#steve is a grad student

[singmeyoursimpsong]

yeahhhhh feeling pretty touch deprived rn so how about some soft and sweet steddie?

like, I'm imagining exhausted grad-student Steve who is working on his masters thesis at their (his and Eddie's) little apartment kitchen table well into the night and is so focussed that he doesn't notice Eddie is home from his shift (he works at the local radio station) until he feels his face suddenly being tipped up and to the side and there is the warm, slow press of Eddie's lips on his

and Steve sighs into the known comfort of Eddie's touch, Eddie's taste, Eddie's scent, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie

and Eddie pulls away after a moment, the fingers under Steve's chin now tracing his brow and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear

hey

and Steve is twisting in his chair to wrap his arms around Eddie's waist, Eddie stepping into the space between his knees and placing his hands on Steve's tense shoulders to start massaging. Steve looks up at Eddie -

hiiii

and he grins up at his metalhead boyfriend, stupidly in love, leeeans his body into Eddie's

how's the writing going?

and it's not going well... Steve's expression turns sour despite the way he melts into Eddie's touch

rough... but i'm glad you're here now. how is everything at the studio?

not too bad, definitely not as rough as you say your writing is going

hmmmm

Steve makes a frustrated groaning noise because it's true, he's really struggling with getting the words out in sentences that make sense... and lets out a yawn

c'mon big boy...

and Eddie is sliding Steve's reading glasses off the bridge of his nose and folding them before setting them down on top off Steve's scattered papers on the table

I think it's time to sleep

and Steve lets himself be led away by the hand, into flannel bedsheets, and finds deep sleep with Eddie's fingers in his hair

[midsummer-semantics]

Fortune Favors the Bold

Back with part 2 of Steddie Kinktober Bingo! Cross-posted on ao3 as well!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Professor Steve Harrington, Grad Student Eddie Munson, Teacher-Student Relationship, Pre-Relationship, still but we're getting there, Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Eddie Munson Has a Praise Kink, dom/sub dynamics, Dom Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, WELCOME BACK SUB EDDIE, Mutual Masturbation, Jerk off Instruction, Kinktober, Marijuana, Eddie smokes because duh but he's completely in control of his actions

Summary:

Eddie’s probably an idiot for doing this, but once he found out Steve’s dirty little secret, he replied to the last one with a secret message of his own:

That can still be arranged.

Or: The semester may have ended, but Eddie's obsession with his professor definitely hasn't.

[divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics]

Keep reading below for the fic! ⤵️

Eddie’s probably an idiot for doing this, but once he found out Steve’s dirty little secret, he replied to the last one with a secret message of his own:

That can still be arranged.

He then sent Steve a quick email saying “Thank you so much for the private lessons. The last research project is done. I look forward to working with you closely in the future,” and then closed his laptop and screamed into his pillow for two straight minutes.

It was bold. More bold than the claim that landed him in those private sessions, but maybe not as bold as Steve had been.

His professor, of course, one-ups him again a few days later with a reply:

His personal number. Steve sent Eddie his personal fucking phone number.

Eddie screams into his pillow again for good measure.

It takes a week and a half of spiraling, several started and deleted texts, an aborted call to his best friend Chrissy (because honestly, he can’t tell her about this, it’s a complete breach of trust with Steve), and maybe a few too many hits off a joint before Eddie finally plucks up the courage to put that number to use.

It’s three days until Christmas and Eddie’s stoned in his childhood bedroom, his uncle at work because even this close to the holiday, the old man can’t catch a break.

He’d taken screenshots of all the secret messages and put them in a locked folder on his phone, reading back through them periodically to use as jerk-off material. Steve really did have a vivid imagination that he managed to convey in so few words. Shakespeare would give his left arm for half of the homoeroticism that Steve can produce in two lines of prose.

Eddie stubs the roach out, leans back against the wall — because 16-year-old Eddie didn’t have a bed frame with a headboard so 29-year-old Eddie gets to go without while he’s visiting Wayne — and pulls up Steve’s contact.

It’s only 8:15pm, a perfectly reasonable time to contact a professor about a homework question. That is, if it wasn’t winter break, and Eddie was still his student, and he actually had a homework question to ask him.

Whatever, he thinks. Steve told him to call him if he needs anything. And Eddie is in bed, half-chubbed from the messages he was re-reading for the millionth time, hazy from the weed, and needing to hear his professor’s voice even for a second.

He presses the number to dial before he can think twice about it, holding the phone up to his ear as the line rings, readjusts himself in his boxers, and waits. 

“Hello, Steve Harrington speaking,” a voice answers after the third ring.

Eddie’s heart skips a beat, momentarily rendered speechless. For some reason, he had it in his mind that Steve gave him a phony number, that maybe he imagined the entire thing and was living out some kind of insane vivid dream for the last few weeks.

“Hello?” Steve says again, knocking Eddie out of his momentary stupor.

“Hello, professor,” Eddie chirps, cringing when he realizes how eager he sounds. He tries to backtrack. “Sorry, I know it’s late, and you’re probably with family, and — shit, why did I think this was a good idea—”

“Whoa, Eddie?” Steve interrupts, not sounding the least bit angry, but almost… happy? Definitely surprised, but not in a bad way, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “It’s me. Sorry. I know you told me to call you if I needed anything, but I wasn’t sure if you were serious.”

“I was serious,” Steve says. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d actually take up the offer.”

“Oh? Why not?”

If Eddie’s phone had a chord, he’d be twirling it around his finger as he settles more comfortably against the wall and his bed, legs splayed out in front of him over the flannel sheets.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re calling instead,” Steve prompts gently. “What do you need?”

So many things, Eddie’s mind supplies.

“I- uh…” he stammers instead, trying to come up with a good reason to have bothered his (former) professor this late during holiday break. “I wanted to know if you’ll be available next semester to do more private lessons. Seeing as I’m not on your roaster for the spring.”

There’s some shuffling in the background that Eddie can’t decipher before Steve speaks up. “Oh? Well, I don’t see why not. I’m only teaching two classes so I can focus on my next manuscript, so I’ll have a bit of free time that I’d be happy to dedicate to my favorite.” There’s a short pause before Steve tacks on, “Student.”

Eddie tries to hide the gasp he lets out by pulling the phone away from his face, reaching down with his free hand to cup his straining erection through his boxers. Even just hearing Steve’s voice is enough to have him leaking into the fabric. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Great,” Eddie chokes, a little high pitched even in his own ears. “Great. I’ll still be free Thursday evenings if that works for you.”

Steve hums, more shuffling happening for a moment. “Sure, that works for me. But, Eddie, I can’t exactly offer you reprieve on a project or anything if you’re not my student next semester. And while I would love to assume you’re asking for the sheer opportunity to learn, I have to ask…”

There’s a pause, during which Eddie’s heart migrates to his throat.

“What do you really hope to gain from these private lessons?”

Eddie can feel himself starting to sweat, even though he’s only wearing his boxers and the heater in the old trailer is shit.

“I—” he mutters, “I guess… um… whatever you’re willing to give me?” He says it like a question, but the alternative is begging for something, anything, that Steve is willing to provide.

Steve tsks on the other end of the line, how voice slightly deeper, huskier when he speaks again. “Come on, Eddie. You can do better than that. Where’s all those words you poured into your research projects? All that confidence when you’re claiming Jonson was a self-important asshole for publishing his complete works in seven volumes?”

Eddie bites his lip hard to prevent a whine from escaping, squeezing the base of his dick harder to keep from coming.

“Dunno what my options are,” Eddie tries. He’s fishing, he knows he is, deflecting in the hopes that Steve just tells him what to do so Eddie can let him take the reins and he doesn’t have to think. Between the weed coursing through his bloodstream and Steve’s voice coursing through his synapses, he’s entirely out of his own control, and he needs more of this weightless oblivion.

“Well,” Steve grunts. There’s more shuffling and a quiet goran. “I can talk to the department about a GA placement. Make you my assistant for the semester.”

Eddie’s almost taken out of the fantasy by that offer. Grad assistants get tuition reprieve and a regular paycheck. Normally those positions only go to PhD students, but a GA at the MA level would severely reduce the debt he’s going into for this program.

“Or,” Steve continues, “I could offer an independent study course. One unit to help knock one of those extra required ones down for graduation.”

That’s also a fantastic offer. Some of those units are meant to go toward writing his thesis, but he doesn’t want to take them all at once and end up paying more in the long run.

But that’s not why Eddie called him. It’s not even why he took Steve up on his initial offer for private lessons. He wanted to learn, sure, but mostly he wanted to spend time with the older man. He wanted his attention solely on him, and he has it right now, unmitigated by academic or bureaucratic red tape, and he wants to keep that going.

“With respect, sir,” Eddie hedges, knowing this is already a dangerous game that they’re playing, but too down bad to consider quitting now. “Getting to spend more time with you is all the incentive I really need.”

It’s quiet on the other line for a moment, long enough for Eddie to start panicking again.

“Tell me, Eddie,” Steve says, his tone still deep and inviting. “Are you willing to be a good boy for me?”

This time, Eddie doesn’t prevent a low groan from escaping him, slouching on the bed as he squeezes his cock again, his legs falling open automatically.

“Yes, sir,” he mutters, almost a whine, but not quiet. Not yet.

“I meant what I said, you know. In those little messages. You really don’t know what you do to me, baby boy,” Steve rasps. Eddie thinks he hears the click of a bottle opening, a soft groan breathed into the phone’s speaker right into Eddie’s fuzzy brain, before unmistakable slow, slick sounds begin. “The amount of times I’ve had to fuck my fist right after you leave my office…” Steve continues, his voice a little more ragged than before. “God, the janitors would be pissed at the messes I’ve made.”

Eddie awkwardly shoves his boxers down one-handed and kicks them off haphazardly, grasping his own copiously leaking cock and giving it a few quick, over-dry strokes. The friction makes him hiss even as he moans.

“Oh, sweet thing,” Steve coos. “Too eager to use lube?”

It’s like Steve really is watching him; how does he know Eddie’s just raw-dogging his dick like this? He’s almost 30, he knows better than to jerk one out without something to ease the glide. But his lube is in his bathroom bag, and he’d have to put the phone down to get it open, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of hearing Steve jerking off for him.

“Why don’t you put a couple of fingers between those pretty lips for me? Get your hand nice and wet before you hurt yourself,” Steve instructs.

Eddie has three fingers in his mouth before he can mutter a yes, sir, but he tries to get the words around the intrusion anyway, burning with mortification at his eagerness when he hears Steve chuckle in his ear.

“That’s it, baby boy. Suck on those pretty fingers for me. I bet you look so good with your mouth full.”

Eddie can feel the drool starting to collect between his fingers and slide down his palm, his eyes rolling back at the combination between having his mouth stuffed and Steve’s voice whispering filthy praise in his ear.

“Alright, baby. Now get your hand on your cock and let me hear you sing for me.”

Eddie pulls his fingers from his mouth and wraps his wet hand around himself, the glide much easier. The moan he lets out is entirely too loud, too telling of how turned on he is, but he can’t stop it. 

“That’s it, pretty one. Let me hear you. God,  you sound so good.”

Eddie can hear the slick sounds of Steve beating off on the other line, the less than quiet groans the older man lets out in response to Eddie’s too-loud ones. 

“I bet you look so pretty all laid out, touching your cock. Are you naked, Eddie?”

Eddie gasps, twisting his fist around the head of his dick and nodding dumbly. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Are you wet for me?”

Eddie looks down at this cock, the head deep red and spurting pre-come like a leaky faucet.

“So fucking wet,” Eddie pants, eyes squeezing shut so he can focus on the sounds Steve breathes into the phone.

“I want to eat you out, baby boy. Would you like that? Bend you over my desk and spank your ass ‘til it’s red before tongue fucking you ‘til you come all over yourself?”

“Steve —” Eddie keens, feeling his balls draw tight, right on the edge.

