don’t cream your pants.

ava, 24. my main is @carefisher!! i use this to reblog my favorite steve fics <3

[snoopyharrington]

girls just want to have fun!

summary: on a seemingly normal afternoon at family video, steve finds out a well-kept secret that everyone apparently knows, except for him: girls can like porn. content/warnings: smut-adjacent but no actual smut (still 18+/mdni), black cat!reader x golden retriever!steve dynamic, platonic stobin, steve reads playboy, himbo!steve energy word count: 1k

STEVE HARRINGTON IS SWEET, COMPASSIONATE, AND KIND. he's nothing short of foolish, if not a bit of a (lovable) himbo, and, as your boyfriend, is always extremely keen on making you feel good both in and out of the bedroom.

and even with his exceedingly well-liked reputation around hawkins, he apparently had absolutely zero idea girls could like porn.

the conversation happens one day when you make a harmless joke. you're visiting him and robin during their shift at family video; you, leaning back on your elbows against the front desk while steve pretends like he doesn't want to tuck his fingers into your belt loops and pull you in to kiss until his lips swell.

robin's reorganizing the front display of new arrivals while occasionally piping up with her own commentary, which steve reminds her is very much not asked for.

"what're you thinking about renting for movie night?" steve asks, fidgeting with a loose thread on the hem of his store-issued green vest. you hum, tilting your head.

"haven't really thought about it yet," you reply, pressing your lips thoughtfully. "maybe rob and i will just go for one of those skin flicks in the back this week."

robin snorts at your crass joke while steve cackles a little too loudly.

"yeah, like girls like dirty movies."

and that's when all hell breaks loose.

suddenly, the conversation comes to a halting screech. robin's eyebrows shoot up to her forehead and your look of confused distress is certainly no better. your boyfriend, abruptly filled with insecurity, stumbles over his words.

"why are you guys lookin' at me like that?" he demands. "what'd i say?"

robin sets the stack of tapes she's holding down on the floor. "steve," she says slowly. "...you do know girls can have an interest in porn, right? and like... nudie mags and dirty books, and all that kind of stuff. the same way guys can."

he blinks, and you swear you can see his brain exploding piece by piece.

then, he turns to you.

"when were you gonna tell me this?!" he exclaims, hands slapping down on the counter.

"i thought you knew!" you cry, arms up in mock defense, "you've had girlfriends before, i didn't think i had to explain how libido works—"

"libi— i don't need a lesson in anatomy—"

"oh jesus christ," robin mutters to herself, walking away with a shake of her head. you grab steve's arm and haul him in the direction of the break room, where you can talk freely without robin listening (and promptly reporting back to the rest of the group).

"first of all, libido means sex drive, steve. you're thinking of labia," you quickly explain. his plush lips form a small o-shape, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "secondly, yes, anyone can like porn. you know playboy has a magazine just of men?"

"what?!"

"yes, it's called playgirl, and—"

"wait, how do you know that? do you read it?"

you flash him a dirty look. "no, steve. when i was in middle school, maddie crowe stole a copy from her mom and we looked at it at her sleepover party."

steve's eyes widen. "damn. good for maddie crowe's mom."

you digress.

"well... you don't rent those dirty movies from here, do you? you and robin aren't, like, secretly trading pornos?"

you can't help the laugh that breaks free from behind your lips before shaking your head. "no, no. nothing like that."

a look of relief washes over steve's face and he leans forward, loosely intertwining your fingers together. you give his hand a small squeeze; a wordless form of affection and assurance tied into one.

and then, steve smirks — classically boyish, like he always does before he says something that ends with you smacking his chest or rolling your eyes.

"so if not dirty magazines... and you're not renting movies... what are you into, then?"

expectedly, you glare at him.

"i'm just asking!" he exclaims in mock innocence. "you found those playboys i have hidden under my bed..."

"mhmm," you nod, remembering the day the kids, as usual, arrived at steve's house unannounced, sending you into a panicked flurry as you ran around his bedroom, trying to locate where your boyfriend had thrown your bra and panties. you hadn't been angry about the skin mags, especially because they were from the years he'd been in high school, before you'd even met. they were just... there. steve claims he barely uses them to get off now, but if you're being truthful, you wouldn't care if he did — not when you have your own stash of material.

"sooooo..." steve loops his fingers through the loops of your denim jeans, pulling your chest flush against his. you laugh and bat at his chest.

"fine," you mutter, making his eyes widen with excitement. "i have a small collection of... dirty books."

for a second, it looks like steve's brain short circuits.

"books?" he repeats.

you nod, "yeah. they're, like, sexy books."

"baby... books aren't sexy."

you glare at him.

"i beg to differ," you bite. "they're all pretty much describing and writing out sex scenes and stuff. okay, maybe it doesn't sound super hot, but i promise it is, and—"

steve's grinning now as you ramble, capturing your lips in a kiss and cutting off your tangent explanation.

"i'm kidding," he mutters, plush lips brushing against yours. "i think anything that gets you off is hot. maybe you can read me your favorite sometime."

"in your dreams, harrington."

"maybe it will be," he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows, "my new fantasy, hm? you reading me your dirty books while you ride me."

"sounds like a lot of work on my end," you fake a pout. "maybe while you go down on me instead."

steve groans, ducking his head back to expose the soft skin of his throat.

"yeah, i knew i loved you for a reason."

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader | 2.7K | angst, comfort, mentions of throwing up | pregnancy fic

masterlist

You were glaring at Nancy Wheeler.

You were irritable and hormonal and so aggravated that it radiated from you with enough heat to burn those unfortunate enough to be near you. But heartburn had been vicious enough to keep you up for most of the night before and the only thing you were able to keep in your stomach was cherry flavoured slushies from the movie theatre lobby.

But still, Nancy hadn’t done anything to warrant your pregnancy induced wrath. Not really. Steve, on the other hand, well—

“I can go with Nance,” he repeated, looking at the map and then back at Hopper. “If Jonathan wants to stay here with Will, that’s cool. I can go with Nance and check out this zone here.” He pointed to a space on the map that was outlined in red marker and he didn’t seem to notice the shift in the room, the unease as Nancy glanced at you and grimaced a tight smile. “We’ll check out the building beside the old library and—”

“I’m still here, you know,” you let your hands drop noisily onto the table top, frowning as everyone stared anywhere but at you. “If Jonathan doesn’t want to do this crawl, then Nancy can stay here and I can go with Steve—”

Hopper’s sigh cut through your annoyed words, his eyes squeezed shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. But before he could reprimand you - no, remind you - why that was an absolutely awful idea, Steve spoke first.

“What?” Steve’s brows were furrowed as he looked over at you, confusion and amusement settling into his pretty features. You were sitting on the other side of the table from him, the oak a battlefield between you. Your hands were on your stomach, no bump to be cradled yet but it was nice all the same. “What’re you talkin’ about? You’re not going anywhere.”

Maybe if the boy had added something sweet at the end, maybe if he’d finished his statement with a honey or a sweetheart instead of a huff of laughter, it wouldn’t have stung as much. Maybe if he’d been sitting beside you instead of shoulder to shoulder with Nancy as they poured over the map, it would’ve been easier to take. Maybe if your organs weren’t rearranging themselves inside of your ribcage to make room for life you were growing you wouldn’t have snapped.

But—

“I’m eleven weeks pregnant, Steven, not dying.”

Your tone was too sharp, too snappy, your eyes too narrowed. Everyone else in the room held their breath and Nancy ducked her head, sliding away from your boyfriend in a move that was too deliberate to go unnoticed. Robin’s brows shot up, Joyce frowned with a sad understanding and Jonathan turned to look out the window, feigning too much interest in the iron tower outside.

“I didn’t say that,” Steve tried to placate. He gestured at you, at your soft stomach, hidden behind a too big WSQK sweatshirt. “But we’re doing a recon in a new zone, honey, not a day trip to the spa.”

You hated how your stomach flipped and curled, you hated how your eyes pricked with heat, tears gathering in the corners and you sniffed. “I’m well aware,” you fired back. God, this wasn’t the time or place for a lovers quarrel but you couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t shut up. “But this is crawl forty two and no one has found shit. I’m perfectly capable of carrying a flashlight and checking behind some trees.”

Hopper opened his mouth, looking like he was about to interject but Joyce appeared at his side, her small hand catching his much larger one and she shook her head, lips drawn thin. This was better left to the two of you, despite the audience that you both held.

Steve straightened up, crossing his arms and setting you with a stubborn stare. You hated how his features hardened, frustration making his shoulders set, his jaw tense. You merely narrowed your eyes in response.

“Well, if it’s as easy as that, Nancy can do it,” Steve gestured to the other girl, his ex, still looking at you as if you were dumb, as if you were—

You were being irrational. You were being unfair. You knew that, you did. But you couldn’t stop the way all of it hurt and how all of it made insecurity and anxiety flare in the space between your ribs, and sure, maybe you were just tired but god, you couldn’t stop yourself.

You stood suddenly, the chair scraping back against the linoleum, as angry and abrupt as yourself. You kept one stuck one hand out, your watery eyes on the table, refusing to look at your boyfriend, refusing to let them fall before you got out of everyone’s way. “Gimme the keys.”

Steve’s face scrunched up, his eyes trying to find your own but you were too focused on anything but him. “What?”

“Give me the car keys, Steve!” You snapped but this time your ire was fractured.

Your lip wobbled, your throat broke your words in half, the edges of them splintering and you heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath behind you. Steve shoved his hand into pocket, metal clinking against metal in the silence and then they were dropped into your hand. No one said anything as you left, the door slamming behind you.

And then:

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Steve?” Robin was gesturing towards you, brows raised expectantly at the boy. “You’re just gonna let her drive herself home like that?”

Steve’s cheeks were pink. He was rattled. On edge at the idea of you wanting to put yourself in danger, confused at the thought of you thinking he’d allow that to happen, furious at himself for handing you the keys and saying nothing more.

“Shit, Robin,” he declared, hands raking through the ends of his hair before he flung them outwards. “What do you want me to do! I’m not putting her in danger, okay? Not— not now. It’s better if she’s at home, where’s she’s safe, fuck, where I know she is, alright?”

No one said anything. No one said a word. But Robin shrugged and twisted her lips and then the sound of the beamers engine roaring to life made

Steve dart from behind the table and out the door.

The sun was achingly bright in the sky, the blue of it making Steve squint as he raced across the gravel. It crunched under his sneakers and he swore as he slammed his hands on the front of the maroon hood, his car coming to a dead stop just as it nudged against the tops of his thighs. He breathed out a sigh of relief that you hadn’t done something drastic in your anger, like run him over. But still, he gazed at you through the mud specked windscreen and let his shoulders sag.

“Baby,” he tried to placate. “Open the door.”

You stared hard at him, eyes watery but unwavering, your hands still on the wheel and the stubs of the door locks still firmly jammed down. Your lip was still wobbling, your face unfairly hot and the half slice of toast you’d had for breakfast that morning was making itself known in your stomach. Your hips were aching, you’d had heartburn that had cut your sleep in half and you were so tired.

“Baby,” Steve murmured, his voice quiet from outside the car, but you heard the love in it, the soft empathy, the understanding. You took your hands off the wheel as the first hiccup broke your resolve, a fat tear spilling down the round of your cheek and Steve walked to the driver's side door. “Let me in, honey, yeah?”

You flipped the locks before clambering over the middle console, clumsy and through watering eyes, not looking at the boy as he slid into the seat you’d left empty for him. The sound of both your seatbelts clicking into place broke the silence and Steve’s hand curled around the top of your thigh before he drove off, dust kicking up as he left the radio station behind.

Neither of you said anything as he drove back into town, empty fields billowing past the windows in a gold-green blur. The walkie at your feet crackled with static before it fell silent, as if the caller on the other end thought better than contacting either one of you right now. You didn’t look at your boyfriend as he drove, slower and more carefully than his usual style, his gaze sliding over to you as he approached amber lights, his eyes softening as he watched your hands rest over the soft of your stomach, cradling someone neither of you could yet see.

You sniffed a sorrowful, watery sound and it made something in his chest crack. Steve still didn’t say anything, not yet, not in the front of the car, but he gave your thigh a squeeze and a soft hum came from the back of his throat, a warm sound, as if to say he understood.

He pulled up to your apartment and opened your door for you before you could even reach for the handle. Steve took your hand as you both walked to your residence, slipping his own key into the lock as you finally gave in and sank to his side, your forehead resting on his shoulder as he wrestled with the shitty second lock.

He didn’t ask you if you wanted something to eat, or some ginger tea. He didn’t ask if you wanted him to run a bath for you. Steve left the lights off as he led you across the small space, past the tiny kitchen and through the living room. He didn’t bother switching on the TV, or asking if you wanted to watch another lame movie. No, he walked you into your bedroom that you now very much considered to belong to the both of you.

It still smelled like Steve’s cologne from when he got ready that morning and his clothes were stacked on the chair with your own, ready to be put away. His watch was laying on the nightstand on the side of the bed he’d claimed as his, the bedsheets still rumpled, his sweatshirt half hidden under the pillow. He guided you into the mess of it all, a dreamy mix of fresh sheets and Steve. He scooped you into him, pulling you into his arms as you both sank into the pillows, the sheets and duvet covering both of you up to your chins.

It was only when you’d stopped crying, when Steve had stopped peppering tiny kisses over your hairline, the slope of your cheekbones, that he spoke.

“If anything had to happen to you,” he stated, his voice frighteningly unsteady, “I think I’d die.”

The thought made your heart stop and start again, alarm bells and red flashing lights flooding the inside of your brain. You shook your head, rearing back from your place against the boy’s chest to glare at him for even speaking such a thing out loud but Steve pulled you back in with a gentle hush.

“No, no, hey, just listen to me, yeah?” His hand caught the nape of your neck, his thumb pressed just under your jaw and he cradled you to him like that, your cheek pressed to his chest and his head laying atop your own. You could feel his heart more than you could hear it, the thumpthumpthump of it that reminded you he was very much still alive. “Just listen, okay?”

You nodded.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He said the words with such intensity that you had no choice but to believe him. “You’re like, too good to be true, y’know? I never— shit, I never once thought I’d be lucky enough, or, or, good enough to be with someone like you.”

“Steve—”

“No, I mean it. I do. And I didn’t want you to get caught up in all of this, that was never the plan and please believe me when I say I know you’re more than capable, okay? You can do anything, baby, I know that. Especially holding a flashlight and looking ‘round some trees. You’re so smart ‘n you’re so brave. You’re fucking perfect.” Steve swallowed, the motion a stuttering thing as he tried to work out how to say his next words without fucking it all up.

“Look, I got into the whole fucked up situation for Nancy. Right? Everyone knows that. I walked into it and stayed to help her fight.” You stiffened and Steve felt it, his arms pulling you in even as you tried to edge away. His nose bumped your own as he moved into your space, forehead touching yours and he whispered the next part. “But that was years ago and now… now? I wanna get away from it all for you. Okay? For us. I’m gonna do whatever I need to do so we can make it out of this. I’ll do anything for you, baby, anything. Because if anything has to happen to you, I don’t think I’d survive one fucking day without you in it. So you just say the word and I’ll pack up the Beamer and I’ll drive us anywhere you wanna go. Somewhere with a good school, with a, shit, with a park down the street and a back yard with a swing.”

You were crying as you curled your hands in Steve’s shirt, wet spots on the cotton as you buried your face in his chest. It would be so easy to nod your head and say yes to it all, to take the easy way out and just run.

“I stayed behind to help Nance fight but I’ll walk away to live with you. With our baby. Okay? That’s the difference.” Steve suddenly reared back and clasped your jaw in his palms, his eyes wide and watery and full of a panic you hadn’t quite seen before. His thumbs stroked over the apples of your cheeks. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and our baby safe. Whatever it takes for us to have the life—” Steve’s voice cracked, the words swallowed by a stifled sob. “Shit, for the life we deserve okay?”

Steve’s face was a blur before you, your eyes filled with too many tears to see through. It made your shoulders shake, your chest heaving and hiccuping at the enormity of it all. Steve’s words, the baby that was growing week by week inside you, the tragedy and uncertainty that lay ahead. You believed Steve, you believed every word he said. The car would be packed tonight if you asked, bags shoved in the trunk as you both drove out of town, wheat fields, arcades, radio stations, monsters and friends left behind.

You thought about your friends then. Robin, Dustin, Hopper. Their faces as they realised your home was empty and the car was long gone. You wondered if you’d be able to leave a note, if there were the words for that kind of goodbye. You didn't think there was.

And after a while, once your tears had stopped and your face was warm and tacky with what was left of them, you lay in the crook of Steve’s arm as you both stared at the bedroom ceiling. The sky outside the window was navy now, the moon the only light in the apartment. You could hear the faint rush of traffic from a few blocks over, the not so busy streets clearing out as people made their way home for the night.

“We can’t,” you said to the ceiling. You weren’t sure if Steve was even awake and god, your voice was hoarse and tired as you spoke. “We can’t do that.”

“No, we can’t,” Steve agreed. He shifted, turning into you, his lips finding your own. He tasted like salt and home and the kiss was a sweet thing, achingly tender and slow. The kind you’d get after a first date, the kind that made something in your tummy twirl and flip. He pulled back, letting his knuckles gently graze the middle of your tummy. “We can’t leave them. But I can do everything possible to keep you safe instead.”

You gazed at him, the night close to swallowing you both whole, his eyes almost black, his skin shadowed in deep blues and purples. He looked so serious. So scared.

So you nodded and hoped to whatever god there was that being jealous of Nancy Wheeler was your biggest problem to come.

[stevescheekcut]

anyway in my mind steve and dustin’s sister (the love of his life) move to chicago but visit the kids super often and are the middle point between everyone moving away so they host and they have a couple kids and a cat and are happy and far away from hawkins

[fru1t4fr0gs]

Sweet Dreams, Baby - Part 3

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Steve Harrington was never the plan, but somewhere between saving the world and babysitting a gaggle of unruly kids, it happened. Now, while being with Steve might just feel like the most natural thing in the world, hiding it might just be more stressful than…well, saving the world.

Or: Steve gets drugged by the Russians, and Dustin finds out.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of sex, Steve having just a major, major crush, Mentions of drugs, Canon-compliant mention of animal death (RIP Mews), Loverboy Steve, Chaotic sibling dynamics (it’s Hendersons c’mon), ANGST! (y’all know the plot twist by now), Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's Note: Part 3! This one is long and cute and as usual, full of angst at the end. Plus, we get TWO flashbacks in this one!! Special thanks to @flowersforbucky for proofreading this bad boy. As always, your feedback fuels me and I love it!! Please let me know what you think!

(This is part of the series Sweet Dreams, Baby. If you haven't checked it out yet, please do!)

(Song: My Girl by the Temptations)

-

“So…”

“So.” Act casual. Act like you don’t care. Be cool.

“Farrah Fawcett hairspray, huh?”

Oh come on. Can he catch a break, here?

“Fucking Henderson.” He mumbles, fighting the urge to reach up and touch his hair with a self-consciousness that is so foreign to him it makes him want to gag.

“Yes?”

“You know what I mean.”

You laugh, and the sound is music. Beautiful music. He’s noticed you were pretty before - how could he not? You went to the same school for four years and he’s not blind. But Christ, if he’d just taken the time to actually look at you. To notice your laugh, maybe, or the way your nose scrunches when you’re frustrated, or the way your heel digs absentmindedly into the dirt when you’re nervous…

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. He can’t stop noticing it. A few hours ago, you threatened to kill him in a pretty graphic way if anything happened to your brother, and Steve is pretty sure he’s in love with you.

“Hey,”

“Hey.” You don’t even know, do you? That if you picked a star in the sky he would climb for eons just to see the smile on your face when he brings it back for you.

Fuck. Act cool, Harrington.

“Does Dustin have a crush on her? Max?”

He blinks, unable to hide his surprise. “I thought he told you everything.”

“Not everything.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“In his defense, the hairspray thing is hilarious. You can’t blame him for that.”

“I’m still gonna.”

You laugh again. His heart explodes into a thousand tiny butterflies. Pink, sparkly little butterflies, because the feeling is so ridiculously cheesy that they may as well match it.

“So, does he?”

“Do you want my advice?”

“Will it matter?”

He smiles, and nudges your shoulder. The movement gives him a whiff of your perfume, and his knees almost buckle. “Don’t get involved.”

Your nose scrunches a little. Frustrated. Cute. Dammit.

“I-“

“Just trust me, okay? If he wants your advice, he’ll ask you.”

Your nose scrunches a little more, but you nod.

“So it’s just you and him, huh?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Must be tough.” Act like you don’t care. Act like you don’t care.

“It’s fine. We get along pretty well. He’s a smartass, but he’s not so bad.”

And Steve, being an only child himself, believes you.

For about ten minutes.

And then he lets it slip that Dart ate your cat, and the way you whirl on Dustin makes his blood run a little cold.

“It what?”

Oops.

“You’re telling me, that the thing I told you not to keep not only turned out to be a demogorgan, but it ate the cat?!”

“Oh God, she’s got the crazy eyes.”

You lunge. Dustin shrieks, high pitched, and darts behind Steve.

“You think I won’t go through Harrington to get to you?”

“Okay, let’s not-“ Steve tries, but you dart behind him. Dustin runs around him, until the two of you are getting very close to circling him like a tree.

“Child abuse! Help! Child abuse!” The smaller Henderson shouts, and you circle Steve again before he does the first thing he can think of to diffuse the situation.

As you round him again, his arm shoots out, and he catches you off your feet, yanking you back into his chest as you flail in his grip.

“Calm down.” You keep squirming, and he has to wrap his other arm around you to keep you in place. “We seriously don’t have time for this.”

Dustin stops, eyes wide as he watches you give up the futile fight to escape Steve’s grip and wring his neck.

“We’ve really gotta keep this guy around.” He says, and you curse as you start wiggling again. Steve just hikes you up a little higher against him with a roll of his eyes, and he is definitely not thinking about how he can smell your shampoo when you’re this close. Or noticing how easy it is for him to…well, manhandle you. That would be pervy and weird, right?

“Knock it off, Hendersons.” He seems to have discovered a new voice. A babysitter voice.

You do not respond well to the Babysitter Voice when it’s directed towards you.

“Why am I the one being restrained, here?”

“Because you’re the one trying to murder your brother.”

“He doesn’t listen.” Steve’s arms are still locked around you, and you’ve stopped trying to shove him off. He should probably let you go, but you could definitely move to attack Dustin again, right? He’ll just hold onto you for a minute longer. Long enough to ensure the kid’s safety. “And because you don’t listen you almost turned all of us into monster kibble!”

“He missed me! He wanted-“

“He could have eaten you.”

