Hiya ‹𝟹

she/her. 20.

[meninecanela]

Me at 3 AM, horny as hell, scrolling through my likes looking for that one fanfic i read months ago

[tetsur0-1]

How i be reading smut wth a straight face in bed

[k1zzxt-deactivated20260417]

how I feel when I read smut at 3am

[echoesofsaturn]

"slut era" i say as i rot and decay in my bedroom and watch the years pass me by as i miss out on core experiences other people my age are having while i think about the past

[writingdose]

I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.

the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.

[st3velvr]

Honey Brown

⋆˚✿˖° pairing: Mike Wheeler x Harrington!fem!reader

⋆˚✿˖° summary: Being known as the loser of the school was something you were used to. And hence you always thought you were also a loser in your love life, being hopelessly in love with Mike Wheeler, or so you thought.

⋆˚✿˖° word count: 3.1k

⋆˚✿˖° warnings: NOT PROOFREAD!!!, i got too carried away and wrote half the story on steve and reader's bonds because i always wanted an older brother, mutual pining. i changed a little bit of story but it is loosely based in stranger things season 5 finale

⋆˚✿˖° Author's note: Thank you so much to @uzmacchiato for this beautiful divider <3. this is far by one of my least favourite works because i focued more on reader and steve's relationship than theirs lol (again, i always wanted an older brother so) i hope this is not as disappointing as i think it is and i hope you guys like it

Being Steve Harrington’s younger sister wasn’t easy. Always being surrounded by the screeching of girls, asking for his number and trying to impress you to get them to talk to your brother was something which was very normal and stressing for you. A lot of people expected you to be like your older brother– popular, an eye candy and charming, but you were completely poles apart from him, considering you were called “The studious” or “The nerdy” Harrington. Always buried in your books and spending most of your free time studying, was a habit you had picked up since middle school which also didn’t seem to fade away even when you entered high school. Your days went by attending school and nights went by completing the pending work and studying so you could get into your dream college. However, your dream of getting into your favoured college nearly crashed down when you had to deal with weird interdimensional creatures named after some stupid game played by a bunch of your classmates who called themselves the members of  “The hellfire club”. Sure, you were a nerd but you weren’t nerdy enough to play games like that– the game was too childish for you. But you found yourself hanging out with the group more, trying to fight off the demodogs and demogorgons along with your brother and three people who you assume are his friends. Over the time, you picked up the names of the members, one being a curly haired-guy called Dustin, who was your brother’s closest friend and a guy named Lucas, who was in the basketball team and the infamous zombie boy, will byers– or as the school liked to call him. But the one that caught your eye was the tall, lanky and awkward guy who was the leader of the group. 

You knew about Mike Wheeler since you were in middle school, when your brother started dating his older sister, Nancy. You had seen him in school often, hanging out with the same people everyday. You couldn’t help but notice his big-doe eyes, his natural rosy cheeks and his honey brown freckles. Every time he walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but clutch your books a little tighter, cheeks replicating his pink ones, eyes on the ground. To say that you weren’t in love with Mike Wheeler would be an absolute lie. 

Over the years, you watched him grow from a cute and sweet boy to a fairly attractive teenager as you entered high school. He had grown taller than he used to, his features sharpening, his button-nose and his jawline more sharp and defined. Over the years, you had grown more fond of the boy, having more conversations with him due to being stuck in the same endeavours. You had grown close to the group which you found weird and become a part of it as they welcomed you with open hands. It was as if you had a family, after having quite neglecting parents. However, you couldn’t see Mike as one, because all you would imagine is kissing those soft lips every time they moved, holding those hands which would excitedly hurry in the air and caressing those soft cheeks you had always adored. 

So here you were now– fully equipped with a bag filled with axes, rifles, grenades and guns, getting ready to save the world which looked as if it was on the brink of ending.

“Could you please pass me that cap, please?” you hear your brother’s voice across the room as he walked into the room. You turned around and grabbed the cap as you handed it out to Steve. 

“Here”, you said before turning around to grab knives hanging in the kitchen. You heard your brother’s voice calling out your name rather softly than his usual tone, startling you little. However, you turned around, shoving the knives down the backpack as you faced Steve.

“What happened, Steve?”, you asked him as you noticed a look of concern on his face.

“Listen here, shithead. I- I didn’t want to drag you into whatever this mess is and I don’t want you to get hurt in this shit. I can’t afford to lose you of all people.. So just- stay close to me, don’t try to act too smart and stick to the plan. Don’t wander off to do things you aren’t supposed to.” 

Before you could even process his words, you feel your brother engulfing you in his arms, squeezing your body in a tight hug. Steve had always been the “king” and the goofy guy of the school but to you– he was your older brother, the boy who you would fight over christmas gifts with, the boy who would scare off boys when they approached you and the only one in your house who took care of you. But seeing him getting worried about you made your heart melt.

“Stevie, nothing’s gonna happen to me. I will be fine and won’t do anything unless you are the one at risk. And if I do something crazy, I know you’re gonna beat my ass right then and there” you reassure him. After hearing your words of affirmation, you feel your brother’s tensed shoulders relax and a relieved sigh pass from his lips.

“Alright, now let’s get to work” he said as you both leave your house.

The van rattled down the cracked roads leading out of Hawkins, the air thick with tension and the metallic scent of weapons. You sat squeezed between Dustin’s constant chatter and Lucas’s knee bouncing nervously against yours. Mike was across from you, his long legs folded awkwardly, those big doe eyes flicking toward you every few seconds before darting away again. He’d been doing that more and more lately– glancing at you when he thought no one was looking. But you told yourself it was nothing. Just the way he looked at everyone when he was worried. After all, you were just Steve Harrington’s nerdy little sister. The one who helped with homework and fought off upside down creatures with him. Not the kind of girl Mike Wheeler would ever see that way. The gate was worse than you’d imagined– a swirling, fleshy wound in the ground, vines pulsing like veins. The air felt wrong, heavy and cold as you feel the car accelerating and Dustin, Jonathan and Nancy screaming.

Your thoughts were cut off when Steve pressed the break rather too abruptly, causing you to jump a little in your own seat. As everyone gets out of the car, you get a quick view of the place where you are standing.

The wind howled around the WSQK radio tower like something straight out of the Upside Down itself. You stood at the base with the others, heart slamming against your ribs. You had to reach the Abyss, and without it, the plan to reach Eleven and close the gates would crumble. You watch as everyone climbs up the tower– one by one with Steve and Jonathan being the fastest climbers. It was to probably gain the attention of nancy– who couldn’t give two flying fucks about their antics and would just call them a bunch of “neanderthals”. 

You were the one to reach the tower at the last, with Mike giving out his hand so that you could support yourself.

“Thank you so much, wheeler” you said as you watched the boy flash a cute smile at you. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, Y/N. It was my pleasure” ever being the gentleman he always was, he didn’t let go of your hand until you were standing properly on your feet.

“So, it’s a big night, huh?” you try to make a conversation with mike as Dustin wails off on his talkie. The sky was bloody red–looking as if fire would break down if the clouds were to burst. 

“Yeah– we need to fight off Vecna once and for all. Hawkins has been a devil’s town ever since this bastard has come and I can’t let more and more innocent people die.” he rambles off. 

“Mhmm, I think the same. Especially after the loss of Eddie, my brother has not been the same and I am pretty much worried about him and Dustin a lot. I cannot afford seeing them so miserable and I need to kill this creep off and get those damn kids out of the hive mind” you said, feeling yourself getting angrier with every word.

“Of course, Harrington, we will. I trust our team” mike said and the sincerity in his eyes made you truly believe that you guys could do it. 

“You know w–” before you could finish your words, you felt the tower shaking beneath your feet as a dark cloud-like thing descended from the sky towards you. You watched as the tower swayed as if it was a leaf in a thunderstorm. You desperately tried to hold onto the greasy old rod surrounding you as you watched everyone trying to hold onto it for their lives. Everything around you was a mess, the abyss growing closer and closer to the tower.

And then you hear it. A loud “STEVEE” from behind you. That definitely was not a good sign. You turned your head towards where the sound was coming from and you saw your brother hanging from the edge of the tower, swaying and holding the tower with merely his fingers. And that’s when it clicked to you– you can’t afford losing your brother, the only person you loved the most in the entire world. Without thinking, you rushed towards your brother, falling on your face due to the collision of the abyss with the tower.

And that was it. You lost him. You lost your brother. The thought itself made your heart stop and your throat dry. Uncontrollable tears began to slip out from your eyes, hands covering your crying face. You were so desolated and devastated that you couldn’t help but try to crawl towards the edge of the tower, trying to have a glance at you brother, until a pair of arms held you back. You couldn’t care less at the moment about whose arms they were as you tried your utter best to get out of their grip but they were strong enough to hold you down. 

But then you saw him. Steve. In full pieces. Standing in front of you. You thought It was because of the trauma of losing him that you were now hallucinating, especially believing in this theory since you saw him and jonathan byers holding each other’s hands. 

So you slapped your face once. Twice. And thrice. But he didn’t go away. The way you jumped out of the pair of arms holding you was terrifyingly surprising as a feeling of rapture washes over you.

You couldn’t care about where you are right now and what position in this mission you guys have been stuck into. All you could currently care about is your brother who almost died in front of your eyes. You hugged your brother tightly, the tears flowing now of joy.

“ARE YOU FUCKING OUT OF YOUR MIND? YOU COULD’VE DIED” you screamed as your tears flowed down endlessly. 

Steve, being the amazing brother he was, patted your head softly, his eyes threatening to spill out any ounce of water as he knew it would make you cry even harder.

“Shhh, I’m here now, Y/N. I am alright, see? I am so sorry about that little stunt I pulled. I-I was just trying to check for some signals and I made that stupid mistake. I know I shouldn’t have done that, and I am genuinely sorry for that. I promise you I won’t do that now, hmm?” You heard your brother day as he wipes down your tears with his thumbs.

“you’re such an asshole, steve. Did you even think what would’ve happened to me if you had fallen from the tower? How hard it would be for me to go on without having you call me “shithead”? I can’t lose you, Stevie. I can’t lose you” you break down in his arms.

Your brother was pretty much broken too, gently patting your head and your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down. It took him a stretch of 10 minutes to fully calm you down and reassure you recurringly.

Eventually, you all reached dimension X, with mike being extra careful with you. He was talking to you more, lending out his hand to help you climb up or jump off a surface. 

And now here you are, walking around the almost barren, desert-like place along with the man who you’d pose as your crush. The awkward silence between the two of you would’ve made you wheeze if it was any other normal day, but today, you could feel an undefinable tension growing between the two of you amidst the silence of the moment. Mike was the first one to break the silence, his voice cutting through the tension.

“I didn’t realise you were this strong” he says, eyes looking anywhere except for your eyes.

“i’m sorry, what?” You blurb out, surprised by his statement.

You suddenly feel Mike’s cheeks going a deep shade of red. “O-oh no,no,no—, I didn’t mean it that way. You know the way you just sprang out of my arms? It was very commendable. I didn’t take you to be so..tough” he goes on as he scratches the back of his neck.

Fuck. so the guy holding you from your mental breakdown was Mike fucking wheeler? Your eyes widened, heat creeping up your neck, “you were the one to hold me?” you said, your breath a little shaky.

Mike nodded his head as you both walked along “I thought you already knew” he said “I mean– seeing you like that broke something inside of me. I have known you ever since middle school, when my sister started dating your brother and I have never seen you cry even once. You have always just been so mature, quiet, shy and so adorably sweet and most importantly, so strong. You weren’t the one to cry so easily. It was if you had grown up way before all of us ever did.  I remember seeing you in that pink dress, your hair in two braids and those sparkly pink specs you wore back on halloween during middle school, and god was I embarrassed to even face you in my ghostbusters outfit.”

You laughed at the memory, “oh I totally remember that day, you guys were the talk of the school the next day”

Mike smiled at your words “really?” Mike groaned, covering his face with his hands  “God I want the ground to swallow me. The idea sounded much cooler in my head. I don’t know why 13 year old me thought it was so cool.”

“It’s alright, Mike. You were just a teenager. It happens when you’re in that age group”  you said and you swear if he didn’t notice the way your eyes were throwing love arrows at him, he would be the world’s biggest idiot.

“See? That’s what I like about you so much.  You never judge anyone. You always welcome everyone with open hands. And maybe that is what makes me love you”

Your laugh stops mid-way, your brain trying to catch up with his words while your body freezes at the place. “W– what?!”

“I mean, some or the other day, the truth had to be out. The guys had been kind of forcing me to do it today. I’ve always found you cute, Harrington. Even when you tried to act overly-smart in classes, even when you would roll your eyes when we talked about D&D, even when you would talked sore about my sister after their breakup, even when you scrunch your nose in concentration, and even more when you called me wheeler while biting your lips and looking up at me with your honeyed eyes. I have always had a crush on you, even when I didn’t know the meaning of it. I thought this was just another symptom of my onset puberty but as we grew up, I found myself more drawn to you. Every time you answered in class, every time you debated in front of the whole school, every time you walked down the hallway, every time you almost slit off people’s throat for calling you a nerd– it just made me fall deeper and deeper for you with each minute passing by. I don’t know whether I’ll survive or you’ll survive today, but I just want to let you know that I love you, Y/N. I always did and it’s okay if you don’t, I understand your feelings and won’t push it on you unl–” Mike’s words were cut off as he felt a soft pair of lips on his, his eyes widening in surprise.

Before Mike could finish his words, you pressed your lips over his. His words made you overwhelmed. You felt his eyes widening a little at first but then you felt him snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. A particular hard tug pulling you even closer made you lips part in sigh, allowing Mike to enter his tongue into your mouth, sucking and licking inside of it. You both didn’t pull away until you both were out of breath. 

You looked over at the boy and landed a quick peck on his lips “Mike, I love you too. I was just too scared that you probably won’t ever like me back, you know? Because I’m the  nerd and the “boring harrington”. I always watched you from afar, cried at nights for you since middle school. So this is like a dream come true for me.” 

Mike’s hand went from your waist to your face, brushing a few strands of your hair from your face and pressed his hands at your jaw, his thumb brushing the skin of your face. “No, don’t say that, baby. You are not the “boring harrington.” and if people call you that, they’re out of their minds. You are the most amazing, sweet, charming and definitely the more fun Harrington” mike said.

You leaned in for a kiss again, only to be interrupted by the voice, which you recognized to be lucas’

“Y’all can make out once we are out of this shithole. We get y’all are in love but don’t each other’s mouths off when we are stuck at a place like this trying to fight off some huge fuckin’ spider.”

You both laughed at his words before mike speaks “let’s get going then, girlfriend”

You blushed at his words, before replying “doesn’t sound that bad, boyfriend.”

I hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it ♡

[teacuplps]

Kidnapped and sold to cortis…

( syn. ) after putting your hair up in a messy bun when you come home from an impromptu concert, life takes an unexpected turn as you find out your mother made an inconspicuous deal with hybe entertainment. ENTER! five boys from south korea but they also speak english sometimes

( tags ) word count: 2.1k, YN stands for your name in case you don’t know, juhoon has a crush on YN, YN is not like other girls 📖👓

Author’s note: hi everybody this is my first time EVER writing and posting on tumblr 🥺 i was really inspired by the tokyo girls photobooth pictures of CORTIS 🥰❤️😍 sooo kawaii no? i hope u Like it COErs 🦄🦄

VOTE! COMMENT! FAN! #whoremembers

YOU LET OUT A BREATH you didn’t know you were holding when your best friend, Ives, walks in the door.

Ives is short for Ivyanne. Which is long for Ivy by the way.

Earlier in statistics class today, Ives told you to meet her at the library after school, but she didn’t tell you why. Your mom forbids you to do anything remotely fun, including staying back late after school, but something in your gut told you to see what Ives was up to. So now you are here…

Once you wave her down and she trots her way to your table, Ives excitedly slams two small pieces of paper on your book.

“Hey! I was reading that!” You frown as you bookmark the page you’re on to make proper space for what looks suspiciously like concert tickets.

“Oh my dog! YN, did you hear that CORTIS, the k-pop boy group, is coming to Tokyo, Japan and that’s where we live?!”

“CORTIS?” You respond with a sigh. “Is that the group you’ve been obsessed with lately? I’m not into them because I only listen to real music these days.”

“Yes that’s them, and that’s okay because after tonight you will finally realise that they ARE real music!” Ives says with a smug look. She picks up the concert tickets - CORTIS FRONT ROW SEATS SIX AND SEVEN - written in huge letters printed on them. 

This only confuses you more. You had plans tonight of studying as usual, because your mom needs you to become a pharmaceutical doctor madam president by the time you’re 25. 

“Oh no, no, no, no. Don’t even think about it girl. I’m not going to this concert! My mom would kill me if she found out. And more importantly I have nothing to wear.” You say immediately, rapidly turning your head in case Ives can’t hear you. 

