saw 5sos a month ago, and i’m still in my post concert depression era 😔
Summary: Steve’s holding onto the memories he has of you, hoping desperately that you’ll come back to him from the prison your mind is trapped in.
WC: 5.4k
Warnings & What to Expect: reader is in the coma instead of max, mentions of hospitals, super quick needle mention, reader unable to move her body after waking up from the coma (similar to Max), brief descriptions of death, blood, and grieving, some horror elements, talks of having kids, season 5 plot but i have changed things around for the sake of the imagine, some details inspired by the song, lots of angst with a happy ending!
Peach’s (Jenn’s) Note: this is based off of this request 😭 it’s been quite a bit lovie, so sorry for the delay. writers block has beef with me rn. hoping you enjoy 🧡
“And then he made me sort the tapes. Again,” Steve huffs, head thrown back against the couch in frustration.
“That’s annoying,” you hum, carding a hand through his hair and pushing it back behind his ear.
“Right? You don’t think I’m being dramatic do you? Robin’s been giving me shit about it all week,” he whines, tilting his head to look at you.
“Not at all, baby,” you reply, dragging your free hand up the expanse of his chest to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.
Truthfully, you thought he was being a bit of a drama queen. But you weren’t going to tell him that when you were perched on his lap - curled up against him as he ranted on about how Keith was making his job at Family Video harder than it needed to be.
“He’s doing it on purpose too. The asshole wants to torture me into quitting,” Steve huffs.
“That’s so unfair,” you muse, shifting yourself closer to wrap your arms around his neck.
He continues to gripe about Keith being an asshole, Robin egging it on, and the never ending flow of customers who are rude to him.
And you’re trying to listen, really you are. But he’s looking particularly gorgeous today - clad in his light wash jeans that hug his thighs and the cute little polo shirt that peeks out from under his work vest. The first couple of buttons are popped open, exposing a small tuft of chest hair underneath that’s practically begging you to feel him up.
Your eyes wander to his lips as they move rapidly, then to his eyes that look dark brown in the moonlight and hazel in the shine of the daylight. You move on to tracking the unlimited amount of freckles and moles that dance across his skin, the same ones you swear you could count one day if he held still long enough.
God he’s a vision, and you just have to let him know.
“You’re so pretty, Stevie,” you grin, interrupting him mid rant.
Steve raises his eyebrows, “Oh you think so, honey?”
“Mhm,” you hum, pressing your lips along his jawline - giggling when you notice the kiss prints drenching his skin.
“Why’d you stop?” He frowns playfully, arms locking around your waist.
Your thumb rubs at the smudges littering along his jaw, “Lipstick’s getting on you.”
“Don’t wipe it off,” he complains, “I like being marked by you.”
The statement makes you bashful, and you can feel heat creeping up your cheeks.
“You blushing, baby?” He grins, which furthers the flush that you feel rushing to the tips of your ears.
“No,” you mutter, ducking your head.
He pouts, “Oh c’mon, sweet girl, don’t hide from me.”
Steve’s thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, coaxing you to look at him.
But when you do, there’s something off about him. You can’t tell what it is, but it’s there - like a slight glimmer wavering around him, coating his being in something sickly that you don’t understand.
“Steve?” Your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the image in front of you.
“Don’t hide from me,” his voice turns sour, becoming bitter and dark as it envelops you.
You try to move, desperate for answers, but something is tethering you to him - forcing you to stay still.
“It’s only a matter of time before I find you,” he sneers, face twisting and contorting - human flesh turning into grotesque veins.
You’re no longer in Steve’s living room, cozied up next to him while he frets about his day. Instead, you're in the lap of an all too familiar figure that you’ve been relentlessly trying to run from.
“Let me go!” You scream, fighting with every fiber to break away from his hold.
When it gives, you’re thrust backwards - landing in a puddle of remains, trying not to think too hard about whose they might be.
Your body is heavy, aching with exhaustion as you stare up into the abyss of the world you can’t comprehend, the one you’ve been trapped in since that fateful night Vecna consumed you.
You know you’re a target out in the open like this, a sitting duck for him to hunt down, but you’re tired of resisting - growing weary that you may never return to the physical realm.
And so you let yourself drift, succumbing to sleep from one world of nightmares to the next.
The combination of the bright fluorescent lights, low drum of machines whirring, and strong scent of disinfectant never failed to give Steve a headache.
It throbbed menacingly, a strong stinging sensation that felt like a bruise being poked over and over again - almost like it was warning him that each time he stepped into the miserable place of Hawkins Memorial, he’d be leaving disappointed.
But he would take a headache every damn day of his life if it meant you weren’t the one resting on the hospital bed in front of him.
“C’mon, honey. Need you to pull through this,” Steve mumbles, thumb stroking along the frigid skin of your hand that’s wrapped in his.
You’re unresponsive, as you have been for the past year and a half, and Steve’s never been more anguished than watching each day tick by without a sign that you could hear him.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you. Things are,” he sighs heavily, shaking his head, “not great.”
He grasps onto your hand more firmly, threading his fingers through yours and brings your arm to his lips. He tenderly presses kisses to your skin - careful to avoid the needle digging into the tissue underneath your forearm that's connected to an IV drip.
“This quarantine is driving people stir crazy. The crawls keep leading nowhere. And your brother,” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
Dustin had been a huge pain in his ass for the past few months. Steve knew the teenager was grieving - knew that he lost a piece of himself when he lost Eddie and couldn’t fathom the idea of having to live in a world without his older sister too. And he knew that Dustin also had far too much pressure thrust upon him than he should at his age.
But your brother was taking it out on Steve - constantly snapping, snarking, and throwing harsh quips his way.
Steve was nearing his boiling point over it - ready to open his mouth and release words of fire that he wouldn’t be able to take back. Each time he almost did so, he was reminded of you.
Reminded that he barely had time to say goodbye before you were ripped away from him, which ultimately always made Steve resist the urge to lob something hurtful back towards Dustin.
So instead of telling your motionless body that your little brother was being a raging prick to him, Steve simply says, “He needs you.”
Steve thinks about the night he lost you often, though it continues to rip open the wound in his heart again and again each time he replays it in his memories.
“You can’t,” Steve had protested.
“I can,” you replied firmly, thumb easing against the little wrinkle that formed over his brow bone.
Steve swallowed thickly, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you have Nancy and Robin to fight with you. Dustin has Eddie to protect him. But Max and Lucas need one of us. I’m going with them, Steve,” you answered, set in your decision to not leave them behind.
“That wasn’t the plan,” he retorted, gripping your waist tightly.
“It wasn’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t let them go alone,” you countered.
Steve felt his throat tighten, felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fill his eyes, “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“Steve,” you cupped his face, fingers splaying out gently along the expanse of his neck, “I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you, but I’m scared. You said it yourself, this time is different. Heavier. One of us might not make it out of this, and it cannot be you,” he implored, reaching up to grasp lovingly at your wrists.
You took a deep breath, “Steve, I love you, and-.”
He shook his head, cutting you off, “No. No, don’t do that to me. Don’t act like this is goodbye.”
“But it could be,” you whispered, “and I need you to know that you’ll be fine without me if something does happen.”
Steve scoffed at the thought, “I would never be the same without you.”
“You’d have to try. For Dustin. For me,” you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.
He closed his eyes, let his hands slide down to your elbows - tried to ground himself in the moment, because if it truly was the last time he touched you, then he wanted to soak in your presence - bathe himself in these tiny pieces of yourself you were giving him before you were gone.
And when Steve heard the four chimes of that fucking clock a couple hours later, he thought Max was a goner - didn’t realize he was the one that would be brought to his knees at the sight of you, broken and bloody in her arms.
Steve still can’t shake Dustin’s cries that night - had to watch him scream his lungs out over Eddie dying before he repeated the same devastating noise at the sight of you.
He hears it in his nightmares, hears the screeching of the demobats, hears the own strangled sound of despair he let out when he saw you lying lifelessly in the aftermath of the battle.
The steady beep of your heart monitor drags Steve out of the horrific things that plague his mind, trying to focus back in on the sight of you in front of him - not moving, but at least you’re breathing.
“I need you,” he admits brokenly, forehead dropping down to rest against your thigh.
His palm lands against your knee, thumb brushing lazily over the thin material of the white cotton blanket that covers you.
“Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me,” he begs, feeling an overwhelming amount of agony from the lack of your reply.
A light knock at the door makes him look up to see Robin poking her head in, lifting her fingers in a brief wave to announce her presence.
She tentatively walks across the room towards Steve, quietly taking a seat next to him. She knows better than to ask if anything has changed at this point, and Steve finds her silence sickening, because god when Robin is silent - it meant that she thought things were bad.
“Steve,” she eventually says, placing a hand on his back.
He makes a rapt noise of recognition for her, but doesn’t take his longing eyes off of you - admiring your beauty even in the dullness that’s taken over your features from being stagnant for so long.
“When was the last time you showered?” Robin probs, no judgment in her tone - just pure concern for the well being of her friend.
“Dunno,” he mumbles desolately.
“Go home,” she presses, “take care of yourself. You know she’d be heartbroken if she saw you wallowing like this.”
Steve hates that she’s right, but still doesn’t move from his spot, “I don’t wanna leave her alone.”
“She won’t be alone. I’ll stay with her. Plus, I brought another visitor,” Robin tilts her head to the hallway, silently insinuating whoever came with her is out there.
“Dustin?” He questions.
Robin nods softly, “Yeah. The little twerp insisted he come today. Said he had a feeling she might wake up soon.”
“God, I hope so,” Steve admits.
“Me too,” she agrees quietly.
They sit in silence for a few minutes before he sighs, untangling himself from you before standing up.
“Gonna go home and freshen up, then I’m coming right back,” Steve declares while heading for the door.
Dustin’s leaning against the wall when Steve exits, “No updates?”
Steve closes his eyes briefly, disappointment washing over him at the question, “No. You doing okay, man?”
Dustin shrugs noncommittedly, “Could be better.”
“Yeah, same,” Steve replies dully.
He misses his friendship with the boy, hates the strained riff that hangs over their heads.
And he misses you. Misses how you could mediate things between the two of them. He often finds himself wondering if you never come to, if things will ever return to the way they once were between himself and your brother.
He places a soothing hand on Dustin’s shoulder, “I’m stepping out for a bit. Call me if you need me.”
Dustin nods solemnly, not bothering to bid Steve goodbye before walking into your room.
You wake up to the sound of Steve begging, watching as he clings to your frail body.
Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me.
His voice rings in your ears, the statement a loud roar echoing through your brain, but the sound of it is ripped away when you see the clouds beginning to shift - covering the vision in the hazy red of the sky.
“Steve!” Your throat feels raw from screaming his name, pleading for him to return to you.
You’ve lost track of how many times reaching him has been at the tips of your fingers, only for the illusion to fade - like a carpet being yanked from under you with nowhere soft to land.
Tears stream down your face as you frantically spin around, praying that you could see him one more time.
“No, please, no,” you cry, stumbling over a gnarled root that sticks out from the ground.
You land harshly on your knees, hands cutting open from the fall - nauseated by the blood that starts to seep out.
You squeeze your eyes shut, “It’s not real. It’s not real.”
The phrase is what keeps you going - playing on repeat because you know that your physical body is intact, have seen it when that blissful image of Steve appears in the thunderous clouds above you.
You’ve watched him hopelessly for months now, maybe longer, but time has been too hard to keep track of in this prison world that Henry has locked you away in. You’ve been hiding from him - somehow finding holes in his mind, and he lets you linger in pockets of memories that he won’t enter.
It feels like he’s toying with you sometimes, willing to let you go if you can play his game and find the way out. But as each day passes, you find it harder to distinguish what’s tangible and what’s not - slowly dwindling into madness.
The only thing keeping you from spiraling completely has been the glimpses of moments with Steve that flash in brief seconds before withering away.
You can feel one starting to creep into the crevices of your brain; the time you admitted you saw a future with him.
You were at Lover's Lake, watching the sun set across the horizon - fading into faint pinks and oranges as it drifted down.
The two of you were lounging on the hood of Steve’s Beamer, basking in the warmth of the summer evening - listening to the chittering of nightlife taking over.
Steve was leaning backwards, extending his legs to let your head rest on his lap, and his hand was combing gently through your hair.
“You’ve been quiet for a while, Stevie,” you mumbled, eyes growing heavy in content from his fingers working at your scalp.
“Hmm,” he hummed softly, eyes flickering towards you.
“I wanna know what you’re thinking about,” you rolled over, allowing yourself to look up at him.
If you could burn the image of him behind your eyelids you would, because the look on his face was one of pure adoration - staring in awe of your radiance.
“When I was younger, my parents would take me here during the summer,” he moved his thumb to brush gingerly along your jaw.
“Yeah?” You prompted, curious to know where he was going with that lead.
“Yeah. They were always distracted though. They’d be giving each other the silent treatment after an argument, or they were too focused on worrying about appearances in front of other families. Forced me to get really good at being creative since I didn’t have anyone to play with,” he continued, letting his index finger skim over the delicate skin under your eyes.
“There had to have been other kids there,” you remarked.
He shrugged, “There were, but uh, if you can believe it, I was kind of shy back then.”
Your heart faltered at the thought of him being a child and feeling the weight of being left out, even if it wasn’t intentional.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, curling a hand into the fabric of his shirt.
“Don’t be. It made me realize that I won’t ever let my kids have to experience that,” he mused.
Your breath hitched, “Your kids?”
“Well, our kids. They’d have each other at least and-,” Steve cut himself off after realizing what he revealed.
His eyes squeezed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
You watched him internally panic for a second, before pushing yourself up so you could relieve the tension that you saw settling over his shoulders.
“Hey,” you started, pressing a reassuring hand against his thigh.
“That was stupid, forget it,” he groaned, dragging a hand roughly down his face.
“What if I don’t want to forget it?” You refuted.
“You mean it?” He asked timidly.
You crossed your legs underneath you and wrapped a hand around his bicep.
“I’ve thought about it too,” you admitted.
His eyes grew glassy as he let out a sharp breath of disbelief through his nose, “Seriously?”
You released a quiet laugh, “Of course. I know we’re young, but I see a future with you, Steve. And I can’t see myself having any of it - kids, marriage, whatever it may be - if you’re not there with me.”
“Fuck, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he confessed.
You let your eyelids flutter closed - nose nudging his, “It’s about time, Harrington. Because I know I’m falling in love with you.”
Steve slotted his lips with yours, no longer able to hold himself back from proving to you the unadulterated affection he has for you - capturing your mouth hungrily in swift, greedy presses to emphasize his appreciation.
You pulled back just a fraction, “Plus, we’ve got practice carting Dustin around. He’s kind of like our trial run, isn’t he?”
Steve laughed against your mouth, giddily pressing his lips against yours until you were light-headed with want.
The memory jolts something within you, like numb limbs gaining strength after falling asleep, and suddenly you can see it; the picture of yourself opening up in front of you, nearly paces away.
A sudden burst of sentences reverberates throughout the inner workings of your being.
Fight for Dustin. For me.
I need you, honey. We all need you.
I can’t do this without you, baby.
Please, come back to me.
It’s the last one, spoken so rawly by your lover that it spurs you on, forces you to move your feet from a trudge to a sprint - recognizing that this moment is critical, the one that could change the tides and tip the scale towards your loved ones victory against the sinister world you’ve been bound in.
There’s only one name that echoes inside of you as you get closer to a taste of the world - the real one, the one that you’ve been separated from for far too long - and it’s Steve.
Steve.
Steve.
Steve.
Steve throws his keys on the kitchen counter, scrubbing his hands over his eyes, pressure building from yet another day without you waking up.
He leans against the cold surface, back digging into the granite as his eyes find the coffee cup that sits idle by the sink. It was your favorite to use when you spent the night at his place, and there’s a faint lipstick stain that’s wrapped around the rim - dust collecting inside the unwashed dish.
Steve can’t help but feel haunted by the ghost of you in his own home.
He lets himself pretend through the fragments of you he has left, because he’s starting to forget what your voice sounded like, what your touch felt like, what it felt like to be looked up and down by you when he wore your favorite yellow sweater of his. The same one he was wearing when you recognized that you were in love with him. Which was now gone, and yet another torturous reminder of his loss.
It’s why the coffee cup sits untouched, why he can’t sleep on your side of the bed, why he can’t bring himself to wash the last t-shirt you slept in. He swears there’s lingering traces of your perfume wafting through the air sometimes from it.
He imagines you dancing in the emptiness of his living room, twirling in his arms because if he lets himself sink into reality; he fears it means accepting that he’s lost you, that there’s no hope for you to return to him.
The first thing you notice when you come to is the darkness that reigns behind your eyelids. You can feel your muscles twitching, aching to move, but your body is not cooperating with the messages that your brain is signal firing.
You hear a sharp intake of breath, feel the warm press of someone’s hand slip into yours, the scrap of a chair indicating they’re moving closer.
The familiar rumble of your little brother’s voice infiltrates the room.
“Dusty?” You slur, tongue feeling heavy from not being used.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he squeezes your hand.
“Where, w-,?” You stutter, feeling an aggravating pain shoot through your vocal chords.
“Hey, take it slow. It’s been a while since you’ve talked,” Dustin reprimands.
“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking - desperate to know where he is, eyes in a flurry of movement from trying to peel open.
Dustin slowly swims into your gaze, though it’s still blurry, and the intensity of the lights shining in your eyes causes streaks to glide across the room.
Another head comes into frame, and you recognize Robin’s voice before you can even see her clearly.
“Holy shit, Henderson. You’re awake,” she squeals, making your face pinch up in a wince.
“Robin,” Dustin seethes.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so good to see you moving. Harrington’s going to be beside himself,” she says eagerly, voice lowering significantly.
At the mention of your boyfriend, you try to fight against the lethargy that’s taken over your body.
“Steve, I need Steve,” you croak, feeling like cotton’s been shoved in your mouth with how dry it is.
Robin jumps out of her seat, “I’ll call him.”
“Can you get the nurse after?” Dustin asks, and she nods her head before swiftly exiting the room.
You try to force yourself into a sitting position, wiggling around in frustration at the fact that you can’t seem to control your body.
Dustin places his hands on your shoulders, “You’ve been immobile for a long time. You need to stop before you hurt yourself.”
“Dustin, I need Steve,” you repeat, tears quickly filling your lash line.
“Wow, not even a hi for your favorite brother?” He jokes, reaching out to brush a stray tear of yours away with his knuckle.
“I’m so sorry, Dusty,” your head starts to clear, fog disappearing - realizing your only brother is the one here for you, and all you can think about is Steve.
“It’s okay. I just missed you, you know?” His throat constricts, leaning forward on his knees.
“I missed you too,” you utter, giving him a small smile.
Dustin catches you up to speed on the things you’ve missed - Eddie passing, Hawkins splitting open, El returning, searching for Vecna, and the list goes on.
“Steve brought me out of this. I don’t know how, but he did,” you murmur once he’s finished.
“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s been hovering over you nonstop. Usually isn’t gone for more than an hour at a time if he can help it,” Dustin grins.
“Really?” Your smile wobbles, heart swelling at the thought of him waiting for you.
“Yeah, he,” Dustin pauses, because it was once hard for him to believe his next words, “he really loves you.”
It’s then that the nurse comes in, paging for a doctor before hustling over towards you.
“It would be helpful if you stepped out so we could run some evaluations on her,” she instructs him politely.
“No way. I’m not leaving her,” Dustin scowls.
“It’s okay, Dusty. I’m okay. Just, get Steve for me, please?” You request weakly.
He sighs at your insistence, “If you need anything, have someone get me. Robin and I will be in the hallway.”
Robin frowns when she sees him step out of your room, “He’s not picking up.”
“He’s probably on his way back,” Dustin guesses.
The two of them sink into the chairs that line the hallway, feeling antsy at the span of time without being able to check in with you.
Finally the doctor leaves, sharing some brief updates about the stability of your condition - leaving to contact Claudia Henderson, who no doubt will be making her way to the hospital in record time when she hears the news.
Dustin stands, stretching out his arms, and Robin immediately seizes his hand - lugging him to crouch behind a medical cart that just happens to be big enough to hide them.
“Robin, what the hell?” Dustin yelps, and she swiftly covers his mouth with her hand.
She points down the hall towards Steve, who’s rounding the corner.
“Why are we hiding from Steve? We want him to know,” Dustin slaps her hand away.
“Because if we run into him, I’m gonna blabber about it and don’t you think it’ll be better for him to find out on his own?” She quips back, gesturing at the melancholy look on her best friend's face.
Dustin gives a hesitant pause, but ultimately concedes, “Yeah, guess you’re right. But I call spying on them from the doorway.”
Robin rolls her eyes, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Steve’s perfected the route to your room where he’ll avoid running into nurses that like to give him looks of pity each time he shows up.
He first stops by the vending machines to grab himself a shitty coffee and a snack for you. It’s a habit he can’t put down, buying something for you despite the fact that you can’t eat it right now.
There’s a whole box full of items that sits untouched in your hospital room - overflowing with expired food at this point, but Steve doesn’t have the heart to throw them out.
He trods up the back staircase, avoiding eye contact with anyone who could possibly stop him and ask where he was headed. Finally, he stops by your door which is now closed - probably Dustin’s doing he assumes, who likes to claim it keeps the noise level to a minimum. The walls are paper thin not matter what, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to debate him on it.
He swings the door open, and starts to chatter, which is his typical routine when he’s visiting you.
“Well, honey, I got you the regular M&M’s today. They were out of the peanut ones. Can you believe that shit? What kind of establishment runs out of the best type of-,” Steve’s rambling is cut off when he walks into your room and sees you, sitting up - on your own.
The coffee in Steve’s hands crashes to the floor, black liquid seeping across the vinyl flooring - soaking into the bottom of his jeans and coating his Nike shoes with the maroon swoops, arguably having just ruined his favorite pair, but it’s the least of his concerns.
His jaw drops in disbelief, blinking rapidly to decide if you were a figment of his imagination, wondering if his brain is making you up due to sleep deprivation.
“Hi Stevie,” you rasp, wishing you could throw yourself at him.
Steve’s frozen, planted on the spot he’s standing in, because hearing your voice - the same one that he swore he might’ve been forgetting - has just bloomed out of you, flooding his brain as it ricochets around the room.
“Steve,” you whimper, can’t help but let out a breathy sob at seeing him just a handful of feet in front of you.
The whine that escapes you knocks him back into motion, practically skidding through the spilled coffee and kneeling down by the edge of your bed - legs digging into the hard floor.
“Am I dreaming?” He asks, hands reaching out to you - stopping himself from touching you because he’ll surely be wrecked to find that none of this is real.
You smile faintly, “I don’t think so.”
Steve carefully lets his fingers glide across your palm, and when your fingers twitch - feebly curling around his own for the first time in ages, he can’t help but let the tears track down his face which sets off your own.
“God, I can’t believe you’re real. And here. How are you here?” His lips part, uncertainty still keeping him at bay.
You’re not ready to disclose the torture you’ve been through, so you simply lock your fingers through his and plead, “Hold me?”
Steve’s mouth flounders, letting himself finally believe he hasn’t somehow conjured up a replica of you, “Course I can, honey. C’mere.”
He scooches himself onto the bed, maneuvering your body to rest against him - back pressed to his chest, head tucked under his chin while his arms wrap tightly around you.
“I’m so sorry,” he groans, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, honey.”
“It’s okay, Steve,” you try to reassure him.
“No, I knew not to leave you today. Dustin had a feeling you'd come back to us soon. Little shit is always right,” he grumbles, hating himself for not being there.
Fragile laughter bubbles up within you, “He always is, isn’t he?”
“I’m so sorry,” he cries, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.
“Steve,” you tilt your head back just a fraction, the best you can do for now, “you have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I know you’ve been here every day.”
“Because I knew you’d come back to me,” he tenderly dots kisses to the back of your neck.
“And I knew you wouldn’t give up on me,” you murmur, sniffling as you feel the pressure behind your eyelids build again.
“Never,” his voice is warm, laid bare with honesty.
Steve continues to grace you with his devotion, mapping your body with his hands, and it’s intimate in a way you’ve never experienced with him before.
“Can’t believe you’re here,” he repeats himself, letting the phrase hang between you two as he continues to lavish you - nose grazing your jawline, lips attaching sweetly under your ear before catching the corner of your mouth.
You suddenly feel the wet droplets that roll down his pretty face and land on the slope of your collarbone, making you itch to wipe his tears away. You try your best to shift, but no matter how much effort you put into it, you can’t get your body to move, which makes you grunt in irritation.
“What’s wrong? Does something hurt, honey?” He implores.
You bite your lip in annoyance at not being able to comfort him, “No. It’s just, I can’t move yet, and you're crying.”
Understanding ripples across his expression - knowing you're aching to provide him solace. He brings your hand up to his cheek, guiding your fingers to wipe swiftly under his eyes, along the highs of his cheekbones, before trailing down to catch the tears that puddle under his jaw.
It’s messy, but a reminder that you’re miraculously here in his arms.
“I love you,” he rasps, inhaling sharply - still in astonishment that you haven’t slipped away yet, that you haven't dissolved like ice melting under the ray of the burning sun.
And when Dustin and Robin sneakily slide in the room later, pretending like they weren’t on the verge of crying themselves, giving you the space to open up about what you’ve experienced, Steve continues to keep you grounded - unwilling to let you go, declining the notion of letting you go for even a moment, because he’ll be damned if he has to dance with the ghost of you again.
well, this started as a part two to they don’t know about us because i had some requests for that, but it just didn’t feel the same. hence why there’s hints of similarities if you’ve read that imagine!
paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)
summary: the tension finally breaks, and it runs much deeper than lust. // MDNI 🔞
WC: 15k+
includes: some angst, hurt comfort, & fluff. mostly smut, filth, sin, the works- blood play/feeding, nipple play, oral fixation, grinding, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PiV, praise kink, dirty talk, period sex (that gets pretty gross)— it will be between red dividers if you’d like to skip that!. language. traditional and modern vampire lore. Steve affectionately calls reader ‘angel’, and she has no physical description, but specific personality traits. if any of this bothers you— this is not the fic for you.
masterlist // vampire vibes playlist
A/N: HI SORRY Y’ALL. it’s been way too long 😭 I planned to finish this months ago, and then ended up with a drawn out health emergency that took up the rest of my summer (thankfully I’m ok now!), and it was hard jumping back into this. so I really appreciate y’all’s patience and kind messages/comments!!! I hope this is worth the wait and y’all enjoy it <3. there’s one part and the epilogue coming after this, so stay tuned ☺️ (dividers from the wonderful @strangergraphics, title is from tonight - amira elfeky)
‘I cannot believe you’re mine / I’ll kiss you for the thousandth time / heart to heart, we intertwine’
In between work, Steve comes in to check on you momentarily, always finding you fast asleep under his covers.
You look like you belong there— you do belong there. He likes the way his sweater— robe traded in for the familiar comfort— hangs and hugs your figure, and how graceless your positions are as you’re deep in slumber. You sprawl out most of the time, something he finds amusing, though he’s sure it’ll be a challenge sleeping next to you when you flop around like that.
It’s so… imperfectly human, one of countless little quirks he’s grown to appreciate in others since becoming a vampire.
Yet on his final check-in, he finds you lost in a state of bliss among your dreams.
You whimper, you whine, you writhe.
It feels like a private moment he shouldn’t witness.
It’d be best to leave, ignoring your inner desires unfurling before his eyes in your unconscious state.
… Yet, he stays, freezing out of curiosity with a spark igniting within him.
You mumble his name, moan for more, mindlessly fall apart as you’re deep in slumber, shrouded in sin.
“Steve…” you whine, hips rolling up into the empty air; all the blankets have been kicked aside by now, baring your nearly nude figure to him. All that’s covering you is your underwear and his cardigan.
He should wake you up—
“It hurts…” your face twists in distress and need, one hand on your breast, the other snaking down between your thighs. “Need to feel you, please.”
Even in your sleep, the way you ask so desperately for his touch, voice sickeningly saccharine, it’s dizzying to Steve. It reminds him of the way you began to unravel after he fed off of you, right before you fainted.
God… the things he wanted to do to satisfy your own hunger before you fell unconscious… they were downright devious.
Unbeknownst to you, your legs spread, fingers clumsily diving under your waistband as a dark, wet spot spreads on the fabric. Steve’s ready to fall to his knees and worship your figure with his mouth— if only you were awake.
Your beautiful, fragile body, that he wants to protect, claim, and ruin all at once.
He’d have no problem waking you up in such a sinful way, but not before you’ve established your feelings and boundaries. Yet that doesn’t stop him from licking his lips, hand palming himself through his pants as he watches you struggle to satisfy your own needs.
… Would it be so wrong to talk you through it?
Yes, that’s fucked up, he thinks. What the hell’s wrong with you?
Slick sounds of your fingers failing to pleasure yourself echo throughout the room, while you moan his name again, body trembling against his sheets.
Steve caves and drops to his knees, crawling to the edge of the bed. His hand rests gently on your arm, the one toying with your chest lazily, hoping it’d bring you back into reality. Your skin is burning, just as it did when you lost yourself in the euphoric sensation as you offered your blood to him.
“Honey, I- I can help,” he’s almost embarrassed by the way his voice quivers, but your labored breaths and breathy whines shove the shame away. “Need you to wake up, though. Can you do that, angel? Wake up for me?”
You turn your head towards the sound of his voice, even more wound up. He’s turned on, sure, but the look of agony on your face as you can’t quite reach your sweet spot, hips canting up in search of a satisfying angle— leading you away from the ache is his main desire.
Steve caresses your cheek, melting at the way your distress lessens ever so slightly. He can’t leave you like this, it’s just too cruel.
“Poor thing, you’re all pent up, never got that release you deserved,” he coos, hand resting on your forehead— Christ,you’re burning up more and more as the seconds pass. “Come back to me, angel, let me take your pain away.”
The cool touch of his palm against your overheated skin calms you, directs you out of your dream-like state and towards his voice. That, combined with the ever-growing ache you can’t put to rest, is enough to flutter your eyes open.
You hum, puzzled as your vision slowly comes into focus. Eyes sweeping over your form, you realize the promiscuous position you’re in. You freeze in embarrassment when you glance over to the edge of the bed, where Steve is watching you with concern.
“O- oh—“ your hand slips out of your underwear, slick glistening on your fingers. You pant wildly, broken out into a sweat. Shame floods in full force now; you’re shocked you can even look him in the eye. “Steve? I- I’m sorry…”
He only shakes his head, gently grabbing the wrist of your soaked hand, pulling it closer to him. For a moment, he waits for your permission; even through a clouded mind, you’re able to understand what he’s silently asking for. So, you nod.
There’s something irresistibly arousing about the way Steve licks your fingers, fangs grazing your skin every so often. This has to be on purpose; he’s absolutely doing this with intention to rile you up, and it’s working.
A moan shudders out of you when he softly sucks on one finger, pupils blown wide with lust as the color of his irises turns pure, deep red.
“Fuck, you’re delicious.” Steve crawls up onto the bed, hovering over you. The way he stares at you makes you feel like prey, but it’s not frightening. Nothing about this scares you. He looks at you like he wants to claim you, not hurt you.
Nudging his nose against yours, your breath hitches, closing in as his breath ghosts along your lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
You hesitate to answer, not because you don’t want this, you’re just in awe this is actually happening.
“I’m all yours, Steve.”
For a moment longer, Steve searches your eyes once more for a hint of doubt, locking his lips with yours after he finds nothing but a strong sense of craving.
The dream you were lost in was incredible, but this is perfect. Leisurely, his lips softly flow against your own, like time is of no concern— and really, right now, fuck time when too much has been wasted dancing around feelings.
You break out of the daze, eventually following his lead in wet, open-mouthed kisses, making a noise of contentment when his tongue teases along your bottom lip. He slots his thigh between your legs, adding pressure to your sensitive core. You jolt upward, gasping into the kiss as his fangs scrape your tongue. It stings, but it also soothes some of the fiery ache.
