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[midnox]

🌙 Eva (Nox) | 33 | French

I love reading, writing, and anything related to graphic design (and if you ever need illustrations for your articles, feel free to reach out — I love messing around on Photoshop!). I’m also a big Formula 1 fan (Tifosi Ferrari ❤️), and I mostly listen to rock and metal. I have a strange fascination with sad stories… or the ones that never really end. I couldn’t really say why — I guess that’s why I tend to write a lot of angst. This blog is for adults only (18+) — I repost and share explicit content. Please keep this in mind. 🔆 JJ masterlist🔆 🌙 Rafe Masterlist🌙 ⚾️ Steve Harrington⚾️

Requests are open🌙 English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.

[angelpediaa]

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

watch out for ✷ overstimulation, obvi. semantics debate. teasing. dirty talk. arguments that aren't really arguments. praise & degradation. slight power imbalance.

rambles ✷ first time writing smut, kinda nervy… don’t crucify me… also do you guys prefer small text or large text cause I like the small text but I do wear glasses so I have to squint at the text if I don’t have them on :p

“Ugh, it was so overstimulating.”

The complaint left her in a dramatic sigh as she dropped onto the couch, kicking her sandals off somewhere in the general direction of the coffee table. The entire day seemed to cling to her like humidity; every irritating interaction, every pointless conversation, every minor inconvenience bundled together into one long, exhausted groan.

Across from her, Rafe barely looked up at first.

He was sitting at the dining table, elbows spread wide, completely occupied with rolling a joint. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows of the beach house, casting everything in warm gold and making the expensive rings on his fingers glint whenever he moved. His tongue swept lazily across the paper as he sealed it, his focus narrowed entirely to what he was doing.

At least until her choice of wording registered.

Then one blond eyebrow slowly lifted. “What?”

Y/N frowned. “What what?”

Rafe leaned back slightly in his chair, turning the joint between his fingers as he studied her with the kind of expression that usually meant he was about to become unbelievably annoying. “Do you even know what overstimulating means?”

“Duh. I’m not stupid,” she snapped, rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach and go bouncing across the floor like marbles. There was a fire in her voice, the kind that only flared when Rafe was being insufferable—which, let’s be real, was at least eighty percent of the time.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, like whiskey poured over ice. “Not sayin’ you are, sweetheart,” he drawled, shifting in his seat, the wooden chair creaking under him. “Just sayin’ you’re usin’ the wrong word. The one you’re lookin’ for is overwhelming. Not overstimulating.” He shrugged, as if this were the most casual observation in the world, as if he weren’t already mentally rubbing his hands together at the prospect of proving her wrong.

Her arms tightened across her chest, her nails digging into her sleeves. “It’s basically the same thing. Stop being a smartass.”

Rafe’s grin widened, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the chase. “No, baby,” he said, dragging out the word like it was made of honey, “it really isn’t.” The teasing edge in his voice was sharp enough to cut, and he knew it. She knew it. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that only existed when two people were equally matched in stubbornness and wit.

She threw her hands up, sarcasm dripping from every syllable like molten gold. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize Rafe Cameron had suddenly earned his PhD in English. Please, Professor, enlighten me.” Her voice was laced with mockery, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—amusement, maybe, or the reluctant acknowledgment that she was, in fact, about to get schooled.

And Rafe? Oh, he lived for this shit.

The grin that split his face was immediate. Massive. Unbearably pleased with himself, like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to a candy store. “Gladly,” he said, and before she could groan—though she did, loud and dramatic, like he’d just announced he was going to recite the entire dictionary—he was already leaning forward, the joint now a makeshift pointer as he gestured at her like some kind of stoned Socrates. “Overstimulation,” he began, voice taking on the exaggerated gravitas of a lecturer, “is when there’s too much sensory input. Too much noise, too much light, too much shit happening all at once. It’s your brain screamin’ at you because it can’t process it all—like tryin’ to watch five TVs at the same time while someone’s banging pots next to your ear and a strobe light’s goin’ off in your face.”

He sat up straighter, actually committing to the bit now, his free hand waving for emphasis. The chair groaned under him, but he didn’t notice. He was in his element. “Overwhelmed,” he continued, “is when you’ve got too much on your plate emotionally or mentally. It’s not about the senses—it’s about the soul. Like when your coworkers are up your ass, your boss is breathin’ down your neck, and your to-do list looks like it was written by a sadist with too much optimism.”

She let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Oh my God.”

Undeterred, Rafe pressed on, undeniably in his zone. “So if your coworkers were annoyin’ you and you had too much work—”

“I don’t care.”

“—that’s overwhelmed.”

“I literally do not care.”

“But if five people were talkin’ at once,” he said, counting off on his fingers, “while fluorescent lights were beamin’ into your skull like some kind of government experiment, and somebody was chewin’ loudly next to you like a damn cow—”

“Rafe.”

“—that’s overstimulation.”

“Rafe.”

He paused, tilting his head, the picture of mock innocence. “See the difference?”

She stared at him, a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration in her eyes. “You’re a dick.”

Rafe’s grin turned downright wicked, his eyes alight with the kind of mischief that promised retribution—or at the very least, a very thorough demonstration. “Want a demonstration?”

She hadn’t known what he meant by demonstration back then, when he’d been smirking at her with that infuriating, know-it-all grin, the joint dangling from his fingers like a dare. But now? Oh, she knew.

The mattress beneath her was a battlefield—rumpled, damp with sweat and the tears she’d spilled when he’d pushed her past the edge of what she thought she could handle, only to drag her back again, gasping. Rafe had her exactly where he wanted her: face-down, ass up, her body a trembling, over-sensitized mess beneath him. The sheets were tangled under her, the fabric rough against her skin, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—the heavy, unrelenting weight of his body pinning her down, the way his cock filled her so completely it bordered on painful, the way his breath hitched against the back of her neck.

“See, baby?” His voice was a dark purr, the kind of sound that slithered under her skin and settled deep in her bones. “This…” His fingers found her clit, already swollen and throbbing from the last orgasm he’d wrung out of her, and he circled it with maddening precision. “This is overstimulating.”

She whimpered, her hips jerking involuntarily, her body caught between the need to escape and the desperate, aching want to stay right where she was. Every nerve ending was alight, her skin electric, her pussy clenching around him in a rhythm that betrayed her—traitorous, greedy thing—as if she couldn’t decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. “Please…” The word was a broken thing, muffled against the pillow, her voice raw from screaming his name. “I can’t… I can’t take anymore.”

Rafe chuckled, the sound a low, dark thing that vibrated through her entire body, making her toes curl. “Yes, you can,” he murmured, his hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate motion that bottomed him out inside her. The angle was obscene—so deep, so perfect, that she let out a choked sob, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His thumb pressed down on her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles.

She could feel him everywhere. The weight of his cock stretching her, the rough callouses of his fingers digging into her hip, the way his other hand left her clit to snake beneath her, palming her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple until it was a hard, aching peak. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch of me,” he groaned, his voice rough with the kind of hunger that made her stomach flip. “And you’re gonna love it.”

His fingers never stopped moving. Never stopped tormenting her. He was drawing out every last spark of pleasure, every gasp, every sob, until she was nothing but a trembling, sobbing, begging mess beneath him. And still, he didn’t let up. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t do mercy. Not when he had her like this—when she was his, completely and utterly, her body singing under his touch, her mind reduced to nothing but the next wave of pleasure he forced upon her.

With a groan, he pulled out of her, the sudden absence of his cock making her whimper in protest. But before she could even process the loss, he was flipping her onto her back, his hands rough as they gripped her thighs and spread them wide. She was a mess—her lips parted, her eyes glazed with the kind of pleasure that bordered on pain. And God, the way he looked at her—like she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen, like he wanted to devour her whole.

He didn’t waste a second. In one fluid motion, he was back inside her, sliding home with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from his soul. His hand pressed down on her lower stomach, his fingers splaying wide over her skin as he felt himself move in and out of her. The visual—the sensation—was almost too much. She could see the way her body stretched around him, could feel the way he filled her so completely it was like he was rewriting her from the inside out.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice strained, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that was punishing. “Look at you. Look at how good you take me.” His thumb pressed down on her clit again, and she screamed, her back arching off the bed, her nails raking down his arms. She was so close—so fucking close—but he wasn’t going to let her come. Not yet. Not until he was ready.

God it was going to be a long night.

©𝓐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒂. do not copy, translate, or repost my work on any other sites without my permission. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

[midnox]

Too Good To Be True | Steve Harrington

Summary : She's convinced he'll eventually break her heart. Steve realizes she's about to break his first.

Warnings: dirty talk angst

Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader (blak hair) Established Sexual Relationship

When he heard a knock at the front door, Steve knew he'd made the right decision. He'd thought about it for a long time, wasting most of his recent nights going over what he was going to say, how he would ask the question.

“Hey!”

The smile you give him when he opens the door to his apartment reassures him in his choice, and he gently closes the door behind you.

The scent of peonies follows you into the open kitchen where you're used to settling onto the stool. A still-steaming hot chocolate, topped with a generous helping of whipped cream, is waiting for you there.

It's a sort of ritual now. Before heading anywhere or starting the evening, Steve always makes you a chocolate drink. Neither of you has ever pointed it out; it was unconscious. As if it were normal.

“I found a spot right in front of your building, it's a lucky day!” you say after a first sip. “Well, a lucky evening.”

It's dark outside and, with a swipe of your tongue, you wipe away the whipped cream left above your lip. Steve watches you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What is it?”

He opens his mouth, ready to ask you that damn question. Then you smile at him, half worried, half amused, and for a second he wonders why he's so nervous.

In the end, he simply smiles back, his unruly lock falling over his brown eyes.

You catch yourself thinking that maybe that's why you love hot chocolate so much. It reminds you of the color of his eyes, comfort, and other things you refuse to name.

“Nothing,” he finally says as he steps closer.

“Okay... I think we should take a cab to the movies, just to make sure I don't lose the spot... I'm still sleeping here tonight, right?”

Your eyes study him, waiting for the answer as if he'd changed his mind since this morning when you'd stormed out because you were running late.

As if you needed reassurance.

“Of course you're sleeping here.”

He kisses you softly and takes a seat beside you, turning the stool so he can face you.

“My bed is your bed.”

You smile as you quickly finish your drink, burning your tongue in the process, then stand up.

“Great! Let's hurry or we're going to be late...”

Steve gently catches your hand.

“Wait. Can we talk first?”

You look at him, frowning.

“Yeah, of course... I know you don't like trailers, we've got time.” You smile as you sit back down. “What is it?”

“Maybe sit down.”

You tilt your head. “I already am, Steve.”

“Oh.”

Maybe he's more stressed than he thought.

“Well, stay seated... I guess.”

Steve had never been nervous around you. He had no reason to be, because there were no expectations, neither from you nor from him. You'd said as much the moment you realized you'd end up sleeping together again.

“So, I've been thinking about... about this.”

With a wave of his hand, he gestures to the space between the two of you.

“A lot.”

Oh shit.

“I mean... about us.”

Your hand, which had remained in his, loosens until it lets go completely and retreats beneath your thigh.

Us.

He knows you well enough to tell you're already abandoning ship, that the sea is becoming too rough for you. But he's still the captain.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes find his again despite yourself. There's something in his voice that has always made you incapable of resisting him for very long.

“I want us to make this official... us. I want us to be a couple.”

No.

No, no, no...

“Steve...”

“I'm ready to take the next step.”

Why was he ruining everything?

“Why?” Your voice hardens and he realizes the fight is going to be rough. “We're not a couple. We fuck each other, that's it.”

His jaw tightens. He'd suspected you'd come up with a sentence like that to minimize what the two of you shared and, even though he'd prepared himself for it, it still hurt.

“Really? Just fucking?”

He presses, and you look away as you close your eyes.

Six months ago, while he still hadn't gotten over what happened with Nancy, Steve had walked into that crappy bar to drown his sorrow once again. He'd seen you serving drinks to all those idiots and bought you one.

And you'd fucked in the alley right behind the place when you went out on your break.

“Steve... no.”

“Why not?”

His voice has turned hard again, the one he uses when your bodies are tangled together, the one that makes you shiver a little more when he tells you to open your mouth wide and take him.

“You are an incredible man. You have a big heart. You're gorgeous. You're funny. Impulsive too and...”

“No. That's the polite version. Now tell me the real reason.”

He cuts you off, his chocolate eyes darkening.

“Explain to me how what we have is any different from a relationship.”

You slept at one another's place depending on who finished work the latest, shared movie nights without needing to sleep together, had thoughtful little gestures for each other by buying something small that would make the other happy. You'd met some of his friends and he'd gotten along well with Eddie despite their differences of opinion regarding music.

Your heart races, rejecting the idea.

“What you're feeling right now... it's new.”

“I've already been in love.”

You don't listen.

“And it's exciting.”

“I've always liked sex.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve!”

This time anger takes over because you're scared and he's not listening.

He watches you stand without moving. Your black hair shines beneath the kitchen light as you run a hand through it to calm yourself.

He's always loved your hair, whether it was pulling it or playing with a few strands.

“I let you do whatever you wanted with my body because I like that. I like... being controlled, and you like being in control. Nancy never gave you that opportunity.”

A stunned gasp escapes him when you bring up Nancy, his ex, who has absolutely no place in this conversation.

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it, Steve. You think you love me because you can be free to be who you are with me, but that doesn't mean you're in love.”

He lets out a humorless laugh.

“That's crazy, though.”

“What?”

“You're explaining to me why I want to be with you.”

“Steve...”

“No, seriously.” He shakes his head. “I just told you I want to be with you. Why is that so hard to believe?”

What a bitch. What a beautiful bitch. Despite all the nonsense coming out of your mouth, he can't help finding you beautiful.

He could use your lips any way he wanted. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be on your knees, letting him clean your mouth of all the bullshit you keep letting spill out of it.

Because that's how it all started. When he realized you needed to be controlled during sex and he was finally looking to indulge all of his fantasies.

He just hadn't expected it to become more than that. And for you to pretend it wasn't the same for you too.

“It makes you feel like this is going to last forever.”

And on top of that, you keep going.

“What are you trying to say?”

I'm saying that, no matter how much I wanted to be, I'm not your last love.

“That you're exploring, and that's fine, but you need to have other experiences.”

“And you can't be the one I explore with?”

He says it with irony, almost mockingly. As if your relationship came down to that one word: explore.

He was going to argue again. Explain that you were wrong. Remind you of the nights you'd spent together, the mornings, the habits.

Then he suddenly realizes that none of it would change anything, because it's not him you're trying to convince, but yourself.

He didn't know you'd give up before even trying.

“Well, you finally managed to say stop.”

You flinch at the word that represents your safeword. And that he's using now.

Tell me stop and I'll stop, okay?

He's bitter. He can't help letting out a cold laugh as he looks out the window.

You'd like to tell him yes, truly. But you don't know how to handle emotions. You don't even know how. You only know that your heart still beats just as hard whenever you see him. That you love spending a simple evening with him without having to be on all fours—even if you love that too.

You know that you love Steve. A lot. Too much.

But you also know that you wouldn't be able to control anything with him, overwhelmed by all the things people feel when they're with someone.

Being controlled for sex was one thing.

But you needed to control everything else.

You were simply too scared to let him do it. To let Steve make you feel all of that.

“I should go.”

“So that's it?”

He asks the question, but he already knows the answer.

“Yeah... I guess so.”

Admitting it out loud hurts.

“Believe me, I didn't see it coming either,” you whisper, stunned. “I should've known that parking spot was too good to be true.”

Steve doesn't answer. He simply watches you the way he does every time he knows you're lying.

In less than an hour, you should be sitting side by side in a dark theater, arguing over which snacks to get.

Behind you, on the counter, the hot chocolate Steve made for you grows cold without anyone touching it.

I posted this yesterday, but I hit the wrong button and it deleted itself.

911 8x06 Buck and Tommy

Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist

Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciated✨

[lovelydollzz]

"𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰. It's all ours."

The words left Rafe’s mouth, his breath hot against your neck as he placed sloppy kisses all over.

It was true. It was all yours now, Tannyhill.

– "Mmph" you murmured, "all ours"

You were already sitting in his lap, you had been for the past thirty minutes, just enjoying eachothers company. Enjoying the fact that the biggest house on Kildare now was yours to live in.

Yours to raise a family in.

He pulled you even closer to him, positioning your legs so that you were straddling him. – "We'll throw big parties, stay up all night, drink.. do stupid stuff" he spoke.

Stupid stuff—drugs.

You didn’t like that, not at all.

You kissed him again, tongue interwining with his, – "We have all of this to ourselves" you whispered, sucking gently on the skin right beneath his jaw.

He groaned, hips jerking slightly, – Mhm, no one interrupting us, no one taking away all the fun"

You giggled, – "Rafe you're twenty, no ones taking away all the fun. Whether you live alone or not"

He kissed you again, carefully nipping on your lower lip. – "Mhm.. except for you maybe, fun police." He teased, a smile playing on his lips.

You slapped him lightly, pretending to be mad, but not really. – "Fun police?!" You exclaimed.

– "Yeah.. you'll tell me to go to sleep and to stop drinking when i'm drunk. And when we have kids you won't let them stay up past their bedtime which will be at 8:pm by the way" he licked his lips, brows quirking slightly upwards.

You scoffed, – "I'm not that boring! How dare you accuse me of being boring?!"

Oh he was right, so right.

You wouldn’t even let him stay up for too long either. "Think about how tired you'll be tomorrow" you were so fucking pathetic.

You hated when the bed wasn't made, and if he'd remove one of the decorative pillows to be more comfortable during daytime? Oh yeah he'd hear about it.

You couldn't stand when the kitchen drawers weren't organized or when the guests at Rafe's parties would leave pizza slices laying all over the kitchen.

And you despised whenever he'd use coke or any type of drugs. In fact, you had slapped him the last time he was high. You had slapped him in absolute fury and made him sleep on the couch for a week.

But perhaps you were exactly what he needed, someone who'd keep him sane when he was on the verge of losing it. Someone who would bring him back to earth when he was drifting away.

You were exactly what he needed.

© ＬＯＶＥＬＹＤＯＬＬＺＺ - please do not copy or use my work without permission. Love y'all and thank you for reading!

✎ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This was supposed to be smut at first but I realized I was too tired halfway through and wrote whatever this is.. I want to try my best and actually post every day for a while so that I can build some type of community here!! So I will have to come to terms with the fact that not every single post must be perfect.. Thank you sooo much for all the love I got on my last post though! It means a lot ❤️

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@wh0re4-alexademi

[keer-y]

Short Straw

pairing: steve harrington/f!reader wc: 9.1k tags: sex pollen, dubious consent, multiple orgasms, [unsafe] vaginal sex, a lot of come. too much a/n: thank you thank you thank you to @tinfoileddd, nice to write smth silly and fun. and disgustingly filthy yay

&&

“Someone has to go,” Nancy says, looking around the room at the five of you, congregated outside of the Byers’ home. Each of you eye one another, no one wanting to volunteer for such a task. 

You can tell Steve wants to, though. You can tell he wants to even though he’s still reeling from what happened the last time the group made the trek to the Upside Down, because that’s who Steve is and that’s what Steve does, and when he can step in to avoid anyone else having to, he will. 

Steve opens his mouth, but you speak over him.

“Whoever it is shouldn’t go alone.” You cut him off, because if Steve is going to volunteer himself as the sacrificial lamb to see if something down below is causing the thick dust raining down onto Hawkins, you want him to at least have someone there with him.

“Well,” Robin says. “I don’t think it should be me.”

“That’s fine,” Jonathan quips, rolling his eyes a little, but you speak up again before Steve can, almost stumbling over your words as he opens his mouth because you want to get your idea out first.

“We should draw straws,” you suggest. “That way it’s random and fair.”

Steve clamps his jaw shut, looking over at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I agree.” Nancy nods. “I’ll go check with Mrs. Byers.”

“I’ll go,” Jonathan says. “I know where they are—she’s busy with Will.” He pauses, then sighs out the word, “Probably.”

He turns on his heel and leaves the four of you standing in a square, Robin’s shoulder pressed against Steve’s, while you look from them to Nancy, concern etched over your face. 

“This just feels,” you say, “I dunno. Bad.”

“Yeah, because it is,” Robin says. “This is like, the worst bad it could possibly be. Like, Defcon level 5 bad.”

“That’s the least bad one,” Steve says.

“What?” Robin asks, absently, almost like she forgot what she’d just said.

“Defcon 5,” Steve repeats. “That’s the lowest one. Defcon 1 is the really bad one.”

“Ok, then it’s Defcon 1,” Robin echoes him. “Whatever. Any Defcon sucks!”

The group lulls into an introspective silence until the front door to Jonathan’s house opens and he returns, clutching a handful of straws. He returns to the circle, fidgeting with the straws until he’s back between Nancy and Robin, and then just holds out his fist so you can all pull a straw from his hand.

“Three long,” he specifies, “two short.”

He offers them to Nancy first, who takes a breath, chooses a straw, and—admittedly—looks a little bit miffed that it’s not a short one.

Robin reaches out next, plucking a straw from Jonathan’s hand before you can. She tugs it free. 

Long.

Jonathan moves his hand over to you and Steve, and Steve gestures to you to pick first—there’s only one safe straw left, and he’ll suffer Jonathan if he has to, to make sure that none of the women in the little quintet you’ve cobbled together are in danger.