Luckily she can hear you.

“You can wear what you’re wearing right now!” 

You look down at your outfit… your galaxy print leggings and Nike sweater look back up at you. It would be a shame to waste such a gorgeous outfit.

“Ok let’s go!” You sigh in defeat, but you are secretly intrigued on how tonight is going to go… 

“Yippie!” Ives cheers yippily. 

~30 min later~

You’ve been standing at the barricade for hours. 

At the concert, the crowd is buzzing in anticipation as you all await for the artists to take the stage. Typically, these kinds of events are anxiety-inducing for you because of how loud and overwhelming they can be… but seeing how connected and excited these girls around you are, form a sense of community you never expected to find. It’s endearing how much music can unite people, and your heart grows fond of how concerts have become youth’s third space to let go of societal expectations and be themselves again for a night. 

Then you suddenly remember you don’t speak Korean. “Oh no, Ives. I don’t speak Korean.” You whisper, just in case the other fans around you are judgemental.

“I will translate for you. They will come onto the stage in 2 minutes!” She reassures you. 

2 minutes. That’s heaps of time so you take out your book and open up to the chapter you were at before. 

As you reach page 420 of The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx, suddenly a loud voice erupts in autotune. 

“COER! WHAT’S UP!” 

There are shrieks all around you, making you look up from your book to see an extremely vertically long blonde boy run onto the stage. 

“He said coer, what is up.” Ives translates for you. She’s not whispering though because with all the screaming going on around you, no one will hear. But you suddenly realise you don’t need her to interpret anymore because the boy on stage is speaking your language. Phew!

The speakers boom and a loud noise drones into your eardrums. 4 other boys run out and the cheers become impossibly louder. 

“Nae ti… five bucks.” One of them starts to sing, and they all start performing a synchronised dance. There are purple beam lights flashing across the stadium, which luckily lets you still see the pages of your book. 

You have to admit, the song is catchy, and its lyrics pair well with the anti-capitalist book you’re currently continuing to read. 

On the stage, Kim Juhoon is about to sing his “Dongmyo, wassup” line until he catches a glance at you in the crowd. Unlike everyone else who is singing along, you’re focused on what looks like a novel in front of you. He likes to read as well so he thinks you look like an angle. 

Luckily he doesn’t get too distracted to the point where he forgets his lines, so the song continues perfectly. Once it’s over Juhoon is out of breath from all the fast moves, even though they’re muscle memory to him at this point in his career. Finally, you finish the page you were on and you look up to see what all the commotion was about. Your eyes meet his, and Juhoon feels flustered all over again. 

You look so pretty in this light. Juhoon also really likes your outfit. FaSHioN indeed! 

Your eyes widen when you realise it’s been really long of playing eye tag and the boy you accidentally stared at hasn’t looked away. 

Suddenly, the tall blonde member gives the boy a teasing punch which knocks him out of his trance. You have scientifically detected the boy with the spikey hair is named Martin. 

“Ives, who is the boy standing next to Martin?” You ask your best friend, who is beaming at the stage. 

“Why, it's Juhoon of course!” She informs you. 

Juhoon.

What a beautiful name, you think to yourself. It rhymes with so many words, for example spoon and balloon.

The boy group sings six more songs, and each time Juhoon-Spoon-Balloon makes sure you’re always in his direct eyeline. For some reason he feels a connection between you two and really wants to impress you. It seems to be working because you have stopped reading entirely and actually paid attention to the show. You have to admit you found the song ‘Joyride’ lovely. 

Then the concert is over. 

“Wow! That was short.” You say as you make your way out with Ives.

“Yeah, they only have seven songs. Time to go home but wait! I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Ok. I will wait here for you.” You tell Ives, as you stand next to a plant. 

The hallway you are in is almost empty because everybody else went through the other exit. Because you think you’re alone you start to sing some of the songs you heard before because they got stuck in your head:

“Something something fried eggs, pancakes. Bloodshot eyes tonight…” 

“Wow.” A voice says from behind you, “You’re really good.”

You scream at the stranger. But then you realised it was one of the boys who was in the group. He’s not Martin or Juhoon, but he can’t stop smiling, so you realise it must be Keonho if you remember correctly from the lore Ives was telling you about. 

“I’m Keonho.” Keonho introduces himself to you. 

Yayy you guessed correctly! 

“What the fudge, dude?! You scared me!” You tell him.

His eyes widen at your words. Quickly, he puts his forefinger to his mouth as if warning you to be quiet. “We can’t say those words…” He whispers, eyes scanning the room to make sure no one could hear. 

“What word? Fudge?” You respond in confusion. 

Both his hands cover his mouth now in a gasp. He did not expect you to repeat it. Frantically nodding his head. At first you thought it was because the company was strict about swearing, but then Keonho says:

“They’ll hear you…” 

Who will? You two are the only ones there. Until you feel the vibration of heaps of footstomps coming your way.

“Oh no! The goonas!” Keonho screams in fear. He grabs your hand and pulls you behind him as he runs to the door. 

“Hey! STOP kidnapping me!” You shout in protest. 

“It’s for a good cause! We’re going to the van! Safer in there, trust me.” 

Getting dragged away to a vehicle turns out to be an extremely good choice once you see the crowd of women running in your direction. Eyes focused on their mission of getting a photo with the idol. So you hop in with no second thought.

“Hey, there you are.” A handsome, velvety, mature voice says. “Where did you go, Keonho? You need to stop wandering around after shows. Wait a second… you’re not Keonho!”

Inside the van, you are faced with what looks like the oldest member of the group. His hair falls perfectly on his face, and the way his dark eyes are set on you make his features look like they were sculptured by an artist. His cheekbones, nose, and dimples are all so entrancing. 

“It’s ok, James-hyung. I’m here. And she’s with me.” Keonho explains, climbing in after you. 

“And who is she?” The last member you now know, Seonghyeon, asks. 

You’re about to tell them your name, but you get interrupted.

“It’s you. My angle.” 

Everyone’s heads whips to the back, where Juhoon is sitting calmly. The seatbelt is already strapped in so he can’t move up to greet you properly, but he pats the empty seat next to him, inviting you to sit down. 

As Keonho takes the spot in between Seonghyeon and James, you have no choice but to go to Juhoon. 

“Hello…” He says, more gently to you when you’re next to him.

“Hi. You are Juhoon-Spoon-Balloon.” You answer, quietly, as if this moment is just between you and him.

He nods in confirmation, “But you can call me Jju if you like.”

“Okay, Jju. I am YN.” 

He repeats your name with a small smile on his face. It’s nice to finally know what he’s calling his dream girl. 

“Sorry about the fans, they can be crazy sometimes. We’ll take you home so that you get there safely.”

“Aw tysm.” Then you storytell your address to the driver, who happens to be Martin, and the van lurches forward. Maybe getting kidnapped by these guys isn’t so bad after all.

On the drive home, you talk to Juhoon as the others fall asleep because they’re tired from singing and dancing. He’s so easy to talk to and you feel like you’ve known him your entire life. You talk about everything and anything you could in the 10 minutes it takes to get to your place. 

As you pull up in front of your house, you start to feel a sadness take over your heart knowing that your time with Juhoon is over. The feeling is mutual for the boy sitting next to you, until an idea pops into his head. 

“Can we come inside?” Juhoon asks when you’re about to take your leave, “I’m thirsty.” 

You go over the logic in your head… even though they kidnapped you, they were kind enough to drive you home safely. So you agree. 

You brace yourself for what you’re going to say to your mom when you go in. Possibly a lie about cram school? You just hope she doesn’t yell at you in front of them, that would be so embarrassing. 

“I’ll be right back because I need to change clothes! The kitchen is that way,” you point across for Juhoon to see. You hope that the 5 of them can handle introducing themselves to your mom on their own, as you go to change out of your outside clothes and into comfortable pusheen pyjamas.  

Finally feeling fresh, and brave to face your mom, you put your hair up into a bun. Even though this was the first attempt, it falls in a perfect amount of messy and neat. Then you make your way down stairs.

You suddenly stop at the scene in front of you. You had expected the boys (Martin, James, Juhoon, Seonghyeon, and Keonho) to be standing in the living room about to make their leave after stealing some sips of tap water but instead… They're sitting down at the living table looking extremely serious. 

Your mom turns to you with a huge smile on her face. You see some paperwork in front of her and when you read what the contract says, there’s only one noise that can come out of your mouth.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” 

To be continued~~~~~~~

#🫖: cortis release greengreen early please im losing my mind 😭💧💧💧🙏🙏😭💧💧😭😭 BACK TO OUR FANFICTION ROOTS w this one because @bananagirl222 ‘s post last night had me on the floor 🫰 if you made it this far but are new to my account i’m sorry this is your first impression of me ipromise i have more normal works welcome to coerblr ☺️😊😁😁😁😁

this is an ode to my 2016 wattpad account and writing style 😍❤️had to revive her to get all the correct vocab 👼🏻 goodnight teacuplps family i love u 😴👁️👁️💌

[st3velvr]

SON I’M CRINE😭😭

[mssishipi]

[harringtonsugar]

joe keery you’re a sick man i feel like a feral animal when i look at you

[roseandpeaches]

the need to be sandwiched between jaehyun and mingyu is astronomical

[st3velvr]

Pornstache

⋆˚✿˖° pairing: Steve Harrington x fem! reader

⋆˚✿˖° summary: your boyfriend was a gorgeous man- everyone knew it. but what you didn't know was that he looks even more gorgeous with a moustache on, and you ought to show him that.

⋆˚✿˖° word count: 1.6k

⋆˚✿˖° warnings: porn with very less plot, smut, reader is down bad for steve's moustache, a little fluff, unprotected sex (cuz I be just like that), Cunnilingus, fingering little fluff, idk pretty much it.

⋆˚✿˖° Author's note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. I just saw a post of joe in chile and his moustache look is back and since I am ovulating I am acting like a fucking horndog and writing fanfics on fanfics, so here is one inspired by his new look.

Steve had been weirdly secretive about his face for the past week. He'd dodge mirrors when you were around, tilt his head away during kisses, mumble something about "letting it grow a little" whenever you asked why he hadn't shaved. You figured it was another one of his dumb bets with Robin or maybe just laziness after long shifts at the garage. Either way, you didn't push. He looked good and scruffy. Always did.

Then Friday evening rolled around. You were sprawled on his couch in the empty Harrington house, flipping through a magazine while he finished up in the bathroom after work. Grease still lingered under his nails, hair damp from the quick shower he'd taken to wash off the day. The door opened and he stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, chest bare, looking like he knew exactly what reaction he was about to get.

Your magazine hit the floor.

The mustache was there. Full, dark, neatly shaped but thick enough to look intentional. Not patchy like you'd half-expected from a guy who'd never committed to facial hair before. It framed his upper lip perfectly, made his smirk look sharper, more dangerous in that effortless Steve way. The kind of mustache that belonged on a Tom Selleck poster or a 70s cop show lead. Not on your sweet, occasionally awkward boyfriend who still blushed when you told him he was pretty.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious under your stare. "So. Yeah. This happened."

You sat up slowly. Your mouth felt dry. Heat pooled low in your belly so fast it almost made you dizzy. "When did you decide on... that?"

"Last weekend. Robin said I couldn't pull it off. Twenty bucks if I shaved by Monday." He shrugged, trying for casual, but his eyes were locked on yours like he was waiting for judgment. "Figured I'd see it through. Surprise."

You stood up and crossed the living room in three steps. Your fingers reached out before you could think better of it, brushing over the coarse hair. It was softer than it looked up close, warm from his skin. Steve's breath caught when your thumb traced the curve above his lip.

"You hate it," he said quietly.

"No." Your voice came out huskier than you meant. "I really, really don't."

His eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

You nodded, sliding your hand to cup his jaw so you could feel the new texture against your palm. Then you leaned in and kissed him.

The first press of mustache to your lips was a shock of sensation. A light rasp, not painful, just enough friction to make every nerve light up. You made a small, involuntary sound into his mouth and felt him smile against you. He kissed back harder, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting faintly of mint toothpaste and the coffee he'd had earlier. The mustache dragged along your top lip with every tilt of his head, every slow slide of his tongue. It was distracting in the best way. Addictive.

When you pulled back to breathe, your cheeks were flushed. "Bedroom. Now."

Steve laughed, low and pleased. "Bossy tonight."

"You have no idea."

He scooped you up without warning, hands under your thighs, carrying you down the hall like it weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing along his jaw, deliberately letting your lips catch on the new hair. He groaned when you nipped just under his ear.

"Keep doing that and we're not making it to the bed."

"Promises, promises."

He kicked the bedroom door shut behind him and dropped you gently onto the mattress. You bounced once, already tugging at the hem of your tank top. Steve watched for a second, eyes dark, then climbed over you, towel still somehow clinging to his hips. He peeled your top off, bra following a heartbeat later. His mouth found your neck immediately, open kisses turning into sucks that would definitely leave marks. The mustache scraped lightly over your collarbone and you arched, fingers digging into his shoulders.

"God," you breathed. "That feels..."

"Good?" He sounded smug. His lips moved lower, kissing a slow path to your chest. When he closed his mouth around one nipple, the contrast hit hard: wet heat of his tongue versus the rough drag of hair framing it. You gasped, back bowing off the bed. He hummed in approval, switching sides, giving the same attention while his hand slid down your stomach, popping the button on your shorts.

You lifted your hips to help him drag them off along with your underwear. Cool air hit your skin and then his fingers were there, sliding through your folds, finding you already slick. He groaned against your breast.

"Jesus. All this from a little facial hair?"

"Shut up and keep going."

He chuckled, but he listened. Two fingers pushed inside you slowly, curling just right while his thumb circled your clit. His mouth stayed busy, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, the sensitive skin beside your hip. Every time his face brushed your inner thigh the mustache rasped over soft skin and you jolted.

When he finally settled between your legs, hooking your thighs over his shoulders, you were trembling. He looked up at you through his lashes, lips shiny, mustache glistening faintly from earlier kisses.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, voice rough.

You nodded. "Won't be."

He dragged his tongue up your slit in one long, slow stroke. Then he focused on your clit, sealing his lips around it and sucking gently. The mustache pressed flush against you now, coarse hairs dragging with every tiny movement of his jaw. It was overwhelming. The suction was perfect, wet and warm, but the constant scrape added this edge that made your toes curl. You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him there, hips rocking instinctively.

Steve moaned into you like he was the one getting off. The vibration shot straight through your core. He licked faster, firmer, mustache rubbing in tight circles that matched his tongue. Your thighs started shaking. Pressure built so fast you could barely breathe.

"Steve, I'm- fuck, don't stop."

He didn't. He pinned your hips down with one arm and doubled down, sucking hard while his tongue fluttered. The mustache dragged relentlessly over swollen, sensitive skin. You came with a sharp cry, whole body tensing, pulsing around nothing while he worked you through every wave. He kept going until you whimpered from overstimulation, thighs clamping around his ears.

When he pulled back his lips were red and wet, mustache dark with your arousal. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he'd won something.

You grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up. "Get inside me. Right now."

He didn't need convincing. The towel finally fell away and he reached for the nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom. You watched him roll it on, thick and hard, tip already leaking. Then he was back between your legs, guiding himself to your entrance.

He pushed in slow at first, letting you feel every inch. You both groaned when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. He stayed still for a second, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

"You feel so good," he murmured. "Every time."

You clenched around him on purpose. "Move."

He did. Long, deep thrusts that rocked the headboard against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His mouth found yours again and the mustache dragged over your lips, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. You chased the sensation, turning your head so it rasped along your throat while he fucked into you steadily.

"Harder," you gasped.

Steve shifted his angle, snapping his hips faster. Skin slapped skin. The bed creaked under you. Sweat slicked your bodies where they met. You dragged your nails down his back, hard enough to leave red lines. He hissed in pleasure, pace faltering for a second before he drove in even deeper.

You could feel it building again, that tight coil low in your belly. "Touch me."

His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. The combination was brutal: his cock hitting that spot inside, fingers on your clit, mustache scraping your neck every time he kissed or bit down. You shattered a second time, louder this time, clenching so hard around him he cursed under his breath.

"Fuck, baby. Gonna come."

"Do it," you panted. "Inside. Want to feel you."

He buried himself deep, hips stuttering as he came with a broken groan, pulsing inside you. You held him there, legs locked around him, riding out the aftershocks together.

For a minute you just breathed, tangled and sweaty. Steve pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, careful now that the urgency had passed. The mustache tickled softly, almost sweet after everything.

He finally rolled off, pulling you with him so you ended up sprawled across his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back.

"So," he said after a while, voice still rough. "Verdict on the mustache?"

You lifted your head to look at him. His hair was a mess, lips swollen, that ridiculous perfect mustache still somehow intact.

You leaned down and kissed him slow, letting the hair drag one more time just because you could. "If you shave it before I'm done with it, we're breaking up."