Tasting your blood, Steve groans roughly, lapping at your tongue with his. It’s strange, at first, when he begins sucking on your tongue, but it feels so fucking good. The bleeding subsides as he heals the scrapes with his kiss.
You push him back, only enough to look him in the eye. Barely catching your breath, you pant, “Can you— will you—“ your eyes scrunch shut, feeling foolish for asking, but your lust is stronger. “Need you…” you glide a finger along your neck, where puncture wounds would lay had he not healed them. “Here. Please?”
“Angel… you’ve barely recovered—“
“This won’t go away ‘til you do something about it, will it?” Your eyes shine with tears, ready to tumble into distress at a moment’s notice. Cautiously, yet truthfully, he shakes his head. “Hurts so bad.” When you flex your hips up against his, he stutters a breath out, eyes rolling back at the brief and faint friction.
“I know, but I can’t have you fainting again.”
“I need you more than anything right now,” you pathetically admit, fingers curling into his shirt with a tight grip. “… Would it hurt like last time?”
He hesitates to answer, searching your gaze for any sign of blood lust compromising your free will. There’s always been a certain longing within you he could pick up, and it’s still clear as day to see in your eyes. Now that longing has accelerated into something more intense, a fiery passion that only burns brighter the longer this is dragged out.
The brighter it burns, the hotter it gets, and all that’ll cool you down into a calm state is Steve’s touch.
“… Not if we keep going. It hurt last time because we stopped. That was my fault.”
“S’okay.” You gulp down a whimper, nodding frantically. “Don’t stop this time.”
Steve slips an arm around and under your waist, while his free hand moves to gently cradle the back of your head, pulling you into him.
“Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he murmurs against your neck, tongue flitting out to the sensitive curve of your neck, sloping closer down to your shoulder. You nod breathlessly, but that’s not enough. “No, angel. I need to hear you say it if you mean it.”
The gentle command earns another whimper from you. “I- I promise, Steve.”
“Promise what?” He sucks softly along your collarbone, retracing back to your neck, lulling you into a heady daze. His fangs graze your skin, and you gasp sharply. “Hm?”
“Promise that… that I…” How the hell does he expect you to focus on words right now? Reminding yourself it can’t continue without your consent, you manage through slurred speech, “I promise I’ll t- tell you to stop f’it’s t’much.”
“That’s my girl,” he praises, fangs scraping along the surface of your neck, on the edge of fully plunging in. “My smart, brave, beautiful girl.”
The praise would go to your head if he didn’t sink his fangs in immediately after. Your body seizes up, and he pulls back, just enough to speak softly. “Relax, angel. Relax for me… I’ve got you.”
Steve dives back into your neck, and just like the first time, the pain subsides into pleasure. Only this round, the intensity of the heat flowing through your veins never fades, just turns into an… enjoyable ache. The sounds of his lips suctioned onto you, siphoning your blood slowly, it only arouses you further.
When your clit throbs, it’s intense enough that Steve can feel it against his leg, still between your thighs. Satisfied with the way you’re unraveling underneath him, he hums, vibrations soothing any lingering ache from the wound.
His touch travels down to your chest, grazing over your bra, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You arch into his hand as it cups your breast, breaths transforming into whines as they slip from your lips.
Your fingers run through his hair, pausing mid-way in a tangled mess to tug. Mouth still on your neck, the noise he makes is muffled, but it’s still such a gorgeous, groaning sound.
The longer Steve feeds, the deeper you sink into that indulgent bliss you’ve been lucky enough to feel once before. He sucks softly, slowly, pain non-existent by now. There’s no chance to ask for more as desire takes control; he’s already one step ahead of you, reaching around your back to unhook your bra. It’s a bit awkward, still on you since his sweater is still slung over your arms, but there’s enough room to touch you the way he wants, the way he needs.
Ice cold fingers slide under the fabric, softly circling your sensitive nub. Between this and the way he’s feeding, you’re convinced you could finish from this alone. His other arm is still wound around your waist, holding you in place as you begin to squirm.
Pulling back, Steve laps at the mess of blood around the wound, careful not to lick directly over them and heal them too soon. “How are you feeling, angel?”
“S’good,” you reply, dazed. He kisses up to your jaw, nipping playfully at your skin while leaving behind kiss prints in blood. It’s short-lived as he returns back to the fresh wound, not wanting to pause like last time and send you plummeting into pain.
When he sinks his fangs back into your neck, you moan loudly, rolling your hips up into him. “Need you, need you, need you,” you chant with desperation, feeling his smirk burn into your skin.
Again, he eases off of you, just enough to speak. “Yeah? How much?”
You gasp as he grinds down into you, bulge giving just a preview of how big he must be.
“S- so much, Steve.”
“And just where do you need me?”
“In me, need y- you in me,” you babble while his hand runs down your body, fingers lingering above your waistband. “Please, please, please, I’m- I can’t—“
“Shh, patience, angel.” He slips his fingers under the elastic, inching closer to your core. “I plan on taking my time with you. Every inch of you is mine, right?”
“Yours,” you whimper, flexing your hips up only to be pinned down with his legs, straddled on either side of you now. “I’m yours, all yours.” Pleas and lust-drunk demands continue to tumble from your lips, “Touch me, fuck me, do something—”
While Steve suckles your neck, blood drips down his chin and onto you, but you don’t seem to mind. One finger easily slides down your slick folds, brushing against your clit, earning one of your precious, sinful sounds. He gives one last intense pull of blood before releasing your neck from his fangs. As he lovingly licks over your wounds, your moans grow louder.
“You’re— all of you’s’mine?” You slur out, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit with the finger still toying with you.
Steve chuckles against your neck, giving a few more flits of his tongue to close up the wound, sealing off the intense passion in your veins. There’s a new kind of pleasure burning within you, something so intense that you’ve never felt before. Something that makes you feel drunk off of lust and love.
Love? Oh, no. No, that can’t be right.
“I’m yours, angel,” he confirms, slipping his finger into you, groaning at your tight entrance. Leaning above you, droplets of your blood on his lips shimmer under the candlelight. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”
God, he’s so gorgeous.
Panting, you sit up and take him by surprise as you kiss some of the blood away, licking it up onto your tongue. You kiss him, blood mingling with saliva as he’s left to whimper into your mouth. This is gross; you’d never do something like this, but with Steve, you can’t seem to control yourself.
All the while, he’s slowly pumping his finger in and out of you, curling it in search of your sweet spot.
Steve pulls back, breathless. “No one’s ever done that before.” He checks your face for signs of weakness, afraid you’ve fallen ill. “You’re feeling alright?”
“Mhm,” you continue to pant, “needed to taste it. Wish I could taste you.”
Christ, you’re gone, and Steve is a fucking sucker for how compliant you are. He’s never been one to take advantage of someone in this state, but he’ll give into any desire you have if it means giving you the release you crave.
You writhe, grinding down onto his finger, gasping as he adds another.
He watches you in awe, admires the glow of need on your skin, the sheen of sweat shimmering in the light, the smudges of blood on your lips— your blood. You throw your head back, shuddering out another sinful moan.
“So tight, angel… dunno if I’ll be able to fit—“
“Th- then make yourself fit,” you cut him off, collapsing back against the pillows while you clench around his fingers. “Oh, god, I’m close…”
Steve’s pace quickens, fingers gliding with your slick, pumping harder with each thrust. You don’t get a chance to cry out before you’re reaching your high, gushing all over his hand.
“That’s it, come for me,” he guides you through with praise. “So good for me.”
You sit up, grabbing his face to kiss him roughly as another wave crashes over you. Barely through your first climax, a second one drives you to reach for Steve, use him as an anchor to reality. Your body jolts as he kisses you back, savoring your sweet, muffled cries.
“We didn’t even get to the good part yet,” he teases.
“I… I didn’t know that… I’m…” You shudder a moan out watching Steve slip his fingers out of you, and between his lips. He groans again, eyes rolling back while he savors your essence. You, on the other hand, feel empty now that his hand pulled away.
“It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.” He curls around your side, leading you into his arms. Weariness settles into your being, floating down from the high so gracefully. The chill of his skin is welcoming to you this time, but you notice he’s not as cold. “Never came twice in a row like that before?”
“N- no,” you rasp against his shoulder, so content you don’t have to restrain yourself; the urges to stay close to him can finally be fulfilled without guilt. “S’that normal for the… all this?”
“It’s different for everyone,” he shrugs, kissing the top of your head. “One partner I had ages ago would have climaxes that’d last ten minutes, at least.”
You snap your head up to him. “They what?”
“Yeah… wasn’t very fun overall.”
There’s no focus on Steve’s words when it instead, latches onto the sight of your blood, still fresh on his lips.
He notices, “Angel… everything alright?”
The urge to clean his lips of your blood again returns, holding you hostage in a trance. It’s disgusting, you know it is, and if it were on anyone else’s lips, the thought to kiss it away would never cross your mind.
Lines aren’t blurred with Steve, rather tangled and crossed in knots impossible to loosen. Nothing about this— Steve, your relationship and devotion to one another, the spell of unbridled lust consuming you— is normal, or natural.
He opens his mouth, probably to ask again, but there’s no room for question when you crash your lips against his. The sigh he releases breathes energy back into you, giving you the push to take over. Pushing Steve onto his back, you roll on top of him, admiring the stunned expression he bears.
Passion burns scalding hot in your veins, begging your body for more. You're quick to finally ditch your bra and strip and his sweater off your form, allowing him to admire you on a level he could only dream of before this.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, gasping as you grip his wrists, pinning them above his head. Realistically, he has the strength to overpower you, it's practically child’s play to him, but he’s more than willing to let you play pretend.
It’s the switch in demeanor that matters most, and he’s instantly pliant underneath you, ready to be molded into whatever form of submission you desire. When you roll your hips, painfully slow, your core drags along his clothed bulge, soaking the fabric on contact.
“Not fair,” you huff, releasing his hands to toy with the buttons of his shirt. “Need this off.”
Steve rushes to undo the rest of the buttons, while you slip down his body to undo his pants. He’s eventually left in his underwear, allowing you to really drink in his figure.
Gorgeous.
“You’re so— wait…” whatever compliment you had falls away, distracted by the feel of his cool skin against your palms. You slide your hands up his stomach, onto his chest, noticing that chill fade away, little by little. “… Why aren’t you super cold?”
Blushing, Steve stammers, “Because I- you— it—“ your fingers drag through his chest hair, skin pebbling underneath from your feather-light touch. “Happens when I’m… when I…” his focus veers off, entranced with the view of you from above; the shape of you, the tiny smirk that holds a flicker of wickedness, something he only hoped to see the moment he sensed it was buried deep within you.
Leaning down, you settle yourself on top of him, grinding only once to rile him up. Your voice gently coaxes him, “C’mon, sweetheart, you can tell me.”
Sweetheart.
Since when do you call anyone that?
The passion that’s running rampant within you can’t be quelled, not until you’re fully satisfied. It’s taken full control; not that this feeling isn’t yours, it’s just boldly coming to life in a way you least expected it. Steve knows this, yet can’t believe the reality before him isn’t his imagination conjuring up some sort of immersive wet dream.
Steve moans, voice shattering into desperation when one hand of yours slides between the two of you, palming him through the only barrier of fabric left. On contact, he bucks against your hand, whining while you trail kisses down his jaw and neck.
“It’s a—“ he gasps sharply when you stroke him lazily, giving a gentle, loving squeeze every so often. “Christ, I’m going to—“
You nip at his neck, nowhere near as intense as how he bites you, void of any threat, but it’s enough to hear and feel the throaty groan find its way to the surface.
Shivering when your lips latch down, sucking on a sensitive spot, he attempts to answer again, “It- it’s a vampire thing.”
Breaking the moment, you snort into his shoulder. “No shit, Steve.” Sitting up, you pull your hands back with you, grinning devilishly down at him. He pants, whines, running a hand through his hair with a pained expression.
“Fine, fine—“ Steve drags his hands over his face, covering the embarrassment building underneath. “Vampires can… run hot… when we’re, you know, aroused.”
Your smirk only grows, watching as his cheeks redden— there's something strange watching his pale skin gain some color before your eyes.
“So, you’re saying that being horny makes you literally hot.”
“The mouth on you sometimes…” he shakes his head, laughing as his hands fall away, fangs bared in all their glory. Noticing how you fixate on his mouth, he gives a quick, puzzled laugh. “What?”
“I’m glad you don’t hide your smile around me anymore,” you answer honestly, relishing in the blush that lingers along his face. “It’s pretty.”
A laugh echoes out again, and it’s a little less graceful than those prior, but something about the imperfection, the way he squints and snorts a little, it’s endearing. It’s like he’s still human underneath the layers of complexities, lore, and changed body chemistry.
Playfully, he scoffs, “Pretty?”
You give an affirmative hum. “Everything about you is.”
Steve’s smile settles down, more into something of disbelief. “I truly don’t frighten you? I thought that was one of the reasons why you left to begin with.”
“God, no. I’m so sorry.” You kiss his lips, and it’s sweet, chaste. “Told you,” your hand slides up his chest, fingers splaying out as you gently push him back against the pillows. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, Steve.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“Love.”
It slips before you can catch it, keep the secret and take it to your grave, but it’s painfully easy to be honest around Steve. Naturally, the answer surfaced without struggle.
Ignoring the playful switch exchange, Steve sits up, holding you in his lap to keep steady. "What did you just say?"
Fear of rejection begins to sink into your bones, already rooted deep in your heart all your life, ready to bloom at your most exposed moments. Your heart pounds, wishing you could take it back.
All you can do is stutter, "I- I—"
Steve rests his hand on your chest over your heart, eyes locking with yours. The panicked thumping etches worry lines into his porcelain smooth skin. "You weren't joking."
You can only shake your head, choking back tears, afraid to speak and give your feelings away. Really, what could you say?
Hey, sorry for that totally uncalled for confession, that was really dumb of me to say. We've only known each other a few months now, so I'm probably just talking out of my—
"Hey, breathe, breathe…" His soothing tone brings you back down to earth. Gingerly, he holds your face in both large hands, grounding you. There's still a contrast in temperature, though not as drastic, the chill is still welcomed against your overheated skin. "Angel, look at me, please."
You knew once you'd open your eyes, tears would slip out; shaking your head against his grip, your eyes stay scrunched shut.
"Love scares me too," he admits. "But falling for you has been easy."
Did I hear him correctly?
"Wh… what?" Though still guarded, cautious, you slowly open your eyes, adrenaline disintegrating in your veins. "You? Scared?"
There's nothing but adoration written all over Steve's face. For you.
"The night I told you the truth, you asked why I was scared." The pads of his thumbs sweep along your cheek bones, catching stray tears as they slip down your face.
His eyes are aren't the usual patchwork of greens and golden browns and coppery red, but they're not the shade of deep crimson they were earlier, either. The irises are dripping with a serene rust shade, with flecks of gold throughout.
Focus. Quit letting your mind wander.
"You mean right before Eddie barged in?"
Steve barks out a laugh, head lolling back while shaking against you. It curls your own smile to life. "Yes. He's good at that, you know. Bad timing, and whatnot."
You're paying attention, really, truly, you are… but you lean into the palm of his hand; something about his touch offers so much security and heart.
"I started to say I was afraid, because you're special to me, and I didn't want to fuck this all up," he admits, shoulders sagging. "Then I did, and—"
You clasp your hand over his mouth, shaking your head; it's so reminiscent of the night he opened up about his past, feeling like deja-vu.
"You did not. That was all me. Everything happened so fast that night, I freaked out. I- I kept thinking you'd be so disappointed if you really got to know me, beyond just being coworkers and friends."
"Disappointed?" Steve's perplexed. "By being yourself?"
Your gaze wanders away, having said too much, but Steve's hand slips under your chin, gently bringing you back to face him.
"You could never disappoint me, certainly not by being true to yourself."
A weight begs to lift from your chest, yet you grasp onto it for security's sake; can't get hurt if you don't let your guard down.
"Someone's thinking too loudly." The proclamation startles you out of the fog of self depreciation.
"Hang on," you lean back, palms on his shoulders to extend the space between you, offering skepticism in your expression. "Can you read minds, too?"
"No, you're just incredibly easy to read," Steve chuckles, eyes crinkling closed with amusement. "Even if I were still human, it'd be easy to tell what's on your mind."
"Wh— I am not easy to read!"
"No?" His tone carries a taunting weight, moving your hands aside to bring you close again. "You mean to tell me you weren't just panicking about allowing your guard to fall?"
Playfully, you sneer, "Get out of my head. What the fuck?"
"Not until you let me quiet those thoughts first, angel." Steve kisses your cheek, trailing to your neck while his hands run up your thighs. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you to drag your clothed heat against his. "Would you still like to know what happened that night? When I fed off of you?"
A gasp cuts in front of your response, only managing to nod frantically. His tongue drags along your skin, teeth nipping at your ear as he chuckles gravelly, satiated with the way you squirm in his grip.
"Would you let me show you what would've happened if we kept going?"
Arousal slicks between your legs, adding to the stickiness of friction between your bodies. One hand splays along your spine, sliding up to hold you close, your chest against his. The other finds its way to your chest, caressing the curve before kneading your breast tenderly.
Each gasp, each tiny sound you make as you try holding back how easily you're falling apart from his touch alone, tug at the corners of his smirk as he works you like putty.
"Would that finally prove I'm truly falling for you?" Your eyes flutter open as you feel his whispers against your lips. "Would that be enough?"
"You—" he pinches and tweaks lazily at your nipple, throwing you off focus. "Y- you're already enough, Steve."
"Enough for you?"
"More than enough."
"Then let me take over for now, and you don't have to worry about a damn thing, angel."
It's something sinful, the way he caresses your form while guiding you to grind on him. Back and forth in a languid pace, stretching out tension until it's thin enough to finally snap.
You pick up the rhythm, hold it steady as he praises so sweetly in your ear, "That's it… just like that." He leans in to kiss you, eager to coax your lips open with a tease of his tongue, swallowing your whimpers. You lick a little too far, scraping the tip of your tongue on a fang; the gasp that spills out is immediately muffled, and the pain subsides in a second.
Steve pulls back, chuckling against your lips, "Careful, angel, don't want to get hurt."
"What if I want it to hurt?"
Goddammit. Can't keep my fucking mouth shut.
His breath hitches in a strangled gasp and halts your hips in his grasp, resting his forehead against yours as he regains composure.
"Not for our first time, alright?" He kisses your cheek delicately. "But I'll… I'll remember that for another time, hm?"
You wriggle your hips against his palms, whining until he grabs your face, fingers squishing into your cheeks. It's not hard, just firm enough to regain your attention.
"Okay, okay," you huff, growing needier by the second. "Not for our first time."
Steve leans down to your ear, assisting your hips to roll against his again, praising silkily, "That's my girl." His whispers tingle along the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. Kissing down your neck, he pauses at the spot you seem to favor for him to feed. He asks between kisses, "How do you feel right now?"
Running a hand through his hair, you gently pull him off of you, earning a throaty groan. It was only to get him to pause, you swear.
Except that reaction caught you off guard. "Oh… you like that?" A smirk begins drawing up on your face, and he narrows his stare at you.
"Angel, play nice."
The warning tempts you to do the opposite, coil tightening low in your tummy. You don't want to push it though, not in such a sacred first moment together.
Releasing his hair, you murmur, "Sorry."
Steve's over-affectionate with the gentle, chaste kisses, but with him, you don't mind. He adds to the countless, ever-growing number of kisses, lips lingering on your cheek.
"Nothing to be sor—" He leans back and pauses with a furrowed brow, searching your stare. "You apologize far too often."
"Bad habit, I guess," you mutter, shrugging. You can unpack that another time. Before he can get too sappy, you ask outright, "Are you gonna bite me again?"
Chuckling, Steve nudges his nose against yours, "Only if you're okay with that. Don't wanna push you too much in one night."
Surging forward with hunger, you lock your lips with his. There's no chance for it to become to heated when you break apart, murmuring against his lips, "I'll be good, I swear."
His head lolls back with a groan rumbling out, exhaling shakily, "Oh fuck." He didn't even ask. Steve didn't ask— but here you are, pliant and needy and willing; he'd be a fool to deny any of your desires right now.
Maybe underneath it all, Steve's really the submissive one, not you.
… He can worry about that later.
Sliding a hand down between your bodies, his fingers slip over the fabric of your panties, sliding them aside to tease your clit. You jolt and squirm, but Steve's hold on you is strong.
"If you need me to stop and can't say it," he kisses up your neck, fingers painting your slick up and down your core. "You'll tap me, anywhere, just once. I'll stop immediately."
"O- okay." Your hips buck against his touch, stilled just at the edge of your entrance. He kisses up to the spot that ruins you, the one you seem to— so far— like being fed from the most.
Fangs sinking into your soft skin, he plunges two fingers into you, earning a cry he'd never expect to hear from you. It's not pained, not in the physical sense, but you are aching for more.
As if getting blood sucked out of you while being finger fucked isn't enough.
"Steve, Jesus Christ…" Your whimper makes him hum smugly against your neck. He becomes wrapped up in your taste, fingers slowing to a pace much too tame for the passion you're lost in.
Drawing back, he laps up the blood dripping from your neck. "So good, such a good girl," he praises in a silky, low tone. "Taste so sweet, too."
You begin fucking yourself against his fingers, desperate for him to reach that spot that causes you to see stars. Strength in his grasp digs into your hip, pressing hard enough, you're certain you'll feel it tomorrow.
"Don't ruin it for yourself, angel." He curls his fingers, toying with that spot each time he pumps into you. The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit while he sinks his fangs into your neck again. "You'll take what I give you. Understand?"
Panting, you still your hips, twitching as you struggle with self control. "Ye- yeah, mhm, I—" A lewd, raw moan cuts you off, one of your own.
This is still too slow, far too slow; he knows what he's doing, fully aware of how dizzying and intoxicating it is offer your blood to a creature like himself.
After all, Steve was human once, too.
There's not much of his mortal life he's able to recall, or who exactly turned him under what circumstances, but giving yourself up to a being that could break you instantly is a thrill all in its own.
He kisses your wounds, tongue flitting out to soothe over the broken skin, healing them on the spot once more. When you whine, he assures you, "Shhh… I want to try something else. Do you trust me?"
There's no chance to answer before he swiftly withdraws his touch; the bliss begins to fade, leaving you in a fucked out, unfinished state.
"What… why'd you do that?" You pant as he lays back with a smirk. Locking eyes with you, he wraps his lips around the finger once inside you, sucking the slick right off. He groans, hips bucking up underneath you, clothed cock rubbing against your core. It breaks you, with some sort of desperate, needy noise tumbling from your lips.
Steve uses his free hand to beckon you closer, curling his index finger towards himself. The finger on the other hand slips out, reaching out for you.
You're still lost in an unsatisfied daze. "Huh?"
"Come closer," he orders so sweetly, there's no way you could say no— not like you even want to say no anyway.
You inch closer over his chest, legs straddling either side, but self doubt refuses to let yourself sit completely.
Steve shakes his head, licking his lips. "Closer."
The daze breaks, and it clicks. "You… oh. Are you… are you sure?"
"Wouldn't be asking if I was unsure," his hands find purchase on your hips again, tugging you closer to his face.
Hesitant, you bite your lip, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone and inching toward him.
Riding a partner's face wasn't necessarily new to you, it's just never been… enjoyable. Always an "in theory, not in practice" sort of act. Yet, with Steve, though nervous, your panties stick to your slick, sticky heat.
Straddling his face, he murmurs into your thigh before kissing it, "Good girl."
You grip onto the headboard of the bed, glancing down as you hold yourself up above his face, still worried to allow yourself onto him. He continues planting kisses up your thigh, fingers hooking underneath your waistband, snapping it with ease. The elastic breaks, and he tosses the fabric aside, leaving your core exposed. His breath fans out over your slit, dripping with arousal.
"Steve!" You gasp. "I liked that pair!"
"I'll buy you more," he rasps out, pressing a delicate kiss to your heat. "Promise."
There's no time to retort when he hooks his arms around your legs, forcing you to sit against his smug expression.
"Oh, fuck…" you pant out, forming into an incoherent whine as his tongue delves between your folds. Thighs clenching around his head, you gasp when he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue.
One hand presses flat against your back, holding you steady as the trembling already begins. The other kneads at the soft curve of your hip, guiding you to grind on his tongue. You find a leg-trembling pace, one that has his deep red eyes rolling back underneath you.
Steve skillfully laps and flits at your clit with an intensity you've never experienced before. Not even from your own vibrator. No, this has to be from his heightened… abilities. You're sure of it. No human has ever brought you this close to the edge this quickly.
Fingers carding through his hair, you give a healthy tug, causing him to grunt and accidentally scrape a fang along the outer edge of your folds. You yelp at the sting, melting instantly as his tongue rolls over the laceration, healing it within seconds.
"Sorry," he rasps out, pulling away while glancing up in daze. A blush creeps up his face, just on the little bit you can see, as he presses a kiss to your core, soft and gentle. You shiver, feeling your clit pulsate. "You okay?"
"Ye- yeah, m'okay," you rush out, head bobbling ardently. "Don't stop, don't—"
A long, torturous drag of his tongue up your slit steals your plea, replaced with a frantic chant of his name, thighs tensing up around his face.
The arm around your leg returns, finding your core to slide a finger in while laving at your clit. It throbs against his tongue, and he moans. Like, fully, deeply moans, vibrating against your sensitive nub.
Your head falls back with a cry of pleasure, rolling onto one shoulder. Something in the corner of your eye catches your attention; even through your stare weighed down by lust, it's still obvious how hard he is.
Steve's so turned on, he's fucking the thin, empty air surrounding him. In the midst of this sinful whirlwind, he must’ve pulled himself free from the last of his clothing, and… jesus fucking christ— You can't just leave him neglected like this.
Panting heavily, you lick your lips, attempting to twist just enough to the left, reaching behind you. His cock is stiff, leaking at the ruddy tip, swollen with need. Your fingers stretch out, just within reach of touching him, when he grabs your arm, pinning it behind your back.
The noise of displeasure you make is overcast by a betraying moan; he continues lapping between your folds, grip strong on your restrained wrist.
You twist yourself to the right, attempting to stretch again with your free hand; Steve moves swiftly, leaving you empty as his other hand grabs and pins your right arm behind you. Some slick from your arousal brushes off his finger, spreading against your skin.
"Ugh—" You struggle against his hold, but he, effortlessly with strength as always, keeps a steady grip. "Why can't I touch you?"
Steve doesn't answer— not with words, at least. He spells it out with his tongue, coaxing you to the edge while flitting it against your clit, practically making out with your heat. The growl he emits vibrates into you, sending shivers up your spine and urging you to grind down to finish off strong.
Your back arches as your head falls back, chest heaving as something starts to crack within you, giving way to something sinfully delicious.
"F- fuck, Steve," you breathe, eyes rolling back. Frantically, your fingers search for his grip as he still restrains you. He hooks one of his digits within yours; a little sign of intimate connection that only strengthens the closer you gravitate to one another.
And, fuck, you're not sure if there's anything closer than this, but your body sure craves it.
Trembling, your hips jerk as you fully break, crying out while your walls constrict around nothing, aching to flutter around him. You soak his face with a weak sob, thighs clenching around his head, something he groans lowly about in satisfaction.
Steve doesn't relent, not until you're slumping forward, face inches from hitting the headboard. He releases your arms, moving in record time to plant his palms on your torso, pushing you upright.
If you weren't so winded and dazed from the post-orgasm bliss, you'd still blink and miss how exactly he catches you, cautious in guiding you off to the side while he leans over you, checking in.
"Felt s'good," you slur, hands weakly reaching out for him, trying to pull him closer. "Need you."
His lips curl upward while he cups your cheek, whispering, "I'm right here, angel."
You shake your head, pouting. "Need you in me."
It's visible how restraining himself physically pains Steve, how difficult it is to respond with caution. "I… I think you need to rest."
When you shake your head, he laughs softly, palm uncharacteristically warm on your skin, his own desires keeping a flame lit within. It's starting to sting, flames licking up the walls of his heart, pumping his blood into temperatures he hasn't felt in…. in years.
The last time he felt this alive was when he was still human.
That lively fire… it's because of you, and god, does he yearn to be even a sliver akin to something mundane again. This would be so much easier, for you both.
But as you stare up at him, silently begging to intertwine into one another, he knows now you've accepted him, down to even the darkest truths. You weren't running from him, you were running from yourself, from your own feelings, afraid to trust your heart with someone you admire despite such an unholy difference between your lives.
Steve wants nothing more than to say it, because that's what he feels most for you, encompassing every minuscule thought and feeling surrounding you, this relationship, everything so far this summer— he feels it, feels it run so deeply through his cold veins.
He hasn't felt sunshine on his skin in quite some time, the joy of that warmth burrowing past the surface into his bones, but your presence certainly comes close. Your smile, your little mundane quirks he's lost to transformation and time, the fragility your life carries— every inch of your human self he only wants to protect, adore, and worship.
Perhaps confirming those feelings aloud were too risky, plunging him into a vulnerability he's not quite ready to navigate yet.
That doesn't mean he can't spell it out through his actions. After all, falling for you truly has been easy to him. Terrifying, but effortless.
Climbing on top of you, Steve tenderly parts your thighs, smirking as you whimper. "Are you sure?"
Though spent, you eagerly nod, pushing your legs apart a little further. One hand toys with your breast lazily, the other trailing down to your core. Steve grabs each hand, pinning them down to the mattress beside your head.
"I'll take good care of you," he leans close, whispers against your lips. "Promise."
Releasing your hands, he sits up, stroking himself with breathy groans as he greedily takes the sight of you in. He guides the tip against your clit, dragging it down to your entrance when you sit up suddenly.
Palm flat on his chest, you rush out, "Wait!"
Concern weaves its way back onto Steve's expression again. "What? What happened? Are you—"
"Condoms are in my bag," you point to the far side of his room, where some of your belongings lay in a heap.
He breaks into a grin, amusedly assuring, "We don't need—"
"Oh, yes, we do," you chuckle, though firm in your serious stance. You cross your arms, narrowing your stare at him. "I don't need to get pregnant and die having some kind of vampire-human hybrid baby."
Steve's lips press together, trying to restrain a taunting laugh. "You… you mean a dhampir?"
You snap your fingers and point at him, thrilled he filled in the blank for you. "Yeah! Yeah, that. No fucking thanks." Then you add sheepishly, "No offense."
"Angel, I wouldn't ever—" His demeanor begins to slip into something serious, but rebounds at the realization, "How do you know about dhampirs?"
Puffing your cheeks out, embarrassment creeps hotly under your skin as you exhale. "Uh… research? … Y'know, after you told me your secret… found out way more than I bargained for, that's for sure."
Expression falling flat, Steve reaches his arm out toward your bag, refusing to break eye contact as it flies swiftly into his hand. He grips it instantly, smirking again when your jaw drops.
"Are you serious?" He forfeits the bag. You rummage through it, finding the foil packet and chucking your bag back to the floor. "You can do cool shit like that, too?!"
Steve's trying, really, he's trying so hard to hold himself together, to not burst into lighthearted chuckles over your awestruck state. "That, and a bit more." He plucks the packet from your fingers, tearing it open with ease on one fang. Your eyes are wide with wonder, and the laughter tumbles out of him. "You are far too easy to impress."
Scoffing, you swipe the condom out of his grasp, rolling it over his length. A breathy whine falls away from his parted lips, earning your satisfied smirk. "Yeah, well…" leaning back, you cant your hips just right for easy access. Steve takes the hint, rutting his cock between your folds teasingly. "N- never had a vampire boyfriend before, so…"
The head of his cock is caught at your entrance while he pauses, breath hitching. "Boyfriend?"
You nod, "Mhm—" Steve begins to sink himself into you. Gasping, you take the stretch of every inch. "— oh, fuck."
He's got one hand sliding up your thigh, caressing on it's way to your hip. Your legs lift and bend a bit, allowing him in a little more.
"You really want— ah!" He bottoms out in you, completely buried to the hilt. You cry out, grasping his forearms. Panting, he leans over you, hands planted on either side. "You'd really w- want that?" He sucks in a sharp breath, "Fuck, you're tight."
