summary: After coming off a date with a bad review, Steve sets out to prove that he really is good at going down on girls.
tags: MDNI!! [roommates/friends to lovers] [smut] [oral fem receiving] [mutual pining] [he just needs an honest review] [friends help each other...right?] 2k words
a/n: While brainstorming this fic, I couldn't decide whether I wanted it to be fluffy or smutty, so I had you guys vote. And you wanted me to write both. (Here is the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it!)
It is your deepest held belief that Friday nights are, indeed, best spent in.
You’re on the couch, curled up with a book, basking in the soft lamplight as steam from your favorite tea reflects in the dark windows beside you.
All is peaceful. All is quiet. It’s perfect.
And then your apartment door opens.
You jump, looking over your shoulder just in time to see your roommate, Steve, storm through the entryway. His dress shirt is untucked, tie loose, and his hair is a wreck, like he’s run his hands through it a million times.
That’s not a good sign for a man supposed to be on a fancy date tonight.
He said, if things went well, he’d probably end up back at her place for the night. You thought that might be a little presumptuous, but hey, it’s Steve Harrington you’re talking about here.
Steve looks around wildly, and when his eyes land on you, the intensity in them takes you aback.
“I’m guessing things didn’t go well, then—?” you start, but he cuts you off, his words overlapping yours.
“Take off your pants.”
You freeze.
What the—
He must not register the utter shock on your face, because he’s already moving towards you. The silky tie snaps through the air as he rips it from his neck. God, he must really be wound up. He didn’t even take his shoes off at the door.
“Excuse me?” You manage to choke out.
“Don’t freak out, I just really need to try something,” he grunts, rounding the couch. “Just for a second.”
The moment his knees hit the carpet in front of you, your jaw goes slack.
“Harrington!” You scramble back into your mountain of pillows, nearly knocking your mug off the side table. You reach out and steady it with one hand, suddenly very aware of how your tank top has ridden up with the movement. “What the hell are you—?”
“…can’t believe she said that,” he mutters, ripping back the blanket thrown over your lap.
“Who said what?”
He doesn’t respond, eyes locked on your short sleep shorts. They’re a cute set you picked up recently at the mall. Navy blue with white flowers. Innocent-looking. Sweet.
But he’s staring at them like he’s going to rip them off with his teeth.
Heat rushes to your cheeks.
While you can’t deny what that look is doing to you, there’s something else trapped in his gaze. Sadness? Not quite. Disappointment, maybe? You’ve only been roommates for six months, but you already know him well enough to know when he’s upset.
Reaching down, you grab a fistful of his hair and tip his head back. His eyes snap to yours.
“What did she say?” you ask again, firmer this time.
Steve’s lips form a thin line before he sighs heavily. You drop his hair.
“She said I was bad at sex. Specifically, bad at...this.” He gestures unhelpfully between your legs and your stomach swoops as his finger almost brushes the seam of your shorts.
It takes you a second, but then your brows pull together. “She actually said that?”
“Not exactly,” he groans. “The date was fine. It was our third, so when she invited me upstairs, I figured…well, you know. And then we got to making out and it was hot. I guess…”
You swallow hard and gesture for him to continue, even if the thought of his lips trailing down some other girl’s neck feels like a knife in your side.
“And then I went down on her and she said—” He cuts himself off with a miserable little huff before resuming. “She said it wasn’t doing anything for her. At all. Like it wasn’t good enough or something. Can you believe that? I could’ve lived if she said my thrust game needed work or something, if we had even gotten to that point, but this? This is, like, my thing.”
Oh. Okay.
Yeah, you could’ve gone the rest of your lease without knowing that eating pussy is your hot roommate’s thing.
That is not good for your little crush you have going on that you refuse to talk about. Or think about. Ever.
You nod quickly and clear your throat. “S-so, what exactly does this have to do with me?”
Steve just shrugs. “We’re friends, right?”
“Right.”
“Right.” He levels your gaze, brown eyes soft and playful in the lamplight. “So…”
The moment stretches between you, an invitation, an ask, and a dare all rolled into one.
“So, because we’re such good friends, we just…give each other oral sex?”
Steve sighs. “Look. I just want a second opinion, okay? I mean, this is bad. Really bad. If Cindy didn’t like it, then what if other girls didn’t either? Then I’ve just been lied to all this time—”
Your gaze drops to his fingers digging into the couch cushion beneath you, and despite yourself, a smile creeps across your lips. “Oh my God, this really got to you, didn’t it?”
“What?” He balks. “No! It’s just…I need to set the record straight.” He taps your knees with a knuckle, playful but firm. “Spread ‘em.”
You bark an unbelieving laugh that ends in a sound too close to a whimper when his hands come down on your thighs.
You cannot let him do this to you. If you do, you’ll never be able to get over your secret-no-good-very-bad-crush on your roommate.
You force yourself to breathe. “I…I don’t want thinks to get weird.”
His eyes flick up to yours. “Weird?”
“Between us.”
Steve seems to take a second to understand what you’re saying, and you watch as an emotion you can’t place crosses his face.
Suddenly, he moves to stand. “You’re right. Sorry. God, I’m an idiot. What am I thinking, I just—”
Panic spikes and you snatch his wrist before you even really know what you’re doing, cutting him off. “No, wait. It’s like you said. We’re…friends, right?”
He nods quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah.”
“So, we don’t let it get weird.” The words spill out of you before you can take them back. But you don’t want to. “I’ll give you an unbiased review. A one time thing.”
You watch as his lashes drop again to your legs, and his pupils widen as your knees fall apart a little on instinct.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick.
In an effort to appear nonchalant, you shrug. But you’re salivating when his tongue darts over his bottom lip.
“Yes,” you breathe.
He doesn’t waste a second dropping back down to his knees, and your legs widen immediately to give him space.
“So, you’ll tell me the truth, right?” he rasps, eyes jumping between your face and your hips. “Be honest. I can take it.”
“Honest,” you agree, but the word comes out in a whisper as his fingers slip under your waistband.
Your face burns as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one smooth motion, baring you to him. His hands gently ease your thighs farther apart, and you fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“Steve! Stop looking at it like that,” you gasp.
“Why?” he asks without glancing up. “It’s pretty.”
Shit.
You’re not strong enough for this.
But when he finally looks up, you recognize the silent question in his eyes. He’s asking for permission. You could stop this right now, and he would let you easily. He’s probably never even bring it up again. No harm done.
And you should.
God, you should.
But you don’t want to.
So instead, you just nod, not trusting your voice to speak.
As he leans in, you brace for the feeling of his tongue, but you’re surprised when he starts by just…kissing you.
His lips are soft against your folds, and your breath catches at the tenderness there. His eyes find yours before he goes lower, and the moment his nose bumps your clit, your body jolts in his hold.
He makes a muffled sound and his eyes drift shut, large palms moving to your hips, pinning them to the cloth couch beneath you.
Then there’s that wet heat.
His tongue slides over you with just enough pressure, starting slow and exploring your entrance.
“Oh, God,” you whimper.
His hair is so soft against your inner thighs, and when he makes a sound of encouragement against you, and his tongue swirls higher, catching the underside of your clit, your mouth drops open in a silent moan.
He’s hardly done anything yet, but the way he’s doing it, so confident, and steady, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
“See? Good, right?” he mutters, the words muffled and slick against your core. “I know what I’m—mmm, fuck, you taste good.”
Before you can respond, his hands wrap up and around your thighs, and he hauls you closer. Your tank top rides up even higher as you slide down into the cushions, but you don’t reach up to fix it.
Mostly because Steve Harrington is going down on you, and that thought alone is nearly making you lose your fucking mind.
His lashes flutter shut as he makes out with your dripping cunt, his throat bobbing as sucks gently, swallows, and goes back for more.
You’re surprised to find there’s no performance to his actions, but more of a genuine enjoyment.
Steve eats pussy like he wants to.
You watch, transfixed, and you can’t help but roll your hips once against his mouth, smearing your slick all over his pretty fucking face.
Too pretty for his own good.
A sound escapes his chest, something caught between a moan and a whine, and he nods against you, peeking up from beneath his lashes.
The carpet whispers as rises higher on his knees, mouth traveling up your mound and over the soft, sensitive skin below your belly button.
But you whimper at the loss, pushing his head back down.
His throat vibrates against you with a chuckle, but he follows you obediently. “Oh, yeah? So definitely doing something for you then.”
“Shut up,” you groan, but the sound dies out harshly when his mouth latches to your clit and sucks.
Hard.
You gasp, back arching as your core clenches instinctively.
Then, without warning, he pulls back.
You look at each other, chests heaving. Suddenly, you’re afraid he’s done. That you now have to give a report based on that.
“Is that it?” You squeak.
“What? God, you think I would just leave you like that? No, I was just thinking—” He draws in a breath, like he needs to physically rearrange his thoughts. “Well, I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
You just stare down at him, chest heaving, bare and slick from the waist down.
He takes one look at your face and clears his throat. “Right. Later.” He leans in again, but pauses before glancing up at you one more time. “Yes?”
“Yes, Harrington, I will kiss you, later,” you whine pitifully, canting your hips into his hands.
He seems pleased, and wastes no time picking up where he left off.
And this time, he doesn’t tease you.
Your head hips back, a moan tearing from your throat as two of his fingers spear deep inside and his mouth closes over your clit.
As you threaten to fall apart beneath him, Steve just watches.
Every little whine and whimper. Every jerk and arch of your back. Every wriggle of your hips and curl of your toes.
He studies you like a map, surveying everything that makes you soak his face, everything that makes you clench hard around his fingers, his tongue, and finding new routes to all those destinations.
The tension between your hips pulls tighter, and when he reaches up to palm your breast, slipping his hand underneath your tank top, you wonder if he can feel it.
The way your heart slams against your ribs.
A silent, helpless confession. A call for him to see that this will not, in fact, be a one-time thing.
That you’ve been thinking about this—about him—ever since the day you moved in.
That ache builds like a tidal wave, threatening to break, and your fingers fly to his arms for stability. He’s warm, and strong, and his muscles shift under his dress shirt.
It’s honestly impressive how quickly he responds, how easily he reads every subconscious signal your body gives him. Because when that breathy, urgent whine starts to leave your lips, his thumb replaces his mouth on your clit, rubbing firm, perfect circles that drive you higher. And then he dips lower, tonguing your entrance, devouring you in thick, broad strokes, pushing you to the fucking brink.
“Yeah, you gonna come for me?” He slurs against your aching cunt. “Just like that. That’s it. I’ve got you—mmhm—”
The second his tongue spears deep inside, the tidal wave breaks.
Your moan fills your quiet apartment, and you nearly come off the couch with the intensity of it. The rush is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You have no option but to surrender fully to it as it pulls you under, shamelessly riding your orgasm out on Steve’s tongue.
Steve’s ready for it though. He goes with you easily as your hips rise and fall, strong hands holding you to his mouth, unwilling to let you slide away.
When the pulsing eventually fades to shuttering jolts, he pulls back, but his hands stay on your hips, caressing you softly, bringing you back down to earth.
You bite your lip, looking down at him panting between your knees. Your body aches, but in a good way. Like you need more, but somehow, it still won’t ever be enough.
“God, Steve—” you whine, but you’re cut off by him lunging up across your body and pressing his lips to yours.
You laugh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you eagerly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He murmurs, pulling back a little.
Something catches in your chest at his confession, and you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another kiss.
This one is different.
Deeper, and softer, and…meaningful.
He sinks back down onto his knees, squeezing your thigh, your waist, like you’re something precious.
“So, tell me , honestly, was it good?” He urged, gazing up at you.
You blink dumbly, throughly flushed. “Yeah, uh…no notes.”
He smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Five out of five stars.”
“I don’t know, Harrington. That literally means no room for improvement.” You’re not sure his ego is ready for that.
“Oh?” His lips tilt in a crooked smile that makes you want to kiss him again. “What would you have me do to earn that fifth star, huh?”
His lids go heavy as you tighten your hold on his hair and urge his mouth back down where you want it.
“You could do it again.”
a/n: It's my canon that his date, Cindy, was just hung up on her ex, and Steve was the unlucky rebound that night. Plus, Steve wasn't that into it. Because he was thinking about you, obviously. Also, here is the fluffy version sister fic if you care lol
ᥫ᭡ dividers by @cursed-carmine| steve masterlist | drop by my desk
is the commission community on tumblr alive whatsoever? i was wondering if i should start doing a few commissions and i wanna know if tumblr is the right way to go?
Oh my God I miss tumblr so much i just started a 9 hour job at a clinic like a week ago and it leaves me soo exhausted I MISS WRITING I MISS READING I MISS MY MAN MY BABY STEVE💔💔💔💔💔
Imao stranger things stans keep talking about ships when actually we should talk about how the main female character got nerfed and sidelined to prop up the male character (Will)
They gave Eleven's WHOLE storyline to him, even the fucking rivalry with Henry and the friendship with Max
summary: 18 months, 18 years, or 18 lifetimes. It doesn't matter how long Steve spends without you, he can't seem to stop loving you. And you, can't seem to stop running.
warnings/content: lots of angst, exes to lovers, arguments, grief, trauma, depression, escapism, reader being stubborn, reader is an avoidant, pining!Steve, hurt/little comfort, smut, unprotected p in v, no happy ending (yet?)
word count: 8.4k+
author's note: my baby el will be haunting some or a lot of the narrative. And, if you missed it I'd like to point it out that this fic subtly explores the five stages of grief as well, in its own way; meaning not in that very order, as the stages are different for all of us. Up until the end, squint if you must ♡
more notes at the end<3
Hawkins was a place that brought all the nightmares to life. Every single person there had demons of their own that they masked and hid every single day in white collars, black ties, aprons and suburbs. In a way, that is probably what truly brought them to life in a way that cursed the town. That stole the chance of happiness, and a normal childhood from so many kids.
