#i know im gonna get hate for this one jesus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bimrwolf · 23 days ago

Text

The Christmas Arrangement (Part 2)

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 10,009 warnings: SMUT SMUT ALERT!!!!!!! 18+ minors dni :P summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: sor maybe this will be more than 2 parts.... not betad and a little rusty on my writing still lmaooo i know...no real slow burn but steve and reader got a little impatient im sorry!!! Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You woke slowly, the soft light of morning streaming through the curtains. The warmth of the bed was almost lulling you back to sleep when you noticed it—the weight around your waist.

Your eyes opened fully, and your breath hitched. Steve’s arm was draped over you, his hand resting lightly against your hip. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest at your back, the soft puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you froze, unsure of what to do. The room was quiet save for the faint creak of the house settling, and it struck you how peaceful Steve looked—his usual tension smoothed away in sleep.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. People shifted in their sleep all the time. But as you carefully slid out from under his arm, you couldn’t help the way your heart raced.

When Steve stirred, mumbling something unintelligible, you quickly turned your back, pretending to rummage through your bag.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. You hated how… adorable his voice sounded in the morning.

“Morning,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. If he noticed the earlier proximity, he didn’t mention it, and you weren’t about to bring it up.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Uh, yeah. Like a baby,” you said, pulling out a sweater from your bag.

He watched you carefully and you hated how he made you feel. You didn’t exactly hate that he was watching you. You peeked over your shoulder, and he pretended to yawn. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

He grunted in reply, standing up, stretching his arms up. You hadn’t really paid attention that he had put on sweatpants and a cotton shirt. It hiked up just a bit, and you felt your cheeks burn from seeing a sliver of his happy trail. Jesus. You hoped the water in the shower was scalding to cleanse you from the thoughts swarming through your mind.

This was all because of being close to him. It didn’t mean anything. It was like stupid biology that your lady parts were screaming for attention.

After your shower, you came out and guessed Steve was downstairs because he wasn’t in his room. You were grateful. You had remembered how uncomfortable the bra you were wearing was, and since there was no sign of him, you made the executive decision to change.

You stripped from your sweater and took off your bra, stuffing it back in the suitcase so you wouldn’t get it out again. You grabbed the one you wore yesterday. As soon as you went to put it on, the door to Steve’s bedroom opened.

Steve walked in, shirtless, dripping in sweat. “Is the shower free—” Steve stopped dead in his tracks, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He quickly turned around. “Jesus Christ…” His tone was indecipherable.

You squealed, quickly putting on your bra and sweater. You didn’t even protest that he hadn't knocked. It was his room. He probably didn’t think that you would be half naked in the middle of it. You stood there a moment to collect yourself.

Your head tilted. Since when has Steve been so… toned? His back muscles glistened. It took everything in you not to step forward and drag your finger down the crease of his back. “Uh… it’s safe. Sorry about that.”

Steve hesitantly turned around, not looking you in the eye as he scrambled to get into his bathroom. You almost laughed when you heard the click of the lock.

You were downstairs for forty-five minutes until Steve joined you, still not meeting your gaze. You smirked. You had unintentionally gotten under his skin. The best Christmas gift you have ever gotten.

“My mom is in town. Tomorrow is this big Christmas auction gala she organizes for the community.” He grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator.

“Oh, so we have the entire house to ourselves?” You made sure your tone was suggestive.

He looked up, already flustered. “Shut up.”

You smirked. “Oh come on. I didn’t think you’d be so worked up about seeing boobs.”

“You’re my employee. Of course I’m worked up about seeing your…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Can we just drop it. I didn’t see much anyway.”

Your face fell. “Geez. Way to make a girl feel insecure,” you mumbled.

Steve ran a hand over his face. There was that small unintelligible word that sounded too close to your name which came out of his mouth. “Have you always been this obnoxious? Was I drunk when I hired you?”

You reached over and patted him gently on the cheek. “I think I was wearing that skirt.”

He didn’t like that because he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

The Harrington house was quiet after Steve stormed out, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. You lingered in the kitchen for a moment, replaying the earlier exchange in your mind.

Something about this morning had felt… different. Maybe it was the intimacy of waking up so close to him, or the way his voice had softened when he said your name under his breath. Either way, the air between you had shifted, and it left you feeling restless.

With no clear destination in mind, you wandered through the house, letting your curiosity guide you. The walls were lined with family photos, some faded and slightly crooked, others newer and perfectly framed. There were a lot of Diane—her vibrant smile unmistakable in every shot. But it was the few photos of Steve that caught your attention.

You looked at the one you saw yesterday. He looked about eighteen, wearing a Hawkins High basketball jersey and holding a trophy with an exaggerated grin. His hair was bigger than you thought humanly possible, curling in wild waves that practically defied gravity. You snorted, biting back a laugh.

The hallway opened up to a dimly lit room, the door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. It was an office—clearly one that hadn’t been used in a while. Dust clung to the edges of the wooden desk, and the faint smell of leather lingered in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and old knickknacks that spoke of someone who had once cared deeply about appearances.

As you walked further in, your eyes landed on the desk. A single picture frame sat on top, the glass slightly smudged. You picked it up, the image of a younger Steve catching your attention immediately. He was maybe eight or nine, sitting on a couch with a man who had to be his father. The resemblance was uncanny—the same sharp jawline, the same hazel eyes. But where Steve’s gaze held an openness, his father’s was piercing, almost cold.

“Figured you’d end up in here.”

