18+
Perv! Steve Harrington x f! reader, rich! reader, established relationship, oral sex(f & m), anal play(f), thigh fucking, implied PIV sex, unprotected sex, cream pie
WC:3.5K
Summary: Pervy! Steve meets your family for the first time at your father's big celebration dinner and things get a little inappropriate when he pries you away from the party and into an empty room for some much needed privacy.
You'd been waiting for the right moment and it seemed to have finally presented itself. A quiet dinner with your parents in the family dining room where just moments ago, your father had shared news of another successful business takeover. With spirits high and your parents' glasses topped with their drinks of choice, you shared some good news of your own.
Your mother was thrilled. She was won over the instant she'd heard the name 'Harrington' leave your lips. You had a feeling she would be. You didn't like it but you knew that she had a special interest in of all the well to do families in the area, hoping that you would one day pair up with someone who came from a background that matched your own.
Image meant so much to your parents. You knew this even though you didn't view things like status and money the same way they did but admittedly, it did make you feel the slightest bit more reassured when you told them about Steve. Knowing how they thought, you figured they'd have to be pleased with the news that their daughter was dating a boy who met their standards. Someone who came from 'a good, wholesome family' as your mother always put it even though you knew what she really meant was someone who came from wealth.
Your father didn't share your mother's enthusiasm however. He wasn't impressed that Steve had chosen to work at the video store instead of enrolling at a prestigious college like the sons of all his flashy business associates. That made you tense up in your seat until your mother waved off his remark, tutting at him over her glass of wine.
She told him it was only a slight misstep which could be overlooked because, as they all assumed, it would only be a matter of time until Steve would eventually grow out of this 'rebellious phase' and work under his father at his lucrative firm. That he'd realize his mistake and know how good he could have it with the life his parents expect of him.
You didn't enjoy the way your parents were speculating about him but you knew going into this that you would have to bite your tongue sometimes if you wanted them onboard, telling yourself that their shallow comments were best ignored.
Your father didn't attempt to counter your mother's reasoning. He agreed with her that Steve could fall in line and pursue a more fitting position at a respectable establishment like his father's. That much he could admit.
Still, he continued to show his displeasure with a pointed lack of interest that told you that he'd prefer to be anywhere else but your dining table right now as your mother subjected you to a flurry of questions. He didn't engage after that, only cutting at his steak whilst his frown deepened at every mention of Steve's name.
His real qualm with Steve was simple. He just didn't like him. He believed that there were other boys out there who had a leg up on Steve - Ivy League business majors, Law undergraduates, medical residents, who would fare far better at taking care of you and make your family look even better in the eyes of all your parents' pretentious friends. Yet, something more pressing gnawed at him as your mother poured him another whiskey before excitedly turning back to you. A feeling he couldn't shake that there was something... unseemly about Steve.
****
You didn't take your father's reaction, or more specifically, lack thereof to heart. In fact, you were relieved as you readied yourself for the dinner your family was hosting in celebration of the merger. He hadn't done any of the things you were afraid he might like try to convince you that you were making a mistake or arguing that your boyfriend wouldn't fit in with your(their) lifestyle or worse - simply forbidding you.
He didn't even try to push back when your mother nearly jumped out of her seat last night when the idea occurred to her that you should invite Steve to the dinner tonight.
Black tie, obviously.
While not showing any enthusiasm, your father never said no and that told you he had made his peace with your decision. Only when the guests started to arrive you soon realized that wasn't the case.
You felt helpless, unable to do anything but follow along as your father introduced you to his colleagues and their sons (who you weren't even aware were invited). You grit your teeth as he basically offered you up to them, his firm hand on your back over your floor length pale champagne silk dress, the one your mom had picked out for you. Your matching heels clicked on top of the polished marble tiles with every step as he directed you from one imperious boy to the next.
Not wanting to appear rude, you tolerated their vanity, feigning interest and impress at their talks of attending the finest schools (that their parents bought their way into) or landing positions at some of the biggest companies (reserved for them by way of nepotism).
You realized then that this was your father's way of making it known to Steve that you had options. 'Better' options and plenty of them lined up and waiting to be with you. It was obvious the whole thing was intended to make Steve feel jealous or insecure but you noticed that the boy appeared completely unfazed.
It didn't take much for him to charm your mother and he didn't relent at your father's underhanded behavior. When you're finally able to pry yourself away from the clearly intoxicated Braydon Mayhew after resisting the urge to retch at his offer to show you the back seat of his father's new Mercedes, you rush to Steve's side, slipping your hand into his which he squeezes back reassuringly.
"I'm so sorry", you whisper up at him, meaning it more than you could possibly show. "You have every right to be mad", you admit, embarrassed and angered by your father's behavior. He had barely acknowledged Steve when you proudly introduced him earlier, only taking a few moments to nod at him grimly before steering you away towards Kyle Yately who'd returned from the bathroom after a considerable absence. Now noticeably more alert.
Your father greeted Kyle with an exaggerated warmth he had denied Steve, you noticed with growing resentment. Your mood only worsened when your eyes fell to the light dusting of white powder underneath the boy's nose, knowing your father had seen it too but said nothing because Kyle's father was a key partner in his business. This was who he'd rather you be with. Some coke head wipe out with a trust fund.
"I'm not upset", Steve replies, looking like he means it as he smiles down at you in a way that feels so intimate, so handsome in his suit. He understands. You know he does. He's been through the same with his own parents before, having girls picked out for him, each one of them insufferable in their own ways and less compatible than the last. He'd rejected all of them and never looked back, his parents' disappointment and demands never rattling him as he went on to make a life of his own. A steady job, a fine car, an apartment just for him, reliable friends and now, you. He was doing better than they care to admit and you feel encouraged to take a page out of his book when it comes to dealing with your own family.
You melt against Steve as the dinner party continues, sounds of chatter and bursts of pompous laughter at every corner. In a room where everyone else was competing for center of attention, it was easy for the two of you slip away unnoticed when he tugged you towards the hallway, ducking down to whisper against your ear, "How 'bout you give me a tour of the place?"
You smile cheekily at the thought of sneaking him into your bedroom while the party continued downstairs but the thought gets cut short when he points at a nearby door instead. "What's in here?" he asks but he's already turning the knob. You step past him as he holds the door open for you and explain, "this is my father's study".
Your gaze scans the familiar furnishings and features like full grain leather and Brazilian cherry hardwood flooring with newfound contempt. It's only then that you realize that there isn't a single family photo displayed in here. Only college degrees in gaudy gold frames, glinting trophies and awards and photographs of him receiving said trophies and awards, the whole room eerily resembling a shrine to himself.
"We should go. He doesn't like it when people come in here", you roll your eyes, remembering all the times he'd impatiently ushered you out of there whenever you stepped in, not to be disturbed because of the many conference calls with the London office, the Milan office and the New York office.
You go to walk through the door, expecting Steve to hold it open for you once more but you're puzzled when he closes it instead.
"Not yet. I've barely seen you all night and now I've finally got you all to myself"
****
This is so wrong.
So wrong and so fucking exhilarating.
You stomp the shame sprouting inside you down in favor of the tight, gooey warmth building in the base of your stomach.
"Steve..." you whine out breathily, your palms sweating on the polished surface of your father's oak desk, your heels digging into the cashmere rug at your feet as your knees shake and wobble.
You've never been eaten out like this before, bent over with Steve licking you out from behind. The sensation feels all the more dirty with the way your slinky dress has been rucked up so crudely to your waist, your damp thong making a stain in his jacket pocket as you rock your hips back to let his tongue lap at your clit.
It made you feel self conscious at first, having him eat you out from this angle but Steve worked faster than you could shut the idea down entirely. And you're glad he did, your body giving into the wonderful feelings wracking every inch of muscle and bone trembling inside your skin, your legs widening to encourage his tongue inside you.
Gladly dipping the muscle in and out of your greedy hole, Steve sucks down every drop of smooth slick you weep for him like nectar before he gives other parts of you his attention. Pulling his tongue free, he bites playfully at the curve of your ass a few times as he begins to move lower. His broad hands pull your cheeks apart and his tongue then wanders over to your tight rim knowing it would draw an embarrassed whine out of you to know that you liked the sloppy wet drag of his busy tongue licking over it again and again.
You'd talked about it before, having him fuck you there and as much as he'd love for tonight to be the night, he knew he owed you the decency of taking the time to loosen you up first, maybe float the idea of you wearing a plug for a few hours before he would carefully takes it out to replace it with the thick length of his cock.
After all, he wouldn't want to hurt you. Not to mention how much he's defiled you in this room already.
"Poor thing. Can barely stand up after having that circus of pricks out there fawning all over you", his fingers beginning to unbutton his trousers, zipper coming down, the tip of his perfect nose wet with your slick.
Steve eyes your body closely to admire the signs of his work, your folds all swollen and puffy from how much he'd sucked on them, a translucent mix of your slick and his saliva making your pussy glossy. Spreading your lips apart he eyes your hole again, watching it pinch and pulse so pathetically around nothing. So terribly empty. He aims to resolve that.
"What happened, baby? those daddy's boys work you up into a frenzy?"
You nearly snort at the mere idea of it.
"Fucking jokes, all of them. 'Don't mean a damn thing to me", you sigh, wiggling your ass as Steve gets back on his feet, his weighty cock pulled out and ready to be slid between your thighs.
"Can't blame them for trying. Beautiful thing like you is hard to come by", Steve gently guides you forward until your breasts and cheek are pressed up against the desk, his cock pressing between your thighs until his tip nudges your poor worked up clit.
"Mm...I'm yours Stevie. Don't want anyone else", you remind him, pushing your hips back to hump messily at his sticky cock as it slips and slides between your warm thighs.
"Good girl. That's what I like to hear."
You hum with delight, ass bouncing against Steve's pelvis to make the wet slap of skin on skin echo in your ears, the bumps of his veiny shaft and spongy tip heaven against your clit while your folds spread apart and border his dick.
And you could have cum there as is, the pressure between your legs nearing immense.
Until...
There's movement on the other side of the door and you tense up when you see the shadows dancing underneath the gap. Then the handle begins to jiggle and you think your heart might shoot up past your throat and out through the roof of your skull.
Someone's coming inside.
The thought of anyone, maybe your mother who'd raised you to be the epitome of proper, growing faint at the sight of her daughter bent over underneath the boy she'd been boasting to all her friends about makes you shudder. You know she'd forget all about how much money Steve's father made if she saw you like this. Sweaty. sticky. sullied.
Of course she'd be no less severe with you. There was one other thing she held in equal esteem to wealth - appearances. This is how you repay her for all the effort she put into molding you for a life of high society? how she fussed and spared no expense making you the standout debutante in town? though none of it was what you'd wanted for yourself you knew how much it meant to her.
Or worse, your father walking in to see the boy he'd all but dismissed as not good enough for his daughter, fucking her stupid on his desk and her loving it. How Steve would grin back and watch with sick satisfaction as your father's face contorted and bled red with rage.
It's a good thing the hunting rifle displayed on the wall next to the mounted stag's head is only for show, no ammunition to load it with. No way to blow Steve's head off his shoulders in one gory blast, bone and blood spraying the walls. Thankfully.
But Steve didn't need your father to know how good he'd worked up his daughter under his own roof and in his own study to be satisfied.
In a hurry you're pulled under the table, Steve's hand clamped over your mouth, index finger held up to his lips to let you know to keep quiet.
"I know I left it in here", you hear your father's voice when the door swings open, the familiar scent of your mother's Dior perfume wafting in after him.
"Then it must be in here", you mother sighs with clear sass, her perfect nails clinking impatiently against the crystal glass in her hand.
You have no idea what 'it' might be but you hoped whatever 'it' was, that it wouldn't get the two of you caught like this. Not before you've finished at least.
It's a mess between your legs, your dress damp with sweat and wrinkled all over. Though you're in better shape than Steve, his cock still out over his unbuttoned pants, unable to try and get it back in for fear of being heard.
It's so tempting, especially the way it keeps twitching in your face. You stare at it long enough until you just can't help yourself, afraid you might not get another chance tonight. So, you reach for it, rubbing the glistening pink tip with the pad of your index finger, so slippery soft with all the precum that drools from his slit.
You're playing a dangerous game but it's impossible to stop now as Steve's face begins to turn a very similar shade of pink, his lips curling up with a sly little smirk.
"Go on", he mouths to you, gently and quietly pulling you closer. He's able to spread his legs somewhat, his back against one side of the desk while you crouch on your knees between his legs, lips kissing his tip so sweetly.
"It's not in here..." you hear your father growl, admitting it reluctantly.
"Oh what a surprise. It's like I've been saying all along", your mother replies. You can practically hear the way she rolls her eyes.
You block them out, taking the head of Steve's cock into your mouth then, sucking till your cheeks begin to fill with the slippery tang of his precum, sucking it out of him so quickly you almost worry you're taking more than he can give at this pace. Greedy. And all while your eyes remain fixed on each other as you're connected like this, as if you're the only ones in the room.
And soon enough, you are, your father stomping out of the room followed by the click clack of your mother's Versace heels. Neither of them having a clue of the filth taking place just a few feet away.
When the door shuts you tongue the underside of Steve's shaft to catch the little trickle of spit and precum that spilled down out the corner of your lips, pulling off his cock to swallow all that he's made in your mouth. None of it goes to waste with how thorough you've been.
"That was close", you snicker, no longer sweating fear at the thought of getting caught, the thrill of having gotten away with it is so intoxicating.
"Yeah. In more ways that one", he jokes back and you know what he means. You've drawn him to the edge as he did to you, both of you throbbing between your legs, aching for the orgasms that are yet to burst within you.
"Why don't we finish up and join the others for dinner?", he cradles your jaw, pressing a kiss at the corner of your lips which carries the special scent of both him and you. "It'd be rude to keep them waiting too long."
****
By the time the both of you are done fucking the others have already been seated, your mother quietly aghast and your father simmering with fury when they get a look at you, neither of them saying a word and you know they wont until every guest has left.
Disheveled is a kind way of putting it.
Braydon coughs and chokes into his sixth whisky when you enter and the sight of you is enough to make Kyle stop sniffing and twitching his fingers. The rest of the boys hand picked by your father as potential suitors react similarly, so very silent and scandalized in their seats.
Steve's hair is a mess, no longer neatly combed and swooped back like it had been when he's showed up. His bow tie is crooked and his suit is unkempt. As is your makeup, lipstick smudged and dress unruly while a hickey blooms on your neck.
No one says a word.
You wouldn't have cared if they did.
Returning to the dining table like this doesn't worry you, and neither does whatever is yet to come with your parents.
They hadn't known it but tonight had been a test. You decided a while back that if they couldn't truly welcome Steve then they would have to say goodbye to you too.
Your mother's approval of Steve wouldn't have lasted past learning that your boyfriend had no plans whatsoever to work under his father and by how things went tonight, you knew your father's approval could not be won either.
It's because of this that you'd been careful enough to save your money, knowing sooner or later that you would no longer be able to turn to them for any kind of help. Not that you'd want to.
This was no spur of the moment thing. You had a plan. A college acceptance letter sat in your suitcase along with all the other things you'd be taking with you to move into Steve's apartment. Sure, it wasn't going to be easy.
Secretly, you'd been going in for job interviews during the past few weeks, eventually landing a spot as a receptionist. You're going to work to put yourself through college while Steve insisted on covering the rent and it's what you both want. To be with each other, the people who love and nurture you unconditionally, not the families on the very verge of shunning you both.
This was just one final fuck you to your family before your departure.
And it felt all that much better sitting there, having your last few bites of caviar for the foreseeable future and having Steve dripping out of you in thick dollops. If there's one thing you're leaving behind in your soon to be former home, it's the stain currently growing on the vicuña seat.
Summary: Steve expects just another birthday. Instead, he discovers he's spent years building himself the family he'd always dreamed of.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of a neglectful childhood (steve's), found family, angst, everyone loves steve harrington (lmk if i missed anything)
A/N: pls blame jess (@holawdw) for the emotional damage 😭😭 thank you SO much for giving me this idea and then spending several days screaming about it with me in dms because i genuinely don't think i would've written this without you. i knew the second you said it that this had to become a fic. i really hope i did your beautiful idea justice. thank you for trusting me with it, and thank you for emotionally ruining both me and steve 🫶
W/C: 8k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
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You wake before Steve does.
