baby blurb idea: first time saying a pet name to steve! and his reaction! maybe kinda from his pov? so more of what’s going on inside his head yk
love your work btw <333
ty!! ♡ tw burning | gn!reader | 0.8k words
Steve is a hopeless cook. He's trying to get better at it to impress you and this involves a lot of new discoveries. For example, if you wrap something in aluminum foil and then bake it, upon opening the foil there's an abundance of steam.
Steam is very, very hot.
Steve gasps and jolts, his arm smacking into his chest as he recoils.
Your flinch up where you'd been haunting the kitchen table, the book in your lap falling to the floor. "What? What?" you ask worriedly, jumping onto your feet.
Steve tries not to whine like a baby as he sticks his hand under the cold faucet, his hand throbbing. You round the table and force yourself into the small gap between his side and the countertop to look at his burned appendage, a raised and red strip of skin along his right hand and arm.
"Burnt myself." His frustration is evident.
"Branded yourself, more like," you say, your eyebrows pinching up in distress. Steve finds himself momentarily distracted by your proximity, your dizzying smell and the pout of your bottom lip.
You take his elbow into your hand and pull it away from the stream of cold water. You look over his arm assessingly, murmuring something too quiet to hear before you guide it back under.
"Does it hurt?" you ask. You backtrack quickly, an insecurity lining your features. "Of course it hurts, I'm sorry."
He reaches for you with his dry hand and gives your fingers three squeezes in quick succession.
"It's awful. You're gonna have to amputate it for me."
You wrinkle your nose and laugh, sounding relieved when you say, "That might be a bit extreme."
"Maybe," he agrees. He goes to switch off the faucet and you leap to stop him.
"Steve, you have to do it for longer! Like, twenty minutes at least."
His eyes go wide at your demand and you don't give him much opportunity to protest as you take his arm into two careful but stern hands and force his hurt skin back under the water.
"I'm sorry," he says, sounding about as startled as he feels.
"Yeah, you will be," you grumble. Steve watches your shoulders hike up as your tone softens. "You gotta be careful, baby. This could've been so much worse."
Baby, he thinks. Like a pulse. Baby, baby, baby.
Steve feels an overwhelming wave of fondness for you like he often does and has to take a deep breath as he leans down to talk quietly into your ear. "You worry too much."
"I worry the right amount," you deny, fingers stroking his arm. It's hard to hear you over the din of the rushing water from the faucet. Steve presses in closer.
"Baby," he says, grinning so wide it aches, "I'll be more careful, okay? Stop frowning."
"I'm not frowning."
"No?" he asks, rubbing his nose into your cheek until you turn your face to look at him. He takes it as an opportunity to press small, sweet kisses into the corner of your frown, once then twice then thrice, pulling back between them to gauge your expression.
"There, now you're smiling," he says.
You pretend to glare at him. "Why are you smiling? You're gravely injured."
"Who knows. Maybe I'm going crazy with pain," he says teasingly, dropping his forehead against yours.
You blow a pathetic raspberry. "I know you're making fun of me, I just can't work out what I did."
"You didn't do anything, baby," he says.
He can feel when you realise what you've done, your wet fingers tightening around his elbow and your eyes slipping closed.
"Don't be shy. I liked it." He meets your eyes.
"Did you?" you ask tentatively.
He presses another kiss to your face, not thinking of where so much as how quickly he can do it, greedy for your skin under his lips. "Uh-huh."
"I can… I can call you something else. If you don't like baby. If there's one you like more."
He can't remember the pain of the burn as he pulls his hand from the sink and grasps your forearm, dizzy fondness clouding every sense. "Any of them is fine as long as you're the one saying it."
You seem about as distracted as he is for a moment, your smiling mouth a hair's width from his. "Baby," you test, your breath warming his lips. It feels just as good the second time.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Put your hand back under the faucet," you whisper slowly.
He groans and tips his head back, your sparkling laughter loud in his ears as he fulfills your request.
summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]
warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing
𓆩❤︎𓆪
A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and-
A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins.
Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden.
"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.
"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly.
You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips.
"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants.
"Well, it's nothing like that."
The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.
"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it."
You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move.
You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door.
"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin.
"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point."
"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip.
"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left."
Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains.
The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously.
"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous."
"You like her?"
"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat."
"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere."
"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"
"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff.
"Right," he says.
You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile.
"Do you like to read?" you ask.
Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies."
"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear."
He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you."
You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?"
"Uh…"
"I've got pink lemonade."
"Oh, then definitely."
You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers.
Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin.
"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table.
"I'm good, thanks," he says.
"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest."
"You're a Tempest girl?"
"Everybody plays Tempest," you say.
Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest."
"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."
His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.
"How did you know that?" he asks finally.
"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd."
"I could be."
"But you're not."
You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat.
"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed.
"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon.
He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you."
He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile.
"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.
You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?"
"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.
"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.
"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?"
"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke."
"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him.
"What do you want?" Steve asks him.
"Why do you assume I want something?"
"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky."
"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring.
"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask.
Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily.
"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.
Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners."
"Can I please have a ride-"
"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry."
Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?"
"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way."
"Uh-huh," Dustin says.
The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands.
"I'm sorry about him."
"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do?
"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade."
"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door.
Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off.
The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.
When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth.
-
"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door.
You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed.
You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces.
You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?"
Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively.
"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently.
You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.
"Skating? I don't have one."
"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades."
You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?"
"Now!" he says.
"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin.
Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait."
You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?"
"Totally," Steve says.
You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.
You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand.
Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.
You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best.
“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.
“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.
“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs.
“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”
Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”
There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks.
“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.
“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit.
“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About Springsteen."
You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.
“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.
The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here.
Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you.
Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck.
“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question.
You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”
Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”
“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”
“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap.
“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”
“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich.
You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly.
“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.
