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[holawdw]

HOIST THE COLOURS

A STORY BY @xpeachsunsidex & @holawdw

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coming soon…

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Joe Keery as Steve Harrington STRANGER THINGS 4 (2022)

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Fruity Four Fandom, I believe in you. Redeem yourselves. Come back and Acknowledge Jonathan. You can do it I know you can.

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Always backing her up 🫶🏻

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[moonstoneandmoonlight]

I DON'T DANCE | steve harrington

Steve Harrington somehow ends up cast as one of the lead parts in the spring musical and you're tasked with teaching him how to dance.

pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 2.1k contains: high school musical au, king!steve, enemies to lovers (maybe), fluff, sexual tension, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader

author's note: request by my love @goldiwrites | this has been in my inbox for a little while and finally got an idea for it that i loved. this one is for my musical theatre girlies! also there is potential for a part two here, i have a few ideas...

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The fact that Steve Harrington had been cast as your partner in the spring musical pissed you off. A lot.

From what you had heard, he had lost a bet with Tommy and auditioned for one of the lead roles as a forfeit. Everyone had thought it would be laugh—the star of the basketball trying to sing, making a fool of myself. And so, the day Steve had auditioned, the auditorium filled up, ready to laugh at King Steve’s attempt at an audition for a musical.

But no one—absolutely no one— had expected for Steve Harrington to have an incredible singing voice. Even you were impressed.

But still, you had thought that singing alone wasn’t enough to land the lead role.

Turns out, you were dead wrong.

And now you were spending your Wednesday and Thursday lunches trying to teach Steve Harrington how to dance and not trip over his own feet, as if rehearsals for the show with him every Tuesday and Friday after school weren’t already enough.

Plus the fact that the show would end with a kiss between your characters—well, you were beginning to regret auditioning for the show in the first place.

“Steve!” You snap at him one Thursday lunchtime in the dance studio for stepping on your shoes for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. “Look at where you’re going—”

“—you told me to stop looking down at my feet—”

“—yeah, well you need to make sure that your big clown feet don’t break a toe—”

“—clown feet?!”

It would have been comical, if arguing with Steve didn’t make you want to strangle him.

It was six weeks before the spring musical and four weeks into rehearsals and Steve Harrington had managed to steal every bit of patience that you possessed.

To his credit, he wasn’t that bad of a dancer. He just didn’t like to listen to you. Or maybe he just preferred you when you were pissed off at him for not taking the dance practices seriously. But who could blame you for getting pissed? To him—this was just a stupid little musical he didn’t really want to be in and to you? This musical could be the difference between whether or not you got into college.

So yeah, Steve’s clown feet and his inability to listen to you were a fucking problem.

“Yeah, clown feet,” you retort irritability as you step away from him, needing space before you resorted to physical violence. “Let’s take it from the top and don’t fucking step on my toes again.”

Steve looked as though he wanted to argue with you but the borderline murderous look on your face stops him.

At least he had some sense about him.

Steve manages to do a complete run through of the dance without stepping on your toes once. He was getting better, even you could see that. But you certainly weren't going to kiss his ass like everyone else in Hawkins High did.

"Good," you say by way of a compliment as Steve can't help but look pleased with himself.

"Just good?" Steve asks, a little incredulous, almost offended that you weren't fawning over the fact he did possess an ability to listen to you. "C'mon, that deserved more than a 'good'."

You very nearly roll your eyes. God, you could not stand this guy and you had six more weeks of having to tolerate him.

You say nothing, glancing down at your watch to avoid looking at him.

"What's up with you today?" Steve asks you, nudging your arm and making you grit your teeth. "You're crankier than usual."

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, wishing more than anything that you were anywhere else in the world but here before you finally decide to look at him. "I'm fine. There's nothing up with me—"

"—is it because we're rehearsing the kiss is tomorrow?"

Your breath hitches. Everything seems to go very still, except your heart that starts trying to beat its way out of your chest. Traitorous thing.

You take perhaps five seconds to come to your senses, shaking your head before letting a loud laugh.

"Of course not," you say, despite the fact that your face had started feeling a little hot. "It's just a kiss, it's not that serious."

Steve quirks a brow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks back at you. You can't help but notice the small step that he takes towards you.

"I think you're nervous," Steve murmurs, less than a foot away from you now as he looks at you with eyes that you find yourself being unable to look away from.

"Why would I nervous, exactly?" You ask him, trying to keep your voice even despite the way your heart was still pounding in your chest. “Are you that bad at kissing?”

Something in Steve’s expression shifts, looking amused instead of annoyed at your jabs like he usually would.

“No,” he says softly, his eyes flickering over your face as though he was studying every one of your features carefully. “I’ve been told I’m a great kisser.”

“Sure,” you say, unamused as you look anywhere but at his lips. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles and then, before you can even blink—he leans in. Until his mouth is directly next to your ear, until you can hear every breath that he takes, until you can smell his ridiculously expensive cologne he wears, one that you couldn’t help but breathe in, the warm, musky vanillary scent filling your lungs.

“You wanna know what I think?” Steve asks you, his hot breath hitting your ear and making a heat that you didn’t quite know what to do with spread through your body.

You swallow, you pray that doesn’t Steve hear it. “You can do that? Well, colour me surprised.”

Steve laughs and the sound travels through you—warm and leaving your body tingling. You were having to remind yourself of all the reasons you didn’t like him—he was arrogant, he didn’t take the thing you cared about seriously and he had been stepping on your toes for the past fucking hour.

“I think,” Steve begins, his voice low and making that heat burn a little hotter inside of you. “I think you’re nervous about kissing me.”

You blink. For a moment, you don’t say a damn word. Everything in your body feels too hot and you’re quite sure that you have even forgotten how to breathe entirely.

“I’m not,” you say flatly after a beat, ignoring the way your heart was still racing from the close proximity.

“I think you are,” Steve hums, one of his large hands planting itself on your waist and making your body feel as though you were on fire, as though flames were licking at your skin, devouring your flesh. “I think you’ve been thinking about kissing me for weeks. I think you’ve heard the rumours about me and you want a taste for yourself.”

And there it was—the arrogance. God, you wanted to slap him. You wanted to slap that smug look off his face and do it again for good measure. Because he was a prick, nothing more than a hot jock who didn’t care that you had worked your ass off to get a role lead, didn’t care that your dreams of being on stage relied on this musical, something that he thought was stupid.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you snap back at him, ignoring your body’s reaction to him. You tell yourself it was just biology—a hot guy this close to you? Of course you were a little bit affected.

It was just biology.

“Yeah?” Steve asks you, the hand on your waist splaying across your back, pulling you an inch or so closer. “That so?”

He was so fucking smug and his hand on your body was making you feel things you didn’t want to. Not for him anyway.

“Yeah,” you say, moving your head slightly so that you could look right at him, reminding yourself once again who you were talking to.

Steve Harrington. King Steve. Whatever else people called him these days. The guy who had things so easy that he had landed a lead in a musical without even fucking trying.

“Because kissing you will mean nothing to me,” you tell him firmly. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

There was a moment, the briefest of seconds where Steve falters. You catch the way his lips part, brows furrow in confusion.

“Wait, what—”

You don’t give him any kind of explanation, nor do you give yourself even a second to question whether what you were about to do was incredibly stupid.

Your hands each up cup either side of his face, your fingers brushing against the slight stubble over his jaw before you lean in and press your lips firmly against his.

Steve seems to freeze against you, your lips moving against his and turning his insides to goo.

It was only when you began to lean back, starting to pull away from him that he finally came to his senses.

Steve pulls you toward him in by the hand that was splayed across your back, his other hand cupping the side of your neck as he presses his lips against yours. His mouth was warm, soft and insistent as his lips slide against yours, a subtle wetness there that had a syrupy warmth spreading through your gut.

It should have stopped there. You should have pulled away.

But instead, you felt your lips parting almost on instinct and Steve took the opportunity to slide his tongue into the wet heat of the mouth.

Neither of you could seem to help the noises you make at the first brush of tongues against each other. Steve groans in your mouth, his hand that was resting on the side of your neck moving to cup your jaw, titling your head back gently to deepen the kiss while you let out a small gasp, fingers trailing down to fist the front of his shirt, as if trying to pull him closer.

It wasn't sweet and it certainly wasn't pretty—it was needy. It was something akin to desperation. Both of your lips slick with spit and leaving your body thrumming for more.

It was just as Steve's hand moved to pull you closer, pull you flush against him that you finally—finally—forced yourself to pull away. And Steve Harrington—King Steve, Captain of the basketball team, the Keg Stand King—his lips chase yours, capturing them for another hungry, searing kiss. One that you feel in every nerve throughout your body, one that leaves your lips tingling. Steve dives right back in, sucking on your tongue and pulling a small whimper from you.

"Knew it," he murmurs against your mouth, "I fucking knew it."

He leans back in, ready for more but you place a hand on his chest, stopping him from doing so.

Your chest was heaving, your lips bee stung and wet with a mix of your spit but you refused to give him.

"See?" You say, a little breathless as you pull away from him fully, the distance doing little to help the warmth that had spread throughout your body. "Means nothing to me."

Steve looks back at you, his hazel eyes wide and staring at you as though seeing you in a whole new light. There was something, something there in his expression that you couldn't quite read. It made you swallow and you had to look away from him.

"Nothing?" Steve asks, trying to catch your eyes as you cross the dance studio to grab your bag. "Are you—"

"—I'm sure," you interrupt before he could finish his sentence. "That meant nothing to me."

Steve, for the first time, looks unsure of what to say. For a second, you wonder if you had hurt his feelings but then you remembered that this was Steve Harrington. He didn't need validation from a girl like you.

"I'll see you at rehearsals tomorrow," you say before Steve could even open his mouth to respond.

And then—you leave the studio with a second glance.

You miss the way Steve watches you as you leave. The way he lifts his hand to brush his fingers over his swollen lips, the way he can't bring himself to move from the spot where you had kissed him.

Because maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington had just had the best kiss of his damn life.

And it had meant nothing to you.

Fuck, Steve thought as his stomach turned with something that felt too close to disappointment for his liking. He was fucked. He was truly and utterly fucked.

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[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

MY MAN ON WILLPOWER steve harrington x fem!reader (wc: 5.0k)

summary: steve harrington used to be literally obsessed with you, but you’re suddenly the least sought after girl in the land — or at least in hawkins. warnings: pre-established relationship, set during season 5, no use of y/n, angst with comfort, swearing, non-sexual nudity, mentions of sex but no smut, miscommunication, use of pet names (honey, baby).

—

steve harrington was the blueprint of a perfect boyfriend.

keyword: was.

he always called every morning and night. always held your hand in crowds, and he drove you everywhere, even when you said he didn’t have to. he’d take you out for dinner, or sometimes he’d attempt to cook you dinner himself.

he took care of you in every way he could. he clung to your side every day, and held you close each night. you didn’t know how any of that could ever change.

you had started dating just a couple months before the earthquake that split your small town of hawkins, indiana four ways to sunday. back in january of 1986, steve harrington had been, at least in your eyes, the most perfect man on earth.

you had met him the same way he met most of his dates back then, by walking into family video, where he had been working at the time.

sure, you had heard of steve harrington before that. you went to hawkins high between the years of 1981 and 1985, after all. everyone knew 'king steve', even after he had lost the title, the friends, and the popularity, he wasn't exactly forgettable.

years of whispers in crowded school hallways, giggles between girls at the lockers beside yours, even you fell victim to that famed harrington charm when he passed you in the hallways, sending you a brief smile on occasion if your eyes ever met in a fleeting glance.

but you never had the pleasure of really knowing steve in high school, you just had the whispers and rumors and occasional 'hi' if you passed each other in the hallway.

four years of school together and steve harrington never seemed to spare you anything more than a quick glance in the sea of students flooding the hallways of hawkins high.

that was, until the day you walked into family video, searching for something to watch in hopes of filling up some of the spare time you'd had since graduating high school.

as you had headed for the stand where all the new releases waited, you noticed him — or specifically, his hair.

he had been standing behind the counter, dressed in a striped blue and white polo with that dark green family video vest sitting over it. his hair had been what made you recognize him, but you could also it was a little different — longer, definitely, and a little messier than in high school, like he wasn't trying as hard to style it anymore.

he was talking with a girl behind the counter with him, the both of them lost in a fit of giggles, too invested in their conversation to notice a customer had even entered the store.

you weren't bothered, instead you just began browsing the shelves. your fingertips danced along the plain covers, reading each title with a sigh before you found yourself in the romance section, reaching for a copy of grease, because nothing was better than a film you had already seen more times than you could count.

that was the moment steve harrington had noticed you. he stopped mid-sentence in whatever he had been saying to his co-worker and stumbled around the counter to head towards the romance section, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his vest so it sat a little neater on his shoulders, not that he had expected you to find the vest attractive in any way.

when he was just a few steps behind you, he cleared his throat and leaned against the shelf of tapes with his most charming smile. you jumped at the sudden sound, and spun around to come face-to-face with steve himself.

"oh!" you had gasped, still clutching grease to your chest, and for a moment steve had just stared, like he was a malfunctioning robot for about 10 seconds before he snapped himself out of it.

"uh," he cleared his throat again, curling his hand into a fist and using it to cover his mouth before he smiled again. "hi. can i help you find anything?"

the corner of your mouth twitched upwards before curling into a full smile. this wasn't quite the steve harrington you knew of from high school, there was something different. he seemed a little less cocky and sure of himself, a little less overly confident. you could hear it in his tone, see it in his smile.

"hi," you greeted cheerfully, then lifted the vhs tape in your hand. "just looking for some movies to rent."

"oh, yeah. well, it's a good thing we've got plenty of those here." steve chuckled, then squeezed his eyes shut to curse at himself silently, as if scolding himself for his not-so-smooth delivery just to state the obvious.

but then you laughed, a small chuckle, and steve opened his eyes again to meet yours.