“Gonna come for me, baby? That’s okay. Come whatever you want to. I’m not stopping until I’ve finished,” Steve says. It sounds vaguely threatening, but holy fuck, is it exactly the permission Eddie needs to trigger his orgasm. Come shoots out of him, landing over his fist, stomach, chest, even a bit on his neck as he moans and mewls through it.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve mutters, before loosing a deep groan of his own that lets Eddie know his professor is coming as well.

There’s a lot of heavy breathing between them stuttering down the phone line as both men attempt to catch their breath. Eddie needs a shower, maybe a baptism after the religious experience that is hearing Steve Harrington come.

“You okay, pretty one?’ Steve mutters after several agonizing minutes.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, mouth dry and body completely wrung out. “Yeah, ‘m perfect.”

“Yeah you are,” Steve agrees, that delicate condescension back in his tone. Eddie can feel himself being tugged toward sleep, and of course it’s like Steve already knows. “Clean yourself up a bit, baby, and then you can sleep all you want.”

“Will you—” he starts and then stops, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud and come off too needy after everything.

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until you’re tucked back in bed,” Steve answers, all-knowing as always. “And after Christmas we can talk about your private lessons for the spring.”

Eddie doesn’t meant to whine, he doesn’t, but Steve just fucked his brains out without being anywhere near him and he doesn’t want to wait four days before he talks to him again.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay. You can still call me whenever you need something. That offer still stands,” Steve promises.

“Okay,” Eddie replies. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime, Eddie. Really.”

[pubbydreams]

kind of thinking about writing a little professor/grad student oneshot but i can't decide between it being steddie, steve/gn!reader, or eddie/gn!reader. thoughts? 👀

[munsonfamilyband]

Following the release of the Dustin book, I needed to reblog this because I feel so vindicated

This is very short but I needed to share: Steve and Robin have a silent language, all of their friends are very confused by it but Eddie spends enough time with both of them that he has learned how to decipher some of it. Certain looks that mean “stop” or “I love you” or “you’re an idiot” but there are still some looks that he can’t get. Eventually, he does ask and all they say is “we gossip”.

I adore the idea of Steve and Robin using silent conversations to bitch and gossip at work. She didn’t think she would like gossip, but Steve is a mean girl at heart who LOVES gossip and she finds that when it’s with him, it’s fun. They never share the gossip outside of their silent conversations so it really isn’t gossip at all, but she won’t tell Steve that. Eddie silently wishes they would gossip out loud because he used to find bitchy Steve very attractive, and he misses it.

[madelynraemunson]

CALL OUT MY NAME ♛

(Book #2 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Series)

CEO!bachelor!steve × fem!college grad!reader

MODERN AU • 18+ | BOOK #1 (e.m.)

slight age gap (Steve is 31, reader is 23); reader goes by the nickname "Sweets"

CW: slight age gap relationship, drinking, smoking, gambling, physical altercations, manipulation, abuse (DV, emotional, financial, mental), profanities, eventual smut

*loosely inspired by sara cate’s salacious players club*

Summary: 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄. Steve Harrington has the WORST luck with the ladies. His high school sweetheart left him for another dude, his former fuck buddy is dating his roommate, and his dream girl is a lesbian. King Steve is losing hope. That is until he meets you — a newly graduated university student from Seattle — when your paths cross on a fateful night in Sin City. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... that is until your risky business trickles over to Hawkins, Indiana, a town your best friend knows of a little too well.

theme song: call out my name by the weeknd

tag list is open 💌✨

Chapter 001: PROLOGUE

word count: 1.7k words

♛

Winter 2024

“WATCH OUT INDIANAPOLIS — you're about to get... absolutely SOAKED!”

The booming voice of a man in Steve’s bedroom stirs him awake.

Letting out a ferocious yawn, The King rubs his eyes free of the annoying crust in the corner of his sockets, flopping around one more time before doing his routine stretch.

“Google,” Steve commands. “Turn off the TV.”

The TV immediately switches off. It’s nothing personal to meteorologist Marcus Bailey, but if Steve ever needed an accurate forecast of Indianapolis, all he would have to do is look outside his penthouse window. And that, after brushing his teeth, is just what he does.

"G'morning Indy,” he sighs happily on his balcony before going back inside.

Steve then makes his way over to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast.

“Google,” he calls out again. “Open the curtains, please.”

Google replies:

“Opening curtains. Good morning — Steve.”

"Google, what's my schedule looking like today?" "Google, text Dustin." “Google, what is the weather looking like in Nevada?” “Google, turn on my shower tunes.”

The best thing about not living with Eddie Munson anymore, is that Steve can shamelessly sing Amy Winehouse in the shower without being hounded about it.

“We only saaaid GOODBYE, with WORDS!” Steve sings, confidently off-key. “I died a hundred times! You go back to her, and I goooo baaack toooo…”

"Scanning fingerprint...”

an automated voice announces at the entrance of Steve's walk-in closet.

Swish...

The door slides open. Sauntering his way inside, Steve ventures for some slick black athleisure down to the shoes, his usual musky cologne, and some matching sunglasses (despite the gloomy forecast prediction).

Black. 🎶

Steve Harrington is ready for the day.

---

"Google, make reservations for 3 people at Tony's Steakhouse at 7pm please."

All Steve had left to do for the day now was grocery shop. Which was always a hassle. Because sometimes, the store doesn't have the specific brand he's looking for so the shopper has to opt for an alternate version. Or sometimes, the shopper assigned to him that day chooses produce that is nearing its expiration date making every fruit in his bag a mushy mess. It doesn't happen too often, but it sure feels inconvenient as hell when it does. There are worse problems in life though, so Steve really can't complain.

*Ring, ring. Ring, ring*

The very distinct and custom ringtone has Steve bolting across the room to answer the call. One of his best friends was on the other line.

"Yello?" he says into the phone.

"Hey, it's Shy Girl," comes a voice. "Eddie and I are pulling in."

"Pull off to the side. Valet's got it. I'll send you guys up."

A bottle of cabernet sauvignon a la Steve awaits the pair when they make their way over. Consider it a Tony's pre-game.

"GameWorld stock is up 4% today,” Steve's buddy, and owner of Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Eddie Munson announces as the two clink glasses. "I don’t have much faith in it though, figure I’ll get my pie slices from actual grocery stores. Like Meijer.”

“Everyone's always gonna need groceries,” Steve points out. "Definitely. Just don't day trade. Not now."

"Ooh, you hear that, Eds?" Shy Girl nudges him. "You gotta be careful where you put your money."

"I gotta be careful with my money, period," Eddie smirks. "You're a danger to my pockets, angel."

"Oh but you love me," she says.

"Yeah," Eddie gives in, grabbing his lover's dainty digits, trailing his fingers across hers, and rubbing the glistening rock that took up most of her left hand on the distal side. "I sure do."

"I'm just... so proud of us," Steve sappily reflects. "So much has happened over the past two years and we've all come so far."

"Yeah," Shy Girl agrees. "And it's about fucking time we celebrate."

"I agree," Eddie chimes in, raising his glass once again. "This weekend trip is going to be... one for the books."

"Viva Las Vegas," Steve toasts. "Cheers."

"Viva Las Vegas!"

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Black and red.

They're the two colors that occupy your closet the most. But of course, after graduating from Washington State University (or Wazzu, for short), you expected nothing less.

You could do with some more sequins though, you think to yourself as you pack your bags.

"What do you think of this, Sweets?"

Peering over your shoulder, you see that your best friend, Elle has started festivities early, managing to hold two glasses of champagne in one hand, and six-inch stilletoes in the other.

"Can't take the party out of the girl, that's for damn sure," you respond.

When you left Seattle to attend WSU Pullman, Elle was your only friend in business class. Mainly because the class was predominantly for dudes, but eventually you found out that you two have a lot in common.

Elle is everything you would want in an older sister figure: she is both book smart and wise, she is sexy, and she eats men for breakfast. And, now that she's about to celebrate the launching of her lingerie business (along with her Dirty 30s Era), and you're about to enter your new-grad era, you two are hitting up Las Vegas to go ham together one last time.

It's all so bittersweet. You owe everything to the Warrens, having taken you in when you were a lost undergrad. It also sucked quite a bit not having a support system after graduating high school. You and Elle were all each other has. Which makes this inevitable separation so much more painful.

"Are you sure you're okay with Vegas by the way?" you question. "I know since the split, being surrounded by gorgeous girls 24/7 can kinda be triggering.”

"Don't worry about it, love," she shakes it off. "The past is in the past. This is a new era of me."

Cheers to that. Clinking your airport-pregame champagne glasses with one another, you raise a toast to yourselves, celebrating how far the two of you have come over the past four years.

"To friendship."

"To friendship."

"To being elegant and educated."

"To elegance and education."

"And to being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives."

You giggle as you raise your glass of champagne even higher.

"To being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives," you two take a sip at the same time. "And no matter how near and no matter how far, we're always gonna be besties."

"I love you, Sweets."

"I love you too, Isabelle."

divider from @plum98

🏷️ taglist: @potatobeanpie @xblueriddlex @angietherose @winchester-angel @aactuaaltraash @hugdealer @hazydespair @frostandflamesfanfic @mediocredreams @bl0ssomanddie @corkadymu @eddiesguitarskills @mrsjellymunson @cadence73 @m-chmcl-rmnc @n-slayaaaaa @corrodedcoffincumslut @kennedy-brooke okay i think i tagged everybody

10/23/2024 -- @micheledawn1975 @maisiepotatobeans @1deverland just updating the tag list :))

[steveharringtonsstrugglemeals]

Ok, based on this post about a bunch of college dudes putting up a craigslist ad for a "BBQ Dad" to attend their backyard barbecue:

A No-Upside-Down AU where the Party is in college, freshly of legal drinking age, and they decide to throw an end-end-of-year backyard barbecue bash. However, as a group composed primarily of hardcore nerds (many of them lacking in paternal figures), they're not exactly the most qualified when it comes to top-tier grilling. More than that, they need someone who can bring the 'it-factor,' someone who can work a crowd and really get the party going. So naturally, Dustin claims, the logical move is to put an ad out in the paper.

Robin is the one who finds it — she buys a paper every day, reads Nancy's articles, then skips to the funnies and the advice column and finally the classifieds. Obviously she has to show Steve — c'mon, he'd be perfect! Steve can work a mean grill, he listens to dad music, he yells at sports on TV and wears khakis... He may only be pushing 30, but Steve has the energy of a middle-aged father-of-three.

Steve is embarrassed, but he's never one to turn down one of Robin's dares, so he writes a reply. It's not like those kids are actually going to respond to him anyway, they're probably looking for someone older, a real dad. Right?

The Party proves him wrong (for the first time but not the last) — they call him almost immediately and officially invite him to the barbecue. And Steve is a sucker who can't turn down such a nice group of kids, so the next thing he knows, he and Robin are loading his grill into the back of Eddie's van and headed across town to the shabby little house shared by Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max.

(Eddie, by the way, is a grad student and friend of the Party's. He may be a 'real adult,' but he has no BBQ Dad vibes whatsoever and he downright refuses to be caught dead manning a grill.)

As far as the Party is concerned, Steve is the 'prophesied-hero' of paternal figures. He's the stuff of legends, the kind of father (in spirit) that all dads aspire to be. He shows up wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He brings not only his own grill and grilling tools, but also a sun-powered radio already tuned to the local baseball broadcast. He calls the Party members 'kiddo' without a hint of irony on his face, and has the lamest but most contagious sense of humor they've ever heard. Just standing next to Steve (and what name is more dad-like than 'Steve'?) feels like shooting hoops on your driveway until the sun goes down, or washing the car as an excuse to hose off on a 90-degree day, or getting picked up after soccer practice, dirt-stained and weary, but happy down to the bone. And yes, his burgers and brats really are that good.

Naturally, Dustin immediately takes credit for finding him and doesn't hesitate to crow about it.

