Sitting on the picnic blanket next to Ashton, you fidgeted with a blade of grass that you had plucked from the ground beside you. Your nerves were getting to you as you sat there, looking at Ashton and struggling to fight the urge to kiss him right then and there. He was talking about his music, and every time he did so, his face would light up brighter than ever, making it obvious that his relationship with music wasn’t just a job; it was an integral part of his life.
The only thing stopping you from kissing him was the fact that this was only the second date, and you had never been the one to initiate the first kiss. But the longer he went on talking, the more you wondered if maybe you had the confidence to ask.
“What’s on your mind?” Ashton asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Oh, ugh, nothing really,” you responded, shaking your head slightly, embarrassed that he realized your mind was elsewhere. “I just can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
Your cheeks turned a rosy hue, and one of his eyebrows raised as a smile played on his lips.
“Is that so?” He asked, leaning closer to you as one of his hands gently cupped your cheek.
“Uh-huh,” you nodded, fighting back the huge smile that was threatening to take over your features.
With that, Ashton’s mouth quickly connected with yours, and it only took about half a second to feel as if they were totally in sync with each other. His lips were softer than you imagined, and your heart raced so fast within your chest that you were almost certain that he could feel your pulse. Ashton, on the other hand, couldn’t feel anything but pure adrenaline coursing through his veins because he was so completely and utterly enthralled by the woman in front of him. He loved the way you tasted, the way your lips fit perfectly with his, and the way you weren’t entirely shy about what you wanted from him.
When you mentioned that you couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him, he was mildly shocked, because you weren’t necessarily the quiet type, but you were a tad bit shy, and he liked that about you. It balanced his energy out, and it was refreshing because most aspects of his life were so loud and in your face.
Plus, he couldn’t help but find the way that you said was one of the cutest things he had ever heard, especially when your face lit up with a blush, and it was obvious that you were incredibly flustered, even though you were the one who brought it up.
When your lips disconnected after a couple of minutes, in need of breath, you couldn’t stop a bright smile from appearing on your face. It was infectious because the second he saw your smile, he couldn’t help but do the same.
“You’re gorgeous,” Ashton said breathlessly, tilting his head to the side before his eyes began tracing every feature of your face.
“And you’re so hot,” you giggled, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, as butterflies erupted within your stomach.
“So, I take it you’d want to go on another date with me,” he spoke, leaning back on his hands, feeling the soft material of the picnic blanket against his skin.
“Uh, yeah, absolutely,” you responded playfully, this time making Ashton blush by planting a kiss on the side of his cheek.
summary: Steve tries his hardest to make a move, but every time he gets close to saying the words, your younger brother Dustin interrupts him. Every. Single. Time.
word count: 9.3k+
pairing: steve harrington x henderson!fem!reader
notes: every time a new season of stranger things comes out, my obsession and love for steve harrington comes back. so, this is my first time writing for him! i've read pretty much every steve x shy!reader fic out there and since i have this account now i thought i'd try my hand at writing for him
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, reader is dustin's older sister, shy!reader, takes place at some point in between seasons (aka steve works at family video), dustin is accidentally cockblocking steve and his sister, yearning!steve, dustin is pure chaos, fluff, robin is done with steve's shit and excuses, steve is a bit awkward when it comes to romance
The Henderson house was always a little too full of noise, but it wasn’t the kind that grated on you. It was the kind you’d grown up with. Dustin’s voice carried down the hallway while you sat in the living room sorting through a pile of tapes Steve had let the two of you borrow. Someone had returned Back to the Future without rewinding it, and Steve would absolutely yell about “proper tape etiquette” the next time he saw Dustin. You smiled to yourself as you sifted through the stack.
Soft knocking sounded at the front door. It wasn’t frantic—not monster-knocking—just two taps and a beat. The kind Steve used when he didn’t want to startle anyone. You pushed up from the floor, dusted your hands on your jeans, and opened the door to find him leaned against the frame in that casual way of his that was way too intentional to be casual.
He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that always sat just shy of confident when it was directed at you. “Hey. Dropping these off before Henderson scratches them. I swear he puts the tapes in the VCR with the same enthusiasm he has for summoning demodogs.” He lifted a paper bag full of rentals and offered it out.
You stepped aside to let him in, taking the bag but not before his fingers brushed yours. The contact sent a flick of warmth up your arm, not the dramatic kind that makes people gasp in books, but the kind that catches quietly under your ribs. You weren’t sure if he noticed, but his hand pulled away a little quicker than necessary.
Dustin shouted something from the back room, loud enough to rattle the vents. Steve huffed a laugh and nudged the door closed behind him as he walked into the living room. He kicked his shoes off like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had. This place had become familiar to him. You’d become familiar to him. And somehow that knowledge warmed you more than the afternoon sun slanting across the carpet.
He flopped onto the couch, elbows over the back, letting his head fall back dramatically. “I swear, every time I pick something up from Family Video, Kline shows up to yell about our shelving. Every time. Like I chose the shelving. Like I personally installed the shelving.” He peeked at you through the fall of his hair, the grin returning. “Anyway. I figured you might need something new to watch, unless Dustin has you trapped in one of his weird sci-fi marathons.”
You settled on the other end of the couch, cross-legged, the tapes set between you. “It’s not that weird,” you said softly, though the smile gave you away. “And you survived the marathons, too.”
“Barely.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then let the act falter as he turned to face you fully. His knee brushed yours in a way that felt almost accidental but never quite was when it came from him. He always hovered near you—not close enough to overwhelm, but close enough that you felt seen. You’d gotten used to it. Maybe too used to it.
There was something different in his face today, something you couldn’t place. Not nerves exactly, but something halfway between steady and uncertain. His gaze lingered on you longer than normal before shifting to the tapes in your lap. “You find anything good?”
Your fingers drifted over the covers without thinking. “Trying to. He mixed everything up again. I’m pretty sure one of these cases has two different movies shoved in it.”
“Classic Henderson,” Steve murmured, but he didn’t seem focused on the tapes anymore. His eyes had softened in a way that made your pulse stumble. He looked like he was about to say something—something real, something heavy enough that he hesitated. “Hey, I was actually gonna—”
Dustin barreled into the hallway, a crash of sound and limbs. “Steve! You’re here! Good, because I figured out what was wrong with the antenna, and you have to see it, it’s so sick—”
Steve deflated in an instant, head dropping back against the couch. The moment snapped like it had never been there at all. Dustin launched himself into the room, completely oblivious, waving a broken piece of metal dangerously close to Steve’s face.
Steve sat up with a tight smile, rubbing his hands over his jeans like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. You felt the shift, that soft invisible thread between you pulled taut before disappearing entirely. He shot you a glance—quick, almost apologetic—before catching whatever Dustin was waving at him. “Okay, okay, dude, relax before you impale me. What’d you do now?”
Dustin launched into an enthusiastic explanation, words tumbling over each other. Steve tried to look interested. Mostly, he looked like a man who’d been shoved out of a doorway he’d just worked up the courage to walk through.
You sat quietly beside him, listening to your brother ramble, but your attention kept drifting back to Steve. It was in the set of his shoulders, the unfinished words still lingering behind his eyes. He’d been trying to tell you something. And whatever it was, he wasn’t done trying.
