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ivyveil · 8 months ago

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body to flame, pt ii (18+)

summary: steve gets an hour of (un)limited access to you after your previous arrangement.

word count: ~5.3k

contains: bitchy!steve and bitchy!reader … and they were coworkers :0; steve is a softie despite it all; reader with a vagina and breasts; no gendered language used for reader; lingerie; kissing 😳; oral (reader receiving); fingering; piv; pet names (honey, angel, sweetheart); multiple orgasms + overstimulation!

author’s note: you can read part one here!

You’re bent over painting your toenails. Your goddamn toenails. So your coworker can have his way with you for 60 minutes just because he knows how to use his fingers, or whatever.

It’s hard to maneuver the phone between your shoulder and ear with your polish brush in one hand and your foot in the other. Steve’s blabbing about something and you’re trying so hard not to let his tone affect you, even though you’re already dressed up in the nicest lingerie you own.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says, which stills you temporarily.

“Deal’s a deal,” you sigh, grimacing as a bit of black polish gets on your cuticle.

“Yeah, you sound really devastated.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” he continues, doing that fake innocence schtick. “An hour’s a pretty long time, y’know. And it’s the Harrington Torture Chamber, after all.”

Your face heats and you can’t quite concentrate on painting anymore. “Oooh, and what’s that entail, again?”

“See? You’re already trying to get off and our date’s in three hours.”

You scoff. “First of all, I don’t get off on torture. And second, it’s not a date.”

“What would you call it?”

“A contractual arrangement.”

Steve sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Ouch. So that’s what you think of me as, huh?”

“You’re my coworker, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

You have to return the nail polish brush to its container, getting a bit overheated. “What now? Gonna see how long it takes for me to fall for you?”

“Uh, no. You already have.”

You scoff again, pulling yourself out of your little Harrington stupor. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I know you’re upset I didn’t fuck you at work,” he drawls on, “but I didn’t want to get interrupted. You know? Gotta take my time with you. I’m thinking we go for an hour and two minutes since that’s what I had left over.”

“The deal was for one hour.”

“Yeah, but what’s two more minutes? …Huh. I guess that is a long time for you.”

Steve is just as much arousing as he is annoying. “Eighteen minutes is not nearly as impressive as you think.”

“Oh, really?” he says. “Let’s try some math out, huh? What’s sixty minutes divided by eighteen?”

“I don’t know, a little over three?”

He speaks to you like you’re a dog. “Good girl! That’s right. Three point three three three three three… why don’t we round it up to an even three point five?”

“You’re big on rounding up, huh?”

“And didn’t you cum twice? Am I remembering that correctly?”

Your heart hammers under your bralette. “Yeah?”

“Okay, then let’s say that three-point-five times two is seven. So that means, with my track record, I can make you cum seven times tonight.” His voice gets a little lower. “And believe me, it’s my intention.”

You’re a little gobsmacked. “You’re out of your goddamn mind, Steve. Since when did you get so good at math, anyway?”

“It’s not really math, it’s like… sex numbers.”

“Very hot, Steve, keep talking like that,” you deadpan.

“Weren’t you just cumming twice on my hand on a dirty couch in the break room of the Hawkins Family Video for the chance of a few hundred dollars? Or… was that someone else?”

You swallow. “I’ll see you at nine, Steve.”

“Nine. Three hours. One hundred and eighty minutes. Ten thousand and eight hundred seconds.” He gasps. “Oh, ten thousand, seven hundred ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven….”

“Goodbye, Steve.”

“… ninety-four, ninety-thr—“

You hang up on him. Three hours seems a bit too long to wait, though he will never know you think that.

You knock. Three, quick rasps, your heart beating quick under your ribcage. You’re about to adjust your skirt again but the door swings open with such ferocity it makes you gasp.

“Hi,” Steve says, beaming brightly. You can smell the sandalwood and pepper on his skin and he looks so good that you feel your cheeks heating.

“Eager much?” you force out, feeling awkward while he just stares at you, unwavering, perhaps as if he’s trying to use x-ray vision to see under your clothes.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you inside quickly. You nearly stumble in your heels, ones you’ve only worn once before. You’re realizing now how bad of an idea it was, but it doesn’t quite matter as Steve kneels to take them off for you.

Steve on his knees is a much more comfortable dynamic for you.

“Wow,” you laugh, lifting your foot slightly so Steve can slip your shoe off, “what a gentleman.”

“I’m not wasting any time here,” he says, a big, warm hand on the back of your calf as he helps you lift your other foot. “Should’ve just came naked so we could get to it.”

“Those weren’t in the instruc—!”

Your breath catches in your throat as Steve’s hands travel higher, up the backs of your legs, fingers tickling your thighs. They rest at the edge of your lacey underwear, and your brain suddenly isn’t working anymore.

“—tions.”

“Lace? All for me?” he grins smugly.

You nod slowly. You can’t really beat the “I got dressed up to get boned by Steve Harrington” allegations.

“And here I thought you didn’t like me.” He stands, crowds you against the front door. “Could smell your pussy, by the way. Must have been a long ride here, huh?”

“Rob - Robin?” you ask, mouth dry.

Steve’s doe eyes look gently into yours. “She’s giving us some privacy.”

You can hardly breathe. “What a good friend.”

Steve licks his lips, leans in a little closer. “Uh-huh. The best.”

“You have fifty-five minutes left,” you breathe.

His thick brows twitch together. “No no no. We haven’t even started yet.”

You scoff and he rolls his eyes at you, breaking away, giving you some much needed room. It’s sort of incredible how hot he makes you. It’s akin to how adoringly irritating you find him.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to follow him, and you make your way to his bedroom. It’s much cleaner than you anticipated - pristine, in fact, and it smells like his laundry. All clean and floral with the undertone of spiced cologne. He even set up candles, really enhanced the atmosphere.

“Plaid,” you point out, gesturing to his bed.

“What? Not good enough for you to get plowed on?”

“Plowed?”

“Bad choice of words.” He turns to you, hands on his hips. “Let me tell you precisely what I’m planning on, okay? And you tell me if something doesn’t sound good.”

“Okay?”

Steve licks his lips, then sits on the edge of his bed. He beckons you to him again, patting his thigh, and you gingerly step forward, sliding into his lap just as you were a few days ago. His hands find the swell of your ass and he keeps them firmly planted there. “First fifteen minutes I’ll spend taking off your clothes and letting you get comfortable.” He pulls you forward, your cunt catching on his jeans, making your breath hitch. “Then I think I’ll spend the next twenty getting to know this greedy pussy a bit better.”

“It’s not greedy.”

“Whatever you say. I know I’ve gotta spend some time stretching you out - so damn tight on my fingers. Then the next twenty-five - twenty-seven, if you’ll have me - I’ll see if my cock really can fit in you.”

You swallow harshly, entirely too hot and entirely too seen.

Steve quirks a brow. “How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” you say softly, your fingers instinctually playing with the hair curled at the back of Steve’s head. “And - exactly how many times are you going to cum?”

Now he’s blushing. “I’m not - not really worried about that.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh—? You don’t want to cum?”

You’re flipped suddenly onto your back, landing with a loud oof!. Steve rolls on top of you, caging you in with his forearms. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Do you think that would make this any weirder?”

“Yes or no, sweetheart. Didn’t ask for lip.”

“Well, you sort of d—“

He doesn’t kiss you. His lips find your jawline and the feeling - the closeness - shuts you up. You gasp softly and reach for his shirt, tangling your fingers in the soft cotton of his polo. You’re overwhelmed with the scent of him and the fresh sheets below you at first, and then overwhelmed with the ticklish pleasure of his lips finding your neck.

“So, you dressed up for me?” he mumbles against your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you like me or somethin’?” Steve cuts you off when his lips plant against your skin, sucking sweetly. You sigh in response. “Yeah, figured.” He moves a hand to the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting against your hot skin. “Can I see what’s underneath?”

You nod and he pulls away, pupils blown wide. He looks a little pathetic, in a cute way. Cheeks flushed, hair messy, chest heaving.

“Getting this excited over a pair of tits?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “C’mon, help me out.”

You sit up with him, watching his face closely for every single reaction he has. You watch him swallow before he pushes your shirt up above the swell of your breasts, revealing a blue-grey, lacey bralette. Nothing entirely special, but Steve’s eyes widen, and he swallows again before looking back up at you.

“So?” you whisper, nervous.

“Take—“ he clears his throat. “Take your shirt off.”

You do so quickly, and you’re pushed gently back down onto your back while Steve melts down to the floor to work on your skirt. Though he doesn’t do much - just lifts it up again, staring straight at the wet spot on your matching underwear. You feel vulnerable, staring up at his ceiling, too nervous to look down at his hungry eyes.

“What time is it?” you ask suddenly, snapping Steve out of his pussy-drunk trance.

He groans. “Are you serious?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “It’s been five minutes, right?”

“You’re pushing it,” he says, then taps on the face of his watch. “I’m keeping track.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Fine.” He makes quick work of taking it off, then reaches for your wrist. “Here. Since I’ll be so busy, you keep track. Remember what the timeline is?”

“Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five.”

Steve doesn’t push the two extra minutes thing because he already knows you’re not going to adhere to this whole “one hour only” schtick. “Exactly. Better keep good track of time, or we’ll have to end before the good stuff happens.”

“You mean when you plow me?”

He ignores you. “Think you can do that?”

You nod.

“Gonna need you to get up for me again.”

You groan, but stand, aided by Steve, who takes your hands and tugs you up. He switches places with you, sitting again, then does a motion with his finger. Turn around.

His hand finds your zipper at the back of your skirt and he slowly tugs it down before letting the fabric fall in a heap on his floor. Both of you are silent, your heart beating hard as you wait for his next move. Those hands find your hips again, and he pulls you down onto his lap, facing away from him.

“You look divine,” he mumbles, hooking his chin over your shoulder, his hands splaying out across your stomach. He kisses the junction of your shoulder and neck, giving you goosebumps. “Really, all this for me?”

You laugh breathlessly. “You’re my only hookup tonight.”

“Lucky me,” he mumbles into your ear. Your pussy throbs, his hands moving higher. “Who else has seen you in this, huh?” And he snaps the strap of your bralette for emphasis.

“Just - just you.”

“You buy this for me?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” His hands crawl upwards, fingers dipping beneath the lacy band and then higher until he’s cupping your tits. “You comfortable?”

You nod, biting your cheek to stop you from whimpering.

“Feel what you’re doin’ to me?” he asks into your ear, rutting his hips up.

You moan and Steve chuckles, kissing your skin again. “Harrington Torture Chamber isn’t all that bad, huh?”

His fingers pinch your nipples and you sigh, leaning back into him. His lips press against your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. You whine when his fingers tug and pull, completely at his mercy, hands useless beside you.

“Like having your tits played with?” he asks. “You’re gonna ruin my jeans, honey.”

“Oh, don’t.”

Steve twists your nipples a little harder - not any less pleasurable, but enough to make you gasp. “We’re a bit past the bullshit, aren’t we? You’re bitched out on my lap again and you want to act like you’re not soaked?”

His legs part, spreading yours open with him, and he moves one strong hand down to your cunt. You moan brokenly at one swipe across your clothed clit, and Steve tsks. “Must have trained your pussy to get wet around me, huh?”

You squirm, but Steve traps you on his lap, one arm crossed across your chest and the other cupping your pussy. His fingers still play with your nipple, hardening it under the fabric. His other hand rubs you through your underwear, and he keeps your legs open even when you try to shut them.

“That too much?” he asks, concerned.

And you sort of hate that he’s asking, because you have to shake your head and verbally admit that you like what he’s doing to you. “No.”

“Thought so,” he mumbles, sounding relieved. “You must have a thing for getting pinned and played with. Or do you just have a thing for me?”

“Shut up,” you whine, fingers clutching at the forearm around your torso. Your head falls back against Steve’s shoulder and he kisses along your jawline, fingers moving slow and methodical.

“Make me,” he presses, fingers gently pinching your clit now. You gasp and whine, squirming again, but this time attempting to get more. “Look at me.”

You look off to the side to see him, brows furrowed, eyes hooded, mouth agape. Steve nudges your nose with the tip of his and he gets so close, like he might kiss you - but instead, he talks against your mouth, breathing your air. “Look at you. So pretty, baby, so good for me, yeah?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Pussy’s so nice, honey.” He’s panting a little into your mouth now, readjusting his grip on you. “So wet and silky, gonna feel so good around my cock. You want that?”

You nod again, lost in his eyes, hardly paying attention because your clit is tightening, pleasure gripping your lower stomach like a vice.

Steve smiles, nudges your nose with his again. You’re so entranced, trying to lean forward so he’ll kiss you, but he asks, “What time is it, honey?”

“Huh?” you moan.

“The time, pretty.”