It stole his youth as well, in a way. After all, he was only seventeen when he was dragged into all of this. He didn't understand the essence of what he's actually lost and how young he was when he lost it until he had more to lose. A bond, a real, firm bond. With Dustin, who was the embodiment of everything he ever wanted out of life.
He didn't realise the gravity of what he was pushed into until Derek had hugged him, in the abyss. A small, vulnerable child, robbed of his innocence so soon. It had sparked a fury in him that he hadn't really felt before. That had been building along side his protectiveness for his kids.
He realised it again, like a blow to his very heart, when he stood helpless in the Mac-Z, holding your sobbing, screaming frame, watching a seventeen year old, little girl, blow herself up into oblivion, sacrificing herself for a better future for all of them.
That moment shaped him in a way he never imagined. Everyone's screams will haunt him forever, he thinks. The gnawing, stabbing grief in his stomach when the very thing he's despised and wanted gone for the last seven years of his life disappeared, is something he'll never forget. Because with that damned place, went a very special girl who deserved so much better.
He tells himself, that is why he stayed back here — even when every single person moved away. Including Robin. Including you.
To make sure what she wanted, happened. That Hawkins returned back to normal. That's why he became a baseball coach and a teacher. To be around and protect the kids in Hawkins. To make sure, the next batch of kids have a normal childhood.
The nightmare that is the town of Hawkins stole so much from him and every single person he loves. But, it also shaped him to be the person he is today. Without it, he would've still been that douchebag jock who would've ended up being a washed up rich guy with a tenure buying a picket-fenced house on the damned suburbs.
Without Hawkins, he never would have found—and inevitably lost— you.
He mourns your presence in his life, every day he wakes. In every breath he takes. In any menial thing he does. You were and are it for him. Even after all this while.
He will never ever blame or hate you for moving away, for leaving. You had to. This town had given you nothing but grief, it hadn't shaped you for the good the way it did for him. It only brought you pain. He understood that, through and through.
Understanding, however, did not take away from the pain of losing you. Of having to let you go. It never made things easy. Just the way, all of you understood, or rather tried to understand Eleven's choice. It hurt nonetheless.
So much so it drove you out of town before you could even see it rebuild to what it is right now. It took you exactly seven months. Seven months to apply for a college and an internship in a state, in a city far away from here.
He clung to the memories of those seven months like a lifeline, even though the plug had been long since pulled.
Grief, was a ugly little thing. It spared no one. Not the grieved, not the grieving and certainly not the ones around them. Steve was no stranger to grief and even more so to people in his life grieving and pushing everyone away. He'd seen it with Max, watching her get worse day by day. He'd seen it again with Dustin, slowly losing him, their bond slowly getting cracks in it. Cracks, that had now been fixed. Restored.
Both of them, Max and Dustin had somewhat healed. As much as one can from something like this. They're graduating, all of them.
Max is skating again. She pulled through this time, not completely sinking back into a hole the way she did the last time she lost someone. She put her mind into acing her finals and catching up on the year, Higgins gave her a grace period as she was in a coma for most part.
Him and Dustin are back to being well, Steve and Dustin. He feels so proud of him for getting through with this, despite everything. Theres also this bittersweet ache that he can't deny, however, that the last thing that made Hawkins feel like home for him is also, leaving. But mostly? He's glad. Dustin and all these kids deserve to get the fuck out of here. Go to college, explore and grow up more normally.
They graduate in one day, and two days until he's finally alone in this town. And eleven months, since you've been gone. What a sick, sick irony.
As he drives to work, he can't help but let his mind go there, to whether or not you'll come back, one last time atleast, to see the kids you loved so dearly, graduate. You always talked about it. About the party you'll throw. How loud you'll clap for them and run across the stage and hug every one of them, cheering for them.
Only the kids have the answer as to whether or not you'll be here. They're the only ones here that you've kept in touch with. They all get letters, postcards and phone calls.
Robin and Nancy both get a once in two month visit in Massachusetts, sometimes they come to visit you as well. Jonathan is the one closest to you. The one who gets most of your company. It makes sense, he thinks, with New York City and New Jersey being only over an hour away from each other. And with both of you in the creative, art field.
You two had left together— the shared trauma of losing a found sister prompting you both to pack the fuck up.
“Steve! I mean— coach Steve!” came Derek's excited cheer as he walked into the field. Yes, he'd taken yet another kid under his wing. Many, actually.
Steve knocks lightly on his helmet, “That's right, better respect me,” he deadpans, and then laughs at the intimidated look on Derek's face, “Just messing with ya kid. You can call me Steve when I'm not actually teaching ya.”
Derek chuckles nervously, he'd really grown to admire him. It wasn't a new thing for Steve but it made him happy nonetheless. This was worth staying, he always reminded himself.
The practice went well— a few errors, a few bullies on the field that needed a firm tone and some of his precious students making him proud.
He spent the next few hours of his day in the gymnasium, covering for the basketball coach and overseeing their practice. And then the dreaded putting condoms over bananas for the 8th graders and a birds and the bees talk for the younger kids.
By the time he made it back to his one room apartment downtown, he was beat like a drum. His bones ached in a way that made him feel older than he is. Muscles straining and no amount of stretching really provided any relief. A hot bath would. But he settles for a lukewarm shower. He doesn't even know why.
Take the damn relief. Your voice echoes in his head. He drowns it out with music, a new favorite song of his— Wicked game.
It plays on repeat while he showers, then again while he eats and one last time as he drifts of to sleep.
I'd never dream that I'd lose somebody like you.
The day of the graduation was unsettlingly warm. He'd woken up in a sweat– not cold and not from a nightmare, he had a quiet, dreamless sleep. It wasn't even officially summer yet.
His stomach fluttered weirdly, in anticipation, in anxiety as he went about his morning— a cold shower he dreaded getting out of, a breakfast he couldn't stomach and putting on a suit that felt too big for him. That made him feel older than he is, like time is slipping out of his hands.
Will you be there? he wonders.
He can't tell if the thought of you being there makes him want to rush out the house to the field or stay right here, frozen forever.
He decides to steady himself and walk out as the picture mask of calmness.
The first entire half of the graduation ceremony went in a blur. You were nowhere to be seen. Part of him was relieved and the other was secretly, enraged. But mostly, he was glad to have Robin by his side once again, it had been strange without her around and he'd missed her so much. He spent that half catching up with her.
The second half, went in total anticipation. You still weren't here. He must've checked every corner. Mike wasn't here either. Steve somewhat knew that Mike planned to not walk to the stage and get his diploma. He couldn't blame him at all. The same way, he couldn't blame you for not being here. After all, she wasn't here.
By the last part, he didn't think of you— for once, as his entire focus shifted on Dustin about to give his valedictorian speech. And, Mike had surprised everyone and finally walked in wearing his cap and gown. Steve wondered as to what made him finally come through, but any and all external thoughts disappeared the second, Higgins called Dustin's name on the stage.
And all he remembers next is his chest tightening with nothing but pride, clapping until his palms started to sting and still not stopping and then flipping off his old high school alongside Dustin.
He remembers pulling out a camera and capturing the kids finally grown up. He remembers talking to everyone and then— all he can feel is that same warmth from this morning, again. And there's an unmistakable change in the very air, or atleast the one he consumes.
Then, the kids suddenly gleam. And they run, past him, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan— Mike walks, a steady knowing smile stuck to his face. Robin and Nancy are the ones facing to whatever or whoever's behind him. And he knows it and feels it in his bones, long before he sees the look on Robin's face— directed at him. Long before he even thinks of turning around.
You.
The kids all cheer your name and it's like a painful memory for him. Suddenly, everything starts to make sense, why he felt the way he did all day. Why the very day felt different. It was as though the atmosphere itself was trying to warn him, prepare him for what he has to face.
Seeing you again was not just confronting the last eleven months of his life it was like reliving the last seven years. And there was nothing that could've prepared him.
He doesn't even feel himself turning around. The only thing he can register next is you. You wearing a formal dress, standing in the middle of all five of them; swarming you.
There used to be six. A nagging, sadistic little voice whispers at the back of his head. The way it always does when he sees them together now.
Soon it will just be you, the voice prods further.
“...I'm so proud of you guys.” your voice is like a fever dream to him. Like music after months of radio silence.
Robin's already rushing to fight past the kids to get to you— as if she didn't see you only a month ago. Jealousy settles in his stomach.
Nancy's next— two months. And when Jonathan stays by his side it's like a slap to his face because of course he does. He gets to see you on a weekly basis.
He can't tell if he's upset that they get to see you so often or that you get to see them more often than he does. He thought he's come a long way in the last 11 months– and he has. But he's still allowed to be upset about some aspects.
He misses you, like yearning for you is a part of himself. He misses Robin and Nancy. He even misses Jonathan. He didn't think the graduation will hit him like a wrecking ball, but it has. And yet, for just a moment, all of it softens. All of the anger, the bitterness gets swallowed down.
When you say, “Hi, Steve.”
Shit. He didn't realize he'd been not-so-subtly staring at you. You felt obligated to say hi to him, this was horrifying.
He clears his throat, his voice almost betraying him by rendering him mute. “Hi,” he manages, followed with a very soft murmur of your name.
That's all the interaction he gets from you until Max pulls you away for a photo. That's when Jonathan pats him on the back and finally follows y'all. Nancy joins, Robin stays— she always does, except for the one time she deserved to leave.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sitting down next to him on the bleachers.
Since Robin moved away and a physical distance was put in between them, it had gotten easier to lie to her. To just tell her he's fine even on the days he's not, to only tell her about all the good things and crumble all the bad into a paper ball and toss it aside. But now, when she was right here, he couldn't really lie to her. She knew him like they were separated twins.
“Yeah. Just... seeing her brought back a lot, you know. It hasn't been easy,” he admits.
She puts a hand on his back in a gesture of comfort and nods, “I know,” she says, “If it helps, I can vouch it hasn't been easy for her either.” she attempts to reassure. It helps only a little.
He diverts the topic to what's new in her life, not just because he doesn't wanna talk about his but because he wants to talk about her. He's used to knowing every single thing about Robin firsthand, and now there's so much to catch up on.
They talk, she tells him all about college and the new book she's writing a paper on which is from the 30's, and how it has queer elements that she's going to dare to include in a positive light and present. He's immensely proud at how far she's come in accepting herself.
She tells him about all her new friends and he does admittedly linger on that part mentally for longer than necessary. And then she tells him about all the little getaways she's had with you and Nancy— by then there's a quiet ache settling in his chest that he can't quite explain.
Robin and Nancy particularly had become somewhat inseparable too in the last three years, and after you mover away we well it was like people might as well call y'all the three Musketeers & the filmmaker.
It's only at times like these that he ever regrets staying back, when he hears about how much he's missed out on. But when a weekday comes and he's all around kids who admire him, trust him to make Hawkins better, the ache goes away just as fast as it comes.
He does fill her in on quite a bit as well, and after a lot of hesitation he tells her about the sex ed teacher gig and she practically falls off the bleachers with how hard she laughed. If You, Nancy and Jonathan hadn't walked over when y'all did he was almost certain she would've popped a blood vessel in her nose.
“Jesus, Robin, you look like a cartoon character who just ate a chilli. Are you okay?” your humorous concern is half sincere.
“I'm okay! Just catching up with Stevie boy,” her laughter dials down.
He rolls his eyes, “Ha ha, my life is so amusing.” he deadpans but settles into a comfortable chuckle with her as well.
Only then, do you look at him, silently, but you do. There's a shared look, like your eyes are doing all the talking your mouths can't dare to. Somewhere in that code, he tries to convey an “I missed you.”
And for his own sake he pretends you signal “I miss you too.”
He breaks the ice by asking, “Where'd the party go?”
You give him a half sad smile, “One last campaign.”
You don't tear your eyes away from each other, sharing a bittersweet look of understanding and grief— they've finally grown up.
You finally sniffle, and look away from him when it hurts too much to, when your eyes sting and threaten to water. You'd had enough of that.
“Guess they're gonna party hard today,” you joke, a nervous laughter offered to break the very obvious tension, “But... what about us?” you ask, voice small and hesitant. Like the very idea of doing something normal together could split the ground beneath them right now.
Jonathan and Nancy share a look, Robin looks at everyone expectant, hopeful, that just maybe they all can be together just for today.
Steve's the one who speaks up, “Well,” and you almost think he's going to snap at you for having the audacity to ask that when you left.
“I think I have an idea.” Is all he says, a reassuring helpful smile directed at you.
And suddenly you wish he had snapped at you. Yelled at you. Stormed off because he didn't want to look at you. That would've hurt less than... this.
You muster a fake smile and let him lead all of you away to wherever he plans — in his new car. The one you never got to see before. You suddenly feel out of place. Like you no longer belong here, in this town, around him.
And you most likely don't.
So you choose to sit in the backseat, with Nancy and Jonathan, letting Robin acclaim the front seat. You didn't want to ever sit there again.
The drive is short and quiet, as he pulls over to an all familiar building. WSQK— the squawk.
