though your stomach is twisting. “Steve,” you say softly, not quite sure what you mean to say next.
His eyes are bright and hopeful. “Yeah?”
The weight of it all crashes down on you then. Jonathan’s face flashes through your mind, the way he looked at you after that kiss, the way you never talked about it. The thought of hurting either of them makes your chest feel tight.
“I—I just remembered,” you say quickly, stepping back. “I have to run some errands. I totally forgot.”
Steve frowns slightly. “Now? You just got here.”
“Yeah,” you say, already moving away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you later, okay?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but you’re already heading toward the door, waving over your shoulder as the bell chimes again. You keep smiling until you’re outside, until the door closes behind you. Only then does the smile fade.
You lean against your car, exhaling slowly. You feel awful and confused, and most of all, guilty. You care about both of them, maybe more than you’re ready to admit, and you don’t know how to choose without losing something you’re not ready to give up. So you do what you’ve been doing best lately.
You avoid it. You pretend everything is normal. You hope that somehow, things will sort themselves out without you having to break anyone’s heart.
The diner is busy today, which makes it easy to disappear into a booth. You can hear plates clinking somewhere behind the counter, and the smell of fries hangs in the air. You sit across from Robin, poking at your fries while she drinks her soda and watches you with narrowed eyes.
“You’ve been really weird,” she says eventually.
You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Weird how?”
“Quiet weird,” Robin replies. “You haven’t been your usual sunshiney self. You’ve been staring at that fry ever since we got it and barely ate anything.”
You sigh, finally picking it up and taking a bite just to prove a point. “I’m fine.”
Robin tilts her head, unconvinced. She takes another sip before folding her arms. “You know, I don’t usually push. I’m more of a passive observer, but you’ve been avoiding Steve, and you haven’t been around Jonathan at all since you moved in, and that’s not exactly subtle.”
You hesitate, eyes dropping back to your plate. The words sit heavy in your chest, tangled up and uncomfortable. Robin waits, surprisingly patient.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you say quietly.
Though she’s confused, Robin’s expression softens immediately. “Okay,” she says. “You want to tell me what happened?”
You take a breath. “I kissed Jonathan. And then I also kissed Steve.”
Robin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“It wasn’t planned,” you rush on. “With either of them. It just, kind of, happened. And I liked it. I really liked it, Robin.” You pause, swallowing. “And now I don’t know what to do, so I’ve been pretending everything’s normal even though it’s really not.”
Robin lets out a slow breath. “Wow,” she says gently. “Okay. That’s a lot.”
“I feel horrible,” you admit. “They’re my friends. I don’t want to hurt either of them or ruin everything. And I know they’ve been competing in this really stupid, obvious way, and I hate that I’m in the middle of it.” You laugh softly, but it comes out wrong. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Robin nods. “Of course you didn’t.”
You pick at the edge of a napkin. “I keep telling myself I’ll talk to them, but every time I think about it, I panic. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I lose them?” You look up at her, eyes a little glassy. “I think I might be in love with both of them, Robin. And that feels like the worst possible thing to realize. I don’t want to hurt them.”
She’s quiet for a moment, really looking at you. Instead of teasing you or making jokes, she reassures you. “You know you’re not a bad person for that, right?”
You shrug. “It kind of feels like it.”
“It shouldn’t,” she says firmly. “Feelings aren’t a crime. Avoiding them forever might be, though.”
You groan, your head falling into your hands. “I know. I just don’t want to destroy everything. It’s going to ruin the friend group.”
Robin reaches across the table and nudges your hand with hers. “You’re not destroying anything yet. You’re just stuck in a difficult situation. Which, honestly, is very on brand, considering we live in Hawkins.”
That earns a small smile from you.
“Steve’s been a mess,” she adds carefully. “He hasn’t said anything but he’s been grumpier than usual. Jonathan’s been acting weird too, from what I can tell. Neither of them knows what’s going on, and that’s kind of the problem.”
You nod. “I figured.”
“I say that you don’t have to decide anything right now,” Robin continues. “But you probably can’t keep pretending nothing happened. Eventually, someone’s going to ask.”
You sigh, leaning back against the booth. “I was hoping it would just magically fix itself.”
Robin snorts. “When has that ever worked?”
“Never,” you admit.
You stare out the window, watching people walk by, and wonder how something that started so simple got so complicated.
“I just want everyone to be okay,” you say softly.
Robin smiles at you, completely understanding. “You have to start being honest. It’s hard, but if you don’t say anything now, it’s going to get even messier.”
You nod slowly, knowing she’s right, even if it scares you.
You swing the door open and immediately get hit with the familiar smell of pizza and popcorn. The lights are low in the living room, and the TV is paused on the introduction of whatever movie the kids decided would be perfect for movie night.
“Hey!” Steve calls, looking up from where he’s stacking a few DVDs on the counter. “You made it.”
“Of course I made it,” you say, stepping inside and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t miss movie night for the world.” You grin at him, noticing the faint flicker in his eyes as he watches you.
Robin is already sitting on the couch, her smile growing big. “Ugh, finally!” She exclaims, patting the seat next to her for you to sit. “I was wondering when you’d come.”
