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kianely · 4 months

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”YOU SEND ME RIGHT TO HEAVEN”

i. PAIRING — Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

ii. SYNOPSIS — Fresh out of police academy, Leon heads back to his hometown to crash with his best friend before he has to move to Raccoon City. The only problem is, you’re there too — his best friend’s sibling. He has been harboring feelings for you for years, so being under the same roof as you rekindles some emotions he wasn’t able to bury. You were in a similar position.

iii. CONTENT — MDNI, 18+, mutual feelings + confessions, fluff, kissing, making out, brief mentions of masturbation, blowjob (Leon receiving), lube, fingering (reader receiving), penetrative sex, protection, consent checks, aftercare, you just graduated college (so around same age as him), banter, he’s like the boy next door, late night car ride, he’s kinda cliche and throws a rock at your window, no mention of parents, I tried to make this more dialogue heavy woo, in Grammarly I trust, let there be no typos

iv. WC — 8.6k

Leon drummed his fingers against the leather fabric of his steering wheel, humming along to the song playing in his car. He was excited, parked outside of his old high school’s friend house — which by extension, was your house too.

He was fresh out of police academy, a soon-to-be rookie at the Raccoon City Department. He packed some bags with enough of his belongings and drove back to his hometown, wanting to spend some time with his good and most trusted pal before he settled down in a new city and focused on his work.

He took his keys off the ignition, got off, and got his bags. His hands were full when he walked up to the front door, so he rang the doorbell with his elbow. For some reason, he felt a tad bit nervous. He’d seen your brother maybe over six months ago, but he hadn’t been inside the place in a while, maybe a few years.

When the door began to open, he was almost ready to say your brother’s name. Instead, he was greeted with a special someone he hadn’t expected to see. You.

Leon nearly dropped his bags. He hadn’t seen you in a couple of years because you decided to dorm at a university. Right. Yes. You must’ve graduated by now.

“Leon?”

God, your voice almost made his jaw slacken. He loved hearing his name come out of your lips.

He didn’t even get a chance to respond — managing to keep his ground when you stepped out to hug him. “It’s so good to see you! It’s been what, like two years already?”

“Woah — yeah, yeah…something like that. It’s really good to see you too.”

You made his heartbeat spike. Your arms around him, the way you leaned against him. Granted, he was standing somewhat stiffly because he was holding his bags. But…he couldn’t resist you — he let them drop onto the patio floor with a couple of thumps before he wrapped his arms around you. He tried to do so in the most platonic way possible, fearing he’d see the light if your brother happened to join the scene.

Leon had a thing for you. Always had. Always will.

He was too scared to do a damn thing about it, in his eyes, you were simply off limits. Like a forbidden fruit, a temptation that couldn’t be indulged in without some sacrifice.

He let his arms linger back to his sides when you pulled away, and he sucked in a breath.

“Come on in,” you flashed him that gleaming smile of yours as you reached for one of his bags to help him out. “My brother’s upstairs cleaning up his room. He said he’s setting up a bed for you…I think.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t let me take the couch. Said he wanted me to be his roommate, so it’ll be just like old times.”

Leon was hit with a wave of nostalgia as he took a look at the interior, it looked exactly like he remembered. Not much had changed, aside from the addition of some photos, a wall-mount TV instead of a TV stand, and other small details here and there.

“You’ve changed a lot. In a good way.” You spoke up.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, I mean, just look at you.”

He looked down at himself. Shirt. Jacket. Shoes. A similar style as before. And he knew his hair wasn’t any different. What were you getting at?

He then looked back at you.

Oh.

Your eyes were practically glued to his arms. Have you always blatantly checked him out like this? Suddenly, he felt a wave of heat wash over him. The worst part is, you seemed genuinely curious — not like you were ogling him, but as if asking: Wow? Where’d those guns come from?

“It was all the drills at the police academy.” He knew that you knew that, which led him to believe that the point of your observation was to subtly compliment him. “The amount of training was pretty brutal, but I’m ready for the job.”

“I’m sure you are. I heard you graduated at the top ten percent of your class, that’s pretty cool!” You were being genuine, he could hear it in your voice since it went to a slightly higher-pitched tone.

The playful nudge you gave his shoulder made the ends of his eyes crinkle, he loved it when you did that — it reminded him of how things were back then when he visited often, the way you’d nudge him or even ruffle his hair whenever you were happy or excited over his accomplishments. It made him feel seen.

“It was nothing,” he was humble, as usual. “It has just always been my dream.”

“I know…I’m really proud of you, Leon.”

The way you attached his name to the praise just made it sound all the more personal, the tips of his ears felt like they were burning. He bashfully rubbed the nape of his neck. “Uh thanks, I really appreciate that. It means a lot coming from you.”

Leon had always been a complete sweetheart with you. He was the epitome of ‘the boy next door’. He had fond memories of trying to muster up the courage to ask you to be his Valentine’s during high school — the two of you attended the same one and were a year off from one another, so he saw you around. Again though, he didn’t want to ruin his friendship with your brother…so he never asked.