“Robin," Steve chides lightly.
“What?”
You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.
Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.
She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without.
“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance.
Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”
“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying.
"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!"
"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly.
You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice.
"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.
You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.
Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you."
"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.
You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids.
You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"
"Steve is."
"I didn't bring-"
"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."
Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes.
Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails.
"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him.
"I'm not good."
"You're doing great!"
He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him.
"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock.
You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye.
You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering.
"I'm sorry!" you say.
"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out."
"Thanks to you."
You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart.
"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you."
Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot.
"I think I might need to sit down."
"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective.
You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot.
"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens.
"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up."
Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it.
"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.
"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends.
"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side.
"They should lock you up."
You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him.
"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out.
Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner."
"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies.
"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking.
He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close.
"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that."
Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?"
"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight.
She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red.
-
Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it.
He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player.
Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.
The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over.
He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air.
Have you seen her?
So fine and pretty.
He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you.
"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight.
"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through.
You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!"
And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground.
He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him.
He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude."
Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty.
You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath.
"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."
He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy."
You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.
"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word."
His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word."
The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.
He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth.
"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.
"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in.
"Sick. Apparently."
"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?"
"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday."
You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?"
"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September."
"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense."
"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list."
"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily.
Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche."
You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!"
"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?"
His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me."
"Of course they did. Why didn't you?"
You glare at him. "I was busy!"
"For the month it was in theatres?"
"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!"
"Like what?"
"Like school!"
"Everybody has school."
"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."
"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies.
You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"
He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality.
Yes, it's love in the third degree.
You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.
"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?"
He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.
"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly.
He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus.
Dance the night away.
"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling.
"You're enough for the two of us."
You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?"
"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work."
"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?"
"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks.
You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."
"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer.
"You'll burn your retinas."
"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?"
You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller.
"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours.
You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?"
Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO".
"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?"
"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one."
"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly.
"Shut up, Steve."
"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in."
The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve."
"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual.
-
Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect.
You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge.
He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel.
"Y/N. Hey," he says.
Still nothing.
He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping.
"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.
You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.
"Hello."
"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.
"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked."
"You're not naked," he says.
"I'm naked. Stop looking at me."
Steve turns away obligingly.
"Stop laughing at me, Harrington."
"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.
"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep."
Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car."
"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."
You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs.
"You're messing with me," he says.
"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you."
"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?"
You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty."
"So are you."
"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small."
"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you."
"You're sure?" you ask quietly.
Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure."
The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his.
"What are you doing here?" you ask.
Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy.
"Steve?" you ask.
"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers.
"Woah, thank you!"
"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month."
You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?"
"Nope."
You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion.
"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits."
You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it."
Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing."
"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie."
"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away.
"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything."
"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it."
You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke."
"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested.
-
You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is.
Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything.
You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place.
That's a dedicated employee right there.
You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch.
"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful.
"Steve," you say softly.
"What?"
"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me."
He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over.
"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?"
You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature.
"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down."
Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.
Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back."
"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.
"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?"
"It's on."
Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?"
"I'm sleeping fine."
"Are you sure?"
His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face.
You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout.
"You can tell me."
The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue.
"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…"
"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek.
You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"It doesn't sound stupid."
"No?"
"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs."
You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then."
"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common."
"You see me."
"When I'm annoying you at work."
"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday."
"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator.
"I can't stop watching the door."
You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache.
"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…"
You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently.
You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door.
"Dustin," you both say.
"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says.
You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door.
"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?"
"She's got heat stroke."
"I don't!" you call hoarsely.
"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?"
"She has heat stroke."
You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things.
"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again.
The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion.
"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket."
You laugh again, twice as loud.
"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head.
"What don't you understand about heat stroke?
"Potential heat stroke," you interject.
"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude."
"You should take her to the hospital."
You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?"
Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype."
"For what?"
"Top secret."
You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs.
Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat."
Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!"
"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa.
"I'm not dying, Steve."
Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense.
"Are you good?" he asks.
"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore."
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead."
"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you.
"Don't die of heat stroke."
He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"What about The Breakfast Club?"
He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!"
You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away.
"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew.
-
Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.
"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes.
"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says.
Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows.
"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.
"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night."
Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?"
"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask."
Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half.
Better safe than sorry.
"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge.
Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans.
"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.
His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly.
"No!"
"You're her boyfriend, right?"
"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly."
Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows.
"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles.
Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend."
Four sets of eyebrows raise.
"I am! I'm romantic."
"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says.
Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look.
"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?"
"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly.
"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.
"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her."
"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says.
Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?"
"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me."
He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?"
They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in.
"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails.
"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess.
-
Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me?
You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath.
It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression.
It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever?
What if I feel this lonely forever?
You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands.
Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve?
If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door.
Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.
You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit.
"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance.
"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.
The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go.
"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath.
"Hey."
"What are you doing here?"
"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!"
You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony.
"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me."
You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay."
He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path.
He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?"
A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates.
"Okay," you say weakly.
He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk.
The smell is beautiful. A floral wave.
The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas.
"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears."
"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble.
"Half the store. The other half's on standby."
"Standby?"
"I worried you might not have the space."
"I won't."
Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping.
"Why did you do this?"
"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-"
"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion."
"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal."
You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious.
He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So."
"So you got me a florists?"
"Half."
You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it.
"They're for me?" you whisper.
"For you. All of them."
You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid.
"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity.
"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone.
He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that."
You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly."
"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first."
You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose.
"Do you like them?"
The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder.
"I didn't know which one was your favourite."
All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet.
You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger.
"Thank you, Steve."
"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse."
"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.
"Shit," he mutters.
You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face.
"You're okay, baby," he says.
You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down.
The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.
Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.
"I know what'll cheer you up," he says.