“But he didn’t!”

“Oh my God.” You groan, knocking your head back onto Steve’s shoulder with an exasperation he can feel humming through your whole body. The movement makes your soft hair tickle the underside of his jaw. He tries not to notice it. “You have the self preservation instincts of a blind hamster.”

“You’re just super paranoid! Not everything in the world is trying to kill me!”

“This thing. This specific thing was very much trying to kill you!”

“Calm down.” Steve says again, and this time he lowers his voice for you, turning his nose into your temple. It takes everything in his power not to inhale the scent of your perfume like a fucking creep.

You grumble, but relax. Just a little. Just enough. Dustin raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously, dude. How do you do that?”

Something like pride prickles in his chest. He has to fight the urge to tighten his arms around you. The implication that he’s calming you down, and that apparently the ability to do so is rare enough that it’s shocking the person who knows you the most, is…nice. Really nice.

He’s about to say something else. Maybe make a joke. Maybe press his nose a little more into the side of your head to see if you’ll relax more. Maybe-

But a screech in the distance distracts the both of you, and the way you turn in his arms to investigate makes your breath brush over the hollow of his throat and he has never felt anything like this before. Never felt so overwhelmingly dizzy just from the smallest touch from a girl.

And that’s what you are, right? You’re just a girl. He’s talked to plenty of girls. Flirted and dated and slept with enough to give him that stupid moniker of ‘King Steve’. It’s always been fun. Just fun and maybe a little exciting and very much manageable.

But when you pull away from him, and take the bat from his hands to walk head-first towards the potential danger, your absence leaves him cold. And he’s not following the sounds when he trudges on behind you. He’s following you.

And he is so, so fucked.

-

“Oh my God, what happened?! What the hell did they do to you?” You surge forward at the sight of Steve, bruised and caked with dried blood, and barely manage to stop yourself from cradling his poor injured face right in front of Dustin and Erica.

It doesn’t matter, though, because his arms fly out the moment you untie him, pulling you into his chest and burying his bloody nose in your hair. He stumbles with how quickly he shoots to his feet, nearly knocking you both to the ground, and you make a startled noise as he hums against the side of your head.

“I’m so glad you’re here, baby. I was just talking about you.”

Panic shoots down your spine, and you wonder for a moment if you imagined the words.

“We have to run- wait, what did you just call her? Steve, what are you doing?!”

What he’s doing is peppering your forehead and temple with kisses, leaning against you so heavily that you’re more focused on keeping him upright than you are horrified by his actions - or, more specifically, who he’s doing them in front of.

“Shit. Okay. Come on big guy, time to move.”

“Yeah, I’ll be your big guy.” He purrs, and you can feel your face burn as you catch his wrists to pull his wandering hands off of your ass.

“What the hell?” Okay, so Dustin is definitely seeing this. Maybe you can lie. Maybe you can find a way out of-

“I love you so much, baby.” With your hands distracted by holding his wrists, Steve seems to decide that you’re in the perfect position for him to lean down and kiss you.

“What the hell?!”

“Mph.” You reply eloquently, the sound muffled by your boyfriend’s lips, and release Steve’s hands to to push him gently but firmly off of you. He smiles, eyes full of sappy adoration, and you move to herd him towards the door.

“Run.”

He does, thank God, though not five minutes later he’s still giggling and trying to reach for you through the barrier between you and the drivers seat as you whip a cart around narrow corners. While Erica might be a little more distracted by the danger you’re frantically trying to flee from, she might be the only one. Robin is giggling. Steve is still trying to reach for you. Dustin is burning a hole into the side of your head with his gaze as you stubbornly keep your eyes forward.

When you’re in the elevator, finally, it’s a little harder to hide.

“He’s burning up.”

Steve tries to push through your hand, leaning in for a kiss with a wide grin, and you have to lean back far enough to nearly stumble against the wall. His response is to snatch you up, spin you, and pull you to the ground into his lap.

“What the hell is happening?” Dustin shouts, in that panicked-frustrated tone you’ve become painfully used to since the world started ending every time it feels like you’ve finally caught your breath.

Robin bursts into another fit of laughter, and you make a note to kill her later as you grab Steve’s jaw to look into his eyes.

“His pupils are super dilated.” Focus. Focus. Deal with all of this later, help your boyfriend now.

“God, you’re pretty.”

“Did they drug you?”

“I love you.”

“Steve.”

“What is happening right now?!”

“Dustin, shut up.”

“He is kissing your neck!” Dustin sounds like he’s about to gag. Or have an aneurism. Maybe both.

When you were in the third grade, you were in a school production of Peter Pan. Now, it seems, is the perfect time for Tree Number Four to bust out her acting skills.

“No he’s not.” You say, as Steve’s lips continue their journey over the column of your throat.

“He just said he loves you!”

“No he didn’t.” And Steve mumbles the words again, bane of your existence that he is, like hearing the fact that he’s said them has just reminded him that he should say them again.

Robin’s laughter is louder, now. You’ll kill her first. Then Steve.

“Have I been blind?” Dustin asks, before Steve nuzzles your cheek and his hand flies up to cover his eyes. “Can I make myself blind?!”

“Do any of you ever shut up?” Erica snaps, and you’re too busy pulling Steve’s hands off of your ass again to tell her to be quiet.

“Are you boning my sister, Steve?” And that is the shrill, young voice of Dustin Henderson freaking the fuck out.

“No!” You both snap at him in an odd harmony, and you almost relax, because maybe Steve isn’t too far gone to keep up with the lie.

“We’re making love.” He says, emphatic, as he pulls back to kiss your nose with a sloppy grin. Welp, there goes that dream.

Dustin starts gagging.

“He’s just on drugs.” You try, a little desperately, as your boyfriend presses another kiss to the side of your head. “He’s out of his mind.”

“No, stop.” Steve says, and when he pulls back he’s pouting so hard it would be downright adorable under any other circumstances. “I’m so sick of hiding it. I love you so much, I wanna tell everyone. I wanna stop sneaking in through your window. I wanna kiss you and touch you in public. I want people to know that I love you.”

“I know.” Robin says helpfully, from where she’s sitting on the floor a few feet away. “It’s like, all he talks about.”

Steve just keeps talking, absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair. “And we’re so good together. I make you happy. And the sex is incredible-“

“Please stop talking.” Dustin says, gagging again, and you’re too moved by Steve’s words to even turn to glare at him. His eyes are so full of love, so pleading and earnest and sweet, and his dilated pupils only serve to make him look more puppy-like. Your heart is melting. You hate him right now, but your heart is very much melting.

You reach up to brush your fingers over his bruised cheek, and he turns his face into your hand.

“Okay.” You say, and he smiles so wide you wonder if it might hurt. “Okay, yeah. We don’t have to hide it anymore.”

“Really?” He asks, like you just offered him the moon, leaning down to bump his nose against yours.

“Really.” His smile gets even wider, and he sways as his arms wrap around you. “I want that. I want a..real relationship. No more sneaking around.”

“I wanna be with you forever.”

Your own smile widens now, and he kisses your nose again.

And when you kiss him, he’s still grinning, and the sounds of your brother’s dramatic gagging are pushed way into the background.

-

“I think,” you muse some time later, leaning your back against the wall of the bathroom stall as Steve groans and drops his head miserably onto your shoulder, “that that might be the most I’ve ever seen anyone puke in my life.”

“It wasn’t exactly a gentle wave over here.” Robin grumbles, and your laughter makes Steve cringe, even as you feel him fight back his own chuckle against your shirt.

“How bad was it?” He asks after a moment, pulling back to look at you. You wish you could comfort him. You really do.

“You mean when you told Dustin how sex with me is incredible?”

“I think he might mean when he shoved his tongue down your throat.” Robin says, and you bite your lip to hide your snort of laughter.

“Yeah, that too.”

“Both of you knock it off, please.”

“Why? You love me. You wanna tell everyone how much you love me.”

He snorts, nudging your leg with his own, and slides his arm around you.

“You smell like puke. And blood.” You try to grouch, but you don’t pull away.

“Your dirty talk is getting so much better.” He jokes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You okay?”

“I’ve had worse.” He mumbles, the words muffled by your hair. “Better now.”

“I’m fine, too.” Robin groans, and you smile as you pull away from Steve to slide beneath the stall.

And you talk.

And when you’re all giggling, somewhere between muppet impressions and Steve pressing sweet kisses to your cheek, Dustin walks in.

“Seriously?” He asks, and you laugh again.

-

Your house, or the version of it in the Upside Down, is awful.

You hate it here. You hate how much it looks like home. How wrong and sickeningly familiar it is. You even hate how you thought maybe, just maybe, when you first got here, that you could go home and find some way back to your real home. Some way to communicate, at least. Something.

There had been nothing, and you can’t stay in one place too long before something finds you, so you left.

But now you’re back, because plan W has something to do with a slingshot and double D batteries, and you know where Dustin used to keep those.

The house is quiet. Everything is quiet here, save for the occasional click or screech from one of the countless monsters lurking in the dark.

You’ve started singing to yourself sometimes, quietly, just to drive away the silence. To keep yourself from truly losing it, as insane as you must sound.

“I’ve got sunshine…on a cloudy day…” The amount of times Steve has sang this stupid song to you, serenading you over the car radio or in your kitchen with the dramatic flair of an absolute dork, has made you wonder more than once how he was ever considered cool in high school. “When it’s cold outside…I got the month of May…”

You can almost see it now, as clear as if the memory were playing out before your eyes. Steve in front of that radio right there, the one you screamed into a thousand times when you first got here in the vain hope that someone would hear you, singing into a spoon like it’s a microphone and catching your hand to spin you into his chest.

Little do you know, right now, in another dimension, that damn useless radio is on. And in this moment, it isn’t entirely useless.

-

Steve is running out of countertop, and the house is already a mess.

He all but moved in after everything happened, but his Babysitter skills are not Grieving Caretaker skills. He’s in your home. With your brother. Not sleeping, barely eating, and trying to make Dustin do both of those things while the two of them also spend every free minute arguing and trying to come up with theories. Plans. Ways to find you or find a gate or something.

Take care of Dustin.

You would probably be pissed at him.

If it weren’t for Robin, Johnathan, and Nancy coming over at regular intervals to force food into them and clean up a bit of the maps and pictures, they both might not have even survived these past couple of weeks.

He’s alone, sitting over one of those maps with a pen hanging out of his mouth, when he hears it.

Radio static.

The pen falls from his lips, clattering onto the counter.

And then. Oh God, and then…

“Why can’t, you say, what can make me feel this way…”

You might not have the best singing voice, and the song is hushed and drowning in static. You sound like you’re in pain. Like you’re weighed down by old and new injuries. Still, it’s your voice, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“My girl…talkin’ bout- oh my God, I get it. Big scary monsters here. Cool it with the screeching and the clicking and the-“

Steve leaps over the fucking counter, almost slamming face first into the radio.

“Hey. Hey.” Please. Please let this work. He fiddles with the dials, nearly ripping them off in his desperation to strengthen whatever signal might be crackling through.

Nothing.

“C’mon, baby. C’mon. Hear me. Hear me, please.”

More silence. More static. The singing has stopped.

And then.

“Steve?”

He nearly falls to his knees right then and there, gripping the sides of the radio hard enough that he might leave a dent in it.

“Hi. Hey. Yeah, yeah, it’s me. It’s me, baby. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

The crackling fades in and out. Slow. He hears your voice, so distant and far away, and his fingers grip the radio tighter, like he can pull you through it if he just fucking tries hard enough.

“…Dustin…okay?…where…”

“School. School. He’s at school.” You don’t know what day it is, do you? You don’t know what time of day it is. The realization makes tears prick in his eyes, the overwhelming need to get there and protect you making him feel physically sick.

“…long? How long?”

You don’t even know how long you’ve been there. Oh God, you don’t know how long you’ve been there.

The radio crackles again. Steve’s gonna break it if he holds it any tighter.

Think. He needs to think.

“Is there- can you get to a walkie?” He and Dustin have planned for this. For what they would do if there was any sign. Any hint that you might be alive. He can’t let go of the radio. He can’t risk walking away from you. But if this works…

“…think so.” Crackles through, and Steve takes a deep, deep breath.

And then he bolts, and begins to rip the damn house apart.

-

Upstairs. Under Dustin’s bed. It should…

God, when did you stop caring about the sliminess of this place? Everything is damp and cold. The act of reaching under a bed is like sticking your hand into a swamp. A swamp that might contain a monster that will bite your hand off.

Your fingers close around the walkie, and you scramble to wipe it off and click it on.

Nothing.

Shit.

You run back downstairs, nearly tripping more than once, and make it back to the radio in record time.

Nothing.

“No. No, no no.” You hit the damn thing. Once. Twice. Then hard enough to break the volume wheel and bruise your hand. “Please. Please, no.”

You think it might be worse, now. Now that you’ve heard his voice. Now that you had hope, just for a second, only to have it ripped away.

For a second, you felt warm.

And now the cold is overwhelming. The loneliness is crippling. The fear is ripping you apart. You sink to the floor with your stupid, useless walkie in hand. You look at the stupid, useless radio.

You feel every bruise, now. Every cut. It hurts. It all hurts.

You’re so, so tired.

Not for the first time, you feel the freezing tendrils of something sick and otherworldly beginning to creep into your mind, taking advantage of your pain and hopelessness like a parasite. Promising you sweet, comforting relief. Every time, you’ve fought them off. Every time, you’ve pushed them away.

This time, you let them curl around you. Because what’s the point? You’re not getting out of here. You won’t escape. And it hurts to fight. It’s cold, and it’s lonely, and you want… you want…

‘It’s okay.’ And the voice isn’t the gravelly, demonic one of Vecna. This voice is smooth. Calm. Warm. It’s Henry, trying to pull you in. Knowing that you’re here, and trying to find where you are. ‘You’re so tired. I can make it better.’

Your head falls back against the cupboards. Your eyes close.

‘So strong, for so long…” you don’t want to be strong anymore. ‘Come to me. Let me make you-“

“Can you hear me? Do you copy or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to say? C’mon, please-“

Your eyes fly open. The tendrils whip back like they’ve been burned.

“Steve?” The machine crackles less than the radio. His voice is clearer. The tears begin to fall before you can stop them, a dam held together for so long finally cracking.

“Oh, thank God. I’m here. I’m here. Are you okay? Talk to me.”

“I’m…” oh God, “I’m okay.”

Silence. Silence that stretches long enough that you worry the walkie might have broken. You hold it tighter, watching your own tears spatter onto the plastic.

“I’m gonna get you out of there.” And that breaks a sob from you. “You’re gonna get out of there, okay?”

You can’t speak. Another sob breaks free before you can catch it.

“You’re the girl who threatened to kill me if anything happened to those kids, remember?”

It feels like a million years ago.

“I had to lift you a foot off the damn ground to keep you from trying to sock Billy Hargrove that night he came for Max. And you elbowed me hard, by the way. I was already head over heels for you, so I forgive you for it. But you fight like a feral cat, baby.”

You think he might be crying, too. You curl in on yourself a little more, huddling into the corner of the kitchen and trying to stop the flow of tears. You survived this long by being numb. By shutting down as hard as you could. The spark of comfort, of familiarity, of longing to be home where Steve can tell you everything is going to be okay, like he always does, no matter how dire the circumstances may seem, is igniting a fucking bonfire of emotion in your heart.

“You’re gonna get out of there. Dustin’s got a plan. We’ve got a plan.”

“I’m so tired.” The words leave you too quickly to catch.

“Just a little longer. I’m gonna get you out of there. Just a little longer.”

You nod, but you know he can’t see you.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s the exhaustion. The pain. The fear. Maybe it’s just the sound of his voice after so long with nothing but growls and clicks and screams and that asshole creeping into your thoughts every time you let your guard down.

But as your cold fingers rest against the filthy linoleum floor, nails cracked and fingers stained with dirt and grime, you think Steve might be sitting right next to you, mere inches and yet millions of miles away. Because something warm wraps through your fingers, and they curl a little with the invisible, barely there force of a hand holding your own.

“I love you.” His voice cracks, in that way it does when he’s terrified but trying to keep it together. Usually for the kids. Sometimes for you.

“I’m not gonna die here.” And you’ve said it to yourself a thousand times, but this time you mean it. You really, really mean it. “This asshole isn’t gonna get me, okay? I’m not gonna die here.”

You tilt your head, and you swear you can feel the warmth of his shoulder, just as real-not-real as his hand in yours.

The walkie crackles again, but you don’t think the connection is fading. You think he might be crying.

Still, his voice comes through clear as day, a little cracked and choked with tears, but clear.

“That’s my girl.”

-

Dustin Henderson comes home to chaos.

The house is usually chaos, now. Papers everywhere, maps scribbled and crossed out, plans half-finished. But now couch cushions are thrown around. Drawers are open. Papers are on the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” He grumbles, dropping his bag onto the couch. He swipes at his nose again, cringing at the pain of the movement as his hand comes away smeared with blood. Steve’s gonna give him shit for it. And yet, it’s the fourth time this week someone has accused Eddie Munson of killing his sister in the ‘earthquake’. “Did you finally lose it?”

When he rounds the corner, he sees Steve on the kitchen floor, hair even messier than usual like he’s been running his fingers through it. 

There’s a walkie talkie in his hand.

When he looks up, his eyes are red. Rimmed with tears.

He clicks the walkie on, and speaks into it.

“Dustin’s here.”

No. There’s no fucking way. It’s not possible. It can’t be possible.

The walkie crackles, just for a moment, and then a voice comes through. One he’s known his entire life. One that is strangled with emotion and tinny through the machine.

“Hey, dork.”

And, for the first time since the day Eddie died, since the day you went missing, Dustin Henderson drops to the ground and cries.

-

Taglist: @wifeyofeveryone, @theendofthematerialgworl, @itmekelpy, @likeitcouldbelove, @misscats-mha, @hipsternerd9, @drag0nl0v3rlol, @xxwtfaikoo, @readinf, @samaiisposts, @sorryimstupidrn, @femurgetokill, @sexyvixen7, @kissmxcheek, @onlyangel-444, @blujaybirdy, @emeloyy, @wherethewiildthingsare, @bambijuicee, @devotedlyteenagemusic, @simpcentralnumberone, @nightofthesea, @butmyincome, @loverslakess, @dayswithoutcoffee, @electrifiedsnakehedgehog, @chalametnpeaches, @diseldaisy, @imsogonesposts, @tuckerpillsburyswife, @erideight, @ana27qz

[hungharrington]

love the idea of gentle morning sex but hear me out!! sleepy delirious sex when it's two am and you've just finished a movie marathon w steve and ur both unbelievably horny but so tired so it's just hours of teasing and being soft w/ each other <3

this oh sweet jesus anon i LOVE you this is precisely the sort of ideas i want to be sent always, just soft…. sex…. fjdhdhdhd

You’re in his lap, arms slung loosely around his shoulders, as your thighs do all the work. 

It’s late. Through the gap in Steve’s curtain, a sliver of orange streetlight streaks through, lighting the ripples of the bedsheets. The clocks reads 2:12 A.M. The television is on, staticky in noise and grainy from how long it’s been running — this must be the fourth film by now. 

Except, neither of you are really watching. Attention is elsewhere; on the scrape of his lips, sheened so pink with spit as they give and give kisses upon your own lips. On the grip of his hands, fingernails leaving half-moons where they hold your hips, a measure of his barely restrained control. On the roll of his hips up into yours, divine and unrelenting, as you fuck him slow and messy. 

He’s leaned back against the headboard, sitting up enough to keeping himself as close to you he can to you as you ride him. Besides the gravel of the television, volume on low, the only noises come from you two; lilting moans of pleasure between the sticky noises of sex. 

Time doesn’t seem to matter, doesn’t even exist like this — love and pleasure overtake, intermixing in your shared breaths with every delicate moan. You’ve been going for god knows how long. He’s already had you on your back, thumb playing with your clit as his other hand had held your thigh at just the right angle. Now, your thighs are sticky with arousal and so are his, your slick getting the both of you deliciously messy. Steve loves it. 

“Mm, that’s it,” He murmurs, eyes fixed on you intensely. His cheeks are pink from the heat and he’s got that hazy look in his eyes, inching closer to being completely fucked out. Little sweet noises slip from his throat, between his words. “Fuck, s’so good- you’re so good, so wet,” 

A whimper of ecstasy escapes you. It feels good. Steve’s cock sliding in and out of your cunt, sweet and slow, just the way you need it. The ache in your thighs is bearable, fueled by the slight rock up and down. It’s worth it for the way his cock stretches you out, fitting snug in your hot, wet cunt. You think this might be some form of heaven— getting this, here with Steve. He’s beautiful. 

His chest is beginning to glow pink like his cheeks, hazel eyes containing such fondness touched with lust. There isn’t anyway to feel under his heavy gaze except desired. Loved. You clench around him, driving your hips down a little harder and are rewarded with a stuttered gasp. 

“Christ,” he groans, fingers flexing on your hips. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Stevie,” you gasp, voice all breathy and high. You can feel your thighs slowing down and whine aloud, dissatisfied. You’re not even close to embarrassed at how needy you sound as the next words fall out, “Closer, please baby, need you—“ 

Steve moans a bit, hands sliding from your hips up to trace gentle lines along your arms, fingertips kissing up to your shoulders. Your hips slow, the soft sounds of slick going quiet. 

“C’mere,” he insists, pulling you forward. You let him, leaning into him and letting yourself be gathered in his arms— his chest is burning warm and as you press against it, you feel his hot cock twitch inside you. Your arms stay looped around his neck as you let him take a moment to reshuffle, arms twining around your middle tightly. It’s a hug, you realise. It devastates you how well he does this, how well he loves you. 

Steve’s almost lying down now, strayed diagonal on the bed, still propped up by some pillows but you’re closer now, much closer. His tummy presses into yours, biceps hugging you down into him — you bury your face into his neck. Press a kiss into his skin and hide your next whine in a mouthy lovebite, when he moves, one gentle roll of his hips into your cunt- the head of his cock pressing the one spot that makes makes you keen. 

“That better, sweetheart?” He asks, fingers gracing up your spine briefly. His voice is muffled to your ears but you nod quickly, knowing he can feel it. It’s so much fucking better. You’re not sure you can talk right now, beyond saying his name. You feel stretched, feel gooey, feel fucking good. 

“Mm, yeah,” you manage breathily. You clench around him again, shifting so your ankles tuck over his thighs, giving the leverage needed to fuck yourself down on him. You start slow, working back up the pace. “Love this,” you murmur, sounding sick with love. “Love you.” 

