or just being pedro’s secret controversially young gf . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
a chance raffle win leads to unexpected texts, slow-burning chemistry, and stolen moments with pedro pascal. she’s younger, balancing school and real life. he’s careful, charming, and maybe a little too into her for his own good. what starts off light turns tender, and one cozy night might just change everything.
masterlist | 9k words | all fiction, pedro is 45-50 and fem!reader is 23 (I don't rlly gaf if you're annoyed with age-gaps if you don't like it fucking scroll), flirting, YEARNING (you’ll never stop me), kissing, celebrity things like that paparazzi, fingering, oral f!recieving, pussy job, unprotected piv sexxx
You hadn’t even meant to enter.
Your best friend, Kelsey, had texted you in the middle of a script revision meltdown with a link and three question marks.
“A Pedro Pascal charity meet & greet raffle. $25 to enter. Winner gets a private lunch.”
It was for some children’s literacy nonprofit, and you’d clicked it half-delirious, half-joking, adding one entry just to say you did.
Two weeks later, you got the email.
You thought it was a scam. Then your phone rang—an actual event coordinator from the organization, confirming details, verifying your ID, telling you a car service would be provided, that Pedro’s team had already cleared the date.
You stared at your phone long after the call ended. You were twenty-three, in college for a degree in screenwriting, juggling a bookstore job and unpaid pitch work. Pedro Pascal had been your comfort actor since your late teens—long before the mainstream hype. You’d watched his indie films, not just the blockbusters. You knew lines of dialogue he probably didn’t even remember.
Now you were going to sit across from him. At lunch. For an hour.
You didn't even have anything to wear that didn't look like it came off a Goodwill clearance rack.
The restaurant was tucked away in Laurel Canyon, low lighting, all exposed brick and polished glass.
You checked your reflection four times in the car window. A blouse that didn't cling too tight. Mascara you applied with shaking hands. You told yourself he probably did dozens of these. He wouldn’t even remember your name.
When you arrived at the restaurant the host said, “Right this way,” and there he was.
Pedro Pascal. In a dark blue button-up, sleeves rolled to the forearms. Sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Beard trimmed. Brown eyes soft.
He stood when you walked up.
“Hey, you must be the donor,” he said warmly. “Thanks for donating.”
You managed a smile. “Thanks for being the prize.”
He laughed. A real one.
You thought it would be awkward. Stilted. But he was funny, sharp, easy to talk to. You ended up rambling about how much his performance in The Bubble meant to you—how you watched it on your laptop in your dark bedroom during a bad depressive episode, how it got you through that awful year.
He looked surprised. Touched.
“I forget anyone actually saw that movie,” he said with a lopsided smile.
“I watched it five times. At least.”
He blinked. “Wait, are you messing with me?”
“Nope.” You grinned. “I even wrote a paper on it for a class on satire. You play a man who's aware he’s a fraud but keeps smiling through it—like, that’s the whole metaphor.”
Pedro blinked again—then gave you a slow, stunned laugh, mouth slightly open.
You weren’t flirting. You were just being honest. And maybe that’s what caught him off guard.
He walked you out after. His hand hovered at the small of your back but never touched.
“Seriously,” he said, “this was the best version of one of these I’ve ever done. I usually feel like a trained monkey. This felt like…” he paused. “A real conversation.”
You tried to play it cool. “That’s the goal. I’m supposed to be a screenwriter, right?”
He smiled, wider this time. “If you ever finish something, I’d love to read it.”
You stared at him, then snorted. “That sounded like a line.”
You were standing on the curb with him now, your rideshare still a few minutes out.
Pedro leaned against the building’s side wall, sunglasses back on, arms folded. The California sun caught the edges of his hair, bringing out the warm gray in his curls. You tried not to stare.
You were failing.
“Do you ever get tired of people telling you they’ve been obsessed with you since they were sixteen?” you asked, mostly teasing.
He laughed under his breath. “Depends on how they say it.”
You glanced up at him. “And how did I say it?”
His mouth curled. “Like someone who isn’t obsessed anymore. Just curious.”
That made you blush, which only made it worse. “Right. I’m too grown for fangirling.”
He tilted his head a little. “How grown are we talking?”
You gave him a look. “Grown enough to know that question is a trap.”
He grinned. “Smart.”
The pause that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, almost private. Like something unsaid had passed between you, and he was waiting to see if you’d name it.