Taking a breath, you pinch the straw on your right between your thumb and index finger, before changing to the one on your left. You ease it out of Jonathan’s hand, and just swallow thickly when you see you’ve pulled a short straw. 

A slight tension settles over the group as you huff a short laugh through your nose, because of course that’s your luck. 

“Great,” you say, wanting to flick the plastic away but instead you hang onto it, watching as Steve and Jonathan stare each other down.

“You’ll be fine,” Nancy says. “Steve or Jonathan will be with you.” She steps closer. “Do you want to trade?” she adds surreptitiously. She’s more capable than you, she’d be the obvious choice—but you were screwed over by your own idea, so your integrity feels like it’s forcing your hand.

“No, it’s—you need to stay here with Mike. And…Will. If Jonathan ends up going with me. I’ll be ok,” you reply, glancing over at her. “Thanks, though.”

“Just pick one,” Jonathan is saying to Steve, and you watch as Steve reaches for the straw you almost chose first, taking it with no hesitation from Jonathan’s closed fist.

It almost pains you to see that it’s also short, so you’d have been going no matter which you chose. Typical.

Jonathan opens his hand to show his straw is long, just for the fairness of the game, and you turn to Steve, ignoring the way Robin is bouncing a little in place, hands curled into the hem of her sweater before she releases it and just crosses to you, putting her hands on your shoulders.

“You’ll be so fine,” she says. “Steve won a fight against a, like, Russian soldier.”

“He what?” you ask, but before you can get an answer, Steve just steps between you and Robin and meets your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says. “We’re gonna need to gear up before we head down there again.”

&&

You end up with an old canvas jacket over a tank top, one that Mrs. Byers found for you in the back of the hall closet, the sleeves a little too long. Nancy approached you, shoving her own boots into your hands, and said you’d be better in those, as opposed to the tennis shoes you had on. Steve is still in his jeans too, now wearing an old t-shirt that Jonathan provided. It looks a little too small for Steve, his shoulders a little broader, but it’s hidden beneath his bomber jacket. He only shrugs his shoulders, stretching the fabric out over them before he leads you outside, Jonathan trailing behind, the designated driver to get you to the crossover point.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, mostly to you, because Steve looks a hell of a lot more composed than you do, your breath a little thin, your eyes unblinking as you fixate on nighttime scenery as it passes by. “It一shouldn’t be like, you know, before.”

“No bats?” you ask, almost laughing, because even though you saw the evidence of their story firsthand, even though you’ve been around long enough to know every detail they provided is true, it still sounds crazy to speak it aloud.

“No bats,” Jonathan promises, even though there’s no way he could realistically know.

“Ok,” you say, looking at Steve in the backseat. His jaw is set, and when he feels your eyes on him, he looks over at you.

“You can still sit this one out,” Steve says, and to his credit, Jonathan doesn’t speak for you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning. “I一got a short straw.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says, “but you shouldn’t一have to. You’ve never gone down there, and you should keep it that way.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jonathan glance up to look at Steve in the rearview, undoubtedly wondering if the fucking Hair is gonna try to pull him along and leave you with the car.

“It was my idea,” you say. “I pulled a short straw fair and square.”

“Having to go down there isn’t fair,” Steve says.

“Well, you went last time, so having to go again is what’s not fair, isn’t it?” you counter.

“That’s not what I said一” Steve tries to protest, but again, you speak over him.

“I’m going,” you say. “End of story. The quicker you accept that, the easier this will be. Stop一thinking about me and focus.”

Steve huffs a little noise of disbelief, but quietens down and the rest of the drive passes with just the sound of the engine and the tires speeding over the asphalt, potholes and cracks in the road making him slow the car to a stop.

“This is as far as we can drive,” Jonathan says, holding his foot on the brakes as you and Steve both hesitate, looking at the red glow of the rift a bit further up the street, the entire area abandoned and desolate, destroyed by the X-shaped fissure quadrisecting Hawkins’ downtown.

What look like ashes or fiery motes dance above the broken earth, and you force yourself to move so Steve has no choice but to follow.

You feel for the door handle, not taking your eyes off of the red glow ahead of you, and push open the squeaky door, stepping out of the car. The gravel crunches underfoot as you stand and move back a step, slamming the door. Behind you, you hear the rear driver side door creak and slam too, and you look back to meet Steve’s eyes over the roof of the car. Neither of you speaks, but neither of you has to.

“I’ll be here waiting,” Jonathan says, to Steve一he’s rolled down the window on his side. “As long as it takes. But don’t take too long.”

“No sweat,” Steve says, clapping his hand onto the roof, displacing some of the dust that’s already settled onto the car, just by virtue of idling in one place. “We got this.”

You wait for Steve to start walking forward, joining him as you traverse the rocky, destroyed street, the headlights from the Byers’ car illuminating you from behind as you go.

“What’s it like down there?” you ask, carefully stepping over a large chunk of blacktop.

“It’s…” Steve says, his voice trailing off. “Not great.”

“That helps,” you snip, because you’d like maybe a little preparation before you dive in.

“I’ll go first,” Steve says. “it’s一a little trippy. Just… give me a sec after I go through, and then I’ll catch you.”

“Catch me?” you ask, but Steve’s already adjusting his jacket, fiddling with the flashlight he’s holding, running a hand back through his hair, dusted with whatever the fine granules are that have been falling over Hawkins constantly for the last day.

“It’s一I mean, it’s called the Upside Down for a reas一you’ll see. Just. The dizziness will pass quick, promise.”

You open your mouth to say something else, but even as you do, you realize you have no idea what to say or to ask. So instead, you just watch as he crouches down beside the rift, fingers curling over the edge, and as he leans forward, you look back to Jonathan, who’s standing outside the car now, leaning against the hood, watching you both.

When you turn back to look at Steve, he’s gone.

You startle, because yes, you expected it, and yes, you knew this was all real, but for some reason his there-one-second-gone-the-next disappearing act throws you.

“You can go,” Jonathan says, encouraging. “He’ll一be ready by now.”

“Have you gone down there?” you ask.

He pauses, then shakes his head. “Not yet.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, then snicker. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

He hesitates, then smirks. “Bon voyage.”

You hold his gaze for another moment, like he’ll stop you一of course he won’t, you wouldn’t if you were him一and then replicate Steve’s movements as closely as you can remember. Crouching down. Gripping the edge. That was all you’d seen, but you close your eyes and tip yourself forward, expecting一actually, you have no fucking idea what to expect, and as your own body weight propels you forward through the rift, you feel strong hands grip your upper arms, pulling you through the rest of the way until you’re in an environment that feels colder, inherently. Like there’s no warmth here, no sun, nothing living, only death and decay and rot.

You stumble, because like Steve told you, there is a moment when your equilibrium is so completely off it’s almost like you have vertigo. He does catch you, as promised and your hands grip his arms back for a moment until your body reorients itself and you can stand without holding onto him.

“Thanks,” you say, looking around. It’s uncanny一you’re in Hawkins, downtown. It looks the same but still so drastically different that you feel as though you’ve just stepped into a nightmare.

“Come on,” Steve says, gently, and you can tell he doesn’t want to linger in one place too long. His hand is still on your arm, even though you’ve turned enough that you can walk beside him.

All of the air is stale down here, and as you walk through the inverse version of your hometown, you start to become attuned to the strange sounds of this place, the一odd clicks off to the side, a rushing roar occasionally from behind or above you, but you never see anything, never feel anything other than Steve’s fingers pressing into your arm through the jacket.

You don’t know how long you walk for, and you lose your bearings in the dimness of the Upside Down, but Steve is confidently striding forward like he knows exactly where you are and where you’re going. Between you, it’s silent, which you don’t mind一just the sound of your breathing and a few short exclamations when your foot twists on a rock, or Steve drops the flashlight, his quiet little “Oops” actually making you smile a little as he ducks down to pick it up, wiping the dirt from the lens.

You walk further, Nancy’s boots clomping alongside Steve’s quieter hiking shoes, and when you reach the base of a hill, you both stop.

“Up?” you ask, and Steve finally releases your arm. You feel the absence like a presence, because you hadn’t realized how much it was comforting you until it was gone, but he glances over at you, nods, and then gestures for you to head up first.

“I’ll follow you,” he says, “make sure you don’t slip.”

Making sure you don’t fall一It’s thoughtful in the way you expect from Steve, even though you don’t know him that well. You’re only wrapped up in this insanity because you know一no. Knew…Eddie. You knew Eddie. He was your neighbor, a couple doors over, and you were friends in that way where you waved to each other when you were grabbing the mail, or said hi if you happened to pass at the store, or noticed when a girl died in his trailer while he was screaming bloody murder and had to go on the lam. It was hard not to get involved when you’d rushed outside to see what the fuck was going on with all the noise only to watch him split seconds later, peeling out of the lot. 

Your first mistake had been even stepping out your front door that evening. Your second mistake had been peeking inside his trailer, your third had been finding that Henderson kid he had mentioned to you a few times in passing…and probably your fiftieth fucking mistake had been suggesting drawing fucking straws to see who got to pay a fucking visit to this scenic fucking shithole.

“Over there,” Steve says, as you crest the hill, pointing vaguely in the direction of a thick copse of trees. “Pretty, uh, dusty.”

He’s right: The trees are surrounded by what looks like a hazy cloud of dust, dense enough to look like fog from afar. It’s practically shimmering even in the darkness, and as Steve shines the flashlight toward it, even though you’re a good distance away, it looks like you’ve agitated it, almost like being illuminated caused the fine particles to move faster. Like observing them made them, somehow, aware of your presence.

You dig the toe of your boot into the ground below you. “So that’s where it’s coming from then,” you say, eager to leave. “Let’s go tell Hopper and Dustin and everyone.”

You start to turn, ready to head back the way you came, but Steve’s arm hooks around your elbow again. You try to suppress how having him back in contact with you does make you feel a little bit better once again.

“No, come on. We need to see if something’s…doing that.”

“It’s just us, Steve,” you argue. “We don’t know enough about anything down here to just go walking into…whatever that is. It looks like…someone cast cloudkill or something.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow at you. “Please tell me you didn’t just bring D&D into this.”

“That’s what it looks like!”

“Dustin would be so proud.” He smirks a little to himself. “Ok,” he says. “I’m gonna go take a closer look. They’ll want to know more and I’d like to be able to answer whatever questions we can when we’re back topside. Just wait here.” He takes off down the hill, minding his steps as he goes. 

“Wait,” you try to call after him, not wanting to be too loud. You watch as his flashlight beam moves over the dust again, the swirling almost appearing to move faster as he approaches it, like it wants him to reach it. “Steve!”

You hiss the word as loud as you dare, and he pauses, stopping at the bottom of the slanted ground. 

“It’s ok,” he calls back up to you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Let’s just go back!” you say, glancing around behind you as something一somewhere back the way you came from一makes a noise that disrupts the otherwise quiet landscape. That clicking sound again.

“I promise it’s fine,” he says. “I won’t be long.”

“No, Steve—” you say, and he pauses, watching with pursed lips as you start forward.

“Come on, then,” he says, resigned, waiting for you as you also make your way down, the ground uneven and the dirt sliding beneath your feet as you descend.

He’s still in the same spot when you reach him, and he holds out a hand for you to take if you need it. Your gut wants you to reach for it, for him, but you ignore the impulse; you’re back on (mostly) flat ground now, you can walk without assistance. Besides… you both might need both hands readily available if shit goes sideways. Or, uh. Upside down.

You flinch at yourself for even thinking it, because that was stupid. So stupid.

“Hold on,” Steve says, holding his arm out horizontally so you stop walking, because while you were in your own little world lamenting your dumb joke, you’d gotten even closer to the treeline and the dust is very, very much thicker here.

“Oh,” you say, because the way it’s clouded there, it reminds you of when freshwater and saltwater meet but can’t mix, different viscosities preventing them from commingling. “That’s…”

“Weird,” Steve says, and before you can suggest that this is definitely enough information to bring back to the group, he steps forward, approaching the trees.

“Steve!” you hiss. “What the hell, why are you like this?”

He looks back at you, a faint smile quirking up one side of his mouth. “I wish I knew.”

You stand outside of the range of the… dust, or whatever the hell it is, until he reaches the trees. Even from where you’re standing, you can see when he shines the flashlight over them, they look diseased, dead, the bark crumbling, the trunks covered in thick vines. They shine a little in the light, covered in sap or… something far more vile.

“Come back,” you implore him, but he doesn’t listen, and you’re not sure if he can’t hear you or if he just ignored your request. “Steve!”

“It’s fine,” he says. “Come here, it looks like… just come here.”

You don’t want to, but you do, because the entire reason you’re even here is so Steve didn’t come down into this place alone. The air doesn’t smell or taste different when you take a step forward, but it feels softer almost, brushing against your skin like baby powder, and by the time you reach Steve, you feel like you’ve been wrapped in silk, or velvet maybe, like the very air itself is cradling you.

“Look at this,” he says, moving the flashlight closer to the vines. “Do you see that?”

You look closer, not sure what he means at first, until you do see it. It looks like a stem broken off of the vine, like a flower had been there and was now gone. You can see a scattering of them all up and down the vine, and the vines beside it; the entire tree is covered in the same stems. Like it had sprouted blooms once, but they’d shriveled, losing their petals but the central disc where the pollen collected remained.

“Flowers?” you asked.

“I don’t know…” Steve said, reaching out toward one of the stems.

“Hey!” you said, grabbing his wrist with both hands, stopping him before he can touch it. “We’re not touching them. No way.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “Just… back up a little.”

“Please don’t,” you say, not moving. Steve extends his arm again, using it to guide you back, and then presses one of the un-petaled flower stems down. You hold your breath, but nothing happens, and when Steve moves his hand back, the stem just rises back to its previous position, unremarkably.

“See?” Steve says, looking back at you. “It’s fine.”

You exhale heavily, nervous still, even though you now have the empirical evidence that yes一it was fine.

“I guess,” you admit, and before you can react, Steve is walking past the treeline, between the old, creaking trunks, twigs snapping beneath his feet. “I swear to god, Harrington…” You mumble it mostly to yourself, and then follow him, because you don’t want to have to explain to anyone that you lost Steve because you were too scared to follow him into some trees.

Even though you’re fairly certain, like, anyone would understand.

He’s stopping at random trees, shining the flashlight on them, but every flowered vine you find looks the same as the first one一flowers, no petals, the center bare of any pollen or residue.

“Maybe we can just一take one of the stems and bring it back. And leave. Now.”

“We don’t know that’s what’s causing the dust,” Steve says, and you actually grab him, spin him around, and stare him down with your hands on your hips.

“I think,” you say, lifting your hands exasperatedly into the air, “we can extrapolate that they are what’s causing it.”

But he’s not listening. You can tell because he’s looking behind you, the flashlight just a little bit off to your left. You turn to see what’s caught his interest, and find it immediately. It’s one of the flowers, but not barren. The petals are a sickly green-blue, the same as the rest of the vines, and the disc is very clearly covered in a thin layer of pollen. Steve shuts the flashlight off and you see how he noticed it一it’s bioluminescent.

“Oh,” you say again, looking back at him. “That’s…even weirder.”

“We should bring that one back,” he says.

“I still don’t think we should touch it,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees, surprising you. “Probably not, but一I mean…if we can learn anything about anything it’ll be from that one, right?”

“I…” you start to say, then sigh. “I guess.”

“All right, just,” he says, handing you the flashlight. “Hold this.”

“Do you need the light?” you ask, running your thumb over the button to turn it back on.

“No,” he says, stepping past you and reaching up toward the flower. “I got it一”

As soon as his fingers touch the stem, the flower reacts一actually reacts. It appears to contract, the way you’d expect a Venus fly trap to close when its prey triggers it, and then the petals fall away, down over Steve’s hands, his face, and the pollen follows, the glimmering particles landing on him, on you, wisping away through the trees to settle, no longer glowing, wherever they fell through the stagnant air.

“Steve!” you scold him, but even as you do, you start to feel… off.

“You ok?” Steve asks, turning to you. His eyes meet yours and you feel a pull, you feel the same vertigo you felt when you first arrived here.

“Yeah,” you say, before the world slides sideways. “Wait. No.” You move to brace yourself against the tree, pressing the side of your forearm against it, letting your forehead rest there for a moment as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Steve echoes you. “Yeah, me… me neither.”

“What the hell was that?” you ask, turning the flashlight on. With the beam lit up again, you can see how shaky your hands are, because you angle it up and despite your best effort, you simply cannot keep the stem of the flower that exploded centered in the light. “Jesus Christ,” you mumble to yourself, dropping the lit flashlight because seeing yourself so obviously affected by whatever you just inhaled is making you feel even more scared than you already are.

You register Steve moving away from you, walking around in the tight space, shaking his hands out like he’s trying to rid them of something.

You suck in a breath.

“Are you like. Hot?” you ask, pulling off the heavy jacket and draping it over your shoulder, just to have something to do with your shaking hands.

“What?” Steve asks in return, but you can hear the tightness in his voice.

You swallow, stepping away from the tree, and because whatever the fuck is happening to the two of you is happening, you bump into him just as he nears you with his pacing, neither paying any mind to the other. Where his hand brushes your arm, your skin tingles, tightens—feels like it’s going to blister. And then it happens to the rest of your body.

But just as quickly as it does, it dissolves away, leaving you feeling cold, wanting.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks again, in a way that you can tell he felt whatever that was too. But also in the way that you can tell he’s, maybe, handling it a little better.

“Still no,” you say. 

“Right,” Steve says. “Yeah. ‘Cause you just…” he trails off, and as soon as he mentions it you realize, belatedly, that the searing feeling of his bare skin against yours—your arms mind you—made you loose a moan from deep in your chest, low and unbidden, soft but heavy.

The moment hangs between you for a second, your heart hammering in your chest, an uncomfortable pressure starting to build between your legs.

“Hey,” Steve says, and you look up at him, and when you do you realize he’s much closer than he was moments ago, and he was already right beside you. “Hey, do you, um…” he trails off, and in the ambient light emanating from the flashlight on the ground beside you, you can see his gaze drop down to your lips.

Instinctually一because all of a sudden you feel like every single impulse and sense you have has been reduced to its basest level一you let your eyes lower to his mouth too, and when you see them, when you watch as his teeth worry his lower lip between them, when you see his cheeks hollow for a moment, when you catch a brief glimpse of his tongue, the same question that you’re certain he was about to ask you pops into your mind, and you answer what he didn’t even ask.

“Yes,” you say, and without further hesitation, without any thought at all, you take his face in your hands and press your lips to his.

Simultaneously you feel both immense relief and immeasurable desire, your stomach churning, your lips parting as Steve groans into your mouth. You can’t help but press your hips to his, parting your lips to let his tongue lick against yours, and your hands curl into his hair as you kiss him wildly, tongues and teeth and absolutely no reticence, the desperation clear on your part and his.

“Fuck,” you mutter as his hands tug your tank top up, pushing it over your tits, not bothering to unclasp your bra but just shoving that up and over your chest too, and you don’t even care that he’s undressing you in the middle of the weird ass woods in some alternate dimension. You don’t care that you’ve been stricken with the urge to fuck some guy you barely know, and only know because of some of the direst circumstances in history. You don’t care that he’s caging you in against the tree, the vines and bark scraping against your back as he leans down to bypass your neck completely and latch onto one of your tits, his mouth working at you in a way that you could tell on an ordinary night in an ordinary bed in ordinary Hawkins would feel wonderful, but now is only making the ache between your legs worsen, because you need part of him in contact with part of you and it’s not his mouth on your nipple.

“Steve,” you gasp, tone high, thready. “I need一oh my god, I can’t一” you stop yourself, because you know what it is that you want but you can’t very well tell him that you need his cock. You do not know each other like that, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, he pulls back from you, shrugging off his jacket as well, letting it fall to the ground behind him as he undoes his jeans and shoves them down.

You’re on him before he even pulls his hands away from the waistband一both hands wrapping around his shaft, coaxing him to hardness even though he’s already most of the way there. Your entire being shudders with relief as soon as you feel his hot, girthy cock in your hands, and he rushes you back against the tree, mouth taking yours again as you stroke him with both hands, smearing the copious amount of precome he’s leaking all down his length. He’s so wet it coats your hands, your wrists even, as you accidentally let them brush against him as you jerk him off.

“This is”一you gasp out as he breaks away to move his lips down to your neck一“weird, right?”

“Yes,” Steve answers, but even as he says it, he’s moving his hands from your waist to your front, fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans and slipping the button. He undoes the zipper and doesn’t even bother trying to lower your pants down to your thighs like his are一he just shoves his hand into your underwear, palm skimming below your belly button until he reaches your mound, his middle finger sliding between your lips to touch your clit, the pad of his finger rubbing over it, not gently, but hard, harsh, immediate pressure that should feel good, but does absolutely nothing for you.

Strangely, you realize一you’re getting more enjoyment out of touching him, than you are from him touching you.

“God, that’s good,” Steve breathes against your mouth, and you realize he must be feeling the same一only getting any relief when he got his hands on you.

“What’s happening?” you ask, lips on the corner of his, breath warm on his cheek.