"that is a good thing, huh?" you spoke, your smile still pulling at your lips as the words left them. "i'm not really sure what to pick, though. do you have any recommendations?"

steve's eyes went wide and his posture straightened immediately, like he hadn't expected to get this far in your conversation. "uh, recommendations? pssh— yeah, totally. what kinda thing are you in the mood for?"

you then spent the next ten minutes following him around the store as he pointed out a few different titles in almost every genre, though some of which he had admitted to you he hadn't seen, only to then suggest for the two of you to watch it together.

you had laughed lightly, not in a mean way, but almost flustered, a little unsure on how to answer. but the answer wasn't a no, you knew that much.

you had always thought steve harrington was handsome, and, yeah, maybe there had been a few times in high school where you had fantasized about being one of the girls he would hold hands with down the halls and take on dates around town, but you didn't want something with steve if it was just going to be a one-time date, or some shitty hook-up. you wanted something more, because that was what you had been searching for.

and that turned out to be pretty perfect, because steve had been searching for something more, too.

by the end of that month, steve harrington was your boyfriend, and you were his girlfriend, and you could've sworn life was perfect.

for a short while, at least.

toward the end of march, he disappeared.

not literally, and not entirely, but just enough for it to be noticeable.

the night before spring break, you had gone to hawkins high school’s championship basketball game in support of steve’s friends: lucas sinclair, who was on the basketball team, and robin buckley, who played in the school band.

then that night he drove you home, kissed you outside your front door, and promised he’d come by the next night to stay with you while your parents went out of town for the break.

he didn’t turn up.

you waited all night, perched on the edge of the couch, eyes drifting from the television and across the room to the phone on the wall, willing it to ring and hoping to hear steve’s voice telling you he was just running late and would be there in 15 minutes.

you didn’t see him again until a couple days later, the morning after the earthquake.

you didn’t sleep all night, you had been terrified. you watched houses you drove past almost daily being ripped apart, sirens wailed outside filling the usual quiet nights in hawkins with horror.

the town had been on fire, smoke billowing from every corner, and you had no idea where steve was.

when the knock on your door came early the next morning, your mouth felt dry and your stomach flipped, because you were somehow fearing the worst.

but when you pulled the door open to see steve, relief rolled over your body like a wave and you practically launched yourself into him, arms circling around his neck like you always would, only this time he winced.

gently, his hands came to your hips and he carefully pulled himself back, making your brows furrow and your mouth twist into a frown.

“you okay?” you asked softly, immediately concerned, and he nodded, though you noticed the way one hand hovered over his middle like he was shielding it.

your eyes flicked up and down his body, taking him in. there were scratches covering his face, and an unfamiliar tiredness behind his eyes, sunken in a way you could only compare to grief.

around his neck, poking out from beneath the collar of his polo, was a dark, angry red line, bruising and scarring the skin just beneath his throat.

“jesus christ, steve, what happened?” you gasped, fingertips reaching up to trace the mark gently, and he forced a smile.

“you should see the other guy.” he joked, but you didn’t smile. your eyes dropped back down to his waist, right where his hand still sat not-so-subtly.

you grabbed his hand and tugged him into the house, forcing him to sit on the couch and you rolled up his shirt to examine whatever he was hiding from you.

a large, white bandage circled his middle, faint red stains coating some of the fabric on each of his sides, and you looked up at him.

“steve, what the hell happened to you?” you asked, and he brushed you off, pushing his shirt back down and pulling you up onto the couch to sit on his lap.

“‘s fine, baby. i promise, i’m fine.” he told you, his eyes searching yours as his hands circled your waist and pulled you in closer. “just got a little held up. sorry i didn’t come by the other night.”

you sighed, but then leaned your head forward to press it against his forehead, kissing him softly, and steve relaxed against you immediately.

“it’s okay. i’m just glad you’re okay, stevie.” you mumbled against his shoulder, burying your face into his neck. “when you didn’t show up, then with all these murders… i got scared.”

“i know, honey, i’m sorry.” he squeezed you tighter, kissing your head. “i missed you so much, god, you don’t even know.”

and the two of you sat like that on your couch from what could’ve been anything from 5 minutes to 5 hours, and you were unaware that this was the beginning of something much bigger than the two of you.

—

six months into hawkins’ government issued quarantine, and things were already much more different than you realized.

you had moved in with steve. maybe it was a little soon, considering you had only been together for about 9 months, but his parents had skipped town before the quarantine was set in place, and he hated being alone.

he worked at the wsqk radio station now, still paired with his best friend robin, but now every night he came home to you.

at least, he used to.

he’d call you before he left for work, asking if you needed him to pick anything up on his way home in this strangely domestic way that made you forget you were just a couple of 20 year olds who had only been together for a year, it made you feel like he was forever. he was your future.

he’d step into the house and drop his keys by the door, the clatter echoing across the first floor before he’d find you, and his hands would be on you in an instant.

arms around your waist, pulling you into a hug, or onto his lap. his lips would meet yours, or his face would end up buried in your neck, depending on how his day went.

but he’d always come home to you, he’d grip onto you like you were the only thing worth holding on to, and he’d whisper that he loved you repeatedly, like it were a prayer.

that’s what made it noticeable when he began pulling away.

at first it was subtle; maybe he wouldn’t call before driving home, or he’d head upstairs and shower before coming downstairs to curl onto the couch with you. it was easy enough to brush off as a bad day.

but then there were those strange nights as the months passed. the nights when he’d come home unexplainably late, sometimes in the early hours of the morning when you were already asleep in his bed, arm reaching across his empty side of the bed as you awaited his return, even in sleep.

when he’d get home, you’d wake up to the sound of him shuffling around the room, shrugging off his jacket, unbuckling his belt, and soon climbing into bed beside you, pulling the covers over his body and pressing his chest up against your back, letting his arm slide around your middle as he'd leave a gentle kiss on the back of your neck.

you’d ask him about it in the morning, why he got home after midnight, and he'd tell you it was because of work.

you didn't know whether or not to believe him, because who works all night at a radio station? but other than that, he never really gave you a reason to be suspicious of anything, because he'd always be by your side again.

that was until november of 1987.

—

he's pulling away, you can feel it. you've been feeling it for the last month at least, maybe even longer. you can't remember exactly how long it's been since you'd noticed, but ever since you noticed, it's been all you can see.

he doesn't cling to you anymore. no hands on your hips while you're cooking in the kitchen, no pulling you onto his lap after work, no phone calls "just 'cause he misses you" no kisses on the back of your neck in the middle of the night. there hasn't even been any sex.

it's like there's been a stranger in your shared bed each night. he still sleeps beside you, but he's not close to you anymore. he doesn't hold you; he just lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, as if he's lost deep in his thoughts.

when you ask, he just tells you he's busy with work, that he's been helping his friends with things, that he's "just tired".

you just don't understand it. he used to be literally obsessed with you, but now you're fighting for just five minutes of his attention.

he's almost always out of the house, and when he is at home, he's got that walkie talkie glued to his side, ready to take off the moment there's a crackle of static asking for his help.

it's a nightmare. you know his friends need him, but you need him too, and the more he runs after them, you wonder if it's just something to do with you.

you want his attention back; you want him to love you again.

it's like your devoted boyfriend, steve harrington, went to work one day and disappeared, only to be replaced by something that looks like him, moves and talks like him, but isn't him.

you tried everything you could think of; any kind of excuse for him to spend more than ten minutes with you for something that wasn't just going to sleep in the same bed.

you planned dates, but those plans always fell through when he'd get stuck "working late". you tried to get him to watch a movie with you on the couch, but he'd fall asleep halfway in, or he'd not have enough time because "dustin needed him for something".

you tried to tempt him, because you were getting desperate. you dressed in one of his shirts, no bra beneath it like he always loved, and a pair of lacy panties, just waiting for him to get home. ten months ago, he'd have told you he "couldn't resist you looking like this" and he'd have gone all in.

but when he got home, he hardly glanced your way as he took off his shirt and changed into pajama pants, slipping into bed beside you and keeping his back facing your way.

"stevie..." you'd whispered softly, leaning in closer so your chin was pressed to his shoulder and your voice right beside his ear. he hummed in response as you slowly kissed the warm skin of his bicep. "steve."

"not tonight, honey." he mumbled, burying his face into his pillow. "'m sorry. i'm just tired."

you frowned, your lips still glued to his skin, but listened. you respected his space. without as much as a sigh, you'd rolled over and curled into yourself, unsure of what you were supposed to do, because steve didn't want you anymore.

and that leads you to now. november 4th, 1987.

steve hadn't come home the night before, only arriving now, in the early afternoon of the next day, just to shower and change his clothes before he disappears again. and you've had enough.

you watch the way he brushes past you, pulling a jacket on over his sweater — your favorite sweater of his — and grabbing his keys.

"steve." you call out his name as he reaches for the doorhandle, and you're almost surprised to see him stop and turn to face you.

"yeah, honey?" his tone was sweet, almost familiar, but you could hear the tiredness behind it, like there was something forcing the tone out of him.

"don't 'yeah, honey' me, steven." you stated, and his face immediately scrunched into an expression that was a mixture of confusion, concern and surprise. "where the hell are you going?"

"work." he states, and you scoff, crossing your arms and giving him a look that tells him loud and clear that you don't believe him.

"you just got home from work." you point out, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "steve, just talk to me. please. tell me what's going on."

he sighs and shifts on his feet, pulling the front door open. "i can't do this right now, i gotta go."

he takes one step out the doorway, and you draw in a sharp breath.

"if you leave right now, i won't be here when you get back." the words leave your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over, because, frankly, you're just done. "i'm so sick of this, steve. you don't talk to me, you don't touch me, you hardly even look at me anymore, and it's bullshit."

the last word slices through the air like a blade, and steve freezes in his tracks, his blood running cold as he turns to face you again. bullshit.

"honey, please—” his voice comes out shakier than it was before. "can we... we can talk about this tonight. i promise. it's just, i have to go. please don't leave."

you don’t meet his eyes, you just cross your arms and look down at the floor, but you do give him a hesitant nod, because you don’t want to lose him.

steve looks hurt as he closes the front door, and you watch from the window as he trudges to his beamer in the driveway.

you almost wanted to leave, but then something in his tone, the desperation, makes you stay. you feel hopeful. once he gets home tonight, you'll be able to talk and work everything out.

except steve doesn't come home that night. or at all the next day. it's the night of november 6th when he returns, or the early morning of november 7th technically, and you're ready to fight with him, because he promised you would talk, then disappeared again, leaving you worried sick even when you don't want to be.

you sit in the living room, arms crossed while your leg bounces up and down with anxiety. you're not sure if he's going to come home tonight, but you're praying he does, because no matter how angry you are with him, you still love steve harrington more than anything.

then, when you were passed out on the couch, sometime between 4 and 5 a.m., the sky still dark outside, you wake up to the sound of his keys scratching against the door.

you stand up quickly and hurry across the room, pulling the door open without a moment's hesitation, and your breath catches in your throat.

he's a mess, both physically and emotionally, but he's steve, and he's standing right in front of you.

there's a fresh cut on one of his cheekbones, with a few more cuts and bruises covering his face, and you feel a sudden rush of deja vu. this was almost the same thing that had happened 18 months ago, and it makes your stomach sink.

he's dressed in full tactical gear; a brown leather jacket, a backwards cap covering his usually perfectly styled hair, camo print shirt, cargo pants and a red bandana around his neck. all of it is coated in a thick layer of some foul-smelling slime, but you still step back to let him inside the house.

he doesn't walk past you this time, instead of heading upstairs to the shower without another word, he collapses into your arms with a shaky sob, his hands gripping onto you tighter than in months as his fists gripped into the fabric of your sweater and his face slipped into the crook of your neck.

you hug him back, a little confused, and overwhelmed by both the sight before you and the stench that comes with it, but you still hold him.

"i'm sorry." he whimpers into your neck, and it all hits you at once.

you had never once seen steve cry, especially not like this, and now he was breaking down in your arms, crying into your shoulder and holding onto your body like an anchor.

"steve," you whisper out his name and his arms circle you tighter, almost like he's trying to melt into your body. "where on earth have you been? i've— i've been so worried."

he just cried harder, the two of you still standing in the doorway.

"i'm so sorry, honey. i love you so much." his voice comes out shakily, and you pull away from the hug to meet his eyes, cupping his slimy, tear-stained cheek with one hand.

"come on." you tell him, not responding to anything else he's said and just taking his hand to lead him upstairs to the bathroom.

you start running him a hot bath without another word, only glancing his way to tell him to take off his slime-covered war outfit and get in the tub.

"you gonna join me?" he asks shakily, like it’s a poor attempt at a joke, but there’s hope in his tone. you draw in a sharp breath before speaking tearfully.

"only if you promise to tell me what the hell is going on with you right now. because, steve, i swear to god—”

"i'll tell you everything."

and he does. finally.

with his back pressed against your chest, his body slotted between your legs, in the bath, he tells you everything.

years of trauma, from fighting monsters in joyce byers’s living room, to being tortured by russians, from being choked and eaten by killer bats, to coming up with the final plan to take down who he referred to as “vecna”.

and you listen to it all, and though it’s a little confusing, it makes sense. it fills in so many gaps and questions in your mind.

the scars steve could never explain came from monsters, his late nights at work were because of what he called “crawls”.

he tells you about the upside down, about el, about everything he never could before, and you listen, from the beginning all the way to the end, when he explains that it’s over, that they just destroyed the upside down, that el sacrificed herself, and that he and the rest of his friends were safe.

when he finishes talking, you don’t say anything. you stay quiet, taking it all in, thinking it all over, solving all the little things steve had said in the past that had left you confused, the times he had almost let a secret slip out.

it’s hard not to believe him when you’ve seen the wounds first hand, when the timelines add up perfectly, when he shows up covered head-to-toe in mysterious slime that really can’t be explained in any other way.

“honey?” his voice broke the silence, because had noticed the way you fell quiet. “you okay back there?”

“yeah. just— just thinking.” you whisper, and steve sits up straighter, no longer leaning against you, and he turns to face you, reaching for your hand.