“Oh, shit!” you gasp, twisting your arm towards you. Your stomach drops, though you aren’t sure why. “It’s - it’s - um, it’s been twenty —“

Steve moves his arms away from you, leaving your pussy neglected. You whimper, reaching for him again, but he pats your thigh. “C’mon, up.”

“But —!”

Steve seems rather unfazed despite the throbbing hard-on he’s subjecting you to. “Told you to pay attention to the time. Now we’re over, and that means five minutes less of my cock inside of you. Up,” he repeats, taking you by the hips and helping you stand.

You’re a little lost - mind hazy over your thwarted orgasm. But you let him lay you on his bed, on his fluffy, expensive pillows, while you drip onto his sheets.

Steve kisses the tip of your nose. “And you thought I’d cheat, huh?”

“That - you didn’t even make me cum,” you attempt, narrowing your eyes. “Thought you were aiming for seven?”

“I’m re-strategizing.” He crawls downward, resting on his stomach in front of your puffy pussy. Licks his lips, gets sidetracked for a moment before looking back up at you. “I’m just not sure you deserve to cum that many times, you know?”

“Think it would be painful.”

“Not the way I do it.”

You laugh at the absurdity of his statement, opening your mouth to ask what the hell he’s talking about, but you choke a bit when he slips your underwear off. He’s never been this close to your pussy before, and both of you swallow hard. You’re embarrassed, so on-display, but Steve kisses your thigh so gently that you’re able to relax while he slides his arms under you.

You sneak a peek down to look at him. He watches your cunt with fascination, lust, his eyes dark. It’s thrilling.

“Keep ‘em spread,” he says softly, looking to the side to kiss your inner thigh. It tickles. “Know you had a hard time with it earlier. It’ll be worth it. Just trust me.”

“O-okay.”

“Keep an eye on that watch for me.” He licks his lips, talking more to your pussy than to you. “Though I wouldn’t mind staying here for a while longer. It’s so pretty, baby.”

The tip of Steve’s nose presses against your clit. He flicks his eyes up to look at you, already biting your lip. And he inhales, deep, eyes rolling back for half a second before he dips his tongue in and up your folds.

“Oh,” you gasp, legs already twitching together. You try to stay good this time, to let him have you how he wants. It’s very clear that he wants this - unrestricted access to your pussy, his tongue fucking the tight hole, his nose rubbing against your clit. “Oh, Steve.”

He kisses towards, open mouthed, sloppy, then wraps his lips around your clit. Your hands fly to his hair and he grunts, fingers digging into your thighs. He sucks, unrelenting, until you whine. And then his tongue flicks at your clit for a few moments before it goes back to fucking you.

“Feels so good,” you cry, tugging sharply on his locks, vibrating when he groans. “Oh my god, Steve, Jesus - Christ -!”

He’s slow with it, too. Like it’s a meal to savor. Eyes all half lidded and blissed out, nose wet with you, cheeks pink. Every time you think he cannot possibly look sexier, he does. And even though he’s right here, right now, you’re thinking of all the lost opportunities - times when it was slow at work and he could have gotten on his knees to worship you like this. Laying in the back of his car on break while he made you cum - probably twice, again - and walking back inside with shaking legs and a sweaty forehead.

“Look at me,” he says, voice thick, because you’re staring unfocused up at the ceiling.

“Can’t,” you breathe.

He stops, lifts his head up and rests his chin on your thigh. His thumb rubs soothingly against your skin. “Well let’s stop, then —“

“No!” you cry, the manicured hands tangled in his hair pulling him forward, which is apparently precisely what turns him on. He’s back to fucking you with his tongue in an instant, moaning all the while, rutting his cock against the bed. Now you can’t stop staring, while he’s lost in the scent and taste of you.

“Don’t stop,” he groans, referring to the tugging, so you don’t. And you watch him, his eyes opening to look at you, both of your faces turning hot. “Oh, Christ,” he groans, bringing his hand towards your cunt.

His middle finger, long and dexterous, slides in with no restriction. He finds that spongy spot inside of you again while his lips suck and kiss your clit. You feel like screaming, feeling high and so, so blissed out. You rock yourself against his finger, and it takes you a moment to work yourself up to it, but you finally moan, “More.”

He grins. "Greedy."

A second finger. It’s a squeeze, but Steve sticks the landing. Presses up against your sweet spot with his tongue unrelenting on your clit, and he’s certainly coaxing an orgasm out of you. It’s much more intense than the two you’d had with him before. His tongue and fingers work in sync so well that you fear you might cum messy and wet all over him.

Not that you entirely care.

Steve pulls back, just a bit. His lips still move against your clit. “Gonna cum? Feel you clenching down, 's like last time. You’re so tight, feel incredible - gonna feel so good when you cum, honey, let me have it.”

“God,” you choke out, “you’re so obsessed with me.”

He laughs, licks a broad stripe from his fingers up to your swollen clit. “Yeah, guilty.”

Your stomach fliips hard, the band inside stretching to a near breaking point. “Oh my — f-fuck-!”

He stays steady. Keeps stroking your g-spot and sucking your clit. Except now he’s whining, brows furrowed, like he’s a petulant child that wants a treat. One more glance down at him and you’re cumming, back arching. Steve tries to pin you with his arms but it’s simply no use. He chases you, lips attached to you, fingers curling, your hands pulling his hair. He gasps, makes a noise of disbelief, and swallows every last drop of sweetness you give him.

Your vision is hazy. Black tinged. You’ve never cum so hard in your life, and that includes your precious escapade. Your chest rises as falls as you catch your breath, disoriented, legs shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mumbles, sliding up your shaking form. “That was so sexy, shit — are you okay?”

You nod. You might be in love with him now. His fingers are still buried inside of you, flexing gently. You rock your hips and mewl. “Need you to fuck me,” you rasp.

“How much time do we have?” Steve looks down at the watch on your wrist and tuts. “Aw, man. We only have ten minutes. Guess we should get you cleaned up then, huh?”

His fingers start slipping out of you, but you’re quick to snap your shaking thighs together. “No,” you whimper. You need his cock so bad it’s driving you insane - like something is clawing at your chest and trying to get out.

“What’s that?” He’s a cocky son of a bitch. “You want more time in the Harrington T—“

“Please shut up,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist now.

“Are you saying it’s not torture?” His thumb rubs against your clit, flicking it slowly. “Are you saying you like this?”

And here he goes again. Making you fall apart twice in the span of two minutes. Flicking at your clit, hovering his lips above yours, sinking his fingers back into you. Slips a third one in for good measure, knows how hard it’ll be to take him.

“Tell me,” he presses, nose touching yours. You’re going cross-eyed trying to keep up with him. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

Your resolve diminishes quickly. “Make me feel so good.”

“Was that so hard?” He smiles. “You gonna cum about it?”

You pant and squirm and writhe under Steve. He crooks his fingers up towards your sweet spot again and you cry out just as his mouth engulfs yours. He works smoothly, diligently, and you figure for half a second that his hand must hurt.

Then he’s pulling away, mumbling to himself and quickly shucking his jeans down. You look down, curious. He wears such tight pants that you think you have a pretty good idea of how big he is.

You were off by a few inches.

You can’t help but to widen your eyes. He’s so fucking pretty. A thick path of dark hair leads down to his trimmed pubes, a stark contrast to his highlighted, golden skin. And his cock’s gorgeous. Long, thick, curved towards the tip, head pink and it’s weeping. He pumps himself a few times, already so wet.

“Did you cum?” you breathe.

He doesn’t answer you. Just leans over past you to grab a condom out of his bedside drawer. Rips the foil with his teeth and slides the latex on in one fluid motion. You know he’s done this before, but his agility still surprises you.

Not willing to waste a moment longer, Steve finds his way back on top of you again, sliding himself in between your spread thighs. You hook your legs around his waist. His thumb’s at your clit again and you shiver, mouth falling open.

“Are you ready?”

“As I can be,” you whisper. “You’re a lot to take.”

“I’ll take it easy,” he whispers back. “Relax for me, okay?”

With his fingers playing with your clit, it’s pretty easy. Your eyes fall shut and you focus more on the bundle of nerves, the ever-tightening feeling in your stomach, Steve’s breath fanning against your face. He presses the tip against your hole, rubs himself up and down.

Then he presses into you.

Your eyes widen. Your mouth falls again. You exhale shakily. He’s gotta be a single inch inside and he’s stretching you to your limit.

“I know,” he coos, applying steady pressure to your clit. “I’ll take my time, ‘s okay.”

“So big,” you whisper, delayed, your mind a bit blank.

“I know,” he repeats, but he’s smiling now. “Why d’you think I had to spend so much time on you?”

One inch deeper. You mewl, hands moving to his shoulders. “Cause - b-because you’re - you -“

“You, you, you,” he teases. “Love seein’ you like this, really suits you.”

You don’t have the capacity to argue with him. “Kiss me.”

“Where?” Another inch. Steve leans forward, nose against nose, lips against lips. “Here?”

You nod, awe-struck by his hazel eyes. You plead with your own.

“I’ll never say no to a pretty angel like you,” he whispers. "Don't get too excited, okay? This is a contractual agreement, after all."

Finally - finally - he’s kissing you. Moving his mouth so perfectly, intentionally. Lips soft and a little wet. He tastes like mint and - well - your pussy.

But Steve, he encompasses all of you — his weight on top of you, his lips moving slowly, his hips moving slower. The scent of him in your nose, his warmth transferring to your skin. He pulls his hips back, then slides in. A little deeper. You gasp against him and his tongue slips into your mouth. Now you moan, and he moans, fucking into you shallowly.

“C’mon,” he whispers, “let me in, want you so bad, please.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. “I’m trying,” you whimper.

“It’s okay. Doing so good for me, yeah?” He kisses down your neck. The tickle helps distract you from the stretch, and he gets another inch in. Steve gasps, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “You feel so goddamn good.”

He sucks at your skin, running his tongue along it. Thumb still circling your clit. Fucking you shallow, slow.

“You okay?” he grits out.

You nod, rocking your hips. You’re getting used to it, the sharp pain - it’s melting away, all of Steve’s ministrations to help you working. “More, Steve. Want more.”

He kisses up to your ear. “You sure?”

Goosebumps prick up on your skin. “‘m sure.” And just to see what he would do, you say, “Please, baby.”

“Oh, God,” he groans. Pulls back. Thrusts in deeper. “Can’t say shit like - like that.”

It takes you a sec to find your voice. “Like what?”

Back. Forward. Punches the air out of your lungs. “Like baby,” he grunts.

Back. Forward. “Honey.”

Back. Forward. Slips inside you nearly to the hilt. “Handsome.”

Your eyes roll back. Steve’s pace picks up, panting above you. You wish he was undressed so you could see him. You know the chest hair he sports. Want to feel it on your skin, run your fingers through it while he has you like this.

“Why not?” you choke out.

He moves away from your neck to look at you. You melt. His hazel eyes are soft, looking into yours. But he doesn’t answer.

You think you understand.

You wrap your legs a little tighter, bringing him in, rocking on him. Steve sputters. It’s clear he likes taking his time, but you’re close to cumming. So, so close, and you want Steve right there with you. Spurring him on, you ask, “You - are you gonna make me cum or what?”

Steve laughs, rolls his eyes. “There’s that fuckin’ mouth.”

Now he’s drilling you. The bed groans. His thumb moves quicker, presses harder. You squeal, digging into his shirt, trying to stay grounded. It’s impossible, though. When he’s looking at you like this. Eyes dark, focused, his mouth parted, tongue licking over his soft lips. You moan uncontrollably, twisting, tugging harder at his stupid shirt.

“Hold on,” he gasps, sitting up quickly and slipping out of you. Throws his top off to the side, smirking when you gawk. He takes your calves and throws them over his shoulders, leans back down and folds you in half. “Want you like this, this okay?”

You already know it’ll ruin you. “Yeah, come on.”

Steve slips back inside of you and sets his pace quickly. He must be all the way in. Your cunt squelches around him, his balls slapping wetly against your ass. Your hands move towards the mattress, gripping his sheets and twisting, tugging, losing control of your body.

You can’t shut the fuck up. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god—!”

“Shit,” Steve grits, pressing his forehead against yours. Bending you further. You’re still babbling. “Yeah? You - ngh - f-feel me?”

His thumb hasn’t found its way back to your clit, but you really think you might not need it there. Instead, his hand cups a breast, tugging your bralette down, flicking at your nipple. Now he’s babbling. “Wanna suck - suck on these, fuck, look so good.” He whimpers, cock twitching.

He pummels against your sweet spot. Over and over, until you’re seeing white and Steve looks so angelic above you. Doesn’t look like your annoying coworker anymore. He’s ethereal, in his element, sweat beading at his impeccable hairline. Dark strands fall over his brows, creased in concentration.

“I’m gonna cum,” you’re rambling now. “Steve, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh my — fuck!”