This one not so little building held so many damn memories. All the late nights you pulled with Steve when he had to clean up or fix something. Makeshift ‘candlelit’ dinners using the “On air” sign and a quick take out from the nearest diner when he couldn't make it on time for a date and Enzo's would close.
And worst of all, the last moments you spent with her, right before you parted for the battle were here. The memories were painful.
It only got more painful from there on when you all talked about your lives. Steve kept asking y'all, or rather, them if they missed Hawkins. You knew him well enough to know it was really directed at you. Avoidance, was like an unspoken tragic thing y'all shared. None of you wanted to talk about this, about Hawkins. So one of y'all swiftly diverts the topic to making fun of Steve's sex ed gig, and then Jonathan's anti-capitalism movie that you've been helping with as a script writer. Then Steve saying he'd consider moving to and teaching at Smith, for Robin. And then Nancy's surprisingly confession about dropping out. You didn't even know that, granted the last you met was three months ago.
You all voiced the support for her nonetheless, a trainee position at the Herald is still a huge leap out of her comfort zone, which is something to be proud about. That's what you all needed, being on the edge and out of your comfort zone in normal human ways. Not wondering when the world will spin off it's axis, or which new inter-dimensional species will you have to decide next.
You smile at Nancy as she talks about her life, there's something different about her, a different type of a confidence, a comfort in her own skin you've never quite seen before on her. It almost mirrored the one Robin had after she finally found Vickie. You softly huff a chuckle, “Nancy Wheeler, still full of surprises.” You say to her and she looks at you and smiles— a personal understanding shared just between the two of you. Like the other eyes on you right now don't exist. Like you can't feel his eyes on you.
“You know, there is one thing that I miss about this place,” Robin says, her eyes slowly welling up, though, still trying to keep her smile on, “You guys.”
And almost instantly the air on the roof changes– warmer but accompanied with the howl of a gale, almost as if mourning what they all used to be.
“I mean, I really like my new friends, you guys of all people know that. You've met them, but it's just...” She says, to you and Nancy, your eyes' welling up.
Nancy looks down and nods, “It's not the same,” she finishes for her.
You can't stop the tears even though you try, you feel your face wetten before you realise you're crying. You sniffle, furiously wiping at your cheek once, letting out a bitter chuckle, “I don't think it will ever be the same.”
Your eyes instinctively fall on Steve— who's looking away, trying to hide his own tears. It breaks your heart to see him cry, especially considering that was the last memory you had of him.
The earlier silence is replaced by Nancy's quiet sniffles and Robin's sobs. Steve's the one to finally break y'all out of the moment, “Okay, Jesus, you're killing me man,” he gets up with a watery laugh, “I mean, let's do something about it, like, I don't know... meet up,” he says, his eyes lingering on you, as if the fate of this friend group falls in your hands.
You nod, everyone agrees to meet up more often, somewhere neutral. That's between to Jersey, New York, Massachusetts and Hawkins. You settle on Robin's weird uncle's place in Philly. Y'all make plans and promises you know deep down will not be fulfilled. Not forever, anyway. But right now, right here it feels real. It feels possible. It feels hopeful. And it's important to you to cherish that for as long as you can, after all it wasn't always any of you had hope.
When the sun started to set, so did the reality. It creeps on you like a vice. The reality of what has happened and how badly you don't want to be here. And how inevitably, you will have to. It's dark and you didn't want to drive back all the way to New Jersey all alone. Nancy and Robin were going to head back to Massachusetts together, and normally you would've driven back with Jonathan but he was obviously going to stay back to see Will off to college.
That leaves you alone here, with no real place to stay. Nancy had offered but Robin was already going to crash there and the kids were going to pull an all night D&d campaign so you really didn't want to intrude. And there was no space at Hopper's cabin— even if there was you wouldn't touch that area with a 10 feet stick. Her essence would be everywhere.
When all of you walked back down to Steve's car, you ask Jonathan to give you a ride to the closest Inn downtown once y'all get back to the high school.
Steve's eyes hadn't really left you the entire time y'all were up there. The only time he did, was to hide his own tears. And now, watching you completely ignore his presence and turn to Jonathan for a ride while he was right here stung a little. More so than that, the thought of you coming back in town months later only to stay alone in some hollow Inn room, getting swallowed and taunted by your own mind— sickened him to his core.
And so, he found himself talking. Intervening, like the very reason he'd learned to walk was to always walk towards you.
“You can stay with me.”
No one speaks. Nancy and Jonathan are sharing a look, Robin suddenly finds her converse very interesting. He's looking at at you and you, are not. You're staring away at his number plate, biting your lip nervously. And a panic settles into his chest like he'd just ruined the whole peace everyone had established today.
“I- I mean, you can crash for the night. It's not that big but it's way closer than any Inn,” he tries to make it better, “Plus, Jonathan, didn't you tell me Mrs. Byers wanted you home early for uh— a family dinner?” Steve straight up lies, praying, hoping Jonathan plays along. And he does.
Your brows meet together in the middle, trying to form another sensible solution and when you come to none, you –hesitantly– agree.
“If its really okay with you, then yeah, thank you. I'll be gone first thing in the morning anyway.” You tell him, like the thought of you gone will be comforting. Like the very idea of it doesn't make him want to go back up to the roof and jump.
But he doesn't say that, in fact he doesn't say anything. He just stares at you until you do finally look him in the eyes and hear everything he doesn't say anyway. Only then does he look away, clear his throat and telepathically tells Robin to break the tension with some weird nervous joke not that he even has to, she would've done it regardless.
As the day winds down to dropping off everyone else, driving to only two houses until they're fully alone feels like a prison sentence. But it's one Steve would want to do for life. Having you around again is healing.
As he finally pulls up to Hopper's cabin to drop off Jonathan, your body goes tense. He can't tell if it's the cold, or the idea of being completely alone with him with no buffer or just, the memories of her. He decides it's all three and looks away.
Two minutes after Jonathan gets out, you do too. To hug him goodbye. To tell him you'll see him directly next week. The steering wheel imprints into his palm with how hard he's clenching it.
“You should come in and say hi to Mom. And Hopper.” he tells you and you shake your head.
“You know I can't go in there. But I'll see you in a few days and we can go visit Will together,” you promise and then hug him again.
When he goes away and you finally turn around to him, to the car, you pause and realize that for the first time since you saw him again, you are now alone, with Steve Harrington. That you no longer have a buffer or an excuse to avoid him, to sit in the backseat. Your heart thuds against your chest rapidly as you walk to the front and feel the cold handle of the passenger seat on your hand. Steve's staring ahead at the door that Jonathan just went in from, not at you.
After a mental pep talk you get into what used to be your designated seat.
The cold air from the woods had trapped itself into the car, a contrast to the bubbling warmth that had settled into your stomach. In nervous anticipation. You're hyper aware of every single thing you felt for him, that you'd tried to forget in these last eleven months and failed miserably. Your chest aches from how hard your heart beats for this man.
You take a deep breath and put your seatbelt on as Steve starts the car.
There's a tension-thick silence that spreads inside the car which is weird because both of you have so many things you want to ask the other. You have a million things to talk about. And yet not a single word is uttered.
Steve hated deliberate silences. Or just, silences in general. It always ended up reminding him of all the years he's spent alone in a quiet, empty house, void of a family and happiness. There had been a time, when he was eight years old, that for months his parents didn't come home and normally he used to drown the loud silence out with even louder music but eventually unkind, taunting thoughts would blast in his mind.
Much like now, except there was no music to begin with. Just your presence and that loud, loud silence that he can't take anymore and so he resorts to the worst thing known to man— awkward small talk.
“So,” he clears his throat, “you and Jonathan hang out often now?”
You flinch slightly, not expecting the sound of his voice directed at you.
“Oh, Y-yeah,” your voice cracks despite yourself, “We do, I mean we only live like two hours away from each other and...” you pause, hesitating to say the next bit. “...he's the closest thing to home I have since I moved away.”
Part of him wishes you'd just stopped at ‘yeah’ or ignored him altogether as your answer is like a punch to his gut. Because of the unwanted jealousy that settles within him and because his heart aches for you, for how much you've lost.
He pulls up to his new apartment building, you look around, you feel... out of place, yet again. This is a life that he's built– built without you. All by himself. A life, probably envisioned without you and yet here you are, stepping into what should be off limits to you.
“Steve,” you say, suddenly very aware of the fact that this could go south, “are you sure you want me to–”
“Yes.”
The answer comes before you can even finish your sentence, in fact before you can even completely start, like he can read your mind and he probably can.
He's not even looking at you, he's taking off his seat belt and then getting out of the car. You take your own seatbelt off and then about to open your own door.
Steve blames it on biology; instinct. On history, on science; muscle memory. He doesn't even dare to blame it on emotions. On his stupid, stupid heart, when he walks to your side to open the door for you.
You pause. Look at him, stunned and finally he looks you in the eyes. And suddenly, somehow, you have all the answers to the questions you'd left unasked earlier when you'd opted for awkward silence instead.
He clears his throat for the tenth time tonight and steps away. You start to think he's gonna have a sore throat by morning.
You let him close the door and lead you to his apartment, it's on the first floor itself. And the building looks good, a little rustic and probably has been here for a decade or two.
It's his and so unmistakably him.
As soon as you step inside his familiar scent takes over your senses. The wall to your left is littered with photo frames, the ones you've seen and the ones you haven't. There's one with him and his entire baseball team; all adorable little kids literally looking up at him and cheesing. There's some new ones with him and Dustin and one with Robin.
You are nowhere in sight. Not even a single group photo with you in it. You probably deserve that.
He takes your coat and gestures at you to sit, it all feels too painfully formal and awkward.
“Night cap?” he asks
“Alcohol or coffee?”
“Anything you like. I can even make the coffee a little... Irish if you want.”
The playful smirk on his face makes him so irresistibly attractive.
Normally, you'd settle for a nice hot coffee. But if you were to survive this night, in Steve's presence, in his house, you were gonna need the support of gin. Or whiskey, anything really.
“How about just Irish, no coffee?” you ask mirroring his smirk.
He huffs, “Coming right up.”
Three drinks down along with the help of the earlier beers, y'all were laughing and reminiscing about old memories. Of the crew, about Dustin singing and the time Robin tried to colour her hair pink and it turned out to be neon. These were all safe memories. You should have stuck with those.
But instead, you found yourself reminiscing something you shouldn't have.
“Oh my God, remember the time Robin had walked in on—” you catch yourself just in time before you finished the sentence, both of you straightening and sobering up quickly.
Steve's face pales somewhat and he swallows, “Yeah,” he says plastering a tight smile, “Yeah, I remember that.”
The room suddenly felt warmer and small again. You look away, setting down your glass, “... Sorry,” you mumble, “that was weird, wasn't it?”
“No, not weird,” he reassures and shrugs, “It's okay, I mean we can joke about this right? It's been almost a year, It's fine.”
He gets up to put the gin and tonic away and you can tell it's not fine. Steve has this tick where his voice gets all high pitched and choked and he tries to busy himself with some menial task to avoid being perceived.
“Are you fine?” you ask him
“Perfectly.”
You nearly scoff. When you agreed to come back here you didn't expect a lot. You expected a cold shoulder, a radio silence, a heated argument or confrontation. You prepared yourself for nearly every heated outcome. What you didn't think to prepare yourself for was... this. Steve being so chill with you like you're old buddies.
“Don't be like that.”
“Like what?” he shrugs
“That. So fucking... casual. Acting like you don't care,” you snap.
Steve still has that faux clueless and casual look on his face but his eyes are bitterly glassy, betraying him.
Taking a deep breath, you say, “I just... want you to be honest with me. Even if it's brutally.”
“I am being honest with you,” he says like it's the most obvious thing even though he almost chokes on the words.
“Bullshit.”
“Just, drop it.”
“No.”
“Fine! You want the truth? The truth that every single second I've spent without you feels like hours. That every single hour I've spent with you today has felt like milliseconds, that truth?” the words leave him like a train wreck.
“Or how about the truth that you going on to keep in touch with every single person except me made me so fucking miserable.” Steve was breathing heavily, he could practically hear the fast murmur of his own blood and he was sure so could you.
This was good. This was heat. This made you feel something and didn't confirm what you thought; that you'd become completely hollow inside.
“What? Nothing to say now?” his voice is small
When you don't say anything he scoffs, “Yeah, that's what I thought.”
“It wasn't easy for me.” You say after a long moment of silence.
He looks at you, “What wasn't?”
“Leaving.” you let out a shaky breath, “Hawkins was like a cage for me, one that I wanted to get out of my entire life even before all of this.”
“...And the second I found a reason to stay in that cage, I had the opportunity to be free.”
You pick at your nail bed until it's raw, “And, I did stay. I stayed for the longest time. For the family I built here, for you.”
It's the first time tonight you've directly acknowledged your past together. “But,” your eyes well up, “after what happened, I couldn't. I can't. It hurts too much, even right now just being here hurts so much.”
Steve's chest hurts, he always had more empathy than he could handle. Even for the people that hurt him, or rather, especially for them. You, however were not just someone who hurt him. You were someone who taught him what love really is. You taught him that in conquers a lot, but not all. You're the person who's held him on countless nights when he couldn't bear to be In this world. So how could he not hurt and ache for you?
“And I don't know... I felt like keeping in touch with you after everything, after the fight we had would hurt even more. I had rather you hate me than pretend to tolerate me when I was clearly hurting you and my choices were pissing you off.” You tell him honestly.
“Damn it,” he almost whispers, “but you're not the only one who gets to make that decision. Why don't I get a say in it?”
“Because, If you did have a say in it, you would stay.”