You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out.
Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar.
"Oh my god."
"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.
"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand.
You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.
"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree."
He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.
"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing.
"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs.
"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance.
"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!"
It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo.
Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop.
He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly.
"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask.
"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song."
"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album."
"You said however long I wanted!"
"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess.
"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"
You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush.
When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency.
"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully.
"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels.
You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy.
"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek.
"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh.
"Good thing," you agree.
He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again.
You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing."
"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.
"You did."
"Sorry, I-"
You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again.
"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness.
"Yeah?"
"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?"
"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.
You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond.
"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap.
"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek.
You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.
"You're beautiful," he says.
It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.
a/n: both my husbands af, also i wrote the reader exactly how i am when im h!gh so pls enjoy, will probably be another part when vol 2 comes out!
summary: after your break up with steve, you find comfort in the school freak and his “special k”. little did you know, the three of you would end up fighting for your lives together
warnings: possessive!steve, mentions of drug use, a little bit of gore, cursing, incredibly loooonnnnggg, MAJOR season 4 spoilers
it had been about 6 months since your breakup with steve in the fall of 1985. with you going to indiana state, and him staying in hawkins, it just didn’t work. you had fought for weeks, due to him guilt tripping you for leaving and you getting defensive.
“at least i got into college!” you screamed. it was 10:40pm on a thursday night, the dark sky peeking through your bedroom windows. you were exhausted, the fight had gone on for hours now, desperately trying to save the relationship that kept you alive. the decision to split absolutely crushed you, as had pictured yourself marrying the boy.
you did risk your life for him once a year, after all. he knew every secret you had. every inch of you, inside and out, he had seen.
going to college eased the pain a bit, as you got to experience things that would make you the town trash in your small town. sex, drugs, rock and roll, all that good stuff.
even though the pain was mostly healed, it still scared you to come home for spring break. the thought of seeing him made you feel sick, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from crumbling under those dark brown, angelic eyes. however, you had hoped your appearance had showed you were completely fine. you cut your hair, got a nose piercing, and even some tattoos to cover your battle scars. you needed to be reborn after such traumatic events from that summer.
you weren’t too fond of asshole billy hargrove, due to his treatment of steve. however, you adored hopper. he was your father figure growing up, since you and dustin never had one. this had been the hardest year of your life.
you snapped out of your reminiscent gaze as you pulled into your childhood home’s driveway. the happy screams from your sweet mother filled your ears as you began to smile. the comforting and warm hug was definitely worth the drive home.
after your hello’s to her and your several cats, you noticed you didn’t hear that shrill little voice that you loved. “where’s dustin?”
“At his little dress game up, I don’t like the thing, not at all”. of course that shithead skipped your coming home for the dnd campaign. he had been telling you all about him and mikes new friends and how “this wasn’t just a normal campaign, this shit is cool”
placing your bags in your old bedroom, you grimace at the memories the walls hold. your first time with steve, the cuddling after, building forts together and letting you do his makeup. you were dead set on being with him for the rest of time.
but, shit happens. people grow up and circumstances change. that’s just how it goes, no matter how hard you try to fight it, the curse of time will always be there.
there were still pictures of the two of you on the wall, and letters from him in your nightstand drawer. you walked over to your poster cladded wall and stared at his smiling face. he had on his scoops ahoy uniform, while you wore your uniform from the gap. you were so thankful robin snapped this picture of the two of you, arms wrapped around each other. the photo definition of love.
you ripped the picture down, and threw it in the trashcan in the corner of your room. you were certain your pillows would still smell like him, so you opted on sitting on the edge of the bed. it was 4:15, and dustin’s campaigns usually end at 6. you plan to surprise him by picking him up, getting fast food, and going home to watch godzilla.
you really hated the thought of being at your old high school, but your little brother made it worth it.
you tied your extremely curly hair into a ponytale, locked your door, and pulled out your bong from your bookbag. at least this will make it less mentally challenging to be back at hawkins high. packing a bowl, you let the good thoughts drift you away.
after what felt like seconds passing, you looked at your clock.
6:27.
“shit!” dustin was gonna be pissed at you for being late. you would never hear the end of it. you frantically hide your stash and shoved your bong back into your bookbag, slipping your chucks back on and running out the door. as if being late could be worse, it was a bitch to find a parking spot. must be a game going on tonight.
you remember going to steve’s basketball games, full of pride. he would wink at you before making a basket.
your thoughts of your ex were stopped by dustin doing exactly what you expected, not letting you hear the end of it. but you weren’t listening, you were looking at the man beside him.
goddamn, this man might’ve been the hottest man you’ve ever seen. he had beautiful steven tyler-esc hair, tattoos, and gorgeous brown eyes.
uh oh
“earth to dickhead, are you listening?” dustin said, clapping his hands in your face. “shit, yeah, sorry. i just- i was occupied.” catching the mysterious man’s eyes, he cracked a smile. “yeah, well you smell like shit”
the man couldn’t help but smirk at you, knowing that smell all too well. a blush rose on your cheeks. “get in the car” you mumbled, pulling your hair out from under your ears to hide your redness. “thanks for waiting with me, eddie”
eddie, so that was his name. you felt your heart give way when she spoke to your brother, that familiar feeling in your stomach terrifying you. “shit, i forgot my dice inside, i’ll be right back” dustin said, before running inside.
you were about 40 minuets late, and now he remembers his dice? your heart sped up knowing the two of you were now alone. eddie put his forearm on top of your volkswagen, and leaned down to your window. “y/n, right?”
you couldn’t speak, and felt all the blood running in your body “mhm”. you squeaked. you prayed he couldn’t see the nervousness in you eyes. “eddie munson, nice to meet you” he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. you didn’t know if it was just the weed in your system, but it had made you feel things you had not felt in a very long time. “the pleasure’s all mine”
he smiled at you, allowing you to see his dimples. “what are ya doing tonight, y/n?” his flirting was interrupted by the school doors swinging open. “nuh-uh. no way eddie, back off” swinging the car door open, dustin aggressively sat in the passenger seat.
