this is part one - part two - part three - part four
pairings ━ steve harrington x fem!pregnant!reader with features of lucas sinclair, mike wheeler, and close friend!nancy wheeler x pregnant!reader
synopsis ━ when a nurse accidentally outs your pregnancy in the hospital waiting room, nancy, mike, and lucas become the first to know... and they are the first to insist that steve deserves to know of the truth before the world falls apart again.
warnings ━ pregnancy, reader is 13 weeks along. comforting angst. stancy fully ended in 1984 in this AU, since this takes place in season 5 aka 1987. some HIPPA violations from a nurse (even though hippa was not a thing until the 90s).
notes ━ steve looks like he is holding the title lol... anyways not my gif.
hawkins memorial hospital, that is a building where you visited multiple times in the last three months.
tonight, it is not for any of your appointments.
right now, the cool bright lights buzz overhead like a swarm of angry bees since your heart pounds in your chest, a present drum that is echoing the fear swirling inside of you. you're bundled up in an oversized sweater, a navy blue one that's two sizes too big, hanging loose over your frame to hide the secret you've been carrying for thirteen weeks now.
thirteen weeks... three months, but it feels like it has been a year since you found out about your pregnancy from the bi-monthly routine checkups that is mandatory by the government. your baby bump is small, subtle, but it's there. your baby bump is a gentle swell that presses against the fabric when you move just right.
sitting the hospital chair, you have your legs criss crossed (right over the left) so lucas, who sits across from you, does not notice how your sweater holds against your belly.
you've been so careful. no literally, you've went as far as to avoid steve's touches, pulling away from his hugs with excuses about headaches or work for the past crawls. he has not noticed that something is wrong with you yet, since you only act that way once his hands reach down to your waist.
the world is falling apart again with vecna, and here you are, selfishly bringing a new life into this mess. yes, you know it took two to tango with steve, but guilt swallows you whole before you go to bed every night, since you are so scared about the future.
nancy sits beside you, her posture is straight and composed as always, though her eyes betray the worry that is deep within her features. mike paces nearby, his lanky frame casting long shadows on the linoleum floor, while lucas slumps in a chair across from you, his face drawn with exhaustion.
you're all here because of holly... sweet, innocent holly, snatched away by vecna's dark monsters... and karen, who's upstairs in a room, is recovering from surgery and bandaged from whatever horror unfolded at the wheeler house. the air smells of antiseptic and fear.
that is a cocktail that makes your stomach churn which is not good for your baby. you've been throwing up a lot lately, but you blame it on nerves whenever someone asks.
inside of the hospital, you can feel flutters inside of you, a remembrance to the fetus that you are growing into a baby. you're due in may of 1988, but that feels so far away knowing what is going on in hawkins currently.
as mike starts sighing, thinking of a plan to get holly back, a nurse approaches with her white scrubs crisp and her smile too bright for this grim place during the middle of the night.
she scans the room, and her eyes light up when they land on you.
"oh, hi there! y/n, right?"
you smile, forgetting about the reason why this nurse knows of you so well, "yes! hi, nurse kelly! how are you?" you ask. nancy, lucas, and mike listen and watch this interaction, silently wondering if this nurse could be another plan to reach karen in the back of the hospital.
"oh I'm doing fine for someone on the overnight shift! but enough about me... how's the baby doing? everything okay with your check-ups?" the nurse asks in concern, due to your presence in the hospital waiting room during the nighttime.
however, her words hit you like a punch to the gut. your blood runs cold, and you freeze with every muscle in your body locking up.
the baby.
your baby!!!
nurse kelly said it out loud, right here, in front of the very people in your friend group that are super quick to connect dots. panic surges through you, making your vision blur at the edges even though you try to keep a normal face.
you force a laugh, shaky and unconvincing, shaking your head vigorously, "what? i... i think you have the wrong person. i don't know what you're talking about."
the nurse frowns, tilting her head as she looks down at her clipboard, which had a blank paper on it, before she looked back up at you with curiosity, "huh- well aren't you the one who came in for the prenatal visit last month? you were eleven weeks along at the time? i remember because you because you seemed so nervous and alone, but everything looked great."
your throat closes up, as nancy's head snaps toward you, her eyes wide with surprise. mike stops pacing, staring openly, and lucas leans forward, his brow furrowed. the nurse, sensing the tension, mumbles an apology and hurries away down the hall, leaving you exposed like a nerve ending laid bare.
silence stretches, and you nearly want to cry since your biggest secret, your child, is now known to someone else that was not you.
a minute passes with the boys looking at you in shock, while your closest friend tries to find some words to say.
once she finds them, nancy stands, gesturing softly to the hallway, "y/n, can we talk? just for a minute?"
you nod numbly, your legs feeling like lead as you follow her out. the hallway is quieter outside of the waiting room with the beeps of machines and other distant echoes.
once you stop walking, you nearly wanted to cry as nancy turns to you, her expression a mix of concern and gentleness, the kind that makes your chest ache. she's always been strong, but has a softness that sneaks up on everyone.
you remember the days when you both navigated the tangled web of high school mess. before 1984, you were pining after jonathan... and her after steve, only to switch in that fateful year of 1984.
now, three years into your relationship with steve, and here you are, hiding the biggest secret of your life from him.
"what was that about?" nancy asks, her voice low and careful, like she's handling fragile glass, "the nurse… she mentioned a baby. your... um... baby."
tears prick at your eyes, and. you wrap your arms around yourself, pulling the sweater tighter, as if it could shield you from this confrontation, "it's nothing, nancy. she must have mistaken me for someone else."
nancy doesn't buy it, of course she does not. you've looked... different, lately. nothing too noticeable, but it is clear that you've been much more tired.
she steps closer, her hand hovering near your arm before she touches it lightly, "y/n, please. we've been through too much together for lies. if something's going on, you can tell me."
the dam breaks a little, emotions flooding out in a whisper, "i… i didn't want anyone to know.... not yet.... not with vecna and everything happening."
mike and lucas have followed, lingering at the hallway's entrance, their faces a blend of curiosity and worry.
mike rubs the back of his neck, awkward as ever, "wait, is this for real? like, you're pregnant?"
you shoot him a glare, but it's laced with fear, "mike, drop it."
mike doesn't, "hold on, a month ago, i heard you throwing up at the house before the 14th crawl. i thought it was that sketchy deli food downtown, the one with the bad tuna. but… was it morning sickness or something?"
lucas nods slowly, piecing it together, "yeah, and you've been wearing those huge sweaters for a few weeks, even on days when it's not that cold."
the boys, and their smart words pile on with each one stripping away your carefully constructed facade. you feel cornered, trapped, the weight of your secret pressing down until you can't breathe.
"fine," you snap, your voice trembling almost with shame, "yes, okay? i'm pregnant. thirteen weeks. but I can't... i don't want to talk about it right now."
nancy's eyes soften further, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing yours.
"y/n, can i… with your permission, can i see?"
you hesitate, terror clawing at your throat. unfortunately, they're right... everyone will find out eventually. with a shaky nod, you let Nancy lift the hem of your navy blue woven sweater, just enough to reveal the small, rounded bump beneath.
it's not huge, but it's unmistakable now with a soft curve that speaks of the life growing inside you.
nancy gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
"oh my goodness," she breathes, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and shock, "it's real. you're really… y/n, this is amazing... but.... but you have to tell steve, if you haven't."
the mention of his name sends a fresh wave of panic crashing over you since steve... your beautiful and loving boy steve, with his easy smile and protective streak, does not know about his child growing inside of you.
you've been dating for three years, but this changes everything, "i can't, nancy. not now. what if he freaks out? what if he thinks it's too dangerous with vecna around?"
she shakes her head, her grip on your arm firm but kind, "steve adores kids. you know that. he's always talking about them, how he'd be the best dad. he'd be over the moon."
lucas chimes in, his voice steady despite the chaos around you, "yeah, man. steve's like, the king of babysitting. remember how he handles the kids? he'd be the happiest guy on the planet. well, besides all this vecna crap."
you swallow hard, tears spilling over now, "but holly's missing. taken by vecna and karen's in this hospital, hurt. i can't distract from that. it's not the time."
nancy pulls you into a gentle hug all of the sudden, with her arms wrapping around you with a warmth that makes you sob quietly into her shoulder.
"holly's disappearance isn't your responsibility, y/n.... not right now. your only responsibility is this baby. the rest of us... we'll track her down, we'll fight but you need to take care of yourself and that little one."
nancy's words are meant kindly, but they stir a fear of uselessness inside of your body. you've always been in the thick of the fighting, fighting alongside steve, wielding whatever weapon you could find. now, with this bump, this life depending on you, you feel sidelined, like dead weight.
"i don't want to be useless," you whisper, pulling back to wipe your eyes, "i hate feeling like i can't help."
mike steps forward, his usual sarcasm softened, "you're not useless, y/n. come on. you're carrying a whole kid in there. that's like, the opposite of useless. that's creating life while the upside down world is trying to end it."
nancy nods, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, "exactly. and does robin know? she's your best friend... she'd want to be there for you."
you shake your head, "no. no one knows. just me… and now you guys."
the hallway feels like it is closing in smaller. there is a tiny spark of joy buried deep under the terror, but still. nancy's presence grounds your emotions since she is supportive, and her friendly gaze reminds you of the bond you've shared through battles.
"you have to tell steve," she says again but softer this time, "he deserves to know, and you'll feel better once it's out."
the thought terrifies you since what if he resents you for keeping it secret? what if the world crumbles before this baby even has a chance?
you nod anyway while staring into nancy's bright eyes, because deep down, you know she's right.
you all head back to the waiting room, and you feel exposed even with the navy blue sweater pulled down firmly over your belly. nancy settles beside you again, her hand finding yours under the armrest, squeezing gently.
it's a small gesture, but it reminds you that you're not alone in this nightmare while carrying a child. mike and lucas exchange glances, trying to act casual, but you can see the wheels turning in their heads... the shock, the questions they are biting back from you.
"i'm almost four months," you murmur, correcting yourself slightly from the thirteen weeks, but it feels close enough, "i'm about three months along, and i found out right when things started getting weird again with vecna in the summer time. i thought… i don't know, maybe if i ignored it, this pregnancy wouldn't be real.... or maybe i could protect my child by pretending."
nancy's thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand, her touch soothing, "that's a long time to carry this alone, y/n. why didn't you say anything sooner?"
tears well up again, and you blink them away furiously as you adjust your body in the chair to accommodate your back, "because the world's ending, nance. again. holly's out there somewhere, scared and alone, and karen's back behind that door fighting for her life. how could i drop this bomb? it feels so selfish... like, who am i to bring a kid into this nightmare?"
nancy leans in closer beside you, her voice a whisper meant just for you, "it's not selfish. it's human.... and that baby? it's a piece of you and steve. that is something good in all this bad."
you think back to how it all started with those cute moments with steve after the switch in '84. you and nancy got caught up in the upside down stuff and at the time... you'd crushed on jonathan hard since his quietness sparked a curiosity in you. this is while nancy was unhappy with steve. however, fates twisted and suddenly steve's eyes were on you once the both of you started working at mall together with robin.
three years later, and steve's become your heart, but this secret has built a wall between you, any happiness around you.
lucas clears his throat, trying to lighten the mood, "steve's gonna flip in a good way. remember how he was with us kids during the upside down stuff? guy's a natural dad."
mike snorts, but it's fond, "yeah, he'd probably start building a crib tomorrow if he knew."
the boy's words spark a flicker of warmth in your chest, cutting through the cold dread.
you looked to your right and took a glance toward the doors, where doctors rush by and wyou onder about holly... tiny holly, with her wide eyes and innocent questions. the guilt resurfaces, "but what about holly… we have to focus on her. i can't be the reason we get distracted."
nancy's eyes meet yours, "stop that. we're a team, y/n. we handle multiple fronts. your baby is priority one for you now. let us worry about the rest."
the woman's kindness undoes you a little more, emotions bubbling up with gratitude mixed with fear, and a love for this friend who's seen you through hell.
you squeeze her hand back, hoping to draw strength from her.
the waiting room clock ticks on, each second a reminder of the battles ahead. you feel the bump shift slightly as you move, a tiny reminder of the life within.
you could tell that the conversation was unfinished, since nancy keeps looking at you. it takes her a few moments before she pulls you into another quiet exchange.
"tell me more," she says softly, "how have you been feeling? physically, i mean."
you hesitate, "tired. so tired. and the nausea... god, it's been awful. i threw up every morning for weeks. that's what mike heard, i guess... and emotionally… i'm a mess. happy one minute, terrified the next. what if vecna comes for me? for the baby?"
nancy listens, "that's normal, y/n. pregnancy's hard enough without monsters but you're strong. you've fought demogorgons, mind flayers. you can do this."
mike interrupts while leaning in, "so, uh, is it a boy or girl? or too early?"
you shake your head, "too early... but i don't care, as long as it's healthy."
lucas grins, "steve or stevia junior, maybe."
the banter helps, and you laugh for the first time since you saw steve this morning.
speaking of steve, you wonder when you'll have the guts to tell him about his child...
Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.
You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.
Not even consciously, really.
Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.
Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.
Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.
What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.
Steve glances down.
You’re asleep.
Completely asleep.
Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.
Steve blinks once.
“…seriously?”
You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.
Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.
Interesting.
The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.
You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.
“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.
“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”
“Hm.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.
Your shoulders loosen immediately.
Another few minutes pass.
Then, nothing.
No response to his last comment. No movement either.
Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Still sitting upright between his legs.
Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.
“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.
By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.
Especially because Steve starts testing it.
Not maliciously.
Scientifically.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”
Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.
“Doing what?”
“The hair thing.”
“What hair thing?”
“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.
Because it really is absurd.
You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”
Steve loses it completely at that.
You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.
After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.
Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.
The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.
And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.
On the couch.
In bed.
Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.
Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.
“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”
Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”
“She was literally talking.”
“Yeah?”
“And now she’s unconscious.”
Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.
Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.
“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”
Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
“She’s associated you with sleep now.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”
“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”
“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.
Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.
There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.
Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.
That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.