You jumped, nearly dropping the photo. Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He wasn’t angry—if anything, he looked resigned, like he’d been expecting this.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, setting the photo back down. “I was just… exploring.”

Steve shrugged, stepping inside. “It’s fine. No one really comes in here anymore.”

You watched him carefully as he moved to the desk, his hand brushing against the edge like he was grounding himself. His eyes flicked to the photo, softening in a way you didn’t expect.

“Your hair used to have its own zip code.” You smiled.

Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, his lips twitching. “Yeah. Mom called it my ‘fluff phase.’”

You grinned, leaning against the desk. “It’s impressive. I’m surprised you didn’t get recruited for shampoo commercials.”

“Missed my calling,” he muttered. Then he did something strange. He smiled at you.

You glanced around the room, your curiosity piqued. “Was this your dad’s office?”

Steve nodded, his expression growing more serious. “Yeah. He spent most of his time in here when he was home.”

“When he was home,” you echoed softly.

Steve hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything more. But then he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Christmas was… one of the few times he actually made an effort,” Steve said, his voice low. “I remember this one year—I think I was, like, ten. I’d gotten sick right before Christmas Eve. Just a cold or something, but I was miserable.”

You stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

“My mom wanted to cancel all our plans,” Steve continued, his jaw tightening slightly. “But my dad wouldn’t hear it. Said the Harringtons didn’t ‘sit out’ Christmas, even for the flu.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at the thought.

“But then,” Steve said, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips, “on Christmas morning, he came into my room. Had this stupid Santa hat on and everything. He brought me hot chocolate, sat on the floor, and just… stayed there with me. We watched movies all day. Mom kept checking in, but he told her not to worry.”

Steve’s smile faded slightly, his gaze distant. “I think that’s the last time I remember him actually being… present. Like he wasn’t thinking about work or his image. Just… me.”

The weight in his voice was palpable, and you found yourself wishing you could say something to take it away. But you knew better than to offer empty platitudes.

“That sounds like a good memory,” you said softly.

Steve nodded, his hand brushing over the edge of the desk again. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound the faint creak of the house settling. Then Steve straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You arched an eyebrow, folding your arms. “That sounds ominous.”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. “It’s just… usually today, I go to this Christmas party. My friends host it every year.”

“And since Robin’s probably already told them about us… it’d be easier if I came.” You said matter of fact.

He shrugged. “S’okay if you don’t wanna. I know that’s a lot more than you signed up for. And it’s more people we’d have to lie to. But my mom will wonder why you didn’t go and—”

“Okay.” You replied. A small smile fixed on your lips. You weren’t going to tell him that you were going to say yes once he brought it up. Nor were you going to tell him that him stumbling, avoiding your gaze, was cute. You stared at him for a moment. “What time?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven.”

You looked at the clock. You had plenty of time but you didn’t want to end up going empty handed.

The kitchen hummed with the soft sound of the oven preheating, the scent of cocoa powder and sugar already wafting in the air as you pulled out the ingredients for brownies. Steve leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused expression, arms crossed. His guardedness had melted somewhat, replaced by a warmth that was… nice. Too nice, if you let yourself think about it for too long.

“So, what’s the plan here?” he asked, nodding to the growing pile of ingredients. “You’re just going to wing it?”

You shot him a look. “Winging it is an art form. You wouldn’t understand.”

Steve snorted, pushing off the counter. “Right. Because following a recipe is such a niche skill.”

You grinned, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with exaggerated precision. “You’re welcome to help, Mr. Harrington. Or are you going to just stand there and look pretty?”

“Pretty?” he shot back, stepping closer. His eyes sparkled as he grabbed the whisk from your hand.

“I said annoying.” You tried to correct yourself.

“No, I’m sure you said pretty.” He said in a sing-song tone.

You looked up at him, gawking at how different the Steve Harrington was standing right next to you to the Steve Harrington you knew twenty-four hours ago. “You misheard.”

“Did I? Then why are you blushing?” He teased.

“I am not.”

Steve chuckled, nudging you. “Move over. Let a professional show you how it’s done.”

“Professional? When’s the last time you baked anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve smirked, starting to whisk the eggs and sugar together. “Does it count if I helped Robin make cookies once? By ‘help,’ I mean I ate the dough.”

“That’s what I thought,” you said, nudging him aside with your hip. “Here. Hold the bowl steady.”

Steve did as you asked, holding the mixing bowl while you dumped in the cocoa powder. A small cloud of chocolate puffed up, and you both coughed, laughing.

“Great job, chef,” he teased, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, try aiming for the bowl?”

“Oh, shut up,” you replied, brushing a streak of cocoa off your wrist. “Mix it.”

You tried not to stare at how his forearms flexed as he mixed the batter. ”You’re not mixing,” you said, stepping closer and pointing at the bowl. “You’re obliterating. Look at it—there’s no love in that batter. You’re supposed to fold it.”

Steve scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Fold it? How do you fold a liquid? That makes no sense.”

“It’s not a liquid,” you countered, sliding next to him. “And if you don’t fold it, the brownies won’t be fluffy. Here, give me the whisk.”

He pulled the bowl closer to his chest like a petulant child. “I’ve got this.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. Let me—”

But before he could protest, you grabbed his hands where they gripped the whisk. He froze, the heat of his palms bleeding into yours as you guided him.

“Okay,” you said, ignoring the way your heart did a tiny flip at the closeness. “Watch. Around the edges, and then through the middle. See? Gentle. Like this.”