He thought about driving over to your house and throwing a pebble at your window to get your attention, and he’d be holding a bouquet in his hands. Just a daydream, but a fun one to look back on nevertheless. He always gave you presents on your birthday and Christmas, nothing too grand so he wouldn’t get your brother suspicious, but just enough so he could see you light up as you unwrapped the gift.

“Are those your graduation photos?” He took notice of some polaroids splayed out on the coffee table, ones with you with a cap and gown.

“Yeah, feel free to look at them.”

Leon wished he could’ve watched you walk the stage. Yeah, he attended your high school one, but he would’ve liked to see the college one too. Maybe he’d ask if any of your family or friends took a video later. There was a goofy grin on his face the entire time he looked through them.

He was so absorbed that he didn’t even hear the footsteps down the stairs, nor the chuckle you let out before your brother playfully pulled him into a chokehold.

“Dude, really? How are you going to be part of the force like this?”

Leon swatted your brother away with a roll of eyes, all out of love of course — he easily maneuvered out of the half-assed chokehold. “Cut me some slack, I was a little distracted.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem. Don’t you have to be attentive and shit?”

That right there was your sign to leave — your brother was really close with Leon, and you wanted to give them time to catch up. After all, you’d probably be bumping into Leon a lot since he was going to be staying for a couple of days.

Leon hated the way his eyes trailed over to your form as you made your way upstairs. He’s supposed to be paying attention to your brother, so why were you clouding his thoughts? With a very small physical shake of head, he redirected his attention to your brother, nodding along as he listened in to his chit-chatter and caught up with everything that had happened in his hometown.

But in the back of his mind, he knew he was screwed.

You wanted to bury your face against your pillow and scream. How were you supposed to act now that your high school crush was here? Your brother’s best friend. The one you had always dreamed of dating. That was a long time ago. But even in college, you always longed to see him again — to grab lunch and coffee with him and then show him around your campus with your hand in his.

Leon popped into your head whenever you dipped your hand underneath your waistband to relieve your urges. Your stomach bubbled with craving when you felt pent up late at night, even if you tried to think of someone else, Leon was always in your mind whenever you came and muffled your noises into your pillow.

No amount of people you saw in college even came close to Leon.

He had gotten so much stronger. When he hugged you earlier…you could feel his bulging biceps and noticed how much broader his shoulders were. You were sure his pecs were in solid condition too, it made you want to bury your head between them. He had always been fit, but you knew damn well you’d see a six-pack if he took off his shirt.

So for his sweet self to be just a walking distance away was pretty overwhelming. You could handle a day, maybe even two, but as far as you know, he was going to be staying longer. Not as long as a week, but still enough to have you worrying.

It had been four hours since he arrived. You could faintly hear some laughter. That wasn’t a surprise though, your brother’s room was just across the hall from yours.

That's it. No more. You were going insane.

You got up and played some music, not too loud, just enough to drown the other sounds out. It was dark outside now, you opened up the window to let some of the breeze in to ventilate your room.

It was going just fine until you fast-forward to half an hour later.

A familiar set of knocks distracts you from your worries. Wait, never mind. The one behind the knocks was the cause of your worries.

You lowered the volume of your music a bit and took a very quick look in the mirror to make sure you looked okay before opening the door.

Leon leaned against your door frame, just casually — like he didn’t know just how pretty he looked right now. In his defense, you knew he probably didn’t. He had always been a little dense about all that.

“Hey.”

“...Hey.”

His awkwardness was a part of his charm.

“Does my brother need something or?”

“Oh, no. Uh, one of his coworkers called him and I felt a bit neglected, so here I am.”

Don’t you know it? If you had a penny for the amount of times your brother had paced around the entire house getting into a heated conversation over work gossip, you’d have enough to pay off your student debt.

“Trust me, those phone calls can last hours.” You walked back to sink into your bed with a contended grunt, making a hand gesture for him to come in.

Why would you do that? Being in a closed space with him wasn’t a good idea considering all the thoughts spinning in your head.

Leon had never really entered your room, at least not for over a couple of minutes. He didn’t know where to sit despite there being many surfaces: the window seat, your desk chair, the floor, the beanbag you had, your bed, no — out of the question.

“Don’t be so stiff,” you teased, finding the way he looked a bit out of place a little cute. “Sit anywhere you like.”

He laughed before heading over to the window seat. “Just don’t want to be intrusive.”

“You? As if.”

Leon took an in-depth look around — posters of shows and bands, little collections of trinkets, old textbooks, scattered papers on your desk, diplomas and awards plastered on your wall, stickers on the cover of your laptop, a corner with some of your hobbies, a counter with your personal products. It seemed so…you. So naturally, he liked it. It was cozy.

And God, it smelled like you too. It made him dizzy. In a way, it was comforting, like the scent he’d get whenever you passed by him or when the two of you briefly hugged. Though at the same time, his mind was also pulled toward a more inappropriate direction. He’d be able to drown in your scent if you let him bury his face against the crook of your neck so he could nip at your skin and make you a purring mess in his arms.