“I don’t know, I一” Steve says, licking into your mouth before pressing his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes as he thrusts his hand down further into your jeans, the force of it moving them down your hips without any help, and then his fingers are sliding through your folds. “You’re一so wet一I, I never felt anyone like, like this一”

“This is fucking,” you stammer, but the thought of exactly what it is leaves you as he curls two fingers inside of you, and he shudders in relief. You pull him closer by his cock, letting one hand move over it as you reach lower, cupping his heavy balls in your hand, massaging them and tipping your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you do.

“We should一stop,” Steve says, but you shake your head, then nod, then shake your head again.

“No, we can’t… Don’t want to,” you admit.

Steve’s voice is thick like honey, dripping with arousal as he speaks to you, tucking his cheek against yours so he can whisper directly into your ear. “Take一take everything off. Turn around.” It’s dark and deep and you reluctantly release his cock, let him slide his fingers out of you, and then the two of you strip the rest of your clothes off, denim landing on the dirt and leaves, his shirt landing in a heap as he helps you with your bra, and then you’re both naked in the cursed forest, and he’s pressing himself against your back, hands roaming your front. It feels nice but does nothing to assuage the arousal still coiling in your belly, and you push yourself into him, the heated skin of his cock smearing precome over your ass as his hips slide against you. 

“Steve,” you whine, and your tone spurs him into action, his hands landing on your hips, pushing you down, down to your knees and then all fours, and then one of his hands is sliding down your spine to stop between your shoulder blades, and then the next thing you know, your shoulders and tits are being pressed into the dirt, your ass up in the air, presenting yourself to him. You turn your head as much as you can to look back at him, straining as he holds you down.

He’s kneeling behind you, and you watch as his eyes meet yours, hazy with lust, with desperation, and he only nods once at you before you see him reach for his cock with his free hand and press the head against your weeping slit.

Your whole body quivers, and you would have pushed back if he wasn’t keeping you firmly in place, your arms trapped beneath you, hands scrabbling for purchase on your own thighs, holding onto yourself as you feel the pressure on your pussy increase when Steve leans into you with purpose.

He enters you in one deep, thick stroke, and as soon as you engulf him, as soon as you feel him splitting your walls open on his cock, you shudder and come instantly with a loud cry, sobbing from momentary relief, pleasure raining down over you as the sheen of sweat on your skin worsens. Your entire body is aflame like you’ve got a fever, and you clench around Steve's cock when you feel his hips grinding against your ass as you realize that he came too, suddenly, with a harsh gasp. 

But then he’s moving again, back out of you and then pushing in, pushing desperately, chasing the feeling again. Because your first orgasm wasn’t satisfying, barely any of the edge siphoning off despite how much it affected you, and the way he’s digging his fingertips into your hips as he pounds at you tells you his wasn’t either. He’s fucking his come back into your pussy, easing the slide, your thighs dripping with it already as flecks of his release land on your skin. 

“Steve,” you say, voice watery, because you haven’t even come down from your first orgasm and you can already feel another one cresting on the horizon.

“Do you一does this一feel good for you, t-too?” he asks, and you know he’s asking because he must feel the same as you一unsatisfied, wanting more, chasing another and another and another.

“Yeah, it一” you say, gasping as he leans over you, drilling his cock into you even deeper, reaching places inside of you you’ve never felt on your own. “You feel so一so good, Steve, please just一” You falter again, but unless you say it how will he know? How will he know how badly you want this, want him, unless you tell him? “Just keep一going, keep, keep coming in一in me, oh, god, I…” 

You’d feel embarrassed to sound so wanton and lewd if not for the way he answers you, pressing his hand more firmly against your back, sliding it up to your neck, and then finally, relenting for a brief moment so he can tangle his fist into your hair and use it to press your face down into the dirt.

“You have no一idea,” he replies, his hips snapping against your ass, his cock coated with his own spunk, your fluids, dripping down onto his balls, onto the forest floor. “How good you一you feel, around一fuck, you’re so一so一” He fucks into you again, and you feel his cock twitch deep within you, coming again, his release flooding you, his rigid cock not softening and not leaving your cunt, not fully anyway.

His voice sounds slightly more even when he speaks, but still frenzied.

“You feel that?” he asks, and you nod, sliding one of your hands up your stained thigh, sticky with your arousal. “Feel me inside you, right? Feel how一what you’re doing to me?”

“Steve,” you whimper, as he starts moving again, the wet sounds coming from between your bodies obscene, the sound of him fucking his own come loud, filthy, and it ensnares you, your lips parting of their own accord as you feel the saliva dribbling out of your mouth, but you can’t do much to stop it, not with him holding you down, with your arms tucked beneath you, with the way you’re now rubbing at your own clit because you feel so full with two loads in you that you need to come, need to feel it leak out of your hole around his cock, need the force of your orgasm to empty you so he can do it all over again on a clean slate.

“I can feel you,” Steve says, voice choked as he slams into you and stops, straightening up, releasing your head and your hair and clamping his hands down on your hips, rolling his front shallowly against yours, letting his cock just barely move out before it dips right back in, and the stretch of your slit around him, the feeling of your own hand working at your clit, finally sends you over the edge and you turn your face into the ground, hiding your shame as you realize he just came a third time, your pussy milking the orgasm from him as it spasmed and clenched down, begging it from him. The dirt sticks to your face, your lips and chin and you squeeze your eyes closed as you feel him pull out一again, not fully, only partly because you chase him, leaning back into him, wanting him to stay rooted deep within you一but even as you do, you still feel the thick drops of his come ooze out of you around him, rolling down your thighs, collecting in the crease of your knees.

“Do you feel any一better?” Steve asks, and in spite of the question, he pushes back into you, displacing more of his semen, forcing more of it out around him, staining your front along with his this time.

“Yes,” you answer, “no一can you fuck me a-again?”

Steve’s hands smooth over your back一you feel a little less heady, a little less one-track minded, but the burn is still there, the one that needs him moving into you again, pounding his front against your back, giving it to you over and over.

“I still need it too,” he says, and that makes you feel marginally better until he leans over you, letting his back rest against your front, letting your legs support his weight on top of you as he circles both arms beneath you, one hand pressing against up against your stomach, the other moving between your come-covered thighs to nudge your hand away and let his fingers work at your clit this time.

“Fuck一Steve,” you sob, because he’s not moving this time, just letting his cock sit inside you, heavy, slick with his own spunk, and his breath is heavy in your ear as he just rubs your clit, letting you squeeze down on him, unmoving inside you. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him tight, and Steve’s hand on your clit feels worlds different than your own did一your orgasm takes you over by surprise, hitting you out of nowhere so strongly that you buck back against him, wanting to feel him deeper even though he’s fully seated in you, riding out your orgasm with you until you sigh, eyes closed, cheek pressing to the dirty ground, smearing your own drool against the detritus below you.

His fingers slip away from your clit and he starts moving again, and even though you want it, you whine, the noise in your throat crackly and petulant, and without pulling out of you, needing to stay joined the exact same way you do, he holds you tight against him and rolls the both of you onto your side. He’s still inside you, and with the same arm that he’d just had looped around your stomach, he hooks your leg on his wrist, pulling your leg up to the side and holds it there, out of his way, exposing your cunt as he fucks you from behind this time, the new position just as intense but so, so much better, your back resting against his front, his skin slick with sweat as he clings to you, almost as desperate as you feel. 

“Almost一almost there,” he says, and you’re not sure what he means, because you’re still bleary with arousal, still want to come on his cock countless more times, still want to feel him lingering inside you for days.

“Please touch me,” you beg, “need you一need it to be you, it doesn’t一work when it’s me, Steve, please一”

“Sh,” he hushes you, his voice soft as he leans a little further into you, rising to prop himself up on his elbow. He doesn’t release your leg一to the contrary, he leans forward, pushing your leg further up to the crook of his elbow, holding your legs open at an even wider angle, and lets his now free hand slip between your folds to find your clit.

You sob when he does, because you come again the moment he touches it, the swollen bead throbbing beneath the pads of his fingers, kicking under his ministrations as he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, and you rise to your peak again, barely even coming down from the first一or maybe you just didn’t stop coming. You don’t know, you don’t care, because after this many, you’re starting to feel like yourself again, but the feeling is still there, you still need more.

“It’s一so much,” you mumble, and Steve presses a short kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“You feel so good, though,” he says, his hips still curling into yours, his cock not as deep now, both of you contorted around each other, back to front, limbs entangled, his fingers on your clit, the head of his cock in the perfect position to rub repeatedly against your g-spot, and you shudder a sigh as you feel yourself come again, weaker this time, your cunt sopping and sore.

“Come in me again,” you ask weakly, because each time he did, each time he filled you to the brim and it spilled out of you, a little bit of the haze lifted, the feverish impulse lessening.

“Almost,” he replies, thrusting into you, the head of his cock nudging your g-spot and you feel another orgasm beginning to rise, but not strong enough to overtake you yet.

“Please,” you beg, desperate now that you can feel the end might be in sight. You taste dirt in your mouth and feel itchy, skin irritated from twigs and leaves on the ground below you, but they’re the first sensations you’ve felt other than all-consuming arousal since the flower disintegrated onto you both, and you welcome them.

“Just一hold on another一another一” Steve says, and you feel him circle your clit quicker as he fucks into you, his cock dragging against your walls as you tighten up around him, and when he snaps them forward, up into you, shot after shot of his come spurting from the tip of his dick, your whole body tightens, loosens, releases after another orgasm一weak, feeble, and final, you hope一and then you still. Both of you, still, filthy, sweaty messes on the ground, dirty and sticky, skin slick between your thighs, his chest sticking to your back as you pull away from him. You stay on your side, wiping your face with the cleaner of your two hands, scraping away the dirt and spit stuck to your chin. You hear Steve behind you shuffle to his feet, and then his bomber jacket is draped over your shoulders, just to give you some modicum of modesty until you can stand and dress yourself.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, wiping at the rest of your face now, adjusting the jacket to cover yourself as you feel his spend slowly trickle out of you. You twist, looking up at Steve where he’s standing, pulling his jeans back on. He uses his shirt to wipe his dick clean, his thighs, and then looks over to you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, and zips his fly before kneeling beside you, making to lift the jacket to wipe you clean with his shirt too, but you bat his hand away. You wanted him so desperately, had him, even, the two of you unable to control yourselves, and now you don’t even want him to look at you.

“Can you get me my一shirt,” you ask, pointing to where your tank top landed.

Wordlessly, Steve gets you your clothes, handing them to you and looking away as you shift yourself to your knees. You suppress the whimper as you feel yourself gaping, the sticky mess of his come falling from your pussy lips, and you try to clean yourself up as best you can, dressing yourself in your jeans and snapping the jacket closed to hide the fact that you’re now shirtless. You both leave the other soiled garments in the woods.

The first half of the walk back is silent, your stoic expression unchanging even as Steve continues acting exactly as he had before: Letting you walk ahead of him, keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t trip, illuminating your path with the flashlight rather than his own.

“Um,” he says, once you start to see the reddish glow indicating that you’re nearing the rift. “Can we talk?”

You sigh. Heavily. “About what.”

“About一what just happened.”

“What happened?” you ask.

His eyes widen, like he’s not sure whether you’re really asking. “We…had一”

“I know what happened, Steve,” you snap. “I mean, why? What was that stuff?”

He closes his mouth, then his eyes, lifting his hand to cover his face for a moment before letting it fall to his side again.

“I don’t know. But I just一I wanted to check whether you’re ok now.”

“I’m fine,” you say, a little sarcastic, but biting it back because he got the same faceful of fuck pollen as you did. “Don’t worry, you won’t catch me begging for your dick again any time soon.”

He blanches, then takes a step toward you. “Hey, that’s not what I meant.”

“Can we not一talk about it?” you ask.

Steve hesitates, frowns. Then nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

&&

The drive back to the Byers house is awkward. You let Steve sit in front next to Jonathan, let Steve answer the questions, let Steve tell Jonathan no一don’t drop you at home. You end up in the driveway of Jonathan’s house, waiting inside Steve’s BMW as he goes in and gives all the details to Nancy this time. He returns the jacket to Mrs. Byers.

He’d been careful with what he said to Jonathan. Some trees, weird flowers, some kind of pollen. It knocked you out for a little while, he explains, some kind of fever or something, that’s why you’re both filthy and sweaty. But you both feel fine now.

Sure.

Steve emerges from the house in another shirt, a polo he’d changed out of before this whole mess, and rounds the hood of the Bimmer. You watch him, wondering why you didn’t interrupt when Jonathan offered to drop you at your place. It would have been easier. You could have shut yourself up inside and never looked twice at Steve again. You only just got involved in this bullshit. You could extricate yourself just as easily.

But you didn’t.

You’d stayed with Steve even when you had the chance for an out.

You’d allowed him to insist that he drive you home, because he wanted more time to talk to you. Which you didn’t want to do but, admittedly, was probably a good idea.

The driver’s side door slams shut as Steve climbs in. You don’t move, legs pressed together, arms crossed over your chest, and Steve fiddles with the keys, not putting them in the ignition.

“So一” he starts, but you cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk outside Jonathan’s house,” you say.

“Right,” he says, starting the car and shifting into gear, heading out back onto the road. He clears his throat. “So.”

“Yeah?” you ask, and he just clears his throat again.

“Are you ok?”

It’s the question you expected but weren’t sure if he would actually ask. Because you’re not, and he’s probably not either.

“I mean, physically,” you say. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry. Obviously I didn’t一know,” he says, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel.

“I’m not blaming you, Steve.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you say. “But I said I’m not blaming you. How could you have known, really.”

He glances over at you to find you already looking at him. You shrug as if to impart the age-old adage, c’est la vie. Even though it’s really, really not.

There’s another few minutes of silence, the car humming quietly in the night, and it’s almost peaceful except for the mess still between your legs, your body reminding you of it every time he hits a bump in the road and you feel sore all over again.

“That place… I shouldn’t have let you go down there. It changes you.”

“I’ll say,” you snarked, and Steve looked over at you, a little shocked at how blasé you were in that moment, then huffed an unamused laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. It’s一”

“No, for一bringing you. Jonathan should have一”

“I’d love to hear what would have happened if it had been you and Jonathan down there,” you say, keeping your face turned toward the window.

“Ok, well一that’s一” Steve stammers, and you can’t help but laugh a little.

It feels nice, actually, laughing after needing to use Steve’s body in the most perverse, insane way ever, and letting him do the same to yours.

“You didn’t have to drive me,” you say, as Steve turns into the lot where you still live, both of you averting your eyes from Eddie’s residence. Or… what used to be.

“I wanted to,” he says, simply, and when he pulls up outside of your door, he puts the car into park and turns it off, pulling the key from the ignition.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eyeing him as he reaches for the door handle and pockets his keys.

“Walking you to your door,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You want to question him, but you don’t. You just get out of the car, slam the door behind you, and wait for him to move next to you. You lead him, and when he follows you up the steps, holds the door for you when you open it, and enters behind you, you don’t question that either.

Nor does he wait for you to. “I don’t… sleep that great anymore, after… you know, going down there. Figured you might want. I dunno. A friendly face nearby. Just in case.”

You undo the jacket’s fastenings, but hold it closed, your bra shoved into the pocket, your upper half bare beneath the canvas.

“Ok,” you say, not fighting him on it, and just point at the couch behind him. “You can stay there. My mom works an overnight shift so if you can be out by 7:00, I’d appreciate it.”

Steve looks behind himself, then nods. “Sounds good.”

You wait for him to turn and settle down onto it before padding down the hall to the bathroom. The door sticks when you close it, so you never do, just leaving it barely ajar as you strip off the jacket and your jeans, the crotch still wet with Steve’s come. You leave the clothes in a pile on the floor and start the shower, waiting for the water to warm before stepping in; in the meantime, you examine yourself in the mirror. There’s still some dirt scuffed on your cheek; you try to wipe it away with the heel of your hand but it isn’t budging, so you just check yourself out otherwise instead. Your lips are still swollen from where you’d bitten them. You’ve got some bruises and scrapes on your shoulders and chest, your arms and elbows, but there’s no pallor to your skin so you figure you’re fucking fine. Just peachy.

You pull the shower curtain and step in, scrubbing your body hard, your arms and legs, focusing on the marred areas of skin, the places you know need some extra care. You wash thoroughly, your face, your thighs, everything in between them, and when you emerge wrapped in a towel, you see Steve dozing off on your couch. 

You pull the towel tighter around you, watch him for a moment longer, then call out to him.

“Hey.”

His eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of you in the hall, squinting a little like he might have missed something in the interim of sitting down and waking up.

“You ok?” he asks.

You don’t answer一at least, not what he asked you. “My bed’s more comfortable than the couch.”

He studies you一you can feel the force of his look even with how far away he is. He hesitates.

“I’m only offering once,” you say, and that, at least, gets him to move, shifting his weight to the edge of the sofa cushion.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you say, unwavering, and he makes his way from the couch to the hall, looking down at you as he steps past you into your room. You follow him inside and close the door behind you with a low click.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08

[levanswrites]

you brought sex pollen back into my life and i am eternally grateful 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ this was amazing, spectacular, no notes.

right off the bat we're hammering the nail directly on the head with steve's characterization!! bc despite everything—his trauma, guilt, the fact that he's very clearly still carrying what happened the last time they went into the upside down—his immediate instinct is still to volunteer himself as the buffer between danger and the people he loves:

You can tell Steve wants to, though. You can tell he wants to even though he’s still reeling from what happened the last time the group made the trek to the Upside Down, because that’s who Steve is and that’s what Steve does, and when he can step in to avoid anyone else having to, he will. 

that's the thing about steve that I think a lot of people get right on a surface level but this sentence really understands at its core: he doesn't even think about it anymore. it's not really a conscious or voluntary act of heroism. it's a reflex. reader literally cuts him off before he can speak because everyone in the scene already knows what steve harrington is about to do.

and honestly I think it's so sad that steve's relationship with danger is so warped at this point. he doesn't view danger to himself as unfair anymore. the unfairness only exists when it happens to somebody else.

which is why this line really jumped out at me:

“Steve!” you hiss. “What the hell, why are you like this?” He looks back at you, a faint smile quirking up one side of his mouth. “I wish I knew.”

maybe I'm reading too much into this, but also maybe not bc I believe that in good writing nothing is accidental. this reads like a throwaway self-deprecating joke on first glance, but it goes way deeper for me

i've always believed that Steve's perception of his own worth is tied very heavily to sacrifice, usefulness, and bravery. and I think a lot of that probably traces back to his upbringing, to absent parents and expectations, constantly trying to prove he can be something more than the spoiled rich dumb jock everyone initially saw him as.

but i don't think steve himself has ever really unpacked any of that.

he knows what he does. that he'll always be the person to step up, take blows if it means somebody else won't have to.

but does he know why?

i'm not sure he does.

and i think that's why the "I wish I knew" line hits so hard. because I genuinely think that's the truth. If you sat steve down and asked him why he constantly sacrifices himself for everyone around him, I don't think he'd actually have an answer beyond "someone had to." and I don't think he'd ever really want to open that can of worms and get to the root of it.

i also loved this cute little moment because it's such a tiny steve thing that says so much about him:

“I’ll go first,” Steve says. “it’s一a little trippy. Just… give me a sec after I go through, and then I’ll catch you.”

I'll catch you!! the fact that he remembers being disoriented and wants to prepare reader for it before worrying about himself 🥹

and then we get to the moment that absolutely screams steve harrington:

“No, come on. We need to see if something’s…doing that.”

NOOOOO STEVE. steve. baby. what are you doing. but it's very him to ignore the giant flashing warning sign in favor of being more useful to the group. the exact flaw that makes him heroic and infuriating.

and what really kills me is that the first thing he says when the effects of the flower wear off is:

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

baby boy would be spiraling and blaming himself for putting reader in that situation, even if it was just the luck of the draw straw.

in terms of the smut itself: phewwww 🥵 I think a lot of sex pollen fics tend to skew toward resistance first. more of a slow progression: trying to fight the effects, reason through it, maintain control. (which is also very hot!) but I really loved how the sex is so visceral and primal here. like they start kissing before they've fully processed what's happening and the end up rolling around in the dirt.

there's something almost horror-adjacent about it bc it makes the pollen feel genuinely alien and invasive?? it's just very messy and desperate and frantic and I loved that choice.

also this image made me giggle hehe the stonathan agenda lives on!!

“I’d love to hear what would have happened if it had been you and Jonathan down there,” you say, keeping your face turned toward the window.

and then you decided to hit me with this...

“I don’t… sleep that great anymore, after… you know, going down there. Figured you might want. I dunno. A friendly face nearby. Just in case.”

again it's just a great reflection of all the trauma and guilt steve keeps bottled up inside. he knows firsthand how traumatic the upside down is, and knows reader's just gone through something terrifying and violating. but instead of admitting: I don't want to be alone tonight, he's still concerned for someone else. someone he doesn't even know very well.

and his concern for reader is completely genuine, but it's also hard not to read the subtext there. he's speaking from experience; he knows what the aftermath feels like because he's lived it himself.

and even after everything that happened between them, even after all the awkwardness and guilt, his first instinct is still to make sure reader is okay.

because at the end of the day, somebody went through something horrible (well, maybe not so horrible), and steve harrington has never been particularly good at walking away when someone might need him, even when he's carrying a whole lot of hurt himself 🥲

[vanillacashmerekisses]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮

13. 𝐀𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, and fluff

word count: 3.2k

a/n: oh you guys are gonna be pissedddd 😭😭

Steve’s lips were already against your shoulder when you started waking up. You let out the softest sound, still half asleep as you shifted deeper into the mattress.