Steve tilted his head, watching your hands guide his through the motion. “You’re not even doing anything. This is the same thing I was doing.”

“Uh, no,” you said, glaring up at him. “What you were doing was creating batter soup. This is how you fold. It’s all in the wrist. Look—soft, smooth motions.”

He mimicked your movements hesitantly, his frown softening into something closer to concentration. “So… like this?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “Just don’t overdo it. You want to mix just enough to combine everything without killing the air.”

Steve glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “Killing the air? You’re making this sound way more dramatic than it is.”

“Well, if you want good brownies…” you teased, not letting go of his hands.

“I didn’t realize baking came with a lecture,” he shot back, though his voice was quieter now, softer.

You looked up at him, realizing just how close you were. His face was mere inches from yours, and for a moment, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

“Got it?” you asked after a beat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve cleared his throat, pulling his hands back carefully but keeping his eyes on you. “Yeah. I think I’ve got it.”

You stepped back, letting Steve take over the folding, but your gaze lingered longer than it should have. His hands moved with surprising care now, each motion deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The soft light from the kitchen window caught on his hair, a mess of chestnut waves that managed to look both effortless and infuriatingly perfect. His jawline, sharp and dusted with just a hint of stubble, tensed with focus, and his lips—why were you noticing his lips?—were slightly parted, as if he was lost in the rhythm of the task.

He wasn’t just the boss who annoyed you at work or the guy with the quick comebacks and perpetual smug grin. He was… striking, in a way that made it hard to look away.

The warmth in his hazel eyes when he glanced at you, the easy laugh he’d let out earlier—it all felt disarmingly genuine, and it left you feeling unsteady, like you’d lost your footing on solid ground.

What the hell was wrong with you? This was Steve. The guy who once called you “relentlessly stubborn” after a client meeting and smirked when you’d glared at him. You weren’t supposed to notice how his t-shirt clung to his shoulders or how the veins in his forearms stood out when he gripped the whisk.

You weren’t supposed to think about how close his hands had felt under yours or how the faint smell of his cologne—something warm, woodsy, and distinctly him—seemed to linger in the air between you.

“Earth to you,” Steve said suddenly, breaking through your spiraling thoughts. He tilted his head, catching your eye with a teasing smirk. “You’re staring. Should I be worried?”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “No. I was just—” You gestured vaguely at the batter, your voice coming out higher than you intended. “You’re doing it wrong again.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He just grinned, the kind that made your stomach do an annoying little flip. “Whatever you say, Chef.” He handed you the bowl back.

As you poured it into the pan, Steve leaned against the counter again, watching you with a small smile. “You’re not bad at this,” he admitted.

“High praise,” you said, smirking. “From a guy whose contribution has been… holding a bowl.”

Steve stepped closer, picking up a spoon to taste the batter. He dipped it in, taking a bite, and hummed thoughtfully. “Not bad. A little more sugar, though.”

You swatted at his hand as he reached for the sugar jar. “It’s fine the way it is!”

He shrugged, stepping back to give you space, though his grin lingered. As you continued to pour the batter into the pan, Steve stepped forward, brushing past you to grab a towel. “You’ve got something,” he said, gesturing to your face.

“Where?” you asked, trying to wipe at your cheek.

“Here,” Steve said, his voice softer now. He reached out, his thumb brushing just below your lip, and you froze.

Before you could process the moment, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the batter absentmindedly.

Your brain short-circuited.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened. He made a distinguished sound that embarrassingly made a spot in your stomach heat up. His eyes rolled back. “This is heavenly,” he said casually, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

You blinked, your pulse racing. “Uh… thanks?”

The moment hung in the air for a beat too long, but neither of you addressed it. Instead, you slid the pan into the oven, your movements more deliberate as you tried to regain your composure.

By the time you arrived at the party, the brownies tucked safely in your arms, the house was already buzzing with life. Warm light spilled from the windows, and you could hear laughter and holiday music drifting through the crisp night air.

Steve opened the door, ushering you inside. You barely had time to take in the garlands, twinkling lights, and festive decorations before a familiar voice called out.

“Harrington!”

Robin appeared, beaming as she made her way over. She grabbed Steve by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. “I knew you’d bring her!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. His hand casually fell on the small of your back. You smiled to yourself, leaning into his touch.

Robin turned to you, her grin widening. “Glad you came.”

”Thanks for having me.” You lifted the pan. “We brought brownies”

Robin smiled. “You’re a baker?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Steve interjected. “They are probably the best damn brownies I’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes. “He hasn’t even had one yet. All he did was lick the spatula.”

“Not true. I folded it like you asked.”

“Barely, it looked like you were auditioning for The Great Destroyer of Brownies.”

“But they came out perfectly fine. So I must have done something right.”

It was like you two had even forgotten Robin was there. You were looking at each other. Your faces only inches apart, playing a silent game of whoever smiles first, lost.

“Geez, get a room you two. I’ll take the brownies before you get freaky.” Robin’s face was twisted like she had eaten something sour. She took the pan from you, walking away into the house.

You thought Steve would take his hand off you, but instead he guided you further inside until you both were at the entrance of the living room. He must have seen how nervous you were at the sight of not only a couple of friends, but more than a handful. His hand moved across your back and rested on your waist.

“Steve!” Everyone cheered in unison. Their eyes immediately drew to you.

“I thought Rob was lying,” a petite girl with long brown hair said. “I guess she did. She said you were pretty but that’s an understatement.” She walked closer to you and you recognized her from a picture hanging at Steve’s house. “I’m Nancy.”