You weren’t sure what would happen when he finally managed to get you alone long enough to say it. But for the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t scare you. It sent that same gentle warmth rising in your chest—the kind you didn’t quite know how to name yet, but couldn’t ignore anymore.
---
The ride home from the Wheelers’ had always been a cramped, loud, chaotic experience, mostly because Dustin treated the back seat like a moving laboratory. Tonight was no different—he’d tossed a backpack stuffed with papers, wires, and half-built gadgets across the seat before climbing in, muttering about how he needed to reorganize everything “for efficiency.” Steve had glanced at you in the driveway with a weary, amused smile that told you he already regretted offering the ride, but he’d unlocked the car anyway. He always did.
You slid into the passenger seat and buckled in while Dustin slammed the back door shut with enough force to make Steve wince. Once everyone was settled, Steve started the car, the headlights cutting through the warm, late-evening haze that hovered over the quiet street. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the summer air, and you rested your hands in your lap, feeling that comfortable, familiar tension settle between you and Steve—the kind that was never unpleasant, only warm and awkward in a way you’d grown used to.
He glanced over as he pulled away from the curb. “So. Did you guys have fun or did you suffer through another round of Wheeler Monopoly hell?”
The question was casual, but the look he slid you was not. It lingered, soft at the corners, a little nervous in the middle. You felt the weight of it press lightly beneath your ribs. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said quietly. “Dustin tried to cheat four times.”
“Hey!” Dustin snapped from the back seat. “Three times. The fourth doesn’t count because the rulebook didn’t specify—”
“It absolutely specified, dude,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s a published game. There are rules. You can’t just invent your own stock market mid-round.”
“I was innovating,” Dustin insisted, already rummaging for something in his bag.
Steve exhaled through a laugh and shot another glance your way. He always did that—threw his jokes toward the air, but aimed his eyes at you, as if checking whether you were smiling. And you were, even if you looked down to hide it.
The road curved toward your neighborhood, streetlamps drifting past in golden streaks. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Steve tap his fingers nervously on the wheel, like he was working himself up to something. His shoulders were tight, his jaw flexing softly the way it did when he was trying to gather courage without drawing attention.
After a moment of silence, he tried again. “Listen, I—” He cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Actually, not tell you, more like… ask you? Or maybe—”
Dustin leaned forward between the seats so suddenly that both you and Steve flinched. “Okay, so imagine this,” he said, breathless with excitement, waving a notebook near Steve’s face. “If I rewire the antenna and get the gain up by just, like, one decibel—”
“Dude, hold on,” Steve said, swatting the notebook away gently. He tried to keep his voice even, but you could hear the frustration simmering underneath. “I’m talking.”
Steve inhaled slowly through his nose, gripping the wheel like it might keep him grounded. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing, because you could see the exact moment he abandoned his almost-confession and resigned himself to Dustin’s rambling.
“Just… go back to whatever you were doing back there,” Steve muttered.
“You mean saving science? Already on it.” Dustin retreated to the back seat and immediately started scribbling again.
Steve let out a long, slow breath, the kind he usually saved for demobat stories or Customer Service Nightmares at Family Video. He didn’t look at you yet. You didn’t look at him either. The interrupted moment hung between you, fragile and obvious.
When he finally risked a side glance, the faintest smile tugged at his mouth—a mix of embarrassment and something softer. “Anyway,” he said quietly, “I was just gonna ask if you, uh… had a good time tonight.”
He’d changed his wording at the last second. You heard it. You wondered if he knew you heard it. “I did,” you murmured, letting your gaze settle on him. “It was nice.”
That small smile of his grew a little, warming the dim car. He was about to say something else—you saw the breath he pulled in, the shift of his shoulders—but Dustin cut him off again. “Steve, turn left! You missed the shortcut!”
“It’s literally two minutes longer,” Steve snapped. “Two minutes! We’re talking blocks, man, not a cross-country trip.” You stifled another laugh. Steve shot you an exhausted, pleading look before turning onto the familiar street. When he parked outside your house, he put the car in park but didn’t immediately shut off the engine. His fingers tapped the wheel again, a restless rhythm. “Hey,” he tried once more, turning slightly in his seat. “I wanted to—”
“Steve, can you help me carry my stuff!?” Dustin bellowed as he launched himself out of the back seat, already grabbing for the door to your house. “I need both hands and probably yours too!”
Steve sagged back against his seat like someone had deflated him. He dragged a hand down his face, muttering something that sounded like a plea for mercy.
You reached for the door handle, hesitating for just a heartbeat. “You can tell me whatever it was later,” you said, voice soft enough that only he would hear.
His eyes found yours again. Whatever he’d been trying to say was still there, simmering just under the surface. A slow smile curved onto his lips, small but genuine. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Later.”
You stepped out of the car, the warm summer air brushing your face. Dustin yelled your name from the porch. Steve groaned, climbed out of the driver’s side, and shot you one last look before going to help your brother.
It wasn’t the confession he’d wanted to give you. But it was coming—you could feel it. And judging by the way he watched you walk toward the house, he wasn’t giving up yet.
---
Family Video was quiet in that late-afternoon way that made the fluorescent lights buzz louder than any customer ever could. The aisles were empty, the return bin was half-full, and Steve was leaning over the counter like a man whose soul had been wrestled out of his body. He kept folding and unfolding the same tape return slip, eyes unfocused, jaw set in that defeated angle that Robin recognized instantly. She flicked a pen cap at his shoulder. “Okay, what’s with the tragic slouch? Did someone rent all the good horror movies again, or are you just being dramatic for attention?”
Steve didn’t look up. He just made a noise that could’ve meant many things: frustration, embarrassment, existential collapse. Robin sighed, circled around the counter, and planted herself across from him with the posture of someone preparing for an interrogation. “Talk,” she demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
He swatted her hand away. “Stop. I’m not a dog.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. “Now spill it. Your energy today is… weird. And not the usual ‘I’m pretty but tired’ weird. This is ‘something happened and I’m repressing it like a coward’ weird.”
Steve groaned, then let his forehead drop onto the counter with an audible thunk. “I tried to talk to her again.”
Robin perked up instantly. “Oh! Finally! Great! So what’d you say? Did you ask her out? Did you actually form a full sentence? Did you—”
“I didn’t get that far,” he mumbled into the countertop. “Dustin wouldn’t shut up.”
Robin blinked once. “Like… interrupting you?”
“Like climbing over the front seat of my car with a notebook to show me a sketch of an antenna while I was trying to confess my feelings.” Steve lifted his head, eyes hollow with dramatic suffering. “It was like being attacked by a hyperactive raccoon.”
Robin snorted so hard she almost choked. “God, that’s beautiful. Horrible. Hilarious. But mostly horrible.”
“Thank you for your support,” he said dryly.
“Oh, I’m supporting you,” she assured, tapping the counter rhythmically. “Just not your terrible strategy. You need to stop trying to talk to her when Dustin is within a three-mile radius. He’s like a tiny tornado with opinions.”
Steve pushed his hair back with both hands. “I know, I know. I just thought maybe he’d… I don’t know, fall asleep? Or get distracted? Or explode?”
“He’s Dustin,” Robin reminded him, eyebrows raised. “He gets more energized as the day goes on. By midnight he’s seconds away from achieving orbital lift.”
Steve sighed again and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tight. “I just… I’m not good at this stuff, okay? She’s not like those other girls I used to date. I don’t want to rush it or freak her out.”