“Morning,” Steve murmured against your skin, his voice was rough from sleep. Your eyes finally blinked open to find him hovering close beside you, hair messy, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist beneath the blankets. The morning light spilling through the curtains made everything feel hazy and warm.

You smiled sleepily, “Hi.” Steve’s mouth twitched slightly before he leaned down again, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw this time, “You’re so warm,” he mumbled.

“You’re crushing me.” You laughed quietly, still waking up properly as his hand drifted lazily along your side beneath the blanket.

For a second, everything felt completely still, Steve tangled around you in bed after a long night and soft morning light filling the room.

Then the bedroom door flew open so hard it smacked the wall, “WAKE UP.” Blaire yelled.

Steve physically jumped. You barely had time to process what happened before he grabbed the blanket and yanked it halfway over both of your bodies in blind panic, “Oh my God—”

Blaire stood in the doorway in her mismatched pajamas, completely unaware of the near heart attack she’d just caused. “Wake uuup,” she repeated.

Steve looked horrified and you immediately started laughing. “Stop laughing,” he whispered frantically.

“You look terrified.”

“I am terrified.”

Blaire frowned at both of you, “No wake?” Steve was still clutching the blanket around your naked bodies, “We’re awake,” he said quickly.

Blaire nodded once, satisfied, before climbing directly onto the bed like she owned it. Steve immediately tightened the blanket again when she nearly kicked it off.

“Oh my God,” he muttered under his breath. You buried your face into his shoulder laughing harder while Blaire crawled between you both.

“Share.” Blaire said pulling at the covers.

Steve looked horrified. “Let’s not do that, bug.”

“No?” she questioned. You could literally feel him trying not to laugh now too. Blaire finally settled dramatically on top of the covers between both of you before looking up at you.

“Mommyy.” she whined. That stopped you instantly, the laughter softened right out of you. Steve went quiet too and Blaire just looked back and forth between you both sleepily, completely unaware that she’d just shifted the entire mood of the room.

Your chest tightened a little, Steve glanced at you carefully.

“Hey, bug,” he murmured gently to Blaire. “Can we talk to you about something?” Blaire blinked slowly, “Kay.”

Steve adjusted the blanket again carefully before sitting up a little straighter, still making absolutely sure neither of you flashed the toddler currently sitting between you.

You were still trying not to laugh about that part. Steve caught your expression immediately, “This isn’t funny.”

“Okay—okay, sorry for laughing.” you giggled.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Blaire nodded seriously, “Funny.”

That finally broke him, Steve dropped his head briefly into your shoulder while you laughed again, and for a second the room just felt light.

Steve cleared his throat softly, still half hiding his face against your shoulder before finally looking down at Blaire again.

“So,” he started carefully, “you know how mommy is still mommy?” Blaire nodded immediately, “Mommy.”

Your chest tightened a little at how certain she sounded. Steve glanced at you briefly before continuing gently, “And nobody’s ever gonna replace her, okay?”

“Kay.” Blaire seemed completely unbothered by the seriousness in the room.

You reached over carefully, smoothing back one of her curls, “But…” you said softly, “if you wanna call me mama sometimes, you can.”

Blaire blinked up at you, “Mama?”

You nodded slowly, “I’m not your real mommy, bean…but I love you just as much.” There was maybe half a second of silence before Blaire immediately pointed at you, “Mama.”

Steve let out the quietest laugh under his breath, and you nearly cried on the spot. Not dramatic crying, just that awful warm pressure suddenly building behind your eyes because she said it so naturally.

Blaire looked confused by your expression instantly, “No cry.” You laughed shakily, wiping quickly under your eyes, “I’m okay, bean. Happy tears.” you reassured. Steve’s hand found your knee beneath the blanket gently, grounding you without making a big deal out of it.

Blaire studied both of you very seriously for another second before announcing, “Hungry.”

That broke the emotional tension immediately. Steve snorted softly, “Of course you are.”

“Pancakes?”

“That’s what you want.”

“Yes.” You laughed again, finally feeling the tightness in your chest loosen as Steve pushed himself up from the bed carefully, and immediately grabbed the blanket tighter around his waist again.

You lost it all over again, “Oh my God.”

“Stop laughing at me.”

“You’re acting like she’s a trained investigator.”

“She sees too much.”

Blaire pointed at him confidently, “Nakey.” Steve looked absolutely betrayed and you buried your face in the pillow laughing while Steve stared at the ceiling like he regretted every decision that led him here.

“Okay,” he said firmly, pointing at Blaire now. “New rule.” Blaire gasped dramatically, “Rule?”

“Yes, rule,” he repeated, “we knock before coming into bedrooms.”

Blaire blinked at him, “Why?” Steve looked at you helplessly for exactly one second. You were no help at all, still too busy laughing.

“Because,” Steve said slowly, trying to parent through his suffering, “people deserve privacy sometimes.”

Blaire considered this very seriously, “Knock first?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Steve narrowed his eyes slightly, “You’re gonna forget in ten minutes.”

“No.”

“You absolutely are.”

Blaire slid off the bed proudly, “No forget.”

Then immediately opened the bedroom door and sprinted into the hallway without closing it behind her. Steve stared after her in silence. You reached over and squeezed his arm gently, “She’s trying her best.”

“She just called me nakey.” he muttered. You laughed harder as Steve finally looked back at you, trying and failing not to smile too.

The smell of pancakes filled the house slowly, warm and buttery, drifting through the kitchen and out into the rest of the room. Steve was already moving around the stove when you and Blaire came downstairs.

Blaire immediately broke away from your hand and made a beeline for him, “Pancake!” she announced proudly, like she was personally responsible for them existing.

“I help.”

“You wanna help?” Steve asked calmly, flipping another pancake.

“I help.” she said again.

“How about you watch”

“Okay!” she accepted that answer quickly. That made you laugh as you stepped fully into the kitchen.

Steve finally glanced at you then, expression softening in a way that was starting to feel automatic. Blaire immediately tugged at your hand again, “Help?”

You blinked down at her, “Help with what?” She pointed very seriously at the counter like she ran the entire kitchen. Steve snorted, “She wants you to watch with her.”

“Yep!” Blaire said immediately.

You moved beside him, shoulder brushing his as you leaned in to look at the pancakes. Blaire climbed up onto her stool between you both, jumping excitedly as Steve placed a plate in front of her.

She accepted it with a big smile, “Thank you, daddy!” You smiled, reaching over to fix her messy curls while she ate. “You’re welcome, bug.” Steve handed you a plate a couple seconds later. The three of you ate in the kitchen for a while after that.

Eventually, Steve leaned back slightly, quieter now, “Practice is starting again next week.”

You looked up, “Already?” He nodded, “School too.” That shifted the air slightly, not heavy, just real. You set your fork down a little slower, “Right.” Blaire kept eating, completely unaware of the shift.

Steve watched her for a second before looking at you, “And your classes?”

“Soon,” you said, “couple weeks.” A pause, then Steve exhaled lightly, “So…we’re getting busy again.”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

Steve reached for Blaire’s empty plate as she shoved the last bite into her mouth, “More,” she declared immediately.

Steve stood, “Of course you want more.”

And just like that, the moment softened back into motion, back into routine. But even while he flipped another pancake, his eyes flicked toward you for a second longer than usual.

Like he was thinking the same thing you were. That this morning wasn’t going to stay this quiet forever.

The kitchen was quiet in that slow, settling way it only got after breakfast. Steve stayed near the counter for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting lightly on the edge like he hadn’t fully moved on from whatever he was thinking about.

You leaned against the opposite side, watching him. Blaire’s cartoon sounds drifted faintly from the living room, soft background noise.

Steve exhaled, “So let’s track back to what we were talking about,” he said quietly.

You nodded, “Okay.”

A pause, “School’s starting again,” he added, looking at you now.

“College,” you confirmed softly. That word immediately changed the air between you. Steve didn’t react dramatically, but something in his posture shifted, more focused now, more serious.

“When do you go back?” he asked. Your chest ached at the word without you even thinking about it, “Couple weeks,” you said. “move back in, then classes start right after.”

Steve nodded slowly, like he was trying to place it into a version of life he hadn’t fully built yet, “Right,” he said quietly. Steve pushed a hand through his hair, slower than usual, “So after that…” he started, then stopped. You waited as he chose his words carefully, “It’s gonna be different.”

You didn’t soften it, just nodded, “Yeah,” you said. “it will be.” That honesty hung between you both for a second. Steve leaned back slightly against the counter, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again. “I’ve been thinking about schedules,” he admitted. You tilted your head slightly, “Yeah?”

“Practices. Work. Blaire’s routine,” he said. “It all worked when Claire was around.” He paused, jaw tightening slightly like he didn’t love how real it sounded when he said it out loud.

You understood immediately, “I know she made it easier,” you said gently.

Steve looked at you, “Yeah,” he said. A beat. Then quieter, “I just don’t know how I’m gonna do this alone.”

You stepped a little closer to him without thinking about it. “You’re not alone, Stevie,” you said softly. His eyes lifted immediately at that.

Steve didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you for a second longer than usual. “It’s not just me that’ll feel it,” he said finally. “it’s Blaire too.”

Your expression softened immediately. Steve continued, voice lower now, “I can handle my job. I can handle my schedule. I’ve done it before.” A pause, “But I’m not used to not doing it alone.” That was the truth underneath everything.

You nodded slowly, “I know,” you said. Steve’s gaze stayed on you, “And you?” he asked quietly.

You blinked, “Me?”

“When you go back,” he said carefully, “are you still gonna feel like this fits into your life the same way?”

That question wasn’t about logistics, it was about permanence. You took a breath, “I don’t know exactly what it’s going to look like yet,” you admitted honestly, “but I know I’m not walking away from this.”

Steve held your gaze. You softened your voice slightly, “I’m still here, baby.” That did something to him, subtle, but immediate. His shoulders eased just a fraction, “Okay,” he said quietly.

From the living room, Blaire’s cartoon audio continued faintly, grounding the house in normalcy again.

Steve finally pushed off the counter, “Alright,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, “We will.”

And for a moment, as he passed you, his hand brushed lightly against your lower back, “C’mere, baby,” he said softly, not even thinking about it anymore as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you rested your head on his chest. Somehow, that small gesture made everything feel just a little more real, like it already belonged to you.

The house had settled into a quieter rhythm by the afternoon. Blaire was asleep upstairs for her nap, the TV finally off, sunlight stretching lazily across the living room floor while the rest of the house sat still around you both.

Steve was at the dining table when you walked in, papers spread loosely in front of him. His attention lifted the second he noticed you, “Where’d you disappear to?” he asked softly.

You smiled faintly, “I was putting Blaire down.”

“Ah,” he nodded seriously. “Bossy pants got tired?”

You laughed under your breath and sat across from him. Steve leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you for a second before finally saying, “I’ve been thinking about when you leave.”

Your expression softened immediately, “What—”

“No, not like that,” he said gently. “Not bad.” He paused then corrected himself honestly, “Okay maybe a little pathetic, but not bad.”

That pulled a small smile out of you, Steve’s gaze stayed on yours though, “When can you come home?”

Your chest tightened instantly at the wording. Home. You could tell he didn’t even realize he’d said it that way.

You looked down briefly, trying to hide how much that single word affected you. “Well…” you started softly, “I could probably come back on weekends.” Steve nodded immediately, already thinking through it.

“And breaks?” you added on.

“Obviously.” Steve said without hesitation. “Football games?” he asked.

You smiled faintly. “Steve.”

“I’m serious, baby.” he groaned.

“I know.” you smiled faintly. He looked relieved by that answer alone, like this conversation had been sitting in his chest all day waiting to happen.

You leaned forward slightly, “My schedule won’t keep me away from you guys,” you said gently. “It’ll just be different.”

Steve watched you carefully, “And if it gets hard?” he asked quietly. You frowned slightly, “What do you mean?”

“College,” he said simply, “People. Classes. Your life.” The way he said your life made your chest ache a little. Almost like he still wasn’t fully sure he fit into it permanently.

You softened immediately, “Steve,” you said quietly, “you are my life now.”

That visibly hit him. His eyes dropped for a second before lifting back to yours again.

You continued softer, “You and Blaire.” Steve leaned back slowly in his chair again, exhaling through his nose like something inside him had finally loosened.

“I think that scares me a little,” he admitted.

You blinked, “What does?”

“How easy this became.” Your heart softened instantly. Steve looked toward the staircase briefly, “You just kind of…” he paused, searching for the words, “Fit.”

Steve looked back at you again, “And now I can’t picture what this place feels like when you’re not here.”

The honesty in that almost knocked the air out of you. You stood before you could think too hard about it and walked around the table slowly. Steve’s eyes followed you the entire time. When you stopped beside him, he immediately reached for your hip without hesitation.

“I’m still coming back,” you whispered. Steve’s fingers tightened gently, “Yeah?”

“Every chance I get.” you reassured. He looked up at you then with something dangerously close to relief in his expression. You brushed your thumb lightly over his cheek, “And if you ever need help with Blaire while I’m gone…” you started softly, “you call my mom.”

Steve immediately shook his head, “Baby—”

“No,” you interrupted gently, “I’m serious.”

His jaw tightened slightly, “I’m not dumping my kid on your mom.”

“You wouldn’t be,” you said softly, “She loves her, and Richard absolutely adores her.” You ran your hands through his hair, lightly lifting his head so he had to really look at you. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself anymore, Stevie.”

That fully broke through whatever wall he still had up. You saw it immediately in his face. Steve’s hand slid up gently along your body before resting at your waist.

“You really mean that?” he asked quietly. You nodded without hesitation, “Yeah,” you whispered, “I do.” You stayed beside his chair, fingers loosely tangling with his while he looked up at you with something thoughtful sitting behind his eyes.

Then he exhaled softly, “This is gonna be tough.”Steve’s thumb brushed slowly against your hand before he continued quieter, “Me and Blaire are gonna miss you.”

You swallowed lightly as Steve looked down for a second before speaking again, “But I wanna do everything properly.” Your chest tightened instantly because you knew exactly what he meant. No more sneaking around, no pretending, no acting like this was temporary.

Steve leaned back slightly in the chair, gaze lifting to yours again, “I wanna take you out, baby,” he admitted softly, placing a quick kiss to your stomach. “I wanna stop acting like you’re just somebody helping me out around the house.”

You smiled faintly despite the ache in your chest. Steve’s hand slid a little higher against your waist, “I just…” he paused briefly, searching for the right words, “I don’t wanna make you feel hidden.”

“Stevie,” you said softly, “you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” You watched his expression shift immediately at the words, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you continued honestly, “…but you know Hawkins.”

Steve’s face softened with immediate understanding. You exhaled quietly, “Everybody talks like there’s no tomorrow,” you said, “and I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that.”

His thumb kept moving slowly against your hand, patient and grounding, “I don’t want people looking at you differently,” you admitted quieter now. “Or talking about Blaire, or turning us into gossip.” A faint nervous laugh slipped out of you, “And honestly…some parents would probably look at you differently.”

That pulled the smallest smile from Steve, “Yeah,” he admitted. “Probably.” You softened again, “I just want this to stay ours for a little while.” Steve looked at you for a long moment after that, “Okay, baby.” he said quietly, “I’m okay with whatever you want.”

Relief loosened something deep in your chest immediately. Steve’s hand slid gently from your waist up along your arm as he lightly tugged you down to sit on his lap. “I don’t really need Hawkins in our business,” he murmured into your neck. Then softer, “Long as you’re still mine when the door closes, I’m alright.” he said kissing along your jaw.

You tilted your head instinctively giving him better access. Steve’s lips moved slowly along your jaw, down your neck, settling briefly against your collarbone.

For a second everything felt still again. Warm and certain. Then a loud knock at the door. Firm.

Both of you froze instantly. The softness disappeared from Steve’s expression first, his shoulders tightening slightly as reality slammed back into the room.

Another knock echoed through the house. Your stomach dropped before either of you even moved. Steve helped you up from his lap as he stood slowly. Neither of you spoke. You had a feeling you already knew who was at the door, and you prayed you were wrong. Steve walked toward the front door while you stayed near the dining room, heart pounding harder with every step he took.

Then the door opened and there she was, Claire. Perfect posture, cold expression, a folder tucked neatly beneath her arm. Her eyes flicked past Steve immediately, landing on you standing further inside the house.

That tiny movement alone made the room feel sharp. Claire looked back at Steve calmly then held the folder out toward him, “I want my daughter.”

tag list: @louisbelongstome28 @batmanssssss @exooojongdaeee @kurtsw7rld96 @keerygirlie98 @savingallmyromanticism @cristy-l-blog @jas-mines-things @bellaxwoods @offbrandhandymanny @stoneyggirl2 @itsmeciara @projections-mortal

[blues-main]

wanna bite them

bf!jj maybank x gf!reader | word count: 2.2k

you're obsessed with your boyfriend's biceps and jj wants to test just how obsessed

cw: sexting, self-pleasure (f and m), sex toys (dildo), rough sex, slight choking, headlock, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, fingering, hair pulling, biting (duh, it's jj's biceps hehe)

It was no secret that you were obsessed with your boyfriend’s biceps — constantly asking JJ to send you pictures of him flexing, wrapping your hand around his upper arm and holding on while the two of you walked. Your favorite had to be watching his biceps strain when he’d hold himself over you as he fucked you into the mattress. Your eyes would roll back, the sight enough to have you coming around him. 

So when JJ walks out of the chateau wearing a red muscle tee, arms on full display, you can’t help the way your words trail off mid-sentence or the way your eyes trace down the length of his arms. JJ’s oblivious, talking to John B, trying to convince him that he can be trusted with the twinkie for the day. 

He raises his arms, pointing to his chest as he pleads with John B, “Come on man, s’me, you can trust me.” 

You’re not paying attention to what the girls are talking about — Sarah and Kie rolling their eyes playfully when Cleo nods her head in JJ’s direction with a smirk, silently explaining why you’d gone bye-bye. You were practically salivating at the sight of his arm flexing, skin stretched tight around the ripple of muscle. He looked too good in that tee. You wanted to rip it off him and climb him like a tree. 

JJ looks over at you, smirking when he notices the way your eyes haven’t left his arms, or the way you gulp when his eyes meet yours. You look away, smiling nervously as JJ comes to sit next to you. He pulls you onto his lap, arm wrapping around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You feel the hard press of his chest to your back — warm and steady. He smells like the cheap cologne you bought him that you’d come to love. It smelt like safety and love and pure want.

JJ notices the way you shift against him — trying and failing to pay attention to what the group is talking about. He knows the effect he has on you— pressing himself closer, moving his lips to the shell of your ear. 

“What’s wrong baby? You seem like you’re on edge,” JJ whispers into your ear. 

“Nothing’s wrong Jayj, just missed you,” you mumble as you turn your head, nuzzling your face against his upper arm and placing a soft kiss to the skin. JJ shakes his head in disbelief, letting out a chuckle as his heart swells, completely in awe of his beautiful girlfriend so head over heels for him.

He knows it’s more than that, knows you’ve been wanting him for days, sending him texts of all the things you wanted him to do to you when you see him. 

I miss you so much JJ, want your fingers in me so bad

You had sent a video a couple minutes later — fingers sliding in and out of yourself, the sound of wet squelching heard along with your soft moans. 

Mine don’t get the spot like yours do. Want to hold onto your arm while you push them in knuckle deep

JJ had watched that video on repeat, groaning at the sounds of your wet pussy, sending you a video of his hand stroking his cock, arm flexing in the mirror before coming all over his hand, moaning your name. 

It had been all you needed to reach your orgasm, coming hard as you pictured him hovering over you. 

The next day it was a video of you fucking your dildo into yourself, moaning his name as your thighs shook. 

Need your dick deep inside me JJ please

Want you to wrap your arm around my neck and fuck me from behind

JJ could barely think straight when he opened your message, hand running down his face in defeat as he pulled his hard dick out of his shorts. 

Fuck baby, you’re going to be the death of me, i’m so fucking hard you have no idea, want to fuck that pussy so bad

You’d been going back and forth for the past week, both of you working late and well — busy. Today however, your schedules had lined up and you had your place to yourself for the night. Your panties were already soaked as the messages you had sent to each other played through your mind. You could barely care that you hadn’t seen the rest of your friends for two weeks — needing JJ more than ever. 

“I know how much you love when I wear this shirt. Know how much you love looking at my arms. You wanna take it off me?” JJ’s voice is low and rough in your ear, sending warmth down your spine. 

You nod slowly, pressing your thighs together, heart beating out of your chest at JJ’s words. You’re so aware of the group sitting so close, of your ass pressed to JJ’s dick. You feel him push his hips up — just the slightest bit — the movement so small it could easily be mistaken as JJ shifting his weight.

“Yeah I know you do baby.” He kisses the back of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way gently. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin as you try to hold back a moan at the feel of him kissing your neck. You look around frantically — no one has noticed a thing, everyone too focused on John B and Sarah talking. 

You gasp when you feel him do it again, the feel of his dick hardening against your ass almost too much to bear. You can feel yourself dripping, panties sticking to you almost uncomfortably, pussy practically throbbing with need now. 

