Summary: Steve doesn’t hesitate when it comes to you. He will not tolerate if someone hurts his girl. And he will take care of you in any way he can.
Warnings: violence. hurt/comfort. attempt of SA (nothing graphic but please read with care). blood. Steve saying all the right things. dating Steve Harrington. no use of y/n.
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Steve’s almost done closing the Family Video Store.
He’s halfway to flipping the sign to CLOSED when the phone rings. He hesitates because normally no one calls this late. But that’s also why something in his chest twists. That can’t be good, right?
He picks up. „Family Video, this is…“
„Steve.“
Immediate relief floods his mind. It’s you, his lovely girlfriend.
Then he hears it. Your breathing goes fast and shallow and your sobbing. Every nerve in his body goes electric. „Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?“ His voice drops instantly, steady but tight.
„He won’t leave,“ you whisper. „Steve, he won’t leave me alone.“
His racing thoughts come to an abrupt stand. „Who.“
„My brother’s friend. He’s drunk. He…“ Your voice cracks. There’s a loud bang on the other end of the line. You gasp. „He’s trying to get in.“
Steve is already grabbing his keys. „Where are you?“
„My parents room. I locked it. He’s…“ Another bang, harder this time. „He’s hitting the door. Steve, I’m really scared.“
„Listen to me,“ Steve says with his fingers almost breaking the phone. „You stay locked in. Don’t open the door no matter what you hear. I’m coming.“
Steve doesn’t remember the drive. He remembers red lights blurring. His hands shaking on the wheel. Nearly missing a turn. The sick, crawling fear in is stomach.
When he stops the car, he jumps out without bothering to close the door behind him. He doesn’t care. Loud music blasting from the basement. He doesn’t care. Steve takes the stairs two at a time. The hallway is a mess. The bedroom door is open … broken by some guys hands.
And that’s when he sees it. You’re against the wall. Lip split and a bruise darkening your cheek. That guy - drunk, ugly and furious - has his hand on your wrist. The grip too tight for you to get away. His other hand near your throat and leaning in.
You’re struggling. Saying no.
Steve doesn’t think. He sees red.
„Get your hands off her!“
The guy barely turns before Steve is on him. He rips him back so hard, the guy stumbles. Steve’s fist connects with is face once. Twice. Three times. Years of bottled restraint and rage cracking wide open.
„You touch her again,“ Steve snarls, voice unrecognizable. „I will end you.“
The guy tries to swing back but he’s sloppy. Drunk. Steve’s rage is sharp and focused. Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your brother shouting. Other voices pulling them apart before Steve can actually lose control and murdering your attacker.
The guy is dragged out and the door slams shut behind them.
Silence. Steve’s chest is heaving. His knuckles sting. His whole body trembling with leftover fury. Then he turns to you and the rage melts into something else entirely.
You’re shaking. Eyes wide in fear. Breath uneven, trying so hard to hold yourself together.
Steve’s voice changes. „Hey,“ he says softly. Careful, like he’s about to approach a wounded animal. „It’s me. It’s just me.“
You flinch at first - not from him, just from everything. He notices and it nearly breaks him. Steve drops to his knees in front of you. Slowly and without touching, so he wouldn’t scare you even more. „I’m here,“ he whispers. „You’re safe now.“
Your face crumbles and you fall into him.
He catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you tight but gentle. One hand cradling the back of your head away from his shoulder so he doesn’t press against your bruised cheek.
You break into full shaking sobs. „I told him no,“ You cry into his chest. „I told him to stop.“
„I know,“ Steve says quietly. „I know you did.“
„He wouldn’t listen… I swear I did…“
„That’s not on you.“ His voice is firm now, protective in a different way. „None of that is your fault. Not one second of it.“
Your fingers clutch his shirt like you’re drowning. „I was so scared.“
„I know,“ he says again and his voice cracks this time. „I should’ve been here sooner.“
„No,“ You choke out. „You came. You came to me.“
He presses his forehead gently to yours, careful of your injuries. „I’m so sorry,“ he breathes. „I’m so sorry you had to be scared like that.“
You shake your head weakly. „He said it was nothing. That I was overreacting.“
Steve pulls back just enough to look at you. His jaw tightens. „You said no,“ He tells you. „That’s it. That’s the whole sentence. That’s enough.“
You nod, tears still slipping down your face. His thumb brushes gently under your split lip, checking the damage like you’re made of glass.
„Does it hurt?“ He asks quietly.
You shrug. He exhales shakily.
„I need you to hear me,“ he says, voice softer that you’ve ever heard it. „You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t lead him on. You didn’t owe him anything. You don’t have to be polite when someone makes you uncomfortable. Not ever.“
Your breathing starts to slow. Steve shifts so you’re sitting on his lap on the floor, holding you fully now. One hand rubbing slow circles into your back. You bury your face in is neck and for a long time, he just stays like that.
Letting you cry. Letting you shake. Kissing your hair. Murmuring soft reassurances between two breaths.
When you finally quiet down, he pulls back slightly. „Can I clean your lip?“ He asks gently. „Just a little.“
You nod. He does it so carefully. Like he’s handling something sacred. After, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
„I’m really proud of you,“ Steve says suddenly.
You blink at him. „For what?“
„For fighting back. For locking the door. For calling me.“ His thumb brushes your cheek, avoiding the bruise. „You did everything right.“
Your eyes fill again - but not from fear this time. He presses his forehead to yours one more time. „I love you,“ he says. „And if anyone ever makes you feel unsafe again, I will be there. Always.“
„I love you too, Steve,“ You lift your chin and he closes the small distance between your lips. The kiss is soft like a feather. So gentle it almost shatters you into a million pieces.
When you part again, you catch his gaze. „Can you take me to your house? I - I don’t want to stay here tonight.“
Steve doesn’t hesitate. „Yeah. Yeah, of corse.“
He helps you stand, one arm firm around your shoulders, the other holding your hand. When your brother tries to approach - face pale, stammering apologies - Steve doesn’t even look at him. „Not now,“ he says calm but final.
Steve moves you quickly and careful. No one else gets to see you like this.
The drive is quiet. His hand never leaves your thigh. You’re starring out the window, but you’re not really seeing anything.
When you reach his house, he’s out of the car in seconds, coming around to open your door like he always does - except this time there’s no teasing. No princess comments.
Inside, the house is quiet and dark. Empty. Safe.
You stand there for a second in the hallway like you don’t know what to do with yourself. Then you whisper, „I feel … dirty.“
Steve’s heart squeezes. He steps closer but doesn’t crowd you. „You’re not,“ he says softly. „Not even a little.“
You swallow hard. „I just … I need a shower. I need it … him off me.“
„Okay,“ he nods immediately. „Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll get you one.“
You turn toward the bathroom, then pause. „Steve?“
He’s there instantly. „Yeah?“
Your voice trembles just slightly. „Will you … will you come with me?“
He blinks, clearly unsure what would be the right thing to say.
„Not like …“ you stutter. „Not like that. I just… I don’t want to be alone. And I don’t want to feel like it’s just me in there.“
Something protective and tender settles over his features. „Yeah,“ he says. „Yeah, I’ll come with you.“
Hey keeps his movements slow. Gives you control and let’s you set the pace. Te bathroom fills with steam, the water runs warm and you step in first. For a second, you just stand there under the spray, shoulders tight.
Steve steps in behind you a moment later, careful to give you enough space. The closeness is different tonight. Not playful or charged like usual. Just present.
Then you turn around and press your forehead against his chest. His arms come around you immediately.
„I can still feel the grip,“ you croak.
Steve exhales slowly, one hand cradling the back of your head. „I’ve got you,“ he murmurs. „I’ve got you now.“
You guide his hands. „Can you… wash me?“
It nearly undoes him - not because it’s intimate in a romantic way, but because you’re trusting him with something fragile. „Okay,“ he says gently.
He lathers soap in his palms first, warming it so it’s not cold against your skin. Then he starts at your shoulders. Slow and careful.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t stare. Steve just focuses.
His thumbs glide down your arms, washing away sweat, fear and the ghost of someone else’s grip.
„You tell me if anything feels wrong,“ he says, voice heavy with affection.
„It doesn’t,“ you answer. „It feels better.“
When he reaches your wrists, he pauses - thumb brushing softly over where the grip had been too tight earlier. His jaw tightens at the thought of that. But he doesn’t say anything angry. Instead the presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
„You don’t belong to anyone but yourself,“ he murmurs against your skin.
Tears mix with the water on your cheeks. You turn so he can wash your back. His touch is featherlight at first, then steadier. The steam wraps around you both, warm and cocooning. For the first time all night, your breathing starts to slow down.
You lean back into him. He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. „Still feel dirty?“
You shake your head. „No. Just tired.“
Steve rests his cheek against your damp hair. „Good,“ he says gently. „Your safe here.“
You tilt your face up and he kisses you - not desperate, not heated. Just slow, tender and reassuring. His hands stay respectful. Protective without being possessive.
When you finally step out of the shower, wrapped in his towel, he dries your hair with one of his own like it’s the most important task he’s ever had.