“That’s sweet,” Robin said. “But also incredibly stupid.”
He glared at her. “How is that stupid?”
“Because you’re overthinking it, dingus,” she said, flicking his forehead as punishment. “She already likes you.”
Steve froze, blinking. “She—she does?”
“Oh my god.” Robin pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “You’re helpless. You’re actually helpless.”
“That’s not an answer!” he hissed.
Robin dropped her hands and stared him down, speaking slowly for maximum effect. “She. Likes. You.”
Steve stared back, a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “You don’t know that.”
“I absolutely do.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You get all flustered and stupid around her, and she gets all quiet and wide-eyed around you. It’s like watching two baby deer try to merge onto a highway.”
Steve let out a despairing noise. “I can’t believe you compared me to a deer.”
“Oh, you’re both deer,” she insisted. “Deer in love. Pathetic. Adorable. Infuriatingly slow.”
He ran a hand over his face again, groaning. “I just… I want it to be the right moment. And every time it almost is—”
“Dustin blows it,” Robin finished. “Because that kid has zero awareness of anything except science and snacks.”
Steve laughed, but it was tired around the edges. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Robin planted her hands on her hips like she was about to deliver a lecture. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to ask her out. Soon. Not ‘eventually’ or ‘when the universe aligns.’ Soon. Before Dustin adopts you into his personal schedule for the week.”
“I’m working on it,” he insisted.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re waiting for signs and moments and dramatic lighting. What you need to do is open your mouth and say, ‘Hey, I like you. Want to go out?’”
Steve looked deeply scandalized. “That’s—no, that’s too blunt. I can’t just say it like that.”
“Well, you definitely can’t say it while Henderson is crawling on the car seat like a feral goblin.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
Robin leaned her elbows against the counter, eyeing him closely. “Be honest. Are you scared because she’s quiet?”
He hesitated before nodding once. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’s been through… a lot. We all have, but she… you know.”
Robin softened. “Yeah. I get it. But trust me, she’s not scared of you. She’s scared of… saying the wrong thing. Or being too much. Or not enough. You two speak in the same dialect.”
Steve’s breath stalled at that, chest tightening with something warm and nervous. “So… what do I do?”
“What I’ve been telling you from the start.” Robin shrugged, smirking. “Ask her out, dingus.”
The bell above the door chimed as a customer wandered in, and Robin gave Steve one last pointed look before heading into the aisle to help. Steve stayed behind the counter, resting both palms flat on its surface, grounding himself. He took a deep breath and whispered to no one, “Okay. Ask her out. I can do that. I can do that.”
But even as he said it, he already knew one thing for sure: if Dustin showed up again, this plan didn’t stand a chance. And somehow, that made him smile anyway.
---
The Henderson garage always smelled faintly like dust, motor oil, and whatever science experiment Dustin had last abandoned on the workbench. That afternoon, the air was warm enough that the open door let in a slow spill of sunlight, brightening the cluttered space in strips. You stood beside one of the folding tables, sorting through the mess of screws and wires Dustin had dumped out “for easier access,” which, in reality, only made everything harder to find.
Steve hovered nearby with a half-hearted attempt at organization. He picked up tools, put them down, nudged wires into a neater line, and occasionally wiped his palms on his jeans like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. You noticed the way he kept drifting closer, every few seconds glancing at the house as if waiting for an opening that hadn’t come yet.
Dustin had barreled inside moments earlier shouting something about a “crucial component” and promising to return quickly. Experience had taught you that “quickly” usually meant at least fifteen minutes. The sudden silence left the garage feeling strangely private, a pocket of quiet neither of you were used to sharing without your brother’s voice filling it.
Steve leaned a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “You’d think for someone so obsessed with organization, he’d, I don’t know… actually organize things.”
A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could hide it. “He says he has a system.”
“Yeah, well, his system is ‘pile everything in the same place and pray.’”
You didn’t mean to meet his eyes, but when you did, the warmth there caught you off guard. He smiled—not the big, charming grin he saved for customers or jokes, but the smaller one he used when it was just you. Something quieter, something that made your stomach tug downward and your breath lift higher at the same time.
For a moment you thought he might look away. Instead he took a step closer, letting his fingers trail lightly over the table until they stopped near yours. He didn’t touch you, but the space between you shrank until it was impossible not to feel the gravity of him. “Hey,” he said softly, more serious now, “can I ask you something?”
Your pulse jumped. He didn’t try to hide the nerves this time—his voice was careful, his eyes steady but uncertain, like he was testing thin ice. You tucked a loose screw back into the tray just to have something to do, but you nodded. “Yeah. What is it?”
Steve drew in a slow breath, shoulders rising, then dropping. He shifted so he was standing directly across from you now, close enough that you felt his warmth even through the small distance. “I’ve been… trying to find the right moment to say this. Probably overthinking it. Definitely overthinking it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But every time I try, something happens, and then I lose the nerve, and—”
He stopped, hands falling to his sides. His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, almost apologetically, like the glance had slipped out by accident. “I really like—”
He didn’t get the rest out because Dustin slammed the back door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall with a loud crack. “Found it!” he shouted triumphantly.
Steve jolted back like someone had yanked him by the collar. You startled, the sound hitting you like a small explosion in the otherwise quiet garage.
Dustin sprinted inside with a fistful of random parts, not noticing the way Steve took two hasty steps backward or the way your breath had caught halfway up your throat. He launched straight into an explanation, words tumbling over each other at impossible speed.
“Okay, okay, okay, so remember last week when the signal strength dropped? I swear it wasn’t my fault, but I triple-checked, and it turns out the grounding was off by like a millimeter, but I fixed it, and then I realized if we attach this—this right here—” He shoved the piece of metal inches from Steve’s face. Steve blinked rapidly, stunned, trapped in the whirlwind of Dustin’s enthusiasm. “—then the whole thing works even better! Isn’t that awesome?”
“Yeah,” Steve croaked, the word paper-thin. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, buddy. That’s—uh. Great.”
Dustin looked between the two of you, oblivious to the tension he’d vaporized. “Come on, we have to test it. Steve, you hold the end with the clamp. And don’t drop it this time.”
You watched as Dustin pulled Steve by the wrist toward the other table. Steve threw you a look over his shoulder—a silent, desperate I was so close—before letting himself be dragged into whatever experiment Dustin was constructing.
You swallowed, grounding yourself against the table as the adrenaline slowly ebbed. You replayed the moment in your mind, the warmth in his voice, the way he’d leaned in like he was finally ready to say the thing he’d been dancing around for weeks.
You didn’t need the rest to know what he’d meant. And even though the confession had shattered midair, it left a soft, glowing heat in your chest that didn’t disappear.
Steve shot you another look while Dustin explained the next step, his expression full of apology and frustration and wanting. He wasn’t done trying. And now, for the first time, you knew that for certain. Even if Dustin was determined to make it the longest confession in history.
---
The Wheelers’ basement was the kind of cramped, mismatched space that should’ve felt chaotic, yet somehow always managed to settle into its own kind of rhythm. Blankets draped over the back of the couch, half-finished board games littered the coffee table, and a small mountain of snacks threatened to avalanche off the folding card table by the wall. The worn carpet muffled footsteps, and the single lamp cast the whole room in a warm amber glow that made everyone look a little softer, a little more like themselves.