Steve’s arms tighten around your middle, a quick inhale. He makes a small whimper, his own face tucking into your neck. “I love you,” he whispers, words thick. “Love you so much,” Then he’s moving, hips meeting yours in the middle perfectly. 

The angle makes you downright delirious. Held down against his chest in a bear hug, his fat cock sliding in and out at an unbearably slow pace, building your pleasure agonisingly. You whimper into his neck, clutching him tighter. Steve moans brokenly, his voice raspy as his pace picks up, hips snapping up into you — wet sounds mixing with the soft slapping of skin on skin, sweet moans between the static of the television. 

And when the clock flicks over to read 3:00 A.M, you’re both one orgasm in and not any closer to being done. 

[pretentious-blonde]

confidence

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a few cocktails and an evening with Robin reveal a new side to your boyfriend, one you really didn't see coming

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, scars, alcohol consumption (reader does not partake), graphic descriptions of sex, oral f receiving, p in v, cocky steve, condescending steve (ikr!! just trust me), all around filth here, steve has one too many cocktails and runs with it

a/n: this was so fun and is my treat for putting you through all the angst (and there will be more trust me) but hey, consider this part a catharsis. we also needed to get robin involved for what comes next so this is what you get. tipsy steve is WILD you have all been warned.

series masterlist

You scramble around your flat, tossing items from one surface to the next, desperate to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything crucial. Keys, check. Purse, check. Chapstick, check. 

Whatever you have on your vanity table feels like it’s winking at you, reminding you that, no, you’re still not quite ready. But you can’t let yourself fuss any longer because outside, through your window, you catch the glare of headlights and hear the impatient beep of a horn. 

Steve’s here—and he’s been here, and you should have been ready ten minutes ago, at least.

You’re still excited, even though you’re late, because tonight is special. Tonight’s the night you finally get to meet the Robin Buckley, the person who’s been such a staple in your boyfriend’s new stories. 

He was determined to pick the “nice bar” in the next town over, the one that apparently “played the good music.” 

You had to bite your tongue. His idea of “good music” usually lines right up with the biggest chart hits, but you figure hey, if he’s excited, you’ll go along for the ride. What matters is that this night is one of his design, and you find it completely endearing that he’s gone out of his way to make it special for you and Robin both. 

He can listen to Ace of Base as much as he wants... even if you have to stifle a fond snort whenever he’s not looking. 

He’s told you so many wonderful (and ridiculous) stories about her that you practically badgered him into setting this up. Tales you hadn’t been privy to before—now slowly unravelling as he let slip new, juicy details bit by bit.

Your big chance to meet the girl who’s shared so much of your boyfriend’s humour and history. And if tonight ends up being half as fun as the pictures you’ve conjured in your head, you’re in for a wild ride.

You snatch your bag and do one last mirror check—just a fleeting glance, making sure your dress is sitting just right and your hair hasn’t decided to rebel. This time, you went for something a little more daring: a flirty dress that shows off your figure in a way you know Steve won’t be able to ignore. 

On a good day, he could barely keep his hands to himself—let alone after last weekend. Taking things all the way had only cemented his need to be close to you, and now, whether in public or private, he always had to have some part of him touching you.

And in this dress? You knew his hands wouldn’t just wander—they’d roam.

Maybe, by the end of the night, you’d let them.

Finally, you rush out, keys jingling in your hand, and clatter down the stairs leading to your shop door. You lock up carefully, tugging the handle to ensure it’s secure—no matter how excited you are, you still need to be responsible—and you pivot on your heel and walk out onto the pavement.

Your steps falter as your eyes land on your boyfriend, casually leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking completely at ease—like this wasn’t a big deal at all, just another night to unwind. But even in that brief glance, you could tell he’d put in just as much effort as you had. 

He’d told you to dress up a little and clearly, he’d taken his own advice. The oversized jumpers and worn jeans were nowhere to be seen. 

This Steve was something else entirely. 

And Jesus, he knew how to clean up well.

He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to hint at every plane and angle of his torso. Over it, a sleek black suit jacket, open in front, sleeves rolled just enough to conceal the marks, but also revealing his toned forearms.

It’s like some casual afterthought, but you know him better than that. Every detail is deliberate. The jacket’s tailoring is perfect, nipping in at the waist and broad across his shoulders. It gives him a certain sharpness, a polished edge that you’re not used to seeing in his typical laidback outfits. 

And by God, does it work—too damn well, if the heat creeping up your neck is anything to go by.

His sunglasses perch on the bridge of his nose, not because of one of his migraines—you’d recognise that look a mile away—but purely to complete the aesthetic. They’re modern, minimalist, and do nothing to hide the playful smirk curling at the corner of his lips

The glint of something metal at his wrist (a simple watch) catches your eye, and then your focus is back on his face, following the neat slope of his hair. It’s perfectly styled, golden-brown waves shaped in that signature swoop, but smoother, sleeker—like he spent real time in front of the mirror, carefully combing each strand into place until it sat just right. 

By the look on his face, he knows you’re staring—knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He watches you approach, eyes dragging over you slowly, drinking in the sight of you just as shamelessly as you’re doing with him.

You step toward his car, face warming at the sight of your date. He lowers his sunglasses in one exaggerated motion, revealing the hint of mischief in his eyes. A slow whistle slips from his lips, just as corny as you might have expected—and somehow twice as charming.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs, letting his gaze travel over you from head to toe, “you walk up to me looking like that, we might not make it to the bar.”

Heat seeps into your cheeks, and you roll your eyes in a halfhearted attempt at nonchalance. It’s near impossible to pretend you aren’t melting under the weight of that gaze. 

“I could say the same,” you counter. “What happened to Mr. Harrington, huh? Thought you were all about faded jeans and paint covered nikes.”

He throws back his head with a laugh, then glances at his watch, pretending to read the small face. 

“We might still have time for me to swing home and change if it's—”

You bat his wrist down before he can so much as move. 

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. Because right now, he looks so sinfully delicious you can hardly keep your focus.

“Really—it’s no problem,” he jokes, though the playful glint in his eyes betrays him. His hand slides behind your neck, warm and sure, and your breath hitches at the teasing sensation of his touch.

“It’s gonna be hard to concentrate on anything coming out of your mouth tonight,” you admit, pulse jumping when his thumb brushes a circle over your skin. Pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head, nudging some stray hair off his forehead. 

“Good,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “I’m alright with being your eye candy.” 

He leans down, kissing you in a way that makes your toes curl and your mind fog over. On instinct, you try to deepen it, hands sliding to his lapels, but he draws back with a soft chuckle.

“Whoa there, angel,” he murmurs, his voice playful. “We’ll get to that soon enough.”

You pout, bottom lip pushing out a fraction. Instantly, he shakes his head, one brow lifting. 

“Hey, don’t go getting all pouty on me.” He brushes your lower lip lightly. “You’re the one who’s been on my ass about this whole thing.”

He had a point there. 

Damn him. 

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” you relent. “But you’ve got to make it up to me when we get home.”

The shift in his expression is downright wicked as he leans in. 

“Honey, with that dress?” He tongues the inside of his cheek in a way that sets fire to your nerves. “I’ll be more than making up for it.”

The bar is chic in that slightly pretentious way—low lights, plush seating, a neon sign glowing over shelves stacked with rainbow-coloured bottles. The bass of some popular track flows through the speakers. 

You can’t help but grin when Steve, ever the gentleman, strides ahead to pull open the heavy door for you. He gives you a playful nod as you step inside, his hand warm against your back. It’s reassuring, filling you with the same confidence he seems to be sporting tonight.

“After you,” he teases, voice low, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you pass him. Even though it’s cheesy, there’s an endearing sincerity beneath his grin.

Once you’re both settled at the bar, he presses a kiss to your temple before glancing at the bartender. 

“What’ll it be?” he asks, tipping his head toward you.

“Just a tonic water,” you say as he frowns.

“You sure?” he drawls, leaning in. There’s an irresistible tilt to his lips, a look that says he’s perfectly fine with either choice as long as you’re happy.

“Yup.” You nod. “You go crazy, though—it’s your night out.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your night out too,” he points out, turning his body to face you more fully.

“Ah, yes, but I have to make a good first impression,” you shoot him a knowing smile.  “Remember?”

He slides a hand around your waist, squeezing you into his side. There he goes with the full on physical affection. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he shrugs as his fingers trace your shoulder. “If I’m anything to go by, Rob’s got questionable taste in friends already.”

Your laugh escapes in a soft huff, and you lean your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, savouring his comforting heat. 

“We’ve gotta work on your self-deprecating humour,” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket.

He snorts, pressing another quick kiss to your temple. 

“I told you, angel, I am working on it.”

When he lifts his arm to catch the bartender’s attention, you let your gaze trail over him: the lean lines of his shoulders, the way his hair curls just so. You feel a stir of something low in your stomach at how ridiculously good he looks in the dim, moody lighting. 

Watching him come out of his shell was absolutely delectable—seeing him navigate a crowded room with such ease felt like witnessing a victory in real time, a step forward that was physical proof of progress.

He places the order—your tonic, his own cocktail—and is about to make another witty remark when there’s a gentle tap on his arm.

You glance over to see a brunette woman with an explosive grin, practically vibrating with excitement. She’s dressed up just enough for the night—high-waisted black trousers that elongate her frame, paired with a silky button-up in a deep, jewel-toned shade, the sleeves casually rolled to her elbows.

Her face is alight as she meets Steve’s eyes, and she looks moments away from flinging her arms around him—though she’s clearly checking herself, as if aware of exactly how he handles the unexpected. When he spins, and his entire face brightens in recognition.

“Hey, you made it!” he exclaims, wrapping her in a hug that’s enthusiastic. She squeaks as he squeezes a bit too tight.

“Oof—yeah, I did,” she laughs, patting his shoulder. “Yep—alright—good to see you too, maybe let’s not crush me to death?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says sheepishly, releasing her. Straightening up, he glances back at you, a hint of a blush crawling across his cheeks. 

This is it—the moment he’s been waiting for. He’s known you for a few months, but somehow, it feels like so much more. This is the event he’s imagined over and over, finally introducing you to his closest friend. 

The idea of bringing a romantic partner into this part of his life had once felt so far out of reach, but now that he can? 

That’s exactly what’s fueling his confidence tonight.

“Uh, so… this is—this is who I’ve been telling you about. This is my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

He pauses, savouring the word like it’s something that delights him every time he says it—because it does. 

His eyes flick to Robin, and he can tell there’s something on the tip of her tongue as she takes in his expression. He knows how proud he must look, how transparent his feelings are, but for once, he can’t bring himself to care.

He steps aside for you two to be introduced properly. Her eyes are bright as she takes you in, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“So, you finally asked her?” she asks him, but she’s already beaming at you like an old friend. The excitement in her voice makes your own heart feel more at ease.

Steve’s flush deepens. “Yeah—yeah, I did.”

The girl doesn’t hesitate. She engulfs you in a hug, and the warmth of her personality radiates through every second of contact. 

“Oh my god, I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back just enough to look at you but still keeping her hands on your arms.

You can’t resist flicking your gaze at Steve over her shoulder, your lips curving into a playful smile. 

“Really?”

You didn’t expect any less. 

“Oh absolutely, who do you think he called after every date you guys had?” She steps back to give you a little breathing room. “You should’ve heard him. He was like—”

“Hey, hey—no,” Steve interrupts, pressing one hand to his friend's shoulder. “Can we not share all the embarrassing details of my life right now?”

“Get a few more drinks in him, and you can ask him yourself.” She snorts, rolling her eyes at you. 

Steve laughs, feeling your eyes flick up to him. He doesn’t need the drinks to loosen his tongue—he’s already so hopelessly smitten with you. That much was obvious.

Still, he’s eager to get the night started, to show you off the way he’s been dying to.

“Alright,” he says, finally breaking that little reverie, “I got the drinks, you two go find a seat.” He turns to Robin. “Rum and Coke?”

As always.

“Ugh, yes,” she says, linking her arm with yours. It’s easy, natural—there’s an immediate sense that you’ll get along just fine. As the two of you meander toward a free table, she leans in conspiratorially. 

“So… did he tell you about the ice cream uniform?”

“Oh my god, yes.” A flash of amusement dances across your face. “Please tell me there’s more?”

Her chuckle is mischievous. 

“Oh yeah, there’s a lot more where that came from.”

Time feels fluid as the three of you settle into conversation, the low thrumming pulse of the bar’s music weaving around your table, though not too loud to drown out your voices. 

It’s been a while since you first claimed your seats, and yet you barely notice the hours slipping by. Every story Steve and Robin launch into starts with them tossing playful jabs back and forth, only to pause mid-sentence and glance at you, beckoning you to weigh in. 

You find yourself giggling along, giving opinions on whether a certain scheme was more ridiculous than some ill-fated date night, or whether one of them was actually to blame for a mishap they still remember. They trade banter like it’s second nature, and you feel like you’ve been part of their duo from the very start.

At some point, the discussion circles back to their high school days—a topic they both seem to have endless material for. You’re practically on the edge of your seat, soaking in every detail they’re willing to spill. Robin leans forward, clutching her glass as she narrows her eyes at Steve with playful accusation.

“Well, this guy could have been hanging out with me a lot sooner,” she says, wagging a finger in his direction, “if he’d actually paid attention in class, that is. Did you know I sat behind him in history for a whole year? Yeah—a year.” She stretches out the word for emphasis. “Didn’t even remember it.”

Steve huffs in protest. 

“Hey now, that’s not entirely true—”

“Yes, it is,” she cuts in, her grin bright with triumph. “When we both started working together, he introduced himself to me. Honestly, like I didn’t already know who he was.”

“In my defense,” he insists, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I was trying to focus.”

“You were so not.” Robin snorts. “How many tardies did you get that year?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. 

“I passed, didn’t I?”

“Barely.” She arches an eyebrow, and you laugh at the indignation blossoming on your boyfriend’s face.

“Yeah, well,” he shoots back, folding his arms across his chest, “how many times did you have to take your driving test, huh? What was it—three? And who was stuck chauffeuring you to band practice before class even started?”

Robin’s jaw drops in mock outrage. 

“That’s not fair, driving is hard!” She punctuates her point by thumping Steve’s shoulder, though there’s no real force behind it.

“Yeah, sure it is,” he snickers. “Especially when you shut your eyes at a junction because you’re scared to get on the freeway.”

She shoves him more firmly this time, but her eyes sparkle with affection. You can practically feel the fondness thrumming between them. Every playful jab is undercut with closeness, revealing just how much they trust one another. 

Steve is so at ease—practically glowing. There isn’t a hint of the anxiety you sometimes catch in his eyes, no shadow of the stresses he’s hinted at before. He’s all laughter and bright colours here, the multiple cocktails probably loosening him up even more.

Watching them, it dawns on you just how special his friend is. She’s watched him become the man he is, seen him through phases you’ve only heard vague references to. There’s a sweet, sibling-like bond between them that would have made you insecure if not for how purely platonic they obviously are. 

They’re too busy ribbing each other and finishing one another’s sentences to harbour any romantic tension. And the sincerity in their smiles, the way they drift into each other’s personal space—this is the foundation that’s helped him grow. As you observe the two of them, you feel nothing but gratitude towards her.  

Does he feel this way around you too? 

Or is this kind of bond reserved for someone who’s known him since high school, who’s seen him through everything.

You lean in closer, meeting his gaze as his expression softens. As you sip your drink, you catch the way his playfully annoyed look melts into something fonder—a small, boyish smile taking its place. 

He nudges your foot under the table, a quiet little gesture just for you, as Robin continues listing her many reasons for despising driving. When he shoots you a wink, you can’t help but hope that one day, you’ll share that same camaraderie—the kind that comes with knowing someone inside and out.

The conversation drifts into a lull before Robin suddenly pipes up again, leaning toward you with a conspiratorial glimmer in her eyes. 

“Has he cooked for you yet?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows as if preparing you for some shocking revelation. “He better have with all the work I put in teaching him.”

“Oh, he has!” You nod eagerly, sipping your tonic. “I guess I have you to thank, huh?”

“You sure do.” She leans back with a self-satisfied grin, crossing her arms. “Should’ve seen him the first time I tried to get him into the kitchen—boiling an egg was apparently a herculean task.”

The boy groans in protest, shooting her a halfhearted glare.

“They cracked! That’s not my fault.”

Robin laughs, drink nearly sloshing over the rim. 

“Yeah, because you turned the heat too high.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he defends himself. “They get hot and break.”

Bless him.

“Uh, no, Steve.” You try to stifle your own laugh, but fail completely. “It’s because the water was boiling too hard, they bang around in the pot.”

His brow furrows in puzzlement. 

“That’s what that is?”

Robin's expression matches your own, and both of you fall into giggles again at his earnest confusion. 

God, he’s sweet. 

“Seems like I have more work to do,” she sighs, taking another sip of her drink.

“Clearly,” you agree, throwing Steve a playful side-eye. He raises his hands in protest.

“Wow, okay—” he says, rolling his eyes, “so you’re both ganging up on me now?”

He sees how it is.

Typical. 

Robin props her elbow on the table, her head tilting back with a grin that’s gone a little hazy from too many drinks. 

“Yeah, well,” she begins, voice lilting with mischief, “you have gotten better. Remember when you basically refused to go into the meat aisle? You said it smelled like the tunnels, but I asked Dustin about it and he said that—”

She’s halfway through the sentence when Steve stiffens, his foot giving her a not-so-subtle nudge under the table. At once, the mirth drains a bit from her face, and she glances over at him, clearly realising she’s stepped onto sensitive ground. 

You perk up—another piece of information. But instead of clarifying anything, it only adds to the puzzle. 

A tunnel? 

Steve had never mentioned that before, but your brain immediately tries to slot it into the story you already know. Was there a tunnel at the old mall? 

It's possible.

But that wouldn’t make much sense in the context of meat. He worked at an ice cream shop, not a damn butcher’s.

“Sorry.” Robin whispers, looking apologetic. You know you were not meant to hear that apology and you couldn’t help your curiosity. 

“What?” Your eyebrows draw together. “What is it?”

Tell me. 

“It’s nothing, sweetheart.” He forces a tight-lipped smile, shrugging a little too casually. “Don’t worry about it.”

You want to be sad, but you can’t. And you certainly can’t press him on it, not here. Not when he was so excited about tonight, so eager to show you off.

You feel his hand resting on your thigh, but now there’s a tension in it that wasn’t there before. That shift, that change from the easy one he had just moments ago, is what makes the decision for you. There will be other times for this, other moments to piece things together. But not now.

You exchange a lingering look between them—Robin mouths out another apology, and he gives her a small, forgiving nod. 

You don’t dwell on the moment. Besides, you still have a new piece of the puzzle. 

That was better than nothing.

By the time you step out of the bar, it’s just past midnight, and the cool air rushes to greet you. Steve is practically attached to your side, his arm draped over your shoulder as though he might topple over without your support. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and you can’t help but find it adorable—his usual guarded composure replaced with an open, slightly wonky, grin.

And it's hilarious to witness.

“C’mon, Steve,” you coax, wrapping an arm around his waist for balance. “We gotta get back.”

He’s clearly not ready for the night to end as he opens his mouth to protest. 

“Nooo, we can stay,” he pleads, turning big eyes on Robin, who stands nearby with her own contented smile. “Rob, tell her we can stay. She got all dolled up for this, wouldn't be fair—”

You exchange a conspiratorial smile with her. Leaning in close so Steve can’t quite hear.

“Does he always get like this?” You whisper.

"When he drinks?" Robin stifles a laugh. "Oh yeah, big time—gets super sappy."

Then, turning toward the pouting grown man beside you, she huffs. 

"I told you to take it easy with the mojitos."

Steve was clearly not listening. 

“Pssh, whatever,” he interjects, only half hearing her. “I don’t have to be up tomorrow, and neither do you,” he says, pointing somewhat dramatically at Robin.

She lifts a hand, palm out to stop his rambling. 

“Yeah, well, if I go home to Vickie like that, she’ll have more than a few choice words for me.”

He tips forward in a woozy attempt at reassurance. 

“You can… you can blame it on me?” He offers, voice trailing off into a sweet but slurred laugh, like he can't even take himself seriously.

His friend just shakes her head, clearly endeared. 

“Nice try—but no.” She says before turning to you. “You alright getting him home?”

Glancing up at your boyfriend—his eyes half-lidded, a sleepy smile hinting on his lips—you nod, your own fondness tugging at your heart. 

“I’m sure I can handle him,” you confirm with a tiny smirk. 

You’ve guided him through worse nights than this.

“Alright, Steve, let go of your girlfriend for a sec so I can say goodbye,” Robin says, trying her best to be stern. He frowns but reluctantly loosens his hold on you.

You slip away long enough for her to wrap you in a quick hug. Her voice is brimming with excitement as she pulls back. 

“We have to do this again. I haven’t even told you about working at the video store and his terrible sorting system—”

"Hey!" A spark of protest ignites in Steve's gaze. "I don’t wanna hear it, alright? It was superior to whatever—" he waves his hands in front of him, searching for the right word, "carnage you had going on."

“Alphabetical is far from carnage.”

He huffs, nose wrinkling in mock indignation, but even through his tipsy state, he can’t hide the affection in his eyes. He tugs Robin into a hug goodbye and you can feel the tenderness between them. 

And just like that, you’re left with a very happy, very tipsy Steve Harrington—who has promptly glued himself right back to your side.

You guide him, swaying on his feet, into the passenger side of his car. He flops in with a soft grunt, blinking as though everything around him is subtly moving. You close the door gently, careful all of his limbs are inside, before walking around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The interior still carries the faint trace of his cologne, a small reminder that—despite how he looks right now—he is, in fact, a put-together adult. 

Well, mostly.

“All right, Mr Harrington,” you say, scanning the dashboard. “Where’re your keys?”

He puts on an exaggerated, perplexed expression, patting his chest and shaking his head. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about…”

Rolling your eyes, you lean over, determined. 

“We are not going back in there,” you tell him, stern enough to make him give you a dramatic pout when he realises you won’t budge.

“Fine,” he mumbles, fishing around in the inner pocket of his blazer before finally producing the car key. He hands them over, and you give him a grateful smile, slipping them into the ignition.

“Seat belt?” you prompt.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sighs as though you’re asking the world of him. His voice is playful, edged with that mellow tone people get after a few too many drinks.

“You’re so bossy,” he continues in a tone that cannot be taken seriously. “Are you usually this bossy?”

“Well, sorry for caring about your physical safety,” you fire back, carefully easing out of the parking space.

“Always looking after me, aren’t you?”

He releases a soft laugh, leaning against the passenger door, his eyes remained fixed on you. 

“Someone’s gotta,” you reply, face softening as you glance over at him. “You feeling okay, or are things spinning?”