Later in his bed, your curl into him. His clothes feel like a shield on your body. His arm is around you. Solid and strong.
You press your face into his chest. „Thank you.“
„For what?“
„For not making me feel ashamed.“
He tightens his hold just slightly. „You never have to be ashamed,“ he says. „Not with me.“
And when you finally fall asleep, it’s the first deep, steady rest you’ve had all night. Steve doesn’t sleep much. He just holds you. And makes sure you stay safe.
_____________
Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙
oh my god I ADORED Juno!!! Could we perhaps get a scene from their honeymoon???
Who Knows?
find juno here!
summary: steve can't keep his hands off his pretty little wife.
pairing: husband!steve harrington x wife!f!reader
warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), car sex, body worship, breeding kink, creampies galore, praise, bigdick!steve, possessiveness, some fluff mixed in, spoiler free, pregnancy discussion, sorta insecure steve for a second cause ik that mf has abandonment issues, no beta
wc: 2.1k
note: yeah this is a husband steve fuckfest that's all i can say (seriously though, thank you all for so much support it means so much and i'm so glad you're here hanging out with me <3)
[masterlist] [AO3]
you don't go far. a cabin up on lake michigan out in the middle of the woods.
there's a small podunk town just a fifteen minute drive away. there's cutesy restaurants there that don't require reservations and a hometown bar. the locals are kind enough, congratulating the both of you the moment they see the glass paint on the back of steve's beamer that reads, just married!
you don't get much time to explore the town though, truth be told. not because you don't like it or because there aren't sights to see.
it's because you can't seem to keep your hands off each other.
honestly, it starts to become a little absurd.
even on the way to the cabin the morning after the wedding, steve had to pull off to the side of the road just to get a taste of you. and it wasn't even his fault, truly.
you'd just looked so goddamn pretty, sitting there in the passenger seat in that tiny dress. the sun was shining on your face and the wind was in your hair and christ. he was weak for you. he'd always been, but now?
now that you were his, undoubtedly, with his ring and his last name—steve couldn't help himself. he'd parked under a shady tree, took you by the back of the neck, and pressed his mouth hungrily to yours. kissed you like tomorrow wasn't promised, kissed you like his only source of oxygen lived behind your tongue, kissed you like he'd die without the taste of you.
and when he pulled away, lips swollen and glistening, it was only long enough to say, "climb into the backseat for me, baby."
you'd done as asked without question, and by the time steve followed you'd already had your panties halfway down your legs.
he'd had you leaning against the door, legs spread wide with his tongue on your clit in a matter of moments. and good fucking god was it perfect. the way you tasted, the way you felt, the sounds you made.
steve slid his tongue through your seam not for your pleasure but for his. he took from you every inch you were willing to give, slipping two fingers into your entrance and scissoring you open until you were a writhing, mess of a girl beneath him.
he knew you were close the moment you fisted your hands in his hair, tugging hard. you didn't even need to tell him. didn't need to say through gasping moans, "i'm gonna come, i'm gonna—oh, god. steve."
he presses his face harder against your cunt and and lets your wiggle your hips, chasing release on his tongue. he groans low when he feels that pretty clit pulse between his lips.
and when you're finished, steve moves up your body and kisses you deep. swirls his tongue around yours and says, "see how fucking good you taste? that's all mine now, baby."
he watches your eyes flare as he eases his fingers out of you.
"my pussy," he mutters. steve slides his tongue against yours. "my mouth." and then, far gentler, he kisses your forehead. "my wife."
you giggle and he watches that pretty flush crawl up your cheeks in response to his brazen possessiveness.
when you make it to the cabin, steve hauls your bags inside. it's small but cozy. one room, a tiny kitchen, a shelf full of dusty books and a television with a stack of VHS tapes beside it.
it's sat right on the lakeside. you can see the water from the back door. outside, there's a patio area with a grill that steve fully intends on using every night if you'll let him. there's a fancy clawfoot tub in the bathroom and the king-sized bed is dressed in satin sheets.
he takes you in the kitchen first.
bends you over the countertop and shoves your dress up over your hips. his cock aches by the time he presses it into you. slow and easy, nice and steady. steve knows he's big. knows it hurts.
but you take him so fucking well.
he drags the collar of your sundress down over your breasts, palming them and gently squeezing the supple flesh between his fingers. he circles your clit with his free hand and kisses the back of your neck in worship, whispering sweet words all the while.
"you're so beautiful, sweetheart. you know that? got any idea how pretty you are? the most gorgeous girl i've ever seen. our kids are gonna look just like you. i—shit. i just know it."
steve finds release the moment you do, velvety walls hugging his cock like it was made to fit him. he twitches inside you and presses the head of his cock right up against your cervix to make sure it takes.
you christen every goddamn flat surface of that cabin.
the couch, the shower, the floor in the hallway. the only time steve's not inside you in some capacity is when you're cooking or eating, and even then you can't seem to keep your hands to yourself. he once accidentally drips chocolate sauce onto his bare abdomen while the two of you are watching a movie and you're quick to rise to your feet, saying, "oops. don't worry, i got it."
and then you lick him clean, sundae long forgotten. the wetness of your tongue against his skin is so heavenly that his cock grows stiff behind his sweatpants in only a second.
but you take good care of that, too. pulling at his waistband until his cock springs free, licking from base to tip with a desperate tongue. you wrap your lips around the head of him and inch him further down your throat until you choke, and the sigh is so beautiful that steve wishes he could take a photo to keep it forever.
you take as much of him into your mouth as you can. and you wrap your delicate hand around what's left, stroking him and sucking hard until him comes at the back of your throat.
it takes three days before the two of you relax enough to breathe.
steve takes you out to dinner. you both dress up real nice and steal bites off each other's plates. he orders champagne that tastes terrible and two cocktails to make up for it.
there's a handful of shops in the downtown area that you decide to peruse after dinner, bellies full and brain a little fuzzy from the alcohol.
one of the shops is a clothing store. they have little bits of everything. basics for men and women, colorful overalls for kids and handwoven scarves.
but you both drift towards the infant section.
and he knows it's too soon, but steve can't help himself. never can. not when it comes to you, anyway.
you pick up a crocheted baby blanket, soft and made from a warm brown color with an image of a cuddly looking bear stitched into it's center.
when you show it to him, your eyes are all soft and pleading and steve swears his heart stops.
because even now, he still can't believe it. can't believe that you're looking at him like he put the stars in the sky, all but begging for a blanket to keep your baby warm. the baby you want to have with him.
steve doesn't deserve you. doesn't deserve all your softness or your grace. but he knows he's a lucky man for it, and makes another silent vow right in the back of that textile shop.
though he doesn't deserve you, steve promises to never stop trying to.
the blanket is overpriced, truthfully.
he buys it anyway.
and when you return to the cabin, he's so goddamn desperate to be inside of you that he accidentally pulls the silver button of your jeans clean off.
it clatters to the hardwood floor and makes an obnoxious, metallic sound that sends you both into fits of uncontained laughter. it makes steve feel full of youth in a way he hasn't felt in some time.
it makes him feel his age and not like he's lived enough for two lifetimes.
you insist on swimming in the lake halfway through the honeymoon. steve had been so preoccupied with you that he hadn't even thought about swimming, despite the lake being the main attraction of your vacation suite.
he ties the back of bikini you'd bought specifically for the occasion—white and glittering, similar to your dress.
and only moments after you both dive in to the blue waters and let your body adjust to the coldness, steve unties it with his teeth.
he kisses your collarbones and sucks soft bruises into the skin of your neck, soothing each ache with the flat of his tongue.
you lean back against him and press the curve of your ass to the steadily growing bulge behind his swim trunks, hips wiggling until he's hard as stone beneath your touch.
when you turn to face him, steve kisses the tip of your nose. he tells you he loves you but wishes he had the words to explain that it's more than that. more than love. more than devotion. more than worship.
you are...everything.
his brows pinch together, trying to navigate his jumbled thoughts that are both overwhelming and undeniable.
you see him, though. like you always do.
"steve," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your water-slick body sliding against his, successfully putting a stop to those self-deprecating thoughts that threaten at the edges of his mind. "i know."
of course you do. of course.
this time, when he slides your bikini bottoms to the side and sinks in deep, it's not about making a baby.
it's just about loving you.
his fingers press firm against the swell of your hips, holding on tight, holding you close and wishing he could get impossibly closer.
he thrusts his hips up into you, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you cry out for more, that makes you cry out for god. your moans echo in the open air, and steve cements the sight of you to memory.
backlit by the orange hues of the sun, pretty lips parted and kissed swollen, eyes all bleary but focused only on him.
steve has to put in a considerable amount of effort to fight off release because the sounds you make are nothing short of pornographic.
he only lets himself go when you do. when your syrupy walls squeeze tight around his throbbing cock, when you press your mouth to his and say, "i'm yours."
on the final night of your honeymoon, you take advantage of the clawfoot tub. steve fills it with water and too many soap bubbles, and it's one of his very favorite moments of your honeymoon.
he lets you make a soapy mohawk in his hair and you let him wash the sweat from your skin, massaging in gentle circles. you confess that while you've had the best time out here alone with him, that you miss your friends.
you miss nancy and robin and most of all, you miss the kids.
steve understands, because he does, too.
they were not born of you and him yet you love them as if they were.
yours in the way that they confide in you their secrets. yours when they come to your doorstep late at night with tears in their eyes, making claims of nightmares that you know are just memories.
yours when they laugh and joke and say "gross!" whenever steve kisses you out in the open. yours to protect, yours to love, yours to cherish.
which is why when you're laying in satin sheets that night, head on steve's chest, his answer comes fast when you timidly look up at him and ask, "do you think i'll be a good mom?"
