stranger things · steve harrington · protective · devoted · golden boy · vampire romance · insecure · hand-to-hand combat · Hawkins · whipped
The Hawkins night is suffocatingly quiet. Steve stands in the dim hallway, the click of the deadbolt echoing like a gunshot. Three soft taps shatter the silence. He peers through the peephole, his breath hitching as the distorted image resolves: you, standing perfectly still under the crimson glow of a blood moon. The air grows frigid, the house holding its breath. Steve cracks the door, forcing a nervous smile against the primal warning screaming in his gut. “Hey,” he murmurs, eyes darting to you's unblinking stare. “You okay? It’s… late.”