Which is why he tries not to.
Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.
You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”
Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault you’re always sleepy?”
“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”
The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.
You notice immediately, even half asleep.
“What?”
Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.
“Nothing.”
“Steve.”
His fingers slow slightly in your hair.
“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”
Your expression softens immediately.
Because there it is.
The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.
Steve likes being trusted.
Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.
The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.
You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.
Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.
“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”
Your lips twitch.
“Me falling asleep?”
“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”
Something warm twists painfully through your chest.
You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.
Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.
Dangerous.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”
“You’re literally weaponising affection.”
Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.
“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.
“No I’m not.”
“You just blinked for like six seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.
“You’re done for, sweetheart.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Then immediately yawn instead.
Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.
It does absolutely nothing.
Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.
And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.
Summary: Co-presenting an award with your boyfriend Joe should be easy, but nerves and sex send your night spiraling into disaster.
Word count: 9.3k
Warnings: +18 MDNI. SMUT (unprotected p in v, riding, kinda breeding kink, sorta lovemaking), more plot than porn tbh, established relationship, basically FLUFF because joe is deeply in love with you, reader is famous af, jacob elordi being a menace to society.
Everyone was obsessed with Joe and you separately, but when you two started dating? No other couple could compare. You had been universally labeled as ‘Hollywood’s IT Couple.’
Even though the absurdly big amount of support had been a surprise, you tried to keep your privacy as much as possible. Supermarket runs were over, TikToks had to be double-checked before posting, and gossip pages were constantly trying to stir up drama. But only Joe and you knew how genuinely incredible your relationship was, and you refused to let fans or media break you apart.
So you didn’t hesitate in accepting the Golden Globes offer to present an award together. You were already nominated for Best Actress in a Television Series, and Joe would obviously be your plus one. People would probably accuse you two of milking your relationship by going to all the red carpets and events together, but after almost a year of dating, you didn’t really care about anyone’s opinion anymore.
So what if you wanted to post a picture of shirtless Joe making you breakfast right before promoting his new album? You knew people were going to run to your Instagram stories, so you might as well get some new fans for The Crux.
'They are so PR!' was the funniest comment you received. If only they knew how devoted you were to each other.
Your manager was ecstatic about the increasing popularity of the Stranger Things season 5 finale and 'End of Beginning.' She wanted you to date someone as famous as you, and even though Joe had a hundred million fewer followers than you, he was unproblematic, well-liked by the media, and growing in popularity.
You had attended the Golden Globes for the last five years, even winning two awards for Best Actress for your main role in your famous HBO tv show, Crashing Waves. Everyone loves to win, but you were feeling a bit shy of possibly winning a third time for the same show. You didn’t want your peers to resent you or think that the show’s producers had a contract with the academy.
Joe thought you were delusional. “Nobody hates you for it, babe. That’s, like, everybody’s favorite show. We all want you to win because you fucking deserve it.”
Maybe he was right, but deep down you hoped somebody else would take the award home.
After a year of constant communication, your managers had become best friends—although Joe and you were sure they were dating—and had chosen the perfect matching outfits for the event.
Joe looked incredibly handsome with a white suit, black pants, and his new blond hair, while you represented the ‘epitome of sexiness’ (Joe’s words) with your sheer black dress.
“How is this matching?” you asked your managers. “We’re wearing opposite colors.”
“Exactly!” Jane exclaimed. “Everyone loves the ‘opposites-attract’ narrative you two have going on.”
Laura, your manager, nodded. “While he looks like an angel, you look like a hot, tempting devil.” She slapped your ass playfully, making Joe glare at her. “No one would be able to look away from you, dear.”
They weren’t wrong; the dark aesthetic of your makeup and dress made you seem as if you would slap anyone who took the award from you.
“You look beautiful,” Joe mumbled on the limousine’s backseat, kissing your hand. “Like you’re gonna spank me and tell me to shut up.”
You smirked. “I don’t have to look like a Disney villain to do that.”
Joe snorted. “You don’t look like a villain at all. More like… a hot vampire.” He scooted closer and kissed your neck. “I need you, baby.”
It was barely seven o’clock, and with the entire event and after party, you’d probably be back at the hotel around three a.m.
You gently pushed him off. “Behave. I can’t have hickeys now.”
“Why not?” he whined and playfully bit your shoulder, making sure to not leave a mark. “That’ll keep the men away.”
“Your presence will be enough for that, honey.”
Joe jokingly gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “What do you mean? Are you calling me possessive?”
Your boyfriend was the least toxic man in the world. Many would even describe him as the sweetest person in any room. But whenever a man would get too close, smile too widely, or eye you a bit too much…
You sighed. “That would be an understatement.”
The red carpet was pretty chaotic, as usual, with camera flashes blinding you, interviewers begging for your attention, and fans screaming for selfies. You used to hate that part, but doing it with Joe reduced all the stress. He kept a supportive hand on your lower back all the time and constantly whispered compliments in your ear. You two had reached enough peace and shamelessness that when fans chanted ‘kiss, kiss, kiss,’ Joe pleased them with a soft, lingering peck on your lips.
“I love you,” he whispered, but everyone read his lips and screamed like crazy.
You just blushed and chuckled as your managers took you inside.
“Oh, my children,” Jane whined with a happy smile while watching the pics she had taken of you on her phone. “If you ever break up, I’ll lock you in a cabin on a remote island until you solve things.”
Joe and you froze, looking at his manager with wide eyes, but an event assistant arrived to escort you to your seats.
Most people were already in their seats, chatting with their colleagues, so there were only two chairs available on your table. Well, of course you were awkwardly sort of late…
Everyone looked up when you arrived.
Joe and you smiled politely at your show’s director, producers, and—
“Oh my god, Jacob Elordi,” you shrieked at your celebrity crush sitting right there, a few meters from you, next to the Frankenstein cast.
They all laughed, bringing you back to reality. You blushed deeply and looked embarrassed at Jacob. “I’m just— Wow. Hey, hi.”
The handsome man’s cheeks were a light shade of pink too. He shook your hand. “Nice to finally meet such a superstar.”
HE KNEW YOU?!
Joe’s squeeze of your hip unfroze you. He knew of your fangirl crush on Jacob Elordi, but having him in person, in front of you, looking a bit flushed too… It wasn’t cute or funny anymore.
You cleared your throat and sat down nervously, looking everywhere but at Jacob. For years, you had seen him from afar in every event, too shy to ask him for a picture, and now he was next to you.
“What the hell!” you mouthed to your boyfriend, discreetly pointing at Jacob. “He’s real?”
Before Joe could reply, Jacob spoke, sending a shudder down your spine. “I’m a big fan of Crashing Waves.”
Oh, you were in a dream. Joe nudged your knee, quietly reminding you to reply.
You looked at Jacob and tried to smile. “Yeah? Y-you’ve seen it?”
Jacob scoffed. “Of course. It’s my favorite. And you? Wow. Amazing performance every damn minute.”
You grasped Joe’s hand beneath the table. It wasn’t the cold air conditioner that was making you tremble.
“Hey, Y/N,” your director called across the table. “You look like a tomato.”
All eyes turned to you before they snickered softly. You covered your face, absolutely embarrassed.
Joe forced a chuckle and soothed your back. “She gets like that with compliments.”
“And how are you gonna receive that award, then?” teased Guillermo del Toro.
Guillermo del Fucking Toro was talking to you. You quickly looked up and hurriedly said, “Mr. del Toro, oh God, pleasure to meet you. Big, big fan of Pinocchio.”
He chuckled and shook your hand. “Most people say ‘Shape of Water,’ but it’s nice hearing something different.”
“We loved Frankenstein,” Joe added, also staring at the man with awe. “I—”
Jacob cut him off. “We were talking about you, actually.”
Your jaw dropped. “M-me?”
He nodded and smiled charmingly. “I was telling Guillermo that you should audition for his next movie.”
You almost stood up from the surprise. With a stoic face, you said, “It’d be the honor of my life, Mr. del Toro.”
The table guests laughed, but Joe knew you were serious. The director waved his hand. “You can just call me Guillermo, dear. Give me your number.”
As you exchanged numbers with the widely awarded man, Joe noticed Jacob’s eyes shamelessly raking all over you, lingering on your cleavage.
Was he fucking serious right now?
Joe put an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple, trying to discreetly remind Elordi that you were his girlfriend. “Are you still nervous about the award? Because I think I just saw Ayo Edebiri gushing about you with her friends.”
You looked around for your fellow nominee, almost breaking your neck.
But it seemed Joe was invisible to Jacob as he grabbed your hand over the table and talked before you could. “Please, just between us, tell me the end of Crashing Waves.”
Your eyes widened. Jacob Elordi was touching you. Your inner fifteen-year-old, who hated The Kissing Booth saga but watched it a million times because of your favorite actor, would be crashing out right now.
Your tv show’s main producer, Gary, shook his head. “Don’t do it, Y/N. He already tried with me.”
You giggled and… didn’t move your hand away, Joe noticed.
“My contract forbids me to. Sorry,” you said. “Not even my boyfriend knows it.”
Gary snorted. “I don’t believe that one bit.”
You blushed and looked conspiratorially at Joe. “I probably would’ve told him, but he doesn’t wanna be spoiled.”
Joe nodded and took advantage of the table’s attention. “She’s always on the verge of telling me the ending in bed, in the shower, in the car, everywhere!”
Hopefully, the discreet sexual innuendo sent a clear message.
Jacob looked at him for the first time and forced a smile. “Djo, right? ‘Endings of Beginnings’ is a great song.”
Oh, Joe wanted to jump over you and choke the tall man. Every fucking person in the world knew his song. It had been number one on spotify for over two consecutive weeks. But a discreet squeeze on his thigh brought him back to the present.
You had noticed Jacob’s jab and didn’t like it one bit. The excitement about meeting your celebrity crush was gone. Your jaw tightened and your smile turned pursed.
Next to Jacob, Mia Goth chuckled. “I told you it’s ‘End of Beginning’! I played it all the time at my trailer.” She waved excitedly at you two. “While y’all were chatting, I was looking for this.”
She passed you her phone with a wide smile. Joe and you gasped at the screenshot of her Spotify Wrapped having both of you as her top two artists.
“I definitely did not beg the Golden Globes producers to put you two at our table,” she teased with a wink. “Can we take a picture at the commercial break?”
Joe and you nodded eagerly. “Of course!”
Even after years of making music and acting, meeting fans always filled your hearts, especially if they were your Hollywood colleagues.
“She’s working on her new album,” Joe pointed at you, making Mia gasp.
You chuckled and shook your head. “Not really. I’ve written, like, fifty songs but nothing concrete.”
Mia couldn’t care less about Jacob as she scooted her chair closer and grasped your hand over the table. “Is it a love album? I mean, your depressive ones are my faves, but I’m sure you’ll do great romantic songs.”
“They are,” Joe quickly said, loud enough for a certain giant man to listen.
You chuckled and squeezed Mia’s hand. “How can I not write love songs when I have such a muse?”
It was Joe’s turn to blush as everyone—except Jacob—‘aww’ed. But he wasn’t ashamed in the slightest; he was filled with joy. For a long time, he had wished for someone to love him as hard as he did, with the silly love songs and irrational, sporadic love acts.
And he finally found you, a poet wanting to be the muse of another poet. Your love languages matched and there wasn’t a paper in your apartment without a love poem written on it.
He kissed your cheek and whispered, “I love you.”
“A picture!”
A flash blinded you two. An event photographer had approached the table and was now asking the Frankenstein cast to get together for a general picture.
Joe and you scooted your chairs back to avoid appearing on the photo, finally getting a peaceful second for yourselves.
But an assistant suddenly appeared behind you with a clipboard and a pen. “Mrs. and Mr. Y/L/N, you’re the sixth presenters. I’ll come look for you in… twenty minutes. Be ready.” Then rushed to the next table.
You paled, randomly forgetting which award you were presenting for. But Joe smirked and said, “I loved that he called me ‘Mr. Y/L/N.’ I can get used to it, to be honest.”
So focused on your work, you hadn’t even noticed the assistant’s slip. You beamed and pinched his cheek. “But I want to be Mrs. Keery so bad, honey. I love your last name.”
“Okay, then you be Mrs. Keery and I’ll be Mr. Y/L/N,” he teased, causing you to chuckle.
“That defeats the whole purpose!”
Joe gasped, startling you, as his eyes found his table’s name card. He picked it up and showed it to you. “I’m ‘Joe Keery-Y/L/N,’ and you’ll address me like that from now on.”
Your jaw dropped too. What were the Golden Globes’ assistants playing at? Yours didn’t include his last name, so it had definitely been on purpose.
“This is coming home with me.” Joe kept looking at it with awe. “Take a pic of me holding it, please.”
Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling at his cute reaction. In another universe, your ex-boyfriend would’ve been pissed by it. You took the photos with your phone, already wanting them as your new wallpaper.
But behind Joe, in the background of the pic… You gasped and almost dropped the phone. Joe turned around confused. “What?”
“Ariana Grande looks wonderful!” you screamed in a whisper.
The singer/actress was on a faraway table, calmly chatting with Selena Gomez. Joe raised his eyebrows. “She’s brunette. Wasn’t she blonde, like, yesterday?”
You sighed and patted his back. “Just because we rewatched Wicked For Good yesterday doesn’t mean it was filmed yesterday, baby.” He rolled his eyes, but you weren’t done. “You’re the newest blondie in town. No one will take your crown.”
He looked deadpan at you but couldn’t help smiling at your joke. “Be thankful you’re cute and I love you.”
You sent him a flying kiss and looked back at your phone. “She’s nominated for a Wicked song.”
Joe leaned closer to see the list too. “Uhh, the one I like? She’ll sing it?”
Oh, you were so in love with your chronically offline boyfriend. “No, babe. Popular is from the first movie.” You scrolled down and sighed. “Forget it. Golden will definitely win.”
He frowned and naively asked, “The Harry Styles song you like?”
You stared at him quietly for half a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, his 2019 hit is so nominated.”
Joe rolled his eyes at your teasing and leaned back on his chair. “I’ll never ask you anything again ever.”