You sit down next to Robin, quickly saying hi to the kids before all of you fall into an easy conversation. Behind you, Jonathan is quietly arranging snacks on the counter, but you notice the faint crease of worry between his brows when he glances at you. He’s clearly aware of Steve’s presence, and it makes your chest twist in a way that’s more complicated than it should be.
You pull a throw blanket around your legs, before seeing Steve sitting next to you. You feel him lean slightly towards you, and it makes your heart beat faster. You try to not think about the way his shoulder brushes yours and instead turn to help Jonathan hand out drinks to the kids. The chatter around you is lively, the kids’ energy infectious, but you can’t ignore the familiar tightness in your stomach.
You still haven’t talked to Jonathan about the kiss. You haven’t talked to Steve either. Every time you think about it, your heart beats faster, and a knot forms in your stomach. You like them both. You really like them both. And somehow, even though you enjoyed kissing both of them, even though your feelings for each of them are growing every day, you haven’t said a word. You know you can’t continue avoiding this topic.
The movie starts, and the kids settle in around the room, sprawled across the floor with snacks and pillows. You force yourself to focus on the movie, but you notice the way Steve’s eyes keep flickering to you, and the tension in his posture when Jonathan leans over the table to grab more snacks. Every time their hands brush accidentally as they reach for the same snack, a sudden scenario crosses your mind. You bite back a nervous laugh and shove a handful of popcorn into your mouth, trying not to think of the two men that have consumed your brain.
Jonathan sits on the other side of the couch next to Robin, close enough that you feel his eyes on you. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence presses on you in a way that makes your chest feel full and tight all at once. You know Steve notices the glances Jonathan’s giving you, and somewhere in the back of your mind, the thoughts in your head keep coming.
The movie plays, but you can’t fully focus. Your attention drifts from Steve to Jonathan, back to the kids’ chatter, back to Robin’s commentary, back to their glances, and finally, back to your own racing thoughts. You’re supposed to be the cheerful, bright, and easygoing one, but you’re sitting here with both of them near, feeling both of them watching, and you realize how impossible it is to pretend everything is simple.
When the movie finally ends, the kids groan and start gathering their things. “I’ll ride with Max and Lucas,” Jane says, tossing her jacket over her shoulder. “Dustin, come on!”
“See you guys later!” You call, standing and waving as the smaller group files out the door, the sounds of their bikes fading down the street.
Robin stands as well, brushing off her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. “Don’t do anything too stupid while I’m gone.” She then looks at you, quietly mouthing to you, “Talk to them.”
Steve’s eyes flicker toward you, hopeful and tense all at once. You force a smile, nodding. “Of course.” Once everyone else is gone, you move toward the kitchen. “I should probably help you clean up,” you say casually, though the words feel heavier than usual. “I’ve got nothing else to do tonight, and I don’t mind helping.”
Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “Sure, that works.”
You glance at Jonathan, who is hesitating, looking at the floor, then back at you. “You want to stay, Jonathan?” You ask, trying to keep your voice light. “I mean…if you don’t have anything else going on?”
He blinks, surprised, but nods. “Yeah, I can stay.”
Once the three of you are alone, the house feels different. The clutter from snacks and blankets fills the silence, but the tension between you, Steve, and Jonathan feels scary. Steve starts throwing trash away, and you help him, making sure everything is spotless. He glances at you once, and the way his gaze lingers makes your throat close up.
You hate this triangle. You love both of them, but you have to say something now or else you’ll end up regretting it.
You take a deep breath and finally speak, your voice shaking slightly even though you try to sound calm. “Um…can I talk to both of you?”
Both heads snap up. Steve drops a plate he was about to throw in the sink and Jonathan straightens immediately, his jaw tight. They look at each other before at you, nodding their heads.
You swallow, your hands twisting together. “I—I need to say something. Something I’ve been holding in for too long, and I can’t pretend anymore.”
Steve steps closer, a small spark of defensiveness in his posture. “What is it? Do you need us to beat someone up?” He jokes lightly, but the tension is in his eyes.
Jonathan gives him a pointed look. “Steve, don’t.”
You take a deep breath again, forcing your voice to stay steady. “I kissed both of you.”
The room goes silent for a second, and then Steve blinks. “You—what?”
Jonathan’s mouth opens, then closes. He exhales sharply. “I’m sorry—You kissed both of us?”
“Yes,” you say, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. I like both of you, more than friends. And I didn’t mean to… I just—”
Steve cuts in, frustration flickering across his face, but it’s aimed entirely at Jonathan. “I knew it! You’ve always been hovering, like she’s only yours or something!” His hands clench at his sides, completely ignoring you.
Jonathan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, voice rising. “Hovering? You’re the one who can’t stop acting like she’s yours! I see the way you look at her, Steve. Don’t act like I’m blind.”
You take a small step back, heart racing, unsure whether to intervene. Your hands twist in front of you, and your stomach flutters in a confusing mix of guilt, excitement, and something hotter that makes your cheeks burn. You’d be lying if you said the way they’re arguing over you doesn’t make your pulse quicken, even as a pang of worry hits your chest.