You're louder now and you choke on your words, “You would stay with me and leave this town even though you don't want to.”
“You'd let yourself be miserable with me than happy without me.”
“That's the thing though, I'm not happy without you. I try to be, I really do. I invest most of my time into work, I love spending time with the kids,” he takes a fortifying breath, “I've tried to go on dates,”
Despite knowing he has more than the right to move on, you can't help how the confession makes you feel; sick to your stomach and jealous. But his next words comfort you a little.
He sits down next to you, “It goes horribly. At the end of the date all I can think about is ‘oh she's nice, but nah she doesn't laugh like you’ ‘she doesn't smell like you’ ‘she can't make me laugh with just a simple look like you’.” He imitates his train of thought, breathlessly.
“The point is,” he dares to take your hand in his, “No one and nothing makes me happy like you.”
You let your fingers entwine with his, his touch is grounding. It makes you feel.
“Are you?” he asks
“Am I what?”
“Happy.” he says, “are you happy?”
‘Without me’ is left unsaid.
You look into his eyes and soon enough, tears start forming in yours. You were far from happy. You couldn't remember the last time you were happy but you're sure it was with him. Your body has ached and pained in regret ever since you walked away from him. It's never stopped, never dulled.
Putting your other hand into his as well, you shake your head gently.
“Do you miss me?” he asks hopefully and you give him a watery smile.
“Of course I do,” you say, “Do you miss me?”
“With every damn bone in my body.”
Your head falls down and he habitually reaches to caress your hair back. That's the moment that breaks it for the two of you. You don't know who leans in first, you're almost certain you do. The kiss is hesitant, teetering on the edge of something risky and it ends almost as soon as it starts.
Steve swears it took the Gods themselves to physically stop him from grabbing you and kissing you stupid. His lips tingle from the mere 20 second kiss.
Your foreheads lean against each other, he licks his lips savouring the taste of you for a little longer.
“Steve, we shouldn't. Nothing has changed, I still want nothing to do with this town and you still do,” you say but lean into his touch anyway. How could you not? This very touch is what had kept you from breaking those seven months. And then the thought of it, the hope of it, had kept you sane these past eleven, months.
“I know,” he gently rubs down your shoulder, “I know,” he repeats, a whisper.
“But, that doesn't mean we can't steal one day— just one more day, all for us,” he bargains.
These last 18 months had been like waking up in a cold, empty void every single day. And then like clockwork, your mind set up a projection screen and replayed all the blood curdling moments of your life, like a never ending movie. And Hawkins was your cinema of doom. Though you'd torn up that ticket, and walked out, there was still something that connected you here— him. The man in front of you who had been your entire world. The world, that you uprooted. The one, that was haggling you for you.
And you give in.
Your mouths crash together again, this time fully unwavering and purposeful.
It's all a haze of heat as he pushes you on your back, towering you— his mouth on your neck, on your collar bone, on your chest. Every kiss, every touch, every spark that jolts both of you alive feels like goodbye. You know it is goodbye and it hurts so much that all you can do is let yourself feel it and feel him.
He's hot and hard between your thighs in seconds. Like putty, you melt into each other's embrace. He grinds into you and cries out.
Steve hadn't been touched this way since you left, hadn't even wanted to be. So now, every touch from you sets his skin ablaze, hot under your fingertips. You roll your hips against his once again to get that reaction out of him, it numbs the pain you feel for the time being and you need that.
“Fuck..” he curses, his eyes stinging from the sensitivity.
He lifts you up in his arms and takes you to his bedroom, you don't even have time to take a look around as he throws you on the bed and towers you again instantaneously, pulling you into another heated make out.
You all but tear off each other's clothes. He has to take a moment to ground himself when he looks at you, bare, beneath him glowing and bathed in moonlight, looking like something that's worth 11 months of abstinence. Looking like he could marry you right in this moment.
That's just a dream that'll never be fulfilled he reminds himself and latches onto your nipple to make himself forget it. Your sweet whines and moans do just that.
His one hand twists and plays with your neglected breast while the other reaches down, between your thighs to feel you.
He bites down onto your nipple and then moans when he feels how wet you are for him.
He pulls away, “Holy shit, baby, all that for me?” he pants against you.
You moan and nod dumbly, latching onto his lips restlessly, needing to feel him everywhere. Your hands roam all over his body, feeling the shape of his biceps, the constellations of his moles that you have memorized like it's your own body.
“Stevie...” you roll your hips into his hand, urging him to do more.
He pushes two fingers in, his thumb taking care of your clit. You grind deeper into his hand, needing more of it, more of him.
If this was goodbye, you wanted to make sure it never ends.
You thrash and hump into his hand until his thumb slips off from your clit and you whine, while he smiles at you. “You like that? You want me touching you there?” he purrs against you, and you nod, biting your lip, embarrassed at how quickly he'd gotten you worked up and begging.
Steve himself wasn't doing any better than you, his cock was threatening to break free from it's constraints. So he withdraws his fingers from you.
“No!” you whine, “Fuck, why would you— please—”
“It felt so good.” you complain and he coos against you, shushing you, pressing his erection into you to calm you down. “I know, baby,” he whispers, freeing himself finally. Hissing softly against you when the cool air and the warmth of the split of your pussy touches his cock at the same time.
“Fuck, I don't know if I can survive this,” He chuckles nervously, “haven't felt this in so long, might just die.”
His words and the noises he's making, makes you impossibly wetter. And more impatient, desperate.
You wanted this to last as long as possible but you also wanted and needed him to fuck you stupid until you couldn't form a single thought.
“Stevie— inside— please..” you can barely speak.
He pushes himself inside before he can brace himself, or give himself a little pep talk, just to take your ache away. He thrusts are shallow at first, he's too overwhelmed to fuck you in full force yet. His head falls to your chest and your arms cradle him down.
“I missed you,” he chokes against your chest, thrusts deeper now. “God, I missed you so much it hurt.”
When he pushes in further, the walls of your pussy clench and contract around him like you never want to let him go. He freezes momentarily, the feeling's too much. “Oh— shit, wait...” he holds himself up with his fists on each side of your head, clenched into the pillow.
You feel it too; the stretch, it's too much. The way your walls grip him like they refuse to forget him. Like your body wishes to carve him into yourself. But, it's worse for him, you can tell. Every thrust, every jerk of either of your hips feels like electricity jolting down his spine— awakening something in him that wasn't even asleep to begin with.
He brings one hand down to press into your stomach, as if to feel himself inside you. You gasp, it feels too good.
Your voice and any sound from you, makes it so much worse for him.
He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, “Too much. You’re too tight, I can’t– I can’t move yet or I’ll–” His voice breaks into a whimper. “Fuck, waited so long for this. Wanted this every night– woke up hard—” he pants each word and times it with each thrust. The stretch is exquisite torture for you both.
“Don't stop, please don't stop.”
A broken sound rips through him when you clench him harder, urging him to go deeper, faster. You feel every throb if his cock. Matter of fact you can practically feel his heartbeat as he fucks you deep, echoing where you're joined.
“Baby— Oh, you're squeezing me so hard— too hard.”
Tears sting your eyes with the physical and emotional intensity of it all.
Each thrust punches a new sound out of both of you, your broken whines and his low, wrecked groans. The bed creaks under the force of his newfound rhythm that threatens to ruin y'all. His arms wrap around you so tight it’s hard to breathe, like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin and tether your bodies together so you can never be apart again. Like he refuses to let this be good bye.
When his breathing gets faster and he brings one hand down to desperately rub at your clit, you know he's close already. And just the thought of that brings you closer as well.
“Can't hold it— need you to come for me baby, please, I can't hold it for long.” He whines against you, mouth latching onto your nipples helplessly. He knows it's your weakness, the one thing that'll speed up your climax.
His forehead presses against yours once again, as the end nears. His calloused finger increases the sweet torment against your pearl.
His eyes well up and he moves to press a faint kiss against your temple that breaks into a sob when you moan, “Steve, gonna—” you bury your head in his shoulder, biting down.
“I love you, I love you, I love—” you choke on your feelings as the orgasm washes over you. Ruining you and making you anew all at once. You writhe and roll your hips against his, pushing him over the edge as well.
“Fuck, baby, gonna come—”
“Can I fill you up, please— need to fill you—” he groans and it's the filthiest most wrecking sound you've ever heard.
You should say no. You're not on the pill, this is good bye, you probably won't even see him again. You should say no.
“Yes— fill me up, please, oh god—” is what you say, beg, instead.
His hips stutter and then with one last, deep thrust, come to a halt. He chokes on a cry before silencing himself against your lips in a mind numbing kiss.
He fills you up, to the brim with weak thrusts to preserve the moment even though he's raw. To keep his essence within you, like a damn parting gift.
For the next who knows how many minutes you stay that way, holding each other, crying openly.
When he's finally too tired to hold the stance, he pulls out and lays next to you, still holding you to his chest.
You don't know how long it took until you stopped crying. Until he stopped crying. Until he fell asleep against you, fingers still tight around your shoulders.
Even in his sleep, he cant seem to let you go. His love for you transcended state of consciousness, norms, dimensions.
Eventually when he does loosen his grip on you, you get up to go to the bathroom. That's when you finally get a chance to look around his new room and what you see nearly makes the floor beneath you slip.
Pictures. Yours, his with you, all around the wall. He still kept them. Even in a new house, a new life, even though you weren't here physically he still took you along with him every new step.
You wanted to cry. You wanted to wake him up and tell him how much you love him. That you wanna stay with him. But most of all, you wanted to leave. You wanted to get out of here, run away from everything once again.
So, as soon as dawn hits, you do. You leave. With a letter on his night stand and uncontrollable tears in your eyes, you leave once again and hate yourself for it. And you know, or rather hope he will too. You need him to hate you. To let you go, to forget you. Because you truly didn't, and probably will never have it in you to stay here.
reblogs and feedback greatly appreciated!
end notes: left this at a sadder, open ending for if or when i do have motivation to write more of this. Honestly, this one is truly for the avoidant girlies and also my way to cope with a breakup. MIGHT MAKE A PART TWO ONCE I'M DONE COMPLETING SOME REQUESTS?
locked inside my memory, and only you possess the key.
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
status: completed ♡
Authors note: This is a four chapter miniseries and I had to break the fanfic rules and give this a masterlist of its own cause it DESERVES it with the amount of effort I've put into this. This fic is like my baby and this is my way of nurturing it. I'll be adding the songs that's the most fitting for it along with the chapters.
total wc: 22.3k
synopsis: the one person who's mind matters the most, has turned desolate towards him.
warnings: slight season 5 spoilers, mentions of ptsd, hospital flashbacks, mentions of head injury, memory loss, yearning, pining!steve, touch!starved steve, love!starved steve, sunshine!reader, amnesia, implied stalking, a getaway, one room two beds trope, eventual smut and unprotected sex, more warnings in the chapters.
──────୨ৎ──────
(1) Shooting stars (of your mind) • You've got a beautiful brain, but it's disintegrating.
☆ Medicine by Daughter (the one that started this all)
(2) Constellations (of your mind) • Time cast its spell on you.
☆ Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac
(3) Mind over Matter • And when the seasons change, will you stand by me?
☆ Mind over Matter by Young the Giant
(4) Afterglow (and letting go) • only know you love her when you let her go. (and you let her go)
i had so many fav moments from this series but i was too busy crying to take ss of them 😭😭 i do remember my blurry vision taking a ss of this part specifically tho:
because i was listening to “bewitched” by laufey (COINCIDENTALLY) and the chorus came at the perfect time (literally while i was reading the “witchcraft” line) i cried even MORE. (so, @thatbabydeer , this is a song suggestion i have for you for this series <3) and also this one is so important to me:
recently i’ve broken up with my bf of a year (senior year of hs so it was really emotional and important to me, we’ve been friends for two years so it was like a friends to lovers thing), long story short, it didn’t work out, and slowly but surely (after talking to my close friends) i’ve realized how my standards have literally CRUMBLED bc of this person so reading this line from a comfort character just opened my eyes so much i genuinely had to stop reading and just cry bc i was mourning a relationship i thought was like this but it wasn’t. in conclusion, real life men suck, fictional men win again. thank you for writing this series ill remember it forever <33
oh my god jj i woke up to reading this and I'm so overwhelmed by happiness. you taking the time to write something so sweet and kind about my work means a lot to me. It genuinely made my day.
AND HOLY SHIT WE REALLY ARE IN SYNC. I, too am going through a fresh breakup right now and when I wrote this series we were still together but it was already crumbling and that's pretty much what inspired me to write this series. So your feedback feels sm more special and personal that way<333
I LOVE LAUFEY BTW and i will absolutely add it to my series playlist♡
౨ৎ summary: When period cramps leave you exhausted and stuck in bed, Steve makes it his personal mission to take care of you.
౨ৎ content: 666 words, fem!reader, boyfriend!steve, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of period cramps, little angsty (some tears)
౨ৎ note: i wrote this omw to my bsfs place in the car lolsies. so not proofread! and very short 😭 (ive failed you guys, i know) . also that PHOTO??? HELLO?! i feel my ovaries clenching despite me being on my period-
Steve Harrington has faced a lot of terrifying things in his life.
Demogorgons. Russians. The Upside Down.
But you, curled up in bed with a heating pad pressed to your stomach and a frown he hates seeing on your face? That's the thing that makes him move the fastest.
"Hey," he says gently, toeing off his sneakers the second he steps into your room. His voice drops automatically, like he's entered a sacred space. "Don't move."