ignoring him completely, eddie continued. “if you’re free, come to the forest behind the school. eight o’clock. i’ll be at the picnic table.” and with that, he walked away. you looked over at dustin, who gave you the don’t even think about it look. you thought about it anyway.
as much as he annoyed the shit out of you, you loved your baby brother more then anyone in the world. you were happy during your movie marathon, laughing and comfortable, and it felt like the wound in your heart had finally healed. which is why at 7:45, you grabbed your bookbag and snuck out the door.
your rocky horror picture show and labyrinth pins on your bag shook as you drove over the bumpy hawkins roads. just as he said, you found eddie at the table, rolling a joint. “there she is” he smiles.
you sit down on the opposite side of the table, fidgeting with your rings. “are you nervous?” he teased, a smirk on his face. “a little”. he smiled at your confession. “you know, i never thought you were this type, henderson”
“what type?” you asked. he grabbed your bookbag and pulled your bong out “this type”. you nervously laughed as he began to pack a bowl. “straight a, highest honors henderson. smoking with little ol me. i’m honored”
you smiled at him, and he smiled back. it made you feel warm in the cool moonlight. your flannel was thin, and you felt chill bumps on your arms. “why do you look so familiar?” you asked, studying his facial features. “were you in mrs. clicks 6th period sophomore year?” he asked.
your face lit up with recognition. “oh my god! you looked so-” “different?” he said, cutting you off. “yeah well, my hair was buzzed. and i didn’t have these sweet ol tattys.” he pulled the neck of his shirt down, revealing his chest tattoos.
you had to squeeze your legs together.
“yeah, i’ve changed a lot too” you traced the tattoo on the inside of your arm, remembering the nerdy, innocent you used to be. you missed her. eddie studied your face, sensing the remorse.
“but that’s what life is good for, right? you gotta change to grow” he said. when you looked up at him, he was staring right at you. the pressure of his gaze cause the redness to run back to your cheeks. there was something different about his eyes this time. softer.
“you know, you’re not what i thought you’d be like” you said. it was true. it was hard to describe, but you felt comfortable around him. like you could tell him anything and receive zero judgement. “mean and scary?”
you nodded as he took a hit from the bong. “you’re not what i thought you’d be either.”
the silence after that was nice, the sounds of frogs croaking and different bugs made the spring night comfortable. you quietly exchanged the bong between the two of you, fingers brushing against each other between passes.
“so” he started, crossing his arms. “what happened with you and uh, pretty boy”
you started choking on the smoke, leading to a coughing fit. he felt bad, not meaning to startle you during a hit. taking a drink from your water bottle, the coughing slowly came to a stop. “um” you started.
“we just-well- i went away to college and he didn’t, and i think he resented me for it” you twisted the ring on your ring finger, thinking of the promise ring that used to lay there. he nodded, though he couldn’t relate. “are you gonna, like, see him? over break?”
“not if i can help it” you joked, though it wasn’t a joke at all. you were gonna avoid him at all cost. right now, you just enjoyed being with eddie.
it was starting to kick in, the world around you feeling unreal. you began to unconsciously smile, playing with your hair. you loved being high, it allowed you to forget. “eddie” you said, twisting your hands together. “yeah?” he smirked, knowing it had kicked. “you’re very pretty”
he laughed, placing his ring-covered hand over his heart. “i think you’re very pretty too” you giggled and looked around. the world was so pretty. “eddie” you said again, grabbing his hand to get his attention. “yeah?” there was a tease in his tone. “can we cuddle?”
he laughed. it was common for people to want to be touched when high, especially the innocent souls. he opened his arms and you ran in them, laying your head on his shoulder. he could not believe what was happening.
sober you would regret this deeply, swearing to never smoke again, but intoxicated you loved the feeling of eddie’s chest under your head. “so so pretty” you mumbled, playing with his hair. you reached for the bong again, but he gently grabbed your hand away “sorry angel, you’ve had enough”
he drove you home shortly after that, while you just kept complementing him and giggling, not making any sense thanks to the indica. he let you hold his hand and lay on his arm the entire ride home.
it was late when you got home, meaning your mom was most definitely already asleep. “will you come in with me?” you asked, looking up at him with your bloodshot eyes. he thought about it for a moment, before walking you in. on his way to your bedroom, he grabbed you a couple snacks and a water. you happily grabbed the snacks and layed on your bed, patting the space beside you. an invitation. he smiled at the gesture. “i’m afraid i can’t stay, angel. i have another deal to do tonight” you pouted.
“hey eddie” you said, when he was almost out your bedroom door. “yes?” “will you kiss me?” sober you would definitely hate you for that, but you didn’t care. the purple haze made you feel incredibly touched starved, and all you wanted was him. walking up to you, he placed an incredibly soft kiss to your cheek.
you whined, pointing at your lips. he laughed. “goodnight, angel” he said, and walked out.
-------
the next morning, you woke up with an incredible headache. you already knew you wanted to do the bare minimum today. but unfortunately, your shithead brother opened the door with a loud bang, causing you to flinch.
“good, you’re up. i need a ride” he said, and you put a pillow over your face, your only response being a groan. “ride your bike or something”
“can’t, too far. this is urgent, code red” he grabbed the pillow from your face, the sunlight from your window making your head worse. “what is it?”
“eddie’s in trouble.”
with that, you sat up. “eddie? what-what happened?” your mind started to race with all the things you did last night, you couldn’t remember anything that would lead to him being in trouble. “people think he killed chrissy cunningham”
“chrissy’s dead? are you fucking kidding?” he shook his head as you threw some clothes on and grabbed your car keys. “where are we going?” you asked. he was hesitant to respond. “dustin” you started “ where are we going?”