He laughed, arms tightening around you. "Noted."

"Good." You settled back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. "Because I'm nowhere near done."

Steve pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Plenty of time, sweetheart. All weekend."

You smiled into his skin. Yeah. All weekend sounded perfect.

I hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it ♡

[st3velvr]

Upside Down

⋆˚✿˖° pairing: Steve harrington x fem!reader

⋆˚✿˖°summary: all you wanted was to study for your biology exam tomorrow, but what happens when you hear a knock on your window? or the one where your boyfriend steve helps you to study for your upcoming exam in a very interesting way.

⋆˚✿˖° word count: 2.5k

⋆˚✿˖° warnings: porn with a very little plot, fluff, my attempt at writing very poor biology stuff while being a mechanical engineer, fingering, p in v (wrap it up hoes), riding, sneaking in. yeah that's pretty much it.

⋆˚✿˖° Author's Note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. this is loosely inspired by that one S1 scene where sneaks into Nancy's room through her window and my favourite childhood movie.

The moon hung fat and silver over Hawkins,long shadows from the oak tree stretching across the grass. It was past midnight as the moonlight grazed over the pile of textbooks and scattered notes on your desk. You were neck-deep in biology, highlighter in hand, trying to memorize for tomorrow's exam. Your hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and you'd changed into your comfiest oversized tee and shorts after school, the fabric soft against your skin from too many washes. You looked up from your textbook as you stared at the photo sticked loosely on the wall behind your bed.

Steve Harrington was your boyfriend-had been for almost a year now, ever since that rainy night at the arcade when he'd ditched his king-of-the-school act and shown up with scoops of ice cream and an apology for being such an idiot before. He wasn't perfect; the scars on his side from demodogs and his occasional overprotectiveness could grate on you. But God, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him in this weird little town made it all worth it. You'd fallen into this easy rhythm, stolen kisses in the Baemer's backseat, late-night drives to Lover's Lake, and him crashing at your place when his parents were fighting again. Tonight, though, you needed space. Or at least, that's what you'd told him when he called earlier, voice all soft and teasing over the line: "Study hard, babe. I'll behave."

You snorted to yourself, flipping a page. Behave. As if Steve Harrington knew the meaning of the word.

A soft thump against the windowpane jolted you from your notes. You glanced up, heart skipping in that half thrilled, half annoyed way. There he was, all tousled hair and that lopsided grin, balanced precariously on the branch of the old oak tree that hugged the side of your house. His polo was untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and those brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he tapped the glass again, mouthing open up.

With a dramatic eye-roll that he could probably see from ten feet away, you pushed back from your bed and crossed the room. The window creaked as you unlatched it, cool evening air rushing in along with the scent of his cologne-something woodsy and warm, mixed with the faint chlorine from the pool where he'd been lifeguarding all summer.

"Jesus, Steve," you whispered, helping him clamber through without toppling the whole setup. His hands found your waist immediately, steadying himself as his boots hit the carpet. "My mom's downstairs. What if she hears?"

He straightened up, all six-foot-something of him filling the space, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. "Then we'd better be quiet." His voice was low, playful, but there was that edge to it, as if  he'd been thinking about you all day. You could feel it in the way his thumbs brushed circles against your hips, lingering just a second too long.

You swatted his chest lightly, stepping back toward your desk. "I'm serious. I've got this exam, and if I bomb it, my dad's gonna kill me. Biology waits for no horny boyfriend."

Steve chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your stomach flip. He ruffled his hair, glancing around your room like he was seeing it for the first time-the posters of The Police and Bowie on the walls, the half-dead plant on your nightstand that you'd sworn you'd revive someday. "Horny? Me? Nah, I'm just here to... moral support." But his eyes dipped to your legs, bare and crossed casually as you perched on the edge of your bed, and you knew better. He was already shifting his weight, that subtle tell where he'd rock forward on his toes when he wanted to close the distance.

"Uh-huh." You picked up your highlighter again, settling back at the desk and flipping open your textbook. "Sit. Behave. Or go home and jack off to your Sports Illustrated stash. Whatever works."

"Ouch." He clutched his heart, feigning offense, but he dropped onto the foot of your bed anyway, knees bumping the desk frame. For a minute, he was quiet, uncharacteristically so, watching you scribble notes, his fingers drumming a lazy rhythm on his thigh. You could feel his gaze, heavy and warm. It made focusing harder than it should have been; every time you glanced up, he'd flash that smile, the one with the dimples that promised trouble.

Minutes ticked by. The clock on your wall read 10:30 PM. Your mom called up faintly about dinner, and you yelled back that you'd eat later. Steve stayed silent, but you caught him out of the corner of your eye, stretching his arms behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of tanned stomach. Asshole. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Finally, he sighed,long and exaggerated, like a puppy denied a walk. "Babe."

You didn't look up. "Study."

"Baaaabe." His voice dropped an octave, all whine and want. The bed creaked as he scooted closer, one hand landing warm on your knee under the desk. "You've been at this for hours. Take a break. With me."

Your pen paused mid-sentence. His touch was light, but it sent a spark up your leg, familiar heat pooling low in your belly. "Steve. We have an exam tomorrow. Remember?"

He hummed, thumb tracing lazy patterns on your skin, inching higher. "I remember. But I also remember how you aced that history test after I quizzed you in the car last month. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

You bit your lip, fighting a smile. He wasn't wrong; Steve had this way of turning everything into a game, making the mundane fun. But tonight? Your brain felt like mush, and his proximity was making it worse. "Fine. Quiz me. But hands to yourself, Harrington. Deal?"

His grin turned wolfish, eyes darkening as he leaned in, elbows on his knees. "Deal. Hit me with a question."

You cleared your throat, forcing your eyes back to the page. "Okay. What's the primary function of mitochondria?" 

"Powerhouses of the cell. They make ATP through cellular respiration." He rattled it off like he'd been paying attention in class for once, which you knew was bullshit-he'd probably overheard you ranting about it last week.

"Show-off." You marked it off, but his hand hadn't moved from your knee. If anything, it slid higher, fingers splaying across your thigh. "Steve-"

"What? I'm helping." His tone was innocent, but the way he watched your reaction, waiting for that hitch in your breath, was anything but. You shifted in your chair, thighs pressing together instinctively. The room felt warmer, the air thicker.

"Fine. Next one." You tried to sound stern, flipping pages. "Describe the process of photosynthesis. In detail."

He launched into it-chloroplasts, light-dependent reactions, the Calvin cycle, like a pro, his voice steady and low. But all the while, his hand crept upward, fingertips brushing the hem of your shorts. You swallowed hard, highlighter trembling slightly. "Good. Uh... electron transport chain?"

"Starts in the inner mitochondrial membrane," he murmured, closer now, his breath ghosting your ear as he leaned over your shoulder. "Electrons from NADH and FADH2 pass through protein complexes, pumping protons to create a gradient..." His free hand braced on the desk, caging you in, while the other dipped beneath the fabric of your shorts, tracing the edge of your panties. Your breath caught, a soft gasp escaping before you could stop it.

"Steve," you warned, but it came out breathy, lacking conviction. Your body betrayed you, hips tilting just a fraction toward his touch.

He paused, fingers hovering, that teasing glint in his eye. "You stopped. What's next, baby? Glycolysis? Pyruvate decarboxylation?" His voice was velvet, rough around the edges, and when his fingers finally slipped under the cotton barrier, brushing lightly against your folds, you nearly dropped the pen.

"You're ah!-cheating," you managed, but your free hand gripped the bed edge, knuckles whitening. He was already slick with your arousal, parting you gently, one finger circling your clit with agonizing slowness.

"Am I?" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, open-mouthed and hot through your shirt. "Tell me about ATP synthase. How's it work?" His finger dipped lower, sliding inside you with ease, curling just right. You clenched around him, a whimper building in your throat.

"Steve, I- I can't..." Your head fell back against his chest, textbook forgotten. He added a second finger, thrusting lazily, his thumb taking over on your clit. The stretch was perfect, familiar, but the way he held you there-teasing, controlled,had your pulse thundering.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he murmured, nipping at your earlobe. "Carry on. What's the role of oxygen in the electron transport chain?" His fingers pumped deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. You rocked against his hand, chasing the friction, but he slowed, just enough to keep you on the edge.

"It's... it's the final electron acceptor," you gasped, words tumbling out in fragments. "Forms water with protons and electrons. Steve, please-"

"Good girl." The praise washed over you, warm and filthy, his free hand sliding up your shirt to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple through your bra. "One more. Krebs cycle intermediates. Name 'em."

You were a mess now, thighs trembling, notes blurring as heat coiled tight in your core. "Citrate... isocitrate... alpha-ketoglutarate... fuck, Steve, I can't-"

His chuckle vibrated against your neck, fingers twisting inside you, thumb pressing harder. "You can, Keep going."

The words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm crested, crashing over you in waves. You clamped down on his fingers, back arching, his name a broken chant on your lips. He worked you through it, murmuring encouragements—"That's it, baby, so pretty when you come"—until you slumped forward, boneless and panting.

He withdrew slowly, bringing his fingers to his lips with a smirk that made your cheeks burn. "See? Aced it." But his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the bulge in his jeans was impossible to ignore. He was hard, aching for you, and the way he adjusted himself said he'd been holding back the whole time.

You turned in the chair, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. "Your turn to behave," you teased, voice husky, but there was no real bite to it. Adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, and the sight of him-flushed, hair mussed, lips shiny from tasting you had want surging back tenfold.

Steve's grin softened into something tender, his hands framing your face as he pulled you up to standing. " he muttered, backing you towards the edge of your bed, mouths crashing together in a kiss that tasted like salt and need. Tongues tangled, messy and desperate, and you tugged at his shirt, yanking it over his head. His skin was warm under your palms, muscles flexing as you traced the faint scars across his ribs-reminders of battles fought, survived, together.

He broke the kiss only to strip off your tee, bra following in a heap on the floor. "God, you're beautiful," he breathed, eyes raking over you like you were a miracle. It wasn't just lust; there was reverence there, the kind that made your chest ache. Steve had seen too much ugliness in Hawkins-monsters, betrayal, loss, and you were his soft place, his reason to laugh on the bad days.

You pushed him down onto the bed, straddling his hips as his hands settled on your waist. The mattress dipped under his weight, springs creaking softly. "My turn to quiz you," you whispered, grinding down against the hard line of him straining through his jeans. He groaned, head tipping back, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Anything," he promised, voice wrecked. "Ask me."

But words failed as you popped the button on his jeans, tugging them down with his help. His boxers followed, and there he was-thick and heavy, curving up toward his stomach, tip glistening. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow and firm, thumb swiping over the head. Steve hissed, hips bucking, one hand fisting the sheets.

"Fuck, baby-"

You leaned down, kissing him deep, swallowing his moans as you positioned yourself. The head of him nudged your entrance, still slick from before, and you sank down inch by inch, both of you gasping at the stretch. He filled you perfectly, every ridge and vein dragging against your walls, and when you bottomed out, seated fully with him buried deep, the world narrowed to just this: his hands on your hips, your nails digging into his chest, the shared rhythm of your breaths.

"Ride me," he urged, voice gravelly, but his eyes searched yours-checking in, always, even in the haze of lust. You nodded, rolling your hips experimentally, and the friction sent sparks up your spine. He was so deep like this, hitting spots that made your toes curl.

You set a pace, slow at first, savoring the way he watched you-lips parted, brows furrowed in bliss. "Tell me... how's this for studying?" you panted, lifting and dropping, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling the room.

"Best... fucking lesson," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, hands guiding but not controlling. It was give and take, the way your relationship was-him letting you lead when you needed to feel in charge, you melting under his strength when the world got too heavy.

Faster now, the coil building again, your movements turning erratic. Steve sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other hand tangling in your hair as he captured your mouth. It was filthy, all teeth and tongue, his hips snapping up hard enough to jolt you. "Come for me again," he murmured against your lips. "Wanna feel you squeeze me, baby. Please."

The plea undid you. You shattered around him, clenching tight, vision whiting out as pleasure ripped through you. Steve followed seconds later, groaning low and guttural, spilling hot inside you with a final, deep thrust. His forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, bodies slick and trembling.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His hands roamed your back, soothing strokes that grounded you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt of his skin. "Think I passed?" you mumbled, half-asleep already, the exam a distant worry.

Steve laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "With flying colors." He shifted, easing you both down onto the pillows without pulling out yet, content to stay connected. "But if you want, I'll quiz you again tomorrow. No fingers next time. Scout's honor."

You swatted his shoulder, but there was no heat in it. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, stars pricking the sky like promises. Right now, it was just you and Steve, tangled in sheets and each other, the room filled with the scent of vanilla and sex.

The exam was a blur-pencils scratching, questions flowing easy. You walked out feeling light, spotting Steve waiting by the Beamer, a bouquet of daisies in his hand.

"How'd it go?" He pulled you close, ignoring the stares from underclassmen.

"A." You kissed him, long and unhurried. "Thanks to my tutor."

He grinned, opening the door. "Ice cream to celebrate?"

"Always."

i hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it ♡

[b6rntosdiee]

[st3velvr]

All the Ways We Almost Didn’t

⋆˚✿˖° pairing: batman! Steve Harrington x sunshine!fem! reader

⋆˚✿˖° summary: You're just a regular college girl in New York-juggling classes, late night study sessions and your own little bubble of friends and playlists- until you crossed paths with steve harrington, your bestfriend's grumpy, rude, insufferably hot and devilishly attractive brother. but what you don't know is, you two have met far long before he ever let you see who he really was.

⋆˚✿˖° word count: 18.6k (how'd i even do that lol)

⋆˚✿˖° warnings: max is steve's sister in this one (i js love them sm), angst (teeny bit), fluff and smut(MDNI!!), steve is a little grumpy at first, reader has boobs and vagina, very cliche plot, reader kinda thirsts over steve a lot lol, mutual pining, mention of byler, steve is down bad for the reader and is mentioned as a pathetic yearner (cuz i love me some men who yearn), unprotected p in v, breeding kink, breast play, praise kink, jealous steve, possessive steve, soft dom steve, cunnilingus, dustin and eddie are steve's bestfriend in the story.

⋆˚✿˖° Author's Note: credits to @angeliicide for this beautiful divider <33. It's finally out!! after lots and lots of procrastination, I finally completed this story. based off a fake scenario I made before going to sleep a few days ago. hope you guys like and enjoy it 𖹭.

You hated the rain. You absolutely despised it-especially in moments like this when you’re wanting to go home from a tiring day of university and your clothes are fully drenched in water. A gush of uneasiness and annoyance washed over you as your soaked jeans stuck  to your legs. You missed your bus home, and the next one wouldn’t arrive for another hour. great, what a wonderful day.  You didn’t have the patience nor the energy to wait for the next bus so you decided to book a cab for yourself. The downpour was heavy- almost angry as it fell down the streets of New York and Just when you wanted some moments of mental peace, a loud scream emerged from behind you, the type of scream to cut through the rain. You turn instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. An elderly woman stands near the entrance of a small convenience store, her thin coat soaked through, her grocery bag split open at her feet. Oranges roll across the sidewalk, one disappearing into the gutter. You watched as two guys–tall and muscular, towering over her. One of them snatches at her purse strap, tugging it roughly. She clutches it tighter, her hands trembling. The other blocks her path, leaning in with a smirk that makes your stomach twist. “Please,” she says, her voice breaking. “Please, just leave me alone.”, you heard her wail out, a plea in pure desperation. Your breath comes shallow. Your mind screams at you to stay out of it: you’re alone, it’s late, it’s raining, and you’re already exhausted. But you move your feet anyway. “Hey!” you shout, the word escaping before you can overthink it. Both men turn towards you. “What are you doing?” you demand, stepping closer despite the way your pulse pounds in your ears. “Leave her alone.”One of the men scoffs. “Mind your business”

“It is my business,” you shoot back, even though your hands are starting to shake. You step toward the woman instead, trying to put yourself between her and them. “Are you okay, ma’am?” The man holding her purse jerks it again, harder this time.Something cold floods your chest.“Give it back,” you say, your voice lower now. Firmer. Rain drips down your lashes. You can’t tell if you’re shivering from cold or fear. The second man steps toward you. “You wanna be a hero or something?” 

You knew what you were getting yourself into, but something in you couldn’t just walk away. 

“Just give it back” you mutter to the men in front of you. You’re too focused on the way the man in front of you squares his shoulders, too close now, invading your space. Your heart is pounding so loudly you almost miss it, A tall silhouette standing in the rain, cape heavy and dark against the storm, unmoving and silent. The older woman’s eyes widened, not at them, but at something behind them. The men froze. There was a sudden eerie silence dawning upon the rainy street– something which you couldn’t quite decipher until you turned around and saw him.