By the end of the evening, they've already made plans to throw another barbecue in a few weeks. Steve quickly becomes the official Party Dad, an inseparable member of the group. He doesn't just do barbecues either — whether they need a reliable ride, some sage advice, or a necktie tied, Steve is there for his kids.

[rosewaterandivy]

10. a kiss is not enough

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C.: 4.5K

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), real-talk with Nancy Wheeler, idiots still being idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe we've come to the end (or is it 👀) of this series! When I started this, I had no clue how many people would respond to Trouble and Steve's idiots-to-lovers story - but I'm so glad that they did! This series will always be near and dear to my heart, for a variety of reasons, but primarily for the people it brought into my life (here's lookin' at you, babe!). This isn't a goodbye from Trouble and Steve so much as a see you later - don't hate me too much! Poetry excerpt from John Keats. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Trouble’s playlist from Steve: trouble will find me

Steve's playlist from Trouble: rebel without a clue

previous || epilogue

Now, May, Finals Week

“Just think about it, kid,” Hopper says on his way out your classroom door. He’d requested a meeting during your conference block, when normally he’d amble in under some pretense just to shoot the shit.

You nod, at a loss for words. It’s not like you needed yet another thing on your plate— waiting to hear back from admissions and not spilling to Steve or the gang was bad enough.

Yeah, you’d applied for grad school (even though grad students were the worst) and Hop had been contacted as a reference, which prompted his little visit today. Apparently, the district had approved a stipend and sabbatical for faculty furthering their education in graduate school.

“I’d like to recommend you,” Hop said matter of factly, sitting in a desk across from yours. “Maybe not for the sabbatical until you’re further along in the program, writing your thesis and whatnot.”

“I, uh–” you stumbled to find the words. “Cart, horse. I haven’t been accepted yet.”

He leveled you with a look, “Are you shittin’ me? Of course you’re getting in.”

You swallowed audibly and busied yourself emptying your desk for the summer, “Well, time will tell I suppose.”

“This isn’t—” Hopper paused in thought. “This isn’t about Harrington, is it?”

“Huh,” you nearly yelled, clutching the cardboard box for dear life. You had been so careful too.

He cracks a smile, “I saw the pair of you at graduation, you think you’re so slick.”

That brings a smile to your face, good ol’ Hop sussing out the goings on like he’d never left the force. 

“It’s nothing.” You assure him, “We haven’t— We’re professionals, okay?”

“I know,” he nods, voice lowering as if he could spook you. “I’m happy for you, really.”

A small smile breaks across your face, “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Finals done and grades posted, you’d never been so happy to get home. Had plans to pour yourself onto the couch and not move for 72 hours. 

But life (and Steve) had other plans.

He was sorting through the mail, chucking envelopes into various piles on the countertop. The loft was quiet that afternoon— Eddie had a gig in Indy that evening and Robin was crashing at Vickie’s for the night. Steve hummed a tune to himself, the occasional slap of paper hitting the granite punctuating it.

“Oh hey,” Steve turns with a large envelope in hand, “This looks important.” Tosses it with freakish accuracy, the white paper landing with a thwack where your shorts had ridden up against your thigh. 

Distracted by whatever drama was unfolding on TV— something about a crew working on chartered private boats— you mindlessly slip your thumb beneath the lip of the envelope and tear it open. 

It’s only once you’ve pulled the papers from it that you glance to see what’s what. The university’s crest shines like a beacon, your thumb worrying over the topmost letter. Steve, the bastard, has stopped his mail sorting and turned toward you.

He leans lazily against the counter, a knowing smirk fixed on his lips. You scramble up from the couch with the papers, too nervous to see for yourself. “Here,” you say, thrusting the envelope and documents to his chest. “Can you—”

Pulling you to his chest with an arm, he brushes his lips against the crown of your head. “Sure, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest— warm and familiar.

“You know,” he drawls, “The big envelope generally means something good, right?”

“I know,” muffled against his shirt.

He chuckles, hand coming up to cradle your head. Steve clears his throat, reads the opening of the letter in his best announcer voice. “Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that…”

The rest is drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears, the tears pooling in your eyes breaking free to cascade down your cheeks. He squeezes you tight abandoning the acceptance letter and letting it flutter to the floor in favor of drawing you closer. Steve kisses you, licking your own tears into your mouth, your taste onto your tongue. And it’s so weirdly hot that your heart starts fluttering again, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Because of course, just as things were going right something had to come and throw a wrench into things. 

Plans for lazing in the early summer forgotten, the next few days saw you coming and going from the university campus for orientation, meetings with faculty, so on and so forth. As you were leaving the grad student mixer, a professor peeled off from a group of faculty to flag you down with a call of your name.

You turn, not recognizing them from the English department. She’s an older woman, has maybe a few years on your mother, and is swathed in a lovely linen dress— the cool elegance of minimalist style.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Holland,” she says shaking your hand. “I’m on the admissions committee and was very impressed with your work on Dante Alighieri.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“And you studied Italian as an undergrad?”

“Certo.”

That brings a smile to her face. “Perfetto,” she says with a perfect Italian accent and waves over another faculty member. “I only ask because there’s a summer intensive in Italy beginning next week that I think you’d be perfect for.” 

Your mind reels. The new professor introduces himself and echoes Dr. Holland’s sentiments— a summer session of classes in Italy, in partnership with Università di Bologna, the oldest university in operation in the world. Scholarships that would cover the cost of tuition, travel, and accommodations for you to peruse.

What the fuck.

Vision swimming, you somehow come back to the conversation at hand. Dr. Holland presses a folder to your hand, “I know you were planning on taking the introductory grad school courses over the summer, but I hope you’ll consider joining us in Italy instead.”

You nod, gobsmacked and make your way to the car. Settling into the sweltering seat, you start the car and call Nancy. If anyone would know what to say in this situation, it would be her.

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, wine glass in hand as you slump on Nancy’s couch. “We’re not anything, haven’t discussed it. I mean, sure, we fuck like rabbits, but aside from that?”

She blows a raspberry and sips from her glass. “He’s in love with you, get over it.”

You jerk up, “Okay, maybe,” you allow. “But he hasn’t said anything.”

“And you won’t pony up to do it yourself?”

A scoff as you drain your glass. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Nancy laughs at that, loud and bright. “Unfortunately, yes!” She refills your glass before continuing, “Let’s be honest, you’re both hopeless when it comes to eachother.” She raises her brow before you can balk, “Full offense intended.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She hums at that, head cocked to the side in thought. Her nail taps against the glass with a soft clink. A bite to her lips before she heaves a sigh, “Sometimes he just needs a push.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I am absolutely not telling him he’s bullshit, if that’s what you’re after.”

Nancy, to her credit, winces uncomfortably at the memory. “No, no,” a shake of her head. “Absolutely not, you would never.” She sets her glass down carefully, giving you her full attention. “What I’m getting at is this: do you want to be something with Steve?”

She lets the question hang in the air between you. 

“Because if you don’t know Trouble, you should back away now.” A low warning tone. “You’re it for him, have been since he laid eyes on you, but you’re both too scared to do anything about it.”

You drain your glass to the dregs and hastily take your leave. At the sound of the door closing, Nancy grabs her phone and brings it to her ear, “Hey Harrington, I need a favor…”

Returning from a less than helpful hang session at Nancy’s, you find a post-it note left on your bedroom, door that reads ‘meet me at our spot on lover’s lake. - s.’

Prizing it from the wood grain, you make your way back to the kitchen to scavenge for something to eat, in an effort to soak up the remnants of wine in your system. Opening the fridge you spy another post-it stuck to the topmost shelf: ‘get your ass down here, i’ll feed you soon enough. - s.’

With a laugh, you let the fridge door fall shut and grab your keys.

_

He can see you now, just barley, even in the indigo dark. Wonders to himself, how are you even real? How is it that you’re mine? An explanation that won’t ever come. 

You slip into the cool water of Lover’s Lake like a dream, with nary a sound. Steve stumbles after you on the piles of clothing you’d left behind—bunched up denim shorts here, a threadbare tank-top over there, the silk of your thong musky and damp. 

Fisting his shirt to pull it up and over his head, it falls to the forest floor behind him, jeans shucked off and tossed elsewhere, boxers joining your lingerie by the shore. His patience is wearing thin as you wade further and further from him out into the lake. 

Little minx, he smiles and takes a breath before diving beneath the waves. Arms cutting through the placid water at a quick pace until he’s occupying the space between your bare legs, and coming up for air. 

One arm drags you near, lazily pressing you close, tight around the small of your back as the tide breaks around your waist, minute movements almost imperceptible— the slow roll of your hips against his.

Water shallow enough to tread and keep you buoyant. Steve kisses you slow and sweet, pulling you flush against his chest while you writhe under the water’s surface. Body slick and wanton and arching into his own. 

His dick jumps when you lift yourself to drape your arms around his shoulders. A sharp breath replaced with a shaky exhale as he brings his forehead to rest on yours, dark eyes taking in the exhilarated flush of your body. 

And Steve knows, under his skin and tucked into the cage of his ribs, near the beating of his anguished heart, that you’re the only thing left in this world worth worshipping. To keep you, and render you a flightless bird, to clip your wings, would be all for naught.

He has to let you go again, and so soon after you found him. From perihelion to aphelion before the moon’s full turning. The soft curve of your throat drawn taut as you glance upward, marvelling at the stars and planets in the northern sky. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Your voice is a husk, low and hoarse, in the dark. “Its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness.” Your eyes, once fixed on the sea of stars above, shift to him once more.

Closer to the shoreline now, and unbeknownst to you, Steve had gently waded you both inshore, until he could draw you toward the dock. 

You let him walk you back until you’re flush against a mooring pole, wood rough against your moon-bathed skin. Body yielding to him as both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls you forward by the hips.

“S’okay, honey,” He mutters—right into your panting mouth with a sultry pull of his lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss from his lips that he laves and sucks to the column of your throat.

He ignores you, crawling his hands onto your hips to keep you from squirming. Works his thigh in between your legs for good measure. Once you’re settled, he moves one hand to your center a finger trailing up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto the spot that makes you keen, just behind your ear. You fist his hair in both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But Steve doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your neck and into your kiss-bitten mouth, he doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion lights a terrible match inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to a forest fire.

Calming breaths in and out. Steady head, steady heart. When you’re able to meet his gaze again, you take a moment to see him as he truly is: dappled in moonlight, forelock hanging in front of his eyes, his entire focus trained on you.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, scissoring them, pumping them in and out.

Steve sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive skin and lips, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching back into his hand, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

You shake like a leaf in his arms, not knowing if it’s from the cool night air or due to the man before you. 

Instead of increasing his pace, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third. Your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean back with a whimper.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, so soft and low that your heart stills.

Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, his previous two fingers pushing inside gently. The third finger meets resistance as you tense up. “S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m…” 

Your head knocks back against the wooden pier. But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear.

You blink owlishly, trying desperately to weave your threads of thought together. A shake of your head to rattle them loose. A sweet smile up to Steve, a barely there kiss to his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy, breaths heaving from your chest. Steve commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you.

You gasp and moan, arching your chest into his and pulled as taut as a bow sting—back forming a crescent-shaped arc, a sliver of the moon radiant in the inky blue reflection of the water.

“C’mon, that’s it, honey. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked collar, bristles on his cheek and jaw tickling your sensitive skin.

Coming back to yourself, you shiver bodily. And Steve looks at you as if you hold infinities in the palms your hands. 

You reach for him reverently, desperate for his shape of beauty and noble nature. A dream realized, a wish granted, gentle and true. You feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination.

You whisper, "Missed you," eliciting a shudder from him as your palm grips him tenderly. 

Relishing in the temperature of his body, you sigh. Spreading the beaded precome at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, head falling to yours.

“Missed you more,” He hums, eyes heavy-lidded and lustful. 

Gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly and without haste, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could burst from your throat.

