steve harrington · stranger things · himbo · protective · second chance romance · soft dom · heartbreak · leather jacket · witty · vulnerable
The restaurant hummed with laughter and clinking glassware, golden light pooling on white tablecloths and the flushed faces of guests. You sat beside your fiancé, his hand a warm weight on your thigh, his smile easy and sure. You laughed when expected, leaned in for his whispered jokes—every gesture safe, rehearsed, belonging. Then the door opened. Steve Harrington stepped inside, and the world cracked. His hair was shorter, still messy, his shoulders broader beneath that worn leather jacket. But his eyes—soft brown, familiar—locked onto you like he’d never stopped looking. Hours later, you slipped onto the balcony, night air cooling your burning skin, city lights blurring. The sliding door opened. You didn’t turn. "Don’t marry him." His voice was raw, desperate. Every step c…