Mike sat cross-legged near the TV, fiddling with the dials like he was performing surgery. Will had his sketchpad propped on his knee, quietly drawing as he waited. Lucas and Max were arguing over whose movie pick was superior—which mostly meant Max was calling Lucas boring and Lucas insisting she had no taste. Eleven sat beside Max, combing her fingers through a bowl of M&M’s in strict color order. Nancy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed as she offered periodic commentary, half amused and half exhausted by the group’s indecision.
Robin stood behind the couch drumming her fingers along the backrest, eyes drifting toward you with the kind of knowing smirk that made you want to hide under a blanket. She’d been watching Steve all night like she was tracking wildlife behavior for a nature documentary.
And Steve—Steve had claimed the floor beside you the moment everyone settled. He hadn’t even pretended to consider another spot. He’d just dropped down next to you, close enough that your knees brushed whenever either of you shifted. Every now and then you felt the light press of his shoulder barely grazing yours, the warmth of him almost magnetic. He looked relaxed, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the tension coiled beneath the easy slouch. He wasn’t just sitting near you; he was waiting.
The chaos around you built into its usual storm of voices, and you let yourself sink into the noise until it felt like background static. You were comfortable like this—surrounded by people you trusted, tucked into a corner where nothing demanded too much of you. Steve must’ve sensed the way your shoulders unknotted, because he leaned in slightly, voice pitched softer than the rest. “Hey,” he murmured, letting the word drift just for you. “You holding up with all these maniacs fighting about cinema like it’s life or death?”
You smiled, looking down at your hands for a moment. “I’ve witnessed worse. Dustin tried to convince me Star Wars counts as a Thanksgiving movie.”
Steve snorted, head tipping just a little closer. “He tried that on me too. Henderson logic is a dangerous thing.”
The way he said it—soft and amused, with that small, private grin—made your cheeks warm. You felt it before you could control it, and you ducked your head slightly, pretending to focus on Max and Lucas arguing in the middle of the room. Max pointed her movie case at Lucas like a weapon. “This is a classic. You have no taste.”
Lucas folded his arms. “You say that about everything you like.”
“That’s because I’m right.”
Robin leaned closer to Nancy and muttered, “I’m taking bets on when this turns into a wrestling match.”
Steve laughed under his breath, then looked back at you. The basement noise faded as his attention settled directly on you, the air shifting in that fluttery way it always did when he got close. His knee nudged yours—gentle, deliberate. You looked up, and the moment your eyes met, something tender flickered across his face.
He angled toward you fully now, ignoring the group entirely. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to—”
“Oh my god.” Dustin’s voice ricocheted down the stairs like a missile.
Steve closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in a despair that bordered on spiritual defeat. You startled just slightly as Dustin burst into the basement carrying two bags of popcorn and a bowl of something that was probably too sticky to be allowed near the carpet.
“I got snacks!” Dustin declared triumphantly. “Mike, move over! Will, stop drawing sad trees! Everyone, I have news!”
Robin groaned. “Here we go.”
Nancy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do we want to know?”
Dustin ignored everyone and marched directly toward you and Steve. “Okay, so, you’re all gonna think this is genius, because it is,” he announced, setting the popcorn in the middle of the floor like it was an offering to the gods. “I mixed extra sugar into the caramel corn so we can stay awake through Lucas’ boring movie pick.”
Lucas sputtered. “It’s not boring!”
Max kicked him lightly. “It’s very boring.”
Steve tried to inhale, tried to restart the thing he’d been about to say, but Dustin plopped down between the two of you before he could get a syllable out, wedging himself with a full-body flop. Steve’s head snapped toward the ceiling like he was pleading for divine help.
“Dude,” Steve said weakly, “I—I was literally talking—”
“Great, you can finish later,” Dustin chirped while shoving popcorn into Steve’s hands. “Right now we need someone to test if the caramel-to-corn ratio is perfect.”
Robin snickered from behind the couch. “That’s the face of a man in agony.” Steve shot her a death glare. Robin only winked.
You sat very still, aware of how drastically the moment had shifted. Steve’s knee no longer brushed yours. His shoulder was no longer angled toward you. His expression, however, still carried that raw, half-exposed something he’d tried so hard to reveal before the interruption.
He looked at you again, a brief, fragile glance over Dustin’s head—apology, longing, frustration, all tangled together. You smiled gently, a small reassurance even if the moment was lost. His chest eased, just a bit.
Dustin, oblivious, leaned back between you both. “Okay! So. Who’s ready for a triple-feature?!”
Mike groaned loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. Eleven offered a polite but confused nod. Will kept drawing. Nancy debated walking out. Lucas and Max started another argument. Robin leaned over the couch, whispering something at Steve that made him mutter a threat with no real bite.
And you sat there, tucked between your friends and your brother, with Steve only inches away behind an accidental Dustin-shaped barricade.
Another moment ruined.
Another truth postponed.
But Steve caught your eye again, a small promise resting quietly behind the frustration. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not at all.
And you found yourself hoping—maybe for the first time—that Dustin might eventually take a snack break long enough for everything to finally fall into place.
---
A Saturday afternoon at your place was usually a safe bet for quiet, especially when Dustin wasn’t home. He’d taken off earlier with Lucas and Mike, something about a “high-stakes campaign planning session,” which meant you finally had a few hours where the house wasn’t vibrating with teenage enthusiasm. Steve had stopped by under the guise of “checking on that toolbox he left in the garage,” even though you both knew he’d left it on purpose the last time he was here.
You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a gentle buzz of nerves threading through your chest. He was closer than usual—not subtle about it, either. His knee brushed yours whenever he shifted, and he kept glancing over with this determined little crease between his brows. You could tell he’d spent all morning psyching himself up to try again.
He cleared his throat and leaned toward you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he needed to keep them steady. “So I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice softer than the TV hum filling the room. “There’s something I’ve, uh… wanted to ask you. For a while.”
Your breath caught, your pulse fluttering. You met his eyes, and the look there—hesitant, hopeful, warm—made the room feel smaller. You felt him gather courage, felt something inside you answer it without needing words.
His knee bumped yours again, this time deliberate. “I just— when it’s us, like this… I feel—”
The front door slammed open so hard the hinges squealed. “There you are!” Max’s voice echoed down the hallway.
Steve’s shoulders sagged with the kind of dramatic despair that would’ve been funny if your heart hadn’t been thumping so hard a moment before. You both sat up straighter as Max stormed in, Eleven close behind her, both flushed from the walk and carrying enough urgency to power the whole house.
“Okay,” Max announced breathlessly, hands on her hips, “we need a ride.”
Eleven nodded with solemn intensity. “Very important.”
Steve blinked. “Why… why do you need a ride?”
“Because Robin said it was a good idea,” Max said, as if that answered everything.
You frowned. “Where is Robin?”
A beat later, Robin burst in through the still-open door, out of breath and dramatically pointing at the girls like an indictment. “They asked me first. But I don’t drive. And I told them that. Repeatedly.”
Eleven stepped forward with wide, pleading eyes. “Mall?”
Steve groaned into his hands. “Right now?”
Max crossed her arms, fully annoyed. “Yes, right now. We need new tape for Eleven’s headphones, a book I have to return, and Robin wants pretzels. Also, I’m bored.”
Robin raised a finger. “The pretzels are a necessary part of this trip. Not optional.”