“family video”
you put your keys back on your nightstand and stopped tying your chucks. “no”
“y/n-” “no, dustin. absolutely not.”
“not even for eddie?”
you were silent. it was gonna hurt like hell, but dustin seemed extremely serious. you braced yourself the entire ride there, praying steve took today off for some reason.
pulling your familiar volkswagen into the parking lot, you let dustin jump out while you stayed in the car. your heart skipped a bit when you saw your ex of three years through the window. his lanky figure mostly hid by the register. his hair was perfectly placed, as per usual. you also saw robin and max, who you dearly missed.
steve turned around, and did a double take when he saw your car. dustin was too focused on searching up the name rick to stop steve from walking out. you were in full blown panic as you watched him walk to your car. you thought about backing out and leaving dustin right there.
you hated him, but you still had manners. as he approached you, you reluctantly rolled your windows down. “hey” he said, being as awkward as ever. “hello” you looked at your steering wheel, you didn’t know if you could look at it. that would make it too real.
“how’ve you been?” he was trying, but you weren’t giving in. “i really don’t feel like engaging in small talk, harrington”. he nodded, unsure of his next move. “you look nice”
you were sure that you did, in fact, not look nice. you had on yesterdays smeared makeup with your hair in a low ponytale. “thanks”
finally looking at him, the feelings you feared soared through you. the anger, sadness, love, lust, it was all running back full speed. he must’ve felt the same, because he was silent as well. you knew this man better then he knew himself.
“dustin-uh-dustin didn’t tell me you were coming home” he ran his hand through his hair, and nervous habit of his. “i asked him not to” you said, fidgeting with your rings again. “oh”
it was awkward. your were praying dustin, robin and max had finished whatever they were doing in there. thankfully, they all ran out, hoping into your car. “do you by chance know a reefer rick?” robin asked you, buckling her seatbelt. you looked back at steve who shrugged. “i- i think? i mean my friend once- how do you know him?”
“we have to go to his house” dustin said, like it was a known fact. “why do i have to go?” steve stood outside your door, not sure if he should get in with his friends. “stop asking so many questions” dustin said. you muttered bitchass under your breathe, completely annoyed. you had a pointed look at steve. “well? get in, what are you waiting for”
the five of you were crammed in your car, on the way to an infamous drug dealers house. this was not how you planned for your spring break to go. at least dustin kept the mood light, bickering the whole time. you would smile at the bickering between him and steve, feeling nostalgic for it in a way. like things were normal again.
you pulled into the sketchy cabin, nerves filling you. the water behind the house providing a nice ambiance, if you weren’t so annoyed you would’ve found it relaxing. dustin started pounding on the door, screaming for the drug dealer.
“what are you doing?” you said, clearly annoyed. he ignored you, screaming “reefer rick” loud and proud. “you can’t just yell that”
steve was clearly annoyed as well, so when you made eye contact, you didn’t mind. you were both upset with dustin, not each other. it made you smile a bit. “hey, come here” robin said, grabbing your arm, pulling you away from the idiots.
she pointed you to a shed, just behind the house. you grabbed your flashlight and made your way in, robin and max by your side. “hello?”
the only noise was the creaking under your feet, max stayed right beside you, as she saw you as her protector. hell, all the kids did. it was like standing behind your parents while a stranger came up to them.
the smell of dust and mold made you cringe. the boys walked in shortly after you all, steve subconsciously walking close to you, the sense of danger made him need to be near you. you watched as he grabbed an oar and started poking around. max shined her flashlight on some trash, proving that someone had recently been here. “maybe he heard us” robin spoke “got spooked and ran”
“don’t worry, steve will save us with his oar.” no matter how annoying he was, your shitty brother was funny. you couldn’t help but laugh at the insult. “i know you think you’re bein funny henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died about a hundred times, personally i don’t find it funny in the-”
a figure jumped out from underneath the tarp, launching a steve. you screamed and pulled the kids behind you, ready to fight. it wasn’t until you saw the huge mess of brown curls that you realized you had found the person you were looking for. you panicked when you realized he held a gun at steve’s throat.
“eddie! it’s me! y/n! this is steve. he’s not gonna hurt you, right steve?” steve looked frantic “right, right”. you walked a bit closer to the boys “steve, why don’t you drop the oar.” the oar fell to the floor with a bang, and eddie pushed the gun further into his throat. “he’s cool man, he’s cool”
“what are you doing here?” eddie finally said, his voice barley above a whisper. “we’re looking for you”
“we’re here to help” robin said, looking out from behind your shoulder. “eddie, these are my friends. you know robin, from band” you said, which followed robin making a little trumpet noise. “this is my brothers friend max, and you obviously know dustin. we are on your side”
you watched as his shoulders relaxed, letting steve breathe a little. “i swear on my mother, right guys” you said, to which they all mumbled, “on the hendersons mother”
eddie looked nothing like the man you were with last night. his brave persona was completely deflated, his once strong eyes now filled with sadness. you realized this was more serious then you thought. you walked to him, gently placing your hand on top of his. “you okay, eddie?” you voice was soft and genuine, something that made steves heart hurt. eddie only shook his head.
“what happened, eddie?” he looked at you, and it gave you chills. the look on his face was something that would scar your memory. “you’re not gonna believe me”
you looked back at your group, somewhat of a smirk on your face “try us”
-------
somehow, all of you had ended it up learning about a new threat to hawkins. and poor eddie had seen vecna get someone else. patrick, a basketball player.
currently, you were in a quickmart with steve. eddie had asked for a six pack and some food, and since you were the only ones allowed to buy alcohol, you had to go in. “do you know what kind of beer he likes?” steve asks “no, why would i?”