You whimper. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the gratifying sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re fearful to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, as water lapping against your thighs, holds onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you cry, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He moves in you, like a prayer.

A groan escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, lover… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. 

The two of you feel rooted together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. Your body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away, your shaky legs held in his secure grasp.

The black slik of night gives way to the earth’s rotation, stars and moon bending to the will of gravity. Splashes in its silent, dark depths as you broach the shore. A little shaky on your feet, but he’s close behind, sultry and brilliant like the summer morning quickly approaching.

Whispers and murmurs tucked between fervent kisses as you dress. Fabric sticking to damp skin as his hands roam. Frenetic movements as he backs you up against the car, the coolness of it causing you to shiver. 

“You should do it,” he rasps against your lips. “The Italy thing, you always loved it there.”

“How did you–” you sputter.

You can’t see him roll his eyes, but you just know. “Nance, who else?” 

The warmth of Steve’s body burns against you, a hand threading through your hair half-convinced the moon is hiding there, hanging like a jewel in the night. And you’re a mess when you kiss him. Your breath is warm and so sweet, and the center of his chest squirms like something alive. 

In that moment, you love him but can’t tell him, not yet. You decide the sun that will kiss freckles to his face will do it for you.   

The song of summer sings out as you load your suitcase into Nancy’s car a few days later. The trunk slams closed and your back is pressed against his chest, his arm hanging casually around your collar. It is the end of May, the first bloom of summer balmy on your skin.

Steve had not taken the news of Nancy driving you to the airport well.

At all.

A sponged necklace of kisses to your throat as the light creeps in. Sheets kicked to the edge of the bed so you’re tangled up in him. Skin already glinting gold in the summer sun. Twisting in his hold, desperate to glance at the time. “Steve,” muffled against the heft of his shoulder, “I gotta go, Nance will be here soon.” 

The turn of his weight bearing down, trapping your body under his. A cruel circle of his hips has you shuddering. His breath ghosts along your skin, “Baby, baby please.” Nose trailing down from your sternum to the swell of your stomach. Pausing there for lips to lave kisses on the curves that trailed to your hips. 

Eyes dark and heady with promise, “Just a taste.” Lips and mouth delving lower now, fingers parting the cleave of your cunt with a squelch. He hooks them back into his mouth with a groan. “Mmm,” he slurs, drunk off your arousal. “You taste good, sweetheart,” His nose bumps against your clit, “Like honey.”

Breath stuttering in the cage of your ribs, you fist his hair in one hand and tug. Steve moans overtly, pupils blown wide while he’s face deep in pussy. “Steve,” Your voice trembles. He glances up, smoldering and glorious, drinking you up. “Ah—fuck,” before you’re overtaken again.

You’re desperate, and he can hear it in your voice. A quiver in your throat, you swallow thickly mouth falling open in a pant. His fingers work into you easily, dragging exquisitely along your channel—warm and wet, only growing more so with every thrust of his hand. You mewl, hips bucking up as he sucks your swollen clit. 

Legs thrown over his shoulders, as he cants your pelvis forward, arm heavy against your stomach to bully you in place. “Sweet girl,” He coos, lips ruddy and wet with your slick. “Doin’ so well for me.” You shiver in his hold, sunbeams hazy with orange glow, the refracting light makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then you feel something pulled taut in your belly. A chord stretching like a rubber band before it snaps. The wind up is excruciating, Steve’s litany of devotions falling in hushed murmurs from his lips. His fingers plunging up into the chasm between your legs, pulling away wetter each time.

He bends back down, tongue circling your clit at a dizzying pace. A third finger slides in impossibly, a keen igniting from your throat—high and whimpering. God, you’re so close. You babble, hands scrambling purchase against his dewy skin.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

“Oh my god,” you thrash on the bed, hair sticking to the sheen of your face, hanging on by a thread as his fingers drive into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Steve promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your lust-addled brain, the telltale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of your cunt— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time.

“Stevie,” you mewl, “Steve.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

You drily sob out something broken, a tiny echo of affirmation as he keeps fucking into you like he could break through. He’s really abused your pussy this morning, maybe gone too far, but every time you come like this, it’s like he’s seeing something holy. 

“Oh my god…!” It’s a small shout as you shatter, and it makes Steve’s spine light up as you rub your face further into the pillow.

“Praying to me, sweetheart?” but doesn’t stop those tiny, hard circles, doesn’t stop melting into your body, his dick pulsing as he ruts against the sheets. “You can keep doing that,” he urges, “I like that.”

So, you’re not surprised when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished breakfast, as predicted, in a terrible disarray, and Robin crosses herself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Eddie clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his ring-clad fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.”

As much as you tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t goodbye but instead see you soon, it didn’t stick. But the ache in your gut did—low and menacing, growling like an animal. 

Eddie and Robin were easy, promises to stay in touch and bring back the best candy. Your parents were less so, tight hugs and dried tears on cheeks. 

Steve, however, you needed to brace yourself for. Short of chaining yourself to Nancy’s car, you weren’t sure how you’d escape with your dignity intact. He was already kissing on you, soft and sweet, as Nancy slid into the driver’s seat while Eddie and Robin waved goodbye walking back inside.

You slip from his grasp in a flash, pulling him by the belt loops to knock hips. “Stevie, lover mine,” you sing, his palms cupping your ass as his hands slide into your back pockets.

Lover.

What a word.

You think about it every waking second—the way he stretches in the morning, how he sings in the shower, dances in the kitchen, smiles and beams at anyone who passes by—how good he is.

How you love him.

“Mm—” raspy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Feet walking you closer and closer and you’re pressed against him. Nosing along the column of his neck, nipping at the delicate skin there, watching as his throat bobs when he swallows. 

Hands free themselves from denim confines, a thumb caresses the small of your back. Steve pries your hand from his chest, and brings it to his mouth, placing a tender kiss against your palm. 

You hum as his lips brush your skin, observing as he meanders to the thin flesh of your wrist. Hazel eyes near golden in the morning sun as Steve looks to you, face open and fond. Lips featherlight when they kiss your thundering pulse.

Only then do you start to break. 

You thought you were prepared. But it steals the breath from your lungs, levelling you to ruin, a creeping sense of hopelessness in its wake. 

He’s quick to notice, crushing you to his chest and hand cradling your head. Soothing murmurs of “S’okay honey, we’ll be alright,” and the rasp of your name. Fingers brushing hair from your face with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And it is hard to leave him, but you can do difficult things.

Forehead bent to yours, back warm in the sun’s decorous rays, a searing tear-laden kiss and you’re off. Turned back in your seat to see him recede in the distance until he’s a mere speck on the horizon as Nancy tugs you forward.

All the goodbyes had all been said, save one thing lodged in the depths of your throat. 

I love you. 

[smutconnoisseur]

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞

This is a collaboration for @buckybarnesevents Shrinkyclinks 2023 Double Bang! The artist created a beautiful piece that inspired this fic. Their art is truly breathtaking and brought the story to life. Thank you for the inspiration! 

Artist: @murkycrush

Author: Smutconnoisseur

Beta: @rookthorne

Character/Ship: Grad Student!Bucky Barnes x Incubus!Steve Rogers

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: “What the fuck,” Bucky muttered, watching the living, breathing creature that had appeared from seemingly nothing, and then back to the article on his computer, its title screaming at him in big, bold gothic font: "Summoning a Demon For Dummies 101: What to Do When Things Go Wrong (Or Right)."

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Supernatural Elements, Grad Student Bucky Barnes, Incubus Steve Rogers, Shrinkyclinks | Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes/Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Explicit Content, Master/Pet, Seduction, Demon Summoning, Wing Kink, Tail Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tail Felatio, Lust at First Sight, Horn Stimulation, Biting, Blood Play, Begging, Tenderness

Masterlist | Ao3

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 43 – ENEMIES TO LOVERS

Perfect Match by BladeoftheNebula

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 9,011 Tags: Office AU, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage

Summary: All Steve wants to do is get through his omega work placement and get out. Too bad Tony Stark, the alpha son of the CEO, is such a dick.

Reasons why I love it: Two workaholics walk into an office... I love this fic so much! Steve struggling to fight for his place on the alpha team is mildly infuriating in the best kind of way, made even better when Tony finally figures out how wrong he was about Steve. And I absolutely love the ending, it's sweet and spicy, exactly how I like it. Definitely check this one out, because it's fantastic!

maybe they are by Areiton

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,415 Tags: College AU, Established Relationship, Professors Steve and Tony

Summary: “Maybe they fucked and Stark broke his heart,” Teddy says, watching Stark standing next to a table full of grad students, talking animatedly, waving his coffee as Rogers dodged by, giving him a dirty look. Or: That professors fic I've been promising to write.

Reasons why I love it: This is such a fun AU! I love all the students speculating about Steve and Tony, their characterizations are perfect. And I especially love those last few paragraphs with Riri's introspection about what she's found out about them. This fic is lovely, and you should definitely read it!

Love in the Dark by mombasas

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 6,916 Tags: Neighbor AU, Sleep Deprivation, Competitive Streak

Summary: The guy who lives in the apartment next to Steve's is a nocturnal sex addict with a complete lack of volume control, and Steve's not going to take that lying down. Or, well. (Neighbors-with-a-shared-bedroom-wall AU in which Steve and Tony get into a not-so-passive passive-aggressive sex war, despite never having actually met.)

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, how is this so hilarious and hot as hell at the same time? I love how both Steve and Tony are such human disasters that instead of going the rational route and talking things out, they get caught up in this competition. It's amazing and only made more so by the writing, which is fantastic. Definitely check this one out, I love it so much!

To Dwell on Dreams by fandomfrolics

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 12,178 Tags: Modern Setting, Dreamsharing, Hate Sex

Summary: A series of increasingly vivid dreams prompt Tony Stark to move back to New York City after ten years, much to the excitement of the press. Steve Rogers, ex-soldier and popular political cartoonist, is not quite as thrilled. After he publishes an unflattering cartoon of the reclusive billionaire, he's granted exclusive access to do an in-depth piece on the person nobody's heard from in the last ten years.

Reasons why I love it: The contrast between the waking world and their shared dreamscape is so good! A secret identity can truly work wonders, ey? I love how they slowly but surely grow closer as Steve figures out who Tony really is, and I especially enjoyed the dialogue in the elevator. Defintely check this one out if you haven't yet, it's wonderful!

You Take My Breath Away by jellybeanforest

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 8,652 Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Hate Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Tony had watched his mother wither away from the flowers growing in her lungs. Though he is uncertain whether Howard was the reason, he never forgave him for prioritizing the search for Captain America over his mother’s life. He vowed never to fall to the same illness, to never take even a passing interest in his father’s all-consuming obsession. He fails on both accounts.

Reasons why I love it: I've always loved Hanahaki fics, and this one is a fantastic version of the trope. It's heartbreaking to see how hard Steve is trying to get closer to Tony while Tony is utterly convinced that his only chance of survival is to eradicate all love between them. The angst is amazing, the resolution is almost funny with how passive-aggressive they both are, and I love the hopeful ending. This fic is great, and you should definitely read it!

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - November 3 - Week 44

Happy November, friends! Here’s what I’ve got for you this week. 

Friday Night Lights by Withstarryeyes

Tony watches Steve at his football game, his varsity jacket draped over his shoulders.

grey and other colours by Anonymous

Distantly, Tony hears Clint say something like, “No, I definitely heard he was an equal opportunist. Like, equal-equal, no preference. Hey Tones, who are you attracted to more, dudes or chicks?”

He calls the last part out to Tony, who runs the words over in his mind and unthinkingly says, “I’ve actually never been attracted to anyone, it’s really worrying.”

(Or, Demisexual and Demiromantic Tony Stark.)

Cherry Ride by copperbadge

A SHIELD agent named Roger Stevens told Tony that his nickname was "Cap". Tony didn't connect the dots until it was much, much too late.