“Yeah, baby,” he whines. “Let me feel it, squeeze my cock, doin’ — so good —“

Your back arches, much like earlier, as your orgasm hits you. Unaided. Just Steve’s cock, Steve’s face, Steve’s words bringing you over the edge. He’s praising you, but you can’t hear him. Everything’s fuzzy and warm and your orgasm goes on forever, clenching and unclenching, pretty moans and gasps falling from your mouth.

Steve leans forward, buries his head in the crook of your neck while his pace turns sloppy. His teeth scrape against the delicate skin, but he seems to know better than to bite. His canines scratch, sliding over sweat-slicked skin, and with a low groan he cums, both of your legs shaking. It takes him ages to finish, too — each time he thinks he’s about done, his cock produces more. “Fuck, fuck, oh — shit, honey, God—!”

You hold him - best as you can in the awkward position - running your hands through his hair. “Good boy,” you whisper. It’s all you can really think, brain all fucked out. Steve whimpers again.

Panting, you both rest for a moment. Your legs are still shaking and you’re not sure how Steve’s keeping himself up. You want to tell him he can lay on you, that you’ve got him - but then his goddamn thumb is on your neglected clit. Moving back and forth, slow and hard, and you cum again in fifteen seconds. Clenching on his cock, making Steve moan and laugh breathlessly, kissing your neck.

He finally moves enough so that your legs can fall to the bed. You hope he doesn’t mind you staying here for long. There’s no way you can drive home.

“That was three,” he pants, a big smile on his face. Dopey, blissful. He’s still wearing the condom and you can see the cum inside, makes your stomach flip and face heat.

You do not need to be thinking of this man cumming inside of you.

"You promised seven."

"Always gotta complain. Weren't these three worth it?"

You look over at him, in his glowy glory. "You only had one. Maybe you'll get three next time."

His cock kicks. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Just gotta think of another bet.”

Steve scoffs. "As if you need a bet to do this again."

And he's right. You don't.

961 notes · View notes

ivyveil · 8 months ago

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before?

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you.

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly.

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette.

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown.

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing.

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend.

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something.

You wondered if he’d find it.

“Not everyone?” You whispered.

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be.

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact.

The silence was too loud now.

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes.

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not.

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air.

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour.

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle.

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls.��

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out.

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him.

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy.

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer.

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough.

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?”

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too.

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again.

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason.

He simply pressed his lips to yours.

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own.

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar.

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper.

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—”

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own.

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning.

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position.

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin.

“Kiss me.”

So you did.

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own.

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise.

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else.

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower.

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you.

“Yeah?” Was all you asked.

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours.

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question.

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control.

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch.

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder.

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home.

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed.

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before.

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans.

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

4K notes · View notes

ivyveil · 8 months ago

Text

i. incandescent glow

summary: have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?

pairing: assumed e.m x reader, eventual s.h x reader

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; mutual pining, yearning, miscommunication, poorly-wired idiot signals, vague nineties vibes, asshole-ish rockstar eddie, best friend & store manager steve, drug abuse, comas and hospitals, found family, hop and wayne knocking sense into people, eventual smut, schmaltzy rom-com goodness, mention of thanksgiving, christmas, and new year's holidays

w.c.: 8.2k

a/n: when I say that writing this kicked my ass, I'm tellin' you I had a rough time. @bettyfrommars this flannel-wearing Steve is for you especially! Please enjoy & I hope y'all like it 🥹

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

Steve hadn’t planned for his life to amount to this, he’d simply blinked and found himself in a new decade, still rewinding tapes at Family Video. Granted, he’s district manager now and has several stores in the area he’s responsible for.

Meanwhile, Eddie got the hell outta dodge and Corroded Coffin actually made something of themselves. Two albums under their belt and a forth-coming world tour after the holidays, and, more recently, a cover on the Rolling Stone. Ed had called him up once it was all finalized, “Can you fuckin’ believe it man?!”

And, Steve loves Eddie, so he could actually believe it. He tries and fails to keep his jealousy at bay, Ed is one of his best friends for christ sakes. Steve is happy for him, he really is, despite the revolving doors at rehab centers dotting the west coast, late night calls from strangers because Munson passed out in someone’s bathroom again.

He is, after all, Eddie’s emergency contact. Gareth approached him after the second stint at rehab and suggested it, thought it would be the best all things considered. Steve readily agreed and signed the forms, kept his pager on him, and dutifully smoothed things over when Eddie’s benders got a bit too much.

So, he’s rewinding tapes when his pager goes off. He glances at the number and drags the phone across the counter. Nestling the handset between his shoulder and cheek, he punches in the numbers and shoves the tape in a plastic case to be shelved later.

“Hello, this is Hawkins Memorial Hospital. How may I direct your call?” a kind, if perfunctory voice recites. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital waiting room, muted conversations and the ringing of phones.

“Hi, this is Steve Harrington. I received a page from this number regarding Eddie Munson.” Steve eyes the clock, he’s on closing shift by himself already having sent he employees home to celebrate with their families.

“Yes, one moment please.” The receptionist places him on hold, allowing Steve to rewind a couple more tapes and sort them for shelving. “Mr. Harrington?” the line roars back to life, no longer the receptionist, but the doctor in charge of Eddie’s care instead. “Mr. Munson came into the hospital unresponsive but breathing, he was revived by a…” He rattles off a name that Steve has never heard before. “His, fiancée, as I understand it.”

Steve feels the floor sway under his feet.

Eddie.

With a fiancée?

“She’s here now and in a bit of shock, as you can expect. Since you’re his emergency contact, we wanted to alert you of his current state as well as get any contact information for family and friends that need to be made aware.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

The doctor continues to relay that they’ve elected to place Eddie under a medically induced coma for the time being, to allow his body to flush the drugs from his system before assessing for any further damage.

Steve is transferred to a medical assistant who takes down Wayne and Hopper’s information. He figures between the two men the job will get done, but let’s be real, it’ll be Joyce that activates the phone tree and calls the kids, and he plans to swing by the hospital later that evening once he’s closed up.

Grabbing the stack of tapes and begins to shelve them with a shake of his head. It would be just like Eddie to get engaged and not be fucked to tell anyone. Returning to the counter, he fiddles with the cuffs of his flannel shirt— Robin got it for him the last time she swung through town, insisted that Steve’s wardrobe needed some serious upgrading and all but thrust it upon him.

“It brings out your eyes,” She said, leaning against the wall outside the dressing room. Her worn boots kicked against one another, half of her reflected in the mirror while Steve assessed.

“It’s brown.”

“And gold!” She turns him around to press down the collar and pop the first two buttons of the shirt open. “It’s color theory man, just trust me on this, okay?”

Which is how Steve found himself the new owner of several flannel shirts of varying hues. And boots. When he complained it was all too lumberjack-like, Robin shushed him and continued to flirt with the cute check-out girl.

But that had been months ago. It was coming on Thanksgiving now and his two best friends had been too busy traveling or showing art pieces to even call. He doesn’t mind, not really— well, he tries not to. Steve gets it, people are busy, things to do and people to see.

The remainder of his shift goes by slowly. Kids home from school, families coming in by the dozen. Steve manages to complete a few menial tasks in between customers, throws on Planes, Trains and Automobiles just to have something on in the background.

He’s helping a regular when his pager beeps again, this time flashing Robin’s number. The door dings as they leave and Steve’s already wedged the phone to balance against his shoulder once more as he leans and elbow on the counter.

“Eddie has a fiancée?!” is the thing she screeches down the line. “When the fuck did that happen? Harrington, you’re supposed to keep me aware of these things!”

He signs and scrubs a hand down his face, “I’m his emergency contact, not his guardian.”

“Have you met her? What’s she like?”

“I don’t—”

“I got the first flight out of the city. Which means I had to go to LaGuardia blech,” She makes a gagging sound down the line. “Jonathan’s picking me up now from Indy. Oh my god, is she pretty?” Robin pings between her travel plans and hypothesizing about Eddie’s girl, “I bet she’s a total knock-out, knowing him. How did they meet? D’ya think she’d pose for me?”

“Slow down there, killer.” Steve laughs, “Might want to meet the girl first before propositioning her.”

She huffs a laugh, “You’re right, of course. She’d probably think I’m insane or something. What would I do without you Stevie?”

“Probably scare off more chicks than you already do.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Harrington.” Robin’s laugh is loud and warm, soothing something in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight, dingus.”

“Sure, stay safe. Call me later, bye.” He places the phone back in its cradle and has half a mind to check the room behind the curtain, just in case some teenagers slipped past without him noticing, but then the phone rings.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

“Uh, hi.” A voice says down the line, small and tight. You introduce yourself, quickly followed by, “I’m at the hospital, with, uh Eddie?”

“Oh! Hi, how’s he doing?”

“Good, still in the coma.”

Steve can hear some voices filtering through the mic, loud and familiar.

“So, Hop and Wayne made it? That’s good.”

“Yeah, yeah, Joyce too. The kids are here too, I guess? It’s all a bit overwhelming.”

He huffs a laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine.” He occupies himself with the slinky on the counter, much preferring to hear your voice than deal with the families that just walked in, ten minutes to close. “You holding up okay?”

An intake of breath, “Mmhm.”

It’s a feeling he knows well.

You’re overwhelmed by all these people you’d never met, on top of the fact that your fiancee is in a coma. Steve feels like shit, having you handle all of that by yourself. If he hadn’t stupidly sent the mid-shift employees home early, he would have been there to help you navigate it all.

“Joyce wants to know if you’re coming by after work. If we should wait for you,” You say after a beat or two of silence, “Or if you’ll just meet us at the house for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

Steve rolls his neck in an effort to relieve the built-up tension there, bones popping, he rubs a hand at the nape of his neck. “Could you put her on real quick?”

He listens as the phone changes hands and Joyce’s comforting voice intones, “Steve?”

“She’s freaking out.”

“What?”

He sighs, “The fiancée, she sounds like she’s in a bad way.” He checks out the straggling customers, “Don’t wait on my account. I’ll see Ed after I’m done here.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“Does she have a place to stay? I know Rob is crashing with you and Hop—”

Joyce laughs, “We’ll have a full house I suppose. I can put Jonathan on the couch or something, don’t worry about it Steve.”

“Right. Okay.” He gives the final customer a smile and wave as they wish him a happy holiday. “I’ll see you later.”

Hanging up the phone, Steve walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign to ‘closed.’ He lingers against the door, resting his forearms against the bar, watching as the snow falls against the dark sky. Wonders how it is that just from the sound of your voice, he felt himself falling not unlike snowflakes outside.

Earlier that day

Turns out, landing the Corroded Coffin interview was not the boon to your career you thought it would be.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for failure. And it didn’t help that you had one big, fat embarrassing crush on a member of the band. Generally, being a fan of the artist coupled with the tendency to romanticize things in your mind only led to disaster.

Or, in your case, attempting to revive the frontman of the aforementioned band on the bathroom floor.

Eddie Munson was unresponsive at your feet, a panoply of pills and baggies scattered across the floor. Having no time to think, you launch into action— checked for breathing and finding none began CPR followed by chest compressions, all while yelling for help.

Gareth is the one to find you, compressing Eddie’s chest with your two hands in between administering two breaths after every 30 counts.

“Call an ambulance!”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel sorry about your tone, harried and frantic, as he stumbles out to call 911. Thankfully, the paramedics are quick. One paramedic asks, “You’re his fiancée?”

Dumbly, you nod, too in shock to register what’s been said. Someone guides you down the steps and into the front of the ambulance strapping you in with a seatbelt. He can’t just die, you reason, not when Corroded is just taking off— a world tour in the new year and a cover story with Rolling Stone.

Your editor would have your head if something were to go wrong. Munson was notoriously picky with interviews and reporters, it was a miracle they’d approved you for the job. Rumor has it that he’d have much preferred Nancy Wheeler, but the board wasn’t keen to bring in a free-lance reporter for the job.

Somehow, this would be your fault.

Arriving at the hospital isn’t any better. Gareth and the other band members stayed behind to call management and see what was to be done about Eddie, and made you promise to call them once you’d arrived at Hawkins Memorial.

Nevermind that you’re alone in a town you’d never stepped foot in before today. And all at Eddie Munson’s behest.

They rushed him off past the swinging double-doors, out of your reach. Stepping to the front desk, you ask the receptionist where the nearest pay-phone is, and she offers you one of the hospital phones instead.

Dialing the number hastily scribbled onto your hand, your fingers brush along the plastic keys listening for the trill of the ring down the line.

“Hi, Gareth? We made it to the hospital, they took him back with a team of doctors and nurses.”

“You didn’t go back with him?”

“It’s family only, I think?” You scratch the back of your neck nervously. “It’s not a big deal, I can stay in the lobby until you get here.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a while…”

He goes on to explain that their team has to meet and discuss next steps. The band can’t leave until they’ve done so and their manager asked them to stay put.

“That’s shitty.”

He hums his agreement.

“And I’m just supposed to stay here by myself? I don’t—”

“That’d be great, that is, if you don’t mind,” Gareth interrupts. “They’ll call his emergency contact soon enough. But we’d really appreciate having someone we know there until then.”