You didn’t. You weren’t that bold. But you did say, “So, are you always this charming at these things? Or did I just catch you on a good hair day?”
He chuckled, then looked at you fully, one eyebrow raised. “Can I be honest?”
“Please.”
“I thought this would be fifteen minutes of smiling, nodding, and trying to avoid weird questions about The Mandalorian. I didn’t expect to actually…” He stopped, glanced away for a second, then back at you. “...like someone.”
Your stomach fluttered. “Someone?”
“You,” he said plainly.
Oh.
You blinked. “I—um. Okay. That’s… wow.”
Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry. That might’ve been too much.”
“No—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, too quickly. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”
He smiled again, softer now. “That’s fair.”
Then, casually—almost like it was nothing—he said, “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”
You stared at him. “Wait—seriously?”
He shrugged, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re comfortable. If not, that’s okay. I just—” he hesitated, then said, “I think I’d like to talk to you again. Not in front of cameras. Or PR people.”
You swallowed. He was looking at you like he meant it. Like he wasn’t in a rush, like he could wait forever.
“…Okay,” you said. “Yeah. I’ll give it to you.”
Pedro handed you his phone. No hesitation.
You typed it in, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve. Saved ___(from lunch) and handed it back.
He glanced down at it, then nodded. “I’ll text you. So you have mine.”
“Cool.” You tried to act normal. “Cool, cool, cool.”
Pedro smirked. “You’re very cool, yeah.”
Your rideshare pulled up just then. Saved by the bell. He opened the car door for you, gentlemanly as ever.
Before you got in, he said, voice low:
“I’m really glad it was you.”
You didn’t even know what to say to that. So you smiled, and got in the car, and tried not to immediately check your phone.
But when it buzzed two minutes later, your breath caught.
Unknown Number:
Glad I made it through lunch without embarrassing myself.
– Pedro
You didn’t text back right away.
Mostly because you didn’t want to seem eager. But also because you were still staring at your phone like it had just whispered your name out loud.
You waited ten minutes.
Then typed:
You:
I think we both made it out with our dignity intact.
But that’s a pending review once I replay the whole thing in my head at 2am.
The dots appeared instantly.
Pedro:
Damn, you’re already funnier over text. I’m scared.
Should I be worried about my performance?
You smiled, flopping back on your bed.
You:
You were decent. You only said “like” twelve times in that one story about Oscar Isaac.
Pedro:
You counted??
You:
I’m a writer. I observe.
Pedro:
Dangerous.
Pedro:
Remind me never to lie to you.
He kept texting over the next few days. Nothing crazy. Nothing that could get him in trouble.
But his messages were always right there—close enough to be curious. Casual enough to deny.
Sometimes it was jokes about his press schedule. Sometimes questions about your scripts. One night, it was a photo of an old movie on his TV.
Pedro:
I think this director peaked with this one.
Tell me I’m wrong.
[screenshot from Days of Heaven]
You:
You want discourse at midnight?
Pedro:
I want you to talk to me at midnight.
You stared at that one for too long.
Typed. Erased. Typed again.
You:
That sounds dangerously flirty for a man with a whole IMDb page.
Pedro:
That sounds dangerously flirty for a girl who called me “decent.”
Pedro:
…But I’m not taking it back.
By the end of the week, he was sending you voice memos.
Low, rough-voiced ones. Mostly teasing. Sometimes just quiet thoughts he didn’t want to type.
“You know, I reread your screenplay sample. You weren’t kidding when you said it was dark. That final scene? Fuck me. Also, I think I’m obsessed with the way your dialogue sounds.”
Another night:
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought about texting you something sexy but decided on this instead: Do you think people fall for potential, or do they fall for the version of themselves they think the other person sees?”
That one stayed in your phone for days.
You didn’t answer it. Not directly.
But your next message said:
You:
If you’re ever back in L.A. and bored, I know a dive bar that makes the best nachos in the city.
We could talk about your IMDb shame pile.
Pedro:
You tryna seduce me with nachos?
You:
Maybe.
Pedro:
Tell me when.
And don’t wear that blouse again.
Or do…
Four Weeks Later
The texts don’t come every day anymore.
He warned you. Said work was picking up again—press junkets, travel, long days on set. You said it was fine. You meant it. You’d gone in expecting one hour of his time, not a month of flirty messages and midnight voice memos.
But still, you missed it. The tiny buzz of your phone. His name lighting up your screen.