The idea of being so physically close to you to the point your fragrance and scent rubbed off on his clothes afterward? Now that had his blood rushing straight to the gutter.

You felt nervous, aware of his moving eyes — you were glad the attention wasn’t directly on you, you tried to continue casually scrolling on your phone despite the way your heart was hammering.

“Better than my brother’s room?”

“Mm, I don’t know about that.”

“Pftt, you’re just biased.”

He didn’t have a rebuttal for that, merely shrugging as his eyes continued their exploration. Eventually, he caught sight of something familiar sitting on top of your nightstand — a set of headphones he had gifted you. He always knew how much you loved music, so he had gotten that for you a long time ago.

“You still have those?”

“Hm?” You followed his gaze, and your lips tugged into a smile as you reached over to dangle them in the air for him to see more properly. “Duh! Actually…they stopped working a couple of months back, but they lasted me a pretty long time.”

With the ice broken, Leon felt more comfortable. He went over to sit down on your bed. He wasn’t questionably close to you, but he was manspreading so his knee nearly grazed against yours.

“Is there any use in keeping a pair of broken headphones around?”

“Uh, yes.” You said matter-of-factly as you now clutched them close to your chest, looking at them almost sentimentally. “I cherish everything that you’ve given me. These bad boys aren’t seeing a trash can anytime soon.”

Cute. Cute…Cute.

“You sure you aren’t just a hoarder?”

“Rude.”

“Just a question.”

“Yeah, a rude one.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Whatever.”

You were killing him. Leon felt his self-restraint diminish by the second. He could mess up so easily. He wanted to confess. To kiss you. Hold your hand. Plant his lips against your forehead. Rest his head against your lap and melt as you play with his hair.

He could do it, assuming you returned his feelings. He was moving to Raccoon City soon, it’s better to not have any regrets, right? He loves your brother, but at this point screw him. Leon has been pining for you for years.

He was incredibly tempted, hanging on a thin string. But he had to know one thing first. “So, are you dating anyone? There must’ve been plenty of candidates in college.”

“Nah, I dated here and there but…nothing lasted long. It’s weird, everyone was focused on something different, so nothing ever worked out.” Because none of them were him.

“What about you?”

“No one.” He replied.

Great, you were both single.

Silence. Again. This time with occasional fleeting eye contact. Leon twiddled his thumbs, his hands resting on his lap.

You purposely shifted closer to him, enough for your thigh to press up against his a little. Wow. He hadn’t expected to feel a jolt of electricity from that.

He looked over at you more clearly this time, his eyes searched yours.

You were losing your shit, drawn to his baby blue eyes. With your nearby lamp turned on, you could see the way his cheeks progressively turned rosy. Your eyes flickered to his lips. They looked soft, as if he put lip balm on consistently. Would they feel like a pillow?

He felt like he was burning, and he nervously tugged his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You know, I’ve always found you cute.” You were the one to break the silence.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Your brother would kill me. Take it back.”

“My brother would kill you for something I said?” You scoffed. “You’re funny.”

“You know what I meant.”

You did.

But it hurt a little. Would Leon really hold back on his feelings all because of your brother? As far as you were concerned, your brother had never told you to not go after Leon. And if that was some sort of unspoken rule…then too bad.

Leon knew you had him wrapped around your finger, he didn’t stand a chance.

“Come on, Kennedy. You’re telling me you’ve never thought about this?”

“Well, yeah…But—“

“Just one kiss, please, Leon?”

You just had to say his name, didn’t you?

One kiss. Only one. Yeah, he could work with that. No hand holding or waist holding. Just a kiss, how bad could it be?

“Just one.” He agreed, his voice a whisper.

Leon leaned in, stopping just moments before his lips touched yours. He was nervous. If he was granted even a piece of heaven, surely he’d end up craving more. But he would deal with it. He caved.

His lips gently met yours. God, your lips felt plush. It was a simple one, ending as soon as it began. But of course, it wasn’t going to end there. The two of you were already in each other’s space. The short peck wasn’t enough.

“So, two?”

“Yeah.” You placed your hand on the side of his upper neck and caressed his cheek with your thumb.

“God…” Leon folded, leaning in once more with a suave and much longer kiss this time. His body pressed against yours a little, his body heat mixing with yours.

Just a few minutes passed, and the two of you were making out — slowly and sensually. Your tongues naturally clashed against one another, no rush or doubt, just instinct. Leon tasted good, like spearmint.

“I’ve always had a thing for you,” Leon murmured the confession out in between kisses. He didn’t want you to think he was kissing you just for the hell of it, or for mere physical attraction. You were important to him, the person who harbored his thoughts for the past years of his life.

Honestly, if you weren’t underneath him like this, you might’ve reacted more incredulously. But he was kissing you so intimately, you weren’t surprised. Even so, his sincerity was sweet.

“For how long?”

Another kiss — A pause.

“Since the day your brother introduced us.” Another one. “Six years now.”

You smiled into the kiss, and it prompted him to do so as well. But eventually, you leaned back to look at him. “For the record, I’ve always liked you too. You never made a move on me though, so I thought maybe you didn’t see me that way.”