Batman. You had heard about him a lot. He was all over your for you page- on tiktok, instagram, youtube, everywhere. You thought those videos were just fake until this moment as your breath hitched in fear. Before you could think much about the moment, you were pulled out of your thoughts by loud footsteps, thumping away– growing farther and farther every second. You watched as the tall, masked man handed over the handbag to the lady. The lady patted him, going on about being grateful to him for saving her life.

 A little while after, she turned towards you, pulling you in a gentle hug and whispering a soft, maternal tone a “thank you” in your ear. A smile graced your lips as you watched the lady walk away, feeling proud of yourself for helping her until a sudden honk of a car startled you. You turned around to see the cab you had booked. the cab. Shit. you had totally forgotten about your cab in this spectacle. You rush to the cab, taking a seat inside as the cab rolled off on the road. 

What you failed to notice was the way his expression softened beneath the mask as he watched you, how his eyes followed the curve of your smile, how they lingered on your kindness  and how he stayed there in the shadows, unmoving, until your cab disappeared into the distance.

The third semester of your university hovered over your head like a Victorian ghost that refused to be laid to rest. You were currently sprawled out on your bed, a coffee mug on the side table and various kinds of books, papers, stationeries adorning the piece of furniture where you are supposed to sleep. 

“Girl it’s not even that serious it’s just the beginning of the third semester”, you hear a familiar voice speak up. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

 With a deep sigh, you remarked, “Max, I'm not born with a silver platter like you. I really, really need to pass this semester or else my scholarship will be revoked”.  Max had been the only person because of who you survived your first year at college. You had a few shared classes with her during your second semester and your friendship blossomed from there. She was bold where you were gentle, sharp-tongued where you were soft-spoken, and unapologetically blunt in ways you could never quite manage. Where you met the world with warmth and quiet optimism, Max faced it head-on with confidence and a hint of mischief. And maybe this contrast in both of y'all's personalities was the main factor for this unbreakable friendship that you had formed with her. 

“You act like I don’t take my grades seriously,” she said, arching a brow.You gave her a tired look in return, resting your chin against your palm. “You don’t have to worry about losing a scholarship, Max,” you replied quietly. The teasing expression on her face softened almost instantly. “Hey, hey, look at me” she muttered softly “you’re gonna pass the exam, hell, you are going to be the top of our class: again.” she chuckled as she emphasized the again with a rolling of her eyes “you are hardworking, smart and intelligent. I know you’re gonna kill the third semester” you felt a wave of relief wash over you at her gentle words of affirmations.

“You’re going to pass,” she said firmly, like it wasn’t even a question. “You always do. You just panic before every major semester like it’s the end of the world.” You huffed softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. She glanced at her phone briefly, brows furrowing for a second before she let out a small sigh.

“Oh, by the way, I might leave a bit early today,” she said casually, stretching her arms. You looked up from your notes. “Why?”

“My brother’s in the city,” she replied offhandedly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “He said he’d drop by and take me out for dinner or something.”

“Your brother?” you asked, a hint of curiosity slipping into your voice. You knew about him in passing, but Max rarely spoke of him. From what little she had told you, he was her older brother who worked at a firm in Chicago and was almost always occupied with work. Max nodded absentmindedly, still looking at her phone.

“Yeah. He’s actually thinking of shifting to New York for a while,” she said casually. Your brows lifted a little in surprise. “Really?” “Mhm. Work-related stuff” she replied, shrugging lightly. “Apparently Chicago was getting ‘too predictable’ for him.”

You let out a small, amused breath. “He sounds very serious.” Max snorted softly. “That’s one way to put it. Good old Steve Harrington.", she sing-songed. The name lingered in your mind for a second. Steve. Steve Harrington. 

 You leaned forward slightly, curiosity now more evident in your expression. “So… what does Steve actually do?” 

“Something corporate and boring” she muttered, waving her hand dismissively. “He works at a firm, handles big cases, barely sleeps, and acts like a grumpy old grandpa all the time. He’s my older brother, so obviously he acts like he has his entire life together,” she added dryly. “But he’s just overly responsible and annoyingly protective.” She paused for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, “If he does end up moving here, you’ll probably see him around sooner or later.”You nodded lightly, pretending to return your attention to your notes.

“Alright babe, I’ll see you tomorrow at the campus” you watch as max waves at you before closing the front door of your room. though the name had already settled quietly in your thoughts, lingering far longer than it probably should have.

The next day began like any other, filled with hurried mornings and half made breakfast. It was your final test for the semester and it had gone better than you had expected. 

“Honestly, I’m just glad that I am passing this test or else my dad would’ve kicked me out of the house” max rambles, “he had warned me last semester if i failed this one, he’s gonna marry me off to that douchebag son of my dad’s business partner. But I’m passing with average grades so I’m finally relieved that I don’t have to marry that shitface”.

You could only nod, your attention hardly being on whatever she said. You were thinking about taking a part time job at the cafe across the street to where you live. Today was your interview and you were, to say, a little nervous about the same. It was around 2:30pm, and you had your interview at around 4:00pm. If you had your lunch right now, it would take you around 3:00pm to finish it and you’d have to travel for an hour or so for your interview which was pretty impossible today as there were strikes organized by cab drivers and by metro it would take more than an hour to reach there. 

“Max, you know I can't lose this job” a solicitous tone filled your voice. “What do I do?” 

“Uhmm” you hear her making thinking sounds and after about a minute, she goes “my brother can drop us home” she exclaimed “he’s bored and idle and maybe could be of some use to me for once” she laughs “I’ll call him”  she said.

About fifteen minutes later, a Lamborghini Vision GT pulled up at the university entrance, instantly turning heads. You watched with your eyes wide, jaw hanging open as the car stopped right in front of your university entrance. “Come on, my brother’s arrived” Max says ever so casually.

“Holy fuck, this is the car that your brother drives?” the words slipped out of your mouth in sheer disbelief before you could even process them. “Yeah” she laughs “my dad bought it for him on his 22nd birthday. He’s been using it ever since” she carries on. You knew your friend was loaded, but you didn’t expect her to be this loaded.

The windows of the car rolled down with a soft mechanical glide revealing a man with soft brown hair and a naturally serious expression, while his dark eyes partially hidden behind tinted glasses  scanned the surroundings with quiet attentiveness. He looked older than most people around campus, probably around his late twenties. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up to his forearms, a dark watch resting loosely around his wrist. A charcoal coat lay folded over the passenger seat beside him, suggesting he had taken it off rather than bothering to wear it in the mild afternoon weather. He was intimidating, but intimidatingly attractive. get a fucking grip on yourself. 

His gaze landed on Max. “You’re late.” Max scoffed immediately. “I said after the exam. Exams don’t end on your schedule, Steve.” “They ended twenty minutes ago,” he replied flatly, eyes narrowing just a little. “They ended fifteen minutes before” she shot back. He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Still late.” He said as he rubbed his eyes as if he was done with max already.You stood there awkwardly beside her, not knowing what to do between their banters and moreover, you didn’t know what to do because you were fucking mesmerised by the gorgeous guy standing in front of you who happens to be your bestfriend’s brother. 

Max rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my god, relax. The world did not collapse because you had to wait.” “The parking guy almost fined me,” Steve muttered, clearly still grumpy, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “Cry about it,” Max snapped back. He finally noticed you then. His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, not unfriendly exactly but just distant. Like he was trying to figure out why you were standing next to his sister. He stepped out of the car with a quiet shut of the door, adjusting his jacket slightly as he walked around to the front, posture straight, expression still unimpressed. Up close, he smelled faintly of a clean, woody cologne with a soft citrus note, subtle but noticeable when the breeze shifted. Max gestured lazily between the two of you. “Steve, this is my friend.” A pause. Steve looked at you properly this time, gaze steady but cool, brows slightly furrowed like introductions were an inconvenience he hadn’t planned for.

“Hi,” you offered, a little hesitant and scared.

He gave a small nod instead of a smile.

“Yeah.”

That was it? Just a “yeah”?

Max groaned instantly.

“Wow. So polite. So charming. Amazing first impression.” Steve shot her a look.

“I didn’t ask to pick up extra people.”

“I told you this morning,” Max fired back.

“You said you might have a friend.”

“And I do. Congratulations, you can process information.”

His jaw tightened slightly before he looked back at you again, voice calmer but still clipped.

“You live far?” He said, his dark eyes piercing through you. You suddenly felt too small. Hesitantly, you respond

“Uhm I actually live on the opposite side of the city” you said, afraid he might decline dropping you there. “It takes an hour by road to reach there. But I don't have to go home right now. Could you please drop me across 9th street, near the bleming’s cafe? I have my first job interview and I am gonna run late if you don’t drop me. I would be very grateful to you.” You went on. As much as you were scared of Steve, this was the only way you could reach your interview on time. 

Before he could answer, Max nudged his arm. “Stop being grumpy. She just finished exams.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, then glanced at you once more—still reserved, still a little cold, but noticeably less dismissive than before.

“…Get in,” he said finally, causing you to squeel in excitement, which earned you a disgusting look from him. 

You slid into the backseat, trying to act normal— like your heart hadn’t done the most embarrassingly dramatic little flip the moment he stepped out of the car.

Which was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He was just Max’s brother. A slightly rude, mildly grumpy, unfairly good-looking brother who smelled expensive and looked like he belonged in a magazine instead of outside a university gate. Totally normal. You buckled your seatbelt, eyes very deliberately fixed on the window, and absolutely not on the rearview mirror where his gaze occasionally flickered back to check traffic. Except… it was right there. And purely by accident obviously,  your eyes drifted up.

Just for a second.

And then immediately back down.

God.

From this angle, you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, and the faint crease between his brows that never fully disappeared, like he was permanently annoyed at the world. Even the way he drove was controlled, precise, effortless.

You swallowed and looked out the window harder, as if the passing trees were suddenly the most fascinating thing on earth. Max was rambling beside you about the exam, but her voice blurred into the background as your brain betrayed you completely. Because why did he look even better when he wasn’t trying? Why did that stupid cologne linger every time the air shifted? Why did he have to be tall and quiet and intimidating and so fuckable?

This was bad.

Very bad.

You pressed your lips together, nodding at something Max said that you hadn’t actually processed, while very carefully avoiding looking at him again. And then, of course, he adjusted the mirror. For half a second, your eyes met his. Your stomach dropped instantly. You looked away so fast it almost hurt, suddenly very invested in the seatbelt strap, the car door, the stitching on the seat— anything but him. Not a word left your mouth, but your thoughts were spiraling.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling quietly, pretending to be calm while your brain betrayed you again the second his hand brushed through his hair at a red light.

Yeah.

This was going to be a problem.

You stood in front of your new workplace and glanced behind at the luxurious car standing on the street. You turned around and spoke in a tone filled with gratitude, “thank you so much Steve for dropping me. I really appreciate this small gesture that you’ve done for me,” you finished softly, offering him a warm, slightly sheepish smile.

“It’s no bother” he replied back, short and direct. The smile gracing upon your lips faltered, the atmosphere getting a little too awkward for you until max broke the tension. 

“Stop scaring her man. Just because your ass is annoyed to pick and drop us doesn’t mean you act like a total fuckhead” she gruffed at her brother. 

“I am not scaring her!” Steve exclaimed. 

You let out a soft laugh before quickly covering it with a cough, suddenly aware of how his attention shifted back to you the moment you did.

“I still appreciate it,” you said gently. “First day at a new workplace is already nerve-wracking. At least now I didn’t have to show up looking completely lost.”

“It’s alright” he goes on “all the best for your new job.” he said with a serious frown on his face, which made you question whether you said something too buttery or something way too wrong. 

His eyes moved briefly, scanning your face, your posture, the way you stood fidgeting with your sleeve—before settling again, quieter this time. 

You cleared your throat quickly, noticing him staring at you and gestured toward the building. “I should probably go before I’m late.”

Max gave you an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Text me the second you survive your first shift.”

“I will,” you laughed.

Steve didn’t say anything but his eyes stayed on you as you turned toward the entrance, as if unconsciously tracking your steps. He watched as you entered the cafe, not moving until the door closed and you’re finally out of sight.

if only you knew.

Your first day at work was great. You made a friend there– a coworker named Will Byers. It turned out he was in the same university as you but just in different majors. He was a business major and was a fun little guy to work with. It was around 7:00pm when your shift ended and you walked out towards your apartment. While your first day at work wasn’t entirely bad, however, it had worn you out. As you reached your apartment, you fumbled for your keys in your backpack, and opened the door to find your friend Max along with- wait what? Why is Steve Harrington here? 

Sure, Max is your roommate and lives in this small flag along with you but you hadn’t expected her brother to be in you both’s haven. You noticed three suitcases lying on the couch and you knew what was about to come next.

“My brother’s gonna live with us till he finds himself some good place to live in” max barges you out of your thoughts. “

“Max, I can live in the hotel nearby”, Steve gruffed, sounding like he hates the idea of living with his sister and her young, boring and pathetic best friend.

“Oh shut up, Steve, you’ve done so much for me. This is the least I could do for you.” Max says.

Oh this is a very bad idea. At least for you. You cannot live with a guy you have been massively drooling over, especially when he is your best friend’s brother. 

“I— um,” you started, trying to sound casual. Not like your brain had just short-circuited. “It’s fine. Really. The spare room’s empty anyway.” You forced your face into what you hoped was a normal, polite smile instead of the internal chaos currently happening inside your chest.

“You know you don’t have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable”, Steve says, trying to find an ounce of uneasiness in your eyes, eyes scanning your face.

Your breath hitched for a minute second because of his gaze. You couldn’t believe the effect this man had on you already without doing anything. 

“No, it’s fine really. I’m totally not uncomfortable. You’re not in the way. Half the time the apartment is dead silent till like nine.” you smiled. You wonder if he should know that he should be the one to be uncomfortable considering the dirty thoughts you’re having about him. 

“Great then, now that it’s settled, I am gonna doze off. This day was a long one. Steve’s gonna take up the spare room beside yours "Max said, yawning and stretching her arms, heading towards her room, peeping her head outside the room and mumbling a soft “goodnight” before slamming the door shut.

You were now standing in your living room with Steve, who was quietly dragging one of his suitcases toward the spare room like he’d rather wrestle luggage than acknowledge the slightly awkward silence settling between the two of you.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the soft thud of wheels against the floor.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“…You can leave that,” you said softly, nodding toward the suitcase. “I can help.”

“I’ve got it,” he replied without looking up.

Of course he did.

You lingered anyway, fingers fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie as he pushed the suitcase into the spare room and set it down beside the bed. He glanced around once, quick and practical, like he was mentally mapping the space.

“It’s not much,” you said, hovering near the doorframe. “But it’s clean. And the window gets nice sunlight in the morning.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s fine.”

You lingered near the couch for a moment before speaking.

“…You don’t have to unpack everything tonight,” you said gently. “You just got here.”

“I prefer getting it done,” he replied, not looking at you as he adjusted the handle of the suitcase.

Of course he did.

“That room barely gets used,” you admitted, leaning lightly against the wall. “So… it’s nice that someone actually will.”

He hummed softly in acknowledgment.

A small silence settled between the two of you and then unexpectedly, he spoke.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

You blinked. “About what?”

“About the hotel,” he clarified. “I was fine staying there.”

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated just because Max insisted.”

That made your heart pause for a second.

You shook your head quickly. “I wasn’t obligated.”

He finally looked at you then.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice quieter now. “It’s your apartment too.” The sincerity in that question caught you slightly off guard.

“Yes,” you said, softer this time. “I’m sure. We all agreed, remember?”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, like he was searching for any hint of discomfort.

Finding none, he exhaled quietly and leaned back against the dresser.

“…Alright.”

You fiddled slightly with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Besides, it would’ve been weird if you stayed in a hotel while your sister and her roommate live ten minutes away.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” you replied instinctively.

A pause.

Then, a little more shyly, “You’re family to Max. That automatically makes you… not a stranger here.” god you sounded like one of those high school girls who were pathetically in love with that one older senior. 

“You’re very accommodating,” he said, tone even. Neutral, Almost formal.

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “That’s a polite way of saying I didn’t complain.”

He didn’t smile.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh,” you murmured, suddenly very aware of how quiet the hallway had gotten.

A small pause followed as he unzipped one of the suitcases, neatly pulling out a few folded clothes and placing them on the chair like he was already mentally settling into a routine.

You lingered by the doorway, unsure whether to leave or keep talking.

“So… uh,” you tried, voice softer now, “you’ll be working late most days?”

“Yes.”

You nodded slowly. “Makes sense. Max mentioned your office is pretty demanding.”

“It is.”

Silence again.

God, why was he so difficult to read?

You shifted your weight slightly. “If the apartment ever gets too noisy, you can just tell us. Max tends to blast music while studying and I—”

“I don’t mind noise,” he cut in, not harshly, but firmly enough to end the ramble.

Your lips pressed together mid-sentence. “Right. Okay.”

He glanced at you then, briefly, as if noticing the way you immediately quieted.

“I’m used to worse environments,” he added, a little more measured this time.