“Oh, okay.”

He thanks you for being so cool with all of this and says his goodbyes. With a short smile, you hand the phone back to the receptionist. Heaving a sigh, you drop your head into your hands and lament, “I was gonna marry him.”

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s attending nurse overhears you and recalls how the paramedic who brought him in said something about a fiancee. Turning toward you, she places a delicate hand on your back. You jump with a start and look up.

“You’re the fiancée, right?”

“Wh–”

“It’s okay honey, he’s doing fine. I’ll take you back there now.”

Allowing yourself to be guided by the kind nurse as she prattles on about something or other, you wonder how to get yourself out of this. No one was going to buy that Eddie Munson has a secret fiancee. If he was awake, he’d probably laugh you out of the room himself.

But, as it was, they’d placed him in a medically induced coma to let the drugs work their way out of his system. A small miracle, that. The doctor briefs you on his status, all of which flies directly out of your brain, too focused on how small he looks in the bed. Tubes dripping fluids and machines whirring or beeping every so often. Tattoos a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, a sharp relief against a marble canvas.

A medical assistant approaches you and asks about an emergency contact or the contact information of family and friends.

“I don’t–”

The dazed look in your eye must give something away because the assistant attempts to pat your back comfortingly before saying they’ll check his personal effects.

The nurse, impossibly kind, rests a hand on your shoulder, “Let him hear your voice, honey.”

Her shoes squeak along the tile floor as she leaves. There’s a brief reprieve where you’re left alone with Eddie in the hospital room. The nurse and medical assistant flit in and out occasionally, making notes in his chart here and there. But you’re transfixed by the man in front of you— beautiful and impossibly out of reach. He was even before the interview, you rationalize, but now he’s even more so. It’s bittersweet, almost, makes you want to reach out and hold the hand at his side, silver rings glinting in the fluorescent lights.

“Hi,” You greet. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” You take the seat closest to him. “Well, I didn’t really get a chance to introduce myself, so here it goes.” Taking a sip from the coffee the nurse left to fortify you, you recite your full name. “And I think you should know your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before, so this is all very sudden for me.” You huff a laugh and roll your eyes, “Um, what I really came here to tell you was, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You continue, a quasi-one sided conversation and therapy session all in one neat package. “I’m just a reporter for the Rolling Stone. And if you were awake, or hell, even if Gareth were here, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god not that I’m blaming you.” Your hand finds his arm briefly before you jerk back as if stung, “Shit, sorry.”

“This is not how I pictured my life going, to be honest with you. I thought when I did get engaged, I’d at least have the luxury of knowing my fiancé, or y’know them being conscious at least.” You sigh and take another sip of shitty coffee, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my life— I’ve got a great job and apartment, I get to travel and write for a living. It’s definitely not a bad gig.”

“It’s just, I never met anyone I could truly be myself with, y’know? Laugh with, and I mean ugly laugh with a snort and witch cackle. D’ya ever believe in love at first sight? No, probably not, you’re too rock and roll for that. Or have you even seen someone, and you knew that if only that person really knew you, they would…”

Thinking back to your Corroded Coffin research and tabloid perusals, you sigh. “Of course, they would dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one they wanted to grow old with.” You shake your head, realizing how ridiculous you sound, talking to a man in a coma who probably can’t even hear you. Your voice falls to a hush, “You ever fall in love with someone you’ve never even talked to? Have you ever been so alone you spend the day confusing a man in a coma?”

“No? Me neither.”

There’s the sound of shuffling of feet echoing from the hallway, followed by a relived: “Oh, there he is.”

A voice startles you from the doorway, deep and masculine, albeit out of breath. A tall, broad man steps into the room quickly followed by a shorter woman and a lankier man. The first addresses you, “You must be the fiancée, I’m Jim Hopper.” He holds out his hand in greeting.

You shake his hand, palm engulfed in his larger one.

“This is my wife, Joyce, and that there is Eddie’s uncle Wayne.”

“He’s so pale,” She laments, crossing the room to his bedside. “Oh, my god.”

You nod to each of them, dropping your hand from Hopper’s. He studies you and you feel like squirming under his gaze, he’s still in uniform but sets his hat on a nearby chair. Great, just what you needed, a police chief to sniff you out.

Grabbing your things, you ready yourself to leave. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I should—”

“Nonsense,” Joyce says from opposite of you, she brushes a few strands of hair away from Eddie’s face. “The kids’ll be here soon and they’ll want to meet you.”

Wayne claps a hand to your shoulder, warmly giving it a squeeze.

“The doctor said you found him and gave him CPR until the paramedics arrived?”

“Oh, um, yeah.”

“They say the only reason he was breathing when they brought him in was because of you.” His voice is hoarse, he coughs into his fist and clears his throat. “Thank you, for that.”

“It’s what anyone would’ve done.”

He squeezes your shoulder once more, “Not necessarily,” and moves off to sit in one of the chairs.

“The doctor should be back soon,” You say, sitting beside Wayne. “He said the vital signs and brainwaves were looking good.”

Joyce nods and shoots you a smile, making idle chit-chat while the rest of you wait for the kids to arrive. There was some concern over Wayne and his heart condition, doesn’t take to shocking news too well, as you understand it. But who are these kids, Eddie’s kids? You didn’t recall coming across any mention of a previous wife or children in your research, but there are stranger things for rockstars to get up to than having a secret family you suppose.

It’s only when Wayne nudges you with his foot that you realize Joyce has been calling your name, “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, a hotel for the night.” You say softly, “I have to get back to New York soon.”

“Well, I won’t hear of it.” Joyce says looking to Hopper, “She’ll stay with us, won’t she Jim?”

He looks back at his wife and seeing her steely resolve, he knows better than to argue with her. “Sure, you’ll spend the holiday with us.”

Damn.

“Oh, we should see if we need to wait for Steve,” Joyce notes, just as a gaggle of people walk in. “Hi kids!” She stands quickly to greet them, their names coming too fast for you to keep up. A man and woman about your age bring up the rear, Joyce hugging them in turn.

Quietly, you step out to collect yourself. After taking a few breaths, you spot the medical assistant from earlier and flag him down for the emergency contact information. He scribbles a name and several phone numbers on a scrap of paper, “I would try this one first,” He points to the middle number, “It’s the work line, I think.”

“Great, thank you!”

Entering the room again, Wayne introduces you as Eddie’s fiancee and rescuer, to whoops and hollers. The younger woman lets out a wolf-whistle and drops you a wink, causing the heat to skitter underneath your skin. Making toward the phone, you dial the number and read the name on the paper.

Steve Harrington.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How may I help you?”

The rich baritone of his voice, strong and deep, brings a quiver to your knees. Stumbling your way through an introduction, you make disastrous small-talk and wave Joyce over. She takes the phone with a smile, pushing you lightly toward the assembled group where the young woman, Robin, takes you under her wing.

“Fiancée, huh?” She asks with a quirked brow, to your noncommittal shrug. “Hmm.” Her eyes sweep toward Eddie, “I think you can do better,” She jokes with a wink.

Wayne drives you from the hospital to the house, graciously stopping by a grocery store along the way because you didn’t want to show up empty-handed. You make quick work of the deserted aisles, grabbing the necessary ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pie. He helps you to load the bags in the back of the truck and softly croons along to Woody Guthrie as he drives along the icy streets.

A comfortable silence sits between you. Wayne Munson is a man of few words, which is fine by you. The less opportunity for talking yourself into a hole, the better. He comes to a stop in front of a two-storey house festooned with Christmas lights. He carries your bags from the truck into the house, promising Joyce that he’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving. Joyce rolls her eyes fondly and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving the pair of you in the entryway.

You rock back on your heels uncomfortably. Before you can make your escape, Wayne’s hand falls to your shoulder again kneading gently. You glance up to find his watery eyes and quiet smile; he pulls you in for a brief hug. “Thank you sweetheart,” He sighs, followed by a sniff, “I don’t know where he’d be without you, or where we’d be for that matter.” Giving you a final squeeze, he releases you and calls out a goodbye to Hopper and Joyce, shutting the front door behind him.

“Hey kid,” Hopper says, leaning against the bannister. “Join me outside for a minute?” He shrugs into his coat and nods toward the front porch. “Lemme grab my smokes, I’ll meet you out there.”

Well, shit.

It takes everything in you to not give in and pace along the icy boards of the porch as you wait. He’s figured you out, you know he has, and now he’s going to kick you out and you’ll have to call a cab and get back to the hotel before booking it to the airport first thing tomorrow.

“I know you and Munson aren’t involved, kid.” Hopper shuts the front door with a soft click, “Heard you back at the hospital talking to him.”

Your blood goes cold and you know there’s no way you can spin yourself out of this one. “I know, I know and I’m so sorry. It just all happened so fast and Wayne has that heart thing—” Your voice is choked and tight as you try to explain.

“Hey, slow down, take a breath. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“I’ll tell them, I just—”

He shakes his head and lets out a sigh, “Let me level with you,” He brushes off the snow and ice from the top step and invites you to sit down beside him. “God knows what that boy did to earn your attention, cause I certainly can’t make heads or tails of it.” He lights up a cigarette and offers one to you, “No? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a bad habit.” He takes a long drag in thought, leaving you to stew in your guilt. “What I’m trying to say is this: whatever you did, it brought him back. Eddie’s here and breathing because of you, so, in a way, we have him back because of you.”

You stay silent, knowing that whatever Hopper just shared with you is important. The guilt doesn’t leave you, not entirely, but this gruff lawman confiding in you does lodge something loose from the knot in your chest. And when he throws his arm over your shoulders to draw you to his side, you can’t help the watery smile that makes its way across your face.

He smells like your dad, the same blend of tobacco, leather, and spice. It’s been far too long since you’ve indulged in the memory of him, so you allow yourself the weakness, just this once.

And you let Hopper lead you back inside his loud and warmly lit home where Joyce greets you with a plate for dinner and promises to help you bake the pies for tomorrow.

Steve is dead on his feet when he arrives at Hop and Joyce’s house. He’d swung by the hospital to check on Eddie and talked with the doctor and nurses. It was all pretty standard— let him dry out and then assess for further damage. His vitals were good and there didn’t appear to be a need for concern at this point. The doctor, of course, recommended a stay in rehab after being discharged from the hospital, which was already suggested by Corroded’s management team.

“You fucking idiot.”

That’s the first thing Steve says to Eddie, quickly followed by:

“When you wake up, I’m gonna kill you myself.”

He doesn’t linger, knowing he’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day until Eddie wakes up. But it’s gone midnight by the time he turns the key at Hop’s place, kicking his boots at the door to rid them of the snow and ice, before toeing them off at the door. They thunk across the hardwood as he carelessly kicks them off, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hooks by the door.

“Sshh, dingus, you’re gonna wake her up!” Robin hisses as her socked feet light down the stairs.

Steve smiles, relieved to see her, before asking, “Wake up who?”

Robin rolls her eyes and gestures to your sleeping form on the sofa. Steve studies you from a few steps up, one hand resting on the wooden bannister while the other pauses mid-air as he unravels his scarf. “Eddie’s fiancée, of course.”

“So, that’s her?”

You’ve turned your back to them, and you’ve curled in ever so slightly on the sofa. One of Joyce’s many blankets covers you, but your socked feet stick out from underneath one corner— dancing penguins.

At least, that’s what Steve thinks are on your socks. But, he may need to get his eyes checked again.

“What, you haven’t met her?” Robin takes in Steve’s shocked expression, before it softens into something akin to how he goes all moon-eyed at the babes who frequented Scoops Ahoy or Family Video when they were teens as his eyes fall to you once more. “She’s great, you’ll love her. Now c’mon, let’s get you some food.”

“Cereal?”

She snorts at that, “Not my cereal. You took the toy surprise last time!”

Safely ensconced in the kitchen, Robin and Steve catch up in between bites of sugary cereal. She regales him with how valiantly Jonathan tried to get you to take his room upstairs for your stay and how stubbornly you’d refused, insisting you’d be fine on the couch.

“I was right,” Robin says, some milk dribbling from her mouth as she chews. “Total knock-out and smart. Dunno how Munson managed it.”

“Oh y’know, the Munson charm probably.”

She hums in thought, setting her empty bowl in the sink. “Why d’you think he didn’t tell us?”

“Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Fuck, what if he knocked her up?!”

Steve’s eyes blow wide at that thought. “Uh,” He says, astutely, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Yeah,” Robin hops down from her perch on the counter. “But how do we know?”

“You could ask her.”

She punches him in the arm, “You don’t just ask women if they’re pregnant Steve, geeze.”

He shrugs and slurps the sugary milk from the bowl before setting it alongside Robin’s. He licks his lips and crosses his arms in thought. Steve hadn’t considered the rather obvious conclusion that his rockstar best friend had inadvertently knocked someone up. Considering the groupies and types that flocked to Eddie, it was a long time coming.