“Please. I’ve always been crazy over you.”

“Good, that’s how I like my men. Now c’mere…”

With that, the two of you continued kissing. You could scream into your pillow later once you had the chance to process the fact the man of your dreams had just confessed to you. For now though…his taste was pretty damn distracting.

What drove Leon crazy was whenever he managed to hear some quiet noises escape from you: a discreet moan into his mouth, a gasp when he snaked his hand up and down your side, an exhale when he pulled away to kiss the corner of your lips and catch his breath. He hoped you didn’t feel the way he was beginning to get a little hard, not a full-blown boner, but…you got him riled up fairly easily.

Your fingers were threading through his hair, unintentionally ruffling it up. And you figured something out fairly soon — a gentle tug on his hair made him breathless. He liked it.

The music still softly playing in your room kept the sounds of your lips smacking and occasional chatter hidden, but eventually, your mind drifted to the reason why Leon had come into your room in the first place.

“Okay, okay.” You laughed quietly, pressing your palms flat against Leon’s chest and keeping him at a distance. “I think that’s enough…my brother’s probably done with his call by now. He probably just thinks you’re in the bathroom or something.”

Leon’s breathing was a bit heavy, his lips felt all tingly from the amount of time that they had been against yours. “I forgot about that…yeah, I should get going.”

He sat up, licking his lips as if to get more of your remaining taste. He was glad you guys had stopped there, otherwise, there’d be a bulge straining against his pants — which would be pretty damn awkward.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” Leon sounded amused. He stood up and went over to your mirror to fix his hair up and make himself look as if he had not just been kissing his best friend’s sibling.

“What are you gonna do about it? Handcuff me?”

“I’m not officially on the job…but I might just have to.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can talk to me about the law some other time.”

Two days had passed since then. Leon hadn’t had many opportunities to interact with you since your brother kept taking him out of the house to stroll around the town and reminisce on memories. Even amidst a trip down memory lane, Leon couldn’t get you off his mind. The kissing, the confession, there has to be more to the story the two of you have developed.

He couldn’t sleep all night, lying on the makeshift bed your brother had prepared for him. He tossed and turned, knowing you were just down the hallway was testing his self-restraint.

The good news? Your brother was a heavy sleeper. We’re talking…he wouldn’t wake up without many nearby alarms or without a bucket of water being poured onto him.

Leon shuffled out of his makeshift bed, threw some clothes on, grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone, headed downstairs, and then made his way outside, cringing a little at the loud creak of the door. He was going to get some fresh air and go on a drive around the neighborhood, he needed to clear his head.

Walking towards his car, he looked up at the house and noticed that one room was still all lit up even in the dead of midnight. Yours. Maybe you couldn’t fall asleep either, thinking about what happened.

He shouldn’t be thinking about throwing a small pebble at your window, but he couldn’t help it. There was a lot unsaid between the two of you. So…he threw a pebble.

With a huff, you got out of your bed to investigate what had dragged your attention from your phone. It wasn’t rare for you to hear a noise outside, but to have such a distinct sound against your window? You just wanted to be safe.

Leon saw you brush your curtain to the side, looking around before peering at him.

He felt small for some reason and motioned for you to come over, he didn’t want to yell in the middle of the quiet neighborhood. Leon leaned against the side of his car as he waited for you.

His hands felt clammy.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” You asked. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah, I needed some fresh air. Wanna go for a drive around the neighborhood?”

“You don’t even need to ask…I can finally call shotgun.”

Leon snorted at that. He had a car during high school and would occasionally give you and your brother rides, but your brother always called shotgun (obviously, since they were best friends), so you were always stuck sitting in the back and listening in to their conversations.

“Yeah, yeah.” He unlocked his car before opening the passenger seat door for you. “In you go.”

“Thanks.”

You put your seatbelt on and then looked around his car as he got in and turned on the ignition, waiting for the car to warm up.

“So,” Leon began, looking over at you with a coy smile. “About the other night…”

God, you had been dying to talk about it. In all honesty, you were internally a little bit upset that your brother had been dragging Leon out of the house, even if that was reasonable considering their friendship. But you knew that what happened wasn’t just a one-time thing, it couldn’t be, and you wouldn’t let it.

“Yeah, uh—” You met his gaze. “ I know you’re worried because of my brother and everything but I really like you, Leon. He cares about you, and he trusts you. I don’t…I don’t think he’d be upset if we ended up together.”

“Are you sure? I really like you too, I just don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Are you kidding? He’d probably be hyped about you being his future brother-in-law.”

“Already thinking about marriage, huh?”

“I—no…shut up.”

With a roll of eyes and a grin, Leon turned his attention to reversing out of the driveway since the car was all ready to go. Yeah, he looked really damn attractive while doing that, you couldn’t resist from looking at his arms. There wasn’t anything interesting to look at outside the windows anyway, you had walked and driven by all these houses practically every day.

“So, what made you like me?”

Leon hummed in thought after you asked him that, he kept his eyes on the road, trying to find a way to sum it all up.