Steve throws up his hands, pacing a little. “Oh, come on, Jonathan! This isn’t a competition!”
Jonathan frowns, stepping toward Steve so the space between them shrinks to barely a foot. “Doesn’t feel that way, does it? You’re acting like everything’s about you!”
You bite your lip, feeling the tension coil tighter in your stomach. While you’ve been avoiding the two, you’ve imagined certain things that involve both of them. But guilt slams into your chest as soon as the thought enters your mind. Kissing both of them, imagining more, it feels like you’re walking a tightrope over a pit of fire.
You raise your voice, finally stepping between them. “Stop! Both of you!”
They freeze immediately, glancing at you like they’re suddenly aware of your presence beyond the invisible cord of tension that’s been wrapped around them. You take a deep breath, trying to make your words steady even though your chest feels like it’s about to burst.
“I’m not going to stand here and watch you fight over me,” you say, cheeks warm and hands trembling slightly. “I kissed both of you. And I like both of you. And I don’t know what to do. I…I hate this—this stupid triangle, this…I just—”
They’re quiet now, staring at you, the argument evaporating under the weight of your confession. You can feel as though their emotions are buzzing in the air, but they don’t say anything.
“I…I don’t want to hurt either of you,” you continue, your voice trembling. “I can’t just pretend everything’s normal anymore, and I don’t know what to do. I just—I don’t want anyone to feel like I’m playing games or leading them on.”
Steve swallows, running a hand through his hair. “You…you actually like both of us?” He asked, as if he didn’t hear you the first time you said it before they started arguing.
Jonathan’s voice is quiet now. “You’re serious?”
You nod, taking another shaky breath. “Yeah. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I don’t know how to stop feeling this way. I guess I’ve felt like this for a while now.”
The three of you stood there, and the room suddenly felt too heavy. Steve’s jaw is tight, his hands fidgeting at his sides. Jonathan’s arms are crossed, but his posture has changed, like he’s teetering between restraint and wanting to close the distance. You’re scared of what they may say.
You feel your pulse spike again. They’re fighting for you, in a way, and it’s confusing, but undeniably hot.
You step closer, forcing your hands together. “Look…I know this is all complicated but I had to tell you. I can’t pretend anymore.”
You swallow hard, heartbeat pounding in your ears, and before you can overthink it, the words slip out, almost without you realizing it.
“This may sound weird but…I’ve thought about—about being with both of you. At the same time.”
Both of them freeze, eyes locking on you in disbelief. Steve blinks, jaw dropping slightly, while Jonathan’s brows pull together, his lips parting as if he’s trying to speak, but no words come out.
You feel heat rushing to your cheeks and hate yourself a little for saying it out loud, but at the same time, your pulse races with the thought of it. If this ends your friendship, you can’t say that you didn’t try. “I…I know it’s crazy. I’ve imagined it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. And I—” You bite your lip, nerves twisting your stomach, “I want it. I want you both. I just can’t stop wondering what it would be like to have both of you, especially since I don’t want to choose.”
Steve takes a slow step closer, eyes dark and unreadable, then he glances at Jonathan. There’s something unspoken passing between them, a mix of shock and desire. Jonathan shifts too, uncrossing his arms, the tension radiating off him like heat.
“You’re not joking?” Jonathan asks finally, voice still a bit cautious but curious.
You nod, heart hammering. “I’m serious. I’ve wanted it for a while. I didn’t know how to tell you. I just didn’t want to ruin anything between us.”
Steve exhales, a low sound, and his lips curl into a small, teasing grin, though his eyes are serious. “Well, that’s a lot to process, but…” He steps closer to you, brushing a hand along your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it either.”
Jonathan’s gaze drops to your lips for a second, then back to your eyes. “Me neither,” he admits quietly. “Honestly, I’ve imagined it too. I just didn’t think—” He stops, running a hand through his hair, conflicted but still eager.
The three of you stand there for a moment, before you take another step forward, closing the small gap between all three of you. Your hands hover between Steve and Jonathan, brushing each of them lightly, almost testing the waters.
“Are you both okay with this?” You whisper, heart hammering in your chest. “I mean, if we do this, I want it to be with you both. I’m not going to choose between you, and I don’t want anyone to feel left out or weird.”
Steve smirks, but it’s soft and teasing. “I think we’re past feeling weird, don’t you think?”
Jonathan exhales, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I think so. If you want this, then I want it too.”
Your chest tightens, nerves surging together. You step closer, feeling the heat of their presence, the unspoken hunger lingering in the room. You swallow again, cheeks burning. “Then I guess we’ll just see where this goes.”
Steve glances at Jonathan, then back at you, and without another word, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. You gasp softly, heat rushing through you, your hands finding his shoulders as he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss. The taste of him, the warmth of his body pressed close, makes your heart hammer in your chest.
Before you can catch your breath, Jonathan leans in, lips brushing the side of your neck, hesitant at first but pressing a soft kiss that makes a shiver run down your spine. You tilt your head, giving him room, and your hands instinctively move to rest on his chest. You’re caught between them, breathless, feeling both their closeness and the thrill of being wanted by them at the same time.