“What? I’m fine.” His eyes widen in mock indignation. “Do I not look like fine?”

You flick a wry smile his way. 

“You look drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he objects, though his lopsided grin and rosy cheeks tell a different story.

You look at him now—not as perfectly put together as when he picked you up, but somehow, he looks even better. 

His hair is no longer an art form, tousled and a little wild, and his posture has lost all its careful composure, slumped and comfortable. His eyes, softer now, lock onto yours, completely unguarded. 

He looks utterly relaxed—and for him, that’s something big.

It seems like the perfect time to test just how far gone he is, just a little fun—tease him while he’s in this gullible, blissed-out state.

"Good," you start, the drawl in your tone unmistakable, eyes flicking over him knowingly. "Because if you were, I would’ve stayed the night. Helped you through the hangover tomorrow."

“What?” His reaction is immediate. “You’re not staying?” He sits up straighter as if you’ve just admitted to murder.

You shrug with as much nonchalance as you can manage. 

“Not sure. I have a few things I need to get done tomorrow…”

"No—baby," he blurts out, sounding more pitiful than you’ve ever heard. "I’m so drunk, practically wasted here—can’t even see straight."

“Oh yeah? That bad, huh?"

"So bad," he nods vigorously, eyes wide with dramatics. "You gotta stay."

He tilts his head just enough to sell it. 

"C’mon, what if I wake up miserable and there’s, like, no one there to feel sorry for me?"

A laugh bursts out of you. His soulful, puppy-eyed expression tugs on your heart. For a moment, you feel a tiny pang of guilt for teasing him—but it was just so goddamn easy.

“All right, then,” you relent. “I guess I’ll have to stay—” you shoot him a sly smile, “just in case.”

His relief is obvious. A broad, boyish smile breaks across his face, and he exhales a dramatic sigh as he melts back into the passenger seat. 

By the time you park outside his place, he’s steadier on his feet—though still leaning on you for support, but you suspect it’s not from the drinks. His fingers trail along your waist and up your spine, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you for even a second. 

Once inside, you gently push the door shut behind you and help him shrug out of his blazer. He doesn’t flinch or resist—not a single indication of the usual tension that sometimes appears when his arms are exposed. 

Whatever self-consciousness he carries about his scars is nowhere to be found right now. As soon as the it’s off, his hands return to your waist, pulling you flush against him so he can bury his face in your hair.

“Steve,” you murmur, pressing a hand to his chest. “Let me get you some water.”

“In a second,” he groans, leaning down to brush his lips against your jaw. “I haven’t given you nearly enough attention tonight.”

“You’ve given me more than enough, trust me.” You laugh softly, sliding a hand up to his cheek to coax him back. “C’mon, water first, then bed.”

He lets you guide him into the kitchen, though he still can’t resist peppering little kisses along your shoulder whenever he can sneak them in.

At the sink, you fill two cups of water—familiar with where everything is kept by now—but the moment you straighten, he is behind you, his chin hooked over your shoulder, lips lightly grazing the side of your neck.

“Hey—nuh-uh," you chide, reluctantly. “We can’t right now. You’ve had a drink.”

No matter how much you want to.

“No—can’t do that to me.” He groans dramatically, pressing himself against your back. “Y'knew what you were doing with that dress. Been thinkin' about it all night…”

A flush warms your cheeks at his plea, you turn in his arms and hold out the glass. 

“Drink this, please?”

His frown is exaggerated, but he dutifully tips back the glass. Downing the water in a few large gulps, then setting it aside, blinking down at you with heavy-lidded adoration. You stifle a laugh and take a sip from your own cup while he keeps his gaze locked on you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity.

“Steve…” Your cheeks heat even more.

It's the drink talking.

“No, I’m serious—” He shakes his head, eyes soft. “Couldn’t believe it when I saw you tonight—was just… so excited to have you on my arm, for everyone to see.”

See how far he'd come.

The statement makes your heart thump, and when he lifts a hand to brush some hair off your forehead, you lean into his touch.

“You think she liked me?” you ask quietly,. A half smile curves on your lips as you probably know the answer, but you need the reassurance that you made him proud.

“Don’t think it’s possible for someone not to like you.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and your heart melts a little further.

“You’re real sweet when you’re drunk,” you tease.

“I’m sweet all the time.” His hands trail languidly down your arms, leaving your skin tingling in their wake. You nod, breath catching slightly. 

“Yeah, you are,” you admit, cheeks still flushed. His lips graze your neck again, sending a pleasant shiver through you.

“You gonna let me be real sweet to you?” he whispers, his breath tickling your skin.

You hum, gently pushing him back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s gazing at you so intently, smitten and serious all at once. The haze of alcohol may linger in his system, but the affection shining in his expression is crystal clear.

He looks down at you, catching the hesitation in your eyes. He knows exactly what it means—you won’t do anything unless he’s fully there, fully present in the moment. And that only makes him want you more. 

The fact that you’d wait for him, that you care enough to make sure he’s in the right headspace, has him feeling completely enamored.

But he’s right—he has been patient. And the cocktails? They aren’t clouding his judgment in any way that concerns him. He’s a little fuzzy, sure, but not intoxicated. Well—maybe by you. And if he’s being honest, he’s been itching to get his hands on you all night.

He drops a soft kiss to your lips, then pulls back. 

“I’m not drunk, angel,” he insists quietly. “Just a little tipsy.”

You still look unsure, and he sees it instantly. But Steve knows exactly how to sweet-talk you into trusting him—how to make you see that this isn’t the alcohol talking, that you're gonna be safe with him.

He's choosing this. 

"I want this, angel," he murmurs, nudging his nose against yours. "Not because I’ve been drinking—because it’s you. I've got you."

His fingers trace gently along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. You're nearly there.

The final blow.

"So if you’ll let me… I’d really, really like to show you just how much."

You cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his warm skin. 

How on earth can you say no to that? 

“Alright, we can—”

You’re cut off by him letting out a triumphant breath and scooping you right up, hands slipping under your thighs to support you as he strides toward the bedroom. You squeal, clinging to him in surprise as you try to talk through the stream of nervous giggles.

“Steve!” you exclaim, your laughter echoing off the walls.

He just laughs in return, the sound rich and throaty, carrying you through the doorway as though you weigh nothing at all.

He practically tosses you onto the bed in his haste, eliciting a squeak of laughter from you as your back hits the soft covers. It’s immediately clear there’s something different in him tonight—he’s excited, charged, and looking at you with eyes that burn like embers. 

Before you can fully process his transformation, his mouth slants over yours in a desperate kiss that has you gasping into him. His palms roam over your body, broad and possessive, like he can’t decide which part of you he wants to touch first.

A startled giggle leaves your lips when he breaks away to mouth along your jaw. You tip your head back, giving him room, unable to stifle a grin at how single-minded he is.

“Eager, huh?” you tease, voice breathless.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, pupils blown wide with desire. His hair’s slightly mussed from your fingers, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. 

“Honey—if you knew half the shit I was thinking about at the bar,” he says in a low rasp, “you wouldn’t be teasing me right now.”

A shiver courses through you—filled with pure want. There’s a spark of mischief in your veins. Something about seeing him like this, so unguarded, emboldens you. 

“Big words,” you reply, cocking a brow, “for someone who still hasn’t touched me properly yet.”

He barks out a laugh—almost incredulous, the corners of his mouth quirking like he’s delighted you’d dare to challenge him. 

“Is that how you wanna play tonight?”

He doesn’t know what’s come over him. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t drunk, but there’s a desperation bleeding out of every part of him, something hungry and entirely focused on you.

He feels confident—only spurred on by the way you’re pawing at him, the way you were looking at him all night.

Like you belonged to him.

For once, there’s no hesitation, no fear of disappointment when he will rid himself of his clothes. He knows you’ll like what you see, and that sends a realisation through his mind, tipping him straight back into King Steve territory—sure of himself and completely in his element with something he is verifiably good at.  

Judging by the way you arch up into him, the way your fingers grip at his skin like you need him closer.

You can feel it, too.

He gently gathers both your wrists, guiding them above your head, pressing them into the bed which sends a slow, delicious shiver down your spine.

He’s testing now, feeling out this new territory between the two of you. He feels you hold your breath and his grip stays firm—but never forceful. His strength is potent, but he wields it gently, a reassurance that you could break free at any moment if you wanted to.

He glances down at you, breath still heavy, eyes searching. His fingers squeeze yours once.

Are you okay with this? 

He waits, unmoving. 

And when your hands squeeze back, the answer is clear.

You’re allowing him to do this to you.

And fuck, that sends something primal through him.

He leans down, teeth grazing the juncture of your neck and shoulder in a teasing nip that has you keening.

“Careful what you wish for, baby,” he murmurs, moving his kisses along the curve of your throat. “I don’t do halfway.”

A thrill of anticipation flares in your belly at his words. This new side of him—so sure, so hungry—has you spinning. Each nip draws a gasp, your entire body stirring under the onslaught of sensation.

After one last kiss pressed into your collarbone, he releases your wrists and skims his palms down your torso, pausing at your hips. The shift of power jolts your heart when he slides off the bed, kneeling at the edge.

He wears a crooked grin as he grabs your thighs and unceremoniously yanks you closer, your lower half practically dangling off the mattress. Then he hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear, his gaze dropping like he’s savouring every detail of you.

He runs the pad of his thumb over the thin fabric, right at the wet patch where you’re most sensitive, and your breath seizes.

He’s gonna have some fun with you. 

“You know,” he murmurs, rubbing slow, tantalising circles, “I could be mean… take my time, really make you work for it.”

You swallow.

Hard.

Where the hell did that come from?

Steve has flirted with dirty talk before, tossing out teasing remarks that left you flustered, but he’s never drawn it out like this—never tested your patience with such slow, deliberate cruelty.

It’s so different from the way he usually is, and his look tonight only amplifies it. His all-black outfit is still visible through the planes of your thighs, a monumental contrast to the flustered, second-grade teacher you stumbled upon all those months ago—the one who could barely string together a sentence to ask you out outside his classroom.

Now he’s like this—in control, commanding, completely reveling in the role he’s taken tonight.

It hits you all at once: how much he’s changed.

How much he’s grown.

You can hardly imagine that past version of Steve taking charge the way he is now, and fuck.

It’s beautiful.

It makes you want to give in completely, to relinquish yourself to him, to let him feel what it’s like to lead again—to call the shots, to take what he wants, to be the old him once more.

“You wouldn’t,” you manage to retort, but your bravado falters the moment you see his face.

He arches a brow, amused by your statement.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chides as he runs a hand down your leg, “you know I would." He pulls himself closer to your core, never breaking eye contact. "Not just gonna hand it to you, not tonight—you’re gonna ask for it, real sweet for me, okay?”

You’re about to fire off another witty remark when he slips your underwear down your legs, the fabric disappearing in one swift motion. Goosebumps race over your skin at the cool air against your heated flesh. 

His eyes darken at the sight of how wet you are, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he fights to stay in control. You see his throat bob when he swallows, like he’s genuinely trying not to devour you on the spot.

A surge of embarrassment rises in your chest at how the exposure, but it’s overshadowed by the torrent of desire swirling inside you.

He settles in, nudging your knees apart, and plants soft, teasing bites along your inner thighs. The gentle scrape of his teeth makes you shudder. It’s maddening that he’s so close yet deliberately avoiding the place you need him most.

“Steve… please—”

You stop, voice cracking on the final syllable, unable to fully spit out what he wants. The vulnerability of wanting something so fiercely—of needing him so shamelessly—clutches at your chest. But he only smiles against your skin, smug and satisfied.

He's enjoying this.

“Mmm,” he hums “that’s a start, baby." His large hand presses lightly on your hip, keeping you still. "But you can do better than that, c’mon.”

Christ—he’s really doing it.

Making you earn it tonight.

His words shoot molten heat straight to your core, and your cheeks burn at how easily he’s backed you into this corner. You’re used to him being sweet, doting, bending to please you. Now he’s making you work for it.

A new wave of arousal slides through you, and your pride cracks under the tension. 

“Steve, fuck—” you grit out, “I need… I need your mouth on me.”

Your voice is so pitiful, so wrecked, that it makes him pause. Just for a second. Letting your request hang in the air between you. He tips his head back, eyes shutting as the pretty words sink in, echoing in his mind, wrapping around his ego like silk.

You always ask so nicely—so sweet, like you know he’s the only one who can give you what you need.

When his gaze drifts back down to you, his lips curl into a slow, wolfish grin, full of intent and promise.

You got it, angel.

“See?” he murmurs, voice buzzing with triumph. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His fingers grip the underside of your thighs, the press of his thumbs guiding you to spread open for him. He’s so sure in his movements—like he’s found a new rhythm to the confidence that’s always been under the surface.

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, silently asking for every ounce of trust.

“Now,” he purrs, “be good for me and hold still.”

Your half-formed reply dies on your lips the moment his tongue flicks out in a slow, deliberate stroke, and every one of your senses sparks with raw heat as you gasp.

The slick sound of him feasting on you, the wet slide of his mouth and the soft, desperate little hums in his throat—it’s a rush of sensation you can’t possibly process all at once. Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back, and you grasp at the sheets for any sort of grounding.

He’s relentless, and your responses only spur him in more, bracing his arms under your thighs and pulling you closer as he licks you in languid, thorough passes that have you panting. 

You’ve felt his enthusiasm before, but never quite like this—he’s devouring you, every flick of his tongue precise, and he's barely even started. His nose nudges in precisely the right spot against your clit, sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

You can feel his smile against you as you writhe beneath him, he knows exactly how good he is, and he’s revelling in it. And he doesn’t waste a second—doesn’t tease, doesn’t draw it out—just gives you exactly what you need, slipping a finger inside your walls slowly. 

He’s reading you like a damn book, tracking every little reaction, every shaky breath, every twitch of your body. And when he feels you clench down around his digit, a quiet, broken sound slipping from your lips, he looks up—just to see the glazed-over look in your eyes, the telltale sign that your mind has emptied of anything but him.

Perfect. 

Exactly where he wants you.

A strangled moan bubbles up in your chest, almost slipping free, but your reflex is to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing sound. 

Immediately, he notices your movements. He stills, bites down on your thigh—not too hard, but with enough force to jolt you out of your pleasured haze—and you gasp, eyes snapping down to meet his.

“Oh no, baby,” he admonishes, voice reverberating against your skin, “none of that. If I’m makin' you feel good, I wanna hear it.”

Flustered heat floods your cheeks. 

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, sweetheart, you were,” he cuts in with a smile that’s maddeningly confident. “But that’s alright.”

He reaches for your wrist, prying your arm away from your face. The gentle kiss he presses into your palm is so achingly tender it makes your breath stutter. Then, he guides your hand to the top of his head, tangling your fingers into his hair.

“Go on,” he murmurs, sighing when your fingers scrape against his scalp. “Keep me here. Let me finish what I started.”

You don’t need to be asked twice. Your grip tightens in his hair, trying to ground yourself against the swirling sensation of his mouth and hands. He groans in approval at the tug, the vibration sending fresh sparks of pleasure dancing along your spine. 

It’s overwhelming—the sloppy sound of him working, the heady smell of desire in the air, the blazing heat coiling in your stomach that’s already coiled too tight.

The pressure builds fast, almost too much. A litany of moans and half-formed pleas stutter from your lips, and your thighs clamp around his head, unconsciously trying to pull him closer. He doesn’t let up, his mouth so perfectly focused that you feel yourself hurtling toward the brink.

“Steve,” you gasp, voice cracking as you arch your back. “Please—I need you inside—”

He pulls back just far enough to meet your wild, pleading gaze. A cocky smirk paints his face, and you’re distantly aware of how your own arousal slicks the lower half of his jaw. 

He looks downright smug.

“So bossy,” he drawls, drunk on lust and repeating the earlier sentiment. He slips his fingers out, ignoring the needy tremor that wracks your body. “But you knew how this was gonna go—first you come on my tongue. Then you get my cock.”

Jesus.

Did he really just say that?

He dives back in without waiting for your reply. Shock ripples through you at the brazen filth coming out of his mouth, but it’s drowned by the delirious pleasure of his tongue lapping at you again. A strangled moan escapes you, and you tighten your hold in his hair.

The pleasure whips through you in dizzying waves, and you can’t hold on any longer—your voice cracks on a broken cry as you cum, your muscles seizing, back arching off the bed as he drinks in your release. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure blooming hot beneath your skin. 

He groans, feeling your thighs quake around him, but he only slows when you start to whimper that it’s too sensitive. Gently, he eases the pressure, placing a series of soft, almost apologetic kisses against your shaking inner thigh.

He could get used to this new confidence.

Especially when you reacted like that.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still hooded and dark, chest heaving as he looks at you sprawled on the bed. A deep flush staining his cheeks, seeming almost in awe of you—of what he’s just done.

Of what he was capable of. 

“Fuck—” he breathes, voice ragged. “That was so fucking beautiful.”

And he’s gonna make you do it again. 

He leans back on his heels, gaze tracking over your trembling form. For a moment, all he does is toy with the hem of your dress, the fabric rumpled from all his manhandling.

“Dressed so pretty for me,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along the edge of the material. “Should’ve been patient, taken my time peeling it off first.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to punch a hole through your chest. The desire in his eyes is thick—tangible enough that it makes every nerve in your body light up. You lift your shoulder slightly, desperate to be rid of the clingy fabric.

 “T-take it off—”

He huffs a low laugh and shakes his head, catching both of your wrists gently and pressing them back onto the bed. His grip is firm but never harsh, the contrast makes your pulse jump even higher.

“Ah-ah, sweetheart,” he chides. “Lemme enjoy it a little longer.”

You wore it for him, after all. 

Still fully clothed himself—his slacks pressing against your hypersensitive core—he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that has your head spinning. You can feel the rough fabric nudge between your thighs, stoking the heat that hasn’t subsided one bit since he first put his mouth on you.

His breath warms your neck as he breaks the kiss. 

“Begged so pretty for my mouth—how 'bout you tell me how bad you want my cock?”

His voice is all tease, dripping with amusement as he watches the effect his words have on you. He holds back a chuckle when you tug at his shirt. His impatient girl.

He knows what you want.

He’s not dumb.

He just likes watching how precious you are when you're needy.

“I swear—if you don’t—”

He grins, cutting you off.

“If I don’t what?” The low rasp in his voice vibrates through you as he finally lets go of your wrists to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, taking pity on you at last.

He doesn’t even register the scars covering his torso—you’ve already seen them, already traced them with careful fingers, already accepted them. Right now, that’s not what matters.

The only thing on his mind is you—how far he can take you, how much he can push with this new trust you’ve given him. He’s going to drag this out, drink up every second.

And later, when the night is over, he’ll revisit this moment again and again, replaying it until it’s burned into him,

Until it’s engraved into his eyelids. 

“You want me to take these off?” he drawls, glancing at your still mostly clothed figure, “What d'you think?” He pauses and pretends to contemplate his question. “Should I make you beg for that too?”

God no, you plead looking up at him. 

Your expression must be downright pitiful—eyes big, mouth parted—because after a few agonising seconds of letting you squirm, he exhales a soft chuckle. 

He’s not gonna be that mean. 

At least not tonight.

“Alright,” he says, voice warming, “waited long enough. Let’s get you out of this—before you tear it off yourself.”

Finally.

His hands move with purpose, helping you out of the dress in record time. The bra follows in one swift motion, baring your skin to the chilled air. The hunger in his gaze intensifies, and you instinctively cross your arms over yourself, but he gently pulls them apart with a soft, adoring look.

He might be all sharp tongues and teasing words, but he’s still your Steve—and it slips through the second he sees you like this, sees the softness in your naked body.

Every time, it wrecks him. Leaves him in awe, staring like he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He has to school himself, to remind himself why he’s here.

Not just to have you.

To make love to you.

Fuck you so good you forget your own name.

He stands to rid himself of his jeans and underwear, fumbling briefly with the button in his haste. The condom he grabs from the top drawer is on in a flash, and you can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes your lips.

“Were you planning this?” you quip, arching a brow.

He smirks, bracing a hand on the mattress as he crawls over you. 

“Wouldn’t call it planning,” he admits, “more like wishful thinking.”

He looks down at you, gauging every little reaction as he settles between your thighs, his mind spinning from the way you’ve handed yourself over to him tonight.

Every teasing thought that crosses his mind? 

He says it. 

Every slow, deliberate movement? 

He makes it. 

He’s always had a quick mouth, always had a knack for getting the last word, and it turns out that skill translates pretty well in the bedroom. 

From the way you’re responding—whimpering, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, he understands it's effect.

He drags his cock through your slick, soaking in the way you shudder, still sensitive from your last release. The broken little sound you let out nearly ends him right there. 

He almost slows down, almost stops to check in, almost asks if you need a second—

But then he sees it. 

That look in your eyes.

Like you’re seconds away from combusting. Like if he doesn’t fill you up right now, you might actually fall apart. That puts his mind at ease real quick.

You can take it. You can take him.

You always have, every curveball his fucked up life has thrown at you and now, this is your reward. 

His tough girl—so pretty, so pliant, and all his.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he murmurs, rolling his hips just enough to have you sucking in a sharp breath. "Fuck—bet I could make you cum again before I’m even all the way in—"

Your body clenches at the idea, but a flicker of alarm crosses your features. He notices and offers a crooked grin, leaning down to press a comforting kiss to your cheek.

You can have him now. 

"Shhh—I'll be nice, promise.” He assures, sliding his hand to the back of your neck. "I know—let me give it to you, yeah? Just how you like."

He pushes inside with deliberate slowness, guiding himself until he’s fully sheathed, and the stretch is a sharp, blissful edge that has your toes curling into the sheets. Heat flares bright as you take him in, your breath catching in your throat at the way he fills you.

"Shit," he breathes, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering shut. "You—fuck, you have any idea what you did tonight?"

His mind flashes to the bar—how pretty you looked, how fucking dangerous you stared at him, all soft-spoken and sweet while chatting with Robin, while his brain was miles deep in the gutter.

"Had me losing my fucking mind, baby—kept looking at me like you wanted me to bend you over the damn table—"

Your cheeks burn, fresh embarrassment creeping up your neck. Sure, you were flirting with him—but not to that extent, right?

The way his eyes darkened whenever you brushed against him, the way his jaw tensed, like he was barely keeping himself in check. And now, hearing him say it out loud, knowing just how much it got to him.

Yeah. 

You don’t regret it one bit.

“I-I didn’t mean to—”

His hips flex, drawing a startled cry from you. 

“No?” he challenges, leaning down so his breath skates across your lips. “Then why're you squeezing me like this, huh? Feels like you wanted it real bad.”