“what are you thinking about?” he asks you. he laces your fingers together like he always used to.

“the fact that you’ve apparently been fighting monsters for the last four years of your life and you just didn’t think of mentioning it to me?” you said, looking up to see steve’s frown. “steve, i was so scared. you were disappearing, you hardly talked to me anymore i thought— i thought you were going to break up with me, or that you were cheating, or that you just… didn’t love me anymore.”

steve’s face softens, guilt immediately eating away at his features, brows knitted together as he attempted to slide closer to you in the tub. “oh, baby, no, no, no.”

his arms come around you, pulling you towards him as he peppers kisses all over your forehead and face. you finally let the lump in your throat go, tears flowing from your eyes as you sob into the bare skin of his shoulder.

steve cradles you, holding you so gently and refusing to let go.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, honey.” he whispers into your hairline, letting his own tears slip free again. “i should’ve— i never wanted you to feel like this, i just wanted to keep you safe. god, i didn’t even notice i was hurting you, baby, i’m sorry.”

“i thought you didn’t want me anymore.” you whimper against his skin, lip quivering and voice shaky no matter how hard you try to stop it. “i really thought you didn’t love me.”

“no, honey, never. i’ll always love you.” he reassures you, arms tightening around your body. “i’ll always want you, ‘cause you’re it for me, okay? i don’t want anyone else but you.”

you draw in another shaky breath, but nod as your breathing begins to balance out again and you collect yourself.

“i love you.” he states, letting his hands loosen from where they were wrapped around you to pull back jist slightly, allowing him to meet your gaze, your eyes red and raw from the tears.

“i love you, too.” you reply, and steve smiles, leaning in to kiss you and you let his lips meet yours.

it’s soft, gentle, and somehow the first real kiss you’ve had in months. steve’s hand comes up to cup your cheek as he kisses you deeper, eyes closed before he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.

“i’ve missed you, you know? i didn’t mean to push you away.” he mumbles and you nod. there’s a silent pause before you giggle quietly, and steve stares fondly, a little puzzled. “what?”

“just— i think we need to wash your hair.” you say. “you reek, steve.”

“thank you.” he mutters sarcastically, but his lips curve upwards. “you always know how to flatter me, honey.”

you just smile and hum in response, because even if the hurt is still at the surface, it’s slowly fading away, replacing itself with relief just because you have him back.

“okay.” steve says, reaching for his shampoo and pulling it closer. “how about we make a deal? you take care of me and help me wash all of this goopy shit from my hair, and i promise to take the best care of you the moment we get out.”

“hmm.” you let your eyes narrow and tap your chin as if you’re deep in thought. “how would you take care of me?”

“i’ll do anything you want, honey.” steve promises, lips traveling down your neck as he leaves wet kisses that make you giggle. “you want to stay in bed and cuddle for the next week? done. you want me to cook you dinner and watch a movie? on it. you want me to eat you out for the rest of the night? i’m on my knees already, baby. i’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

your hands drift around his neck, nails gently scratching against the bottom of his hair as you him him close and rest your chin on his head, his laugh sending vibrations up your neck.

“okay.” you finally say and he sits up to meet your eyes again.

“yeah?” he asks and you nod.

“yeah.” you confirm, tears sparkling in the corners of your eyes. you brush some of his wet hair away from his eyes. “and, for the record, all you have to do to make it up to me is be here. just be here with me.”

he nods, thumb stroking your cheek. “i can do that.”

you smile. he smiles back, then pulls you close again, into another hug, like he doesn’t want to let you go.

steve would gladly hold you in his arms for the rest of his life and he’d never get bored. not when he has you. and he’ll very gladly spend the rest of his life proving that to you.

that’s why he’s had a ring hidden in his underwear drawer for the last year, just waiting for the perfect moment.

now that he knows that hawkins, and the entire world, is safe from monsters and the upside down, he has a feeling that perfect moment’s going to come up sometime soon, and he can’t wait.

—

a/n: lowkey rushed the ending cause i got stuck i hope that’s not noticeable.. anyway i hope u enjoyed! comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[chestharrington]

let's hear it for the boy! || steve harrington x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 10.9k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Best Friend!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (solo masturbation, dry humping, f!receiving oral, handjob, premature ejaculation, p in v sex), language, sexual references, Steve is very oblivious, Steve can't get it up (unless it's for you), porn WITH plot, slow-ish burn

Summary: set before s4. steve has a problem. he can't cum unless he's thinking about you. except you're his friend and he definitely doesn't have any romantic feelings towards you. at least, that's what he tells himself.

“Seriously? Katie Frey doesn’t do it for you?” You asked, sitting atop the counter at Family Video. Steve shrugged, embarrassment welling up in his chest at your words, and the general topic of conversation.

“I was as surprised as you are now,” he said, twirling a company branded pen between his fingers and hoping the fidgeting would take his mind off of how absolutely mortified he was. “Because, like, Katie is hot.”

“Absolutely. Smokin’ hot.” Your voice was muffled around a twizzler, framed by perfectly made-up lips.

He made a face at your interruption, staring at you with narrowed eyes until you mimed zipping your mouth shut.

“And like, she’s got these great tits. Huge.” Really huge, fucking perfect tits. Not that he was a perv about it, but it was hard not to notice them. “And she’s pretty. And, you know, we were going at it at her apartment after our date and I swear I was into it. But…” He stopped twirling the pen so he could bury his face into his hands, mumbling the end of the sentence. “I couldn’t… cum, you know? I had to just fake it.”

“Fake it? Were you convincing?” you asked, brows furrowed. He peered up at you through the spaces between his fingers, at the quirk of a smile on your lips. “Maybe you should show me. I’m a visual learner.”

He threw the pen at you and groaned in frustration. “You’re an asshole, you know that right? This is serious.”

You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”

He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”

You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”

“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”

You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”

“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”

You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.

He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.

"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”

You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.

The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.

“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”

Steve smiled and turned on the charm.

Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.

Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.

The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.

But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.

“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.

Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”

——

His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.

“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”

She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”

“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.

He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?

What the fuck?

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”

“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.

He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.

He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.

“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?

“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”

His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”

“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”

Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”

You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”

You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.

“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”

He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”

“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”

“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”

Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”

“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”

The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.

“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”

“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”

You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.

“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”

“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”

You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.

He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.

You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.

He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.

“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.

Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?

Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.

“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”

It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?

“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”

With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.

He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.

“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”

Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.

She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.

You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.

“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.

It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.

“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”

“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“

“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”

He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.

And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?

You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.

His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?

“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”

There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.

He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.

He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.

This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.

And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.

Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.

He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.

“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.

A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”

He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.

It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.

No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.

The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.

There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.

His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.

“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?

“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”

He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.

You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”

His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.

You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”

Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.

It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.

“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”

You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”

You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.

“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.

You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”

“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.

You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.

“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

——

“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.

“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.

It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.

Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.

God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?

“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”

Robin snorted. “I bet.”

“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.

“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.

Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.

His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.

Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.

Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?

He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.

Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.

He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.

You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.

You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.

Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”

The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.

But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.

——

Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.

It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.

The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.

”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.

You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”

Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).

He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.

His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”

“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.

His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”

You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”

His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.

“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”

“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”

His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”

You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”

“You’re hard right now.”

He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.

“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“

The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?

When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”

His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”

You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”

It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.

Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.

Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”

Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”

That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”

He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”

He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“

He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”

You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.

Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.

That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”

Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”

He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.

This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.

"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.

He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.

You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.

“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”

He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.

It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.

You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"

"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.

"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."

Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."

He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."

He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.

You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.

Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.

"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.

It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.

"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.

"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.

When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."

"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.

"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."

"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."

Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.

You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.

To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.

"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."

You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"

Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.

"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."

Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.

But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.

He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.

Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.

"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.

His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.

You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."

He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.

It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.

"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.

"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"

When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.

You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.

He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"

You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"

He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."

Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.

"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders

"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.

With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."

Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.

You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.

Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.

You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.

Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.

"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."

You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.

He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"

A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."

His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."

"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"

Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.

He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.

Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."

He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.

"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."

Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.

But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.

His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.

It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."

He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.

You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.

"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"

He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.

Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."

It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.

He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.

"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."

He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.

You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.

"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."

You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."

He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."

thank you so much for reading! i can't believe this has been in the works since 2023 and i FINALLY found the motivation to finish it!! i really hope you enjoyed, i had so much fun with this plotline :) let me know what you think!!

[catherinnn]

More Manly

summary: Steve wants to prove he's manly enough for you to like him. But you like him sweet and gentle as he is.

words: 1.5k || masterlist

"So how are you adjusting to a new town? You got bored of it yet?" Robin asks you. You were in fact new in Hawkins. You moved here just two months ago, and luckily, quickly made friends with Nancy from work and she was kind enough to introduce you to her friend group since you were in need of new local friends.

"No, not at all." you laugh. "It's nice here, people are really friendly."

"That’s because you don't know them yet." Robin comments.

"Don't be so pessimistic." Nancy tells Robin. "And have you met anyone interesting yet? We can warn you about what they're known for here."

"Like romantically. No, gosh, no." you frown.

"Oh come on! What do you think of our boys?" she insists.

"Oh, well, they're all very nice, very friendly." you simply say, but notice in their faces that they want to know more. "Well, Eddie's very cool. Like he plays guitar and is in a band, and he totally owns who he is. Then, Jonathan is pretty artsy, he's interesting. And then Steve is... really really sweet."

That’s all you said. Harmless, right? Well, no.

There was a little mouse hearing what you had to say behind the door of the kitchen. This mouse is known for his amazing set of hair.

Steve was listening behind the door because since you joined their group he's been developing a crush on you. But he sent the girls first to ask what you thought of him. And he is not happy with what you said.

Sweet? He's sweet? Dogs are sweet! Babies are sweet! He's a grown man!

It's safe to say his ego is a bit bruised right now. Which wouldn't be so bad if he weren’t so dramatic. The last thing he could take right now is for you to start dating the weirdo that is Munson, or the awkward guy that is Byers (he loves them though, they're his friends).

And Steve had an odd thought process here, definitely not something a guy his age should be doing since it's more of a teen drama cliché. But he wants to prove how manly he can be.

So the next time you see him, his usual perfect floppy hair is no longer shiny and smooth. Instead, this time looks more low-maintenance, messy, like he just rolled out of bed and came here (he actually spent 35 minutes in front of the mirror for it to look like this). He changes his pastel polo shirts to a simple dark flannel.

Some of the guys came to your apartment to help you with some new furniture. You just got a new couch and some frames to hang on the wall.

Nancy was helping you choose pictures and deciding where each should go for them to look good. Robin was helping Eddie to move the table and the TV because she claims she's actually stronger than him.

That’s until Steve arrives, pushing them aside.

"Let me handle the heavy stuff." he says.

"Oh, thank god superman's here." Robin mocks him and he looks at her badly.

He starts moving the couch which wasn’t exactly heavy, letting out exaggerated grunts to help his image.

"You need help? You look like you're gonna get a hernia." Eddie jokes which earns him another bad look from Steve.

"Is that good?" he asks you.

"Yeah, I think it looks good there, right?" you ask Nancy and she nods.

"Great. You need help hanging those frames? I brought a hammer and nails just in case." he offers. "Actually, I always carry them in my car, you never know when you’re gonna need them" he lies, Robin actually cringes at that line.

"Uh... yeah, sure. We can hang them if you want." you agree.

"While I'm at it, you want me to take a look at that leaky faucet you've got?" he insists.

"Oh no, that's fine, I already called a guy to come check it out tomorrow."

"You sure? You don't need to pay some random guy. I know how to work those things." he claims.

"That is exactly what a man would say." Robin murmurs to Nance.

"No, please. Don't even worry about it." you quickly dismiss him.

The "manly" act keeps going for the second consecutive week now. His idea to shed his sweet image to prove he's rugged continues in a painfully obvious way. If only he noticed that instead of you being swooned it's actually weirding you out.

Like one afternoon you were hanging out at The Wheeler's household, everyone chatting like usual. But he was not chiming in with his normal personality. He was leaning against a wall, looking around like he was deep in thought, trying to look mysterious and troubled.

"What the fuck is he doing?" Dustin asks Robin.

"I don't even know anymore." she shrugs, rolling her eyes.

Later that same evening, Steve offers to drop you home when he's leaving.

In his car, the radio starts playing with the last cassette he left in once he starts the vehicle. A loud guitar riff scared you through the speakers. Since when does Steve listen to Metallica?

You remember one night talking to him about how you both liked Michael Jackson and The Police and he admitted he even sings along when Madonna plays on the radio. He even started bickering with Eddie once he started making fun of him for listening to pop music.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot that was playing." he acts.

"Steve, seriously, what's going on?" you frown.

"What do you mean, doll?" oh yeah, he calls you 'doll' now too.

"What are you doing? Why are you acting like this lately? Like a character from a bad western movie." you finally question him.

"I'm not acting like anything. I just like some metal music sometimes." he lies.

"Then why did you tell Eddie it sounds like a bunch of noise all put together?"

"Fine, I'm just... being a man, okay? I'm not some cute little puppy dog!"

"A puppy dog? What?" you frown, he's making no sense at all.

"I heard you saying Eddie was cool and metal, and that Jonathan was 'artsy' and that I'm just sweet!" he explains. "I'm not just a golden retriever, I can be a man!"

You stay staring at him surprised for a few more seconds, then you laugh softly.

"You started acting weirdly because of that?" you keep laughing. "Why did you think it was a bad thing? I meant it in a nice way."

"How can that be nice?" he complains.

“I meant that you really take care of people! You're attentive, you're brave, and you're sweet! That’s not a bad thing, it's like my favorite thing about you." you clarify.

"Really?" he looks caught off guard.

"Yes, really! Why would you think I want a crazy macho man?" you frown.

"I don't know... I guess I took it the wrong way." he's still surprised.

"Why did you care so much about how I saw you anyway?" you notice how he started changing everything because of that comment.

"Well... I thought you liked the other guys more than me." he starts. "I just... I think you're very pretty, and funny, and just pretty amazing. Ever since I saw you, but I wanted to know what you thought of me before I asked you out. And I thought you meant I was like... safe, or boring." he finally admits.