"More than anything." You shudder out a sigh, clenching around him while he patiently, yet painfully, waits for you to adjust. "Steve, move, please—"
"Doesn't hurt, does it?" He asks as you tense up. Cupping your face, he orders, "Angel, look at me."
Through bleary eyes, you do. "Ju- just s'full."
Steve kisses your neck with a breathy laugh. "I know, sweetheart. A lot to take, hm?" His kisses trail down to the swell of your breast, fangs grazing along your soft skin. "Want to taste you again… please?"
"Yeah, ye- yes," you sigh, one arm slinking around his back. Your free hand cards through his hair, softly pushing him closer by the back of his head.
His thumb flicks lazily over your nipple, hand cupping your breast, massaging it softly. His lips wrap around the pebbled skin closest to him, giving soft, open-mouth kisses, teeth tickling your supple flesh.
Steve only sucks, tongue flicking at your nipple, waiting for your permission. All the while, he's dragging himself in and out of you, in no hurry to reach his peak.
"Need you, Steve," you gasp, pushing his face into you again. A muffled groan rumbles against your chest. His fangs catch, slowly sinking into your breast. "A- ah… oh my god…"
Blood flowing freely, he feeds greedily, sucking down every drop. The arm on that same side winds around your hips, holding you steadily as you squirm. His other hand abandons your breast to care for your neglected clit, but the sensation remains; pinching, squeezing, flicking, caressing— it all continues as a ghost of his touch.
Vampires are full of surprises.
It doesn't take much, incredibly sensitive from multiple highs and his feeding, bringing you seconds away to a trembling crescendo. Clenching and fluttering around him, your legs tighten around his waist, tugging your bare selves flush against one another.
"M'gonna… I'm— fuck!" You babble his name in a desperate plea for more. Of what, you're unsure, but you need more of him. You're infatuated, obsessed, and can't think straight.
"Right here, angel, m'right here," he mumbles against your breast, pace on your clit never letting up. He continues to feed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth when he affirms, "I've got you. Let go."
Let go, you do, but not without allowing your feral side to thrive.
Roughly, you grab Steve by his hair, dragging him off your skin to kiss him with reckless abandon. Moaning into him, you realize he still has a mouthful of your blood, and god, this shouldn't turn you on. At. All. But sharing what keeps you both alive is morbidly romantic, erotic for all the wrong reasons— and you love it.
Steve's tongue flicks against yours, massaging the metallic tang of your blood against your taste buds. You feel dizzy, you feel alert, you feel wild. The two of you are insane. Absolutely fucking insane.
Love makes you do crazy, stupid shit, but you didn't think it could turn into something like this.
Sucking softly on your tongue, Steve manages to feed off the remainder of blood. He breaks the kiss, murmuring huskily, "Don't swallow that. You'll get ill."
You laugh while flashing your dull, human teeth up at him with a red tint, matching the messy swipes and smearing of it across your lips.
"S'my blood, I'll be fine." You know that's not how that works. He knows you know. You're not here to play it safe.
Unless, it revolves around getting pregnant by a vampire, in which case, yeah, you'll stay safe on that without complaint.
"Spit," you whimper, tongue lolling out beneath him.
Steve should think twice, doesn't think at all, only listens. When the crimson tinged saliva hits your eager tongue, you release such a filthy, pornographic moan, it causes him to climax immediately.
He whimpers your name, strong arms winding around your frame to cradle you close. Your lips are back on his, moving with urgency to add to his peak of pleasure. Hips stuttering wildly, he pulsates and throbs inside you, wishing he could fill you to the brim, completely claim you, forever.
For now, it'll do. Something like forever is ultimately for you to decide, though, and he respects that. He's just grateful you have one another in the here and now.
Steve's strong embrace keeps you flush against him, even after he comes down from his high. The two of you are left panting, traces of blood on your faces. You shower one another in tender kisses and sweet whispers of praise, and eventually, his skin cools down while he softens inside you.
Breathless, your head collapses back onto the down pillows, sinking slowly. Steve gives you a bit of breathing room, but certainly doesn't go far. He's propped up on his elbow, leaning over you with that fond, gentle smile you love so dearly. He caresses your face, lightly panting along with you.
"You woulda' done all of that because I gave you my blood?" There's curiosity that lies behind your teasing.
Steve's face falls, but not into anything dismal or of concern. No, this held something deeper, sincere. His hand stills, holding your face so gingerly, red eyes fading into something calmer, but refusing to leave your stare.
Your heart's ablaze with admiration. If only you knew months ago how this once unattainable, forbidden crush would blossom into such deep, delicate feelings for him.
And as if he hasn’t won your heart over already, he answers earnestly: "Angel, I would give you the whole world if you'd let me."
The first month together with Steve is nothing short of blissful— in a creepy, bizarre sort of way, of course. But it works.
Finding someone who understands you on that level, who you work with so well— literally and romantically— it's what you've always desired in a partner. You were just never lucky enough to find someone willing to sink their teeth deeper than the surface of a relationship.
Most nights, you find yourself staying over after working so late. When there's downtime in between decedents, he's so persistent about helping you with your notes, reviewing with little corrections as he praises the growth you've shown in your hard work.
Never before have you had a partner that was so adamant about working hard toward your goals, while finding balance to put your needs first, too. Steve's not pushy, doesn't nag (though sometimes you tease him for how serious he gets), doting but never overbearing, and only wants the best for you in whatever your dreams are.
Never before have you ever had a partner who was also undead, fangs and all, but you know what they say; there's a first time for everything.
Despite Steve being such a generous partner in nearly every aspect of your relationship, he's finally begun to let his guard down, allow you to care for him, too.
From little things, like checking in when he's working long hours, if he needs to feed— be it from his usual supply or you. The latter is never the choice if he's still working; last thing he needs is distraction, and feeding from you simply shuts out the world around him. Then you're left a whining mess, drunk off his blood lust and your blood loss, and he's always got to do something about it— not like he's ever one to complain, of course.
Today felt never-ending, leaving behind exhaustion so heavy you were ready for bed the moment you and Steve called it a day. Too tired even for the sickeningly sweet and domesticated routine you've fallen into while staying the night; a cup of tea for you, a glass of blood for Steve, all cozy and cuddled up to one another while winding down the day together.
Steve knew you could stretch your energy thin, but he's never seen you so drained before.
Well, other than when he quite literally drained blood from you the very first time. You've grown accustomed enough to his feedings that you rarely pass out now.
You're about to flop down on his couch, too winded for another flight of ridiculously ornate Victorian-styled stairs, but his ever so speedy reflexes catch you in time.
"Steeeeeve, why?" You groan dramatically, drawing a chuckle out of him. He's amused at first, about to pull you upright when he realizes just how tired you are.
"Sorry, angel. You need proper sleep in a proper bed." Slipping an arm under your legs, he sweeps you off your feet as he cradles your back, carrying you bridal style. He loves doing this a little too much, but you've stopped complaining. If he wants to use that vampire strength to carry you, he can have at it.
Arms hooking around his neck, you tuck your head in too. "M'sorry, just so sleepy."
"Shouldn't apologize for that when you normally have a hard time sleeping, hm?" He carries you up a few steps before you hiss, feeling a dull ache in your lower half. He pauses mid-step. "Are you alright?"
"I think it's just from being on my feet all day. M'fine, promise." You swallow down the ache, fatigue keeping you from caring much more.
He carries you into the bedroom, helps you get ready for bed alongside him, and you're out like a light the moment your head hits the plush, silky pillow.
Something rouses Steve from his slumber in the dead of night, internal alarm bells going off, driving him into panic.
A distinct, familiar scent hits him, hits him hard; he smells blood, and it's certainly not his.
The faintest whimper draws his attention to you, curled up in his king sized bed next to him. You're not sprawled out in the usual way, the one he finds endearingly human. Instead, you're tucked up into a fetal position, arms wound around your own belly, face contorted in misery.
Steve scans over your figure with concern, checks over your skin for any lacerations. His eyes flit up to your face- your poor, pained features- and there's no blood dripping from your nose. No crimson peeking out between your lips. He's almost relieved, but the sharp, metallic scent won't fade away.
It's one he normally welcomes, one he craves, but something's not right, and clearly you're in pain.
"Angel," he whispers, large hand cupping your face, cradling it softly and feeling how clammy you are.
It's reminiscent of the time he found you lost in pained pleasure, desperate for his touch, for relief. Except now, there seems to be no pleasure in sight, only suffering.
"C'mon, wake up for me," he softly demands, drawing back to flip a lamp on, sat atop a nightstand off his side of the bed. He rolls back to you, fingers combing through your hair, and you start to stir. "That's it, it's okay, I'm here."
You mumble something incoherent, brows tugging together the more you awaken.
"What was that?" He leans closer, kissing your forehead.
"Hurts," you whine, rolling yourself closer to him, clutching your torso tighter.
"Can I look? Make sure everything's alright?" You nod curtly, arms reluctantly retreating away; he gently pulls your loose sleep shirt up to expose your tummy.
There's no blood, so that's good. Kind of. Because the source isn't here, so where the hell are you bleeding from?
Steve pulls back the covers, glancing back at you while your eyes are scrunched shut. It takes a moment, blending in with the silky red sheets on his bed, but he notices a darker spot, just on the fabric underneath you. It leads up to your shorts that aren't normally red, and— Oh.
Oh.
Periods. Right. That's a thing for humans, and that's why you're bleeding.
He feels like an idiot for even forgetting that was a thing, adding up all the symptoms you've experienced all day, and the pain now.
To be fair, you weren't nearly spending as much time together until a month prior, so he's never seen you in this state— or you just hid it well.
… Sure explains his senses spiraling out of control once a month since you began working with him; he could never seethe blood, only trace the scent easily. Before you knew his truth, it was a challenge to hide his bloodlust from no immediate, visible source.
You lean up on your elbows, wincing as you glance down, bleary eyed. "Wha's'wrong?"
"Hang on," Steve slips out of bed, returning in record time with towels.
That's when it catches up to you, embarrassment pricking tears in the corner of your eyes.
"Oh my god, fuck, Steve, m'so sorry, I- I- I didn't— fuck, what's today?" You're normally so good about tracking your cycles, how on earth did you let this slip up, and now of all fucking times?
He gently cleans the blood between your legs, ignoring the urge to lick your thighs clean. His lip twitches before he focuses again. "Hey, there's nothing to apologize for."
"Except ruining your fancy sheets— god, I am not sophisticated enough to be a vampire's girlfriend." You're not sure whether to nervously ramble, cry, allow the embarrassment to eat you alive, or all three. "You probably got these in like, fucking, I don't know, Romania, or some shit."
Steve can't catch the laugh that slips away in time. "Romania?"
"Yeah!" You glare at him incredulously, like he doesn't know his own lore. "Isn't that like, the vampire capital of the world?"
Now he can't stop laughing, shaking his head as he pauses to look up at you. "Where are you getting any of this nonsense?"
"I- I don't know, the movies?"
"You need to stop watching those vampire films," he teases, licking his lips as he notices just how soaked with blood your panties are. Again, he ignores his cravings. "Those just fill your head with nonsense. Got you believing I'm out here buying bedsheets halfway across the world."
"Well, I don't know shit, and these sheets are really nice! And I ruined them!"
"Blood is easy to remove from fabric, I'm kind of good at that by now." He smirks lazily, fangs peeking out, tempting you to beg for their sharp affection. "And I got these at the mall, not fucking… Romania, Jesus Christ."
"Oh," is all you respond with, tumbling into laughter at how fucking outlandish you must sound to him. Then the thought of Steve at the mall is suddenly hilarious to you, and your amusement only builds, a welcomed distraction from the pain. "What the fuck do you go to the mall for?"
"What the fuck do I—" he begins repeating you, scoffing. "I needed new shoes, too. Where the fuck do I get those? Italy?"
Barking out a laugh, you clap your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, apologizing from behind your palm. He only rolls his eyes, but the smirk never falters.
"I think you still have some other clothes here, should probably get you into something more comfortable, hm?" The two of you settle down, though he can't help but joke once more. "Unless you need me to fly to Europe for—"
You sit up, playfully shoving your palm against his mouth to shut him up. The sudden movement makes you wince, cramps spreading from your pelvis into the tops of your thighs.
Steve removes your hand as any humor is abandoned, leaning in to kiss you softly. It's quick. It's not meant to be suggestive, not meant to lead to anything beyond comfort and care, nor does it climb past that.
"You rest, angel, I'll take care of you." He leans you back carefully against the pillows again, sucking in a sharp breath when the scent of your blood rushes through him.
He hovers over your hips, and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, tugging down gingerly. It's not meant to be sexual. Really. Truly. It's not. Neither is the kiss innocently pressed against your hip, meant to be more soothing than anything. He kisses down to your thigh while pulling the ruined fabric away, only out of comforting you, he swears.
Yet traces of blood tinge his lips where they last lingered, and out of mindless habit, his tongue darts out to lick them clean.
What a mistake that is.
Steve tenses up, pupils blowing wide with instant bloodlust, bleeding into the depths of crimson in his irises.
You gulp, "Steve?"
He kisses your thigh again, lips dragging against your skin with his tongue trailing, licking up the blood that had dried. It's soothing, it's weird. He knows this is weird, right?
"Steve…" Your warning tone wavers, swallowing down a sigh over how soothing his tongue feels against your skin.
At first, you're mesmerized by how whipped he's become over your scent, not even tasting from the source. He gets too close to your core, fangs grazing the top of your thigh, hands pushing your legs apart. You run a hand through his hair, giving a warning tug, yanking him back from your body.
A throaty groan rumbles out of him while the grip on your legs tightens. He's wrecked just from that preview alone, ripped out of the spell your blood has him under. He could usually be more dominant over you, but he'll always be submissive for the blood that runs through your veins.
Steve whimpers out, "Please?"
Denying him anything feels like a sin in itself, but this is a step too far.
"You do not want that kind of blood," you try reasoning, shaking your head. "It's not the same."
"S'all the same to me," he hopelessly slurs. "You could use the relief, too."
"Don't tell me you actually believe that shit," you roll your eyes. "Sex doesn't help with periods."
"Maybe you haven't had the right partner try yet." Steve's smug, but it's cute, never annoying or arrogant; usually— and you hate to admit it— he's right, and that smirk and quirked brow are justified.
It feels like embers are smoldering under your skin, face running hot. "Well, you- you're just saying that to get your way."
He drops the smirk, crawling over you, careful not to let his body rest against yours; you're too sensitive for anything like that right now.
"As much as I'm craving this, your comfort comes first." While holding himself up with one arm, the other reaches for your face, softly curving to the shape of your cheek. You lean into the refreshing, cool touch, eyes fluttering shut with a sigh. "Thought I'd offer, but the last thing I want is for you to ever feel pressured into intimacy."
Even with the way your insides feel like they're twisting and tangling, your clit still throbs. The concept is so gross, but the more you think about him going down on you right now, the more you crave him.
Biting your lip, you try talking yourself out of it, but it only becomes more of a desire as you imagine it.
"If it hurts, we can stop, right?"
"Always. Always."
"Okay… alright, fine, but—!" You sit up a bit, wiping what little blood is left away from his lips. "Can I kiss you first?"
"What, you'd rather not kiss me after?" His teasing earns a glare from you.
"Don't push it," you murmur, crashing your lips against his. You can still taste traces of a metallic tang, but you're instantly intoxicated by his slow, intentional kisses, swipes of his tongue caressing against your own. Your lips break away for a moment, whimpering into his mouth, "Oh, fuck."
"That's what I like to hear," he praises, trailing kisses down your neck and to your chest, hand gently pushing against your breastbone to lay back down. He caresses your breasts with a feather-light touch, cautious because they're so sore. "Gonna make you feel so good angel."
"Y'always do," you gasp while his lips close around your nipple, rolling the other softly between his fingers. No pinching, no biting, nothing like his usual teasing, just pure sweetness.
He rolls his tongue over the sensitive peak, moaning while sucking at it, taking extra care not to scrape his fangs against it.
"Steve…"
"Shhh, I got you," he promises, switching his hand and mouth to opposite sides. You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he hums with satisfaction around the nub. It makes you squirm. He pulls off with a wet pop! "Poor thing, so sensitive and needy."
Each kiss he leaves behind doesn't just turn you on, it feels good— genuinely soothes any ache he lays his lips on, or laps his tongue along. And he takes his time kissing gently all over your torso; he always treats you like you're precious, because truly, to him, you are, but the particular care he takes with you now makes you emotional.
No one's ever been so soft with you before. No one's ever cared this much to try and ease the aches and pains and agony you feel month after month.
Of course, no former partner ever had weird vampire healing properties, but your point still stands, emotions still valid.
You're so lost in the dreamy haze he relaxes you into, he has to use your name to catch your attention.
Like being pulled out of a daydream, you're slow to respond. "… Hm?"
Steve's face is dangerously close to your core, eyes politely on you rather than the feast of blood between your thighs. "I asked if you're still comfortable with this. You doing alright?"
"Ye-yeah," you nod fervently. "Sorry, it feels really good. Kinda started forgetting about the pain."
"That's what we want, right?"
"Uh-huh," you breathe shakily.
"You know what to do if it hurts?"
"Tell you to stop," you whisper, feeling shy while he's so close to something so personal, in a different light.
"I should have the self control, but if you need to stop, and I don't obey, you can pull my hair again, as hard as you need to. Understand?"
The word obey rattles through your brain, completely devoid of anything else other than how hot it just sounded coming from him.
He's gonna be the death of me.
"Angel, need you to speak up."
"Uh-h- huh, I understand."
"Good girl," he leaves a kiss at the top of your mound, sending shivers up your spine. Arms sliding under your thighs, he brings you closer, glancing up one more time to check on you. You're tense, anticipating something to hurt. He coos, "Relax for me, angel."
You're about to, until you feel a chaste peck on your slit, instantly flooded with desire while a voice in the back of your head is shaming you for how wrong this is.
… Really, you could be doing worse things than allowing your vampire boyfriend to go down on you during your period.
Steve kisses again, slower this time, eyes flitting up to you, smirking against your skin when you let out a blissfully, airy sigh. He leans down with an open mouthed kiss, savoring your taste, pacing himself within each kiss that follows.
He'd honestly devour you if it wouldn't hurt so much, so with all his strength, he keeps his patience and restrains himself, tentatively parting your folds with his tongue.
Your flow is heavy and messy— it always is on the first day, and for once, it seems like a positive. Steve's tongue takes its time, lapping up the crimson surrounding your clit, groaning deeply while his eyes roll back, like the very first time he tasted your blood.
It's an odd balance to find between the filthy nature of it all, and holding some sort of composure that is sensitive to your needs, but somehow, he finds it.
He swirls his tongue around your clit, dragging it back down your folds to trace the tip along the edge of your entrance. Arms hooked all the way around your legs, he reaches around your thighs and down to spread your lips apart, allowing him to delve deeper.
When Steve's inside you, savoring every drop of blood he can lave, you gasp sharply, hips arching up while shoving your core against him. The sounds he makes are polite, at best, just sensual, nothing insane. Yet the longer he continues tasting you, the more primal he sounds.
No one has ever worshiped your body with their mouth the way Steve has, and it always sends your mind spiraling, heart racing, toes curling while your back arches in ecstasy.
This time is different. It's raw, intensified, sparking a fuse deep down you didn't even realize was within you. You don't realize you're rolling your hips at first, gently, testing the waters as you're lost in bliss no god would ever forgive you for.
It's when Steve groans, tongue flat against your clit, fangs faintly teasing along your folds, that you look down, embarrassed you can't stop grinding against his face.
On the other hand, he's not upset. Not one bit.
"C'mon, angel," his voice rumbles against your skin, blood coating his lips. When he pulls back to spit onto your cunt, spreading you apart, it's clear his entire chin is covered in your blood. "Give it to me."
The sight shouldn't turn you on, his filthy praise shouldn't make you weak, and the feeling… well, it's just too damn good to be anything but sinful.
Fingers carding through his hair, you pull lightly, earning sinful noises out of Steve. Your hips roll forward, gaining a pace of desperation as you grind onto his face. He continues to hold his tongue broad and flat against your clit, groaning lowly. Partly, because he's enjoying this way too much, but you're so sensitive, he knows any delicious friction or vibration could set you off.
"Please, please, please—" You buck against Steve's mouth, fangs catching on your delicate skin, leaving nothing more than a scrape behind. Yet it's more fresh blood for Steve, and that pleasure intertwined with pain giving a similar head rush. You plead, "More— fuck, Steve…."
He delicately circles your entrance with his finger, cautious not to trigger more pain. You plead again, nodding for extra reassurance. When you brace yourself for an ache, any sort of discomfort, all you get is more pleasure, more relief, eyes rolling back when his finger slips inside of you.
The synchronization of his tongue, finger, and lips guide you closer to pure bliss. He's only able to pump his finger a few times before you succumb to pleasure.
Your high crests and crashes while you sob through it, while Steve pins your hips down effortlessly with one hand, seeing you to the very end. You begin to relax, hands falling away from him as you come down; he slows with you, but doesn't let up completely.
Intoxicated off your taste, he's in no hurry to back off; the kisses he leaves on your core are sloppy, yet tender. Lips parted against yours, puffy and swollen from being loved so intensely, his tongue swipes up every last drop of red he can. He moans loudly, stifled with his face buried between your thighs.
"Steve," you pant, grabbing the sheets in fistfuls again. "I can't…"
At first you think he doesn't hear you, but the more your whimpers build into something certain, his ministrations grow more certain. Hips twitching as he pins them harder to the bed, you softly sob. It doesn't hurt, it feels good— too good, overwhelming in a way you can't handle, not right now.
"Wait, I- I—"
Tongue flicking against your clit lazily, you buck against his mouth and cry out. Your legs tremble and he growls into you, beginning to lose composure.
You have no choice but to act; both hands wind your fingers through his hair, tugging forcefully as another cry slips out.
Steve breaks from the trance your blood held him in, dazed at first. He snaps out of it completely when he notices how distressed you appear.
Crudely wiping blood off his face with his arm, he crawls over you, cradling your face gently. His cool touch soothes your sensitive, overheated skin.
"Are you alright?" He panics, eyes darting up and down your figure for signs of injury. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, angel, I'm so sorry."
You shake your head weakly with a faint smile forming. "Just too much, tha's'all," you slur as your own palm finds his jawline, shapes against it gently. "Felt s'good though."
"You sure you're alright?"
He watches you fight sleep, eyes fluttering shut while you nod weakly. "M'great," you mumble, tugging on his arm, hinting you want to cuddle. "Pain's mostly gone."
Steve sighs in relief that he not only helped with your pain, but didn't worsen it, either. Carefully, he peels your grip off of him. You pout, earning an airy chuckle, still catching his own breath.
"I just want to grab some things to clean up with, I'll be quick, I promise." He has to catch himself before kissing your forehead, a cute habit he's grown into every time he gets up before you do. "Should rinse my mouth too," he chuckles, cringing at himself.
Before he leaves, you catch a glimpse of him— and the dark spot on his sweatpants.
"Did you…"
When you trail off, his brow quirks. "Did I… what?" He follows your gaze curiously, down to his pants. You poorly stifle a giggle, and immediately he sighs. "In my defense—"
"Did you really come in your pants?" You tease, grin curling upward. Hand stretching out for his, you pull him closer back to the bed. Steve blushes. "All 'cause you—"
"Ate you out on your period, yeah, yes, don't make fun of me," he pouts, cock half-hard and twitching under the damp fabric.
"M'not making fun of you!" Your giggles prove otherwise, but it's oddly endearing; how silly this situation is, how much you adore one another. "Just never thought I'd see the day I'd be the reason a vampire comes in his pants like a damn virgin."
His tone turns to one of light warning, "Angel—"
"Hey, it's cute how flustered you get, okay?" You sit up enough to kiss the spot teasingly, feel his bulge throb beyond the fabric barrier against your lips. The blush on his face spills down his neck and to his chest, blotchy and telling.
Steve gently pushes you back against the bed, "You shouldn't start anything you can't finish right now." When you open your mouth to protest, he grips your jaw in between his fingers. "Rest."
That's his favorite word for you at this point, and as always, reluctantly, you give in, pulling the covers over yourself.
"That's my girl," he praises with some sarcasm. His face softens, sincerely adding, "I mean it, get some sleep."
You'd protest, but you're too exhausted, passed out before he even returns.
In and out of sleep, you feel Steve care for you, cleaning with a warm cloth, helping your barely awake self change into fresh clothes, gulping down water he hands to you before collapsing back into the pillows.
You're completely knocked out when he changes the sheets, working around you like you're a damn, stubborn cat, refusing to leave the bed.
He wouldn't move you, anyway. Doesn't have the heart to disturb you after you've found enough peace to sleep.
That peace, unfortunately, is short lived.
Steve's awakened by your groans of pain, barely hidden, despite your efforts to stay silent.
Curled up tight in a ball, your back is to him as he loosely spooned you. Pillow pressed against your face, you attempt crying into it, hoping not to bother Steve, forgetting he's close enough to see and feel your shoulders shake with each sob.
"Sweetheart," he groggily murmurs, leaning over you with a hand resting on your hip. "What hurts?"
There's no use hiding it, he's already awake. You rasp out, "Everything." Turning onto your back, you grimace from the ache, gritting out, "Need you."
"I'm here, just tell me what you need."
"You."
"I heard you, but what exactly—" Steve sucks in a sharp gasp as you grab his bulge, hardening in his pants from the moment your hand is on him. You give a quick squeeze, and he groans. "Okay— okay, fuck. Jesus Christ."
Your free hand grabs at the back of his neck, reeling him in clumsily, smashing your lips against his. He grunts in surprise, yet his lips part the moment you swipe your tongue along them.
The two of you are an absolute wreck, both separate and together. You're quick to undress one another, though Steve takes extra care in his movements, thoughtful with the discomfort you're in.
Foreplay is thrown out the window; earlier was enough, and the two of you are desperate. You both just want to soothe one another, and be soothed.
It's when Steve is between your thighs, length in hand as he licks his lips, longingly gazing at your core, glistening in red, he finds the self control to pause.
"Angel…" He's having second thoughts, worried for your comfort. "I don't want to hurt you." Steve's cock lays heavy in his hand, tip resting on your clit, pressure generously torturing you.
"Ju- just a little bit, then." You pout up at him, desperate for further relief from both your body at war with itself, and your relentless desire. "Please?"
His head lolls back with a throaty groan, tapping the ruddy head of his cock against your clit a few times. You jolt with a gasp, pleading under your breath pathetically.
"You'll tell me if it—"
"Yeah, yeah, if it hurts I'll say something, promise," you interrupt him, hips rolling toward him.
"Angel." He leans close to grab your face, allowing it to trail down to your neck, resting at the base. Just the sheer feeling of his hand there is enough to drive you wild. You restrain yourself, holding still. "What do I always have to remind you?"
You huff, but know better to respond. "I'll take what you give me."
Steve pushes the tip inside you, stretching you out just enough to feel something, but not completely filling you like you'd want. Your jaw drops as the stretch, like always, takes your breath away.
"And I always give you what you need, don't I?"
His thumb circles your clit, teasing by pushing an inch further into you, then pulling out. His thick tip nudges at your entrance again while he studies your expression, combing through the emotions he can always easily sense from you. You barely focus on your own pain as he slides in, a little deeper this time.
Shakily, you answer, "Uh-huh." Any hurt begins to ebb away, but your patience grows thin as Steve takes too much time and caution filling you up. Craving more relief and pleasure than he's already given, your legs hook around him, heels digging into his back to bring him closer.
Steve's hand plants flat on the bed next to you, holding himself up with ease, fighting your weak strength compared to the intensity of his. You whine, pouting.
"Patience, angel." He sinks into you at a pace so torturous, you're ready to cry. The stretch feels so good, but the way he drags this out brings your thoughts to a halt. It must be apparent on your face, because he chuckles. "Already cock-drunk?"
"Don't be mean— fuck!"
You gasp as he bottoms out, chest flush to your own. Every so often he picks up a filthy term you'd least expect out of his mouth, and it shocks you all the same, each time, every time.
Breathless from the stretch, you grab his face to kiss him with fervor. His hips drag away, sliding out of you, pumping back in when he swallows down your attempt of a whine.
Steve's careful not to push the pace, fucking deep into you while he takes his time, stays attentive to the noises you make. You're not making it easy, though, not with the way you slot your lips against his, or how your tongue glides against his, driven by neediness. When he breaks the kiss, you whimper so pathetically.
"Shh, shh, shh…"
He's lifting your legs, arms hooked underneath while staring down where your bodies meet and become one. The blood soaking his cock allows him to fall into a daze, an elevated tier of lust gripping his desire, driving what he craves.
"Oh…" A deep, throaty groan rumbles out of his chest, licking his lips while fixating on the crimson mess between yourselves. "You feel… divine."
Hips arching up to meet his thrusts, he picks up the pace, reveling in the little uh uh uh's you make.
There is no pain, your body no longer inflicting torment on itself from the inside out, only bliss. You've reached this height of pleasure before, but never in such a way where the euphoria is enough to soothe away the hurt.
Your warm, tight heat is already heaven to a creature of sin like Steve, but his climax rushes closer in reach each time he looks down between your figures.
"I can't— I-" He pants, eyes twisting shut to hold out a little longer; if he looks at the blood one more damn time, he's going to finish way faster than he hopes.
You flutter around him, grabbing one hand away from your leg, gasping, "S'okay, m'close too."
Placing his pointer and middle fingers to your lips, you take them in, sucking softly while staring up at Steve with the dreamiest, far-away look, like you're in total heaven, practically lost in it.
Steve grunts, hips stuttering as he finds himself on the edge of release. You pluck his fingers from your lips, dragging his hand down to your neck, a trail of spit glistening in its wake. He takes the hint, resting his hand at the base of your throat again.
With a nod as silent approval, he tightens his grasp, just enough to feel the lightest amount of pressure on your blood flow, and it's game over for you.
Gasping, your eyes flutter shut while stars explode behind your lids. You twitch and jerk and shudder as you tighten around Steve, while that little, dizzying, gentle grip he holds on your neck does you in. He releases your other leg, thumb circling your clit to help you finish.
You cry out as he follows not too far behind, your name tumbling from his lips in praise of how good you feel, how good you are, shutting himself up by kissing you before he says far too much.
It's quiet when the two of you float back down to reality, panting as your hearts beat wildly in time with one another. The two of you are a sweaty, sticky mess, and the blood certainly does nothing to help that. His skin is hot to the touch— something you're still getting used to whenever he's aroused, but he'll be back to his unnatural body temperature soon enough.
You're breathless as Steve rolls off of you, body limp against the mattress like a rag doll. He's even a bit winded, and that's saying quite a bit for his inhuman stamina. Still, he smirks down at you, submerged in an exhausted afterglow.
"So… how'd that feel?" He asks, snuggling closer while he hooks you closer in his embrace. You stare wordlessly at the ceiling, and he frowns. "Angel?"
You rasp out, "… I'm throwing out every painkiller to my name. And my heating pad."
A loud, genuine laugh bursts out of Steve. One that shows his fangs, gleaming in the low light. The kind of laugh you adore dearly, because it displays the level of comfort he feels to be truly himself around you.
Then again, you're pretty confident he feels comfortable enough with you if he's willingly eating you out on your period.
"Thank you." Your voice cracks, worn down from your loud sounds.
Steve's tempted to say it, the big thing you both once feared, maybe still do, but he replaces it with, "I care about you. So much."
It makes you smile anyway. "Care 'bout y'too," you mutter, ready to doze off.
He cuddles with you for a little while, hand cupping the side of your face as you relax against him. When your eyes flutter shut, he releases you before slipping out of bed. Circling to your side, he picks you up with ease, carrying you down the hall to the bathroom.
You're tempted to protest, but you don't get the chance to voice how the loss of his bed feels before he speaks.
"We can rest after a bath, alright?"
"M'gonna fall asleep in the tub and drown," you snort as he sets you against the ornate sink counter. The marble is a welcomed chill to your hot skin, meeting your back and holding you upright.