Two Out of Three (Ain't Bad) by plingo_kat

It blindsides him one morning in the middle of his customary third cup of coffee; Steve walks through the door in loose cotton pants, shirt pulled up to wipe the sweat off his face from his usual morning workout, and Tony thinks: adorable.

maybe they are by Areiton 

“Maybe they fucked and Stark broke his heart,” Teddy says, watching Stark standing next to a table full of grad students, talking animatedly, waving his coffee as Rogers dodged by, giving him a dirty look.

Or

That professors fic I've been promising to write.

[meidui]

professor!tony fic recs ♡

enchanted by @areiton

You watch his smile shift, something softer, sweet and private, and he mouths, hi.

You blush, utterly enchanted. 

maybe they are by @areiton

“Maybe they fucked and Stark broke his heart,” Teddy says, watching Stark standing next to a table full of grad students, talking animatedly, waving his coffee as Rogers dodged by, giving him a dirty look.

Hot Professors and Underwear Models by @meshkol

Darcy Lewis is a simple gal, and by simple gal, she means unapologetically thirsty.

Nothing wrong with some eye-candy mixed in with classes, anyway.

non functional requirements by @lazywriter7

Gwen Stacy isn't having the greatest day, and that's before her System Designs Engineering professor starts explaining the material through the lens of his strained-sounding relationship. With his boyfriend in the audience.

Citation Needed by @elwenyere @festiveferret

Historian Tony Stark has one year to get his book about WWII weapons technology under contract before he goes up for Full Professor at Stanley College. There's only one chapter left to finish, which is supposed to explain Peggy Carter's involvement with something called "Project Rebirth," but there are two problems: his trail of evidence goes cold every time he encounters references to an enigmatic soldier named Steven Rogers, and his stress levels shoot through the roof every time he runs into the endlessly frustrating new hire in Fine Arts, Dr. Grant.

The Ring of Fire by @serinah80

Steve is 19 and has only had one girlfriend. He doesn’t like men, never has, so why the hell does Professor Stark make him feel this way?

A story with a ridiculous amount of anger, internalized homophobia, sexual exploration, self-discovery and pining. In short: it's about how student Steve tries, fails and then tries again to understand what is going on with him while dealing with his crush on a professor.

[midsummer-semantics]

Private Lessons

Written for Steddie Kinktober Bingo and cross-posted on ao3!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Professor Steve Harrington, Grad Student Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Teacher-Student Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, way too much information about Renaissance literature tbh, Flirting, flirting via Google Docs, Age Difference, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Eddie Munson Has a Praise Kink, Steve is kind of a perv, but Eddie is DEFINITELY into it, Masturbation, Kinktober

Summary:

Grad school wasn’t exactly in Eddie’s grand life design, but he’s not really complaining. Especially not when his Renaissance literature professor is the hottest person he’s ever seen.

Or: English Grad student Eddie has an insane crush on his professor, and when Professor Harrington offers his star pupil private lessons in order to give him more than the usual lecture accounts for, Eddie jumps at the chance.

[Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics]

Keep Reading for the fic! ⤵️

Grad school wasn’t exactly in Eddie’s grand life design, but he’s not really complaining. Especially not when his Renaissance literature professor is the hottest person he’s ever seen.

Professor Harrington was the talk of the school from the moment Eddie set foot on campus. The youngest grad professor in the department — though that’s not saying much when most of them look like they’re five minutes from incurring rigor mortis — Dr. Steven Harrington is a world-renowned scholar in Renaissance and Early Modern texts, has publications ranging from “How Shakespeare could be gayer: An analysis of Antonio characters” to “When life gives you Lemons: Early Modern plot themes in Slash Fiction.” And Eddie’s read them all.

If he applied to this grad program in the hopes that he’d get to take one of Harrington’s classes, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

And now he is, sitting front row every Monday evening for three and a half hours, studiously writing notes and asking questions on any and everything Professor Harrington lectures on.

Harrington is even more gorgeous in person. Faint salt and pepper mixed in with soft chestnut hair that practically defies gravity, wire-rimmed glasses that frame his expressive caramel eyes, a body to die for under sharp trousers and button-up shirts that he often rolls the sleeves on. There’s a tiny tattoo of a robin on his left forearm just below his elbow that Eddie wants to see up close, wondering if that’s his only tattoo or if he’s hiding more delicious ink beneath the professional layers he wears to his lectures.

Yeah, sometimes it’s hard to pay attention to what Harrington is saying when he’s looking like a walking wet dream every time Eddie sees him.

It doesn’t help at all that he’s also incredibly charismatic and a huge dork. Harrington is a font of knowledge, and sometimes he goes off on tangents about early modern printing processes or how much he hates one particular academic for stealing his research years ago. Eddie genuinely thinks he’d be fine listening to his professor wax poetic about just about anything and he’d be hanging off of every word the entire time.

Other students in his class are less subtle about the fuck-me eyes they give their professor, but Harrington, ever the consummate professional, ignores it all. Which is fine, really, because Eddie knows it’s kind of a moral gray area to be lusting after a professor, even if they’re both well past the age where they could be considered “young adults.” Hell, Eddie’s pretty sure he’s the oldest person in his lectures at 29, but Dr. Harrington is easily in his 40s so the age gap is as unceremonious as it is taboo. And even if his crush wasn’t entirely in his own head, he’s prepared to beat up every one of his classmates for half a chance that Harrington would turn his regular “Good job, Eddie,” into a “Good boy, Eddie.”

Eddie knows he’s probably doing too much to get Harrington’s attention, always raising his hand more than any other student and doing every bit of extra credit he can like it’s going to win him some kind of Nobel Prize, but he genuinely likes the material so it’s easy to get involved in the discussions. 

His overenthusiastic involvement does earn him an exciting benefit two months into the semester, though. Harrington asks Eddie to hang back after class to discuss one of the latest reading responses, and Eddie’s mind immediately goes to all of the ways he fucked up by saying that Robert Greene may not have been entirely wrong for the way he dragged Shakespeare considering the way the bard had similarly dragged him by writing a fool character based on Greene. He’s got a million apologies already waiting on his tongue while the rest of the class files out, leaving them alone in the classroom.

“Listen, professor, I’m so sorry—” Eddie starts, but Harrington holds up a hand, silencing him all at once.

“It’s a bold claim you made in there, Eddie,” the professor says, leaning back against the whiteboard and crossing his arms. 

Eddie’s face flushes, whether from mortification or the way Harrington’s muscles shift under his shirt is unclear. He tries to think of an excuse as to why he’d make a dig at one of his professor’s favorite authors before settling on, “Would you believe I had an aneurysm before writing that?”

Harrington’s eyes narrow, assessing Eddie as he tries not to squirm, before shrugging, his face breaking into a grin. “I might, except all I said was it was bold, not that you were wrong.”

Eddie’s brain stops short for a moment. “W-what?”

Harrington snickers and reaches over to a stack of papers to pull Eddie’s, right from the top. “I have a proposition for you, which you’re welcome to turn down without explanation.”

Eddie’s heart beats double-time in his chest. He knows it’s delusional, but he’s had many fantasies of Harrington saying words just like those ones and then bending him over the nearest desk.

“A proposition?” he tries not to choke out.

Harrington hums as he scans over the paper again before handing it back to Eddie. A red A+ is circled at the top, which is a common sight, but still makes Eddie swell with a little bit of pride.

“I get the feeling sometimes that I’m not doing my part in giving you enough material during lectures. So I wanted to offer a compromise. Once a week we can meet in my office, and I’ll give you a private lecture on any topic of your choice as long as you write a 1000-word research project on it before the next meeting. In exchange, I’ll wave your final project.”

Eddie blinks at his professor owlishly for a moment. The math doesn’t make sense considering the final project is 20-pages minimum and what Harrington is suggesting would mean writing almost double that over the course of the next 8 weeks, but like hell is Eddie going to turn down the opportunity to spend one-on-one time with his gorgeous professor discussing their mutual love of Renaissance literature.

“Deal,” he agrees easily.

Harrington smiles, a big one that lights up his face for a moment before schooling it into kind neutrality once more. “Wonderful. Email me your availability and we’ll go from there.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself once a week doing the absolute most work he’s ever done in his life, and Harrington’s class isn’t even his only one.

It’s worth it, though, for the two uninterrupted hours of Steve’s attention every Thursday evening. They cover a wide range of topics, and Steve never gives him shit for interrupting to ask more questions because that just means Steve gets to talk more about his passion. It’s one thing, Eddie thinks, to watch the man lecture to a class of semi-enthused grad students once a week, and something else entirely to watch him go on about something Eddie asks him to talk about. If brain boners are a thing, Eddie’s had a continuous one for this man for weeks.

He’s also had an innumerable amount of real boners, but he gave up caring about cranking one out to mental images of his hot professor two weeks into the semester. What Harrington doesn’t know won’t hurt Eddie, and it helps his brain not turn to actual mush every time he has to be in the same room as him again.

Eddie quickly gets into the habit of sharing his working docs with Harrington — Steve, his professor insists after their sessions go on for a few weeks — so he doesn’t have to worry about it slipping his mind later. Sometimes Steve will open the doc while Eddie’s still working on it, a tiny random animal popping up in the corner signaling Steve’s presence. It happens at odd hours, which Eddie supposes is fair since he knows now that the professor has a weird sleep schedule thanks to his own academic work. In the moments where Eddie finds himself and an Anonymous Axolotl both up at 2am, he likes to pretend like Steve’s watching him do something other than writing about the latest discussion topic. Like Steve’s actually in his own bed, his laptop resting on his lap, wearing nothing but a pair of tight briefs (or maybe nothing at all) and touching himself while he watches Eddie do the same. 

Eddie didn’t know academics could make him so goddamn horny, but by the time the end of the semester approaches, he’s basically Pavloved himself to pop a boner every time the tiny Anonymous Giraffe or whatever appears. 

The last two weeks of the semester, Eddie’s mostly in attendance out of obligation (and to ogle Steve more) since he doesn’t actually have to do the final project. His last meeting with Steve is the week before finals, the professor telling him he should take the week off to relax and get some actual sleep because he’s more than earned it.

As such, Eddie’s determined to make the final research project for their private lessons the best one yet.

It’s almost 3am when the tiny Anonymous Moose in the corner disappears for the night, and Eddie blinks blearily at the words on his screen that are starting to blend into a big blob. He’s well past the 1000-word mark at this point — 2041 the last time he checked — and he knows he should end it here and go to bed, especially since he hasn’t actually put more words on the page in over an hour. 

He checks his word count again just to remind himself that he did more than enough and —

Wait a minute.

That can’t be right, he thinks. Eddie highlights paper from bottom to top, hitting the keys to display the word count again.

“What the hell?” he mutters to himself, undoing the highlight and trying again. The same number pops up: 2069. There’s 28 words unaccounted for that he’s pretty sure even in his sleep-addled state he didn’t write.

He tries highlighting it all again and that’s when he sees it: down at the bottom of the doc under all of his writing are several words he, in fact, didn’t write, but he didn’t see them before because the font was the same color as the page itself.

He doesn’t have time to squeal over there being a secret message because the message itself nearly gives him a heart attack.

It’s too bad the semester is over. I was hoping to see you bent over my desk with those tight black jeans around your ankles at least once.

Eddie’s pretty sure his heart stops and starts several times as he reads the words over and over again.

He double-checks the doc access, and sure enough it’s only Steve that has it, which means…

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie groans, his erection from before coming back with a vengeance when he realizes his insanely sexy, insanely intelligent professor whom he’s been pining after for four months is flirting with him in secret in his Google docs.

He palms himself over his boxers, trying to manifest the stupid Anonymous Whatever to pop back up so he can keep up the illusion that Steve really has been spying on him, and then a thought occurs to him.

What if this isn’t the first time Steve’s done this?

With one hand still grasping his cock, squeezing rhythmically to relieve some of the pressure, Eddie swipes over to his Private Lessons folder and starts opening all of his past papers. He scrolls to the bottom, highlighting page after page, uncovering message after message that Steve’s left for weeks with Eddie being none the wiser.