You missed the way he made you feel like he actually saw you—like you weren’t just some girl who lucked into a celebrity lunch but someone with ideas, talent, nerve.
The last message had been five days ago:
Pedro:
Sitting in a hotel bar in Berlin. Bartender looks like he’s judging my wine choice.
You responded. He didn’t reply.
You told yourself he got busy. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
Still, you reread the thread more than once.
He kept opening your chat. Typing. Erasing.
He didn’t know why you stuck in his head. Why you’d gotten under his skin like a song he couldn’t stop humming. You were so much younger, so new, but you had a sharpness he envied. You made him want to say shit he hadn’t thought to say to anyone in years.
And you hadn’t even done anything, really.
You were just... honest. No agenda. No sucking up. You looked him in the eye like he wasn’t on a billboard but sitting across from you at a tiny table, halfway real.
And now you were quiet.
Maybe you’d gotten bored. Moved on. Maybe it was better that way.
But when his plane landed in L.A., jet-lagged and strung out, the first thing he wanted—before coffee, before sleep—was to see if you were still around.
You’re watching a terrible dating show in your apartment, sipping flat wine, wearing the same hoodie three days in a row when your phone buzzes.
Pedro:
Back in town.
That nacho place still open?
You stare at it.
Then:
You:
It closes at 2am.
So yeah. Still time for questionable choices.
Pedro:
Are we talking about food or me?
You:
Don’t make me say it.
Pedro:
Say it in person.
Then:
Pedro:
Tomorrow night?
Your stomach flips.
It’s been weeks. You thought he forgot. You thought maybe you dreamed the whole thing.
You wait ten seconds.
Then:
You:
Tomorrow night.
The bar is dim and humming when you walk in. Wood-paneled walls, strings of yellow bulbs, and that warm, greasy smell that hits just right after 9 p.m.
You spot him instantly.
Pedro’s in the far booth—back against the wall, baseball cap low, beer bottle sweating in front of him. He’s dressed down: jeans and a hoodie, that you recognize from one of his press photos.
He looks up and sees you. Smiles.
Not the friendly kind. The fuck-I-missed-you kind.
“Hey,” you say as you slide into the booth opposite him.
“Hey yourself,” he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours.
You settle your bag beside you. Try to ignore the way your heart’s fluttering like it’s your first date in high school.
He leans forward slightly. “You look…”
You raise an eyebrow. “Tired?”
He laughs. “No. Just better than I remembered.”
You smirk. “You say that to all the raffle girls?”
Pedro grins and takes a sip of his beer. “You think I’m doing a lot of raffle lunches lately?”
You don’t answer. You just meet his eyes—and hold them a second too long.
The first drink goes fast. So does the second.
Conversation’s easy again—teasing, snappy, laced with innuendos but grounded in that same curiosity he showed the first time.
“You’ve got that look again,” you say at one point.
He tips his head. “What look?”
“Like you’re thinking too much.”
Pedro taps his fingers on the table. “I am.”
“About what?”
“You.”
That shuts you up. For a beat.
“Okay,” you say carefully. “You’re officially flirting.”
“Only officially now?”
You glance at him. “Are we pretending we haven’t been doing that for weeks?”
He leans in a little, voice lower. “I haven’t been pretending, cariño.”
That word—cariño—drops right down your spine.
You sip your drink just to buy time.
Half an hour later, the nachos are cold and forgotten.
He’s shifted to your side of the booth. Close enough that his thigh brushes yours when he moves.
You can feel the heat of him—slow and steady, like a stove left on low.
“You’re braver than I thought,” he murmurs, voice near your ear.
You turn your head, pulse thrumming. “Why?”
He’s looking at your mouth when he says, “Because I think you know exactly what this is.”
You swallow.
“You think it’s a game?” you whisper.
“No.” His eyes lift to meet yours again. “I think it’s trouble.”
You let the silence stretch. Then, quietly:
“I think I want it anyway.”
Pedro exhales, almost like relief.
His hand finds your knee under the table, gentle at first—like he’s asking.
You don’t stop him.
Back at your place — 1:07 a.m.
He doesn’t kiss you right away.
He stands just inside your apartment, glancing around like he needs to ground himself. Like he’s cataloging every detail in case it’s the only time he sees it.
“Cute place,” he says.
You shrug. “It’s fine. It has a couch, at least.”
Pedro gives you a look. “So subtle.”
You smirk, toeing off your shoes. “I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to sit down without my feet throbbing.”