You huff weakly. "I wasn't planning on it."
Your room is dim, curtains drawn, fairy lights glowing softly. You're wrapped up in your biggest hoodie, blankets bunched around you like a nest. Steve's heart does that stupid squeeze thing it always does when he sees you like this, small, tired, and trusting him to take care of you.
He sets the grocery bag down and immediately starts pulling things out.
Chocolate. Your favorite kind. Salty crackers. A bottle of water already cold.
Painkillers, heating pad, fuzzy socks he definitely stole from his own drawer because "they're basically unisex."
"I brought reinforcements," he announces, trying to sound upbeat, but his eyes keep flicking back to you. "Also, I may have bullied Mrs. Henderson at the store into telling me which chocolate helps cramps the most."
You smile despite yourself. "You didn't."
"I absolutely did. Told her my girl was in pain. She almost adopted me on the spot."
Steve moves to your bed, sitting carefully beside you. He reaches out and brushes your hair back from your face, thumb warm against your temple.
"Hey," he murmurs. "How bad is it, baby?"
You shrug. "Crampy. Tired. Kinda wanna sleep for twelve years."
His mouth softens immediately. "Yeah. Yeah, that tracks."
He slips under the covers with you, no hesitation, arms opening automatically. You melt into him the second he pulls you close, your face pressing into his chest. He's warm, always warm, and you sigh like your body's been waiting for this exact thing.
"There we go," he whispers, rubbing slow circles into your back. "Got you. I'm your personal heater, remember? What'd you call me last time? a human sized-"
"Teddy bear," You mumble, "my favorite." Steve chuckles, he hates that you're in so much pain but he has to admit, he finds it adorable how grumpy you get like this. He presses a kiss into your hair, "Anything you need, you tell me, okay? Snacks? Water? A distraction? Me glaring at your uterus like it personally offended me?"
You laugh softly, then groan. Steve freezes instantly.
"Too much?" he asks, panicked. "Did I make it worse? I can be quiet. You won't even know I'm here." You tilt your head up just enough to look at him. "Steve."
"Yeah?"
"Shut up and just... hold me."
His shoulders visibly relax. "Yes ma'am." He adjusts the blankets, tucks them around you, then pulls you closer so your legs tangle together. One of his hands rests on your stomach, warm and gentle, not pressing, just there.
"Poor baby," he murmurs, voice soft and full of concern.
You feel your eyes sting, hormones making everything heavier than it should be. "I hate it."
"I know you do," he says immediately. "I know. But I've got you. You don't have to do anything today.." He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your temple - slow, careful, like he's trying to soothe every ache away one kiss at a time.
Your breathing evens out as his thumb traces lazy patterns against your side. His chest rises and falls beneath you, solid and steady, and the warmth from him seeps into your bones.
"That okay?" he whispers when he feels your body go slack. "Me holding you like this?"
You hum sleepily. "Perfect."
Steve smiles, all soft and lovesick, and rests his chin on the top of your head.
"Good," he murmurs. "Sleep, sweetheart. I'll be right here when you wake up."
And just like that, both of you had the best 3hr nap of your lives.
Hii sarah, hope you're doing well! so I'm a new writer on here and I came across your blog It's amazing I love your writing style and I loved delicate so much. I was wondering if you could give me some tips as to how to work povs? Like how do you keep it in that “you” format but also put Steve's pov while making it seem third person I'm a bit confused 😅 (you can totally ignore this if you want pls don't feel obligated to tell me)
hi love! thank you so much for your kind words and I'd be more than happy to help you out, always ♡
Pov writing:
I haven't been on here for that long and English is not my first language and while I am fluent in it, advance grammar is somewhat of a weak point, still. So I just go with a format that seems it can be read coherently. And I think this one is also true for many other writers, we probably do it unintentionally.
The main thing that I do while swapping povs [for the character] is that when it's switched to a neutral, third person or reader's pov I simply use the name.
Like: “Steve looked at you with disdain.”
And when it's back to the character's pov, I just use the pronoun.
Like: “He felt like his world had been crushed at the hands of a mere sentence.”
(don't ask my why my examples are so dramatic they just are)
Again, I've never really looked up any fanfic format rules as such and have explored all sorts of povs. Initially when I used to write for ships on ao3, it was always third person so that is what i was used to. When I started writing on here, it's only been reader inserts so getting used to the second-person narration aka “You” format, was a learning experience for me. It helped that I'd read and written like a thousand fanfics.
Do keep in mind that this isn't a rulebook. Mostly with povs, it just depends on how you write the scene. The swap can be smooth and subtle or just like a jump, it all depends on the scene in action. As long as you write the appropriate emotions and dialogues from the character's or reader's pov, the pov change is understandable to most.
These are things you will most likely discover any ways as you begin your writing journey.
My best advice would be to always let your work be real and raw! Capture the essence and emotion of the story first, focus on the grammar last.
Writing on this platform is like a learning curve so don't ever treat yourself like a chatbot and try to chase perfection. To me, if literature seems too “perfect,” it's robotic not authentic. Polish and proofread always of course but don't let it lose it's authenticity. Every writer on here, even if they use the same narrative format, have their own unique style and that is what it's all really about.
Most importantly, always put yourself and your boundaries first while writing on here because people aren't always mindful or kind on here.
I hope I was at least a little bit helpful to you, happy writing ♡
Did you always ship byler?? You've posted a really cute byler fic but only one:( why don't you write more for byler?
OKAY RANT TIME! (unwanted and unfiltered cause im a yapper)
No, I did not always ship byler. I've never written for it before because I've mostly stayed out of ALL st shipping fandoms. I used to love shipping characters but i eventually grew out of it and into self inserts and writing and reading from a more personal pov I guess?
Plus I watched st purely for individual characters and the sci fi/supernatural plot
Initially i loved loved mileven and the potential it had but s4 kind of disappointed me. In season 4 with the painting and the van scene i saw the beautiful potential byler had and i always wished they would be done gracefully and the duffers would do them justice.
So in all honesty I would've been happy with either ships as long as they'd been done RIGHT and written well. I'm not happy with mileven's ending at all and neither am i happy with byler not happening because it absolutely WAS a queerbait for engagement and it's disgusting. Towards the end of the show I thought mike and el broke up off screen and I had quite a bit of hope for byler but, alas.
The major reason I don't write for byler Or any canon/non-canon ship is because reader insert fandom is so much more peaceful i feel and that's what my comfort zone is rn.
And watching the ship wars between bylers and milevens these last few months gave me second- hand ptsd from when i used to be part of this huge anime shipping fandom (still lowkey ship them I've just grown out of anime, and they're yet to be canon) and had to quite literally take a break for my mental health 😭
ALTHOUGH I'VE STARTED A NEW SHOW AND THE SHIPPING ANIMAL IN ME IS THREATENING TO BREAK FREE SEND HELP
Summary: The doom of the world ending has you thinking if you should be honest for once in your life. You might not survive, you might not live to see tomorrow, and you didn't want to regret anything... But he was still hung up on his ex... Yet, you feel the need to look for him before the battle... You weren't the only one with that idea.
Warnings: +18, enemies to lovers, idiots in love, smut, p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering, angst, lots of it, canon compliant, reader is with the party since season 3, reader knows archery, mentions of death, lots of cussing, and lots of fluff and crying
a/n: this was supposed to be posted before the finale, so the ending would be like, left open to imagination. Guess it still can. Thank you @andvys and @xxladymjxx for proofreading and @littlesubbyflower for helping me with wordings and stuff!
Please reblog if you liked it, just press the green button.
IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES
"God, can you both SHUT THE FUCK UP!?"
The room fell silent, the voices of the two male individuals disappearing instantly as you held your hand up, looking around, searching for the noise again.
"We are having a moment. Between friends? Know what that's like?" Your eye twitches as you slowly turn to face the older male, his stupid hair looking good as ever, even in this goddamn hellhole. Your eyes squint, looking at the curly-headed teen, who only looks down and away, afraid of your gaze.
"I gave you the moment a minute ago, before you almost plummeted to your death on that ladder. Right now? I am looking for the other two people who are fighting for their lives right now or are already dead. So, stop chattering, Harrington, and let me hear!"
He rolled his eyes your way, his hand still holding onto Dustin's shoulder, who looked at him worriedly. You didn't want to be abrupt, you really didn't, but the time was still ticking, and you were still trying to find your other two partners, who, you hoped, were alive and well, resting against a wall or something after that blast.
"Jonathan— Nancy— This is Dustin, do you copy?" You shook your head, your eyes following Steve for a second, to find him looking at you already. He quickly averted his gaze, looking at the walkie-talkie his best friend was holding, which was very much broken thanks to these two.
"Maybe we can look for another way up, see if there's another staircase, or maybe they already got out, and we are the ones who are doomed—"
"Oh my god, Steve, just shut up for a se—"
BANG. BANG. BANG.
You all turned your heads to the end of the hall, a door blocking the way towards another set of emergency stairs.
"It's coming from upstairs." Dustin finally talked, and you nodded, hope finding you once again. It sounded like someone was banging themselves against a wall. Your feet started moving first, but a hand stopped you from taking another step. You looked up, a glare being sent to hazel eyes, that only challenged you even more.
"I'll lead."
"My big hero." You spoke sarcastically, his head shaking slightly as he took the first steps towards the door. You watched his broad shoulders as he walked, determined to save Nancy Wheeler. A snort interrupted your thoughts, and you looked to your side, seeing Dustin with a smile on his face as he looked at you. "What's so funny, Henderson?"
"Mmm? Nothing. We should follow him before he slips on something melty and just makes a fool of himself—"
"I heard that!" Steve's head whipped around, a fed-up look on his features. Dustin fixed his backpack with a jump, following Steve. You sighed, securing your bow and arrows to your back, finally taking a step towards the damn door.
And Steve turned around a couple of times to make sure you were following.
You were all staring at Steve, arms crossed, as he finished with his new plan. Explained with a slinky toy. You were stunned into silence, just as many were in the station.
You frowned a bit, looking at everyone as they started agreeing, and the plan was good. Great even. But the only thing you could think about was Dustin's words, over and over again.
'Stop trying to kill yourself!'
Your eyes were lost, staring at nothing in particular as dread filled your every bone, every vein, every artery. Because what if… Just what if— Your name being called snapped you out of your thoughts, your head whipping towards the man who called out to you.
"You don't like something about my plan?" His gaze was almost stabbing you in the heart, and your jaw clenched, looking around to see everyone just staring at you. You took a deep breath in, looking back at him.
"Plan B?" You asked, and he frowned.
"Plan B? There's no plan B—"
"What if Plan A fails?" You retorted, and he straightened up, his posture becoming stern, strong, and you could feel the blood rushing to the vessels of your ear. The drum started to slowly bang as your body grew in temperature.
"Plan A is not going to fail. We can't let it fail." Hopper interrupted, and you scoffed, shaking your head.
"With all due respect, chief, you should know all about Plan B's, even Plan C's." Everyone in the room stood in silence for a moment; even Hopper was left speechless. You saw Murray getting up, out of the corner of your eye. You were already rolling your eyes, your arms crossing over your chest.
"Don't give me attitude, Missy. We will not need a Plan B. We will do it expertly, because we are apocalypse professionals." He said with a smile, and you just remained poker-faced, which made him gulp.
"Uncle Murray, you once had seven different types of plans. We cannot rely on just one. Not for this." Your uncle turned around to face Steve, and he opened his arms in surrender.
"You deal with her." And he sat back down. Dustin was looking back and forth, worriedly, and you wanted to tell him that it was going to be fine, but you didn't even know that yourself. Everyone braced themselves, but Robin was looking at Steve. His jaw was clenched, his hands were red from the heat his body was emanating as he looked at you with such… anger.
"Steve…" Robin whispered, trying to catch his attention, but Steve's only target was you. You who just stood there, challenging him, facing him, making him prove himself.
"You have any ideas?" He asked, and you tilted your head, still staring his way as if the rest of the people didn't exist.
"You came with the first plan. You are genius enough now to make another one." He chuckled humorlessly, giving you a nod.
"Right, so you are no genius, and you have no plan. So we stick to A." His voice was raising the more he stared at you, the more your gaze pierced his soul. Your fingertips started to twitch, sting, as if ants were crawling all over your hands.
"Let's say something falls from the truck while going into the gate—"
"Then someone has to jump out and get it back before they get shot—!" You scoffed, looking around as everyone listened.
"Oh, so someone will sacrifice themselves, is that it? That's Plan B!?"
"Sacrifice—!? No!" He responded, and your eyes were just fixed on him, and him only. The rest of the people did not exist. The coil in your stomach turned, and turned, and all it started doing was creating knots inside of you that just made your blood pressure just go insane.
"No? Every part of your plan can go wrong, and if any part of that plan does go wrong, someone has to take the lead and might wind up fucking dead!" He straightened up, his blood boiling as his eyes fell deep into yours, and the vein in his neck started popping out from the rage.
"No one is dying! And if anything, if something goes wrong with my plan, then I'll take responsibility—"
And that's where your heart screamed at you. That's where the ground just split open for you, and you knew that he meant it. You knew that he meant it, and it didn't hurt you any less. The sting was anything but little, because you don't want Steve to die. Not him. He can't do that to Dustin, to Robin… and even if he doesn't know it, he cannot do that to you.
Because your soul would not be able to bear it.