“You’re not gonna speak to me anymore?” you smirked. “Give me this, then.”
When you reached for his name card, Joe quickly shielded it from you, keeping it close to his chest. “No, no. Don’t steal the highlight of my year.”
“It’s January 12th.”
“Enough days to know that I want to marry you this year,” he joked.
But your heart stopped. A man can’t just… joke about something like that! You cleared your throat and tried to act nonchalant. “I’m busy this year. Too many projects. Try in 2027.”
Joe’s arms encircled your hips to pull you closer. He kissed your cheek and whispered in your ear, “I’ll kidnap you, then. Fuck the movie industry.”
“It’ll fall apart without me,” you shrugged, pretending to be inspecting your nails.
“Oh, so true. They’ll lose their best actress,” he mumbled between kisses. And this time, you knew he wasn’t joking, which just flustered you more.
“Hey, loverbirds!” Gary, your show’s producer, threw a balled-up napkin your way. “Shut up. Shit’s starting.”
Blushing, you two pulled apart and pretended to pay attention to the host’s speech. Yet as the woman talked and joked, Joe’s hand suddenly found its way under your dress’s crease and started caressing up your thigh. You discreetly side-glanced at him.
“Don’t…” you muttered as his thumb reached the edge of your underwear.
But he didn’t move his hand away and you didn’t want him to stop, so you clapped and smiled while presenters announced winners and they gave their speeches.
By the third award, you discreetly leaned closer to Joe and muttered with a hand covering your mouth “What the hell are you—?”
His fingers grazed your clothed clit, making you flinch. You covered it with a cough while he just smiled calmly at the stage, paying all the attention in the world.
Casually, you placed an arm on his chair and ghosted your nails across his back. It seemed like a normal, loving action, but Joe knew better. His smile wavered as he tried to push your hand away without being too obvious.
“Dont play…,” he mouthed.
You smiled innocently and looked back at the stage. He wanted to play dirty? Well so could you.
But the challenging vibe left you when he pressed your clit hard. An inevitable gasp escaped your lips, catching your table’s attention.
You forced a smile and lied, “Sorry. I just love that movie.”
Hamnet’s trailer was playing on the screens… It hadn’t even hit theaters in America. But they believed you and returned their direction to the show.
Joe quickly whispered in your ear. “You’re so wet already.”
You pushed him off instinctively, then faked a smile and squeezed his shoulder, just in case a camera was on you.
Joe smirked and tried to move your panties to the side. Alright, enough. You scooted closer to the table, grabbed his wrist, and mumbled, “I’ll murder you if—”
“Excuse me.”
You both gasped at the sudden squeaky voice, jumping away from each other as if electrified.
Standing awkwardly behind you, the assistant raised her hands and whispered, “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you, guys. I need to take you backstage.”
Joe discreetly wiped his fingers on the chair and nodded. You forced a smile and stood up, hoping there wasn’t a wet spot in your dress.
“What is wrong with you?!” you whispered to Joe as the woman guided the way.
He put an arm around your waist and shrugged. “I… honestly don’t know. You look so hot and fucking Elordi was hitting on you—”
“He wasn’t.”
But not even you could deny it. You smirked as your cheeks turned pink. “He so was, right?”
Joe rolled his eyes but smiled at your cuteness. “Who wouldn’t? You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
The second the backstage doors closed behind you, your hands found the nape of his neck as you pulled him down to a kiss. He grabbed your hips to press you closer and opened his mouth to deepen it.
“Hey, hey. Don’t mess up the makeup,” your manager appeared to ruin the moment.
Behind her, various assistants and crew were rushing around, making sure the show was running perfectly. Laura pulled out a small mirror and your lipstick. “Re-apply. Joe, don’t forget your glasses. Follow the woman; you have to be on stage in three minutes.”
Joe stared with hunger as you applied the expensive lipstick. Pretending not to notice him, you sent a kiss to the mirror and pouted. He distracted himself by focusing on the assistant leading them.
“Remember: you can drift from the teleprompter words, but not completely, okay?” she said.
You nodded and gave her your lipstick and mirror. “Can you please give this to that woman, the one that looks constipated?”
A few feet behind you, Laura mouthed, “I can hear you!”
The assistant left you two on the entrance spot behind the curtain and next to the stage. From there, you could see the Heated Rivalry actors chatting excitedly with Michael B. Jordan.
“There are only, like, six songs nominated. We could’ve listened to them,” Joe sighed.
You shrugged. “I did.”
“What?!” he gasped. “When?”
“This morning while you were showering.”
Joe feigned sadness as he shook his head. “You should’ve waited for me. Now I can’t judge the Oscar dudes that never watch all the nominated movies.”
You rolled your eyes. “Joe, we won’t choose the winning song. It’s completely different.”
Your boyfriend put an arm around your waist to pull you close and whispered, “I was joking. Laugh or I’m breaking up with you.”
You pressed your lips in a line, refusing to give in… but he started tickling you. “Stop! Joe—”
“Shh!” The assistant was back, looking a bit angrier, and gave Joe an envelope. “We’re coming back from commercials in thirty seconds. The camera is already on you. Good luck!”
You both stayed quiet until she had walked out of listening range, then looked at each other nervously.
“I’m shaking,” Joe confessed, showing you his trembling hands.
You whined, “Joe, you’re supposed to calm me!”
He put on his glasses and sighed. “We got this…”
“I love your sluttly little glasses,” you whispered in a shaky voice.
“Thanks,” he mumbled with his eyes glued to the camera. “We should’ve taken a shot before this.”
“We’re fine…” You grabbed his free hand. “Let’s enter like this instead of the elbow-holding thingy. We look like the Hunger Games tributes when they—”
“Coming to the stage,” a thundering voice came from the speakers. “you know him from Stranger Things and she’s the two-time Golden Globe winner… it’s Joe Keery and Y/N Y/L/N.”
That was your cue, of course. Joe and you walked hand in hand to the stage and towards the microphone. Everyone applauded as the chorus from End of Beginning played on the speakers. You could already imagine millions of fans shrieking excitedly at their screens.
As you mentally reminded yourself to not trip over your feet, your eyes found the teleprompter. Joe and you had already practiced two days ago in that same spot, something along “Music is an art that—”
…That wasn’t on the teleprompter. What? Joe and you stopped right behind the microphone, his eyes on you since your line was the first. Hadn’t he realized the changes?!
Oh, shit. The words were moving fast. You smiled and started, “Uhm… Showtunes, k-pop, blues, pop, rock, americana, this year’s nominees for Best Original Song are truly all over the place.”
Even though you sounded out of breath and rushed, Joe talked smoothly, “Seriously. If you show up at a party and they play all six of our nominees in a row, you'd be psyched because they are all incredible…”
You discreetly side-eyed him. Joe hadn’t even listened to them. Well, maybe he vaguely remembered the Wicked ones… although you had heard a light snore coming from him during The Girl in the Bubble.
“But you'd also have a few questions,” Joe’s line was the cue to yours.
You quickly looked back at the teleprompter just as your line went away. “Eh… Yeah, a million,” you improvised. “Like, damn, who wrote that masterpiece?”
Joe blinked, his plastered smile wavering. Your improv wasn’t really a match with the original “What are you on?” line.
He forced a chuckle and quickly saved it. “Yeah, or what are you on?”
“How much—” you started, then realized it was his line.
“...are you on?” Joe continued, trying to make it look like it had been on purpose. Oh, the cute couple are completing each other's lines!
“And can I please have some?” you finally read correctly.
Joe smiled proudly at you and said the last line, “All great questions. Now here is one more: Who is taking home the Golden Globe tonight?”
The camera’s red light disappeared as the show started displaying the nominees section. Your smiles disappeared instantly.
You grasped your boyfriend’s arm and whispered, “They changed that or am I schizophrenic?!”
“Both.” Joe tried to sound reassuring. “I mean, yeah I think they did. And it was going so fast. It wasn’t your fault, baby.”
“I never said it was…”
A three-second countdown appeared in the teleprompter. Joe squeezed your hand warningly and both of your charming, fake smiles came back.
“And the Golden Globe goes to…” you exclaimed.
Joe tried to open the envelope, but his fingers had turned sweaty from the nervousness, and it fell to the floor. You gasped dramatically at the worst case scenario happening.
Just as you leaned down to help, Joe stood up, crashing the back of his head into your collarbone.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry!”
You took a step back and collided with the microphone. “Ah!” you screamed as you quickly reached for it.
Joe winced, but managed to help you keep the mic stand straight. “Shit. I mean, oh—” He covered his mouth when one of the only curse word he was told not to say slipped out.
You leaned into the mic and yelled, “And the Oscar goes to…!”
“Golden Globe,” Joe corrected before squinting his eyes to read the envelope, “Uhm… Golden, The Hunters—”
“Kpop Demon Hunters,” you tried to correct, but the loud music and applause overshadowed your voices.
Joe gently grabbed your elbow and dragged you to the side of the stage. An assistant hesitantly looked at Joe before deciding to give you the award.
“They’re never calling us for this again,” Joe whined, rubbing the nape of his neck stressfully.
Before you could reply, the winner climbed up the stairs. You smiled widely and gave her the Golden Globe.
“Congrats!” you both exclaimed.
The woman briefly thanked you before walking to the microphone. On cue, you two rushed to the backstage.
“That was a mess. I’m not entering twitter for a week,” you whined.
Joe soothed your back. “Okay, people laughed… maybe with us and not at us?”
“Hey! Stop!”
You jumped at the desperate whisper behind you. The same assistant that had led you to the stage was running towards you.
“You have to present a second award! The best score!”
“Ohh!” Joe and you gasped as realization dawned in your faces.
You almost slapped your forehead at the collective loss of memory happening between both of you. Maybe spending too much time together was making your brain cells mix into just a big, stupid one.
“Here you go.” The woman gave Joe the result envelope.
He grimaced and shoved it into your hands. “Not doing that again.”
You stared at it as if it were a boiled potato. “But why me?!”
“Hurry up!” the woman yelled in a whisper. “Get on stage now!”
The previous winner was ending her speech in tears while you two tried to discreetly stand behind her. Applause aroused as the singer stepped away with her award, your sign to present the second nomination.
“Congratulations to Golden, Kpop Demon Hunters,” you said with a smile.
“Alright, everybody, now the award for Best Original Score Motion Picture,” Joe followed. “And the nominees are…”
You both released a breath of relief as the show switched to list the different movies and musicians.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Joe whispered.
Biting your lip, you carefully tried to open the envelope. You suddenly froze and said, “Oh my God… What if I say it wrong?”
Joe frowned, taking a quick look at the screen to make sure they weren’t on air. “What? How?”
“I don’t know! Look at the La La Land/Moonlight scandal and—”
The red dot reappeared on the camera. You two smiled again and Joe said, “And the Golden Globe goes to…”
You finally opened the envelope and forgot all professionalism as you gasped excitedly, “Ludwig Goransson from Sinners! Yeah!”
Joe applauded along with the crowd. He did remember that movie… “We went to that premiere, right?”
“Yeah, the one where my sister threw up after three margaritas.”
You received the award from an assistant and waited eagerly to give it to the artist.
The winner shook Joe’s hand before accepting the award and giving you a kiss on the cheek.
“Congrats! I love the Oppenheimer score,” you hurriedly told him.
“Oh, thanks!” He chuckled and walked to the mic.
Joe found your hand and intertwined your fingers. He squeezed it before whispering in your ear. “I think we did pretty good.”
But your manager didn’t think the same.
As the show finally went to a commercial break, Laura met you backstage with an exasperated face.
“They cut the Best Score one from the main broadcast,” she said.
You gasped. “What?! But we ate on that one!”
“Well, they only played the horrible one,” Laura grunted. “How could you forget to read the fucking teleprompter, Y/N? It’s there for a reason!”
While your manager and you bickered about the recent mess, all sound from the room vanished for Joe as he stared at you lovingly. He couldn’t get over how perfect that dress fitted you. It hugged you in all the right ways… especially your ass.
His pants were getting tighter. He mentally thanked his manager for choosing black pants that could make his hard-on barely noticeable.
Joe’s arms engulfed your waist as he pressed behind you. To anyone, it looked as if he was giving you a casual romantic hug, but you understood the message. Or, well, felt it.
You stopped fighting with Laura at the familiar feeling of your boyfriend’s big hard cock. Your cheeks turned red and you quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
Laura sighed deeply as she typed on her phone. “Whatever. People think you’re funny and cute. That’s all I need. See you later.”
“Bye!” Joe exclaimed in a teasing tone only for you.
You patted his arms and muttered, “Didn’t realize the Sinners score could be so arousing for you?”
He pressed closer and whispered. “No one will notice if we disappear.”
“Uhm, literally everyone will,” you fought back as you tried to push him off. “Babe, it’s too risky. There’s always eyes on us.”
On you, Joe wanted to say. No one cares that much about him, maybe the Stranger Things fans, but he doubted most of the awarded, famous artists in that room respected his show.
You on the other hand? Joe was aware of how heads turned whenever you passed, how most artists were nervous of talking to you and wouldn’t even try most of the time.
If they only knew how approachable and down-to-earth you were. If they could see you fangirling over romance books at one in the morning in nothing but an oversize shirt of his and a skincare mask.
Although… in all honesty, Joe was glad he was the only one with the privilege to know you like the back of his hand. To know the real you, not Y/N Y/L/N the most famous young actress and singer of this century.
Joe held you tighter and kissed your cheek. “Baby… please. Look at what you’re doing to me.”
You almost moaned when he rubbed his hardness against your ass.
“But we’ll only have, like, five minutes to do anything.”
Joe’s whisper in your ear sent shivers down your spine. “You know I can make you come in less time, honey.”
Fuck… Lust was clouding your mind. Maybe no one would notice the empty spots on your table.
“Fine. Go to the second floor men’s bathroom and wait for me until the next commercial break.”
He pulled away before tenderly kissing your lips. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” you mumbled and watched him rush to the closest elevator. “Damn…” you said to yourself, entertained by his eagerness.