"i know you will be," he says.
your smile reaches your eyes, reflecting his own. steve presses a kiss into your hair and strokes his fingers lazily up and down your spine.
"do you think it worked? do you think i'm actually pregnant?"
steve shrugs. "who knows? hard to say yet, right? i mean, does it ever work on the first try?"
"joyce said it did for her. so, maybe?"
steve moves the hand that was propped up behind his head and places it on your belly. "hm," he says, sliding down lower on the mattress. "can't tell."
you giggle when he tugs the blanket down and pushes his borrowed sweater up your torso.
he presses a kiss just below your navel. "i think we should try again," he says. "you know, just in case."
You go into family video hoping Robbin will help you out with a movie, a sort of home movie. Sadly, Robin was out that day and Steve really wants to satisfy all his customers…
18+ (smut) p in v, un-protected penetration sex (wrap it before you tap it, all that jazz) dirty talk, swearing, fem! reader, described having boobs, oral (fem! receiving) porn mention
Non proof read
You pulled up into the mostly empty car park in front of 'Family Video' and cut the engine, sinking further into your drivers seat.
It was fine. Totally not weird.
At the other end of the small car park that could fit ten cars at best, Steve's car sat patiently waiting to take him home. Odd, but okay. Steve was working. That was fine, it didn't mean Robin wasn't there and he always gave her lifts in. And Robin had promised she'd be there when you called her last night.
'Yes, I will be there to help you dive into finding and discovering all your sexual needs,' she'd said down the line of the phone.
'Robin.'
'I'm kidding!'
There was no need to be embarrassed, at least that's what you preached on the way down. If a woman had needs she had needs that erotic book and fantasies couldn't always satisfy.
You were horny. Put it simple. Whether it was that sort of time of month you had your needs and they weren't being met by any standards. This was a last resort.
You'd just beeline for Robin, maybe say a quick hello to Steve and then Robin would whisk you away to the 'home videos' Family Video stored.
You got out the car, swinging an empty bag for the goods over your shoulder. Odd that a place called Family video would have such raunchy DVD's but Robin had said they were kept around the back and kept so secret it was like a drug deal every time.
Steve Harrington stood behind the counter, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear as he sorted through a pile of tapes. He was seemingly arguing but stopped when he heard the open and shut of the door.
His eyes lit up. "Yeah, Dustin, I'll call you back. Bye -" he all but dropped the phone and discarded the tapes to the side. "H-hey!"
"Hey Steve," you greeted, casually. It was casual. Always casual between the two of you. You'd been friends that drifted in high school and brought back together they way all drifted friends did. Monsters, kids and saving the town. That sort.
But who could just be friends with Steve Harrington. Every girl in school had wanted him- including you. As you got older and close enough to call him a best friend you'd hope the crush would fade.
No. Now, with your needs growing desperate and Steve standing there in his stupid vest and smile the crush was all but eating up your guts.
You'd been silent too long. So had he.
"Is um- I was looking for Robin. Is she here? She was helping me find a movie."
"Robin? Oh no, she had to go, food poisoning or something."
"Food poisoning?" you all but snapped, shoulders sagging.
"Yeah," chuckled Steve. "She and Vickie went to this place out of town and-" he motioned vomit, still with a smile.
You'd kill Vickie.
"But I can help you!" Steve offered. Before you could tell him it was no bother he leapt over the counter, knocking over a sign about a three for two deal. He scrambled to pick it up and set it back before standing right in front of you, fixing his hair. "What were you after?"
"It's really no problem, Steve, I'll get it another time," you waved off, gulping the disappointment down.
Steve looked at you, incredulous. "What? No, c'mon you came all this way, let me help you."
There wasn't much more room for arguments as Steve led you away.
You couldn't believe your luck. At that point you'd rather have the upside down split in two and swallow you whole. You didn't even mind if it shut after you.
"So what were you looking for?" asked Steve.
It wasn't new, Family Video. You probably knew the shelves like they belonged in your home. How many times had you lingered around all day, applying for college letters at the counter and listen to the two bicker whether the Star Wars trilogy ended in a satisfying way.
So, if it were just a regular film you were after you wouldn't have needed any help at all.
"Just... Back to the future," you said, the first film popping into your head. Also the last one you watched. Three days ago. With Steve.
Come to think of it, that was when all this pent up sexual frustration got the better of you.
Who wore such fitted trousers to watch a film all cosy on your sofa back home? And why was the popcorn kept in the tallest shelf that meant he had to keep reaching up, his shirt riding with him and showing you a very happy trail down to the goods.
"What?" his brows creased. "Back to the future, we've watched that. No, it's something else."
You shrugged. "No it's not."
"Yes it is, I can tell when you're lying," he said gleefully like a little kid who just found out where the cookies were hid. "Is that why you needed Robin. What, is it some kind of girly film?"
"Steve," you groaned.
"Okay, okay, let me guess," he paused, folding his arms over his chest.
His arms were always so well defined. Not too muscular but not weak at the least. More than once had you felt those arms picking you up while you fell asleep on the couch. They were as gentle to hold as they were setting you down on his bed (if you were around his) or yours.
"Pretty in Pink!"
You hung your head. You knew Steve. This could go on for hours. Maybe long enough for Robin to be cured miraculously and return in time to get you out of this.
"No, okay. Sixteen candles?"
"Steve, really-"
"Dirty dancing?"
"Porn!" you said it loud and clear.
Steve reared back like the words had punched him in the face.
"I came here for porn tapes, okay?" you said, now slightly unsure of your words. True as they were, you really hadn't thought to be having this conversation with Steve Harrington ever. "I spoke to Robin, she said there was a box of things Keith hid away before this place became family friendly so yes, I am here for porn!"
You realised as you shouted it you hadn't checked if there were more customers in the shop.
Steve swallowed. "Okay," he squeaked, unusually high pitched. He cleared this throat and looked around. "Okay."
You were thinking about turning away and leaving. You'd remember Steve's face and beauty and go die in a hole with it.
"Um, Keith's- Keith's old stuff, um," Steve scratched the back of his head, a blush rising up his neck.
"It's just normal," you said, trying to convince yourself of the matter also. "Everyone does it."
"Yeah, I got it," said Steve without meeting your gaze.
"I'm not embarrassed." You were, but you were better at not turning red.
Steve shook his head. "No? No, and why should you be. Who said anyone was embarrassed? I'm not, you're not so everything is cool."
"Cool."
"Totally cool."
The two of you stood across from each other un-able to look at one another, scared what you might find. It was normal, to have wants and needs and it was normal for them to not be met.
If it was Robin, or even some other random guy there'd be no problem. You'd make the exchange and return it when it's worn out it's use.
But it was Steve, the guy who had been your first kiss in middle school and the guy who'd saved your life and who always put your safety first. The guy who knew you loved that one bomber jacket on him so he refused to wear any other. The Steve who let you cry on his shoulder after your first break-up.
He was your Steve, just not yours in ways in counted for.
"Robin said they'd be in the back," you carried on.
"The back, sure."
It was a room you'd been in plenty and Steve even more so but he looked just as lost as you when trying to find the tapes.
"So, you think it's got a big red sticker on it?" he asked as you both searched like you were investigating a crime scene. "How did Robin even find out about this and why wouldn't she tell me?"
You shrugged. "Robin has a curious mind and a devious one."
The distraction was looking for the boxes, you didn't have to think the confession you were giving Steve: you were needy. You were horny and now, Steve knew.
But he was Steve! Girls were practically queuing up to be with him. He'd never had to worry, he had his pick!
"Ah hah!" Steve sounded, pulling a box out from under a cabinet.
You hurried over, as if you were scared they'd be pictures of shirtless women- like Steve hadn't seen any of them.
The box was just black tapes, titles scribbled on the sides- some peeling off. None of the titles made sense to you. There was a magazine or two that you decided to ignore.
Steve straightened up, backing way in case the box suddenly lunged for him. "So, um, you- you know what you're looking for?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck. "Or..."
You really had no idea what you were looking for. Release? It wasn't like you could research the best the kind of porn. So, you plucked one out and hid it under your jacket. "Well, thanks for you help, Steve," you said, slowly backing away. "I'll just um-"
"Yeah, I mean, I'll keep it off the record-" said Steve, standing in front of the box and hiding it.
"Yeah, thanks-" you stumbled on another box and found the door quickly. "I'll return it when I'm- er- when I'm done. Bye!"
It had been horrible.
You got home and gave a vert angry call to Robin who found the whole thing amusing and really helped her food poison coma she was in.