A strangled moan rips from your chest when he adjusts his angle, the friction almost too exquisite to bear. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moon imprints on his skin, and he seems to relish it. It only spurs him to thrust deeper, rolling his body in a fluid, deliberate motion that has you arching up into him.

“Can you feel how deep I am?” he rasps, pressing a broad palm over your lower stomach.

You nearly wail at the added pressure, your body tightening involuntarily. Every nerve feels overexposed, and the sweet ache is already coiling again, dangerously close to snapping.

"Yes—yes," you pant, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut like it’s too much. "Fuck—fuck, I can feel it—"

His own breathing is ragged, that confident smirk never fully leaving his face. 

"Yeah—you do," he groans, voice cracking. "Fuck—stretching around me so fucking perfect—"

He pounds you into the mattress, each thrust driving sparks of ecstasy through your veins. The headboard knocks against the wall, but all you can do is cling to him, trying to keep your mind from fracturing under the overwhelming pleasure.

“Steve—Steve, I—,” you gasp, the tension in your core reaching a fever pitch, “I’m gonna—”

“Shhh, baby,” he croons, sliding a hand under your back to pull you closer, forehead pressed to yours. “It’s okay—I got you. Been so good for me tonight—go on, let go.”

Your body locks up, the orgasm tearing through you with near-blinding intensity, muscles clamping around him in a cascade of pleasure that leaves you sobbing out broken moans. His rhythm stutters, his eyes squeezing shut as he chases his own release.

“That’s it—” he mutters, voice cracking with urgency. “Fuck, I can’t—I—”

One more thrust and he’s lost, groaning low in his chest as he spills into the condom. The two of you ride out the final tremors together, foreheads pressed, breath mingling in the heavy air.

It takes a moment for you both to resurface after his release, his chest still heaving against yours. The pleasure in his eyes slowly gives way to something gentler.

He leans down, pressing a series of lazy, heartfelt kisses to your forehead, your cheekbones, the corners of your mouth—wherever his lips can reach. Each touch is imbued with care.

“Did so good,” he murmurs between kisses, voice affectionate. “So good for me, angel.”

You melt under the praise, letting your eyes drift shut as you soak in his breathless devotion. It contrasts how wild he’d been just moments ago—downright relentless—makes his current tenderness all the sweeter.

With a gentle grunt, he pushes himself onto his elbows, brushing back the stray hair that clings to your damp forehead. 

“I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move.”

In your blissed-out state, all you can manage is a drowsy hum of assent. He slips off the bed, and you watch through lidded eyes as he pads across the room, disappearing into the bathroom. 

You hear the tap running, the faint rustle of him disposing of the condom, then the soft swish of water in a washcloth. Your body feels utterly spent, a pleasant tingle still humming along your skin.

There’s a quiet care in the way he cleans you up. The washcloth is warm and soothing against your overly sensitive skin, and you shiver at the sensation. 

His gaze follows your every little twitch, making sure he hasn’t hurt you. You can feel his hand trembling ever so slightly—not from uncertainty, but from the flood of emotions surging through him.

“Hey,” he says, voice subdued, “that was okay?” His eyes lift to yours, a glint of worry in them. “I mean… you’re good, right?”

You let out a lazy, content laugh. 

Yeah, you're pretty fucking good.

“Think I’m gonna need a week to recover.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shoot up. 

“Definitely.” A mischievous curl graces your lips. “Now, come here and let me fall asleep on you.”

You really are bossy tonight. 

“Alright. Gimme a second.” He stands up, rummaging through a drawer for a pair of boxers. When he slips them on, you catch a glimpse of the faint lines of his scars, but he still doesn't seem bothered.

He fishes out a soft, worn T-shirt for you, returning to the bed to help you pull it over your head. The patience contrasts all of his previous actions.

“Better?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You nod, contentment seeping into your bones. He climbs in beside you, pulling the covers up until you’re both tucked in. He wraps an arm around your waist, drawing you close enough that you can press your face against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you, punctuating the silence.

You open your mouth to say something—maybe to tease him about how he just passed some imaginary line from shy to sweet to downright insatiable—but before you can form the words, you realise his breathing has already gone soft and rhythmic. 

The drinks and all the exertion apparently caught up to him, and he’s fallen asleep, mouth parted and face slightly smushed into his pillow.

“Good night,” you murmur, a fond smile tugging at your lips, even though you know he can’t hear you. You lean up to plant a delicate kiss on his jaw.

You knew he'd appreciate it if he was awake.

He mumbles something incoherent, shifting only to pull you tighter against him, and you let out a quiet giggle that he sleeps right through. Feeling his warmth, your own exhaustion rushes in, and you finally let your eyes flutter shut.

The hungover teacher stirred with a low groan, rolling onto his side as the dull ache behind his temples made itself known. His mouth felt tacky and dry, and he blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the morning light filtering through the blinds. 

Nine o’clock was the time displayed on his alarm—usually he was up before then, but after the night he’d had, it was hardly surprising.

Last night was fun.

Last night...

Last night.

Oh, God.

The realisation hit him like a jolt of caffeine. He cast a quick glance around the bed. The rumpled sheets on your side were cool to the touch, and his heart gave a lurch. He noticed right away that the clothes the two of you had tossed around last night were no longer strewn across the floor. 

His mind whirred with images of the previous evening: how he’d practically been glued to your side in the car, half-drunk and babbling. How he’d lost every ounce of self-consciousness once you got inside… 

And dear lord, that torrent of absolute filth that had poured out of his mouth.

He didn’t regret the closeness—far from it. But the specifics came rushing back, making him wince. 

He’d definitely gone too far, pushed some kind of boundary here. A flush crept over his cheeks at the recollection of the way he’d practically manhandled you, said things to you he hadn’t allowed himself to say in years. 

And the marks—no, not his—he vividly recalled leaving little reminders of himself on your skin. What if you were hurt or upset? Is that why you weren’t next to him in bed?

Fuck this is bad. 

So very very bad. 

Just as he was about to scramble out from under the covers to search for you, he heard the bedroom door creak open. His stomach flipped—and there you were, peeking in with a bright grin, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand.

“Oh, Casanova has finally risen,” you teased, stepping fully into the room.

Relief flooded him so quickly he almost felt dizzy. You were still here. 

And you looked…

Well, you looked content. 

Happy, even?

You were practically glowing.

He stayed propped on one elbow, eyes roving over the fresh T-shirt you’d thrown on, a new one from the previous night, hair still mussed. He swallowed, trying to find words, but they didn’t come. He settled for a sheepish smile as you rounded the bed and set the cups on the bedside table before perching on the edge of the mattress, near his legs.

“How’s the head this morning?” you asked, tilting your head in concern.

“It’s, uh…” He shrugged a bit stiffly, still grappling with the residual embarrassment. “I’ll live,” he managed, realising only then how dry his throat was.

You leaned back, letting out a laugh, you couldn’t help it. He looked so frazzled in the low light of the morning. Your movement caused your hair to shift, and he finally noticed the marks he’d left on your neck. 

His stomach lurched. Guilt surging through him.

Crap. 

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, pushing himself upright. His hands slid over your shoulders, fingertips grazing the bruises with excruciating caution. “I swear, I never should’ve done that. Please tell me they don't hurt—are you hurt? I promise—”

You pressed a finger to his lips to stop his apologies spilling. 

“I’m fine,” you soothed.

He shook his head, eyes clouded with worry. He didn’t believe it, you were just being nice—too nice—like you always were. 

“Angel, you don’t have to lie to me,” he insisted, voice hushed. “I got carried away, I know I did. Just—just look at your neck. I—”

He never wanted to leave anything physical on your body. 

You batted his fussing hands away before he could delve into another apology. He felt you shift closer, sliding a leg over his lap and effectively straddling him. The contact made his heart thump in a way that was not filled with desire, but with reluctant relief.

If you were willingly crawling into his space like this, you couldn’t be too upset. 

Right?

“Hey,” you said softly, “look at me.”

He did, brown eyes trained on yours. The moment they did, he felt the tension in his chest loosen just a fraction. 

“Were you ever going to tell me where you learned to talk like that?” You teased, voice playful as you decided to steer the conversation in a new direction. 

You knew he’d be beating himself up—that’s just how he is. So, it was up to you to pull him out of it, to ease his mind from the intensity of the night before and steer him somewhere lighter, something more playful.

Also, you were definitely curious about where he got that mouth from.

A deep crimson spread across his cheeks. He remembered fragments of last night. The shamelessness of it all, the confidence, the raw desire that had him spouting every sinful thought crossing his mind. 

“… I don’t know!” He admitted, eyes shifting away but he knew you would not be satisfied with that answer. “Back in high school, I, uh… picked some stuff up, I guess. Whenever I just said what I wanted, reactions were… enthusiastic.”

“Reactions, huh?” You arched a brow. “Were you some kind of player?” You press further, leaning into him and watching him squirm. “I can imagine you had all the girls wrapped around your finger.”

Steve’s stomach knotted—he hated how this conversation was going, even if you punctuated it with a compliment. 

“I wasn’t, like, a player player,” he defended, lost as to how to word it right, “but I—fuck—I know my way around a woman, okay?”

“Way around a woman? So romantic.”

He groaned, planting his face in his hands in a thoroughly mortified gesture. 

“You know what I mean, God—” he mumbled, voice muffled. “You’re bullying me right now—this? This is bullying. Shouldn’t have introduced you to Rob, she’s rubbing off on you.”

With a grin, you gently peeled his hands away from his face, enjoying every once of embarrassment. 

“Call it payback,” you said, eyes dancing. “Because if this is bullying, I don’t know what to call your behaviour last night.”

He tried to retort, but ended up pressing his lips together. 

You got him there. 

He couldn’t bear it any longer, needed to put an end to this ruthless interrogation and wipe that cruel expression off your features. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said, voice still raw from sleep. Slipping his arms around your waist, he tugged you beneath him, rolling you onto the bed in a playful tumble. Your giggles filled the space, effectively silencing your questions.

When the laughter finally subsided, you stroked his cheek, a question in your eyes. 

“So I take it the hangover isn’t too bad?”

You’re finally done with torturing him.

“No, not too bad,” he shook his head, lips curving. “Told you I wasn’t that drunk.”

You gave him a dramatic eye-roll. 

“Yeah, alright,” you teased, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Hop in the shower. I’ll make us breakfast.”

His brows rose, something like hope glinting behind his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna have one too?” He tried to sound casual, but truth be told, he was already imagining the possibility of you joining him.

“I already did,” you replied, shrugging. “You were dead to the world. Didn’t wanna to wake you.”

“Well, next time, do.” He huffed in playful protest. “I could’ve helped.”

You shot him a pointed look as you slid out from under him. 

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

He tries to follow, strong arms itching to have you back in them. 

“Depends what you mean,” he countered with a sly half-smile. “I can be very useful when I wanna be.”

You’re sure he could. 

“Go shower, lover boy.” You roll your eyes and grab a pillow, swatting him lightly. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

He laughs as he stretches up, blanket slipping to expose his torso as he clicks out all the sleep of his spine. He slips off the bed, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before he scurries through the doorway.

You wander into the kitchen, the morning sun giving the space a homey atmosphere despite the sparse contents of the fridge. When you open it, you are met with a mildly irritating discovery.

Three eggs. 

Damn it. 

You decide he’s earned two of them for all his hard work last night. A shopping trip is definitely in order, he’s not going to survive on leftover cereal and a couple of condiments. Setting the eggs aside, you gather bread and butter for toast, determined to whip up a breakfast that’s at least semi-nutritious. 

Grabbing a small notepad from a drawer, you remember that your boyfriend tends to dump half his belongings in the console table by the entrance whenever he can’t find a proper place for them.

So you wander over, opening the drawer and flipping through random scraps of paper in search of a pen. Old receipts, a couple gold star stickers, a manual for an appliance that he apparently never installed—typical Steve Harrington clutter.

Your fingers still on something that immediately stands out. A small stack of official-looking envelopes, bold printed letters across the front. The same sender, repeated name after name on each envelope. 

The stamp—some government seal or maybe an organisation’s letterhead—catches your eye. Your heart gives a peculiar jolt. 

National Laboratory? 

You’re not entirely sure, but it’s definitely not from his school. It looks official, maybe serious. Possibly part of the story he’s only given you glimpses of. You hover there, tempted. 

It’s not your place. 

You know that. 

But curiosity thrums in your veins—if only you knew more about where these came from and how they tie into his past. You catch a snippet of text on the paper, scanning just enough to see some names that mean nothing to you—except that they might mean everything to him.

Before you can open it fully, the shower in the next room clicks off, the pipes clanging in that telltale way. Mild panic surges up your spine, and you hurriedly tuck the envelope away. 

Grabbing the first pen you spot, you practically race back into the kitchen with it clutched in one hand, notepad in the other, as though scribbling down a grocery list had been your sole focus this entire time.

Trying to steady the beat of your heart, you begin jotting random items—milk, bread, eggs, fruit?—each word an effort to keep your thoughts from drifting back to those envelopes and the million questions you suddenly have. 

You care about Steve, more than you can articulate, and you still yearn to know every piece of his history. 

A soft rustle of movement alerts you to his presence before you feel it. He steps up behind you, pressing a warm, damp kiss to your shoulder. The heat of his skin seeps through the thin T-shirt you’re wearing. You notice his hair’s still dripping from the shower, and he smells faintly of soap.

“What are you up to?” 

“What does it look like?” Feigning ease, you hold up the list. “Making sure you don’t starve here. Clearly, you didn’t plan on feeding yourself for more than a day or two.”

He leans in, peering over your shoulder at the small list, then huffs a quiet laugh. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “Wanna go to the store with me later? I’m sure there’s some pizza in the frozen-food section calling my name.”

You turn your head enough to catch his eye, relieved he hasn’t noticed anything amiss. 

“We should probably go soon,” you point out, recalling Sunday hours. “They won’t be open all day.”

Instead of answering right away, he skims his lips up the side of your neck,. The bare expanse of your skin prickles with goosebumps, and you fight the urge to melt against him entirely. He chuckles at your reaction, pressing a little closer so you can feel the solid weight of him.

“I can be quick,” he teases, voice dipping into the same husky register you remember all too vividly from the night before. 

“You’re not tired enough from last night?”

He’s insatiable.

“Sweetheart,” he says, leaning into you, “you’ve got me wide awake this morning.”

Your eyes flutter shut when he turns you around, guiding your hips so you’re facing him, your notepad nearly forgotten in your grip. He kisses you then, slow but with a playful flick of his tongue that reminds you he’s not quite done pushing your buttons. 

“Bet I can have you calling my name again in five minutes, tops,” he whispers, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

You roll your eyes—though your pulse jumps traitorously—and push gently at his chest. 

“We’ve got errands now. If you wanna eat something besides toast for the next few days, you better rein it in.”

You playfully bat his hand away, though you can’t suppress your grin. He leans in for one more quick kiss before he finally heads into the bedroom to put some clothes on.

You watch him go, and he’s still the Steve you know. There’s still a layer of him you’ve only just glimpsed, wrapped up in those official envelopes, as well as Robin's previous slip-up.

That is the real Steve Harrington, the one you intend to fully understand. 

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish

[suckerfordylansstuff]

Not a date - Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Summary: Dustin is certain you're dating someone. You, on the other hand, are not so sure.

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: As you can see we're changing the style with this new post. You could consider this kind of a small prequel for "A date like no other", but mostly, I just wanted to write more of Dustin and Y/n's relationship (more will follow, inspiration has hit me). Plus, it was fun playing detective. Hope you enjoy! 💕

!This piece goes along my Steve Harrington series "New Journey", but can also be read as a standalone!

Timeline: After the winter dance, but before their first date.

“I have gathered you here today on an important issue.” Dustin was pacing around Mike's basement while all the rest of his friends followed him with their eyes “It is crucial that we take upon this matter with focus and determination. Not to mention stealthiness since a bit of spy work is going to occur.”

“Dustin, why are we here?” his dramatics had Max over the whole thing very quickly.

“It has come to my attention that my sister, my own blood, has been seeing someone behind my back and simultaneously lying to me about it.”

“And?” Lucas asked, not understanding his friend’s anger.

“What do you mean and? This is it!”

“You’re mad your sister has finally found someone?” Will was trying to understand Dustin’s motives.

“I’m mad she hasn’t told me about it. I mean, why would she do that? I certainly tell her everything.” his pacing hasn’t stopped from the moment he entered the basement.

“Maybe because she wants to focus on the new relationship and not on her little brother’s obnoxious opinions?” Max told him with a smile, making Dustin stop in his tracks.

“You’re new, you don’t get a say.” he pointed in her direction and continued his pattern on the floor.

“Dustin, what do you want us to do?” Mike sighed when he saw Dustin place large papers on top of a chair, opposite to them, a pen in his hand as he settled beside them. It reminded him of their teacher, and not in a good way.

“I want you to come with me and spy on her.” he removed his first blank paper, revealing a calendar with colorful dots on certain days “It all started a month ago. I realized she began going out a lot more than usual. I mean I love my sister, but let’s be honest, she doesn’t have many friends.” he pulled out another paper, this time a pie chart with all the colors they had previously seen on the calendar “So, I began tracking her behavior. When she would go out, when she would return, and try to figure out with whom. So far, I’ve noted 14 outings in the span of 29 days… She went out with Jonathan twice, once with Nancy, once with you, Max, and you, Eleven, for girl’s night. Three times with all of us and another three with me. That all makes 10. The other 4 are a mystery to me.” with each sentence, each ‘clue’, he was pointing the pen at every chart so the rest wouldn’t get lost

“When she hangs out with friends, I have noticed Y/n coming back at a decent hour, say around 10:30, at least 11:00. However, when she’s ‘on her own’ those hours defer.” the new paper showed the said hours with a big question mark at the end “I have caught her sneaking into the house well after 1:00 am! Clearly, she’s not out there on her own. But I haven’t been able to figure out with whom. I checked with both Nancy and Jonathan telling me that they had not seen her those specific days. She’s clearly with someone doing something, but when I ask her about what she did and where she went she outright lies to me, saying she was with Jonathan and/or Nancy.” he let the last paper fall flat on the chair, the pen rhythmically hitting his other palm “It is our mission to figure out who she is meeting on these days, so I can evaluate if I need to step in and help her.”

The kids all looked at one another, trying to see if they wanted in on this. His thinking could be correct, but the thought of him being wrong and giving them the chance to mess with him is what sealed the deal.

“Alright, we’re in.” Mike announced for all of them. Dustin’s face immediately lit up.

“But how do we know when their next meet-up is?” Lucas asked him.

“Already ahead of you my friend.” he began organizing the papers he had used, stacking them into his bag before putting it on “I overheard Y/n talk with my mother, saying she’s going out. Again, wouldn’t outright tell me with whom. So that’s why I came here, to find out if Nancy had any plans. As it turns out she did. But not with my sister, with Jonathan. Right?” his eyes fell on Will.

“Yeah, they are hanging out at ours.” Will confirmed Dustin’s words.

“Okay, so that excludes them from this ‘secret meet up’.” Max thought out loud.

“Precisely.” they were now getting out of the house from the basement’s door, making their way to their bikes.

“So… Where is she?” Eleven asked, her small voice was now loud enough for all to hear, turning their heads at once to look at Dustin.

Dustin wasn’t sure at the beginning where his sister would be. She had mentioned she would leave around 8:30. Now, he had left earlier to check on her small lie at the Wheeler’s, so their first stop was at his house to check if her car was still there. It was, which meant either of two things. She either walked to their meeting place (which was unlikely of her after everything that had happened to them, walking somewhere alone was a no-no for his sister). Or the person she was meeting picked her up. It left a lot of options open so he decided to head inside with the rest and look for more clues.

His mom greeted them, chatting a bit with the kids while Dustin looked around for any indication as to where she went. He noticed that her sneakers were missing, telling Dustin that they weren’t going somewhere fancy, so maybe their destination was the theater or maybe grabbing a bite somewhere.

“Hey, mom. I was thinking of eating the leftover pizza from last night after I come back. Y/n didn’t eat it, right?” he looked over at his mom, Tews on her lap as always.

“Oh, no, Dusty, she specifically said that she didn’t want to have anything since she’ll be going out to eat with her friends.”

Bingo.

Dustin excluded from the options list the diner where you used to work. Too many people knew you there and the secrecy wouldn’t last. So, they began roaming around the town trying to get a glimpse of you. They succeeded after a couple of tries. Lucas had caught a glimpse of your figure inside the burger place. You were sitting in a corner booth in the back of the store, your face bright, not only by the lights of the place but by your present company as well.

“Holy shit. Dustin was right.” Max climbed out of her bike, staring at the older sister of her new friend.

“Of course I was. Can you see who she is with?”

“No, his back is turned.” Lucas tried to wiggle around in an attempt to see who was with you.

We’re gonna have to get inside.” Mike noted and Dustin agreed.

“Not all of us, we’ll draw attention. Will, you’re coming with me.” the said boy wasted no time and followed his friend toward the entryway.

“Why him?” Mike called out, annoyed he wasn’t getting in on the action.

“Because he’ll be quiet, unlike you.” Dustin whisper-yelled.

They get inside and make their way to the end of the front counter. When they peaked at the back, they had a clearer shot at the two figures. Dustin could clearly see your big, bright smile, but the guy you were with was sitting opposite of you, meaning they could only see his back

“We still can’t see his face.”

“Wait… I know that hair.” Dustin’s eyes squinted as he focused on the person in question. The waiter had approached them, his lips moving, probably asking them if everything was okay. It was then when the mysterious guy turned his head, making him visible to him, a relieved sigh falling from his lips  “Oh, it’s just Steve.”

He and Will went outside without alerting you, joining the others once again.

“Okay, people, crisis averted. It was only Steve, just a friendly meet-up.” he announced to his friends before he grabbed his bike, ready to return home.

“Sure.” Max smirked his way, suddenly making a frown appear on Dustin’s face.

“Uh… Dustin? I don’t think this is very friend-like.” Mike was pointing to the restaurant. Dustin turned and met the horror. Steve had now switched his seat, joining you on your side. His arm was around your shoulders, your faces way too close for his liking. And then it happened. Steve kissed you.

Dustin was waiting for you to return back home. He was in the dark, his mother fast asleep, not realizing her own son was stewing hot. He was ready. Ready to tell you he knows your secret and ready to express his anger. He liked Steve, he didn’t like showing it, but he did. He was funny and honest with him, and a guy. He had a guy friend. Someone whom he could rely on when seeking advice. He knew he could come to you about everything, but sometimes he felt too embarrassed to say certain things. He was getting older, more ‘mature’ as his mother had said, and Steve had been through those things before, therefore could give him the advice he needed.