Joe was so pathetic for you.
— — —
It had been ten minutes with no news of you. Joe was walking around the small space anxiously with his jeans and boxers bunched down to his knees, his hand teasing his cock with short strokes.
“Where the fuck are you?” he muttered to the quiet air.
Meanwhile, in the grand salon, the winner finished his speech and the show took a commercial break. A five-minute countdown started on the screens.
You cursed internally as you ran out of the room before anyone could try speaking to you.
On all the past breaks, people had bombarded you, asking about your future projects, about your relationship, about Crashing Waves… These events were for networking, but you were sort of done with the small talk and forced chuckles.
You lowkey needed dick.
Fine, you were craving Joe, but you had tried being more discreet and patient.
Waiters and assistants were running all around the venue, taking drinks, aiding people, and making sure the show was going perfectly. They were too distracted to notice you slipping behind the bar to the elevator… except for the two young bartenders who frowned at your obvious attempt at discretion.
They wouldn’t say anything, so you paid them no mind and pressed the button marking ‘2.’ The doors closed and displayed your reflection. You sighed nervously and brushed your hair with your fingers. Why were you even doing that? It was going to get messy after your ‘activities’ with Joe.
The hallways on the second floor were quietly empty, as you had expected. Why would people go anywhere but the bar during the breaks? You took off your heels and ran to the men’s bathroom.
Your heart was thumping from the adrenaline, your pussy getting wet from the danger of it all. The last stall’s door was just closing. You smirked and put the heels on; you cleared your throat and made sure your steps sounded as you approached it.
“So naughty, so desperate, so pathetic,” you filled the silence. “You just can’t keep it in your pants, huh? Maybe a blowjob would make you behave.”
You pushed the door hard, but your smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a horrified gasp.
Chris Rock had his hands frozen on his unbuckled belt. He looked scared until he recognized you. He raised his hands and smirked. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happily married, dear.”
You took a step back and looked away, even if he was dressed. Your face was burning as you stumbled over your words. “Oh my— I’m so, so sorry. My boyfriend… Shit, I… This is—”
“Hey, it’s fine. I supposed you were looking for somebody else,” Chris chuckled. “I’m glad you met me instead, to be honest. I’m a big fan of your work!”
The clock was ticking as you wondered where your boyfriend could’ve gone. You had been very clear: the second-floor men’s bathroom. How could he get confused at that? Had the horniness messed with his head?
You finally turned your eyes back to Chris and smiled nervously. “Thanks. I loved…” You couldn’t really remember any of his work. “...when you slapped Will Smith.”
He snickered and sat down on the toilet. “I know probably everyone tells you this, but, man… Crashing Waves is the best tv show in history. I have, like, ten thousand Tiktok edits on my gallery. Oh, and my family loves it. We sit together to watch every season and— Wait…” He pulled out his phone. “Can you make a short video for my daughter? She loves your music.”
Thoughts of Joe disappeared the moment he mentioned his daughter. You gasped excitedly. “Of course! What’s her name?”
After you recorded various videos saying hi to Chris Rock’s kids (then to his siblings, cousins, and nephews), you promised him tickets to your next tour and refused his insistent offer of giving you his brother’s phone number. You could’ve just walked out, but your people-pleasing self didn’t want to seem rude.
The speakers had announced the ending of the break in thirty seconds, but you couldn’t go back without finding Joe. Chris Rock gave you a grateful hug and finally let you escape.
The women’s bathroom was empty, so you ran downstairs and threw open the first-floor men’s bathroom. “Joe?” You were never repeating the mistake of opening stalls without asking. “Are you here?”
A hand came up from a stall. “Here!”
The second he saw your heels outside his door, Joe opened it and pulled you into a fierce kiss. “What took you so long?”
You fell back into the closed door and tried to kiss him back while talking. “I went to the bathrooms upstairs but you weren’t there.”
He frowned, pulling back. “You said second floor.”
“Yeah, and this is the first one.”
“No, it’s the second. The elevator didn’t work, so I climbed a set of stairs and…” He stopped as realization dawned on him. “And that floor was the Lobby, so this is the first, and the second is—”
“Upstairs,” you muttered. “I walked in on Chris Rock almost taking a shit.”
But instead of laughing, Joe shut you up with another kiss. “Don’t talk about other men while I’m trying to fuck you,” he joked.
“Yeah ‘cause I was definetly gonna blow Chris Rock.” You rolled your eyes.
Joe’s kisses dropped to your neck as his hands wandered to your butt. “I don’t know. You like slaps and kinky shit like that.”
You pushed him to the closed toilet and straddled him. “Alright, the commercial break is over, but we should make this quick anyway.”
Joe’s arms wrapped around your waist to pull you flush against him. You started to grind your hips, making him moan. “Fuck…”
He had his jeans and underwear hanging on his knees, his hard cock leaking against his tummy.
You licked your lips and stood up. After bunching up your dress, you tried to kneel, but Joe stopped you. “No, wait. I don’t want that. I need to be inside you, baby,” he pleaded.
“But I’m not prepared enough.” You pulled down your thong to show your semi-wet pussy.
If he didn’t eat you out before penetrating you, his cock would hurt you terribly. It was difficult getting used to such size.
“It’s okay.” Joe casually pulled out a condom and a small bottle of lube from his pants’ pocket.
Your jaw dropped. “Have you been carrying that all night?”
He shrugged, smirking. “After I saw you trying on that dress, I knew I wouldn’t control myself all night, sweetheart.”
You blinked, frowning, then snorted. “Joe, that could’ve fallen out of your pocket mid-presentation!”
Joe opened the condom and carefully put it on. He uncapped the bottle and poured lube on his fingers. “And? Is not as if people don’t know couples have sex.”
You caressed his blond hair. “Baby, the Golden Globes is a PG-13 show. You would’ve traumatized more than just our family.”
Joe froze and grimaced. “Can we go back to sexy talk? It’s odd thinking of our families while I’m touching my dick.”
You opened your mouth but just chuckled. “I’m sorry! Uhm…” You spat on your clit and rubbed it. “Wait, did you just say ‘sexy talk’? What are you? Fifteen?”
Joe shut you up by inserting three lubed fingers inside you. Normally, he could get you wet in seconds, but for the sake of time, lube will have to do.
You moaned as he moved them quickly, preparing you. “Fuck, Joe… Just like that.”
But he took them off, wiped them on his thigh and pulled you back to straddling his lap. Obediently and on instinct, you tried to get comfortable enough to ride him. Joe leaned back, his hands dropping to caress your thighs as he looked up at you with darkened eyes.
“You look so hot, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna ride me good?”
You grabbed his protected cock and aligned it on your prepared entrance. “Gonna give you what you want so you can shut up.”
His hips flexed slightly as his tip grazed you. “I’ll never shut up about you. You’re too beautiful. My pretty girl.”
You held onto his shoulders while sinking down on him. Joe threw his head back with a choked groan, the grasp on your hips tightening like a vise, like he needed to remind himself you were really on top of him.
“Oh, God!” you whined at the size. You were barely sitting on half of it.
Joe kissed your collarbone and soothed your hips. “It’s okay, baby. Take your time.”
“We don’t have time,” you muttered. Closing your eyes, you sank down completely. “Fuck!”
His breath turned uneven, his voice already wrecked. “Baby, I’m not lasting long. F-feels so good. Y-you feel… P-please move.”
You braced yourself and started riding him fast, ignoring the pain and focusing on your boyfriend’s pleasure. His hands slid up to your lower back, squeezing your ass hard.
“You’re so perfect. Making me insane just by existing… I’ve needed you since we got into that limousine,” he murmured into your neck, his teeth scraping over the perfumed skin at your neck. “So good for me. Only me.”
You moaned and threw your hair back to give him more access. “Only yours, Joe. I’m yours.”
His nails were marking your skin as he helped you ride him. Joe knew he was on the verge of finishing, but he wanted you to do it first. And he knew exactly how.
Joe spanked you hard before gripping your chin and angling your face back to him. “Damn right you’re mine. This pussy was made for me.” He pressed a messy, possessive kiss to your lips, biting the lower one. “I’m not letting you go. Not even if goddamn Elordi tries to charm you again.”
You smirked and rolled your hips harder. “I knew you would get jealous about that. He was just being friendly.”
He gripped your hair and pulled you closer. “Don’t play. He was flirting with you.”
You had no patience to tease him, so you shoved down your dress straps. “I don’t care about him. He’s nothing compared to you, Joe.” You arched your back and pushed his head down to your breasts. “The only one that I want inside me, the only one that can touch me.”
Joe’s eyes turned darker before he started to press open-mouthed kisses across your chest.
“No marks,” you reminded him.
He groaned and captured one of your nipples in his mouth. His hand gripped your waist as he moved you up and down his length, his hips flexing up to meet yours.
“So pretty. So soft… Fucking obsessed with you,” he murmured against your skin.
His thumb brushed over the other nipple, delightfully watching your reactions. You gasped and moaned as your legs burned from the effort of riding him in such a small space.
You were getting close, but it wasn’t enough. Rubbing yourself wouldn’t be as pleasurable.
“Baby…” you whined. “Take off the condom.”
Joe’s entire body went still. He released your nipple and looked up at you hesitantly. “Honey—” His voice was rough, and he was trying to not show too much eagerness. “Are you sure? You aren’t on the pill.”
You were too horny to think straight. “Whatever. I’ll take a Plan B tomorrow. There’s a pharmacy in front of the hotel.”
Joe knew he had to think rationally, but it was too difficult with you half-naked on top of him, begging him for something he had dreamed of since the moment he met you.
You noticed his hesitation, so you pressed yourself closer and kissed his jaw. “I need to feel you completely, Joe. Need you to fill me up—”
You hadn’t even finished talking when Joe was already standing up with you in his arms. Who was he trying to lie to? He would always give you anything you wanted. Anything.
He pressed you against the door and pulled out. His shaky hands took off the condom, throwing it to the floor, and sank back into you.
“Holy shit,” he whimpered, his fingers digging painfully into your thighs. “Fuck— Feels great.”
Your pussy clenched at feeling him raw for the first time, welcoming him. There was no going back after this. Now, you finally belonged to each other. Your legs wrapped against him as he accelerated his thrusts.
“Fuck, Joe! Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly and shamelessly.
The door rattled behind you with each rough snap of his hips against yours. “I love you. Love you so fucking much. Moan my name again.”
You threw your head back as he buried his face against your neck. “Joe! L-love you too. Don’t s-stop, baby.”
The overwhelming feeling of your bare pussy around him was attacking all of his body. In that moment, Joe knew he never wanted to be inside anyone else ever again.
“I’ve loved you ever since I met you,” he confessed. “Ever since I saw you singing at that Christmas party, I knew I was ruined.”
He looked at you, pressing his forehead against yours as he kept fucking you.
“I’m so fucking ruined. You’re it for me, Y/N. You’re my everything,” he murmured before kissing you firmly. “My all, my world… I’m never letting you go. No point in living if I’m not loved by you.”
You were sort of taken aback by his sudden romantic words; he was usually more of a dirty talker during sex, leaving the cute poetry for his songs. But it seemed that romance was getting you closer to the edge as you clenched around him.
“Yeah? You’re obsessed with me?” you joked with a breathy moan.
“So much,” he said without hesitation. “Can’t believe every day I wake up with the prettiest, smartest, most talented woman by my side.”
You chuckled and kissed him softly. “Rub my clit, honey.”
He obeyed instantly, holding your body with an arm and finding your weakest point with his right hand. “I mean it, babe. I’m devoted to you. You have me wrapped around your finger.”
“And my pussy,” you teased before biting your lip hard.
You were on the verge… just a tiny bit more.
“Let me come inside you,” Joe whimpered in a shaky voice. His pupils were blown in lust, looking feral and drunk. His thumb was rubbing your clit with all his might. “Please… I can feel you close. Need to fill you up, baby. Need to make you mine…”
With just a brief nod from you, Joe gripped your hips hard and let himself come undone deep inside you. Feeling his cum painting your insides made you follow him over the edge. Your body trembled as a broken moan escaped your lips.
He kept you close as both tried to recover your breaths. You could feel each other's rapid heartbeats filling the quiet bathroom. Joe pressed gentle kisses on your neck and jaw.
“Don’t take the pill tomorrow,” he murmured.
You froze.
Joe slowly kissed around your face as he kept going. “I meant everything I said. I’m yours, and I wanna be yours forever. Don’t take it and let’s start a family. Together. Ours.”
When he pulled back and noticed your shocked face, he knew he had fucked up. Joe gulped and pulled out. He quickly pulled out his coat’s handkerchief and pressed it on your leaking pussy to avoid a mess on the floor.
“I, uhm… I meant that if you want to take the pill or not, it’s your choice, and I’ll be okay with whichever,” he whispered, trying to calm you or get a different reaction from you. “But it’s your choice, okay? Didn’t mean to sound like I was pressuring you or—”
“No, no. It didn’t feel like that at all,” you quickly reassured him.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind cancelling the tour to have a baby with you,” he confessed but quickly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I must be overwhelming you. I just—”
“And here are the nominees for Best Actress in a Television series,” was heard on the hallway’s speakers.
The show had continued, of course, but you hadn’t paid mind to it until now.
Joe and you paled, going still for a second, before quickly rearranging your clothes.
“Please not me, please not me,” you whispered nervously.
Joe helped you tidy your messy post-sex hair as you ran out of the bathroom. You hadn’t even taken a look at your reflection, but you were sure there was no lipstick on your lips and that your mascara had probably gotten mushy around your eyes.
“Do I look like I just got fucked?” you asked him as you ran down the last set of stairs to the main lobby.
Joe took a long glance at you and pressed his lips in a line. He lied, “No. Just…” He rubbed your under-eye nervously. “Uhm…”
“And the Golden Globe goes to…”
Joe and you grabbed each other’s hands instinctively as you stood outside the doors. He had rooted for you all season… but now he was sort of wishing for Ayo Edebiri to win.
“Y/N Y/L/N!”
“Fuck!” you both yelled.