Steve exhaled, long and pained, rubbing his face like fate had personally wronged him. You watched him, and even though frustration drew tight lines around his mouth, you saw the faint flicker of something else—desperation. Not for escape, but for the moment he’d been trying so hard to build. He’d almost done it this time. He had been right there, the words practically in the air between you when the cavalry burst in.
Max stepped closer. “Can you take us?”
You opened your mouth, but Steve sat up quickly, eyes wide. “Wait, she doesn’t have to. I can—”
“Nope,” Max interrupted. “We saw your car on the street. There’s a giant metal pipe sticking out the window and it looks like someone attacked your backseat with a screwdriver.”
Steve blanched. “That was Dustin’s… whatever. I told him not to—”
Eleven nodded solemnly. “It is broken.”
“It’s not broken,” Steve protested weakly, then looked at you with a kind of pleading horror. “Please don’t let them make you drive them. You don’t have to—”
Robin clapped her hands together. “You’re literally the only one here with a functioning car and a valid license.”
Max added, “also the only one we trust with directions.”
Eleven finished with, “Please? Please, please?”
Their combined staring was intense enough to melt steel. You sighed softly, looking at Steve with an apologetic tilt of your head. “It’s okay. I can take them.”
Steve’s mouth opened like he wanted to protest again, but something gentler ran through his expression. He softened, sitting back a little like he didn’t want to push. “Only if you want to,” he said quietly, voice low enough for just you.
“I don’t mind,” you said, even though part of you did—not the drive itself, but the interruption, the way the moment had slipped through your fingers again just when it felt like it might finally settle.
Max grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door. “Yes! Thank you.”
Robin followed, muttering about soft pretzels and cinnamon sugar. Eleven smiled at you like you were the solution to every problem she’d ever had. You moved toward the doorway, keys in hand, but paused when you felt a gentle touch on your wrist. Steve had stepped after you, stopping you with light fingers that traced warmth across your skin. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours with that same earnest something from earlier, “when you get back… can we finish that conversation?”
The question hit you softly, settling under your ribs in a place already warm for him. You nodded. “Yeah. We can.”
A slow, relieved smile spread across his face, not the charming one he used to flirt or joke, but something smaller, realer—something just for you.
Robin’s voice echoed from outside. “Let’s go, I’m starving!”
You stepped away from Steve and toward the chaos gathering around your car, but you looked back once. He stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, trying and failing to hide the way he was smiling. This time, you knew the moment wouldn’t slip away forever. It was waiting for you. So was he.
---
The mall on a Saturday was a maze of sound — laughter echoing off tile, music thumping faintly from different stores, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the chatter of people weaving around one another like they were all part of some vast busy hive. The second you stepped inside with Max, Eleven, and Robin, it felt like stepping into a warm wave of noise and movement. Max immediately scanned the storefronts like a general surveying a battlefield, Eleven stayed close to your side with quiet determination, and Robin pointed at the pretzel shop with the single-minded hunger of someone who had already been thinking about it for hours.
The girls moved quickly, practically dragging you along, their energy sweeping you forward before you even realized you were fully inside. The light overhead was bright, reflecting off the glossy floor, and you adjusted to it slowly, breathing in the smell of cinnamon sugar and perfume samples drifting from the nearby department store. Even with the crowd, the moment felt surprisingly calm—nothing like the monster-hunting days, nothing like the chaos of Dustin’s science experiments or the loud clusters of voices in the Wheeler basement. Just… the mall. Just a typical weekend afternoon.
Max took the lead, weaving down the walkway toward the bookstore. “This won’t take long,” she promised, even though her tone strongly suggested she planned to browse. “I just need to drop off the return, maybe look at the new releases, maybe check the comics—"
Robin groaned dramatically. “I’m going to starve before the pretzels. And then who’s gonna explain to Steve that you let me die of hunger in a suburban mall? He’ll never forgive you.”
Eleven blinked up at you. “She needs pretzels first,” she said with the same seriousness she used when discussing mind flayers.
You smiled because you knew it was hopeless to try changing their priorities. “Okay. Pretzels first, then the bookstore.”
Robin fist-pumped like she’d just won a war. “Yes. Justice prevails.”
You led the way toward the food court, letting the steady hum of conversation settle around you. Eleven walked close enough that her sleeve brushed yours every few steps, her eyes darting between the crowds with a watchfulness that came from experience, not fear. Max strode ahead, confident and unbothered, her ponytail swinging behind her with each purposeful movement.
When you reached the pretzel stand, Robin stepped forward eagerly. “Four pretzels,” she told the teenager behind the counter. “One cinnamon, one butter, one salted, and one mystery pick for Eleven.”
The kid blinked, confused. “Mystery pick?”
Robin waved broadly. “Dealer’s choice. Make it fun.” Max rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Eleven seemed excited by the idea, gaze fixed on the warming racks with awe.
You helped gather napkins and drinks while everyone else debated who got which pretzel, though Eleven’s mystery pretzel was so coated in cheese that Robin declared it a masterpiece of culinary chaos. You all found an empty table near the railing overlooking the lower floor, and the four of you sat down, the air filled with warmth and chatter that felt strangely comforting.
Max took a bite of her pretzel before pointing it at you. “So what were you and Steve talking about before we barged in?”
Robin inhaled sharply and kicked Max lightly under the table. “We don’t ask those questions.”
“But I just did,” Max said, completely unapologetic. “I’m curious.”
Eleven tilted her head. “You and Steve were sitting very close.”
Heat crept up the back of your neck, and you tried to hide it by taking a long sip of your drink. “We were just talking,” you said softly, though you felt the weight of the truth under your ribs. You were almost talking about something else—something bigger—and that weight felt warm in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all.
Max watched you knowingly, like she was piecing together a puzzle she’d already solved. “Uh-huh. Sure. Talking.”
Robin sighed with the posture of someone carrying too much knowledge. “We’re not interrogating her. We’re here for snacks, not emotional espionage.”
You wanted to thank her, but before you could, Eleven leaned in with genuine curiosity. “Do you like him?”
Your breath caught, and the world seemed to soften—not collapse, not tighten, just… soften. The noise of the mall blurred into a distant hum, and your hands stilled around the napkin you were folding subconsciously.
Max kicked her under the table. “El! You can’t just ask!”
Eleven frowned. “Why not? If she likes him, she should say.” Robin groaned but didn’t disagree.
You set the napkin down slowly, heart thumping against your ribs in that quiet, fluttery way it always did whenever Steve said your name a little too gently or leaned just a little too close. “I… I don’t know,” you said, though that wasn’t the truth. You knew. You just weren’t used to saying it out loud. “Maybe.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Maybe yes?”
You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “Maybe… yes.”
Robin slapped her palms on the table and grinned like she’d been waiting for this revelation for months. “Finally. Emotional progress. Steve is going to combust when he hears that.”
You stared at her. “Robin!”
“What? He’s still alive. Mostly. Probably pacing in your living room right now practicing a speech.”
Eleven smiled brightly, lifting her pretzel. “I am happy,” she said, content and certain.
Max leaned back in her chair with smug satisfaction. “Called it.”
Despite the embarrassing warmth on your face, you felt something untangle inside you—something quiet, hopeful, and strangely steady. Saying it aloud didn’t feel as terrifying as you’d expected. If anything, it felt like you’d opened a small door that had been waiting for too long.