The curtains are still only half-lit, the early morning sun filtering through the gaps in soft bands of gold that stretch lazily across the bedroom floor. Outside, Hawkins hasn't quite decided to wake up yet. Somewhere in the distance a lawnmower coughs into life before giving up again, birds chatter noisily from the oak tree outside the window, and the whole house sits in that strange, peaceful quiet that only exists before the rest of the world remembers itself.
Steve is still asleep beside you, one arm escaped from beneath the duvet during the night, stretched lazily across the mattress until his fingertips brush yours, as though even unconscious he has some quiet need to know you're still there. His hair sticks up in every possible direction, flattened on one side and hopelessly unruly on the other, his face softer in sleep than it ever is when he's awake.
You smile to yourself.
Twenty-three.
It feels impossible somehow - not because twenty-three is particularly old, but because you've spent long enough loving Steve to remember nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Every version of him that existed between those birthdays and this one. Each year he'd grown a little gentler, a little quieter in himself, as though life had slowly been teaching him that he no longer had to carry everything alone.
Carefully, so as not to wake him too suddenly, you lean across and press a kiss against the centre of his forehead.
His nose wrinkles immediately. A low, sleepy groan rumbles somewhere beneath the blankets before one eye cracks open just enough to find you. "...Morning."
"Morning, birthday boy."
His expression falls with almost theatrical disappointment. "...Do I have to get older?"
You laugh quietly. "I'm afraid you don't have much choice."
"I was hoping we could skip this one."
"I'll write to the calendar."
"You think it'd listen?"
"Probably not."
He sighs dramatically before rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with the sort of resignation usually reserved for tax returns and dentist appointments. "...Worth asking."
You reach over to smooth an impossibly stubborn piece of hair away from his forehead. "You know," you say, "most people get excited about their birthday."
Steve hums. "I know."
"You don't."
Another small shrug. "I've just never really been bothered."
He says it so casually that anyone else might have believed him.
But you've known him long enough to understand the difference between someone who doesn't care and someone who learned, very early on, not to expect much in the first place.
Steve never disliked birthdays. That wasn't it. He'd simply stopped allowing himself to build them into something worth looking forward to.
Growing up, they were... fine.
There'd usually be a couple of presents, carefully chosen by parents who knew roughly what an eight-year-old boy ought to like but never quite what their eight-year-old boy actually did. His mother insisted on the same dense, healthy carrot cake every year because she preferred it to chocolate, somehow never stopping to consider that perhaps the birthday boy himself might have had other opinions.
Sometimes his parents were away entirely, leaving him with grandparents or a childminder and promising they'd celebrate properly when they got back. Sometimes they were there, though never really present. A birthday dinner if everyone happened to be home. A quick "happy birthday" over breakfast before somebody rushed off to a meeting. There was never anything cruel about it.
Just... distance.
Nothing bad enough to complain about.
Nothing good enough to miss.
By the time you'd met him, birthdays had become something he accepted with the same quiet indifference he accepted rainy Tuesdays or running out of milk. Nice enough if somebody remembered. Easily forgotten if they didn't.
He catches you looking at him. "What?"
You realise you've been absent-mindedly tracing your thumb across the back of his hand. "Nothing."
"Your face tells me it isn't nothing."
You smile. "I was just thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Oh, absolutely."
He grins, the corners of his eyes creasing in that familiar way that still makes something inside your chest soften. Then, just as quickly, he stretches with another sleepy groan and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.
"So..." He pushes them onto his nose. "...What's the plan today?"
The question is completely innocent.
There's no expectation behind it. No hopeful curiosity. No excitement. Just the quiet assumption that whatever happened would be perfectly nice, and perfectly ordinary.
You hold his gaze for a moment before leaning across to steal one more kiss.
"Oh," you murmur, smiling against his cheek. "I think you're going to have a very different birthday this year."
Robin is the first to arrive.
You hear her before you see her.
The front door flies open without so much as a knock, followed almost immediately by, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DINGUS."
Steve has barely managed to look up from the mug of coffee in his hands before something rectangular bounces unceremoniously off the side of his head.
"...Ow."
"You're welcome."
He picks the envelope up from the floor, turning it over suspiciously.
Across the front, written entirely in thick black marker, are the words:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DINGUS.
Beneath them, in much smaller handwriting:
Don't let this inflate your ego.
Steve laughs quietly through his nose. "I haven't even opened it yet."
"I know." Robin folds her arms with exaggerated satisfaction. "I just wanted to establish the tone."
You disappear into the kitchen under the pretence of making more coffee, partly because somebody has to rescue breakfast before it burns, and partly because you've known Robin long enough to recognise the expression she's trying very hard to hide.
She's nervous.
Steve, blissfully unaware, slides a finger beneath the flap and unfolds the card.
Silence.
Then another page unfolds.
And another.
Steve blinks. "...Robin."
"What?"
"It's..." He flips another page over. "...Really long."
She shrugs with studied indifference. "I got carried away."
"What did you write?"
"I don't know."
"You wrote it."
"I wasn't paying attention."
He gives her a look.
She refuses to meet it.
You watch him begin reading.
The smile appears immediately, tugging at one corner of his mouth as he reaches the first insult.
Happy Birthday to Hawkins' second-biggest idiot.
Congratulations on somehow surviving another year despite making some of the dumbest decisions I've ever witnessed.
He snorts.
Robin looks insufferably pleased with herself.
Then the smile begins to change.
It softens almost imperceptibly, his eyes moving more slowly across the page now.
You can't read the words from where you're standing, but you know Robin well enough to know exactly what she'll have hidden between the jokes.
She'll have thanked him for making Family Video bearable, for never making her feel like she had to be anyone other than herself, for listening when she came out without making it weird, without asking questions she didn't want to answer, without changing the way he looked at her afterwards. She'll have written about Starcourt. About Russian secret bases and demobats and everything in between. About the fact that, somehow, Steve Harrington had quietly become the safest place she'd ever known.
By the time he reaches the final page, the kitchen has gone strangely quiet. Robin is studying a loose thread on her sleeve with almost academic concentration.
Steve clears his throat before reading the last line aloud, his voice noticeably softer than before. "'Don't get emotional.'" He smiles to himself. "'I'm only saying this once.'"
Robin points at him immediately. "Exactly."
"You literally wrote three pages."
"I know."
"You called me your favourite person."
"I was clearly concussed."
"You said you'd trust me with your life."
"I mean..." She sighs dramatically. "I would."
His smile grows impossibly soft. "You know..." He glances down at the card again. "...Thank you."
Robin groans so loudly you almost laugh. "Ugh."
"What?"
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to hug me."
Steve doesn't even pretend to think about it. He simply walks around the table and wraps his arms around her.
Robin lets out the most exaggerated sigh you've ever heard. "This is disgusting."
"You started it."
"I wrote a card."
"You wrote three pages."
"I regret everything."
"No, you don't."
"...No."
She hugs him back anyway. Only for a second. Only because nobody's looking.
Except you absolutely are.
When they finally pull apart, Robin immediately pokes him in the shoulder.
"If you tell anybody I have feelings, I'll deny the whole thing."
Steve laughs. "My lips are sealed."
"They'd better be." She narrows her eyes. "And if you cry..."
"I'm not going to cry."
"You looked dangerously close."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I definitely wasn't."
Robin glances towards you. "He was, wasn't he?"
You smile over the rim of your coffee mug. "A little."
"I wasn't."
"You've still got watery eyes."
"It's allergies."
"In February?"
"...Shut up."
The conversation drifts naturally onto something else after that.
Dustin is apparently running late. Robin immediately starts complaining about his inability to tell the time while Steve joins in as though nothing unusual has happened, the two of them slipping back into familiar bickering before Nancy wanders in from the hallway carrying an armful of paper plates, looking between them with a knowing smile. "He's late again?"
Robin throws her hands into the air. "When isn't he?"
The room fills with laughter, and before long the conversation has moved on entirely.
Later, while everyone else is distracted in the kitchen and Robin is attempting to convince Joyce that frozen chips absolutely count as a vegetable, you catch Steve standing alone in the hallway.
The card is open again.
He's reading the third page for a second time, his thumb lingering over the final paragraph before he quietly folds it closed with surprising care. The smile on his face is small, thoughtful, the sort that only ever appears when someone has managed to tell him something he didn't realise he'd needed to hear.
He slips the card carefully back into its envelope.
Not tossed onto the side. Not left amongst the wrapping paper.
Carefully. Like something he already knows he'll keep forever.
Dustin arrives nearly forty minutes late.
He bursts through the front door carrying three different bags, a box of doughnuts, and what appears to be a screwdriver for reasons known only to himself.
"Sorry!" he announces before anybody has the chance to say hello. "The bus was late, the car wouldn't start, and then I had to help my mum move a bookshelf because apparently I'm 'the man of the house now.'"
Robin raises an eyebrow. "...You brought a screwdriver."
"I know."
"Why?"
Dustin looks down at it as though only just noticing it in his own hand. "...Huh."
Steve laughs. "There he is."
Dustin grins, dropping everything onto the kitchen table with considerably more force than necessary. "Happy birthday, old man."
"Thanks."
"You look ancient."
"I'm twenty-three."
"Exactly."
Steve rolls his eyes. "You'll understand one day."
"I'll never be twenty-three."
"You literally will."
"I refuse."
The conversation dissolves into laughter almost immediately.
Nancy is still trying to work out where everyone's coats are supposed to go. Joyce keeps disappearing back to the kitchen because she insists she's forgotten something. Holly trails after Steve, carrying a balloon almost as big as she is, asking if she can help despite clearly having no idea how. Derek is outside trying to light the barbecue with considerably less success than he'd predicted.
After everything that's happened over the last few years, days like this have become strangely precious. Nothing extraordinary. Nobody saving the world. Just everyone existing in the same place at the same time, talking over one another, stealing chips from each other's plates, and interrupting conversations with terrible jokes as though they haven't spent the better part of adolescence fighting monsters together.
More than once, you catch Steve quietly looking around the room.
Not at anything in particular.
Just... everyone.
It makes something warm settle gently inside your chest.
Eventually, as plates begin disappearing into the kitchen, Dustin freezes mid-conversation. "...Oh."
Steve glances up. "What?"
Dustin slaps a hand dramatically against his forehead. "...I forgot your present."
Robin doesn't even look up from her drink. "No, you didn't."
"I did."
"You absolutely didn't."
"I absolutely-" He stops, sighing with theatrical defeat. "...Fine."
Steve laughs. "I knew it."
"You were supposed to believe me."
"I've known you too long."
Dustin disappears into the hallway before returning a moment later, carrying something wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. It's awkwardly shaped, too large to be a book and too flat to be anything else. Without meeting Steve's eyes, he thrusts it into his hands. "There."
Steve turns it over carefully. "...What's this?"
"I said don't ask questions."
"You literally handed it to me."
"I know."
"Can I open it?"
Dustin rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. "...Yeah."
The room gradually quietens. Even Mike abandons the card game long enough to look over.
Steve peels the paper back with surprising care, trying not to tear it.
Inside is a thick scrapbook.
The cover is slightly crooked, one corner clearly glued back into place after an unfortunate accident, and across the front, in unmistakably Dustin Henderson handwriting, is written a single word.
STEVE.
Nothing else. Just... Steve.
His smile falters almost immediately.
Slowly, he opens it.
The first page is covered in old cinema tickets from Family Video movie nights.
The second is photographs.
Robin asleep against his shoulder. Lucas laughing so hard at something Steve had said that he's almost falling over. Max pulling a face behind Steve's back while he remains blissfully oblivious. A much younger Dustin wearing Steve's sunglasses, the frames so oversized they practically swallow his face.
Then come the things Steve doesn't even remember keeping.
Campaign maps from old Dungeons & Dragons sessions. Drawings Holly had made years ago that somehow ended up forgotten in his glove compartment. Polaroids. County fair wristbands. Birthday invitations. Receipts. Little scraps of paper everyone else would have thrown away.
One page is filled entirely with handwriting.
Robin's. Nancy's. Lucas's. Mike's. Will's.
Even Erica's, squeezed into one corner with the words:
"Don't let it go to your head, Harrington."
Beneath each name is a tiny memory.
"Steve bought me fries because I forgot my wallet."
"He waited outside my maths exam because he knew I'd panic afterwards."
"Drove us home in a thunderstorm even though he hates driving in the rain."
"He always says yes."
"Best babysitter ever."
Steve turns the next page much more slowly.
His fingertips linger against the edges as though he's frightened of damaging something.
"...Dude." His voice is barely above a whisper.
Dustin shrugs without looking up. "I know."
"You..." Steve lets out one quiet, disbelieving laugh. "...You made this?"
"...Shut up."
"No, seriously."
"It wasn't a big deal."
Robin snorts immediately. "He spent three weeks chasing us for photos."
"I did not."
"You literally made Joyce search her loft."
"That," Dustin points accusingly, "was research."
"And you bullied me into writing two pages."
"You wrote three because you got emotional."
"I did not."
"You absolutely-"
"Shut up, Henderson."
Laughter ripples around the room.
Steve doesn't join in.
He's still turning the pages. Slowly. As though every photograph contains a memory he'd forgotten belonged to him.
Then he stops. Halfway through the book.
You can't see the page from where you're standing.
You only notice the way his expression changes.
His shoulders soften. His eyes linger. His thumb brushes gently across whatever Dustin has glued onto the paper. "...You kept that?"
Dustin finally looks up. "...Yeah."
Steve swallows. "I didn't even know anybody still had it."
Dustin shrugs as though the answer should be obvious. "You don't throw away stuff that matters."
The words are so matter-of-fact that Dustin probably doesn't even realise what he's said.
But the room falls quiet anyway.
Because Steve is looking down at years of little moments he'd long since forgotten.
Movie tickets. Drawings. Receipts. Photographs. Inside jokes. Evidence. Proof that people had been quietly collecting pieces of him long before he'd ever thought to collect pieces of himself.
You watch him blink rapidly once. Then again.
Very carefully, he closes the scrapbook, resting one hand against its cover. "...Thank you."
Dustin clears his throat. "Yeah." A beat. "...Don't cry, dude."
Steve laughs softly, rubbing quickly beneath one eye. "I'm not crying."
Robin doesn't even glance up from her drink. "Third lie of the day."
Another ripple of laughter breaks the silence, the conversation slowly picking back up around him. But you notice something Steve doesn't seem aware he's doing.
He never lets go of the scrapbook.
Every time somebody shifts it to make room on the table, his hand finds it again almost instinctively, fingertips resting lightly against the cover as though he's quietly reassuring himself that it's still there.
The presents continue throughout the afternoon, though calling them presents hardly feels accurate anymore. Some are wrapped carefully, others arrive in supermarket carrier bags or with the price stickers hastily scratched away, and none of them are particularly expensive. None of them need to be. Somewhere between Robin's card and Dustin's scrapbook, the day has quietly stopped being about gifts at all; instead, it becomes a long series of people finding their own ways to tell Steve Harrington that they love him.
Lucas is next. He hands Steve a neatly wrapped box with a shrug that tries very hard to look casual, though he watches far too closely as Steve begins peeling back the paper. "It's not a big deal."
Steve smiles. "It didn't have to be."
Inside is a new baseball glove, the leather still stiff and untouched. Steve hadn't asked for one, but Lucas had noticed weeks ago that the stitching was beginning to unravel on the old glove he used whenever he played with the kids.
"You remembered," Steve says, turning it carefully in his hands.
Lucas looks almost confused. "Well... yeah."
"You noticed that?"
"You use it every week."
A quiet laugh escapes Steve. "I didn't think anybody was paying attention."
"Steve." Lucas shakes his head as though the answer should be obvious. "We notice everything."
Steve looks down again, his thumb moving slowly across the smooth leather before he thanks him with one of those small, genuine smiles that always reaches his eyes. Across the garden, Erica loudly informs Derek that the new glove still won't make Steve any less terrible at baseball, prompting Lucas to shout something defensive on his behalf while Steve laughs and calls them both ungrateful.
Max wanders over a few minutes later carrying nothing but a dog-eared paperback she'd spent the last month insisting he needed to read.
"You keep stealing mine," she says, pushing it into his hands. "Now you have your own."