You smiled shyly, introducing yourself to her. She then hugged Steve, and you couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy as he held onto her a little longer. She turned back to you. “Do you drink?”

“Uh… occasionally.” You replied.

Nancy linked her arm with yours, looking up at Steve with a toothy grin. “‘Scuse me, but I’m going to steal your girlfriend. Make yourself at home.”

You gave Steve a look you had never given him before. A sad puppy dog face, eyes round, eyelashes fanning as you blinked. Steve’s smirk made your stomach flip as Nancy dragged you into the kitchen. Robin followed.

They were talking about some person named Jane… and that she was eleven? You weren’t sure. All you picked up was she was in Indianapolis with a boy named Mike and the family was leaving after the auction to spend Christmas there.

You hugged yourself, feeling overwhelmed. You listened, nodding along to the conversation. Nancy looked over at you, handing you a cold beer with a warm smile, tilting her head slightly as if to include you in their conversation. “Here.”

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” gripping the bottle just to have something to do with your hands. The kitchen was alive with conversation, Robin perched on the counter while Nancy leaned against the island. They volleyed stories back and forth, mentioning names you barely recognized—Jonathan, Jane, Hopper. Their shared history was palpable, a comfortable rhythm you weren’t sure how to fit into.

Nancy must’ve noticed, because she turned to you, her smile softening. “So, how long have you and Steve been together?”

You froze, fumbling with the bottle in your hand. The words felt too big in your throat, but before you could even attempt to answer, Robin cut in with a mischievous grin. “Fairly recent.”

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. “And he brought you home for Christmas? That wasn’t meant to sound rude. He just hasn’t brought anyone around since…” she trailed off, taking a sip of her drink.

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously, unsure what to say.

“Oh, you know Steve,” Robin said, kicking her feet playfully against the cabinets. “When he falls, he falls hard. I give it six months before they’re picking out curtains.”

Nancy laughed lightly, but her gaze stayed on you, curious. “You must be pretty special,” she said.

Special? That wasn’t exactly the word you would’ve used. You managed a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. “He’s, uh, full of surprises,” you said, which was at least half true.

Robin snorted into her drink. “Yeah, surprises. Like when he thought putting a bike together meant duct-taping it until it stopped rattling. Romantic and handy.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing a fraction. Nancy smiled too, and for the first time, the air felt a little less heavy. You took a sip of your beer, the coldness grounding you.

“So,” Nancy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how did Steve get you to put up with him? He’s charming, sure, but that only gets him so far.”

Before you could think of a response, Robin piped up again. “I’ll tell you how—she’s a saint. That’s the only explanation. And a really good liar.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and Robin. “Liar?”

You opened up your mouth, but Robin interrupted. “That she isn’t totally in love with him.”

You froze. In love? You barely knew him. “I—“ you couldn’t even disagree. I mean it would sound weird to say you didn’t like him while dating him. The entire lie would be for nothing. Your mouth went dry.

Your heart stuttered at Robin’s words. The idea seemed absurd at first. You barely knew Steve outside the confines of work—and even then, most of your interactions had been steeped in teasing, bickering, and stolen glances. But the longer you sat with it, the less certain you felt about brushing it off. Because if you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about him—something you didn’t dare acknowledge until now.

You thought back to those late nights in the office, when the hum of the city faded and it was just the two of you, working side by side. How he always remembered the way you took your coffee, even when you changed it up without warning.

The way he never let you leave without walking you to your car, muttering some excuse about safety as if he wasn’t the one watching over you. Even the way he poked at your stubbornness during meetings wasn’t cruel—it was almost… playful, like he liked seeing you riled up.

And you remembered how, after every disagreement, he always found a way to smooth things over, slipping a comment or a smirk that left you reluctantly smiling despite yourself.

Maybe you’d been fooling yourself all along. Because in between the quips and banter, in the quiet moments where his guard slipped and you saw the person beneath the bravado, your feelings had crept in, unnoticed but deeply rooted. You’d just been too scared—or too stubborn—to admit it. Maybe you were in love.

The three of you walked into the living room. Nancy walked over to an empty space between a lanky, short haired boy, and another man who looked strikingly similar to the boy. He smiled at Nancy, putting his arm around her.

You noticed the ring on his finger and realized hers. You hated to admit the relief you felt that they were married and her and Steve were just good friends. Steve. He sat on a cushioned chair, smiling at you.

You moved closer to him, handing him a beer you had grabbed before you left the kitchen. He thanked you and when you went to sit on the ground, he grabbed your arm and pulled you gently into his lap. “This okay?” He asked, low enough in your ear so no one else could hear. He was making sure, remembering the deal. You had final say in all PDA unless absolutely necessary.

Why did you feel so shy? You nodded bashfully, looking away so he couldn’t see your face heat up. His arm snaked carefully around you, his palm resting on your stomach. It felt normal. But then again, this was exactly how it felt this morning.

Except now, you felt heat grow in between your legs as he gently pushed you so your back was flushed against his chest. He took a swig of his beer, drunk on smugness. What an asshole.

You wanted to kiss his smirk off his face.

And you did. You gently kissed the corner of his mouth, like a whisper. He didn’t push you off. His eyes glimmered and sparked with a sudden firework exploding in his irises. His grip became tighter.

“Oh my god, Steve. You’re down bad.” A chubby, curly haired boy that looked the same age as the one on the couch with Nancy and her husband.