Steve pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes dark. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice low, rough with need.
You nod, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
You tilt your head, letting Jonathan’s lips explore your jawline while Steve’s lips press more firmly to yours, and your fingers thread through their hair almost instinctively. Your breath catches, heat rushing through your body.
Then, a mischievous thought flashes through your mind, a wicked little impulse you can’t resist. Slowly, carefully, you lift your hands just enough to cradle the backs of their heads, guiding them toward each other. Steve and Jonathan, completely lost in you, don’t notice at first.
You watch, heart racing, as their lips slowly meet. At first it was tentative, brushing softly against one another, then slowly more confidently as they realized what’s happening. Their eyes flutter open, both glancing at you, shock and a hint of amusement and desire mingling in their expressions.
You step back, giving them space, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “Don’t stop,” you murmur, your voice quiet.
They blink at each other, slightly dumbfounded, then Steve grins, almost breathless. “Wow…okay. That was…” He trails off, shaking his head, still flushed.
Jonathan exhales, a small, incredulous laugh escaping him. “Yeah…”
For a second, they hesitate, but then Steve’s lips press against Jonathan’s. The latter responds, lips pressing more firmly, and your chest tightens as excitement coils in your stomach. You feel heat flooding through you, your breath catching.
Watching them kiss each other, feeling their closeness to you, your fingers in their hair, it makes your pulse spike even more. You hadn’t realized how close they still were to you until Steve’s hand brushes your hip and Jonathan’s shoulder bumps lightly into your arm. The three of you are still tangled together.
Steve pulls back first, breath a little uneven, eyes flicking from Jonathan to you. His lips curve into a nervous smile as he rubs the back of his neck. “Okay,” he says quietly. “So…not gonna lie, standing here kind of feels weird.”
You let out a soft laugh, more to steady yourself than anything else. Your heart is still racing, the adrenaline buzzing under your skin. “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan nods, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed from your hands earlier. He looks at you, then at Steve, waiting for one of you to make the next move.
Steve clears his throat and glances down the hallway. “We could go to my room,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Just…somewhere not in the middle of the house.”
Neither you nor Jonathan argue.
The walk down the hallway feels surreal, as if this entire thing was a dream. Steve goes first, glancing back once to make sure you’re following. Jonathan stays close to your side, his arm brushing yours every few steps. Steve opens the door and steps aside, suddenly shy. You walk in first, taking in the room. You barely have time to turn around before Steve’s hand closes gently around your arm, pulling you back toward him.
He kisses you hard. You make a soft sound against his lips, fingers instinctively curling into his shirt as he leans into you. It feels different from before, heavier somehow.
Jonathan hesitates only for a second before stepping closer. His hand brushes your back and when Steve pulls away just enough to breathe, Jonathan leans in, pressing a softer kiss to your lips.
Your shirt comes off first, discarded to the floor. Steve unhooks your bra while Jonathan kneels to slide your jeans down your legs, his breath hot against your thighs. You step out of them, standing in just your panties, heart racing as their eyes devour you.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Jonathan says, voice husky, as he stands and pulls you toward the bed.
Steve follows, shedding his own shirt to reveal his toned chest. “Our girl,” he adds, the possessiveness in his tone sending a thrill through you.
They guide you onto the mattress, Jonathan settling behind you while Steve kneels in front. Jonathan’s hands cup your breasts from behind, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden into peaks. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping as Steve leans down to capture one nipple in his mouth. He sucks gently at first, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.
“Steve…” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair.
Jonathan’s lips find your ear, nipping the lobe. “Tell us what you want,” he whispers, one hand sliding down your stomach to tease the edge of your panties.
“Both of you,” you reply, voice trembling with need. “Touch me, please.”
Steve switches to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while his hand joins Jonathan’s between your legs. They work together, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your panties. Jonathan slips his hand inside first, parting your folds to stroke your clit in slow circles. The sensation makes you buck your hips, and Steve chuckles against your skin before pushing your panties aside to join in.
Two sets of fingers now explore you. Jonathan’s precise, rubbing firm patterns on your clit, while Steve dips lower, sliding one finger into your wetness. You clench around him, the stretch delicious, and he adds a second finger, pumping slowly.
“So wet already,” Steve groans, his free hand palming the bulge in his jeans.
Jonathan kisses your shoulder, his erection pressing against your back. “She loves this.”
You nod, lost in the building pleasure. Their fingers move in tandem, Steve thrusting inside you while Jonathan pinches and rolls your clit. The dual assault has you writhing, moans spilling freely. “Fuck…”
Steve withdraws his fingers, bringing them to your lips. “Taste yourself.”
You suck them clean, the taste of your own arousal making you hot. He grins, then stands to strip off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening.
Jonathan shifts, helping you lie back fully. He removes your panties, tossing them aside, and spreads your legs wide. Steve climbs between them, rubbing his cock along your slit, coating himself in your juices. “Are you still sure about this?” He asks, eyes locked on yours.
“Yes,” you whimper, glancing at Jonathan, who kneels beside you, stroking himself through his pants.