Steve turns the book over. "I thought you liked lending them to me."
"I don't. I like getting them back eventually."
"I always return them."
"After six months."
"They're long books."
"They're four hundred pages."
"I'm a slow reader."
"I know." Her mouth twitches despite herself, but the amusement fades as she hesitates, scuffing the toe of her trainer against the grass. "...Thanks, though."
Steve blinks. "For what?"
"For always treating me like..." She pauses, searching for something precise enough. "...Just me. You never acted like I was broken."
His smile softens immediately. "You aren't."
"I know." Max shrugs one shoulder, suddenly fascinated by the book in his hands. "You just made it easier to remember."
She bumps her shoulder against his before walking away, leaving Steve watching after her for a moment before his attention drops back to the paperback. Nearby, Will quietly makes room for her beside him on the patio steps, neither of them saying anything as she steals a crisp from his plate.
Nancy catches Steve later while he's helping Joyce carry a tray of drinks into the garden. She slips a small envelope into his pocket so discreetly that nobody else notices. "Open it later."
He raises an eyebrow. "Secret?"
"I'd rather Robin didn't make fun of me."
"Fair."
When you find him reading it alone in the hallway a little while later, you discover it isn't really a birthday card at all. It's a letter, short enough to fit on half a page but written with the sort of care that makes every sentence feel deliberate. Nancy thanks him for always showing up, for never once asking whether somebody deserved saving before trying anyway, and for reminding her that kindness and courage were never mutually exclusive.
She ends simply:
The world is better because you're in it.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Jonathan doesn't write anything. That wouldn't be him.
Instead, while everyone mills around the garden balancing paper plates and cups of lemonade, he quietly hands Steve a photograph he'd developed himself. It was taken the previous summer, though nobody had realised Jonathan was holding a camera that afternoon. Steve is sitting on the grass with Holly asleep against one shoulder while Joyce is topping up everybody's drinks without asking. Will is showing Max one of his sketches, Mike is laughing at something beyond the frame, and El is lying flat on the grass looking at clouds.
You aren't looking at the camera either.
You're looking at Steve, smiling in that completely unconscious way people only ever do when they don't know they're being watched.
On the back, Jonathan has written a single sentence.
You always make it feel like home.
Steve stares at it for a long time. "...You took this?"
Jonathan nods. "You looked happy."
"I was."
"I know."
A quiet, bewildered laugh leaves Steve as he looks around the garden. Nancy is collecting empty plates; meanwhile, Robin is stealing chips off them before they can be picked up and taken into the kitchen. Everyone is talking over everyone else. Nobody is paying Steve any particular attention anymore.
The celebration has simply become itself.
"...You all remembered," he says, his voice nearly lost beneath the noise.
Jonathan studies him for a moment before giving the smallest shake of his head. "No."
Steve frowns. "What?"
"We didn't just remember." Jonathan glances towards the garden. "We wanted to."
It's such an ordinary sentence, spoken so quietly it almost disappears beneath the laughter drifting through the open door, but you watch something shift inside Steve anyway.
All day, some part of him has been waiting for somebody to admit they felt obligated; that birthdays are merely something decent people acknowledge because convention tells them to. Instead, every person keeps offering him the same truth in a different form.
Not simply happy birthday, but:
I'm glad you're here.
You make things better.
Life would look different without you.
And, perhaps for the first time in his life, Steve doesn't quite know what to do with the possibility that every one of them genuinely means it.
By the time the sun begins dipping behind the trees, the garden has dissolved into the sort of comfortable chaos that always seems to follow this particular group of people. Dustin and Erica have started teaching Holly a card game that she keeps accidentally cheating at. Mike and Lucas are throwing around a football, while El keeps spectacularly missing the catches and laughing anyway. Hopper has claimed the garden chair furthest from the noise with the determination of a man pretending not to enjoy himself, and Jonathan wanders quietly between them with his camera, capturing moments nobody else seems to notice.
Joyce, meanwhile, has somehow produced enough food to cater for an entire wedding.
Steve stands in the kitchen doorway, staring at the dining table. "...Joyce."
She looks up from the casserole she's carrying. "Hm?"
"There's enough food here to feed about thirty people."
"I know."
"There are, like, twelve of us."
"I know."
He gestures helplessly towards the mountain of dishes covering every available surface. "How did you even make all this?"
Joyce shrugs as though she'd thrown together a sandwich rather than enough food to sustain Hawkins through the winter. "I got carried away."
Robin wanders past and steals a roast potato straight from the tray. "She always gets carried away."
"I heard that."
"I wanted you to."
Steve laughs, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous."
Joyce smiles without looking up. "I know."
Nobody goes hungry when Joyce Byers is involved. Plates are filled faster than they're emptied, second helpings appear before anyone has the chance to refuse them, and every attempt to help clear away is met with a gentle but immovable, "Sit down. I've got it."
Steve tries anyway. Of course he does.
He appears beside Joyce with an armful of empty plates before she's even reached the sink. "I can help."
"I know." She takes them from him. "But today's your birthday."
"I don't mind."
"I know." She smiles at him over the top of the washing-up bowl. "So let somebody look after you for once."
The words are spoken so casually they almost disappear beneath the rush of running water, but you see Steve pause.
Only for a second.
Later, after dinner has dissolved into coffee, cake and half a dozen conversations happening at once, you wander back into the kitchen in search of more plates and find Joyce standing at the counter surrounded by plastic containers. She fills one, then another, then another: pasta, roast potatoes, slices of pie, enough leftovers to feed two people for the better part of a week.
Steve wanders in behind you just as she's clipping the lid onto the final container. "...Joyce?"
"Hm?"
"What's all this?"
She looks at him as though the answer is obvious. "Your dinners."
"My..."
"You work long shifts." She stacks another container neatly on top. "And I know you'll forget to cook for yourself if I don't send you home with something."
Steve laughs softly. "You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"You've already fed all of us."
"I know."
"This is too much."
Joyce finally stops what she's doing, placing both hands on the lid of the last container before sliding the entire stack towards him. "You'll take these."
He hesitates. "I don't need-"
"I wasn't asking."
There's no sharpness to it, no irritation, only the gentle certainty of someone who has spent years making sure the people she loves never leave her house hungry.
Steve looks down at the containers, then back at Joyce, and something shifts across his face so quickly that, had you not been watching for it all day, you might have missed it.
Recognition.
Not of the food.
Of the feeling.
Joyce has done this before: when he'd arrived after a shift looking exhausted, when he'd spent too many evenings helping the kids instead of himself, when she'd quietly wrapped slices of lasagne in foil because she'd "made too much again," despite everyone knowing perfectly well she'd cooked extra on purpose.
You realise, with a sudden ache beneath your ribs, that she has been mothering Steve for years. Neither of them has ever said it aloud. Neither of them has needed to.
Joyce notices his silence. "What?"
Steve blinks, almost startled back into the room. "...Nothing."
"You've got that look where you're thinking too hard."
A small smile finds him. "I was just..." He glances down at the containers again. "...Nobody's ever packed me leftovers before."
The kitchen falls unexpectedly quiet.
Joyce's expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Oh, sweetheart." She reaches out without hesitation, smoothing an affectionate hand over his shoulder as though she's done it a hundred times before. "Well." Another gentle squeeze. "They do now."
Steve doesn't answer. He only nods once, swallowing a little too hard before carefully carrying the stack across the kitchen and opening the fridge. He rearranges half the shelves to make room, setting each container inside with absurd precision before closing the door as though he's placing something valuable somewhere safe.
They're only leftovers. A few plastic tubs that will probably become lunch before work tomorrow.
But as you watch his hand linger briefly on the fridge handle, you realise they were never really about food at all. They were proof that somebody had been thinking about tomorrow on his behalf.
For someone who'd spent most of his life quietly taking care of everyone else, that might just have been the greatest gift he'd received all day.
When he finally wanders back outside, the evening has settled into that soft golden hour where everything seems to slow down. Fairy lights strung between the fence posts have begun to glow faintly against the darkening sky, somebody has started another pot of coffee, and the birthday cake sits half-demolished in the middle of the table, one candle still stubbornly refusing to go out despite Robin's repeated attempts to blow it over with exaggerated determination.
You lean against the kitchen doorway for a moment, simply watching.
Steve barely makes it back onto the patio before Dustin catches him again, insisting he absolutely has to see the scrapbook page he'd forgotten to point out earlier. Mike throws a crisp at him. Lucas joins in without even asking what they're arguing about. Max rolls her eyes so dramatically you're surprised they don't disappear entirely.
And through it all...
Steve laughs.
Not the polite laugh he gives customers. Not the awkward one he used to force whenever his parents invited colleagues over for dinner.
This one is different.
Loose. Easy. It belongs here.
You don't think he'd even realised the difference.
Not until today.
Hopper chooses his moment carefully.
He waits until Steve wanders away from the noise with another cup of coffee, escaping towards the edge of the garden where the old oak tree throws long shadows across the grass. It's the sort of place Steve always drifts towards when everything gets a little too loud - not because he dislikes the company, but because he's always needed a minute to breathe between moments.
Hopper follows a few seconds later.
Not obviously.
You watch from the patio without saying anything.
Steve hears the footsteps and glances over his shoulder. "Oh. Hey."
Hopper grunts something that could generously be interpreted as a greeting before stopping beside him.
For a while, neither of them says anything.
They simply stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out across the garden while laughter drifts faintly behind them. Joyce is gathering empty mugs onto a tray. Nancy is folding paper napkins that don't really need folding. Robin has somehow persuaded Holly to help blow bubbles across the garden while Dustin insists bubbles are scientifically impossible to catch.
Steve smiles into his coffee. "...Nice day."
Hopper nods once. "Yeah."
Silence settles again.
Not uncomfortable. Just... Hopper.
Eventually, he clears his throat. "Happy birthday."
Steve looks faintly surprised. "Oh." A small smile appears. "...Thanks."
Another long pause passes, and you almost wonder whether that's going to be the entire conversation.
Then Hopper speaks again, his eyes still fixed somewhere out across the garden. "You've done good."
Steve frowns. "What?"
"The kids."
A shrug. "They're good kids."
"They are." Hopper nods slowly. "They're better because you're around."
Steve's expression changes almost imperceptibly.
Hopper keeps talking before he has the chance to interrupt. "I've seen the way they look at you." Only then does he turn his head. "They trust you."
Steve opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
"You didn't have to keep showing up." Hopper's voice is as gruff as ever. "Nobody asked you to." Another pause. "But you did."
Steve looks down at the coffee cup in his hands. "I just..." A quiet laugh escapes him. "...They needed somebody."
"They did." Hopper nods once. "They got you."
For a moment, neither of them moves.
The sounds of the party carry on behind them as though nothing extraordinary is happening. Someone starts another round of Happy Birthday purely to annoy Steve. Robin groans loudly enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.
Steve laughs automatically.
His eyes, however, have become suspiciously bright.
Hopper notices.
Naturally.
He pretends not to.
Instead, he reaches out, giving Steve's shoulder one firm, awkward squeeze before offering his hand.
Steve blinks. "...Really?"
"What?"
"The handshake."
"I'm trying."
Steve laughs through the thickness in his throat. "I know."
He takes Hopper's hand.
The handshake lasts barely two seconds.
It's probably the closest Hopper has ever come to saying I'm proud of you.
When he lets go, he clears his throat. "Don't make it weird."
"I wasn't gonna."
"You were thinkin' about it."
"...Maybe."
Hopper points back towards the house. "Go enjoy your party."
Steve smiles. "...Yeah."
He watches Hopper wander back towards the others before letting his gaze drift across the garden.
Robin has somehow ended up with Holly asleep against her shoulder despite loudly insisting children "smell weird". Joyce is packing slices of cake into foil while Nancy labels the containers before anyone can forget whose is whose. Lucas and Mike have wandered to the end of the garden with a football, Jonathan is crouched beside the flowerbed trying to photograph a butterfly Holly spotted, and Erica is shamelessly raiding the snack table one last time before anybody notices.
You catch Steve's eye from across the lawn.
He smiles at you.
Not because anything funny has happened. Not because he's trying to.
Simply because, for perhaps the first time all day, he's beginning to understand what every single person has been trying to tell him.
He hadn't just been thrown a birthday party.
He was home.
By the time the last of the washing up has been stacked beside the sink, the house has settled into a gentler kind of noise.
The loud laughter has softened into quieter conversations, and the music drifting from the old radio has become little more than background static. Through the kitchen doorway you can still see everyone scattered comfortably around the house, no longer celebrating in any organised sense of the word, simply... staying.
Robin has somehow ended up half-curled across one end of the sofa, arguing lazily with Max over what film everyone should watch before they eventually leave. El sits cross-legged on the rug with Mike, the two of them still passionately debating something that nobody else is listening to anymore, while Will quietly contributes the occasional comment that neither of them acknowledges. Joyce is wrapping the last slices of birthday cake in foil, Hopper pretending not to help while hovering close enough to hand her the tape every few minutes without ever admitting that's exactly what he's doing. Holly has fallen asleep against Nancy's side, Jonathan is carefully packing away his camera, and Erica is wandering through the living room helping herself to whatever snacks everyone else has forgotten about.
Nobody seems in any hurry to go home. Nobody seems to want the day to end.
Steve stands beside you at the sink, drying the final plate with considerably more concentration than the task really requires.
He's been quieter ever since Hopper wandered back inside. Not unhappy. Just... Thoughtful.
You hand him another plate, and he dries it automatically before speaking into the comfortable silence. "...I don't get it."
You glance sideways. "What don't you get?"
A quiet laugh escapes him, though it carries none of its usual ease. "Today." He runs the tea towel slowly around the edge of the plate. "They all..." He trails off, searching for words. "...They actually wanted to come."
The sentence settles heavily between you. Not because of what he's saying. Because of what he's accidentally revealing.
You wait.
He keeps looking down at the plate in his hands. "I know birthdays are..." He shrugs awkwardly. "People feel like they have to come, right? You buy a present. You sing. You eat cake." Another small shrug. "It's just... what people do."
You lean your hip against the counter. "Is that what you think today was?"
"I don't know." His smile is almost embarrassed. "It didn't feel like that."
"No."
"They weren't just doing birthday stuff."
"No."
He looks through the doorway towards the living room, where Robin has thrown another cushion at Dustin, Lucas catches it before it reaches him, and Joyce laughs so hard she has to steady herself against the arm of the sofa. "...They were celebrating me."
You smile. "They were."
He looks back at you, his brow creasing slightly. "I've never..." The sentence never reaches the end. Instead, he laughs quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "...I don't think I've ever had that before."
Your heart aches. Not because he's upset. Because he says it with such genuine surprise, as though the possibility had never once occurred to him.
You reach for his hand. "C'mere."
He follows without question.
You lead him slowly through the house without saying anything, simply letting him look.
Nancy is gently lifting Holly so she doesn't wake her. Hopper is quietly locking the back door, while Joyce wraps up slices of cake in individual napkins. Jonathan is wiping down camera lenses, Mike has drifted asleep in the armchair, and El gently covers him with a blanket. Robin is trying to convince Max that one more film won't kill anyone, despite half the room already falling asleep, while Erica is counting how much birthday cake she's managed to smuggle home.
Nobody's performing anymore. The party is over. This is simply what remains. People comfortable enough to exist in one another's spaces without needing a reason.
Steve watches them quietly. "They're still here."
"Mhm."
"They don't have to be."
"No."
"They've all got homes."
"They do."
He looks around again, confusion softening into something quieter. "So why..."
People who had arrived separately, from entirely different corners of his life, and somehow fit together now. People who, before him, had never all belonged in the same room.
"You spent years looking after everyone because you thought that's what made you useful."
His eyes meet yours.
"You drove them everywhere. You showed up. You fixed things. You carried everyone else's worries until they stopped feeling so heavy."
He nods slowly. "I thought..."
"I know." You step closer, your thumb brushing gently across his knuckles. "But somewhere along the way... they stopped needing you because of what you did."
His brow furrows.
"They stayed because of who you are."
The words seem to settle somewhere deep inside him.
"You became loved long before you even noticed."
For a long moment he simply looks at you.
Then his eyes begin to shine again.
You smile softly. "I've still got one more present."
He blinks. "You do?"