"I didn't think that at all. I thought you were also pretty funny and handsome before this whole act." you smile.

"Fuck... okay." he regrets everything now. "Could I still take you out? Next week maybe? I'll fix my hair like I always do and wear my normal clothes. I'll go back to being sweet and funny, I promise." he smiles too.

"Well, I'm actually not doing anything right now." you shrug with a smile. "We can go fix your hair and maybe I could style it in some fun ways..."

You're already picturing yourself braiding his hair, or trying some funny hairstyles just to mess with him.

"I don't just let anyone touch my hair." he warns you with a smirk.

"And what about me? Am I just anyone?" you play along.

"No, I guess you're not." he smiles. "And I guess it would be nice to have a pretty girl play with my hair."

"You're gonna be my barbie doll." you mock him.

"Hey! No."

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" you lie... he will be. You're already thinking of getting face masks as well.

You lean into him with a smirk. "So, can I? Please?"

"Yeah, you can." he smiles too, then leans in a little bit more and kisses you softly.

You smile into the kiss and bring him closer, his hands grab your waist, caressing your back over your top. He even moves your hair out your face, placing a strand behind your ear.

Yeah, he is sweet. He's the sweetest. And that might just be your favorite thing about him.

taglist: @matildakissesxo

@kurtsworld96

@madisonbeersangel

@ophirei

@folkwhore8

[hauntedfictionland]

Joe Keery as Steve Harrington through every season.

STRANGER THINGS (SEASONS ONE — FIVE) creators. the duffer brothers.

[steddiesprettiestgirl]

could i request a fluffy steve x gf! reader fic where the reader and steve accidentally eat edibles are they’re extremely high

(or sex chocolates by accident and it’s smutty)

⋆˙⟡ tastes like candy

ᯓ★ boyfriend!steve harrington x f!reader

⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (m and f receiving), cum eating, masturbation (m and f), very heavy breeding kink, lactation kink..?, sex chocolates, pet names, praise kink, steve talks you through it, big dick steve obviously

⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — after eddie convinces steve to buy these chocolates from his dealer, he thinks nothing of it. he even convinces you to try them because they’re really good. not even an hour later, the effects are kicking in.

⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys! i literally have nothing appropriate to say about this so… also please excuse the beginning, i lowk suck at writing build up so lets just look past that. please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p

⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 3.31k

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.

you were sitting lazily on the couch in your bikini, watching some random movie you’d found lying around while you waited for your boyfriend to return when you heard the front door to your shared home open.

“babe!” steve called out, stepping inside and kicking the heavy wooden door shut behind him. “c’mere. i want you to try something.”

your brows furrowed in confusion as you got up, your socked feet padding along the wooden floor over to him. “hi, baby,” you smiled sweetly, pecking his lips and taking a seat at the high chair beside the marbled island. “what is it?”

he slid over a bag of colorful squares. “you look pretty,” he grinned, his hand lingering around your waist. “so i went with eddie this morning to run some errands and we stopped by that smoke shop he’s always talking about. he convinced me to get these little chocolates and they’re really good. you’ve gotta try ‘em,” he explained excitedly, taking one out and biting into it. he almost moaned at the taste. “so good. i thought it was kinda expensive for this little bag of candy though.”

you hummed as you picked one from the plastic, examining it with uncertainty etched in your features. hesitantly, you bit off one of the corners. it was delicious. “wow. oh my god. yeah, these are really good.”

steve nodded along with a proud grin. “told you,” he bragged, his fingers lightly digging into the bare skin of your waist while his free hand grabbed another piece. “you should come check it out with us next time. they had some other pretty cool flavors.”

you plucked another piece from the plastic and unwrapped it, popping it into your mouth. “mhm. i’d love to,” you said with a warm smile before gently poking at his side. “now hurry up and go change before the sun goes away and the water gets cold.”

he cupped the side of your head to bring it closer to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. “yes ma’am,” he quipped, grabbing a piece of chocolate for the road before jogging up the stairs to get changed into his swim trunks.

it had only taken an hour for the effects to start kicking in with him.

you’d been playing around, splashing in the water with him to cool off from the beaming sun, when something in his eyes shifted. the pretty brown was almost completely overshadowed by the black of his pupils.

steve was crossing the pool in a few, long strides. his hands were already sliding around your waist in the water, his chest pressing into your back as the pool lights rippled beneath the surface. you felt his breath hot against your neck before his mouth followed, open and wet, dragging slow kisses along your shoulder.

“stevie,” you giggled, twisting a little in his arms. “what are you doing?”

he didn’t answer right away. his lips kept moving, sucking lightly at your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver but not enough to leave a real mark. “just wanna hold you,” he mumbled against your collarbone, voice already rough. his fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

that’s when you felt it—thick, heavy, and unmistakably hard pressing against your ass through his trunks. your breath caught in your throat. steve let out a shaky exhale and curled tighter around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“mmph. fuck… i need to be inside you, honey,” he whispered, almost pleading. “please. right now. i can’t—fuck, i’m so hard it hurts.”

he was fully rolling his hips into you now, seeking any sort of temporary relief. you had to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress the whimper crawling up your throat. “stevie, baby,” you breathed, feeling a similar heat start to burn deep in your stomach. “what if someone sees?”

“fences,” was all he could whimper out as his hands kneaded at the soft skin of your bare waist. the bikini you were wearing wasn’t helping his little predicament either. you just looked so fucking sexy like this. “please. just need to feel you.”

before you could answer, his hand was already tugging at his waistband. he shoved his trunks down just enough to free his cock, the length of it springing free in the water. one quick motion and he hooked his fingers into your bikini bottoms, yanking them to the side. the head of his cock nudged against your entrance, hot and insistent.

steve pushed in with one desperate thrust. a loud, broken moan tore out of him the second he sank deep inside of you, his whole body shuddering behind you. “oh my god—fuck, you’re so warm. so fucking tight.” his arms locked around your middle, holding you still while he buried himself to the hilt, his tip kissing your cervix.

a choked gasp left your lips at the sudden intrusion, your thighs squeezing together and your hand reaching back to claw at steve’s thigh. you were entirely too full. “mph! baby— holy shit! fuck!”

he didn’t wait. his hips started rocking immediately, short, needy thrusts that made the water softly splash around you. one hand slid up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing, thumb rubbing over your peaked nipple. the other stayed low, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks as he fucked into you with frantic, hungry strokes.

“need you so bad, honey,” he panted against your ear, voice cracking with desire. “hmph! can’t stop. feels too good. you feel so fucking good around me.” his mouth found your neck again, sucking and biting between every thrust, completely lost in the sudden, overwhelming need to be buried inside you.

the chocolates have him wrecked—his cock buried deep inside your pussy, hips snapping forward in quick, desperate thrusts that send you jolting forward slightly each time. he’s moaning loud and completely carefree, whimpering your name like he’s losing his mind, every punch against your cervix harder than the last.

“fuck, baby— your pussy’s so fucking addictive,” he groans against your neck, voice trembling. “can’t stop— this pussy’s too good, shit, i need it, need you.” his hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up to squeeze your tits, fingers digging into your ass as he pulls you down onto his cock over and over. “please—just fuckin’ take it, take all of me. just let me fuck this pretty pussy.”

he doesn’t wait for a response, not that you can really speak right now anyway. steve spins you around, lifts you easily, and carries you to the pool steps. he sits down on the lower step so the water laps at his waist, then pulls you onto his lap, settling your legs on either side of his thighs. his cock slides back inside your dripping cunt in one smooth thrust and he starts fucking up into you hard, hips driving upward while he drags you down to meet every stroke.

“oh!— yes! yes, yes, yes,” you cried out brokenly, clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to ground yourself. “feels so good, stevie. so— so big!”

his mouth finds yours in a sloppy, messy kiss—tongues sliding, spit mixing, both of you panting into each other. steve’s eyes are glassy, drunk on the feeling of your cunt squeezing him. “so fucking sexy,” he mumbles against your lips between thrusts. “can’t get enough of this pretty pussy. so warm and wet f’me. need to keep fucking you like this.”

every upward snap of his hips punches a moan out of both of you, his grip on your waist bruising as he uses your body to chase the overwhelming pleasure the chocolates have forced on him.

one of his hands slides down your body, fingers finding your clit under the water, rubbing tight circles as he keeps thrusting up into you on the pool steps.

“please, baby— cum for me, squeeze my fucking cock, i need it so bad,” he begs, voice hoarse and desperate, hips snapping faster. the pressure builds fast and you bite down hard on his shoulder when you finally cum, a muffled cry vibrating against his skin while your pussy clamps down around him.

he groans loud, holding you through it, but the need doesn’t fade. “there you go, baby. fuck— just fucking sucking me back in, huh?”

you’re practically limp in his arms now, choking out small gasps and whimpers each time he hit that gummy spot inside of you. you’ve completely lost the ability to speak as he fucks up into you forcefully.

“shit— holy shit, honey. i’m coming! fuck, i’m coming!” he pressed his hips up into you as tight as he could as his mouth came down on yours, hot and desperate, licking at your tongue and sucking on it hungrily.

soft whimpers spilled from deep in his throat, thick ropes of hot cum filling up your spent hole. you couldn’t help but moan into the wet cavern of his mouth when you felt just how much of the milky liquid was being pumped into you, absolutely filling you to the brim and beginning to leak out around him.

you pulled away for air, eyes blown wide and dazed as you looked at steve. he had the same look on his face with a lopsided grin to accompany it.

your skin began to felt too tight, your pulse pounding between your legs, and every brush of steve’s hand made you ache worse. you glanced at him again—his swim trunks still half down, his cock half-hard again already— and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“stevie… shower with me?” you asked, voice small and shy even though your thighs were slick from the mess you two had created together.

he pressed a sweet kiss to your palm and tucked himself back into his swim trunks, nodding and taking deep breaths to get his composure back. “yeah. yeah, i’ll be up in a minute.”

you climbed off of him and slowly stepped out of the water on shaky legs, draping a towel around yourself. it was no match against the droplets of water running down your legs onto the polished floors. the second the cold air hit your sun-kissed skin, the desire sparked in the pit of your stomach again. only this time, it was so much worse.

it only took a few minutes for steve to join you in the bathroom. the second the door behind shut him and he stepped into the shower behind you, you turned to face him, pushing your dripping hair back away from your face and dropping to your knees. “woah, baby? what are you—“ his cock bobbed heavily in front of your face, already hardening fast. you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked him in deep, moaning at the taste of him mixed with pool water.

steve groaned loudly, one hand flying to the back of your head. “oh, fuck—baby, that’s it,” he gasped, hips twitching forward. you took him deeper, bobbing your head while your free hand slid between your own legs. two fingers pushed straight into your pussy, fucking yourself in time with the way you sucked him. he cried out when his gaze followed your hand down your body, watching the way it disappeared between your legs. “sucking my fat cock turns you on, honey? fuck! hmph! y’look so fucking pretty on your knees f’me.” wet, obscene sounds filled the shower as you fingered yourself harder, clit throbbing against your palm.

he was fully hard now, thick, warm, and heavy on your tongue. you slowly pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to his cock, then stood and turned around. palms flat against the shower wall, you pushed your ass back. “need you so bad, stevie. please.”

he didn’t hesitate. he yanked your hips closer to his, lined up, and pushed into you in one devastating slow thrust.

“oh! yes, please! right there,” you cried out, forehead pressing to the tile as he started pounding. his hips snapped forward again and again, drilling deep, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls. water streamed over both of you while he fucked you hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to rub your clit in fast circles.

“god, you’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, voice completely wrecked. “pretty pussy’s taking me so deep— fuck, i can’t stop.” every thrust punched the air out of your lungs. he leaned over your back, biting at your shoulder, pounding into you with frantic, desperate strokes that made your legs shake. you kept fingering yourself even as he fucked you, two fingers buried inside alongside his cock, stretching you wider while he drilled harder and harder.

it was all too much. the stretch, the fullness, all of it. your hand moved instead to brace yourself against the wall. you clenched around him and his pace falters, his thrusts turning slower, deeper, each one dragging through your soaked pussy like he’s savoring every inch. water streams down his back while he presses his forehead to your shoulder, panting hard. “fuck… mhm, baby, i’m gonna cum again,” he mumbles against your wet skin, voice shaky and wrecked. his hips roll forward in a lazy grind, cock pulsing inside you as he fights to hold back. “feels too good—can’t stop, don’t wanna stop.”

he whimpers when you clench around him again, the sound raw and needy. “keep fucking yourself on your fingers, pretty girl,” he begs, one hand sliding down to guide your own fingers back to your puffy clit and pussy. “please, just like that— oh, wanna watch you stretch yourself while i’m inside you.”

you obey, sliding two fingers in alongside his cock once more, pumping them in time with his slow, deliberate thrusts. the stretch is filty and obscene, your walls straining around both him and your fingers, the burn sharp and perfect. steve groans loud, punching deeper on the next thrust, the head of his cock nudging right against your cervix. it still hurts—too much, too thick, too deep—but the ache only makes you hungrier. you can’t stop grinding back, chasing that painful fullness even as your body trembles from the intensity.

his thick, toned arms wrap tight around your waist, holding you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “gonna fill you up so good, baby,” he whimpers, hips stuttering as he fights the edge. every slow thrust pushes his cock impossibly deeper, the stretch making your eyes roll back. you keep working your fingers in rhythm with him, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing off the tile.

his breathing turns ragged, his grip bruising. “can’t hold it—fuck, baby, need you to cum for me,” he mumbles desperately. the moment your orgasm hits, your whole body shakes, pussy fluttering and clamping hard around his cock and your fingers. steve cries out, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hot pulses flooding deep while he holds you tight through every tremor.

the shower doesn’t last long against the burning desire within each of you. he’s quickly turning the stream off and guiding you onto the bed with shaky hands, still dripping, his eyes glassy with need. he drops between your spread thighs without a word, pressing his mouth straight to your cum-slick pussy. the first taste rips a broken moan from his throat—loud, desperate, almost pained. he licks at you broad and hungry, tongue pushing inside to scoop out the thick mess he left there earlier, groaning into your folds like he can’t get enough.