“Alright man, tell us how you guys met.” A man with a buzzcut said. He was sitting on the ground criss-crossed. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

You began, “Oh we met at work—”

Steve cut you off mid-sentence, his voice warm and teasing but laced with something that made your chest tighten. “Oh, come on,” he said, his arm shifting slightly around your waist. “That’s way too boring. Let me tell it.”

You glanced up at him, your brows knitting in surprise. His smirk was firmly in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that caught you off guard.

“Alright,” Eddie said, his grin wide as he leaned forward. “Let’s hear it, Harrington. Lay it on thick.”

Steve rolled his eyes but chuckled. “So,” he began, glancing down at you like he was gauging your reaction. “She came storming into the office on her first day, looking like she was ready to fight someone. Hair all windblown, heels clicking loud enough to wake the dead—”

“I was not storming,” you interjected, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You absolutely were,” Steve shot back, grinning. “And then she marched right up to me, handed me a coffee—black, no sugar, just how I like it—and said, ‘If you’re the guy who hired me, then this better be worth it.’”

Robin snorted from across the room, nearly choking on her drink. “She did not.”

“Oh, she did,” Steve said, nodding solemnly. “No ‘hi,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ just straight to business. And, honestly? I was impressed.”

You felt your cheeks heat as everyone chuckled, their attention fully on Steve. “It wasn’t that dramatic,” you muttered.

Steve’s grin widened, his hazel eyes sparkling as he leaned closer. “It was. And she’s late, by the way. Not just a couple minutes late—fifteen minutes late.”

Nancy snorted from her spot on the couch, and Robin outright cackled from her perch in the corner. Eddie’s eyes were wild like he was watching the most entertaining movie. The other two boys were trying not to laugh.

Steve ignored them. “Anyway we go to the conference room to begin her new hire orientation. She sits down, doesn’t even bother with the whole ‘sorry I’m late’ excuse. Just looks right at me, raises an eyebrow, and says—” he turned to you now, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “‘Am I in your seat, boss?’”

Laughter rippled through the group, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I did not say it like that.”

“Oh, but you did,” Steve shot back, his grin widening. “Like you were challenging me. And you weren’t wrong—you were in my seat. But I let it slide because, well…” He glanced down at you, his tone dropping an octave. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

The air seemed to shift with his words, the playful banter dipping into something deeper, quieter. The teasing smile faded from his lips, and for a moment, the room around you seemed to fade too. It was just Steve, looking at you like he was still that guy in the conference room, seeing you for the first time all over again.

“I didn’t stand a chance,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing small, absentminded circles on your stomach. “From that first day, I was done for. And then, for the next few weeks, she basically ran circles around me—fixing my mistakes, arguing with me over every little thing, making me feel like an idiot in the best possible way.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were insufferably arrogant.”

Steve grinned, the warmth in his gaze only intensifying. “Insufferably arrogant, huh? And now?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words as the room seemed to blur around you. All you could focus on was the way Steve’s thumb had started tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, his hold on you steady and unshakable.

Eddie groaned dramatically, breaking the spell. “Alright, lovebirds, we get it. You’re disgustingly into each other. Someone pass me a beer before I die from secondhand swooning.”

The room burst into laughter, and you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned. Steve just chuckled, pressing his lips to your temple in a way that felt too natural, too easy.

But as his hold on you tightened and his breath brushed your skin, you realized you weren’t sure you wanted him to let go.

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, though the warmth in his eyes didn’t waver. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the beer in his hand, as if weighing whether to continue. You tilted your head, sensing the shift, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, his thumb traced idle patterns along the glass bottle, his voice quieter when he spoke again.

“There’s… another reason I remember that day so clearly,” Steve said, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. The group quieted, their teasing falling away as they noticed his change in demeanor.

“It was…” He cleared his throat, finally meeting your gaze, his expression softer now. “It was the anniversary of when my dad passed.”

Your breath caught, the words settling heavily between you. Steve rarely talked about his dad—you’d picked up that much in the short time you’d spent with his family. And now, hearing it like this, you understood why.

Nancy’s face softened, her eyes flickering with something like recognition. Robin leaned forward slightly, her usual smirk replaced by concern.

“It was one of those days where everything felt… heavy,” Steve continued, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I didn’t even want to come into the office. But I knew if I stayed home, I’d just sit there, thinking about everything I couldn’t change. So I showed up. And then…” He smiled faintly, glancing down at you. “Then she walked in.”

You felt your heart twist, a strange mix of guilt and gratitude welling up inside you. Guilt for not knowing, for not realizing what that day had meant to him. And gratitude, because somehow, you’d been there—not knowing, but there all the same.

“She had this energy,” Steve said, his voice a little steadier now. “Like she didn’t care about anything or anyone, but not in a bad way. It was more like… she had her own gravity, and she didn’t need anyone else to pull her along. And for some reason, that made everything feel… lighter.”

Your cheeks flushed, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, hoping he could feel the silent support in your presence.

“And yeah,” Steve added, his smile turning crooked again, “she spent most of that first week telling me I was wrong about everything.”

The tension in the room eased, laughter bubbling up around you. His gaze flickered back to you briefly.

There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your stomach flip and your heart ache at the same time.

And for the first time, you wondered if Steve’s words weren’t just about the past. If, maybe, he was talking about now—about how much you’d started to mean to him in ways neither of you were ready to say aloud.

***

Steve had to practically drag you out of Nancy and her husband’s (you learned his name was Jonathan after having to embarrassingly ask for his name. Along with his brother, Will, and their friend Dustin) house. You all talked and they all gave you embarrassing stories of Steve.