“JJ, pleaseee, let’s go.” You whine softly, head turned towards him so the others don’t hear. 

“Not yet baby, want to have you so ready for me, you’re trembling before I even fuck you.” JJ chuckles as you whine in protest, tugging on his hand.

JJ continues tracing maddeningly soft circles to your bare thigh, hand going higher and higher until his thumb is under the hem of your skirt. He places a kiss to the back of your neck every now and then, shifting underneath you, his hard dick pressing into your ass every time. You try to shift so that your pussy presses against his thigh — needing friction more than air, but JJ catches it — holding you in place, arm flexing against your stomach. 

“Want me to fuck you now baby?” 

You could cry as you nod — desperate for him to take you home. 

JJ groans when you push your ass into him, finally snapping and getting up, waving a quick goodbye to the pogues, not at all subtle about the way he drags you away — you giggling as he pushes you against the door of the twinkie, arm braced next to your head, lips catching yours in a heated kiss. His hands are all over you, groping at your chest, gripping your jaw hard as he guides your mouth along his. 

“Fuck, get in, get in.” JJ rushes to the other side, turning the ignition on and getting to yours in record time. He had almost pulled over to the side of the road to fuck you then and there when you had started palming at him through his shorts, your other hand rubbing over the wet spot on your panties, moaning JJ’s name as he drove. 

You’re in your bathroom now, completely naked, sitting on your sink with your legs wrapped around JJ’s waist, his fingers curling into you over and over as you hold onto him, watching the way the muscles in his arm flex with every movement. You’d already come once— JJ refusing to stop, the heel of his hand pressing into your clit. 

“You mean all that shit you sent me? You really want me to put you in a headlock and fuck you from behind?” JJ’s breathless as he pulls away from your neck. 

“Mhm, please JJ.” You grind your hips forward, chasing your orgasm.

“Fuck baby, you sure?” 

You smirk before turning your head to his other arm, biting down on his bicep as JJ groans, rutting his hips against your leg.

“M’sure, want it wrapped around me, pressing into my cheek while I watch in the mirror.” 

“If it’s too much or you need me to stop, tap my arm twice, okay?”

“I will, now please fuck me JJ.”

“You asked for it baby.” 

It’s so much — the stretch of him, the drag — every inch of his cock pushing through your warm wet walls.

He thrusts hard. Deep. 

You cry out—his tip hitting that soft spot inside you that has you shaking, knees threatening to give out. Your head falls forward — limp — eyes rolling back, not a single coherent thought running through you. 

You come back to the room when you feel a soft sting — JJ tugging at the roots of your hair — hard. His bicep presses into your cheek, arm tightening around your neck. You let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a gasp. 

“Look at me, baby. You’re gonna watch me fuck you, watch me ruin you.” His lips brush over your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his hot breath. 

JJ places a soft kiss to your cheek, smirking at you in the mirror, watching as your eyes struggle to stay open. His dick nudges that spot inside you again — hard, steady and then again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Your head threatens to fall forward, mind going dumb on the pleasure rolling through you. You let out a soft, almost broken sound. It’s so small, barely a whimper, a moan of JJ’s name. The sound runs down his spine, settling at the base, his hips thrusting forward even harder.

“Oh my god JJ! Fuuuck JJ — that’s — you feel—” Your words cut off with a loud moan as JJ fucks you harder, your hips jutting against the hard sink, sure to leave bruises. You can barely care when JJ’s fucking you so good, you see stars. 

Your hands scramble for purchase, landing on the edge of the sink and gripping tight before quickly moving to hold onto his arm as it tightens around your neck. 

JJ’s eyes snap to yours in the mirror, slowing his thrusts and loosening his grip for a second to check that you’re okay. You push your ass back onto him, and push your cheek into his bicep, giving him a small nod and smiling wickedly as you watch his eyes roll back when you fuck yourself back onto him. You turn your head in his grip, and bite down on his bicep — hard. 

“Fuck, my filthy girl, you’re so perfect.” JJ practically growls, grip tightening, locking your head in place. His other hand digs into your hip as he pounds into you — the sounds of skin smacking filling the room once more. 

“Fuck JJ, m’gonna come again, fuck fuck fuck, please JJ please.” Your eyes close as you feel yourself get close, snapping open when you feel JJ pull your hair. 

“Watch, don’t take your — fuckkk ahh baby — don’t take…your eyes off me when you come.” JJ grunts as he fucks you impossibly harder. 

Your orgasm crashes into you like never before — your vision going completely white as you babble JJ’s name incoherently, clenching around him again and again. 

“Fuck baby, m’so close, where do you want me — shit baby, m’coming.” 

“Inside JJ, please, please,” you beg as you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, desperate to feel him reach his high. He comes with a loud groan, spilling inside you as his hips falter. You feel the rush of him, warm and wet, and push your hips back harder, fucking him through it. You come again — hot and fast — gushing around him and JJ’s breath stutters, head falling limp to your shoulder.

“Fuck baby, did you just come again? That quick?” JJ’s breathless, eyes wide as he feels you clench around him, sucking him in — unable to let out anything other than a loud moan. 

Your body is trembling, legs like jelly and brain turned to complete mush, whimpering as he pulls out of you. You can barely breathe, eyes still fluttering shut, head falling limp onto JJ’s shoulder. He turns you in his hold, holding you to his chest as his hand rubs up and down your back. 

You pull back slowly, looking up at him — soft, dazed, worshipful. His hand comes to rest on the side of your face, thumb brushing back and forth across your cheek as he gazes down at you with pure adoration. 

“Fuck baby, are you okay?” 

You giggle softly, “More than okay, JJ, that was perfect.” 

His lips find yours in a soft kiss, smiling against your lips, before pulling away laughing. 

“Did you really come again just from me coming inside you?” JJ teases. 

Your hand swats at his chest, gasping in mock offense. “Shut up, you love it.” 

He chuckles as he kisses your forehead, “I do love it, and I love you.” 

You turn away from him to turn the shower on — smiling wide, teasing. 

“I love you too, but not as much as I love your biceps.” Your hand wraps around his right arm, squeezing tight as you fake moan. 

JJ rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his head at you. 

God, you’re perfect, he thinks. His girl.

read my other works here: masterlist

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© daggersanddresses est. 2025

[midnox]

Loser | Steve Harrington

Summary : When you doubt yourself, the past always finds a way to come back, one way or another. Warnings : idk Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. Steve Harrington x fem!reader

You hold back the terrible fit of laughter threatening to spill past your lips. The serious look on Steve Harrington’s face in front of you doesn’t help at all. It’s funny to see him so confused,him, who has always been the one in control. It’s not really his fault, more the situation that’s ridiculous… or maybe you misunderstood?

“Excuse me?”

You make him repeat himself, despite yourself. The words slip out before you even think. The look he gives you after a brief silence does nothing to calm you down. He’s clearly wondering what’s wrong with you.

His brown eyes narrow, his jaw tightening slightly. He parts his lips, as if searching for another way to speak to you. A simpler one.

“I’m here to pick up James Byers.”

No, actually—you got it right.

He enunciates each word with exasperating slowness, as if you were completely stupid.

You quickly turn away, stepping toward the cabinet behind you where the children’s files are lined up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips—one he notices but doesn’t understand.

“Of course!” You move closer to the cabinet holding all the children’s records. “I just need to check that you’re listed on his file… Do you have your ID?”

You try to smile as much as possible, but he looks at you like you’re the breakfast his dog just threw up. Maybe you’re not hiding it so well—that you’re making fun of him.

He pulls his ID from his back pocket, already expecting the request since it’s his first time here, and hands it to you, almost irritated.

The final blow comes when you find James’s file and see, under authorized contacts: Steve Harrington, as godfather.

He notices your fingers tightening around the paper, as if it’s the only thing stopping you from letting out a smug smile he doesn’t understand. And it annoys him.

“Is there a problem?”

“No!” You close the folder and hand him back his ID. “Sorry, since it’s the first time I’ve seen you, I have to check.”

He nods stiffly and waits at the front desk while you go to get James.

You slip into the hallway, exhaling softly, trying not to burst out laughing. In the distance, Billy spots you, a box full of watercolors clutched against him.

“Why are you so red?”

His wavy strands are covered in confetti, proof of the afternoon spent celebrating the start of summer vacation.

“Oh… life and its jokes, you know…”

You wave it off. He walks past you, rolling his eyes.

“You’re still as weird as ever, you know that?”

“Says the one who’s convinced he hears voices at night!”

He points at you, half serious, half amused:

“I can hear them around you—watch out!”

“Sure, Irma.”

You walk backward, pulling a face at him before finding James, six years old, looking focused, his hands ready to dive into a pot of red paint.

He’s leaving a little earlier than expected, but seems happy to escape the chaos, having his father’s reserved nature.

“Uncle Stevie!”

He throws himself into Steve’s arms, who catches him mid-air, lifting him off the ground in one smooth motion.

The tension from earlier is gone from Steve’s face now—replaced by something calm and playful, completely forgetting the oddly-behaved Activity leader.

“Bye, y/n!”

“Bye, James!” You wave at him. “Goodbye, Mr. Harrington!”

You emphasize the last part, and he barely responds before walking out the doors.

And then your laughter bursts out—uncontrollable, loud, more intense than usual. You had held it in for so long that now it completely overtakes you.

Steve pauses briefly in the courtyard, convinced that laughter—distinct through the open windows—is directed at him, without knowing why.

“What’s your Activity leader's name again?”

James looks at him with the same suspicious expression Nancy sometimes has. “Why?”

“Well… she seems nice.”

He’s lying.

He doesn’t think you seem nice—more like unpleasant. He saw you holding back a smile when you first saw him, and worse, when he asked to pick up James, he noticed your lips pressed together to stop yourself from laughing.

It irritated him.

“Her name’s y/n, I like her. She trades baseball cards… look, I got new ones!”

He hands him a small pack that Steve barely looks at, your name echoing in his mind like something familiar but impossible to place.

Who were you?

It took him a while to understand. He even felt completely stupid for not realizing it sooner.

That same cynical look you had given him, that falsely polite tone in your voice, and above all… that constant mockery.

He waited farther down in the parking lot. Night hadn’t fully fallen yet—summer was dragging dusk behind it, stretching shadows and painting the sky in orange and purple hues. Just as he had hoped, you were finishing late that day.

He waited until you said goodbye to your coworker before starting your walk home, your headphones around your neck as you turned on your music player.

“It took me a while to figure it out.”

Steve’s voice behind you freezes you in place. You stop mid-step and slowly turn around.

“Mr. Harrington?” You try to smile, gripping the strap of your backpack. “Is there a problem? Is James okay?”

Because even if you don’t really like the godfather, you care about that little boy.

He locks his eyes onto yours.

You’re less sure of yourself now—and it bothers him as much as it captivates him.

He can still hear your laughter in his head—clear, sharp, unbearable. It gets under his skin. It pisses him off. He can’t stop thinking about it.

“Don’t feel like laughing anymore?”

You press your lips together in defeat. There’s no point pretending anymore.

“Sorry… I’m kind of a giggler.”

And you keep going—sarcastic, mocking, playing with him.

It hits him head-on. It reminds him of your brother—that same insolence, that same mix of defiance.

He clenches his fists a little tighter in his jacket pockets, his heart more tense than he’d like to admit.

“Fucking Munson… after the brother, now the sister?”

He almost spits the words out, as if mentioning Eddie Munson and his stupid satanic high school club brings back old anger.

The fights, the insults, the exclusions…

Yeah, maybe seeing you is like seeing the guy he hates through you—and it only fuels his anger.

“You never beat my brother,” you snap back, sharp, your fake smile turning provocative. “Last I remember, he knocked you out.”

He feels the pressure rise in his chest—that same adrenaline he used to feel before facing Munson.

His mind flashes back to the hit, the pain, the blood running down his face… and the white scar under his eye, an unchanging reminder of that week before prom.

“Great picture, by the way.”

He grimaces at the memory, clenching his jaw so he won’t show that it affected him. The Steve he is now doesn’t care anymore—but the teenager he was back then had burned with rage.

And that’s the Steve you bring back—just by looking at him.

“Can’t say the same for poor Eddie… he got expelled right after, didn’t he?” He narrows his eyes, pretending to think. “Must’ve been hard for him… stuck in that mess with no way out, huh?”

A cruel smile spreads across his lips when he sees your eyes darken, your insolent mask starting to crack, letting hatred seep through.

“He fared better than some.”

He frowns, confused. Everything was going well for Steve: he worked at the high school as a coach, lived a little outside of town so he could breathe without running into all those faces he had grown up with… Yeah, everything was fine. And yet, your almost silent laugh makes him flinch.

“You’re a loser, Steve.”

The word lands like a whip.

He feels his blood run cold, his jaw tightening. It’s not just an insult—it’s a challenge, a cruel reminder of everything he’s had to endure, and everything he still refuses to admit.

You pause, your gaze locked onto his.

You think of Eddie, of the way everyone looked at him after that fight. As if he were the problem.

Your smile stretches a little wider as you see his own begin to crack. You like this—watching the “king” lose his footing. “The girl he fell in love with dumped him and knocked him off his throne, turning him from king to clown, just to be with Jonathan Byers.”

You see his jaw tighten, so you press on.

“Goodbye love and glory,” you add with mock sympathy, “…and all that just to end up godfather to the son of the girl he loved and couldn’t quite forget.”

He won’t admit it, but it hurts more than he expected.

“That’s what made me laugh the other day. Nancy Wheeler really brought you to your knees in the end.”

You step back, blow him a kiss, then trace an “L” on your forehead with your thumb and index finger.

“Loser,” you mouth before turning your back on him.

He remains standing in the middle of the sidewalk as the streetlights slowly flicker on behind him, illuminating him like a ghostly silhouette—mirroring the emptiness he feels inside.

He’s over Nancy… of course he is. What’s left is only friendly affection—even for Jonathan, who once took a solid punch from Steve when he realized Nancy had cheated on him with him.

He had grown since then. He was better now.

And yet, you’ve stirred something in him—something ugly that twists him up inside. He’s tired of people only seeing him as that same old Steve Harrington.

Nice enough to say yes to the girl who broke his heart, agreeing to be her son’s godfather. Nice enough not to resent his parents for leaving him behind. Nice enough to always be the one people rely on.

Maybe he’s all of those things at once.

But as he watches your silhouette disappear down another street, a shiver runs through his veins.

He tells himself it’s because of your brother, because of old grudges… but he knows that’s not true.

What you’ve awakened in him is far more personal.

A mix of irritation and desire, of challenge and fascination.

And he’s going to play—until you realize that he might be the loser in your story…

…but in his, you’re the one who loses.

Steve Harrington masterlist  JJ Maybank masterlist  Rafe Cameron masterlist

Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciated ✨ Requests are open🌙

[rubyscrux]

the cure

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader summary: you and steve are in a situationship since a few months ago but with latest events in the upside down, steve and nancy are starting to get closer, and you can't help but compare yourself and feel inadequate for him. warnings: angst, based in the cure by olivia rodrigo, insecurities, reader being insecure by nancy (and robin), set in s4 and later in epilogue s5, happy ending author's note: soooo first post here, i hope u like it :3

The thing about Steve Harrington was that he loved loudly.

Not through grand gestures or dramatic confessions, but in smaller things. Softer things.

In the way he always reached for your hand under the table without thinking about it. In the way he waited outside Family Video after your shifts just to drive you home even when you lived ten minutes away. In the way he looked for you first whenever something went wrong.

You were never officially together.

No labels. No conversations about exclusivity.

Just something messy and undefined that existed somewhere between friendship and love.

Late-night drives with the windows down. Falling asleep against his shoulder during movie nights. Steve climbing through your bedroom window at midnight with fries because he remembered you forgot to eat earlier.

It should’ve felt secure.

Instead, it terrified you.

Then everything with Vecna started.

Max nearly dying. Sleepless nights. The Upside Down splitting Hawkins apart all over again.

And Nancy Wheeler stepping back into Steve’s life.

At first, you convinced yourself it was nothing.

Nancy and Steve had history. Of course they gravitated toward each other again. Shared trauma had a way of pulling people back together.

Still, you noticed things.

The way Steve looked at her sometimes.

The way Nancy seemed to understand him effortlessly.

The way Robin kept glancing between them like she knew something you didn’t.

And suddenly, you felt sick all the time.

It reminded you too much of Starcourt.

Back when Robin had first started working with Steve.

You remembered watching them laugh together constantly, whispering inside jokes across the counter at Family Video while you stood there pretending it didn’t bother you.

You remembered lying awake at night thinking:

Of course he’d fall for someone like her.

Funny. Smart. Easy to be around.

You spent weeks convincing yourself Steve liked Robin before finding out she was lesbian, and the embarrassment nearly killed you.

So you tried telling yourself this was the same thing all over again.

Another insecurity. Another stupid idea your brain created to hurt itself.

But then Eddie made comments about Steve and Nancy.

Then Dustin.

Then Robin started nudging them toward each other in ways that felt impossible to ignore.

And worst of all, Steve seemed completely unaware of it.

Like he didn’t understand how easy he was to lose sleep over.

One night after returning from the Upside Down, you sat silently on the edge of Steve’s bed while he cleaned blood from a cut on his shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said softly.

“I’m tired.”

Steve looked up immediately.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s more than that.”

You stared at the floor.

He sighed gently before setting the cloth down beside him.

“You know there’s nothing going on with Nancy, right?”

Your chest tightened instantly.

“Yeah,” you answered too fast. “I know.”

“Hey.”

You finally looked at him.

His expression almost made everything worse.

Because he looked so sincere.

So patient.

“I mean it,” Steve said quietly. “There’s nothing there.”

You nodded.

Forced a smile.

“Okay.”

And Steve believed you.

That was the problem.

Because even after that conversation, the thoughts never stopped.

Every glance between him and Nancy replayed in your head for hours afterward. Every accidental touch felt loaded with meaning. Every joke from the others made your stomach twist.

Steve would kiss your forehead and you’d still wonder if he wished it was Nancy standing in front of him instead.

It became exhausting.

The fight finally happened weeks later.

After everything settled down.

No monsters. No panic. No blood.

Just you and Steve standing outside your house while rain soaked through his jacket.

“You still love her,” you snapped.

Steve looked genuinely shocked.

“What?”

“Nancy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh my god, Steve, everyone sees it.”

“There is nothing happening between me and Nancy.”

“But you want there to be!”

The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Steve stared at you for a long moment, rain dripping from his hair.

Not angry.

Just hurt.

“I keep choosing you,” he said quietly. “Over and over again.”

Your throat tightened painfully.

“How many times do I have to do that before you believe me?”

And suddenly, something awful settled inside your chest.

Because you realized Steve was telling the truth.

He did choose you.

Constantly.

In every possible way.

And somehow, it still wasn’t enough to stop your brain from tearing itself apart.

The problem had never really been Nancy.

Or Robin.

Or Steve.

It was you.

The horrible certainty buried somewhere deep inside you that one day Steve would wake up and realize he deserved someone easier to love.

A few days later, he showed up at your front door holding flowers.

Pink carnations.

Your favorite.

“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” he admitted softly.

And for a second, you almost let yourself believe love could fix this.

That if Steve held you long enough, reassured you enough, loved you enough, maybe the thoughts would finally stop.

But looking at him standing there — trying so hard to love you correctly — only made your chest ache more.

Because Steve Harrington could love you with everything he had, and it still wouldn’t cure the parts of yourself you couldn’t stand.

The conversation with Steve stayed in your head for days afterward.

Not the fight.

Not the tears.

Not even the part where he told you he loved you.

It was the look on his face when you admitted the truth.

The quiet understanding.

Like he finally realized this wasn’t something he could fix for you.

And somehow, that hurt worse than if he’d yelled.

After that night, things became strangely gentle between you.

Careful.

Like both of you were trying not to reopen a wound that still hadn’t stopped bleeding.

Steve still called sometimes.

Still showed up at your window occasionally.

Still looked at you like his first instinct was always going to be love.

But neither of you knew what to do with it anymore.

Because loving each other had stopped feeling simple a long time ago.

The final decision came quietly.

No dramatic breakdown.

No huge moment.

Just exhaustion.

You were sitting alone in your bedroom one night while rain tapped softly against the windows. Your suitcase sat open on the floor beside you, half-filled with clothes you hadn’t folded properly.

College brochures covered your desk.

Cities far away from Hawkins.

Places where nobody knew you as the girl constantly waiting for something to go wrong.

Places that didn’t smell like smoke and nightmares and memories.

You stared at the acceptance letter in your hands until the words blurred.

And for the first time in months, your chest felt still.

Not happy.

Not healed.

Just… still.

You realized then that if you stayed in Hawkins, you were going to keep drowning in the same thoughts forever.

Every street reminded you of Steve.

Every building reminded you of fear.

Every happy moment felt temporary before it even started.

You needed distance.

Not because you stopped loving him.

Maybe because you never would.

A week later, everyone gathered at the Wheeler house.

Robin was laughing too loudly at something Dustin said. Erica and Lucas argued over the radio. Nancy sat cross-legged on the couch while Steve leaned against the kitchen counter beside you.

Normal.

Everything finally felt normal again.

And somehow, you felt worse than ever.

Steve noticed immediately when you grabbed your jacket.

“You leaving already?” he asked softly.

Everyone looked toward you.