"He turns on the faucet, allowing the tub to fill up. "I won't let you drown," Steve chuckles. Turning back to you, he gently nudges you against the sink, hand kneading at your hip softly. "Up."
When you whine at the thought of moving, he makes another noise of amusement, helping you sit on the counter's surface. You gasp as the chill penetrates your skin even further.
While soaking a fresh cloth in warm water, you groan, "Ugh, Steve, don't make me sit up here, I'm gonna bleed all over the damn place."
He only shrugs, with the tiniest smirk, before spreading your legs. Standing between them, he begins cleaning the blood with a feathered touch. You jolt from the contact, still sensitive.
"Do you think I care about that? After what we just did?"
Mumbling something incoherent, he chuckles while he finishes cleaning you off. Instantly, you relax against him, embrace hanging loosely around his waist.
You must fall asleep at some point, head resting on his chest, because he's picking you up again. He laughs softly and sets you into the water with caution. "You might sleep too well tonight. I'll have to check in to make sure you're still breathing every few hours."
"Just don't accidentally embalm me," you mumble, head lolling forward. Steve catches you, holding you upright while entering the bath behind you. "That'd kinda suck."
Easily amused by your tired nonsense, he brings you back to rest against his chest. "I… don't think that's how that works."
"Well, I dunno, you were alive when undertakers held mirrors under people's noses to check if they were really dead or not. Not me."
His head falls onto yours as his shoulders shake in a silent laugh. "You really love to remind me I'm ancient compared to you, hm?"
"Not ancient, but you're old, man." You snort, slumping against Steve. You pull at his arms, tightening them around you. "My favorite old guy."
"Mhm," he hums playfully, murmuring, "I'll let that slide, because I love you."
Your breath hitches. Neither of you had said it yet, but you've felt it, acknowledged you were falling, and Steve did, too. It's been an unspoken understanding, showing, rather than telling.
Until now.
He realizes the slip up, stiffening with apprehension. "I- I'm sorry, that wasn't— I should've waited—"
"Steve," you cautiously turn to him, legs settling on either side. Arms draping over his shoulders, you rest your forehead on his. "I love you."
Tension eases out of him, relaxing underneath you.
"You do?"
Resting your palm on his chest over his heart, you feel the rhythm of thumps, practically identical to a human heart. It beats rapidly, like the day you confessed how love scares you.
It never ceases to amaze you, the trade-offs and permanent fixtures of traits and quirks when a human becomes a vampire.
Love doesn't scare you anymore— not completely, at least.
Despite falling for someone forbidden, who is meant to be dangerous, he's the farthest thing from that.
Steve is gentle with a heart of gold; ironically, he's living proof that the undead aren't inherently evil. Underneath who he is now, he's still human at heart. He's still Steve.
Obviously, you didn't know him before he turned, long before you entered this world, but you're certain he was just as kindhearted and sweet as he is now. Even through whatever tragedies he's endured, losses that he could've allowed to turn him bitter, he's held onto the roots of what keeps his heart pumping.
Love doesn't have to be this terrible, nightmarish monster when you share it with Steve. With him, it's anything but.
"Yeah," your thumb sweeps along his skin, running over his chest hair, soft smile appearing as his heart beats faster under your hand. "I really do."
When Steve kisses you, his thoughts align with yours; love isn't anything to fear.
GOD WHAT A READ 😭😭😭 Y'know I just absolutely adore high-concept AUs like this and it was just a delight to read in one sitting. I cried like a BABY with Robin???? Ugh just BEAUTIFUL
I wish i could be more eloquent but its midnight and I may pass out 🤟😎
paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)
summary: it quickly becomes apparent leaving to protect yourself and Steve does anything but that. if only it didn’t take a life threatening situation for you to understand. // MDNI 🔞
WC: 10.7k
includes: angst. hurt/comfort. not quite smut but there’s some Suggestive Activities™️ occurring here. fluff. blood (and very mild blood play). language. gentle reminders: vampires by lore are unnaturally strong, please keep that in mind during certain parts, Steve affectionately calls reader ‘angel’, and reader has no physical description, but she has specific personality traits. if any of this bothers you— this is not the fic for you.
masterlist // vampire vibes playlist
A/N: this part has the scene I wrote that originally kicked off this fic, so I’m really excited to share it with y’all!! like the tags say, it’s not quite smut, but we couldn’t jump into that without a lil’ foreplay, eh? 😏 thank you to everyone who has read so far!! hope y’all like reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it <3 (title is from mean - health, chelsea wolfe / divider from @/strangergraphics!)
‘I can't fake it, I can't sleep / this fantasy I can't escape
clouded mind, haunted lover / doomed to want, can't get enough’
In the first 24 hours since leaving the funeral home, and leaving Steve behind, you come home to a message on your answering machine.
Dropping your grocery bags carelessly to the counter, you drag your feet over to the machine, hitting play. You rub your eyes, completely spent from not sleeping well the night prior— whatever effect Steve had on helping you sleep must’ve broke when you left him behind.
The automated voice reads out the time and date of the call as you begin putting groceries away. There’s an awkward cough on the voicemail, followed by a hesitant, familiar voice speaking out your name.
Eddie?
Your hands freeze in the paper bag, hyper-focusing on the answering machine.
“Uh, hey, kid. I didn’t know you were leaving, sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. Steve won’t tell me shit, as usual, just that you quit… so… hope you’re okay. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”
The tape stops, leaving you alone in an empty, soulless apartment, tears slipping down your face and into the bag of food. You know Eddie’s being honest that Steve won’t tell him what happened, because he says “we’re here for you”.
And with the way you abandoned Steve, abandoned something that could’ve continued to flourish, abandoned a job you actually loved, there’s no way Steve would want to hear from you again.
After all, that silent, hidden, yet comforting presence you could feel most sleepless nights, lulling you into safe, restful dreams, had vanished completely.
It was only fair, after all— Steve gave up on you, the way you gave up on him.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The next evening, you miss a call during your shower. The little blinking red light catches your attention as you leave the bathroom, wrapped in your robe.
Changing into pajamas can wait; you hit play, allowing the machine to give you the time and date before Eddie begins addressing you again.
“Steve’s too chickenshit to call after whatever the fuck happened, but he wants you to know you can come grab your stuff whenever you’re ready, no rush. If it helps, I can pick it up and drop it off. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s been a miserable son of a bitch ever since you left. That’s— I’m not saying it’s your fault. Whatever he did or said, though, he sure as fuck won’t forgive himself for, so uh… just really hope you’re okay.”
Silence fills the room, but the tape rolls on for a few seconds before Eddie sighs.
“Sorry for this. Hope you’re taking care of yourself, kid.”
The tape clicks off, and you’re left with your mind and heart treading in a sea of emotions.
You’re lost, you’re angry, you’re depressed, and you hate that Steve seems to be blaming himself for you leaving. He didn’t drive you away, you left out of pure cowardice, masked in the excuse of protecting you both.
Instead, you’re both left wounded and heartbroken.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The third night goes by silently, and you consider that to be the end of Eddie reaching out on behalf of Steve.
On the fourth night, though, Eddie leaves another voicemail, one you’re around to hear in real time while mindlessly watching TV, but can’t bring yourself to pick up mid-recording.
“So, uh… I really hope I’ve been calling the right number, otherwise this message is gonna sound fuckin’ nuts… if it’s not the right number, you heard nothing.”
That nearly brings a faint smile to your face, until Eddie says:
“Steve’s not feeding. I don’t think he has in days… and the, um,” Eddie coughs dramatically, “‘supply’ doesn’t stay fresh for long… he keeps telling me he’s not hungry.”
Your heart drops. Steve, from what he shared, didn’t like to take blood from the living, and you knew it was only a matter of time before blood of the deceased goes bad. Really bad.
“I know losing Robin hit him hard, but…” he grumbles some curses under his breath. “I think losing you in the same night is really doing a number on him.”
Bile rises in your throat; you never once considered how leaving in the same night that Robin died could mar his heart so heavily. He lost his best friend, his platonic soulmate, and then he loses you hours after confessing his truth, his feelings…
Oh, god. What have I done?
“Look, you don’t owe us shit right now, sure as fuck don’t owe anything to Steve… but I don’t know what to do or how to help him... and I know he means a lot to you, too, so I thought you should know about this.”
You could pick up the phone, grab it before Eddie hangs up, tell him everything and return to help Steve— but you’re frozen solid in your chair. By fear? Rejection? You’re unsure. You should pick up, or call back the moment his message ends, but you can’t.
There’s a sound of rustling, and in the distance you can hear footsteps bounding closer, with Steve yelling, “Eddie, I swear to god if you’re calling her again—“
“Dude! She has a right to know!”
“Fucking— give me that!“ there’s a slight struggle, a grunt, before you assume Steve takes the phone, voice closer, painfully crystal clear. “I don’t want to drag her down anymore!”
The call clicks onto dead air, whirring the tape to a halt. The TV drones on in the background, overshadowed by your shallow, panicked breaths.
Is that what he thinks? Is that what I made him think? He’s dragging me down? I fucked up, I fucked up so badly—
You find the strength to stumble out of your chair, clambering over to phone, but your hand hovers, fear holding you back again.
You could clearly hear how wounded he feels, just in that quick exchange. Would calling even help? Or would it make things worse?
He won’t want to hear from me, and I don’t blame him.
Reluctantly, you back away from the phone, eventually crawling into bed.
Steve’s words haunt you for the remainder of the night, keeping you in a restless state until dawn.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
You’re struggling to stay upright, afraid to even pour yourself some coffee and drop the pot out of pure exhaustion.
It’s morning, and you’re not sure if you slept a little or just imagined you did within your deprived state. So when the phone rings, it doesn’t register in your mind until two rings before the answering machine picks up. When Eddie frantically rambles, it takes you a minute to realize it’s morning.
He’s never up at this hour, neither is Steve, and now knowing the truth you understand why, so it’s alarming he’s calling so early.
“Kid, listen, I- I‘m going away for a bit, once night falls. I asked Steve if he needed me to stay but he wants me gone anyway.” A ragged sigh laced with frustration at best deflates out of Eddie. “I’m not telling you what to do, or what not to do, but just… be careful if you stop by to grab your shit, okay? If you decide to check on him, keep your distance.”
Fear slips back into your heart, pounding in your chest.
“He’s… he’s not himself right now. He won’t be until he feeds, and I can’t force him to. Trust me. I tried once back in ‘67, it was fuckin’ horrible.”
You’d laugh at his anecdote if this wasn’t so serious.
“Steve wouldn’t hurt you, though. I’m freaked out he’ll do something stupid in front of you, but never to you. He cares about you way too much.”
How could he still care? After what I’ve done to him?
“Here’s the number for where I’m staying…” Eddie rattles off a sequence of digits for you. “Call if anything gets worse. Stay safe, kid.”
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
The sixth day, the phone rings mid-afternoon, you allow the answering machine to do its job while you attempt to focus on a book you’re reading, but you’ve been stuck on page 29 for a half hour now.
Heavy, shivering breaths rattle out of the speakers and through your apartment. It’s enough to make you jump, sending your heart racing. Your breath hitches as you wait for the caller to speak up.
It’s not Eddie this time.
“A- angel?”
Tears spring to your eyes— Steve sounds so fragile right now, the complete opposite of how he carries himself normally.
“Fuck, shouldn’t call you that anymore… m’sorry.” He’s slurring a little, as if he’s just your average human who had one too many drinks. Any hint of formality in his speech has vanished. “I should’ve kept everything to myself, but I was selfish. I’m so sorry.”
You throw the book aside, swinging your legs off the couch to stare down the answering machine across the room.
“Don’t worry about your credits, I’ll make sure you still get those, but you don’t have to come back… I’d love to have you back…but that’s not— you—“
Steve shudders out something akin to a sob; you can just picture his blood red tears, and it makes you sick.
You are the reason he feels so broken.
“If you come by to pick up your belongings, I’ll stay out of your way,” he promises. “Thank you… for being a part of my life, if only for a blip in time. I’m grateful you even gifted me that.”
No one, platonic or romantic, has ever talked to you this way, talked about your connection to them this way.
You royally fucked up leaving him that night.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you sleep anymore… but I hope you can still find sweet dreams.” He takes one final breath, and you finally find the courage to rush to the machine, ready to pick up and apologize left and right. Before you can reach the phone, he murmurs, “Goodbye, angel.”
The tape clicks off, just as your fingertips hit the phone.
Maybe this was beyond repair. Maybe not. The only way to find out is to try.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Not one light is on inside the funeral home.
It took more time than you’d have liked— after 9 days of moping, avoiding calls, crying over voicemails, and dreading what’s to come, you reluctantly return, ready to pick up the rest of your belongings, and drop off your key to this former workplace you loved dearly.
Love. Still present tense. Strange to say about a place filled with death, but there’s more heart within this building than out in the real world.
There’s more heart within Steve than normally found in living beings.
The lights inside the home are always on, even if only dim. An unsettling feeling washes over you the moment you step through the front door. Some dull light peeks through the curtains, the grey kind on a cloudy day that can’t kill Steve; it only makes him ill if he’s out in that diffused light for too long.
You knew Eddie was on vacation, but Steve should still be here— he lives right upstairs anyway.
“… Hello?”
Nothing.
The door to Steve’s office is open, and you can make out a figure in the shadows, but barely.
“Steve?”
You allow your eyes to adjust to the light; he’s slumped over in his chair, head resting on his desk. He gives a weak grunt in return.
“What’s going on?”
“You need to leave,” He rasps out, sounding pained. It only urges you to move closer to him. “Don’t—“
“I just wanted to grab the rest of my stuff and drop off the key.” You keep your voice soft, calm, unsure what could trigger him further into whatever has him so weak and bitter. “Will you be alright?”
He slides his palms along the ebony wood desk, nails scraping into the dark surface as he pushes himself up with all the strength in his body. You rush to flip on a light, but he cries out in agony.
“Turn it off!”
Catching a glimpse of his face in the light, he looks like hell. His features are more gaunt, sickly pale than ever before; he appears as if he could wither away any second.
“I said off!” He slams his hands down on the desk, but it comes out as a weak slap instead. “Turn them off!”
You flip the switch while his anger grows, breaths falling ragged.
“I- I’m sorry.” You rush over to him, leaning over the desk to reach out for him, but he shoves your hands away, collapsing into the desk chair again. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter—“
“No. Don’t start that.” His attitude is dissolving your patience within seconds. “Tell me what happened, right now.”
“Did you forget how to listen? I said—“
You grab his face, firm hold, but not rough, just like he’s done to you before; his distant stare trails back to you with the exchange of control.
“And I said tell me what happened. Right. Now.” He’s unbearably cold, unlike anything you’ve felt before on his skin. It almost hurts, as if your fingers were shoved in snow for far too long. “You’re clearly unwell, Steve. What the hell is going on?”
Steve’s bottom lip trembles, just enough to catch it in the limited light.
“It hurts.”
Your expression softens, pitying him. “What hurts?”
“No more bodies.” His weak answer clicks for you immediately.
“Are you saying…” Eddie didn’t mention this in the messages. “Shit.” You fumble around in the dark to grab your sunglasses out of your bag, shoving them at Steve. “Put these on, I need to turn the light—“
“No!”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do right now.” Stomping across the room, you flip the switch, and Steve hisses, as if you shoved him directly into sunlight. Never have you heard such a sound leave him before. “Put them on, ‘cause I need the damn light to see what’s wrong.”
Viewing him in the light churns your stomach; normally, he’s pretty pale, but his skin is worn thin, transparent enough to see his strained veins with ease. Circles dark as night, with a purple tinge around the edges, hang heavy under his eyes; they’re prominent enough they push past the lenses of the sunglasses you forced on him. His hair is coarse and dry, lips chapped, and overall just looks frail.
Violently, you shove aside any and all hurt feelings; what matters most to you in this moment is reviving him.
“When did you last feed?”
You already knew the answer from Eddie’s voicemails, but you wanted to hear it from Steve directly. He shrugs, and even that is an aching effort; wincing from said pain also takes more energy than expected.
“A week ago? I…” his head lolls to the side, gripping the armrests of his chair weakly. “Haven’t had calls in a few days… like it matters.”
“Has this ever happened before? Like, a pause of embalmings, I mean.” He shakes his head. “No emergency blood stashes?” He grunts. “What should I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, for fucks’ sake, Steve, I’m not leaving you like this.”
“I deserve it.” His breathing is shallow, slumping little by little in the chair. “After overstepping the line… making you uncomfortable enough to leave—“
“No, it was my fault not yours, and—“ Shaking your head, you push hurt feelings aside. “None of that matters right now.”
You rush out of the room, flipping on the hallway light; when you return, you keep the door ajar, just for enough light to see, while you kill the light in the room. “Just tell me what to do. Should— fuck, I- I’ll bring someone back here if it means you’ll feel better. Tell me what you need, Steve.”
He only shrugs. You’re losing your patience, only because you want to help him, fix this, save him.
… There is one way to end his suffering immediately, though.
“How much blood do you need?” Your heartbeat roars through your ears as you try not to think too deeply into this. “What if you used me?”
Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, stays silent for a beat too long, convincing you he just died on the spot. He clears his throat, hoarsely speaking out, “… Absolutely not.”
“Is it possible to just take what you need? I’d be okay, I— I trust you, y’know.” He shakes his head, struggling to sit up straight. He throws the sunglasses onto the desk, groaning through mirthless, flat laughter. “It’s this or die, and you’re not dying on my watch.”
“Already dead, angel.”
You roll your eyes; he’s worse than humans when they get hangry.
You stand before him, running a hand through his hair, brittle and scratchy against your fingers; a stark difference to how luminous, soft, and effortlessly gorgeous it usually is. The touch still soothes him, just barely, but enough to relax his shoulders a bit. You take the opportunity as he melts into your touch, climbing onto his lap; it’s a bit uncomfortable as you swing your legs over his to straddle him, awkwardly hanging them under the armrests.
“Wh- what are you—“ Your arms wind around his neck, resting your forehead gently against his. His attempt at a warning tone comes out breathy and desperate, “Angel…”
“Do this one thing for me, okay? I need you to listen to me, just this once, and I swear to god, I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
If Steve wasn’t on the cusp of expiration, he’d tease you with something like ‘there is no god’, but he just whimpers. If the situation wasn’t dire, you’d allow yourself to revel in the fact your words made a vampire whimper.
“Please? I know you won’t…” Hurt you? Kill you? You can’t bring yourself to voice either. “You wouldn’t go too far.”
“You don’t know…” He trembles underneath you, restraining himself with the last of his self control. “… what you’re asking for, angel.”
“I do know. If I didn’t trust you, didn’t believe you could control yourself, I wouldn’t offer.” I’m out of my fucking mind. “Steve, please.”
You’d kill for a moment like this under different circumstances; one where you’re both in this solely for the attraction and pleasure. One where his lips are close to yours like this, almost touching, all because he wants you in other ways, not like this; not where you’re begging him to quite literally suck the life out of you, all to survive.
“You’re scared,” He rasps, observing the way your skin prickles with his frostbite-inducing touch. He trails a hand up to the back of your neck, fingers splaying against your head and weakly tangling into your hair. “I’m scared, too.”
You’re glad you wore an older, worn shirt, one that stretches with ease as you pull at the collar to expose your neck.
“So… How bad will it hurt?”
“Bad, but only f- for a second.” He licks his lips, tongue sticking to his bottom lip for a second from how dry it is. “I wanted to— I wish this was— I wish we were—“
Gently, you shush him, head rolling to the side for easier access. “Save your energy, and tell me after.” You shiver against him, whether from the chill he holds or the anxiousness, it’s unclear. “I’m ready,” you whisper, but your quivering voice says otherwise.
Steve hesitantly leans into you, lips grazing your jaw, trailing down with weak kisses to your neck. They’re cold, stiff, but the mere thought alone of him kissing you makes you weak. It’s hard to hold back your shuddering breaths, aching to transform into needy whines. He’s murmuring apologies into your skin before his lips come to a halt.
He nuzzles his face into your neck, while your fingers find purchase in the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly to brace yourself. At first, he’s sucking softly, like he’s trying to leave behind a mark, claim his territory. Involuntarily, you moan into his ear, and that drives him to sink his fangs into your neck.
“O- oh… fuck.”
He wasn’t kidding; this shit hurts.
The pain hits hard, searing through your neck and rapidly reaching every inch of your insides. You seize up as he pulls you closer, fangs plunging deeper. The unmistakable, metallic scent of blood fills the air, making your head spin. He inhales the sharp essence, body quaking against your own.
A faint sob rolls out as the inferno in your neck intensifies, trying your best not to squirm in his hold. He pulls back, barely, but enough for a rush of a chill to filter into the puncture wounds, making you cry again.
“Shh, shh, I’m sorry, angel.” He winds his free arm around your waist, fingers dancing along your back in soothing patterns. “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.” Even from the minimal blood he’s taken, he’s starting to sound a little more coherent. Again, he bites into you, and the pain begins to radiate away, only to actually fade completely.
You’re very aware of what’s going on, what he’s doing, but now it only feels as if he’s suckling gently on your neck. The scent of blood, and the drips of it cascading down your neck are still incredibly noticeable, but it’s not alarming anymore. In fact, it’s almost… pleasant.
The sounds of your shuddering breaths fill the room, floating among the faint noises of satisfaction, muffled against your neck as he continues to indulge in this feeding.
The pleasant sensation rolls into euphoria, urging your body to move on its own accord. You arch your back, pressing against him while whining. The whines turn to soft, airy moans, while your hips begin rolling back and forth. You’re in a daze, aware of what you’re doing, but too high on the bliss of Steve sucking your blood to care.
Slowly, he regains his strength, little by little with each draw of blood; it shows in the way his grip on you becomes sturdier, and how he pulls you even closer, satisfied noises muffled against your skin as his mouth fills with your blood. When you grind down a little too hard into his lap, his hips jolt up into you, earning a surprised moan.
Steve pulls his mouth back again, panting wildly. Though you want to look at him, you can’t bring yourself to; one look at the blood on his face will send you into a spiral, you just know it.
Draining blood and bodily fluids out of a corpse? No big deal, that’s a breeze to you. Witnessing your own blood drip down Steve’s face? It doesn’t disgust you, but it’s quite a bit to take in, with emotions heightened and an unexpected desire, rising deep from within.
“Could get addicted to your taste, angel.” Whining, you lean forward, urging him to take more. You’re both intoxicated by the lust that seems to accompany the act of feeding. He laps at the blood rolling down from the wounds. “How do you feel?”
“Need you,” You groan, rutting against the bulge underneath you. You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure, you’re unsure if he’s hardening, or you’re imagining it. “Need y’so bad, Steve.”
The hand on your hip tightens, digging his fingers into the plush curve. That’s when you dare to steal a glance, and yeah, you were right, the sight of your blood dripping down his pretty face is sending you into a tailspin.
“We should not do this,” he grits his blood tinged teeth. “Angel, we can’t.”
“We can— we already are,” You fight his hold, grinding against him lazily. It’s enough pressure, enough friction, where it catches on the seam of your jeans just right. Gasping, your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure builds. “Please?”
“This is why I warned you— shit.” Your grinding begins to reward him, too, causing his head to thunk onto the chair’s back with a hiss. His other hand departs from your neck, firmly grabbing your other hip, trying to stop you from moving. He has the super strength to halt your actions, but he’s not trying to hurt you. Not past feeding off of you, at least. “We’re done, I’m feeling okay enough to stop, alright? Just… will you stop fucking doing that— fuck—“ He sounds so beautiful, all breathy with gasps and shudders.
“I can’t, I- I don’t—“ Burning. Your skin is burning. There’s tears welling in your eyes while distress consumes your expression. “—it hurts, Steve.”
His eyes clamp shut, trying to steady his breathing and weigh the pros and cons to himself. If anything else happens, it’ll change things between the two of you forever.
Things have already changed, though, and drastically; he’s already crossed so many lines, as have you. Your dynamic shifted permanently since the night he admitted the truth about his past. The point of no return was the confessions of affection later that night.
The regret Steve couldn’t reverse already had done its damage; he was certain you’d both were on separate paths, for good. Now, you’re here, when he needed help, needed you the most.
You really are some kind of angel to him; the least he can do is help you in return.
“What hurts?” He’s half expecting you to gesture to your neck, but unsurprised when you only shove your hips into his lap desperately. “I am not going to force anything, but whatever can ease the pain, I’ll guide you through. Alright?”
You nod frantically, pulling your shirt off before he can protest. He’s dumbfounded, and lovestruck, politeness kicking in to keep his eyes from wandering down your figure. “M’sorry, it’s just— I feel— it’s hot and cold, and a little dizzy, I- I— I don’t know how else to describe it—“
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Steve coos, grip loosening enough to caress your hips, slowly inching up your sides with each slide of his fingers along your curves. He allows his stare to stray, breath hitching while he takes in your figure for only a moment. “Take what you need.”
With permission, you drag your clothed heat against his, earning a delicious shudder from him. In ecstasy, your head eventually lolls back after a few thrusts against him, breathy whimpers spilling from your lips. He does as he promised, guiding you along by your sides, pushing and pulling gently with your motions.
“There you go…” A throaty groan follows his praise as you wriggle down, adding more friction against his cock. He leans forward, kissing your collarbone, lips lingering each time he does. “You’re doing so well, angel.”
“Again… please, again…”
“What are you asking for? Don’t be afraid, you can tell me.” He slides a hand up your back, splaying his fingers again as he brings you closer. “I’ve got you.”
You roll your head forward, lids weighty with lust as your mouth falls open, focused on the space where your clothed heat meets his own. Between the blood loss— while not significantly dangerous, enough to keep you lightheaded— and the sinful release building within, it’s difficult to find the necessary words.
With a wavering hand, you trace a finger along the bite mark he left behind, gradually still oozing drops of blood. Some of it gets on your finger; you bring it up to his lips, patiently waiting for him to catch on. His tongue flits out, eyes rolling back, tasting you again. His gaze blows wide with lust before parting his lips, coaxing your finger in with his tongue lapping at the blood. He suckles softly, moaning around your digit before pulling back.
“It’s sinful how delicious you are…” He licks the skin clean, gasping as you find a steady, devious pace with grinding.
“A little more?” You pant, bringing that same finger to your own lips before lazily licking over his blood tinged spit left behind. “Please, Steve. Wanna feel you again.”
Tongue rolling over his lips, he stares down his piercing handiwork.
“Are you sure—“
“Yes!”
Steve’s fangs sink into the existing marks, but there’s been too long of a pause since he first pulled away, so the searing ache returns— and only grows.
“Ngh— is it…“ A ringing builds slowly in your ears, limbs tingling with an airy, lightheaded sensation. “Steve, is this supposed to—“ Your own guttural cry interrupts you, startling him off your neck. The pain breaks through your lust-clouded mind. “M’sorry, I didn’t— I thought it wouldn’t hurt—“
He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks and wiping away a stream of tears.
“You’ve no reason to apologize, it’s my fault.”
Even through the suffering that has returned with a vengeance, it’s a relief to see how much better he appears. Yet something about offering yourself to him past the point of need turns you on.
“But I— god this is embarrassing. I begged you, and…” The ringing hasn’t stopped, breaths falling shallow. “I still want—“
“No, and that’s final.” He pretends to ignore the way your hips twitch at his order, tucks it away for another time—if he’s lucky. “I should’ve known your limits and played it safe, I’m so sorry.”
“Steve—“
“Hold still,” He leans back into your neck, but you flinch. “Angel, I need to stop the bleeding. This won’t hurt at all, I swear.”
Steve kisses the wound, but doesn’t suck from it. He licks along the aftermath, lapping up the blood as it slows. You can’t see what’s happening, but you can feel the pain ebb away. Though it’s not as satisfying as when he drank your blood the first time, it’s certainly relieving.
It doesn’t ease every side effect, though.
“Steve? I really…” Air slips away as you try catching your breath, struggling to speak up. “… I don’t feel so good…”
Your vision begins to tunnel in, slumping in his embrace. Everything begins to float away like a dream, while sleep steals you quickly.
You never hear the panic in Steve’s voice as he calls your name, begging you to stay awake.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
“Quite extraordinary how vampires work, hm?”
You open your eyes, but everything’s bright white and blurred. Sitting up, everything feels heavy, making your brain spin.
“You should rest. It’s okay. The first time is overwhelming, and a bit frightening.” A voice recalls. “Had to help him once, and fainted while he fed from my arm.”
Coming into focus is a woman, standing overhead of you. She has kind eyes with a smile to match, with freckles glittered across her face; something about her seems familiar, but you’re not sure what.
Her hand slips into yours as she sits by your side.
“You don’t have to fear him, though. He’d truly do anything to keep you safe.” Her voice is so soothing, easing your worried thoughts. “He stands by his word. Even if you decide to go your separate ways, he’ll care for you, if you let him.”
“Who… Steve?”
The woman nods.
“Thank you for keeping him safe. He’ll never admit it, but he needs someone to look out for him, too.”
Wait— “Robin?” Her smile widens, kind gaze lighting up; she looks just as she did in that portrait with Steve. “I- I- I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to overstep, o- or take your place—“
“You’re taking a place he’s held open for so long, waiting for someone right to step in.” Softly, she squeezes your hand, “It was never like that with him and I, you know that. It’s relieving to see how happy he’s become since you entered his life.”
Guilt for leaving him settles in the pit of your stomach. “What if I ruin things? I don’t want to hurt him again.”
“You won’t. Just allow yourself to love again, and allow love to come to you. The rest will fall into place.”
Love? Is that what you’ve been feeling? Does he feel the same?
“Is he… is he okay?”
“You saved his life. I’d consider that incredibly okay.” She takes your free hand in hers, clasping them both together in her gentle, warm grip. “I hate to ask anything more of you, especially after the eventful day you’ve had… but would you pass a message along to him?”
It’s hard to focus as you gawk over her presence. Robin’s gorgeous, but her kindness brings out the best of her features; you can tell why Steve was mesmerized by her from the start, even if he grew out of those feelings rather quickly.
“Ye- yeah, yes, of course.” You reply quickly, a bit embarrassed for staring. “What’s the message?”
“A few things: that I’ll miss my best friend dearly, and I’m eternally grateful for his love and care.” Her gaze grows glassy as tears well along her lash line, offering a pensive smile. She squeezes your hands once more, bottom lip trembling slightly. “And please… let him know I made it home safely.”
Without a chance to reply, your surroundings and Robin begin to dissolve into dust around you.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Something hard hits you, startling you awake. Rather, you hit something hard— the floor, to be exact.
Gripping your head, you groan from the unwelcome wake up call; footsteps dart closer to the doorway before it slams open, scaring you even more.
“Motherfucker— What the fuck—“
“Are you alright? Did you…” Steve scans over your figure; you’re fatigued, but nothing looks severely injured. He bites back a laugh. “You tumbled out of bed, didn’t you?”
“I’m dizzy! Not my fault, since you nearly sucked the life out of me.”
He sighs, shaking his head; with complete ease, he lifts you in his arms, bridal style, to rest you on the bed. You realize you’re in his bedroom while he pulls the covers over you. You’re also half naked, save for the boring bra and comfortable shorts you had worn.
God, why didn’t I wear a cuter bra—
Hang on … Why the fuck am I shirtless?
“How the hell did you lift me? Where’s my shirt?” You grab the comforter, covering your torso; it’s pointless, he’s clearly seen it all. “Why does it feel like I was hit by a train?”
Steve holds out a fist, straightening out a finger one by one with each answer. “With my arms, you threw it off while I was feeding from you, and probably from the blood loss— first time’s rough, I hear.”
“With my arms— okay, smartass, I’m not very light, y’know— Wait—” You wonder how you even made it into his bed to begin with. “You lifted me all the way up here? How?”
“I’m sure there’s a name more fitting than ‘super vampire strength’, but basically that.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows like a goofball, making you giggle. “Perks of being the scary monster with pointy teeth.”
He’s only joking, but your expression still falls. “You’re not a monster, Steve.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“Anyone who thinks otherwise is clearly boring and wrong.” Still semi-delirious, you reach your hands out to him, making grabbing motions in front of his face. Confused, he laughs softly, pretty fangs flashing in the dim candlelight.