You also learned he had dated Nancy at one point, but when the group told you, he held you a little softer. You tried to ask how they all became friends, but there was something in their tone of voices that let you know it wasn’t time for you to know. Maybe it had to do with the scar on Eddie’s cheek.

Steve was silent, hands in his pocket as he walked with you to his car. He opened the door for you and you looked over your shoulder. You wanted to play the gesture off that he didn’t want it to be suspicious if they were looking out the window, but they weren’t. The only sound on the way back to his house was the hum of the radio. Steve’s arm rested at his side as his other hand was on the steering wheel.

You kept looking at his free hand. Dangerous thoughts slipping into your mind as you wonder what it would be like to hold it. Or what it would feel like if he placed it on your thigh. Or if he touched you… good grief, get a hold of yourself. It was all pretend. Everything that you said and did was all fake.

He pulled up to his house. His mother’s car was still gone.

You barely had time to blink as he scrambled out of the car, shutting the door, coming to your side. He opened the door slowly, his body leaning against the car as you got out. Your breathing became slow as you felt the heat of his body when he reached to close the door. His eyes burned into you, only on you when he did so.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming in your ears as Steve stepped back just enough to let you move past him. The heat of his gaze didn’t waver, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the fragile boundary you’d been clinging to all night.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned toward the house, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you toward the door. The touch was light—barely there—but it lingered, sparking warmth that crawled up your spine and settled somewhere deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Steve asked, his voice low, almost tentative.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your throat tightened. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Steve didn’t press further. He unlocked the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside. The house was dark and quiet, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering from the holiday decorations.

“You want something to drink?” Steve asked, flipping on the light in the kitchen as you wandered toward the living room.

You shook your head, dropping onto the couch and slipping off your shoes. “I’m good, thanks.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand braced against the frame as he looked at you. The soft glow from the kitchen light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“You were great tonight,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “With my friends.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I… thanks. They’re great. And they clearly care about you a lot.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. They’re like family. Dysfunctional as hell, but family.”

There was something unspoken in his words. You opened your mouth to ask, but he pushed off the doorway before you could, walking over to the couch and sinking down beside you.

“They like you,” Steve said, his hand resting on his knee as he leaned back slightly. “I could tell.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Even Dustin? He seemed pretty skeptical.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Dustin’s skeptical of everyone at first. He’ll come around. Trust me.”

The way you both were talking… it put an ache in your chest. Why did it matter if they liked you? “I wish I could be real friends with them.”

He tilted his head. “I mean I don’t see why not.” He said it so innocently.

“Because friends don’t lie,” you answered.

He snorted, leaning his head back, whispering something about ‘If only you knew.’ His jaw ticked. If he wanted to say something else, he didn’t show it. Instead, he changed the subject. “Nancy said she invited you to get a dress for the auction.”

“Yes. Since someone forgot to mention it.” You elbowed him.

His mouth twitched but didn’t fully give in to a smile. Silence settled between you, comfortable but charged, the unspoken things hanging in the air like static. Your gaze lingered on the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“Steve,” you started, your voice hesitant, “about tonight…”

His eyes flicked to yours, something cautious but hopeful sparking in their depths.

“Thanks for bringing me,” you said, your words softer than you intended.

The air between you felt heavy again, but not in a bad way. It was the kind of heaviness that came with possibilities—with things unsaid but understood.

For a moment, you thought about leaning closer, about closing the small space between you and finding out if his lips felt as warm as they looked.

However, it was like after spending so much time chiseling at the walls he had built, you watched his eyes harden in real time. “Don’t worry, it won’t be unpaid,” he said.

You furrowed your brows. “That’s not…that’s not why I said it,” you finished, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Steve didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the floor, his jaw tight, and you could see the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee, like he was trying to keep something in.

“I know,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “But it’s better if we keep things clear, right? No confusion.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and the ache in your chest twisted into something sharper. “Clear,” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning back against the couch and letting out a breath like he’d settled something.

The sudden shift in his tone felt like a slap, and you couldn’t stop the sting that settled in your chest. “Steve—”

“It’s late,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier—the warmth, the openness—was gone, replaced by a wall so impenetrable it was suffocating.

But you didn’t want to fight. Not when you were both exhausted and treading on thin ice. So you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some point across the room. “Night.”

The word was distant, almost hollow, and it lingered in the air as you made your way upstairs.

When you reached his room—the room—you closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment. Your mind swirled with everything that had been said—and unsaid—and the ache in your chest only deepened.

Why did it bother you so much? You’d known from the beginning this was a transaction, a temporary arrangement to get through the holidays. But the way he’d shut down tonight, as if the moments you’d shared earlier didn’t matter, made you question everything.

Steve followed in shortly. You noticed the way he looked at the bed and even glanced at you briefly, sighing.

You didn’t want to fight. You really didn’t. “This is bullshit.”

He was grabbing his sleep clothes. He turned around to look at you. His face was stony and emotionless.

“You cannot just shut me out like that, Steve Harrington. You said you liked it when I put you in your place, and unless that was all a lie, I’m going to do just that.” You crossed your arms across your chest.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at your outburst, the sharp edge of his posture shifting into something more defensive. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low but steady, like he was trying to keep himself from snapping.

You stepped forward, refusing to let the heat in your chest falter. “I’m talking about you shutting me out every time I try to get close to you. Every time I try to show you that this—this thing—isn’t just about pretending for your mom or your friends or whatever. You’re the one who’s making this harder than it needs to be.”