If that’s what the case may be.

As it stands, it’s nearly two in the morning and Steve is exhausted. Thankfully, Family Video is closed for the holiday tomorrow, but he knows that in a few hours everyone is going to tramping around the house and generally being a nuisance. And he really doesn’t wanna drive clear across town to his place.

Steve pauses on the stairs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. Robin clears the landing and calls to him from the guest room, “C’mon dingus, I haven’t got all night.”

With a shake of his head, he climbs the stairs mindful not to linger too long on the creaky boards. He settles in sharing a bed with Robin, her icicle feet darting under his calves as he fusses with the blankets. His head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.

All you can think as you blearily blink yourself awake, is how everything is so loud. Even when they try to be quiet, scampering across the hall past the living room where you clung to the last vestiges of sleep - it was loud. Strained whispers about breakfast and hospital visits, the opening and closing of doors, Hopper hissing at the kids to “Keep your mouths shut,” and to “Stop chasing each other across the house!”

A man, whom you can only assume is Steve, stumbles down the stairs, sweats swung low on his hips sporting a threadbare t-shirt and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You’ve never seen a human being with bedhead like that - strands sticking up every which way and the sheer volume it had, my god. Hand falling from his eye, his glasses slot back into place, a pair of simple round frames decked in silver. He stops short at the landing, one hand grasping the wood of the bannister, watching as you set the phone back in its cradle.

“Leaving so soon?”

And that voice - all husky and low from sleep, with a slight rasp to it. It’s amazing you’re not reduced to a puddle on the floor at this point. He stretches slowly, like an animal would, a hushed groan falling from his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and drag your eyes from the sliver of skin exposed at his hip.

“No, just talking to Wayne.” You offer meekly, voice rusty from disuse, “He’s on his way over for an early morning hospital run.”

“Mmm,” Steve nods, “That’s not a bad idea.” He turns the corner from the stairs and stands beside you in the entryway. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” He says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Steve.”

“Nice to meet you.” You shake hands and introduce yourself. His hand is large and warm, the contact of your skin against his sending a shiver down your spine.

“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles at you, beginning to wake up a bit more. “So, you’re the fiancée.”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” He looks you up and down, clucks his tongue and departs, making his way toward the kitchen.

Once there, all hell breaks loose. Joyce and Hop are manning the stove and counter, flipping pancakes and shovelling eggs onto plates and all but throwing them at the kids. Wedged into the breakfast nook are Dustin, Lucas, and Mike while El, Max, Robin, and Jonathan commandeer the table in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ family.” Steve greets, bee-lining for the coffeemaker. Blessedly, there’s a fresh pot brewing in the percolator while he scavenges for a mug.

Mumbled versions of “Morning Steve,” sound out from the peanut gallery between bites of food and sips of coffee or orange juice. Joyce sets a plate in front of him on the counter and ruffles his hair, “Morning kiddo.”

Hop sighs from the stove, turning the dial of the burner to ‘Off’ before intoning, “The kitchen is officially closed, you gremlins.”

Steve chuckles as he removes the coffeepot and gives a generous pour into the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mug El made many moons ago. He’s not sure of your preferred cream-to-sugar ratio, so he decides to go without and trots out of the kitchen.

He sees the front door close at the end of the hall and quickens his step not wanting to miss you. Spying a pair of slides from god knows who, he slips them on and pulls the door open. Wayne’s old pickup is idling in the driveway as you step into the cab, feet unsteady and the newly formed ice of the drive. Wayne nods to Steve in greeting as he walks toward the house, while Steve waves in return.

“Careful,” He says as a hand comes to rest at your back.

Tossing a ‘thanks’ over your shoulder, you settle into the seat with a click of the seatbelt. “Did you need something?” You ask, breath forming puffs of vapor in the morning light.

“Well, uh,” Steve begins, ducking his head and gesturing to the mug in his hand. “The coffee’s not too great over there at the hospital.” He hands you the mug through the open door.

“Oh, thank you.”

He leans against the car, face level with yours. One fist at the roof of the cab while his opposite arm braces against the open door. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he’s so attractive that it’s stupid. “So, uh, y-you’re comin’ back, right? You’ll come back?”

You glance to him, unsure of why he’s so concerned with your whereabouts. “Yeah, we’re just checking in. We’ll be back soon.”

Steve nods at your confirmation, pushing off of the truck to stand at his full height. His hands slide to his hips, fingers just beneath the band of the sweatpants as he slowly arches his back, hips bobbing toward you. And you don’t know whether to maintain eye contact with him or focus on the looming proximity of his crotch.

“Oh boy,” He exhales, looking off into the distance. “What a day.”

Your eyes dart away when he looks to you once more, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Well, thank you.” You hold the mug up and take a tentative sip, “Good goddamn,” You whisper in disbelief.

“It’s good, right?” You nod and take another sip as he smiles, “I had a dream about you last night.” He tugs at the band of his sweats while your eyes cut to his.

“What?”

“Yeah,” He leans against the truck again, face closer to yours and arms resting against the roof of the cab. “I ended up havin’ a dream about you.”

“W-what was I doing?” You stammer out, as the sound of crushed snow and ice underfoot signals Wayne’s return.

“Well–” Steve starts to say before he’s cut off by Wayne’s, “Y’ready, sweetheart?”

You nod and clear your throat uncomfortably.

“You comin’?” Wayne asks Steve before he closes the passenger door.

“Later.” He turns to leave as Wayne settles into the driver’s seat but before you can pull out of the driveway, “Oh, y’know, you gotta make sure to bring back the mug because it’s Hop’s favorite.”

You stare back at him blankly.

“Or he’ll kill ya.”

“Okay,” You breathe watching as he makes his way back to the house, Adidas slides flopping through the snow.

Returning from the hospital an hour or so later, with plans to bring a few plates over for Eddie’s attending doctor and nurses, you nearly breeze past Steve sitting on the staircase with a mug of coffee and paper in hand.

“Hey,” You greet, toeing off your boots and shrugging out of your coat. “Wayne’s coming back for later, just had to grab some things from his place.”

He’s changed out of his sweats and done something to tame his hair. You can hear Joyce frantically corralling the kids in the kitchen, something about Mass and how she refuses to be late again. Steve shakes his head and drinks his coffee, ready and waiting to cart Robin, Dustin, and Max over to Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy for the Thanksgiving Mass.

But it would seem that no one warned you about Mass last night, which would explain the deer in headlights look you’re sporting now. Steve stands from his perch on the stairs, turning to yell at Robin, “Our Lady may have perpetual mercy, but I don’t and you’re really pushing it today Rob!”

When he turns back, you’re no longer in the entryway. The kitchen door swings as if someone just passed through, and he can hear your voice over the chatter from the kids. Joyce is rattling off instructions and times for food to be cooked and you’re diligently taking notes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge. Your handwriting is neat, and a bit slanted, giving it an effortless look. Capping the marker, you let it swing from the string on the fridge.

“Think that about does it,” You assure Joyce, gesturing to the lone velcro roller in her hair. “I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” She asks, unraveling the roller and setting it on the windowsill above the sink. “I’m sure Robin has something you could borrow.”

Steve catches your eye roll and snorts into his mug. Your eyes cut to him, silently admonishing his outburst. He shakes his head and sets the mug on the counter, seeing Hop’s mug he loaned you earlier already on the drying rack.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” You kindly brush her off, “Besides, you’ll want to get going soon and I would just hold you up.”

“And the hotel is dropping off your luggage later?”

You nod, tying on an apron and moving to wash your hands. “Yeah, I spoke with the concierge this morning.”

“I wish you’d just sleep in Jonathan’s old room,” Joyce tuts, “He can go on the couch, he’s used to it.”

“Mom, I already offered—”

You laugh and raise your hand, “It’s fine Joyce, I’m already an imposition as it is. The last thing I’d want to do is put him out.”

Steve watches as you blend in with the family, how easily you soothe Joyce and her worries, banter with the kids, and crack jokes with Hop. It’s easy to see why Eddie could fall for someone like you. He just wishes he could find someone like that— easy going and kind, someone who fits in like a missing puzzle piece.

But maybe it’s too perfect.

Now there’s some food for thought.

A loud honk from Hop’s Bronco jars him from his musings. Steve claps his hands together, rallying the troops, “Okay, who’s with me?” Dustin, Lucas, and Max jump up from the table and gather their coats, scurrying out to the beemer. Robin takes the stairs two at a time, struggling to shrug into her coat. “Look alive, sunshine!”

Goodbyes ring out as you follow them to the porch, watching as they clamber into their cars. You wave as they pull out of the drive, Joyce rolling down the window for a final reminder about the dinner rolls. With good humor, you nod and give her a thumbs up as the Bronco drives onto the street.

The church parking lot is packed by the time they arrive. Steve drops off Robin and the kids before peeling out to find a parking spot, while Hop leaves the Bronco in the drop-off lane in front. Mass has already begun when Steve enters the chapel, quickly he slips in alongside Hop and Joyce at the family pew.

“We pray that the Lord’s healing presence will be felt by those who are sick and by their families. Especially Robert Newby, Barbara Holland, and Edward Munson. We pray to the Lord,” The priest intones from the lectern.

“Lord hear our prayer.”

Steve stands in between Hopper and Robin, waiting for the priest to move it along.

“O, God, you call us to live as one family. Save us from…”

Finally, they sit. Half-paying attention to the priest, Steve turns to Hop and asks, “So, who’s this fiancée?”

“She’s Eddie’s girl, she’s family now.”

“You’d think if Eddie were getting married, he would have announced it in the Times.”

Hop turns to him, “We read the Indianapolis Star.”

And the congregants say, “Amen.”

“If she’s family, why isn’t she at Mass with us?”

Hop snorts, “That’s rich, comin’ from you, kid.”

“I like Mass better in Latin,” Wayne pipes up from his seat next to Joyce, “It’s nicer when you don’t know what they’re sayin’.”

“D’ya think about what I said the other night?”

“Nope.”

“Steve, come on.” Hop stands with the rest of the congregation, “You’ve got the instinct for it, and gettin’ through the Academy is a breeze.”

“I told you,” Steve says following suit, “I don’t wanna be a cop for chrissakes.”

“Stop swearing,” Joyce hisses, “We’re in Mass.”

“But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Well, you can talk about it later,” Joyce reminds them.

“Talk about it now,” Robin says leaning toward Steve conspiratorially, “He can’t kill you in church.”

“Will you please pipe down?” An exasperated parishioner asks from the pew behind them.

Hop scoffs and slowly turns around, “Hey, be nice, pal. We’re in church.”

“You’re disrupting the Mass!” He hisses back.

“Yeah? And who made you the Pope?”

“Jim!” Joyce hisses, nudging with an elbow.

“Now how did Argyle get to be a lector?” Wayne asks, “He took over Ed’s gig with Reefer Rick after he moved to LA with the band.”

Steve and Hopper snort, Robin tries and fails to repress her laughter. Down past Wayne, Dustin and Mike are a few seconds from a slap fight while Max and El whisper in between fits of giggles. Joyce sighs deeply.

And the congregation says, “Amen.”

Cooking Thanksgiving lunch goes off without a hitch. Everything was ready, as you promised, by the time they’d returned from Mass and you’d caught the tail end of Joyce’s scolding: “We will try to behave as a civilized family might—”

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Hopper and Joyce both stopping short at the sight of you washing dishes.

“H-how did you—” Joyce’s mouth opens and closes, struck dumb at the sight of gleaming dishes in the drying rack and the dishwasher already running.

“Oh, hi,” You toss over your shoulder, “The dining room table is set, I was just cleaning up in here.”

Steve and Robin file in soon after, bickering about something or other. They’re talking fast and cutting each other off, but it doesn’t deter their conversation.

“Why do you keep singling me out?” Steve balks, throwing his coat on the back of a nearby chair.

“Well, if you hadn’t been pestering Hop throughout Mass we might’ve—”

“And I can’t even defend myself?”

“Forget it,” Hop cuts in with a warning tone, “And I know you gave her my mug, Harrington.”

“Oh, did you need it?” Your hand flies to the cabinet above the coffeemaker, a fresh pot already brewed. “It’s all washed and ready to go.”

Dustin enters shortly after, “Let’s just vote Steve off the island,” and thumps him on the chest in passing.

“Yeah,” Hop agrees.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Well, I’m ashamed of all of you.”

“Oh, there’s some news,” Max mutters sarcastically, leaning against the fridge.

Steve’s eyes fall to Lucas, “Even you Sinclair.”

Lucas throws up his hands in exasperation, “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Okay, enough.” Joyce says cutting through the nonsense. “It’s Thanksgiving, we’re going to eat lunch without any of this bickering. And then, with any luck, you lot will pass out watching the game and I can finally get some goddamn peace.”

Everyone has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, that is until:

“No swearing.”

Steve punches Robin in the arm, “Can it.”