Joe brushed your hair one last time before pushing you to the door. “Go, go!”
“I’m on it!” you groaned and hesitantly entered the theater.
There were three cameramen frantically looking for you near your table. You held the bottom of your dress up and rushed across the tables with shaky ‘excuse me’s.
“She is here!”
“Over there!”
You waved and smiled awkwardly as a camera found you and the crowd could finally applaud. People were standing up—oh wow—and patting your back as you passed by them.
“Congrats!”
“You were great!”
“So deserved!”
You thanked back and shook as many hands as you could until you reached the stage’s stairs. Why were they made of crystal? Ugh. You carefully climbed them, but at the last one, you stumbled.
Gasps filled the room. An event’s assistant ran to your side before you could fall, but you were already covering your face from the embarrassment. Well, maybe you could blame your messy state on the almost-fall.
Jason Bateman gave you the award. “Congrats! You alright?”
You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, thanks!”
People sat down as you finally reached the microphone. Out of habit, you brushed your hair out of your face and behind your shoulders. “Oh God… I’m never going to the bathroom mid-show again!”
Laughter ran across the place while you were internally panicking because the speech you prepared was in your purse. Time to improvise.
“Thank you, Golden Globes. I know this was a hard decision since all my fellow nominees were great. And I mean that, I watched all their shows. And uhm… Yeah. Uhm… My Crashing Waves family, thank you for the support, for trusting me with this wonderful character through every season, since I was only twenty-one and inexperienced and… a nervous mess, just like I am right now!”
On your table, your show’s producer laughed along with the crowd. Right behind him, Joe was discreetly reaching his seat.
And everything made sense again.
You smiled warmly and held the award closer to your chest. “I also wanna thank my partner of almost two years, Joe.” You sighed and looked directly at him. “This was a hard season with all the messed-up things that my character went through, and I know I wouldn’t have survived without you. You who always had pancakes and scrambled eggs ready every morning I had to go to set. You who missed many music events to be with me on set. You who helped me escape my mental monsters every night in your arms.”
Joe was looking up at you with adoration as he mouthed an ‘I love you.’
You giggled, your eyes getting tearful. “I love you more.” There were so many things you wanted to pour out of your heart, but maybe they were for your boyfriend’s ears only.
“Uhm, so yeah,” you turned back to the crowd. “Thanks to everyone I didn’t mention but knows I appreciate them. Bye!”
This time, an assistant was already ready to escort you down the stairs. You held his arm and whispered, “Sorry that I got you doing this too. I bet you have a lot to do already.”
He shook his head and smiled widely. “Having you touching my arm is the highlight of my life!”
“Oh!” you chuckled and patted his arm. “Want a selfie?”
After taking a picture with a few more assistants, you went back to your table. Gary, your show’s producer, hugged you tightly. “Oh, my darling Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”
You thanked everyone at the table and, finally, walked to your boyfriend. He was waiting for you with a smile and a rose. You frowned. “Where did you get this?”
Joe placed an arm around your waist, pulled you close, and kissed your head. “Stole it from a vase on the bar. The waiter said it was fine if it was for you… then she asked me if we were secretly married and I said yes just for fun.”
Your frown deepened, but you laughed and kissed him on the lips. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” he corrected, murmuring against your lips. He gave you the rose and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Congrats on the award, honey. I kinda cried with your speech.”
“I had so much more prepared!” you whined and looked for the crumbled up paper on your purse. “I was gonna thank my family, your mom, my high school art teacher, every girl around the world who dreams to be an actress, and our dog.”
Joe blinked as a smile slowly formed on his face. “Every girl who dreams to be an actress?”
“Yeah! I wanted to tell them to follow their dreams and not let men step on them,” you sighed sadly. “I’ll just put it in my Instagram post caption.”
Joe opened his mouth to speak, but he forgot everything when he noticed a very visible red mark below your jaw, at the left side of your neck. It hadn’t been noticeable while you were on stage due to the various spotlights… but on camera.
You frowned at his sudden silence. “What—?”
He covered the hickey with your hair and shook his head. “Nothing. Just… don’t move your hair from there… and we should probably skip the after-party.”
You paled as you slowly understood. Instinctively, you dove your hand in your purse for your phone. Joe stopped you. “Don’t… it’s been buzzing a lot and I’m not sure if it’s because of the award.”
Joe and you sat down as people scrambled around the place to enjoy the break. “I don’t have the patience,” you admitted and unlocked your phone.
There were over a thousand mentions on Twitter, more than five hundred messages from your friends, and a single one from your manager.
Laura: I’M STERILIZING JOE TOMORROW.
Joe sighed. “Don’t enter Twitter—” You ignored him. “Babe…”
He had deleted the app years before dating you, but screenshots sent from friends informed him how much people talked about you two.
Your jaw dropped at the first tweet that popped up. It had gotten over two hundred thousand likes in less than five minutes.
There were four attachments: one of you two on the red carpet, with Joe staring hungrily at you as you posed; another one of him grabbing your ass behind the stage while you applied your lipstick; then you two walking out of the men’s bathroom, looking incredibly messy and obvious with your dress’ straps hanging off your shoulders; and the last one… you on the stage with a red circle drawn around your neck, signalling the hickey.
On top, the tweet read: STEVE HARRINGTON LIVING MY DREAM AGHHH @ joe_keery CAN YOU FIGHT?
---
a/n: jacob elordi is my husband and joe keery is my baby daddy i love them and need them to fight over me aghh anyway i wanna write a pt.2 where she is deciding between taking the pill or not... we'll see!
" Can we get the lights up? I think- I think I see something in the front," said Sabrina as she walked down the stage in her famous booted high heels. Her girls accompanied her down, searching in exaggeration.
They knew just who Sabrina was looking for.
" Oh my goodness, wait- woah... do you see?" Sabrina asked her girls.
The crowd waited.
" The hot one."
The camera spined and suddenly focused ahead, dead front, standing across the barrier. The crowd went wild as they caught the messy hair, the wide framed glasses...
Djo.
Joe Kerry.
The screams rattled the arena.
" Oh... um... hi," said Sabrina, the girls at her side fanning her and then themselves. One of them had a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs but they were yet to give it to her. Sabrina walked to the edge of the stage. " Hello, what's your name."
The camera focused on him as he cupped his hands around his mouth, calling up. " Joe!"
" Joe?"
The crowd cheered.
" Oh, hi Joe!"
Joe waved enthusaticaly, almost giddy, at her, at the camera, at all around him.
Sabrina itched behind her ear and cringed, the girls matching her cue. " Um... Joe, this is actually super awkward, and you're super cute and all... but I was actually talking about the hot stuff on your left- right there!"
Joe acted aghast, gasping and gesturing to his side but the camera didn't pan.
Until Joe pulled you into frame and the crowd. went. wild.
Sabrina grinned, hand to her chest. " Oh, hello!"
Your smirk was hardly concealed as you waved up at Sabrina, the crowd yelling your name in a chant as you appeared. It went on and Sabrina waited, fanning herself as the girls swooned. Even Joe at your side started to fan himself off.
You laughed.
" Hi, baby, what's your name?" asked Sabrina.
You called it back to her and she repeated, finger going to her teeth as she bit.
" That's a really nice name. Carpenter would sound really nice on the other end of that," purred Sabrina. " So, did you- did you come with Joe?" she asked, indicating a hopefulness that you did not.
You nodded.
Sabrina deflated. " Oh, well I mean, my number's down on here-" and finally, the moment the crowd was waiting for- came when Sabrina was handed the pink fluffy handcuffs. She dangled them in front of you. " If you- if you ever need it."
The crowd roared as you took them and turned to Joe. The camera focused at Joe at the ready, hands out to be cuffed.
" Here's Juno, this goes out to the happy couple!" said Sabrina, going back to her set.
The camera cut to you once more, playfully putting the handcuffs around you boyfriends wrists. When his hands were 'cuffed' the camera still watched- as well as the crowd- as Joe lifted his arms and put them around you, pulling you into his chest and rocking the both of you side to side while Sabrina played...
' Don't have to tell your hot-ass a thing, and yeah you just get it....'
SabrinaCarpenter.
Thank you Austin 🩷
1.2 ❤️ 5,467k 💬
rachelzegler: this is so incredible Sabrina
user1: this is incredible
user2: the Juno!!!!
user3: is that y/n!!!
user4: who did she arrest??? Pls someone tell me
user5: djo and y/n
user6: they’re dating?! since when…
user7: since season five of ST wrapped
y/n: ❤️
Y/N.
He’s a little confused but he’s got spirit @djo
1.8 ❤️ 877 k 💬
User1: omg! Omg!
User2: why are they so hot
User3: iconic!!!
User4: the hardest of hard launch ever
User5: the pic of you putting them on him!!!!
User6: Joe was eager!!
SabrinaCarpenter: my number is xxx
Djo: why are you giving my girlfriend your number?
warnings: somnophilia, unprotected sex, p in v, vanilla, soft dom steve, steve is A SWEETHEART, afab reader, no use of y/n, fingering.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
synopsis: steve waking up his best girl in the kindest of ways
wc: 1.6k
a/n: not a fan of this but hi here it is! requests are open lovies
Steve harrington was a simple man.
To keep this boy happy was easy, effortless even. Especially when what made him the happiest was doing everything in his power to take care of you.
His girl. His world.
When you’d mentioned to him in passing that you wanted to spice things up in the bedroom, his first reaction was panic.
“Am I not making you feel good?”
“Are you not enjoying it?”
“Have I done something wrong?”
After much reassurance, you’d convinced him that no, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe that was the problem even.
Not wanting to be the cause of any more panic, you dropped the topic of conversation for another time.
You were sat on the kitchen counter several days later when you’d brought it up to him more directly.
Your legs dangled off the countertop, close to the stove so you could watch Steve as he stirred the creamy sauce he’d been cooking for a nice pasta dinner.
“Babe?” The tone in your voice is gentle, like always.
Steve doesn’t look up from the stovetop, sprinkling a dash of oregano into the simmering pan. “Hm?” He hums lightly, stirring in the spices just the way you liked them.
“I’ve been thinking some more,” You watch as he takes a small taste of the sauce. “I want to try something different soon. In the bedroom.”
Steve pauses for a moment, and then continues to stir. “Yeah?” A small blush flushes down his neck.
“Mhm.” You pause and study him as he swallows, his eyes flicking up to yours briefly before returning to the pot. “What if you touched me while I was sleeping?”
“While you’re sleeping?” He furrows his eyebrows in confusion and adds a dash of salt to the pan.
“Yeah like, that could be how you woke me up.” You shrug, starting to feel a bit self conscious about the thought. “I don’t know.. you could touch me. Do whatever you want really.”
Steve frowns. “But what if you don’t want to—“
“I want to.” You interject.
“But what if you decide in that moment you don’t want to? You want to now, sure, but I don’t think that counts as consent—“
“Stevie.” You say firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing him affectionately. “You trust me right? And you want to make me feel good?”
That makes Steve melt.
Of course he wanted to make his girl feel good. That was his purpose in life, really.
“Of course.” He firmly agrees without a second thought.
“Then let’s try it.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And I promise if you don’t like it the first time, we don’t have to do it again.”
“Me not like it?” Steve scoffs, setting down the spoon he’d been using to stir with. He shuffles closer to you, slotting himself between your thighs. As he rests his hands on your waist, you let yourself melt into his touch. “Baby, that won’t be the case. Just want you to be comfortable and for you to feel safe.”
“I always feel safe with you.” You tell him softly.
Steve swears his heart melts on the spot. “Okay then. We’ll try it.” His lips brush your cheek, letting the kiss linger for several seconds. “Alright, pretty girl. Help me finish dinner, hm?”
You were hoping the next morning you’d be graced with your wish, but Steve was already off to work once you woke up.
And that’s how it was for the rest of the week.
Either Steve was up and gone for work before you could wake, or you’d woken up before he had.
Maybe he wasn’t interested in that and wanted to let you down gently.
You promised yourself you’d bring it up the next day, growing increasingly desperate for him.
But little did you know, Steve had been hyping himself up for the past week and had vowed that the next day would be the day.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to give you what you wanted.
In fact, that’s all he wanted.
But the worry of ever making you uncomfortable ran in the back of his mind whenever he thought about it.
The next morning, the sun barely peaked through the blinds when Steve stirred.
His arm, already stretched over your waist, tightened around you instinctively.
His fingers brushed the skin of your stomach, his large hand hiding underneath the large t shirt you’d worn to bed.
You’d ditched your sweatpants before bed last night, so all you were wearing was that t shirt and a simple pair of white cotton panties.
That’s another thing that made Steve a simple man. You could be wearing the rattiest clothes known to man and he’d be on his knees worshiping you.
His pulse quickened at the thought of touching you. The permission you’d given him, the pleading look you’d shown him as you told him the ways you wanted him to please you.
His fingers danced along your skin, creeping lower and lower until he hit the waistband of your panties.
He could tell you were in a deep sleep. You lay on your back, your face turned towards him. Your plump lips were parted, a small droplet of drool threatening to fall from your mouth.
Steve wet his own lips, his morning erection throbbing at the thought of touching you further.
His fingers tease your waistband and dip below, creeping farther down until the pads of his fingers brush your clit.
The touch is feather light, more for him to get used to this new territory.
When you don’t stir, he lets his fingers wander lower, dipping into your damp folds.
You’re not quite wet enough yet, but there’s enough dampness that he knows your body was subconsciously aware of his presence.
His fingertips gather the small amount of slick and gently find their way to your clit, rubbing circles softly.
He can feel your bundle of nerves twitch underneath his touch, making him subconsciously rut his clothed cock into your side.
Steve was suddenly grateful you were a deep sleeper.
You let out a soft whine in your sleep, your mouth twitching in distant pleasure.
As Steve continues to gently play with your clit, he can feel your cunt become increasingly wetter.
His cock is throbbing uncomfortably now, and knowing he has your full permission, he decides he can’t deprive you of your wishes any longer.
Steve takes his hand away and shifts, spreading your thighs gently so he can settle himself between them.
His fingers find the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly and gently enough so you don’t fully wake up.