"Mhm."
You disappear upstairs for barely a minute before returning with something wrapped carefully in plain brown paper and tied with twine.
Steve laughs quietly. "I thought we'd finished."
"We had." You place it gently into his hands. "This one's different."
He unwraps it slowly.
Inside is a dark leather-bound photo album.
No title. No ribbon.
Just his name, pressed carefully into the cover in tiny gold letters.
Steve.
He opens it.
The first page isn't a photograph.
Just a single sentence:
You spend so much of your life looking after everybody else.
He turns the page.
Steve teaching Dustin how to drive. Steve asleep on the sofa with Holly curled against his chest. Robin laughing so hard she's crying while Steve looks completely bewildered. Max stealing chips from his plate. Lucas teaching him a ridiculous handshake. Jonathan catching him mid-laugh behind the camera. Joyce handing him another plate of food. Hopper clapping him awkwardly on the shoulder.
You.
All of them.
Beneath each photograph you've written a single line.
Not describing the picture.
Describing what it meant:
The day Dustin stopped needing a babysitter and started needing a brother.
The first time Robin laughed like she wasn't afraid anymore.
The afternoon you accidentally became Holly's favourite person.
He keeps turning the pages until he reaches the last one.
There are only six words:
Home isn't always somewhere you arrive.
He turns one final page:
Sometimes it's something you build.
Nothing else.
Steve doesn't realise he's crying until a tear lands quietly on the paper.
He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, shaking his head. "...Honey."
Very gently, you close the album beneath his hands.
"So..." You smile. "Happy birthday."
He looks at you for a long moment.
Then, without saying a single word, he wraps both arms around you.
Not because he doesn't know what to say.
Because, for perhaps the first time in his life... being loved has left Steve Harrington completely speechless.
By the time the two of you finally climb into bed, the house has fallen completely silent.
The fairy lights outside the bedroom window still glow faintly against the darkness, casting soft pools of amber across the ceiling, and somewhere downstairs the dishwasher hums steadily through the last traces of the evening. Steve's birthday cards are stacked neatly on the dresser, Robin's sitting proudly on top, still slightly bent where she'd thrown it at his head that morning.
The leather photo album rests beside them.
Closed now, but not put away.
You curl instinctively beneath the duvet, expecting exhaustion to pull you under almost immediately after such a long day.
It doesn't.
Some time later, you wake to find Steve still lying beside you, exactly where he'd been when you fell asleep. Only now his eyes are open, fixed quietly on the ceiling, his hands folded loosely across his stomach as though he's trying to untangle a thought that's been sitting with him for hours.
"...Hey."
He turns his head. "Oh." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologise for existing."
A tired smile appears. "I know."
You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. "What're you thinking about?"
For a while, he doesn't answer. The silence between the two of you has never needed filling.
Eventually, he lets out a quiet breath. "...When I was little..." He laughs softly to himself. "...I always wished I'd grown up with a big family."
The confession catches you off guard. He keeps looking at the ceiling.
"I used to imagine one of those really noisy houses. People everywhere. Dinner all squashed around one table. Too many birthdays. Too many Christmas presents." He smiles faintly at the thought before it fades again. "I don't know... I just thought it'd be nice."
You reach across the mattress until your fingers find his. He threads them through yours automatically.
"I thought..." He swallows. "...I thought I'd missed my chance."
You shake your head. "No."
For the first time since he started talking, he turns to look at you. "No?"
"You didn't miss it."
His brow furrows.
"You built it."
A quiet, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "I don't..."
"You've got Robin. Dustin. Lucas. Max. Mike. Will. El. Erica." You smile gently. "Nancy. Jonathan. Joyce. Hopper. Holly." You pause. "And me."
His eyes soften.
"They're your family, Steve."
He looks away again. "They..."
"They are."
"I know they care about me, but-"
"No." You squeeze his hand before he can disappear back into old habits. "They don't love you because you drove them everywhere. They don't love you because you babysat them. They don't love you because you fixed every problem before anyone else even noticed it."
You think back over the day.
Robin's card. Dustin's scrapbook. Jonathan's photograph. Joyce quietly packing tomorrow's dinner before Steve had even thought about feeding himself. Hopper, standing beneath the oak tree, trying to say I'm proud of you without ever using the words.
"They love you because you're Steve."
The room falls quiet again.
"You spent years believing people only stayed because you made yourself useful."
His eyes glisten.
"But somewhere along the way..." You smile. "...they stayed anyway."
He lets out one small, disbelieving laugh. "...When did that happen?"
"I honestly don't think anybody knows."
You think about Dustin, twelve years old, following Steve everywhere. Robin slowly deciding she could trust him. Joyce wrapping leftovers in foil because she'd quietly started expecting him for dinner. Holly climbing into his lap without asking.
None of it had happened all at once.
There wasn't a single moment where strangers became family.
It happened on ordinary Tuesdays. On lifts home from school. Movie nights. Late-night phone calls. Shared meals. Inside jokes.
One quiet act of kindness after another until, somehow, nobody could remember a version of life that didn't include Steve Harrington standing somewhere in the middle of it.
"It just..." Your thumb brushes gently across his knuckles. "...Kept happening."
His breathing catches.
You nod gently towards the bedroom door, beyond which the cards, photographs and carefully stacked leftovers still wait downstairs.
"If every single person chose to spend today celebrating you..." Your voice is barely louder than the rain-soft silence outside. "...it's because every single one of them can't imagine their life without you in it."
For a long time, he doesn't speak.
His breathing catches once. Then again.
He laughs quietly through the tears gathering in his eyes. "...You're really laying it on thick for a birthday."
"I know."
"You trying to make me cry?"
You smile, brushing the same stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead that you'd smoothed back that morning. "No." A gentle kiss against his temple. "I'm just telling you the truth."
Something inside him finally gives way.
Not dramatically. There are no great sobs. No speeches.
Just one quiet exhale that seems to carry years of loneliness away with it.
A tear slips silently down his cheek. Then another.
Without saying a word, he turns towards you and buries his face against your neck exactly as though that's where he'd always belonged.
You wrap your arms around him instinctively, your fingers disappearing into his hair as he lets himself be held. Completely.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Steve Harrington doesn't apologise for crying.
He doesn't explain it away. He simply allows someone else to carry the weight for a little while.
You press one last kiss into his hair. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
His reply is almost lost against your shoulder. "...Best one I've ever had."
You close your eyes, holding him a little tighter as the fairy lights continue glowing softly beyond the bedroom window.
This morning he'd asked if he could skip his birthday.
Now, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing against your chest, you realise birthdays were never really supposed to celebrate surviving another year.
Sometimes they're simply an excuse for everybody who loves you to remind you how very glad they are that you did.
au: 90s hockey!steve x college student!reader
content warnings: angst/hurt comfort, hopeful ending, a bit of fluff, talks of casual hookups/sleeping together, alcohol, reader has self-esteem issues, not proofread (sorry), this is a little sadder than my usual stuff </3
word count: 1.7k
a/n: can you guys actually believe i wrote something
based on this original hockey!steve blurb! (this will definitely make more sense if you read it first)
You're not quite sure what time it is, but based on the dwindling sounds of the party going on inside the expansive hockey house, you guess it's nearing some obscene early morning hour.
Lately, you've been unsure of a lot of things. More than usual, you suppose. Why Steve Harrington is trying to sleep with you, for one, though you guess your reputation precedes you, and not in a way that feels particularly flattering.
A pang of self-hatred rattles through your chest and you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut, as if the actions will physically remove the feeling from your body.
You wish it were that easy.
Currently, you're most unsure of why you're still at the hockey house. They won their game tonight. Another easy accomplishment for the university's team, unsurprisingly led by Steve, their superstar player and shoo-in for captain next year. You've heard that he's already getting scouted by NHL teams, but his golden boy repute means that he'll finish his degree before heading off to a fruitful career as a professional hockey player.
You scoff at the thought. You try not to let the jealousy build in your body, but you can't help it — Steve's gotten everything he's wanted since the beginning of time. You don't need to know him to prove your point; he just radiates that very fact.
So, again. Why are you laying on a lounge chair in the backyard of the hockey house, fully knowing the party is dead and there's nothing left for you to do but go home?
You know you could go inside, make eye contact, and flirt with any one of the remaining players who are sober enough to make a conscious decision, and find enough warmth for the night to get by.
But you don't want to do that.
For some stupid, pathetic reason, you're holding out for him, and you have no idea why.
You sigh and pull the cigarette from behind your ear, then grab the lighter from your bra. You feel like you've made an idiot of yourself over the past few weeks. Ever since Steve initially propositioned you, you've slept with three of his teammates, for no reason other than wanting him to know what it feels like to want something. But each time you fucked them, it was boring, wearisome, and you thought about Steve the entire time.
You hate it.
You think you hate Steve, too, but you know that's not true, either.
You're taking a drag and staring at your shoes when the man who's been haunting your thoughts finally makes an appearance in the dark backyard. There's still a string of lights up, a pitiful attempt at college students making their outdoor space look presentable, not to mention the litter of empty, crushed beer cans and solo cups.
Steve furrows his eyebrows when he recognizes you, immediately worrying that you're passed out with a lit cigarette in your hand, or too drunk to get home. When he approaches you, you smirk lazily at him. He swallows.
"Harrington," you greet, your throat dry from its lack of use. You don't know how long ago you came out here, but you do know that at some point, you decided you'd had enough of the loud speakers and beer pong, and the guy on the basketball team who kept pawing at your short skirt was getting seriously old.
"Are you alright?" Steve asks, gesturing to your sluggish profile. You shrug your shoulders before taking another drag from your cigarette, then wordlessly offer it to Steve. He shakes his head.
"Fine," you murmur, sitting up so your back is against the length of the chair, "You?"
"Just doing a sweep before heading to bed. Making sure there's no one lingering from the party."
"Am I a lingerer?" you ask, tossing your cigarette in the grass and crushing it with your shoe.
Steve lifts a hand to run it through his messy hair. He's exhausted. You can see it in the bags beneath his eyes.
"You don't live here, so by definition, you're lingering, yeah."
You hum. You can take a hint. You know when you're not wanted somewhere.
"I'll get out of here, then." you say, preparing to stand. Steve reaches out and clasps a hand around your wrist — gently, like you could still pull yourself away if you wanted to.
"Why are you still here?"
Your tongue pokes out to lick your lips. Steve watches, unabashedly, and feels his pants tighten at the sight of it. You want to smirk, because he's one of the easier and more enjoyable men you've played with.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" you purr, leaning towards him, batting your eyelashes. "You were begging to fuck me just a few weeks ago."
Steve laughs, all breathy and without the humor. It's an immediate shot to your ego.
"Are you drunk?" he asks, and you shake your head too quickly. You're not; the shots you had when you got here had worn off hours ago. "Then why are you... I think I'm just a little... confused."
You snort. Try not to roll your eyes. Maybe the golden boy nickname isn't so far anyway.
"You're gonna turn down fucking me when you were all but ready to pay me for it, like, a month ago?"
"I'm not that desperate," Steve mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face, "You were so uninterested then, I don't understand what changed."
You shrug. "Does it matter?"
"Yes," Steve says stubbornly, "It does. It matters a lot, actually."
You sigh loudly, then shake your head.
"This is stupid," you mutter, standing up. He doesn't stop you this time. "Don't come to me for that shit ever again."
When you start to walk away, Steve's right behind you, and you wish you're strong enough to push him.
"C'mon, don't do this," you hear him say as you're approaching the sliding glass door. "It's late. Just stay here for the night."
You stop, then turn to look at him with a quirked brow.
He shakes his head. "We're not doing anything though. Not tonight, anyway."
"I don't understand what your problem is, Harrington."
He laughs, tilting his head back to expose his neck. You want to lean forward and mouth at his skin, pressing messy kisses to the length of it all the way down to his chest.
"I don't have a problem."
"Most guys would never shut me down," you say, crossing your arms. "I could go in there and ask any one of your teammates to pound me into their mattress and—"
Suddenly, Steve's hand is on your mouth, a warning look in his eyes. You grin. Even if he can't see it, you know he can feel it from behind his palm.
"Lower your voice," he mumbles. "Will you please just stay? You can take my bed, I'll sleep on the floor, I'll send you off with some breakfast in the morning and everyone will think that we fucked, and it'll be fine and dandy. Yeah? That good enough for you?"
You dart your tongue out to lick his hand. He flinches and instantly retreats, making you laugh.
"God, you're such a baby. Afraid you're gonna get cooties?"
"No."
"Take me upstairs," you say, and Steve's eyes brighten. He must really have some kind of white knight complex and it makes you sigh. "But you're not sleeping on the floor, because we're not 12 years old, and just for the record, I'm not doing this for some kind of reputation maintenance thing."
Steve hums as his hand politely finds the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs and to his bedroom.
"We can sleep in the same bed as long as you promise not to make a move." he murmurs. You stop in front of a wooden door in the middle of the long hallway, waiting as Steve pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks it.
"I would never do that," you whisper. "Seriously, do you think I'm a monster?"
Steve doesn't say anything to that, and instead just leads you into his room. He locks the door behind you and you glance at him. He's already moved on to emptying his pockets onto his desk, getting rid of his wallet and keys. There's not much to Steve's bedroom, just a bed, a dresser, and a desk, but it's clean enough for a college athlete. Your eyes glaze over the small collection of pictures tacked up on the wall over his desk, then some of the hockey paraphernalia throughout the room.
"You want something to wear to bed?"
You look to Steve and nod, and he tosses you a large, worn tee-shirt. You bite your lip as you start to strip your clothes off and you hear Steve curse to himself, making you smirk.
"You could've gone to the bathroom for that, you know," he borderline whines. You grin at him in your bra. He groans and turns around.
When you've shed the rest of your clothing and slipped his shirt on, you tell him he's in the clear. He rolls his eyes and quickly puts his own sweats on, then joins you in the bed.
It's not quite awkward, but you're not exactly going straight for cuddling, not that you had anticipated Steve to be the type. He clicks the light off and lays down next to you, both of you silent as the late hour finally catches up to you.
A few minutes later, Steve breaks the silence.
"Are you ever gonna tell me why you wanted to sleep with me tonight?" he whispers.
You blink your eyes open and think for a moment.
You don't have the courage to be honest with yourself, which means you most definitely don't have the courage to be honest with Steve.
You roll onto your side to face him. He does the same, and you lick your lips.
"No," you murmur, hands resting between your cheek and the pillow. "Are you ever gonna tell me why you wanted to sleep with me the night of that party?"
Steve closes his eyes and scooches closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. You're a little surprised by the contact, but you tell yourself you let it happen because you're tired and it feels nice.
3. May I suggest he meets a single mom at the park or something?
ɴᴇᴡ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ
ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴅᴀᴅ ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏᴍ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ
Steve longed for his weekends with his baby girl, always cramming them full of things to do to make up for lost time. He hated that he’d only been granted the weekends until she was one, counting down the days until they could split custody 50/50.
Today’s adventure was something simple, the park.
“Swings? You like the swings don’t you?” Steve asked placing her down on her feet, holding onto both of her hands above her head to steady her as she wobbled towards them. Still not walking, but close.
“Up!” It was her favourite and one of her only words, Steve’s heart melted every time she said it. It had multiple meanings, hugs, wanting help, wanting something passed to her. It filled him with joy trying to work out which one she wanted.
"Up in daddies arms?" She looked at him, Thinking for a moment before pointing towards the empty swing.
"Up!"
Steve smiled lifting her up into the baby seat of the swing, Pushing her softly as she giggled little fingers gripping onto the bar.
"How old is she?"
Steve turned his head towards you, Looking down at the toddler in your arms before back up at you.
"Oh, She's uhh.." His mind went blank for a moment, Staring at you as you raised your eyebrows at him "Eleven months!" Steve said enthusiastically as his brain started to work again.
"Same as mine" You smiled softly down at the toddler in your arms "They're so sweet when they're this age aren't they?"
"Y-yeah" Steve smiled, turning back towards his daughter to continue pushing her. Steve was usually really sociable but this time it felt different, no one usually bothers him when he's out with his daughter. Nights out? Sure but when he was locked into dad mode? Nothing.
"What's her name?" Steves chest tightened as he looked back over at you, The warm smile on your face making him feel kind of nervous?