The room descends into guffaws and fits of laughter shortly thereafter. Joyce eventually herds everyone into the dining room, Robin pours the drinks while Hop carves the turkey. Everyone helps themselves to the various sides— dinner rolls, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and roasted veggies. Wayne arrives with cornbread fresh from the oven and some vanilla ice cream to go with the pies for dessert.

The candles are lit casting a warm glow around the room, illuminating smiling faces. And it’s nice. Nice to belong, if only temporarily, to a big family that loves hard. Growing up, it had been only you and your dad. And after his death, that left only you. You had missed it, all of it— the inside jokes, sibling taunts, half-assed scolding followed by a cheeky wink, and that effortless touch.

It was second nature, how freely they expressed their affection for one another. Steve roping Dustin into a half-nelson for a noogie, Jonathan and Will kicking eachother under the table, El and Max communicating in half-formed sentences and wild gesticulations, Joyce, Hop, and Wayne sharing long-suffering sighs.

“Hey,” Robin says, nudging you with her elbow after refilling your wine glass. “I’m thankful for you.” Her voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret. Cheeks tinged with a flush from the wine, she smiles at you and raises her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” She announced to the group, “To our newest addition and guardian angel, cheers!”

The sentiment is echoed across the table, calls of your name and ‘here, here.’ And it’s so kind that your heart could burst. You sip your wine and swallow around the lump in your throat. Going back to your meal, you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched, observed. Glancing up, you catch Steve looking at you from across the table.

The flicker of golden light against his face does little to ease the knot in your chest. His hair is slightly disheveled, a lock falling across his face wrought loose from his fingers combing through it. His eyes appear more green than hazel in the light, studying you from behind wire frames. Your pulse kicks up under his scrutiny, and he looks at you as if you’ll unravel right then and there.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was the years of tropical vacations instead of celebrating holidays with friends and family that made you forget that, actually, families are complicated and any recollection of pleasant holiday celebrations spent with your dad were a figment of your own nostalgia-tinted imagination and the promise of skiing the next day.

For a moment, shame creeps upon you like a thief in the night. You tear yourself from Steve's gaze, not noticing the concerned furrow of his brows as you hastily stand and offer to clear some plates from the table. Sweeping out of the room and nudging the kitchen door open with your hip. He absentmindedly swirls the remaining wine in his glass and blows out a puff of air.

Ever the detective, it takes Hopper all of two seconds to ascertain that Steve did something to hasten your departure from the table. Seeing as the punk is pointedly not looking his way, Hopper lobs a dinner role at Steve, grazing his cheek only to land on his plate sending the cutlery clattering. He jerks upright, setting the glass on the table, “What the–”

“That’s enough,” Hop warns with cool detachment and a knowing look in his eye. He nods toward the kitchen, “Now, go make nice.”

Everything is still mostly out of your control in the kitchen, precisely because you don’t know where anything should go and having a knot in your chest as hard as a rock does little to help matters. But Steve silently rescues you by beginning to unload the dishwasher and Robin starts a thirty minute tale of increasing ridiculousness and by the time the attention turns back to you, you are slightly less hysteric and better able to answer El’s kind questions.

You swallow a twist of guilt and a bigger twist of gratitude. You feel some anxiety brimming in your stomach and nod, giving El a strained smile.

Something knocks against your shoulder. The warm scent of cedar and musk invading your senses— Steve.

“Your shoulders are up near your ears,” he observes.

You sigh at that, trying to roll out the tension, but not quite managing to. Par for the course, with your indeterminate stay in Hawkins looming in the air and stretching far across the foreseeable future.

216 notes · View notes

ivyveil · 9 months ago

Text

steve harrington x you

2,390 words

warnings: nothing much, steve's got shaved hair as per the request for today, some kissing, some ednancy/dad eddie, you're eddie's best friend

A/N: thanks so much for your patience as I work on getting all of these posted that were missed. I hope you enjoy them, it's been great to get back into writing after a couple of really hectic weeks

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event

Your lips purse around the neon green straw as your hips sway in time to Hanson booming out of the shitty speakers. The soles of your boots like velcro against the sticky cement while thuds of dart meeting board echo as you pass. Rum and cherry sweet on your tongue and warming you from the inside out as you look up and down the crowded bar.

A blue polished finger startles you as it crosses your vision and pokes your forehead.

“Dude, relax,” Robin laughs, leaning against the old wood top. Despite already having a drink in her hand, she hasn’t strayed far from the bar tonight. The bartender in a jersey serving up cocktails and beers with a red lipped smile and a musical laugh to blame you were sure. “He’ll be here. He’s probably just stuck in traffic. Or they stopped at their hotel before coming.”

“Right,” you blow a breath out of your nose and look over at the stairs that led to the bouncer, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under glittered lids, a dimple forming on her freckled cheek. “Hold on, can you say that one more time, a little louder? Where’s Steve, I need him to hear this.”

Your eyes roll just as brown fizzy soda sloshes over the side of your cup before it met your lips, narrowly avoiding a landing place down the front of your shirt as hands squeeze at your ribs, startling you with an accompanied:

“Boo!”

“Eddie!” The shriek loud and drawing the attention of most of the bar as you turn to face the menace behind your jump scare. You swat at your best friend’s chest. “Asshole.”

Eddie’s cheeks dimple, shorter curls bouncing across his forehead as he knocks a ringed knuckle under your chin. “I missed you too.”

Your arms wrap around his waist, his around your back in a tight squeeze, the kind of hug only old friends can share.

“I did miss you,” you murmur, drawing back to take in all the ways he’d changed and all the ways he hadn’t. He still had a faded band tee, the laundry detergent clinging to it new but mixed nicely with the familiar spice of his cologne. Ripped holes in the knees of well worn black jeans, but his hair shorter, broader shoulders. A smile that still lit up any room though you could see the sleep and stress heavy under his eyes. “You look like crap.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he squeezes Robin and kisses her temple, murmuring something about scoring the digits of the cutie behind the bar yet, before he turns to you with a theatrical pout of his lips.

“You know, that’s a real shitty thing to say to your best friend who you haven’t seen in months that you know is dealing with a three year old who doesn’t understand the concept of quiet time when the baby is napping.”

Your snort is only slightly muffled into the rim of your cup, “Oh my god, you’re such an old man.”

Eddie grabs a beer from Robin’s hand offering it up without looking away from the bartender chatting with her. He smiles at them, then you again as you drop the act and tug on his wrist and whine, “Where’s the pictures I was promised? Does Amelia know how to say her favorite Aunt’s name yet?”

He laughs, “Not yet. Although yesterday she said ‘tuc’ when a big school bus drove by, so like, no big deal, but my baby’s a genius.” He takes a sip, shrugging his shoulders like it was a joke, but you know it’s not. He nods his head towards the entrance, “Nance has the pictures.”

“She didn’t come in with you?” Your frown disappears and melts into a smile when you see her talking animatedly with her hands while descending the stairs.

“Speak of the devil,” Eddie looks around and leans down to whisper in your ear, timing perfect with the wrinkled nose of Nancy as she looks around the shitty dive bar, “She’s gonna hate this place.”

Your smile widens as Nancy mumbles something to the man entering with her, honeyed eyes roaming over the crowd as he laughs at whatever she said. Steve’s still dressed in his work clothes, a blue sweater and a gray peacoat, dark wash jeans that fit him just right and have you distracted already.

Eddie whistles, nudging your shoulder. “Christ babe, these shoes are new and here you are drooling all over them. I get enough of that at home.”

Your hand pinches his side, his yelp drawing the attention of his wife and Steve. He smiles at you, hand waving a little before it adjusts the black cap still sitting on his head.

Eddie sighs deeply next to your ear and grumbles, “Can you two just fucking, like, do the damn thing already? My god, just go up and-“

“Nancy!” Your yell overly loud and too enthusiastic as you dig a heel into Eddie’s toes and he snorts a half laugh, half grunt of pain.

Your arms envelope her and the two of you rock back and forth and squeal like girls after a Summer break of not seeing each other every day of school. Over Nancy’s shoulder, Steve places a large hand on the back of Robin’s shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She pokes at his beanie that he quickly tugs down further with a scowl. A paranoid glance around before his gaze meets yours and a timid smile forms on his lips before he turns back to Robin.

Nancy’s quick to whip out the photos from her little clutch when you ask and Robin squeals, the pair of you look over her shoulder and coo at their perfect kids. Brown curls and bright blue eyes and dimples worthy of her dad smile up at you in a photo of their toddler holding up a drawing she made.

“Oh shit,” Eddie pats at his jeans, “Beth told me…” he frowns as he searches his pockets, “Sweetheart, where’d-“

Nancy’s already pulling something out of her purse, a neatly folded triangle with your name written in Nancy’s neat penmanship, with a crudely drawn heart around it.

“For me?” You swoon as you grab it and hold the little piece up to your chest when Robin frowns.

“Wow, they’re so not getting good Christmas presents from Aunt Rob-“

Nancy holds up another triangle, cutting her off.

“They can have whatever they want. Do hey have college funds set up yet?”

Nancy and Eddie laugh, a puzzle piece fitting with another as his arms wrap around her waist and her hand reaches up and caresses his chin that hooks over his shoulder.

He kisses her neck, “Want your usual?”

“Yes please,” she kisses his temple before he untangles his arms, squeezing her hips gently before he heads over to the bar.

The interaction makes something in your chest ache, something deep inside of you yearning for a connection that just works like they do. Knowing you don’t need it, but it’d be nice to have someone grab your usual, to hold and ground you when life gets a little crazy.

Nancy’s whisper is all knowing, her blue eyes cutting into yours just as much. “It’ll happen.”

“What?” Something stuck in your throat that you clear away, thumbs brushing over your drawing as you avoid her stare.

“I’m just saying it’ll happen, I know it sucks waiting for your person, but they’re probably closer than you think.”

The searching glance up isn’t intentional, but you’re startled to find Steve staring at you already. Your body flushes when he smiles at you from the bar next to Eddie.

“Oh,” Robin laughs, tucking her drawing into her lavender blazer pocket, “They’re close alright.”

Nancy looks at her then you, finding you glaring at Robin. Your mouth opens to tell her to shut hers, when a drink appears in front of you.

You’re expecting to see silver rings around the cup, but all you find is a gold class band and you swallow, looking up to see Steve offering it to you.

“Extra cherries, right?”

The words come out of plush pink lips surrounded by a dusting of dark scruff and it may as well have been a question asking you to take off your underwear from the way your body heats up.

“Ye-yeah,” you stumble over the word as your fingers meet his, “Thanks.”

“Oh,” Nancy hums, “That is close.”

“Told ya,” Robin snickers into her cup.

“What?” Steve blinks at them, gold and green disappearing with fluttering lashes each time he does.

Nancy points at the bar, “Oh, Eddie, what’s? Yup.”

She disappears quickly with her obvious fake call from Eddie.

Robin doesn’t even attempt to be subtle, she just smiles at Steve, winks at you, and turns away.

Steve watches her go with a frown, then looks at you. “Do I wanna know-“

“No,” you shake your head, tight smile. It warps into a real one when you look down at the piece of paper though. You hold up your drawing, “Did you see what Beth made me?”

He smiles at the drawing that is so clearly you and her on a face time phone call, “Wow, a real Beth Munson artwork. I’m jealous. I must have it. What’s your price?”

Your laugh is effortless around Steve, and you hold it close to your chest, playing along. “Sorry sir, this item is not for sale. Nothing you offer could ever convince me to part with it.”

The freckles next to Steve’s eyes disappear when his smile makes the laugh lines there crease. His two on his cheek lift as he grabs at your elbow, gently nudging you over to the wall to avoid a group of rowdy boys entering the bar. He has to lean in when they all whoop and whistle, hitting backs and shouting about teams winning. His lips brush your ear with each word.

“Everything is for sale. Come on, name it. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

The words invite a shiver to trickle down your spine, something loosening in your shoulders, like someone cracked an egg on the top of your head and it’s leaking into every nerve you have. Your brain feels fuzzy from the way he smiles. Your tongue too heavy in your mouth, but somehow you swallow down butterflies that seek to escape through your throat and say:

“How about a date?”

Steve’s hand does a poor job of hiding his smile, his chin dips down in defeat, but he clears his throat. His eyes melt like brown sugar and butter right in front of you as they hold your stare. “Sure, but I was already going to take you on one, so I feel like I’m practically stealing this original, one of a kind artwork. Anything else you want?”

His head tilts with the question, and the tip of his shoes tap yours, a hand squeezes at your waist, grounding you as the room spins from how dizzy his lips being so close to yours is making you feel.

“I’m,” you suck in a breath as you lean in, the Backstreet Boys crooning overhead in an ironic soundtrack to the moment as you shake your head, “I can’t think of anything. What’d you have in mind?”

Steve’s hand moves from your hip to your lower back, gently nudging you closer. His adam’s apple bobs before he asks, “A kiss?”