“What are you doing?”
“Grabby hands.” He’s still lost, but his gentle grin doesn’t fade as you wiggle your fingers. “C’mere.”
“In bed? With you? You think that’s—“
“Yes. Just wanna cuddle. I gave you my life juice—“
“Ew, angel, don’t call it that.”
“Whatever. The least you can do is hug me.”
Steve’s body twitches, like he wants to immediately slide into bed next to you, but he hesitates. “That’s… not such a good idea. You’re still recovering…. and you wanted to leave for good. I made you uncomfortable.”
“Only because it felt necessary, thought it’d protect us both,” you admit with a hint of shame. “Not once have you ever made me feel uncomfortable, either.”
“How would that ever be necessary?” He sounds wounded, and you want to kick yourself that you believed walking away was the best option for you both. “I never wanted you to leave.”
“Then don’t let me go again.”
Steve runs his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly while he mulls over his decision; as if giving in to cuddling is a harder decision than whatever the hell happened earlier.
In seconds, he caves.
“Alright, alright. You win, angel.” He slips under the covers with you, while you’re already eager to share body heat and cozy up next to him.
Except there isn’t any body heat when it comes to this man.
His bare arms curl around you, making you yelp as his chilled skin meets your warmth. Shivering in his embrace, he notices the way you tremble, immediately pulling back. “I— wait, hang on.”
You still must be out of it, because you don’t realize he’s draping something over your shoulders. The sleeves tumble down your arms, enveloping you, soothing the shivers out of your body. It’s a loose, slouchy cardigan, stitches worn down from heavy, consistent love; you realize it’s the sweater he wore the night you two awkwardly tried to talk about your relationship. A relationship you’re still lost on.
“I can grab more blankets, too, if you’d—“ Steve only means to glance for a second, but he’s stuck, admiring you with his undivided attention. Heat burns under your skin as he continues to stare. “You’re so pretty, angel.”
Heat burrows under your skin from his compliment.
Sliding back into bed, his hold curves around you again. It’s easier to snuggle closer now with the knitted barrier, but you still duck your head under his chin, teeth chattering as you rest your face on his chest.
“Do you ever warm up?”
“You’re really bothered by the cold, aren’t you?”
“No— well, kinda, but doesn’t it bother you?”
Steve chuckles softly, but you feel the vibrations rumble in his chest against your own.
“Not really, no. It’s not uncommon for vampires.” He murmurs against the top of your head, sending shivers down your spine. “Are you scared I’ll freeze to death?”
“You’re already dead, Steve.”
“Un-dead, excuse you.” He corrects smugly. You scoff, and he misses the eye roll you give, face still buried in his chest. He’s tracing his fingers along your back, caressing up and down your spine. His voice drops just above a whisper, “Thank you for helping me. I know that isn’t why you returned, but… thank you.”
“I’m sorry I even left. You didn’t deserve that.” You inch back to meet his stare. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Much better, thanks to you. And luckily, we’ve started getting business again the last two days, so that’s helped with the blood supply—“
You shoot up, squawking out, “I’m sorry, two days?” The room tilts, and it must be apparent by your expression, since Steve immediately guides you slowly back against the bed.
He winces, nodding slowly. “I tried gently waking you several times, but figured you really needed the rest. I hadn’t realized how much blood I took from you until you passed out in my arms.” Now he’s the one who jolts up suddenly, “Shit, I didn’t— I forgot— you definitely need water, and food— are you hungry? You must be starving by now.”
His concern warms your heart, but you shake your head. “Oh, it’s okay, I can just… I’ll just grab something on the way home.” He grabs your chin, like the week prior; your eyes widen as your heart pounds, pulse beating straight down between your legs from the quick change in demeanor.
“Angel, I meant it when I said I take care of my people,” He reminds you softly. Your breath hitches as you watch his stare flit down to your lips, only for a moment. “I don’t mean to make decisions for you, but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of you driving tonight. Maybe even for a few days, depending on how long recovery takes.”
“But I…” He’s right. You know he’s right, yet you stay in denial. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“You’re always welcome here, whenever you want, or need.” He releases your face and adds, “I’d offer to drive you home, and will if you truly so wish, but you probably should not be alone right now.”
You nod, knowing there’s no use in arguing that.
“Could you take me back so I can grab some stuff at least? I don’t have anything to wear, especially work clothes—“
“Oh, you’re not working, either. That I’m not budging on.”
“What? Why not?”
“Rest for the living is more important than tending to the dead,” Steve argues as he crosses his arms.
“I left you for a week already—“
“And while you help keep this place running smoothly, I can handle another week on my own. I promise.”
“Okay, but who’s doing pickups then if Eddie’s away?”
“Me, who else?” You frown comically, pulling a breathy laugh from his lungs. “Angel, it’s fine. I can handle it. If there’s anything you still need from home I can retrieve it, but otherwise, you’re recovering.”
Reluctantly, you nod. “Alright, fine. I’ll make a list.” He grins, rolling out of bed to grab a pen and some paper for you from a nearby desk.
You don’t need much, just a few necessities; scribbling them down quickly, you tear the paper off the notepad, handing it over.
“Good girl,” Steve murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He feels you shiver under his lips, smirking before he parts ways.
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
Steve has to have a heightened sense of sound, or something; the moment your feet hit the floor, swung over the edge of his bed, he throws the door open, frantically rushing into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He stares at you wide eyed, while you haven’t even fully stood up yet.
You glance down at your feet, then to him, quirking a brow; you’re part annoyed for the way he’s hovering, and part grateful that he cares this much. “… Trying to walk?”
“You’re too weak for that right now,” he strides over to you, hands out to hold you in place by your shoulders. “You need more rest.”
“Okay, well I need to shower, it’s been days, and I feel gross, so-“ Steve picks you up in a flash, carrying you bridal style. “- hey, hey! Put me down!”
Damn him and this super strength bullshit vampires have.
“And risk you slipping in the shower?” He carries you out of the room effortlessly, down the hall with premeditated, cautious steps. “I don’t think so, angel.”
The soft glance he gives nearly dissolves the argument. You’re too drained to pretend you dislike the way he dotes on you; tucking your head into the ditch of his shoulder, your arms hook around his neck.
Okay, yeah, maybe it’s not so annoying to be cared for.
“So, what, I have to sit in the shower?”
“No,” he states calmly. “I have a bathtub.”
“Oh, okay, so I’ll drown instead.”
“No, you won’t, because I’m staying with you.” Steve reaches the bathroom, setting you down slowly.
You stumble as your feet hit the tiled floor— over his words, not weakness. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I won’t look, but you’re in no condition to be in a full tub all alone.”
Even the damn bathroom is elegant, with a massive, porcelain clawfoot tub as its centerpiece; candles are scattered throughout the room, offering a serene glow, yet you feel anything but relaxed.
Steve made it clear he’d only stay for your safety, but your mind still indulges in your desires.
Heat washes through you at the thought of sharing a bath together; your back against his chest, cool skin contrasting yours, hot to the touch… his fangs grazing your neck as he kisses you from behind, large hands exploring every inch and curve of your figure… him toying with you… while deep inside you, delicately feeding from your blood—
“Hey, where’s your mind off to now?” Steve’s gentle voice whisks you away from any impending filthy thoughts. He rests the back of his hand against your forehead, frowning. “Are you feeling ill? You’re pretty warm.”
Christ, I need to stop thinking like a goddamn romance novel.
Pushing his hand away, you refuse to look him in the eye. “M’fine, I’ll be quick, promise.”
Offering a glance of disbelief, he sighs with a nod. Still only in your underwear and his sweater, you pull the edges of the cardigan to wind around your body, shivering as he turns the faucet on. Your gaze falls upon him, studying his features, muscles in his arms flexing effortlessly with each turn of the handles. Something crossed between a dull ache and arousal ripple throughout your body.
You yearn to be closer with him, closer to him; the desire to feel not only passion and intimacy with him burns, but the desire to intertwine your lives where you take care of one another all the time… that burns brighter.
Placing fluffy, cloud-like towels next to the bathtub, Steve turns to you, inspecting your expression.
“How about I sit right outside the door, give you some privacy?” He asks, concern surfacing as he notices you shiver. “Or I can stay in here, but I mean it, I won’t look. It’ll only be precautionary—“
“N- no, I can… I’m okay alone, I promise.” Your fingers twitch as you ball them up tighter, sweater still snug within your grasp.
“The second you need something, though, just ask, alright?” He reaches out to your hands, resting his palms over them, thumbs gently caressing along your knuckles. “Need you to relax, angel.”
Shakily, you exhale, loosening your grip while daring to look Steve in the eye.
“Take all the time you need, and use whatever you want.”
You squeak out a quick “thank you” before he slips out the door, leaving it ajar just enough for a sheet of paper to fit through.
Eager for the tub’s warmth and to wash off two days worth of bed rest, you climb in, cautiously, of course. Involuntarily, a whimper escapes your lips the further you sink down into the sudsy water. The comfortable temperature should ease you to relax, but you can’t.
Your muscles only continue to tense up, and a groan rumbles through your chest, not quick enough to stop it.
The door creaks open an inch, but Steve still remains outside, respecting your privacy.
“Are you alright?”
“Uh-huh,” you reply, but it comes out full of uncertainty, not helping your case.
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm, y- yep!” You grab a bar of soap and a washcloth, hoping to scrub away your worries, and really, at first, it does start to relax you; there’s nothing like a relaxing, hot bath after tiring events, and you definitely earned the peace.
That quickly melts into unsolicited pleasure as the soapy cloth brushes against your chest. Your eyes jolt open as you gasp, sensitivity higher than you’ve ever experienced.
“What the fuck—“ you whisper, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle a moan. Heat burns white-hot throughout your body, pulsating from your core and rippling outward.
Imagery laced with lust float through your mind; you, sitting on Steve’s lap, a whining, nearly incoherent and dazed mess, grinding down on him. Steve, warning you of consequences, advising against giving into what you craved most.
You, begging, pleading, for more, while your blood drips from his lips. Lamenting to him of how it hurts, how something within you burns, and you need him—
Why does this feel so real? Why does it feel like you’ve been here before?
Has this already happened?
A breathy sigh slips from your lips as you realize your other hand is already between your legs, circling your aching clit. Your hips flex up in the water, cloth long forgotten among the bubbles as your other hand toys with your breasts.
That sigh molds into a moan, one you can’t hold back, lost in sinful thoughts of Steve touching you. That moan, also forms into his name, and you don’t realize it until he’s calling out in a panic.
“What’s going on?”
You gasp as your climax, once just out of reach, now withers away; as you pull your hands off your figure, embarrassment shadows over every other feeling that you were just sinking in moments ago.
“Angel?”
Trying to control your panting, you force yourself to respond, albeit while your voice trembles. “I- I’m okay!”
“You sound far from okay,” he counters, inching the door open a little, as a warning. “I’m coming in.”
“Steve, I’m fine, really!”
He refuses to take your word, and really, you don’t blame him; you probably sounded like a wounded animal on the other side of that door.
Sinking further into the water, gathering up the suds around you as a cover, you narrow your stare at him. There’s concern woven within his features, but … something you can’t quite pinpoint either.
God, you hope you weren’t too obvious.
Steve focuses on your lips, licking his own. He drops down to his knees next to the tub, making you extra aware you’re completely nude, only covered by the tub wall and bubbles; better than no barrier at all, you suppose.
“Steve, what are you—“
“Angel, hold still for me.”
It’s the ‘for me’ that nearly kills you inside, eats you alive from the inside out with adoration for this man.
Steve gently holds your chin in one hand, while licking his thumb in the other, gingerly swiping it along your bottom lip. The sting left behind from biting your lip— something you completely forgot about— ebbs away, twitching as you fight the urge to take his thumb into your mouth and suck softly.
Still holding you in place, he brings his other hand to his own lips, lapping away at the blood left behind on his thumb. A small, satisfied hum slips past his lips. You gawk as his tongue flits out, erasing any trace of crimson left behind. When his gaze finds your own, you notice a flash of deep red in his irises.
“There,” his hand on your chin moves to cup your cheek, thumb caressing over your cheekbone. “All better.”
⋆.˚───── 🩸 ─────˚.⋆
You somehow manage to convince Steve you can get out of the tub without assistance, and you’re grateful he gives you that moment alone, because you need a minute to yourself— what the fuck just happened?
With your clothes in the wash, and still yet to pick up your belongings from your place, Steve offers a cozy, fluffy robe for you to rest in. Except, there’s not much rest happening now, no thanks to that ruined orgasm and the wired, pent up energy you’re running off of.
Your desires eventually simmer enough to ignore them, enjoying a more wholesome hope you’ve had with Steve quite some time. It feels like the night you two officially declared friendship, where he began to open up.
Sitting cross-legged on Steve’s bed, you lean over to the water and snacks he grabbed for you, resting on the nightstand. He fixates on you as you speak, “I had a really weird dream, right before I woke up.” You pick at some grapes, throwing one in the air to try and catch it in your mouth; it bounces off your cheek instead, back into your hands.
“Never getting you grapes again, Steve, teases; laying on his side, leaning onto his arm while resting his head in his palm, he watches you with extra caution and concern. “That’s just a choking hazard waiting to happen.”
“I didn’t think vampires were all about safety first.”
“Maybe just this one. You humans are cute, but stress me the hell out.” A smile ghosts along his lips.
“May I remind you,” your eyes narrow towards him, “that you were human once too.”
“And never once a safety hazard like yourself.” He quips with a shrug, smirking as you roll your eyes. “Go on, what was your dream about?”
“Okay…” You huff, brushing off your nerves; you’re worried you’ll sound absolutely nuts.
Then again, not much more gets weirder than finding out your boss… friend… crush, is a vampire.
“It’s gonna sound bonkers, but… Robin appeared. I- I talked to her— well, she talked to me, first.”
Steve coughs, wide-eyed and taken aback. “What?”
“I know! I know, it sounds silly. I don’t know her aside from what you’ve told me, and the portrait she’s in, but she— I don’t know.”
He sits up, attention invested in your every word. “No, please, tell me what happened.”
“She mostly just reassured me everything would be okay… with you, and me… and us.” You go into more detail about the dream, ending with, “She wanted me to pass a message along, too.”
Steve’s gaze widens in anticipation. “What was it?”
“That she’ll miss you dearly, and she’s eternally grateful for your love and care while she was alive. Her words, not mine.” The last part takes a second to pop into your mind. “Oh, and she… she wanted you to know she ‘made it home safely’.”
Struck by something deep within him, he sits up and stares at you, dumbfounded. “Word for word?”
Your brows crinkle together, “Uh… yeah? I’m actually kinda shocked I remember this dream fully, they usually fade away the moment I begin talking about them— hey… are you okay?”
Steve runs a hand down his face, sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. Patiently, silently, you wait for an explanation.
“I always thought she was joking.” He gives a short huff of a laugh, but it isn’t melancholic. “When she was of sound mind, she’d tell me “I’ll let you know when I get home safe,” after leaving this world… always had this grin when she’d remind me, too.”
“She also said—“ You pause; maybe you should keep the rest of the dream to yourself. It’s too late, Steve’s already hanging on your unfinished thought. Shaking your head and hands, your eyes squeeze shut, feeling foolish. “It’s silly, I shouldn’t— I need to shut up.”
“Tell me,” He demands softly, hand slipping into yours. “Please?”
“Robin mentioned how… how nice it was to see you happy again, since we met. But she was still alive when we met, so how would she know?”
The smile that appears looks like one that pairs with tear-filled eyes, but he’s holding back. You wonder if that has anything to do with the way he cried in front of you the first time, with tears of blood. Maybe he’s worried he’ll scare you.
“When I’d visit her the last month or so, I might’ve brought you up a few times. The doctors encouraged talking to her, even in a coma, rather than weep by her bedside.”
“What, probably telling her how annoyed you were when I’d call you Mr. Harrington in the beginning, huh?”
“Alright, once, but aside from that—“ Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “I was talking about how good things had become since you came around.”
You’re surprised, and flattered, honestly; he saw you as someone worth telling his best friend about.
“I wish you could’ve met her, really met her. You two would’ve gotten along easily,” he grins fondly. “The kids, too. They could be troublemakers, but I think that’s part of being a kid.”
You get cozy, resting on your side, close to Steve, but nowhere near allowing your body to touch his, aside from your hands still clasped together. Snuggling into the pillow, you ask softly, “Were you like that as a kid, too?”
Steve’s mouth hangs open, struggling to find the right answer. “I… I don’t remember much of my childhood.”
Your heart aches, but you try approaching curiosity with sensitivity. “Is that, um… does that happen normally? Vampires forgetting parts of life like that?”
“Not sure, honestly.” He shrugs, “I have photographs as a kid, only a few, but they’re all blurry. Asking a child to sit for minutes long exposures is asking a lot.” He chuckles, but it’s tinged with a certain type of sorrow. “I have nothing else from that time, and I’m not sure if mementos would jog my memory enough, either.”
“I’m sorry, Steve.” You inch closer, breaking down the barrier of self-doubt, little by little.
“It’s alright.” He gives a gentle, lopsided smile. “I’m lucky enough to have watched those kids grow up, support them and cheer them on. That kind of fills the void left behind where I can’t remember my own childhood.”
“Will you tell me more about them? Someday, when you’re ready?”
He nods, softly agreeing, “Yes, of course. Might take me some time, the loss still feels fresh… even if it’s been decades. I’m sure that sounds ridiculous.”
“No, not at all. Grief is so finicky and works on its own time, not ours.” A stray strand of hair falls in front of his face; you reach out to gently brush it aside, fingertips lingering as they trail down the side of his face. “Take all the time you need, just know I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to open up.”
“There’s not enough of this kind of empathy when it comes to grief, certainly not in our field,” he observes. “It comes to you naturally, though.”
“So… does that mean I still have my job?” You offer a grimace-like smile, earning Steve’s gentle laugh, fangs and all.
You’re a sucker for that sight alone.
“Of course, as long as you want to come back.”
“Okay… b- but won’t it be a conflict of interest?” You inwardly curse at yourself for bringing professionalism back into this dynamic. “Power imbalance, and all of that?”
“Well, it could be… but I’ll let you decide for us, and for yourself.” His hand finds yours, still cradling his face, resting on top. He isn’t so cold anymore. Or maybe you’re growing used to it each time you touch. “You’re going back to school full time once the summer ends, anyway… and whatever you choose in the meantime, I support. No more pathetic, heartbroken voicemails, I promise.”
“Why don’t you get a say in any of this? It’s unfair to you if only I decide how this works out.”
“Because your time on this earth is limited, angel.” He turns his head, lightly kissing the heel of your palm. “You deserve to decide how you spend that time, not the guy who is stuck here forever.”
The one time you finally find someone interested enough in you that they respect your space, your choices, your autonomy, you’re reminded it’s not all perfect.
There’s always a catch.
“If this is what you want, and you have to want this on your own terms, I refuse to force you— we take things a day at a time.” He presses a kiss to your palm again, working slowly down to the pulse point in your wrist. Your veins throb, along with your still-sensitive core. “Understand?”
Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you nod, hissing as your tooth hits the spot of your now healed wound. It’s still sore, despite the skin’s lack of breakage.
“Don’t hurt your lip again, angel. I’d be tempted to kiss it better.”
“No one said you can’t,” you pout, coaxing his smile to stay put.
“It never came up, and I’d need your consent, anyway.”
“Wait. So… we never kissed when you fed from me?”
Steve’s bewildered. “No, not at all. You can’t remember what happened?” He asks, blushing a bit— so, vampires do blush— clearing his throat, “… Do you want to know?”
“Well, yeah, ‘cause I only remember when you first bit me, and how it began to feel good… then I woke up on the floor in here—“
“Fell out of bed onto the floor, you mean—“
“Oh, whatever.” You sit back up, playfully rolling your eyes; you reach out to the snack tray, popping another grape into your mouth. This time, you manage to catch it. “Just tell me what happened.”
Taking a deep breath, Steve exhales roughly, head tilting up toward the ceiling. You watch the blush splotch down his neck, spilling under the collar of his shirt— seriously, what’s the science behind vampires blushing?— “You became a bit… excited.”
“Excited?” A chuckle slips out. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Um, well, you see,” He looks down, but not at you, scrunching his eyes shut as he nervously begins to ramble. “It’s, uh, not uncommon for humans to become… aroused, while being fed from. It’s why I was worried to feed off of you in the first place, I didn’t— you don’t—“
“Oh.”
“I let you decide everything, and you told me it hurt, so I- I just wanted you to feel better, I told you to take what you need, so you, you know, you just…” He gestures to your hips, voice cracking. “You asked me to continue feeding, but the pain became too much, and you fainted— thankfully on me, not the floor, or I’d never forgive myself. Or if you bashed your head off the desk, that could’ve been horrible, and I— the whole thing—“
“Steve—“
“You were so good to me, caring for me like th- that. So good for me, I just wanted to help you. Wanted you to feel good.”
‘Good for me.’
Forget everything else he just said, all that matters are those three words, how electrifying they are to hear from a stunning creature like himself.
I’m so fucked.
Clearing your throat, you dare to ask, “… Did I?”
“Did you… what?”
“F- feel good?”
He nods cautiously, the lewd scene of you, grinding onto his lap in a lust-driven daze, replaying in his mind. You, desperately searching for some kind of respite after offering yourself to him. How you swiped the blood from your neck onto a finger, slipping it between his lips, studying every movement he made. It’s only up to the imagination to question what could’ve happened if you were able to continue.
“Steve?” You wave your hand in front of his face.
“Hm?” Gaze flitting down to your lips, he licks his own. “Uh… yes. I’d say so.”
You wait expectantly, laughing, “You’re not gonna elaborate?”
“Angel, I’m— I would rather not make you feel uncomfortable.” He nervously chuckles, stare darting away. “Maybe it’s best you don’t remember what happened.”
“Clearly, I wasn’t uncomfortable, and still am not, since I’m laying half-naked in your bed.” You gesture to the robe he offered you, while washing the clothes you had in the meantime.
“Well, a certain stubborn human refuses to rest, and won’t allow me to retrieve their belongings.”
“I never said you can’t go!” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine alone, seriously.”
He ignores you, narrowing his stare playfully. “Probably would’ve drowned in the tub, or choked on a damn grape by now.”
“Okay, okay, I promise I won’t be a stubborn, functioning human being while you’re gone!” You sit up with a smirk, “As long as you tell me what the hell happened when you were feeding.”
“Oh, we’re bargaining now?”
“Maybe. You could always just… show me what happened.”
You loosen your robe, allowing it to slink off of your shoulders; it’s enough to expose the top of your chest, but not enough to expose everything quite yet.
Mesmerized by the sight before him, Steve’s jaw drops, hands drawn to your figure like a moth to a flame. He leads you to lay back against the pillows in his strong grasp.
You gasp; this is it. Finally.
However, you don’t expect him to pull the duvet back over you. Or pull your robe back over your shoulders.
“What the—“
“You’re right, I could show you, and I’d love to,” he grins like the smug bastard he is. “But I meant it when I said you need rest.”
You pout dramatically, earning a genuine laugh from Steve, fangs gleaming in the candlelight, just like the night he confided in you of his past.
“Not even a kiss?”
He hums, offering performative contemplation before leaning down, hand winding behind your head to cradle it before pressing his lips against your forehead.
“The sooner you recover…” Steve tilts down to rest his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. Eyes fluttering shut, your breath hitches. His nose brushes against yours, the chill of his skin contrasting the heat of yours. So close… he’s so close— “The sooner you’ll get more than just a kiss.”
And just like that, he’s detached from you, leaving you utterly flustered.
With a disgruntled groan, your eyes open and roll, diving under the duvet as you grumble grievances to yourself. “Fine. Get outta here so I can rest or recover, or whatever.”
Steve chuckles as he leaves, hanging in the doorway for a moment. “Sweet dreams, angel.”
paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)
summary: Steve finally begins to open up about his past, and it’s nothing close of what you anticipated to discover. // MDNI
WC: 9.2k
includes: language. discussions of death and grief/mourning. mentions of embalming practices. mentions of blood. angst. hurt/comfort. tension and flirting bc we needed more of that heheheh. reader has no physical description, but she has specific personality traits. if any of this bothers you— this is not the fic for you.
masterlist // vampire vibes playlist
A/N: I wasn’t expecting more than a handful of y’all to like this concept, so thank you to anyone who has read the first part so far, and thank you for any comments!! hope y’all enjoy this one too <3 again, please heed the specific warnings before reading! title is from flashback - tbm
‘all you need is want / angels work, and devils play’
———————
The earlier conversation with Steve has you tossing and turning now in bed, glaring through weary eyes at your alarm clock’s glowing red numbers— 1:49 A.M.
There’s still time to get a decent night’s sleep; your shifts don’t begin until the late afternoon, sometimes not until the evening. Steve operates on odd hours for running a funeral home, aside from pickup calls in the dead of night.
Again— your boss is fucking weird.
Still, the weirdness you’re growing a soft spot for. Steve and his strange quirks have already worked their way into your heart, and god, you wish they’d stop burrowing deeper.
A restless mind is something you’ve always lived with, and it seems to get louder, more distracting over time as you grow older. This, though, is something that won’t allow your eyes to close, to finally rest. Whenever they begin to slip shut, your mind replays the sight of Steve, crying blood.
Maybe you should’ve ignored his disdain for help and called an ambulance. He knows himself best… but how could anyone be calm about weeping literal blood?
A few times within the night, sleep almost sunk its grip into you, only for your dreams to plummet into nightmares, imaging the worst for Steve. Awful, horrific images, ones you can’t remember the moment you startle yourself awake, but you just know it’s bad.
Melatonin didn’t work, drinking tea didn’t soothe you to sleep, alcohol is just a bad idea to rely on, same with weed when it makes you anxious; all that’s left is an old sleep medication you don’t take anymore. Sure, you slept well on them, but a little too well; twenty-one hours isn’t an acceptable amount of time to sleep, according to society.
… And okay, alright, fine— maybe you agree with that.
You know where the half-finished prescription bottle is, third drawer down in your nightstand. It’s probably expired by now, but it should help somewhat, right? And it couldn’t be as potent if you only took half of a tablet… right?
God, what if I sleep through my shift? I’ll let Steve down, lose my job, lose credits to graduate, but it’s near impossible to focus on little to no rest.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
With a huff, you kick your sheets back, rolling over to the edge of the bed to open the drawer. Reaching in to retrieve your medication, a shrill noise in your ear startles you, causing you to bump your head off the edge of the nightstand as you jolt upright.
“Okay, it’s just the phone, chill the fuck out,” you try reminding yourself, heart pounding as you allow it to ring a few more times.
Who the fuck calls this late?!
Fear molds into pure annoyance by the fourth ring; you yank the phone off the hook, grumbling, “What the hell do you want? ‘Cause I ain’t buying shit. It’s fucking late, and some of us are trying to sleep, you jerk—“
“Whoa, angel, it’s just me.” Steve’s voice is a soothing balm to your ears after the phone scared you. “Are you alright?”
Oh. Fuck.
“Oh my god… Steve, m’sorry! God, this is—“ a nervous laugh bubbles out of you, but it doesn’t relieve your tension. “Y- you’re not a jerk, for the record.” You want to shrink into yourself, hide away forever, because there’s no way you can face your boss now after screaming at him like that. “I- I thought it might’ve been a—“
“A telemarketer?” He chuckles into the phone, seemingly unbothered. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, I really shouldn’t call so late, but I wanted to check in, since you can’t sleep.”
“Oh… you didn’t have to—“
… Hang on.
Your brows scrunch together, resuming with a new thought. “Huh? How’d you know I was still awake?”
Steve drags out an unsure groan, bashfully admitting, “I… I might’ve had to drive past your place after a… um, night call. Your lights were still on when I was returning home.”
At first, your heart flutters; he noticed and cared that much to call? That’s sweet, right?
… Except you’ve never told him exactly which apartment was yours, only the building; how would he know which window was yours?
“Wait, Steve… you don’t even know which apartment I’m in—“
“Angel, aren’t you tired by now?”
His interruption catches you off guard. “I mean… kinda? Obviously not enough to sleep, but—”
“Are you sure? Honestly, you sound exhausted, poor thing.” His words could be considered condescending, but the inflection within them sound heartfelt; you know him well enough by now to know this. At least, you think you know him well enough. “I’ll stay on the line until you fall asleep, if that were to help.”
“Oh… no, Steve, you don’t have to do that! You need sleep too.”
“This isn’t about me right now,” he softly counters. “Though I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Steve’s voice carries warmth, soothing like a worn, favorite blanket. His tone is smooth like honey, coaxing you to lay against your pillows without actually asking.
“Do you normally struggle sleeping?”
Your bed is the most comfortable it’s ever been in your life, and you’ve had this thing for ages. Falling into relaxation makes it hard to respond right away. “I… um, y- yeah. It’s always been hard for me.” You yawn, excusing yourself before adding, “Sometimes it’s not falling asleep that’s challenging, it’s staying asleep.”
“Honey, there’s more to this that you’re not telling me.” He’s still so gentle, not scolding you, but encouraging you to open up. “I won’t push it, but I bet it’d be relieving to talk about.”
The nightmares. How the fuck does he know about those? You know he knows, and he doesn’t even need to say it—
Wait, whoa, hang on. Did he just call me ‘honey’?
You huff out a laugh, half-assed as you fight to keep your eyes open. The phone’s pinned between your ear and the pillow, uncomfortable, but you eventually relax enough onto your back, leaving the phone to rest right beside your face.
“It’s… they’re just silly nightmares. I’m okay, Steve.” Your words aren’t convincing, but you can feel exhaustion finally weighing you down, unable to continue convincing him.
“Well… I promise if you fall asleep, the nightmares won’t bother you anymore.” He confidently assures you. “At least not tonight.”
A weak snort slips out of you. “Steve, you can’t just tell them they can’t come back. That’s not how this works.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t try for you.”
You’re giggling now, delirious from lack of sleep, finally dancing with your body’s need for rest. “Oh? What are you gonna do? Fight ‘em off for me?”
“Something like that,” he chuckles, amused. “But you won’t remember any of this come tomorrow.”
“Huh? Why not? I’m tired, not drunk.” The longer he talks to you, the more relaxed and amused you are simultaneously. “M’saying this as your friend, not your assistant— you’re so weird, Steve.”
It’s as if the two of you are diverging into separate, one-sided conversations as he ignores your comment, though not completely; it still makes him chuckle more, voice gravelly, vibrating into your ear.
“I bet you’re going to fall asleep any second now,” he states, as if it’s fact. The heavier your eyelids become, though, you wonder if he’s just that good at reading others over the phone. “Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Attempting to wish Steve the same, you slur out your response into something far from coherent, easily falling into a deep slumber.
—————
Throughout the remainder of the night, you slept, and you slept well.
Every night after the phone call with Steve, you continue to rest more than you ever have at night; it feels as if your body is ready to sleep as soon as it hits 10 PM. That’s never happened before.
Much to your surprise, it continues on like this for several weeks, and without nightmares, too.
Steve, however, is struggling to hide whatever has him distraught as the days roll on. Each day you see him, you gently remind him he can talk to you if he needs; he expresses gratitude every time, but never opens up. Though you’re still not the best at reading his emotions, he’s showing signs that he’ll crack soon. It’s just a matter of when.
The air has been dense with humidity lately, breaking today into a downpour as you park outside of the funeral home.
Figures.
As you’re walking inside, drenched from the rain, Steve’s rushing around his office, frantically throwing on a coat and gathering items haphazardly into his arms. He tosses them into his bag, muttering to himself as he pats down his pockets in search of something.
Cautiously, you step into the doorway, clearing your throat a bit; Steve whips around, face almost lighting up at the sight of you, but something suppresses that little spark of joy. His expression defaults back into worry and bewilderment.
“Hey… is everything okay?”
His shoulders slump as he sighs. He offers a slight, wounded smile as his head shakes no.
“It’s both a blessing and a curse to be an undertaker when we lose a loved one.”