He liked Steve, but now he was afraid he was going to lose him… and you. You always wanted to be in a relationship and now that you were in one, you were going to spend all your time with each other, forgetting all about the party and mainly him. Or you would eventually break up and he would have to choose your side, his sister’s, and forcing him to say goodbye to his friend.

It all felt unacceptable to him, so he had to tell you about it.

Finally, he heard a car stop outside. After a couple of minutes, your keys were daggling as you opened the door. He watched you come inside, a lingering smile on your face as you took off your jacket and placed it on the hook beside the door. You were in the process of taking off your shoes when he decided to intervene.

“Hello, sister.”

He startled you, a small yelp coming from your lips as you squinted your eyes to see where your brother was hiding “Dustin? What are you doing in the dark? Do you know what time it is?”

“Do you?” he countered back, catching you by surprise.

“What?”

“How was your night?”

“Oh… It was really fun actually, thanks for asking. But this still doesn’t answer my question as to what you’re still doing up.” your arms were now folded in front of your chest, thinking you had the upper hand here.

“Oh, I just had a simple question really. Who were you with?”

It took you a second to form your question, confusion rising inside you “What?”

“I was over at Mike’s today and I stumbled upon Nancy.” Dustin stood up from the armchair and walked closer to you as he explained “I asked her if she was on her way to come get you, but she told me she wasn’t meeting with you. She was actually going to meet up with Jonathan for a date at his place.”

“Oh…” was all that came from your lips.

“I know who you met tonight. I followed you and found out you are secretly dating Steve.” his finger was accusingly pointing at your figure. He didn’t know what reaction he was really expecting from you but it certainly wasn’t what you said next.

“I’m not dating him, Dustin.”

“Wait, what?”

“We’re not dating.” you shrugged your shoulders and sat down on the couch.

“But he kissed you. I saw it!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay? It’s all very confusing.” your head your resting on top of your palms. You looked defeated, confused, sad, a whole different side of you than the one he had seen at the restaurant. He slowly approached you, sitting next to you. You looked up and saw him looking at you, a silent invitation to explain “It all started after we dropped you off at the ball. We happened to dance a little and it ended in a kiss. After that, we’ve been hanging out as much as we could and, yes, I admit, some kissing has gone down, but I don’t know what we are.”

Dustin noted that your voice was small but your feeling big “Do you like him?”

You looked up and locked eyes with your brother. You hadn’t been able to tell no one this, and you had no idea how much it was eating at you to get it out before this conversation “Very much.”

“Then I’m certain it will all work out.”

And just like that Dustin had forgotten all about his speech. He could still remember the way you smiled at him, thanking him with a big hug. It was the same smile when you picked up the phone, a couple of days later, Steve’s name falling from your lips. It was a soft one, your focus entirely on the voice coming from the phone, from his friend. When you finally hung up, a small shriek sounded all around the room. After just a moment he found out you were excited, beyond excited because he had asked you out on a date.

“Didn’t you go on one like yesterday?” he had asked.

“This is the first time he uses the word date, Dustin. The first time!”

He secretly smiled at your antics, even if in front of you he called it gross. When you returned home after that so-called ‘first date’, bliss was written all over your face. The next day, you all were meeting with the party for a campaign, the first time you would include Steve in your game. The first time he would see you two together officially for the first time. It was funny seeing him make all the wrong decisions and getting himself killed in the first thirty minutes. It was hilarious seeing you and him bicker about what you should do next. Steve making it his business to judge you all based on your actions. And it was certainly sweet when he would cheer with you after a successful roll. It didn’t seem all that different to him; your behavior.

It was after the campaign when Steve was talking his ear off on the way to their house about what movie you should see at the next movie night with the kids, that it truly hit him. Nothing would change. You would still be his sister and Steve would still be his friend. It couldn’t be that bad. Especially, if he saw his sister so happy every day.

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[upsidedownwithemmy]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.8k] soft backseat sex, summer, smut

Before Steve could pull you into the back seat of the BMW, you reached down into the space where he shoved his sunglasses, his wallet, and grabbed the buzzing walkie talkie from the cup holder.

“It’s gotta go,” you told him firmly, already anticipating his argument as you watched his lips fall apart and the boy made a sound of indignation. “I’m just putting it outside, okay?”

“What if the kids need us?” he asked, brow furrowed but he was still pulling off his sweater, as he watched you open the passenger side door and tuck the offending object underneath the car.

There was static whispering from it, the thing never quiet for more than a few seconds, especially when Steve drove you both to the outside of town, out of its usual range and god, it’s like it was arguing with you.

“The kids are playing DnD,” you told your boyfriend placatingly, slamming the door closed and shutting out the crackling noise. You grinned at the silence. “The only thing they’ll need us for is a ride home and that gives us about two hours to be completely alone.”

You turned to him, already in the backseat with his hair mussed from dragging his sweater over his head, his white t-shirt creased and stretched. He looked like he’d just tumbled from bed, messy cute with a little stubble on his jaw and it made warmth flood your body, your cheeks flushed at the way he was looking at you, waiting.

“You really wanna hear Dustin yelling ‘copy’ over and over when I’m on top of you, Harrington?”

You were pretty sure the boy was short circuiting at your words, his brown eyes darkening despite the way the sun was still shining through the windows, the light soft and golden, the day just turning into dusk. It was quiet out at the lake, the water still and cotton candy pink as the sky reflected off of it, tangerine clouds floating above.

It made everything glow, gold and bronze flitting over both your features and when you pushed yourself through the space between the two front seats, you tumbled into Steve’s lap - clumsy and a little desperate - hands on either side of his head as you pinned him to the bench.

He beamed at you, nose scrunched, eyes shining and you spotted the new freckles that were dusted across the highs of his cheekbones, brought by summer. God, he was pretty, you thought.

“Fuck, aren’t you just the prettiest thing,” he told you and you grinned, wondering how in tune two people could be.

His eyes were drinking you in, his hands grasping each side of your waist as he helped pull you into him, your thighs settling on either side of his own as you settled onto his lap. You lit up at his words, just the way he liked it, just the way he wanted you to and you leaned in, lips just brushing against his own as you whispered to him.

“I am?” You asked, tone light and teasing.

You had let your eyes fall shut but you felt his smile against your skin, skimming over the line of your jaw, rubbing over the curve of your bottom lip. You chased the feel of him, noses bumping a little clumsy and you felt him laugh underneath you, quiet and chest rumbling.

He hummed his response, a sound of agreement as his hands found their way to your knees, legs bare because you couldn’t stand the heat, because you’d planned to manhandle your boyfriend into the back of his car since the moment you’d woken up that morning.

Steve was playing with the hem of your skirt, smoothing underneath it to run his palms over your thighs, thumbs running lines on the inner parts of your skin. You shivered despite the heat that wrapped around the car, the blistering sun setting the car on fire, bathing you both in different shades of pink and peach.

He ran the tip of his nose along your jaw, following the slope of it until he could press his lips into the spot underneath your ear, grinning when you squirmed above him. You shifted and watched him stop and stare as your skirt billowed out, the bare skin of your upper thighs and the cotton of your underwear meeting the denim of his jeans.

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he let his head fall back onto the seat, his eyes heavy as he looked at you from beneath his lashes. His grip on you tightened - just a little, just enough - and you knew he was getting needy for you.

He moaned your name, a low, rough sound that had you moving on his lap, hips rolling as you surged forward and pressed yourself into him, hands in his hair, lips on his.

You teased him, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth, teeth nipping and he swore at you, muttering under his breath without any real heat behind it. You grinned, felt his eyelashes flutter against your cheek as he blinked dreamily, totally gone.

It wasn’t until you tugged in his hair, the messy strands fisted carefully between your fingers, that Steve was spurred into action.

“Alright, that’s enough from you,” he grumbled, and god, you knew he was trying to sound annoyed, to sound like he was in control but he was smiling, way too soft for someone who was trying to wrestle you out of your shirt.

You knew from the heavy fall of his chest that you’d gotten him worked up, enough that he was a little rougher than usual, bringing his hand to the back of your neck the minute he’d thrown your shirt into the front seat. Steve pulled you down and him, groaning in what sounded like relief as his lips met yours.

He was impatient, a little pushy, and you loved it. He cupped your jaw, bringing his thumb to smooth over the corner of your lip that his mouth wasn’t covering, pushing at it gently until you opened up for him. Your lips parted with his and he swallowed your soft sighs, his tongue slipping over your own as he held you to him, hands roaming and greedy.

His shirt went next, your hands a little shaky as you pulled it over his head, leaning back to take him in. Hair misbehaving, eyes dark and lips tinted rosy from your lip balm. Fuck.

He plucked the strap of your bra, a little lace thing that was the similar colour to his car, a deep, red wine shade that was making the flush on your skin seem darker than normal.

“I like this,” he whispered and his voice was shot, husky and low.

The compliment made you lean back a little more, your hands on Steve’s knees and his on your waist as you stretched yourself out for him, body taught.

“Yeah?” You asked, your own voice not faring much better.

He grinned at you, lovesick and so, utterly turned on. One hand left your side, palm flat and fingers splayed as he let it slide from your navel and up your chest, sliding between the lace triangles of your bra until his fingertips tracked across your collarbones and drew lines down the column of your neck.

Steve wrapped his hand there and it was big enough, wide enough, that it covered the expanse of your throat and the feel of it made your mouth go dry. You shifted on his lap again, thighs rubbing against the rough material of his jeans as you tried to gain some of the friction you were suddenly desperate for.

He nodded, “oh yeah, suits you baby,” he said, running his free hand over the lace. His thumb caught the hard bead of your nipple and you let out a sigh that broke into a gasp.

You must’ve looked a sight, you thought. Your boyfriend's hand wrapped around your neck, bra strap slipping from your shoulder, legs parted over his knees and skirt rucked up to show off your thighs to him. Your lips were parted, eyes glassy as you silently pleaded with him to bring his mouth back to yours.

He wasn’t too rough with you, never really was unless you asked for it, begged for it.

But he took pity on you, his grip tightening only slightly as he brought his lips back to yours, your hands desperate as they yanked at his belt, pushing clumsily at the button on the denim. He was too far gone to even lift his hips for you, just mumbling into your kiss about how good you felt, how soft your hands were.

You pulled the length of him from the confines of the denim, slipping your hand into his boxers and stroking over the heat of him, one, twice, three times. You felt him stutter into you, his kisses becoming messier, needier and you whined at the feel of it all, rocking yourself over and into him.

Steve hissed as the soft cotton of your underwear slipped over him, hot against his bare skin and you took all the sounds he gave you; pretty, needy noises that you kissed from his lips and stole for yourself.

You pumped your hand over him again, twisting your first at the base of him until he let his head fall back, neck exposed and primed for you to suck a kiss or two there.

The boy was panting, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed as he stared at you, his fingers pulling deftly at your underwear, pushing the fabric to the side so he could slip his fingers over you.

You watched as his eyes fell shut at your quiet moan, biting down on your lip as he found your clit, thumbing over it in small, lazy circles. When he ran the pad of a finger over your entrance, you pressed yourself back into him, murmuring his name over and over until he took the hint, a smile on his face as you pressed your lips and teeth into the sharp line of his jaw, desperate.

He slipped a finger into you, then a second, letting you adjust before you were writhing against him, lips parted against his own, gasping. It wasn’t even really a kiss, just your nose pressed together, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s sounds and god, Steve was whispering praises against your lips, mouth pressed hard and dirty on your neck as he told you how good you felt, how wet you were for him.

You rocked your hips a little more, thighs tight around his waist and his hard length was pressed between both your abdomens. You could feel his muscles there tensing and flexing with it all and he sounded wrecked when he grabbed at your wrist, stopping your movements on him.

“We’re gonna be back playing DnD with the rest of them pretty fuckin’ soon if you keep that up.”

You grinned, lighting up at your boyfriend’s admission, feeling far too powerful. You swiped your thumb over his tip before releasing him, your lips twisted into a smirk as he swore at you, his own fingers pushing deeper into in response. You gasped, high and keening, earning your own grin from Steve.

It didn’t last long, turning into a groan as you moved off of him, sitting up onto your knees as you crowded over Steve, your hand wrapped around him, hot and heavy in your palm.

“Yeah?” He asked, eyes meeting yours as you settled yourself over him, his tip brushing up against where you were wet and hot and desperate.

You nodded, urgent, skirt twisted up around your waist as you watched him watch you, his eyes hooded as you slid yourself down onto him. Your hands flew to his neck at the sensation, the tightness and pressure of it all and your fingers found his hair, tugging.

The groan you got from him was sinful and he gazed at you, head back, brow furrowed, lips parted and fuck, he had you acting up. You pulled again, lips chasing his as you began to move, hips rolling over his own as his hands found purchase on your ass, helping you move.

Neither of you had noticed the sky turn from pink to lavender, the clouds turning navy as they sunk with the sun. There was condensation dripping down the windows and it made the air hazy, too warm and thick. It settled on your skin, slick with sex and summer, Steve’s hand gliding easily over you as he gripped the curve of your ass, encouraging you to move a little faster.

And you did, grinding over him as he nipped and licked at any bare skin he could find, his mouth on your chest, hands fighting against the straps of your bra as he tugged it out of his way. He sucked a bruise onto your clavicle, lilac and pink and all pretty, and Steve hummed his appreciation at the sight of it in your skin.

“Greedy,” you told him, your voice higher and breathier than it had been before.

Steve scoffed, his smile brilliant before planting a searing kiss against your lips. “For you?” He huffed out, “always.”

His words did something to you, the way they always did and you tightened around him, moans a little louder now and Steve swore, dropping his forehead to yours at the same time his hand snuck back up your skirt, fingers finding your clit and pressing down.

“Fuck!”

“Please tell me you’re close,” he groaned, hips bucking up to meet yours, his thumb skimming over you in the perfect rhythm.

You nodded, voice gone, breath stuck in your chest as you moved a little faster, urged on by the pretty sounds that left him lips. You were rocking on instinct, chasing the high you knew he’d give you; lips parted, mind hazy, body buzzed.

“Shit, yeah,” you gasped, “are you?”

“Jesus christ, I’ve been close since you took your shirt off,” he half laughed, earning a scoff from you, and you pushed your laughter into his lips, kissing him sweet and hot.

But it was all getting too much, the heat from the summer and Steve sticking to your skin, making everything sound slick and dirty as you moved over him, faster and deeper. He watched the way your eyes shuttered closed, eyelashes fanning across your cheeks and the way you chewed at the curve of your bottom lip.

You felt Steve’s lips at you ear, words rushing out as you moved together, desperate. They fell over your skin in a mix of whispers and moans, the car shuddering underneath both of you.

“There you go,” he soothed, “atta’ girl, there you go, c’mon sweetheart.”

Something broke in you, snapped in the best way. Shattered heat, another kiss, his hand on your thigh, held just right. Fuck, bliss.

He fell apart after you, holding you close and tight against him as his hips stuttered against you. He found your hand, clutched tight on his bicep and he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into your open palm, one on each knuckle as you both tried to catch your breath.

Getting dressed was just as distracting. Steve took every chance he could to press his face into your bare skin before you covered it up, finding your shirt and pulling it back over your damp skin. A kiss to your shoulder, a playful bite to the jut of your hip, a press of his face into the crook of your neck.

It wasn’t until you were both dressed and seated back in the front of the car, that you remembered about the walkie talkie. Steve had rolled the windows down, letting in the cooler evening air and he was fiddling with the car radio, humming quietly to whatever song he’d managed to find.

But there was another static, a buzz coming from outside. It wasn’t the cicadas, or the fireflies, and god, once your chest had stopped pounding, you were sure it was your heart either.

Shit.

“Steve! Wait the-”

But the boy had already started the engine, taking off the handbrake and letting the car roll down the small, dirt path.

There was a crunch, a buzz of electricity and the crackled “Steve! We - a ride - where are - better not - makin’ out-” and then silence.

You looked at each other, guilt on both of your faces and Steve sighed.

“Did we, uh, forget about the-”

“Yeah, we forgot about the walkie talkie,” you confirmed, lips pursed to stop you from laughing as you nodded.

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Promptober: Day Nineteen

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 900 words.

“Christ, you’re-”

A gasp, a curse, a groan. 

“Baby,” Steve breathed out, eyes closed, head thrown back as you planted kisses along his throat with an urgency he’d never seen from you before. “Baby.”

The bathroom door had barely closed before you’d locked it and backed your boyfriend up against it, hands pulling at the zip of his costume, a Top Gun-esque flight suit covered in patches. You’d long stolen his sunglasses, forgotten somewhere on the kitchen counter, hidden by empty beer bottles and sticky solo cups. 

“What?” You panted, pulling away long enough from the boy to stare up at him, lips pink and glossy, eyes blown wide. 

Your ‘dead’ cheerleader outfit was leaning more sexy than scary, the fake blood you’d smeared on the pleats doing nothing to deter from how short the skirt was. And when you’d turned and flashed him the ruby red spankies underneath before you’d left for Heather West’s party, Steve had bit down on his cheek and prayed. 

He felt the same way as you stood before him then, hands clutching at his shoulders, tits ready to burst out of the crop top you’d cut slashes into, the stain of his own smeared handprint on your midriff, painted in the same red as the blood on your skirt. 

You’d told him it was for the outfit, but Steve just saw it as another way to mark you up as his. 

You were still staring up at him, waiting, the sounds of the party a dull thump from behind the bathroom door and suddenly, Steve couldn’t remember what he was going to say. 

So instead, he managed, “c’mere.”

You moved back into him with a renewed need, curling your fingers into his hair as his hands cupped your jaw, titling you the way he liked as he licked into you, kisses greedy and fast, both of you well aware that it would only be a matter of time before someone would be hammering at the door. 

Steve turned you, pushed you back against the wood and you could feel the thumpthumpthump of the bass against your bones, the vibrations of the music that played downstairs on your skin. 

The boy made quick work of kissing you breathless, swallowing your sighs and gasps, teeth tugging at your bottom lip before sucking a bruise to the slope of your neck. His fingers tucked themselves into your spandex shorts, took them down with him as he dropped to his knees. 

You were certain you’d never fucking forget the sight of Steve Harrington on his knees before you, tucking your underwear into his pocket as he raised a finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet. His hair was wild, eyes blown, lips pinkier from your gloss and Jesus Christ, he was a pretty picture. 

His fingers curled themselves behind the crook of your knee, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder as he moved into the space between your thighs. 

Steve pressed his nose to the space under your belly button, kissed the soft skin before moving lower, mouthing at the crease of your thighs. He groaned when you whined, threading your fingers into his messy curls, pulling his lips to where you wanted them most. 

He wasted no more time licking into you, hitching your leg higher to spread you wider, brown eyes looking up at you as you gasped and twitched your hips with every pass of his tongue. 

Outside, there was a smash of broken glass, the glittering sounds of the shards scattering across the floor and then cheers. You were breathing heavily, pulling almost meanly at your boyfriend's hair, whimpering at the moans he pressed to your clit, his palm squeezing roughly at the thigh he held over his shoulder. 

“Steve,” you stuttered out, “baby, fuck, I—”

“Close?” He hummed, barely pulling his mouth from you, the word ghosting over the wet between your legs and it made you shiver. “C’mon sweet thing, give it to me, lemme see you come.”

His free hand that had been pulling at your hip, urging you to rut down onto his mouth moved to circle a digit around your entrance, one finger, two fingers, a white hot stretch that made you bow over Steve’s head, pushing his face into you and it only made him suck harder. 

“That’s it, there you go, huh?”

He ran his mouth between licks and kisses, soft sweet touches of his lips despite the filthy things that came out of them and he didn’t stop until you were crying, pushing at his forehead as he overwhelmed you, fucking his fingers into you as you came. 

You tasted yourself and the bourbon he’d been drinking when he stood back up and kissed you, sloven and urgent, thumb pushing at your cheek as he tried to touch you everywhere at once. 

And then, like clockwork, as you tugged at the zipper on his suit, someone outside started thumping on the door. 

It was barely eleven o’clock but neither of you tried to hide your neediness as Steve squeezed his eyes shut and blinked at you, pupils blown.  

“Wanna go home?” He asked, pushing his hips into your palm. 

You were still nodding as he led you out the bathroom, your free hand holding your too short skirt against your ass, your underwear peeking out of Steve’s pocket like a scarlet letter.  

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Promptober: Day Seventeen

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 912 words.

You couldn’t deny you hadn’t planned it. You’d been coy since Steve arrived, playing shy, smiling at him in a way that he’d soon learnt meant trouble. 

He’d spent the afternoon with you at yours, being lazy, letting the Esther outside grow wilder as the sky filled over with grey and navy clouds, until fat droplets of rain smudged your bedroom window. He had no intention of leaving. 

But still, you were teasing, not playing fair, making him chase your kisses and only allowing him to mouth over your neck, once, twice, three times, before you were tugging at his hair and pulling away. 

The boy would have been offended - concerned, even - if he didn’t know you better. He saw the telltale curl of the smile you tried to hide, the rosy sine to your lips ‘cause you kept biting down on them. And when you pulled his hair and he moaned for you, he heard your breath spike and hitch just like his. 

And then when your parents called up from the downstairs hall, that they were leaving to meet the neighbours for dinner in town, your eyes flashed with excitement and something else Steve couldn’t quite place. 

You indulged him, finally letting him kiss his way across your bare shoulder, up your throat and along your jaw. In fact, you pushed your lips to his first, greedy as if all your teasing had had just as much of an effect on you as it did him. 

You pulled back just enough to let your lips brush over Steve’s as you spoke, eyes still closed, lashes blinking over each other’s. 

“Hey,” you whispered, breath already laboured, ‘cause your boyfriends warm hands were pushing up the sides of your sweater, squeezing at your waist. “Steve?”

The boy hummed, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, nosing at your cheek to get you to tilt your head for him so he could suck a bruise under your jaw. 

“Yeah, babe?”

He wasn’t paying attention, not really. Eyes still closed, mouth on you, lips soft and sweet and his hair a little wild. 

“D’you wanna see my outfit?”

“What, for like, Halloween?” Steve asked distractedly, one hand sliding higher, thumb running over the lace front of your bra. 

“Mhmm, sure,” you said mildly, trying your best to contain the noise you wanted to let out at his touch, the sound he was trying his damn best to steal from you. 

He groaned when you pulled away, pouting as you moved off of your bed and off of him. But you busied yourself with finding a bag that you’d promptly shoved in the back of your closet after buying. 

“You’re so far away,” Steve complained and you snorted at his miserable expression. He looked lovely, perfectly rumpled and messy in your tangle of sheets, lips glossy from yours, eyes darker than normal. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you replied. “Be right back.”