“well, i don’t know, you two seem quite close, that’s all” you stopped in your tracks and turned around. you couldn’t deny he looked amazing in the yellow sweatshirt you bought him. “are you jealous?” the pink in his cheeks gave you your answer. “no, no way. me? jealous of eddie munson? yeah right”
“okay, good. he is pretty cute though” you said. eddie was cute, but mostly you just wanted a reaction. steve stopped you from walking away by stepping in front of you, his tall figure hovering over you. “i get that we’re over, or whatever, but please refrain from flirting with him while i’m around. it’s not fair”
“not fair?” was he really about to start a fight in the middle of the grocery store. “from what i’ve heard harrington, you’ve been going on dates every other night. why is this any different?” he rubbed his hand across his face. “because it just is”
you scoffed and grabbed the first 6 pack you saw, wanting out of there as soon as possible. “wait, i’m sorry okay” he said, chasing after you as you head to the snack isle “it’s just- those dates -they meant nothing, okay? because the whole time, i wished it was you”
you finally turned around and faced him, bringing you mere inches from his face. god, you wanted to kiss him. but you couldn’t, you’d be leaving again after break was over. it was pointless. but god, the electricity between the two of you was outstanding. you couldn’t say anything, your heart beating too fast to think, so you simply backed away and purchased the items in your cart. the car ride to skull rock was uncomfortable. you feared everyone could tell something happened, because you could cut the tension in your car with a knife.
you were annoyed, sweaty, and being ate by bugs. the tall grass of the forest drove your ankles insane. all you wanted was to be home, and pack a bowl. “i’m pretty sure i know which way skull rock is, we invented the term”
steve and dustin had been arguing the whole way there, you had almost had it. “first off, that’s disgusting, that’s my sister. second off, look at the compass. we need to be going north” their bickering went on. you were tempted to give max a rock, and simply let her bash your brains in. “you’re such a butthead”
“i concur”
eddie had jumped down from behind the giant rock, making his way towards you. “you, dustin henderson, are a massive butthead. your sister, on the other hand, is awesome”. you couldn’t deny the blush on your cheeks. it was true, during all this you and eddie had become closer, and you had to admit that you enjoyed his constant flirting. he came up behind you and planted a kiss on your cheek. steve put his hands on his hips and walked to robin. you don’t know what he said, but you heard robin respond with “don’t”
opening a beer, eddie listened as dustin ‘led him into mordor’.
these fucking nerds.
never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be on your way to lovers lake with eddie munson and steve harrington. but here you were, holding both of their hands for support as you got into the boat. it had gotten dark, the coolness of the night making you shiver. you didn’t know how an underwater gate was possible, but with everything you had been through, nothing seemed impossible anymore.
untying your shoes, you had began to get ready to dive into the water. “yeah, no. you’re not going in” steve said “absolutely not. i’m a certified life guard, plus co swim team captain. if anyone’s going in, it’s me.” before you could fight, he started taking his shirt off. the site of his muscular back made your stomach flutter, though would never admit it. however, robin and nancy shared a look. they saw the look you gave him. without another word, he dived in.
you felt sick until he came up, saying he found it. you smiled at him, thankful he was okay. that was, however, until he was dragged back down through the gate. “oh, fuck me” you muttered. you looked at eddie, his eyes confused and scared, you gave him a small smile and grabbed an oar.
then you jumped in after steve.
the water was freezing, and you could barely see, but the thought of steve in danger made you swim as if you were an olympic gold medalist. you caught sight of the bright red glow from the cracks of the ground. swimming towards the hellish light, you dove right in, landing on hard ground with vines everywhere.
you yell to steve, looking around frantically. so this was the upside down. how did will deal with this only at 10 years old? god, that poor kid. you need to call him.
you only heard a scream: steve, he was alive. you ran to the noise, seeing him being choked by and bit by some creatures. you felt sick to your stomach at the site. gripping the oar, you immediately got to work, freeing him as fast as you could, though you were also getting bit. finally, you fought the last demon off. you had limited time, looking at what almost seemed like the wizard of oz’s flying monkey, except these looked more like bats. but steve was free, and for this very second that was all that mattered.
red lighting lit the cloudy sky. “your neck” you said. it was red and bloody, but that wasn’t all. those bat things had gotten a hold of his side. “oh god” you tore a hole in your pink floyd shirt, wrapping it around his cut. he rested his forehead on yours, and you let him. his hairy chest rested on yours, drenched in sweat and blood. the two of you just sat there for a minute, breathing heavy, thankful for each other’s presence. “y/n, i-”
“i see them!” it was robin, followed by eddie and nancy. eddie immediately ran up to you and engulfed you in a hug. “god that was so scary” you hugged him back, giving an empathetic look to steve before you closed your eyes and laid your head on eddie’s shoulder. the smell of his hellfire shirt brought you intense relief. what was happening to you?
“uh, guys” nancy said, noticing the hoard of creatures coming to you. steve immediately looked towards you. “one more battle?” he asked, you smiled. “one more battle” you reached out your hand and he pulled you up, the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours did things to your mind you would not admit. but you didn’t have time for that now
you began swinging for your life, hitting the bat-like creatures with all your might. eddie had the other oar, fighting them along with robin. when the battle was done, you were left panting. you couldn’t help but lean on steve, who instinctively placed his arm around you. “you alright?”
you nodded, spitting out some blood. you were so tired. you felt a kiss on the top of your head, and looked up to see steve realizing what he just did. he removed his arm from around you and placed it on the back of his head. “sorry, i just- i didn’t mean to- i mean- you were there- and i don’t know- and”
you quieted him by pulling him into an embrace, letting your tired bones rest in his warmth. this was what you missed most, his love that simply poured out of him. in his embraces, his words, his actions, everything he did was an act of love.