"So that's what this is about, huh!? Steve Harrington, saving the day once again! Going deep into trouble and danger just to prove to himself that he can lead everyone to safety!" You scoffed, your eyes burning, but you would never let anyone see you cry. No one ever did. Not even your own uncle, who was staring at you with pure worry shown in his eyebrows.
"Proving myself!? You literally just asked me if I had a Plan B, which I gave you one— and you're still not happy with that plan either!" He was yelling now, and you weren't noticing how Dustin was trying to call out to the two of you. Steve was deaf to it all, and so were you.
"Because it's a suicide mission! You talk big fat shit about Eddie, and how he shouldn't have played the hero, but fuck if you don't love playing it yourself every goddamn year." The tension was the thread of a spider web. Thin, fragile, and it moved with a single gust of wind.
"STOP!" You were suddenly pushed lightly, your eyes disconnecting from hazel ones as you stumbled backwards. You felt your throat being dry from the yelling, raspy, and you finally looked at the boy before you. Tears were rolling down his face, shaking his head. Your heart clenched at seeing his face, not wanting to see him cry any longer.
"Dustin…"
"Can you two please stop? Just for one day… For one…" You were breathing heavy, and you looked upwards, finding Robin escorting Steve out, and you didn't know what his face was because his back was already retreating, probably to his room.
"Sounds to me like Missy here is a little worried about Harrington." Your eyes snapped towards Hopper. You knew that he felt the same way Steve did, but you weren't going to let that happen either.
"Suicidal fuck." You muttered, turning around to head towards your room in the basement of the station. You had to move here because Murray played another character in this play, and you needed a place to stay. You closed the door, and as soon as it clicked and locked, your back hit against it, and your hands came to cover your eyes. Sobs ripped out of your throat as you tried to muffle them, sliding down so you could hug your knees and cry into them so no one could hear.
You were so scared. So fucking scared.
Three years was how long you had known Steve Harrington, two of those years you harbored an ever-growing crush on him, the third year the crush had turned into something deeper, you had fallen in love with him. You weren't really sure when it had happened, because there was a lack of civility between the two of you.
But his heart belonged to someone else.
July 4th, 1985.
"Uh, yes… this is my niece."
"You have a niece!?" Hopper and Joyce yelled out at the same time as another man with glasses looked clearly confused.
You stood there, chewing a bubble gum as you sat on the couch. Your eyes were squinted, inspecting these new people. You scrunched up your nose as you looked at the man with the mustache.
"Nice choice of shirt." He was dumbfounded, his glare turning to face Murray.
"Kick her out or send her to her room."
"Fat guy, I don't know who you are, and you do not command shit. Not even Murray tells me what to do." Hopper's mouth almost fell open, his eyes returning to look at you again. Your uncle cleared his throat, shaking his head.
"You are literally making fun of the chief of police of Hawkins." He tried, and you fake-smiled, still chewing your gum.
"Sorry… Your majesty." At that, Joyce straightened up, a hard gaze pointed at you.
"We need to speak to your uncle privately, so if you could please allow us to do that... alone." You frowned as your eyes fell on the handcuffs of the man with glasses, curiosity and probably a little bit of suspicion peeking out from the pores of your skin. Murray cleared his throat, making the adults turn their heads to face him.
"There's a problem… She is kind of… staying here… indefinitely."
"Why is that man handcuffed, and why did you bring him here?" You asked, but you were completely ignored as Hopper talked to Murray.
"She cannot stay. Are you an idiot? Involving her?"
"I don't have a choice. She would be homeless if I didn't let her stay, Hopper. I am a particularly evil man, but not as much as to extend that to my own family." He explained with a fake smile on his face, and Jim was growing more and more enraged each second.
"You two fake smile just the fucking same."
"And yet we are not related by blood. Amazing, right?" Murray finished explaining as he turned again to look at you. So he tried, one last time, "Would you kindly head to your room upstairs?"
"No."
Hours later, you found yourself escaping from Terminator himself in a carnival, and losing Alexei in the ordeal of it all. At first, you thought all of these people were crazy, making your uncle go insane as well… But you wouldn't be followed by a Russian madman for nothing. At least, that was your thought process.
Then, you entered Starcourt mall, your bow and arrows draped on your back, Hopper stepping on a bug that just moved on the ground, but thrown telepathically by the girl wearing a yellow shirt. Holy shit, they were for real. She was surrounded by other teens and two grown people wearing— Sailor suits?
You all approached them, and you winced as you looked at the girl's leg, completely ripped open. They hadn't noticed your presence yet, and they started talking to each other, getting everyone around as they spoke rapidly. Yikes, that guy was beaten up pretty bad. You couldn't take your eyes off him, looking at how he winced at the lights around him, but still paying attention to what they were saying.
Suddenly, your uncle was coming back, waving a map in his hand as he yelled for attention.
He pressed the map on the table, and started talking about… Russians?
"Wait, hang on, there is a Russian base right underneath our feet right now?" Finally, everyone shut up and looked your way. The beat-up guy finally talked,
"Who are you?" Your eyes found his, but your uncle interrupted.
"My niece."
"And you involved her in this?" You straightened up, your eye almost twitching at the verbal attack.
"I involved myself." You responded, and he scoffed, shaking his head.
"Gonna say your name or—?" You told him your name, and you put your hand on the map as you leaned forward to meet his gaze.
"And who are you? A movie star? Making the porn version of Popeye?" He opened his mouth, and the girl, who was wearing the same kind of clothes, scrunched her nose, shaking her head.
"God, no, not with Steve." He groaned loudly and was about to speak again, only for Hopper to interrupt him again.
"Are we making a plan or not? We are running out of time!"
Soon after, you were wrapping fireworks onto the ends of your arrows, throwing them right into a monster that was standing in the middle of the mall. Your mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. You were acting out of instinct, adrenaline of survival, and also keep these kids you never met in your life alive.
What did you get yourself into?
March 29th, 1986.
You were giving your bow some much-needed maintenance, your fingers professionally working over the string, making sure everything was strong and tight, yet flexible for when the time to use it presented itself.
Your eyes moved upwards to see Eddie and Dustin wrestling together, talking, and you chuckled, shaking your head. You heard crunching next to you, and you looked up to see Steve sitting down with a honing rod in his hand, his free one sticking out.
"I'll sharpen the knife for you."
"Helping me, Harrington? That's new." Even with the teasing, you got the knife out of your belt and handed it to him. A combat knife you bought from that ammunition place. He sighed in frustration, and he started sharpening it while taking glances at your bow.
"You're good at that." You nodded, feeling your chest burn a little at the closeness, at the calm conversation. You would bicker with him if it weren't for the fact that you all were about to go to certain death.
"I know." You both remained silent, and you didn't want to stop the conversation, not yet. "I learnt from my father."
"Murray's brother?" You chuckled, shaking your head.
"No. He was more of a friend. They were two idiot reporters who stuck their noses a little too much into the Russian business when they were young. They fled, got a new life, my father got me, and then he… died last year."
"I'm sorry… Your mom—"
"Dead too. Died giving birth to me." The bow didn't need anything else; you had retouched everything, but you didn't want to just sit there. Opening up was not something you were accustomed to doing. Your father had taught you many things, one of them is that sometimes it's better to keep quiet.
"Oh, shit… I'm sorry… I guess it now makes sense why you came to Murray…"
"Only family I got left." You stood up, giving a nod to him to follow you. He got up, leaving the knife and rod on the trunk of the fallen tree you two were sitting on. He followed you towards a standing tree, where you had put a big poster of targets to hit. Your arrows were in the case that was on your back, and he stood next to you, intrigued.
"So, your dad… he…" He didn't know how to continue the conversation, knowing the two of you would go at each other at any minute possible. You prepared your first arrow, looking towards the target that was far away from you, your eyes squinting.
"He taught me archery when I was a child. I then went to a school for Archery specifically, and I am exceptionally good in target and field archery." You could feel your ears ringing, the voice of your father with encouraging words in the very back of your mind. Your eyes burned, and you blinked the tears away, pulling onto the string of the bow with your arrow, squinting one eye only as you aimed. "But then he just had to stick his nose back where he shouldn't have."
And you shot, dead center.
"Shit." He was impressed, looking your way, and that's when you felt it. You have been feeling it for a while now. You had gotten to know Steve in these last few months, and even if most of the conversations the two of you had weren't entirely meaningful, they were enough to get to know him as the person he was before, and the person he is now.
You extended the bow to him, and he looked at it and then back at you as if you were crazy. He shook his head, and you rolled your eyes and pressed the bow into his chest. He grabbed onto it, completely confused as he stared at you.
"Give it a try, maybe you'll find a hidden talent." He scoffed, a smile on his lips, and you were proud you could make him happy and laugh, knowing you two don't exactly get along. You liked his smile… a lot.
"Okay… You have to guide me if I'm doing stuff right…" He got in position, his stomach turning as you handed him an arrow. He let a deep breath out, and he looked towards the target. He copied your movements as best as he could, aiming at the center, and you cringed a bit as you looked him up and down. He noticed, relaxing his position. "What?"
"Your posture, it's all wrong." You said as you got closer to him. Your right hand slid under the wrist of his hand that was holding the grip, and you pushed it up slightly into a better position. Your left hand covered his as you helped him pull back the string, your fingers gliding down his arm to adjust the height of his elbow. He gulped when your hand pushed against his stomach, signaling him to suck it in.
"Damn, I didn't know a lot of thought went into archery…" He mumbled, and you scoffed, nodding.
"The movies make it look easy, don't they?" You finally got closer to him, your face right below his chin, and your hand grazed the head of the bow as you helped him aim. His breath was hitting the top of your head, and you just felt chills running down your spine. You needed to get away. You needed to move away from him, but fuck you didn't want to. This was the closest you would ever be to his body.
You pulled away, and you saw how his hazel eyes followed you. They were slightly wide, and his breathing was a bit quicker than before, or were you imagining it? You looked to the side, seeing Nancy Wheeler looking at the two of you, and you realized you must have imagined it. You must have. There was no way. Never.
"Shoot." You suddenly said, and he shook his head as he came back to himself, and let go of the arrow. The two of you winced and then cringed as the arrow's tip embedded itself into a tree.
"Uh…"
"You had to hit the target, just anywhere. Not the tree."
"It was my first time!" He whined, making you giggle. His eyes looked up at the sound, a tug to the corner of his lips threatening to make an appearance.
"Go get my knife sharpened, I'll go get these arrows. I need to be equipped so I can protect those kids in the creel house." His jaw clenched, and he was about to return the bow to you, but as soon as you went to grab it, he pulled it back, "Hey!"
"Protect yourself too." You were left speechless as he handed the bow to you, walking away, back to sit next to Robin. You blinked a few times as your heart beat loudly in your throat. What was that? It didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You shouldn't feel anything at all.
He likes Nancy, not you. He loves Nancy, not you. His ex. She is safe, she isn't new, and she isn't as strong-headed as you. You knew you weren't the nicest sometimes, lacking touch and filter with your words, but you never meant any harm with them. Never.
And you knew you didn't have a chance at all, so why try? Why try when you perfectly heard how he talked to her about his dream? About the family he wants. The house he wants. You didn't need to hear him say it to know that he wanted all of that with her. Just her.
Your hand clenched onto the bow tightly as you walked towards to get the arrows from the tree and target.
But no matter how hard you look on the outside, you could not help how your heart turned in pain, and nausea decided to make its presence, making you close your eyes. This might be the last night alive, and yet, you couldn't do it. You didn't want to humiliate yourself, and the only thing that would come out of it would be regret.
So you'll close up. He didn't need to know how you felt about him.
No one needed to know.
November 3rd, 1987.
Your left foot was pressed on the dashboard of the WSQK van, as you leaned back and against the passenger's seat window.
Suddenly, the door opened and closed instantly, making you turn your head to look at the driver.
"So, our helper is not in the best mood."
"I wonder why that is." You mumbled, and Steve shrugged, his hand resting on the steering wheel. You were back to looking outside, arms crossed over your chest, and the walkie-talkie resting on your lap.
"Any news from Nance?" Your heart stung at the name, and you took a deep breath in, closing your eyes.
"Mom is in surgery, dad is already resting from it. She is with Mike and Jonathan." You responded, and he nodded, his eyes glancing over your frame a few times before he talked.
"Alright, well… I mean, should we go and make sure she is okay?"
"No, she would want us to keep going with the plan." You started to get irritated. It was so easy nowadays to do so, because everything that came out of his mouth was her name. Just her stupid fucking name.
"Well, but, like… We keep going with the plan, but the hospital is literally passing by. We can stop for a minute or two, bring her some flowers, and just—"
"Shut the fuck up."
Silence.
"What?" Your head turned sharply, looking at him dead in the eye. You could hold on for so long, but sometimes enough was enough. This was enough.
"Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, Nancy! All that comes out of your mouth is her name! She has a boyfriend, and yet there you are, trying to get her fucking attention, when, news flash, Harrington! She still doesn't want you!" Your voice was high; the threat of it cracking any time soon was there. Heavily there. Fuck, if you cry in front of him for the first time because of something like this, you'll kill yourself before Vecna gets to you.
"I am not looking for her to want me!" He replied with indignation, his hand nervously gripping the steering wheel tightly.
"Oh, just shut up! It's like you and Jonathan are in this dick-measuring contest with each other for her attention! God forbid something happen to her, you'd be following her around like a fucking lost puppy." You looked down at the walkie talkie, suddenly infuriated at the small toy. You didn't want to look at him because deep down, you knew it was because of your jealousy. You knew it was because of knowing that your name was never going to be the one he called out the most, as he does with Nancy.