Your answer is a nod that bumps your already too close lips together. Steve catches your bottom one with his, gently parting your mouth as his hand slides up your spine.

It’s a dizzying kiss, one that makes your stomach flip and your feet press up onto your toes to chase him more. One that melts and flows into more than one kiss, your hand with your drink and drawing resting against his hip while your other clings to his neck. Steve’s nose bumps against yours as he deepens it. Tongue tracing your lips before it meets yours and he’s gasping for a deeper breath against your mouth, but unwilling to part from it.

Your hand slides up the nape of his neck, pushing at the beanie as your smile breaks the kiss when loud cheers echo through the bar. Steve shakes his head no at the sound, smiling too, but still refusing to part from your kiss until your hand pushes under his hat and you gasp.

“No, no, don’t-“ Steve’s already laughing at your look of pure joy, admiring the way your face is brighter and lips shinier from his kissing, so he doesn’t even try to stop you when you rip the hat off.

“Holy shit!” Robin’s voice is louder than anything in the bar when you reveal that Steve’s hair is shaved. “What happened? I mean why?”

Robin, Eddie and Nancy rejoin your group, wide smiles at you that you roll your eyes at. Steve gently takes the cap back from you and puts it back on with a frown.

“I work in an elementary school, what do you think happened?”

“Oh no,” Nancy laughs, covering her smile with fingers polished ballet slipper pink as Eddie shakes his head.

“It looks good,” you murmur, fingers reaching forward with a mind of their own and brushing along the base of the cap behind his ear.

“Yeah?” He asks, leaning in again, smile and eyes only for you as you nod.

His nose bumps yours but he stops just shy of your lips when Robin groans loudly.

“Thank god you’re moving back, I don’t think I could stomach this alone.”

Your head whips over to the trio, Nancy and Eddie smiling at your shocked expression.

Eddie waves his hands next to his sides like he’s a magician saying ‘ta-da’.

“Surprise!”

Your drink spills to the ground as you leap towards them both, shouting about how excited you are as you all hug and cry and you pester them with accusations and too many questions on the level of an interrogation.

Steve’s hand rests on your lower back the whole time, thumb soothing brushes up and down your spine. Eventually he whispers something about grabbing you another drink before he kisses your cheek and disappears with a promise of being right back.

144 notes · View notes

ivyveil · 11 months ago

Text

moth to a flame

18+. mdni. smut. king!steve x kinda alt fem!reader. mentions of alcohol and drugs throughout. no ud so steve never gets the opportunity to develop from his jackass high school self. both he and tommy are kinda mean to poor old reader but he makes up for it in the end i promise.

a/n: there's something about lil stevie at the moment.. i think it's because i neglected him for so long that now i'm overcompensating lol. more eddie is coming tho i swear<3 so in my head r is like alt though descriptions don't really go past anything vague.

‎⋆⭒˚｡⋆

steve wasn’t really ever that choosy with his women. he didn’t have to be.

they’d throw themselves at him, from the start of high school right through to college. by some grace of god, meaning his dad and his endless wallet, he’d made it into the university of chicago.

partying his way through his studies with a plethora of women and friends who really only saw him as an open wallet.

that’s where he’d met you.

you weren’t a regular, that’s for sure.

your hair dyed, clothes torn purposely and thick, dark rings of black around your eyes.

he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you all night. watching as you’d ducked outside just after midnight, deciding to follow you, muttering something about a cigarette to tommy without a second thought.

he’d found you around the empty side of the house smoking and stuck his tongue down your throat.

with permission, of course.

he’d seen you in there with the guy with the long hair, steve recognised him as someone he bought weed off occasionally. “he your boyfriend?”

relief washing over him when you’d shook your head no, “i can’t get you a discount if that’s what you’re asking.”

his shoulder had bumped against the hard brick in an attempt to nonchalantly lean against it, “noo.. i was just hoping you were single.”

your smile grows though steve didn’t pick up on the sarcastic twang about it until after, “is that right?”

“you don’t believe me?”

“hmm not really,” stubbing the cigarette out on the side of the house.

“but you are single, right?” deploying that trademark harrington grin, ever unfailing in his entire career.

“i am.”

“so why don’t you wanna make out with me?” reverse psychology, another never faltering technique.

your eyes had narrowed, “i didn’t say that,” he’d known he was in from then on out, putty in his hands just the way he’d hoped.

and thus, birthed this. whatever this is.

steve waits rather impatiently for the party to die down enough to sneak out of here and get you into the back of his bmw. he hadn’t drank, swerving tommy’s attempts at getting him to drink with some vague, mumbly excuse.

your meetings weren’t exactly tasteful, usually entailing some dark corner of the town and the leather of his backseat.

you don’t speak outside of this, maybe a quick glance if he ever saw you outside of the parties but never anything substantial.

but you’d gotten wise to his signals, you were usually found outside with that long-haired boy smoking which meant he had also began to get wise.

steve would drop a cup and glance quickly in your direction or he’d loudly say his goodbyes before slipping out of the door. earning a groan or a roll of the eyes from your friend.

steve’s grateful though, because he knows you’ll only be a few minutes behind. shuffling down the street to his beemer.

tonight, you’d taken longer than usual. sighing as you slid into the passenger seat, steve’s gaze immediately falling to your chest, hungry as ever.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, putting the car into drive before anyone had the opportunity to catch you.

you shake your head, buckling in as the car speeds off, “it’s nothing,” settling yourself in the seat.

“didn’t sound like nothing,” he’s not sure why he’s prying so much, you didn’t owe him any explanation.

“it’s just..” debating whether to divulge, “eddie feels the need to tell me how much he hates you, every single time. it’s boring, you know?”

oh.

steve wasn’t quite expecting that.

sure, he wasn’t the most likeable person ever but hate?

“right,” he nods, unsure of where to go from here, “well.. i’m sure if he knew me, he’d think differently,” though even steve doesn’t quite believe that himself.

you hum in response, staring out at the disappearing road ahead.

the car pulls in to it’s usual saturday night spot, overlooking the city on some disused street. quiet and calm but not for long.

it’s the same foolproof routine every single week, you’ll sit and talk for a minute until one or the other gets fed up and pulls the other into the backseat.

this week it takes a little longer for either of you to crack. you’re still pissed off by whatever eddie had said and he was desperate to try and break through your hardened exterior.

he didn’t want to be hated by anyone, let alone your friends.

perhaps it was fear. scared of eddie revealing the truth about your little rendezvous’ or maybe he really did want to know more about you. he’d been inside of you more than he’d ever asked about your day.

steve had once thought the only people that had tattoos were freaks and criminals, but he doesn’t suppose you’re either of the two.

he loves the way they look on your skin, adorning your arms like they were there before you were born.

“why’d you get that one?” pointing to the flower on your wrist.

you tut, “d’you wanna talk about my tattoos or d’you wanna have sex?” becoming annoyed with his attempts to close the bridge between you.

“why not both?” he didn’t know a thing about you besides your name and how hard you liked his palm against your ass. maybe you really were a freak.

“because you don’t care, not really,” shrugging at him from the passenger seat, “you don’t have to pretend y’know?”

“i’m not pretending,” steve frowns, “i wanna know about your tattoos and i wanna have sex with you, is that crazy?”

you chuckle, turning in your seat to face him, “a little, yeah. i don’t believe that steve harrington cares about my tattoos at all.”

fuck, he wishes this was normal, that you were normal and he could just take you out like he would any other girl.

he doesn’t have a reply, sighing quietly to himself instead.

your hand reaches over, cupping his chin in your palm and gently tilting it upward til he meets your eye again, “so.. sex?”

steve nods, blinking rapidly as you shift over into his lap. if you weren’t going to indulge him then the least he could do was give you what you wanted.

you keep your hand firmly on his chin, locking your lips as your hips move forward, grinding against his jeans, his hands coming to meet your waist.

frantic in the way he grabs at your skin, needing you closer than his car allowed.

what had really shocked him most about you, was the fact that your nipples were pierced. he’d never seen it before, not in real life anyway. but now he couldn’t imagine ever having another boob in his mouth that didn’t taste slightly of metal.

he claws at your shirt, yanking it higher for access to your chest, pulling your bra down enough to reveal your tit, palming at the flesh before locking his lips around the sensitive skin.

your skirt ends up above your waist, his hands roaming the fleshy area, grinding down against his stiff cock with an insatiable hunger. rutting until you’re moaning into the cramped car, his tongue still swirling around your nipple.

“c’mon,” instructing him breathlessly, “need you now stevie,” your hands firm on his shoulders, praying he won’t make you wait any longer.

he nods, letting your breast fall from his lips, gripping your waist to allow himself the space to wiggle his jeans down enough, his boxers following closely. your eyes roll at the sight of his cock springing out, already glistening with pre-cum from your incessant rutting.

you’re already raring to go, sodden panties held to the side as he lines his tip with your soaked entrance, gazing up at you with wondrous lust.

“fuck,” whispering harshly when you lower yourself onto him, his fingers leaving heavy marks on your hips.

you take a moment to adjust, biting down onto your lip as your eyes reopen, meeting his before you begin moving. slow at first, thick thighs enveloping his waist. he wants to gnaw on them, leave purple markings all along the doughy skin.

steve knows he has a big cock, he’s not stupid. it had been a thing to marvel throughout high school, in locker rooms and after hooking up with whoever. everyone had known.

it doesn’t seem to phase you, bouncing up and down as your skin slaps together. he’s always found it hot, that two bodies could make such a sexy sound but with you it’s better.

“that’s it,” you whine, melodically breathing in time with your body bouncing.

your hand creeps away from his shoulder, hanging loosely around his neck, too scared to place any real pressure until he nods enthusiastically, placing a harsh hand to your ass, a clear cut green flag.

you practically growl in response, tightening your grip on his neck, the seats of his car squeak and groan underneath your bodies as the car rocks on the wheels.

keeping one hand on your ass and the other now nestling between your thighs, fingers perched on your soft stomach as his thumb finds your clit.

“oh fuck,” you whine, enthusiastically moving up and down, squeezing his neck just enough to make his eyes roll back.

steve tightens his grip on your ass, losing grip of his throat to slam your palm against the foggy window when his hips thrust upward, moving with yours in perfect harmony.

he wants to swallow you whole, entranced by the sheer pleasure on your face, eyelashes fluttering and your lips parted to allow your melodic mewls to flow freely.

“oh honey,” he moans, slamming into your dripping cunt. an insatiable urge to stay inside of you forever, “fucking.. shit, you feel so fucking good,” eye contact intensely heavy, dripping in pure unadulterated lust. “d-do that again,” referring to your palm around his neck.

“you like that? hmm?” leaving steve to hold you upright, enveloping his jugular with a comfortable squeeze.

no one had ever touched him like that, nor had he ever thought to ask anyone to touch him like that. sex had been a mostly placid affair before he met you, a couple positions if he was feeling crazy but nothing compared to the lewd shit you got up to.

he can’t speak, his balls slapping against your thighs in a maniacal rhythm, relishing the feel of your cunt dripping down his cock onto his boxers.

the car is stuffy, suffocating almost. the fluidity of your two bodies moving against each other only makes it worse. your skin sticks to his, chest clammy and slick. steve loves it, the messiness, the sheer animalistic need for one another.

he grunts into the air, weaving his fingers through your untamed hair, a palm flat to your cheek as he finds your lips in a fumbling haze.

your fingers leave his neck to trail down his chest, clawing at his shirt, desperately rutting your hips as you chase your orgasm. it all becomes sloppy when you begin to pant into his mouth, barely able to keep up the rhythm.

“oh god,” whimpering between his parted lips, “fuck,” your thighs begin to shake, trembling uncontrollably as steve continues to thrust upwards, unrelenting though he’s teetering over the edge himself.

your lips graze against his chin, mewling loudly while you come undone. a trembling mess, relying on his arms to keep your body upright.

he can’t take anymore, your cunt squeezing and clenching around him, driving him completely insane. there's no way in hell that he could ever possibly imagine having sex with anyone else for the rest of his measly life.

“are you cumming?” you ask, holding onto the back of his clammy neck with a panicked look in your eye.

steve nods quickly, using the last of his energy to thrust upwards one final time, uncaring of the consequences. or quite honestly not even considering what cumming inside of you could mean.

his hips stutter, the back of his head hitting the headrest as he grunts and groans, filthy words filling the warm car.

he’s still inside of you when you look down, only allowing him a short moment to gather himself before you frown, “steve,” using your finger to flick his ear.

“shit,” the threat of a child dawns on him, realising how much he shouldn’t have done that, “i’ll pay for.. whatever you need, fuck- i’m sorry,” keeping a firm hand on your waist, pleading for forgiveness.

if you could feel what he felt, he thinks you’d understand.