It’s hard not to watch your lips as you talk. I bet they’d feel amazing wrapped around my dick.

Eddie moans outright at that and slips his hand under the waistband of his boxers to tug at his cock while he reads the rest. Some are complimentary, but most are downright filthy and Eddie feels like he’s going to pass out from all the blood rushing from his brain to his groin.

You’re so expressive when you get going on a topic you love. I wonder how expressive you are when you cum.

Those fucking pants are going to be the death of me. 

God you’re pretty when you smile. Those fucking dimples. I want to lick them every time.

Do you have any idea how hard you make me? How difficult it is to get through a lecture or a private session without pinning you to the desk and eating your ass right there?

Eddie comes with Steve’s name on his lips, shaking and shivering through an orgasm so intense just from words on a page.

When his brain reboots and his soul returns to his body, Eddie is left staring at the screen of his computer, the cursor blinking in time with his heartbeat and his hand tacky with cooling come. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, using his clean hand to close the laptop and shove it away.

The semester is over. He doesn’t have any reason to see Steve again before winter break commences, and he doesn’t have him on his class roster for Spring. 

But like hell is he going to leave this alone now that he knows his professor wants him back.

[omgtheywereawooomates]

a teen wolf mcu fic insp:

it wasn't like in the fairy tales. not really.

stiles was a busy grad student attending columbia university on a scholarship, juggling a packed academic calendar, as well as a part time job at a cafe in brooklyn.

steve was a tired, unofficially retired hero who was still adjusting to civilian life, and who'd just barely unpacked his new apartment, let alone his emotional baggage.

but it wasn't like in the fairy tales... because their finding one another didn't fix anything. stiles was still busy and steve was still emotionally exhausted.

their falling in love wasn't some magic cure all. but what it was...was a home. a safe place all their own, with that special person that made their hearts whisper "...it was you, all along."

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: foresthearts! @kiaramori has 11 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 7 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @kiaramori:

Suspended Bridges

Consensual Catfishing

Just Because You've Done It Before Doesn't Mean You'll Do It Better

In My Head (I See a Supercut of Us)

finding a cozy place in you

I read her first Steddie fic (Suspended Bridges) as it was updating and I fell in love!! The world building and plot in that fic, compared with the writing make it absolutely irresistible. I've been reading all of her fics since then and there have been no misses! Every single one is incredible. Can't recommend them enough ❤️❤️ -- anonymous

Below the cut, foresthearts answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I heard that a lot of times when people ship things, it’s a character they project onto with a character they’re attracted to. I find that I feel both things towards Steddie: I can somewhat project onto both of them to a degree, and then I also find them both pretty attractive. So it’s the best of both worlds (lol). I also think that both Steve and Eddie are at this really cool point in their life. After high school there’s a lot of self-discovery. Finding your own independence, figuring out who you are, deconstructing the messages you were raised with, finding your path…I think that’s a really cool time to write about.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

One of my favorite tropes for this pairing is Kas!Eddie. I really like fics where Eddie is a vampire, they’re great. Another favorite trope with these two is idiots-to-lovers. I love the way both these guys can be dumbasses for different reasons.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I think miscommunication (in a playful way, not so much an angsty way) is a favorite for me. Especially oblivious!Steve. Anything I can do to maneuver Steve into a slutty little outfit and have Eddie thirsting over him, I love it. Especially when Steve has no clue Eddie is thirsting over him. I think I have that in almost every single fic I write.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I have so many, it’s hard to list just one. “Sub-culture” by palmviolet was the first Steddie fic I read, so it has a special place in my heart. I’d also say “Rock of Ages” by BoudicaMuse and “You’re Divine” by OonionChiver. One I’m reading currently is called “House of Pain” by mynameis152. It features Steve and Eddie in a group home, and I really like the exploration of both of their characters.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a fic I’ve half-written with Merman!Eddie and Grad Student in Marine Biology!Steve (extremely loosely based off the chinese novel Desharow Merman). I think that’s one I’d love to explore in more depth.

What is your writing process like?

My process usually starts with daydreaming up a certain scene. Then, I’ll kind of expand it from there. Sometimes, I’ll take notes or write short outlines at night to get my thoughts down. Then, I’ll usually write a first draft. Something that’s pretty stream-of-consciousness. I don’t worry about it sounding good. Then I’ll delete most of my first draft and start over with a second, keeping only the parts I like the most.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I’m not sure if other people do this, but I think a quirk of mine is how much I’ve come to enjoy rewriting things. It’s not unusual for me to write half a chapter, delete the whole thing, and then start over again. I find that I typically like the second draft a lot better than the first. When I was younger, it was such a struggle to delete things and start over. It felt like I was erasing all my hard work. But now, I just see it as part of the process.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

This is a funny question for me because my favorite way to do things was definitely how I did Suspended Bridges. I had about 80% of the plot written before I posted anything, and as I posted each chapter, I could comfortably go back and edit each chapter/add foreshadowing/add substance to the fic before posting it. But I haven’t done it that way since then; now I pretty much post things as I write them.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I think I’m most proud of Suspended Bridges, partially because it’s the longest fic I’ve ever written, so I’m pretty proud of the work that went into it. I also am pretty proud of Just Because You’ve Done it Before, Doesn’t Mean You’ll Do It Better. It’s my most recent one, and I can feel myself growing as a writer as I write it.

How did you get the idea for Suspended Bridges?

Suspended Bridges is really an amalgamation of a lot of different pieces of inspiration. I think at the time, there weren’t a ton of omegaverse fics out for the pairing. I had a lot of omegaverse headcanons for the characters and how they would fit into an alternate season four. Since there weren’t a lot of fics out at the time, I figured if I wanted something that was so specific (canon divergence, Steve being a secret omega, life-saving mating bonds, etc) then I was going to have to write it myself.

When writing Suspended Bridges, what was something you didn’t expect?

I’d have to say 1. the writing process, and 2. the reception. Firstly, it was a really unique fic for me in that it was so easy to write. It felt like the words just flowed out of me. I wrote the first 60,000 words of it largely on my phone while on vacation. I just couldn’t stop writing. It was more than I’d ever written in one sitting before. Secondly, I was not expecting the reception it got at all. It is far and away the most popular thing I’d ever written, and I was so floored at the amazingly kind comments people wrote and the way it was able to resonate with so many people.

What inspired Just Because You've Done It Before Doesn't Mean You'll Do It Better?

I really like Time Travel Fix-Its, they’re one of my favorite types of fics. I watched this clip where a comedian was talking about how if he went back in time, he’d be effectively useless. And I thought to myself, “what would it be like to have someone go back in time and kind of mess things up even more?” which is what inspired this fic. Steve’s back in season 1, trying to change the past so that things can go better…but it’s a harder job than he expects. There’s a lot that he doesn’t know, and his assumptions about the world can often cloud his judgment.

What was your favorite part to write from Consensual Catfishing?

I think my favorite part was just all the little internet references. Consensual Catfishing was really fun to write because it was a bit of a love letter to my own fandom experiences. My favorite part might’ve been in chapter 1 when we see the clip of the 1DxY/N fic parody. I was laughing pretty hard as I wrote that. I also just liked all the little clips of Hellfire’s DnD podcast. I really enjoyed writing their friendship.

How do/did you feel writing In My Head (I See a Supercut of Us)?

Uh…horny? Haha Supercut was one of the most explicit fics I’d written and so sometimes I would kind of post it while blushing bright red haha. It was fun, though. I think comedy is a bit of a niche for me. I really like to write stuff that makes me laugh, and Supercut was definitely that. Steve’s first fantasy he gets dragged into cracks me up every time.

What was the most difficult part of writing finding a cozy place in you?

I think the hardest part was just making it short. I suck at writing one-shots, I typically like leaning into the conflict of the story and making some elaborate worldbuilding. But this one I wanted to be soft and sweet, to feel a bit like curling up on the sofa with a warm cup of tea. It was a different vibe than I usually write, so it definitely stretched me.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I think one of my favorite scenes is in Suspended Bridges, when I rewrote the fight against Vecna. There were a lot of powerful moments: Max, Dustin and El all standing up to Vecna at various moments, Steve playing Dustin’s song to stop his possession….then the life-saving bond right after that. That was definitely a highlight for me.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Right now I’m mainly looking at my current projects, rather than any future ones. If there’s one I’d promote, it would be “Just Because You’ve Done it Before, Doesn’t Mean You’ll Do It Better” It’s an omegaverse time-travel fic, where a gruff alpha Steve goes back into his season 1 (unpresented) body. He wants to change the past, save Barb, and get Nancy back, but there’s a lot he doesn’t know. And things get pretty off the rails when he presents as an omega in the new timeline.

Thank you to our author, foresthearts, and our anonymous nominator! See more of @kiaramori works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[madelynraemunson]

welcome to

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍’𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁

Roll call 😏

more below the cut 💌

BOOK ONE: CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT (complete)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove reader

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

BOOK TWO: CALL OUT MY NAME (in progress)

ceo!bachelor!steve x fem!college grad!reader

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄. Steve Harrington has the WORST luck with the ladies. His high school sweetheart left him for another dude, his former fuck buddy is dating his roommate, and his dream girl is a lesbian. King Steve is losing hope. That is until he meets you — a newly graduated university student from Seattle — when your paths cross on a fateful night in Sin City. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... that is until your risky business trickles over to Hawkins, Indiana, a town your best friend knows of a little too well.

BOOK THREE: CALL ME WHEN YOU’RE LONELY (TBA)

bouncer!henry creel x reader

BOOK FOUR: CALL YOU MINE (TBA)

line cook!music producer!argyle x reader

loosely inspired by ✨ the salacious players club by sara cate ✨

divider creds: @inklore

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 8

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

Steve is trying to get better. She is trying to move on.

warnings | 18+ angst, mention of alcoholism, therapy talk, sad times folks

a/n | I dedicate this chapter to all of the asshole neuro grad students I have dated, your douchebaggery is astonishing and inspiring lmao

song for this chapter: Rapt by Karen O

......................

“Well, how did this past week go, Steve?”

“Um, better– I think.”

“That’s good. How was it better?” He tries not to roll his eyes at that, but still lets out a huff, sinking further into the sofa.

“I, um, I’ve been doing the mindfulness stuff? Every morning, like you said. And I’ve been doing the writing stuff in the journal you gave me.” Doctor Staub nods at that, lightly smiling.

“I’m glad to hear that. But, you know, those things I assign you to work on are only good if they help you make real change in your life.” Steve sighs and Staub raises a brow at him.

“So, what kind of changes have you made, Steve?” He huffs, but takes a deep breath, something he hates to admit works really well in keeping him from lashing out.

“I’m still not drinking, at all. And I’ve been spending more time with my friends, making more of an effort.” Staub nods.

“Good, good. I know we had discussed friendship being a part of your values. It sounds like you’re working on being more in line with that. Have you given more thought to what we discussed last week?” Steve makes a low sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head.

“I mean– I have thought about it– I just don’t know what’d I’d even say– I just– she– I don’t know.” Staub hums.

“Have you tried writing a letter to her? You don’t have to send it, obviously, but it might be a good place to start.” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. He had tried writing a letter in the fucking journal his therapist had given him, but he got all of three sentences down before he was dissolving into a mess of tears. 

“I just don’t think she’s gonna want to hear anything I have to say.” 

“Sounds like you’re jumping to conclusions, my friend. Look, I can’t make you do anything, but you did tell me your biggest reason for wanting to make changes was her.” Staub sets down his notepad, fixing Steve with a firm look.

“There’s no question, Steve. You fucked up– bad. But from what you told me, it sounds like there was real love there, and that deserves enough respect to at least make things right. I want you to keep thinking on it, ok? What would you tell her?” 