“i hate to break this up, but where are we?” eddie asked. not letting go of steve you turn around to see a house. “nance” you whisper “do you remember max’s drawing?”
you sighed, knowing that whatever was gonna happen was not gonna be good. you grabbed steve’s hand, surprising him “one more battle, harrington?”
prompt: after 3 years of fighting for her life, steve finally sees how broken she truly is.
words: 2,091
warnings: angst, cussing, mentions of puke, mentions of suicide :(
The ceiling. It was so pretty, wasn’t it. Maybe it was her drugged mind, but she had never seen a better sight then the starcourt ceiling. The bright lights turned the beige top into a beautiful kaleidoscope. She was memorized. “Woah” she mumbles, her voice strained from the use. “Yeah” he agreed.
Him. How was it always him? How are they always risking their lives together? It seemed to be something out of a fairytale. Thinking of it made her head hurt. Couldn’t they catch a break? They deserved it. He deserved it.
She subconsciously began to back up into him. He was a comfort for her, always protecting her and things. His tall frame stood above her as she laid the back of her head on his blood stained chest. If she had turned her head slightly, she could’ve felt the way his heartbeat was out of control.
Whatever was in that drug, it was surely doing it’s worst.
“Steve” she whispered. Her stomach was starting to feel rotten. She felt dizzy and unsure if she was gonna make it. It felt as if there was a curse on her or something, like she was due to melt. Her stomach gurgled again, and she started running.
Working at the mall had it’s advantages, one being the two were able to locate the nearest bathrooms. Her blood stained white chucks squeaked as she turned every corner, She was sure the writing on them had been ruined. Shame, Robin drew such a pretty flower.
As she heard Steve’s blue sneakers behind her, she felt such a heavy pang of guilt. Why did these things always happen to them? Why did they always have to save the world?
As they finally reached the men’s bathroom, they immediately started puking their lunches into the white toilets. He gripped on to the side of the toilets as she held on to her hair. The small bathroom was filled with the sound of gags and cries.
After a minuet he had finally stopped, grabbing toilet paper and wiping his mouth off, blood and vomit leaving his plump lips. She had finished too, but she just wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. She was too weak to think logically.
She laid down on the black and yellow checkered floor and put her bruised legs on the red stall. The cold linoleum felt good against her damaged hands. “The ceiling stopped spinning for me” she said, finally catching her breath. “Is it still spinning for you?”
Even though he could barley see through his swollen eye, he looked up. “Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” She closed her bruised eyes and smiled, relieved at the thought. “Maybe”
Her heart rate was going down to normal, and reality was finally coming down on her. Her brain was on autopilot, almost. Her motives were controlled by wherever her legs were running to.
But now here she was, laying in a bathroom with King Steve after fighting Russians. Shit.
“How do we always end up like this?” she asked, a sad expression on her face. “Puking in a bathroom?’
She laughed even though it burned her cut lip. He always had the ability to make her laugh even under the greyist skies. “No, I mean, running for our lives. Fighting evil. I feel like a comic book character.”
He gave a soft laugh at her comparison. “Nerd”. She smiled, hearing him tease her was a breath of fresh air. “Virgin” she teased.
“You must still be on the drugs” he laughed. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he had a smirk on his face, considering they had slept together. “Maybe. Ask me something. Interrogate me.” she said, mocking the Russian man. “I’ll interrogate you, sure.” he agreed, stopping to think of his question.
The air was light and it finally felt like they could let down their guard. They never did though, they knew better. “When was the last time you peed your pants?”
It was a stupid question, but she still laughed. “Today” she smiled, and she could hear his laugh “What?” The smile in his voice was evident. “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw”
“Oh my god” he laughed. There was his silly girl, the one he thought would be gone an hour ago. The one who got her pretty face beaten in by evil Russians. He was so glad she was back to him. “It was just a little bit though” He heard her giggle, and he smiled.
“Okay, my turn” she said. She got up from the floor and laid her aching back on the stall. She was about to ask a silly question, like if he thought mermaids were real, but she started focusing on her hands.
There was an equal amount of blood and dirt under her fingernails, and her knuckles were red from trying to defend herself. They would be bruised by the morning. There was blood and vomit on her shirt, she had a black eye and a bleeding nose, a gash on her forehead and every muscle in her body was aching. She looked like a walking pity party.
However, she was nothing compared to Steve. The poor guy couldn’t even see out of his right eye and there were cuts on all his face. She felt her stomach drop and got a quarter sized lump in her throat.
“Do you think it’s even worth it?”
It was barley a whisper, but he heard it. “What?” He asked softly, noticing the mood change. She put her head in her lap, wanting to shrink as much as she can. She was tired of being seen, of being the one always saving the day. She wanted to curl up in a hole, where the villains could never hurt her again.
Every night there was a new nightmare.
She couldn’t escape, everywhere she turned there was a new battle waiting to be fought. She felt angry. It wasn’t fair, she was only 19. Hell, she was just 17 when she fought the demogorgan with Jonathan and Nancy.
Even the cool flooring felt like fire to her, As she dug her fingernails into her palms, she shrunk deeper. “Y/N” Steve called, knocking on the wall. His heart started to race at the silence. “Did you OD over there?”
She lifted her head from her lap and wiped her tears, though there were more forming. “Nope. Still alive, somehow”. Her voice sounded so broken, and so scared. She dropped her head back into her lap
Steve slid under the stall, now sitting opposite of her. “Y/N” he said softly, taking her small hands into his rough ones. “Come on baby, talk to me”
Raising her head, Steve frowned at the tears on her cheeks. “Do you think it’s worth it, Steve? Risking our lives, being heros?”
He had never really thought about it. I mean sure, he had nightmares too, but life went on. It never occurred to him that it didn’t for her, that she was struggling. I mean, she would flinch at a lot of things and refused to walk in the dark, but now he realizes it was deeper then that.
“Well, yeah. The world needs heros” he spoke carefully. There was a fire in her chest, and that was the gasoline. “It’s not fair, Steve!” she yelled. Her usually small voice boomed through the bathroom.