“o—oh! stevie, so good,” you babbled mindlessly, your hands making a home in his damp hair. “mmph! feels so fucking good, baby.”

his lips seal around your clit, sucking hard while two fingers slide back into your soaked heat, pumping slow and deep. every slurp is wet and filthy, his tongue lapping at your entrance, circling, then thrusting back in to chase more of his own cum. he strokes himself with his free hand, fist tight around his cock, hips jerking into his own grip as he makes out with your pussy like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

“fuck, baby—your pussy tastes so fucking good with my cum inside her, could stay right here for hours,” he whines against your skin, voice muffled and broken. his tongue drags through your folds again, collecting every drop before pushing it back inside you with his fingers. he moans louder, the sound vibrating through your core, his nose bumping your clit while he sucks and licks like he’s starving.

you’re already shaking when he finally pulls back, chin shiny with your slick, breathing hard. steve crawls up over you, his cock heavy and leaking as he drags the head through your messy slit. the tip catches at your entrance every few passes, slipping in just enough to stretch you before he pulls back again. your eyes blur with hot tears, overwhelmed by how desperately turned on you feel, how your body clenches and weeps for more even though you can’t explain why.

“please,” you whisper, voice cracking.

steve’s forehead presses to yours, his breath shaky. “i know, baby. i got you.”

he finally pushes in, slow and thick, sinking all the way until his hips meet yours. the stretch punches a sob from your chest. he hooks your knees over his arms, folding you into a deep mating press, and starts rocking into you with long, deliberate thrusts. each one drags his thick cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, grinding deep against your cervix.

“holy shit. gonna get you pregnant,” he mumbles against your mouth, voice low and shaky. “wanna watch your belly grow with my kid. see these pretty tits get all big and full.” his hips roll slower, deeper, every thrust pushing his cum even deeper inside of you. “fuck—imagine how swollen you’ll look. how fucking tight this little pussy will get around me.”

you’re fully crying now, overwhelmed and so fucking full, tears slipping down your temples while he fucks you slow and steady. steve kisses them away, still whispering filthy promises between moans. “gonna fill you up every night until it takes, honey. keep you just like this forever—stuffed and leaking and mine.”

his pace stays deep and unhurried, the wet sound of his cock moving through the mess between your legs filling the room. every time he bottoms out you whimper, the pressure perfect and too much all at once. steve’s arms tighten around your thighs, holding you open as he grinds in slow rolls, savoring every flutter of your walls around him.

he leans down, sucking one peaked nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking while his hips keep that relentless, deep rhythm. “can’t fucking wait to see how these leak for me,” he groans, switching to the other side, completely enamored by you. “you gonna let me drink from you while i fuck another load into this pretty pussy? huh?”

your body trembles under him, brain completely mushy, tears still falling as the pleasure builds again, slow and devastating. steve’s cock drags along every sensitive spot inside you, the stretch constant and so perfect. he keeps mumbling between kisses, voice cracking with how much he wants it. “gonna breed you so good, baby. mmph. make you mine forever.”

he stays buried deep, hips rolling in tight, grinding circles, refusing to speed up even as both of you edge closer. the room is filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, wet and filthy, and steve’s broken whimpers every time your pussy clenches around him. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking apart again, sobbing his name while he follows right after, pumping another hot load deep inside you with a long, wrecked groan.

[joeswifesworld]

God damn.

[emziess]

Joe Keery as Travis "Teacake" Meacham Cold Storage (2026) dir. Jonny Campbell

[xpeachsunsidex]

I Knew You’d Come Back To Me

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Fem!Reader

saw 5sos a month ago, and i’m still in my post concert depression era 😔

Summary: Steve’s holding onto the memories he has of you, hoping desperately that you’ll come back to him from the prison your mind is trapped in.

WC: 5.4k

Warnings & What to Expect: reader is in the coma instead of max, mentions of hospitals, super quick needle mention, reader unable to move her body after waking up from the coma (similar to Max), brief descriptions of death, blood, and grieving, some horror elements, talks of having kids, season 5 plot but i have changed things around for the sake of the imagine, some details inspired by the song, lots of angst with a happy ending!

Peach’s (Jenn’s) Note: this is based off of this request 😭 it’s been quite a bit lovie, so sorry for the delay. writers block has beef with me rn. hoping you enjoy 🧡

“And then he made me sort the tapes. Again,” Steve huffs, head thrown back against the couch in frustration.

“That’s annoying,” you hum, carding a hand through his hair and pushing it back behind his ear.

“Right? You don’t think I’m being dramatic do you? Robin’s been giving me shit about it all week,” he whines, tilting his head to look at you.

“Not at all, baby,” you reply, dragging your free hand up the expanse of his chest to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

Truthfully, you thought he was being a bit of a drama queen. But you weren’t going to tell him that when you were perched on his lap - curled up against him as he ranted on about how Keith was making his job at Family Video harder than it needed to be.

“He’s doing it on purpose too. The asshole wants to torture me into quitting,” Steve huffs.

“That’s so unfair,” you muse, shifting yourself closer to wrap your arms around his neck.

He continues to gripe about Keith being an asshole, Robin egging it on, and the never ending flow of customers who are rude to him.

And you’re trying to listen, really you are. But he’s looking particularly gorgeous today - clad in his light wash jeans that hug his thighs and the cute little polo shirt that peeks out from under his work vest. The first couple of buttons are popped open, exposing a small tuft of chest hair underneath that’s practically begging you to feel him up.

Your eyes wander to his lips as they move rapidly, then to his eyes that look dark brown in the moonlight and hazel in the shine of the daylight. You move on to tracking the unlimited amount of freckles and moles that dance across his skin, the same ones you swear you could count one day if he held still long enough.

God he’s a vision, and you just have to let him know.

“You’re so pretty, Stevie,” you grin, interrupting him mid rant.

Steve raises his eyebrows, “Oh you think so, honey?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pressing your lips along his jawline - giggling when you notice the kiss prints drenching his skin.

“Why’d you stop?” He frowns playfully, arms locking around your waist.

Your thumb rubs at the smudges littering along his jaw, “Lipstick’s getting on you.”

“Don’t wipe it off,” he complains, “I like being marked by you.”

The statement makes you bashful, and you can feel heat creeping up your cheeks.

“You blushing, baby?” He grins, which furthers the flush that you feel rushing to the tips of your ears.

“No,” you mutter, ducking your head.

He pouts, “Oh c’mon, sweet girl, don’t hide from me.”

Steve’s thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, coaxing you to look at him.

But when you do, there’s something off about him. You can’t tell what it is, but it’s there - like a slight glimmer wavering around him, coating his being in something sickly that you don’t understand.

“Steve?” Your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the image in front of you.

“Don’t hide from me,” his voice turns sour, becoming bitter and dark as it envelops you.

You try to move, desperate for answers, but something is tethering you to him - forcing you to stay still.

“It’s only a matter of time before I find you,” he sneers, face twisting and contorting - human flesh turning into grotesque veins.

You’re no longer in Steve’s living room, cozied up next to him while he frets about his day. Instead, you're in the lap of an all too familiar figure that you’ve been relentlessly trying to run from.

“Let me go!” You scream, fighting with every fiber to break away from his hold.

When it gives, you’re thrust backwards - landing in a puddle of remains, trying not to think too hard about whose they might be.

Your body is heavy, aching with exhaustion as you stare up into the abyss of the world you can’t comprehend, the one you’ve been trapped in since that fateful night Vecna consumed you.

You know you’re a target out in the open like this, a sitting duck for him to hunt down, but you’re tired of resisting - growing weary that you may never return to the physical realm.

And so you let yourself drift, succumbing to sleep from one world of nightmares to the next.

The combination of the bright fluorescent lights, low drum of machines whirring, and strong scent of disinfectant never failed to give Steve a headache.

It throbbed menacingly, a strong stinging sensation that felt like a bruise being poked over and over again - almost like it was warning him that each time he stepped into the miserable place of Hawkins Memorial, he’d be leaving disappointed.

But he would take a headache every damn day of his life if it meant you weren’t the one resting on the hospital bed in front of him.

“C’mon, honey. Need you to pull through this,” Steve mumbles, thumb stroking along the frigid skin of your hand that’s wrapped in his.

You’re unresponsive, as you have been for the past year and a half, and Steve’s never been more anguished than watching each day tick by without a sign that you could hear him.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this without you. Things are,” he sighs heavily, shaking his head, “not great.”

He grasps onto your hand more firmly, threading his fingers through yours and brings your arm to his lips. He tenderly presses kisses to your skin - careful to avoid the needle digging into the tissue underneath your forearm that's connected to an IV drip.

“This quarantine is driving people stir crazy. The crawls keep leading nowhere. And your brother,” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

Dustin had been a huge pain in his ass for the past few months. Steve knew the teenager was grieving - knew that he lost a piece of himself when he lost Eddie and couldn’t fathom the idea of having to live in a world without his older sister too. And he knew that Dustin also had far too much pressure thrust upon him than he should at his age.

But your brother was taking it out on Steve - constantly snapping, snarking, and throwing harsh quips his way.

Steve was nearing his boiling point over it - ready to open his mouth and release words of fire that he wouldn’t be able to take back. Each time he almost did so, he was reminded of you.

Reminded that he barely had time to say goodbye before you were ripped away from him, which ultimately always made Steve resist the urge to lob something hurtful back towards Dustin.

So instead of telling your motionless body that your little brother was being a raging prick to him, Steve simply says, “He needs you.”

Steve thinks about the night he lost you often, though it continues to rip open the wound in his heart again and again each time he replays it in his memories.

“You can’t,” Steve had protested.

“I can,” you replied firmly, thumb easing against the little wrinkle that formed over his brow bone.

Steve swallowed thickly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you have Nancy and Robin to fight with you. Dustin has Eddie to protect him. But Max and Lucas need one of us. I’m going with them, Steve,” you answered, set in your decision to not leave them behind.

“That wasn’t the plan,” he retorted, gripping your waist tightly.

“It wasn’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t let them go alone,” you countered.

Steve felt his throat tighten, felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fill his eyes, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Steve,” you cupped his face, fingers splaying out gently along the expanse of his neck, “I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, but I’m scared. You said it yourself, this time is different. Heavier. One of us might not make it out of this, and it cannot be you,” he implored, reaching up to grasp lovingly at your wrists.

You took a deep breath, “Steve, I love you, and-.”

He shook his head, cutting you off, “No. No, don’t do that to me. Don’t act like this is goodbye.”

“But it could be,” you whispered, “and I need you to know that you’ll be fine without me if something does happen.”

Steve scoffed at the thought, “I would never be the same without you.”

“You’d have to try. For Dustin. For me,” you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

He closed his eyes, let his hands slide down to your elbows - tried to ground himself in the moment, because if it truly was the last time he touched you, then he wanted to soak in your presence - bathe himself in these tiny pieces of yourself you were giving him before you were gone.

And when Steve heard the four chimes of that fucking clock a couple hours later, he thought Max was a goner - didn’t realize he was the one that would be brought to his knees at the sight of you, broken and bloody in her arms.

Steve still can’t shake Dustin’s cries that night - had to watch him scream his lungs out over Eddie dying before he repeated the same devastating noise at the sight of you.

He hears it in his nightmares, hears the screeching of the demobats, hears the own strangled sound of despair he let out when he saw you lying lifelessly in the aftermath of the battle.

The steady beep of your heart monitor drags Steve out of the horrific things that plague his mind, trying to focus back in on the sight of you in front of him - not moving, but at least you’re breathing.

“I need you,” he admits brokenly, forehead dropping down to rest against your thigh.

His palm lands against your knee, thumb brushing lazily over the thin material of the white cotton blanket that covers you.

“Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me,” he begs, feeling an overwhelming amount of agony from the lack of your reply.

A light knock at the door makes him look up to see Robin poking her head in, lifting her fingers in a brief wave to announce her presence.

She tentatively walks across the room towards Steve, quietly taking a seat next to him. She knows better than to ask if anything has changed at this point, and Steve finds her silence sickening, because god when Robin is silent - it meant that she thought things were bad.

“Steve,” she eventually says, placing a hand on his back.

He makes a rapt noise of recognition for her, but doesn’t take his longing eyes off of you - admiring your beauty even in the dullness that’s taken over your features from being stagnant for so long.

“When was the last time you showered?” Robin probs, no judgment in her tone - just pure concern for the well being of her friend.

“Dunno,” he mumbles desolately.

“Go home,” she presses, “take care of yourself. You know she’d be heartbroken if she saw you wallowing like this.”

Steve hates that she’s right, but still doesn’t move from his spot, “I don’t wanna leave her alone.”

“She won’t be alone. I’ll stay with her. Plus, I brought another visitor,” Robin tilts her head to the hallway, silently insinuating whoever came with her is out there.

“Dustin?” He questions.

Robin nods softly, “Yeah. The little twerp insisted he come today. Said he had a feeling she might wake up soon.”

“God, I hope so,” Steve admits.

“Me too,” she agrees quietly.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before he sighs, untangling himself from you before standing up.

“Gonna go home and freshen up, then I’m coming right back,” Steve declares while heading for the door.

Dustin’s leaning against the wall when Steve exits, “No updates?”

Steve closes his eyes briefly, disappointment washing over him at the question, “No. You doing okay, man?”

Dustin shrugs noncommittedly, “Could be better.”

“Yeah, same,” Steve replies dully.

He misses his friendship with the boy, hates the strained riff that hangs over their heads.

And he misses you. Misses how you could mediate things between the two of them. He often finds himself wondering if you never come to, if things will ever return to the way they once were between himself and your brother.

He places a soothing hand on Dustin’s shoulder, “I’m stepping out for a bit. Call me if you need me.”

Dustin nods solemnly, not bothering to bid Steve goodbye before walking into your room.