“Oh, is that what this is?” he says, trailing behind you into the living room. “Because when you leaned over the jukebox earlier, I swear I saw—”
“—Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm. “I was picking a song.”
“You were bending the laws of nature, muneca.”
You plop onto the couch and toss a pillow at him.
He catches it easily, eyes dancing.
And then he sits.
Close. Closer than necessary.
Your knees touch.
And for a moment, neither of you say anything.
His hand brushes yours.
Once.
Twice.
Then it stays.
“I keep telling myself not to do this,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.
You tilt your head. “Then don’t.”
Pedro looks at you.
Long. Direct. Hungry.
And then he kisses you.
It starts slow.
His lips soft, searching. No rush. No agenda.
But your hand slides into his hair and his body shifts, just a little, and suddenly—
His other hand is on your thigh, gripping it.
You gasp into his mouth, and it makes him groan. A low, broken sound, like he’s been trying not to make it for weeks.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“You started it,” you whisper, breathless.
His tongue traces your bottom lip. “Don’t remind me.”
He pushes you back into the couch cushions, one knee slipping between yours, just enough weight to make you feel it.
You arch beneath him. Hips rising—seeking.
He pulls back just enough to look at you.
Your hair’s messy, lips kiss-swollen, pupils blown.
“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, voice low. “You know that?”
You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re not bad either, old man.”
He huffed a laugh—and kissed you harder.
You end up straddling him, your hands under his shirt, his teeth grazing your neck. You whisper something shameless into his ear and he freezes, groaning into your shoulder like you just ruined his life.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice thick. “You’re dangerous.”
“You like it,” you say, biting back a smile.
“Too much.”
It doesn’t go any further.
Not because he doesn’t want to.
Not because you don’t.
But because there’s something delicious about stopping here. Something about the ache. The tease.
1:41 a.m. your apartment
You don’t get off his lap.
Even after the kissing slows. Even after his hand stills on your thigh and his breath evens out against your collarbone.
You just lean into him, cheek resting against the warm curve of his neck, and say:
“So what’s your comfort movie?”
Pedro chuckles, a low, content sound. His hands stay on you—one lightly tracing your waist, the other cradling your knee.
“You want comfort?” he murmurs. “I watched Paddington 2 three times in a row on a flight once. I cried. Full grown man. Tears.”
You sit up just enough to look at him. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
You grin, brushing your nose against his. “Mine’s Coraline. I know it’s for kids. Don’t care.”
“Oh, I respect that,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Creepy doll button eyes? That’s some formative trauma.”
You laugh into his shoulder. “Exactly.”
The conversation drifts.
From movies to music, then weird dreams, then the worst job he ever had (you make him promise never to do commercials for adult diapers), and the story of your first kiss (in a movie theater during a Marvel sequel, popcorn still in your braces).
You fall asleep like that for a while.
Wrapped around him. The TV is still on. His hoodie swallowing your frame.
It’s not a sleepover. But it’s the kind of night you only have when the flirting has already cracked open into something more dangerous—something real.
5:07 a.m.
He kisses you again on the sidewalk, slow and tired and a little reluctant.
The Uber’s headlights bounce off the curb.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your hip.
You raise your brows. “You’d behave?”
“No.”
“Then go home.”
Pedro grins, teeth sharp in the early morning haze. “I hate that you’re right.”
“You love that I’m right.”
He kisses your forehead. “Text me when you wake up, cariño.”
Then he climbs into the car and disappears into the fading dark.
Later
You
you looked like a mess when you left
was kind of hot
Pedro
don’t start
i walked into my kitchen like a teenager
head against the fridge door. dramatic sigh.
You
“what is she doing to meee…”
Pedro
don’t mock the broken man
You
it’s cute
I kinda like breaking you
Pedro
yeah
i could tell
you were smiling while you ruined me
You
and you didn’t stop me
Pedro
never would
Pedro
(real talk though… i haven’t kissed someone like that in years)
what are we doing?
You
no idea
but i don’t really want to stop
Pedro
good
i’d be pissed if you did
You
also
i’m watching Paddington 2 tonight
thought you should know
Pedro
you’re trying to make me fall in love with you
You
Trying?
A Few days Later
Pedro
okay serious question
what’s your go-to coffee order
i’m at a café and there are too many words on the menu
You
iced oat latte. extra cinnamon. no reason. just vibes.
why?
Pedro
just wondering what i’ll need to remember when i see you again
it’s been a minute
you free soon?