But you meant it, what you'd said to Steve. It was normal and you weren't embarrassed.
But when you put the tape in your mind only sort Steve.
As the man tossed the woman around and you moaned loudly for the camera all you could think was that wasn't how Steve would handle you. Maybe he'd be dominant but he'd be kind about it. His hands would guide you gently around the room, set you softly on the covers of the bed and run his hands down you until he reached where you wanted him most.
The man with the mullet had the blonde bent over the bed, fist in her hair, yanking it back so hard the muscles strained in her neck.
Would Steve do that? You imagined he'd want to see you- or maybe you'd just want to see him. His hands would run through your hair while his lips sort yours, while his tongue played with what he had but you didn't see him pulling your hair till you cried.
The only crying you'd do in Steve's company would be from pleasure.
By the time you'd slipped your fingers into your panties, feeling the damp that had gathered you'd realised it wasn't from the tape but the thoughts of Steve.
You withdrew, practically throwing the tape around the room and forced yourself to sleep a fitful sleep.
The next day you returned to Family Video, more casual.
Steve was shelving tapes, with still no site of Robin and nobody else around.
The door closed behind you and he looked over his shoulder.
"Oh- hey," he greeted, a tape paused in his hand in the middle of shelving it.
You smiled.
"I didn't expect to see you, today." Steve ditched the tapes and greeted you at the counter. He looked at the tape in your hand and up to you. There was that nervous energy in him but it lied dormant. He looked tired.
"Are you okay?" you asked.
Steve looked confused. "Huh? Oh yeah, just, didn't sleep much last night. Did- uh- did you?"
You pushed the tape over on the counter. "It didn't work."
"What? Like the tape was corrupted?" he tapped it like itself was dirty.
"It just didn't do anything for me," you explained, missing out the key detail that mainly you couldn't do it because all you thought about was him.
"You wanna go pick another?" he offered.
"No. There's no point. I mean- this porn is all made for the male gaze. It's all about them using their brute strength and tossing women around like they don't matter and are only there to serve them! I mean, the directors couldn't care less about a woman's pleasure and the women are moaning like they're dying! It's just useless!"
Steve looked down at the tape as if it had personally wronged him. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek and ran the bottom of his lip. "We're not all like that, you know," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Men. I'm just saying, if it were me, it would be all about you," he said, eyes darker than usual looking at you. "I mean, the woman. It'd- it'd be about her."
You gulped. "What-what would you do?"
Steve looked through his lashes. This wasn't embarrassment that crept up his neck in a blush, it was a carefully thought out plan. "I'd, well, I'd kiss you, slowly at first. As slow as I could to make it last, I'd kiss your neck, down to your chest. I'd strip you like-like you were a prize and put you on the bed."
His words were spoke low and coarse, his voice straining like he'd been screaming for hours. Heat coursed through you, running to your core.
"I'd go down on you, first, before anything," he continued. "Have you finish on my mouth, once... twice. I'd have you open, ready. I'd make you feel so, so, so loved. So good."
You gulped down the gasps that were rising up. "What about you? How would- how would you like it?"
It took Steve a minute and then he realised what you meat. "I'd like it any way that made you moan. Under me... on top. On my face."
Your legs squeezed and almost buckled. His head had dipped low, whispering to you like sharing some secret. Perhaps it was.
Your eyes ran over him, the rise and fall of his chest and the fall of his hair. Your eyes wandered to his jeans, always tight but pulled across his.
Steve's hand slowly wound up your arm, feeling the soft skin there.
Just the small touch had you gasping, like he was fire licking up you.
"Steve," you gasped.
His breath was hot as it fanned your ear. "I could- I could help you."
Your eyes screwed shut and your head tilted back and Steve's went forward, his breath ghosting the stretch.
Suddenly the chime of the door sounded and the two of you stumbled back.
A boy stood there, sweater hanging low and glasses tipped on his nose. They were practically steamed up as he paused. "I was just here to drop off-"
"Come back tomorrow!" Steve rushed to the door, helping him out. "We're actually closed."
The door shut after him, was locked and the closed sign was quickly swung around.
Steve didn't even wait for the boy to stumble away from the door before he was marching back to you and taking your hand. He led you around the counter and pushed the door to the back open.
The box of tapes were still out, it looked oddly light but you had hardly any time to think on it before Steve was spinning you around and kissing you.
His lips were softer than you'd expected and he moved as slow as he'd promised. He didn't try to pry your lips open but his hands scaled up your body. They sprawled along your back as the two of you stumbled back into the wall. He softened the push.
You gasped and he kissed on the bottom of your lip before landing his mouth on yours again. Your tongue explored his mouth first, hands winding into his hair as he pressed his body into yours.
He was hard and it was digging into the place you were wet.
"Steve," you gasped at the feel.
He kissed your cheek, down along your neck. "I'd-" he spoke into your neck, voice muffled. "I'd take you on a bed but-"
"I don't care," you gasped, tugging at his hair to find his lips again. It was a messy kiss, the sort that involved teeth and tongue and seeing who could win. "I just want you."
Steve pulled back. His hand was soft as it brushed the hair from your face, thumb dragging down your chin. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I've wanted it-"
"Don't say you've wanted it for ages," he warned. "Because I've wanted it longer."
You crashed into him, moving your lips, your body, everything against him. Your arm wrapped around his neck and his arm went around your waist. His teeth nipped your lips.
Slowly he brought the both of you onto the floor, sitting you in his lap.
Your body rocked against his, your core grinding down on him.
His hands wound up under your shirt and you released each other for a second to discard it.
You were quick to pull at his shirt and he took it off, throwing it aside before kissing you again. He never wanted to stop, he'd breath you whole.
"Is this better? Better than the porn?" he asked breathless as you rocked your body into him again.
"Yes," you said, squeezing around his jeans. "I couldn't- I couldn't watch it. Was thinking of you."
Steve had been kissing at your chest but looked up at you. Gosh, he was beautiful. "Baby, you have no idea." His hands made quick work behind your back, un-clasping your bra and throwing it behind you. "I'm sorry, I was so hard last night, thinking of you- thinking of you touching yourself."
You giggled. "You could've called."
Steve smirked up at you before bending again and taking your nipple in his mouth. His eyes closed, moaning around your flesh.
You tried not to moan loud but how could you not when Steve had you rocking against him, taking a boob in mouth and fondling the other. It was like he couldn't make up his mind which he wanted to pay attention to more, hypnotized by the reactions you gave him.
"Oh, Steve."
"I like to hear you moan," he side, kissing along your chest. "Keep at it, baby."
You bit down on your lip.
Steve's hand cupped your chin, coaxing your mouth open and a gasp escaped you. "Gonna make you cum, okay?" he asked so sweetly but didn't even wait for an answer as he flipped you around.
You helped him pull down your pants, tossing them carelessly again but Steve wanted to un-wrap you all by himself. His lips moved up your leg, teeth scraping the inside of your thigh. He held it tightly to stop your squirming away. His teeth pulled at the elastic of your panties.
Then, he licked a strip up your clothed pussy and wondered why you hadn't gone straight to Steve.
He groaned, flattening his hips to the ground.
In a rush, he pulled off your panties, not caring if they were still around your ankles before he was spreading you open and diving in. He went like he was a starved man and his favourite desert was in front of him. He licked like you were the frosting on his favourite cake.
Your back arched off the ground, legs trembling. Nobody gave head like Steve Harrington and he'd only gotten started. Your arms- your hands- didn't know what to reach for. They scraped the box ahead of you.
Steve was too busy holding your legs apart, burying himself in the mess between your legs. His tongue stroked between your folds, nose nudging at your clit purposefully every time. He held you apart for him so tightly his fingers were white with the strength.
"S-Steve!" you gasped.
A hand landed in his curls, stroking through the locks and holding him.
He nuzzled in, moving his body to be closer, pulling your hips up to meet his face. He moaned into you, vibrations coursing through your body.
He loved to taste it and didn't stop. Not as your chest rose and fell with need, not when your gasps were shorter, legs trembling.
"Steve!" the call of his name was his only warning before you released.
Steve didn't back down, instead, he laid you down and pushed your leg over his shoulder, helping keep him in place down there.
How he was breathing you had no idea but he was still at work. The ground-shattering feel of his tongue working around you told you that as well as the noise of him slurping you up.
Your nails scraped his scalp and his body reacted to you.
"Baby, please," you begged.
Steve finally looked back up at you, something wicked hidden in his eyes. "What did I say?" he mused out, words slurred like he was drunk. "Once or twice."
His tongue went straight to your clit, finding it and holding in hostage. He flicked it before running smooth circles.
Your body was lit up like Christmas lights, shaking in his hold. You couldn't stop the noises you let out even if you wanted to.
Somewhere in the daze, Steve's hand searched for the one not in his hair and clasped it tight, holding it to your stomach as you came again.
Steve's fingers brushed your swollen pussy, taking the juices and helping you out. He was softer, gentle as your body spasmed in the wake of the pleasure. After a minute, he loomed over you, hair dangling. "You still with me, babygirl?"