Steve pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch burns so good, and you cry out, nails digging into his arms. He bottoms out, pausing to let you adjust, then starts thrusting in deep strokes that hit just right.
Jonathan watches, his hand now inside his jeans, pumping his own length. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you deeply as Steve fucks you.
The rhythm builds, Steve’s hips snapping faster, his balls slapping against you with each plunge. You break the kiss to look at Jonathan. “Jonathan…touch me.”
He obliges, fingers returning to your clit, rubbing in time with Steve’s thrusts. The added friction pushes you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering around Steve's cock.
“Come for him,” Jonathan urges, his voice rough.
Steve grunts, pounding harder. “Yeah, baby, let go for me.”
It hits you like a wave, your orgasm crashing through, pussy clenching rhythmically as you scream their names. Steve follows soon after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hot spurts coating your insides.
He pulls out slowly, his cum leaking from your cunt, and Jonathan is there immediately, flipping you onto your hands and knees. “My turn,” he says, voice low and needy.
Steve moves to your front, cupping your face for a messy kiss as Jonathan lines up behind you. You hadn’t even noticed he took off his clothes until now. His cock nudges your entrance, slick with the mix of your release and Steve’s cum. He slides in easily, groaning at the warmth enveloping him.
“So tight,” Jonathan breathes, hands gripping your hips as he starts to move.
You push back against him, meeting each thrust, while Steve’s fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your mouth to his cock. “Clean me up, sweetheart,” he says, and you do, licking the remnants of your combined fluids from his softening length. It hardens again under your tongue as you suck him, bobbing your head.
Jonathan’s pace quickens, his hips slamming into your ass, the sound wet and obscene. One hand reaches around to fondle your breast, pinching the nipple, while the other spanks your ass lightly, the sting making you moan.
Steve moans above you, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Good girl! Just like that, fuck.”
The fullness you feel, from Jonathan’s cock stretching your pussy, to Steve filling your mouth, it all overwhelms you. Jonathan angles his hips, hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyes. You hum around Steve, the vibration drawing a curse from him.
“I’m close,” Jonathan warns, his thrusts becoming sloppy.
“Me too,” Steve pants, holding your head steady as he fucks your mouth deeper.
You come again first, the orgasm ripping through you from Jonathan’s relentless pounding, your body shaking as you swallow around Steve. He comes down your throat with a groan, and you gulp it down, not spilling a drop.
Jonathan thrusts a few more times before releasing ropes of his seed into you, the cum hot and sticky, mixing with your and Steve’s releases.
Panting, the three of you collapse together. Steve pulls you into his chest, while Jonathan curls behind you, his arm draped over your waist. Their hands stroke lazily over your body, all of you catching your breath.
Your limbs feel loose, like you might melt straight into the mattress if you let yourself. Steve is the first to move, rolling onto his back with a long exhale, forearm thrown over his eyes.
“Did that really just happen?” He murmurs.
Jonathan lets out a breathy laugh from behind you, still curled close, his chest warm against your back. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think it did. It felt too real to be just a dream.”
Steve peeks over his arm, eyes flicking between the two of you. His mouth twists into disbelief and awe. “We—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “We kissed. Like, actually kissed?”
Jonathan goes quiet for a moment. You can feel him thinking, the way his hand absentmindedly traces slow circles at your side. “Yeah,” he says again, more thoughtful this time. “And I guess I didn’t totally hate it.”
Steve huffs out a small laugh. “No. Me neither, surprisingly.”
You smile lazily, eyes already slipping closed. “Good,” you mumble, voice sleepy and content. “I’d hate for that to be awkward.”
Both of them glance down at you.
Steve’s expression softens instantly. He reaches out, brushing hair back from your face gently. “You okay?” He asks quietly.
“Mhm,” you hum. “Just tired.”
Jonathan presses a light kiss to your bare shoulder. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
They move carefully after that, afraid of breaking the moment. Steve disappears briefly and comes back with water, helping you sip while Jonathan drapes a blanket over you. There’s quiet laughter when Steve fumbles with it, tugging the wrong corner.
“Okay, okay, I’ve got it,” Jonathan mutters, fixing it with a fond look that doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve.
Steve grabs a warm cloth and gently cleans you up, all soft touches and murmured apologies whenever he thinks he’s being clumsy. Jonathan stays close, one hand always on you, thumb brushing slow reassurance into your skin.
“There,” Steve says finally, quieter now. “Better.”
You nod faintly, already falling asleep, curling instinctively toward the warmth between them. “You guys are really sweet,” you whisper, before letting out a yawn.
Jonathan smiles, brushing a kiss into your hair. “Get some sleep.”
Steve settles in on your other side, hesitating only a second before wrapping an arm around you, not wanting to disturb you. The mattress dips as they both relax, the earlier disbelief fading into something calmer.
As you drift off, you hear Steve whisper to Jonathan. “Guess we’ll…talk about that tomorrow.”
Jonathan chuckles softly. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Their arms tighten around you just a little, and you fall asleep smiling, cocooned between the two men that always made you feel safe.