You
maybe. depends.
is this a brunch date disguised as a “casual hang”?
Pedro
yes.
and i might wear a hat and sunglasses like a criminal
You
hot
I’ll see you Sunday then
Two Weeks Later
Outside a café, 2:12 p.m.
You’re holding iced coffees, your oversized hoodie tucked into the waistband of biker shorts, and Pedro’s walking beside you—cap pulled low, hoodie up, sunglasses on.
You look like…friends.
Which is the goal.
Except his hand keeps brushing yours.
And when you laugh too hard at something he says about a failed audition back in ‘99, he looks at you like he feels it. Like he wants to bottle it.
You don’t even notice the guy on the opposite sidewalk.
Phone angled low.
The shutter click barely audible.
Another car slows down. Just a beat.
Pedro notices first.
His body tenses next to yours.
You follow his gaze. A pair of figures across the street. Hoodies. Big lenses. Moving fast.
Click click click.
You suck in a breath. “Shit.”
He doesn’t grab your hand.
He can’t.
Instead, he leans in like he’s just whispering something dumb.
“Just keep walking,” he mutters. “Act like you’re annoyed with me.”
You glance up at him. “That’s not hard.”
He grins, tight-lipped. “Atta girl.”
You duck into a bookstore.He buys a random novel and keeps the receipt.
You pretend to browse while your stomach spins.
He brushes his hand against your back briefly as you walk toward the back exit.
“Your face was covered,” he says quietly. “You’re fine.”
But he doesn’t sound entirely convinced.
You slip your sunglasses on, exhaling.
“I knew this might happen,” you mutter. “Still sucks.”
Pedro looks at you for a second too long. Then, under his breath:
“If anything ever actually comes out…I’ll handle it.”
You nod.
But it hangs there. Heavy.
You’re still you. Still just 23. Still not used to this world he lives in.
But the part that makes your pulse spike isn’t fear.
It’s the way his voice dipped when he said “I’ll handle it.”
Like he already decided he would.
Like you weren’t just a girl from a raffle anymore.
Pedro
they didn’t get anything
you’re safe
You
you sure?
Pedro
i’ve done this a long time
if they had something good it’d be online already
trust me
You
i do
just didn’t expect it to feel that...real
Pedro
it is real
at least for me
You
i know. me too.
Pedro
next time no public sidewalks
just you
my place
pizza
and zero danger
You
and maybe another dramatic sigh against your fridge?
Pedro
oh i’m already practicing
i’ll be thinking about you all week
You
good
maybe i’ll make you wait again
Pedro
maybe i’ll let you
Few More Days Later
You
i just bombed my stats exam
tell my family i died doing what i hated
Pedro
nooooo
not stats
not you :(
You
i’m so tired
i might actually cry in the campus parking lot like a teen drama character
Pedro
you want company or silence?
or pizza?
or a forehead kiss?
You
omg
You
that last one just made my brain short circuit
is that allowed???
Pedro
it is if you want it to be
offer still stands
come over
i’ll put on something dumb and hold you until your brain restarts
You
you’re dangerous
give me an hour
That night — 8:13 p.m.
Pedro’s apartment.
The kitchen smells like garlic and fresh basil.
Pedro’s in front of the stove in a worn tee and joggers, barefoot, stirring pasta like this is just…normal. Like you always do this. Like he wasn’t in a galaxy far, far away a few months ago while you were still writing essays in the library, humming through AirPods.
“You ever cook for girls like this?” you tease lightly, watching from the counter stool.
Pedro smirks without turning around. “Not girls who make me nervous.”
You blink.
He glances back at you. “Just being honest.”
You open your mouth—then close it again.
Your throat’s warm. So is your chest. Your fingertips tingle against the glass of red wine in your hand.
The rest of the night unfurls gently. Like a held breath being let out.
He makes a simple pasta with veggies. You help slice strawberries for a little balsamic-glazed dessert (“This is so extra,” you laugh, and he just shrugs—“You deserve extra”).
You eat on the couch with the coffee table dragged closer, your knees brushing under the bowls.
Music plays low. Something acoustic and nostalgic.
His hand rests on your leg, casual but firm.
Yours finds his thigh a little later.
You’re sitting sideways in his lap again, back to his chest, your cheek against his jaw.
He smells like citrus body wash and red wine and something inherently him.
His hands haven’t left you all night.
Thumb tracing slow lines into the top of your thigh. Fingertips under your hoodie hem.