You forced a small smile.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sorry, guys. I just…”

Your voice caught embarrassingly fast.

Steve stepped closer instantly, concern written all over his face.

“What’s wrong?”

For a second, you almost told him everything.

That you were exhausted from fighting your own mind every second of the day.

That loving him felt terrifying because you could never fully believe someone like Steve Harrington would stay.

That no matter how gently he held your heart, you still expected it to break.

But instead, you just shook your head.

“I don’t feel very good lately.”

The room fell quiet.

Steve reached for your hand automatically, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles.

And somehow that hurt most of all.

Because he loved you.

He really did.

“What happened?” she asked carefully.

The room slowly fell silent.

You looked around at all of them.

At the people who had become your entire life somehow.

Dustin, who still looked at Steve like he hung the stars.

Max curled up under a blanket on the couch.

Nancy leaning against the kitchen counter.

Steve standing closest to you without even realizing he’d moved.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I’m leaving Hawkins,” you said softly.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Dustin blinked first.

“What?”

You swallowed hard.

“I got accepted into a school out of state.”

Nobody spoke.

Like the words didn’t fully register at first.

Then:

“For how long?” Lucas asked quietly.

You looked down briefly.

“I don’t know.”

Robin’s face fell immediately.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded.

And suddenly everyone started talking at once.

“When did this happen?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You’re actually leaving?”

But through all the noise, you only looked at Steve.

And Steve only looked at you.

He wasn’t angry.

That somehow made it harder.

He just looked… heartbroken.

Like he’d known this was coming before you did.

Eventually the room quieted again.

Steve cleared his throat softly.

“When?”

“Next week.”

Dustin looked genuinely devastated.

“But— what about movie nights?”

It was such a Dustin thing to say that you almost laughed.

Almost.

“I’ll survive,” you teased weakly.

“No, seriously,” Dustin said, voice cracking slightly. “Who’s gonna bully Steve when you’re gone?”

That did make you laugh then.

A tiny one.

And the sound seemed to break the tension in the room for a second.

But when your eyes met Steve’s again, the ache came back immediately.

Because he still looked at you the same way.

Like leaving wouldn’t change anything for him.

And maybe that was the problem.

Your last night in Hawkins felt unbearably warm.

Steve drove you home after everyone else left the Wheeler house.

Neither of you spoke much during the drive.

The radio played quietly.

Streetlights blurred gold across the windshield.

When he parked outside your house, neither of you moved immediately.

Steve stared ahead for a long moment before speaking.

“You know,” he said softly, “I kept thinking if I just loved you right enough, eventually you’d believe me.”

Your chest tightened instantly.

You looked down at your hands.

“I know.”

Steve laughed quietly, but there wasn’t humor in it.

“That sounds stupid out loud.”

“No,” you whispered. “It doesn’t.”

Silence settled between you again.

Then Steve finally turned toward you.

And god.

That look on his face.

Soft.

Tired.

Still full of love somehow.

“You deserve to feel okay,” he said quietly.

Tears burned instantly behind your eyes.

“So do you.”

For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else.

Instead, he just reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear carefully.

The gesture nearly destroyed you.

“I think I’m always gonna love you,” he admitted softly.

Your breath caught.

Because the worst part was that you knew you’d always love him too.

But sometimes love wasn’t enough to make staying healthy.

You leaned forward before you could stop yourself and kissed him one last time.

Slow.

Sad.

The kind of kiss people give each other when they already know they’re losing something.

When you pulled away, Steve rested his forehead against yours briefly.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Neither of you could.

Years passed.

Not all at once.

Slowly.

Quietly.

You learned how to exist outside of Hawkins.

Learned how to breathe without constantly waiting for disaster. Learned how to separate love from fear. Learned that healing wasn’t linear and sometimes still missing Steve hurt so badly it felt physical.

But eventually, the ache stopped controlling you.

You thought about him less often.

Then suddenly all the time again.

Some things never fully leave you.

When you finally came back to Hawkins, the town looked smaller somehow.

Softer.

Like the sharp edges had faded while you were gone.

You stood near the football field gripping the graduation invitation tighter between your fingers as students flooded across the grass laughing loudly.

Dustin spotted you first.

And screamed.

Actually screamed.

“Oh my god!”

Before you could react properly, he slammed into you hard enough to nearly knock you backward.

“YOU CAME?”

You laughed breathlessly into his shoulder.

“Hi to you too.”

“You said maybe!”

“I changed my mind!”

Dustin pulled away looking genuinely emotional.

“You look different.”

“You look taller,” you shot back.

“I am taller.”

“You’re also dramatic.”

“Shut up.”

The others gathered quickly after that.

Robin hugging you so tightly you wheezed. Max grinning at you from beside Lucas. Nancy smiling softly while Mike complained that Dustin was being “annoying as hell.”

And for the first time in years, Hawkins didn’t hurt to stand in anymore.

Then you saw Steve. He stood a little farther back than the others. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come closer.

Older now.

Still Steve.

Still looking at you in that terrifyingly gentle way.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Steve smiled.

Small.

Real.

And suddenly you were eighteen again sitting in his car while rain hit the windows.

Your chest ached in a completely different way this time.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Just history.

Steve walked toward you slowly once the others got distracted again.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Your heart betrayed you instantly.

“Hey.”

God.

Even after all those years, it still felt easy with him.

Steve shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets.

“You really came back.”

“Dustin threatened me emotionally.”

Steve laughed quietly.

“Yeah. Sounds like him.”

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Not painful anymore.

Just careful.

Mature.

Like both of you had grown into people who finally understood what happened back then.

“You look happy,” Steve said after a moment.

The words caught you off guard.

Because he sounded genuinely relieved about it.

You looked at him carefully.

“So do you.”

Steve glanced down briefly, smiling to himself.

Then his eyes met yours again.

And there it was.

Not the same love from before.

Not desperate.

Not overwhelming.

Just something softer.

Older.

Still alive.

“You staying long?” he asked.

You hesitated.

“I don’t know yet.”

Steve nodded slowly.

Like he understood there was more meaning behind the answer than you intended.

Behind you, Dustin yelled something incomprehensible across the field.

Robin started laughing loudly.

The sun dipped lower across Hawkins, warm gold spilling across the grass.

And standing there with Steve Harrington looking at you like maybe time hadn’t ruined everything after all, you realized something quietly terrifying.

For the first time, loving him didn’t feel like drowning.

Maybe because now you finally knew how to keep yourself afloat too.

Steve smiled a little.

“Maybe we could catch up sometime?”

Your heart fluttered softly.

Not painfully this time.

Just softly.

You smiled back.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Maybe we could.”

[deerfawnn]

heartbeat — isaac lahey

pairing: isaac lahey x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: isaac can hear your racing heartbeat content warnings: stiles eating alot , bickering between stiles and you , shy / awkward reader

You sat in the passenger seat of Stiles' old, beaten-up Jeep, the leather cracking beneath you as the vehicle rattled over the uneven pavement. The rhythmic hum of the engine might have lulled you into a daydream if not for Stiles' relentless chatter filling the small space. 

He was going on about the kanima, listing off every fact he’d dug up in his obsessive research. His hands gestured animatedly as he spoke, barely keeping one on the wheel.

“—and honestly, I can't believe Scott. Inviting Lahey? He couldn’t have picked anyone more annoying than—” 

“What?” you blurted, snapping out of your trance. Your head jerked toward him, heart suddenly racing. 

“What?” Stiles glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance, before returning his focus to the road. 

“Why would he do that?” you stammered, your stomach twisting into knots. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up dramatically before returning one to the steering wheel. “I mean, Isaac Lahey? Mr. Broody-McBrooderson with his creepy silent stares and his, ‘Oh, I’m so mysterious and tragic’ routine? Please. We don’t need that guy sulking in the corner while we’re trying to figure out how not to get murdered by a lizard monster.” 

You barely heard him. The name Isaac was bouncing around in your head, louder than the Jeep’s sputtering engine. 

You swallowed hard, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. Of all the people Scott could’ve invited, why him? You’d had a hopeless crush on Isaac Lahey for what felt like forever, and it had only gotten worse since he’d been bitten.

He’d always been cute in that quiet, shy way, but now? Now he looked like he belonged on the cover of some edgy teen magazine with his sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and that perpetual messy-haired, tortured-soul thing he had going on. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Stiles asked, waving a hand in front of your face. 

“Huh?” Your head snapped toward him again, and he gave you a look like you’d just grown a second head. 

“You’re spacing out. What’s the deal?” Stiles squinted at you, his brows knitting together suspiciously. 

“Nothing! No deal! Just, uh… processing,” you said, stumbling over your words and crossing your arms defensively. 

“Processing? Processing what?” he pressed, his tone sharp with curiosity. 

“Nothing!” you repeated, maybe a little too loudly. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes but thankfully returned his focus to the road, muttering under his breath. “Weird. You’re being weird.” 

But before you could respond, the Jeep turned onto Scott’s street, the familiar sight of his house coming into view. 

As Stiles pulled into the driveway, your stomach churned with nervous anticipation.

You climbed out of the Jeep, the gravel crunching beneath your boots as you followed Stiles up the driveway. His pace was brisk, determined—typical Stiles.

Stiles reached the door and, with his usual enthusiasm, began banging on it like it was some kind of emergency. "Stiles, stop," you hissed under your breath, your voice tight with nerves. 

"What?" He turned to you, brows furrowed, completely unfazed by your discomfort. He shrugged his shoulders and knocked again, louder this time. 

Before you could protest any further, the door swung open with a groan, and Scott stood there, eyes wide with surprise.

“Will you stop?” Scott groaned, stepping aside to let you both in. He didn’t look angry, just… used to Stiles' antics. “I told you to stop,” you muttered under your breath as you passed Scott. 

Stiles gave you an exaggerated, sheepish grin, as he passed you, heading straight toward the kitchen. 

Scott followed him immediately, his voice rising in frustration. “Stiles, we’re supposed to start planning, not—ugh, you’re already eating!” 

You stood there for a moment, watching them head toward the kitchen, your fingers absently tugging at the sleeve of your jacket. The sight of them bickering made you smile slightly—this was familiar, the way they always were.

But then your eyes drifted across the room, and your stomach lurched when you saw Derek standing by the map on the table, his sharp eyes scanning over it without sparing anyone a glance. 

You wandered toward the couch, pulling a random book from the stack on the coffee table and sitting down, grateful for the distraction. You'd been friends with Scott and Stiles for years now, so it was easy to slip into the comfort of Scott’s living room.

As you flipped the book open, you heard footsteps approaching and glanced up to see Stiles plopping down beside you, a crinkling chip bag in his lap. He leaned over your shoulder, his usual curiosity piqued as he tried to see what you were reading. 

"Seriously, do you need to know what I’m reading right now?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but it wasn’t like Stiles cared. His head was already too close, eyes peering at the page with exaggerated interest. 

“You're reading this?” Stiles made a face, tapping the cover with a chip. “I thought you were all about the paranormal stuff, not romance novels. What, are you a romantic now?” 

As Stiles leaned closer, still teasing you about the book in your hands, you decided you’d had enough. With a mischievous grin, you reached into the chip bag on his lap and grabbed a handful. 

“Hey! Stop that!” Stiles exclaimed, pulling the bag away and holding it just out of your reach. 

“These are mine!” he grumbled, glaring at you like you’d committed some sort of heinous crime. 

You smirked, unfazed. “If you didn’t want to share, you shouldn’t have brought them in here.” You made another grab, earning a dramatic gasp from him as he twisted away. 

“Guys, can we start now?” 

Scott’s voice cut through the room, and you froze mid-snatch, your hand awkwardly hovering over the chip bag. You glanced up to see Scott standing in front of you, arms crossed, wearing his usual exasperated expression. But what really caught your attention was the figure standing beside him. 

Isaac. 

Your stomach flipped, and you quickly dropped back into your seat, trying to act nonchalant as you let Stiles deal with Scott’s frustration. 

“Finally,” Stiles muttered, getting up from the couch with his precious chips in hand. “Stop stealing my food,” he huffed before shuffling over to the table where Derek stood waiting, a map spread out before him. 

Scott followed Stiles to join Derek, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. Isaac was still standing there, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as his eyes flicked toward you. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low but warm. 

You forced yourself to meet his gaze for a fraction of a second before quickly looking away, your nerves making it impossible to hold eye contact. “Hi,” you mumbled, your voice softer than you intended. You stood up from the couch, and made your way over to where Stiles was loudly explaining some wild theory about the Kanima, grateful for the distraction.

You felt Isaac approach. He moved to stand beside you, his tall frame close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. 

Your heart was racing, and that was a huge problem. You were in a room with three werewolves, all of whom could undoubtedly hear it. You swallowed hard, trying to calm yourself as Scott and Stiles debated over a detail on the map. 

Then, as if the universe had it out for you, Isaac leaned in. His shoulder brushed against yours, the light touch sending a jolt through your body. He pointed at something on the map, his voice smooth as he added to the discussion. 

Your breath caught in your throat. There was no way they didn’t hear it now—your heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. You didn’t dare glance at Isaac, afraid of what you might see in his expression.

Instead, your eyes flicked across the room, landing on Derek, who was watching you. 

His sharp gaze met yours, and his brow lifted ever so slightly. It was subtle, but the meaning was clear. We can hear you. 

You felt your cheeks flush a deep red, and you quickly looked away, your embarrassment nearly overwhelming. Great. Just great. Now Derek knew, and by extension, probably everyone else. 

Meanwhile, Isaac didn’t seem to notice—or at least, he didn’t let on. He stayed where he was, his shoulder brushing against yours once again as he adjusted his stance.

It was maddening. You could barely focus on what Scott was saying because all you could think about was Isaac standing so close, his presence practically enveloping you. 

The sound of keys jingling at the front door made the entire room freeze. The faint click of the lock turning was followed by the door swinging open, revealing Melissa McCall. 

The group turned as one, Stiles mid-crunch with a mouthful of chips, Scott suddenly standing bolt upright and awkwardly shifting to block the map on the table. 

“Mom!” Scott exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. He reached behind him, hurriedly folding the edges of the map in a poor attempt to hide it. “I thought you were working!” 

Melissa raised an eyebrow, her eyes scanning the room full of teenagers and one brooding adult - werewolf. “I got off early,” she said, her tone skeptical as she stared down her son. “What’s going on here?” 

Stiles, in true Stiles fashion, tried to fill the silence with something that, in his mind, probably sounded reasonable. Instead, he mumbled through a mouthful of chips, crumbs flying everywhere. “Uh, homework club?” 

You slapped his arm before he could make it worse, glaring at him. “Why would you say that?” you whispered harshly, though the exasperation in your tone was loud enough to draw attention. 

Isaac, who had been standing close enough to overhear, let out a quiet chuckle. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your gaze fixed on Stiles.

“Homework club?” Melissa repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief as she crossed her arms. 

Scott, still scrambling for an explanation, stepped in to intercept. “We’re, uh… just hanging out! You know, normal hanging out.” His smile was painfully forced, and you couldn’t help but cringe internally at how obvious it was. 

Melissa’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Scott to the rest of the group. Her gaze lingered on Derek, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, leaning against the wall with his usual brooding expression. 

Derek glanced at Melissa briefly before muttering under his breath, “I think we’ve got it figured out.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed away from the wall and strode toward the door, brushing past both Melissa and Scott like they weren’t even there. 

Melissa frowned, watching him leave. “Figured what out?” she asked, her tone sharp with suspicion. 

Scott threw up his hands, laughing nervously. “Oh, you know… just… things.” 

You winced. Real smooth, Scott. 

Melissa gave her son a long, pointed look before sighing. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but as long as it doesn’t destroy my house or involve the Sheriff showing up, I don’t want to know.” 

Stiles, having recovered from your earlier slap, grinned through another mouthful of chips. “See? She gets it.” 

“Stiles!” you hissed, your face heating with embarrassment as Melissa’s gaze turned to him. 

Scott, clearly desperate to shift the focus, quickly ushered his mom toward the stairs. “Thanks, Mom! Love you! You should get some rest!” 

Melissa paused, narrowing her eyes one last time before reluctantly heading up the stairs. “You all better clean up before you leave!” 

The room fell into an awkward silence as her footsteps receded, and once the door to her room closed, everyone collectively let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. 

Stiles turned to Scott with a grin. “Well, that went great.” 

Scott groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even let you into my house ?” 

You leaned against the table , shaking your head with a small smile. Isaac, who was still standing nearby, caught your eye. His lips quirked up into a faint smirk, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“Homework club, huh?” he said quietly, the teasing lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn. 

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way your pulse betrayed you. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

His smirk widened just a little, and before you could say anything else, Stiles cut in. “Alright, now that the mom crisis is over, can we please focus on the Kanima before it decides to show up and eat someone?”

Once the group got back to discussing the Kanima (without Derek, who had clearly had enough), Stiles predictably wandered off into the kitchen, announcing he needed to refuel. 

Scott groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stiles! We’re trying to plan here!” He sighed, giving in and following his friend to presumably drag him back—or at least stop him from raiding the fridge. 

That left you alone with Isaac. 

The room suddenly felt much quieter, the weight of his presence amplifying everything. You tried to focus on the map on the table, but the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears made it impossible. 

“You heading out?” Isaac’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and casual, but his question caught you off guard. 

You glanced up at him, your eyes locking with his startlingly blue ones. For a moment, you forgot how words worked.

Then, snapping out of it, you shook your head quickly. “Nope,” you said, the p popping more than you intended. 

You immediately cursed yourself. Smooth. 

Isaac tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned against the edge of the table. 

“Stiles drove me here,” you added, trying to sound nonchalant. “So I’ll be waiting until he’s done… y’know, with eating Scott's entire fridge” You rolled your eyes, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. 

Isaac’s lips curved into a faint smile, the kind that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken—again. He noticed, of course. Of course he did. 

Your heart was racing so fast now that you were sure it was louder than your voice. A tiny, irrational part of you hoped he hadn’t noticed, but deep down, you knew better. He was a werewolf, after all.

Isaac tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the side like he was trying to stifle a grin. Then he leaned in just a fraction, closing some of the distance between you.

“You know,” he started, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, “you should really work on that.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “Work on what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Isaac’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tapped a finger lightly against his chest, just over his heart. “That,” he said, his tone almost playful.

You froze, your face heating instantly as the realization sank in. He could hear it—your racing heartbeat—and he was absolutely calling you out on it.

Before you could even attempt to recover, Isaac stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he passed. The touch was brief but enough to send your nerves spiraling.

“I’ve got to head out,” he said, his voice soft now. He paused near the door, glancing back at you with that same teasing smile. “But don’t worry. It’s kinda flattering.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, equal parts mortified and exhilarated.

You let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. “Great. Just great,” you muttered to yourself.

From the kitchen, Stiles’ voice rang out. “Hey! Did Isaac just leave? Did I miss something?” 

You let out a long sigh, glaring at the doorway. “Just eat your food, Stiles!” 

[hazelgardenias]

sun-kissed

stiles stilinski x fem!reader

summary: you and stiles spend a rare day off at the pool

word count: 1.6k

first fic guys! yes please i’ll take any advice/constructive criticism!!!!

also feel free to give requests at any time!

“It’s not funny!” You whined indignantly as you tried to shove Stiles off of you. “You’re too hot, get off of me.”

“What?” You paused your fighting to glance down at yourself. Yup. Definitely burnt. Scalded, really. Even worse, Stiles had grabbed the water gun out of your hands while you were distracted.

An honestly embarrassing squeal escaped you as a burst of freezing water hit you right in the chest. It soothed the sunburn you hadn’t even been aware of, which was the only upside to your coverup now being drenched.

“Stiles!” You yelled after him as he bolted, cackling as he nearly bulldozed Scott, just out of the pool and already confused. Stiles had the grace to look terrified for his life as you chased him. You tried to fling your coverup at him, but it was so damp all it did was flop to the ground and make him laugh harder.

The fear came back to his eyes quickly once he realised where you had cornered him. Right by the edge of the pool. You stood in front of him, in your bikini, with a wicked grin as you brandished your retrieved coverup like a whip.

“Heyyy baby,” He dragged it out, hands in the air as he backed up as far as he could. “You know I didn’t mean it, c’mon. Truce?” You were half tempted by his shirtless state to abandon the feud and sneak off to make out in the basement. At least it was cool in the basement. But no. Your honour was at stake here.

And so, you lunged at him. It was a mystery who was screaming more high pitched when you plunged into Lydia’s pool, you or him. While he was disoriented after getting submerged, you tried to grab his foot and drag him further down with you. You could see the air bubbles as he screamed again, and kicked at you like he was being drowned.

Eventually, you both emerged, the feud forgotten as you both panted and stared at each other. His gaze drifted to your shoulder, and you jolted, moving to fix your bikini strap.

“Sorry, almost flashed you.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, don’t worry. In fact, I’d probably enjoy it. Screw that, I’d be ecstatic.”

“I feel like our entire friend group might mind.”

“Sucks for them,” He shrugged, glancing over to the others, and drifted over to you, a mischievous look in his eyes despite his lace of coordination underwater. Swimming was never his strong suit. “We should do the underwater kiss.”

“What underwater kiss?” Your eyebrows furrow and you push your hair out of your face, arms crossing over your chest.

“You know, from that movie.” He’s drifting closer to you now.