“That sounds… concerning,” you said lightly.

“It’s just work.”

Of course it was.

You nodded, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “Well. Still. If you need anything, you can just ask. You don’t have to treat this place like some temporary stop.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment.  “It is temporary,” he replied simply.

“Oh,” you said, softer now.

He folded another shirt before speaking again. “I appreciate that you and Max agreed to let me stay. I won’t interfere with your routine.”

You blinked. “You’re not interfering.”

“I prefer keeping things orderly,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard the reassurance. “I leave early. Come back late. You probably won’t notice I’m here most days.”

That, for some reason, made your chest feel a little tight.

“That’s… not necessary,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to make yourself invisible.”

He paused at that.

For a fraction of a second.

Then he straightened, zipping the suitcase halfway shut.

“It’s easier that way,” he said.

You nodded slowly, sensing the invisible wall he had very carefully placed back between the two of you.

“Alright,” you murmured.

Another brief silence passed.

Then he stepped towards the door, one hand resting on the handle, posture already shifting back into that composed, distant version of himself.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low and polite.

You offered a small smile despite yourself. “Goodnight, Steve.”

And then the door closed with a soft click, leaving you alone in the hallway– staring at the now-shut spare room door, heart doing something very inconvenient as you exhaled slowly.

He was everything that a girl would hate in a man– reserved, quiet, guarded, careful which, unfortunately for you, only made him harder to ignore.

The next few weeks passed by quickly. You busied yourself with university work and your part time job, not having enough time to stay at home. He would leave before you even woke up- the apartment quiet, his room door already closed. And at night, when you stumbled back home half-asleep, kicking off your shoes and dragging yourself toward your room, the spare room would still be empty.

Then, at midnight, always at midnight you would hear the front door of your house opening and the soft thud of shoes before hearing the spare room clicking open. It always made you wonder, what the fuck did this man actually do? At first, you brushed it off. Work transfer, busy job, corporate life, whatever. That’s what Max had vaguely mentioned, anyway. 

But still…

Midnight?

Every single day?

As you lay on your bed everyday after a long day, your thoughts would wander alongside the sounds of the door clicking open. Sometimes they made you snort into your pillow.

Was he some sort of a drugdealer? Or some mafia member? Or some local thief? You spoke out your thoughts, before putting your hands on your mouth, afraid he might hear it.

The theories got more ridiculous the more tired you were. One night he was an underground boxer. The next, a secret agent.

Because what kind of normal person came home that late, every single day, and left before sunrise?

At some point, you stopped paying attention to it. It became like a routine you had started to accept. Maybe he did work late and had much more responsibilities on his head than the others.

A few days after, Max went to visit her boyfriend Lucas, who was back in town for a week after his first year at college ended. You knew Max was going to stay with him for more than just a few hours-  maybe a couple of days at least, considering the way she had been unusually excited all morning, humming to herself while packing an overnight bag that looked suspiciously heavier than necessary for a “short visit.”

She moved around the apartment with an energy that felt almost contagious, tossing clothes into her bag and checking her phone every few minutes, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“He just got back yesterday,” she said casually, zipping her bag shut before glancing at you. “And his place is closer to campus, so I might as well stay there for a bit.”

You nodded, leaning against the kitchen counter. “For a bit?”

Max shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Two days. Maybe three. Depends.”

She grabbed her jacket from the chair and slipped it on, already halfway out the door in both mind and body.

“You’ll survive without me,” she added with a teasing grin. “You’ve got food, WiFi, and my brother to keep you company.”

Your stomach did a small, traitorous flip at that.

“I do not need entertainment,” you muttered, trying to sound normal.

Max snorted. “Sure you don’t.”

The sound of her phone buzzing made her perk up instantly. She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes fondly. “Lucas is downstairs.”

She slipped on her shoes in a hurry, swinging her bag over her shoulder before pausing near the door. For a brief second, she looked between you and the quiet hallway that led to Steve’s room, a knowing look flickering across her face.

“I’ll text you,” she said lightly. “And don’t overwork yourself, okay? Eat. Sleep. Be a functional human.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Drive safe.”

“Always do.”

With that, she opened the door, stepping out into the hallway before peeking her head back in one last time.

“Bye! Don’t miss me too much!”

The door shut with a soft click a second later, and just like that, the apartment fell into an unfamiliar kind of silence.

And you realised how fucked you are going to be because for the first time since Steve had moved in, it was just you and him in the apartment.

The next day unfolded at a slower pace than usual.

For once, there was no blaring alarm dragging you out of bed at an ungodly hour, no frantic rushing between lectures and your part-time shift, no half-eaten breakfast abandoned on the kitchen counter. It was your day off– a rare kind of quiet you didn’t get to experience often.

You had spent the morning doing small, mundane things like folding laundry that had been sitting untouched for days, reorganizing your notes, and finally allowing yourself to sit down without the guilt of unfinished tasks hovering over your head like a storm cloud.

You decided to go make yourself a cup of coffee. As you went to the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice no coffee mug near the sink, which made your mind wander to the not so friendly guy living in your apartment.

Steve usually would have a coffee before leaving in the morning and no coffee mug on the sink indicated that he was at home. You hadn’t seen him leave that morning. You hadn’t seen him leave that morning which was… odd. Was he still asleep? Was he sick? Or had he come back so late last night that he simply didn’t have the energy to leave again? You shook your head slightly, mentally scolding yourself. Why did you even care? It wasn’t like you two talked much anyway. He was polite. Distant. Quiet.  Grumpy, even.

And yet…

Your gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the hallway that led to his room before a sudden, soft sound from the hallway– the faint click of a door handle snapped you out of your thoughts.

The room door slowly opened, revealing a sleepy Steve. His hair was a complete mess, falling in soft, uneven strands over his forehead like he hadn’t even bothered to fix it after waking up, adding a rather soft and dreamy look to his already absolutely gorgeous face.He wore a loose, slightly oversized t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats that hung comfortably on him. The shirt was creased in places, the collar a little stretched, like he had either slept in it or changed without really paying attention. Nothing about him looked put together this morning.

His eyes were slightly half-lidded, dark circles faint but noticeable if you looked long enough, and his expression carried that same distant tension he always seemed to have, only softer now, less guarded in the quiet of the morning.

He stepped into the hallway with unhurried movements, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck as if trying to ease out a knot of stiffness before his eyes landed on you. He stopped mid-step when he noticed you standing near the kitchen counter, taking in the oversized hoodie you were wearing, and the mug of tea cradled between your hands like you had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to exist peacefully.

Something in his expression shifted. Barely.

“…You’re not at work?” he asked, voice rough and low, slightly hoarse like he had just woken up.

You shook your head softly. “Day off.” You could feel your knees wobble at his deep, hoarse voice.

A small nod followed, and he looked away almost immediately, like lingering too long would reveal more than he intended.

He walked past you toward the kitchen, his steps quiet but heavy, and as he reached up to grab a glass from the cabinet, his sleeve shifted just slightly.

For a brief second, you caught sight of it.

A faint bruise near his wrist. Another mark, darker, just beneath the fabric of his sleeve before he subtly tugged it down.

The silence stretched for a few seconds after he stepped into the kitchen, the soft sound of water running filling the space between you.

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water in silence. The sound of it pouring felt louder than it should have in the quiet apartment.

This was your chance.

It was just the two of you. No Max. No distractions. 

You cleared your throat softly, trying to sound casual instead of like someone about to embarrass herself.

“So,” you began lightly, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, “you do exist in daylight. I was starting to think you were allergic to mornings.”

He didn’t look at you immediately. Just took a slow sip of water.

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “I just don’t like them.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s very poetic of you, Steve.”

That made him glance over.

“Poetic?” One eyebrow lifted slightly. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, pretending to think about it. “Very brooding. Very mysterious. Very ‘I have secrets and refuse to elaborate.’”

He let out the smallest breath through his nose– not quite a laugh, but dangerously close.

“You watch too many movies.”

“And you avoid answering questions too much,” you countered, tilting your head slightly. “What do you even do that keeps you out till like… midnight every day?”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Work,” he replied simply.

“Work doing what?”

He held your gaze this time– steady and unreadable.

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?” you repeated. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s enough of one.”

You huffed, dramatically offended. “Wow. I’m just trying to make conversation. You don’t have to interrogate me like I committed tax fraud.”

“You’re the one interrogating me,” he said dryly.

“And you’re being suspicious,” you shot back.

A beat of silence passed between you.

Then, unexpectedly–

“You think I’m suspicious?” he asked, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

You immediately regretted everything.

“I mean– not in a bad way,” you rushed, trying to recover. “Just like… mysterious, quiet and slightly intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” His tone shifted–  amused now.

You nodded firmly. “Yes. especially when you glare.”

“I don’t glare.”

“You absolutely glare.”

“That’s just my face.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So your face is just permanently judging people?”

He looked at you for a long second before replying, his voice monotone-

“Only specific people.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh?” you tried to sound unaffected. “And which category do I fall under?”

He hesitated, just barely before  his gaze softened in a way so subtle you almost thought you imagined it.

“You talk too much,” he said instead.

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “That was so rude.”

“Was it wrong?”

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused.

“…No,” you muttered.

He almost smiled. Almost.

“You’re very loud in the mornings,” he added.

“Sometimes. It depends on my mood.” you shrug.

“Oh. so does it mean you get all loud and excited around me” you could hear the slight cockiness in his voice. 

“You wish, harrington” you replied though you couldn’t deny that your heart did a small, stupid flip at that sentence.

You leaned back against the couch, trying to regain composure. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like mornings, you’re surprisingly talkative today.”

He shrugged slightly. “You started it.”

“Wow. Blaming me already.”

He took another sip of water, watching you over the rim of the glass.

“You’re not as subtle as you think,” he said casually.

“Subtle about what?” you asked quickly.

He tilted his head just slightly, studying you.

“Nothing,” he replied, too smooth. “Just an observation.”

You stared at him, suspicious.

He set the glass down and pushed himself off the counter.

“For someone who thinks I’m intimidating,” he said, almost offhand, “you don’t really act like it.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like someone who’s intimidated,” he clarified, leaning back slightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “Most people keep their distance.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe I just don’t get scared that easily.”

He studied you for a moment at that in a quieter and thoughtful way.

“Don’t you?” he repeated, softer this time, like he was testing the words rather than mocking them.

The shift in tone caught you off guard. For a second, the air between you changed.

Then he straightened slightly, the grumpy composure slipping back into place.

“I’m gonna shower,” he said, voice returning to neutral.

“Oh,” you blinked. “Okay.”

He turned toward the hallway, then paused.

“And try not to accuse me of being a drug dealer again.”

Your jaw dropped. “YOU HEARD THAT?”

“I hear more than you think.”

And with that– the faintest hint of smugness ghosting his expression,  he disappeared back down the hallway, leaving you alone on the couch, staring after him with your heart racing and your dignity slightly wounded.

Great.

You’re going to have a hard time living with this man. 

The morning went by you reading random books that were lying on your bookshelf, watching random youtube movies and taking random internet quizzes. It was a boring day and you were also tired of bedrotting and doomscrolling all day long. So, it was then decided that today you were going to make lunch for yourself– which was actually crazy considering you might burn the whole kitchen down, keeping in mind your….amazing cooking skills.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen for a solid thirty seconds like it was some kind of battlefield, hands on your hips, staring at the ingredients you had dramatically taken out of the fridge as if they might assemble themselves out of fear.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, as if giving a motivational speech. “This is easy. People cook every day. Millions of people. Children cook. How hard can it be?”

The silence of the apartment did not reassure you.

You tied your hair up in the messiest excuse of a bun, rolled up your sleeves with an unnecessary level of determination, and turned on the stove like you were about to perform surgery instead of making lunch. You took out the packet of chicken patties from the fridge.

this can’t be that bad, right?

You took out two of the patties, oil the pan, and placed the patties in the sizzling oil. While the patties were cooking according to you, you busied yourself with cutting the rest of the vegetables. You read the instructions from the cooking book you followed, “to keep the patties on the pan for 10 minutes before flipping it” or so you thought. 

 To say that Steve wasn’t bothered by the clattering and clinking of the utensils was a lie. He had been trying to work for the past one hour and the sounds from the kitchen weren’t helping much. He knew the kitchen was probably a mess by this time but all he could do was sigh and move on with his work, not disturbing you from whatever mess you were creating until–

Until he smelled something burning from the kitchen. In the plight of worry, he rushed out of his room, towards the kitchen, scared that you might blow down the house.

He watched as you cut the bell peppers into slices while humming a song under your breath 

“Are you sure that thing that you’re making is edible?” you jump at the voice coming behind you- familiar but surprising. You turned around to see Steve standing by the refrigerator, looking at the pan, wide eyed.

“Come on Steve, I may not be the best cook but I’m definitely not the worst to burn down my own food. I have been cooking since I was like- what? 15?” you squeak out. 

“Oh yeah i can definitely see that” there was a hint of judgement and sarcasm in his voice. 

“Trust me, you’re gonna love what I’ve made. I’m making myself a chicken burger. D’ya wanna try?” you asked him with a smile– all hopeful and sweet. 

Steve felt so bad to tell you that you had burnt something. You were just too sweet for that. He watched as you went over to the pan to flip your chicken pattie, only to find the patties on the pan had turned into something that would resemble a coal piece or a leather jacket– something totally inedible. 

“Oh” was all you could mutter. “…it’s supposed to be brown, right?” you mumbled, gently nudging it with the spatula, laughing awkwardly. 

“…were you,” he finally said, voice calm and low, “trying to cook…”

His gaze flicked to the pan again.

“…or conduct an experiment?”

You turned to him slowly, defensive already. “They were supposed to be easy.”

He glanced at you sideways, one brow lifting faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching, trying to hold back his laughter at the scene unfolding.

“You left it on high heat, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

“…maybe.”

“And didn’t flip it.”

“I flipped it!” you argued. “Eventually.”

“Okay,” he said calmly, assessing the damage. “We can’t save this.”

“I gathered,” you muttered.

He glanced at you– not teasing now, just softer. “Did you even let the oil heat properly? Or did you just go full chaos?”

“I did not go full chaos,” you said defensively. “I..just followed the instructions from the book.”

That earned you the smallest, realest smile.

He set the spatula down. “Move.”

“woww. Bossy.”

You shuffled aside anyway.

He opened the freezer, pulled out the rest of the patties, and this time actually read the instructions on the back. You watched him from the side, arms crossed, pretending not to be hyperaware of how close he was.

“Medium heat,” he murmured. “Three to four minutes each side.”

“Boring,” you said.

“Effective.”

He put the pan back on the stove, added just enough oil–  not drowning it like you had  and waited. Actually waited. No dramatic flipping. No panicking.

You leaned against the counter, watching.

“You cook?” you asked.

“Sometimes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged. “When I need to.”

That was very him. Minimal. 

You tilted your head slightly. “Who taught you?”

There was a brief pause as he adjusted the flame.

“My mom,” he said after a second in a casual tone. “She works late. Used to, at least. So I learned.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s… kinda nice.”

He glanced at you. “Burning food isn’t nice.”

“I meant you learning from her.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just slid the patty into the pan once the oil was ready. The sizzle this time was controlled, steady. Not aggressive.

He stepped back slightly and leaned against the counter beside you.

You both stood there for a moment, watching the patty cook. The tension from earlier felt different now–  less sharp, more… domestic. Quieter. Comfortable in an awkward way. You wonder if he could see how much heads over heels you are for him but that’s a conversation for another day.

“You always get this bored?” he asked.

“When I’m alone too long, yeah.” You hesitated, then added lightly, “I start narrating my life like it’s a documentary.”

He huffed softly. “I heard.”

Your eyes widened. “You did not.”

“‘Millions of people cook every day,’” he quoted in a flat tone, mimicking you just enough to make it obvious.

You stared at him. “You were listening.”

He shrugged. “Thin walls.”

“Or you were paying attention.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just reached forward and flipped the patty smoothly.

Golden brown.

Perfect.

You gasped dramatically. “That’s so unfair.”

“Skill,” he said simply.

You bumped his shoulder lightly. “Show off.”

He didn’t move away. That was new.

After a second, he asked, “So what were you doing all morning?”

“Reading. Watching random YouTube documentaries about things I’ll never need to know. Took a quiz that told me I’m spiritually slutty.’”

He blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, probably that I fall in love with fictional men and random concepts a little too easily?”

That made him laugh–actually laugh this time. 

You froze for a split second because you hadn’t heard that sound from him before.

He cleared his throat a little after, like he hadn’t meant to react that openly.

“You?” you asked quickly, before he could retreat again. “What were you doing?”

He hesitated.

“Working.”

“On?”

He looked at the pan instead of you. “Just… stuff.”

You waited.

He sighed faintly. “I’m applying for something.”

“That’s vague.”

“Intentionally.”