"Rosie" Steve spoke softly, almost like he didn't want to tell you. A feeling of guilt washing over him that he definitely shouldn't be talking to another woman even though Rosies mom had made it very clear things between her and Steve were completely over. "What, er, What about yours" He gestured over to your toddler who was now in the swing next to Rosie.
"Daisy" you smiled “Floral names seem to be quite popular”
“I guess” Steve laughed making Rosie start to giggle “That funny baby?” You smiled at the baby voice he used to talk to her, the way her little legs kicked around in excitement from the attention he was giving her.
“Momomom” she babbled hands reaching out towards him, Steve quickly stops the swing pulling her out kissing her cheek before turning towards you with an awkward expression on his face.
"Whys it always mom first?" Steve scoffs as he runs a hand over his face realising how bad that sounds to say to a mom, Heat rushing to his face.
"Well, she's always a 'dadada' girl and she's never even met him" You shrug exhaling, Fuck, Now he really wished he could stop talking.
"Im a single parent too..assuming you're single?" Steve groaned as the words left his mouth, Looking down at Rosie in his arms to try hide the blush creeping across his cheeks AGAIN "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed that"
"Since I was pregnant" You smiled "But we don't mind do we" You tickle daisy as she swings towards you "Do you..is her mom still in her life?" You ask as you lift daisy from the swing.
"Oh yeah, I only get to spend weekends with her until she's one" Steve half smiles, Kissing the top of Rosies head as he feels a twinge in his chest.
"Must be hard"
"Like you wouldn't believe" Steve sighed "But only three weekends to go!" He grinned squeezing her cheeks softly making her giggle.
"Well, I hope those three weeks go quickly for you.."
"Steve" He holds his spare hand out towards you, You smile shaking his hand softly.
"Maybe ill see you again sometime, Steve"
“Here every weekend, well most anyway.. kids love the park” he replied as he wiped some stray drool off Rosie’s chin “wait what’s your name?” Steve turned to look at you, realising you were already gone.
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Thank you for sending in the request! If you have any more id love to hear them!
Can I please request dad Steve taking his baby girl to the beach for the first time he’s all flustered that she doesn’t like it or maybe that she’s burning in the sun? I’m not sure if you write for dad Steve so ignore this if you don’t much love
Sorry I ignored this for so long, Thank u for requesting🤍 You didnt mention anything about reader so I made him single dad Steve hope that's okay.
ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴀʙʏ
Steve stood barefoot in the sand, chunky baby just turned 11 months old balancing on his hip as he exhaled. Doing his own risk assessment in his head as he looked at how crowded it was, the sun blaring down onto her precious skin, the risk of the water even though she couldn’t walk yet so she couldn’t escape him.
“Hmm” Steve hummed as he looked down at her, grinning up at him showing all of her two teeth. “Wanna give sand a go?” Steve smiled straightening the hat on her head, the biggest sun hat he could find matching her pink swim suit and pink little sunglasses. He didn’t even know they made sunglasses this small, the baby babbled back to him before her chunky hand rips the hat from her head making Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh honey, no” he gently takes the hat from her hand placing it back onto her head “you’ll burn”
Settling against the sand baby still attached to his hip before repositioning her on his lap, letting her little toes gently rest against the sand.
“Feel okay?” Steve asks pressing a kiss to the top of her hat, smiling as her legs raise off the floor and hands turn into little fists “oh you don’t like the sand, that’s okay baby. Daddy doesn’t really like it either, gets in all sorts of places” she turned her head round to face him like she could actually understand what he was saying to her, that’s the thing with Steve. He knew she couldn’t talk back, but he still talked to her like she could in hopes that when she did start talking it would help her. Not at all because since he'd separated from her mom he'd been lonely with no one to talk to.
Steve’s hand scooped up some sand holding it out in front of her face, little hand instantly reaching for it.
“Hey! Good job!” Steve praised, feeling proud. “Here, try this” Steve tipped some of the sand from his into her hand as he smiled, smile dropping off his face as her bottom lip pouted out and she turned her hand over to drop it. “Oh baby” Steve spoke softly making her bottom lip pout out more before she started to cry. “No more sand, daddy promises” Steve says as he lifts her into an embrace, hand soothingly patting against her back “hmm, you feel warm, are you burning?” Steve sighed wondering why he ever thought the beach would be a good idea. “Maybe we should head home, would you like that?” Steve asked looking down at her, big eyes filled with tears gazing up at him making him sigh “we’re fine, nothings gonna happen to us” Steve mumbled to himself before standing up, moving her onto his hip again “let’s try something else, sand a bit..” he shook his head as he started walking towards the water hoping it would be warm from the sun.
“Okay baby, just like a bath” he grinned down at her, earning himself a toothy grin back as he stepped into the warm water. Crouching down a little so her feet were submerged in the water, Heart fluttering in his chest at the smile on her face as she kicked her legs around splashing. "Oh, So you're a water baby!" Steve laughs happy to finally see a smile on her face.
Single dad stevie is so cute! I just wanted to ask what you think might happen if one day Steve and Robin take Rosie somewhere (maybe a walk in the park or perhaps she needs some new clothes at the shop- baby’s grow very quickly) and you happen to be there and Robin starts to tease stevie saying he has a crush on you. Maybe Robin could ask you about daisy’s dad and we explore him a bit? I kinda want them to get to know each other better. This is a jumbled mess I’m so sorry 😅
P.s your writing is amazing thank you for sharing it with us all 💛
"Cant you just get her any colour?" Robin asked as she held onto both of Rosies hands helping her walk through the isles.
"No, She- She likes pink" Steve shrugs looking down at Rosie like he was waiting for her to back him up "Hey! Make sure you're holding her hands so she doesn't fall!" Steve said raising his eyebrows at Robin making her roll her eyes.
"She doesn't even know her colours yet" Robin shot back scooping the toddler up into her arms, Grabbing a blue onesie off the shelf "Rosie? What do you think about this?" She beamed down at her, Steve stood with his hands on his hips as Rosie squealed clapping her hands together at Robin "See?" She smirked at Steve.
"Yeah but her mom wouldn't wa.."
"Steve you know you don't have to do everything she says right?" Robin rolled her eyes again making Steve shake his head before reaching out pulling Rosie from her arms.
"I know" He replied barely above a whisper, Resting his head on top of Rosie's as he looked at the mountain of pink clothes already stacked in the basket.
"Are you stalking me?" You smirk as you walk towards Steve, Noticing the awkward expression on his face before he opened his mouth to talk. Robins eyes flickering between the two of you noticing the blush creeping across Steves face.
"N- no of course not" Steve stuttered making Robin scoff, You turned to face her eyebrows raised "Uh, This is Robin" Steve muttered pointing towards her.
"Hey Robin" You smiled softly before turning your attention to Rosie who was beaming at you from Steve's arms "Rosie girl" You cooed stepping closer to squidgy her chubby cheeks. Robins eyes instantly moving to Steve who was sporting a flustered look,Robin turned her attention back to you.
"Oh! You must be the single mom!" Robin all but shouted as it all clicked into place "Steves told me all about you!"
"Oh my god" Steve exhaled rubbing a hand over his face.
"Oh, That's me" You smile, Repositioning Daisy on your hip whose hands were reaching out towards Rosie.
"Robin stop" Steve groaned shooting her a warning look but he already knew once she started, There was no stopping the shit show from unfolding.
"No dad? That sounds HARD" You stared at her, You could basically feel the embarrassment burning off Steve as you stood next to him.
"He left before she was born" You shrug "He didnt want kids and I guess I did" You half smile, Turning back towards Steve who was peppering the top of Rosies head with kisses to try and stop her fussing.
"So he's not in the picture?" Robin asked with wide eyes, Body filled with excitement that Steve might finally be able to move on.
"No" You sigh looking down at Daisy "We like it like that" You kissed the top of Daisy's head, Steves chest tightened as he looked at you. Not being able to imagine doing this all alone, You look up from Daisy meeting his eyes "Are you going swimming next week?" You asked quickly trying to change the heavy feeling now hanging in the air between the three of you.
"Uh, I think so" Steve smiled softly at Daisy who was reaching out towards him, Leaning forward so she could grab at his face like she wanted.
"Good, Ill see you on Saturday then" You grinned "Also, That's a lot of pink" You giggled gesturing to the basket making Steve laugh, Robins eyebrows raising as she watched how bashful he was.
"Cant wait" Steve grinned at you making Robin scoff once again "I mean I cant wait to go swimming" Steve closed his eyes as the words left his mouth.
“Real smooth” Robin mumbled under her breath.
"Shit" Steve muttered making you smile.
"Bye Rosie" You smiled holding Daisy close to her as they babbled as if they were saying there own little goodbyes "Nice to meet you Robin" You smiled before you walked away leaving an embarrassed Steve and a laughing Robin behind.
"Yeah, you too!" Robin grinned, turning back towards Steve who was covering his face with his hand sighing.
"I cant wait to go swimming" Robin mocked, smirking at the blush still present against Steves cheeks as he moved his hand to look down at her.
"Shut up"
"You totally have the hots for her" Robin teased "This is good! This is progress!"
"I dont need to make progress also, I dont have the hots for her" Steve sighed looking down at Rosie "She just..She's in the same situation y'know?"
"Shared trauma" Robin winked "You need to tell her"
"I dont have the hots for her" Steve mumbled tossing another pink dress into the basket.
"So why were you tomato red the whole conversation?" Robin teased stepping closer to Rosie who was still babbling away "Your daddy has a crush"
"I was red?" Steve groaned again, Looking at Robin who was enjoying every second of his suffering.
Thank you my love, I hope this is okay? 🤭
I love getting requests for single dad Steve so if you have any ideas pls dont be shy to send them in!
Steve gets a Boner around Robin, but he’s so lovesick in the head that he doesn’t even notice.
Word count: 0.7k
Steve might have had the best night of his life yesterday.
That sounds dramatic but it’s really true.
Taking any pretty girl home from an amazing date, filled with laughing and soft touches? It has his mind filling with comfortable thoughts.
As if someone took a syringe of boiling love potion and injected it into his head. Now Steve rides the repeated memory of you last night like a broken record. Sunshine and Lolly pops or whatever they call being in love now days.
Yes he got invited in, and yes there was kissing involved. But it didn’t go beyond that. And somehow Steve wasn’t disappointed.
Steve’s lips crashed against yours like water against a bridge. Other times they molded onto your skin like when waves flow against the beach.
And now you’ve got him all sappy thinking about your kisses in stupid beach metaphors. Next he’s going to go onto your touch and then your voice. Maybe about how you even looked at him like the sunset.
Steve genuinely can’t stop thinking about you. Or the date. Or when he gets to take you out again. Hopefully tonight because anything beyond that sounds too painful.
“Hey dingus! You still with me?”
Robin waves a hand in-front of Steve’s face, he’s been staring out the windows of the video store for too long, lost in his own head.
Steve doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to be at home maybe getting you roses or thinking about how he could draft a poem about your laugh. Oh gosh that sounded too whipped.
“Yeah… yeah I’m here.”
Steve straightens his back with a sigh, putting the dvds on top of each other.
“What are you thinking about?”
Robin crosses her arms; she doesn’t like being ignored when they’re the only two people in the store.
“Nobody, I mean-- nothing.”
Steve sighs again already watching robins eyebrows raise in question.
“Oh yeah? So it has nothing to do with that?”
She points down. Steve was so much in his own lover boy head that he didn’t even realize he was straining against his jeans. Dick hard and pushed up against the zipper.
“Robin what the fuck.”
His hand comes down to palm himself and he scoots the chair more under the counter for less peering eyes.
“Don’t what the fuck me. Did you have a good time last night?”
He had the greatest time. Turns out you liked all of Steve’s lame ass jokes and hesitant touches. You paired so well together and Steve could say something about how you were practically made to fit into his hands and mold against him but that sounds corny.
It’s also not what Robin is insinuating.
“No i—“ Steve’s dick twitches as he tries to make it go down. He has to start thinking about something else. “I don’t know why this is happening.”
Robin stays silent so Steve looks up. She already has both her eyebrows raised like she’s unimpressed he’s lying to her.
“I don’t!”
Steve hisses and rubs at his forehead. His mind didn’t even wonder to anything that sexual, just your sweet kisses. And how maybe someday he will buy a house with the intent to make a family with you in it. He’s already decided that if you want a dog then he’ll get a dog. There could be flowers— or a heated pool in the back yard. Is it too soon to say he wants kids with you? What the hell, that is way too fast. And also his hard dick is not backing down.
“Uh huh. Look just don’t get a Bonner around me. It’s fucking weird.”
He scoffs, as if it’s just that easy.
“You’re just jealous I have a pretty girl to think about and you don’t.”
“Ooo… You’re just jealous that you don’t have a pretty girl— shut up.”
Robin does a bad mimicking of his voice and it’s hard not to crack a smile. Amongst other hard things, the smile was actually easy to hide.
“Look— can you just, run the shop for a while?”
“So you can go jerk off? No.”
“I’m not going to—“ Steve sighs and runs another hand down his face. He’s already picking up the phone.
To me, the most compelling scene in the new Supergirl was when Kara speaks with her father after seeing that he is making her an escape pod. The dialogue is in Kryptonian. And that is the most poignant and elegant dialogue in the film to me. Kara's lines and the emotion put into her saying to him, "I am only one tiny life," and her calm, clear articulation of her vision of herself being allowed to die beside her people and her mother and father was so profound and existential. And when he explains why they need to her live, you know she would agree. The price, the sheer weight, the endless gravity of that is so obvious.
I am honestly not used to that depth in these superhero films. Both her desire and that of her parents felt so authentic. That conveyed tragedy and profound love. An impossible situation. A critical, defining experience. That was the heart of her character to me. When she flew up into space to scream in silence, that was a compelling image. That dialogue, though, hit me deep in my soul. This film would have been worth it for that exchange alone for me. I just can't think of anything I've seen that was like that before.
I remember right after the Superman movie come out everyone was making the “Clark saved Lex’s life by saving Krypto before Kara ever found out” jokes and its absolutely fantastic to me how supergirl 100% confirmed that to be true. Lex doesn’t even KNOW how lucky he is that he got the emotionally stable super
You could feel the heat of his skin, see the definition of warm brown in his eyes, the fleck of moles on his face hidden behind shaved strands of grey. You didn't do this on purpose, didn't imagine that you would find yourself lying to your best friend ever about being curious when it came to him. You hadn't come up with this miraculous plan to sleep with him or even just 'ogle' at him, but it was something that had just happened.
or; a secret rendezvous with your best friend's father.
cw: 18+ mdni; smut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, rough but sweet sex, age gap, reader is of age of course, reader and Steve are lowk terrible people, brief parent loss mention, etc. , 6.5k+ words
You were biting your lip, looking at him. Bent at the waist, half way out of the oven, sweater pushed half way up his arms, showing off his toned, tanned skin. Damn near frothing at the mouth with a tilt of your head as you gazed down at him.
“And that’s when Mrs. Bue—Hey.”
It got lost in the background, just like the lukewarm dish in front of you.
Something soft—well, several soft things—bounced off of your head, landing on the table with a splat. Touching your fingers to the spot, you felt a liquid only to be met with the sight of a smeared green.
“Did you… did you just throw your peas at me?”
Robin made a face at you, her eyes rolling as she glanced towards the oven. Her grimace was louder than her words, disgust covering her face.
“Can you stop looking at him like that? It’s gross.”
A blush crept over your cheekbones, your eyes suddenly focused on the lasagna left abandoned on your plate. Pushing it around with your fork, you fumbled over the right thing to say, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I was just, uhm—you said...”
Glancing up, you were thankful he didn’t hear the conversation, cursing silently to himself as he spun around too quickly, knocking over the bottle of red on the counter. She wasn’t even whispering at this point, just plain talking that could be heard from nearly a mile away you were sure.
“You’re ogling at my d—”
“Shut up!” It was your turn to throw a fork full of peas in her direction.
She was stunned as they catapulted into her face, a smear of sauce down her features as they fell one by one. You almost had the nerve to laugh as she sat there, mouth wide open and her eyes closed, but you knew better.
Her blue eyes met yours, anger bubbling at the surface.