“I don’t know, actually. What movie?”

“I don’t know either. One of the old ones, I think,” He’s so close now, close enough that you can see the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. “Gone With The Wind, maybe.”

“I don’t think there was even a body of water in that movie, Stiles.” Your voice is stern, but you still instinctively seem to lean closer to him. “I feel like you’re just trying to kiss me.”

“Wow, I wonder why,” He scoffs, finally settling his hand on your waist. Here comes the sarcasm. “You know, it’s not like I’ve had to stare at you in a bikini all day…”

“No one was making you look, Stiles. And I’ve controlled myself perfectly fine around you.”

He doesn’t even need to give you puppy dog eyes anymore. All he needs is to kiss your cheek, then your forehead, and you’re caving.

“How do we even— Stiles!” Your yell is cut off when he drags you under. You’ve never liked having your eyes open in water, so his hands find the sides of your face. They drag you closer, so that your lips can meet, just in a peck for now. It’s soft and sweet, and he tastes like ice cream and the sunscreen he’s been pestering you about all day. Your own arms end up on his shoulders, and your legs around his waist.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, you resurface, still clinging to him. “Hi,” He mumbles, dropping his face into your neck. You can feel his smile against your skin.

“Hey,” You mumble, dragging your fingers through his wet hair. “You doing okay?” You knew he’d be having a rough time recently, but you were hoping a day off from any supernatural drama would help.

“Yeah,” He murmurs back, looking up at you from where his chins on your shoulder. “I’m really good, shockingly. This is good, you’re good. Really good.”

You stay like that for a minute. The sound of splashing and the rest of your friends clowning around seems to fade as you stare at him. But of course, Stiles can never stay still for long. You yelp again, tugging at his hair as he dunks you under the water. It’s only for half a second, but you spent much longer than that trying to cough up water.

“C’mon,” He says, walking out of the pool, your legs still around his waist. “You seriously need more sunscreen.”

You’re feeling giddy at the moment, so you can’t bring yourself to care. You just put your hands on either side of his face, pressing kisses anywhere you can reach.

——

That night, you’re staying at Stiles’ house. It’s not often your schedules line up, or there’s no new monsters attacking, so it’s a rare luxury. His dad had given him a lecture on ‘no funny business’ and ruffled your hair before leaving for his night shift.

Turns out, he had nothing to worry about. Stiles was lying flat on the bed, a hand over his eyes as you attempted to take your shirt off. A formality, really. Sometimes you think he’s seen under your shirt more often than not. Nevertheless, your only audience is the cast of Star Wars on a poster as you wince every time your sunburn even grazes the fabric.

“Stiles?” He bolts up already. He knows that tone, the one where you’re too embarrassed to directly ask him to help you, even though you know he’s going to anyone.

“Before I help, I would like to add that I told you so,” He starts, grabbing one of his own shirts for you to change into. “I explicitly warned you multiple times that you were gonna get burned. If you get skin cancer and die, I’m gonna be gloating at your funeral, just so you know.”

“I’m well aware,” You snark. Your only comfort is that at least you’re not trying to put a bra on your bright red shoulders yet. “Shut up and help me, you dick.”

“Arms up!” He says, a little too cheerful for the situation. Despite the heat radiating off your skin, you can’t help but shiver when his arms graze up your sides. He smirks at the look on your face, but turns away, passing his shirt behind his back.

“I kinda…. I need your help again.” You admit, rather sheepishly. You feel like an idiot, standing half naked in his room, needing help to get your own (his) shirt on. This time, he’s kind enough to not joke. His expression is nothing but soft and adoring as he tries to slide his shirt over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, wincing at the same time as you whenever he grazes the red patches.

Eventually, you’re both settled into bed. You’re cuddled up to his side, looking into the laptop on his legs. Star Wars, again. His arm is resting on your waist instead of around your shoulders, which have an ice pack taped to them. Stiles’ idea, and it was so sore you figured you could let it slide.

“That can’t be comfy,” He muttered, running his fingers up and down your inner arm.

“You’re comfy. I’ll let it slide.”

“Oh wow, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special,” He leans down, kissing your forehead. “Go to sleep, moron. It’s only gonna be bad at night.”

You know he’s right. Nights are bad for you too, always. You’re always either getting interrupted by nightmares, parents, or werewolves. But mornings, waking up next to each other, that’s the best part.

Stiles always forgets to close his curtains, likes to be woken up by the sun. He always complains when you try to kiss him with morning breath, but you don’t really care. Your feet always end up kicking him, and one too many times one of you has been pushed off of his small bed in the middle of the night.

“Night,” You mumble into his side, ignoring the fact that the ice pack is just warm water in plastic now. “Do you have aloe vera for the morning?”

He’s half asleep too, but you still feel his nod against you, his head tilted towards yours, even when he’s practically unconscious. You grin a little to yourself, finally closing your eyes as you intertwine your fingers.

[emqqx]

hi I love your whole page & work !!

can I request a joe x reader as enemies to lovers but coworkers. They are both actors and maybe they started out iffy and so. She likes him but he’s not really feeling the same at first. As time goes on about maybe he realizes how amazing she is, yk they are coworkers have same friend group interviews etc and how originally she was a fan of him. It’s like a she falls first but he falls harder. Lots of Angst love jealousy type !! Sorry I’m just a big fan of romance and all that stuff ☺️ Totally understandable if it’s a lot or confusing cx

"Same frame"

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Joe Keery x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆

english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!

summary: As a longtime fan turned coworker, you fall first while Joe keeps his distance...until he falls impossibly harder.

warnings: angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, jealousy, emotional hurt/comfort.

You had been a fan of Joe Keery long before you ever stepped foot on the Stranger Things set. It wasn’t the wild, obsessive kind of fandom, it was quieter; during a particularly lonely stretch a few years back, you’d binge-watched the show and found yourself drawn to Steve Harrington, his journey from arrogant of popular kid Hawkins High to the ultimate babysitter, full of heart and quiet courage. 

Joe brought something real to the role: that easy charm mixed with vulnerability, the goofy smiles in interviews, the way he seemed genuinely kind when talking about his castmates. You admired him from afar, the way fans do. 

Never once imagining your paths would cross.

Then your agent called with the news: you’d landed the role of Elena in the final season, a survivor with a mysterious tie to the Upside Down, someone who would clash with Steve before slowly building an alliance. You were ecstatic, nervous, but thrilled. This was the kind of opportunity actors dreamed about.

Reality hit the moment you walked into the first table read in Atlanta.

Joe greeted you with a polite smile and a firm handshake.

 “Hey, welcome to the chaos. I’m Joe.” His voice was friendly enough, but his eyes held a subtle distance and by the end of that first week, the politeness had cooled into something almost cold. 

During rehearsals, when you suggested a small ad-lib to sharpen Elena’s banter with Steve, he shut it down fast.

“We should probably stick to the script,” he said curtly, barely glancing your way. “No need to rewrite the whole dynamic on day three.”

The words landed like ice, the rest of the cast laughed awkwardly, chalking it up to “Steve energy,” but you felt the dismissal deep in your chest.

 You had come in excited, prepared, and professional. 

Why did he seem so irritated by you?

You stopped trying after that, you matched his energy: professional on camera, where the fiery arguments and reluctant teamwork between Elena and Steve created palpable tension, but icy off-screen. Short nods in the hallways,sitting on the opposite end of the craft services table, clipped responses when he spoke to you. 

The directors loved the friction. “Natural chemistry,” they called it. “Keep that energy going.”

If only they knew how much it hurt.

You fell first, and it felt humiliating.

Even as you resented him, you couldn’t stop noticing everything. The way he quietly brought coffee to the crew without making a show of it, or how he stayed late running lines with the younger actors, patient and encouraging with Millie, Finn, and Gaten.

 The soft, genuine laugh that escaped him when someone cracked a dumb joke during breaks and the way he thanked every single crew member by name at the end of long days.

Late at night in your trailer, you’d lie awake replaying old interviews on your phone, heart aching with the same flutter you’d felt as a fan. 

You'd wonder why he’d hate you, even as butterflies stirred every time he walked past. You hated yourself for still liking him, you were a professional, you had worked hard to get here. Yet here you were, nursing a stupid crush on a coworker who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

One evening after filming an intense fight sequence, the cast went out for drinks at a quiet bar. You ended up squeezed between Maya and Priah. Joe sat across from you, sleeves rolled up, nursing a whiskey, curls messy under the low lights.

“You seem tense lately,” Maya whispered, glancing between you and Joe. “Everything okay with your scenes?”

You forced a smile. “Just adjusting. Joe’s been… a bit much.”

Priah leaned in sympathetically. “That’s weird. Joe’s usually the nicest guy on set, maybe the final season pressure is getting to him.”

You nodded, but when you looked up, Joe was watching you, his expression was unreadable. You looked away first, heart twisting.

The press tour made the pain unbearable, your characters’ charged dynamic, arguments laced with reluctant respect, a near-kiss in episode 4 sent the internet into a frenzy.

 You and Joe were paired for nearly every interview, sitting side-by-side on couches, smiling for cameras while keeping careful distance.

During one major late-night show, the host leaned forward with a grin.

 “The chemistry between Steve and Elena is off the charts, fans are shipping you two hard. Any off-screen sparks happening?”

Joe let out that easy, charming laugh, the one that still made your stomach flip despite everything.

 “Nah, we’re just coworkers. She’s great,super talented but it’s strictly professional.”

 He shot you that trademark half-smile. “Right?”

You smiled brightly for the cameras. “Absolutely! just acting.”

The audience aww’d. Inside, it felt like glass shattering in your chest.

That night, the cast gathered in a hotel suite for drinks. 

You had one too many cocktails, and when the conversation turned playful and someone asked, “Celebrity crush…go,” you named a different actor, someone safe and most important far away from this set.

Joe’s jaw clenched hard, his fingers tightened around his glass until his knuckles whitened. He didn’t speak to you the rest of the night, but his eyes followed you everywhere, dark, intense, and confusing. But you didn't notice it.

The night shoot cracked everything open. It was past 2 a.m, rain machines poured relentlessly, wind machines whipped through the fake forest set. 

You were filming Elena’s emotional breakdown in Steve’s arms after a major loss. Take after take, you were soaked, freezing, and emotionally drained. 

On take seven, the dam broke for real. All the months of cold shoulders, public dismissals, and your own lingering feelings crashed down, your shoulders shook as you clung to Joe, face buried in his wet shirt, tears streaming.

He froze for half a second, then his arms wrapped around you fully strong, protective, holding you closer than the script required, one hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your soaked hair, his voice was low and rough against your ear, just for you.

“Hey… I’ve got you.You’re safe, I’m right here.”

The director called cut, but Joe didn’t let go immediately, instead he held you through the aftershocks, shielding you from the crew’s eyes. 

When you finally pulled back, his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, he walked you to your trailer in silence, both of you dripping across the lot. At the door, he lingered.

“You were incredible tonight,” he said quietly, staring at the ground. “You don’t have to push so hard around me. You’re… already more than enough, better than I expected. I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”

It was the first real compliment, the first real crack in his wall. 

You nodded, too exhausted and overwhelmed to respond, and closed the door. Inside, you cried again this time not just from the scene.

Jealousy turned into a wildfire in the weeks that followed. At a big cast wrap party for one of the final episodes, you decided you were done hiding, so you wore a deep red dress that hugged your figure perfectly, hair loose in soft waves.

 Heads turned when you entered and Joe’s eyes lingered the longest from across the room, jaw tight, expression stormy, before he looked away and downed his drink in one go.

You tried to enjoy yourself, you laughed with Maya and danced a little with the group. Then a handsome guest star who’d been openly flirting with you all week pulled you outside for fresh air, he was charming, funny, and persistent

. For the first time in months, you let yourself laugh genuinely at his stories.

Joe appeared like a shadow minutes later.

“Everything okay out here?” His voice was calm on the surface, but edged with steel, he stared the other actor down until the guy made an awkward excuse and left.

You spun on Joe, months of hurt exploding in the cool night air.

“What the hell is your problem? You’ve been cold and dismissive since day one. You laughed off the idea of liking me in every single interview like it was ridiculous, you made me feel like an annoyance just for existing on this set and now you’re scaring off anyone who actually shows interest? That’s not fair, Joe. You don’t get to push me away and then act possessive.”

He stepped closer, breathing hard. The easy-going, charming mask he usually wore had completely shattered.

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice was raw, frustrated, almost angry. “Fuck… I’ve been fighting it since the moment you walked into that table read, you came in so bright, so prepared, so talented and yeah.. I knew you were a fan, it felt complicated, like I’d be taking advantage or turning into some cliché. So I pushed you away, and I was a complete dick because feeling anything for you scared the shit out of me.”

He ran a hand through his curls, eyes burning into yours with intensity.

“But the more I pushed, the more I saw the real you. How hard you fight for every scene, even when you’re exhausted, how you remember everyone’s coffee orders and the crew’s kids’ names, how you make the younger cast laugh when they’re homesick and how you still looked at me with that quiet softness even after I hurt you over and over. I realized how amazing you are… and it wrecked me. Watching that guy make you laugh tonight? It killed me, because I want to be the one who makes you laugh, I want to be the one holding you when things get heavy. I fell for you…harder than I ever thought possible.”

Tears stung your eyes. 

“You hurt me for months, Joe, I admired you long before this show, and you made me regret it every single day.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking, he reached out slowly, gently cupping your face with both hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ll spend every single day making it up to you… if you’ll let me.”

The kiss was desperate, hungry, and long overdue, months of tension, jealousy, angst, and unspoken feelings finally breaking free. His hands slid into your hair, pulling you closer like he was afraid you might disappear. When you finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I fell harder,” he murmured. “Way harder, andI’m not stopping.”

The aftermath was messy, beautiful, and real.

There were still awkward days on set, stolen glances across the trailer lot, careful distance when cameras rolled. 

Fans and tabloids went wild with every leaked photo of you two looking cozy. 

Joe got noticeably jealous when another co-star kept texting you for “extra line rehearsals.” You still felt flashes of insecurity when he was overly charming in interviews.

But he showed up, consistently; he started bringing you coffee exactly the way you liked it on early call days, stayed late running lines with you in your trailer, now warm and supportive instead of cold, he pulled you into quiet corners between takes for soft, lingering kisses that left you dizzy and wanting more. He even introduced you to his friends outside the cast with quiet pride.

 In private, the tension turned steamy, heated makeouts that left marks, whispered promises of what would happen once filming wrapped, his hands exploring with newfound hunger.

The old angst lingered in the sweetest way.

He fell harder, just like you’d secretly hoped. 

The coworker who once pushed you away became the man who couldn’t imagine finishing the show or the rest of his life without you in every frame.

And you? You’d walk through every painful moment again if it led to this: Joe Keery looking at you like you were his favorite part of the entire story.

Taglist: @watercolorskyy, @deviousfaye , @watercolorskyy , @l33nlikeacholo , @ophirei @leahfaith @bluehexagon8 @unclejeezysblog

[thecreelhouse]

always ready to be left out in the cold

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.

WC: 18k+

Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.

A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine.

‎♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬

This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.

Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.

Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.

Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.

Yeah, lucky you.

This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.

You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.

It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.

And that's never your call to make.

Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."

"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.

He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.

Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"

"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."

"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.

"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"

"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."

"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."

"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."

"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"

"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."

Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."

"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"

"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.

Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."

There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.

Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.

Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?

It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.

Until you just… left. 

 Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.

No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.

You'd drift in, drift out.

Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.

In, out.

All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.

So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.

Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.

When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.

What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?

What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?

What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?

If you stayed… would it have been worth it?

The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.

It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.

That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.

No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.

Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.

Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?

Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.

You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.

Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.

Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.

That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.

Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.

The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.

That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.

You can only tread water for so long, though.

"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"

Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.

"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."

And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.

"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"

"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."

His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.

Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.

What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?

Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.

Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.

"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."

He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."

"God, you're such a bitch."

"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."

"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"

"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"

"Stop!"

"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"

"I meant the van, asshole!"

Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.

Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.

You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.

"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"

Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.

His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"

You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.

Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.

"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.

"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"

He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."

Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.

She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"

You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.

"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"

Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."

"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.

In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.

Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."

"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."

So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.

Fantastic.

"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."

Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.

"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"

"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"

Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"

Hopper.

Oh, boy.

Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.

Well, can't say you didn't try.

Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."

You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.

"Okay, where are you exactly?"

The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.

You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.

Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."

"Language."

"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.

"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."

So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.

Way off.

"I- I don't know."

A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.

"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"

Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.

There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."

Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling a cold.

You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.

"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."

You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."

Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."

"I didn't lose the fucking—"

The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.

"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"

"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."

Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.

Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.

"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."

Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.

"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."

There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.

Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.

He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".

"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."

Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."

Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."

Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."

That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.

Together.

Alone.

"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"

A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.

"Yeah, kid. I got it."

In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.

It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.

Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.

"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"

"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"

Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?

"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."

Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"

"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."

"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.

"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.

There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.

Unless…

There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.

You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.

"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."

But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"

"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."

"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."

"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"

His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.

"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"

"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."

"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."

He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"

Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"

"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"

You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"

"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"

"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."

"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"

"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."

"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."

"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.

Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.

The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.

If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.

Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.

The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.

Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.

Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.

Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.

He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.

And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.

So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.

He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.

By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.

Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?

What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.

To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.

To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.

The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.

The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.

He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.

Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.

You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.

Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.

It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.

Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?

In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.

There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.

"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.

You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.

"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.

When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.

"Ow… S'loud," you groan.

"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.

"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.

It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.

Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.

Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.

"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.

Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.

And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.

Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.

Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.

"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.

He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.

Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."

"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."

"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."

The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.

Yeah, you're worse than he thought.

"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"

"M'yeah, s'kay."

If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.

Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.

Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.

He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"

"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."

"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.

He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.

"Okay, c'mon, boots first."

Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.

Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.

And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.

He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.

You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.

"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."

There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.

At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.

"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.

"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.

"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."

He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.

"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."

If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.

"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."

You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.

"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"

That's a dumb fucking question.

"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."

When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.

About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.

"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."

"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.

"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."

Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.

Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.

But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.

Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"

"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.

You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."

He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.

What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.

Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.

"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."

He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?

That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.

Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.

Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.

He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.

That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.

The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?

God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?

Whatever.

It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.

The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.

Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.

That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.

Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—

"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"

Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.

Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.

Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.

He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.

"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.

He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.

"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."

Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."

The words ache with more desperation than he intends.

"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.

"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.

"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"

He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Fu- fucking cold."

"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."

You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."

"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."

You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.

Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.

Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.

Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.

"Be n- n- nice!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"

"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"

The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.

Like a fucking fool.

"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."

The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.

"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."

"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"

You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"

"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"

"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.

He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."

"You could h- have some f'ya' want."

"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."

"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."

"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.

You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."

He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."

Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.

"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.

You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.

"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."

Oh, if only you knew.

"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"

"Make wh- what weird?"

Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.

The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."

"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."

"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.

The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.

"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."

"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."

You sound mortified.

"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"

"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"

He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?

"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."

"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."

He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.

There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.

Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.

Talk about something else. Anything.

"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.

"Hm? Wi- with what?"

"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."

"We still ended up in a ditch—"

"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."

You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.

"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."

Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."

"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."

Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.

"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."

"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."

It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.

"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."

He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.

"… What?"

Because since when do you care about letting him down?

"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."

Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.

"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."

And look where that got the two of you.

Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.

You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."

"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."

"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."

"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."

The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."

We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.

"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."

An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.

Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.

"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."

It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…

Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.

And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.

"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"

"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"

"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."

Scared is an understatement.

He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.

He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.

He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.

And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—

Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.

Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.

Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.

Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.

And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.

Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.

Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.

If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.

And you.

You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—

It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.

He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.

Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.

So much wasted time—

"Steve?"

Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.

Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"

"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"

A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."

"Oh my god, Steve."

"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."

"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.

"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."

Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.

"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.

"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."

"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."

Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."

A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.

The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.

"Fuck, shit, fuck—"

Yeah. He's hard.

He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.

Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."

"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"

Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."

Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.

"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"

Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."

He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?

"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."

"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"

"Not to death."

"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."

"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"

"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"

"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"

He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.

"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."

"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"

"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."

"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.

No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.

"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."

"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"

He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.

Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.

Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.

Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."

Not like this one's much easier to talk about.

Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.

"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"

"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."

You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.

It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.

"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"

When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.

"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."

For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.

"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."

It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?

There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.

The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.

"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."

Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.

Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.

You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.

He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.

The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.

"Shit, Steve…"

He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.

He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.

"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"

"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.

If, you know, you were into that.

His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.

The two of you just have to survive this night first.

"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."

You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.

Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.

"Finish. The. Sentence."

You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.

"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"

"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."

Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.

"Bet you were this wet before you left."

Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."

"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."

"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."

Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."

"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.

"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."

Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."

The smug expression falters, "Too much?"

"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."

Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."

Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.

He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.

Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."

"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."

"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."

You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."

"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"

"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."

He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.

And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.

The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.

Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.

"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."

Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.

"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"

Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.

"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."

The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.

"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"

The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.

"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"

Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.

"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"

You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.

This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.

Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.

And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.

He's missed you. So, so much.

The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.

"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.

"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"

Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.

"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."

Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.

"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.

"I- I want it."

"Want… what?"

Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."

"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."

"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.

Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.

Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.

"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."

As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.

You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.

"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"

Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."

He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.

"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."

Steve blinks as the words sink in.

Oh.

"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."

"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"

He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.

"One step at a time, okay?"

He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.

Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.

Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.

"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.

Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.

"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.

In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."

Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.

Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.