The next morning, you wake up in layers of warmth. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the blanket heavy over your middle, and there are arms on both sides of you. Steve’s arm is slung low around your hips, while Jonathan is curled closer behind you, his arm over your stomach. You can feel his chest rising steadily against your back. For a second, you just lie there, blinking up at the ceiling, letting the reality settle.
Oh.
You shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, and Steve stirs almost immediately. He groans quietly, rubbing a hand over his face as he wakes up.
“Please tell me this isn’t one of those dreams where everything feels real and then I wake up alone and miserable,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.
You smile without meaning to. “Pretty sure it’s real.”
He opens one eye, then the other, looking down at you to make sure he’s not hallucinating. His mouth curves into something like disbelief. “Wow,” he says, exhaling slowly. “Okay. Good. This is real..”
Behind you, Jonathan shifts as well, pressing his face briefly into your shoulder before lifting his head. His hair is a mess, his expression still sleepy, but his eyes are clear when they meet yours.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
“Morning,” you reply, your voice still drowsy.
For a moment, no one moves. The three of you just exist there, tangled together, the weight of last night hovering in the air without pressing down too hard yet. It feels fragile in a strange way, like if someone says the wrong thing, it might all shatter. Steve is the one who breaks the silence.
“So,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should probably talk about…all of this.”
Jonathan lets out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah. We probably should.”
You shift carefully, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can look at both of them. “You don’t have to do it right this second,” you say, even though part of you knows it is coming no matter what. “I just woke up.”
Steve snorts. “Fair. But if we wait too long, I’m going to overthink it into something way worse than it actually is.”
Jonathan nods in agreement. “Same.”
Steve glances at him, then raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I thought that was just my thing.”
Jonathan’s lips twitch. “You’d be surprised.”
That earns a quiet laugh from you, the tension easing just a little. You pull the blanket up around yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel in more ways than one.
Jonathan reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear softly. “Hey,” he says, softer now. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I just didn’t know how this part was going to feel. My fantasies never really got to this part.”
“Fantasies?” Steve teased, his hand tightening slightly at your waist. “But, yeah. I get what you mean.”
There is another pause, but this one feels less sharp. Steve sits up against the headboard, stretching with a quiet groan, and Jonathan follows suit, shifting so you are no longer wedged between them but still close enough to feel their warmth.
Steve glances between you and Jonathan, then sighs. “Okay. I’m just going to say it before it eats me alive. I did not expect any of this to happen, but I also can’t pretend I didn’t want it.”
Jonathan looks at him steadily. “I was going to say the same thing.”
Steve’s eyes flicker. “I’m not saying it wasn’t weird, because it was. But it was also…” He trails off, searching for the word, then shakes his head. “Not bad?”
Jonathan lets out a breath, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah. Not bad. That’s one way to put it.”
You watch them, heart pounding, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Are you mad?” You ask quietly. “That I kissed you both?”
Both of them turn to you at once.
“No,” Jonathan says immediately, quickly shaking his head. “No, I’m not mad.”
Steve shakes his head too. “Not even a little.”
Jonathan’s gaze softens. “I was scared I would be,” he admits. “I thought I might wake up feeling angry or jealous or…something like that. But mostly I just feel confused and kind of protective?”
Steve snorts. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Jonathan shoots him a look. “What?”
“I meant that you look like you’re willing to punch someone who looks at her the wrong way,” Steve says dryly. “I would know. I feel the same way.”
You laugh under your breath, even as warmth spreads through your chest. “You both already do that.”
Steve grins. “Can you blame us?”
Jonathan shifts closer to you again, his shoulder brushing yours. “We’re going to have to figure out what this means,” he says carefully. “Because pretending it didn’t happen isn’t an option.”
Steve nods. “And neither is pretending we don’t care about each other.” He pauses, looking at both of you. “All three of us.”
You take a minute to go over their words, your heart beating fast.
You take a slow breath. “I don’t want to lose either of you,” you admit. “I’ve been so scared of that since the beginning. If you guys want me to choose, I won’t be able to, but I’m scared of losing you both.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightens, not with anger but with a protectiveness. “You’re not losing me.”
Steve’s voice is firm. “Yeah. You’re not losing me, either.”
Jonathan glances at Steve, then sighs. “This is the part where we probably argue a little, isn’t it?”
Steve lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh, absolutely.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “You still annoy me.”
Steve smirks. “You still judge me.”
“Right,” Jonathan says, gesturing vaguely between the three of you. “Yet, this still happened.”
You watch them, affection bubbling up despite the nerves. “You can argue,” you say softly. “But not like how you used to. Try to be nice to each other. Please?”
Steve’s expression softens as he looks at you. “We’ll try.”
Jonathan nods, letting out a small chuckle. “Yeah, we’ll try.”
A little while later, Steve comes back with a clean shirt for you, moving around the room easily. Jonathan hovers nearby, handing things over, straightening the sheets, making sure you are comfortable without smothering you.
“Drink some water,” Steve says, holding the glass out to you.
You do, then yawn, exhaustion finally catching up. “I think I might fall asleep again.”
Jonathan smiles, brushing his thumb along your arm. “Go ahead.”