“Well, I remember meeting you for the first time. You were breathtaking and held yourself so well, and I was just kinda standing there not knowing what to say. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, and I remember thinking to myself: no one else has ever made me feel this way after a first impression, you must be the one. It was complicated though, I thought you were off limits, you know…that’s just friend code. And the more and more I came over, the more I fell for you. Everything about you. I just…I dunno. I like you.”

That was his short explanation, he could go ramble for hours about why he liked you, about all the little things you do and say that make him feel like a lovestruck fool.

“The feeling’s mutual…I’ve always wanted to be with you. Like, I can actually be myself and not have to force any conversation. It’s all so natural. I really missed you throughout college.”

Leon was smiling, pearly whites showing as he continued driving.

“We could’ve been high school sweethearts. Y’know…you’re the reason all my relationships failed.” You joked, though, it wasn’t far off from the truth.

“You’re seriously gonna blame me for that?”

“Yeah, you raised my standards way too much.”

“Not my fault.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Not.”

“Is.”

“Not.”

“Is.”

“...”

Leon knew that he would never get the final word, not when it came to you. He gave you the win.

The two of you must’ve driven around for a little over half an hour before Leon parked back onto your driveway.

“Actually, there’s something else on my mind.” You told him, taking in a breath before voicing your thoughts. “You’re moving in what…like a week? So, what does that mean for us?”

If there was one thing Leon was certain about, it was that he wasn’t letting you go. No, he’d gone six long years just pining over you and not making any moves, he’d figure something out.

“We’ll make it work.”

“But you’re going to be busy. I know how important your career is to you, what if I distract you and screw something up.”

He loved that about you, you were so damn considerate.

“Not gonna happen.” He retorted, turning off his ignition before getting out of the car — going over to your side to open it for you.

He walked side by side with you to the front door, and you were still quietly yammering about how worried you were.

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he turned to face you, he cupped his hands around your face. The caring look in his eyes could cure millions. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

With that, he gently kissed you, making all your worries fade instantly. You smiled and then kissed him again, tugging on the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. When you pulled back, you laughed a little before asking:

“My room?”

“Yeah.”

The minute the two of you were inside your bedroom with the door locked, you took the initiative and pushed him onto your bed. God, you adored the way his eyes fixated on you, the way his hand reached out to squeeze your hips as you got settled on top of him and captured his lips into a kiss.

A familiar makeout session, just like last time. The two of you lost track of time. But it was different this time: more steamy, a little more fast-paced — especially with the way Leon was practically squeezing all your curves, unlike last time.

“Mm.” He moaned softly, relishing the taste of your lips. His hand slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh as his breathing grew heavier. He was hard, whimpering every single time he got any friction down there.

He let his lips trail down to your neck, squeezing you a little harder when he heard you gasp.

You just about melted, your hand instinctively going to the back of his head to keep him close — the way his teeth occasionally nipped the sensitive skin was heavenly, it made you shudder and tug on his hair.

Leon was careful to not bruise your skin, just wanting to make you feel good like you made him feel.

“Oh shit, wait.” You got off him for a second, taking a quick moment to turn on some of your music. Not so loud that it would disturb anyone, but just enough to cover up your noises. “Okay…all done.”

You then repositioned yourself again. It was getting hot in the room, your hands reached down to tug your shirt off, no use for it anymore.

Leon swallowed thickly, his eyes roaming across your torso and taking every single feature in. He couldn’t resist from letting his hand wander across your bare skin, watching as goosebumps formed from his mere touch.

“You’re…” He whispered out, looking back into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” You said in return, a grin forming on your face. You reached your hands underneath his shirt. “Can I take yours off?”

Leon nodded mindlessly, he’d let you do just about anything to him. He was getting hot under the collar. He helped you out as you took his shirt off.

You felt a tingle shoot straight down when you saw his body. Pretty. He was pretty. You pressed your hands against his pecs before sliding them down tortuously slow to his abs. Rock hard.

“You’re so muscular now,” you let your fingers trace the lines of his abs.

“Yeah.” Leon’s voice sounded a bit strained. “Police academy will do that to you.”

“I bet.” You leaned down to kiss his torso, littering kisses all over his chest, smiling against his skin whenever you caught onto the subtle incoherent mumbles of encouragement he was voicing out.

“You know what I think?”

“Hm?”

“I think…” you trailed off, your lips reaching his stomach and your hand brushing across the tent that had formed in his pants. “You need some attention down here.”

“Mm…I think you’re right. But uh, are you sure?”

Leon was a bit worried you felt pressured into this. Yeah, it would be great to go further than kissing, but he wanted you to be completely comfortable with it.

“Yeah, I want to make you feel good, if that’s okay with you.”

“It is.”

“Okay, let’s use the traffic light system, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

Leon was breathing heavily, eyes already lidded as he watched you pull down his fly and his jeans.

Your mouth watered, you had thought about this so many times that it was almost embarrassing. You kissed along his bulge, right through the fabric. You could’ve sworn you felt it twitch a little too.

“You’re pretty excited, I haven’t even done much.”

“Oh come on, you already know you drive me insane.”