"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"

You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.

Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.

Oh, no.

"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"

Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"

"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"

"Steve."

"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.

"Were you— oh my god."

"What?!"

A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.

The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."

He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.

Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"

"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."

"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"

"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."

Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.

You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.

It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.

A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.

Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.

It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.

By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.

He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.

Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.

"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"

The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.

"S'okay?"

"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.

"But?"

Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.

Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.

He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"

"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."

Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.

As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.

You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.

Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.

"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.

"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'

Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."

And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.

"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."

"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."

"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."

Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.

"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"

Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.

With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.

"You done talking logistics yet?"

Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.

That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.

No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.

"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.

Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in. 

Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.

Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.

What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.

Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.

It tightens.

Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.

"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.

The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.

"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."

Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.

But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.

Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.

That plucks at his heartstrings, too.

"Steve?"

Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.

"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."

Baby.

Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.

Wait, did you say he was crying?

"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."

"Steve—"

"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."

"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."

"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."

Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.

"St—"

He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.

You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"

"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."

And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.

You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"

He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.

"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"

"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.

You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.

"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."

Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"

"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."

Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"

It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.

His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.

And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.

No one's like you. No one could even compare.

"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."

"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."

Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.

"Steve," you whine.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."

You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."

"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."

"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"

"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."

You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."

"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"

"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."

"Please… what?"

"Steve, I s- swear to god—"

"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."

"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.

He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.

"Such a what?"

"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"

Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.

"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.

 The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same. 

"I… Yours?"

 Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.

"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"

Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.

"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.

He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.

"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"

"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you. 

"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."

"Y- you."

Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.

"I'm right here."

Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.

The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.

And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.

"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.

It's only fair to match his energy.

"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."

He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.

No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.

"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."

Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.

Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.

God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.

"Fuck, you're unreal."

You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.

Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck

"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.

"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"

He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.

Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.

Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.

Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.

That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.

"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.

All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.

"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."

Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."

"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."

Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.

The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.

"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."

And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.

There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.

"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."

"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"

Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"

"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.

Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.

It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.

"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."

"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"

"Okay."

"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."

This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.

"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."

He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."

"Steve."

The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will. 

And he will, too.

[joekeerysbellybutton]

Take It

Synopsis: Steve needs you to take it all

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: ~1.9k

Tags: MDNI, SMUT, unprotected p in v, finger fucking, overstimulation, breeding kink, cum play/eating, soft dom!steve, literally porn no plot whatsoever, fluffy ending <3

Notes: based on this comment from @68trash37 : i love thissss can you please do another one where he f.ck his c.m in to you with his fingers multiple times. So yeah… that’s what this is… enjoy <3

Part of the ‘Baby Fever’ collection

Masterlist

“Oh shit baby–fuck!”

Steve thrusted into you like he was trying to get his cock all the way into your throat from your cunt. He was rabid, sweating from head to toe, hair stuck to his forehead where it hung down as he looked at where he dove in and out and in and out.

“I’m gonna–ugh–gonna come, want you to take it, baby, fucking take it.”

He had one elbow next to your head holding him up over you, the other hand gripped the flesh of your thigh as he held it tightly around his waist to keep you close and get himself deeper.

“Please, I want it,” you croaked out.

You could feel him throbbing, waves pulsing through you like standing next to a loud stereo.

“Yeah you do, that’s my girl, so good for me–oh ah!“

Steve came with a guttural groan that turned his already flush skin bright red. His hips slowed, he dragged his cock out slowly from you, watching his fluids spill out with it. He dropped your thigh, his eyes fixed to where he had left his mark on you. Your pussy wet and stretched from him. He stared at you for so long you thought he had an aneurism.

“Steve–“

“Shh… just let me…”

Steve’s dragged two of his fingers up through your folds from your leaking hole to your swollen clit. You shuddered. He held his fingers up, they glistened in the moonlight that inhabited the dark bedroom.

“Look at all this, baby.”

His eyes were so trained to his fingers they were almost crossed. You looked between him and where he was looking. You both followed his wet finger tips as he lowered them back down between your legs. He slowly pushed them inside you and you groaned, you arched into his firm thrust.

“Gotta keep in all in that pretty pussy of yours.”

You nodded your head as you pushed it back harder into the pillow. Steve repeated his earlier movements of gathering up his cum and pushing it into you. Each time his fingers reached deeper.

“Taking it so good, baby.”

As he got down to the knuckle, he thumbed over your clit in fast circles.

“Fuck, Steve!”

You gripped the bed sheets below you, feeling so close to mixing your release with his. You clenched around Steve’s fingers, feeling your whole body tense up.

“That’s it baby, come for me. I know you’re close.”

“So close… oh!” You choked out a breath as you came with Steve’s fingers deep inside you.

He pumped them a few more times before pulling them out, an obscene pop following with them.

“Such a mess,” Steve tutted to himself. “I wanna feel it.”

You sat up on your elbows to get a better look at where Steve kneeled between your legs.

“Huh?” You questioned, feeling a little dizzy.

Steve didn’t respond, just started manhandling your legs up onto his shoulders. Your heart started racing even faster than it already was as Steve situated himself. His hands gripped your hip as he knelt before you. He watched intently as his cock disappeared into your wet cunt with an insistent thrust.

“God, Steve!”

“Holy–so fucking wet, feels so good, you feel so good full of my cum.”

He thrusted slower than before, like he was really feeling every inch of your sopping insides. The sound of his hard cock sliding through the mixture of your cum was deafening.

“You hear that baby?” He finally drew his eyes away from your cunt to look you in the eye as he asked. “That’s the sound of your greedy pussy, so fucking full–yeah–so god damn wet for me.”

Your head spun each time Steve ground his hips into yours when they met.

“You’re gonna take another load of me, yeah.”

It didn’t sound like much of a question but you answered as best you could.

“N–ugh,”

“What’s that? No? Can my poor baby not take any more, huh? Is she too full up?”

You shook your head against the pillow as adamantly as you could with how much you were involuntarily forcing it back.

“I–“ A particularly deep grind from Steve cut you off, a slanted smirk plastered on his face as he watched you fall apart under him. “Hmm, I can–ah–can take it.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes at how deep he felt. To your surprise, Steve pulled clean out just as you could feel him teeter on the edge. He let your legs fall to the mattress with a thud but kept one large hand on the inside of your thigh to keep you open. His other hand frantically wrapped around his cock, getting himself off between your legs.

You were confused to say the least, clenching around nothing as Steve chose to fuck his fist instead of you. Your cunt was practically crying out for him. So were you, a whine left your throat desperately as a tear rolled down your cheek.

Steve released over your folds, the gooey liquid coating your core and the inside of your thighs.

“Oooh baby,” Steve groaned, his hand slowing down to a lazy stroke.

“Steve,” you pleaded, wanting to feel his body on yours again.

He dipped his head down to place a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His tongue jutted out to a blob of his cum that settled there, licking it up.

“Stay just like that baby,” he mumbled over your skin. “Nice and wide for me.”

He nuzzled his head against your thigh, urging you to open up for him. He spread your other thigh wide with his hand.

“I’m gonna get all of this inside you, okay?” Steve said sweetly. “All my cum in your gorgeous pussy.”

Your hips bucked just from the words.

Steve chuckled, “look at you all needy for it. You wanna be full of me, baby?”

Steve’s hands spread over your thighs, his finger tips playing with his drops of cum.

You made some kind of needy noise of approval, nodding your head, your lips parted like you couldn’t physically close them to form words.

Steve licked a fat strip where your thigh met your pelvis. He took his tongue in his mouth, swirled it around to create a build up of saliva in his cheeks, then he spat forcefully over your pussy and you flinched.

“I’m gonna need you to say it.” His voice not so sweet anymore, like his cum had laced it with poison.

“I–“

Steve cut you off by using his large fingers to open up your folds, he moaned at the sight of you pulsing.

“Steve… give me all–mmm–of it.”

His thumb rubbed between your folds, just feeling the wetness that you made together.

“I love hearing you, baby.” His wet thumb rubbed your clit. “Talk to me.”

You took a deep breath, you always found it hard to articulate yourself while Steve worked his magic on you, but you knew he loved a bit of encouragement.

“Stevie,” you said, trying to regain some composure. He instantly smiled at how much you were trying. “Get it all on your fingers.”

He did as you said, dragging two of his fingers along your thighs and over where he drenched your skin with his cum.

“And–hmmm–put it inside me,”

Again he followed your directions, not that he needed to be told. Much like before, Steve pressed his fingers into your pussy, they glided in so easy with how wet you were.

“Oh baby, look at that, you take it so well.”

He pumped his fingers a few times and you instantly felt a twinge of overstimulation that left you whining and twitching against the sheets. Steve then pulled out his fingers.

“Missed a spot,” he said casually.

He gathered up some fluids that had spilled out, dragging his fingers all the way through your folds before thrusting back in with more force than before.

Then he really went at it. His fingers jabbing into you like his cum was going of expire if he didn’t get it in quick.

“Ohmygodohmygod.” All your words blurred together.

Steve had his free hand pushing down on your thigh to hold you open. Your other one started to close as you tensed up.

“No, no, no, c’mom sweet girl.” Steve’s drenched hand escaped your cunt. “Keep those legs open.”

He grabbed your hand and placed it on your other thigh. He squeezed it between his palm and your flesh, urging you to hold onto it.

“I need to see you take it.”

Steve’s fingers didn’t waste anymore time as he got back to work fucking his cum into you.

“Gonna breed you so good like this. My pretty girl taking all my loads.”

You moaned out loud, clenching hard around Steve’s fingers.

“You like that, huh?” Steve’s hand sped up. “You wanna get pregnant with my baby? We better make sure it takes then.”

Just when you thought his incessant thrusts couldn't get any faster, any harder, they did.

“Uuugh, fuck–Ste–Steve!”

Your back arched off the bed, your fingers dug into your thighs, your whole body shook. You felt Steve wiggle his fingers inside you as he got right down to the knuckle. His fingers curled like he was trying to push his cum into your deepest, most hard to reach crevices.

“I’m gonna–ah–I’m gonna fucking come–Uuugh!”

“Come for me. Feels good to be full of me doesn’t it, baby.”

You screamed out his name one more time as you came. Your vision blurred, your ears rang. Every sense overwhelmed by the feeling of his slick fingers still inside you. Steve slowly withdrew from your tired hole. Fingers wet with you and him.

You were still in a daze as you saw Steve’s face appear above you. He looked extremely proud of himself.

“You did so good, baby,” he praised.

You let out a whine you didn't know you were holding in. Steve kissed your forehead before he settled next to you on the bed. You stayed flat on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to catch your breath.

Steve’s gentle hand on your face brought you back down to earth. He turned on his side to face you and you instinctively turned your head in his direction. It was only then that you realised how wrecked Steve also looked. Hair everywhere, face red and sweaty. But his gorgeously soft eyes looked at you with such love.

“You look pretty,” you said to him, your voice just barely making it out your throat.

Steve smiled, burying his face in his pillow momentarily like he was shy.

“I should be saying that to you.”

“You tell me plenty.”

“And it will never be enough.”

Steve leant over you to kiss your lips. A firm peck that made your heart swell. You hummed against his lips.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” Steve said, moving to leave you on the bed.

“No wait,” you whined, reaching your hand out to grab his. “Stay for a minute, please.”

“One minute,” he said as he brought your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckle.

Steve settled back in bed with you, drawing your back into the matted hair of his sweaty chest.

“Maybe five,” he sighed as he felt you against him.

He took in a deep sniff of your hair.

“Ten,” you said.

Steve pinched your hip making you giggle.

“Don’t get greedy.”

“Seemed like you loved me being greedy a couple minutes ago.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah well, I’ve got a lot to give.”

“Don’t I know it.”

A/N: typed this one handed ykwim… byyyeeee

Taglist: @ribeiroteresa97

*images from Pinterest

[ocean-fox-blogs]

Debt Owed

paul lahote x fem! reader

Paul Lahote had been your friend since childhood, he was your rock as you faced the trials of high-school together. And now - well now, he was ignoring your calls and texts.

It left you feeling heartbroken and angry. How could he do this to you? You called his parents, they said he wasn't feeling well. Even trying to go check up on him, and today was the final straw. Paul was out with his new friends - Sam Uleys Gang of troublemakers who never really caused trouble but people didn't like it either way.

They were cutting their hate, getting tattoos and ditching school. That was enough for people to talk.

Quickly before he could take off, you approached the group and began to yell at Paul for leaving you alone.

Paul stood still as you berated him infront of the others, it made you stop almost immediately - feeling foolish. "-Just, uh, don't-" You began to stutter and trailed off, Paul looked completely enamored by you. His eyes literally could have been heart shaped. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Stop looking at me like that!" You demanded - completely exasperated from the whole ordeal.

"I can't help it," Paul admitted with a charming smile. "-you are very beautiful when you are putting me in my place."

That left you stunned. "What?"

He chuckled softly. "You heard me."

"Gross."

He threw his head back, laughing. "God, I am so going to enjoy the rest of my life with you."

"You're delusional." You stated the obvious with a roll of your eyes.

"Oh, am I?" He dared.

"Very much so."

"I bet you - we get married and have children."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you responded. "How much do you want to bet?"

"A kiss."

"God, you are truly pathetic," You groaned, but smiled nonetheless. "-you're on."

Years Later

"I do believe you have a debt to pay." Paul came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to his warm body.

"Do I?" You mused as you stirred the pot of food that was to be dinner for the night.

"Mmhm," He grinned into your hair, sniffing it in the process. "-one that I want to be paid right now."

"I do hope you mean a kiss and nothing else."

"Did I only ask for a kiss back then?" He nearly giggled as he recalled the encounter from long ago.

"I won't pay a cent more, Mr. Lahote."

He whined. "I suppose I'll take what is owed then." Paul pulling your chin to the side as he began kissing you from behind, your lips moving in sync. "I love you."

"I love you so much more."

"Impossible."

[strangerthings4lifers]

thinking about pudgy!Joe Keery backstage 🤤

The moment he has raised up his hands, letting you catch a glimpse of his pretty little love handles, your knees started to go weak.

God, why did he have to be so perfect? The thing was, he was insecure about his figure, frequently making self deprecating comments about it.

The way he was swinging his hips back n’ forth, his pudge peeking out, you couldn’t believe that this was your husband, your man.

Once he wrapped up the show, and headed backstage, you practically pounced on him.

“Joey.. baby..”

you groan.

“you knew what you were doin’ out there didn’t you?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

He said, completely ignorant of how you’d been drooling over him only moments earlier.

“your tummy.. you know I can’t get enough of it baby..”

You say, kneeling to the ground and tugging his shirt up, giving little bites to the bits of chub hanging over his pants..

“Didn’t know you liked it that much doll.. I was thinkin’ i might start working out..”

He breathed out softly.

“No..” you whine. “if anything i want ya to gain some more weight..”

[midnox]

Of Shame and Forgiveness | Steve Harrington

Summary : Steve and you had only been together for a short time, a relationship still fragile, constantly tested by Steve’s demons and his inability to deal with anything serious. And yet, you had believed in it. Until Carol told you she had seen him come home with a pretty blonde on his arm, his mind already clouded by alcohol. You should have known better: you don’t change someone who doesn’t want to change. Warnings : Angst ? Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Autumn was a cold season, where the wind took over the streets. Leaves seemed to dance to its rhythm—a blazing swirl that warmed the eyes, if not the bodies shivering in the cold. Yes, autumn meant hot chocolate and afternoons spent under a blanket, watching Harry Potter reruns over and over again for Halloween season.

Carved pumpkins on doorsteps gave off a more haunting atmosphere once night fell. The shrill screams of plastic witches hanging on porches made passersby flinch. And sometimes… some things ended in autumn too.

Under the park’s streetlights, your silhouette slowly swings on a creaking swing. It’s not the first time Hawkins has offered a depressing scene, but it’s the first time Steve is the one responsible for it.

He tells himself he can finish his cigarette before facing all the mess he created. His thoughts clash as he tries to figure out what to say. Where to even begin?

He’s ashamed. Ashamed of what he’s done. Ashamed of having avoided your gaze these past few days, as if not looking into your eyes could delay the inevitable. And yet, your smiles still made him want to stay.

He hopes the smoke from his cigarette will drift to you and announce his presence—that you’ll make the first move by yelling at him.

But you don’t shout.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but he sees your head tilt slightly against the rope holding the swing, and that’s enough for him to understand that you know he’s there. That tonight is when something between you will die.

Maybe not love. But whatever still made you believe in it.

You don’t look at him when he sits beside you. The swing sways gently under his weight as his feet sink into the sand, filling the silence.

Dating Steve Harrington was never simple. Nothing about him ever was. He was immature, let his impulsiveness replace reflection, and his refusal of commitment should have already been a warning sign.

He always preferred jokes over apologies, awkward smiles over real conversations. And on top of that, his reputation as a player certainly didn’t work in his favor.

But you had chosen to ignore it, because you had fallen in love with him, seeing beyond the superficial image he showed others.

Because he was more than that—more than that indifferent mask he wore, especially when he was hurt or rejected.

You had seen his sensitivity and his loyalty toward the people he loved. You only had to look at how he behaved with Dustin and the other kids. He was smarter than he let on, despite the “bad boy” reputation that followed him, the one that once made him the “ideal” high school boyfriend.

But you were adults now.

The only problem was that he was convinced he wasn’t good enough. So he preferred to destroy everything before being hurt again.

You made the mistake of falling in love with him, convinced he would change—that it would be enough to show him his worth for him to finally understand it himself.

“Y/n…” “I know.”

It’s too late.

You can hear it in your tired voice, already giving up. Light as the wind blowing softly tonight, already somewhere else.

Your fingers hold onto the ropes on either side of your slumped body, not gripping them, as if ready to let everything go and leave.

“What happened meant nothing to me.”

As if his words could still fix something.

You give a tired smile, as if all your energy has already left you and you no longer want to fight.

“A kiss always means something, Steve. Even more when you sleep with someone else.”

You still hear Carol’s voice telling you she saw him at that bar—a pretty blonde with blue eyes leaving with him. You didn’t want to believe it.

Because between you two, there had been more than that. Words. Promises. Something you thought was solid.

And yet…

“I was drunk.”

His voice is already breaking.

“I didn’t know where I was at, and… y/n, say something, please…”

He turns toward you, voice pleading, breath short, as if every word costs him something. Anxiety tightens his stomach.

He can’t even lie to himself anymore.

“What do you want me to say, Steve?”

You turn your face toward him, and he sees the extent of the damage he’s caused.

Your eyes are red, but dry. No more tears. Just the marks left behind. Dark circles betray sleepless nights. And above all… something more final.

You don’t expect anything from him anymore.

“I want… you to tell me you forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

He swallows, unable to understand why he did it, disgusted with himself the moment he saw that girl he woke up next to. It wasn’t you. Not your scent. Not your body. Not your heart either.

And he can’t blame it all on alcohol.

“I… I was scared.”

His voice is lower now.

His hand moves vaguely between you, unable to put real words on what all of this meant.

“Of us. Of… all of this.”

He looks down for a second before continuing, more slowly:

“I don’t know how to do this when it gets serious. And I just…”

His jaw tightens.

“I messed everything up.”

He lets out a humorless laugh, short, almost nervous.

Because deep down, he knows it.

He has never been good at staying when it matters. And today again, he destroyed what mattered most.

He had put pressure on himself… just to ruin everything.

It’s almost laughable, the audacity he has to say he loves you now, when nothing between you remains.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to become someone else.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you realize you were wrong from the beginning.

You don’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.

“What?” “No, you…” “Yes.”

You slowly shake your head, exhausted.

“You’ve always been like this, Steve. I just spent too long believing love would be enough to make you stay.”

This time, he has nothing to say.

Because deep down, you both know this isn’t the first time he’s run when things get real.

“You’ve always been like this. I should have understood you wouldn’t change. Not for me.”

And that sentence… hits you harder than the betrayal itself.

Not being enough. Even for him to try.

“What you did… just because you’re scared? I deserve better than that, Steve.” “No, no!”

He grabs the nearest rope to turn you toward him. His eyes are almost panicked now.

His gaze meets yours, echoing your sadness. But he is the only one responsible. Because he screwed up.

“It meant nothing, it didn’t matter and I know it’s horrible to say I love you right after that but… fuck, I swear I…”

He stops. His jaw tightens. Even breathing seems hard now.

When he places his hands on your face, you let him for a second… before closing your eyes, as if it already hurts too much.

His thumbs brush under your eyes, as if trying to hold something that is already slipping away.

“I’m in love with you.”

As if saying it now could still save something. As if he had only just understood the meaning of those words when they were already useless.

And it changes nothing.

You manage a fragile smile—the kind of smile someone gives when they still love… but can’t stay anymore.

And he understands.

“You… you said nothing could change what you feel for me.”

He clings to it like a last chance. A last illusion.

You breathe in softly.

“I think we just did a really good job lying to ourselves.”

Slowly, you place your hands over his, taking a few seconds too long to feel them before pulling away from his face.

You lace your fingers with his, kiss the top of them, and without looking at him:

“I forgive you… but I don’t want anything from you anymore, Steve.”

The fog has started spreading across the wet grass, and he doesn’t turn around to see your silhouette disappearing into the parking lot.

And all he feels is a violent emptiness, as if something had just been ripped out of him—something he didn’t even know was vital.

Thanks to Hart of Dixie Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist

Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciated✨