"You know, it's not my fault you can't fully comprehend what caring for someone means."
"Excuse me?" Your head snapped to see him glaring at you, that stupid hair strand that always bounced over his forehead catching your attention for a second.
"I care for Nancy, who is my friend, MY FRIEND, and is going through a hard time!" You laughed humorlessly as you turned your body to face him.
"Caring for friends? Oh, wow, that's fucking rich, because if it were for that, why the fuck aren't we looking for Dustin, huh? You care so much about your friends, and LOOK! Your best friend has been MIA for goddamn hours, and the only thing you care about IS TO TAKE A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS TO NANCY WHEELER, WHO DOESN'T NEED YOU BECAUSE SHE IS WITH HER BOYFRIEND!"
You two stared at each other as you breathed heavily. He could see the fire in your eyes, the sting of venom at the tip of your tongue, and yet, everything was the truth. But you were far wrong. And he wanted to tell you how wrong you were for thinking that. How wrong you were for thinking that he still—
A honk distracted the two of you, making you jump to look at the front. The girl in the other car must be losing her patience, and Steve fixed his hair, turning the keys in the ignition.
"If you think I am not worried for Dustin—" He turned the keys again, and the van rumbled to try to start, "You are so fucking wrong. And about Nancy—! SHE IS JUST A FRIEND!" He yelled at you, and he turned the keys once again, and finally, the van roared back to life, making him sigh in relief. He opened his mouth to talk to you again, only for you to interrupt him.
"Holy shit…" He looked at you, but you were staring past his head, out the window. He turned to see Dustin, walking over with his bike, and he just looked… destroyed.
"Yeah, holy shit…"
You could hear everyone moving upstairs, preparing their weapons, getting ready, and all you wanted to do was crawl into a cave and just stay there. Stay there until everything was done. Until everything was over, and you could crawl out and just start anew. Leave. Forget everyone and everything.
But you didn't want to admit how much you would miss them. How much you would miss the banter you have with Lucas. How you laughed while smoking a cigarette with Hopper, because despite the first impressions, Hopper grew fond of you. You have been helping Eleven and him during her training, shooting arrows into the sky with pieces of pumpkins so she could aim her powers at them, testing her reflexes.
And now, you should be getting ready for the battle. You should be getting everything ready for the night, but all you could think about was— It's the end of the world, and you could probably die, so might as well just tell him. Might as well just get this off your chest and tell him that you love him.
Oh, god. No.
You were pacing in your room, feeling your heart about to burst from your chest because what if he laughs at you? But why would it matter? You might all die tonight, and it wouldn't— No, okay, you shouldn't think it like that. You should think positively… But if you all didn't die, then you would have humiliated yourself right now.
You were pressing your fingers against your forehead, tightly, as you moved from side to side of the room, debating what you should do. Make it known you don't hate him at all. Maybe you could tell him that, and just that. That you don't hate him, and not tell him that you love him. Right, you could… but why the fuck would it matter to him!? Why would he care!? He hated you, definitely, so just why—
The knocking of the door startled you, and you let the breath you were holding on out of your lungs. You gulped, waiting to see Lucas on the other side, or Hopper…
"Can we talk for a sec?" The presence of Steve Harrington at your door was something you weren't expecting today, and much less right now. Your ears started ringing, and you couldn't even talk back to him, so you nodded, moving to the side to let him in. You closed the door after him, and you turned to look at his back. He was still wearing that damn sweater that just made your entire self combust. Shit.
"What brings you here, Harrington?" Hope rose in your chest as he turned around, with a face you saw very few times before. Times you could count with the fingers of your right hand.
"I just… I… This might be the last day alive…" You took a deep breath in, trying to calm yourself down as you straightened up. Should you say it? Should you take the leap? Maybe you should. You should.
You were beginning to sweat as you started gathering up the courage to talk. The courage to change the whole view he had of yourself. To maybe look like a girl to him. Like an option. Like a chance.
"Steve…"
"If we survive this… Maybe we can start over? Try not to… bite each other's head off? Like we almost did… minutes ago?"
Your heart dropped slightly, because how could you tell him anything now? It was obvious he didn't see you like that. He wanted to be just friends, and that should be enough. It had to be enough… You wanted to laugh at yourself because you knew that after this conversation with you, he might go express his feelings to Nancy. That's fine… It was obvious.
But fuck, it still hurt.
"Hmm… Sounds like a plan…" You looked down at the floor, nodding, and you missed how nervous Steve looked. How his body rocked a bit on his feet as if deliberating something. You could feel your eyes burning, and you just needed to be left alone. You cleared your throat, looking up to meet his gaze again. "I should… try to get ready, and you should too… We have a few hours only to get ready…"
He licked his lips and nodded, looking around your room for a second, before he walked to the door once again, grabbing onto the handle.
"Alright… Don't get yourself killed out there." He mumbled, one last look being thrown your way. You could feel something between you, but that was just the love you felt for him playing tricks on you, wasn't it?
"That should be my line, Harrington." He sighed, giving you one last nod before walking out and closing the door behind him.
You stood there, heart hammering in your chest, with a ringing in your ears that would not stop, no matter what. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to break stuff, and you just felt like your entire body was engulfed with flames and with ice-cold water at the same time. Everything stung, everything hurt, everything was uncomfortable.
Why were you so scared? Why? You should be brave, like you've always been, and yet with him, you are the weakest you've ever been. And he doesn't know. Fuck, he doesn't know. Your hand reached out to the handle, and then you pulled it back once more.
You shouldn't go after him. He might be going to Nancy now, or Robin. You should let him have his moment with the others and not bother him, but you just want to tell him. You needed to tell him because you felt like you were about to explode inside this room. Your breathing was heavy, and it almost felt like a panic attack was about to occur.
Your hand was over the handle, fingers trembling, and your throat felt dry from how nervous you felt. From how anxious and nerve-wracking everything was. Last day alive… It might be your last day alive. Shit, you cannot die without telling him, you simply cannot, and if something happened to him— No, no!
Finally, you pulled the door open with strength, ready to bolt out, only to find Steve breathing heavily, his fist up as if ready to knock on your door again.
You two stared at one another, quick breaths, with frowns on your eyebrows as if you were pained with words you never said outloud. With stuff you regret not doing weeks ago, months ago, years ago. Things that could have changed everything, and made these possible last moments more enjoyable, but now, you were running out of time.
And the first to clash was him. His hands quickly held onto your face, his lips lunging to take yours in a fierce kiss, and you didn't have time to even think of what was happening or why it was happening. You just knew you had to kiss back, and let the moment take you as he pushed you inside your room, slamming the door closed with his foot. You reached behind him, your lips still moving against his, and you clicked the lock.
There was no time. You had so much, and now that you only had hours, you decided to finally do something about it. You should have done something sooner, anything, show a little more emotion or feelings towards him. But talking now would just waste time, and maybe if there's an extra hour after this, you might just say something.
But now…
You pulled away, his hot breath hitting your lips, and your hands instantly grabbed onto the hem of his sweater and shirt, trying to pull it upwards. He got the memo, helping you rip his upper clothes off in just one instant. His hands then went to the belt of your pants as you took your long sleeved shirt off.
His mouth found your neck as he pulled the belt off your pants, and you took a sharp breath in, your hands grabbing at his naked shoulders. Shoulders you have wanted to hug, scratch, bite on, for a year or more. You didn't even know when your feelings started, nor when they grew, nor when your eyes started seeing him differently… But maybe you have always looked at him like that.
You groaned when he sucked on your skin, the buttons of your pants being opened, the zipper moving down rapidly. He turned the two of you around, pressing your back against the door as his fingers moved to the edge of your underwear, moving past the elastic.
"Steve—" Your voice was caught in your throat as you felt his fingers circle your clit, your hips moving into him as he sucked into your skin. He moaned your name, repeatedly so, and you just wanted to cry. He was calling out to you, not someone else. Not her. You.
You gasped as his ring and middle fingers picked up a pace against you, your wetness becoming apparent at each stroke. His mouth unlatched from your neck, to then take your lips into a deep kiss once more, his tongue searching for yours instantly. Your hands ran into his hair, gripping him to pull you even closer, which was impossible by now. He groaned, pulling away for just a second.
"Fuck…" And you haven't heard such a noise before. He sounded amazing, better than any of the dreams you had of him. His fingers moved to rub onto your folds, getting them wet with your slick. You felt a little embarrassed by how quickly you got worked up, but he didn't say anything. He just kissed your lips once before he slowly pushed his fingers inside of you.
You threw your head back, legs spreading a little more so he could have a better angle. He was with his mouth open, feeling his body sweating as he inspected your neck, then your collarbone. That specific mark you got on your skin trying to save him from a demobat last year. You lunged yourself against it, ripping it from his body, only for it to turn its head and bite you.
Then the year after, you stayed at the Creel house and smashed your bow against Jason while he tried to kick you away. He pushed you down the stairs, leaving you almost unconscious, but even then, you walked back upstairs to help Lucas.
You didn't hesitate to save his life, not even for a second. You didn't hesitate to risk your life two years in a row to save the kids. To be by their side. To not complain. He didn't have any doubts that you would be their saviour again if it came to it, and he couldn't… he couldn't look away anymore.
His eyes moved downwards to your breasts, still being held by your bra. He could feel your heat around his fingers as he thrusted in and out of you, and you were trying to hold your moans in, afraid someone would listen. His mouth found the top of your left breast, sucking a mark onto your skin.
You could hear the squelching, how good he was making you feel, how he was marking you without restraint. He was marking you where people could see it. Where people could see what he did to you.
His fingers curled, and your eyes widened, your left leg lifting a bit to open your folds even more for him. His arm moved as he pushed in and out of you. You should not be doing this. You should be getting ready for a final battle. For a final chance of survival, and yet… You couldn't stop it even if you wanted to.
Your jeans started to feel constricting, and you just wanted him to have more access, to give you more, but fuck was it feeling good. His free hand moved to push the right cup of your bra down, revealing your nipple to him. His mouth latched instantly, sucking on it, tugging, making you gasp and jerk at the sensation. His tongue danced around it, wanting to taste you to memory.
Your sighs, your moans, your movements, and the way you felt around his fingers. He was so stupid, he had been so fucking stupid. He should've listened. Should've trusted the words Robin gave him. But you were so scary to him, and not because of how you were. You could be strong but—
You pushed him off, startling him, making his fingers come out of you. Your eyes were locked with his as the two of you breathed heavily. Your mind was racing, yet your body moved on its own, thanks to your emotions, to your wants, to your desires, and to how impatient you had become. Your fingers found his belt, undoing it and slipping it away.
There were no words exchanged, just the two of you looking at one another while you started unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his zipper. His hands moved to grab onto you, but before he could do anything, you dropped to your knees, making his eyes widen in surprise. Your hands moved quickly, pulling his pants and boxers down.
His cock sprang free, your eyes widening slightly at the size of it, and it was so hard. Well, Robin was right about that. If she was talking about Steve's car, or his dick, both of them were correct. You licked your lips, and you raised your hand, holding your palm out. He caught on, gulping as he leaned down to let a blob of his spit fall on it. He could feel his shaft twitch at the sight of your hand coming to grip him.
"Fuck…" He groaned, pressing his hand against the door while looking down at your head. Your eyes were glued to the tip, finally letting yourself taste him, a sharp lick delivered to the slit. He jerked into you, the head smashing against your lips. He winced with embarrassment, "Sorry… I just— It's— It's been a while…"
"It's okay, Steve…" You reassured him as you gazed up at him, and he let out a sigh of relief, nodding at you. You looked back down and began your movements with your hand, slow, back and forth against him. He closed his eyes, throwing his head back as he held his groans back.
You were getting wetter at each sound he made, at each new little movement, jerk, and the new scents you never thought you would have in your lungs. Being this close to him, being here at all, was something you never expected. Never thought it would happen.
Your tongue lolled out again, this time giving him a pointed lick all over the head. He held back his hips, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he looked back down at the top of your head. Finally, you engulfed him, slowly, and he shook on top of you, feeling as if his knees were about to break or give up on him.
"Christ…" He cursed under his breath, the hand on the door clenching into a fist as your head started moving back and forth, slowly, hollowing your cheeks as you helped yourself with your right hand. You synced the movements, and he felt as if he was about to die. It had been a while… a long one. But not because of sex. It's been a while since being with someone who meant something.
And it was almost making him cry.
His cock twitched in your mouth as you moved faster, your left hand gripping his thigh to hold yourself up because you thought you were going to pass out, or worse, wake up from this dream. It was too good to miss. Life really hated you if this were a dream, and it made you wake up in the best moment.
But his moans sounded real, his taste was real, and the feel of him in your tongue was real. But why you? Why? You wished you wouldn't doubt it now, you wished you wouldn't question it, but your brain wasn't fully shutting down.
His free hand came to grip your head, fingers digging into your scalp. You nodded against him, moaning into his cock, signaling him that it was okay. So he started moving you, making you bob your head against him, and you were taking him so well. Not fully, but you were amazing. You looked so perfect.
He didn't measure his strength, and he pushed your head a little too far into him. A surprise gag escaped you, making him jerk away in a panic. You coughed, looking up at him with tears forming in your waterline due to the pressure.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" You shook your head, standing up from the ground, and your knees were stabbing you. Kneeling on a concrete floor was not the best idea, but you were past rationality at this point, weren't you?
Your hands went to your back, your eyes not leaving his, not for a second, and for the first time, you felt some words were never said. Things you've never thought of seeing before. Things you thought were directed towards someone else but you. Desire. Want. Need. And you knew they were these because you expressed those exact emotions right now.