You wake up to the sound of Steve begging, watching as he clings to your frail body.

Please, honey. If you can hear me at all, find a way to show me.

His voice rings in your ears, the statement a loud roar echoing through your brain, but the sound of it is ripped away when you see the clouds beginning to shift - covering the vision in the hazy red of the sky.

“Steve!” Your throat feels raw from screaming his name, pleading for him to return to you.

You’ve lost track of how many times reaching him has been at the tips of your fingers, only for the illusion to fade - like a carpet being yanked from under you with nowhere soft to land.

Tears stream down your face as you frantically spin around, praying that you could see him one more time.

“No, please, no,” you cry, stumbling over a gnarled root that sticks out from the ground.

You land harshly on your knees, hands cutting open from the fall - nauseated by the blood that starts to seep out.

You squeeze your eyes shut, “It’s not real. It’s not real.”

The phrase is what keeps you going - playing on repeat because you know that your physical body is intact, have seen it when that blissful image of Steve appears in the thunderous clouds above you.

You’ve watched him hopelessly for months now, maybe longer, but time has been too hard to keep track of in this prison world that Henry has locked you away in. You’ve been hiding from him - somehow finding holes in his mind, and he lets you linger in pockets of memories that he won’t enter.

It feels like he’s toying with you sometimes, willing to let you go if you can play his game and find the way out. But as each day passes, you find it harder to distinguish what’s tangible and what’s not - slowly dwindling into madness.

The only thing keeping you from spiraling completely has been the glimpses of moments with Steve that flash in brief seconds before withering away.

You can feel one starting to creep into the crevices of your brain; the time you admitted you saw a future with him.

You were at Lover's Lake, watching the sun set across the horizon - fading into faint pinks and oranges as it drifted down.

The two of you were lounging on the hood of Steve’s Beamer, basking in the warmth of the summer evening - listening to the chittering of nightlife taking over.

Steve was leaning backwards, extending his legs to let your head rest on his lap, and his hand was combing gently through your hair.

“You’ve been quiet for a while, Stevie,” you mumbled, eyes growing heavy in content from his fingers working at your scalp.

“Hmm,” he hummed softly, eyes flickering towards you.

“I wanna know what you’re thinking about,” you rolled over, allowing yourself to look up at him.

If you could burn the image of him behind your eyelids you would, because the look on his face was one of pure adoration - staring in awe of your radiance.

“When I was younger, my parents would take me here during the summer,” he moved his thumb to brush gingerly along your jaw.

“Yeah?” You prompted, curious to know where he was going with that lead.

“Yeah. They were always distracted though. They’d be giving each other the silent treatment after an argument, or they were too focused on worrying about appearances in front of other families. Forced me to get really good at being creative since I didn’t have anyone to play with,” he continued, letting his index finger skim over the delicate skin under your eyes.

“There had to have been other kids there,” you remarked.

He shrugged, “There were, but uh, if you can believe it, I was kind of shy back then.”

Your heart faltered at the thought of him being a child and feeling the weight of being left out, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, curling a hand into the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t be. It made me realize that I won’t ever let my kids have to experience that,” he mused.

Your breath hitched, “Your kids?”

“Well, our kids. They’d have each other at least and-,” Steve cut himself off after realizing what he revealed.

His eyes squeezed shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

You watched him internally panic for a second, before pushing yourself up so you could relieve the tension that you saw settling over his shoulders.

“Hey,” you started, pressing a reassuring hand against his thigh.

“That was stupid, forget it,” he groaned, dragging a hand roughly down his face.

“What if I don’t want to forget it?” You refuted.

“You mean it?” He asked timidly.

You crossed your legs underneath you and wrapped a hand around his bicep.

“I’ve thought about it too,” you admitted.

His eyes grew glassy as he let out a sharp breath of disbelief through his nose, “Seriously?”

You released a quiet laugh, “Of course. I know we’re young, but I see a future with you, Steve. And I can’t see myself having any of it - kids, marriage, whatever it may be - if you’re not there with me.”

“Fuck, I think I’m falling in love with you,” he confessed.

You let your eyelids flutter closed - nose nudging his, “It’s about time, Harrington. Because I know I’m falling in love with you.”

Steve slotted his lips with yours, no longer able to hold himself back from proving to you the unadulterated affection he has for you - capturing your mouth hungrily in swift, greedy presses to emphasize his appreciation.

You pulled back just a fraction, “Plus, we’ve got practice carting Dustin around. He’s kind of like our trial run, isn’t he?”

Steve laughed against your mouth, giddily pressing his lips against yours until you were light-headed with want.

The memory jolts something within you, like numb limbs gaining strength after falling asleep, and suddenly you can see it; the picture of yourself opening up in front of you, nearly paces away.

A sudden burst of sentences reverberates throughout the inner workings of your being.

Fight for Dustin. For me.

I need you, honey. We all need you.

I can’t do this without you, baby.

Please, come back to me.

It’s the last one, spoken so rawly by your lover that it spurs you on, forces you to move your feet from a trudge to a sprint - recognizing that this moment is critical, the one that could change the tides and tip the scale towards your loved ones victory against the sinister world you’ve been bound in.

There’s only one name that echoes inside of you as you get closer to a taste of the world - the real one, the one that you’ve been separated from for far too long - and it’s Steve.

Steve.

Steve.

Steve.

Steve throws his keys on the kitchen counter, scrubbing his hands over his eyes, pressure building from yet another day without you waking up.

He leans against the cold surface, back digging into the granite as his eyes find the coffee cup that sits idle by the sink. It was your favorite to use when you spent the night at his place, and there’s a faint lipstick stain that’s wrapped around the rim - dust collecting inside the unwashed dish.

Steve can’t help but feel haunted by the ghost of you in his own home.

He lets himself pretend through the fragments of you he has left, because he’s starting to forget what your voice sounded like, what your touch felt like, what it felt like to be looked up and down by you when he wore your favorite yellow sweater of his. The same one he was wearing when you recognized that you were in love with him. Which was now gone, and yet another torturous reminder of his loss.

It’s why the coffee cup sits untouched, why he can’t sleep on your side of the bed, why he can’t bring himself to wash the last t-shirt you slept in. He swears there’s lingering traces of your perfume wafting through the air sometimes from it.

He imagines you dancing in the emptiness of his living room, twirling in his arms because if he lets himself sink into reality; he fears it means accepting that he’s lost you, that there’s no hope for you to return to him.

The first thing you notice when you come to is the darkness that reigns behind your eyelids. You can feel your muscles twitching, aching to move, but your body is not cooperating with the messages that your brain is signal firing.

You hear a sharp intake of breath, feel the warm press of someone’s hand slip into yours, the scrap of a chair indicating they’re moving closer.

The familiar rumble of your little brother’s voice infiltrates the room.

“Dusty?” You slur, tongue feeling heavy from not being used.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he squeezes your hand.

“Where, w-,?” You stutter, feeling an aggravating pain shoot through your vocal chords.

“Hey, take it slow. It’s been a while since you’ve talked,” Dustin reprimands.

“Steve,” you whisper, voice cracking - desperate to know where he is, eyes in a flurry of movement from trying to peel open.

Dustin slowly swims into your gaze, though it’s still blurry, and the intensity of the lights shining in your eyes causes streaks to glide across the room.

Another head comes into frame, and you recognize Robin’s voice before you can even see her clearly.

“Holy shit, Henderson. You’re awake,” she squeals, making your face pinch up in a wince.

“Robin,” Dustin seethes.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so good to see you moving. Harrington’s going to be beside himself,” she says eagerly, voice lowering significantly.

At the mention of your boyfriend, you try to fight against the lethargy that’s taken over your body.

“Steve, I need Steve,” you croak, feeling like cotton’s been shoved in your mouth with how dry it is.

Robin jumps out of her seat, “I’ll call him.”

“Can you get the nurse after?” Dustin asks, and she nods her head before swiftly exiting the room.

You try to force yourself into a sitting position, wiggling around in frustration at the fact that you can’t seem to control your body.

Dustin places his hands on your shoulders, “You’ve been immobile for a long time. You need to stop before you hurt yourself.”

“Dustin, I need Steve,” you repeat, tears quickly filling your lash line.

“Wow, not even a hi for your favorite brother?” He jokes, reaching out to brush a stray tear of yours away with his knuckle.

“I’m so sorry, Dusty,” your head starts to clear, fog disappearing - realizing your only brother is the one here for you, and all you can think about is Steve.

“It’s okay. I just missed you, you know?” His throat constricts, leaning forward on his knees.

“I missed you too,” you utter, giving him a small smile.

Dustin catches you up to speed on the things you’ve missed - Eddie passing, Hawkins splitting open, El returning, searching for Vecna, and the list goes on.

“Steve brought me out of this. I don’t know how, but he did,” you murmur once he’s finished.

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s been hovering over you nonstop. Usually isn’t gone for more than an hour at a time if he can help it,” Dustin grins.

“Really?” Your smile wobbles, heart swelling at the thought of him waiting for you.

“Yeah, he,” Dustin pauses, because it was once hard for him to believe his next words, “he really loves you.”

It’s then that the nurse comes in, paging for a doctor before hustling over towards you.

“It would be helpful if you stepped out so we could run some evaluations on her,” she instructs him politely.

“No way. I’m not leaving her,” Dustin scowls.

“It’s okay, Dusty. I’m okay. Just, get Steve for me, please?” You request weakly.

He sighs at your insistence, “If you need anything, have someone get me. Robin and I will be in the hallway.”

Robin frowns when she sees him step out of your room, “He’s not picking up.”

“He’s probably on his way back,” Dustin guesses.

The two of them sink into the chairs that line the hallway, feeling antsy at the span of time without being able to check in with you.

Finally the doctor leaves, sharing some brief updates about the stability of your condition - leaving to contact Claudia Henderson, who no doubt will be making her way to the hospital in record time when she hears the news.

Dustin stands, stretching out his arms, and Robin immediately seizes his hand - lugging him to crouch behind a medical cart that just happens to be big enough to hide them.

“Robin, what the hell?” Dustin yelps, and she swiftly covers his mouth with her hand.

She points down the hall towards Steve, who’s rounding the corner.

“Why are we hiding from Steve? We want him to know,” Dustin slaps her hand away.

“Because if we run into him, I’m gonna blabber about it and don’t you think it’ll be better for him to find out on his own?” She quips back, gesturing at the melancholy look on her best friend's face.

Dustin gives a hesitant pause, but ultimately concedes, “Yeah, guess you’re right. But I call spying on them from the doorway.”

Robin rolls her eyes, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Steve’s perfected the route to your room where he’ll avoid running into nurses that like to give him looks of pity each time he shows up.

He first stops by the vending machines to grab himself a shitty coffee and a snack for you. It’s a habit he can’t put down, buying something for you despite the fact that you can’t eat it right now.

There’s a whole box full of items that sits untouched in your hospital room - overflowing with expired food at this point, but Steve doesn’t have the heart to throw them out.

He trods up the back staircase, avoiding eye contact with anyone who could possibly stop him and ask where he was headed. Finally, he stops by your door which is now closed - probably Dustin’s doing he assumes, who likes to claim it keeps the noise level to a minimum. The walls are paper thin not matter what, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to debate him on it.

He swings the door open, and starts to chatter, which is his typical routine when he’s visiting you.

“Well, honey, I got you the regular M&M’s today. They were out of the peanut ones. Can you believe that shit? What kind of establishment runs out of the best type of-,” Steve’s rambling is cut off when he walks into your room and sees you, sitting up - on your own.

The coffee in Steve’s hands crashes to the floor, black liquid seeping across the vinyl flooring - soaking into the bottom of his jeans and coating his Nike shoes with the maroon swoops, arguably having just ruined his favorite pair, but it’s the least of his concerns.

His jaw drops in disbelief, blinking rapidly to decide if you were a figment of his imagination, wondering if his brain is making you up due to sleep deprivation.

“Hi Stevie,” you rasp, wishing you could throw yourself at him.

Steve’s frozen, planted on the spot he’s standing in, because hearing your voice - the same one that he swore he might’ve been forgetting - has just bloomed out of you, flooding his brain as it ricochets around the room.

“Steve,” you whimper, can’t help but let out a breathy sob at seeing him just a handful of feet in front of you.

The whine that escapes you knocks him back into motion, practically skidding through the spilled coffee and kneeling down by the edge of your bed - legs digging into the hard floor.

“Am I dreaming?” He asks, hands reaching out to you - stopping himself from touching you because he’ll surely be wrecked to find that none of this is real.

You smile faintly, “I don’t think so.”

Steve carefully lets his fingers glide across your palm, and when your fingers twitch - feebly curling around his own for the first time in ages, he can’t help but let the tears track down his face which sets off your own.

“God, I can’t believe you’re real. And here. How are you here?” His lips part, uncertainty still keeping him at bay.

You’re not ready to disclose the torture you’ve been through, so you simply lock your fingers through his and plead, “Hold me?”

Steve’s mouth flounders, letting himself finally believe he hasn’t somehow conjured up a replica of you, “Course I can, honey. C’mere.”

He scooches himself onto the bed, maneuvering your body to rest against him - back pressed to his chest, head tucked under his chin while his arms wrap tightly around you.

“I’m so sorry,” he groans, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, honey.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” you try to reassure him.

“No, I knew not to leave you today. Dustin had a feeling you'd come back to us soon. Little shit is always right,” he grumbles, hating himself for not being there.

Fragile laughter bubbles up within you, “He always is, isn’t he?”

“I’m so sorry,” he cries, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“Steve,” you tilt your head back just a fraction, the best you can do for now, “you have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I know you’ve been here every day.”

“Because I knew you’d come back to me,” he tenderly dots kisses to the back of your neck.

“And I knew you wouldn’t give up on me,” you murmur, sniffling as you feel the pressure behind your eyelids build again.

“Never,” his voice is warm, laid bare with honesty.

Steve continues to grace you with his devotion, mapping your body with his hands, and it’s intimate in a way you’ve never experienced with him before.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he repeats himself, letting the phrase hang between you two as he continues to lavish you - nose grazing your jawline, lips attaching sweetly under your ear before catching the corner of your mouth.