Steve still doesn’t like therapy, but even he has to admit that it seems to be helping. He’s been going for a while now, but hadn’t been trying until after that night at the hotel with her. It just so happened that the next day he had already had an appointment scheduled, and when he didn’t show up, Staub called him. Steve had started drinking the moment he left the hotel, and by the time his phone was ringing he was a pitiful, mumbling mess. But he had been just about shocked sober by what Staub told him over the phone that day.

“Look, kid, I don’t have a horse in this race. But it just seems like a real shame for you to be fucking yourself up like this when there’s really no need for all this bullshit.” No one had ever leveled with him so clearly. No one had ever been so certain there was a way out for him. So, Steve actually started trying in therapy. 

He has six weeks under his belt, but he still has a hard time thinking about that night. When he thinks about what he wants to say to her, all he knows is that sorry wouldn’t come close to covering it.

…

“Oh! Sorry about that, I–”

“Well, if it isn’t neuro’s golden girl. Did you have a good winter break?” She hasn’t seen Thomas since the night of the banquet, and, now running into him coming out of her advisor’s office, she can’t help but think that he looks even smarter dressed down in a crewneck sweater and levi’s. She offers him a smile, scoffing at his remark.

“If you keep calling me that, I’ll start getting a complex or something. But, um, my break was good, yeah. How was yours?” Her break was shit. She spent most of it between her dorm room and the lab, burying herself in preliminary research work and spending her nights listening to her Mazzy Star CD and crying. But Thomas didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh, you know, the usual. Went home for a bit, then came back a little early to get some work done. Speaking of, I heard you’re officially on board for next year. Congratulations, I can’t wait to see what you do.” She feels a blush spreading at his words.

“Thank you, I’m really excited– and also relieved– to be on board, as you said. I can’t wait to start working.” He grins, perfect teeth and a perfect dimple in his one cheek.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I already saw you starting to work in the labs over break.” Her face falls, embarrassed, but he laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose before smiling at her.

“Hey, your secret’s safe with me. But I admire that, you’re obviously a hard worker. I’d love to hear more about what you’re thinking about for your research– maybe over drinks some time?” She really hadn’t been expecting that, and can’t help but trip over her words a bit.

“Oh– I, um– I don’t know–” Thomas sighs, cutting off her floundering.

“Oh, shoot. I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I? Totally forgot about the firefighter boyfriend.” She’s quick to shake her head at his words ignoring the twist of a knife in her chest. His face lights up once again in hope.

“Um, it’s not that– we’re not– I’m not– not with him anymore.” Thomas raises a brow at her.

“No?” She shakes her head, letting out a sigh.

“It’s just– is that like– appropriate?” He lets out another laugh before fixing her with a crooked grin.

“Why? Because I’m on the admissions board?” She nods and he huffs, pursing his lips.

“Well, seeing as you’re already signed, sealed, delivered for next year, I’d say there isn’t a conflict of interests anymore. So, how about it?” Part of her wants to say no, out of reflex. But she manages to stop herself. It has been nearly two months after all. Maybe it’s time to move on. She tries her best to smile brightly at him.

“Um, ok, how’s this Saturday?” His dimple pops again as he nods, and she feels the lightest flutter in her chest, a welcome change from the dormant cobwebs that seem to have set up shop there. She digs into her tote bag in search of a pen.

“Here, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.” She brandishes the pen and is only a little surprised when he, without hesitation, tugs up the sleeve of his sweater and holds out his forearm for her. She finds her footing quickly, holding his wrist and scribbling her number out. He huffs out a light laugh as she finishes, both of them glancing shyly at each other as she steps back. He offers her one more flashy grin as he starts to shuffle backwards down the hall.

“Alright, golden girl. I’ll call you.”

…

She almost doesn’t answer the phone that night, already wavering on going out with Thomas, but when she does buck up enough to pick it up, she’s surprised by who it actually is. She’d recognize that gruff voice anywhere.

“Um, hey– hi. It’s me– um, Steve. I– how are you?” She’s honestly stunned. He hadn’t tried to call her at all since that night. A week after the incident at the hotel, she had returned to her dorm to find her friend waiting with a box of her things. He had dropped it off, no note or message or anything. She hated how much that had hurt. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hate him, even though she knew she should.

“Um, hi, Steve. I-I’m ok, yeah. How have you been?” She doesn’t know what to say, it feels like a thick swath of cotton has settled in her throat.

“I’m doing ok, yeah. Um, I was wondering if we could maybe talk sometime?” She hesitates to answer, her stomach twisting, but Steve presses on.

“I’m not asking you for anything, it’s just– it’s for this therapy thing? And, you obviously don’t have to forgive me, um– I’d just like to say my piece– if you’ll let me.” Now she’s really shocked. That he’s still doing therapy. That his voice sounds so unsure and timid. It’s a far cry from the Steve she had gotten used to. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose to steady herself.

“Um, ok– I get that– do you wanna, like, get coffee?” She can hear the heavy sigh he lets out over the phone, can practically picture him raking his hand through his hair.

“I– yeah– thank you– that’d be great. When are you free?” She tells him she’ll have time Thursday afternoon and he tells her he’ll make that work, awkwardly going to hang up, but she stops him.

“Steve? I think it’s really great you’re still going to therapy.” He lets out a light laugh, his voice crackling over the phone.

“Yeah, I guess you were right about that, about a lot of things actually.” She doesn’t have time to think about what his words mean because he’s already saying a quiet goodbye, the click of the receiver jostling her out of her swimming thoughts.

Thirty minutes later, her phone rings again. She tries to not let guilt slither in as she makes a date with Thomas for Saturday.

…

Thursday comes before she’s ready. Her last class ran late, and she now has to hustle to get to the coffeeshop they had agreed to meet at. It’s one close to his apartment. She remembers how whenever they both, by some stroke of luck, had nowhere to be in the morning, they’d slink down the block to the shop, taking a close booth in the back and sharing breakfast. Perhaps uncharacteristically, Steve had an affinity for the crosswords in the daily paper, and they’d quietly work it over, hands brushing across the table. She has to physically shake her head of the memory as she keeps walking towards the shop, her heart seizing up the closer she gets.

He looks well, really well. She sees him before he sees her, tucked away in the same booth they used to share. He has on a navy sweater, sleeves rucked up under his elbows. He was always pretty to her, but now, he looks healthy, the typical dark circles under his eyes faded into barely there smudges, the only word she can think of to describe his hair is fluffy, perfectly flopped over his face and tucked behind one ear. When he catches her gaze, his eyes are clear, awake, a far cry from the cold stare he had fixed her with that night at the banquet. His lips crook into just a ghost of a smile, brow creasing. She muses that he looks just as nervous as she feels. As she makes her way over to him, he stands, smoothing his palms down the front of his jeans. She has to resist the urge to reach for him as she stands in front of him, and by the way his hands flex by his sides, she guesses he’s doing the same. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Hey, it’s good to see you. Um, thanks– for doing this.” She smiles, nodding lightly as they both sit down. She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands to keep herself from fidgeting from nerves.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well, Steve.” It’s her clinician’s voice, the one she uses in the hospital when she gets to interact with patients, and it doesn’t feel right using it on him, but she’s not sure what would be right in such a situation. He offers her a small smile and a low “thanks” wringing his hands where they’re resting across the table from hers. He seems to be having a hard time holding her gaze, his eyes keep darting down to the side of the booth. She breaks the silence.

“You said you’ve kept up with therapy? How is it going?” 

“It’s been good– um, better. Doc says I’m making real progress. I-I’m not drinking anymore– and I’m doing that meditation shi–stuff you wanted me to do. You were right– it, um, it really helps.” She smiles at that, tilting her head to catch his downturned gaze.

“That’s really great, Steve. It sounds like you’re working hard.” He shrugs, offering her half a smile.

“What about you? How have you been?” She sighs.

“Um, I’ve been doing alright. Working hard, but that’s nothing new. I, um, I got accepted. To IU for next year, so I guess I’m officially a grad student.” Steve nods at that, eyes darting up to hers only briefly before focusing back on his hands.

“You deserve it, probably more than any other student. Work so hard.” She knows it’s a sore spot, for both of them, so to hear him huff out even that means a great deal to her. Steve sits back in the booth, holding her gaze as he speaks. 

“So, I’m not expecting anything from you. I just ask that you listen to what I have to say– is that alright?” She’s stunned by his meek demeanor, the uncertainty in his expression, but she nods. Steve huffs, his shoulders slackening just slightly as he looks down to his side again before finally holding her gaze.

“It’s not enough– fuck, I know it’s not enough– but I want to tell you how sorry I am. Not just for that night– a-at the hotel– but for the way I treated you the whole time we were together–” his eyes dart back down to his side and she tries to crane over her seat to see just what it is that keeps pulling his attention, but his gaze has already focused back on her as he continues.

“The way I treated you was terrible– and, fuck– you deserve the world– um–” This time, when his eyes dart away again, she leans over the table and sees that what he keeps looking at is an open journal laid next to his lap, his obvious penmanship scribbled across the pages. She huffs, not quite sure what she feels at the realization that Steve had prepared something to say to her. When he looks at her again, worry is splashed across his features. She sits back, for a moment taking in the sight of this man who is so changed from what she remembers. There’s no simmering anger in his eyes, just clear anxiety. 

“Steve, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to use a script. We can just talk, ok?” He nods, lightly chewing on his lip. She sighs before continuing.

“Is it alright if I say something now?” He nods again, his eyes unwavering now as he looks at her.

“I know that you really hurt me, Steve. In more ways than one. And I also know that you carry a lot of pain with you, and I’m just relieved you’re finally talking to someone about it. I can forgive you, Steve. And I can be happy for you, that you’re obviously trying so hard to get better. And I also can never forget the way you hurt me. I think that’s going to stay with me for a long time.” It’s a therapy trick, from dialectical work that she had been studying recently, using “and” statements instead of “but.” She means it though, all of those things she said are somehow true at the same time. A heavy silence falls between them, Steve nodding at her words as he stares at his hands. His voice is a hoarse whisper that she can barely hear over the din of the coffeeshop when he finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry. You– you were everything to me– and I just wish I had treated you like it.” There’s nothing else to be said, not really. She lets out a long sigh.

“I should go, I have a shift starting soon. But, I’m really glad we talked, Steve. I hope you’ll keep taking care of yourself.” She doesn’t have a shift starting soon, but she knows she needs to get out of here before she does something she’ll regret later. She slips out of the booth, shrugging her coat back on as he stands. He stammers a bit, running a hand harshly through his hair before finally looking at her.

“Thank you– for everything. You, um, you really changed my life. And I’m just sorry I couldn’t be better for you.” Her heart catches at his words, and she’s moving before she can really think about it, wrapping him up in a hug that he clearly wasn’t expecting, his hands hovering lightly over her back. She breathes in deeply, the scent of him that she had gotten so used to, murmuring softly into his chest.

“Goodbye, Steve.” She’s quick to pull back from him, sniffing away tears that are threatening to spill over as she gives him one last smile, his expression slack in seeming shock at her actions.

She keeps it together the entire walk back to campus, but dissolves into sobs with the soft click of her door behind her.

…

“Red or white, what do you think?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that?” Thomas smiles, laughing lightly.

“What would you like to drink? Are you more of a red girl or do you like the sweet stuff?” She smiles sheepishly at his question. Truthfully, she had no clue which she liked, most of the wine she had consumed up to this point had come in a box. She sighs, pretending to think on it.

“You pick. I’m not exactly a connoisseur.” He grins at that, glancing back at the menu before looking up to the waiter.

“We’ll do a bottle of the seventy-five merlot.” The waiter nods, taking the menu, and Thomas looks back at her with a crooked smile.

“It’s a nice red for beginners. You should be able to handle it, yeah?” It takes every fiber of her being not to roll her eyes at that, instead smiling lightly and nodding. She’s learning very quickly that Thomas is quite confident in himself, flirting dangerously close to arrogance, but she knows her mom would tell her he’s certainly too big for his britches.