You smiled a little. “You hate talking about yourself.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You avoid it.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“Maybe,” he admitted quietly.

The patty was done. He turned off the stove and slid it onto a plate. This time, it looked edible. Actually good.

He grabbed another one and handed you the spatula.

“Your turn,” he said.

You blinked. “With supervision?”

“Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes but took the spatula anyway. He stayed close-not hovering, just near enough that if you messed up, he’d catch it.

“You’re no fun.”

He leaned slightly closer to check the heat. “I’m plenty of fun.”

“Oh?” you said lightly. “Prove it.”

You watched as he looked at you and suddenly you felt too small under his intense gaze. You watched as he took 2 strides across the kitchen, standing right infront of you-closer this time. You tilted your head upwards, to try to get a look at his sleepy and gorgeous morning face, a sight you might not be blessed by in the future.

“Careful with your words, sunshine, because you might not like my idea of fun if I stop holding back.” he said in a murmur, a silence creeping in between you two as you processed his words. 

After what felt like minutes, Steve broke the silence.

“Alright, have fun eating your chicken burger.” he said casually, as if he hadn't knocked out all the breath from your lungs. You watched a smirk plaster on his face before walking back to his room, leaving you in a flustered mess. 

The next few days slip into something that almost feels normal.

Steve goes out in the evenings. Comes back late. Not ridiculously late, just… late enough that you start noticing the pattern. Shoes by the door. Quiet footsteps. The low hum of the shower running when you’re half-asleep. 

He still talks to you. Still helps with small things. Still makes sarcastic comments when you burn toast or leave cabinet doors open. So nothing feels off exactly– just the way things are supposed to be.

Which somehow makes you think about him more.

Tonight, you’re sprawled on the couch with a blanket and your phone when the news suddenly cuts to some dramatic footage.

“—the vigilante known as Batman was spotted again late last night—”

You immediately sit up. Of course you do.

Right then, the front door clicks open.

Steve walks in like he always does— quiet, composed, jacket slightly creased like he’s been out longer than he planned. His eyes flick to the TV for a split second. Not long. Just enough to register it. Then they move to you.

“You’re still awake?” he asks, voice calm, like it’s any other night.

“You’re still out late,” you reply without looking away from the screen.

He exhales through his nose, almost amused, and sets his keys down. “It’s not that late.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Well, technically it is still 11:57pm so I wouldn’t count it as midnight.”

You ignore that. “I’ve seen him before.”

That gets his attention properly.

“Seen who?” he asks, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.

“Batman,” you say, like it’s obvious. “A few months ago. Near the convenience store down the road.”

There’s a small pause. The kind that’s easy to miss if you’re not looking.

Then, casually, “And you’re just mentioning this now?”

You shrug, still watching the blurry footage on TV. “It didn’t feel real at the time. It was raining and everything was chaotic. Some guys were bothering this old lady and then he just showed up out of nowhere.”

Steve leans against the counter, glass in hand. “You were close?”

“Yeah. Like, really close. Two steps maybe.”

He goes quiet for a second, thinking about that in a way that feels oddly specific.

“And?” he asks.

“And what?”

“What did you think?”

You grin a little without realizing. “He was… intense. Quiet. Very dramatic entrance, by the way. Just handled everything and left.”

Steve’s mouth twitches faintly. “Sounds inconveniently efficient.”

“You’re so unimpressed,” you mumble.

“I’m realistic.”

You finally look at him. “He was kind, though. Didn’t make a scene. Didn’t scare the lady more than she already was. Just… did his thing.”

He studies you then. Not in a creepy way. More like he’s trying to read how serious you are.

“And you didn’t see his face?” he asks.

“Couldn’t. Mask. Shadows. Rain. Very cinematic situation.”

A quiet hum leaves him, like he expected that answer.

You hug the pillow closer and add, almost absentmindedly, “He was kind of hot, though.”

That makes him blink. Just once.

Not shocked. Not dramatic. Just processing.

He takes a sip of water before speaking again. “You’re calling a masked stranger hot.”

“You’ve never had a mysterious-crush moment in your life?” you shoot back.

He gives you a look. “Not usually with men who drop in from rooftops.”

You laugh. “It’s the vibe. The confidence. The whole “i protect the city and everyone loves me but doesn't know me” thing,”

He walks a little closer, resting his hand on the back of the couch, not sitting–  just there. “Or,” he says calmly, “he’s just someone who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t panic under pressure.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re weirdly defensive of him.”

“I’m not defensive,” he replies, almost instantly. “I just think people romanticize things they don’t fully understand.”

You tilt your head. “You sound like you know him personally.”

That earns a small, dry smile. “I don’t. I just don’t think wearing a suit and brooding automatically makes someone impressive.”

You grin. “So you’re saying you could do better?”

He lets out a soft huff, shaking his head. “That is not what I said.”

“But you didn’t say no.”

He glances at the TV again where the news anchor is speculating about Batman’s identity, and something in his expression tightens for a second— subtle, controlled, almost gone as soon as it appears.

“They won’t figure it out,” he says quietly.

You look at him. “You sound very sure.”

He shrugs, but it’s a measured kind of shrug. “If someone wanted to stay hidden, they would.”

You squint at him. “Why do you look like you’re answering a personal question?”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

He finally sits on the edge of the couch, keeping a small, natural distance between you. “You overanalyze everything,” he mutters.

“And you deflect everything,” you counter immediately.

That actually makes him smile a little.

After a beat, he adds, more casually, “So if he wasn’t… dramatic and mysterious and whatever else you’ve decided he is— would you still think he’s hot?”

You blink. “That is such a specific question.”

“Answer it.”

You think for a second, then shrug. “If he was still brave? Yeah.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. Softer. Quieter.

Then he looks away first, clearing his throat lightly and reaching for the remote.

“Good to know,” he says under his breath.

You don’t catch the weight behind it.

To you, he just looks like Steve again— slightly tired, a little cocky, acting normal like always.

But when the screen flashes another clip of Batman disappearing into the dark, you don’t notice how his grip on the remote tightens just slightly, or how his eyes track every detail like it isn’t just news to him.

Like it’s routine.

The cafe is quieter than usual for a weekday evening, the soft hum of the coffee machine and distant chatter filling the space as you wipe down the counter absentmindedly.

Will leans beside the register, scrolling through something on his phone before glancing at you.

“You’ve been smiling at nothing for the past five minutes,” he says casually.

You blink. “I have not.”

“You literally just sighed while staring at the sugar packets.”

Your hand freezes mid-motion.

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

Will snorts. “What’s going on with you lately?”

You hesitate.

Because saying it out loud makes it slightly embarrassing.

You lower your voice. “Can I tell you something without you being weird about it?”

“That depends. Is it illegal?”

“No.”

“Morally questionable?”

“Will.”

He grins. “Fine. Go on.”

You fiddle with the edge of a napkin. “.....I think I have a crush.”

Will straightens instantly. “On who?”

You groan softly. “You cannot laugh.”

“I am already prepared to laugh.”

You glare at him before mumbling, “Max’s brother.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then–

“The tall one?” Will asks slowly.

You nod.

“The one who drops you sometimes?”

“…Yes.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh, you’re in deep.”

“I am not in deep,” you whisper defensively, cheeks warming. “It’s just a small crush.”

“You talk about him during shifts.”

“I do not!”

“You do. ‘Steve came home late’, ‘Steve barely eats’, ‘Steve looks tired’, ‘Steve smells nice’--”

Your eyes widen. “I did NOT say that last part out loud.”

Will smirks. “You absolutely did.”

You hide your face with both hands for a second before groaning into your palms. “This is so embarrassing.”

“What’s he like?” Will asks, more curious now.

You pause, thinking.

“…Quiet,” you admit. “Kind of grumpy.”

“Hm.”

“And he’s barely home,” you continue softly. “Leaves early. Comes back super late. Sometimes he looks exhausted. Like he hasn’t slept properly in days.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously dramatic.”

“I KNOW,” you whisper. “I literally thought he was some mafia guy at one point.”

Will nearly chokes on his laugh. “You live with him!”

“That makes it worse!”

He shakes his head, still amused. “So the real problem is…?”

You sigh, resting your chin on the counter. “…He barely notices me.”

That comes out quieter than you expect.

Will’s expression softens slightly.

There’s a small pause.

Then Will’s phone buzzes and he glances at it. “Oh! Speaking of distractions— some people from the uni are throwing a party tonight.”

You blink. “A party?”

“Yeah. Mike’s hosting it tonight. Some freshman’s party or something like that. Would you wanna join?”

You immediately shake your head. “Nope.”

“You need to go.”

“I need to sleep.”

“You need to stop overthinking about your mysterious crush and go outside like a normal person.”

You open your mouth to argue.

“…Also,” he adds casually, “since Lucas is in the city, Max might show up.”

That makes you pause mid-protest.

“…Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I’m leaving early if it’s awkward.”

Will grins. “Deal.”

Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you.

“…You’re totally dressing up, aren’t you?”

You blink innocently.

“…Maybe.”

Will points at you. “Oh, he is done for.”

Your face immediately heats up. “You are actually the worst coworker ever.”

You weren’t planning on standing in front of your mirror for this long.

It was just a party. Not a wedding. Not a red carpet. Just a stupid college party Will guilted you into attending.

And yet here you were, turning slightly to the side, adjusting the strap of your dress for the fifth time.

It fit you well. Maybe a little too well. It was a leopard print, sleeveless dress– a long one with a slit on one side. It hugged your curves perfectly. You exhale.

“Relax,” you mutter to yourself.

When you step out of your room, heels clicking softly against the floor, you’re not expecting Steve to be sitting on the couch.

But he is.

Elbow resting on his knee, scrolling through something on his phone, hair slightly messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times.

He glances up absently when he hears you.

And then he stops.

Not dramatically.

Just.. pauses.

His eyes take you in once, fully checking you out from head to toe, his eyes lingering on your legs a little too long. You suddenly feel very aware of your existence.

“You’re going somewhere?” he asks.

His voice sounds normal. Maybe a little lower than usual.

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag strap. “There’s a college party. Will convinced me.”

He nods once. “Hm.”

You hover awkwardly near the door for a second. “Is it… too much?”

The question slips out before you can stop it.

He looks at you properly this time.

And whatever casual expression he had before shifts slightly. Not softer. Not harder. Just more focused.

“No,” he says after a second. “It’s not too much. You look beautiful.”

Your heart races at the compliment, millions of butterflies erupting in your stomach. Did he just call you beautiful!?

Then, almost as an afterthought, “Just, don’t let anyone bother you.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says calmly, standing up now, “college parties aren’t exactly known for good decisions.”

You roll your eyes lightly. “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he replies.

He looks like he wants to say something else but he doesn't.

Instead, he steps past you to grab his jacket from the chair.

“You’re going out too?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Out,” he repeats vaguely.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re so mysterious for no reason.”

He gives you a faint smirk. “Stop caring too much about me, sunshine. You’re gonna be late for the party.”

The way your heart fluttered at that was not at all okay.

“Fine,” you mutter, opening the door. “Don’t wait up.”

He pauses at that.

“I don’t,” he says lightly.

But you don’t miss the way his eyes linger as you step out.

The party is louder than you expected.

Music vibrates through the floor, people are laughing too hard, talking too close, moving too much. The lights are dim and warm, and everything feels slightly chaotic.

Will finds you near the entrance almost immediately.

“Okay,” he says, looking you up and down. “You did not warn me you were going to look like that.”

“Like what?” you ask defensively.

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s sanity.”

You shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. I bet Steve was drooling over his mouth when he saw you in this dress.”

Your face heats instantly. “Why are you bringing him into this?”

“Because,” Will says simply, “if he sees you, he’s done.”

You try very hard not to smile at that.

“I doubt he cares.”

Will gives you a look that says you’re delusional, but doesn’t argue.

For the first half hour, it’s fine.

You talk. You laugh. You try to ignore how loud everything is. You sip something that tastes mostly like juice and sugar. You even forget about Steve for a few minutes.

Then Will gets dragged into some conversation across the room.

You’re left near the drinks table again.

A voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts.

“You look a little lost.”

You look up.

A guy you don’t recognize stands a little too close, hands shoved into his pockets, a faint smirk on his face.

“I’m fine,” you reply politely, offering a small smile.

“You’ve been standing alone for a while,” he continues, eyes scanning you in a way that makes your shoulders stiffen slightly.

“My friend is here,” you say, glancing around instinctively for Will.

He leans a bit closer. “Still. Kinda boring to stand alone at a party, don’t you think?”

You take a small step back. “I’m just waiting for him to come back.”

“Or,” he says, lowering his voice slightly, “you could dance.”

“I don’t really dance.”

“Everyone dances,” he insists, reaching out slightly as if to guide you.

You pull your hand back before he can touch you.

“I said I’m okay,” you say more firmly this time.

Something in your tone finally shifts the atmosphere.

His smile drops just a little.

“Relax,” he mutters. “I was just being friendly.”

You nod stiffly, heart beating a little faster now. “Right.”

A few minutes later, Will still hasn’t returned.

The music suddenly feels louder.

The room feels more crowded.

And your social battery? Completely drained.

You slip your phone out, texting him quickly: Leaving early. I’ll text you when I get home.

Then, without waiting for a reply, you quietly make your way toward the exit, exhaling the second the cool night air hits your face.

The street is calmer. Quieter. Safer.

Or at least, it feels that way for the first few minutes.

Your heels click softly against the pavement as you walk, hugging your arms slightly against the breeze. The city lights blur gently along the sidewalks as you try to find yourself a cab.

You don’t notice the footsteps behind you at first. Then they don’t stop. Then they don’t fade either. Your pace slows slightly. So do the footsteps.

Your stomach tightens.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from behind.

You freeze.

It’s the same guy from the party.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says, walking faster now.

Your grip on your bag tightens instinctively. “I’m going home.”

“I can walk you.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Your steps quicken.

His do too.

And then–

A shadow drops between you and him so suddenly that you nearly gasp.

Tall. Still. Silent.

The man stops immediately.

“You should leave,” a low, controlled voice says.

The guy scoffs at first, then properly looks up.

And immediately steps back.

“…Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

He leaves quickly. Too quickly.

Your heart is still racing when you finally look up.

Black suit. Cape. Mask. Broad shoulders standing under the dim streetlight like something pulled straight out of a myth.

Your breath catches.

“…Batman?” you whisper.

He turns his head slightly toward you.

Up close, he looks bigger. More intimidating. And oddly… tired.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone this late,” he says.

His voice is deep. Measured. Familiar in a way that makes something in your chest flicker.

“I was at a college party,” you mumble, still staring at him. “I didn’t think it would get this late.”

“You should still be careful.”

You blink, then-  because your brain completely abandons logic, you blurt out:

“I think you’re really cool.”

He goes completely still.

You immediately cover your face. “Oh my god. Why did I say that? Please ignore that.”

“You’re safe now,” he says after a moment, voice slightly tighter than before.

You peek at him through your fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either.

“You saved an old lady a few months ago,” you say softly. “Near a convenience store. In the rain.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“I was there,” you continue, a small smile forming despite your nerves. “You were kinda intimidating. But also very hot. In a mysterious way.”

His shoulders visibly tense.

“And your voice sounds weirdly familiar,” you add, tilting your head slightly. “Like I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

He turns his head away just a fraction.

“…You haven’t.”

But the way he says it is careful as if  he’s choosing every word.

Like one wrong slip might reveal something.

Under the dim light, you notice the faint scuffs on his suit. The exhaustion in the way he stands..

Strangely enough…

It reminds you of someone who comes home late. Someone who smells faintly of clean laundry and expensive cologne. Someone who always looks tired.

“You should go home,” he says quietly.

And just before he disappears into the shadows, his gaze lingers on you for a second too long.

Not like a stranger.

Not like a hero.

But like someone who already knows you.

The next morning felt strangely normal. Too normal.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, the faint clinking of a mug echoed from the kitchen, and for a second it almost made last night feel distant. Like it had happened to someone else.

You shuffled in, still a little tired, only to find Steve already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand. His hair was messy, sleeves pushed up, dark circles faint under his eyes like he hadn’t slept much.

He glanced at you briefly. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you muttered, grabbing a glass of water.

There was a short silence.

Then, casually too casually,  you said, “Some guy at the party yesterday was being weird.”

Steve didn’t react immediately. But his grip on the mug tightened slightly.

“Weird how?” he asked, voice calm. Too calm.

You shrugged, trying to play it down. “Just wouldn’t take a hint. Followed me out when I left.”

“Did he touch you?” he asked.

Your head snapped up. “No! God, no.” You continued, leaning against the counter. “He followed me till the second block. Near that old pharmacy street.”

And that’s when it happened.

Steve frowned slightly. “The one with the broken streetlight?”

The words slipped out so naturally it almost didn’t register at first.

You blinked.

“…What?”

He stilled.

Just for a fraction of a second.