You always knew this is bound to happen, for anyone working in the death industry; there will come a day where you get to care for a loved one’s shell of who they once were. You’ll be the one to carry out their final wishes, be it a traditional burial, cremation, green burial— you’re the one directing their last journey into their infinite place of rest.
What a privilege it can be, to show one last act of love in caring for them, their family, their friends; what a curse it always is, to carry that weight, the details behind closed doors. What remaining loved ones see is the product of your hard work, a long, tireless night, preparing their dearest for their send off. Witnessing this person at their rawest form, exposed from the inside out, all physical evidence and secrets revealed.
Maybe it would’ve been easier striving to become a medical examiner; no emotional strings attached, just medical and mortuary science. Your stomach churns whenever you imagine what it’d be like to care for someone you love so dearly after they depart from this world.
“Where’d you go just now?”
You’re pulled from the wreckage of your internal breakdown, bleary gaze finding Steve standing before you. His hand rests on your arm, cold. Always cold, but comforting.
“Sorry, I—“ Shaking your head, you tense up, feeling absurd for tangling yourself up in such panic. Steve’s the one mourning someone, not me. Get it together. “What can I help with? I can—“
“Don’t worry about the decedent today,” Steve steps closer, gazing into your eyes with his own hurt, distant stare. “I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”
“I- I don’t mind doing it alone, I can handle it, no problem.”
It doesn’t register that his hand moved, and now is cradling your face, until you feel the chill of his skin against your own.
Weird.
“I have no doubt you can, angel.” His thumb grazes your cheek. “But I would rather you wait until I return. In fact,” hand falling away, he turns to glance out the window, frowning at the downpour; you find yourself missing the soothing chill of his palm against your face. “You should take today for yourself. You’re more than welcome to wait out the storm here, if you’d like. I’d rather you stay safe than try to drive in this rain.”
You frown, flipping the concern back onto him, “Will you be okay driving in this?”
Through the melancholy, he still manages to smirk, ever so softly. “Eddie will be driving, and we both know that hearse is a tank.”
You chuckle amidst the somber energy, “Okay, only one of those are reassuring.”
Steve shakes his head, huffing a weak laugh as his hand digs into his pocket. He pulls out a key ring, slipping one slim skeleton key off before handing it to you. Brows furrowing, you gingerly take it into your grasp.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for the house upstairs. Feel free to make yourself at home if you choose to stay.” He folds your fingers closed around the key, cradling your hand in his grasp; his touch only lingers for a few seconds. “If not, you can just leave it on the desk before you go.”
That answers your suspicions of him living above the funeral home, but it’s a trivial mystery solved compared to the mystery of his past.
You glance down at the key in your palm, rolling the weighty metal around as you contemplate an answer. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you simply nod.
“Call if you need anything, okay?” Boldly, you reach out for his hand, grasping it in yours; a shiver runs up your arm as his chill meets your warmth. “I… I’m so sorry for your loss, Steve.”
Squeezing your hand back before he pulls away, he gives one more somber attempt of a smile as he backs out of the office. You watch him slip out the door, disappearing into the curtain of torrential downpour outside, deciding you’ll stay.
—————
One emergency years ago was all it took to realize it was worth keeping a bag of necessities in your trunk; stranded in your broken down car within a snow storm, hours from home, wasn’t something you ever wanted to experience unprepared again.
When Steve left, you wrestled with your thoughts, questioning if grabbing the bag with comfortable clothing was a step too far. It’s not like you expected to stay— though, under different circumstances, the thought would drive the butterflies in your stomach mad. But you wanted to be cozy, and the longer you went unproductive on this rainy day, the more you wanted to curl up and read, or watch a movie, maybe nap.
Even enduring the storm to run to your car for a minute, you realized Steve was right; this rain looked near impossible to drive in. It was much safer to shelter in place.
So, you end up in a roomy sweater, comfy sweatpants, bundled up on the luxurious couch— dear god, this thing was comfier than your bed— sinking into the warmth. You nurse a cup of tea, flicking through the channels until you land on one marathoning old Hollywood horror films. Something for background noise, at least, since you can’t focus on the TV. Attention floating around the room, you take in the ornate, intricate design of the house; it truly is a Victorian-style house from the inside out.
The photographs on the gallery wall are what really draw you in. Wrapped in a throw blanket, you shuffle over to the wall, admiring all of the portraits and candid shots. Some look more recent, but others appear dated; very dated.
A portrait of Steve and a stunning woman catches your eye; she’s in an ornate chair, sitting so upright it hurts your spine to think about, in a Victorian era dress. Her wide smile and gentle features are naturally beautiful. Steve stands behind her, hand resting on her shoulder as she poorly attempts to cover her mouth mid-laugh. Though Steve pretends to be annoyed, a ghost of a smile dances across his face; it’s as if they were lost in an inside joke of some kind. The print itself has that silvery sheen, like a gelatin printed photo.
Steve likes old things, vintage aesthetics and antiquities, you’ve noticed. The photo is probably part of that interest.
Maybe this was taken at one of those hokey, old time photo studios. Wonder who the woman is. Is he married? He never wears a ring. Could be his girlfriend? But he’s never mentioned one before.
A clap of thunder startles you away from your thoughts, and the gallery wall, as you seek comfort on the couch once more. You curl up under blankets, diving your head into the softest pillows you’ve ever laid your head on, and attempt to distract yourself with the movie. That doesn’t work, but at least sleep steps up to guide you away from your overthinking.
—————
The muffled noise of the garage door opening stirs you awake; sound travels easily in an old house, even two floors away. It intertwines with the TV, still showing old horror movies; this time, Dracula flashes across the screen. Steve must’ve returned with the decedent. There’s a pang in your chest as you remember how… defeated he looked before leaving, yet refused to crumble in front of you.
You want to give him the space he needs, but you also want to check on him—
Christ, he’s my boss; we’re not close like that.
… but he also said we’re friends now.
It’s been hard to juggle those complex feelings; yes, you’re attracted to him, but more importantly, there’s a strong draw to let your walls down around him, become friends beyond work.
Power imbalance. That’s a damn power imbalance, and you know better.
Steve never treats you as if you’re below him, though. Sure, you’re a mortuary assistant, but he makes it a point to be incredibly equal with you, or anyone he works with. He’s guiding you through the start of this career, but you don’t feel forced into anything; it doesn’t feel like you’re being shoved around.
The summer’s halfway spent, and you’ve only grown closer with him— is it really such a crime to naturally let a friendship grow, even with an employer?
“Dracula, eh?”
You yelp, nearly jumping out of your skin at the sound of Steve’s voice unexpected filling your ear. Clutching your chest as your heart pounds rapidly, you narrow your eyes at him.
“What the fuck, Steve?!” His devious smile falters, concerned he really upset you. That fades as soon as you chuck a down pillow at his head, smacking him square in the face. “You can’t sneak up on me like that!” He lazily tosses the pillow back to you, shaking his head with a breathy laugh.
His hair’s damp, probably from running out into the rain at some point in between transporting the body. Some strands hang in his face, and god, he’s just so gorgeous.
Stop staring, stop staring, you gotta stop staring.
Hands planting onto the back of the couch, Steve leans over it, offering a smile that still won’t meet his eyes. He gives you a once over, and that’s when a tiny spark of light flickers in his gaze. It’s brief, but it’s something.
“Oh, are we having a pajama party? Hm. I believe I wasn’t invited.”
You wrinkle your nose up, “Ew, Steve. Pajama party? Shut up.” His smirk grows with a shrug. “Okay, look, I just keep an emergency bag in my car! After getting stranded in traffic in the middle of a snowstorm, I learned to have comfy clothes on hand. Just in case.”
“Smart girl,” He gravelly declares, tugging at something low in your stomach. The smirk stays put as your breath catches in your throat. “Are you staying over?”
You sit up straight, eyes widening as you stammer, “Uh— I— that’s— I overstayed my welcome, I should head home.”
“It’s terrible out, but I don’t want to influence your decision. At least let me drive you home if you want to leave.”
You study his expression; he doesn’t want to be alone, and really, you don’t want to leave him alone.
“If I stay, you gotta finish the movie with me,” Pointing back to the TV, you watch Steve’s face flatten out of feigned annoyance. “Oh, c’mon, it’s a classic!”
“That’s not a real depiction of vampires, you know.” He’s heading for the stairs— how many floors does this place have?!
“Like you’d know,” You turn back to the movie, shaking your head with a laugh. “Vampires aren’t even real.”
Steve bites his tongue, silently ascending upstairs.
—————
Another movie rolled on after you forced Steve to finish watching Dracula with you. He spent the majority of the movie grumbling under his breath, or scoffing over the vampire’s mannerisms. Every so often, when you’d glance his way, a gleaming pendant dangling from his neck would catch your attention.
A small, heart shaped, glass vial, with something inside— you just couldn’t tell what. All you knew was, your curiosity was eating away at you as time went on.
“Hey, Steve?”
Head resting back on the couch, he slowly rolls it to face you; another weak, unconvincing smile appears.
“Yes, angel?”
Every time he calls you that, your heart pounds.
“What’s the…” Don’t be nosy. Your head snaps back to the TV. “Never mind.”
Steve turns his body towards you, shaking his head softly. “No, go ahead. Ask what you wanted to ask.”
Your stare flickers down to the pendant, giving your curiosity away. He pulls the chain up, dangling it in clear view.
“Is it about this?”
Hesitantly, you nod in silence. Steve gingerly pulls the chain over his head before handing it to you. You cautiously place your palm up and out, eyeing the pendant as it’s set in your hand.
Plucking the chain between your fingers carefully, you hold the vial up to the light, red viscous liquid coating the glass interior.
Half-joking with a weakened laugh, you ask, “Is this blood?”
“Yes.”
Your eyes dart to his, frozen in place as your heart thump, thump, thumps away; not a sign of humor to be found across his face. He’s serious.
“… Yours?”
“No.”
Gulping, you muster the courage to ask, “W- whose is it?”
Steve settles back toward the TV, snuggling down under his blanket. “My late wife’s.”
Well, that’s a two-for-one bombshell to casually drop.
“I’m sorry— what?”
Pointing the remote to the TV, he turns the volume down, facing you again.
“What?”
Why the fuck is he so calm about this?
“Did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes.”
It doesn’t feel right to hold the pendant anymore— something so bizarre to you, yet clearly sacred to him— so you carefully hand it back over. Steve’s hand brushes against yours, ice cold.
“I- I didn’t know you were married— why haven’t—“ You continue stumbling over your racing thoughts. What the hell do you even question first? “She was never— did she even live with you?” That’s when it clicks, the second the words leave your lips. “… Your wife’s the person you lost today, isn’t she?”
Steve sighs, fighting the urge to slide closer to you; he’s worried he already has frightened you. If this was too much, you won’t be able to stomach the truth, but he’s wanted to open up for so long now.
“Angel, if we’re going to be close, there’s a lot you should know about me.” He slides the necklace over his head, gripping the vial tightly. “But I’ll let you decide if you want to hear the truth or not.”
“Well you can’t just— just drop that on me and expect me to let it go,” You murmur, breath shallow as you stave off panic.
He reaches out for you, but you tense up. “May I hold your hand?”
“Only if you put some fuckin’ gloves on.” The teasing slips out of nervousness, but Steve takes it seriously, pushing off the couch to fetch a pair. You grab his hand- his cool, yet soft hand- tugging him back to the couch. “I was kidding, m’sorry.”
He forces a weak laugh, but he’s too distracted to put effort into it.
“If we discuss this, you have to let me explain everything. I understand if you judge me, but you have to keep it to yourself until the end. And most importantly, please, don’t run away.”
“Why would I?”
He doesn’t answer, only adds, “I’d do anything to protect you, just so we’re clear. I’d never hurt you, angel.”
Despite the mystery and vague hint of danger, his comment makes your heart flutter. It’s also wrong, because he has a wife. Had a wife, and she just died, today.
“Steve, you can’t say this kind of shit… it freaks me out.”
He wants to come out and say it, admit the truth, rip the bandaid off.
“It’ll either continue to freak you out, or you’ll think I’m trying to be funny.” You shake your head, keeping your lips sealed. “How old do you think I am?”
Brows knitting together, you answer, “I dunno… a few years older than me, right?”
“Define ‘a few’.”
You scoff, growing impatient. “ I don’t know, Steve, just tell me—“
“You were watching Dracula earlier, yes?” His eyes flit over to the television screen, then back to you. “Well… for starters, let’s just say I’m older than that film.”
You tilt your head slowly, opening and closing your mouth a couple times, finally pointing out, “But that came out in ‘31…”
“It did.”
“Stop beating around the bush, Steve—“
“I am technically older than my wife,” His hand presses flat on his chest as he speaks. “Who was 87 when she passed today.”
You can’t be bothered to do the math, waiting anxiously to hear what he has to admit. “… I’m not following any of this, I’m sorry. Are you trying to tell me you’re, like, into cougars or something?”
Steve’s face scrunches up, bemused. “You mean the animal?” He runs a hand through his hair, fraction of a laugh huffing out. “How is that relevant?”
“No, Steve, not the— oh my god,” you chuckle, hand clapping over your eyes. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. I’m still not sure what you’re talking about, though.”
Actually, you do have an inkling of what he could be hinting towards, but… there’s no way.
“You’re a smart girl, you should be able to pick it up by now.” There’s no condescending tone to the belief. He pulls the pendant back out from under his shirt, dangling it in front of you. “When we got married, I gave her a ring, she gave me this. Tokens of forever. She wanted to grow old. I couldn’t, I can’t.”
The only answer you can conjure up seems outlandish, so you keep it to yourself.
“We fought over it quite a bit, because I was selfish. I wanted to be together forever, couldn’t imagine a world without her. She couldn’t imagine a life of immortality. I had to let her go; it would’ve been cruel to persuade and guilt her to stay.”
“So you… you’re…” Again, out of nervousness, you blurt out, “What’s your skincare secret?”
Steve laughs, he laughs heartily, and it’s the first time his smile reaches his eyes all day, continuing on.
“It was always platonic, but I did feel more in the beginning, admitted my feelings… then I had to let that go. Those were short lived anyway, and I was grateful to have her in my life regardless. We never divorced. She was— is, my best friend. If there was ever a time the marriage gave some sort of benefit in a time of need, we’d have it.
“It helped protect her when she had to hide her true self for safety’s sake.” His free hand cradles the vial of blood. “This world is ridiculously cruel to those who don’t fall under certain norms. People should be able to freely love who they want to.”
Now it makes sense; he went above and beyond to protect his best friend under the guise of marriage.
His smile fades off. “When she became ill, the marriage helped with all of that insurance nonsense. Doctors always found it bizarre we were technically married, despite the age difference as she got older. I found I could, um… gently manipulate them to stop asking invasive questions about it, at least.”
You can’t help interrupting him, “Is that why I fell asleep so easily the night you called? Mind manipulation?” Then you remember, “And that’s how you knew exactly what apartment I’m in?!”
“The term sounds much more harsh than it actually is, and yes, I swear it was only to help you. I truly felt awful you couldn’t sleep.” Steve grimaces; you know he meant well, there was no ill will behind his actions. If anything, it was just further proof showing how kind he is towards others. “I’m sorry, angel.”
Frantically, you shake your head, heart aching at how quick he is to blame himself for helping you. “No, no! You have no idea how much that has helped me sleep since then.”
“Well,” his face softens into a gentle, knowing smirk, “I do know… since I made it happen.”
Teasingly, you toss a throw pillow at him, one he dodges with fast reflexes. “Oh, come on!”
Steve begins to laugh, but it doesn’t reach its full potential as he remembers the conversation at hand.
“So, uh, anyway…” he clears his throat, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. “She was the last of her family, too; I was all she had. We had other partners over time, but it’s not like she could marry who she really loved. We just… supported one another in every other way that wasn’t romantic.
“I watched her grow old, watched life change and shape her into a stronger version of herself each and every day. She even celebrated every new wrinkle and grey hair that sprouted, unlike what most humans love to hate about themselves. I began to envy her, not in a malicious way, but just…wishing I could grow old alongside my best friend.”
Your heart aches for him; what a loss it must be to let someone go twice in a life you have no escape from.
“I’m relieved she’s at peace, but there is a certain kind of anger I can’t shake.” Steve gives a short, mirthless laugh. “She didn’t have to suffer the way she did, right until the end, but she refused to— to—“
“Let you turn her.”
“See? Smart.” He squeezes your hand, smiling faintly. “Even though we weren’t partners, I still loved her. Still do love her. She was still my soulmate, in a way.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “But it was strictly ‘Platonic with a capital P’ , that’s what she’d always say.”
You weakly smile, but your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”
“Angel,” his free hand gently wipes a tear off your cheek, one that snuck past your attention. “Why are you crying?”
“You never hear of people loving one another the way you two did, even if it was platonic. You loved her enough to let her go, twice, and you— you were so supportive of her happiness.” You rub the tears from your eyes, groaning. “Sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry. If I’m being honest, I was not expecting this reaction at all.”
“Now that I think about it all… makes sense why you were such a grump watching Dracula,” You laugh through your sniffling, but remember a comment you made earlier, hand slapping over your forehead with your eyes screwed shut, shame runs through you easily. “Oh my god, I said vampires aren’t even real! I’m such a dick—“
He laughs again, and it’s music to your ears, coaxes your eyes open, too. You even catch a glimpse of his fangs for the first time; is this is why he’s never allowed himself to laugh fully around you?
God, his smile is so… pretty.
“I’ve been told much worse.”
Mind still connecting the dots, you recall an earlier memory with him. “Is that what that one phone call was about? The day you taught me about cremation?”
He nods, gaze falling to the floor, and you regret allowing curiosity to ask something clearly too fresh to discuss. Yet he answers without hesitation, “Her body started rejecting medication, and they told me it was only a matter of time before she’d decline until the end.”
“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Realizing your hands are still clasped together, you emphasize the sentiment with a squeeze to his hand.
Steve grasps back gently, returning a broken, whispered, “Thank you.”
You glance behind him at the gallery wall, fixating on the portrait you discovered earlier. “Was that her? In that portrait with you?” He nods, smile beginning to fade yet again, but not completely. “She was beautiful. What was her name?”
“Robin.”
“She looks so happy in that photo.”
“Couldn’t even tell she loathed dresses in that shot. And she kept cracking jokes that she would ‘burn the damn thing’ as soon as the photographer left. She wouldn’t stop laughing, kept moving too much for every shot.” He rolls his eyes despite the lopsided grin coming to life. “And that was back when you had to stand very, very still for photographs. God forbid you’d sneeze during portraits…”
“Now you’re just intentionally exposing your age, Steve.” Your harmless jab encourages that smile to stick around. “Thank you for telling me all of this. For trusting me.”
There was much you wanted to learn all about Robin, and her bond with Steve. That would be too personal to ask about right now, though. Another curiosity comes to mind.
“Can I ask something personal? You can tell me to piss off, if you don’t want to answer.”
“Ask away, angel.”
“How do you… y’know, feed? Isn’t hard to be around humans?”
“Why do you think I’m a mortician?”
Your eyes widen, and he laughs softly. “Seriously?”
“Well, aside from what I’ve told you early on this summer, yes. That blood would go to waste anyway, you know that.”
“Well, yeah, but…” You inhale sharply, tearing your stare off of his pretty, gleaming fangs, now exposed without concern. “Isn’t it unsafe? And… icky?”
“This isn’t some Anne Rice novel,” Steve teases, chuckling. “As long as it’s not from a decomposing corpse, no.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust, and you giggle. “But this way, I’m not harming anyone directly. I’ve always hated feeding off the living, it never felt right to me.”
“Not even if someone volunteered?”
“I—“ He chokes on air, blindsided by your question, “Sorry, come again?”
“Like, if someone offered, let’s say, not all of their blood, but some, would you be able to do that? And control yourself?”
His pupils blow wide, thoughts racing wildly.
“Well, yes, of course, but it’s not very easy to just… stop. Why do you ask?”
You shrug, because it was just a fleeting, curious thought. But now that curiosity has molded itself into a fantasy of Steve’s lips on your neck, sinking his fangs into your skin and—
“You’re far too calm with all of this.” His observation pulls you back to reality.
“We work with dead people all day, not much shocks me by now,” you tease, noticing the unsettled concern he exudes. “I’ll admit, I’m a little scared, but not of you.” You scoot closer to make your point. “Never of you, Steve.”
“Could say the same about you, angel.” Cautiously, he winds an arm around your shoulders, relaxing when you stay put.
You skeptically laugh, “What? Why are you scared?”
Taking a deep breath, he begins to admit, “You’re special to me, and I’m not trying to—“
A door slams on the first floor, startling the two of you apart, with a hollering voice to follow; footsteps hastily bound up the stairs.
“Steve? Man, you’ll never believe what I found in the back of that freezer we never use. More bl—“ Eddie stiffens to a halt at the sight of you, cradling what appears akin to one of those massive bags they put in boxed wine, only you’re certain now it’s blood inside. “M- more— Fruit… punch?”
You sputter out a laugh, clapping your hand over your mouth; Steve gives a lazy grin, beautifully sharp incisors flashing at you again.
“Eddie, it’s alright. She knows.”
“She…” Eddie turns to you in disbelief. “You know? Are you…Uh …” His voice drops down to a comical whisper, “One of us?”
“Nope, sorry Eddie. I like tea and sweets too much to ever trade them in for a blood diet.”
Steve’s eyes dart to your empty mug. “Speaking of— I’m going to boil more water.”
As he’s getting up, you wave your hands and shake your head, “Oh, hey, don’t feel like— you don’t have to—“
He leans down close, incredibly close, like ‘can feel his breath fan out across your skin and count his eyelashes’ close. Gently, he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, not holding too tight, but it’s a soft command to keep your attention steady on him. You gulp, earning a smirk from him.
“O-kaaaaaay, I’m gonna leave you two alone,” Eddie scrambles out of the room, shielding his eyes with his hand. Neither of you acknowledge him as he mutters under his breath, “Fuckin’ weirdos.”
You’ve always found Steve attractive, but seeing him up close like this is mesmerizing. With a patchwork of golden brown, mossy green, and flecks of coppery red in his eyes, that irresistible, charming smile— one which hides those threateningly sharp, yet captivating fangs— it’s no wonder why you’d never shy your gaze away.
“I take care of my people,” Steve whispers, breath dancing along your lips while searching your dazed stare. His eyes flicker down to your lips, licking his own. “Even those that are human.”
And just like that, he releases his gentle hold, and walks away; you’re left stunned on the couch, your own fingers grazing where his touch lingered.
It’s official: this man is going to be the death of you— even if in the literal sense, it’s a fate you’d happily accept.
What the ever-loving fuck is going on?
—————
The two of you end up on the floor, in a valley of endless pillows and blankets— seriously, how many of either does he have?!— next to the fireplace; you cradle yet another cup of tea, while Steve sips blood from a wine glass. Your body aches to cuddle up next to him, but you repress the desire, appreciating the softness that comes with truly getting to know one another.
Eddie didn’t stay very long, leaving as he sensed you and Steve needed to be alone— but not without talking in hushed tones a room away first. While you tried to mind your business, sometimes your stare would float over to Steve, who never once took his eyes off of you. Even as he talked to Eddie, he’d hold a heavy gaze in your direction.
It only stoked the fire of your curiosity, not just of their conversation, but everything about Steve— his past, his present— you wanted it all.
Yet all you could think to ask while finally alone was:
“Why the hell do you have a whole shelf of tea anyway?”
Steve quirks a brow, snorting, “What?”
You can’t help but stare as he swirls the deep crimson liquid in the glass, so casually. You’re not bothered by it, but it’s very surreal to see the proof before your eyes.
“If you only consume blood…” your eyes linger on the glass a little too long. “Why would you keep something you can’t enjoy?”
“I am friends with other humans, you know.” He smiles softly, turning back to the fireplace. The flickering shades of warmth dance across his pale, cold skin. “Not sure your kind cares to drink blood.”
“Oh, right. Duh.” You shake your head, feeling foolish. “Hey, if I ever say anything stupid about all of this, or ask a dumb question, y- you can just tell me to shut up.”
“Nothing stupid has ever come out of your pretty mouth, angel.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way his words make you squirm. Judging off the smug smirk his smile has turned into, he noticed. “Besides, there’s other ways to shut someone up.”
“Other ways?”
You have a good guess of what he’s alluding to, but you want— no— you need to hear it directly from him.
“C’mon, you’re a smart—“
“Please don’t call me that… it feels patronizing at this point.”
Steve’s expression falls, searching your own before shaking his head. He sets the glass down, leaning in closer. “No, that isn’t— I’m sorry. It’s not meant to be. You really are the smartest woman I know.”
Oh. Well, now you feel like a dick.
“I’m sorry I took it the wrong way.” Taking the chain of the tea infuser, you dunk it a few times, desperate to keep your hands busy and eyes away from Steve. “Though I think that’s far too kind of you to say.”
“You should have more confidence in your strengths.”
“Steve, I barely passed my classes, you know that. It’ll be a miracle if I can graduate.” Concentration wasn’t your strong point lately, mind always running 100 miles a minute, thoughts in ten different directions. If you were being honest with yourself, this is always how your brain has worked, and it’s only getting harder to handle the older you get. “I’m not trying to fish for praise, but I truly don’t know why you even hired me. I’m such a scatterbrained idiot sometimes—“
His hand gently claps over your mouth, shutting you up instantly.
It also makes you throb between your legs, makes your heart race, but you’re ignoring that right now. You swear you see one corner of Steve’s mouth quirk up, just ever so slightly.
God, can he sense that? Don’t vampires have… heightened senses? Or powers, or something?
“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re just someone who’s better with hands on studying than with books. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Hand falling away, your bottom lip juts out into a pout at the loss of his touch; you roll it back, embarrassed, but he doesn’t tease you for it. “There’s so much you’re good at, like—“
You sit up, covering his mouth with your hand now, shocked by your bold move. His lips curve underneath your touch into a playful smirk. “You really do not need to make a list—“
Steve grips your wrist, not roughly, but firm, moving your hand aside. Your breath hitches in your throat; these not-so-small touches are driving you insane.
“Hear me out, please?”
Slowly, you sit back as he releases your wrist. This time, you keep your disappointment internal.
“Your restoration technique is some of the closest I’ve ever seen to recreating one’s appearance. You’ve stayed late some nights to perfect what is possible, just to comfort grieving families a little more. It’s hard to find genuine empathy and sympathy in this field sometimes, but you always carry that, put it first. That must be heavy on your heart at times, but it never goes unnoticed.
“You care for everyone here, too. And I—“ A fond smile peeks through his expression. “— I’ve never worked so well with anyone else before. We flow so well as a team. Your work alone speaks for itself more than some nonsense exams do— ”
“Steve, I need those to graduate, to legally work.”
“I know, but I was terrible with just studying on paper, too. If I could finish school, I’ve got no doubt in my mind you can too.”
It’s a kind sentiment, but then you remember, “Aren’t you like, 300 years old? When the hell did you pass boards? Did that even exist when you finished school?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He side eyes you playfully. “Where was I? Oh, right, yes— you’re smart, sweet funny, you’re able to use a trocar without getting squeamish— do you know how many morticians I’ve met who still get all grossed out with that process, even years after they started their careers? Like, it’s your job, you need to grow up—“
“Ew, Steve.” You cringe and giggle simultaneously. “I thought we were having a moment, then you gotta go off on a bitchy rant about… morticians that hate… draining fluids. Okay.”
“What? Can’t a guy honestly compliment and flirt a little over a light conversation about embalming?”
He begins to grin, and you can’t hold back your laughter; it’s a soothing tune to his ears, and your smile is a sight for sore, weary, undead eyes.
“Guess we’re both pretty gross if that’s considered light conversation.” You replay his words in your head, catching what you missed. “Hang on— did you say you were flirting with me?”
Steve locks eyes with you, taking a wavering breath.
“What would your reaction be if I said I was?”
There’s a flutter of excitement in your stomach, but it doesn’t take flight with reality weighing it down.
“You’re my boss,” you bluntly state, frowning as the words leave your lips. Frowning at yourself, for being such a stickler for professionalism. Yet… at this point, you’ve crossed barriers you shouldn’t have; maybe you’re not so stuck to the rule book after all. “That’s— isn’t it—“
“A power imbalance? It could be,” he answers honestly. “But I’d never force anything, or persuade you into anything you wouldn’t want. Wouldn’t let this affect your career, either. It’d be all up to you to decide on.”
You stare off into the smoldering embers of the fireplace, uneasy to answer right away.
“Steve, your wife— best friend? Ugh. Look, Robin just died today… I know it was platonic anyway, but something feels so…”
“Wrong?”
You nod slowly.
“Not that it’s you or I that’s wrong, but the whole situation, and the timing— it’s a lot.”
“I understand. We can forget about this, it’s alright. I want you to be comfortable and happy for as long as you like working here.” He clears his throat, checking if the space between your bodies is adequate enough. “If you still want to, that is. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you decide to leave.”
“N- no, I want to stay, I really do like working together.” You feel your heart deflate; how could you just shut him down like that? Unsure of what to say, you hope the question is enough, “… Is it okay if I still stay the night, too?”
Maybe Steve will get it. He’ll catch on and coax you into opening up about your feelings, encourage you to not be so afraid. Maybe you can build up the courage to ask to fall asleep together, or—
“Of course, angel, I wouldn’t ever make you leave. I’ve got a spare room you can take tonight.”
Well, fuck.
A pang of disappointment hits you, and it’s not like you have the right to be upset; you turned him down to begin with. Still, you do wish you could cuddle up with him, fall asleep to the sound of the storm in his arms.
“I think we should call it a night. You need the rest.”
Steve went from fixated on you, to avoiding even the possibility of a glance your way.
You hide away in that empty room, feeling colder than you had sitting beside him, while the storm outside rages on.
————
In all fairness, you give sleep an honest attempt, but it’s useless.
You toss, turn, groan in defeat as your mind races. This might be the coziest bed you’ve ever laid in, with sheets heavenly soft, and what feels like an endless supply of pillows. It’s not enough. Over and over your mind replays the conversation of feelings, and unfortunate timing, and it only leaves you wondering what you said or did wrong.
What was enough to turn Steve so cold?
“I can’t do this,” you mutter, throwing the sheets off and rolling out of bed. Making your way down the hall, you stop about a foot outside of Steve’s bedroom door. A dim light sneaks out from underneath the door; he’s awake, at least, but now that you’re here, doubt floods through you.
Turning to walk away, you pause again, sigh, turning back to face the closed door. It’s an internal struggle, back and forth between the desire to get to the bottom of this, and giving him space. On your fifth turnaround, the door opens, but the doorway is empty. You freeze in place, spooked until Steve’s voice calls out to you.
“You’re going to wear a ditch into the floor pacing like that.”
Goddammit.
Hesitantly, you make your way inside. Bathed in a warm, faint glow from candles, the room feels both inviting and forbidden. Especially when you find Steve in his bed, shirtless and reading. “Don’t get all shy on me now, angel.” He shuts the book and sets it aside on the nightstand, next to another glass off blood, giving you a spent yet understanding glance. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Of course, the first night you can’t fall asleep with ease is the night you finally spend at his place.
“What is this?” You blurt out, finding the courage to walk closer. You’re at the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “What are we? What the hell have we been this whole summer?”
Steve throws the covers back, gesturing to the vast, empty spot beside him. “Angel, you should sit—“
“No, don’t ‘angel’ me. Also I am not getting in a bed with you while you- you’re half naked! That’s an unfair advantage.”
“How so?”
“You’d distract me!” Your eyes wander down his chest, admiring every detail. Scrunching your eyes shut, you sputter out, “Oh, goddammit, you’re already distracting. You know what you’re doing.”
Steve exhales slowly, sliding out of bed to grab a black cardigan draped over a chair nearby. He throws it on, arms out to his sides as he models the slouchy sleeves. “Happy?”
You cross your arms, glaring at him. “No.”
“Would you like to discuss this, or not?” Though his patience thins, he’s got no problem keeping calm. It just upsets him to see you upset. Gesturing to the bed, he climbs back in, waiting for your next move. “Or would you rather go somewhere else?”