He can tell you’re coming out of your deep sleep at least a little bit, so he knows he needs to hurry before you completely wake up. He wouldn’t want his girl to rise before the best part.
Your core is on full display for him now, glistening with the wetness that had accumulated from his skilled fingers.
Steve tugs his sweatpants and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red and damp with precum.
As his hand wraps around his base, he pumps himself just enough to let him feel a small amount of relief.
He spreads your legs further, wide enough so he can comfortable settle himself between them.
Shakily, he guides himself down to your pussy. His nerves were nearly gone at this point, which is what now allowed him to finally let his tip glide through your sticky folds.
Steve hisses, his self control nearly snapping as he lets himself gather all of your slick.
You stir in your sleep, beginning to wake up.
Before you do, in one gentle thrust, Steve’s cock fills you up.
Your eyes shoot open, a surprised whimper falling from your lips.
“Oh, she’s awake,” He coos softly. “Morning, sleepyhead.” Steve slowly pulls his cock nearly all the way out of your cunt before shoving it back in. His hands grip your hips for stability as your own tangle in the sheets.
“Steve..” You let out an airy moan, legs spreading wider.
“That feel good?” His words are slightly rough from sleep, his voice raspy in such a way that makes your walls flutter around him. “Oh, there she is.”
His left hand cups your cheek, his movements increasing speed just enough to make your eyes water.
“So good..” Your words nearly get caught in your throat, the feeling of his hand on your face making the moment impossibly tender.
Wet squelches echo off the walls, your pussy impossibly wet around him. Steve didn’t know if you’d ever been this wet for him before.
Your eyes are still slightly hazy from sleep, but in another sense, you’ve never felt more awake.
Every fiber in your body feels on fire, the pleasure of his cock stretching out your walls making the sensation creep all the way down to your toes.
“Can’t last long, sweetheart.” He grunts, his forearms finding their place on both sides of your head.
You weren’t going to last long either.
His lips crash to yours, silencing a moan that was in the process of falling from your lips.
Steve could feel the pulsing of your cunt begin, signaling your orgasm was about to crash over you.
And he was right.
The intense wave of pleasure that rocked your body made you see stars, and you knew your neighbors would be able to hear you if it weren’t for his lips continuing to silence you.
His orgasm crashes over him right as yours does, his hot seed spurting into your throbbing hole.
Your walls repeatedly clench around him, spasming over and over.
His thrusts slow down but don’t fully cease, allowing the two of you to ride out the intense waves of pleasure you’d both experienced.
Steve breaks the lip lock and lets out a shaky breath. “Never holding out on you again.”
|| desc - steve is well and truly in love with you, he always has been, but you couldn't seem less interested in his eyes. this leads him to think you must just be immune to his charm (impossible) or fine being single. truth is you're neither of those things, your simply oblivious, as is he too apparently.
val speaks - get it get it i did a spin on 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' haa so funny basically just excited for this album 😋😋 enjoy babas !! ++ this is another steve fic without much of the actual stranger things plot (as in the upside down) bc i loved the one i did like that the other day he he
basically a childhood friends to lovers even tho they've secretly always been lovers slowburn w some cluelessness 😁
word count: 8.3k
the first thing anyone ever knew about steve harrington was that he was loud.
not loud in volume, though he could be, especially when he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose at age eight because you told him the punchline to a joke wrong on purpose, but loud in presence.
even as a little boy, steve had always seemed to fill every room he walked into, every backyard he ran through, every sidewalk he skidded his bike tires across. he was all scraped knees and crooked grins, wild hair that never sat flat no matter how much water he slapped on it, and a habit of speaking before he thought, then somehow charming his way out of whatever trouble that got him into.
and somehow, from the very beginning, wherever steve was, you were too.
your mothers liked to joke that before either of you could even walk, you’d already claimed each other. two little babies in matching sun hats sitting in paddling pools in neighbouring gardens, grabbing at each other’s hands with sticky fingers and refusing to settle unless you were side by side. apparently, steve used to cry when your parents took you inside for naps, little fists clenched, cheeks red, angry at the universe for daring to separate him from his favourite person.
some things never really changed.
you grew up attached at the hip in the kind of way people only are when history roots itself so deep between them that pulling apart would feel like tearing skin.
you learned to ride bikes together, both of you wobbling dangerously down your street while your dads shouted instructions that neither of you listened to.
steve crashed first, straight into a hedge, and you laughed so hard you tipped over too. he came out with leaves in his hair and a branch caught in his shirt collar, grinning like an idiot, and before he even checked his own scraped elbow, he was kneeling beside you asking if you were okay.
that was steve.
always checking for you first.
there were summers spent so thoroughly tangled together they blurred into one endless golden memory.
afternoons in his parents’ pool until your fingers wrinkled and your skin smelled permanently of chlorine, competitions to see who could hold their breath longest underwater, cannonball contests that ended with his mother yelling because water splashed onto her expensive outdoor furniture.
nights where you slept over so often that both houses stopped asking questions, your toothbrush permanently living in the bathroom connected to steve’s bedroom, one of his old shirts becoming your designated pyjama top.
you built blanket forts in his room and swore they were castles. you made secret handshakes that changed every month. you whispered under covers with flashlights when thunderstorms rolled in, talking about stupid things and serious things and everything in between.
you saw every side of each other.
the ugly sides too.
you saw steve cry the first time his dad called him a disappointment.
you saw him go quiet after, quieter than should’ve been possible for a boy like him, shoulders tense and eyes glassy as he sat on your bedroom floor staring at nothing.
you sat beside him and said nothing at all, just leaned your shoulder against his until he leaned back.
that became your thing.
when his parents fought, he came to your house.
when his father got cruel, he came to your house.
when business trips left that giant empty house colder than winter, he stayed at your house, eating dinner at your table and laughing with your parents like he belonged there, because he did.
your mother kissed the top of his head when he looked especially worn down, your father taught him how to fix things in the garage.
your home became the place he exhaled and you became the person he always looked for first.
always.
through bad haircuts and braces and acne and awkward limbs that grew too fast for your bodies to catch up, you stayed constant.
until high school came and suddenly, painfully, neither of you were awkward anymore.
you grew into yourself quietly, like spring unfolding. pretty in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but stole it anyway.
soft eyes that noticed everything. a laugh that was rarer now, but warm enough to make people chase it. intelligence that shone bright and effortless. kindness that lived in every small thing you did. helping someone pick up dropped books, remembering birthdays nobody else did, always offering your notes to the kids who missed class.
you were beautiful in the sort of way people didn’t fully understand until they looked twice.
steve understood immediately.
and steve, god, steve grew into himself like he’d been handcrafted for trouble.
broad shoulders. soft brown eyes hidden behind ridiculous lashes. hair that somehow always looked perfect. that stupid smile capable of making half the female population of hawkins forget their own names.
and steve knew it.
or at least, his ego did.
king steve, they called him.
captain of popularity.
girls hanging off his arm, boys desperate for his approval, parties every weekend. loud music, expensive beer stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet, people packed into his house hoping to breathe the same air as him.
he played the part beautifully.
cocky grin, easy charm, careless laughter, pretty girls, empty conversations. but there were things everyone noticed that nobody understood.
how steve only went to parties if you were invited too, even when you almost never came. how he always looked around rooms like he was searching for someone. how if anybody talked badly about you, even as a joke, his entire face changed. how he got mean.
how no girl, no matter how gorgeous, ever lasted long.
how every relationship seemed flimsy compared to the quiet girl who sat beside him in class helping him pass english, who rolled her eyes at his jokes but smiled anyway, who knew where he kept spare house keys and which scar on his knee came from which childhood disaster.
what nobody knew was that steve harrington loved you so badly it ached.
it lived in him like breathing. natural, constant, unavoidable. it was in the way he memorised everything about you.
how you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating. how you chewed on pen caps while studying. how you always gave him the marshmallows from your hot chocolate because you hated them and he loved them. how your nose scrunched when you laughed for real. how you never noticed when boys stared because you were too busy living inside your own head.
it killed him a little, that obliviousness.
because steve flirted constantly.
he tested waters in stupid ways.
telling you about girls he hooked up with, watching your face for any crack in your expression.
there never was one.
just your soft, distracted little hums. sometimes a wrinkled nose if the girl sounded awful. sometimes advice.
advice.
jesus christ.
he’d stare at you, really stare, eyes warm and helpless and completely gone for you, and you’d blink back like he was just steve.
just your steve.
your best friend.
meanwhile, he was halfway to insanity.
what steve never saw were all the quiet ways you loved him back.
how you kept every note he’d ever scribbled you. how no boy ever compared, which was why you’d only dated twice and barely liked either of them. how every time he brought a girl around, something sharp and sour twisted in your chest. how you knew the exact shade of hazel his eyes turned in sunlight.
how you sometimes laid awake at night, staring at your ceiling, replaying the way he smiled at you that day or how his hand rested warm on your back guiding you through crowds.
how your mother’s teasing words looped endlessly in your head.
you and stevie were made for each other.
you’d laugh it off, call her crazy, then spend hours wondering if maybe she wasn’t. wondering if steve could ever look at you and see more.
wondering what it would feel like if he kissed you. wondering if kissing steve would ruin everything, or finally make sense of everything that already existed between you.
and every morning after, you’d wake up and slip right back into your place beside him like those thoughts had never happened at all.
best friends.
always.
completely blind to the fact that the boy beside you was one heartbeat away from loving you out loud.
and equally blind to the fact that you already loved him too.
-
life carried on the way it always had.
which was strange, really, considering there was this constant thing sitting between you and steve. neither of you touched it, neither of you spoke it aloud, but it lived there all the same. tucked into glances that lingered too long, into hugs that held just a second more than necessary, into the easy way your lives folded around each other like they were built to fit.
more days turned into more weeks, more weeks into more months, and everything stayed beautifully, painfully normal.
you still sat with him while he copied your homework answers in that messy handwriting of his, tongue poking slightly into his cheek in concentration like he was actually trying, even though half the time he was writing complete nonsense because he was too busy talking to focus.
you still spent lunches together. sometimes alone, sometimes with your few close friends, sometimes with whatever crowd steve had orbiting him that week, but even in a room full of people, his attention always drifted back to you.
always.
you were still the first number he called. still the person he showed up for without asking. still the person he looked for in every crowded room.
and he was still yours in all the ways that mattered, without ever actually being yours at all.
one night after dinner at your house, your mother insisting steve stay because she’d made too much food, as if she hadn’t been cooking with him in mind from the start, the two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, exactly where you always ended up.
lying on the floor.
side by side.
staring at the ceiling.
it was a strange little ritual you’d created years ago, one that somehow stuck. whenever something weighed heavy on either of you, whenever thoughts got too loud or life got too complicated, you ended up here. flat on your backs, shoulders nearly touching, eyes aimed upward like answers might be written in the cracks of your ceiling paint.
this was where the real conversations happened.
not the casual chatter, not gossip, not jokes, this was where truths lived. the ugly ones, the tender ones, the ones neither of you gave anybody else.
steve let out a long breath beside you, one hand resting on his stomach, the other tucked behind his head.
“he’s doing it again.”
you turned your head slightly toward him.
“your dad?”
he laughed once, humourless.
“who else?”
his jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“he’s on this whole thing about how i need to start learning the business now, so when he retires i can just… step in.” his voice hardened around the words. “like it’s some fucking honour.”
you stayed quiet.
you’d learned years ago that steve needed space to unravel before he needed comfort.
“he talks about it like he’s handing me a kingdom,” he muttered. “when really he’s handing me a prison sentence.”
your chest tightened.
because underneath the bitterness, underneath the anger, you heard what steve wasn’t saying.
he was scared, scared of becoming him. scared of looking in the mirror one day and seeing his father staring back.
steve scrubbed a hand over his face.
“i swear to god, i’d rather work in some shitty grocery store for the rest of my life than do what he does.”
that made you smile softly.
not because it was funny, though the dramatic way he said it was very steve, but because you knew him.
you knew this wasn’t about business being boring this was about morality. about goodness. about the way steve, despite all his pretending and ego and polished king-of-hawkins image, had the softest heart of anybody you knew.
he wanted to be kind, gentle. different. nothing like the man who’d raised him.
you reached your hand out between you, your pinky brushing lightly against his.
“what do you actually want?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“after high school.” you looked back up at the ceiling. “college. life. what do you want, stevie?”
the room went quiet for a second, then two. then he laughed softly under his breath. not a happy laugh, the sad kind.
the self-deprecating kind.
“college?” he scoffed. “c’mon.”
you frowned instantly.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like you’re stupid.”
he turned his head to look at you then, brown eyes soft in the dim lamp light.
“i’m not exactly ivy league material.”
“you’re smarter than you think.”
“i’m really not.”
“you are.”
there was firmness in your voice now, the kind that always made him listen.
“you just don’t try because somewhere along the line, somebody convinced you there was no point.”
his expression shifted. small, almost wounded, because you always saw right through him.
always.
you kept going, softer now.
“you’re smart, steve. genuinely smart. not even just academically, you read people better than anyone i know. you remember everything that matters. you’re creative. funny. emotionally intelligent, even if you pretend you aren’t.” you nudged his shoulder gently. “and if i have to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, i will.”
steve stared at you and god, there was that look again. that look that made your stomach turn over.
warm, completely devastating. then, because he was steve, he ruined the moment on purpose.
“well,” he sighed dramatically, “in that case, i’ll just follow you wherever you go.”
you snorted.
“oh yeah?”
“absolutely.” he folded his hands over his chest. “be your little house wife.”
that made you laugh properly.
bright and sudden.
the kind of laugh that always made him smile like he’d won something.
“house wife?”
“yeah.”
“you?”
“i’d be incredible at it.”
“you can’t cook.”
“i can make toast.”
“you burn toast.”