Robin nudged your foot under the table. “Finish your pretzel,” she said playfully. “We should get back soon. Wouldn’t want to keep loverboy waiting.”
You groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway.
And across the mall, beyond the noise and the shining floors and the crowds moving in every direction, you found yourself thinking not about monsters or interruptions or whatever chaos awaited at home—but about Steve.
And the conversation he’d asked to finish.
---
Dustin had invited Lucas, Mike, and Will over with the promise of “the most important campaign decision of their lives,” which meant the basement was already cluttered with graph paper, dice, snack wrappers, and an unnecessary number of pencils. They were mid-argument about whether the party should take the mountain pass or the hidden forest trail when Steve wandered down the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets, pacing with a restless energy that immediately caught Dustin’s attention.
“Why are you down here?” Dustin asked, squinting at him suspiciously from behind his Dungeon Master screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be home? Or at work? Or not pacing around my basement like you’re trying to burn a hole into the carpet?”
Steve ignored him, and that alone was weird enough that Mike, Lucas, and Will exchanged glances. Steve never ignored Dustin. Not unless something had gone very, very wrong.
Steve raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He crossed the room, turned around, crossed it again, muttering under his breath. “She said we’d talk later. Later. Which could mean anything. What if something happens? What if she changes her mind? What if—”
Will’s pencil rolled off the table as he slowly lowered it. Mike froze mid-chew with a pretzel rod sticking out of his mouth. Lucas leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Dustin set his pencil down slowly, staring at Steve with an expression that drew gradually from confusion into dawning horror. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for the apocalypse?”
Steve stopped pacing. “I mean—it might be. For me.”
Mike slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Lucas elbowed him hard. Will quietly slid his chair just a few inches farther away from the table.
Dustin rose from his seat like someone being pulled upward by invisible strings. His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “Steve. What did you do.”
Steve swallowed. “Okay, so don’t freak out—”
Instant freak-out. Dustin threw his hands up. “Why would you say that? Why would you say that unless there is something to freak out about?”
Will stood. Mike stood. Lucas stood. It was like watching prey animals rise together, ready to bolt.
Steve ran both hands down his face and groaned. “I didn’t do anything. I tried to do something. But, like… the universe hates me. Every time I get close, someone interrupts. Mostly you. Actually, almost always you.”
Dustin blinked twice. “Interrupts what?”
Steve held up a finger like he was about to explain something complicated. “Okay. Just listen. I wanted to talk to her—”
Will paled. Lucas’s eyes widened. Mike mouthed oh no under his breath.
“—because I really like—”
“No.” Dustin cut him off, both hands raised like he was physically blocking the words. “No. No, no, no. You’re not—you can’t—that’s my sister!” He said it like it was a curse, a prophecy, and a threat rolled into one.
Steve exhaled, bracing himself. “Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know. But I—”
Mike took a step toward the stairs. Lucas followed. Will whispered, “should we… leave?”
Mike nodded slowly. “We should leave.”
But Dustin wasn’t paying attention to anything except the tidal wave of emotion crashing over him. He advanced on Steve like a general ready to declare war. “You can’t like her!” Dustin yelled, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “She’s my sister! There are rules!”
Steve threw up his hands. “What rules?”
“The unwritten ones!”
Lucas tugged Will toward the stairs. “Back away slowly.”
“Already doing that,” Will whispered, clutching his sketchbook to his chest.
Mike didn’t even whisper. “Steve, this is gonna be bad. Good luck,” he said before sprinting up the stairs and abandoning him entirely.
Dustin kept going, and Steve kept retreating until his back hit the wall. “You can’t—you can’t just date her! What if you break up? What if things get weird? What if she gets hurt? What if you hurt her? I can't—I can’t be stuck in the middle of that!” Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Dustin didn’t give him a chance. “And I swear—I swear— if you ever hurt her, I will kill you.”
Steve blinked. “Dustin, you can’t even reach my neck.”
“I’ll use a ladder!”
Steve threw his hands up. “Oh my god—listen! I would never hurt her. Ever. I like her. I’ve liked her. For a long time. Okay? That’s why I’m freaking out. That’s why I’m pacing. Because I’m terrified. Not of you—”
“Oh really?” Dustin snapped, crossing his arms.
“—but of her.”
Dustin paused. “Her?”
Steve nodded emphatically. “Yes! Do you remember the demogorgon? Because I do. I watched your sister take a baseball bat with nails in it and swing so hard the thing went flying. I have nightmares about that moment sometimes. She was feral.”
Dustin hesitated. “…okay, yeah, that was cool.”
“It was terrifying!”
“Also cool,” Dustin corrected, but the fire behind his words had dimmed. He stopped pacing, shoulders dropping slightly as the panic drained from his face. “She really was awesome that day.”
Steve softened, his voice calmer now. “I like her because she’s… her. And she deserves someone who actually pays attention. Someone who cares about her, and wants to make her feel safe, and doesn’t push her to be someone she’s not. I’m trying to be that person. But every time I try to tell her how I feel, you interrupt and drag me to test an antenna or fix a wire or—”
“That was important,” Dustin muttered weakly.
“It really wasn’t!”
Dustin went quiet. He looked at Steve, really looked at him, as if seeing him differently for the first time. The frantic defensiveness slowly melted into something begrudging, conflicted, but not outright hostile. After a long silence, Dustin let out a tired breath. “You really like her.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”
“And you’re not gonna screw it up.”
Steve shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
Dustin pressed his lips together, thinking hard, weighing his loyalty to you against his loyalty to Steve. Eventually he let out a groan loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. “Fine! Fine. But I swear, Harrington, if you hurt her—”
“I know,” Steve said quickly. “Ladder. Got it.”
Dustin pointed at him one last time. “And my point still stands!”
“Which point?”
“That she’s scarier than I’ll ever be.”
Steve actually laughed, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours. “Yeah. She is.”
Dustin huffed, then turned toward the stairs. “I need a snack. And time to emotionally process this.”
From the top of the stairs, Mike’s voice drifted back down. “Is it safe to come back?”
“No!” Dustin shouted, slamming the door behind him.
And Steve let out a long, relieved breath—because the hardest part was over. Now all he had to do was actually talk to you.
---
You returned home before sunset, the sky outside tinted gold and pink as the heat of the day finally began to fade. The girls piled out of your car with arms full of pretzels, shopping bags, and the chaotic energy of teenagers loose in a mall. Max jogged ahead toward the front door, Eleven lingered close to you with a quiet smile, and Robin walked backward while lecturing both of them about “the importance of proper snack distribution in a household ecosystem.”
But the moment you stepped inside, the energy shifted. Something hung in the air—not tension, exactly, but a strange, anticipatory stillness. The lights in the living room were on. The TV was off. Steve was perched on the edge of the couch like he’d been waiting for hours and didn’t know what to do with his hands, his posture, or his entire existence.
Dustin stood beside him, arms crossed, nodding solemnly like he had just finished delivering a very long speech. All three girls froze mid-step.
Steve shot to his feet the second he saw you. “Hey. You’re back.”
You blinked, half smiling. “Yeah. We—"
“You,” Dustin interrupted loudly, pointing at Steve with one hand and at you with the other, “need to talk. Now. Immediately. Right now.”
You stared at him. “Dustin?”