“Why is it always us? It’s not fair! I just wanted to be a normal teenager! But now I can’t sleep, can’t go to parties, and I can’t even put up Christmas lights!” her hands had began to shake from anger, but she was far from done,
“I’m fucked Steve! And I can’t even go to therapy, because they’d think I’m crazy! And Lord knows I can’t talk to my parents. Jesus, everyone gets to have this normal life, but we’re fighting demons once a year. They have no clue about demogorgans, or demo dogs, and- and- a-and they’re happy! I don’t even know what true happiness is anymore because I’m always fucking paranoid!
Angry tears had slipped down her cheeks. She was sobbing at this point. Quiet whines came out of her mouth. A shaky breathe, And her head was back in her lap.
Steve laid his bleeding head back. She was right. Absolutely right. The air was thick, and it felt like it could suffocate them. He felt so sorry for her. He grabbed her hand and put his chin on her knee. The yellow lights of the bathroom gleamed down on them. The hopelessly damaged kids.
“I had a plan, y’know” she said, as the silence broke. She licked her lips and sniffed. “At 17, I had a plan. I was gonna graduate, hopefully valedictorian. I was gonna go to Indiana State, get a job and an apartment, and I was gonna get the hell away from here, Have a family, a normal family, and a life for myself”
Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers came to her mind. It wasn’t fair to them either, how they ended stuck in Hawkins again. Nobody deserved to be stuck here.
He took a moment to process her words. He had a plan for himself at 17, too. One that involved Nancy Wheeler and a white picket fence. Now, thinking of it made him shiver. Looking at the girl who was in his plan now, he sighed.
“And at 18?” he asked. She clenched her first and rose up, unshed tears in her eyes. He watched her throat move as she swallowed. ‘I didn’t think I’d be here at 18″
He squinted, and it was clear to her that he didn’t understand. She squeezed her eyes shut, fearful of his reaction. Surely he would think less of her, he might even treat her with pity.
“But, we survived the demogorgan” the innocent man said.
“Steve”
It was so painful. Having to tell her lover her darkest secrets. She was afraid the bright shades of red and pink around their love would now be black and grey. Steve didn’t deserve her, she thought. He deserved a girl like Nancy Wheeler, or like Tammy Thompson. Someone who wasn’t completely and utterly broken.
“Yeah?” God, it still wasn’t clicking. She couldn’t say it, she had tried, but the worlds simply could not leave her mouth. So she said it with her eyes.
And then he understood.
Something in his eyes had changed, and he finally saw how broken she really was. He always thought she was beautiful, but now he saw every detail of her face. He saw the frown lines and the eyebags, and the hurt in her eyes. “Oh” he mumbled.
This was it, she thought. He was gonna call her a freak, or an idiot. The two never made them selves official, but they knew, Everyone knew. “Holy shit”
Her heart was beating again, for the millionth time that day. “Yeah. Holy shit”
She didn’t look at him, too afraid of seeing his expression, but he couldn’t look away from her. His sweet, sweet girl. How stupid he was, to not see how she was feeling. It was his job to make sure she was okay. He felt as if he had failed her. “You OD over there?” she asked, trying to break the tension.
“No” he answered. “Just thinking”. She nodded and felt another lump in her throat. Her fingernails had left inprints in her palms, and she was desperately trying to not cry again.
“I had a plan at 18 too” he said. She finally pulled her eyes to him, “I was gonna join the circus.”
She certainly was not expecting that. “What?”
“I was gonna join the circus” he said, smiling, “I’d be one of the clowns, or maybe even the ring leader” She finally laughed again. “Why.... why was that in your plan?”
“I thought it’d be cool, and I’d look hot in a rainbow wig.” He was rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand, and was relived to see the soothing action was working. She laughed as she said. “You wouldn’t dare mess up your precious hair, Harrington. I on the other hand would make a excellent acrobat”
“Please, you did gymnastics for what, 6 months? And then what happened” They were both smiling now. “My ankle healed!” she defended, as they both laughed.
The doors burst open and suddenly Robin, Dustin and Erica were in front of them. “Seriously, what the hell” Dustin yelled, clearly pissed. The two only looked at each other and laughed again. Steve stood and reached out his hand. “One more battle?”
Her smile dropped a little, but she took his hand anyway. “One more battle”
summary: a series of snapshots between the reader and steve during the last summer before college.
word count: 5,975 words
a/n: this is for @ughjoekeery‘s wonderland writing challenge! the prompt was i’ll be your quiet afternoon crush. this has been the hardest thing i’ve ever written, but also the one i’m most proud of. it’s easily the most cathartic thing i’ve ever written. i’m pretty sure that there’s a significant piece of me that’ll stay with this. enjoy!
If the two of you were seasons, then Steve would be the summer, and you would be the winter.
Steve was loud and present, constantly demanding your attention. He was all of the highs and none of the lows. He was late night road trips and lazing around at the beach and skinny dipping in his pool. He was the hand on your shoulder, the whisper in your ear telling you to enjoy the moment. He was the nostalgia, the yearning for times that had long since passed.
You were the opposite. You were soft and drifting, more interested in reading and staying behind the scenes. You were quiet nights clutching a mug of hot tea while the snow fell, silent on the ground. You were cozy sweaters and cuddling up on the couch. You were walking in the middle of the road, the foot of snow crunching beneath your feet.
Steve was the summer. You were the winter. Always close enough, fingertips brushing, but never fully touching.
Never fully together.
64 Days.
“Steve fucking Harrington, you’re late!” Your voice carried over to the house next door. Steve jerked his head up from where he’d been leaning into the backseat of his car, a grin spreading across his features. He dropped his bag onto the sandy driveway and tore across the sand. You could hear your grandma yelling at you inside about your language.
Never in your life had you been more appreciative that your grandmother lived next door to the Harrington’s beach house.
one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.
blakekathryn
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