Then he took a sip of his coffee like nothing happened. “Nothing. Just guessing.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t say anything about a streetlight.”

Silence.

Before he could reply, the front door suddenly burst open.

“I AM BACK!” Max’s voice echoed dramatically through the apartment.

You jumped.

Max walked in like a hurricane, dropping her bag instantly. “You two survived without me? Impressive. Any fights? Any unresolved tension?”

You choked on your water. “Max.”

She squinted at both of you. “Why do I feel like something happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing happened,” Steve said flatly.

You said at the exact same time, “Nothing happened.”

Max’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Hm,” she hummed. “I don’t trust either of you.”

You watched as she grabbed her suitcases towards her room. 

Steve set the mug down slowly. “That area’s poorly lit. It’s not exactly a safe stretch at night.” he suddenly brings up the unfinished conversation from earlier.

“That’s oddly specific,” you said lightly.

He shrugged. “Common sense.”

But he still wasn’t looking directly at you.

And that, more than anything, felt off.

You watched him carefully now.

“You knew the exact block,” you continued, softer. “And the lighting.”

He exhaled quietly through his nose, clearly choosing his words now. “You said old pharmacy. There’s only one on that side of town.”

His answer was logical and quite convincing.

And yet–

Something about the way he answered felt rehearsed. Too quick. Too aware.

You let it drop. But the thought lodged itself somewhere deep in your mind.

Because later that evening, when the news flickered on and the anchor’s voice filled the room—

“last night’s incident occurred near the abandoned pharmacy lane—”

Your head turned slowly toward the TV.

Then toward Steve.

Who was suddenly very still beside you.

“That’s the same place,” you said quietly.

He didn’t respond.

Just leaned back against the couch, eyes on the screen but unfocused, jaw slightly tense like he was thinking three steps ahead instead of watching the news.

You tilted your head. “You seem to know a lot about areas Batman shows up in.”

That made him huff softly.

“Or,” he said, voice even, “maybe Batman just operates in predictable high-risk zones.”

You stared at him. That wasn’t a normal response.

And for the first time since you’d met him, a small, unsettling thought crossed your mind — not loud, not dramatic, just quiet and persistent.

Steve didn’t look surprised by the news.

He looked… familiar with it. As if it was a regular thing for him.

The apartment was unusually quiet that night. Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The kind that pressed against your ears.

Max had gone to sleep hours ago, her door shut, the faint hum of her fan the only proof she was home. You had tried to study, tried to scroll, tried to distract yourself with anything remotely productive, but your mind kept drifting. To the news. To the conversation. To him. The thoughts spiralled in your mind, a very unsettling type of anxiety filling you as you thought more and more about Steve. 

What if he was the one to save you that night? What if he was the one to help the lady on that rainy day? What if Steve is….him?

You were curled up on the couch, a half-finished cup of cup noodles growing cold in your hands, when you heard the soft click of the front door. Your head lifted immediately.

It creaked, contradicting its usual full swinging. It felt like whoever was entering didn’t want to make noise.

Your brows furrowed. It could only be steve at this hour.

“Steve?” you called out, voice quiet.

No response.

Just the sound of the door shutting and growing footsteps, Uneven ones. You knew something was wrong, or maybe it was your instincts. Your stomach dropped.

You set the cup down instantly and stood up, heart beginning to pound for reasons you couldn’t quite explain yet.

And then he stepped into the dim light of the hallway. His hair was damp, slightly disheveled. His jacket hung heavier on one side, and the first thing you noticed was the dark stain spreading across the fabric near his ribs.

Blood.

“Steve–” your voice came out sharper than you intended. “What the hell happened to you?!”

He froze like he hadn’t expected you to still be awake.

“I’m fine,” he said almost too immediately, as if he wanted to brush this topic off.

He moved past you, heading toward the hallway like this was routine. Like bleeding through his jacket at midnight was a normal Tuesday occurrence.

You blinked in disbelief and followed him. “You are literally not fine. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“That is not a scratch,” you snapped, grabbing his wrist before he could disappear into his room.

He stilled.

Slowly, he looked down at your hand around his wrist, then back at your face.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Up close, you could see it better now– the faint cut near his eyebrow, the exhaustion sitting deep in his eyes, the way his breathing was slightly heavier than usual.

And something else.

Something tense.

Guarded.

“You should be asleep,” he muttered.

“And you should not be walking into the house looking like that” you shot back.

A faint, tired huff escaped him. Almost like a laugh that didn’t fully form.

“I said I’m fine.”

You ignored him completely and gently tugged his sleeve. “Sit.”

He didn’t move.

You glared. “Sit.”

A long pause.

Then, reluctantly, he lowered himself onto the couch like he didn’t have the energy to argue properly.

You disappeared into the bathroom before he could protest again, grabbing the first aid kit with slightly shaky hands. When you came back, he was leaning forward, one hand pressed lightly against his side.

The sight made your chest tighten.

You knelt in front of him without a word.

“I’m going to check,” you said quietly.

“No–”

“Steve.”

That single word stopped him.

He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening, but he didn’t stop you this time.

Carefully, you pushed his jacket aside.

And froze.

There were bruises. Fresh ones. Fading ones. Cuts that looked far too recent to be accidents.

Your hands slowed.

“…You don’t get these from office work,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer.

You opened the first aid kit, fingers working gently as you cleaned the wound near his ribs. He flinched slightly when the antiseptic touched his skin, but didn’t make a sound otherwise.

“You’re always coming home late,” you said softly.

“Always tired. Always injured.”

Your fingers paused for a moment against his side.

“And you always have an explanation that explains absolutely nothing.”

He let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“You’re overthinking,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

You didn’t look up.

“The broken streetlight,” you continued calmly. “The pharmacy lane. The train bridge on the news before they even said the location.”

That made him go still.

Your hands trembled slightly as you pressed the gauze against his wound.

“You react before I finish sentences about him,” you added, quieter now. “Like you already know what I’m about to say.”

You finally looked up at him.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes- His eyes looked as if he got caught.

Like he knew exactly where this was going.

Your voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“You knew where I was that night,” you said. “Near the pharmacy. You knew the lighting. The exact block.”

His jaw clenched faintly.

“And tonight,” you continued, heart pounding louder with every word, “you walk in past midnight. Injured. Again. On the same night the news says Batman got into a fight downtown.”

The room felt suffocatingly quiet now.

Your hands slowly fell away from the first aid kit. You swallowed.

And then Very softly, you ask him,

“Steve, are you..Batman?”

It was a rainy day–clouds thundering in a way that silenced the sounds of the busy street. Steve stood at the edge of the rooftop, cape heavy with water, scanning the street below out of habit more than urgency. Being a vigilante wasn’t easy– you had to stay alert all the time, despite any weather or climate difficulties, you had to observe the city for any signs of crimes, and to stay out of sight from the police for your sake. 

Steve had grown up with superheroes, watching superman movies, smallville, and reading every other comic book about the same– but he hadn’t expected himself to become one. Before his mind could wander into a never-ending spiral about why he chose to become the person to guard the city in the shadows, he heard a sharp scream down the street.

His head turned instantly toward the convenience store entrance where an elderly woman stood trembling, her grocery bag split open at her feet as oranges rolled uselessly into the gutter. Two men loomed over her– one tugging at her purse, the other blocking her path with lazy cruelty. He was already moving.

And then he stopped.

Because someone else stepped forward first.

You.

Drenched. Exhausted. Clearly afraid.

And still walking toward danger anyway.

He frowned behind the mask.

Most people avoided situations like that. Looked away. Walked faster. Pretended they hadn’t seen anything.

You didn’t.

You shouted.

Your voice shook, your hands trembled, and yet you still placed yourself between them and the woman like fear and courage were existing in the same breath. Reckless. Stupid. Brave.

When one of the men stepped closer to you, invading your space, something cold settled in Steve’s chest. That was enough.

He dropped down in silence.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The men froze. Fear worked faster than force most nights. They ran without a fight, cowards to the core.

He retrieved the handbag, handed it back to the woman-but his attention drifted to you. You watched him, wide-eyed, in disbelief, like you were still deciding whether he was real.

And then you smiled at the old woman.

Steve felt as if all the air from his lungs had been knocked out. The way you smiled at the lady- so genuine, so sweet, as if you were just a ray of sunshine embodied. 

He told himself that was the only reason his gaze lingered a second too long as you rushed into your cab.

He followed the vehicle only until it disappeared past the avenue and then he forced himself to stop.

But it did not. Steve couldn’t. Even if he tried to. He couldn’t erase the image of you smiling at the lady so softly, your dimples popping out. Every time he slept, every time he closed his eyes- all he could remember was your hair, drippy from the rain and your smile and maybe your brown eyes and how it looked at him. 

 It should have ended there. 

But fate had other plans and so– It did not.

Steve had to move from Chicago to New York for his job– the job which actually ran his house, and kept his stomach full. He had his sister studying in NYC, so It wouldn’t be a problem for him to stay with her for a while till he finds himself a place to live in. 

“Oh, and Steve, I have a roommate” Max told him as they were packing his stuff to be moved from Chicago. “Hope that’s not a problem for you”, she told him and truth to be told– he did not have a problem, because he wouldn't give two shits about a person living in the house where he would be only to sleep and to have dinner. All he wanted was a roof where he could sleep until he found a new place to move. 

“Oh no no, I’m totally fine with your roommate.” he said, his tone too casual for something that was totally not going to be casual for him in the future. 

So when he went to your college and saw you laughing with Max, his world stood still. You were wearing a sundress- your hair blowing in the wind and the dress matching the weather that day. he couldn’t help the blush forming on his cheeks at the sight of you.

He knew if he opened his mouth he was probably going to say something rubbish or embarrassing. So that’s why he stayed rather quiet, and serious, and intimidating- so that you wouldn’t ask too many questions about him or he wouldn’t say something that might scare you or weird you out. 

Living under the same roof as you had not been part of the plan. Temporary arrangement, Max had said. Spare room. Just until he found a place.

Temporary, he told himself.

Except days turned into routines faster than he expected.

He started observing even the slightest things about you. The way you stayed up late at night browsing the internet, the way you only ate cup noodles when you got too stressed from work, the way you would blast on cigarettes after sex when your periods were near. It made him feel pathetic. He was pathetic. A pathetic, hopeless guy who had fallen in love with his sister’s best friend. 

You were so easy to be around with. He felt at ease whenever he talked to you– at your snarky remarks, at your weird laugh, at your very bad attempt at flirting– he liked everything about you. 

And that was when the problem began.

Because one night, after patrol, exhausted and more distracted than usual, he made a mistake. He told Dustin and Eddie, two of his bestest friends.

“There’s this girl.”

Silence fell over the garage immediately.

Dustin slowly rotated his chair toward him like a detective who had just heard a confession. Eddie sat up so fast the couch creaked under him.

“You have a crush,” Dustin said flatly.

“I do NOT have a crush,” Steve replied instantly.

Eddie gasped– loud and dramatic. “Defensive. That was defensive. Oh, he’s doomed.”

Steve dragged a hand down his face. “I said there’s a girl. That’s it.”

“You’ve fought armed criminals with less tension in your voice,” Eddie said, squinting at him.

Steve said nothing.

Which, apparently, confirmed everything.

Dustin leaned back slowly. “Timeline. When did this start?”

“It didn’t ‘start,’” Steve muttered.

“It was a rainy day. She stepped in,” Steve said before he could stop himself. “For an old woman who was getting harassed by two men. She was scared and still did it.”

Eddie blinked. “…You remember the details.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

Dustin folded his arms. “You live with her, don’t you?”

“…Temporarily.”

Both of them groaned.

“You’re living with the girl you like?” Eddie asked, scandalized. “That is psychological torture.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Dustin said calmly.

Steve didn’t respond.

“You are near the college area more often,” Dustin continued.

Steve leaned forward.. “She called Batman hot, by the way.”

That made both Eddie and Dustin look up.

“…What?”, they said in unison.

Steve went on. “Max mentioned it. Party incident. Batman shows up. The girl thinks he’s hot.”

Eddie slapped his knee. “You’re literally competing with yourself. That is the most pathetic love triangle I’ve ever heard.”

“I am not competing,” Steve muttered. He leaned back, exhaling slowly.

Because they weren’t entirely wrong.

Because you didn’t look at him like the city looked at Batman.

You looked at him like he was just… Steve.

Eddie studied him for a moment before delivering the final blow.

“Harrington,” he said dramatically, “you are not just crushing.”

Dustin nodded solemnly.

“You,” Eddie finished, pointing straight at him, “are a full-blown, emotionally repressed, pathetic and a hopeless yearner.”

Steve stared at them in silence.

Then muttered, tired and resigned,

“…This is why I don’t tell you things.”

But later that night, back in the apartment, when he heard you laughing softly at some stupid internet quiz in the living room about “which Henry the VIII’s wife are you? " he realised something far more inconvenient than their teasing.

They weren’t wrong.

And the worst part?

You still had no idea that the man you were slowly getting comfortable with over burnt lunches and quiet conversations…

was the same one who had been watching you from the rooftops since the night you stood in the rain, shaking and scared, and still chose to be brave anyway.

The words just hung there between them.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the quiet ticking of the clock near the kitchen.

Steve’s hand tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

“You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that,” he said finally, but his voice came out rougher than usual. Not annoyed. Not amused. Just… tired.

You didn’t laugh.

“I’m not joking.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed too close to the bandage near his temple. You noticed that. Of course you did.

“You came home at 3 a.m.,” you continued, softer now but steady. “Injured. Again. You dodge questions every time. You disappear randomly. And that night… at the party…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “He knew my name. Before I told him.”

Steve’s jaw clenched.

“And the voice,” she added quietly. “You tried to make it deeper. But when you got hurt just now and spoke normally…” She swallowed. “It was the same.”

There was a silence between you two.

He leaned back slightly, staring at the floor like it might suddenly have answers written on it. 

“You’ve been spying on me?” he asked?

She hesitated. “It was very obvious that I did not even have to try to make an attempt at spying.”

He looked at her every so softly, lashes batting with his breaths heavy and uneven. He laughed under his breath.

 “I tried,” he said quietly. “God, I tried to keep you out of it.”

Her chest tightened.

“Out of what?” she whispered.

He looked at you for a long moment, like he was weighing a hundred different decisions all at once. Then he shook his head slightly, almost to himself.

“You have no idea how hard it was,” he said, voice low, “to keep this secret hidden from you.”

“You are an idiot,” you said automatically, and the normalcy of it slipped out before you could stop yourself.

“You were scared that night,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “What?”

“At the party.” His gaze softened, and it made her heart stutter in a way she hated. “You tried to act fine. But your hands were shaking when you grabbed your phone.”

Her throat went dry.

“You…” you stopped. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you,” he said without thinking.

The second the words left his mouth, the room went still again. 

“Steve…” you started.

He stood up abruptly, pacing once, dragging a hand down his face, trying to physically pull himself together.

“I was supposed to tell you,” he muttered. “Not like this. Not when you’re looking at me like I’m some criminal.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I’m not looking at you as some sort of a criminal. I’m looking at you as a guy who saved me twice, a guy who was always there when I was in trouble.”

He looked up at you, tending his stomach wound, biting your lips as you made an attempt to concentrate on wounding up his injury. God you looked so ethereal it made steve stop breathing.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m Batman.”

Your eyes flickered to the bandages, the bruises, the way he was standing slightly angled like he was used to protecting his injured side.

“You could’ve died,” she whispered.

“I’ve almost died a lot of times,” he replied.

“That’s not comforting!”

“I wasn’t trying to comfort you!”

Their voices rose for the first time, tension finally cracking through the restraint that had been holding everything together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.

“Because I didn’t want you dragged into my mess!” he shot back, then immediately lowered his voice when he saw her flinch. 

“Because the second people know, they become targets. And I wasn’t about to let that happen to you.”

The way he said it made your chest ache. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” she said, quieter now. “I do if it keeps you safe.” “That night,” she said slowly, “you followed me.” He didn’t deny it. “You were there the whole time.” “I always am,” he admitted. Her breath caught. “And you just watch?” she asked softly. His expression shifted into something raw. “I make sure nothing happens to you.” The weight of that settled over her in a way that was almost overwhelming. “You’re insane,” she murmured. “All these times I thought it was mere paranoia but it wasn’t. It was you. God, steve” He let out a quiet huff. “Yeah. Probably.” he said, a look of guilt gliding over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”

You stepped closer before he even realized you were moving. “You lied to me,” she said. “I protected you.” “You shut me out.” “I kept you safe.” It was then when you realised how close you both were standing. The proximity made your brain mushy. He was too close, close enough to see the tiny cut near his lip. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off him like heat. His hand hovered near your face before gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear “You shouldn’t be this close to me,” he murmured. “Then why aren’t you stepping back?” she asked.