You smiled, hand reaching out to brush some of his hair. The other deviously cupped him through his jeans. "Try and stop me."
You could only squeeze the outline of his cock but it was enough for Steve's eyes to screw shut, mouth hanging open as he focused on the feel. You carried on your path, feeling all up and around him. There was a lot to feel, more than you'd ever thought.
Steve fell atop you, kissing you messily and hungry, tongue finding any bit of you in a slobber.
Your hands fumbled with his belt, the clasp falling echoing around you as you pushed them off as best you could.
Then- your hand made contact and you gasped, pulling back and looking down.
"What?" asked Steve, feeling the shift. He looked down, momentarily taken with the sight of your hand wrapped around him. "What is it?"
"It's- it's big, Steve," you said. "What if it doesn't fit?" you couldn't think of anything worse than not having him at that moment. Waiting anymore might have felt like death.
He smirked. "Oh, it'll fit."
Your hand wound up and down him, sending Steve into a shivering mess and string of curses- 'oh fuck, shit, baby, jus' like that.'
Your thumb swiped the tip of him, his pre-cum spreading down his thick and tall cock. It stood proud, slapping the lower part of his belly.
"I-" Steve's neck pulled as he concentrated. "I don't want to finish without being inside of you."
You released him, your fingers stroking the tip once more before wrapping around the back of his neck. "Then fuck me, please, baby."
"I- the condom is-"
"I don't care," you said, breathless.
"Baby-"
"I don't care."
You'd deal with it in the morning. You were on the pill though not always religious with your takings of it. But the thought of having Steve away from you for a collection of seconds sent you body into a ball of fire. You needed him in ways you'd never needed before.
Steve nodded and took his cock in hand, pumping it again. "Hurg- shit."
"Steve, please."
"I know, baby, I know," he said. "She really wants me, huh? Sobbing for me?" he teased.
The head of his cock ran up and down your folds, collecting all of your wetness with his and slowly opening you up.
"Please! Please, fuck me!"
Steve slid his tip in slow and moaned at the feel. "Tell me- tell me if it hurts!"
You couldn't feel any pain, only him. You told him as much, hands clawing at his shoulders to move him quicker but Steve was resolute in guiding it in, in making it feel good for you.
"God, you're tight," he looked down to where his inches slowly, agonisingly so, slid inside of you. "Look at that, made for me."
You pushed on his shoulders, harder and Steve fell over you, arms braced on either side of your head.
"Look at me, look at me," he coaxed, holding your cheek in place. He took your bottom lip in his teeth and pulled it before latching on and sucking.
With one last push, he was inside of you. You felt him everywhere. Deep in you. Around you. Over you.
Steve kissed you again, slow as he brought himself out and inside slower again. "I love you," he said against your lips. "I love you. I love this. I love us."
You kissed him, reaching up for your teeth to bite at his neck. "Move, please, Steve."
Slowly he built up a pace. A pace that had you moaning and calling his name and that had him concentrating not to cum right away. His face was contorted into the ideal look of pleasure, all scrunched up in need. You were sure your nails were leaving streaks down his back as you couldn't help but pull him closer, demand it even.
"Tell me what you- what you did last night," you gasped. Your entire body moved with his thrusts, in and out.
Steve arm moved under you, helping your movements and holding you to stay safe. "I, I thought about you watching those damn tapes. Touching yourself, spitting on your fingers and putting them in this pussy."
You mewled, head thrown back.
Steve's hand was there immediately to hold it. "Easy, baby, you'll hurt yourself." He smiled.
You laughed before his cock reached that good spot in you. A spot nobody had got before. He felt it to as he smirked at your reaction.
"Right there," he moaned. "You want that? Yeah, just there?"
You nodded in his hand.
"Thought- thought about you riding your fingers," he said, breathless. He was tense all over, trying to make it last. Soft tufts of his hair stuck to his neck with sweat. "About you cumming. Thought maybe you'd- you'd think about me."
"I did," you admitted, you cradled his face, earning his attention. "I couldn't watch it cause all I thought about was you. How nice you'd be, gentle, so fucking good!" you cried out.
Steve wrapped around you and pulled the both of you up until you were in his lap.
You couldn't even moan, couldn't do anything at the feel of him deep in you. It was so good.
Steve bit down on his lip, groaning. "I'm not- I can't-" there were no words, you knew that.
You rocked your hips into his, holding onto him and moving your body. You saw where he disappeared inside of you, the tufts of his dark hair meeting your hip bones every time you rose up and down.
You tried grinding down on him and your body was snapped back into his, chest against his.
It was too much.
"Ba-baby!" moaned Steve. He bit down deliciously on your shoulders as his cum shot into you, leaking hot and wet and all him.
He thrust deep and sharp, riding out the last of him. He kissed and licked, soothing the red bite he'd left on your shoulder before licking a long stripe up your neck. He breathed into your ear. "One more, baby, gimme one more."
Riding through his own orgasm, he needed you to finish on him, around him like he needed it as if it were his own.
Though the two of you had made a]enough of a mess, Steve spat between your bodies. His fingers worked in the mess and over you clit while he sucked a bruise on your neck.
It wasn't long after all that stimulation you came down again, finishing over his with a smile on your face.
The two of you stayed like that, entwined with each other, holding each other's sweaty bodies and arms caressing you. His hands were gentle as they ran down your back. You were just, holding each other, and that was the best part.
Eventually the chills set in on your cold wet skin and you had to move.
"Ok, gentle, easy now," Steve coached you off him, catching your wince. "Shit, i'm sorry if I-"
"Don't," you cut him off quickly. "You never have to apologise for that Steve."
His smile was abashed slightly. "Here-" he moved along the floor, pulling his jacket from where it hung over the back of the chair. He wrapped it around you and shuffled you closer into him.
In the quiet, you wondered if you'd just had and lost the best thing that you had.
Steve broke off your thoughts. "I'm sorry, but... I don't think I just want to be your friend after that."
It wasn't an ending, you knew. It wasn't Steve saying it was a mistake and it should never have happened. It was Steve asking for more. For more than just your body, your soul, your heart and all your thoughts with it.
"Well, that's good," you said, tugging the jacket closer over your frame. "Because I don't know what I'd miss more. Your hair or your cock."
Steve's smile lit up the room, cheeks flushed. "My charm isn't in the mix?"
You pretend to think about it and in that time Steve gently takes your cheek and leans in. The kiss was as soft as the first and as soft as every one to come. You tased yourself and all his love there.
He pulled away, forehead leaning on your own. "I meant it, you know. I love you. I always have."
Your smile was watery, tears of pleasure and love there. "I love you."
His grin turned to a chuckle, like he couldn't believe it.
The bliss you hid in was shattered when the door made a loud sound.
"Hey Steve!" Robin called out. "Why are we closed in the middle of the day?"
|| 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.
pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader
summary: You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister. Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
wc: 3.7K
warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, mention of y'know, since she choose to die, heartbreak and angst. if you don't feel comfortable reading this, even if it's a 'rewrite' scene from the tv show, please don't read and preserve yourself.
a/n: I was obsessed with the idea of Steve taking Mike's place when El leaves. So, here it is. I think I cried a few times while writing it (help). I was inspired by Ethel Cain's Nettles and Purple Rain to write it.
To love me is to suffer me
And I believe it.
The cacophony was absolute—a craggy wall of voices, the sharp clack of assault rifles being readied, and the guttural curses of men who had forgotten how to be human.
Steve was shoved forward, the momentum of the crowd carrying him along with Dustin, Mike, and Robin. He caught a glimpse of Robin’s hands, bound tight enough to turn her fingers white, before a soldier’s gloved hand slammed into the back of his neck.
His face was crushed against the cold metal of the transport truck. The smell of oil and old blood filled his nostrils. He couldn't breathe. Every gasp was a battle, his lungs struggling against the weight of a man twice his size pinning him down.
The problem was, he couldn't find you anywhere.
“Hey—hey,” He grimaced, a sharp, sickening pop echoing in his ears as his zygomatic bone groaned under the pressure against the metal panel. “Have you seen her?”
Dustin twisted his head as far as the restraints allowed, face pale but steady.
“She was with El, they must've escaped.”
The relief hit Steve like a physical wave. Good. That was more than good, it was the only thing that mattered. If the plan had worked—if the girl he loved was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the screaming and the cold steel—then he could endure whatever was coming.
So a small, genuine smile blossomed on Steve's lips. It lasted only a second, because when he looked up, the smile died where it was born.
Where the sky had torn itself open, where the portal to the Upside Down bled a bruised, pulsating violet into the world, he saw you.
You weren't running. You were standing at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the apocalypse, your eyes fixed on the military line with a gaze so deadly it looked like it belonged to a different person.
“No… no, no, no—” Steve’s voice rose from a whimper to a raw, jagged roar. The realization settled in his gut like lead: you had stayed.
You were going to fight a war you couldn't win.
With a strength that shouldn't have existed in his broken, battered frame, Steve threw his head back. He felt the icky thud of his skull connecting with the soldier’s chin. He didn't wait for the man to fall. Two other guards lunged for him, their hands like iron claws on his sleeves, but something had snapped inside him. It wasn't bravery anymore, it was an animalistic, primal instinct.