You suddenly feel the wet droplets that roll down his pretty face and land on the slope of your collarbone, making you itch to wipe his tears away. You try your best to shift, but no matter how much effort you put into it, you can’t get your body to move, which makes you grunt in irritation.

“What’s wrong? Does something hurt, honey?” He implores.

You bite your lip in annoyance at not being able to comfort him, “No. It’s just, I can’t move yet, and you're crying.”

Understanding ripples across his expression - knowing you're aching to provide him solace. He brings your hand up to his cheek, guiding your fingers to wipe swiftly under his eyes, along the highs of his cheekbones, before trailing down to catch the tears that puddle under his jaw.

It’s messy, but a reminder that you’re miraculously here in his arms.

“I love you,” he rasps, inhaling sharply - still in astonishment that you haven’t slipped away yet, that you haven't dissolved like ice melting under the ray of the burning sun.

And when Dustin and Robin sneakily slide in the room later, pretending like they weren’t on the verge of crying themselves, giving you the space to open up about what you’ve experienced, Steve continues to keep you grounded - unwilling to let you go, declining the notion of letting you go for even a moment, because he’ll be damned if he has to dance with the ghost of you again.

well, this started as a part two to they don’t know about us because i had some requests for that, but it just didn’t feel the same. hence why there’s hints of similarities if you’ve read that imagine!

Divider credits to @lobster-graphics

Main Masterlist If interested

JKC Taglist: @pepsipoet @pr33tygirlavenue @miahslt91 @sparklydelusionearthquake @cuddlyeren @beth-mirrorball @ann-aatn @oliviaharrington

click here if you wanna be added to my Joe Keery Characters taglist! or lmk in the comments (this is separate from my HH one)

[joeswifesworld]

Oh my god.

[underoospeterparker]

coming home ☆ steve h.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, 5.4k words

Summary: Steve thinks about you a lot. His childhood best friend, the girl who moved away ten years ago when he was in fourth grade. Logically, he knows he's never going to see you again. So when Robin introduces him to her new friend at Family Video, he's not prepared for it to be you.

The last time Steve saw you, you were nine years old, covered in mud, holding up a frog you'd caught with a triumphant grin while he gagged a couple of metres away.

You'd been inseparable back then. The kind of kids who built forts during sleepovers, who had secret handshakes, who swore they'd be best friends forever.

Your parents moved away the summer before fourth grade because your dad got a job in another state, miles and miles away from Hawkins, Indiana, and Steve remembered crying about it for a week.

He'd gotten over it, eventually. Kids do. New friends, new schools, new versions of himself. By the time high school rolled around, you were a distant memory. A Polaroid tucked away in a box somewhere.

He thought about you occasionally.

Maybe a little more than occasionally, really. He wondered what you looked like, if you were different, if you still liked Starbursts and fudgy chocolate brownies. He tried not to linger too much on it. It was no use, anyway. He would probably never see you again.

That is, until he does.

It's a Tuesday. Nothing special about it. The kind of Tuesday that bleeds into every other Tuesday, gray and unremarkable.

Steve is behind the counter at Family Video, spinning a pen between his fingers, half-listening to Robin chatter about something that happened at the coffee shop.

"—and she was just sitting there, Steve, drinking her coffee like a normal person, and I thought, I have to talk to her. I have to. So I did."

"You talked to a stranger. Shocking. Do you want a gold medal?"

"Shut up. She's amazing. Like, actual sunshine. You're gonna love her."

"You say that about everyone."

"No, I mean it this time. She's new in town and she doesn't know anyone and I invited her to hang out with us tonight." Robin checks her watch. "Actually, she should be here any minute."

Steve sighs. "Robin."

"What? She's nice! You'll like her. Just... be normal. For once."

"I'm always normal."

"You're really not."

The bell over the door chimes. Steve looks up.

And the world tilts sideways.

You're standing in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun, and for a second, you're just a silhouette, both familiar and not, a shape his brain can't quite place. Then you step forward, and...

It's you.

Same eyes. Same smile. Same way of tilting your head when you're nervous, a habit you've had since you were six years old. You're older now, taller, your face different in a hundred small ways — but he'd know you anywhere.

You haven't seen him yet. You're looking at Robin, waving, crossing the store with that easy walk you always had.

"Robin! Hi! Sorry I'm late, I got turned around. This town is so different than I remember."

Robin laughs, pulling you into a hug. "You remember Hawkins? I thought you just moved here."

"I did. I mean, I re-moved here. I grew up here." You pull back, grinning. "A long time ago. Like, elementary school ages."

"No way." Robin's eyes go wide. "That's crazy."

"I know, right? I haven't been back since my parents moved us away. It's so weird being here." You glance around the store, taking it in. "This place used to be a bakery, I think. Or maybe I'm making that up."

Steve can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything except stand there, gripping the counter, staring at you like you're a ghost.

Robin notices. "Oh! I'm being so impolite. This is Steve. He's my work bestie. Be nice to him, he's sensitive."

You turn, and your eyes finally, finally, meet his.

You tilt your head. Study his face. Your brow furrows slightly, like you're trying to place him, then your eyes go wide. "No." The word comes out barely a whisper. "No way."

Steve swallows. "Hi."

You take a step closer. Then another. Your hand comes up, hovering, like you want to touch his face but you're not sure if he's real.

"Steve?" Your voice cracks. "Steve Harrington?"

He nods. Can't speak. Can't do anything except look at you, drink you in, try to reconcile the woman in front of him with the little girl who used to steal his crayons and share her snacks.

You slap a hand over your mouth. Then you're laughing, God how he missed that laugh, and throwing your arms around him.

Steve catches you on instinct, pulls you close, holds on like you might disappear. You fit. After all these years, you still fit perfectly against him.

"Oh my god," you mumble into his shoulder. "Oh my god. Stevie."

The nickname that no one has ever used since you breaks something open in his chest.

"You're here." His voice is rough. "You're actually here."

"I'm here." You pull back just enough to look at him, hands still on his arms like you're afraid he'll vanish. "I can't believe — you're so tall. You were such a shrimp last time I saw you."

He laughs despite himself. "I was not a shrimp."

"You were absolutely a shrimp." You punch his arm, light, familiar. "I used to beat you in races every single time."

"You tripped me!"

"You tripped yourself," you retort, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

Robin is standing behind the counter with her mouth hanging open. "Okay." She holds up her hands. "Okay. I need someone to explain what's happening right now, because I am very confused."

You turn to her, still smiling, and Steve realises he hasn't stopped staring at you. Can't stop. Doesn't want to stop.

"We know each other," you say. "Childhood best friends."

"Like, best best friends," Steve adds, because apparently he's incapable of letting you tell this story alone. "We were inseparable."

"Until my parents moved us away." You shrug. "Fourth grade. We lost touch."

Robin's eyes bounce between you like she's watching a tennis match. "You're telling me that my new friend—the one I literally just met at a coffee shop—is your childhood best friend? Who you've never mentioned, somehow?"

"I mentioned her."

"Once. Vaguely. With a lot of staring into the distance."

Steve's ears go pink. "I didn't stare into the distance."

"You absolutely stared into the distance. It was all very dramatic."

You laugh, and the sound does something complicated to Steve's insides. He watches the way your nose crinkles, the way your whole face lights up, and his heart goes to mush.

"So," you say, turning back to him, "what have you been up to for the last fifteen years? Besides growing a foot or two?"

He shakes his head, still smiling like an idiot. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start with the highlights." You lean against the counter, making yourself comfortable. "I've got time."

You end up talking for an hour.

Robin chips in occasionally, but mostly she just watches, fascinated, as the two of you fall back into a rhythm that shouldn't still exist after all these years. But it does. It's like no time has passed at all.

Steve tells you about high school—the edited version, the one that doesn't make him sound like too much of a jerk. You tell him about your high school, about the cities you've lived in, about the jobs you've had. He asks questions, genuine questions, because he actually wants to know. He wants to know everything.

"You look good," he says at one point, and then immediately wants to take it back because that was too much, too forward, too—

You smile. "You too, Stevie. You look really good."

His heart does a backflip.

The afternoon stretches on. Customers come and go. Robin handles most of them, throwing knowing looks at Steve every time she catches him staring at you again.

Which is often.

He can't help it. You're right there. After all these years, you're just right there, leaning against his counter like you never left, and he can't stop looking at you. The way your hair falls over your shoulder. The way you bite your lip when you're thinking. The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.

He's got it bad. He knows he's got it bad. He doesn't care.

"So," you say eventually, glancing at the clock, "I should probably head out. Let you two actually work."

"You don't have to." The words come out too fast, too eager. Steve tries to play it cool. "I mean, if you want to stay. But also if you need to go, that's cool too. Obviously."

You tilt your head, that familiar gesture, and smile. "I could stay a little longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another hour passes. Then another. By the time the sun starts to set, you've covered everything — jobs, relationships (or lack thereof), favourite movies, least favourite foods, the time you both got in trouble for trying to build a raft out of scavenged wood and nearly sank in the creek.

"You remember that?" Steve asks, delighted.

"You nearly drowned! Of course I remember!"

"I did not nearly drown. I was swimming."

"You were flailing and screaming for help. I had to pull you out."

"I was playing."

"You were drowning, Steven."

Robin laughs, leaning against the counter. "Your legal name is Steven? Dingus, how did this never come up?"

"He's only called that when he's in trouble," you grin at Steve. "Which was often."

He should be embarrassed. He's not. He's too busy watching you, memorising the way you look in the fading light, the way your presence fills up the whole store.

"Hey." The words come out before he can stop them. "We're having a movie night tonight. At my place. Nothing fancy, just some friends hanging out. You should come."

You blink. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean—" He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly nervous. "Only if you want to. No pressure. It's just... it'd be nice, to have you there."

When you smile and say, "I'd love that, Stevie," and Robin mimics gagging, Steve doesn't even care that he probably looks like a lovesick puppy. He's too busy floating six feet off the ground.

You show up at his house that night with a bag of Starbursts.

"I wasn't sure what to bring," you say, holding them out. "But I remembered you liked these. The blue ones especially. You'd always trade me for my blues."

Steve's eyes flicker from the candy in your hand to your eyes. "You remembered that?"

"Of course I remembered." You shrug, a little shy. "I told you. I remember everything."

He takes the bag, fingers brushing yours. "I still like the blue ones best."

"Good. I... um, I picked out all the others. So there's only blue ones in the packet."

He blinks. "You—" His voice comes out weird. He clears his throat. "You picked out all the non-blue ones? For me?"

You shrug again, but your cheeks are growing warm. "Yeah. I wanted you to have them. The good ones. Without having to pick through the packet."

He doesn't know what to say. You remembered. You remembered his favourite candy, and you took the time to pick out all the other flavours just so he could have exactly what he liked.

No one does that. No one has ever done that.

Except you.

He says your name softly. "That's—" He stops, because he doesn't have words big enough.

You shift on your feet, suddenly looking unsure. "Is it weird? I thought it might be weird. I just—when I saw them at the store, I thought of you, and—"

"It's not weird." He steps closer, still holding the bag like it's something precious. "It's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time."

Your face softens. "Really?"

"Really."

You're standing in his doorway, backlit by the porch light, and Steve thinks you might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The evening air is cool, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the distant hum of cicadas.

You're wearing a soft sweater that's slightly too big, jeans that fit just right, and you're looking at him like he's someone worth looking at.

He wants to remember this moment forever.

"Come in," he says finally, stepping aside. "Everyone should be here soon."

You duck past him into the house, and he catches a hint of your perfume, something he already knows is going to haunt him for weeks. "Am I too early?" you ask, glancing around his living room. It's empty for now, just the two of you and the soft glow of the lamps Steve always keeps on.

"No." The word comes out too fast. He tries again, softer. "No, you're perfect. I mean.... perfect timing. You have perfect timing."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Smooth, Harrington."

"Shut up." He's grinning though, can't help it. "Make yourself comfortable. You want something to drink? I've got soda, water, probably some beer somewhere. Do you drink?"

"Yeah, sometimes." You settle onto the couch, curling into the corner. "I'm not a huge fan of beer, though. It's just kind of... bitter? I don't know. Not my thing."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? I feel like everyone our age is supposed to like beer or pretend beer is amazing."

You laugh. "Right? I've never understood it."

You end up talking again. For twenty minutes, without stopping. It's not even awkward, at all. It's easy. You're easy to talk to.

The door bursts open soon enough.

"Steve! We're here! And we brought snacks, so you better be grateful—"

Dustin stops dead in the doorway, eyes landing on you. Mike, Lucas and Will pile in behind him, nearly crashing into his back.

"Oh," Dustin says. "Who's this?"

Steve stands, suddenly protective in a way he can't explain. "This is—"

"Robin's new friend," you supply, standing with a smile. "And Steve's old one, as we've realised."

Dustin's eyebrows shoot up. "Old friend?"

"Childhood best friends," Steve clarifies. "We knew each other when we were kids."

"Childhood best friends," Mike repeats slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "Huh."

"Don't start, Wheeler."

"She's pretty," Lucas observes. "Really pretty."

"Sinclair!"

"What? I'm just stating facts."

You laugh, bright and easy, and Lucas grins like he's just won a prize. "Careful," you say, tilting your head at him. "I might start thinking you're trying to flatter me into sharing my snacks."

Lucas's eyes light up. "Is that a possibility?"

"Depends on how good your flattery is."

"I'm very good at flattery."

"He's really not," Mike mutters.

"Shut up, Mike."

Dustin is watching you with narrowed eyes, like he's trying to figure you out. You meet his gaze and smile.

"You're Dustin, right? Steve mentioned you."

"Did he." Dustin's voice is flat, but there's curiosity underneath. "What did he say?"

"That you're the brains of the operation. And that you once convinced him aliens were real for three months."

Dustin's face breaks into a massive grin. "He told you about that?"

"He left out the best parts, I'm guessing."