Before you could process the words leaving your mouth, you felt yourself backed up to the wall, and a pair of soft, plump lips falling onto yours, kissing you over so tenderly.  It was hesitant at first, almost like he was testing if you’d push him away. And when you didn’t move away, the kiss deepened just slightly, filled with weeks of unspoken tension, worry, and something he’d been trying very hard to ignore. Steve tightened his grips on your waist while your hands landed on his shoulders. You tasted exactly how he imagined you to taste like strawberries and vanilla. His breathing was uneven as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair again, avoiding her eyes now. He suddenly realised his actions, eyes widening and hands retrieving from your waist. “That” he started, then stopped. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m so sorry” he suddenly said, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite understand. Without another word, he turned and walked toward his room, shoulders tense, every step heavy like he was forcing himself to put distance between you and him before he did something even more reckless. “Thank you for tending my injuries and have a good night” he said, his eyes looking at you for one last time before closing the door behind him. You watched as Steve closed the door, half dazed and half in awe. After what felt like hours, you touched your lips, recalling the memory of the way he kissed you and it made you kick your feet and a squealing and blushing mess- butterflies erupting in your stomach.

It was safe to say you slept soundly that night. 

Steve starts avoiding you so subtly at first that you almost convince yourself you’re imagining it. The way he suddenly has “errands” whenever you’re in the kitchen. The way he answers in short sentences instead of his usual teasing, drawn-out replies. The way he doesn’t look at you for longer than a second anymore, like looking at you is a bridge he’s no longer allowed to cross. And it hurts more than you expected it to. The kiss replays in your head on loop– the way he pulled you in, the way his hand tightened just slightly at your waist, the way he kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for months. Before  he walked away. Three days passed like that. Three days of quiet mornings, distant conversations, and the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut a little faster whenever you enter a room.

By the fourth day, you’re sulking so obviously that Max doesn’t even bother pretending not to notice. “You look like you’re questioning your existence right now” she says flatly, plopping down beside you on the couch. You groan into the cushion. “He’s avoiding me.” Max doesn’t even need to ask who, because she already knew the answer. “Steve?” You lift your head slowly. “…Is it that obvious?” She snorts. “He practically sprints out of rooms when you walk in. It’s embarrassing.” Your chest tightens. “He kissed me.” Max freezes mid-scroll. “…He WHAT?”

“AND THEN,” you sit up dramatically, voice rising, “he confessed he’s Batman, kissed me, and now he’s acting like I’m some kind of emotional hazard.” Max stares at you for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god,” she wheezes, “you fell for a vigilante AND a coward. That is insane.”

“I am not laughing,” you say, even though your lips twitch. Before she can reply, Will walks in, holding two mugs  “I heard raised voices,” he says carefully. “Should I be concerned or entertained?” Max points at you. “Steve kissed her and is now acting like a divorced man who lost custody of his feelings.”

Will chokes on his drink. “He finally kissed you?” You glare. “Why does everyone say ‘finally’ like it was inevitable.” Will and Max exchange a look. “Because,” Max says slowly, “that man has been down horrendous for you since day one.” Will nod. “Like… painfully obvious.” Your eyes widen. “WHAT?” Your face burns. Max leans forward, suddenly serious. “Okay, focus. He kissed you and now he is avoiding you like plague. He is emotionally repressed and in all my 22 years of existence, I have never seen him act like this.”You hug a pillow tighter. “So what do I do? Ignore him back? Pretend I don’t care? Cry dramatically in the hallway?”

Max’s eyes sparkle with something dangerous. “…No.” Will sigh immediately. “Oh no. That tone is never good.” Max grins. “We make him jealous.” You blink. “Excuse me?” “He’s clearly spiraling,” she says, counting on her fingers. “He likes you. He kissed you. He’s scared. So now he’s avoiding you to regain control.” Will adds gently, “Which means he still cares. A lot.” “And,” Max finishes smugly, “the fastest way to snap a man out of emotional avoidance is strategic jealousy.” “That sounds toxic,” you mutter weakly.

“That is very effective, trust me.” Max corrects. Will hesitates. “…Ethically questionable, but emotionally persuasive.” You stare at both of them. “I don’t even have anyone to make him jealous with.” Max’s grin widens slowly. “Oh,” she says. “You absolutely do.” Your stomach drops. “…Will.” Will nearly spits out his drink. “ME?”  Will looks between you and Max in horror. “I did not sign up to be used as a prop in a romantic psychological experiment.” “You’re not a prop,” Max says sweetly. “You’re emotional support bait.” You bury your face in your hands. “This is insane.” But despite yourself… a tiny, petty part of your heart perks up.

Because maybe– just maybe.

if Steve really does care, he won’t stay indifferent for long.

The apartment feels too small that evening, like the walls are pressing in with all the tension you’ve been swallowing for days. Max and Will don’t waste time. Max “casually” texts Will to come over for pizza and a movie, and he shows up twenty minutes later in a soft gray sweater that makes his eyes look even warmer, carrying that easy, gentle smile he always has. You’re on the couch in the tiny shorts and oversized hoodie you know Steve likes when Will sits down right beside you instead of in the armchair. Max shoots you a look that says go big or go home before disappearing into her room with some lame excuse about assignments. At first it’s innocent. Will laughs at something you say, leans in a little. You let your hand rest on his forearm when you reach for the remote, fingers lingering just a second too long. His skin is warm under your palm.  “You always smell so nice” he murmurs, voice low and playful, eyes flicking over your face. “It’s unfair, honestly.” You laugh, soft and bright, and squeeze his arm gently. “Flatterer. Keep going, I’m listening.” He grins, tilting his head. “Harrington’s an idiot for not noticing those pretty little dimples on your cheeks whenever you smile” Your cheeks heat, but you keep the touch, thumb brushing his wrist. It’s light. It’s nothing. But it’s working, your pulse is racing for an entirely different reason now as you hear the front door open.

Steve walks in still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, hair a little messy from the wind. He freezes in the doorway when he sees you. Sees Will. Sees your hand on Will’s arm and the way Will is leaning in, complimenting you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Something dark flashes across Steve’s face,his jaws tightening and his shoulders going rigid. His eyes lock on your fingers against Will’s sleeve for a beat too long before they snap to your face. You feel it like a spark against your skin. He doesn’t say anything. Just kicks the door shut harder than necessary and stalks straight past the living room toward the hallway.

Max pokes her head out of her room, eyes sparkling with evil delight. “Phase one: complete.” You barely have time to process before Steve’s voice cuts through the apartment, low and controlled. “Kitchen. Now.”Your stomach flips. You stand, legs shaky, and follow him. The second the kitchen door swings shut behind you, he crowds you against the counter. Not touching yet, but close enough that you can smell his cologne and the faint leather from his jacket.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks, voice rough. “You letting Byers put his hands all over you? Laughing at his little compliments like I haven’t been losing my goddamn mind for four days straight?” You lift your chin, heart hammering. “You’ve been avoiding me, Steve. What was I supposed to do, sit around waiting while you pretend that kiss never happened?” you say, voice raising a little yet coated with a sense of hurt and ignorance. 

His hands land on either side of you, caging you in. “I kissed you because I couldn’t fucking breathe without you. I’m Batman, I’m supposed to keep people safe, not drag the brightest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met into my shit. But seeing you touch him-” His voice cracks. “I wanted to rip his arm off.” The way he said it caused a deep, warm ache in your lower belly. You watched as your thighs clenched unknowingly at his words, legs already wobbly. You summoned up all the courage and ounce of sanity you had to murmur three words that would break this band of tension. “Then stop running,” you whisper.

With that said, his mouth crashes into yours, desperate and filthy, tongue sliding against yours like he’s starving. You moan into it, hands fisting his shirt, and he groans, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. “Bedroom,” he rasps against your lips. “Now. Before I fuck you right here where anyone could walk in.” Before he could say more, you shut his mouth by kissing him harder, deepening the kiss and sliding your tongue into his mouth. Steve groaned into your mouth, tongue fighting for dominance as the room fills in with lewd noises.  He carries you out of the kitchen, smirking down at will who was sitting on the couch, his eyes filled widening as he took in the sight of you and Steve. 

He carries you down the hall like you weigh nothing, kicks his door shut, and drops you onto his bed. The second your back hits the mattress he’s on you, mouth on your neck, hands shoving your hoodie up and off. “Jesus, baby,” he breathes, eyes dark as they rake over your bare chest. “Look at you. So fucking pretty for me.” He doesn’t waste time. His mouth closes around one nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch and whimper. His fingers pinch the other, rolling it slowly, perfectly, until you’re gasping his name.

“Stevie-please” The nickname hits him like a live wire. He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, eyes blown black. “Fuck. Say that again.” “Stevie,” you whine, needy and trembling. “Baby, please, I need you.”

He loses it. A low, wrecked sound rips out of his chest and he’s kissing down your stomach, yanking your shorts and panties off in one rough tug. His hands spread your thighs wide. “Such a good girl,” he praises, voice gravel-rough. “Already so wet for me. This pretty little pussy missed me, didn’t it?” He licks a slow, filthy stripe up your center and you cry out, hips bucking. He pins them down with one forearm.

“Shh, sweet girl. Let me taste you.” He sucks your clit into his mouth, two thick fingers sliding inside you without warning, curling perfectly. “Fuck, you’re tight. Taking my fingers so well already. Gonna make you come on my tongue first, yeah?” You’re a mess, whining, moaning, fingers twisting in his hair as he eats you like a starved man. Every lick, every curl of his fingers draws out more praise. “Yeah? Feel good, baby? Hmm? You’re dripping down my chin,such a needy little thing for me.”

“Stevie oh god I’m”

“Come on my tongue, pretty girl. Let me hear you.” You shatter, thighs shaking around his head, as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach snapping, his name breaking on a sob. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling through the aftershocks. Then he’s crawling up your body, shedding clothes, cock hard and heavy against your thigh.

“Need to be inside you,” he growls, lining up. “No condom, want to feel all of you. Gonna fill you up, sweet girl. Breed this perfect pussy until you’re dripping with me. You want that?” “Yes, yes, baby, please” He thrusts deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. The groan he lets out is broken. “Fuck-tightest, warmest little heaven. Taking me so good. My good girl.”

He sets a punishing rhythm, one hand pinning both of yours above your head, the other gripping your hip. You’re moaning helplessly beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. “Look at you,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “So fucking beautiful taking my cock. You love me that much, huh? Letting me ruin you like this?” “I love you,” you whimper, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels. “Stevie, I love you”

His thrusts turn deeper, slower, grinding against your clit with every stroke, a small grin plastering on his face. “Yeah, sweet girl? ‘s true that you love me?” “I love you- love you so much” you mewl out, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer and deeper into your cunt.

“God, baby… I love you too. So fucking much it hurts.” He kisses you messy and sweet, still fucking you senseless.  “Gonna come inside you-fill you up until it takes. You’re mine. Only mine. Isn’t that right? Mine to breed, mine to fuck and mine to love. ” You come again with a broken cry, clenching around him so hard he follows right after, groaning your name as he spills deep, hips stuttering through every pulse.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just collapses half on top of you, still pinning your wrists, breathing hard against your neck. “Never avoiding you again,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your jaw. “You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl. ‘m not running away from you.” You smile, dazed and blissed-out, and tug at his grip until he releases your hands so you can wrap your arms around him. “Good,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Because I’m not letting you go either… Stevie.” You felt his cock hardening and twitching instantly, a smug look forming on his face, as you watched him hover over you again.

“Are we really going that way, baby?”

“Come on i know you-” Before you could finish your sentence, you felt Steve pressing his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss, his dick sliding into your still wet cunt.

The May sun feels almost too bright as you step off the graduation stage, gown billowing around your legs, cap tassel smacking your cheek because you flipped it way too hard. The lawn is packed, but your eyes cut straight through the crowd to Steve. He's standing near the back in a brown formal suit, arms crossed like he’s trying to look casual. Max is right beside him, jumping and screaming your name so loud her voice cracks; Will’s clapping steadily with his boyfriend Mike's arm looped around his waist; Eddie’s got both hands cupped around his mouth yelling “Hell yeah, that’s our valedictorian!” while Dustin bounces next to him like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. You jog down the steps and straight into Steve’s arms, a smile grazing your lips and small giggles fall out of them.

He catches you, lifts you just enough that your feet dangle for a second, face buried in your hair. “Hey, graduate,” he says, voice soft and rough at the same time. “You fucking did it.” You laugh against his shoulder, arms locked around his neck. “You’re gonna make me cry in front of half the campus, Harrington.”

“Let ‘em see,” he murmurs, setting you down but not letting go. His hands slide to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Hiya. All those all-nighters, all the times you thought of throwing your laptop out of the house, all those mental breakdowns were worth it. you crushed it.”

Before you can answer, Max crashes into you both, nearly toppling the three of you. “You’re officially too smart for us now! Don’t forget the little people when you’re famous!” Max and Will, a year junior to you, had just entered their final year in college. Will hugs you next, gentle and quick. “You looked so happy up there.” Eddie slings an arm around Dustin’s shoulders, grinning wide. “We’re throwing the biggest pizza-and-movie night this weekend to celebrate. No arguments.”

Steve’s hand finds yours again, fingers threading through yours like it’s muscle memory now. You glance around at them, your loud, chaotic, chosen family and it hits you how easy this feels. No more awkward “whose friends are these” moments. They just… show up. For you. For him. For whatever dumb thing you’re all doing next. Steve leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Got something to show you. You free for the rest of the day?”

The ride is quiet, just the two of you in his car, your fingers laced with his. He leads you up to a tree-lined street in Brooklyn, past brownstones and bodegas, until you stop in front of a narrow four-story walk-up. The buzzer has a fresh label: STEVE HARRINGTON 4B. You blink up at the building. “You… moved?” “Signed the lease last month,” he says, pulling keys from his pocket. “Wanted to surprise you after today.” You follow him up the narrow stairs, four flights, your thighs already burning by the time you reach the top and he unlocks the door.

The apartment is small but bright: big windows letting in late-afternoon sun, hardwood floors that creak under your sneakers, an open kitchen with just enough counter space for two people to bump hips while cooking. There’s a couch that looks suspiciously like the one from his old place, a couple of boxes still taped shut in the corner, and a single framed photo on the windowsill,  you and him from last fall, laughing in Central Park, leaves in your hair. You walk slowly through the space, trailing your fingers along the wall. “It’s nice. Really nice.” Steve watches you from the doorway, hands in his pockets. “Yeah?”

You nod, but your voice comes out quieter. “You’re really moving here. Out of the old place.” He steps closer, turning you gently to face him. “I’m not moving alone.” Your breath catches. “What?” “I didn’t sign this lease thinking I’d live here by myself, Hiya.” His hands settle warm on your waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of your dress under the unzipped gown. “I want you here. Mornings where you steal all the blankets. Nights where we fight over who gets the remote. Your books on the shelves, your coffee mugs in the cabinet, your laugh bouncing off these walls. I want this to be ours.”

Tears sting your eyes as a feeling of happiness creeps over you. “Steve…”

He kisses you then, slow, careful, like he’s giving you time to say no. But you don’t. You kiss him back, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. When you pull apart, foreheads touching, he whispers, “Move in with me. Please.”

You laugh through the tears, nodding fast. “Yes.” His grin breaks wide and boyish. He kisses you again, deeper this time, joyful,then scoops you up just enough to spin you once in the empty living room, both of you laughing like idiots. When he sets you down, he keeps his arms around you, swaying a little like you’re slow-dancing to music only the two of you can hear.

First official tour,” he says against your hair. “Kitchen’s got that weird corner cabinet you can fill with all your spices. Bedroom’s got a window that looks over the street, good for people-watching when we’re too lazy to go out. And the couch…” He winks. “Already broken in from when I moved the boxes.” You bury your face in his neck, smiling so hard it hurts. “You’re ridiculous.” “Stil you love me” he says simply, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I love you” you say, looking at your boyfriend with nothing but love in your eyes.

And in that hush, with the city humming far below and forever stretching out ahead like an open road, you realize you could never forget him-not the grumpy guy who used to roll his eyes at your playlists, not the best friend’s older brother who once made you want to scream and hide in the same breath. Somewhere along the way, without you even noticing, that same man became the one you fell in love with completely and irrevocably. The one who fights shadows by night and fights for lazy Sunday mornings with you by day. The one you want to wake up to every morning, fight over movie characters settings with, argue over games with,  grow old and ridiculous alongside.

The one you want to spend the rest of your life with. “Welcome home, graduate.”

And for once, forever doesn’t feel like a promise too big to keep-it feels like home.

i hope you guys loved reading this story and if you did, please like and reblog it. thank you so much for reading it <3.

[st3velvr]

A little preview of my story dropping tomorrow <33

[st3velvr]

Guys I’m scared about this one….

[corrodedbisexual]

Here have a very self-indulgent giant gif of Steve's back that didn't fit into my gifset

[sheisjoeschateau]

just gonna add that to my Steve Harrington inspo files right QUICK— tysm 😌