Dustin nodded with the seriousness of a courtroom judge. “I’ve… reflected.” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “And I have decided that I am granting you two permission to have a conversation without interruptions.”
Robin’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh god. He found out, didn’t he.”
Max elbowed Eleven and whispered, “told you.”
Steve’s face turned the shade of someone who had been emotionally waterboarded all afternoon. “Reflected,” he muttered. “He screamed at me for twenty minutes.”
Dustin glared at him. “Emotional reflection is loud sometimes.”
Robin snorted. Max barely held in a laugh. Eleven leaned close and whispered, “he must’ve been very loud.”
Dustin cleared his throat theatrically and stepped forward like he was taking center stage. “Anyway,” he said, arms spreading with dramatic flair, “I am officially leaving the premises. As are the rest of you.” He pointed toward the door like a tiny general evacuating troops. “Go. All of you. Get out. I need this to happen so my sister stops looking at Steve like a kicked puppy and Steve stops pacing grooves into our floor.”
Your face went hot. “Dustin!”
“What?” he said. “It’s embarrassing. For both of you. Fix it.”
Steve groaned into his hands.
Max shrugged and headed for the hallway. “Come on. Let’s leave the awkward adults alone.”
Eleven nodded gravely. “Important moment.”
Robin gave Steve a long, slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t choke, dingus.”
And just like that, the girls disappeared down the hall. Dustin lingered one more second, squinting at Steve like a overprotective watchdog. “Remember,” he warned, “I will absolutely end you if—”
“I know!” Steve snapped. “Ladder. Got it.”
“Good.” Dustin huffed, then looked at you, softened, and squeezed your arm gently. “He’s nervous. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” you murmured.
Steve made a strangled noise. Dustin pointed at him one more time, then marched off after the others. And then there was silence. The house felt suddenly huge. The space between you and Steve felt even bigger. He let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you with a dozen emotions flickering across his face—fear, hope, determination, affection. “So,” he said, voice rough but warm, “we… finally have a minute.”
You stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind you. “We do.”
He didn’t sit. He didn’t pace. He stayed exactly where he was, like moving even a step might break whatever fragile, shimmering moment had finally landed in his hands. “Look,” he started, letting his arms fall to his sides, “I’ve been trying to tell you something for—actually, I don’t even know how long anymore. Weeks? Months? A while. And I kept messing it up. Or people kept messing it up. Mostly Henderson.”
You breathed out a soft laugh. “He does that.”
“He does,” Steve agreed. Then his expression shifted—softer now, more sure. “But I’m glad he’s not here right now. Because I… I don’t want to keep dancing around this.”
You looked up at him, and the way he stared back made your chest tighten with something warm and heavy and sweet.
He took a steady breath. “I like you,” he said simply, without theatrics or stumbling, every word shaped with sincerity. “I really, really like you. More than I meant to. More than I planned to. Definitely more than I told Dustin when he cornered me today.”
You blinked, startled. “He cornered you?”
“Oh yeah. Full interrogation mode. I thought he was gonna map out my emotional failings on a chalkboard.” He shook his head, then took another step toward you, closing the distance until he was right in front of you—close enough to feel the quiet warmth radiating between you.
Your breath caught.
Steve swallowed, voice dropping softer. “And I know you’re… you. You get quiet. And nervous. And sometimes I can’t tell what you’re thinking. But I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes. The same way I probably look at you. And I just—I needed you to know. Even if it freaked you out. Even if it scared me to say it.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest, skipping unevenly as you tried to gather your voice. “It doesn’t freak me out.”
He smiled—small, startled, almost relieved. “No?”
You shook your head, letting your eyes meet his without dropping away this time. “I… like you too.”
The warmth that spread across his face was immediate—bright, soft, disbelieving in a way that made something inside you loosen and settle all at once. He let out a breath he had clearly been holding for far too long, his shoulders dropping as tension melted from them.
He reached for your hand slowly, giving you room to pull back. You didn’t. His fingers brushed yours, then curled around them gently—warm and steady, not asking for anything more than the space you chose to give. “I was really scared you’d say no,” he admitted quietly.
“I was scared you’d get tired of trying,” you whispered.
He laughed under his breath—a soft, breathless sound—and shook his head. “Not a chance.”
The moment stretched comfortably, a soft glow settling between you both like something that had been waiting a long time to finally land. Then, from down the hall, “is it safe yet!?” Dustin shouted.
Steve groaned, squeezing your hand. “He’s going to make this so complicated.”
You smiled—full, warm, a little shy but no longer afraid of the feeling settling inside your chest. “We’ll handle him.”
Steve grinned. “Yeah. We will.”
And this time, nothing interrupted the moment you shared—warm hands, quiet breath, and the certainty that this was only the beginning.
everything taglist: @clxt-lamb1 @person-005
i'll be making a steve taglist! if you want to be added you can comment down below :)
we know Tyler’s huge when he’s a Hyde but even as a human he’s got a monster dick🫦 girthy and fills u up every time, not letting a single drop go to waste
not a request, just wanted to share hehe
🫠🫠
I know you said not a request however i saw this on my break and couldn’t help but indulge.
🧸
The first time you took Tyler home, you thought you understood what you were in for. You’d seen him lean against the counter at the Weathervane, forearms flexing under rolled sleeves, broad shoulders stretching flannel, all that lazy charm hiding something hungrier underneath. You’d thought: big. But you hadn’t known how big.
Now you did.
Your back arched against the sheets, thighs trembling around his hips as he bottomed out again, slow and merciless. Every inch of him pressed into you, stretching you to the point of burning. Your body clamped down reflexively, too full, too much, and it made his jaw tighten, eyes half-lidded as he watched your face crumple.
“God, look at you,” he rasped, voice gravel rough. “So fucking stuffed you can’t even think straight.”
He wasn’t wrong. Your thoughts were shards of sensation , the drag of his cock along your walls, the relentless pressure of being filled to the hilt, the way your clit throbbed just from the movement. You’d already come once, maybe twice; time had blurred. Your body was raw with it, nerves lit up like wires.
“Ty” His name cracked in your throat. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. “I can’t”
“Yes, you can,” he cut in, almost gentle, though his thrust didn’t slow. “You’re taking it. Every inch. You were made for this.”
He pulled back just enough that you could feel the stretch all over again, then pushed in, grinding deep. The sound that tore from your lips was half sob, half moan. His smile was dark, wolfish.
“You feel that?” His hand slid down your belly, pressing low, right where he could feel himself inside you. Your eyes flew wide. “That’s me. Filling you so full I can touch it from the outside. No one else is ever gonna do that to you.”
Tears stung your eyes, but not from pain. From the sheer overwhelming flood of it — sensation and possession tangled together until you could barely breathe. Your nails dug into his skin, useless against the steady roll of his hips.
“Please,” you gasped, though you didn’t know what you were asking for ,mercy, more, release. Maybe all of it.
He bent low, mouth at your ear. “You think I’m letting a single drop go to waste?” His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. “Not a chance.”
The words sent another shock through you, clenching around him hard enough to make him groan. He fucked you through it, chasing the way your body seized and fluttered, too sensitive, wrung out, but still greedy for him.
“You’re mine,” he ground out, pace rougher now, his control slipping. “Every sound, every shake, mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you gasped, voice breaking.
“Again.”
“I’m yours.”