You laughed and then tugged his boxers down.

Leon hissed, his cock now exposed to your eyes. He thought about this so many times when he tugged one out, but he never imagined he would have felt a little bit self-conscious. Like, what if you thought it was ugly or something?

Quite the contrary. You adored everything about him,

“Light?”

“Green.”

You planted a kiss against his tip, a gesture that made him chuckle breathlessly.

“Seriously?”

“What? I can’t kiss it?”

“No no, you can.”

You continued placing kisses across the length of his cock, all the way down to his balls. Leon groaned, the tips of his ears started to flush. Never in his life did he think he’d get such treatment from you.

“Now you’re just being a tease.”

You could tell he was desperate by the tone of his voice. “There’s a thing called patience, maybe you should learn it.”

He was going to counter your words, but all that left his mouth was a pitiful gasp when you started licking him. The sound went straight to the spot between your legs, you really wanted to palm yourself.

“Better?”

“Yeah…that feels really good.” He placed his hand on the back of your head, practically petting you as you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock. He tilted his head back, jaw slackened as he took shaky and shallow breaths.

His stomach tightened up when you reached the tip, swirling your tongue around the sensitive area before finally sucking him off.

“Oh — Jesus.” He’s so sensitive, not used to having such a pretty pair of lips wrapped around his cock. In an attempt to quiet himself down, he chewed on his bottom lip, but the poor guy couldn’t contain the muffled noises that spilled instead.

You were eager to please, using a hand to stroke the base of his cock and taking the rest into your mouth. The combination had him purring, his head spinning with pure want and affection for you.

His hips involuntarily bucked, catching you off guard as his tip hit the back of your throat. His free hand bunched up the fabric of your bedsheets, he couldn’t think straight, not when you were between his legs like this.

Leon hadn’t felt this way in a while, it was overwhelming. And he could feel his abdomen growing warm. Just a little over a minute and he was already close — this was much better than all his fantasies.

“Wait…I’m almost there.“ He settled his hands on your shoulders. He made the mistake of looking down, the way you were peering at him through your lashes would drive any man insane.

Leon feebly tried to push you away. It’s not because he doesn’t want you to continue, no, he’d say the safe word if that was the case. But the idea of his cum filling your mouth…well, it made him feel a little embarrassed.

You were relentless though, taking him so well in your mouth. You were drooling by now, but that did nothing to stop you, not when you were enamored by the way Leon’s thighs were shaking. You had never been so turned on.

The moment your hand fondled his balls though, he was a goner.

“I’m—” Leon couldn’t finish his sentence, hips bucking against you and stilling as he came in your mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he bit his lip harshly to not let out a window-shattering moan.

You swallowed it all, pulling away to catch your breath and lap at his cock to take any leftovers. Leon was panting at this point, trying to recover from the orgasm you had given him.

“You must have a pretty good diet.” You really had the audacity to say that when Leon was still completely fucked out, barely even registering what you were saying.

“Uh…what—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His cheeks were burning at what you implied: he tasted good.

Leon pawed at you, tugging you up so he could eagerly kiss you. It was sloppy and uncoordinated because of how dazed he was, but you couldn’t care less.

“You did so well,” he praised you, trying to make up for the way you rendered him speechless while sucking him off. “Better than I dreamed of.”

“Trying to flatter me, are you?”

“Oh, c’mon.” He scoffed.

He switched the positions, putting your back on the mattress and settling his hips between your thighs. He was more than ready to make you feel good too.

His hand traveled all over you, across your chest and hardened nipples, across the side of your ribs, squeezed your waist, went down to grab your ass, and then returned to your waistband, fingers tugging at your waistband.

“Can I?”

“Yeah.”

After you lifted your hips to help him take your pants and underwear off, you reached over to open the top drawer of your nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom.

Leon was relieved you were prepared, because he certainly hadn’t packed any of that for his visit, he didn’t think this would happen.

“Here, let me…” He reached for the bottle.

He put some lube on his middle and index fingers before reaching his hand back between your legs, teasing your hole a bit before very slowly sinking them in. You inhaled sharply at the coldness of it, letting out that same breath in the form of a moan.

“Is this okay?” Leon asked you, eyes watching your facial reactions to make sure the motion of his fingers weren’t causing you any discomfort. He was a little insecure of them, his training had roughened them up a bit.

“Mhm. Keep going.”

He did just that, continuing to dip them in until you eased up and they fit inside nice and snug.

He looked back down, letting out a quiet ‘oh fuck’ when you started bucking your hips up to meet his touch. God, he was so horny even after his climax, his cock beginning to harden up again.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he muttered, fingering you at a gentle pace, he swallowed the saliva that built up in his mouth at the thought of being inside you.

“I can, I think we’re made for each other.”

The way you managed a smile while letting out the prettiest noises stirred up many emotions in him. He liked the vulnerability of this moment, just two people who liked each other being intimate and connecting.

“Well, I do too. Just…I dunno.” He fell silent, his gaze returning to your face and watching as it contorted into one of pleasure when he angled and curled his fingers just right.