“crispy toast.”
you laughed harder and soon he was laughing too, that big, warm laugh that filled your whole room.
then the laughter settled into something softer. comfortable quiet. and somewhere in that quiet, the strange truth of it hung there,
every version of the future either of you had ever imagined always included the other. always.
sometimes you were neighbours with houses connected by a garden gate. sometimes coworkers. sometimes roommates in a big city. sometimes pen pals, a ridiculous idea born from sixteen-year-old steve drunkenly declaring he was moving to italy after eating pasta he called religious.
you still teased him for that.
but every dream, every joke, every passing thought about what came next, included us.
never 'me'. never 'you'. always us.
neither of you spoke about the deeper version of that dream.
the one with shared mornings. shared beds. children with messy hair and stubborn attitudes. a home that belonged equally to both of you.
but somewhere, buried deep, you’d both imagined it.
more than once.
steve swallowed hard against that thought.
then casually, too casually, he asked,
“how come you’re still single?”
you turned your head.
“you’re single too.”
a slow smirk spread across his mouth.
“yeah, but i haven’t always been.”
you rolled your eyes.
“neither have i.”
“middle school boyfriends don’t count.”
you laughed.
“according to who?”
“according to me.”
you shook your head, smiling, then shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and that answer sat strangely warm in steve’s chest.
because maybe, maybe you liked being single. maybe there was nobody. maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t want him specifically.
weirdly, that hurt less.
he smiled faintly, staring back up at the ceiling.
then you asked quietly,
“why haven’t you settled down with anyone?”
his chest tightened because there were a thousand truths he could say. because i’m in love with my best friend. because nobody feels like you. because every girl i kiss isn’t you.
instead, he shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and selfishly, your heart liked that answer far more than the possibility of him loving somebody else.
silence settled again.
then steve spoke, voice quieter than before, serious,
“promise me something.”
“anything.”
he turned his head toward you.
there was vulnerability there, raw and boyish and achingly honest.
“don’t forget me.”
your brows pulled together instantly.
“steve-”
“i mean it.” he swallowed. “when all this ends. when college happens, life happens… if we end up in different places…” his voice got softer. “don’t forget about me.”
your whole chest ached because forgetting steve harrington would be like forgetting your own name.
impossible.
you reached across the floor and took his hand fully. fingers threading together like second nature. like instinct. like home.
you squeezed once.
“never” you whispered.
and steve squeezed back, holding your hand in the dark like it was something precious.
something worth keeping.
“promise?”
you smiled softly.
“i promise.”
neither of you realised then just how much that promise would come to mean.
-
by the time prom season rolled around, steve was losing his goddamn mind.
he sat at the edge of his bed one night, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the carpet while every thought in his head somehow circled back to you.
which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. most roads in steve’s mind led to you, had for years.
but this was different, this was bigger.
this was prom.
the last school dance.
the final stupid, sweaty gymnasium decorated with cheap streamers and glitter and songs that would probably suck and punch that tasted vaguely like chemicals.
and steve wanted one thing.
just one.
you.
not in the way he’d had you before. showing up together because that’s what you always did, wandering in side by side because steve bringing you was as natural as breathing, dancing stupidly together in between him getting dragged off by friends and you laughing at him from the sidelines.
not as best friends.
not as what everyone already assumed you were.
he wanted to take you, really take you.
wanted to stand on your doorstep with flowers and nerves and sweaty palms. wanted to tell you you looked beautiful and mean it so hard it hurt. wanted to dance with his hands on your waist and know it meant something different.
wanted one night where he could pretend, or maybe, if he got lucky, not pretend at all.
so he came up with a plan.
a stupid plan. a deeply embarrassing plan. a plan that, in hindsight, made him want to throw himself directly into traffic.
he was going to make it obvious.
not say it, because apparently despite being steve harrington, king of confidence, he became a complete coward when it came to you, but obvious enough.
obvious enough that if you smiled a little wider than usual, blushed even slightly, acted flustered in any way he’d ask you.
simple. easy. foolproof.
except it was none of those things.
because monday morning, the second he pulled into your driveway, he already started acting insane.
normally, steve would pull up, lean dramatically on the horn once, and wait while you came out rolling your eyes.
his logic always being, your house is right there, you can hear the horn when i get in the car.
instead, that morning, he got out. walked to your front door. and knocked. actually knocked.
when you opened it, bag over your shoulder, hair still slightly messy from rushing around getting ready, he nearly forgot every coherent thought in his head.
you blinked at him then squinted suspiciously.
“…why are you at my door?”
he immediately panicked internally.
say something cool.
say something normal.
“felt like it.”
idiot.
your eyes narrowed further, mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile.
“okay…”
you kept looking at him funny all the way to the car, and honestly, fair enough.
but then he made it worse.
because when you reached the passenger side, he darted ahead and opened your door for you.
you stopped dead.
“what are you doing?”
steve leaned against the open door casually, like he wasn’t having a full body crisis.
“being nice?”
you laughed softly, confused and amused all at once.
“you are nice.”
“being nicer.”
you stared at him for a second then shook your head, smiling to yourself as you got in. that smile hit him like a truck.
holy shit.
was that wider than normal? was that flirty? was that polite?
what did that mean-
and thus began the longest week of steve harrington’s life.
because once he started, he couldn’t stop.
every class you didn’t share, he was waiting outside when the bell rang.
leaning against lockers trying to look casual, heart kicking up every time your face lit up when you saw him.
he carried your books.
your bag.
once, your stupid heavy history textbook that you always complained about.
he held doors open.
walked you to every class.
blew off tommy and half his friend group every lunch just to sit with you.
actually did his half of your joint assignment, not copied, not barely attempted, actually did it, and when you looked at him like he’d grown another head, he just shrugged like it was no big deal while internally screaming notice me.
he bought you lunch monday.
again on wednesday.
again on thursday.
sat in the library with you after school willingly.
willingly. the library.
for hours.
and every single thing you did made his brain short circuit.
because you just accepted it. completely. you didn’t question him much, didn’t pull away, didn’t act weird, didn’t reject any of it. you simply smiled that sweet little smile and let him fuss over you.
let him carry your things. let him buy your lunch. let him walk you around school like you were something precious.
and worst of all you looked happy about it. which should’ve been good. right? that should’ve been good.
except now steve was spiralling because what the hell did happy mean?
did you know what he was doing? were you oblivious? were you pitying him? were you just enjoying the attention?
meanwhile, you were living in your own version of insanity.
because steve had always made you feel special.
always.
from childhood to now, there had never been a moment where you doubted your place in his life.
but this?
this was different. this was soft, intentional. sweet in ways that made your stomach flip.
it felt suspiciously like being courted. like being wanted. like being his girl.
and god you liked it. liked it so much it scared you. so no, you didn’t question it. because if you asked, what if it stopped? what if he laughed and said he was just messing around? what if this tenderness disappeared?
so instead, you quietly soaked it in.
let yourself pretend just for a little while. let yourself imagine this was what loving steve openly might feel like.
which meant steve’s giant, ridiculous plan was failing spectacularly for one very simple reason-
the both of you were idiots.
by friday, steve was at breaking point.
he sat in his last class barely hearing a word the teacher said, knee bouncing under the desk.
what the hell was happening? surely by now, if you liked him, you would’ve said something. asked him what all this meant. given him something obvious back.
right?
unless you didn’t like him. unless you just thought he was being nice. unless this was normal to you because he’d always treated you well and you saw no difference.
jesus christ.
he’d spent an entire week acting like a lovesick freak and somehow ended up more confused than when he started.
the final bell rang and steve made a decision.
enough.
no more weird signals, no more spiralling, no more stupid plans.
he was asking you tonight.
flat out.
whatever happened, happened because he was absolutely not surviving another week of this.
what steve didn’t know was that at that exact same moment, sitting in class chewing the end of your pen and smiling stupidly to yourself remembering how he tucked your hair behind your ear at lunch you were thinking,
please don’t stop whatever this is.
please let me keep having this version of you.
even if it’s not real.
even if it’s only for a little while.
-
steve waited outside your last class.
again.
at this point, it had become routine. somewhere in his ridiculous attempt at flirting came a habit he’d accidentally fallen in love with.
there was just something about it.
the way your face always softened the second you spotted him leaning against the lockers. the little smile you never seemed able to hold back. the way you automatically walked toward him, like your feet knew where they belonged before your brain caught up.
it made something warm settle in his chest every single time.
so yes, even if his original reasons for waiting outside your classes had been pathetic and embarrassingly romantic, now he did it simply because he liked it.
liked being the person you looked for, liked walking beside you through crowded halls, liked carrying your books even when you insisted they “weren’t heavy.”
liked the feeling of everyone seeing you together.
he liked it far too much.
that friday, though, he was restless.
you noticed almost immediately.
the way his fingers tapped against his leg. the way his jaw kept tightening. the way he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it again.
still, you didn’t ask.
if there was one thing years of knowing steve harrington had taught you, it was that when he was ready to talk, he would.
until then, you let silence be comfortable.
and it always was with him.
the drive home was dipped in golden evening light, quiet except for the radio humming softly in the background and the occasional sound of steve drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel.
when he took a corner too fast his hand instinctively shot out, catching your thigh for a second to steady you.
warm, solid, gone too quickly.
neither of you said anything but your stomach flipped anyway.
when he pulled up between your houses, you reached for the door handle-
“wait.”
your hand froze.
you turned back.
steve looked terrified, actually terrified.
your heart immediately started hammering.
oh my god.
oh my god.
was he-
this was it. this had to be it.
the weird week, the sweet gestures, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he’d been hovering close like he couldn’t help himself-
this was him asking you to prom.
your whole body went warm.
steve swallowed hard. right. just say it.
say prom.
“do you wanna go prom-”
your breath caught.
his heart launched into his throat.
“-dress shopping with me?”
silence.
steve internally punched himself in the face.
coward. absolute coward.
you blinked.
then laughed softly, trying to ignore how quickly hope had risen and crashed in your chest.
“are you getting a dress this year too, stevie?”
he huffed a little laugh, looking down, shaking his head.
“no, i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “y’know, i’ll drive us to the city. we can get all fancy and buy expensive shit we probably don’t need. get ice cream on the way home.”
he looked up at you then.
hopeful. boyish.
impossibly handsome.
you smiled, a real one.
“that sounds nice.”
his shoulders loosened instantly.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
you opened the door, stepping out, then turned back with a grin.
“it’s a date.”
and walked away.
steve sat frozen in his car.
date.
date?
did you mean date date?
or date as in phrase?
people said that all the time.
right?
right??
he smacked his forehead gently against the steering wheel.
meanwhile, halfway to your front door, you were spiralling too.
why would you say it’s a date? why would you say that?
that sounds romantic. that sounds intentional. he’s going to think you meant it romantically.
except he doesn’t like you.
probably.
so now you sound insane.
great.
perfect.
wonderful.
still, somehow, both of you went to bed smiling because stupid was easier when it felt this good.
-
nice and early the next morning, steve was at your door.
knocking.
again.
except this time when you opened it, you were very much not ready.
hair wild, sleep still heavy in your eyes, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, soft pyjama shorts, bare legs and sleepy confusion.
steve forgot how breathing worked.
you frowned at him.
“why are you here?”
his brain completely short circuited.
“…shopping.”
you groaned.
“shit.”
you looked over your shoulder at the clock and winced.
“i overslept.”
steve finally recovered enough to shrug casually.
“i’ll wait.”
he walked past you like he belonged there, because he did, headed straight to your room, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself face down onto your bed.
dramatically, arms spread, muffled voice immediately rambling into your duvet.
“had the weirdest dream last night.”
you stood at your mirror trying to brush your hair while pulling on jeans.
“what?”
more muffled nonsense.
something about a shark. your third grade teacher. a ferrari. possibly italy.
you laughed.
“i understood none of that.”
he lifted his face slightly, cheek squished against your pillow.
“it made sense in dream logic.”
“sure.”
then face planted again, continuing to ramble while you got ready, his voice muffled into your blankets.
it was domestic in a way neither of you thought too hard about.
easy, dangerously easy.
soon enough, you were in the car headed toward the city.
the windows down, music loud. summer warmth creeping in. you stopped at a roadside place for breakfast sandwiches, then got back on the road. where steve immediately became unbearable.
“bite.”
you looked at him.
“…what?”
“feed me.”
“you have hands.”
“i’m driving. i need to concentrate.”
you stared.
he opened his mouth expectantly.
“bite.”
your eyes narrowed, he looked ridiculous.
you hated how cute it was.
with a sigh, you held the sandwich up for him. he leaned over dramatically, taking a huge bite, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
you laughed despite yourself.
“you’re such an idiot.”
secretly, steve loved the little annoyed crease between your brows. loved making you roll your eyes. loved that you always indulged him anyway.
shopping somehow started with your dress.
steve had expected torture. hours of standing around, fabric talk, waiting, boredom.
instead he got to watch you try on dresses, which was apparently heaven. every single dress had him losing his mind quietly.
blue. green. white. sparkly. simple. dramatic.
even the absolutely hideous monstrosity he tossed into your pile as a joke, some bright orange ruffled nightmare, looked unfairly cute because you came out striking poses and making ridiculous model faces until he laughed so hard he nearly cried.
“that one?” you asked, spinning.
“burn it.”
you grinned.
but then you stepped out wearing soft baby pink.
simple, elegant, gentle, completely you, and steve forgot how to speak.
you looked beautiful.
not pretty, not cute, beautiful. the kind that hurt to look at because it made wanting feel too big inside his chest.
you smiled shyly at your reflection.
“i kinda love this one.”
steve could only nod.
because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably propose.
when you disappeared back into the changing room after trying on the final dress, leaving the pink dress hanging outside, steve moved instantly.
straight to the register.
money down.
done.
easy.
when the cashier smiled warmly and said, “that’s sweet- paying for your girlfriend’s prom dress”
steve didn’t even think, didn’t correct her, just smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the word slipped out naturally like truth. he walked back holding the dress bag proudly. when you emerged and saw it, your face scrunched instantly.
“steve harrington-”
“don’t start.”
“i told you i was buying it-”
he shrugged, smiling.
“it’s our last prom, princess. gotta treat you right.”
princess. that stupid nickname. it hit you exactly where it always did.
that awful lovely feeling.
but you’d become very good at hiding it so you only rolled your eyes.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and generous.”