"Oh, the best parts are legendary. There was this one time—"

"Dustin's insufferable enough already," Mike interrupts. "Please don't encourage him."

"I'm not encouraging. I'm gathering intel." You wink at Dustin. "For blackmail purposes."

Dustin stares at you for a beat. Then he turns to Steve with something like reverence. "I like her. She stays."

"Glad you approve, Henderson."

Steve tunes out the rest of the conversation. He's much too focused on you. You're laughing at something Dustin said, your whole face lit up, and Steve realises he's been staring again.

He can't help it. You're just—you're here. After all these years, you're sitting on his couch, talking to his weird adopted family, fitting in like you've always been part of it.

The door opens again, and Max walks in with El.

Max takes one look at you, eyebrows raised. "Who's the newbie?"

"My childhood best friend," Steve explains for what feels like the hundredth time. "Just moved back. We haven't seen each other in like ten years."

"Huh." Max gives you a long, assessing look. "I'm Max. This is El."

"Hi, Max. Hi, El. Nice to meet you."

El peers at you with big, curious eyes. You smile at her, warm and genuine, and Steve feels his chest tighten.

"I like your necklace," you murmur.

El glances down at the pearl necklace Mike bought her last year, then back at you. A small smile touches her lips. "Thank you."

You're sandwiched between them now, Max on one side and El on the other, and Steve watches from across the room as you somehow fit right in. He can't look away.

"What's your favourite movie?" El asks.

"That's a hard one. Depends on my mood, I think."

"Scary movies?"

"Sometimes. I like the special effects. They're pretty cool, right?"

El's eyes light up. "Mike likes those too. The... special effects."

"Mike has good taste, then."

"Debatable," Max mutters.

"She's good with them," Robin says, appearing at Steve's side. "Really good."

"Yeah." His voice is soft. "She is."

"You look kinda sad about it."

"I'm not sad." He pauses, watches you ruffle El's hair gently. "I just—I wanted to talk to her more. And now she's been stolen by the gremlins."

"Don't tell me you're jealous of a couple of teenagers."

Steve shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches you pass out the other coloured Starbursts to the kids. At one point, Dustin asks where the blue ones are, and you just smile.

"Sorry, Dustin. The blue ones are spoken for."

Dustin's eyes narrow. "Spoken for? By who?"

You glance at Steve, just for a second, and something warm passes between you. "They're someone's favourite."

Dustin follows your gaze, lands on Steve and grins. "Oh. Oh. I see how it is."

"You don't see anything," Steve says quickly.

"I see everything." Dustin leans back, arms crossed, looking insufferably pleased with himself. "The blue ones are for Steve. Steve gets special treatment. This is huge."

"They're just candy," you protest, but your cheeks are pink.

"They're not just candy." Dustin turns to the others. "Do you understand what this means?"

"That Steve has a favourite colour?" Will offers.

"No, dumbass," Dustin sighs.

You're laughing now, and Steve wants to die but also never wants this moment to end. You catch his eye across the room and smile.

He's in so much trouble.

After the movie, Max and El leave first. They offered you to join their sleepover at the Byers' house, which you'd declined, much to their disappointment, but you'd promised to hang out with them later this week.

Dustin's next, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Good job, Steve. She's a keeper."

"She's not—we're not—"

"Sure." Dustin grins, that knowing look firmly in place. "Whatever you say, Steve."

Mike and Lucas follow, throwing casual goodbyes over their shoulders.

Robin hugs you goodbye, whispers something in your ear that makes you blush and swat at her arm. She cackles, throws Steve a wink, and disappears into the night.

And then it's just you and Steve.

You're still on the couch, curled into the corner, looking around at the scattered popcorn bowls and empty soda cans. "This was really fun."

"Yeah?" Steve's leaning against the back of the couch, watching you. "You're not just saying that?"

"I never just say things." You stretch, catlike, and Steve absolutely does not stare at the sliver of skin that appears between your sweater and your jeans. "Your friends are great. Weird, but great."

"That's the best way to describe them." He pushes off the couch, starts gathering empty cans. "You don't have to help, by the way. You're a guest."

You're already standing, collecting popcorn bowls. "I know. I want to."

"You want to clean up after a bunch of teenagers?"

"I want to help you." You say it simply, like it's obvious, and Steve doesn't know what to do with that. So he just nods, and the two of you move around his living room in easy silence, tidying up.

It's domestic in a way that makes his chest tight. You fitting into his space, picking up cushions, straightening blankets, tossing trash.

You belong here. That's the thought that keeps circling in his head. You belong here, in his house, with his people, in his life.

"You know," you say, dropping a handful of napkins in the trash, "I was really nervous about tonight."

Steve pauses, an empty soda can in each hand. "You were? You seemed totally comfortable."

"I'm good at faking it." You shrug. "But yeah. New town, new people, new... everything. Even though I did live here, I don't know. I wasn't sure how I'd fit in."

"And now?"

You smile. "Now I'm really glad I came."

Steve sets down the cans, crosses to where you're standing by the kitchen island. "Me too." You're looking at him with those big, warm eyes, and Steve thinks he could get lost in them.

"Hey," he says, before he can lose his nerve. "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

You tilt your head. "Depends. Why?"

"A few of us are gonna hang out. Robin, obviously. Nancy and Jonathan." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. "Just a smaller group. More low-key. I thought maybe you'd want to come?"

"You want me to come?"

"I mean—only if you want to. No pressure. But yeah, I'd like it if you were there." He pauses, steels himself. "I'd like to spend more time with you. If that's okay."

You're quiet for a moment, and Steve's heart hammers in his chest. Then you smile — that same smile from when you were nine.

"I'd love that, Stevie."

"Okay," he murmurs. Watches the strand of hair that's fallen in front of your face and reaches up before you can, tucking it behind your ear, fingers lingering longer than necessary.

You leave, promising to meet him and the others tomorrow at the diner for lunch.

Steve closes the door behind you and leans against it, eyes shut, hand pressed to his chest like he can physically slow down his racing heart. He pushes off the door eventually, walking over slowly to the couch, sinking into the spot you just left. It's still warm. He tells himself that's not weird, that anyone would notice that, that it doesn't mean anything.

He's lying.

His fingers brush the cushion where you were sitting, and he thinks about the way you looked tonight. He thinks about the Starbursts. The blue ones, all picked out just for him. The way you'd shrugged like it was nothing, like it wasn't the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, exhausted and wired at the same time. He should go to bed. He has work tomorrow, and then lunch with you. But his mind won't stop spinning, caught in a loop of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're happy.

He remembers that from when you were kids. The way your whole face would light up when you were happy, like the sun coming out from behind clouds. It's the same now. Brighter, even.

You haven't changed much, he thinks. He can see the little kid in you still.

He thinks about the years you were gone. All the moments you missed, all the things he wishes you'd been there for. He thinks about the person he used to be — King Steve, asshole extraordinaire — and wonders what you would have thought of him if you'd seen him then. Would you have recognised him? Would you have wanted to?

He thinks about the person he is now. The person you seem to see when you look at him. He hopes you think he's good. That maybe, just maybe, someday he might be worthy of you.

He falls asleep on the couch. He dreams of forts in the woods and secret handshakes and a little girl with mud on her face, holding up a frog and grinning like she'd just found treasure.

Steve's the first one at the diner the next day. He grabs a booth near the window, where he can see the parking lot. He orders a coffee he doesn't really want, just to have something to do with his hands.

Robin's the first to arrive, sliding into the booth across from him with a knowing grin. "You're here early."

"Traffic was light," Steve mutters, taking a sip of his coffee even though it's still too hot.

Robin snorts. "It's a five-minute drive from your house." She steals his coffee, takes a sip, then slides the cup back to him. "She's coming, by the way. I ran into her at the grocery store this morning. She said she'd be here."

Steve's heart does that stupid flip thing again. "I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to. Your face did." Robin grins. "Relax. She likes you."

"She doesn't—we're just—"

"Steve." Robin's voice is flat. "She picked the blue ones out of a whole bag of Starbursts. For you. That's not 'just' anything."

He doesn't have an answer for that.

The diner is quiet this time of day — the lunch rush hasn't started yet, and the breakfast crowd is long gone. Robin orders her own coffee, stirs sugar into it when it arrives.

"You know, you could just tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"How you feel." She shrugs. "It's not complicated. 'Hey, I've known you since we were kids and I think you're amazing and also really pretty and I'd like to kiss you.' Simple."

Steve chokes on his coffee. "I am not saying that."

"Why not? It's true."

"It's—" He runs a hand through his hair. "We just reconnected. I don't want to rush anything. What if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I scare her off?"

Robin considers this. "Okay, fair. But also, have you seen the way she looks at you?"

"What way?"

"You're clueless."

Before Steve can respond, Nancy walks in, Jonathan right behind her, both of them looking slightly windswept from the walk.

"Sorry we're late," Nancy says, sliding into the booth next to Robin. "Jonathan lost track of time developing photos."

"I didn't lose track of time," Jonathan protests, sitting beside her. "I was in the zone. There's a difference."

Steve's eyes drift to the parking lot again. Still no sign of your car.

"So," Nancy says. "This new friend of Robin's. Also apparently your childhood best friend. The one you've been staring at all week."

"I haven't been staring."

"You've been staring. Jonathan noticed too."

Jonathan nods without looking away from the window. "It's impressive, actually. The level of focus."

"I hate all of you," Steve mutters.

"You love us. And you're nervous because she's late and you're worried she changed her mind."

"I'm not—" He stops. Sighs. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Steve. She showed up at your house with a bag of candy she specially prepared for you. She's not going to change her mind."

"How do you know?"

"Because I have eyes." Nancy's voice is dry. "And because Robin told me about the Starbursts. That's not nothing."

"She's right," Jonathan adds, finally turning from the window. "People don't do that for people they don't care about."

Steve wants to believe them. He does. But his eyes keep drifting back to the parking lot, watching for your car, waiting for you to appear.

Ten more minutes pass, during which Robin and Nancy get into a heated debate about something Steve's not listening to and Jonathan takes a picture of the salt shaker.

And then, finally, your car pulls into the lot.

Steve sits up straighter, watching you park, watching you step out, watching you pause to look around with that familiar tilt to your head.

"See?" Robin nudges him. "She's here. Told you."

You push through the diner door, and the little bell above it chimes. Your eyes scan the room, land on their booth, and you smile — but it's different this time. Apologetic. Embarrassed.

"Sorry I'm late!" You slide into the booth next to Steve, close enough that your arm brushes his. "I got lost again. I swear, this town is trying to confuse me on purpose."

"You got lost coming to the diner?" Nancy asks, amused. "It's literally a straight shot from your apartment."

"A straight shot with, like, four turns and no street signs and a really confusing intersection." You blow out a breath, pushing your hair out of your face. "I ended up near the old mill somehow."

"The old mill?" Robin's eyebrows shoot up. "That's, like, twenty minutes in the wrong direction."

"I know!" You laugh, embarrassed. "I'm hopeless. I should just start leaving breadcrumbs."

Steve's heart, which had been racing with worry, finally settles. You're here. You're okay. You just got lost.

"I was starting to think you'd changed your mind," he says quietly, before he can stop himself.

You turn to him, your expression softening. "No, Stevie. I wouldn't do that." You bump your shoulder against his. "It takes more than a confusing intersection to get rid of me."

"Okay, okay, enough with the eye contact," Robin interrupts. "Some of us are trying to eat."

Nancy laughs. "Robin, let them have their moment. It's cute."

Lunch is fun, easier than you thought it'd be. Afterwards, you all linger outside the diner, reluctant to let the afternoon end.

Robin stretches her arms above her head. "I gotta get to work. Some of us have actual jobs."

"You work at the same place as Steve," Nancy points out.

"Exactly. Which means I have to deal with him and customers. It's exhausting."

Steve flips her off, but he's smiling.

Nancy and Jonathan head off toward his car. He's got an arm around her and she's smiling into his shoulder, looking disgustingly cute.

Robin hugs you goodbye and shoves Steve's shoulder a little before disappearing down the street, too.

You're standing close, close enough that he can see the way the sunlight catches your hair. You're fidgeting with the strap of your bag, looking anywhere but at him.

"So," you say. "That was fun."

"Yeah." He shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly awkward. "Really fun."

A pause. You bite your lip.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering..." You trail off, cheeks warming. "I mean, if you're not busy or whatever... do you maybe want to hang out again? Soon? Just us?"

His heart stops.

"I know we just hung out," you continue quickly, words tumbling out. "And you probably have stuff to do, and I don't want to be annoying or anything, it's just—I really like talking to you, and I feel like we have so much to catch up on, and—"

Steve says your name to stop you. You stop, looking at him with those big, warm eyes.

"I'd love to hang out again." He's grinning, can't help it. "Any time. Just say when."

Your face lights up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Okay." You're smiling now, that bright, sunshine smile. "How about tomorrow? We could go for a walk or something? If the weather's nice?"

"It's supposed to be nice." He's definitely grinning like an idiot. "I could pick you up around one? So you don't get lost."

You laugh, that bright sound he's already addicted to. "Wow. Rude. But also... fair. One o'clock sounds perfect."

"Perfect," he echoes.

You're both just standing there now, neither quite ready to leave. The afternoon sun is warm on Steve's shoulders, and you're looking at him with that soft expression, the one that makes his chest feel tight in the best way.

"I should probably go," you say eventually, but you don't move.

"Yeah. Me too. Probably." He doesn't move either.

"Thanks for today. And last night. And... everything." You shrug, a little shy. "I know I just showed up out of nowhere and turned your life upside down, but you've been really great about it."

You hug him again — longer this time, your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed to his chest.

When you pull back, your cheeks are flushed. "Okay. Bye, Stevie."

"Bye."

You walk to your car, and Steve watches the whole way, committing it to memory. You glance back before you slip into the drivers' seat, smiling before you disappear inside.

He stands there for a long time after you're gone, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. He thinks this might be the beginning of something.

Something good.

Something real.

Something that feels a lot like coming home.