Steve scoffed, tossing his clothes onto the bed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, I don’t?” you shot back, stepping even closer, your arms still crossed tightly. “Then enlighten me, Steve. Explain why you go from being… whatever we were earlier tonight to acting like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Because it’s not real!” Steve snapped, finally meeting your eyes. The frustration in his voice was palpable, and the tension in the room thickened. “This whole thing—it’s fake, remember? You said it yourself, it’s all built on a lie. And it’s better if we keep it that way. If we don’t confuse what’s real and what isn’t.”

His words stung, but you didn’t back down. “So what?” you asked, your voice rising. “Everything we did tonight, everything you said—none of it meant anything to you?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, Steve?” you demanded, your voice breaking just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re running away from whatever this is before it even has a chance to mean something.”

Steve let out a sharp breath, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I’m not running,” he said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “I’m just trying to protect us from making a mistake, okay? From thinking this is something it’s not.”

“And what if it is something?” you countered, your voice softer now but no less firm. “What if this isn’t a mistake, Steve? What if you just stop shutting me out long enough to see that?”

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a plea. Steve stared at you, his hazel eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, confusion, longing.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re a coward,” you replied, your tone sharp despite the ache in your chest.

Something in him snapped. He closed the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands gripping your face as he kissed you, hard and desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

Your breath hitched, and for a split second, your body froze in shock. But then your hands found his chest, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was a collision of all the things left unsaid, all the tension and frustration and longing that had been building between you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers slowly intertwined in his hair, tugging lightly, moaning when you heard a soft groan from the back of his throat. You hated to admit the amount of times you’ve wanted to play with his hair.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making them part so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands started to roam, squeezing your ass.

You broke first, as if you were gasping for oxygen. But Steve didn’t stop. His mouth fell to your jaw, trailing kisses to your neck. It was like he already knew where the spot was on your throat that would make your knees weak. You grasped his hair tighter.

“If you do that again, I might not make it to the bed.” He growled against your ear.

“The bed? That’s presumptuous, Mr. Harrington.”

If he wasn’t hard already, he was now. You whined as you felt his pants bulge against your stomach. You nearly choked out a laugh. “No shit. This whole time—”

He kissed you. “Shut up.”

You pushed him slightly away, his lips tried to chase after yours. You began to gently push him backward, leading him to his bed. “No wonder why you hate me calling you that. You’ve been getting turned on.”

He sat at the edge of the bed, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs. “That’s presumptuous,” he mimicked you. His hands playing with the hem of your shirt, his eyes asking for permission. You lifted your arms, allowing him to take your sweater off. His mouth immediately fell on your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about these two all day,” Steve admitted. His fingers threatened to unclasp your bra, but didn’t. Instead, he brought you down for another kiss. “Christ, I think about them all the time. But this morning, I couldn’t stop picturing you standing in the middle of my room with no shirt on. I felt like a fuckin’ teenager again.”

You giggled against his mouth. “You did take an awfully long time showering.”

He blushed. That was enough to tell you that your assumptions were correct. You crawled into his lap, bucking a little to feel him against your core. “Besides this morning, when was the last time you’ve thought about me?”

You helped him strip off his shirt.

He didn’t answer. His hands all over you again, soaking you up. “The other day when I kicked you out of my office.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, looking at him. You had imagined he had been on the other side of the door actually debating about firing you. You had even skimmed the “Help Wanted” section in the newspaper. You smiled at him, kissing him all over. On his mouth, cheek, and neck. Your hands splayed over his chest.

“So, you do stare at me when I wear the skirt.” It wasn’t a question and he knew it.

He rolled his eyes. “I told you. I do not stare.” His fingers finally unclasped the bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “I look for an appropriate amount of time.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the boss to be looking at all.” You batted your eyes at him innocently.

His hands ran down your arms, sending a chill down your spine. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about professionalism? Convenient timing.” You would think that would make him upset but instead he continued to slip your bra all the way off.

He palmed your breasts gently before sliding a hand up to your throat, moving it to the back of your neck so he could gently tug your hair. You bit your lip as his mouth found that spot again, massaging your breast at the same time.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “There’s no telling how long you’ve been mentally undressing me. Your sweet and innocent intern.”

“You’re kidding, right? Sweet and innocent my ass—“

“You talk too much,” you smirked mischievously.

You yelped, giggling as he picked you up and tossed you on the bed. He parted your legs with his knee. And you nearly cried as it barely touched you. His fingers started to unbutton your pants. You never knew eyes could get so dark as he hovered above you. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I’ve met you,” he mumbled. “If you have any concerns, I can stop.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin you living out your fantasy.” You arched so he could slip your pants off.

He kissed your stomach, planting small kisses to the hem of your underwear. “I only said, I think about you. You’re making me sound like a freak.”

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. "Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Spending all that time in your office, staring at me, imagining this moment? Sounds a little freaky to me."

He rolled his eyes, trailing another kiss along your hip bone. “Again, I never said anything about imagining. All I said was I think about you. That’s different.”

“Different how? Enlighten me, Mr. Harrington.” You teased, brushing his hair back.

“Well, for one, I’m very respectful in my thinking.” Steve chuckled, low and rough, his hands skimming down your thighs as he tugged at your underwear. "If I’m the freak, what does that make you? You’re the one letting your ‘boss’ take you apart like this."