Steve settles back down beside you, carefully pulling the blanket over you again. “We’ll still be here when you wake up.”
You curl in between them, your eyes fluttering closed, the noise of the world fading. You drift off smiling.
They don’t talk right away.
You’re asleep between them now, breathing slow and even, your face turned toward the wall. Steve lies there staring at the ceiling, hands folded awkwardly over his stomach. Jonathan is on his side, facing you, his arm still loosely around your waist. He watches the steady rise and fall of your chest for a long time, until Steve exhales softly beside him.
“She out?” Steve murmurs.
Jonathan nods. “Yeah. I think so.”
Steve shifts carefully, easing himself out from under the blankets so he doesn’t wake you. Jonathan follows a moment later, slower and more reluctant, hating the idea of moving away from you even for a second. They step quietly into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.
The house feels different when you’re asleep. It felt too quiet and empty.
Jonathan leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. Steve grabs two glasses from the cabinet and fills them with water, handing one over without asking. Jonathan takes it, nodding his thanks, and drinks.
They stand there for a second, both avoiding eye contact.
“So,” Steve says finally, because someone has to. “That happened.”
Jonathan lets out a dry huff. “Yeah. That definitely happened. We said that already.”
Steve glances at him, something like a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “You okay?”
Jonathan considers the question honestly. “I think so. Still processing, but yeah. I’m okay.”
Steve nods, then frowns slightly. “You don’t look okay.”
Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “You don’t either.”
Steve exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Fair.”
The two of them go quiet again, but the silence is really awkward this time.
Jonathan sets his glass down and turns fully toward Steve. “I need to say something, and I don’t want you interrupting me.”
Steve straightens. “Okay.”
“I’ve liked her for a long time,” Jonathan says, voice steady. “Longer than I wanted to admit. And I know you have too. I’ve known that for a while.”
Steve doesn’t argue. He just nods once. “Yeah.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightens slightly. “What I didn’t expect was…this. Or how much I wouldn’t hate you for being part of it.”
Steve snorts quietly. “Wow. High praise.”
Jonathan shoots him a look, but there is no real bite behind it. “You know what I mean.”
Steve sighs, leaning back against the counter. “I kept thinking I’d get jealous. Like, really jealous. The kind that makes me stupid and angry whenever you’re around her. And yeah, I won’t lie, there were moments where it burned. But last night…” He trails off, then shakes his head. “I don’t know. Seeing her happy like that did something to me.”
Jonathan nods slowly. “Me too.”
Steve studies him for a second. “You didn’t seem shy about it.”
Jonathan huffs out a short laugh. “I get tired of people thinking that’s all I am.”
Steve smiles despite himself. “I noticed.”
Jonathan meets his gaze, serious again. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m protective of her, but I’m not trying to compete with you. At least, not anymore.”
Steve’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Great. I’m not trying to win her over either.”
Jonathan tilts his head. “You sure? You don’t exactly do subtle.”
Steve scoffs. “You think I haven’t noticed how she looks at you?”
Jonathan’s expression softens. “You think I haven’t noticed how she lights up around you?”
They both fall quiet, the truth hanging between them.
Steve taps his fingers against the counter. “I care about her,” he says quietly. “Like, really care. Not in the usual way I care about my friends.”
Jonathan nods. “I do too.”
Steve hesitates, then adds another comment. “And I don’t want to screw this up. With her. Or with you.”
Jonathan exhales slowly. “Neither do I.”
There is a second of silence, then Jonathan chuckles under his breath. “So, are we like, all dating?”
Steve laughs softly. “Yeah. I would assume we are. Kissing you wasn’t the worst thing I’ve done.”
“Uh, thanks?” Jonathan says, before letting out a chuckle. He glances down the hallway toward the stairs, then back at Steve. “You know, we’re going to have to communicate. Like, actually communicate.”
Steve groans. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”
Jonathan smirks. “Too bad.”
Steve shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Fucking hell, you’re annoying.”
Jonathan shrugs. “You’re too loud.”
“Fuck off,” Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. His smile falters then, his face more serious now. “But really, if there had to be another guy in this relationship…I’m glad it’s you.”
Jonathan blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Yeah?”
Steve nods. “Yeah.”
They stand there for a moment longer, no longer really enemies, but something new and unfamiliar.
It’s been a few months since the three of you started dating.
Steve and Jonathan are arguing when you walk in.
It didn’t sound like the serious kind. Steve has one hand braced on the counter, gesturing wildly with the other. Jonathan stands across from him, arms crossed, brows drawn together in a stubborn way that means he is absolutely not backing down.
“Come on, Byers,” Steve insists. “You don’t stack the plates like that. They’re going to fall.”
“They’re fine,” Jonathan replies. “They’re literally not moving.”
“They’re leaning.”
“They are not leaning.”
You drop your keys into the bowl by the door and stand there, watching them with a fond smile you do not bother to hide.
“Hi,” you say sweetly.
Neither of them hears you.
Steve scoffs. “You always do this. You act like I’m exaggerating and then—”
“And then nothing happens,” Jonathan cuts in. “Because you are exaggerating.”