He kisses your shoulder. Then your jaw.
You hum softly, turning your face toward his. He doesn’t hesitate.
The kiss starts easy. Then deeper.
And deeper.
You straddle him this time, your knees pressing into the couch cushions, your hands in his hair. His grip tightens around your hips—then softens again, like he’s reminding himself to slow down.
There’s heat. So much heat.
You shift against him, just slightly—and feel him underneath you.
He breathes hard into your mouth, breaking the kiss. “Wait—wait.”
Your foreheads press together.
You blink. “Did I do something—?”
Pedro shakes his head fast. “No, no. God, no. You’re perfect.”
You’re quiet. His thumb brushes your cheek.
“I just…” he swallows, “don’t want this to be fast. I want it to be right.”
You exhale, your nose brushing his. “Okay.”
He looks at you—tender, serious. “You trust me?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “You trust me?”
Pedro leans forward and kisses you again, slower this time. His hands stay on your waist. Yours trail up the back of his neck.
Then he says the most dangerous thing of all:
“Stay tonight.”
You borrow one of his tees and wash your face in his sink with the cleanser he shyly offers you.
The bed’s big and warm. You climb in beside him, and he pulls you close, one arm under your shoulders, the other across your waist.
Neither of you says much.
But when you whisper, “You smell like something familiar,” he smiles into your hair.
And when he murmurs, “I like having you here,” you smile too.
You fall asleep curled up against him. No more nerves. No more pretending this is just for fun.
It’s not the night everything happened.
But it’s the night everything changed.
The Next Morning — 9:12 a.m.
You wake up warm.
Pressed against a solid chest, one of Pedro’s hands heavy over your waist, his breath slow and deep against the back of your neck.
It takes you a second to remember where you are.
The smell of his sheets. The weight of his arm. The stretch of your legs tangled with his.
Then it hits you.
Last night. Dinner. That kiss. Him asking you to stay.
You shift slightly, careful not to wake him.
But you feel him stir behind you.
His voice is a slow, rough murmur in your ear. “Morning.”
You twist in his arms to face him. His hair’s messy. His eyes are sleepy, half-lidded. There’s a small smile on his mouth that makes your heart kick like a rabbit.
“Hi,” you whisper.
He leans in and kisses you—soft at first. Barely there.
But then he kisses you again, firmer this time. Longer.
And it doesn’t feel sleepy anymore.
It feels like wanting.
Pedro’s hand moves under your shirt, smoothing up your back, dragging his fingers up your spine. You sigh into his mouth as you press your chest against his, your body already buzzing.
He rolls gently onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. His hands settle on your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow circles just beneath the hem of your borrowed sleep shirt.
“You okay?” he murmurs, looking up at you.
You nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes search yours. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you say, clear and certain. “I really want to.”
That’s all he needs.
He sits up, kisses you again—this time with intent. His hands slip under your shirt fully now, dragging it up over your head and off.
Pedro pauses when he sees you.
Like he’s trying to remember every inch.
“God,” he breathes, hands sliding up your waist to cup your chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You shiver as his thumbs graze your nipples. You shift forward, rolling your hips against his just a little, and feel him hard underneath you.
He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.
“You’re gonna kill me.”
“Good,” you whisper, tugging his shirt off too.
It’s slow. He treats your body like something worth learning.
Mouth on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, tongue dipping below your breasts.
He lays you back and kisses down your stomach, looking up at you the whole time like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.
You don’t.
You arch for him, tug his hand between your thighs.
Pedro groans when he finds you wet.
“So ready for me,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “Jesus, baby…”
He touches you slowly, gently, working you open with his fingers until you're panting, until you're grabbing at his hair and whispering his name like it's the only word that matters.
Then he comes back up and kisses you again—deep, messy, tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers stay between your legs, stroking you through every soft sound you make.
“You like that?” he breathes.
You nod, nails digging into his shoulder. “Yeah. God, Pedro—”
He groans, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You smile shakily. “I’ll tell you if it’s not enough.”
When he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow.
Painfully slow.
Like he wants you to feel every inch of it. Like he wants to feel you—wrapped around him, holding him, trusting him.
You gasp. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple.
“You okay?”
You nod, hand fisting the sheets. “Keep going. Please.”
Pedro groans, deeper this time, and begins to move.
It’s not fast. It’s not rough.
But it’s intense.