“You little—”
She grabbed a handful of the food on her plate and chucked it in your direction, her lips pressed in a thin line. It hit the center of your chest, a mix of red sauce and cheese sliding down the thin fabric of your band tee.
You gasped, ready to grab your own plate, fingers grasped around the rim.
“Robin!”
The two of you looked up suddenly, shocked that his voice interjected. He was normally in his own world, dish rag slung over his shoulder, muttering things to himself as he crossed off a mental to do list that really should be written down. He stood there, two hands on his hips as he analyzed the situation.
The island between you two and him was the only thing separating the absolute death stare he was giving her.
“Now what in God’s name…” He rolled his eyes at her, rounding the corner to hand you the rag hanging over his shoulder. The action had you blushing all over again as you used the material to block your reaction from both people, pretending to wipe off your brow. The splatter of sauce had missed it by a mile, but no one had to know.
“She was-”
“I don’t care what she-”
“It’s not lik-”
“Robin!”
She huffed with an even more exaggerated eye roll, slumping back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.
He bent down, meeting you at eye level as his thumb and forefinger reached out to flick a piece of green off of your shoulder. From this proximity, you could feel the heat of his skin, see the definition of warm brown in his eyes, the fleck of moles on his face hidden behind shaved strands of grey.
It was not helping the situation at hand.
Robin was in your peripheral, her lip curled up even more in disgust as she shook her head, looking opposite of you two.
“Now… what’s going on?”
“She was being disgusting,” Robin supplied, glaring at you even more as red filled your cheeks. You weren’t even brushing your hair back anymore or trying to wipe off your shirt, it was more so adjusting. Making sure you looked good despite the mess in front of you.
“Mr. Harringt-”
“Please… call me Steve,” he rose to his full height, hands coming to adjust his waist band of his pants from being squatted, something completely innocent that had your mind doing flips. “I don’t wanna hear it—I’m sure you girls were just doing… you know, whatever you two do. But Robin, if you could just play nice, just for one night.”
She leaned forward, mouth dropped down even further than before, “That’s so not fair!”
“Rob,” he gave her one last warning, hand back on his hip. With a wave of his finger, he shooed the two of you off, “Your friend is here for you. Go wash up, be ready for dessert, you two. I tried out this God damn Wheeler pie recipe, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t get eaten.”
The two of you moved in silence as you got up from the table, nothing but the scooting of chairs in your wake. You wanted to apologize, say something to defend yourself even if it was a losing argument.
Right before you rounded the corner after Robin out of the room, you heard his voice calling to you, stopping you in your tracks.
“If you need anything, hon, just let me know,” he called, an earnest look behind his eyes. You felt yourself confused, all words forgotten. “I think I have extra clothes somewhere in my roo-”
Robin appeared, this time a scowl thrown to her dad.
“She’s got it.”
She yanked you out of his line of vision, the last thing seen being your fingers attempting to grip onto the corner of the wall, but failing.
Steve’s raised eyebrows and shocked look on his face was left behind. A muttered ‘Christ’ leaving his lips as he turned around with raised eyebrows.
“So… can you, like, actually not look at my dad like you want to fuck him?”
Warm and showered, your eyes widened at her blatant lack of subtlety.
She leaned against the closed bedroom door, eyebrow quirked at you like she was expecting you to protest. You flopped your mouth open a few times before deciding there was really nothing you could say. You couldn’t protest because she knew you, knew your tells on when you had a crush and when… it was something a little more than a crush.
“It’s actually disgusting.”
She fake gagged, a finger down her throat in a crude fashion.
Feigning innocence, you rolled your eyes, “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She dead panned at you, features drawn serious. Another eyebrow raise, tempting you to test her.
“I was just admiring that pie recipe—I’ve heard the rumors,” you lied through your teeth, turning away from her to look at yourself in the vanity mirror. You patted a spot of concealer under your eyes, ring finger tapping against the delicate skin.
“You don’t even like cherry rhubarb.”
Looking at her through the reflection, it was your turn to glare. You finished off the touch of makeup with a light dusting of powder, a rouge at your cheeks.
“I’m being nice.”
“No—you’re being gross.”
You ignored her, looking at yourself in the mirror for one last look.
“You can be honest, you know,” she huffed, throwing her hands up in the air. She mirrored the image of her dad with her hands on her hips, a comparison that you’d learn to regret. “He's—everyone looks at him like that. I know exactly what you're getting at when you give him that look. I've known you for so long.”
You turned away from the mirror, leaning against the back of the chair to look at her.
“That’s not—Rob, this is nothing what you're thinking. I just—that's your dad,” you stumbled over your speech, thinking of a way to get out of this. “Thinking how someone like him became a dad so young and did a great job with you. Admiring him—the situation, I guess”
“Oh, shut up!” She whined, rolling her eyes so hard you were surprised they hadn’t fallen out by now. “I know that look.”
“Rob, I’m serious,” you stood up, walking over to her. The shirt you borrowed from her had you swimming in fabric, reaching mid thigh. A draft was starting to build up, sending a chill down your spine. “You know I would never do that, he's like old.”
“You’re full of shit,” she whispered, rolling her eyes as she turned her face away from you. “Everyone wants something, and you just happen to want him.”
Jaw dropped, “Absolutely not.”
She quirked an eyebrow, lips pressed in a thin line. "Absolutely so."
You met her look, your own brow raised and arms crossed over your chest.
What she didn’t know was that your heart was hammering behind your chest, stomach feeling slightly queasy as you processed what you were feeling. You didn’t do this on purpose, didn’t imagine that you would find yourself lying to your best friend ever about being curious when it came to him. You hadn’t came up with this miraculous plan to sleep with him or even just “ogle” at him, but it was just something that happened.
It started out as an innocent crush, thinking ‘Oh, he’s cute, is that her older brother?’ when seeing him in pictures to ‘Oh shit, her dad’s hot.’ Obviously thoughts that were never voiced. Pictures shown became sneak glimpses of him in the background of FaceTime calls when she spent the night at your place to this planned holiday break where you finally had to visit Hawkins some day.
She looked at you wide eyed, eye level with you. Nodding slowly, she seemed to understand.
“I just—are you sure?”
You beamed at her, eyes not quite meeting your smile. What was wrong with a little crush? It’s not like it was going to go anywhere. This man was so many years your senior, you were sure that there were many women his age that he wanted, gawking over him, who had so much in common with him. You stood no chance amongst people at his level, his age.
“I’d never even entertain the idea of it.”
She hugged you, pressing a kiss to your temple in the same spot the peas had landed earlier in the night.
It wasn’t your first lie of the night.
The infamous pie sat in between the three of you, half dug into with full plates surrounding it. He had messed up the measurements, too much baking soda with not enough sugar. It was tart in all the wrong ways, but forgotten with a few glasses of red wine thrown into the mix.
He was a “cool dad” you had learned, letting Robin smoke and drink in the house when she was a teenager as long as he was home because he knew she was going to do it anyway. Moderation, he kept saying. Because in “his day”, he was a problem.
Steve has been telling jokes all night, the whole table erupting in laughter as he shared memories of Robin growing up, being a menace in all the best ways possible.
Stories of her ‘finding siblings’, but really taking random kids home from the park she had just met, giving free hair cuts to stray dogs around the town, not worried about the fleas she often tracked home, swapping out Steve’s work projects with pictures she had drawn at school.
You had stolen glances at him during this conversation, his knee bumping into yours too many times for you not to create a whole scenario in your head.
His eyes had lingered a little too long when he was sharing stories of dates that had gone wrong in the past year of Robin officially moved out, too-forward women with horrific divorcees in their past.
It was all in your head you were convincing yourself. Just your mind trying to make sense of what you wanted yourself to believe.
“Okay, okay—” you cut him off. You tugged at the neckline of the shirt you had on, exposing a small bit of skin as you began to heat up from the wine. Surely, it was the wine, “I want to hear more about the story of Robin now.”
He smiled, nodding at you as he took his teeth to his bottom lip. It was his thinking face, he had made it too many times for it not to be. Especially after you’d ask him something.
“Well,” he leaned forward, wine glass swirling in his hand. He took a sip, smiling as he thought of the memory. “I’ve always wanted a big family, a whole bus full of kids.”
Robin smiled fondly, her own glass between her fingers as she stared down at her hands.
“I was with her mom for years, high school sweethearts, I guess you could say,” he continued, a solemn look crossing his face briefly. You seemed to be the only one who noticed before he perked up to cover it. “One thing led to another, and little miss Robin came around.”
She rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head as she leaned over the table to top off her glass. Steve swiped the bottle away before she could reach it, pouring the rest of it into his own before giving her the literal last drop of bottle.
“So rude,” she huffed, throwing the glass back to finish off the small tablespoon of liquid she had.
“My other family couldn’t take care of me, too many kids apparently,” she finished for him, voice a little quieter than she had been earlier in the night. “Chief stepped in, was ready to whisk me away to the Hawkins Human Shelter-”
“What did I say about calling it that-”
“-and good ol’ Stevie here stepped in,” she spoke over him like he didn’t interrupt. You giggled, taking a sip of your own glass. It was still full, the nerves alone of the evening giving you a buzz. “One thing did lead to another, mom got sick, turns out that’s why she couldn’t have kids of her own, blah blah blah, funeral, single dad, lonely kid, you know the tale.”
“Robin…” It wasn’t chastising, more of a sorrowful tone. Hints of something underneath that she wasn’t supposed to dive into.
She looked down at her glass once more before beaming up at you, pretending like she didn’t slip into that facade you knew too well. Steve was looking at her too, worry crossing his eyes as she pretended nothing happened.
“But anyways…” she reached over the table to grab your hand, gave it a squeeze. “It led me to feeling more grateful for people like you in my life.”
You could start to feel terrible inside, an ulterior motive creeping out as you snuck a look at Steve. He was nodding at the two of you, eyes focused on your clasped hands. It appeared he was zoned out—unfocused on anything in particular, but just thinking.
You crept down the stairs of the house, cursing to yourself as you heard a creak of the wood beneath your feet. It was dark, almost too dark to see as you spread your hands in front of you trying to map out the room. The only thing that pulled you out of your thoughts was the dull drum of rain in the background, hitting the roof of the house and splattering against the windows in a quiet lull.
It was nearly 3 am, and water was the only thing you were thinking about. Wine always had you feeling so gross, whether it was one glass or that third one you knew you probably shouldn't have had.
You rounded the corner into the kitchen, seeing a figure illuminated by a single night light over the counter. Right as you realized who it was, you tried sneaking away, yet crashed into a piece of furniture, causing way more noise than you intended.
Was the dining table always this close to the entryway?
Steve turned towards you suddenly, a shocked look on his face as he took you in.
Your sleep shorts seemed lost beneath the oversized tee, house slippers dragging against the floor. It was suddenly too cold, too warm, too everything as you stood in front of him.
“Oh, sorry—I’ll just—”
He called out at you, stopping you before you ran.
“You’re okay!” he whisper-shouted, not trying to wake Robin upstairs. His hands shot out in front of him, as he ushered you closer. Stepping aside, he made room for you in the already ginormous kitchen. “What do you need, hon?”
You were flushed at the nickname, awkwardly knocking your knees together as you clasped your hands in front of you.
“Just water, if that’s possible, please?”
Your voice was smaller than you thought it would be, but still sounded louder than you intended.
He jumped to action, reaching into the fridge to bring out the jug before pouring you a glass. You didn’t know where to look, barely noticing that he himself was dressed not meant to be seen. Where your shirt was too big, his was a little too small, exposing a sliver of skin between the waistband of his sleep pants and his navel. You saw a few moles dotted on the skin and hair leading down his happy trail, leading your imagination to wonder just how far they went down.
Stop.
“I said… couldn’t sleep?” He laughed at you, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own glass of water. You didn’t even realize he had said anything in the first place.
“Oh, right… I always have trouble sleeping through the night,” you explained. He nodded, understanding what you meant.
“Yeah, same here,” Steve leaned against the counter, one extended arm propping himself up as he held the glass to his lips.
You felt his eyes on you as you pretended to look around the room while the two of you sat in silence. It was an awkward two minutes, what felt like an eternity almost, the sounds of rain hitting the windows, the tapping of your nails against your glass, the occasional shift of clothing.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
His voice was quieter than before, a whisper into the night. Almost like he had said something he shouldn't have.
You shot your eyes to him, warmth filling your chest. Cheeks flushed, you averted your eyes as you took in your surroundings.
“No, but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” You wanted to tell him the list inside of your mind of what would truly help, but none of that would be appropriate in any setting.
He stood up slowly, moving to pass you as he moved from the corner of the kitchen.
“Just Steve is fine,” he continued, stopping right in front of you. You looked up at him, noticing the way the little light from the moon shone through the glass windows just to land right on his face.
It highlighted the small gold flecks he still had in his salt peppered hair, the tiny crinkles by the corner of his eyes. He was so youthful still, light shining through every crevice of his face.
“You’ve been amazing to have here,” he admitted, one step closer to you than before. He leaned against the kitchen island, fingers drumming against the tile. “I think Robin appreciates having someone she can take home from the city.”
Nodding, you cleared your throat, mouth still dry despite being hydrated. You’d never consider yourself an awkward person, but somehow, in front of him, you were back to your elementary school basics of communication skills.
“Yeah—she’s… she’s great,” you agreed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face. “You’re great—I mean, the house is nice. And… yeah.”
He chuckled at you, shaking his head slightly at you stumbling over your words. It didn't seem demeaning or as if he was looking down at you, if anything, his small mannerisms comforted you.
Stretching out, he left his water glass abandoned on the table before walking in front of you. Just as he was to pass you, you spoke up, finding confidence that came out of nowhere.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, hon?”
You just started at him, thinking of how to phrase whatever it was you were about to say. It wasn’t right. You shouldn’t think of him like this. You promised.
“I—Nevermind.”
He nodded, sucking the corner of his bottom lip in his mouth to bite at the skin. Your eyes trailed, something he had to have noticed in the dim light of the kitchen.
He opened his own mouth a few times, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen of him yet. He was normally so confident, so sure of his words even in settings that he was unfamiliar with.
“Can I—”
Steve crossed the small space between you, capturing your face between his hands. Lips slotting into yours, cutting the words off before you could fully speak them, warmth filling your body as the two of you became one.
It was over just as quickly as it began, he stepped away with a gasp. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he placed one hand on his hip, his body turned away from you in a way that caused the moonlight to cascade over his figure.
“I can’t believe— I—”
He shook his head at himself, running his hands through his hair.
“I’m so sorry—”
“It’s okay.”
He didn’t hear you, still muttering disbelief at himself. He continued to shake his head, sighing as he took in the gravity of the situation. His hands began to move through the air, breaking the tension as he debated what had happened.
“That was completely inapprop—”
“It’s okay,” you spoke up louder this time, trying to reach out to him but just slightly brushing the sleeve of his shirt. He suddenly looked at you, eyes wide and rimmed with wetness.
“That’s not okay,” he whispered, stepping closer to you despite his words.
“I want this,” you found brevity in your words, suddenly more confident than you had ever been. “I want you.”
He was silent for a moment, taking another step towards you. His eyes took you in, a solemn look on his face as he took you in, eyes trailing down your frame. You felt naked under his gaze as he reached out a hand to tug lightly at that same borrowed, oversized shirt you were wearing.
“This is mine, you know,” he spoke softly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
“What?”
You were confused, pushed back so your butt hit the table. With a small hop, you sat down on the surface, still shorter than the older man in front of you.
“This shirt,” he replied, looking down at the way the worn fabric pooled in his hands. “It’s mine.”
You looked down at it, reaching out to rest a hand at his waist line. This moment was so dangerous, so tempting, but everything you had been missing in your life. His down turned eyes looked so bright in the dim lighting, filling your heart and chest with so many emotions.
“It’s never looked this good on me.”
He finished his words by stepping forward, capturing your lips into his once again. There was more force in this kiss, want bleeding from the urgent press of his mouth.
“We can speak about this,” he muttered into your mouth, prying your thighs open with his own as he stepped between your legs.
“Never,” you moaned softly, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt in your fingers. The kiss was rushed, the sounds of smacked lips together as the two of you made out in the kitchen.
It felt so right.
He sighed, pulling away from you once more to leave a small space between the two of you.