“Right there?”

You nodded, reaching your hand down to hover it over the one he was using. “Yeah. Fuck…just like that.”

The wet sounds of his slick fingers sliding in and out of you were driving him insane, and a string of curse words left his lips. “You sound so good.”

Each flick of his wrist had you squirming around, your bed sheets wrinkling and getting all messed up. Some of the lube spilled down your thighs, you’d need to wash your sheets after this.

Leon kept going until you came, feeling his cock come fully to life at the way you moaned and spilled his name.

“Leon…” Your fingers dug into his forearms, feeling his muscles flex as he coaxed you through your orgasm. His eyes were glued to your face, biting his lip at the way your pretty eyes rolled back. He pulled his fingers out when your legs closed together in response to the overwhelming presence.

“Holy shit,” you sighed when you regained your senses, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

His lips tugged into a smile, he looked pretty proud of himself. “Felt good?”

“Better than good, but…”

“But?”

“I want more.”

“More as in…?”

Could he be more dense?

“I want you inside me.”

“Oh. Right.”

His cheeks turned red, well, redder than they already were. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “Do you wanna be on top or?”

You gave it some thought, reaching over for the unopened condom — there was time for both, but to start, you wanted to ride him.

“I’ll be on top.”

With the repositions all done, you straddled his hips, tearing open the condom packet. Your heart was hammering like crazy, one of your dreams was about to come true. It wasn’t just about sexual pleasure, this was the man you had liked for literal years.

Leon noticed that you seemed to be pensive while putting the condom on him. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing about the flesh.

“What are you thinking about? Talk to me.”

His caring voice pulled you from your thoughts, you shook your head and smiled.

“Just about how long I’ve wanted this. You know, being with you. I’m really happy.”

God, he adored you. “Me too.”

You aligned yourself with his cock, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

You curled your fingers around the base of his cock to keep it stable before slowly sinking onto him. You felt the air escape from your lungs. Your jaw slackened and you let out a silent moan until you took all of him in.

“You’re going to be the death of me…” Leon gritted out. “Fuck, I didn’t think it would feel this good. You okay?”

You nodded, feeling full, the curve of your ass was against his balls. “Yeah, I think the foreplay really helped. I’m gonna start moving now.”

You put your hands against his chest and began riding him. Leon groaned in pleasure, his hands kneading your ass and helping you roll your hips. He felt bad that his fingers were digging into your skin but he couldn’t help it.

“Ah…Leon.”

Your mewls made his cock twitch inside you, his eyes rolled to the back of his skull.

He looked so pretty underneath you — his hair splayed out, a thin layer of sweat over his muscular torso, the baby blue part of his eyes almost covered now by his dilated pupils. So pretty.

Leon couldn’t take his eyes off you, not even if they threatened to shut from the way you were working him. No, they were all over you — watching the way your eyebrows were furrowed, the heave of your chest from your inconsistent breathing, how your eyes seemed glossy whenever they met his.

He reached his hand over to your chest, fingers gently pulling at one of your nipples. God, you rutted against him a bit faster at that, making him hiss and trash his head against your pillows. “Jesus…”

“Come on, say my name instead. I’m tired of hearing his.”

He laughed at that, wondering how you could even think of that at this moment. Because personally? He couldn’t come up with any banter, not with the way you were on top of him, turning a fantasy of his into a reality.

“Mm, just like that…it’s yours, all yours. I’m yours.”

Did he know how hot that was? You practically groaned just by hearing him say that. Leon thrust up to meet your hips, not missing the hiccup of your breath or the way your body almost gave out from the abrupt movement.

Honestly…having you underneath him didn’t sound all that bad right now. “Wanna switch?”

You paused your movements and nodded, happy that he asked — being on top was pretty tiring, and you knew he had the strength for it. You pulled yourself off his cock, you weren’t all that sure what he had in mind but you were eager nonetheless.

“Go for it.”

“Okay, just…” He gently maneuvered you to your back with ease. “There.”

“Show me that stamina of yours.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing you were referencing his training. “That’s going to be a little tough with you underneath me.”

He sat back on his knees and stroked himself, his eyes raking your form.

Watching him jerk himself off was hot, you could watch it all night…but, there’s always a next time. Right now? All you wanted was the intimacy of having him inside you again.

Leon bit his lip as he rubbed the head of his cock against your hole, he looked back up at you, he knew there was no way in hell he would last long. But he wasn’t embarrassed over it, he’d been waiting years, it was only natural.

Leon reached to hold one of your hands, keeping his other one on his cock to guide himself in. He took a deep breath, his stomach muscles clenching a little as he managed to get the tip in. “God…I’m definitely not gonna last in this position.”

“You’re not evenfully in yet.” You were breathless though, mind swirling at just the tip. You tried to steady your breathing and relax so he could fit without difficulty.

He laughed at that. “Yeah, yeah.”

A synchronous moan left both of you when he eventually bottomed out against you, taking a moment to get used to the feeling. He leaned down to kiss you, his hair dangling and brushing against your forehead in the process.