“annoyingly generous.”
“you love me.”
you smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the quiet honesty of it made his chest tighten because you meant it one way and he heard it another.
then he grinned, standing.
“c’mon.”
you looped your arm through his without thinking.
“your turn.”
shopping for steve’s suit was, thankfully, much quicker.
mostly because he cared significantly less than you did.
he tried on maybe three jackets, two pairs of trousers, one shirt, then stood in front of the mirror shrugging like, yeah, this one’s fine, while you looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“fine?” you repeated.
steve adjusted the collar lazily. “yeah.”
“fine is your final prom outfit?”
he looked down at himself.
navy suit. clean lines, fitted enough to make his shoulders look unfairly broad. white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway while he changed ties.
hair slightly messy from pulling shirts over his head.
beautiful, unfortunately.
he shrugged again.
“looks good enough.”
you stared.
“good enough” you echoed flatly.
his grin only widened “mhm.”
but then, then he did something so stupidly sweet that your entire brain briefly stopped functioning.
the woman helping fit him asked what colour tie he wanted, before she could even list options, steve answered immediately.
“baby pink.”
you blinked.
he looked over at you casually.
“to match your dress.”
simple, matter-of-fact. like it was obvious. like there was never another option.
to match your dress.
your heart practically punched through your ribs because it was little things. always little things with steve. the details, the quiet thoughtfulness, the instinctive way he always included you in everything.
the way matching your dress mattered to him.
not because it was prom, not because it was fashion, but because it was yours.
you stood there smiling like an idiot while he tried on ties, your mind spiralling somewhere far, far away.
and honestly?
you barely paid attention to anything else after that.
just him.
his hands fixing his cuffs, his soft smile when he caught you staring, the way he kept glancing toward you for approval.
god.
you were in trouble. deep trouble.
when you guys got in the car both taking a deep breath, pausing before the long drive home, you stopped him.
“steve?”
his hand froze on the key.
“yeah?”
your heart hammered.
this was insane, absolutely insane but suddenly you couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep wondering. couldn’t keep pretending every soft thing between you didn’t mean something.
so you looked at him and did exactly what he’d been trying to do all week.
“do you wanna go to prom with me?”
steve blinked.
once.
twice.
“…what?”
you smiled nervously.
“prom.”
he laughed softly, confused.
“we always go together.”
you swallowed then forced yourself to say it.
“i mean… properly with me, steve.”
his entire body went still, heart pounding so hard he could hear it.
“what?”
god.
he looked so confused, so beautiful.
and suddenly courage, reckless, terrifying courage, grabbed hold of you. you leaned forward and kissed him.
soft, quick.
the second your lips touched his, your whole body lit up like lightning.
then panic immediately followed.
oh god.
what did you just do?
you pulled back instantly, mouth already opening to explain, apologise, ramble, but steve’s hand came up, cupping your cheek.
warm, gentle, and he pulled you right back in.
kissed you properly.
like he’d been starving. like he knew exactly what your lips would feel like because he’d imagined it a thousand times, but somehow it was still better.
so much better.
you could actually feel him melt, his whole body softened into it and then, that little sound.
a quiet sigh against your mouth.
soft, content, completely helpless. it shot straight into your chest. your new favourite sound. absolutely.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, smiling in complete disbelief.
then he said-
“i hate you.”
your eyes flew open.
“…what?”
he laughed breathlessly.
“i have been waiting my whole life for you to show literally any sign that you liked me.” he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes wide with mock offence. “and the one week i actually decide to try and something about it, you beat me to it.”
you burst out laughing then he did too, forehead dropping back against yours. then suddenly he leaned back fully, staring at you like you were insane.
“no, seriously- what?”
you blinked.
“what?”
“why now?”
you shrugged, cheeks warm.
“i’ve always liked you, stevie.”
steve’s jaw actually dropped.
“what?”
you laughed.
“i’ve always liked you.”
“then why didn’t you say anything?!”
you gave him a look.
“why didn’t you?”
he stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“because you never acted like you wanted me back. ever.”
you frowned.
“maybe you’re oblivious.”
steve scoffed so hard it was almost offensive then gave you the most irritated look imaginable.
“i do not wanna hear you call anybody oblivious. you are the most oblivious person alive.”
you gasped.
“no i’m not.”
“yes, you are.”
“i’m cautious.”
“cautious of what?”
you went quieter then.
honest.
“reading too far into things.” your fingers picked at your sleeve. “you could’ve just been being nice, y’know? i didn’t wanna lose you.”
steve’s whole face softened instantly.
his hand found yours.
squeezed.
“in no world do you lose me, idiot.”
your eyes rolled automatically, mostly because if you looked at him too long you might cry.
then, lighter, you said,
“been waiting your whole life?” you smiled. “dramatic ass.”
he laughed then shook his head.
“no, i’m serious.”
“right.”
“i am.”
“okay, sure-”
before you could argue, he grabbed your face again and kissed you hard. full of grin and relief and years of built-up wanting.
when he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
“and yeah,” he murmured. “i’ll go to prom with you.”
he winked.
“it’s a date.”
you groaned, laughing.
“that line was awful.”
“worked the first time.”
you shoved his shoulder.
he caught your hand, kissed your knuckles and then finally started the car.
the drive home was spent sharing ice cream, stealing kisses at red lights, and smiling so much both your faces hurt.
and when he parked between your houses that evening for the first time going home next door didn’t feel like enough.
because now, finally, you knew exactly where home was.
and it was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at you like he’d found his whole world.
-
the week leading up to prom was, quite possibly, the happiest either of you had ever been.
which was saying something, considering you and steve had spent your whole lives making happiness out of ordinary things.
bike rides and late-night talks. pool days and movie nights. studying together, even when steve mostly just distracted you.
shared dinners. inside jokes.
the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.
you had already built a life around each other long before romance ever entered the picture.
but now there was kissing. and, quite frankly, that improved everything.
the strange thing was, almost nothing about your relationship changed, and somehow, everything changed.
you still woke up most mornings to the sound of steve’s car horn, or, more recently, to the sound of him knocking on your front door because apparently now he liked seeing your sleepy face. you still rode to school together, still shared lunches, still studied in the library after classes, still spent evenings draped across each other’s bedroom floors talking about life until one of you fell asleep mid-conversation.
you were still you.
he was still steve.
best friends in every way that mattered.
except now, when he saw you, his face immediately softened into the most helpless smile. except now, his hand naturally found yours every chance it got. except now, when he dropped you off at home, you kissed him goodnight. except now, when he made you laugh, he looked at your mouth afterwards like he couldn’t help himself.
except now, he kissed you whenever the urge struck him, which was often.
very often.
because steve had apparently been suppressing years of affection, and now that he was allowed to touch you the way he’d always wanted he simply never stopped.
a kiss on your forehead when he saw you in the morning. a kiss on your cheek while waiting in line for lunch. a kiss against your temple while you studied.
a quick peck when he passed you in the hallway. a longer one when nobody was looking.
soft kisses, laughing kisses, hungry kisses that left you breathless, lazy kisses that happened just because you were standing close.
sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, stare at you for a second, then kiss you like he’d just remembered he could.
when you’d laugh and ask what that was for, he’d just grin.
“been wanting to for years.”
as if that explained everything. as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart explode every single time.
steve, somehow, became even sweeter.
which you honestly hadn’t thought possible.
he was constantly touching you in little ways. fingers brushing yours, hand on the small of your back, absentmindedly tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder while reading over your work even though he wasn’t actually reading any of it.
he looked at you like you were his favourite thing on earth, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.
truthfully, he couldn’t.
steve had spent years loving you quietly, years convincing himself he was okay with just having you however he could get you.
best friend. neighbour. constant companion.
he had told himself that was enough.
it hadn’t been, not really.
and now he got to kiss you. hold your hand. hear you call him yours in little casual ways that made his brain completely short circuit.
my stevie.
mine.
god.
he’d never been happier.
and you felt exactly the same.
you weren’t even officially dating yet. somehow, neither of you had actually labelled whatever this was, but it didn’t matter.
you were his.
he was yours.
everyone knew it.
that was enough.
for now.
then prom night arrived.
you spent the afternoon at your friend’s house with your three closest girlfriends, all of you crowded around mirrors with makeup scattered everywhere, hairspray thick in the air, music playing too loudly in the background while laughter bounced off the walls.
it was chaos, beautiful chaos.
and, naturally, your friends spent most of it teasing you mercilessly.
“finally,” one of them said dramatically while curling your hair. “do you understand how painful it’s been watching you two circle each other for years?”
another snorted from where she was doing eyeliner.
“literally years.”
“it was embarrassing,” the third added. “for everyone involved.”
you laughed, shaking your head.
“we were not that obvious.”
three deadpan looks met your reflection in the mirror.
then all together-
“you were.”
one of them groaned dramatically.
“he looked at you like you hung the moon.”
you covered your face.
“okay, stop.”
they only laughed harder but beneath the teasing was genuine relief. everyone who loved you had been waiting for this, waiting for you both to finally stop being idiots, waiting for the inevitable.
because to everyone else you and steve had always been a love story waiting to happen.
later, after hugs and promises to meet at prom, you headed home to get dressed.
and when you finally stepped into your baby pink dress, the same one steve secretly bought for you, you stared at yourself for a long moment.
soft curls framing your face, makeup gentle and glowing, the pink bringing warmth to your skin.
for once, nerves hit.
not because of prom.
because of steve.
because you wanted him to look at you and feel what you always felt when you looked at him.
then, a knock at the door.
your stomach flipped instantly.
you carefully made your way downstairs, hand lightly gripping the banister so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and halfway down, you froze.
your mother had already opened the door.
steve was standing inside.
flowers in hand, pink flowers, the exact shade of your dress, suit fitted perfectly, tie matching you exactly like he’d planned, hair done but still somehow perfectly messy, looking so unfairly handsome it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.
then he looked up and froze. completely.
his whole body went still, flowers slackening slightly in his hand. mouth parting, eyes wide.
you nearly froze too but you also nearly missed a step, so survival instincts forced you forward.
when you reached him, smiling shyly, steve still looked stunned.
then softly, so softly,
“you look so beautiful."
his voice full of awe.
you felt your cheeks warm.
“you look handsome.”
that snapped him into a grin.
your mother immediately started gushing.
“oh, look at you two-”
your father, already prepared, handed her the old camera.
same tradition every dance, same photo spot every year.
except this year felt different, this year felt important.
steve’s hand settled naturally on your waist.
firm, warm, possessive in the gentlest way. you tucked into his side and both of you smiled brighter than you ever had before.
click.
perfect.
the second you stepped outside and the front door shut behind you steve kissed you. immediately. like he physically couldn’t help it.
you laughed softly against his mouth when he pulled away.
“what was that for?”
he shrugged, smiling.
“sorry. i feel like i have to all the time now.”
you blinked.
he looked adorably sheepish.
“i waited too long before.”
your whole chest melted.
you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“good job i don’t mind.”
his smile widened impossibly.
the drive there was perfect. madonna played loudly, steve complained-
“this song again?”
-while secretly singing every word.
badly. using one hand as a fake microphone. you laughed until your stomach hurt and when he caught you looking at him with that soft smile he winked.
god.
you were doomed.
prom itself was… nice.
crowded, hot, loud. friends dragged you apart almost immediately, his crowd calling him over, yours pulling you in. reluctantly, you separated. but only briefly. because, like always, you found your way back to each other.
effortlessly, like magnets, just in time for the slow dance.
his hands found your waist, yours looped around his neck. you swayed together beneath dim lights, forehead resting lightly against his, smiling softly at nothing and everything.
it was perfect, too perfect, too short. because when the song ended, steve frowned.
“that’s bullshit.”
you laughed.
“what?”
“not enough dancing.”
before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd.
out the doors, into the parking lot.
you were laughing the whole time.
“stevie- what are you doing?”
he just laughed breathlessly.
“trust me.”
he dragged you to his car, opened the door, turned the radio on, shoved in a cassette, then david bowie filled the warm night air.
steve dramatically bowed.
held out his hand.
“may i have this dance?”
you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt then placed your hand in his.
under stars, in a mostly empty parking lot, next to his car, you slow danced.
giggling, stepping on each other’s feet, swaying dramatically, kissing halfway through because neither of you could help yourselves.
it was perfect. better than prom itself.
afterwards, breathless and smiling, you both looked toward the building, then at each other and silently agreed-
fuck prom.
ice cream was mandatory, then home.
summer air still warm enough that sitting in his back garden felt perfect.
until suddenly steve gasped, shot upright and ran to the pool, crouching beside it staring in dramatically.
you followed quickly.
“what? what?”
he waved urgently.
“come look.”
you leaned closer and he shoved you in. cold water swallowed you whole. when you surfaced gasping, steve was doubled over laughing.
that little bitch.
fine.
game on.
you frowned dramatically.
“ow- steve-”
his laughter stopped instantly.
“…what?”
you grabbed your arm.
“i think i hurt it-”
panic overtook his face.
“shit- how?”
he reached down and his hand out.
the sweetest idiot alive.
you grabbed it and yanked.
he crashed in beside you with a loud splash. when he surfaced, hair plastered down, face full of betrayal, you were laughing hysterically.
he looked annoyed for exactly two seconds before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your waist holding you close in the water.
laughing softly now too.
then he kissed you.
forehead resting against yours after, smiling wide.
then quietly, like truth he’d been carrying forever,
“i love you.”
your eyes opened.
you smiled.
“i love you too.”
his face softened so completely it almost broke you.
then he hugged you hard like he never wanted to let go.
later, dripping wet, climbing out of the pool steve paused. looked at you seriously, then “that means you’re my girlfriend now, by the way.”
you smiled.
nodded.
“okay.”
he frowned jokingly.
“…okay?”
you blinked.
“what?”
he shoved wet hair back.
“i always thought you were perfectly happy being single.”
you smiled softly.
shrugged.
“maybe i was just waiting for you.”
he rolled his eyes immediately, tugging you into his side as he walked you both inside.