“You’re half my age,” he whispered, mostly to himself. The loss of him between your legs became apparent as he backed away, shaking his head again. “You’re Rob’s age.”
He seemed to come back to reality, the moment fleeting.
“Steve—”
Before you could say anything else, he was gone, disappearing around the corner and up the stairs. You sat there for a moment, left wondering if he had truly existed. Was it something you had pictured sleepwalking—hoping for some sort of fantasy?
It was all you could think about as you finished off your water and made your own way upstairs, passing his room with the door cracked open. It was dark inside, silence echoing through the walls as you settled back into your friend’s room. Your hands wandered, touching the fabric of the shirt you wore, the soft cotton beneath your finger tips as you drifted off, imagining what it would have felt like to have him take it off of you.
“You disappeared last night.”
Steve sputtered his coffee out right on the table, his napkin coming up to dab at the dribble on his chin. If you hadn’t paid attention to the nervous shake of his hands, you would think he just choked a little, nothing out of the ordinary.
“I—what?”
Nice.
Steve’s eyes darted to you when you weren’t looking. The lone chunk of scrambled egg—suddenly, so unappetizing—was pushed around your plate, the scrapping sounds of your fork filling the empty silence.
“I woke up for a bit, and you weren’t there,” Robin hummed, chowing down on her own meal. “Bathroom was empty, too.” She narrowed her eyes at you, teasing. “So where were you, huh?”
Hot in the face, you ignored the way that Steve had gotten up from the table, clearing out empty dishes that were left behind. He was busying himself, distracting his mind from the conversation. There was a nervous clutter of movement trailing his movements, the sounds of clanking dishes together as he hurried around the kitchen.
“It was raining, you know how I get when it’s like that,” you lied, a measly cover up that would be easy to break. “I couldn’t sleep and just had to clear my head.”
She stared at you for all of two seconds before shrugging with a hum, giving up on the conversation.
“I was thinking we could head out today? Deb invited us to something she’s throwing tonight,” She brought out her phone, typing away at something as she continued speaking. “She sent the invite to us, well me, but you know... you’re coming.”
“Oh.. that sounds—”
“I think it’s something casual, but worst case, we could spend the night at hers.”
“I don't know if that sounds—”
"You did sound like you were coming down with something."
It was your turn to look at Steve, his back to you.
Robin paused on her phone, eyebrow quirked. She lifted her eyes to look between the two of you, lingering them on her dad a little longer. “I mean… I guess we can come home early, but you’re gonna need to pick us up.”
“I heard her last night,” he continued, turning around to lean against the kitchen sink, both hands braced behind him. He was dressed in a sweater that hugged his frame just right, forearms shown off with the soft wool pushed up to his elbows. You tilted your head in confusion. “It would get you sick, Rob, the rest of the group, bad combo if you ask me.”
You were so confused, face twisted up as you tried to put the pieces together. It took one, two beats of Steve staring at you unblinking before you caught on.
“Must’ve been the pie, you know, bad ingredients,” he continued, briefly looking at his daughter before back to you. "Or something even worse coming around. I did hear that there's a flu going around town."
Was this actually happening?
“Wait, you didn’t tell me anything like that. Shit, are you okay?” Robin leaned forward in her seat, angling her phone to the side as she looked at you. She glanced down at her phone before looking up at you again, lingering as she wanted to interject but held back.
“It’s nothing really,” you explained, pulling up your napkin to rest in front of your mouth, clasped between two hands. You hated lying, you were terrible at it. “Just felt… bad.”
Robin was quiet for a few moments, debating what she wanted to do.
“You can’t, like, nap first or something?”
“Robin!”
Rolling her eyes, she ignored Steve yet again. She thumbed away at her phone, replying to the consistent stream of dings she was receiving. She put her phone underneath her arms, one arm crossed in front of her lying on the table, the other propping her chin up as her fingers drummed against her chin.
“I can always see Deb when I visit again,” she sighed dramatically this time, thinking as she looked off to the side. It was Steve’s turn to cut his eyes, an insight onto where she got it from. “Just another… long… 6 whole… months.”
A dish towel struck through the air and whacked across the back of her head, Steve playfully shaking his head, “Oh, cut it out, Ms. Drama.”
She whined, rubbing the area.
“You go to Deb’s, spend the night, have fun, don’t do whatever I wouldn’t do,” Steve said, taking her plate out from in front of her. “Or would do, I guess, I don't know. She can stay here, recoup for the night so you guys can go on that outing you talked about tomorrow, and be back for Thanksgiving dinner at the neighbors. I have to head out anyway, run some errands, so she'll have the house to herself.”
Your gaze cut back and forth between them, watching carefully as Robin thought about her options. You could tell she was torn between the two options, not wanting to leave you, but also wanting to see her childhood best friend after so long. It was a moment before she spoke up again, excitement written all over her face.
“Okay, no problem. I'll text Deb and we can—wait, she’s not gonna actually stay here with you, right? When do you get back? That’s so weird, I can’t leave her with you.”
He waited a moment before responding, quick on his feet. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but… I actually have a date. Tonight.”
Her eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs, mouth slightly agape.
“With?”
“That new girl in town,” you looked down right as he snuck a glance towards you, your eyes nearly missing the longed gaze he threw to you. “Hasn’t been here long, but didn’t want to say anything… you know, jinxing the situation.”
She thought about it for a moment, eyes fluttering back and forth between you and Steve and her phone. Your heart felt like it was hammering in your chest, shocked that you'd be able to get out of the plans with her and maybe spend some time alone with him. Yet, so, so disappointed that you thought it would be anything more than a midnight kiss.
Of course, he had a date. Why would he actually be interested in someone like you?
"If you're completely okay with it—"
"Rob, it's fine, I promise," you assured her, giving her a smile that didn't quite meet your eyes.
The Harrington household was quiet at night. The soft drizzle of rain in the background of the tv on, some crappy reality tv show on, the endless scroll of social media on your phone. You could pull your hair out if you thought about how bored you were. Maybe you should've taken her offer on going over her friends.
Steve had been gone for three hours at this point, leaving shortly after Robin with next to nothing that made you think last night actually had happened.
It was a rushed goodbye, "make sure the doors are locked!" shouted in your general direction as he went out the door. You weren't sure what you expected, a heartfelt confession? A marriage proposal? It was time to be realistic, this was something that would never happen.
You spent the time exploring their two story home, innocently snooping. Opening doors you didn't know where they led, inspecting Steve's wine rack, going through old family albums that sat in the corner of the living room.
Steve's study was gigantic, vintage memorabilia all over the room. He had vinyls collected on racks, multiple greenery around the room that brought it to life, pictures of old friends throughout the years, old high school trophies, even an old guitar shoved in the far corner, something electric that clearly hadn't been touched for years. The items showed you how much of a jock he truly had been, but with so many layers you had yet to peel back.
Picking up an old picture frame, you ran your hands over the glass. From what you had assumed, it was a picture of him and his high school sweetheart.
Their arms clasped around each other as they laughed, a candid photo taken when the both of them weren't looking. He didn't look as young as his high school pictures, slightly aged by the crinkles in his eyes and a few strands of grey, but still youthful.
"That was right before Robin came around."
His voice shot into the air, the framed picture flying in the air before landing with a bang. The glass shattered into a million pieces, scattered around the room as you looked up to see Steve leaning against the door frame.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
You took a step towards the mess, Steve rushing to meet you half way.
"No! Hey," he cut you off from apologizing further, stepping over the glass as you leaned down to clean it. You stepped into the mess, adrenaline pumping through you as your socked foot picked up about a thousand shards. "Be careful, hon."
Your heart was still hammering in your chest as you were led away from the broken pieces. He guided you around it, the crunch beneath his shoes along side the rush of blood in your ears.
"Mr. Harrington—I'm so sorry! I didn't hear you come in, and I didn't mean to break it! I just—you scared me, and I didn't—"
"Steve, and it's okay," he assured you, nodding his head as the two of you walked out of the study.
Warmth filled your face.
"Oh God, I ruined your picture!"
He laughed a little this time, leading you into the kitchen. "Just the frame, I can replace it."
“No—”
“Hey.” His tone was more firm as he circled around you, placing both hands on your shoulders. You looked up at him, mouth gaping open as you thought of your next apology. “It’s okay. It’s just a piece of glass, the photo’s fine. I can always replace the glass.”
You nodded, tears beginning to brim your eyes.
“Oh no, don’t do that,” he sighed, urging you to sit down as he kneeled in front of you. “Are you okay? Did the glass get you?”
You shook your head, looking down as he peeled the sock off of your foot. This wasn’t the scenario you imagined when it came to him undressing you.
“I just feel bad,” you mumbled, shaking your head when he rubbed the pad of his thumb over several areas of your foot, checking for any shards. “It’s just the thought of being the one to ruin something that important to you.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he chuckled lightly, smirking to himself as he patted your knee once the inspection was over.
“Really?”
He nodded, raising his eyebrows.
You sat there sniffling, wiping the few fallen tears with your sleeve. It wasn’t just the embarrassment of breaking something important to him, it was now combined with the feeling of crying over something that he wasn’t even upset over.
“You know… if anything, I thought I was the one who ruined everything.”
You shot your eyes too him as he rose up, settling into the dining chair next to you. “Ruined? What do you mean?”
He shrugged, making a face as he brought his hand up beside his head in confusion. He had wire framed glasses holding his hair back, the longer strands around his temple framing his face.
“Well… what happened last night.”
As he looked up to you, it all came rushing back. The feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his hands on your skin, it was all pure heaven that truly only lasted what felt like seconds.
“Oh… that.”
“Yeah… that.”
The ceiling suddenly caught your attention, your eyes squinting as you tried focusing on its random details. You were avoiding the conversation, despite it being right in front of you. Steve seemed to be doing the same thing, tapping his fingers against the wood as he lowkey whistled some random tune.
What seemed to be five, maybe ten minutes passed as the two of you thought what to say.
"I've been out all night, just driving, thinking about everything. Worried I ruined your perception of me, your friendship with Robin. There's a lot," His words made you think more, not sure how to answer that. Did his date not happen? Why was that your first thought?
He cleared his throat, “Should we talk about it?”
“I don’t think so,” you said, wincing as the words fell from your mouth.
“I think it’s hard to pretend like it didn’t happen,” his voice was low as he spoke to you. He was shaking his head, eyes looking past you as he seemed to recall those memories. You anticipated the let down. “It’s completely unacceptable what I did… I’m supposed to be someone you could trust.”
“I do trust you.”
Apparently the wrong thing to say. He nodded solemnly, wincing at your words.
“Exactly,” he started. “I—you…”
Leaning on the table, you shifted your body towards the conversation. It was subtle, his shift away from you. Almost like he was holding back from something. You tried not to let the pang in your chest get to you.
“You trust me, and I’m supposed to sit here and act like I don’t want to do it again,” his confession left the air feeling heavy.
“I’m Rob’s dad, this feeling shouldn’t be happening. You’re more than half my age. I’ve been around you for less than a week, and you have me feeling like… like I’m 16 again.”
You were stunned into silence, heart drumming in your chest as you pondered over his words.
“I—”
“Don’t.” His hand gripped the base of the chair between your legs, pulling you closer to him in one swift motion. The creaking of the legs against the hardwood floors broke the silence in the room. Your heart couldn’t beat faster if it tried.
The two of you were face to face now, his hands coming up to rest at your cheeks, thumbs brushing under the soft skin under your eyes
From this distance, you could make out every freckle on his face, the soft glow of amber in his eyes, flecks of grey dotting his beard. He was beautiful, truly. Age doing nothing but grace for him.
“Just… let me sit here, okay?” He murmured, tongue darting out to swipe at the corner of his mouth. “I just want to enjoy this, and we can go back to pretending, okay?”
You nodded, eyes searching his own for any hint of doubt.
He took a moment, watching you back as carefully. It was like he was communicating with you through his eyes. Honesty bleeding through every blink he took, every careful nibble of his teeth over his lips silencing what he wanted to say.
Slowly, he leaned in, covering your lips with his own.
With a small intake of breath, you met him half way. Plump, rosy lips melted into you, his warm breath taking yours away.
Reaching up a hand, you dug your fingers into his softly greyed locks. Steve moaned at the contact, breathing heavily into you as you two deepened your kiss.
He began to pull away, “I shouldn’t—”
“Steve, stop,” you mumbled, your other hand gripping at the front of his sweater. The action sprung him into action, a swift motion to lean over you and pull you out of the chair, your body settling on the wood table. You sat while he settled between your legs, gripping you by the waist to pull your hips flush to his.
He had to dip down to kiss you, licking into your mouth vehemently. The temperature in the room was heating up, your legs curling around his hips to attempt to bring him closer, his hips rutting against yours as he leaned over you. The tips of his fingers inched up your sweater around your waist, squeezing the skin there.
Pulling away from your mouth, he placed his lips at the junction of your neck.
“St—”
His cell phone rang, the two of you jumping away from each other, caught in the act. He leaned over the chair next to him, fist curled so tightly around the back of it, his knuckles were turning white. The other hand was brought to his mouth in a fist, his teeth digging into his finger as he took a moment.
The tension in the air slowly dissipated as you grew shy of the position you were in, your shirt tucked haphazardly into your waistband, sweats you were wearing wrinkled with remnants of his touch.
“I should—”
Steve crossed the floor to answer his phone, placing it to his ear as he leaned over the kitchen sink. Leaning on one hand, he took a deep breath before speaking.
“Hey Rob, how’s it going?”
You heard her static-filled voice over the phone, heat flooding your cheeks as you realized the gravity of the situation. From where he stood, you then noticed the abandoned grocery bags on the counter. From what you could tell, there were unprepared items, steak waiting to be cooked, a bottle of wine forgotten, several things that could only be described as date night items. Were those for you?
“Yeah yeah—nothing too interesting going on over here. Just, uhh,” he glanced at you quickly, eyes trailing over your figure briefly before turning back around. “Making dinner.”
You shuffled off of the table, adjusting your clothes as you looked for something to busy yourself with. Do you turn around and go upstairs? Leave? Pretend like this never happened?
“Yep, that was cancelled.”
Your attention was on the chairs, tucking them back into their respectable places as Robin droned on about something. The excitement was evident in her tone, the words lost over the muffled speaker.
There was a shuffle of movement behind you, mumbled hums coming closer to you as you pushed in the last chair.
“Well, I hope you all have fun tonight,” Steve’s voice was right in your ear as he came up from behind you, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you close to him.
His palm covered your mouth as you gasped, the light touch leaning your head back against his shoulder to look up into his eyes. Heart beating in your chest, you took in his features as he leaned down to press his lips lightly against your forehead.
He removed his hand, draping his arm across your chest as he began to lead you two out of the kitchen.
“Definitely, I think she’s asleep upstairs.”
It scared you how easy he was to lie.
“Yeah, think I’m gonna head to bed myself,” he mumbled into the phone, shifting to hold it between his ear and shoulder as he held you to his chest with both hands. It was a shuffle out of the kitchen, his hands wandering over your torso as you two left the room.
Reaching the stairs, he mumbled his goodbyes before pocketing his phone.
"You're a terrible liar, Mr. Harrington," you whispered into the air, breaking the silence between you two.
"Shut it."
He angled your head towards his own, placing his lips over yours. His hands began wandering, feeling over your body as he led the two of you up the stairs. It was awkward at first, yet the two of you found a rhythm as you made your way towards his room.
The door was thrown open with a slam, echoing through the room with the sounds of your lips on each other. He towered over you as he walked you backwards towards the bed, his hands on either side of your face.
As the two of you fell on the bed, Steve on top of you, breathless moans escaped the two of you. It was the thrill of how risqué this moment was, the ultimate ‘do-not’ that hung in the air.
“Steve,” you moaned, as his fingers inched up the sweater you wore. His fingertips were warm as they ghosted at your skin, goosebumps following his graze.
He hummed into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, pulling away to kiss at your neck.
Angling your head, you grabbed his hand with your own, pushing it down lower until it crept past your waistband. Resting it over your core, you held it firmly against you, height radiating off of you.
“Want you,” you mumbled.
You felt him groan against you, his hand lifting as he slipped his fingers beneath your waistband. With a gasp, you jumped at his touch, electricity flowing through you. He only nodded before running the pad of his fingers along your slit, gathering the moisture there before teasing at your entrance.