He hoisted your ankles over his shoulder and planted his hands beside your head, practically folding your knees to your chest. He didn’t miss the way he got hit with some of your usual fragrance, clearly, you had put some on either the back of your knees or your ankles…he wasn’t sure which one.

“Were you…anticipating this?”

“...What?” You sounded so fucked out and he wanted to laugh.

He chuckled. “Nothing.”

He chose to keep his newfound knowledge to himself for now. He kissed your somewhat sweaty forehead before starting a rhythm with his hips. Your walls were squeezing him, making him a panting mess against the shell of your ear.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling at it whenever one of his thrusts hit deeper than the others.

His hand found your free one, interlacing his fingers with yours. He sighed contentedly at the way you immediately squeezed his hand. He liked this, being close to you.

“Leon…” You moaned his name out, making a jolt of electricity shoot straight through all his nerves. His thrusts got faster, the sound of skin-to-skin contact intermingling with the light music playing in your room.

“Feeling good? Yeah, you’re taking it so well…I’m gonna be thinking about this for months.” He murmured the praise against your skin, kissing your ear before making his way down your neck.

Your reaction was immediate, clenching down on him and gasping, nails digging into his scalp. Hearing such praise come from Leon? God, it drove you insane.

Leon grunted, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your neck like a starved man. He could tell you were close, and he wanted to bring you over the edge of ecstasy — to coax an orgasm out of you before he spilled into his condom.

“I’m close…” you mumbled out, your eyes fluttering shut as you gave into the feeling, Leon was taking the lead, you didn’t have to worry about a single thing.

“I know,” he met your lips for a kiss, grunting and whimpering into your mouth with each snap of his hips. “Me too.”

He kept his pace the same, knowing it was getting you to approach your climax.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” his words were quiet, a little high pitched too, he could feel you holding his hand so tight that your fingers were leaving indents against the back of it.

“Please,” Leon pleaded. “Come on my cock…I need it.”

Your body started feeling tingly, your back arching and your hips trying to buck against him in pursuit of the feeling. You were right there.

“Leon! Leon…” Your head tipped back into your pillow. “I’m coming.”

He felt you squeeze him, your body trembling and twitching against him as he continued thrusting against you in your moment of bliss. But he didn’t last either, hips stuttering when he came inside the condom, feeling his cock get all warm from it.

“Oh…” Leon let out a guttural groan, followed by some whimpers of your name as he stilled inside you — slumping his body against yours, burying his head against your shoulder, and sloppily kissing the area.

The two of you stayed like that until you recomposed yourselves, your breathing pattern returning to normal. Leon mustered up the strength to prop himself back up, pulling out of you with a with a small whimper.

“Hey,” he whispered, a grin on his face as he kissed your cheek.

“Hey yourself.” You told him back, watching as he got up with a noise of complaint to take off the condom and throw it into the trash can.

“Come back here,” you laughed out, extending your arms for him.

“I am, I just didn’t wanna make a mess on your bed.” He came back over, laying down on his side and pulling you close.

“You already did, doofus.”

You turned to your side too. You could deal with the mess on your bedsheets later.

Leon held you close, slowly running his fingertips along your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kissed the top of your head and stayed like that for a few minutes. Just in each other's arms — letting your bodies calm down after the rush of pleasure and overwhelming emotion.

Leon’s body felt warm to the touch, he would make a really good blanket, a personal heater. You rubbed your hands across his shoulder blades, occasionally letting your nails scratch the skin lightly.

“How are you feeling?” Leon asked, reaching a hand to cup the side of your face, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone.

“I feel really good,” you murmured, a lazy smile on your face, still feeling a rush of affection for him after the moment ended. “Everything about this feels perfect, I am a little sleepy though. You?”

“Same here.” He returned the sentiment, internally giddy about how everything had unfolded in the last few days. He couldn’t resist kissing you — just a sweet and simple one before pulling back.

“Need anything? A cup of water or something?”

Now that you think about it, your mouth feels kinda dry.

“Maybe a glass of water?”

“Mm,” Leon nodded. “Got it, I’ll be back.”

He kissed your forehead and then got up, putting on his boxers and pants (despite how uncomfortably sticky it felt) and quietly headed downstairs to grab two glasses of water and a small snack too — he knew his way around the house, so it was no big deal.

You wanted his body warmth again, rolling over to the side of the bed that he had been on to feel it once more.

Eventually, you heard the door creak open — revealing Leon, who had a sweet smile on his face as he shut it. He set down a bowl of fruit on your nightstand and then sat on your bed, handing you the glass of water you requested

“Miss me?” You asked, teasingly. You sat up.

“Oh yeah, big time.”

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He brought his cup of water to his lips, letting out a refreshed sigh after taking some gulps. You had him moaning and panting so much that he was sure his lips would get all chapped.

Leon gently coaxed your legs over his extended ones, caressing them.

“So…” Leon cleared his throat, “I never properly asked.”

“Asked what?”

He had a hopeful look in his eyes, a goofy grin on his face as he asked:

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy oneshot #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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abibliophobiaa · 6 months

Text

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff

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