He took off his sneakers as you unclasped your bra, and once he got out of them, he started stepping away and out of his pants and boxers. You followed his small steps as you let the bra fall to the ground, and then he sat down on the bed, his hand running on the side of your hip.
Your body shivered as you stared down at him, his hands grabbing onto your pants and underwear as you stepped out and kicked your shoes away. He pulled them down to finally reveal you in front of him, completely.
You should feel embarrassed, scared, or ashamed of this. He was seeing you naked for the very first time, and he was naked right in front of you, and yet all you could feel was desperation. All you could feel was this intense need to have him, to show him, to tell him everything he needed to know about you. Every single damn thing you were such a coward to say.
"You are… so beautiful…" You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment, licking your lips as you moved to straddle him, his hands coming to grab at your waist, while yours went to his neck. You pressed yourself against him, rubbing and coating his shaft with your slick. He moaned softly, his eyes closing for a second.
"You aren't so bad yourself, Steve…" And if it were because he just wanted one last night with someone, have sex one last time before everything ended, you would take it. You would be happy with just anything right now. He chuckled, shaking his head, and you tilted your head with a frown.
"I am bad… I am an absolute fucking idiot…"
"Not new…" You positioned yourself and felt his tip at your entrance. He hissed at the touch, and finally, you started to slowly sink down on him, letting him fill you up, making you full of him. You threw your head back at the stretch, your mouth opening in a wide 'o' shape with no sounds coming out. He choked, clenching his eyes as his hands grabbed at your waist in a bruising grip.
Once you were finally skin on skin with him, you let your breath out. Fuck. Fuck, you felt him in your throat even. You were breathing heavily, and slowly, you faced him again. His eyes opened to clash with yours, and it almost looked like he was about to cry.
"I shouldn't have waited this long. I shouldn't have waited for the end of the world to do this." That threw you off guard, completely knocking every single puzzle piece you put together away. He destroyed it. Everything you told yourself you saw, believed in, and heard was completely shattered by the few words Steve Harrington just said.
"What…?" You gasped as he made you start moving, guiding you upwards, then back down, slowly. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, feeling the drag of him inside of you. He didn't reply; he just took your lips into a deep kiss while you followed his guidance. The room grew in temperature, and the more you moved, the more control you started to lose.
Your hands cradled his face, sweaty and with bruises on the skin, as you rode him. You kissed him with fervor, with passion, and your chest rubbed against him at each movement. His arms wrapped around your frame, holding you tightly, scared that you would run away. He didn't know that you would never do that. That you would never consider running from him.
He pulled away from the kiss, panting as he saw your eyes closing from pleasure. He went to your neck, and your fingers ran into his scalp, holding onto it like a landline. He bit into your skin as he moaned at a particular drag you did, which made his legs shake from the pleasure. He was so sweaty, and so were you. Even in the cold room, you were still sticking to each other, his hair sticking to his sides, to his forehead.
You were burning up, your legs doing their best to keep up, moving up and down on him, trying not to moan, at least not that loud, because even if you two were in the basement, people might still be coming down to get stuff, but shit, you were feeling so good. It felt like nothing you've ever felt before. You couldn't really compare it to anything. It wasn't just the physical pleasure; it was the emotion of finally having him, of finally embracing him the way you've always wanted to.
His lips separated from your skin, and his eyes connected with yours, his face close enough that you could feel the jagged breaths on your skin. You kept the gaze as you moved on him, and it felt as if the world had actually ended all around you, but you two managed to survive. It felt as if you two were alone in the galaxy, in this bubble, in this little room.
His lips were puffy from the kissing, and his neck was red from the pleasure and how much he was holding his sounds back. He could feel your flutter the more you looked at him, and his arms pulled you even closer if possible, your forehead hitting his as you breathed heavily against him.
"It feels good— Steve…" Your eyes closed as you talked, and your moans started coming out a little louder, but he didn't care if anyone heard. Not right now. He nodded against you, and you started rolling your hips against him, making the tip of his cock hit that spongy spot of yours in a way that made you see stars. Your mouth opened, and your hands slammed against his shoulders as you threw your head back.
Shit. Your hips were dancing against him, and his eyes never left your breasts as you moved, and he let out a small whimper as he felt his cock twitch inside of you. His fingers dug into your back as he held onto you, and shit, he should have done this way sooner.
The coil in your belly started tightening, and your walls fluttered around him over and over, signaling him that you were close. He was too, embarrasingly so, but with everything going on, he didn't even have time to relieve himself, and he could have gone on dates, but— But he couldn't.
He held you down so you would stop moving, and you gasped as you sat on him and he moved his hips against you, making you choke as you felt him way too deep. He growled at the feeling, and then he held you close, laying you down on your bed, never once separating or breaking the embrace. Once he was positioned between your legs, he let go of you so he could press his hands on each side of your head, his eyes trying to find yours.
He whispered your name, one of his hands carressing the side of your face, and you trembled as you looked at him. You could feel how nervous he was, and you wondered why. You wondered what got him so worked up, but before you could speak, before you could ask, he started moving his hips. He began thrusting slowly, and his hands clenched in fists against your pillow, trying to hold himself back.
But you didn't want him to do that. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you moved your hips against him to urge him to go faster. He growled, and he started setting a quick pace, and he winced when he heard the slapping of skin, knowing people might indeed hear that.
"Steve, Steve, Steve…" He was panting as he listened to you, and he moaned, dipping his face into your neck, planting kisses on your skin as he worshiped you.
"God… You're so perfect, so fucking perfect…" He babbled, and you felt your tummy sinking in, turning as you felt your climax building up. He felt it, and he whispered into your neck. "Are you close?"
"Yes— Mhm…" Your eyes clenched as you tried to keep your voice low, but all you could feel was your body setting itself on fire. Whether he was talking out of pleasure or fogginess, it didn't matter. His words settled in the very deep corner of your brain, and you knew you would never let them go. No matter the outcome of this.
"Me too— Baby, me too…" You felt like crying at the petname. So small, yet meant so much to you. Like you were something precious to him. Like you were special. He started breathing heavy, growling against your neck as he got closer, and you could barely hold on as your body started trembling.
His right hand desperately looked for your left one on his shoulder, and he grabbed it tightly, pressing it against the pillow, intertwining your fingers together. You wanted to cry at the action, of how intimate it was, and fuck—
"Fuck, fuck— Steve, I'm— I—" You wanted to say those words, you needed to say them. Tell him just how important he was to you, to everyone, to the world itself. This milky way would not be the same if Steve Harrington weren't in it, and you should tell him that.
But your eyes widened as his pace became rougher, and deeper, and your G-spot decided to finally make you explode. Your back arched against him, your hand gripping his tightly, and you clenched around his cock, trying to suck him in. Your body trembled violently, and your eyes were wide as you let out a pitched moan that you could not have been able to hold in no matter what.
"Oh god, christ— Too tight, you're—" He whimped your name as he faltered on his thrusts, and he shook over you. You were gripping him violently, and he couldn't hold on anymore. He held himself back, helping you ride your orgasm out. He choked on his saliva, and finally, he had enough. He pulled out from you, and he used his left hand to grip himself in between your bodies to pump a few times, and finally, he came all over your stomach.
He jerked at each spurt, thick and warm. You were still spasming underneath him with the aftershock of your climax, and you were still in another galaxy. He was breathing heavily, and he desperately needed water. He gulped, looking down at you, his hair all over his face, some sticking thanks to the sweat.
Your eyes were closed, trying to regain your breath from what just happened. Trying to let your consciousness kick in once again and face him. He whispered your name, and you slowly opened your eyes to see him gazing down at you. He leaned down, taking your lips into a soft kiss, so soft that it made your mind crumble, and your heart couldn't take it anymore.
Steve pulled away when he heard a sob from you.
He was shocked when he looked at your face, seeing tears running down the side of it, contorting to try to hold sobs in, but failing. You gasped each time, sniffled and trembled as you looked at him, and god, you never looked so… beautiful.
"Why are you crying—"
"You. You." You couldn't say anything else. You just couldn't. Your tears weren't stopping, and you felt like your body was giving out on you. He frowned in confusion, shaking his head.
"Me?"
"Please, don't— Don't die— I won't be able to handle it, I know I won't, please—" Another sob ripped from your lips, and Steve stayed still as he looked at you. You knew you were humiliating yourself now, but you couldn't help it. He needed to know, and he needed to know all of it.
But when you opened your eyes to keep talking, you were surprised to see him tearing up, and one of those tears fell on your cheek. Your sobs stopped, and a frown came to etch itself in your eyebrows. He gulped heavily, shaking his head.
"I don't want you to die either…" Despite feeling happiness from his words, you couldn't help feeling a little confused. You sniffled, bottom lip trembling as you looked at him.
"I don't…" You didn't know how to tackle the conversation after what happened, and your thoughts were all over the place, so maybe you should retrace it back to the words that shocked you, confused you, and made your heart skip a beat. "What did you mean when you said you should have done this sooner…?"
He stayed quiet for a second, his jaw clenching as he looked away for just a moment, before his eyes locked back on yours.
"Exactly that… That I shouldn't have waited till the end of the world to do this…"
"Sleep… with someone?" He huffed, shaking his head.
"Not just someone… You."
And you were left speechless. You? Just you? Why? He never showed any indication of wanting to be with you, or he never said anything regarding it, or regarding you. Did you miss any signs? Did you overlook the details? Was he messing with you now?
"Me? I'm— What about Nancy?" He frowned at your question, tilting his head.
"Nancy? She's my friend… I said that a million times, I believe…" Now he was bullshitting you. If you weren't so tired from what just happened, you would have pushed him off.
"A friend, my ass. You are always trying to show off to her. Always." His eyebrows raised in surprise, and he shook his head.
"What— Like when?"
"The antenna? You racing Jonathan to prove you're better or some shit?" And at your words he couldn't help but laugh. He looked away as he tried to hold the chuckles in, which only infuriated you a little bit more. "Did I say something funny, Harrington?"
"No, no, it's just… I wasn't trying to impress Nancy." You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to talk again, only for him to interrupt. "I believe three girls were waiting for the antenna to be fixed. Jonathan might have thought I wanted to show off to Nancy… but… no, not her."
"Robin?" And he remained silent as he looked down at you. Your heart stopped beating, and your fingertips felt cold yet hot, and your stomach turned wildly with nerves, because— Was this real?
"It… It doesn't make sense…" You whispered, and he frowned, his hand letting go of yours so he could rub your cheek, wiping a tear of yours away.
"Why not?"
"The RV… You told… You told Nancy how you dreamed of a picket fence, a house, and to have six nuggets… I heard it, I heard when you said that to her…" You confessed, your lip trembling, and he looked like he had been punched in the face.
"I did say that… But it doesn't mean I…" He stopped talking for a second as he gathered his thoughts. You were breathing heavily as you waited for him to continue, feeling as if you were about to cry again. He took a deep breath and looked back at you. "I talked to her after that… When we went to the Upside Down and to the Creel house to get Vecna…"
"And she… said yes?" You didn't want to hear it. You didn't want to hear how she accepted his proposal to build a house together, or how she was going to leave Jonathan for Steve, you just— You didn't want to be messed with any longer. He shook his head again and continued talking.
"She had to know that even if I confessed that to her… That even if I said those things to her while I thought all of you were sleeping… It didn't mean…" He choked on his words for a second, his jaw clenching to gather strength for the following words, "It didn't mean I pictured her in that dream."
You felt air coming into your lungs again, your body stilling, freezing underneath his. Could it be? Could it really be?
"Did you picture… someone else? A random girl?" Your voice was small, and he was still looking down at you, his eyes never leaving yours, wanting to convey every single word of his.
"You. I pictured you."
You let a shudder escape you because you never thought his eyes were looking at you. That his body moved towards you. That you were part of his dream. That he wanted you in his future, in his vision.
And those words finally came out.
"I love you. I love you. I love you. You have—" A sob, a tremble, and more tears coming out from your eyes. "No idea how much— I said so many mean things to you, but all of that was bullshit—"
"Bullshit…" He whispered, and you didn't know what that word did to him, or what it meant to him. You nodded, sniffling loudly.
"But that I'm in love with you… That's not bullshit… It never was, never will be—" And before he could cry, he slammed his lips against yours, because that was the most beautiful and healing thing someone said to him. He poured every emotion into the kiss, your sobs going into his mouth as you wrapped your arms around him, and he embraced you with his. His chest pressed against yours, not caring for the mess that was in between.
He pulled away just slightly, his lips moving against yours as he spoke.
"I love you. I love you, you hard-headed moron." He insulted you, and you couldn't help the wet giggle that escaped you. He pecked your lips softly, and you couldn't really believe this was happening, never really thinking anyone would want you like this. To see you as a woman, and to want you as a partner for life. You really didn't know why you thought that way, but you did. Maybe because you knew you were way too sarcastic or too straightforward… but even you deserved love, didn't you?
"Six nuggets?" He pulled away, tilting his head. "A little too much, don't you think?"
"Four?"
"Three." You whispered, and he hummed a bit, nodding.
"Maybe we can talk about it after we destroy this evil wizard and stop two worlds from colliding with one another… how about that?"
You felt tears building up in your eyes again, and you nodded slowly.
"Promise?" His forehead pressed against yours, and you finally closed your eyes and sighed with a sense of peace.
"Promise."
end
a/n: idk man, steve in that stupid sweater can choke me