"Can you-"
"Mmm," he mumbled, pressing one finger in gently as he kissed along your jawline. "I got you."
You whined into his touch, eyes rolling back as he began to prod at you, fingers entering at such a gentle pace that pressed in all the right places. His tongue was hot against your skin as he nipped at the skin, whispering reassurances to you that had your skin melting.
Wetness pooled at his fingers, your skin becoming more sensitive as he fingered into you. Steve was two fingers deep, curling them precisely against your sweet spot, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you with every movement that he made.
You curled a hand into his hair, pulling him to your mouth where you clashed teeth as your lips met his.
He groaned into your mouth, a particularly hard thrust he gave you, a loud groan leaving you as you bit down on his bottom lip. You widened your legs, one of your hands trailing down his side until you met the waistband of his pants, attempting to pull them down as he lay on top of you.
"I need more, Steve," you whispered to him, watching the way he pulled back to stare into your eyes. He nodded as he stared down at you, eyes glistening in the limited light of the room.
The light caught the amber in his eyes, twinkling as an emotion took over that you were too caught up in the moment to think further about. "You okay?"
"'M with you."
That was enough of an answer for him, a beat filling the silence as you held eye contact. He ran his free hand over your forehead, over your temple as he pumped his fingers a few more times. It left you whimpering, a deep flush spreading across your cheeks as he left you breathless.
Removing his fingers, he kneeled up above you, ripping off his shirt before dropping his hands to your waistline. He began to pull off your clothing, slowly as he asked you questions to make sure you're okay.
"This alright?" He asked, teeth digging into his lip as your sweatpants were removed. You nodded, lifting your hips to ease the way.
"And... this?"
With a nod, your underwear was pulled down, thrown across the room.
"This?"
The flats of his palms were pressed along your abdomen as he slid off your sweater, braless and nipples pebbling as you were exposed to the world. He cursed underneath his breath, eyes briefly closing at he took you in.
He attempted multitasking, reaching over with one hand to open his side drawer as he searched for something and pulling off his own clothes with the other. Making it all of fifteen seconds of looking, you leaned up on one elbow, reaching a hand out to caress his face.
"Come here," you whispered, urging him down to get on your level. He looked back at you, finally freeing himself of his clothing with both hands before glancing back at the bedside drawer.
"I was just-"
"It's okay," you nodded at him, reassuring him that it was okay and there was an element of trust here that you couldn't even fathom. It was seconds before he was on you again, lips pressing to yours in a fervor as he lined himself up with you.
Slowly pushing in, you both groaned loudly, the feeling of wet and hot and need and want filling the air. His head dropped to your shoulders, a low rumble at his chest as he bottomed out.
"You feel so good, so-"
A slight whimper left him as he thrusted up shallowly into you, slightly kissing your cervix as he got deeper. You clawed at his skin, a high pitched gasp leaving your lips as you pulled him closer to you.
His name fell from your mouth, urging him to press into you more, move as his body curled into yours.
Time became limitless as you two were joined, the sound of skin slapping filling the air as the moment grew more heated. His hands were everywhere, bending your knees further back as he gained leverage. In this moment, he became a different person, a careful lover as he took his time with you.
"You feel me there?"
You looked down to meet where his eyes were, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen as he thrusted into you. Your head hit the pillow below you with a softened thud, eyes squeezing shut with a moan.
"Fuck Steve," your words were breathless into the air, barely making sense.
It was beyond what he needed to hear, all the encouragement he needed to speed up his thrusts, fingers reaching down to rub your clit in circles all in time with his movements.
Heat pooled in your belly as you curled your legs around his hips, urging him to move deeper, faster within you.
Dirty whispers filled the room, his groans turning into possessive statements of mine, you feel so good, just for me, no one can have you like this. It had you whimpering, a tsunami of wetness filling the space between you as he fucked up into you.
Your hands were curled at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet your mouth. His tongue licked at yours, teeth nipping at skin, groaning into your mouth. You could tell he was nearing his own end, eyebrows furrowed as his thrusts became sloppier. The heat in your stomach became blinding hot, filling your senses before it overtook you, pleasure coursing through your spine and licking at your stomach.
With a shout, Steve came inside you, warmth filling your senses as his thrusts slowed sloppy.
He laid on top of you for a moment, thrusting once more before removing himself from you. He didn't roll over right away, pressing a kiss between your eyebrows, down the bridge of your nose before planting his mouth over yours.
Steve flopped on his side, his hand ghosting against your hip. It's like his fingers had a mind of their own, fighting against his own thoughts to be against you, to just be near you.
Silence filled the air as you two laid side to side, staring up at the way the moonlight hit the ceiling.
"So..."
You both started at the same time, you erupting in a fit of giggles before he huffed out his own laugh.
"You go-"
Once again, the same words were uttered at the same time. You opted to remain silent, turning on your side to look at him. Your finger trailed up his abdomen, light glistening of moisture along his skin from the past heat of the moment.
"Is this something we talk about?"
He broke the air with his question, uncertainty filling the room. Taking your time to answer, you hummed softly as you thought about what to say. It was so loaded, you didn't know where this moment left the two of you, let alone this moment.
"is this something you would like to talk about?"
His hand came up to grab the hand trailing at his chest, his fingers tangling into yours.
"I just," He paused, eyes squinting as he looked away in thought. "It could be, I wanna know- I just..."
He took a deep breath before finishing his sentence, shaking his head at his own thoughts.
"I want to know if this is something you want," he finished, pulling you half way on him. There was a quiet thrum, the heat of his skin lulling you in. "I want to be someone you want."
You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was comforting at this moment, a means to an end inevitably on its way with the coming morning. You could enjoy these next few moments, enjoy what was fleeting. It was something that you didn't want to think about, couldn't think about, as he truly wasn't yours.
Hi I missed you guys, I love you guys so so much. Hope you enjoy. Reblog for more content like this ! See more here <3
HIII HUNNNN. Thank you for your patience love <3 Here it is in all its glory, smut, smut, smut oooo
Divorce Lawyer!Steve x Reader (2.3k+ words of pure smut)
cw: 18+, mdni, smut, riding, unprotected sex, p in v, cream pie, dirty talk, ugh, all Steve goodness, set in NY, famous!reader,
Three drinks down, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you only had one thing on your mind. Freedom. It was seven months into this divorce--if you could even call it that. A messy separation, public legal dispute that was plaguing the city's newspapers, headlines screaming about the famous ex-ball player's divorce with New York's once most eligible bachelorette.
Hitting the town three days in a row seemed like a good idea in retrospect, but it was really starting to get to you and your reputation. But as you chased that sixth tequila shot with lime, it was the last thing on your mind.
"Hey, isn't that..." your friend's voice trailed off as she pointed her beer towards someone across the bar. You followed the point of the bottle, gaze focusing on a tall man--Steve.
A Cheshire grin spread across your face, eyes widening as you recognized him, his mole dotted face, thin wire glasses framing his face as he laughed with a group of other suits, those you knew as his colleagues.
"Oh my God," you whined, immediately downing the shot that was supposed to be for her. She protested, hands throwing up around her as she watched you finish it with a grimace. "What is he doing here?"
She shrugged, swigging out of the glass as she eyed him down. Her bobbed hair swung in the air as she tilted her head down to fully drink him in.
"You know if I was straight I'd be all over that," she replied, turning around to face the bar. Your eyes remained on the older guy, tongue darting out to lick at the corner of your mouth.
"Robin!" You squealed, swatting at her arm. She giggled in response, arm waving to capture the attention of the bartender.
"I'm just saying," her tone was suggestive, eyebrows wiggling with her words. "You should just get after it, I mean... see what Harrington & Partner really has to offer."
You considered her point, your own head tilting down to observe him as his head tilted back with laughter. From across the bar, you could see the stretch of his neck, the expanse of skin being exposed to show more moles, disappearing behind the fitted collar of his dress shirt. The dark bar lighting did wonders for him, highlighting the amber high lights of his hair, showing off the small gray wisps that poked out at his hairline, a testament to how men age like fine wine.
"I've already seen what it has to offer," you said under your breath, grabbing her beer out of her hand. She whined again as you finished it off, slamming it on the counter behind you. "And I want more."
Her jaw dropped, eyes widening as she took in your words.
"What do you mean you've already seen it?"
Laughing, you took a step away from her, bag fitted over your shoulder as you adjusted the dress you wore. "Long story. Late night. Tedious divorce papers. Did I say that out loud?"
She reached a hand out to you, but you dodged it, backing away from her as you made your way over to his group. Her eye roll was enough for you to know you were making a bad decision, but you couldn't care. Your mind was set on one thing only.
"Steve!" You cheered, waving at him as he looked at you confused. Immediately, his gaze dipped across your figure, dress hugging your curves in all the right places.
He covered it up with a cough, eyes widening as he suddenly realized he was in the presence of those he worked with. The sound of your name rolled off of his lips, a surprised cackle of speech.
"What are you doing here?" It was less of a question and more accusatory.
Your mouth dropped open in a wide smile as you held your arms out. "Celebrating my separation, freedom."
Realization crossed his features as your words slurred, the intoxication becoming clear as you lingered a little too close for comfort. The men he surrounded himself with eyed you as well, eyes flickering over you as you teetered on the heels in your feet.
"Ah," he muttered, tongue smacking against his teeth as he took a step back. His hand came up to adjust the tie that was fitted around his neck. "I see. Just a few months away from that."
The suits laughed, deep chuckles of laughter that screamed money. Old money, New York money, jurisprudence, whatever you wanted to call it. Rolling your eyes, you felt all the confidence of the tequila shots you took, pressing a hand to his arm. His eyes dropped to it, slowly dragging away to peer down at you over his wire frames.
"Excuse me," he said to the group, placing a hand to your lower back to drag you away from them. He lead you through the crowd, pressing you into a dark corner of the swanky bar. On the way, you had seen Robin, her thumbs up thrown in your direction.
"What are you doing?" He whispered again, backing you into a wall. He towered over you, immediately, you were weak in the knees, this interaction normally being behind the closed doors of his 30th story office.
Your hand found his arm again, trailing up the expanse of it as you craned your head back, a soft bump against the wall.
"Having fun," you sighed, biting your lip as he took a step closer to you. His scent overwhelmed you, warmth beginning to pool into the pit of your stomach as you rested a foot up against the wall.
"This is a bad look," he suddenly grew professional, straightening up as your hand left his arm and began to trail down his abdomen.
You rolled your eyes, dragging out a groan that bordered childish.
"You're a bad look," you retorted, reaching up to grab the lapels of his suit. Tugging him closer to you, you pressed your lips to the side of his neck. "You're wearing too many clothes."
He pulled away from you again, clearing his throat as he urged you from the wall. Fast in his movements, his hand was at the small of your back, pulling you towards a back exit, one you were unaware that was even there.
A black Lincoln sat in an alleyway, the door opening as he threw you in the backseat. You rolled your eyes as you sat up, pulling down your skirt as he slid in behind you. He muttered something to a driver, the car already moving as the world began to spin around you.
"You can't have people seeing you like this," he muttered, shaking his head as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttered shut.
"Relax, nobody saw."
"Hmm," he was annoyed, the tone of his voice short. "You don't know that for sure. There's too much at stake right now, especially with the way his side is going."
You groaned, leaning fully into him as you began to trail a hand over his body. Touching any skin you could get was the only thing you were focused on, hastily unbuttoning his shirt as the car began to make turns throughout the city. He didn't oppose, only settled into the back seat of the vehicle even further.
"I don't want to talk about him."
You climbed into his lap, squeezing in the small space as you pressed your lips to his. His hands found your ass, squeezing as he ground you down into him. The stubble on his face scratched at yours, your jaw rubbed raw as the two of you made out, tongues fighting against each other.
"I think you're," he muttered in between kisses, his hands beginning to lift your skirt as your hands found his belt buckle. "The worst client I've ever had."
"Mmmm," you groaned, pulling his belt buckle loose. It clanked in the air, followed by the sound of the driver sliding the separation window closed. "Talk dirty to me, Harrington."
He laughed into the kiss, lips slotting into yours perfectly as you freed him from his pants. His cock was angry red, swollen through its length as you briefly looked down to grip at him. The girth of it alone had you watering at the mouth, wishing you had the freedom to sink to your knees.
You pulled away from him, pressing him back down into the cushion of the seat as he chased your mouth, leaning up as he wanted more. He groaned at your touch, his head leaning back against the headrests.
"Need you to fuck me," you whispered, adjusting so the cave of your pussy sat right over him. A pant escaped him as he felt your wetness, encasing him as you grinded down on him.
"You're gonna get me fired, hun," he moaned, teeth digging into his lip as you lifted off of him, angling him so his head pressed at your entrance. The small stretch of his tip had you mewling, the intoxication of the alcohol leaving your body as you got drunk off of a new feeling.
"We've barely left Manhattan," the grunt of words only worsened as you pressed lower, his length stretching you wide. His hands found your hips, guiding you lower.
Your knees sat on the sides of his hips, locking him in as you stopped half way, hovering above him. With your head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling of the car, your eyes watered, the heat of the moment making you so caught up that you cursed at your previous idea of skipping the foreplay.
"You talk too much," you whispered, pressing all the way down. Stretched down to the hilt, the both of you sat in silent groans, his hand finding the back of your neck to press his forehead into yours.
From this angle, you could see the chocolate brown of his eyes, sunken with desire, his lids hooded in pleasure.
"fuck." The hand that never left your hip raised you, a soft squelch filling the back seat as your wetness dripped around him.
As you began to bounce on his cock, his moans began to grow louder, fingers digging marks into your hip. The press of his cock deep inside made you feel weak, that spongy spot not being granted mercy as he drove into you.
"Steve," you groaned, swirling your hips as he mouthed at your neck, deep colored marks being left in his wake. The heat of his touch added to the fire pooling in your belly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.
Look at my dirty girl.
His words could've gotten you right then and there, if it were not for the alcohol in your system prolonging your orgasm. You loved it when he called you names like that, claiming you as his even when you both knew you weren't.
Such a bad girl.
That one had you squeezing your eyes even tighter, your hands resting on the tops of his shoulders as you rode him, bouncing in a frenzy that he had yet to see. The scratch of his suit pants against your ass was oddly soothing, distracting you from the white hot feeling building faster and faster.
"Need you to fuck me harder," you whimpered, reaching a hand up to tug at his hair. The sounds he made to the yank on his scalp had you pulling closer to your orgasm, legs shaking as he began to match you half way, hips lifting off of the seat.
A ring of white began to form at the base of his cock, wetness from your pussy building into a thick cream, your release teetering on the edge. He was close to his own release, his breath coming short as he fucked you, hips moving into an uneven pattern.
"Gonna cum all in you i-if you keep talking like that," he tried being strong in his words, but his voice failed him, cracking in the middle.
A small smile ghosted your lips, knowing exactly what it would take to get him to paint you white, release deep inside of you.
"Cum inside me," you whined, sinking lower as you pressed your lips to the shell of his ear. Your voice was low, scratchy from the frequent moans, borderline shouts he drew out of you.
"Make me yours, Steve."
He groaned, hands locking behind your hips as he began to drive into you, slapping sounds filling the air. Your hand snaked down to circle at your clit, tight circles around the nub that had your eyes rolling back.
"Show everyone who's pussy this really is."
With a low groan, he came inside you, fucking you through it as you found your release quickly after. It was the loudest one you had experienced, legs shaking as explosions tingled up your spine. His hips never slowed, riding out both of your highs.
You pushed off of him, collapsing into the empty leather next to him, legs sprawled wide open. Your chest heaved with exhaustion, yet adrenaline still coursed through you, tequila urging another round already.
"How soon do you think is too soon for me to marry my divorce lawyer?"
He laughed at your words, tucking himself away as he peered out the window. The city lights were far in the background, familiar streets nearing his home coming up in the distance.
"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, dear," he shook his head, leaning down onto you to press a kiss to your forehead anyways. You beamed at the press of his lips, tilting your head closer to him.
The look in his eyes that he gave you was sweet, something that you had once yearned for from your now-ex. You knew it was wrong, to be this smitten over your divorce lawyer, but God, was he beautiful.
Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3
also--not proofread, but should be in the next week or so :)
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