Grumpy and exhausted, you sit on his bed, facing away from him, arms crossed over your chest.
“Okay.” Steve clears his throat, then takes a deep breath before speaking with sincerity. “I’m sorry.”
Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you ask, “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“All of this. Tonight wasn’t the time or place to admit how I feel.” He sighs, falling back against the pillows as he rubs a hand over his face. “There’s probably no time or place that’s appropriate for anything I opened up about, and I wish I could take it back.”
He’s really tearing himself apart over this.
You lean against the headboard, glancing over at him, fidgeting with the edge of the covers. “Steve, I’m not upset that you were honest with me. If anything, I admire it and feel honored you trust me enough to talk about your past. Your confession threw me off, but it didn’t upset me.”
“Then what did?”
Leaning against the ornate headboard, your eyes flutter shut as you sigh.
“Meeting you this way. I wish it were under different circumstances, ones that aren’t so complex.” He shifts to his side, studying your expression. “Because it’d be easier to admit how I feel without all this guilt hanging over my head.”
“What is there to feel guilty about?”
You take a deep breath, exhaling your answer quickly, “Allowing myself to fall for you.”
Steve’s quiet for a moment, before huffing a soft laugh, shaking his head.
You’re annoyed, “Wh— what’s so funny about that?”
“That it’s not my age, or the fact that I’m a vampire that is keeping you at bay.” Even with a smile, there’s a hint of disappointment in his observation. It’s quickly shadowed as he adds, “It’s your good girl morals and ethics.”
The ‘good girl’ comment makes your stomach flutter, eyes averting his own while he sips from his glass. “Well I was trying to be professional and respectful, but someone certainly makes that a challenge.” You find the courage to boldly quip, “Besides, what can I say? I’m into older guys.”
Steve nearly spits out the blood in his mouth, choking down nervous laughter. He sets his glass down on the nightstand, wiping dribbles of crimson away from his lips.
“Didn’t take you for the type to yearn after 130 year-olds.”
Not once tonight have you bothered with the math, shrieking, “You’re what?!”
“You’re the one who said you’re into older men!” Chuckling, still trying to gain composure from seconds ago, he asks, “Why is that shocking?”
“I didn’t mean that old!” You side eye him, “Okay, so… you’re gonna tell me you’re older than dirt—“
Steve grasps his chest dramatically, “Ouch—“
“But you have way nicer skin than me?”
“That’s what you’re still hung up on?” He laughs. Every time he does, or even when he smiles wide, his fangs show, and you’re absolutely positively now he’s been avoiding expressions of happiness to hide his secret from you.
“Sorry, I think I’m deflecting.” You sheepishly admit with an apologetic shrug. “Just kinda… really actually sorta nervous.”
“Kinda really actually sorta nervous?” He lightly teases. You side eye him with a huff, so he reaches out in a comforting gesture, hand on your arm. You’re beginning to love the cold his touch offers. “Look, we can forget about this, or discuss it another time— whatever you want. Nothing has to happen right this moment.”
Oh, you want this so bad; you want him so bad.
Crossing a line like this one could be too dangerous, for the both of you. It’s already risky, walking this flimsy, thin tightrope between a professional relationship, and one with the potential for romance.
Or lust, at the very least.
… I can’t allow myself to get caught up in this.
Nodding, you take his hand in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Steve.” He can see right through you, can tell there’s more on your mind that you’re keeping buried. “Can we… would it be okay to talk about it in the morning? Or sometime? Just… not tonight.”
Steve finds it odd that earlier your racing thoughts urged you to talk things over with him, but now, you’re ready to scurry away; he won’t push it, though.
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.” He gives your hand a squeeze in return before you pull away, shuffling away to the door. “Sweet dreams, angel.”
“Y- you too.” You reply; earlier, you would’ve caught yourself, asking if vampires even dream when they sleep. Or if he even sleeps at all at night. With your mind spiraling into worry over all of this, you just want to be alone.
Steve already knows you’re going to leave. He already knows you’ll feel guilty for leaving in the dead of night, for slipping out without saying goodbye. You’ll leave a note, apologizing in a hurry for ending this so abruptly, with an added, half-assed, letter of resignation that you’re certain will bite you in the ass later in your career. You’ll regret it before walking out the door, but commit to your mistake with a broken heart, because this has to be the best decision for the both of you, right?
He already knows how ridiculous that is, but he lets you leave regardless. Just as he’s learned in the past with Robin— when you love someone, you respect their wishes, even if they’re not what you want.
paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)
summary: the more you work with your boss, Steve, the closer you become— yet he still remains an alluring mystery. // MDNI
WC: 4.9k (ik i said I’d have longer chapters, but it worked best splitting it this way. the next is longer I promise!)
includes: language. some angst and hurt/comfort. discussions of: grief, mourning, funeral practices, cremation and embalming techniques (just basics though nothing detailed). mentions of blood. takes place in the late 80s. reader has no description of appearance but she does have specific personality traits. if you don’t care for that, this isn’t the fic for you.
masterlist // vampire vibes playlist
A/N: Oh I am SO excited to finally start sharing this!! originally this was just smut for Halloween, but uh, kinda just grew on its own— smut is now in a later part lmao sorry, but plenty of tension and flirting coming soon 👀. Please heed the warnings on the masterlist and the specific ones for this part before reading! To anyone who gives this a chance, I hope you enjoy it <3 (dividers: @/saradika-graphics) title is from tunnel lights - chelsea wolfe
if you deny death, you deny life / let it suffer, let it shine / what must be severed? left behind? / what is there yet to find?
Your boss is fucking weird.
Then again, maybe it just comes with the territory of working in a funeral home.
At least he’s nice; having never worked for someone who was truly kind before, it was a pleasant surprise. There’s a genuine interest he holds in showing you the ropes as a starting mortician’s assistant; he’s probably happy to have the extra set of hands on staff, too. Plus, the field work counts towards your class credits—how could you say no to that?
The way he carries himself though, that’s where things seem… odd.
Everything odd about him is on a fringe; every so often, he speaks with a hint of formality, too formal for modern times. He’s got a certain Victorian flair to his wardrobe, but it’s only noticeable if you stare long enough (and lord knows you love to stare at him). He wears a strange pendant around his neck every day, one usually tucked underneath his shirt, but slips out from time to time; just enough to catch a glimpse. You’re pretty certain he actually lives in the Victorian style funeral home— the second and third floors are off limits to the public. The hours he works are closer to sundown, which you didn’t mind, it’s not like you were a morning person to begin with. Oh, and he’s cold to the touch.
Always. Fucking. Cold.
You’re certain you’ve worked with corpses warmer than this man.
There’s something strange about Steve Harrington, and you’re dying to figure out what exactly that strange something is.
“Do you mind if I observe?”
Startled, you jolt and yelp, nearly dropping the brush and restoration palette from your grip. You turn around, wide-eyed while your annoyance fizzles into defeated laughter.
“Jesus, Mr. Harrington, stop doing that!”
“Eugh,” he groans, upper lip curling in disgust, “I promise, you do not need to call me that.” He follows it up with an apologetic, warm smile, with his hands held up. “And apologies. I never realized how quiet I must walk until meeting you. Thought you’d be used to it a month in.”
“I’m gonna get you a pair of tap-dance shoes to wear around here.” Spinning back around, you attend to the decedent laid out on the table; you lean down, continuing your meticulous work on the restoration of their features. Every so often, you glance over at a photo the family offered as reference.
“Oh, a new uniform?”
“Yep. Only for you, though.”
“Sounds like workplace discrimination.”
The longer you spent time around one another, the gentle banter became more comfortable to ease into; it just felt natural by now. You faintly smirk, focusing on the task at hand.
“Your restorative art skills always impress me.” Heat washes over your face with the compliment. He wanders around the embalming table, stopping across from you to study the details you recreated. “I find it cliche to say ‘they look like they’re sleeping’, but she truly appears at peace.”
“I always hated hearing that.” You huff out a laugh, checking the photograph again. “Even as a kid, I knew people were lying to make themselves feel better.”
“From that perspective, it’s understandable.”
“Absolutely, but it made me want to learn the process and do a better job. So… shoutout to the mortician that botched my grandpa’s restoration for inspiring me to go to mortuary school, I guess.” While you half-heartedly chuckle and shrug, Steve fixates on you, frowning.
“How old were you?”
“7-ish, I think.” You blend the thick, oily makeup onto the woman’s face, feigning a little bit of color on her empty shell. “Took a few failed college attempts to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and I think I was scared to commit to mortuary science. But… better late than never.”
Zeroed in on your work, you miss the way Steve watches you fondly, before circling the table back to you. When you pull your tools back, he gives the lightest, most gentle squeeze to your shoulder. “Not many people can find their footing after falling several times. You should be proud of yourself.”
As heat creeps along your skin once more, he leaves as silently as he arrived.
The touches are driving you mad.
Tiny, fleeting touches; hands brushing lightly against one another, little squeezes on your shoulder with encouraging words— they all send excitement coursing through your veins.
And they’re all from someone who should not be close to you like that. It’s unprofessional, and would have your skin crawling with disgust if it were anyone else. Yet a month and a half in, you’re realizing you like them, they’re comforting.
There’s also a mild thrill that comes with forbidden actions, even if they’re as mundane as one body briefly brushing against another.
Everything about this is unprofessional. Your morals and standards are dissolving before your eyes, making exceptions for some guy. Some handsome, charming, literally cold-to-the-touch guy, who’s also your boss. What did Steve have that was so special to drop aside your boundaries?
You’re nearing the halfway mark of the summer, and have learned quite a lot from Steve assisting him during embalming.
He’s strange, though— that’s nothing new— there are some … quirks… and workplace practices you’re thrown off by. Rather than drain a decedent’s blood into the drain, as protocol, he has the embalming pump directed into a peculiar tub, hermetically sealed off anywhere away from the connected drain hose.
“It’s easier to… dispose of this way. Won’t clog the old drainage system in the building.” He’d eventually explain, and surely enough, you never questioned it; after all, you’re only the assistant to his career experience. “And safer to dispose somewhere else that’s… appropriate.”
You never asked where that somewhere else was, but damn, if it wasn’t a burning question in your mind ever since he mentioned it…
“Today’s a slow one,” Steve says, not sparing you a glance as he’s rummaging through paperwork on the desk. “No one to embalm, and no services today, so don’t feel obligated to stay.”
You frown with a small huff; you just got here, and with each shift, you find yourself longing for more time with Steve. Attraction aside, you appreciate how patient he is while teaching techniques you’d never get in your classes. You’re able to focus with him, unlike under some of your professors.
That huff is just loud enough to catch Steve’s attention. Lifting his head, his smile grows when his eyes lock with yours, amused. “What? I figured you could use a break.”
Put on the spot, your face heats up as you shift uncomfortably in place. Steve’s expression settles into something calm, one with understanding as he takes in your energy.
“N- no, I appreciate it, but I…”
He sighs out your name and stands up straight, rounding the desk to narrow the gap between you. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called before you got here. You’re more than welcome to stay, I just don’t want to give you pointless busy work. Your time is worth more than that, angel.”
Your breath catches in your throat over the endearing term, casually pinned onto the end of his words. There has to be a foot between you and Steve, but this is the closest you’ve stood face to face with one another.
It should feel weird, feel wrong, that he called you angel; any other employer parading this behavior would have you completely uncomfortable at best. There’s no tone that sets off discomfort or ill intentions— at least, you hope. It’s not like he’s tried anything strange, aside from those fleeting, feather-light touches, but those don’t bother you either. You can’t pinpoint why.
His comment on your time’s worth only adds to your trust in him; not most employers would value someone else’s time.
“It’s o- okay,” you shake your head, tearing your stare away from his lips. “I can leave.”
Something flashes in Steve’s eyes, but you can’t decipher what. You’d like to believe it’s disappointment, not ready to part ways for the evening this quickly, but you’re probably only seeing what you’d like to see.
“It’s not part of your credit requirements, but there’s a decedent I have to cremate. If you’d like to stay, I’d love teaching you the process.”
Most folks would not feel welcomed by an offer like that, and would turn it down with ease. You, though, always eager to learn the ins and outs of this field, nod immediately.
Doesn’t hurt you’ll spend more time with Steve, either, of course.
Half way through monitoring the cremation’s progress, while fixated on the retort, you blurt out a thought that’s been brewing since the decedent was placed inside.
“Is it wrong to embalm others but not want that for yourself?”
Steve turns to you, brow quirking slightly, intrigued by the question. “Hm… personally, I don’t think so. We all have our preferences, and they should be respected and carried out before we’re laid to rest.”
You fidget on the cold, steel stool, finally meeting his gaze. “‘Cause I like helping people… I like being able to give closure to others, make the farewells a little more… peaceful, I guess.” You shrug, glancing back down at the notebook in your lap, scribbled with on-the-fly points and tips for cremation. “But I wouldn’t want that for myself.”
“And what would you want?”
You roll your eyes before speaking, “Something more than a box in the ground. I wish natural burials were more common… I think being laid to rest under a beautiful tree just feels… right. Or with some of my favorite flowers planted nearby. Giving myself back to the world that gave me so much… feels more human than being dolled up to rest in a cold, lonely casket forever.”
Silence lingers, and you worry you’ve rambled too much, especially noticing the way Steve’s stare is glued to you.
“I- okay, please don’t fire me for saying that. I don’t judge anyone who wants that, or any kind of burial, I just mean for me, y’know?” You cringe at yourself, waving your hand. “Forget I said all of that.”
“I’d never fire you for having your own beliefs,” Steve shakes his head. “Certainly not for ones as beautifully thought out as that. We don’t get to decide where we’re born, but we have the choice to decide where to be laid to rest. Of course not everyone would want the exact same thing. Shame the more gentle option isn’t legal here.”
Relief washes through you, shoulders resting away from tension. It eases you into asking, “So… if you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Harrington—“
Steve makes a gagging noise, tongue out with dramatics. “Don’t call me that.”
“Right, sorry,” you laugh, slipping into a new shared comfort. “Well… what would you pick?”
Brows jumping up, his eyes grow wide. “Me?” You nod as he sighs with a shrug, running his hand through his hair. “I, uh… haven’t really given it much thought.”
The mood in the room shifts, and you take the hint. “Yeah. No, yeah, I get it. S’kinda hard to think about sometimes… dying I mean.”
Oh my god, I need to shut up. What sense does that make? We’re both morticians!
Slumping in his seat, he rests his head back against the wall as his eyes close. “You’re not wrong. It’s vastly different compared to thinking about it for those we care for here.”
A breath of relief passes your lips; okay, maybe you’re making more sense than you give yourself credit for.
“Yeah, separating work from reality, and all that…” Trailing off, you remember the third layer of this discussion, still unspoken. “It’s scary to think about for those you love.”
There’s no verbal response, only Steve left staring at you right as he opens his eyes… maybe dumbfounded? Bothered? Christ, you wish it wasn’t so hard to read him sometimes. The man is strange and mysterious— both, at times, infuriating.
A shrill ring breaks the trance, causing you to drop your notebook and Steve to jump up, alarmed. He rescues your notebook and pen from the ground, handing it over with a nervous laugh. “I- I’ll go get that.”
He rushes into the prep room, answering the phone in a hushed, frantic whisper, unable to make out what he’s saying. You peek through the narrow window of the swinging doors, watching Steve run a hand through his hair again, tugging a little out of what seems like frustration. He holds the phone up with his other hand, shaking his head before slamming the handset down onto the hook.
It’s pure curiosity and concern, keeping you fixated on him while he’s distressed; even from a distance, it’s easy to tell how unsettled the phone call has made him. He rubs his eyes, shoulders sinking with what you assume is a sigh.
Whatever’s attempting to drag him down doesn’t last long as he fights it off, sighing one more time before turning for the door. His eyes lock with yours, halting his pace, but only for a moment. You turn away, embarrassed you were caught being nosy.
Steve pushes the door open, forcing a smile down at you, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
You dare to ask, “Is everything… okay?”
One brief, flat laugh slips out as he shakes his head, “Ask me again tomorrow.”
Sliding back into his chair, he drags it closer to you, his knee knocking into yours, contact earning a shiver up your spine.
“Mind if I check your notes?”
He’s trying to distract himself from whatever has him upset, you just know it; now he’s easy to read, only because you witnessed his mood shift. Over what, though, you can’t say, nor is it your place to ask.
Instead, you indulge in the request, handing over your notebook to him with a nod, moving on politely for Steve’s sake.
“Hey, kid. Got a minute?”
You glance up from your work— preparing the decedent in the casket for the viewing later this evening— to see Eddie stroll in.
Eddie is Steve’s best friend, and hearse driver. He’s usually the one on call for tasks like picking up those who passed, and driving the decedent to their final resting place.
The family requested the decedent— a mother— be buried with a handmade quilt, one of sentimental value, made of the shirts that once belonged to her late husband. The quilt was comfort in time of grief, only to be cut short before she herself followed after him into a life somewhere beyond here.
It’s always intriguing to hear every family’s beliefs and their versions of the afterlife. Heaven. Paradise. Maybe reincarnation. Maybe nothing. Who knows where we end up when our time arrives?
You just hope this woman and her husband are somewhere at peace, happy, free of suffering, wherever that may be.
“Hel-looooooo?” Eddie waves his hand in front of your face. Goddammit, spacing out again. “You doin’ alright?”
Snapping yourself out of the haze, you force a nod. “Ye- yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, long day. What’s up?”
“You gonna be okay for tonight’s viewing?”
“Why, you gonna do it if I say no?” You chuckle.
“Oh, fuck no. You know me, I’m just in charge of the pickups and hearse cruising.” He snickers, shaking his head. “Stevie boy’s on his own if you have to leave.” Then he glances over his shoulder to the door, dropping his voice to a softer tone. “Is he around?”
“No,” you answer, multitasking to not lose track of time, tucking the quilt in neatly to the walls of the casket. “Why?”
“He’s uh… look. Don’t tell him I told you this,” Eddie drops his voice even lower. “I don’t wanna tell his personal shit to others, it’s not my place, but he’s not doing too hot. You mind just… I know you’re busy, and focus on your work first, but just lemme know if something feels… off.”
As if Steve himself doesn’t seem off as a person to begin with. Same with Eddie, but not so much. He doesn’t seem stuck in formalities the way Steve can be sometimes.
“Okay… off how?”
Eddie sighs, rubbing his hand down his face. “He’s really having a hard time with a—“
“Oh, Eddie!” Steve’s voice cuts in, causing the two of you to freeze. “I was looking for you.”
Speak of the devil.
Well, maybe not ‘devil’— oh, whatever, brain. Shut up.
Eddie’s face deflates with his back still turned to Steve. He whispers, “Please, just keep me updated, alright?” Then he spins around, strolling back down the aisle between chairs for the guests. “Stevie! Hey, man. What’s up?”
Steve makes eye contact with you, giving a ghost of a smile, one that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. He turns to Eddie, arm around his shoulder to lead him out. “Maybe we should talk out here, give some space so she can focus.”
You’re grateful he’s been accommodating to your needs when it comes to your line of focus; it seems like a chore to most employers to consider.
Except, you’re left concerned about him. Even as the two men left the room, your focus seems to have departed with them.
It’s going to be a long evening.
Just before the first viewing you’re assisting begins, you gather the courage to ask a burning question, one that’s been on your mind since you began this job. You hope, too, it’s a gateway to figure out what’s got Steve so “off” as Eddie put it, but you’re not even sure what signs you should be looking for.
As you wait by the front doors for the family to arrive, you glance over at Steve, watching you curiously.
“Mr. Ha—“ You catch yourself, watching as a smile curls along his lips. “Steve?”
“Yes?”
Running your hands over your blazer, you attempt to flatten a faint wrinkle, one that’ll bother you the rest of the night, now that you’ve notice it. “Could I ask a personal question?”
His brow quirks, turning toward you. “Of course.” He notices the way you continue to fidget with your blazer, reaching out to gently stop your hands. “You’re nervous?”
Shivering under his touch, you find yourself drawn to lean into it, but resist.
“A little,” You admit, but he gives a look, obviously seeing right through you and your jittery nerves. “Okay, a lot.”
“What for?”
“Well, ‘cause I—“ Your forehead creases and you frown. “Hang on, you didn’t answer my question.”
“We’ll get back to that, your comfort is more important, angel.” Your stomach flutters from the way he calls you angel. “What has you so bothered?”
It takes so much effort to pull yourself back into the moment after he addresses you with an endearing term. “I’m just… I don’t know, I keep second guessing myself. What if my work isn’t good enough? What if I upset the family?” You feel so foolish for getting so worked up, but you can’t stave the self-doubt off any longer. “Do I have time to adjust anything?” You glance back into the viewing room, scanning over the decedent’s appearance for flaws. “Can we—“
Steve’s hands rest on your shoulders, stealing your attention from your spiraling thoughts, breath hitching in your throat.
“If I didn’t believe in you, or your hard work, I would’ve done the restoration, and you wouldn’t be assisting tonight.” He locks his stare with yours, eyes kind, gentle, matching his faint smile. He notices the way you tense under his touch, hands retreating from your figure. “Sorry, that’s— I don’t mean to be creepy, or anything—“
“You’re not creepy, Steve.” You reassure him, despite frowning. “You mean well, I know you do. Might be a bit… inappropriate, though.” You look away, knowing in any workplace, it is, but here, you just feel like you’re helping others with a friend. “I- I mean, I truly don’t mind, but if someone else sees—“
“You’re absolutely right, my apologies for crossing that line.” He gives an apologetic smile, but it’s fleeting, backing away a few steps as he clasps his hands in front of him. “We work together so well, I tend to forget we’re only coworkers.”
“We can be friends, too, you know.” You glance out the front doors, afraid to attempt eye contact again. “I kinda already consider you my friend… if that’s not pushing boundaries, of course.”
Steve gives a kind smile, softly snorting. Something you’ve noticed in the time you’ve worked together: he never fully grins, even when laughing. It’s almost like he restrains himself from displaying any brief joy, and you can’t figure out why.
“Of course that’s not pushing boundaries. Not for me, at least.” He glances out to the parking lot, eyeing the first few cars that roll in. There’s still another five minutes or so before the viewing begins, so he doesn’t cut the conversation short. “But I’d like you to make that choice on your own. I never want you to feel pressured into anything. Whatever the decision, I will respect it.”
“Then yeah, we’re friends.” You feel a layer of tension peel away, comfort setting in. “Since we’re friends, do you mind me asking why you became a mortician?”
Steve inhales deeply through his nose, caught off guard by your query before exhaling roughly. “There’s… a loaded answer to that question.” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “I don’t mind sharing, but this isn’t the best time or place.”
“Right, shit, I’m sorry—“
He sways forward, like he’s about to step closer, but reels back as he remembers— right, workplace boundaries.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, angel.” His gaze is soft and sincere, shooting a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk after the viewing.”
The guests are now long gone, and you and Steve have just finished rearranging the viewing room for the morning’s funeral. You’ve tried staying aware for any signs Steve might’ve shown in his mood or demeanor that something’s not right, but nothing’s changed, not that you picked up on.
Steve barely locks the viewing room’s door before your restless energy finally comes to a head; you’re right on his heels, startling him for once as he turns around.
“Christ!” He yelps as he bumps into you, but quickly narrows his eyes while you giggle away.
“Nope, just me.” In a childlike manner, you stick your tongue out teasingly. “How’s it feel to be spooked for once?”
“You’re a petty little thing, aren’t you?” Resting his hands on his hips, he gives you a once-over; you scoff, trying to ignore the warmth blooming under your skin.
You cross your arms, snorting, “Would you rather some boring, strait-laced assistant instead?”
Okay, where the hell did that boldness come from?
Steve steps closer, toe to toe with you as he smirks. “Cheeky, too. Will I have the pleasure of seeing a whole new side of you now that we’re friends?”
“Depends,” Shrugging, you walk off, but throw a glance over your shoulder. “Will you trust me as a friend with your answer now?”
That’s how the two of you end up in his roomy office, with Steve, legs thrown across a luxurious love-seat, while you’re cozy and sprawled out on an antique recamier. It’s dim from a few low lights, but the moonlight pouring in through the parted drapes offers a comforting illumination. Your blazer is slumped over a cushion, and he had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt.
Somehow, just hanging out like this, it feels normal. Casual. Familiar.
“I can’t believe you have a fainting couch,” you murmur, sinking into the soft, velvet pillows. “You ever wonder how many people in corsets this thing has caught back in its prime?”
Steve snorts, shaking his head, “That’s a myth, you know. They weren’t even called that in the Victorian era.”
“I didn’t ask for a history lesson—“
“You clearly needed one.”
Jaw falling slack, he laughs harder, but shields his grin with the back of his hand.
“Why do you do that?” Puzzled, he furrows his brow. “Cover your mouth when you laugh, I mean. You do that a lot.”
Ruminating, he cautiously answers, “Because I don’t… I’m— it’s a self conscious thing, I think.”
Your lips curl downward, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me to ask.”
“I’ll, um… delve into that some other time.” He clears his throat, “But I have another question of yours to answer first.” He stares up at the ceiling, arms resting up behind his head. “You want to know why I entered this line of work, yes?”
“Mhm, it’s fascinating to me what everyone’s deciding factor is.” You hug a pillow of your own; this feels like a sleepover, the part filled with exchanging scandalous gossip and whispered secrets. Though, you know his answer will be far from something so trivial.
You don’t expect a drawn out sigh from Steve, but it crowds the room regardless.
“I used to watch over a group of kids in my old neighborhood, kind of unintentionally, after some… mishaps. My parents had a large home, but they were rarely around, and some of the kids needed a safe place to go that weren’t their own homes. They became something akin to… siblings to me, and over time I discovered I truly loved caring for other people.
“They led me to some friends closer to my age over time— that’s actually how I met Eddie,” He chuckles as he mentions his friend and business partner. “Things felt so… complete. A patchwork family of misfits, but it was my family. It didn’t matter that my parents were absent, not when I was surrounded by others who cared, and that I cared so, so much for.”
You can already tell he was serious when he said it was a loaded question, especially with how his voice cracks from time to time.
“I…” He shudders, running his hands over his face. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about the details yet. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it just kills me having to say it aloud.”
You sit up, shaking your head, “No, please don’t feel like you need to tell me. I shouldn’t— I’m so sorry, Steve.”
“What did I tell you earlier? There’s nothing to apologize for, and I mean that.” His words are firm but the tone is soft, reassuring. “I lost almost all of them… it’s an awful type of dread to live with, feeling helpless when you’re unable to help others, keep them alive. It took a lot of time, and grief, but I accepted the reality. If I couldn’t help others stay alive, I could at least care for them in death, give them a proper sendoff. It felt like I had a purpose again, and— ah, damn.”
Grabbing tissues off his desk, you rush across the room to him. “Here—“ Streaks of red lined his palms sporadically where streams of tears should be. “Steve, oh my god, are— are you okay?”
He yanks a fistful of tissues into his hand, shoving them against his eyes.
“It’s- I’m fine, I swear. I have this— it’s this… medical thing,” Steve stammers as he bunches tissues to his eyes with one hand, waving the other while trying to explain quickly. “It’s alright, nothing to fret—“
“Should I call an ambulance?” You don’t allow him to finish, panic rising while you answer yourself, “I’m calling an am—“
“Don’t, I’m fine.”
“Steve…” Cautiously, you settle on the loveseat next to him, observing him for any sign of distress. He only continues to blot his eyes, leaving crimson splotches behind on the tissues. “That can’t be healthy to… that’s…”
“Those children I used to take care of would say “friends don’t lie”,” Steve sniffles into the fabric, sighing with the weight of grief. You watch as blood soaks into the paper, and how unbothered he is by it. “I still stand by that. You and I are friends now,” he dares to turn his head, glancing toward you with worn, weary eyes. “I’d never lie to you.”
“But you’re not telling me something important,” you add with persistence. “You may be a bit older than me, but I’m not that naive.”
Voice dropping barely above a whisper, he counters, “Withholding the truth isn’t always lying. I’ll tell you, in time.” He crumples up the tissue in his fist, clearing his throat, eyes falling back to the floor. “It’s not something that’s easy to talk about.”
Something in the back of your mind tells you to run; the blood tears and mystery of his past alone are enough to set off the alarm bells. You should leave. You should quit. Something is wrong here.
Yet your gut feeling urges you to stay, to patiently wait for Steve to eventually open up, trust you completely. You’re friends now, and whatever is going on is clearly causing him great pain.
The alarms silence, the voice screaming at you to run quiets down— you’ve felt safe with Steve since the very first day you walked in here, and now that you’re friends, it’s only fair to return that safety back to him. Whatever is wrong isn’t with Steve, but something of his past, weighing so heavily on his heart all this time later.
What’s really wrong here is the unspeakable heartache Steve’s been enduring for so long.
“Well…” boldly, your hand blankets over his fist; you constrain your reaction his cold skin, shivering through you. Steve’s head snaps up, taken aback by your touch. Even through the red tears welling up in his eyes, they’re soft, honest; any panic left withers away when the hurt in his gaze is stronger. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.”
thinking that modern!steve would def go viral on tik tok because you made a video like “things my boyfriend just does” and it’s like him leaving notes or reminders, or him packing her lunch. taking her out. and everyone’s like “hey is your bf single”
"day in the life with my boyfriend" and it's secretly recording steve holding open every single door, bringing you a nicely cooked breakfast ("some pancakes for my pancake! okay yeah i can workshop that one a bit"), taking you out for lunch and pulling the chair back for you, a screenshot of a text steve sent you even though he's sitting across the room that says "i love you so much you look so cute today", him bringing you your meds and a glass of water "cause i read somewhere that if you take meds without drinking water it'll burn your esophagus."
and then a bunch of misc pictures of random notes steve's left in your lunch or around the apartment of random things that reminded him of you that span months. since the start of your relationship. no one thinks this man is real.
(also i firmly believe that any version of steve harrington isn't super big on social media or even smartphones so while he might have an iphone, he literally uses it to text/call/facetime/track his fitness and that's IT. he has an insta with no pfp and one (1) picture on it that he took of you. he's so blissfully unaware that he's blowing up on tiktok. you have to keep it that way, too)
Summary: With your life seemingly at stake, Keys weighs his options with his team on how to best keep you safe and decides to hire a personal bodyguard. But until they can start, the stress of the situation starts to weigh on both of you.
Warnings (18+ MDNI): Mentions of physical threats, Established D/s relationship (sexual & non-sexual), Soft Dom!Keys, Pleasure Dom!Keys, Dry Humping, Fingering, Praise kink, Unprotected p in v sex, Mild overstimulation, no Gator yet but he's coming I swear
Author's Notes: PSA - this is pretty much gonna be porn with plot, but the plot is not as thought out as my other fics lmao. Worldbuilding and backstory? We don't know those girls here, Keys' job is purposefully abstract because I didn't have the patience to flesh it out more - I just wanted to get to writing the Keysman smut :,) RIP. The throuple relationship is the main plot anyway. Thank you to everyone who’s already shown this some love on my masterlist post yesterday! I hope you enjoy this first chapter! 🫣🩵
There are few things in this world that make Keys lose his temper, especially at work. He prides himself on staying cool given that the nature of his job is stressful enough. His employees didn't need him raising their blood pressure anymore than necessary.
But in this meeting, he can't seem to maintain his usual calm attitude. Probably because it's about you.
"I don't understand how we haven't traced these threats yet," Keys snapped. "We have the most comprehensive IP tracking alogrithm in the world. I developed it myself."
"I know." His chief information officer and longtime collaborator, Millie, set her mouth into a hard line. "We looked into it more and whoever sent you those emails found a way to circumvent your code."
"Likely indicating that this isn't some random criminal seeking a ransom payout." Amelia, the company's head of security, looks down at her copy of the dossier they're all reviewing and frowns. "They're familiar with your work and somehow figured out a way to outsmart it. This is personal."
Keys clenches his jaw. "That's not acceptable. We need to find the source."