She doesn’t want to be here, not really. It’s a swanky restaurant uptown, and she’s in her nicest dress (because Thomas had told her to wear something dressy) and all she wants to do is curl up in bed and think about Steve like she had the last two nights since they got coffee. But she knows she needs to move on, so she white knuckles her way into smiling and laughing at all of Thomas’ stories, making polite conversation. Although she doesn’t have to try too hard at keeping up a dialogue, Thomas seems fine to keep talking all on his own. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about his research, something she finds funny considering he had seemed so excited for her to tell him about her work. 

“Yeah, it’s just a real lightning in a bottle type thing, you know? I’m just glad I caught my idea and pursued it, and now it looks like all my work is gonna pay off.” She smiles, swirling the wine in her glass. She’s decided she really doesn’t like red. Before she can give him some sort of expected response, however, a flashing light catches her eye, followed by the loud blare of a fire alarm.

The whole restaurant gets evacuated out onto the sidewalk. She’s just grateful she had half a mind to shrug her coat on before they all got shepherded out into the cold night. Thomas meanwhile, is less than enthused, scoffing and muttering about how he “can’t believe this, so ridiculous.”

And then a fire truck pulls up, and she can’t help the little kick her heart does at the sight. The throng of people is a bit too crowded together and all she can see is three firemen helmets walking into the restaurant, her shoulders slumping in dismay. It’s a calm affair, at least, the manager comes out promptly and lets the patrons know that there’s been a gas leak and they’ll unfortunately have to close for the night. She has to stop herself from laughing at the scrunched-up look on Thomas’ face, catching herself as she starts to see a way out of this already long night. Thomas sighs, bringing a hand to rest on her upper arm.

“Well, not exactly as planned. But would you like to come back to mine?” It’s entirely too forward, and confirms her hasty exit route.

“You know, it’s been really nice spending time with you, but I have a morning class tomorrow and I should probably just get home.” His grin falters just slightly, brow creasing.

“Um, ok, if you’re sure about that. Can I get you a cab?” She huffs, glancing around and seeing a payphone a little further down the block.

“Actually, I’m just gonna call my friend to pick me up. Save myself a little money, yeah?” His grin has completely dissolved now into something more like a grimace, but he nods.

“Alright, golden girl. I’d like to do this again, huh? Some time soon?” She nods, trying to keep her smile from melting off her face in complete resignation. She does her best not to flinch as he lays a kiss on her cheek, murmuring a low “good night” before he turns and heads off in the other direction, shrugging his coat closer around his figure. 

Once he’s far enough away, she sighs, letting out a low curse as she walks over to the phonebooth. She’s frustrated more than anything, at Thomas, but also at herself, that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Steve. She leans against the wall of the phonebooth, waiting for her friend to pick up. But when the dial tone just keeps ringing, she huffs, slamming the phone back onto its receiver and shuffling back onto the sidewalk. 

The crowd has dispersed, the firetruck still there alongside the restaurant. She cranes her neck, looking for a taxi passing by, but with little luck.  What she hadn’t been expecting, although maybe hoping for, was someone calling her name. She whips around, and sure enough, it’s him. He has his helmet cocked on his hip under one arm, his heavy jacket hanging loosely open. Uncertainty is clear across his face as he says her name again like a question. She can’t help but laugh.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” The furrowed look on his face slackens a bit, enough for him to share a disbelieving chuckle with her. She steps a little closer to him, now seeing that those two young men, the same ones she met over Thanksgiving, are who he’s working with tonight as they load their gear back into the truck. 

“Are you– what are you doing out here?” She sighs, offering him a crooked smile.

“I, um, may have been getting dinner with someone at that restaurant before– well, it doesn’t really matter now.” Steve’s face sets in a deep frown, but he nods.

“Can I ask where your date went?” She laughs at that, toeing her shoe into the ground.

“I sort of ditched him. We didn’t exactly hit it off.” She hopes she’s not imagining the flash of something that skitters across Steve’s face at that, but it’s gone in an instant as he huffs at her words.

“Are you alright? Nothing happened, right?” It’s her turn to huff, shrugging lightly.

“I’m fine, just hungry. I didn’t even get a meal out of it, just a glass of really gross wine.” That coaxes a full smile out of him, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing that, such a rare piece of Steve. He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous flutter seeming to run through him.

“Well, I mean, the guys and I are off duty now– we were gonna stop and get something on the way back to the station. You could come with us if you want? We can drop you back at campus too.”  She stutters a bit at the invitation. Every part of her wants to say yes, but every part of her knows she should say no.

“Oh, I couldn’t– I don’t want to– like, impose– you don’t have to–” He cuts her off with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d be happy to, really.” 

And so, she finds herself riding shotgun in a firetruck, stealing glances at Steve in the driver’s seat. He had relegated the other two men to the back before she could say anything otherwise. Definitely not how she had been expecting this night to go.

“What are you in the mood for?” She’s snapped out of her thoughts by Steve’s question.

“Oh, um, I don’t even know. I think just about anything would sound good right now I’m so hungry.” He hums, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You eat lunch today?” She sighs, a shy smile as she tells him she hadn’t. He knows her too well, and had often gotten on her for breezing right over lunch when they were together. She had gotten worse about it recently, with all her work in the lab and without him reminding her. He just sighs, a slight smile quirking his lips.

“I guess some things don’t change. You must be starving, ba–” He clears his throat, stopping himself from saying whatever term of endearment she thinks he was about to call her.

“I think I know a good spot. Let’s get some real food in you, huh? Wash down that gross wine.” She laughs and is rewarded with another smile from him as his eyes briefly dart over to her. For the first time in a while, it feels like she can take a breath without it getting stuck in her chest.

…

“God, this was such a good idea.” Steve huffs a laugh around a bite of his burger, eyes crinkling as he looks at her where she sits in the passenger seat. She practically moaned when they pulled up outside the burger shop, the same one she had gotten takeaway from on Thanksgiving to share with him. Greasy bags of food in tow, when they pulled back into the station, Steve promptly handed the two men - Miller and Thompson - their orders, all but shooing them out of the truck. He had offered to drive her back to campus right away, but she had told him she’d rather eat with him, while the food was still hot. He didn’t need to know that wasn’t the only reason. So, to avoid the ruckus of a crowded fire station of middle-aged men, they stayed in the truck, eating around shared smiles and simple talk. 

She goes to dip a few fries in her milkshake, and Steve groans.

“I forgot you do that. So gross.” She snickers, happily chewing her fries.

“Oh please. You never even tried it. How do you know it’s gross?” He shrugs and shakes his head, but she’s already dipping a few more fries in her shake before holding them in front of his face.

“Just try it, Steve. C’mon.” He grumbles, but gives in, tentatively biting down on the fries. She doesn’t miss the way his lips brush her fingers. He chews slowly, eyes scrunched closed, before letting out a long sigh as he swallows.

“Yep. I was right. That’s gross.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but can’t help the grin spreading across her face as she looks at his smug expression. They hold each other’s gaze for just a beat too long, both of them looking away, focusing back on the remnants of their food. Steve breaks the silence first, clearing his throat.

“This is probably a stupid thing to ask, but can I know who you were going out with tonight?” She sighs.

“Steve–” He’s quick to shake his head, his hands up in surrender.

“No, I know– that’s a stupid question and you don’t have to answer.” She leans over the console slightly to catch his gaze.

“It’s ok, really. Um, I went out with Thomas Klein.” She can see the furrow settle between his brows, but she rests her palm on his knee, drawing his attention back to her.

“I went out with Thomas Klein, and it sucked.” His brows shoot up, eyes wide as he looks at her. She just nods.

“Yeah, he’s a grade A dickhead.” Steve’s face crumples again at that as he turns in his seat to face her.

“He didn’t try anything, did he?” She laughs, shaking her head.

“God, no. He just– fuck– he is so full of himself. I think it might actually be a personality disorder.” She’s got him laughing with her now, shoulders lightly shaking. He sighs as they both quiet down.

“Is it bad that I’m kinda happy you don’t like him?” She offers him a small smile, shaking her head as she sits back in her seat.

“Honestly? I don’t think I could like him even if I tried. Or anyone else for that matter. Fuck, Steve– I just– I wish– more than anything– that you hadn’t done that– that night at the hotel.” His face falls, eyes stilled on his hands in his lap.

“I think I wish that more than anything too.” A long silence settles between them until she finally glances at him again.

“Can I just– can I ask why? Why couldn’t you believe me when I told you there was nobody else– why couldn’t you believe what I told you about my research?” He huffs before meeting her gaze, a deep frown across his face.

“My, uh– my therapist says my brain is like a dog with a bone. Once it’s set on something, it has a hard time letting go of it. It was never you– I know you know that– I just– fuck– I felt so out of control around you.” He sighs, flexing his hands before continuing.

“I guess I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop– you were too good for me–” She goes to protest, but he shakes his head.

“You were too good for me– and I knew that and I knew that eventually you’d figure that out– a-and you’d leave, just like everyone else.” His last few words are a hoarse murmur that she barely hears. He clears his throat again.

“It was easier to get angry– it’s always been easier to get angry– so that’s what I did. And the way I treated you because of that– it fucking destroys me thinking about it.” Silence falls over them again. 

“I didn’t want to leave. I-I still don’t want to leave.” His eyes dart to hers in a flash, wide and questioning.  She shakes her head.

“I know it’s stupid– I should hate you for what you did. But I can’t. I still care about you, Steve. And it drives me mad that I can’t stop. But–” 

“But?” He’s leaning slightly over the console, lips parted as his eyes search her face. A few rogue waves have flopped over his eyes and she has to resist the urge to sweep them back. She lets out a long sigh.

“But, I don’t know how we could– how we could go on after that. I don’t think I can do that either– a-and I feel trapped in this– this limbo of wanting you so badly, but knowing I shouldn’t.” She slumps back in her seat, quickly glancing at Steve whose eyes look a touch unfocused, like he’s working through something just out of reach. He finally lets out a ragged exhale.

“What if there was another option?” She raises her brows, her head tilted as she waits for him to continue. 

“I mean– fuck, everything about us was a little sideways– wasn’t it? Even that first time at that bar…” He trails off and she can feel heat rising in her cheeks, remembering that night all those months ago. She shakes her head of the memory, focusing back on him.

“What are you saying, Steve?” He huffs, eyes scrunching shut before looking back at her, wetting his lips with the quick pink of his tongue.

“I’m saying– I’m saying I’d give anything to start over with you– to do it right.” She sighs, a deep frown settling across her face.

“Steve, you’re asking a lot of me.” He shakes his head, hand clenching against the wheel where it’s draped.

“I know– fuck, I know– but, losing you– it-it woke me up. I’m still fucked up– I won’t lie to you– but for the first time in a long time, I’m awake. I just want you to have me awake.” She opens her mouth, but promptly shuts it, unsure of what she really wants to say. She can see the pooling tears in his lashes in the dim light of the garage.

“You can’t hurt me like that again, Steve. I think I’d really break.” His face crumples as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I know– I’m so sorry. You don’t owe me shit– but if you gave me another chance– I promise you I’d– I’d rather die than treat you like that.” She huffs.

“Well if you do treat me like that again, I think I’ll have to kill you anyways.” The crooked grin she offers him sends them both into a clipped laugh, silence quickly consuming it. Steve is the first to speak.

“So, what does all this mean?” She shifts in her seat to fully look at him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It means we’re gonna take this slow. A whole lot slower than before. You’re gonna drive me back to my dorm and you’re gonna ask me out on our first date and I’m gonna say yes. And maybe I’ll let you kiss my cheek.” There it is, that big, bright smile of his that makes her heart roll over in her chest. His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Ok, um– slow is good, yeah. Whatever you want.” She grins, bringing her hand over his atop the steering wheel.

“Well, I can tell you what I don’t want. Thomas fucking Klein.” Steve laughs so hard he snorts, a sound she had never heard before, a sound she never wants to stop hearing.

She lets him kiss her cheek.