“Steve!” Robin’s scream was high and thin, a desperate warning as a soldier leveled the butt of a rifle.
Steve didn't hear her. He stumbled, his legs heavy and uncoordinated, and when he finally fell to his knees, he didn't hit the pavement. Cold water splashed against his skin. He realized then, he was in your mind.
You walked quickly toward him and he got up, running to you.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice broke on the words. “Please—please don’t do this.”
His hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if the sheer force of his touch could tether you to the earth.
He was shaking. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and despite everything, it was his broken expression that haunted you the most.
“Steve,” you whispered, swallowing the thick knot of grief in your throat. You looked into those deer-like eyes, your own vision blurring as the first hot tears spilled over. “You need to listen to me. We don’t have much time.”
He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving under his bruised ribs. His eyes searched yours, begging for a lie, begging for a misunderstanding he could desperately fix.
“What? No—no, whatever you’re thinking, we’ll find another way. We always find another way.”
“I need you to understand my decision.”
“No. No. I don't—Please.”
You kept going because stopping would mean breaking. “I need you to tell the others the truth. Tell Hop that Jane's safe. I need you to tell them—” Your voice faltered. You forced it steady. “Tell them how grateful I am. For being so kind to me. For loving me.”
Tears slid freely down your cheeks. Steve lifted his hand without thinking, brushing them away with his thumb like he always did, like it was a reflex built into him. He was crying too, silent and helpless, but still trying to take care of you. He always would put you first.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, pleading now, like if he said it enough times, reality might listen.
“I do. Steve, this will never ends. El will be hunted for the rest of her life. She’s just a kid. She deserves a chance to grow up without blood on her hands.”
You caught his hands, pulling them from your face to hold them against your chest. His fingers were calloused, covered in the fresh scratches and deep purple bruises of the fight. They were the hands of a protector, and they were the only things you were going to miss.
He stared at you like you were speaking another language.
“What about you?” The question came out with a sharp edge of accusation, a jagged shard of resentment born from pure, unadulterated heartbreak. “Don’t you deserve to live? Don't I deserve for you to stay?”
You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister. Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hell—shaped into weapons of war—you knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasn’t brave. It wasn’t noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
You were the burden that was meant to be dropped so the light could keep shining.
And Steve—sweet, stubborn, endlessly kind Steve—was the only thing that had ever made you wish, just for a moment, that fate might be wrong.
But then Hopper found you and Jane together in that forest, clinging to each other like a second skin, desperate and afraid of what fate had planned. And that changed everything.
He had reached through the brush and pulled you into a life you were never supposed to have. He was resilient, jaggedly caring, and he tended to your wounds with a gentleness that felt like an assault on everything the lab had taught you. He fed you, gave you shelter, and advised you—doing all the things a father was supposed to do. A father you and Jane had only ever seen in child storybooks.
You had been reluctant at first, a wild thing trapped in a cabin. You ran away a dozen times because you were convinced that this life—the warm blankets, the Eggo waffles, the safety—was for Jane, not for you.
But Hopper had been immovable. He insisted, with a gruff, stubborn love, that you deserved that comfort too. It wasn't a luxurious life, but it was a life full of affection.
And what was supposed to be just a life for three became a big dysfunctional family, but one that you loved with every shattered piece of your heart.
Joyce, Jonathan, and Will. The family that went through hell on earth when little Byers was possessed and captured by darkness. There was Joyce, who taught you what it meant to be a woman, who brushed your hair with a mother’s tenderness and hugged you until the cold in your bones finally began to thaw. There was Jonathan, the quiet observer, who always stayed close enough to make sure you were alive.
The kids, who followed you like you were something out of a comic book. They made you feel brave when you were anything but. They welcomed Jane like she had always been theirs, and through them, you learned what friendship really was, unconditional, loud, forgiving.
Nancy showed you worlds hidden in books and taught you how to hold a gun without flinching. She kept your secret without ever asking for anything in return. Let you sleep in her basement when Hopper’s house became unbearable. Robin taught you sisterhood—real sisterhood. Movie nights, bad jokes, honesty without fear. She made life feel lighter just by standing beside you.
“Every moment of my life has led me here,” you said softly.
“Bullshit.” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “This is all bullshit. You can’t—you don’t deserve this. You can stay, I—”
“Steve,” you whispered. “Look at me.”
You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was cold, damp with sweat and tears. He pressed his lips together, a sob catching in his throat, and you felt the hot, thick tears roll down his cheeks until they pooled in the palms of your hands.
“From day one, you saw me. You saw beyond what I could see in myself.”
Steve let out a broken, animal sound and leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for a way out that didn't exist. He had spent years trying to convince you that you were worth saving, and now, he was watching you use that very life to save everyone else.
How could you ever forget that first night in the Wheeler basement? You had been a mess, bruised and soaked from head to toe, looking like you’d gone ten rounds with a nightmare. But even then, he didn’t look at you like a wounded animal. He didn’t look at you like a disposable tool of war. He looked at you with a careful, tentative affection that felt like the first warm sun after a lifetime of winter.
But the words had been written in the stars long before you met him and your story couldn't have been written any other way. If you were here now, it was because fate had allowed you to live. And if you lived, it was because Steve Harrington happened in your life.
It was because he accepted you for who you are. Because he fell first, pretending that all that fascination wasn't masked as love. Because he held your hand that Fourth of July and kissed you under the fireworks. It was because he saved you from near death and allowed you to still have some time together. It was the way he had knocked on Hopper’s door with a bouquet of flowers, his knees literally shaking with fear of your father, just to take you to a movie date. It was because he loved you devotedly, respected you, adored you with everything he had.
“If I know what it's like to love and to be loved, it’s because of you,” you whispered. “And you don't know how forever grateful I'll be to you for giving me that.”
“Please,” Steve murmured repeatedly, his hands trembling as he held your body against his. He was clutching you as if he could absorb you into his own skin, as if he could hide you from the fate that was coming for you.
“You made everything easier. All my life I believed I wasn't worthy of being loved, but then you came along and changed everything.” You smiled through the tears, a fragile, beautiful thing. “I wouldn't do anything differently, Steve. Not a single second.”
“Don't do this to me, babe—please, please—”
It was breaking your heart. Each plea was a physical blow. You felt your heart cracking, tiny pieces of it falling away one by one.
“I need you to promise me something, okay? Look at me, Steve.” You sought his eyes and had to exercise a lot of self-control not to break down right there. “I want you to be happy. I want you to live the life of your dreams.”
His laugh was broken, almost soundless. “I fucking hate this,” he said. “How am I supposed to do that without you?”
“I’ll always be with you,” you said, even though you both knew what that promise cost. “You have a life ahead of you, Steve. A good one. Promise me you won’t stop. Promise me you’ll fight for it.”
He couldn't speak. He just looked at you, his chest heaving, his face a mosaic of soot, drying blood, and fresh, hot tears. He looked like he was physically dying, like his soul was being pulled through his ribs.
“I love you,” was all he managed to choke out between the jagged, guttural sobs that racked his body.
You smiled, even as your heart felt like it was being torn in two.
“I love you, Steve Harrington.”
When you moved, you collided like lightning meeting thunder, violent, inevitable, and destructive. Your mouths crashed together in a disastrous mess of tears, salt, and terror.
Steve wanted time. God, he had wanted time so badly. He had built plans around it, trusted it like it was something guaranteed. The weight of his mother’s ring, hidden on a small chain beneath his shirt, felt like it was branding his skin. He had decided he'd propose the moment you got home, the moment the world was safe. He knew how much you dreamed of Alaska—of the frozen, silent mountains and the way the northern lights painted the sky—and he had spent every spare cent he had for a year to make that happen.
The initial plan was to propose to you with that breathtaking view as a witness to your youth, reckless, love. But Steve had always been haunted by the feeling that time was a thief. That was why he’d put the ring around his neck that morning.
He just hadn’t known how little time he had left.
As he kissed you with a painful, bruising intensity, he reached for the chain. He ripped it from his neck, the metal snapping with a faint ping that was lost to the chaos. He pressed the cold silver into your palm, his fingers trembling as he closed your hand around it.
You felt it when he placed it in your hand, the cold metal against your palm.
You felt the weight of it, the history of a family you would never officially join. You deepened the kiss, holding him with a strength that defied your tired body. You were holding your first love, your only love, the boy who had made you human.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both of you breathless and ruined, you closed your fingers around the chain and held his hand instead.
“Please, please—” he whispered, the word barely there. “Don’t leave me.”
You wanted to say everything. You wanted to stay forever.
You were at the end of the road, and the time for promises had run out.
“Goodbye, Steve.”
The sound never fully left his throat. It caught there, raw and animal, and when reality slammed back into place, it did so cruelly. Hands dragged him backward. Boots scraped asphalt. Someone shouted orders he couldn’t hear because all he could hear was his own voice breaking apart as he screamed your name.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Everyone was frozen, witnesses to a sacrifice they were powerless to stop. Robin had collapsed to her knees, her sobs racking her frame until she was doubled over. Hopper stood paralyzed, his eyes brimming with tears he couldn't shed, his path blocked by a wall of military personnel. Nancy’s hands were pressed tight over her mouth, a single, silent tear tracking through the soot on her cheek.