"We understand the stakes here." Millie tosses her pen on the conference room table and leans back in her chair, giving him a hard look. "Do you really think we're not doing our best here?"
"It doesn't matter!" Keys slams his hand down and jumps up. "Your best isn't cutting it right now!"
Millie bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes blazing. Normally she would've chewed him out by now. She's giving him a free pass to be a jerk because she understands better than anyone how important your well being is to him. Not to mention that the emails that have come in…they freaked her out almost as much.
"Okay, let's all just take a breath for a second…" Mouser, the lead softward architect and ever the peacekeeper, holds out his hands to Mille and looks at Keys. "We're obviously going to keep looking into this and I have all of our top engineers plugging away at the code. In the meantime, we're thinking it'd be a good idea to come up with a contigency plan."
"Contigency plan," Keys repeats as he balls his fists.
"In case they follow through on their threats." Amelia meets his eyes, unafraid of his glare. She never hesistates to force them all to think about worst case scenario. It's why Keys hired her.
Keys sucks in a breath and walks to the giant window overlooking the city. "What do you recommend?"
"Private security detail. Someone experienced that's by her side twenty four seven," Amelia advises. "I have a former colleague in Minnesota that recommended someone who can start as early as Monday."
Keys nods. He'd have to keep an eye on you himself for two days, but he didn't mind having the excuse to be by your side all day. It was how he wishes he could spend every weekend.
"Bring them in."
Keys went straight home after the meeting, wanting to beat you to the apartment so that he could see with his own eyes that you'd made it home safely. At five thirty on the dot, you come barreling through the front door, huffing enough to signal to Keys that you also had a rough day at work.
He hears you drop something in the foyer and groan. "Ugh, mother fucker…"
Keys takes it upon himself to grab a bottle of wine from the beverage fridge and pours you a glass while you wrestle your belongings into the coat closet. When you step into the kitchen, the sight of him turns your scowl into a bright smile.
"Oh! Hey, baby." You bounce over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. "You're home early."
"Hey, beautiful." Keys lifts you onto the counter and presses a kiss into your neck. "Wanted some extra time with my girl."
"Aw shucks." You giggle as he continues peppering you with kisses. "This is a nice surprise after the shitty day I had."
"Yeah?" Keys pulls back and holds up the wine glass. "I got this for you."
"My hero." You take it from him and kiss his cheek. "Work was so crazy that I didn't even have time for lunch."
Keys frowns and takes the glass away from you just as your about to take a sip, making you bark out a sound of protest. "Didn't you say you skipped breakfast too?"
You snap your mouth shut and grimace. "Did I?"
"Baby…" Keys shakes his head. This isn't anything new. You've always had a tendency to get so lost in a task that you forget to come up for air. But it hits Keys harder tonight after the day he's had.
"I knowwww, I know." You attempt to distract him by sliding your hands under his shirt to rub his stomach. It takes all of Keys' willpower to not cave as your soft fingers play with the hairs of his happy trail. "I'm sorry. The day just got away from me."
"You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart." He presses his lips together and pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're too important."
You blush at his scolding but tender words. Even after all this time together, you still sometimes squirm under the intensity of Keys' affection. A part of him loves having that effect on you, but it also makes him sad that this kind of love had been so foreign in your life up until you met him.
"I promise I'll do better next week." You pout and grab at his belt buckle, still trying to charm your way out of this. "I'll get some more protein bars and set reminders."
"No. I'm going to make you a real breakfast that you'll eat at the table with me. Then you're going to text me a picture of proof you ate lunch every day." He cradles your cheek and raises his eyebrows. "Okay?"
"Okay." You smile and glance at the wine glass in his other hand. "Since you already poured that…"
Keys brings the glass to his lips and chugs the wine in one gulp. "Nice try. I'll pour you another one when we get back from dinner after you've eaten something."
You sigh but don't argue and turn your head to kiss his palm before hopping off the counter.
Keys keeps a hand on the small of your back as you walk into the bistro just a couple doors down from your apartment building. You've been venting to him about everything that went wrong at work today and he's absorbed every word while keeping an eye on your surroundings, because your focus has been completely on him. Not that he minds.
"…and then Brittany tells me that the new temp doesn't know how to use excel!" You drag your hands down your face. "Like, can't name a single formula. And no one apparently thought to verify that with the agency when we work out of excel almost exclusively."
Keys smiles at the hostess. "We'd like a table for two, please." She nods and gathers some menus. Keys looks down at you and brings his hand to the back of your neck, massaging it gently. "Why would a temp agency even staff someone without basic computer skills?"
You hold out your hands and scoff in agreement. "Thank you! Now I have to add data entry to my never ending to do list…" You continue to rant as Keys guides you to the table the hostess leads you both to. You only pause once to thank her with a warm smile as she tells you both to enjoy the meal when you sit down.
Keys grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, not necessarily kissing it but just holding it against him while you talk and smelling traces of your fruity perfume. It's more so a comfort to him than you - it's a reminder that you're here with him and you're safe. A waiter brings you guys some rolls and Keys keeps listening while he tears one open and butters it before placing it on a plate to slide it over to you.
"…and now I think I'm going to have to work overtime next week." You roll your eyes and take a breather to bite into the roll Keys gave you.
His chest tightens at the thought of you having to stay at the office after dark. The building's security is a joke (by his standards) and you often like to walk most of the way home, which he wouldn’t want to disrupt. He also doesn't want you to bear the weight of the fears currently consuming him.
Still, he has to intervene somehow. "Can you do the work from home?"
"I don't know. Why?" There's no defensiveness in your voice, just curiosity. You trust Keys to never abuse the dynamic you both agreed to at the beginning of the relationship. He's not about to break that now.
"I, uh…" He clears his throat and leans in, placing his elbows on the table. "I need to talk to you about something."
Keys has always had a terrible poker face, so concern twists your features as you place a hand on his forearm. "What's wrong?"
The waiter returns. "Are you both ready to order or do you need a minute?"
"We're ready." Keys straightens and grabs both menus. "I'm gonna do the chicken milanese. She'll have the ceasar salad to start and the steak frites, medium rare."
"Of course." The waiter takes the menus and walks away.
"Thank you." You smile at him and rub his arm, like something as basic as knowing what you'd likely be in the mood for means the world to you. It makes Keys fall in love with you all over again. "Now tell me what's going on with you."
He exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses out of place. "We've gotten some…concerning threats in the last few weeks."
"Okay." That part isn't surprising to you since you know the nature of what Keys does.
"We haven't been able to trace where it came from," he admits his breath shakey.
"Oh." You frown and run a hand through his hair, lingering to scratch the back of his neck. "And you're stressed because that's never happened before?"
"Not for this long, no." Keys can't find the words to explain that the actual stressful part is the fact that said threats are towards you directly, which has also never happened before. He purposefully keeps his personal life as private as possible to protect you. So the threats referring to you by name and other personal details no one should know had been especially bone chilling to him.
"Oh, honey." You lean in and kiss his temple before pulling your hand back to rest it on top of his. "You're so hard on yourself. You've done so much good for the world. This isn't a failure."
It is if I can't keep you safe. "Still, Amelia's worried enough that she's recommending increased security."
You shrug and take another bite of your roll. "Makes sense. Better safe than sorry."
Keys stares at you and rubs his jaw. "I'm hiring a private security detail for you."
"Me?" Your eyes twinkle as you point to your chest, eyebrows raised. "She thinks I need a bodyguard?"
"Just as a precaution." It's not a complete lie, but it omits enough of the truth to feel like a betrayal to Keys.
"Hm. Well could be kinda fun. Like I’m an international pop star or something.” You laugh softly and squeeze his hand. "And if it makes you feel any better, I can tell the team I need more work from home flexibility. Lord knows I could use a break from them."
Your ability to find the silver lining in any situation never ceases to amaze Keys. He leans in and kisses you deeply, imprinting an unspoken promise on your lips.
When he pulls back, he keeps his face inches from yours and stares into those eyes that he loves getting lost in. "I love you."
You blush and kiss him again. "I love you, too."
Keys feels a little lighter when he walks home with you hand in hand. You're fed, the news about your new bodyguard is out in the open, and the two of you are laughing together after a nice date like everything is normal.
You lean into his arm as he scans into the lobby of your apartment building. "What time do you need to go into the office tomorrow?"
"I'm not." He holds the door open and gently tugs you inside. "I need a break to reset and think about how to fix the program."
Again, not a full blown lie. But the explanation leaves out an important qualifier. You bite back a smile as you guys step into the elevator, trying not to look too excited because you don't like to make him feel bad about how much he works. Keys finds it adorable how considerate you are and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you in for a kiss.
The elevator dings when it reaches your floor and you pull away from him, your eyes shining. "So what are we going to do all weekend?"
"Whatever you want, sweetheart." Keys leads you into the apartment where you both kick off your shoes and put them in the hallway closet.
"Well…" You grin up at him deviously. "I'd love that glass of wine now."
Keys snorts. "Go sit down and I'll bring it to you."
You stand on your tip toes to kiss him once before turning and humming on your way to the living room. Keys watches you go - his sweet, unassumming, and vibrant girlfriend - and feels sick at how there's someone out there right now that would hurt you just because they hate him so much. The guilt eats at him and he swears to himself that he's going to make good on his promise to do whatever you want this weekend and then some.
By the time he's walking to the couch with two glasses of wine, you've already picked a movie to put on. Keys sits next to you and hands you a glass, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders to hold you. His muscles relax a little bit as you snuggle into him and sip your wine. You let out a soft, barely audible sigh of content and Keys presses a kiss to your forehead.
About an hour into the movie, both wine glasses are sitting empty on the coffee table and the two of you have sunk further into the couch. Keys is actually enjoying the mindless comedy while you absentmindedly scratch his stomach. He assumes that you're just as relaxed as he is because of how quiet you've been until you suddenly stand up, your eyebrows threaded together as you grab the glasses and walk out of the room.
"You okay, baby?" Keys takes his feet off the coffee table and sits up, pausing the movie.
"Yeah. I just need some water," you say over your shoulder.
He knows something's wrong because he's seen that look on your face a hundred times. You're in your head and need help getting out of it.
Keys stands and heads into the kitchen. You haven't gotten that water you claimed to need yet, instead standing at the sink and washing the wine glasses. Keys grabs your waterbottle that's sitting on the island, where you'd set it earlier after work, and fills it at the fridge dispenser.
You look over at him and sigh as you place the glasses in the drying rack. "You didn't need to do that."
"I know." Keys screws the cap back on and walks over to you. "I wanted to." He places the bottle next to you on the counter. "I do these things for you because I want to. You know that, sweetheart."
"Yeah, I do." You step towards him and offer him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.
"Just like you also know…" Keys presses his thumb to the wrinkle in between your brows and smooths them out, his voice dropping an octave. "…that you're a good girl for me because you want to. This works because we both want it."
You close your eyes and lean into his hand when he moves to cradle your cheek. "Can we just go to bed?"
"Of course." He brushes your cheekbone with your thumb. "I told you, we do whatever you want this weekend."
The two of you go upstairs together and get ready for bed in relatively comfortable silence. Keys' own routine is quick so once he slips into a t-shirt and his pajama pants, he climbs into bed and watches you continue the steps of your skincare in the bathroom after you've slipped on a thin cotton nightgown. Usually, the process is fairly meditative for you but tonight he can see you're checked out, going through the motions mindlessly.
When you're done, you walk out of the bathroom and flip the light off without ceremony. Keys removes his glasses and sets them on his nightstand before he waits patiently for you to join him. But you pause when you reach your side of the bed and chew on your thumbnail.
"I'm sorry," you say finally.
Keys blinks and can't stop the laugh that falls from his lips. "What on earth are you sorry for, angel?"
"I came home and just started venting immediately about my completely low stakes office job while you're dealing with real shit!" You rub your temples and groan. "I don't understand how you do what you do and then also have all this energy to take care of me. Meanwhile I can't even remember to slip a protein bar into my bag before work—"
"Hey, hey." Keys leans forward and holds his hand out to you. "Baby, come here please."
You bite your lip but climb onto the mattress anyway and let him pull you onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. He grabs your hands and brings them to his mouth so he can kiss them, lavishing each of your palms with the affection you deserve, even if you're second guessing it in this moment.
"Keys." He pauses at the pleading in your voice and looks up at you. Your beautiful face is painted with worry as you scratch the back of his neck, fingers running through his hair. "I could tell something was really bothering you today. More than just the usual stress."
Just like he knows all of your tells, you know his too. Both of you are so intimately intertwined in every way, there's no hiding from each other.
"This security threat…" Keys grabs onto your waist and sighs. "It's different from the others. All of us a little freaked out."
You frown. "Different how?"
"It was more personal." He watches the dots connect in your head as understanding dawns on your face.
Your breath hitches. "I'm the one they were threatening?"
Keys tightens his grip on you as you get a far away look in your eyes. "Stay here with me, sweetheart. I don't want you to be scared."
"Me?" You scoff. "Baby, I'm worried about you. If whoever's doing this hates you this much—"
"Jesus. I tell you someone's been threatening your life and that's your main concern." He chuckles and rests his forehead on your shoulder. "You're something else you know that?"
You grab his face and tilt his head back up. "I'm not scared because you make me feel safe. You're hiring me a bodyguard, for crying out loud." You shake your head and kiss the corner of his mouth. "You do everything for me. Let me return the favor now and then."
Keys’ heart swells and he captures your lips in another, deeper kiss. His tongue teases the seam of your mouth before pulling away slightly. "My sweet girl. You already do that everyday by being so perfect for me."
You shiver in his arms and grab his shoulders, wiggling in his lap a little bit, not quite grinding on him yet. Just testing the waters. "I love you, Keys."
"I love you, too." He wraps his arms around you and slides his hands up your back. "I think we both just need to take our mind off of things, yeah?"
"Mhm." You nod and lick your lips. "Want you."
Keys dips his head and starts a trail of kisses across your shoulders. "You got me, sweetheart," he murmurs against your velvety skin, breathing in the vanilla scent of your lotion you'd just put on. "I'm right here."
"You feel so good." You tilt your head back to give Keys more access to your neck.
He grabs your hips and encourages you to grind down on his growing erection while he leaves wet, sloppy kisses up the column of your throat. "Yeah? Tell me what you need, baby."
You tug at the hem of his t-shirt. "Can you take this off?"
Keys nods and peels the shirt off, almost coming right then and there seeing you practially drool at the sight of his bare chest. You grind down on him faster and his hands glide up your bare thighs, pushing up the hem of your nightgown.
"Can I see you now, beautiful?"
"Yes, please."
Once your nightgown comes off, Keys curses under his breath seeing you squirm in his lap in nothing except your underwear. These moments with you are the few times his overactive brain actually goes quiet. It's just you, him, and your bodies joined together, hijacking all of his senses.
"God, you're so pretty." Keys grabs your hips and drags your core against his now rock hard cock. When you arch your back in response, he uses the opportunity to take one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it harshly.
"Keys," you gasp.
"Hmm?" He looks up at you right as he bites down on the nub lightly and drags his tongue across it. Your pupils are blown wide watching him lap his tongue to soothe the slight pain he inflicted and moves across your chest to give the other breast some attention.
"Oh, baby…" You thread your fingers through his hair and tug. You snake a hand between your bodies, but Keys catches it and pins both hands behind your back. "Can I please touch you?"
Keys releases your nipple with a wet pop. "Not right now." He pulls you flush against his chest and bucks his hips up into yours, the friction making you cry out. "I'm not done with you yet. Can you be a good girl and let me set the pace?"
"Yes," you pant, complete adoration in your eyes as you become pliant in his arms and let him guide your hands onto his shoulders. Keys grabs your hips again and resumes grinding them down on his cock while he presses soft kisses along your jaw. You let out a sigh and melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck
Every second he's with you, Keys treasures how much trust you've put in him. Trust that he's earned slowly over the course of your relationship by observing you intently, notating every preference, need, and desire both in and out of the bedroom. Each of them are treasured data points that he files away because he wants you to feel seen and loved.
Crafting this relationship with you was his life's greatest work, better than any build he's ever coded.
Keys eventually finds your mouth and latches onto it with his to kiss you hard this time, wanting to swallow every little whimper and moan that have been escaping your lips. He loses control a bit and gets sloppier with his motions as he slides his tongue in to massage yours with it. He's officially drunk on your pleasure and needs more just as much as you do.
"Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart," he whispers, his lips hovering over yours as he trails one of his hands from your hip across your tummy, his fingers skimming the waistband of your underwear.
Your breath stutters and Keys smiles when he feels your stomach muscles contract beneath his touch. You bring one of your hands to the back of his head and brush your lips against his. He can tell you're trying really hard to not chase his fingers still teasing the skin right above your panties, so he decides to reward you by slipping his hand under them and parting your slick folds.
"Christ, baby…" Keys groans when his middle finger sinks into your soaking wet cunt easily. "Always so ready for me."
"Mmph, love how you feel inside me." You lean forward and whisper against the shell of his ear, "You could probably put in another finger in if you want."
Keys lets out a soft laugh. "Greedy girl." He slides his ring finger inside you too and curls his digits upwards, stroking that spongey spot that makes you clench around him. "Do you wanna come on my hand, beautiful?"
"Oh god, yes!" You bury your face in the crook of his neck, clutching onto him for dear life while he pumps in and out of you. "Please, Keys."
"Shhh, I know. I got you." His thumb finds your clit and circles it in rhythm with his fingers working inside you. The sudden extra stimulation makes you spasm in his lap, so he wraps an arm around your back to keep you in place. "Always gonna take care of my angel."
Your walls flutter around his fingers and he groans, speeding up his movements. Both of you go quiet for a minute, with just the sounds of your uneven breaths and the obsene, squelching of your pussy filling the air. You're still wrapped around his neck, licking and suckling on his skin. Keys can feel you getting close by the way you pulse around him.
"Baby, lemme look at you." He loosens his hold on you a bit and splays his hand on your back. "I wanna watch you fall apart on my fingers."
After taking a breath, you oblige and pull back so that you can look him in the eyes. Keys nearly comes at the sight of how wrecked you are with your cheeks flushed and your swollen mouth parted, practically begging to be kissed.
Keys looks down and marvels at your pussy greedily sucking his fingers in. Your thighs tense around him while your fingernails dig into his shoulders.
"Fuck, Keys," you whimper. "I'm so close."
"That's my girl," he coos. "Let me feel you come for me."
That last encouragement is all you need, your whole body tensing before your orgasm rips through you. Keys is mesmerized by the way your body writhes in his arms and you thow your head back, completely at his surrender and unable to do anyting but take it while you cry out a string of curses.
Keys doesn't slow the pace of his fingers though. "I think you have one more in you before I fuck you."
You manage to huff out a laugh and roll your head back around to look at him with heavy lidded eyes. You press your forehead to his and let him work through the aftershocks, building your second orgasm. Your cunt is so soaked that it takes considerably more effort to keep the pressure, but soon enough your trembling and coming on his hand a second time.
Both of you are panting and now covered in a thin layer of sweat, your dewy skin glistening in the warm light from the bedside lamps. Keys slows his movements to a full stop before withdrawing his fingers.
He pats your hip twice. "Lay down for me, sweetheart."
You roll off his lap and flop onto the mattress next to him, gazing up to watch him remove his pajama pants and boxer briefs. You gaze at his erection hungrily, licking your lips as bit of precum leaked out of the tip. If Keys weren't two seconds away from blowing his load, he might've let you put that gorgeous mouth to use.
Keys climbs on top of you and hovers over your body, just wanting to take a moment to acknowledge how angelic you look with your hands laying on either side of your head and your hair fanning out on the pillow.
A smile spreads on your face as your eyes rake over him with unrestrained lust. You reach up and push a lock of hair out of his face. "You're so beautiful, Keys."
"Funny," he replies, leaning down to kiss you as he lines himself up at your entrance. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
"What a weird coincidence," you giggle and hook a leg over his hip.
Slowly, Keys pushes into you, savoring every bit of you as your walls stretch around him to accomodate his cock. He sinks further into you, the person that's his home in every sense of the word, and pauses once he's fully buried to let you adjust. He brackets either side of your head with his forearm.
You nuzzle his nose with yours as your hands glide up his chest, playing with the spattering of hair there for a moment before taking his face in your hands.
Keys brushes a few stray hairs away from your damp forehead and rolls his hips once. "How's that feel, baby?"
"So good," you mewl, your thumbs swiping over his cheeks. "I feel you everywhere."
The words and the indisputable want in your voice wash over him as he sets a slow pace, letting you feel every inch drag in and out of you.
"Shit, you're perfect." Keys hips snap into you, his pace quickening. "Like you were made for me, angel."
You wrap your legs around his waist and comb your fingers through his hair, your shallow breaths fanning his lips. "Funny," you pant. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
The two of you giggle and your mouths collide in a frantic, messy kiss thats all tongues and teeth clashing. The fresh, clean smell of your skincare has dulled, becoming more secondary to the salty, natural scent of your sweat. Keys pounds into you, the feeling of being so deep inside bringing a sense of warmth that tingles all over his skin.
He feels you clenching down on him and you moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip. "Are you gonna come again for me, sweetheart?"
You make a strangled noise. "I think so."
"You can do it. Focus on me." Keys reaches between your bodies and circles your clit. "I'm always here for you. I got you."
Your eyes roll back in your head briefly, but you snap them back to Keys' attention knowing he likes to maintain eye contact when your bodies are joined like this. He applies more pressure to your clit in silent gratitude of remembering that without a gentle reminder from him.
"Keys," you plead. "Can you come with me?"
"Right behind you, angel," he grunts, the sharp, rapid sounds of skin slapping echoing through the room. "You're almost there, doing so good for me."
You cry out as your third orgasm of the night makes your walls spasm around him, milking him so well that it's only a beat later that his hips stutter from his own climax and he spills into you. You hook your arms under his and pull him down on top of you, trailing your fingers up and down his back.
Eventually, Keys would need to pull out and clean you up. But for right now, he stays buried, not ready to break the moment just yet. His analytical brain doesn't love the term soulmate, but he imagines that if such things existed, you'd be it for him.
At least, that's what he thinks in that moment. It doesn't occur to him that there's the possibility of someone else who could eventually work their way into both of your hearts.
They're using Helaena's neurodivergence as a reason to render her a politicaly insignificant oracle. Don't let them fool you.
At Aegons coronation, they erased Dowager Queen Alicent placing her crown on her daughter's head and calling Helaena her queen.
We know that Helaena was happier before she became queen, but that's after Jaehaerys died. Before that, Helaena doesn't express her opinions and feelings on her ascension or the political scenario.
During Blood and Cheese, Helaena offers her necklace for Jaehaerys' life. Her NECKLACE. In the book, she offers her LIFE. They changed so much of the scene, whole characters aren't where they're supposed to be, but they couldn't leave in a line that shows Helaena is willing to die for her LITTLE CHILDREN, like many mothers would, including neurodivergent ones.
In the book, when forced to choose a son to be murdered under horrible threats made to her daughter, Helaena chooses Maelor to die instead of Jaehaerys. It could be because Maelor was younger and didn't have the awareness that Jaehaerys had, but Helaena's choice ultimately prioritises the life of her firstborn, Aegon's heir. It's a political move. In the show, she's so far removed from politics, the only thing she does that remotely comes close is being forced to parade her son's body around the city.
Then, they refuse to let her call Jaehaerys by his name, instead she calls him "the boy", and people argue that it's because she's in shock, but no other character calls Jaehaerys by his name UNTIL Helaena herself says "I'm sad for Jaehaerys but I ought not to. Children die all the time" in the most dismissive way possible. She doesn't ugly cry. She doesn't sob or scream or express her pain. Her devastating grief is conveniently opted out, and episodes later she is ready to be the cryptical catch-you-in-a-lie targaryen oracle. She doesn't ride her dragon to assist the war efforts, not because she's spiralled into depression and what is crudely called madness, but because she doesn't like to ride, as per Rhaenyra, and if she's ought not to be sad, she can't be enraged or vengeful either, because it would be just as inconvenient and wrong, and she's a pacifist with a sensitive soul that shouldn't be corrupted by her evil brother.
An angry mob of smallfolk throws fish at her and Alicent, when she was notoriously beloved by them in the book.
Her authority as Queen Consort is constantly ignored, bypassed and disrespected by her own mother, when Helaena outranks her.
Why is no one campaigning for Helaena to use the power her position gives her?
They made her a vessel for the prophecy, a plot with so many holes it's become swiss cheese.
Not interested in politics? She's neurodivergent. Doesn't offer her life for her children? She's neurodivergent. Is not consumed by grief? Neurodivergent. Doesn't like to fly on her dragon that she claimed at what, eleven years old?
Benjamin Evan Ainsworth is seventeen. Any adult in this fandom even remotely sexualizing him needs to ask themselves why they see a child's face and start lusting. Write an aged-up book Daeron AU if you want to use his storyline, the idea of a Targaryen raised by Hightowers is damn interesting and I might write one myself one day, but let's not use a teen's face while we do it, shall we.
Steve Harrington can't be casual with you anymore.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 1.6k
contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) mention of p in v, fingering, oral (female and male receiving), frenemies with benefits to lovers, jealous!steve, steve harrington yearning, fluff, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: request by @scoopstroops0704 | this fic is more of a fluff with smut elements to it, it was also meant to be a blurb but went just over 1.5k words. shock! horror! please enjoy 🧡
Steve Harrington had a problem. A pretty fucking big problem.
The problem being was that he was ninety five per cent sure that he was in love with you.
The other five per cent was convinced that he just really loved fucking you. That he really loved the way he knew your body like the back of his hand—knew that you loved it when he made out with your pussy like it was the best damn thing he had ever tasted (it was), knew you liked it when he lifted your thighs to rest of his shoulders while he fucked you stupid, knew you loved it when he called you pretty girl while two of his thick fingers were buried deep in your cunt, curling once, twice, just so he could listen to your needy whines. Even the thought of those noises were enough to make his cock thicken beneath his jeans.
So, of course Steve loved fucking you. In fact, he loved it so much that he wasn’t fucking anyone else but you.
He told himself that it was because he didn’t have time for anyone else. He told himself that your lips around his cock just felt right, that you just gave him the best head because you knew he liked it when you got messy with him, coating his dick in your saliva and looking up at him with those fucking bedroom eyes of yours.
But none of that explained why his heart beat a little faster when you were near, why he felt so desperately sad when you didn’t stay the night or why when he saw you talking to Ryan Williams at a party he wanted nothing more than to punch the nearest wall (or Ryan, whichever was more satisfying).
He was being stupid—he knew he was. You were technically not even friends. In fact, when you weren’t fucking each—you two were arguing. Not only that but you and Steve were not together and you were able to talk to any guy you wanted.
But it didn’t mean it didn’t kill him a little inside when you laugh at something Ryan had said while Steve watches from across the room.
Fucking Ryan.
Steve was deep in some sort of twisted daydream of socking Ryan in the face when someone taps his shoulder.
He turned around and was met with a pretty brunette who looked vaguely familiar. Amy something, or maybe it was Amanda, some girl who he had gone to high school with. Some girl who was fluttering her lashes at him and giving him every opportunity to be his distraction for the evening. He briefly considered it, knowing it would have certainly made him feel a little better about you and Ryan.
But he didn’t give in. Because despite the fact you annoyed the fuck out of him, he loved you. He knew it now he had seen you with someone else. He really fucking loved you. And he knew fucking someone else wasn’t going to stop that.
And so, instead of going upstairs with Amy or Amanda or whatever her name was, Steve went home. Trying not to think about you going home with Ryan, trying not to think about Ryan kissing you or fucking you or—
The sound of his phone ringing as he grabs a drink of water pulls him out of his thoughts. He didn’t know how but he knew almost instantly that it was you calling. And so, Steve answers. Because of course he does.
“Hi,” was the first thing he says when he answers the phone, trying to keep his voice casual, normal, like his heart wasn't beating out of his chest already.
“Where—wherey’d you g-go?”
From the sound of your voice, Steve could instantly tell that you had been crying.
He felt his stomach drop instantly,
“Home,” he says, sitting upright instantly and straining to listen to the sounds of the party around you. But there was none. No music, no drunken yelling, no Ryan—
“Baby, where are you?”
The petname slips out before he could stop it. He only ever used it when he was feeling particularly needy—when you were on top of him, tits bouncing in his face and fucking yourself on his cock. When you would slowly roll your hips just as he was about to cum, making him lose his damn mind. That was the only time he called you baby.
Until now, that was.
“I-I left,” you tell him in a small voice. “I sa-saw you g-go and I—”
“Where?” Steve interjects, already standing up and grabbing his car keys that lay nearby. “Where are you? I’ll come and get you and I—”
“—I th-think I love y-you, Stevie.”
Everything stills. Time itself seems to slow down. Steve feels as though he has forgotten how to breathe. Because you felt the same, you felt the same.
But he couldn’t focus on that right now. Not when you were god knows where, sad and probably alone.
“I—I’m sorry I just—I saw you and Amanda and I—I—it felt like my whole world ended and then you were gone and I thought—”
“Tell me where you are,” Steve demands of you somewhat gently, jaw clenched as the words you had just uttered make him feel things he had been trying to ignore for months. “C’mon baby, I—I just need to see you so tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you.”
You’re quiet for a moment before you tell him you were at some payphone right outside of Melvald's and Steve tells you not to move, tells you to stay exactly where you were.
Steve drives to Melvald's, breaks a few traffic laws on the way that he wasn’t proud of but he makes it to the parking lot outside the store in less than five minutes.
He spots you almost instantly, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with your arms wrapped tightly around your legs as if it could protect you from the cold.
Steve practically stumbles out of his car in his haste to get to you.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking off his jacket without even a second thought and dropping it over your shoulders. “What were you thinking? Walking home alone like this, why didn’t you—”
“—be-because I thought you l-left,” you say quietly, your eyes shining as you look back up at him. “A-and I th-thought you left wi-with Amanda and—”
“—no,” Steve says with a shake of his head, dropping down onto the sidewalk beside you so he could cup your face with one hand to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen. “No, I didn’t go home with her. I-I wouldn’t do that.”
You breath hitches, you try not to think too much about the implication of those words but it was impossible not to do that when he was so close to you.
“Why?” You ask him quietly, barely daring to look away from him for even a second. “Why wouldn’t you—”
“—because I—because I love you too.”
Your eyes widen, lips part and Steve looks momentarily terrified that he’s said something insanely stupid, that perhaps maybe he had misheard you over the phone when you had told him you loved him.
But then you’re leaning in, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips firmly against his.
The kiss was anything but romantic—it was desperate, your fingers running through his hair as his hands roam over your body, grabbing at your thighs, your ass, anywhere he could touch, as though he was trying to map it out. It was the sort of kiss that left your core aching, made you want to pull him into his beamer and let him fuck you until sunrise.
You weren’t sure how long you made out with Steve Harrington on the sidewalk but you knew it was Steve who was the first to pull away. You let out a noise of protest, something between a whine and a whimper as your eyes flicker down to his lips that were swollen from your kiss and covered in a mix of your spit.
“Why did you—”
Steve presses his finger against your lips, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Because my girl deserves the best,” he tells you simply, the words making something in your gut squirm, the look in his eyes making your cunt clench around nothing.
You feel one of his hands brush along the bare skin of your leg. The subtle touch starts a fire in your gut, your eyelids flutter as he slowly drags his fingers up to your thigh in a tantalising dance that makes your blood hum with need.
“So let me take you home and then—”, he murmurs, fingers disappearing beneath your skirt and pressing his fingertips firmly against the damp patch that had formed in your panties. The moan that leaves your lips as a result should be embarrassing but you found that you didn’t care all that much when Steve’s fingers were circling your clothed clit, when you could see the thick outline of his cock through his jeans, “—then I’ll take care of you. Give my girl what she needs, yeah?”
You couldn’t do anything but nod your head frantically. Because he had called you his girl, his girl, his girl.
Steve wastes no time before he leans to kiss you again—this kiss much softer, gentler, everything you and Steve had never got the chance to be. He can’t help but smile into the kiss because when it came to you? It was hard not to fall but you had been right there to catch him.
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