Your heart was racing as you locked yourself in your bathroom, wide eyed as you stared at yourself in the mirror, pulling at lace and straps and little gold buckles that did nothing to secure anything to your skin. 

You were more exposed than you’d ever felt, and you’d been naked in front of Steve a lot. The red lace was a deep burgundy shade, like wine against your skin and god, you felt warm. You fluffed up your hair, grabbed a gloss from your messy drawers to swipe over your lips with a shaky hand and then, the devil horns. 

You exhaled, turning this way and that, looking at your reflection with trepidation. Was it too much? The lace underwear was high cut and delicate and the bra did wonderful things for your chest. It was the thigh high stockings and high heels that made you feel a little like you were trying too hard. 

You steeled yourself, whispered a breathy “fuck it,” and walked back out to your bedroom. 

Steve was lounging across the mattress with his head in one of your magazines, flipping the pages idly as he waited for you. You cleared your throat, panicked about what to do with your hands so you held them behind your back, chin tucked, lips pressed together nervously. 

Steve’s head lifted and the noise that left his lips made the hours of shopping with a mortified Robin worth it. 

“I— Christ,” Steve breathed, jaw slack, pushing the magazine off of the bed without taking his eyes off of you. “Fucking hell, baby, you— shit.”

You burned under his stare. “D’you like?”

Steve was already pushing to his knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed as he motioned to you to come closer. Your heels clicked softly and you couldn’t deny how you felt a little powerful before him. His hands found your waist, smoothed down the flare of your hips, fingertips catching on pretty lace before they traced the band of your stockings. 

You watched Steve swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his eyes followed his touch. 

“Yeah,” he whispered and god, he sounded wrecked. “I like.”

You were expecting sly comments, a salacious remark or two, but the flirt in his voice was all but gone and Steve stared at you through hooded eyes and thick lashes, lips parted. 

He looked hungry. Ruined. 

“Wanna take it off?” You whispered, fingers tucking his hair behind his ear. 

Steve shook his head, looking offended. “Off?” He breathed. “Absolutely fucking not, sweetheart.”

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2K]

inspo from an ask answered by @plainemmanem and thank you @lunatictardis for tagging me!

It was stupid really. Steve knew that. You knew that. But Eddie had challenged him when they were both drunk and at Robin’s Halloween party. Of course, your boyfriend accepted, ‘cause one was as stupid as the other - Steve just happened to be more stubborn.

“Eddie’s single,” you’d reminded him. “You can literally have sex with me any time you want.”

“Please don’t say ‘sex’ right now,” the boy had pleaded as Eddie and Nancy snorted in the background, dollar bills exchanging palms as they watched Steve try not to stare at your tits.

“Steve, it’s been fifteen hours.”

To be fair, he’d lasted longer than you expected. Not without complaint, but it had been eight days and Steve was avoiding touching you, skirting past you and keeping his hands tucked into his pockets like you were a dangerous weapon.

Steve thought you were.

He’d groaned and whined when you bent over in front of him, when you pulled your hair back out of your face, a Pavlovian response that had him squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t handle it when you pressed yourself against him, even for something as innocent as a hug and you’d begun to get annoyed, missing your boyfriend's touch.

“This is getting ridiculous,” you’d huffed, ignoring your friend's laughter when Steve had to ease you off his lap during a movie, brown eyes wide and his pretty features panic stricken. “Steve!”

“Baby,” he’d groaned all apologetic, taking your hand instead, pressing a kiss to your palm even whilst you frowned at him. “You can’t get mad at me, please, you know it turns me on.”

Eddie had lost it.

Which is why you’d taken matters into your own hands and begged Nancy to go shopping with you, both of you browsing through the lingerie section at the department store, cringing at the price tags and pretending that the pretty sales lady wasn’t staring at you both suspiciously.

“Remind me why you’re still getting regular sex?” You huffed, holding up something red and lacy. It was so tiny, you weren’t sure which way it went, or where it was supposed to cover.

Nancy snorted, presenting a baby blue body suit to you, too flowery for your taste and you wrinkled your nose. “Because Jonathan isn’t an idiot,” she replied, smirking even though she was blushing. She caught your eye, your raised brows and doubtful expression. “Fine, because Jonathan isn’t as big of an idiot as Eddie and Steve,” she corrected.

So you spent too much money on a set that came with more pieces of lace than you were used to, all black with sheer stockings and a suspender belt. You’d laughed when Nancy pushed some stilettos into your hand, telling you the extra cash spent would be worth it, how it would make Steve lose his shit. And really, that’s what this trip was about.

You knew he was finishing work at five, knew he promised to take Dustin and Lucas to the arcade when he was done so it gave you time to monopolise his bathroom, preening in the mirror as you brushed out your hair and slicked on some gloss.

You were posed and ready for Steve, smiling to yourself as you heard the front door open and close. He knew you were already in his room, your shoes by the front door, some music playing faintly from the stereo on his dresser.

He just didn’t expect to see you perched on the edge of his bed, stocking clad legs crossed at the thighs, hands pressed to the sheets behind you so you could push your chest out a little, all black lace wrapped around soft skin. The heels were a nice touch, you’d thought, kinda intimidating looking, sharp toed and doing everything to make your legs look a mile long.

Steve stopped at the door, eyes wide, jaw slack and a groan came from somewhere deep inside of him, a filthy, filthy noise as he immediately backed away, stumbling into the hall.

“Nononono, baby,” he whined. He sounded wrecked, eyes still on you despite being ten feet away. “Baby, fuck.”

You grinned, not even trying to hide your amusement, your smugness. You made a soft noise of sympathy, all faux sincerity as you uncrossed your legs and stood up, suspender belt cinched around your waist, stockings high on your thighs and heels clicking against the floor.

Steve looked like he was about to drop to his knees. He leant against the wall instead, one hand coming up to his mouth to cover his low moans, throaty and rough, biting down on his fist as he stared at you.

You made a show of it, turning to the side as you peered down at yourself, tits sitting high on your chest with the help of the expensive bra, all sheer material and scalloped edges. You ran your hands down the soft of your tummy, pressed them over the curve of your ass, barely covered by the scrap of lace that acted as underwear.

“D’you like it?” You asked, doe eyed and smiling. “I bought it for you.”

Steve was red in the cheeks, eyes glassy, all flushed and wild looking. You almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Illegal,” Steve ground out, voice strained. He gestured to where your thigh highs were held up by the little straps, ass bouncing a little as you twisted for him, showing off. “That should be illegal.”

“Baby,” you pouted, acting up, acting cute, the way you knew he couldn’t resist. “You don’t think it looks good?”

Steve barked out a laugh, a strangled noise as he edged forward, looking at you like you were his last meal. He looked absolutely wrecked, like the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, taking in every inch of you, gaze pausing on your thighs, your tits, the slope of your neck, the cherry coloured shine of your lips. “Yeah, babe, it looks good on you, fucking Christ.”

You grinned, pleased and beckoned him back into his room with a crook of your finger.

“This isn’t fair,” he murmured, low and throaty. “You look fucking insane, oh my god, are you trying to kill me?”

He was babbling, losing it as he walked towards you, hands in his hair as he tried not rip out the strands, doing everything he could to keep himself grounded. It was cute, how he thought he could still win his stupid bet.

Steve kept a little away still, a foot or two between you, close enough that he could smell your perfume, his favourite, the body wash that belonged to him that clung to your skin. He was salivating.

“You’re evil, you’re actually evil,” the boy groaned as you twisted and twirled for him, ass popped out. “I fucking love you.”

“Wanna show me how much?” You smirked, reaching a hand out to trail your fingertips along the skin that peeked out his collar. He was hot, chest heaving, panting for you. “I’ve missed you Stevie,” you cooed, moving in closer. “Missed having your hands on me.”

Steve stuttered over a breath as you took his wrists in your grip, coaxing them to the sides of your waist, you encouraged him to hold you, pressing yourself against him and feeling how painfully fucking hard he was underneath his jeans. It didn’t take much for his palms to drop down to your hips, fingering at the soft nylon of your thigh highs.

You watched him, eyes dark, tongue peeking out between your teeth as you tried to hold back your amusement, ‘cause Steve’s eyes were fluttering closed and he threw his head back, groaning in defeat.

“You look,” he panted out, his breath a hiss. “So. Fucking. Good.”

“Thank you,” you answered politely, nudging your nose against his chin, drawing a line with it up the slope of his jaw. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, sweet and innocent, sticky cherry left behind. “My pretty boy. Want you so bad, d’you know that? Got all dressed up just for you, Steve.”

He leaned into you, hands squeezing at your hips, hard enough to bruise, all semblance of control completely gone. You looked up at him through your lashes, blinking innocently as you watched his eyes droop all pretty.

He was a man gone.

“Fuck, fuck, you did? Shit, sweetheart, this is— you’re just— ohmygod.”

You managed to coax him towards his bed, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress and he sat without argument, hands grabbing at your waist the minute you settled yourself onto him.

He was rock hard, gasping, pupils blown wide. A pretty, pretty state.

“Oh, my poor boy,” you cooed out, hands smoothing over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. You kissed the high of his cheekbone, peppered tiny kisses over each freckle there. “You gotta calm down, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel, Stevie.”

“Calm down?” He choked out in a laugh, snapping your suspenders against your thighs. His eyes rolled back when you gasped, a pretty, little sound that made his dick twitch under your cunt. “Sweetheart, have you fuckin’ seen yourself? I think I’ve already died.”

“Can I kiss you?” You said instead of real response, ignoring the way he whined, shaking his head as if he actually meant it, as if he had any intention of rejecting you. “Please?”

You stayed still, one hand carding through his hair, the other curled around his neck, annoying the way his pulse jumped and throbbed under your palm.

Steve moved into you, noses bumping, his breath a fast and heavy huff over your lips as you patiently waited.

“M’gonna come in my fuckin’ pants,” Steve choked out, his touch roaming freely over your body now, palming roughly at your tits, finger and thumb expertly finding your already stuff nipple under the lace. “You’re gonna make a goddamn mess of me, baby, s’that what you want?”

You whined, arching into him, ‘cause although you’d started the game, you’d truly missed your boyfriend’s affection. His large, wide palms, greedy kisses, the way he liked to manhandle you in bed.

You nodded, sighing heavy, eyes closing, “yeah, Stevie, fuck.”

He kissed you and it was all over, tongue licking into you the minute you opened your mouth for him, his hand on your jaw, thumb tugging desperately at your bottom lip, urging you to kiss him back as needily as he was kissing you. The sounds he made were sinful, moans and groans and whines that had you rocking your hips, grabbing at him.

Steve was wrong though, he didn’t come in his pants just from kissing you. No. But he did when you pushed him down onto the mattress, hands pressed to his chest as you started a dirty grind over him, the prettiest smile on your face as he chanted your name, groaning and swearing, head thrown back and his nails leaving marks on your thighs.

It didn’t matter though, ‘cause he made it up to you four times that night, right into the early hours of the morning, when he’d snagged the lace of your bra and ripped one stocking, your heels in different corners of the room. And when you both showed up to movie night at Nancy’s, Eddie took one look at his friend and cackled, holding out a hand to each of your friends, crowing happily as dollar bills stacked up.

“You’re weak,” he laughed at Steve, poking at the lavender coloured marks on his neck, the skin that dipped below his shirt.

Steve just batted the other boy away and flung himself down onto a beanbag, opening his arms so you could fall into his lap. His hand found its home, pressed between the tips of your thigh, just decent enough that Robin wouldn’t throw popcorn at him.

He shrugged, grinned up all lazy at Eddie, pressed his tongue to his cheek to try and hide his glee and replied, “Yeah, I know.”

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.3K]

You hadn’t expected Steve Harrington to ask you out on a date and you certainly hadn’t expected it to go as well as it had. A shared pizza, two shakes and feet touching under the table, a once popular boy who was surprisingly soft and sweet, all pretty words and messy hair and eager to hold your hand. 

He made you laugh, liked the same music as you and loved the way your nose scrunched you when you got embarrassed. 

But despite all of that, all the time you spent together, it was still a surprise to you that Steve wanted to be your boyfriend, that he wanted to keep spending time with you, always smiling when you appeared, always wanting you close, enjoying your touch, your warmth.

You’d never been someone’s girlfriend before and the idea of it used to keep you up at night, wondering what you were supposed to do, how you were supposed to act. But being with Steve was surprisingly easy. 

It had been almost two months of new experiences, new feelings, new firsts. 

First date, first kiss, first time meeting his friends, first time introducing him to your parents. First mixtape, first time in your room, in his. 

And that’s where you were now, laid out pretty against his pillows, Steve hovering over you with a knee between your thighs, doing his best to keep his weight off of you as he kissed you. 

Everything he did was careful, every touch was soft. He knew you hadn’t had much experience with boys, he’d watched you stumble over your words as your tried to talk through your embarrassment about it, ‘cause what girl your age had only kissed three people? Hands above clothes in the front seat of someone’s car, wondering if you were doing it right?

But Steve had shrugged and smiled, told you that it was okay and everything that you did together was at your pace, at your discretion. It made you feel a bit better, knowing that he knew, watching how his brown eyes softened for you - not in sympathy, but understanding. So every time Steve kissed you, it was slow and almost chaste, a pretty press of his lips against yours and as nice as it always was, you always felt like you were ready to chase him for more. 

You were too shy though, unsure what to do, how to ask, completely lost at how to take charge. Steve looked at you like you hung the moon but he touched you as if you were as delicate as one of the stars beside it. 

Even now, he kept his hand curled around your waist, despite the way your legs were spread and bent for him, despite the way the hem of your dress fell high around your thighs. The other was pushed to the pillow by your head to keep himself off of you, chest barely brushing yours and although you couldn’t see it, Steve was fisting the cushion in his palm in an effort to control the way he wanted to grind down into you. 

You’d been kissing for an age, lips rosy and plush, chest rising and falling a little faster than it had before because Steve was just too pretty. It was a tease, the way he kissed you, soft and slow before pushing his mouth to yours just a little rougher before pulling back, as if he was catching himself. 

He was a gentleman about it all, hands on your side despite the way be squeezed you a little harder if you gave out a particularly breathy sigh, lips parting over your own but never licking into you, always keeping his body lifted from your own. 

It was maddening. It was sweet, it was considerate, but oh my god, it was absolutely maddening. 

So you pulled away ever so slightly, fingers slipping away from where they were curled around the boy’s bicep and Steve gazed down at you, eyes open and concerned. 

Fuck, he was pretty. Hair a little wild despite not being brave enough to card your fingers through it yet, cheeks flushed and pink, lips slick with your cherry gloss and pouty. 

“Hey,” his breath was laboured, his voice a little rough and it made your thighs clench. “Y’okay? Did I do something wr—”

You shook your head, feeling flushed, feeling too warm and you were burning inside but you knew you had to say, you knew what you wanted and how to get it. Steve was yet to say no to you, you’d noticed. Always wanting to please, always caving and letting you choose the movie when you looked up at him doe eyed. 

Eddie told him he was whipped. Robin laughed and agreed. Steve didn’t argue at all. 

“No, no,” you assured him and god, your voice was as weak as Steve’s. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And he hadn’t. Not at all. 

Steve raised his brows, waiting. 

“It’s just…” you trailed off, nose scrunched up as you broke eye contact and stared at his ceiling light instead. “I— I won’t, y’know…”

Steve smoothed your hair back from your eyes, hand cupping your jaw, a thumb pushed soft at the plush of your cheek. He was smiling, just slightly, kind enough that you didn’t think he was making fun of you. 

“Baby,” he coaxed, “what is it? You can tell me.”

You bit down on your lip as you met his gaze again, cheeks warm and you were sure he could feel the heat from them under his hand. If he did, he didn’t say, but you tried to distract him, poked a finger to the middle of his bottom lip and smiled when he nipped at it playfully. 

“Baby,” Steve tried again. 

“I’m not gonna break,” you blurted out, sudden and almost too loud for the quiet of the room. “Shit, sorry, I meant…”

Steve waited, eyes a little wide with surprise but patience rolled off of him in waves and he didn’t pull away, didn’t push. He just… waited. 

“Yeah, no, I meant that,” you whispered, tracing the line of his Cupid’s bow, eyes soft and imploring as you looked up at him. “I’m not gonna break when you touch me. I like it when you touch me, when you kiss me. You can just—” 

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say after that. Everything sounded dirty as you tried it out in your head and despite what you wanted right now, you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself. Steve was more than patient with you, too patient, which is why you were in this current position but god, what were you trying to tell him?

Touch me rougher? Kiss me harder? Go a little faster?

It all made your cheeks burn and your heart beat too fast. 

Maybe Steve realised this, ‘cause he ducked down to kiss sweetly at the corner of your lips, pressing a line of them along your cheek and jaw. 

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging at your nose with his own, affectionate and fond. “You know you can tell me anything, right? You can ask me for whatever you want… if you want to stop or—”

“Steve, god, that’s the opposite of what I want.”

The boy fell silent, mouth parted in a soft, pink ‘o’. He licked his lips, stumbling over what he wanted to say, what he felt like he was supposed to say. He didn’t want to pressure you, he didn’t want to make you feel like you had to do something that you didn’t want to. 

But you kept talking, voice was soft and sweet as it always was and he fucking adored the way your nose wrinkled as you spoke, uncertainty and shyness tinting your pretty features. 

“I want you to kiss me how you want to kiss me.”  

Steve was silent, still hovering above you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

He didn’t ask what you meant, he knew. There was no point in playing dumb, you were too smart and he knew that you knew, that he’d held himself back, been a little more gentlemanly than he’d maybe wanted to. ‘Cause he could stay about your waist and keep his hands over your pretty, little summer dresses but there was no hiding the way he looked at you. 

Like he wanted to eat you up. 

“Yeah?” Steve managed, saying it like a sigh, the tension and relief palpable in his voice. 

His hand trailed from your cheek, curved around the side of your throat, thumb pushed to your pulse point. You were buzzing underneath him, eyes all wide and hopeful, nodding up at him. 

“Yeah,” you breathed back. 

So Steve shifted, ever so slightly, down onto his elbows as he brought his hips into the cradle of yours. Your dress was already hitched up indecently high from the way you’d squirmed on top of the sheets for him and now, the denim of the boy’s jeans pressed into the cotton on your underwear, the bare skin on the inside of your legs. 

He settled there, watching the way your eyes widened as you felt how hard he was for you and it took everything he had not to rock himself forward. Steve knew what you’d asked him, but he was still so unsure how far you wanted to go. So he kissed your cheek, the top of your nose, a soft peck on your lips before pulled back and asked:

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, breath held in your chest until it burned because you could feel all of him. Steve smiled, something a little dirty hidden there, a new kind of excitement shining in his eyes. He hummed, leaned down, pressed his lips to yours in another gentle kiss - too gentle - and it made you want to whine out of frustration. 

But then his hand caught yours, the one that was trying to pull at the front of his shirt and he twisted your fingers between his, pushing your hand up and into the pillow pinning it there as he pressed into you. You gasped, a tiny hiccuped sound that made his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Is that okay?”

Your free hand grabbed at his hip, finger hooking into his belt loop and you tugged Steve into you, nodding so your nose jumped against his, breath falling heavy over his lips as he kept up his sweet kisses. 

He rolled his hips when you arched your back, other hand grabbing - really grabbing - at your thigh, palm on bare skin, hitching it to his side so he could push into you more.

Steve pressed you down into his bed like that, one hand pinned above you, your leg hiked high over his hip so you could feel how hard he was for you, dress splayed scandalous between you both. 

“Baby,” Steve hedged, voice wrecked, rough, low. “Is this—”

You didn’t let him finish, surging up to push your lips to his, catching his mouth in a kiss that was a little messy, clumsy and kind off target. But Steve groaned, loud and dirty for you, pushing you back into the pillows as his hand squeezed yours. His mouth parted over your own, lips catching your bottom first, then your top, sucking soft and nipping rough at them before he licked into you. 

His tongue was a push and press against yours as he swallowed your pretty noises, moaning into you, hips faltering as you rutted up every time he rocked down. You were throbbing, skin too hot, marked up with crescent moon shaped indents where Steve was holding onto you, lips mouthing lilac coloured bruises over your jaw and throat when you threw your head back. 

It went on like that for god knows how long, frenzied and hot, mapping over new parts of each other that you hadn’t touched yet, discovering amazingly dirty things about the other. 

Steve groaned something filthy when you ran your fingers through his hair, held on and tugged a little. He liked it even more when you did it in response to something he did, an open mouthed kiss that trailed across your collarbones, down to the bare skin on your chest that had you pulling a little mean. 

He loved your gasps, quiet and pretty, loved it even more when you got a little louder, a little braver. You whined for him when he let his hand drop from where he held your thigh, palming roughly as your ass under your dress, squeezing tight. 

Steve kissed you until your jaw ached, lips pink and swollen, kiss bitten and raw from where his slight stubble scratched against you. You only drew apart when someone knocked on the front door, a jarring fist on wood that had Steve scrambling off of you to look out of the window. 

Whoever it was gave up and left, Steve lying over you with a grin, both of you hiding your laughter in each others necks, trying to stay quiet on his bed like two lovesick teenagers that weren’t supposed to be doing what they were doing.  

Steve gazed down at you as you caught your breath, licking at his bottom like he could chase the taste of you and he tucked your hair behind your ear. He hummed when you shifted beneath him, stretched yourself out and wiggled, body tight from curling into him for so long. 

His voice was rough and sticky with fondness when he spoke. 

“Was that okay?” The boy asked you, trying for innocence, for coy, but his smile was so big that you wanted to hide. 

You scrunched your nose and pushed at him, smiling into the pillow as you rolled away. “Shut up,” you told him, not meaning it. “Yes, that was okay.”

Steve chased you, laughing softly, not at all unkind, peppering kisses to the parts of your face that he could find amongst the cushions. 

“So I can do that again?”

You turned to him, eyes hooded, a new kind of expression on your face, one that he’d only seen today. You looked too pretty to handle, he thought, a little vixen, some kind of demon, dressed up cute in a sundress. 

“Yeah,” you told him, voice ever so soft. “Please do.”

[upsidedownwithemmy]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.8K]

Honestly? It was your own damn fault. 

You could admit that. You’d taken the bait set by a couple of smartass fifteen year olds, too proud and too stubborn to let them get the better of you. 

So when Max had asked you to take her and the rest of the party to the skatepark one Saturday, you’d agreed with a smile and the condition that they had to arrange a ride home with someone else. Preferably someone they knew. Like Eddie, or Nancy, you’d added on hastily, rolling your eyes when Max huffed. 