These were your people. The one you had built out of chaos and survival and love. The one that had taught you what it meant to belong.
Steve fought like a caged animal, his boots scraping against the asphalt as he begged them to let him go, shouting your name until his lungs burned. He was thrown to the ground, the grit biting into his skin, but he never took his eyes off you.
You looked at Hopper one last time. Not to ask. Not to beg. Just to let him see that this was your choice. That you were at peace with it. That Jane would live. That she would grow up safe, loved, ordinary in all the ways you never got to be. She was now the age you had been when he found you in that forest, feral, terrified, alive. She deserved the life he had fought to give her.
“I'm sorry,” you whispered.
Then, the air crackled. You felt the surge of energy before the world white-outed—a hum that vibrated in your very marrow. A flash swept across the perimeter, a titanic force field that pushed the entire world back. The C4 charges detonated in a synchronized roar, and the Upside Down didn't just break, it folded. Everything was sucked into a violent whirlwind, a chaotic abyss that began to erase itself from existence.
The noise was horrifying, a primal scream of a dying dimension. You closed your eyes, letting go of the tethers that held you to the world of the living. In the fading distance, you could still hear them screaming your name.
But this was the end. This was your story, and as the darkness rushed in to claim you, you realized you were happy. You have lived. You have loved.
One last tear tracked down your cheek. And then, nothingness.
A deafening silence took over the place. Steve stared in sheer, unadulterated horror at the space where you should have been. There was no portal. Just a building in ruins, smoking under a normal, mocking sky.
You were gone. Truly, finally gone.
He dropped to his knees, skin splitting against dust, pain flaring uselessly through his hand. He didn’t feel it. There was no room for it. All he could see was you, every version of you he had ever loved, layered one on top of the other until it crushed him.
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in broken hitches. It was then that he realized his fist was clenched tight around something cold. He raised his hand, blinking through the tears, and saw it: the silver chain, the wedding ring dangling from the end. He hadn't noticed, but you had put it back in his hands as a promise you were forcing him to keep. You wanted him to move on.
You wanted him to be happy. A future you were asking him to live without you.
Steve let out a sound that barely resembled a sob and curled forward, clutching the ring to his chest like it might still anchor him to you.
But it would never be the same.
Without you, there was no happy ending.
“All right, all right—let’s go.”
Steve planted his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot as the kids—who absolutely were not kids anymore—filed into the trailer. “Jeez, did you have to buy the whole store?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as Robin struggled with a bag that looked one bad move away from tearing.
“In my defense,” she said, breathless but defiant, “we have, like, a small army to feed. And I needed a Kit Kat.” She held one up proudly. “I even brought one for you.” She tapped a second bar against Steve’s chest.
He caught it between his fingers, let out a long, grounded breath, and stuffed it into his pocket. “All right. Enough. Everyone here?” He poked his head into the trailer, performing the mental head-count that had become second nature.
Lucas glanced around. “Uh—Dustin’s not back yet.”
Steve opened his mouth to complain about the schedule when a familiar voice grumbled behind him.
“Jesus Christ, the bathroom in this place should be classified as a biohazard.” Dustin shrugged, his face twisted in a look of pure disgust.
“Everything okay, bud?” Steve took off his shades and patted Dustin’s shoulder, fighting back the laugh that threatened to break through his responsible adult mask.
“Barely,” Dustin said. “I stared death in the face in there, ‘cause—.”
“Biohazard,” Max interrupted, rolling her eyes with a smirk. “We get it.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“All right,” Steve said, gentle but firm, clapping hands to get everyone moving and get things in place. “Everybody, buckle up. Right now!”
Max and Lucas were already arguing about who got to lean on whom for the next leg of the trip. Dustin went back to his astrophysics book while Mike, Will, and El chatted happily in the back.
Steve caught El’s eye in the mirror. She gave him a small nod, there was a depth of respect and gratitude in her eyes that always made Steve’s heart ache.
When she had returned to Hawkins eighteen months after the Upside Down took you, it had been a bittersweet miracle. Hopper and Mike had known she was safe because of your final message, but for Steve, her return was the final, broken proof that you were gone.
He didn't blame her. He loved her. But looking at her was a constant, living reminder of the price you had paid.
“All right, dingus,” Robin said, already buckled in, watching him closely. “We doing this or what?”
Steve slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
He pressed play.
The familiar, melancholic chords of Piano Man filled the cabin, your favorite song. Billy Joel’s voice drifted through the speakers, steady and nostalgic. Steve turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and before they even cleared the gas station parking lot, the chaos in the back reached a fever pitch. Max was yelling at Lucas, Dustin was laughing at something Will said, and the air was thick with the life you had died to protect.
Beside him, Robin offered a small, closed-mouth smile: a look of pure solidarity.
Before hitting the highway toward the long road to Alaska, Steve glanced in the rearview mirror. Hanging from the glass was the silver chain, the wedding ring catching the afternoon sun. It swung gently with the movement of the car, a North Star to guide him.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. This was what you wanted. This was the life you would have led if fate had been kinder.
“All right, Alaska,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music and the kids. “Here we come.”
He shifted the trailer into gear and pulled onto the open road. It was for the kids. It was for the future.
Summary: Just fucking Steve in that cunty ass sweater because look at him
Warnings: Smut! Reader is THIRSTY, Steve lowk a lil subby, protected piv
"Steve hears that all the time, and he goes in anyways. Don't ya, Steve?" Robin glances between the two of you with a sly smirk.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" He gives her an offended look, hitting Murray's shoulder when he lets out a small 'It's funny.'
You let out a soft sigh, resting your head on Steve's thigh and biting your lip just a bit. You've already been itching to jump Steve's bones all day, watching him in that cozy little sweater that makes him look so sexy for whatever reason.
Now, Robin says that, and you know it's true, and you want to absolutely ravage him because it feels like you've barely had any time to yourselves with everything that's going on.
.·:¨¨ ≈☆≈ ¨¨:·.
Steve's just got done explaining his big beanstalk plan, and it made him look that much hotter to you. You're pulling him towards a storage closet the very second everyone goes their own ways.
"Woah, babe. Wha--" Your lips are on his in an instant, pushing him back against a cluttered desk and pawing at his soft sweater. He's confused, but his hands slide down to grasp your ass anyways.
He lets out a soft moan into your mouth as he parts his lips just enough to let your tongue slide into his mouth. He pulls away a moment later, his breath still fanning your lips as he stares at you with his eyebrows raised and his lips pulled into a shocked smile.
"What's gotten into you?" He laughs breathily as one of his hands reaches up to hold your cheek.
"You're so sexy. Been needing my hands all over you for hours." You breathe, reaching up to grab his hair and pull his lips back to yours. He lets out a soft gasp, groaning when you tug on his hair.
Steve reaches towards the hem of his sweater, but you grab his wrist without breaking the kiss. "Leave it on." You mumble into his mouth.
"Is this what-- mph-- what this has been about? You're trying to jump my bones over a sweater?" He laughs, his hands all over you as you tug on his hair again, making him let out a soft whine.
"Plus, what Robin said, because I know damn well it's the truth. And then, it was that plan. You're so smart, baby. It's sexy." You nearly moan, pulling your own shirt over your head and dropping it to the ground.
"You're insane." Steve laughs softly, reaching around your body to skillfully unclasp your bra. "You love it." Your voice is smug as you pull his lips back to yours, all teeth and spit and pure lust.
"Mhm.." Steve hums into your mouth, hands squeezing your tits for a moment before he decides to run his thumbs over your nipples with a soft sigh.
You trail a hand down his body, squeezing at the bulge in his jeans and smiling as he whimpers into your mouth. He nearly collapses just at the touch, reaching back to grab the desk with one hand.
"God, been... so long." Steve's voice shakes leaning his head back and letting out a whine from deep in his chest. You smile at the exposed skin of his neck, diving in to suck right over his pulse point.
Your hands quickly get to work on his jeans, intentionally brushing your fingers over his crotch while you work on the button. "H-Holy shit." You pull away at the sound of his voice, smiling proudly at the already purpling mark on his neck.
You slide the zipper of his jeans down, letting out a soft hum as you stare at his throat. "One more." You shrug, leaning in to suck right next to his Adam's apple, a groan slipping from his lips. You push his jeans down to his mid thighs.
"I like this version of y-- ah! Of you." Steve moans when you squeeze him once again, this time just with the fabric of his boxers covering him. "Mm, yeah?" You pull away, biting your lip at the sight of the second mark on his neck.
"Oh, yeah." He sighs, hands moving down to work on your own jeans, a little groan leaving his lips at the way his hands shake. He's so damn wound up, and your kisses and your touch and your sultry voice are all making him feel dizzy in the best way possible.
You let out a soft laugh as Steve struggles to push your jeans down, helping shimmy out of them, along with your already dampened panties.