“you’re so lucky i’m on birth control.. idiot,” climbing off of him to rest on his thighs instead, readjusting your underwear as his release threatens to leak out.

steve clears his throat, a little embarrassed to have lost all self control over your pussy. he's never been overly enthusiastic about the thought of having children but for a split second there, he had truly contemplated how bad it could be.

clearing the awkward silence with a quiet chuckle, raising his chin to meet your gaze, "sorry."

your glossy lips pout, gaze scanning his face before you hum, "you're forgiven."

tommy had dragged him out despite it being a tuesday night, knowing full well he’d be skipping his 9am class tomorrow. he had been really trying to make more of an effort with school lately.

you'd made a passing comment, something you'd definitely have forgotten by now but steve hadn't quite been able to shake it.

your dad's money won't last forever, you know?

it wasn't incorrect by any means, he just hadn't expected the wake up call to come from you.

obviously tommy hadn't got the memo, egging him on to ditch the books to get plastered.

the bar is packed for a weekday evening although steve recognises no one, mostly older folk with a lot of tattoos, eyeing steve’s nervous exterior.

“get me a beer, i need a piss,” tommy hollers into his ear before disappearing off to the bathroom. ever the charming gentleman.

steve goes stiff, wondering if he’d seen a ghost.

you’d materialised behind the bar, looking disinterested in whatever the man in front was jabbering about.

why are you here?

he’s never asked what you do for work, never felt the need to. though he wishes he’d asked now. there’s no chance he can collect himself enough to speak to you.

what if you gave it all away? what if tommy saw? oh fuck.

steve’s never had a panic attack before but he feels mighty close now.

he wipes his palms indiscreetly down his jeans, attempting to slow his breathing before he reaches the bar. why did tommy have to be such a jackass? they could’ve been at home tonight. he wouldn’t be having a fucking heart attack if they were.

the person before him clears off, leaving a space for him to quietly shuffle into. you turn around, eyes locking with his but only letting the corner of your mouth twitch a tiny inch.

your tongue clicks against your teeth, “what can i get ya?” playing along just as he’d hoped.

“two.. uh, two uhm, coors.. please,” dropping his gaze as he pleads with god to let the world swallow him up.

clearing your throat before getting the bottles from the fridge, sliding them across the bar with a sigh, “didn’t think this would be your scene to be honest,” stifling your laugh as the other patrons eye his sweater and too-tight jeans.

steve gets it.

the bar was crawling with people with piercings, ripped clothes and an overall disdain for the status quo.

tommy fit in, he was loud and sweary just as they were but steve, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“it’s not.. really, tommy said it was cool.. i dunno,” he hated the fumbling mess you made him, he couldn’t ever understand it.

you stare back at the disaster you’d created, running your tongue along your top teeth before tapping the bar, “seven bucks, please,” palm outstretched beside him.

he shoves a ten into your hand, “keep the change,” grabbing the bottles before elbowing his way back to tommy.

“what the hell took you so long?”

“there was a line, dumbass,” rolling his eyes, passing off one of the bottles to his friend.

“don’t lie,” tommy’s elbow jabs steve harshly in the ribs, “i saw you talking to that girl,” steve freezes, terrified of what tommy might say next. “she’s hot,” tommy leers, “y’know in like a freak sorta way,” laughing obnoxiously loud for such a small bar. “you at least get her number?”

he just glares back, unsure of whether tommy knows more than he’s letting on or just being his usual ignorant self.

“i could fuck the freak outta’ her, trust me,” the drunk continues, only serving to anger steve further. he didn’t want anyone to speak about you like that, much less tommy fucking hagan.

“don’t say shit like that,” steve scolds, like he’s some petulant child who needs punishment.

“what? like you care,” blowing raspberries with his mouth, “c’mon, loads of weird broads in here i can help instead,” walking off into the crowd with a mission.

he glances over at you smiling with some customer, his stomach churning with unfathomable jealousy. he had no right to feel that way, in fact, he probably deserved it.

tommy’s in one of his unbearable moods again, bouncing around the party, antagonising any and every one who even attempts to get him to stop.

steve doesn’t really care, nervously eyeing the door, confused by your absence. you hadn’t told him you were coming, but then you also hadn’t told him that you weren’t coming.

had he done something wrong? the last time you’d spoken was when he and tommy had crashed your shift, only muttering a few nervous words about beer. he’s pathetic. you’d made him pathetic.

an arm latches around his shoulder harshly, almost knocking the drink from his hand, “stop watching the door, she’s not coming,” tommy slurs, laughing cruelly in his face.

“what?” steve’s body tenses, trying to shake off the drunkard.

“your little girlfriend,” clarifying exactly what steve had thought he was saying. tommy clocks steve’s gawping mouth, his heightened breaths, “what?” chuckling loudly, “you think i don’t know? everyone fucking knows dude, you can cut the shit.”

he wriggles free from his grasp, “the fuck are you talking about?” it’s not as if playing dumb would help him now but he’d at least give it a shot.

“fuck off man,” tommy shoves him backwards, “that’s why you’re acting like a little pussy at the moment,” spitting in his face, belligerent and arrogant, “steve fucks the weird girl and now he pretends to give a fuck about feelings and shit,” drawing the attention of the entire party.

if it really had been that obvious, they’d all already know about it anyway.

“you’re an asshole, you know that right?” steve fumes, shoving tommy back into the counter before grabbing the container of vodka behind, walking off into the party with his head held high.

people eye him as he goes, sure they all knew. they’d all heard what tommy was screaming about, hell, they’d probably seen the two of you sneaking about for months.

why did he care so? why didn’t he care more?

steve’s hopeless, completely and utterly tragic.

deserting the party after an hour of his ‘friends’ dancing around him and girls completely dodging his advances.

he didn’t want them, not really. he just needed to fill a you shaped hole.

the only place his intoxicated brain can conjure up to go is your house. his feet carrying him out of the door and across the large campus without much thought to it.

it’s only when he reaches the small row of houses that he realises where he is. looking up at the quaint house he’d dropped you off at tens of times.

he can’t go in, can’t go back to the party either.

stuck between a rock and a hard place because no matter what, he’d come off pretty badly.

“what’re you doing?” a girl he’s never seen before speaks from the shadows, a certain look of disgust on her features.

steve stops his aimless pacing, realising just how weird he looked. how could he ever begin to explain himself?

the girl i have sex with sometimes lives here and i’m here because my best friend found out about it and i don’t really know how to feel about that.

though he opts for something a little easier to digest, “i’m just.. walking.”

the girl narrows her eyes, “i know who you are, steve harrington,” full disgust in her voice, “i don’t know if she’s home,” putting her key into the door.

of course. the roommate you’d mentioned. robin or something like that. he’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it.

“can you.. can you check?” relieved to not have been the one knocking on the door.

“well duh,” she scowls, opening the door and disappearing into the hall.

thankfully, she doesn’t reemerge. unsure of how much he could take tonight without bursting into tears.

you do though, peeking out of the door with a small frown, opening the door wider when you see his frame lingering.

“steve?” confusion echoing, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“hey,” steve waves, watching his fingers wiggle and immediately regretting it. the realisation creeping in that he was lurking around your house like a complete weirdo.

“you’re drunk,” you state plainly, opening the door wider to reveal your heart-adorned pyjama shorts and fuzzy slippers.

his eyes fall immediately, still desperate to suffocate himself between your thighs.

“yup,” hiccuping through the dark.

you sigh, you do that a lot when you’re talking to him, “jesus christ.. come in,” ushering him inside.

he stumbles through the door, hazy eyes looking at your house, the decorations that littered the place.

it’s so.. you.

different and spunky, a guitar leant against the couch, banners and posters and pictures of you and your friends beaming plaster the walls. he can’t help but think about how much his mother would detest it all. wouldn’t fit her cookie-cutter world view, neither would you, really.

is that why he liked you?

some repressed act of defiance against his mother?

no, no he really doesn’t think so.

“okay,” your hand finds his back, “upstairs now,” flashing a look to robin that he can’t distinguish between confusion and maybe slight fear.

steve lets you guide him, appreciating the gentle hand, only wishing it hadn’t taken half a quart of vodka to get him here into your room.

he flops onto the bed with a sigh, still too intoxicated to feel any real shame yet though he’s sure it’ll inevitably sneak in at some point.

“what’re you doing?” pity addling your voice as you come to sit on the bed, desperate to not let his eyes trail down to your legs.

“i wanted to see you,” murmuring his words, “you didn’t come tonight.. i missed you,” letting the spirit speak for him.

you stare at him for a second, figuring out how to approach his fragile state, “didn’t think you’d want me there after the bar.”

“why wouldn’t i?”

you scoff, “you couldn’t even look me in the eye,” reinvigorating that twinge of guilt in his chest, “you were terrified of tommy finding out you even knew me,” you must really pity him. letting him into your house after he’d acted like you simply didn’t exist just a few weeks ago.

“tommy knows anyway.. none of it even mattered,” steve sighs, rubbing his temple as the headache kicks in.

“i know, steve,” offering little remorse. your eyes roll back, sighing softly, “he came by the bar a few days ago, he was drunk, trying to.. it doesn’t matter. i know he knows, i don’t really care,” shrugging as if you couldn’t understand why he did.

maybe rather selfishly steve had assumed that you were also somewhat ashamed of this arrangement. it hadn’t occurred to him that only he felt so pathetically guilty and oddly protective over your relationship.

he wanted you to himself and at the same time wanted absolutely no one to know about it.

“but i care,” it sounding even worse out loud than it did in his head.

yet he means it. he just can’t really understand why.

your eyes lower, shifting uncomfortably on your bed as your smile grows sadder, “you don’t want anyone to know that you fuck the freak, right?” a glum, melancholic tone to your words that makes his heart ache.

“yes- no, i don’t really know,” shoulders slumping, giving up all hope of ever understanding the things he was feeling.

your lips purse, the mattress dipping as you stand, unwilling to give any more energy to the conversation. “why don’t you sleep it off here?” still refusing to re-meet his eye, “i’ll take the couch, alright? you just.. get some sleep,” slinking off to the door before he can protest.

“wai-,” but you’re gone.

left on his own in your room.

he can’t help but think that you should be here too, the first time he’d gathered enough courage to come to your house and he’d pissed you off that badly, you had to sleep on the couch.

all he wants is for this to be normal. to take you out like he did the other girls, show you off to his friends and be proud of it too.

steve wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want that, but he wanted to at least tell you.

screw tommy hagan and anyone else that had anything to say about it.

he stumbles out of your bedroom, trying to remember which way to go to reach the steep stairs. god he hopes robin isn't down there with you. they'd interacted for no more than five minutes and yet he could already sense her general distaste for him.

the floorboards creak under his weight, dragging his uncoordinated feet down until he hits the floor with a thud, missing the last few steps completely.

your head pokes out of the closed door, with what he hopes is worry on your face. "what the fuck? are you okay?" rushing over to his crumpled body. this would all be highly entertaining if he weren't in the midst of an identity crisis.

"i'm good, i'm okay," clinging onto your arm. rather than standing to get to your level, he decides that dragging you down onto the floor with him is the best way to confess. ignoring your shrieks of complaint as you land harshly on his lap.

"what are you doing?" unable to hold back the maniacal cackle any longer.

"i'm trying to tell you something," steve mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours in hopes the words would somehow telepathically absorb through your skin.

they don't, obviously. because that's not how this works.

"i think that i," he hiccups,, sliding his hand down your arm to grasp your hand, "i think i really, really like you," stammering through his half-assed confession. on further thought, he probably should've waited until morning before deciding to unleash this unto you. "and i think that i've been an asshole to you," swallowing the gargantuan lump in his throat, "and i want to- only if you want to," earnestly gazing into your eyes, his thumb tracing your soft knuckle.

"want to what, steve?"

"i want to be with you, like.. dating or- or your boyfriend," hoping that now you’d understand his stammering, incoherent words.

your face displays something he can’t place, twisting the knife in his chest completely to only ease up when your lips twitch, “i think you’re drunk,” brushing off his confession.

steve wants to scream, he’d laid himself bare for you and while he probably didn’t deserve to call you his girlfriend, he also didn’t deserve to never get the chance to ask.

“i am,” admitting to his sins, “but i mean it,” nodding his head against yours, putting your hand to his chest, “i want it, i want you.”

your lips purse, he hates it when you do that. still unable to get through that mysterious shell you’re clinging onto, leaving him to try and guess what you’re thinking. most girls were fairly obvious in the way they treated steve. either fawning over him or they’d argue until he’d hate it and ghost them.

“even if everyone knows?” slowly opening up to the idea of you two. or at least he hopes so.

“especially if everyone knows.”

it’s a stark contrast from the embarrassingly nervous wreck he was at the bar, too terrified to even look you in the eye. he’d decided that it just wasn’t him. you deserved better and steve couldn’t stand to watch anyone other than himself give you that.

“..okay,” you blink, lashes brushing against his skin as they flutter, “but i’m gonna ask you again in the morning,” narrowing your eyes, ever the voice of caution.

steve just grins, morning couldn’t come soon enough if that was all it’d take to get you to believe him.

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