You clear your throat loudly. They both turn at the same time.
The second they see you, the argument dies instantly. Steve’s mouth snaps shut and Jonathan’s shoulders relax. Their expressions soften instantly.
Steve exhales, a crooked smile forming. “Hey.”
Jonathan mirrors it warmly. “Hey.”
You walk toward them, eyes flicking between the two of them. “So,” you say lightly. “Are we fighting over dishes again or is this a new category?”
Steve groans. “He started it.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I absolutely did not.”
You step between them before it can escalate again, pressing a hand to Steve’s chest first, then Jonathan’s, feeling the steady warmth under your palms. “I don’t care,” you say simply. “Because I missed you both.”
That does it.
Steve’s hands come up immediately, settling at your waist. Jonathan steps closer without thinking, his fingers brushing your arm. The space between the three of you closes naturally, like it always does now.
You tilt your head up and kiss Steve first. His mouth is warm and familiar, his hand tightening slightly at your side as he leans into you, smiling into the kiss, still finding it hard to believe that this is real even now. You pull back just enough to catch your breath, and then you turn and kiss Jonathan.
Jonathan’s kiss is different. It’s deeper and slower. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin. He exhales softly against your mouth, releasing all the tension in his body.
When you pull away, you don’t move back. Instead, you reach up and cup both of their faces, your thumbs brushing over familiar features. You lean in again, pressing a kiss to Steve’s mouth, then Jonathan’s, then back again, until their focus is no longer on each other or the argument or the kitchen. It is only on you.
Steve’s hands stay at your waist, but the grip loosens, turning absentminded. Jonathan shifts his weight, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side. Neither of them move away.
Steve is the one who breaks the silence, exhaling through his nose and glancing back toward the counter. “I still think the plates were going to fall.”
Jonathan lets out a soft scoff. “They were not.”
“They were leaning,” Steve insists, voice calmer now, less sharp than before. “You just don’t notice stuff like that.”
Jonathan tilts his head slightly, studying Steve in a way that suggests he absolutely does notice things, just not the ones Steve thinks he should. “I notice plenty. You just panic about things that don’t matter.”
Steve turns fully toward him. “They matter if I’m the one who has to clean them up.”
Jonathan’s brows lift. “You were the one who stacked them like that first.”
Steve opens his mouth, then pauses, eyes flicking to you and then back to Jonathan. “Okay, but you could’ve said something.”
“I did,” Jonathan replies. “You ignored me.”
Steve shakes his head. “You mumble.”
“I do not mumble.”
You press your lips together to keep from smiling, shifting slightly so your shoulder brushes Jonathan’s arm. “You kind of do,” you say gently.
Jonathan looks down at you, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am,” you reply, still smiling. “But you definitely mumble.”
Steve lets out a quiet laugh at that, ducking his head. “See? Vindicated.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it now. “Great. I’m surrounded.”
You lean back just enough to look at both of them, your hands still resting where you left them. “Aw, cheer up, Jon,” you say.
Steve laughs, repeating what you said. “Yeah, cheer up, Jon.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes at Steve. “Shut up. It’s only cute when she says it.”
You glance between them, then shake your head. “I’m not getting involved in kitchen politics.”
Steve smiles at that, fingers tightening at your waist. “Smart.”
Jonathan studies the way Steve’s hand rests on you, then the way your body leans easily into both of them. His voice softens when he speaks again. Jonathan shifts closer, close enough now that his shoulder presses fully into yours. “Next time,” he says, glancing at Steve, “I’ll let the plates fall.”
Steve raises an eyebrow. “You absolutely will not.”
Jonathan shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Steve scoffs. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
Jonathan’s lips curve slightly. “If I’m such a pain in the ass, why don’t you just walk away?”
Steve lets out a sharp breath, feigning annoyance. “Because for some reason, I thought falling in love with you was a smart decision, and now you’re really testing that theory.”
You watch the exchange quietly, your heart full. You lean forward and press a quick kiss to Jonathan’s cheek, then turn and do the same to Steve. Both of them only blush in response.
Steve clears his throat. “Okay,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “If you’re going to do that, I’m calling a truce.”
Jonathan glances at you, then back at Steve. “For now.”
“For now,” Steve sighs.
“Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s go sit down before you two find something else to argue about.”
They both laugh, and they follow you without question. You smile to yourself, realizing that what once felt confusing finally makes sense, and that you are exactly where you belong.
★ american teenagers - a stranger things series ★ steve harrington x reader
0:00 ───|────── 0:00
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
♪ say what you want, and say it like you mean it- ♪
★ summary: following the plotline of stranger things - steve harrington has been your best friend since you moved to the quaint town of hawkins, indiana, from the bustling city of new york in third grade, a move prompted by a familial tragedy. in your junior year of high school, you get swept up in a world full of monsters, other worlds, and strange little girls with powers. when standing in the face of death, will you do the impossible and face your feelings?
★ paring: steve harrington x bestfriend!reader
★warnings: violence, gore, angst, slow burn (like, very slow), fluff, suggestive content (MDNI - 18+), swearing, light substance use, steve is clueless for like, pretty much the whole story