Then it all started when Will was lugging his bike out of your trunk and Lucas and Mike were comparing rollerblades. El was by your side, squinting at the older boys going up and down the ramps and then Dustin appeared before you, holding a skateboard. 

He was grinning, looking like he was made up of trouble and bad decisions. He wiggled his brows at you and you flicked the brim of his cap, messing up the curls underneath. 

“What’s that face for?” You asked, suspicious.

“I bet you can’t do an ollie,” he told you, his voice smug. 

You eyed him, unsure whether to even bother asking but then the rest of the kids fell silent and waited on your answer. 

You huffed, already regretting it. “What the fu-fudge is an ollie?”

Max eagerly demonstrated, pushing the boys out of the way as she jumped and kicked the board, spinning it in the air before landing on top again, a perfect execution of a move you most definitely couldn’t do. You hadn’t even stood on a skateboard in over six years. 

And even when you were fourteen, you weren’t all that good at balancing. 

Dustin turned back to you, grinning, holding the board out expectantly. The underside of it was brightly coloured and hand drawn by Will, red vines wrapping around a cartoon monster with too many teeth, demonised dogs dancing around a full moon above it. 

“What?” You asked him, staring at the board as if it was offensive. “You expect me to do that?”

Dustin shrugged and Mike snickered, although he quickly fell silent when you glared. 

“If you can, we’ll get Eddie to pick us up,” Dustin smiled. It was sly and innocent all at once, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “But if you can’t, you gotta come get us.”

“And take us for ice cream!” Lucas quickly added. 

You barked out a laugh, slamming the trunk shut and spinning the car keys around your finger. You headed back to the driver's side, reaching for the door. 

“This isn’t a negotiation guys, you can call Eddie to get you, I have plans,” you gestured to the pay phone by the roadside. “Be good and don’t be too stupid.”

You were stopped in your tracks by Mike, grinning at you as he tucked his hands under his armpits and started flapping, clucking comically. It didn’t take long for Max and Dustin to join and before you knew it, even Will and El had started to make the same noises - although you weren’t overly convinced that El knew what it meant. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” you barked out, brow furrowed. You hated how annoyed you felt. “Quit it, or I’ll make sure you’ll all have to walk home, you little shits.”  

“That whole ‘no swearing in front of kids’ rule that Nancy set up really didn’t last long, huh?” Max asked, eyes wide and full of faux innocence. 

You glared at her. 

“C’mon,” Dustin urged, smiling wide, eyes crinkled. “Try it.” He held out the board again. 

“Bet you five bucks she won’t do it,” Mike whispered to Lucas - not all that quietly. 

Lucas bumped his fist against his friends, sealing the deal. “She’s too old,” he nodded, “she’ll break a hip or something.”

You knew they were baiting you. You did. You weren’t stupid. But you were stubborn and the underhand - and false - comments they made had something twisting in your chest. You were never having kids, you told yourself. And yet, you narrowed your eyes and grabbed the board from Dustin, ignoring the way they all cheered. 

One badly timed jump, a roll of the board and sickening crunch later, you were sitting on the ground holding your ankle and Dustin was standing in front of the pay phone looking all kinds of terrified. 

“Call him!” Max yelled to the boy, grimacing down at you as Will paced around behind her. “She can’t drive now, you idiot!”

Dustin looked panicked, his hat in one had as his curls flopped wildly in his eyes. “He’s gonna kill us.”

“Us?” Mike yelped, pointing a finger back at Dustin, “it was your fault, asshole!”

“Don’t swear,” you moaned, hissing when you tried to bend your ankle. The cement was cold beneath you and your ass was starting to get numb from sitting but there was absolutely no way you could stand up, not even with the offered help that Will kept trying to give you. 

“Lucas,” Dustin tried, “you call him!” He waved his fist, the coins from your cars cup holder clinking in his hold. 

Lucas laughed and shook his head, “absolutely not, he’s gonna lose his shit.”

“Don’t fucking swear,” you intoned again, feeling utterly miserable as the kids stood around tou, squabbling back and forth with their boards and skates in hand. 

Finally, eventually, just as the afternoon was starting to turn into evening and the sky was turning a pretty pink, Dustin jammed some quarters into the phone and hid his face in his hat. 

It rang only a few times before you watched the boy swallow hard and manage a wavering “oh, hey, Steve… here’s the thing…”

You didn’t have to wait long for the BMW to come into sight, screeching down the street before squealing to a halt by the sidewalk. One wheel bumped the curb and the car was left a little squint as Steve jumped out, still in his Family Video vest. 

“Babe,” he groaned in greeting, hurrying to your side as he knelt down, brow furrowed and concern knitted in the space between. “Baby.”

You were awfully sore by that point, aching ankle, the skin around the bone red and swollen looking. Plus, your ass was cold and numb from sitting, your head pounding from the way the kids had argued above you for the best part of forty minutes. 

It was easy to let the tears spring to your eyes at the sight of your boyfriend. Definitely pathetic, but easy all the same. It was a hot prick at the corner of your lashes and although you didn’t let them fall, Steve made a soft noise of sympathy as you looked up at him with glassy eyes and downturned lips. 

“Hi, Stevie,” you murmured, holding your hands out to him. 

Dustin and Mike snickered at the nickname, a sound that quickly turned into fake coughing as the older boy glared at them. Steve tutted and took your hands in his own, moving carefully and slowly as he helped you stand. 

You kept your bad ankle up, hissing at the weight of your foot but Steve let you lean on him, an arm around your waist for balance. 

“What happened?” He asked you, voice soft and kind. He looked so sad for you, lips at your hairline to press a kiss there. “Hmm?”

You didn’t mean to glance at the kids. You didn’t. But Steve caught it and the boys were horrible at looking not guilty at the best of times, so when they caught the older boys eye, they all grimaced and dropped their gaze to the ground, examining loose rocks and old gum. 

“Really?” 

You didn’t know Steve was talking to you until he tapped at your chin with his knuckles. You looked up at him, pouting, not really able to justify your actions but soon, the boy was rolling his eyes and fighting a smile. 

“You’re so stubborn,” he muttered, helping you hop over to his car. “Seriously, babe, you let those little gremlins get you on a skateboard?”

Dustin was lingering, peering at you through the window, still looking panicked. “We’re sorry, Steve!”

Max nudged at him as Lucas sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“What happened to plausible deniability, Henderson?” Mike grunted. 

“We broke Steve’s girlfriend!” Dustin cried back and you snorted despite the pain that throbbed in your ankle. 

Steve was too busy dragging your seatbelt over your chest, clicking you in as if it was both your arms that were broken. But you were feeling particularly sorry for yourself by the point, so you let him look after you, a kiss pressed to your forehead, a cheek and the corner of your lips before pulled himself back out of the car. 

You couldn’t really hear the scolding he was giving the kids through the closed door, the sound muffled and drowned out by the screech of wheels and brakes from the park behind them. But Dustin looked contrite, El and Will were slowly backing away and Max was arguing back the loudest. 

You were still pouting when Steve dropped himself into the driver's seat, his work best bundled into his fist and thrown into the back of the car. He looked a little exasperated, hair standing messily on end from running his hand through it. He turned to you with a frown, noting the way you were trying to keep your foot off of the ground. 

“Can we go to yours?” You asked softly, hoping to garner some sympathy with doe eyes and a quiet voice, despite the way it really was your own stupid fault. “Please?”

Steve let out a huff of a laugh, glancing at you briefly as he pulled back out onto the road. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze and shook his head with a smile that told you he thought you were anything but funny. 

“Sweetheart, if you meant ‘can we go to the hospital,’ then sure, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

You groaned, sounding almost too pathetic but you didn’t care.

“Steve—”

“Babe.”

You huffed, head thrown back against the seat and Steve tried his best not to laugh at your petulance. You didn’t like hospitals, he knew that, but your ankle looked like a grapefruit and he wasn’t going to let you sit in pain. 

“C’mon,” he coaxed, threading your fingers through his as he kept one hand on the wheel. Steve pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, warm and sweet. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

You sighed, staring down at your stupid ankle. 

“Promise?” You eventually asked. Not that it mattered, Steve was pulling into the hospital parking lot. You were going whether you wanted to or not. “You can’t leave me, ‘kay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve assured you, leaning over to give you a proper kiss, finger and thumb tugging your chin to tilt your head for him. “C’mon, Tony Hawk, let’s get you patched up.”

[hungharrington]

I want Stevie to make me a needy little mess kissing everywhere on my tummy and thighs while purposely avoiding where I need him most

now why would loverboy be such a tease to his favourite person? maybe if they had done something to deserve it…. this one goes out to @boyfriendstevie for indulging my goofy ideas <3 while it’s technically smut it’s like… only hot if u find love hot HAHA fem!reader MDNI this entire blog is 18+

The radio sings idly behind you, midway between the kitchen and the lounge, and when you hear the fridge door close, you think nothing of it.

The novel in your hands has your attention, your body lax as you lay spread lazily across the couch. Your shoes are off and your jean shorts unbuttoned, your bra abandoned many hours ago; a picture of a well-spent Sunday afternoon.

“Someone’s awfully comfortable.”

Steve’s voice sounds from above you and you pull your eyes from the page before you to look up. He’s standing behind the couch, arms crossed, his expression… unreadable.

“Mmhm.” You hum with a happy smile. Laid back, you raise one of your legs and give his arm a poke with your toe. “Wanna come join?”

Steve smiles lightly, rounding the couch til he’s at the end of it. His hairy thighs lean up against the arm of the couch and he hums thoughtfully. “I dunno, I was gonna eat.”

A dirty thought crosses your mind. You laugh and part your thighs just an inch, insinuating just exactly what he should eat.

“Oh?” You say.

Steve catches on quick. His eyebrows hike up and he rolls his eyes, his endeared smile giving him away.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He asks, even as he moves forward to kneel on the cushions— his hands finding a place around each of your ankles. Your tummy burns as you realise he might be serious.

“I wouldn’t complain,” you quip back with a cheeky smile. Steve’s hands on your ankles shift up, smoothing up your calves with such evident adoration it makes your blood sing.

“Wouldn’t complain, she says,” Steve echoes your words with a mock-contemplation, pretending to ponder as his thumbs rub softly at the skin of your thighs. “Anyone ever call you a princess?”

He asks while his hands keep travelling up, his fingers tucking into your unbuttoned denim. Your hips lift as he pulls, letting them slide down your legs and be discarded to the floor.

Steve’s got an intense look in his eyes now, his flicking between your face and your barely clothed core. You feel yourself grow more excited.

“Mhm,” You answer his question, your breath hitching as Steve’s hands land back on your knees— sliding them down your thighs and drawing a line with his thumb right along the sensitive inner parts. “My boyfriend, actually.”

“Your boyfriend, huh?”

He bends down between his words to kiss one of your knees. You sigh, the novel in your hands pushed to the ground and forgotten completely. You hear it land with a clutter. Steve’s huge hands are still moving, still massaging up and down your thighs— til they creep higher.

“Tell me about him, this boyfriend.” Steve muses, beginning to smile. His hands ruck your shirt higher and higher, the callouses on his hands the perfect friction against your nipples. He gives them a good pinch and you gasp, your back arching into his touch.

“Uh huh…” you start, entirely distracted by how his lips have started to trail kisses down your thighs. Just a few touches in the right place and he’s got you soaking the cotton of your panties. You might be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on.

“Well, he’s prob— probably the hottest guy in Hawkins.” Your voice skips as his mouth starts to reach the V of your thigh. His plush lips start to suckle, a dart of his tongue soothing over you as he sucks a hickey into the soft skin of your inner thigh.

His mouth pulls off abruptly. “Wait, probably?”

“Definitely.” You quickly amend. Steve melts into a smug grin, diving back down to continue his hickey as you let yourself sweet talk him. “Definitely 100% the hottest dude in town. Most attractive in the st—state, if you ask me.”

Steve hums against you appreciatively, switching his focus from one thigh to the other. You can feel your legs beginning to twitch, feel yourself clenching around nothing in pure anticipation. Steve nips and soothes at your thigh, his hands still roaming, still squeezing and pinching at your nipples enough to make you sigh sweetly.

When he finally moves from your thigh, it’s only a moment of relief before you realise he’s moving up to kiss at your tummy.

“Go on,” He urges you, eyes flashing up to meet yours with a grin. He knows you’ve caught onto his teasing now and despite how it makes your skin flutter, his kisses, the languid press of his mouth, all are just so so close to where you want him. But not close enough.

“He’s also,” You huff, all breathy now. You can feel how wet you are for him— can already envision how good it’ll feel when he gets his mouth on you. If he ever gets his mouth on you. “The biggest tease in the world.”

Steve pulls back from his motions with a pout. He’s still kneeling on the couch, your legs parted around him and at your words, his hands slide down to rest on your hipbones. His thumbs swatch up at down your panty line, teasing and tantalising. You squirm.

“Ughhhhh, why are you being a tease right now?” You ask, slumping back on the couch with a half a mind to stick your own hand down between your legs.

Steve’s hand gently touches your chin, pressing it lightly so you tilt your head forward to look him in the eye when he says, “Because you ate my pickle.”

You blink at him owlishly for a moment, his words throwing you for a loop. Then a laugh titters out your mouth and you cover it with your hand.

“Oh my god, I totally did.” You giggle, half at your lousy memory for stealing Steve’s final pickle from the him — and half because he’s actually petty enough to bring it back up during sex. “I’m so sorry.”

Steve tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Are you? I don’t think you are.”

You laugh again, head thrown back and then nod as best you can. “I am! I’m sorry I ate your pickle, baby.”

Steve’s faux-bitchiness melts away and he pouts for a moment. “You know, I was looking forward to that.”

He jabs your thigh playfully and you can’t help but laugh again. Steve stares at you unabashedly— something hot in his chest at this mixture of laughter and pleasure and a silly little bicker over a pickle.

“I can offer only one consolation,” you say, laughter now gone as you peer up at him through your lashes.

When you know you’ve got him hooked in, you nudge your thighs up and spread them a little further. You watch as Steve shivers, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

He shifts on his knees, one hand pressing into his shorts which have become tighter and tighter. When he gathers himself, there’s a new fire in his eyes — fixed on his next meal.

“Well, best get rid of these then, huh?” He murmurs, his fingers finally pinching at your panties and moving to tug them down your legs. You shuffle to let him, the heat pooling in your stomach as he tucks them into his back pocket without a second thought.

This time when his mouth kisses its way down your thigh, Steve can barely wait — skipping past his previous hickies to lick through your folds with eagerly. You gasp and moan, hips squirming up to meet his mouth and Steve takes it all gratefully — more than content to spend his Sunday afternoon with his tongue between your thighs.

[luveline]

baby blurbs 🫣🫣sleepy steve? THANKU

i love him your honour

Steve doesn't talk in his sleep so much as he hums. Sometimes soft, sometimes rough. Small sounds that tickle your shoulder where his lips are pressed. 

"Is that true?" you murmur after a particularly passionate sigh, running your fingers carefully through the soft mess of his hair. 

He's a nice weight on top of you. A dead weight for sure, floppy in sleep, but warm. His hand twitches at your waist, coveting the naked skin under your sleep shirt unconsciously. He makes another sound and you smile to yourself, acutely lovesick.

"I love you," you say.

"Love you," he mumbles back.

You can't help but giggle and stroke the hair from his eyes. "Are you awake?" 

He groans softly and his arms work beneath you, a hug that'll soon give him pins and needles. His head draws away from your shoulder and his eyes open, brown and sweet and very, very tired. 

"Did you say something?" he asks, voice thick with sleep. 

You shake your head with a huge bemused smile across your face. "Who, me?" 

He squints suspiciously. "Could've swore…" 

"I didn't say anything," you continue fondly, scrubbing your thumb across his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut in response. 

"I'm tired," he complains. 

You thread your fingers in the hair behind his ear and encourage him back to your shoulder. "Then sleep, Stevie." 

"Yeah," he says. It doesn't take long for his light snores to begin. You kiss his pale forehead and let sleep tug you down with him. 

[harringtonlovebot]

stay - Steve x Reader

12 days of Christmas fics, day 6 - stay 

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: Steve thinks it’s too cold for Reader to go home, and they agree. Tipsy shenanigans ensue. smut <3

warnings: gentle smut! alcohol mentions and swearin also

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this boi mouthy as heck ! I like writing talkative Steve so much… anyway ! hope u enjoy this! pls heed the smut caution. you can see the masterlist for tdocf here and join the taglist here. 

“Steve, I have to go.”

“One more,” he says, pulling you into him and kissing you again. He tastes like the wine you’d spent the last few hours sharing. He pulls back and smiles dopily. “Okay, wait, one more -“

“Steve,” you say again, pulling away from him, cheeks flushed. “It’s late and there’s going to be snow. I need to leave before I get snowed in.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, watching you grab your coat. “Is it so bad to have to spend a night with your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“You don’t need any.”

You throw a glove at him. “Perv.”

“Got me.”

Keep reading

[miumiumouse]

TOO EARLY | steve h.

summary : in which Steve & Y/N’s typical summer morning gets interrupted

warnings : a little suggestive, but nothing crazy! Also use of curse words.

pairing : steve harrington x female reader

notes : first fic, it’s a little short I’m sorry, hope it’s fine! Set in the first episode of season three, right before Dustin gets a surprise from his friends. Also, in this Steve and reader hides their situationship from Dustin - I’m thinking it happened in the month that Dustin was away at summer camp.

if you guys happened to enjoy this, make sure to give it a like, and reblog, let me know what you liked about it - share your thoughts! It would mean the world! ❤️

Hawkins, Indiana is surprisingly warm in the summer. The sun is already up and nagging down at 8:47 a.m.

The soft glow of the morning shines through the filtered curtains, painting strips across the tangled bedsheet.

The window is cracked just a tad, letting in the scent of heat and the hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower.

Y/N, barely covered, sits on top of Steve’s naked stomach, kissing down until she meets his lips. Her fingers lazily trace his jaw, pulling him closer—if that’s even possible.

Slow and heated, this is how they’ve started every morning this summer. Just the two of them, like no one else exists.

Steve’s hand slides down her bare back, gripping her hips and making her rock against him. He smiles into the kiss.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK—loud knocking from the front door suddenly interrupts them, ruining the moment

They freeze against each other.

Steve’s face snaps toward the door, and Y/N lifts her head, glancing toward it with a puzzled expression.

Steve squints at the clock hanging beside Y/N’s multiple Cyndi Lauper and Dolly Parton posters.

“Thought we had half an hour..?”

“Yeah… me too,” Y/N replies, turning her head back to Steve’s.

A beat of silence passes. They look at each other, sharing a silent agreement to ignore whoever’s at the door.

Outside, a familiar group of teenagers stands on the front porch, the wood creaking beneath them as the summer heat radiates around them.

Mike, arms crossed (with Eleven’s arm wrapped around his), sighs in annoyance. “Thought you said she was home.”

“She’s supposed to be,” Max mutters, looking at Lucas like he should know more.

Max steps forward, knocks harder, and nearly yells, “HELLOOO?!”

Inside the heated bedroom, Y/N groans and rolls off Steve. She slides her hands across her face. “Whoever’s out there is not going away.”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his disheveled morning hair. He looks over at her, offering a comforting look.

“Look, it’s probably just Mormons—they’re aggressive this time of year.”

Y/N shoots him a look and pushes his side with her leg. “Steve.”

“I’m going, I’m going…”

He stands up, still half-naked, grabs a shirt, and decides on boxers and confidence rather than bothering with jeans.

He heads toward the front door, opens it—and—

“Woah.” He blinks at the group of teenagers he once babysat. “What the hell are you shitheads doing here?”

Mike doesn’t miss a beat with his usual attitude. “Better question—what the hell are you doing here?”

“This early in the morning at Y/N’s?” Will chimes in, surprising even himself.

“Your best friend’s sister?” Lucas says, sighing at the sight of Steve.

“Woah, Dustin’s not my best friend—” Steve tries to defend himself.

“And why are you in your underwear?” Max grins at him.

He’s busted. A deer in headlights. Or rather, a half-dressed man at his best friend’s sister’s house. At 8:52 a.m.

Steve opens his mouth, but no words come out—just air and sheer panic.

Before he can scrape together any of his dignity, the teenagers push past him, marching straight into the house.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve spins around, waving his arms like that’ll stop them. “Dustin’s not even here for like, another half hour!”

Ignored.

Y/N steps into the hallway, now wrapped in one of Steve’s shirts that falls mid-thigh, covering just enough.

She freezes in shock at the herd of teenagers inside her house.

“Shit.”

Max turns around, arms folded, giving her a look. “You forgot.”

Steve whips his head around to face Y/N, half-naked and half-mortified, silently begging her to say something—anything—that’ll explain this.

Y/N sighs. “I totally forgot.”

Steve looks around at everyone, baffled. “What?!”

Y/N grabs his arm, turning to the teens. “Alright, you set it up—do your thing. But if you tell Dustin—”

“We’re dead,” they all finish in unison.

She pauses, realizing she’s used that threat way too much, but just nods and mutters, “Yeah.”

Steve, still confused, follows her back into the bedroom.

Y/N cracks the window fully open and begins rummaging around the room for her clothes.

“Baby,” Steve says, watching from the bed, “what’s happening?”

She looks up at him, smiling. “They planned to surprise Dustin. So they wanted to come early and set it up or something.”

His eyes wander down her now-exposed body, clearly distracted.

She catches on, slaps him with a shirt.

“Ow—alright,” he chuckles, rubbing the spot where she hit him.

She smiles and leans down to kiss him. “So I should probably head out,” he mumbles against her lips.

She nods, now pulling on her own clothes.

“Will you come by Scoops later?” he asks, hopping into his jeans.

She turns from her closet, pretending to think. “Only if there’s free ice cream.”

He laughs, watching her fondly. Steve Harrington is down bad—not that he ever meant to be. Who falls for their best friend’s kid sister? Only Steve, apparently.

“You got it,” he says with a grin. “Robin’ll be there too.”

He gets up from the bed, sliding his hands around her waist from behind.

Y/N smiles, leaning into him.

“Oh yeah… I really like her,” she murmurs, turning to face him.

Steve beams. “Yeah, you two are getting along great. Starting to feel like the third wheel.”

Y/N chuckles, rolling her eyes—when suddenly, a high-pitched, almost-girl scream echoes through the house.

“What the—” Steve starts, pulling a face.

“YYYY/NNNN!” Dustin screams at the top of his lungs.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “Shit, shit—”

“He’s gonna run in here any second.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he continues, scrambling around the room, grabbing his stuff, and dashing to the window.

“I’ll see you later, handsome,” Y/N says, blowing him a kiss as he climbs out.

“Bye!” he yells back, just before tripping over a book and falling straight out the window.