He kissed you then, swallowing the cry that ripped from your throat as you came again, too fast, too sharp. Your body convulsed around him, overstimulated to the point of pain, but he held you through it, groaning into your mouth as he finally gave in, spilling hot and deep inside you. He stayed buried to the hilt, holding you pinned, his chest heaving against yours.
Silence fell, broken only by your ragged breaths. You felt his release trickling, messy and hot, and whimpered at the sensation. He shifted just enough to press his lips to your temple.
“Shh,” he murmured, still inside you, one hand stroking your damp hair back from your face. “I’ve got you. You did so good.”
You clung to him, still trembling, and he stayed with you , heavy, grounding, possessive in a way that felt more like protection than a cage.
No one had ever left you this undone. No one had ever filled you so completely, body and mind, until you couldn’t imagine being anyone’s but his.
And Tyler knew it. You saw it in his eyes as he finally eased out, catching every drop on his fingers before anything could spill, pushing it back into you with a dark, satisfied smirk.
shifts at weathervane with tyler were always interesting,
from fixing the broken coffee machine at early hours of the morning, used coffee grounds flying into tylers eyes, youd spend an hour trying to blow it out, the forced close proximity causing him to stutter and falter, your hand cupping his cheek while the other pulled his waterline down.
you knew you had an affect on him, and you used it to your best advantage.
or was it fucking in the back of the supply closet before opening, that made it interesting?
ruffling your apron and leaving his hair in knots, tyler holding one of your legs up for better pleasure while the other forced to keep you up straight as your knees buckled.
“fuck baby- almost there”
he’d grunt as your underwear pushed to the side rubbed against his cock everytime he slid into you, rutting into your tight cunt as he watched your eyes roll back, your hips rolling as your nails dug into his shoulders.
relentlessly moaning out his name and cussing at the same time, as your orgasm washed over you, tyler fucking you through it as his own caught up to him
“youre on the pill right?” he exhaled out, almost too late to ask.
“mmh” satisfied, he squeezed your ass
“atta girl” nibbling on the very tip of your ear, before you let go and dusted yourself off, straightening your uniform and making your way to the front, tyler grabbed your arm, gazing at you,
words caught up in his throat, he couldnt swallow them down,
but he couldnt seem to get them out either.
“whats wrong?” you tilted your head.
tyler shook his head sending you off, he couldnt find the courage to ask you out,
but somehow had the courage to fuck your brains out before closing up later.
I never would have started this blog if it weren't for the amazing authors on here, so I decided to create a reading list of my favorite fanfics so you can all enjoy them and maybe get inspired as well.
Unfortunately, I cannot read 20k wpm like Reid does, so I try to update regularly! (also, don't forget to check out my fics if you're at it x)
Spencer Reid
right kind of wrong by @incognit0slut
better off as lovers by @eideticmemory
diva by @nereidprinc3ss
strange perfections @nereidprinc3ss
bandages request by @nereidprinc3ss
rumoured nights by @fortheloveofwonderland
summer heat by @fortheloveofwonderland
diphenhydramine by @pathologicalreid
swept off your feet by @foxy-eva
that wasn't fake by @aperrywilliams
accidents by @tinystarbites
in need by @misserabella
where fear fades by @darkmatilda
as time goes by by @parfaitblogs
i've got my eye on you by @reidmotif
pornstar by @missarchive
hypothalamus by @reidrum
not a mask, but a reflection by @esote-rika
camgirl request by @palmerzy
crazy little thing cold love by @burymagdalene
Aaron Hotchner
like cherries in the spring by @aureatelys
red light kiss by @aureatelys
what happens in alaska stays in alaska by @minswriting
Chat, is it considered “abusive roommate behavior” to release a raccoon into the living space after you have asked your roommate for months to please clean up their messes (they do not pay any of the mortgage)
For context, when I used to live alone I would do something called “Princess Time” where I would do an initial sweep (to remove any significant hazards) and then I would release a raccoon into the living area and clean. This helped because I would 1) feel like a princess and 2) the raccoon would bring attention to things my ADHD brain had decided to ignore and I’d quickly clean that stuff up.
So like, if I’m expected to clean the house now, I will be doing it in the way that is most effective for me. And anything that has not been cleaned up after months of having sit-down talks and sending reminders and being promised things will change, might be deemed “trash” by the trash panda and thrown away.
We haven’t done since we moved into the house, because I didn’t want to cause my roommate or their cats destress or have their things destroyed by a raccoon
I am a raccoon biologist and one of the few people in the state allowed to take in captive bred raccoons that had been possessed illegally. The raccoon in the photos is Moonshine, but she is currently at the animal sanctuary where I work as I had been quarantining multiple new intakes from an abuse case. I still have two males (Rum Tum Tugger and Electra) left in my home enclosure as we are getting them neutered and then hopefully sending them to an AZA accredited zoo.
I wanna make things very clear that underneath all the whimsy, I am a trained professional.
weird as fuck living in a culture where it's considered more impolite to speak up and defend yourself against someone treating you unfairly than it is for someone to be rude to you in the first place
older family members, coworkers, customers, and strangers in general can say the most batshit insane things to your face and somehow you're considered to be the "rude" one if you say "hey that wasn't cool of you to say"
“ooh garlic salt isn’t real” yeah well neither is your MARRIAGE after i’m done FUCKING YOUR HUSBAND and afterwards he eats my delicious cooking that i seasoned with GARLIC SALT. FUCK YOU
i think. you sent this to the wrong person. but im enamoured with your energy. you can have my metaphorical husband you deserve her
Sugar daddy Hotch!!! I feel like he'd be the type of person to be like "Honey, I know that that's what these kind of relationships tend to be based on, but you absolutely don't have to have sex with me... I know there's an age gap, so if you don't feel comfortable..." and you're just standing next to him like. "Huh? Sorry I wasn't listening, I was too busy thinking about climbing you like a tree. Can we fuck now please?"
well i think realistically he wouldn't have sought out a sugar baby unless he wanted to have sex w them so i don't think he'd just give you free money but he absolutely is willing to let you get settled before you ever do anything. he'll start you off on a weekly payment and tell you to enjoy the first few and get comfortable with him, he promises he's not gonna show up at the door and take you on the couch before you're ready. meanwhile the first time you spoke on the phone with him you were ready, god you almost stuck your hand down your pants just hearing his deep, smooth voice.
the first time you meet he offers you wine and he promises that he won't do a thing if you end up getting tipsy and you don't even have to drink in the first place if you don't want to. you're more than happy to sip for some courage and you end up draped all over his lap on the couch. you're not even drunk you just want to be there. he thinks you're buttering him up because you think that's what gets you the money, and i mean, eventually yeah, but he's pretty content with taking it slow. he puts one of his big hands on your face and thumbs at your chin to hold it in place while he murmurs, 'you don't have to do this, y'know. the money is yours, just get comfortable for now'.
all you're hearing is 'blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff'. it's right then and there that you lean up to kiss him. maybe a bad time considering the fact that he's trying to ease you into things but you've wanted to take this man to your penthouse and freak it for WEEKS NOW. you'd admit that you'd have sex with him for free but you do also kind of need the money so you're at least going to make sure he gets what he's paying for.
tbh if someone just handed me a pressure washer and set me loose in the streets i would go into a trance and just start hosing shit down indiscriminately. it's not a question of how much i could clean, but how long until i get hit by a car and die