"Shit, look at you." Steve groans, his fingers automatically sliding towards your heat, ready to prepare you as he usually does. You shake your head, rubbing him with a flat palm through the fabric of his boxers.
"Don't want that today, Steve. I need you so bad." You sigh, sliding your hand to his halfway pushed down jeans and fishing in his back pocket until you find his wallet.
You grab a condom from the big pocket towards the back, handing it to Steve with lust blown eyes and parted lips, breath heavy and heart racing in your ears.
"Are you sure? I don't-- fuck." You cut him off by shoving his boxers down just enough to free his heavy cock, running your thumb over the slit to collect the bead of precum forming there.
Steve immediately opens the foil and rolls the condom onto himself, already softly panting as you put your knee up on the desk to open yourself up for him.
He decides to make things easier for you, sitting down on the desk and pulling you onto his lap and holding your hips with a bruising grip.
You sink down onto Steve's cock, giving yourself no time to adjust before you're moving up and down. He throws his head back, nails digging into your skin and loud moans leaving his mouth.
"Shit! Oh my god!" Steve moans, the desk hitting the wall with every movement. "You're-- I-- M'gonna wear this-- f-fuck! More if this is.. What I get out of it."
You laugh softly, grabbing his cheeks to make him look at you. His eyes are glazed over already, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars, his puffy lips parted, and his cheeks flushed the prettiest pink.
"Aw, look at you." You coo, brushing your thumb over Steve's bottom lip. He lets out a shaky whine, pawing all over your body and his legs already shaking.
"Baby. Baby, fuuuck! I can't-- M'not gonna last very long." Steve whimpers, his voice already wrecked. "That's fine. But I'm not gonna stop if you come before me. Been-- been too pent up to stop." You pant, your hand working down your body to rub at your clit.
"I don't care! Use me as much as you need! Just-- Oh, fuck!" He moans, falling back against the cold wall, leaving enough space between you so that he can see his cock disappear inside you.
That's what does it for him. He's instantly moaning your name, filling the condom with everything he's got and a wrecked look on his face.
"Shit, Steve... Just-- I need a little longer.." You moan out, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around Steve's neck. He buries his face in your neck, nodding against your skin and letting out a noise akin to a sob.
"S'alright. I can-- I'm alright." He moans, shaky hands grabbing your thighs with desperation as he lets out overstimulated whimpers against the skin of your neck.
"Fuck, Steve. So big. You're so-- ah! Rub my clit, baby. I need it to be you!" You moan, gasping as Steve trails his hand over your thigh, gently pulling your hand away and replacing it with his.
His thumb rubs tight circles over the puffy bundle of nerves, whining into your neck as he begins to shake. He's overstimulated, but he refuses to stop before you get off.
"St--Steve!" You grab at his shoulders, thighs tensing around his own legs, and your back arching. "Almost there? Please, please, please, baby. I wanna-- Wanna make you feel so good." He whimpers, his free hand splaying out over the small of your back as he pulls his face away from your neck.
Steve looks at you, a single tear running down his cheek before he dives in to press a hungry kiss to your puffy lips. It's not much longer before you're clenching around his sensitive cock, gushing and pulsing and writhing on top of him.
"Steve! Ste-eeve!" You gasp and moan, nails digging into the skin of his back. You take a few moments to catch your breath, both you and Steve slumping together in a mess of exhaustion, sweat, and love.
"I love you, Steve." You breathe, standing up to pull your clothes back on. Steve whines softly at the lack of contact, his hands following you for a moment before he drops them to his side.
He reluctantly pulls the condom off, throws it away, and pulls his pants back up. "I love you, too, my pretty, very horny girl." He laughs softly, pulling you back into his arms and rocking side to side in the little closet.
a/n - I don't really like this I feel like I'm horrible at writing smut but oh well!
Steve Harrington had a dream, a silent yet big one: having a huge family of his own. Four, five, even six little Harringtons... and his dream girl on his side to raise them with all the love he has to give to the world. And here, this dream comes true <3
This will be Steve x fem!reader but no use of y/n!
Requests are open!
I will be adding the headcanons/blurbs/one shots as I publish them, but I’ll try to put them here in chronological order
Before having kids // With Their Kids
The Harrington Children (kid fic!)
How it came to be: Steve falling for the love of his life (set in 1985)
Jealous, much? (set in 1985)
Steve and his girl reunite at Family Video after the battle of Starcourt (set in 1985)
The night Steve and his girl confess their feelings for each other (set in 1985)
Steve's and his girl's reactions after their first kiss (set in 1985)
The day Steve's girl met Dustin Henderson (set in 1985)
The baby name incident (set in 1986)
Our last New Year’s Eve as a family of three (set in the 1990’s)
Steve's and his girl's late night phone calls (set in 1986)
Steve meeting his girl's family (set in 1986)
The night Steve finally felt he belonged in a family, thanks to his girl (set in 1986)
A typical school morning at the Harrington household (set in the 2000's)
Saturdays with the Harrington family (set in the 2000's)
Steve's girl meets his parents... and it leads to Steve and his girl to say 'I love you' for the first time (set in 1986)
The day Steve and his girl learned they were having twins (set in the 1990's)
The birth of Steve Harrington's twin sons (set in the 1990's)
Steve and his girl find out they are expecting for the third time... right after having the twins (set in the 1990's)
Christmas at Casa Harrington - The first year with four little Harringtons (set in the 1990's)
The first time the twins don't do something together... and one of them suffers because of it (set in the 2000's)
Steve sneaking into his girl's room at her house for the first time (set in 1986)
Steve proposes to his girl (set in 1989)
The day Jo Harrington breaks a little (set in the 2000's)
Picture day for the Harrington children (set in the 1990's)
The day Max Mayfield accidentally rebrands Josephine into Jo (set in the 1990’s)
The day one of Steve's kids gets into advanced science classes, and Steve is an absolute mess (set in the 1990’s)
The anniversary trip that led to the existence of Theodore 'Theo' Harrington (set in the 1990’s)
Steve's kids discover the Farrah Fawcett hairspray... And decide to recreate his hairstyle (set in the 2000's)
When you started dating Steve, it was a simple thing. It was easy to love him because of who he was. He was kind and sweet, he could take you anywhere you wanted, he would visit every time he could, and on most nights, he would climb over to your window and stay the night. It has become a routine by now.
It also became a routine for Steve, a few weeks ago, to want to fuck you first thing in the morning.
He would move over to you and caress the side of your hips softly to make you wake up, playing with the hem of your leg wear. It doesn't matter if it's your pjs shorts or your plush pants you wear to sleep, and when you don't wake up immediately, he would groan into your ear while he whispers the most filthy stuff like “I need your tight pussy, sweetheart” or “please, I need your pussy right now.” until you give him the attention he desires.
Before you know it, he is getting on top of you and pulling your pants away, along with your underwear, and looking at how your pussy is already gushing with your juice with just the thought of him fucking you so early in the morning. Steve looks up at you with a smirk and caresses your cheek. “You are already so soaked for me, baby. You need me so bad?”
He coos to you as if he weren't the one getting you up so early in the morning because he needs to be inside you so bad. He runs his fingers over your juicy slit, collecting your juice to then caress your puffy clit, which is demanding his attention. He circles it, barely giving you the pressure you needed. You shiver at the feeling and whimper softly, guetting use to the pleasure growing on your lower belly. Steve holds you from your hips to stop you from squirming closer. He likes the control he has in this moment.
He praises you so much, but with your own pleasure building up, you can only hear a few like “You look so beautiful.” “This pussy wants me so bad dont it?” or “I should have woken you earlier, knowing you were this needy.”
When he finally enters you, it’s a big stretch from his big dick. You knew he was big; it wasn't news to anybody, but every time you and Steve had sex, it was as if it was your first time taking his dick fully.
Steve could see the bulge growing in your lower belly from his cock, and it was making him go faster without meaning to. You always let a moan when his tip kisses your cervix, and your moans are getting louder by the minute. He loves it so much that he could make you so cock-drunk with only a few thrusts. He would mock and tease you while his thrusts were getting harder and faster, chasing his own edge as yours alike.
“What's wrong, baby? You can take it, can't you? Such a big girl for my big cock.” You love to hear him say things like that, when he says that, your walls choke on his cock a little more, while sucking him inside you.
He lets a groan at the feeling of it, and his tempo starts losing control. His thrusts are sloppy and uneven, so you know he is close to the edge, as you are too. “Fuck, baby, you like that? You like how–fuck–you like how dirty I talk to you?” he would say while panting over the sudden change.
Before you know it, with feeling his cock fully inside you and his balls slapping in your ass with each thrust, you are going over the edge with just his words combined with the feeling. After a few thrust he hits his own orgasm just a little after you, and he ends up collapsing on top of you. Both of you all sweaty, panting, and skin reddish from the high.
You know this won't be the last time, but deep down. You are always in delight for Steve wanting you so early in the morning.
God i love Steve so much, and I'm also such a slut for him lets get fcking real. I literally woke up at 6 am to write this, but it came up pretty well, and I'm happy. I just need Steve Harrington to come to my house and fuck me the whole day. UGH!