You laughed, taking a deep breath once he pulled the cotton off of you. You tried to squeeze your legs together, but Steve pushed your knees apart, leaning back, taking you all in. His eyes scanned you, like he was trying to memorize every square inch of you. He seemed to love touching you because his palm started at your shoulder, slowly caressing it down, rubbing circles on your stomach with a finger. “None of this seems respectful, Mr. Harrington.”

A breath was caught in the back of your throat. His thumb found your sensitive area between your legs. Your back arched as he slowly rubbed it. You were embarrassingly already coming unglued. “You sure are complaining a lot about how I think about you.”

You closed your eyes, moaning as one of his fingers entered inside you. “I’m not… complaining… Jesus…” You grabbed a fistful of his hair as his tongue made contact with your sensitive spot, curling his finger at the same time. “M’only… stating facts.”

He lifted his head, and oh my god, you could burst right then and there. His lips were wet and swollen. His eyes were hazy, like he was drunk off of you. “Facts? I have one for you. I think about the way you argue with me during meetings. The way you glare at me like you’re seconds away from strangling me.”

“Sounds sexy,” you replied sarcastically, frowning. You had no idea where he was going.

He nodded. “It is. Especially when you get that little wrinkle between your brows. Drives me crazy.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dork.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one under me, letting me do whatever I want,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing as his finger curled, making you gasp. “So what does that say about you?”

You smirked, gripping hair again when his lips brushed your inner thigh. “It says I make terrible decisions.”

“Terrible?” His head shot up, eyes narrowed. “I’ll remember that the next time you attempt to proposition me.”

“Next time?”

He snuck another finger in. You bit your lip out of protest. “Confident, are we,” you asked, voice tight.

“Call it intuition,” he hummed.

“I call it arrogance,” you quipped. He went back down, his mouth back on your swollen heat, fingers pumping in and out of you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as you arched your back, thighs pressing on the side of his face. You cried out short whimpers.

Then he completely stopped.

His fingers and mouth were gone. It was so sudden you believed you had imagined it all. You propped yourself with your elbows, your breath still erratic. He looked at you with his stupid smug smirk. “Still have energy to complain?”

Steve Harrington had finally cracked how to make you speechless. You didn’t have any remark. Your mind spun, trying to grasp for a shred of your usual wit, but it was as if he’d stolen the words straight from your mouth. Steve Harrington had done what you thought was impossible—rendered you completely and utterly speechless.

The air between you felt electric, charged with the weight of what just happened, of what he had made you feel. Your heart raced, your body still buzzing from his touch, and all you could do was stare at him, at that insufferable, cocky grin plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

You hated how much you loved it.

He looked so infuriatingly pleased with himself, like he had won some unspoken game between you two—and maybe he had. For the first time, you weren’t the one in control, and the realization was both maddening and exhilarating.

What made it worse was that he knew it. He knew exactly what he’d done to you, and the way his hazel eyes gleamed with satisfaction only made your stomach twist in the most frustratingly delicious way.

“Now who is mentally undressing the other?” He began to unzip his jeans. Slowly and tauntingly. There was no hurry as he climbed out of them, tossing them to the side. You sat up, reaching out. Your fingers hooked the waistband of his boxer briefs, dragging it down.

He sprung out, making you let out a large breath. He was going to kill you, you thought. Once his underwear was to the side, he pushed you back on the bed, climbing on top of you. “Do you not need me to…” you trailed off.

He shook his head. “I think we’ve had a year long worth of foreplay. I need you. And I need you now.” Honestly, he was right. He could speak to you and you think you’d break. His expression softened, and his hand cradled your face. “This okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you whispered.

He kissed you softly.

After adjusting, Steve slid into you. His face melted into a pool, his groan intertwining with your shaky exhale.

His hips rolled slowly, getting used to you and how you felt around him. He had to keep pushing your legs as they instinctively wanted to close around him.

It was warm and electric as the thrusts became more intense. Your nails dug into his shoulders, chests flush against one another. His hot wavering grunts stuck to your neck. He nipped and kissed your collarbone.

It was like you were a different person the moment he entered you. “You feel so good,” you purred, dragging your teeth against his earlobe.

It became more erratic. It was sexy as the sounds of flesh coming together blended with the dirty breaths of air escaping each other’s lips. “Everything about you is perfect,” Steve whispered.

He pressed his palm just right at the bottom of your stomach. You felt a tear roll down your face as the electricity inside you pulsed. “Steve…” It was like a champagne bottle opened inside you, fizzing all over the place.

“Christ, sweetheart…” he groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. You could feel him twitch even as you came down from your high. He let out a sound that could only be made from the back of his throat and let go.

He laid on top of you, placing soft kisses on your jaw.

All of it felt unbelievable. Your mind was a haze. It was like a whirlpool of sensation and disbelief. Your body still trembled from the aftershocks of what had just happened.

How had this happened? How had you gone from presumably hating each other to this

—his body on yours, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses along your jaw like you were the most precious thing in the world?

The way he had spoken to you, his voice rough with need and unfiltered affection, played on a loop in your head. Everything about you is perfect. You could still feel the heat in his words, the way they'd wrapped around your heart and squeezed it, as if he'd been holding them back for far too long.

You hadn't expected this-any of it.

Not the intensity of his touch, not the way he unraveled you so completely, not the way he made you feel seen.

And yet, the tender weight of his body, the way his breath brushed your skin as he whispered your name like a prayer, made it impossible to deny. Maybe you weren't just pretending anymore.

Maybe you never had been.

261 notes · View notes