Every roll of his hips is deliberate, slow and deep, the kind of rhythm that builds unbearable heat between your legs. He stays close, his chest brushing yours, one hand cradling your head, the other gripping your hip like he needs to anchor himself there.
You moan into his mouth. “Pedro—oh my god—”
“I know,” he pants. “I know, baby. You feel so fucking good.”
You wrap your legs around his waist, tilting your hips to take him deeper. The change makes you gasp—your whole body tightening around him.
He curses, thrusts harder once, then slows again, like he’s fighting to stay in control.
“Not gonna last,” he groans into your neck. “You’re too good—fuck—”
You cling to him, mouth at his ear. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
He fucks you through it—slow, patient, like he’s memorizing you.
Until you come with a cry, back arching, legs trembling.
And then he lets go.
Buried deep inside you, his arms locked tight around your body, he shudders with a groan that sounds almost broken.
Pedro lies beside you, one hand still tracing circles over your bare back.
You’re tucked into his side, head on his chest, your body boneless and warm and aching in all the right ways.
He kisses the top of your head.
You murmur, “So…”
“So?” he echoes softly.
“I don’t want to leave.”
He smiles. “Then don’t.”
You lift your head, meeting his gaze.
“Okay.”
10:36 a.m.
The bedroom’s quiet, dim with late morning light.
Pedro’s hand is still on your back, fingers idly tracing slow, lazy shapes like he doesn’t want to break the silence. You’re sprawled across his chest with your leg slung over his hip, still tangled in sheets and sleep and warmth.
You murmur, “My thighs hurt.”
Pedro laughs softly under you. “That’s a good sign, right?”
You pinch his side gently, but you’re smiling. “You’re annoying.”
He kisses your hair. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m sweaty.”
“Same thing.”
You hum, turning your face into his neck. “We should get up.”
“We don’t have to.”
“We will eventually.”
He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m making coffee and putting on music and not wearing pants, so. Prepare yourself.”
You brush your teeth side-by-side in front of the mirror, barefoot and rumpled.
He’s wearing plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips. You’re in one of his big, soft shirts that barely covers your ass.
Pedro spits, then wipes his mouth and gestures toward your reflection. “You’re doing the ‘walk of shame’ all wrong.”
“Oh yeah?”
He steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. You’re supposed to sneak out. Look flustered. Not stand here looking like a smug little goddess.”
You lean back into him. “I can sneak if you want.”
He brushes your hair over your shoulder, mouth at your ear. “Don’t you dare.”
You perch on the counter while Pedro makes eggs and toasts thick slices of sourdough. Coffee gurgles in the French press. Music hums low from a Bluetooth speaker—Fleetwood Mac, or maybe The Rolling Stones, something vintage and cozy and a little flirtatious.
He hands you a piece of toast like it’s a peace offering.
“You’re spoiling me,” you murmur between bites.
He shrugs. “You stayed the night. That earns you toast rights.”
“What else does it earn me?”
Pedro leans on the counter next to you, pretending to think. “More coffee. Back rubs. The good chocolate from the top shelf. Maybe a foot rub if you beg.”
You laugh.
But he watches you for a second, quiet, eyes soft.
Then, a little more serious, he says, “You’re okay? With last night?”
You nod right away. “Of course I am.”
“You don’t feel—like it was too fast?”
You pause. “No. Do you?”
He looks away for a second. Then back at you.
“No. I just… I don't want to mess this up.”
Your heart thumps.
“You’re not,” you say, and it’s true. “I like being here. With you.”
Pedro steps closer. Kisses you on the forehead.
“You make me feel lucky,” he murmurs. “Like… really lucky.”
You hide your face in his shoulder, smiling into his shirt. “Sappy.”
“You love it.”
“I kinda do.”
You end up back in bed with the window open and your coffee cups half-full on the nightstand.
You scroll through your phone lazily while Pedro reads a book beside you, one hand resting on your thigh like he just needs to be touching you, even when he’s distracted.
Eventually, he sets the book down and watches you instead.
“Next time,” he says quietly, “let me take you out properly. Like a real date.”
You glance up. “Like…in public?”
He nods, hesitating. “If you want. I can be careful. Private table. Back entrance.”
You study him for a beat.
Then smile.
“Okay.”
He exhales, slow and relieved. Pulls you toward him.
And it hits you—how easy this could be. How dangerous. How close you already feel to something you shouldn’t want this badly.
But you let him kiss you again.
Because right now?
You just want more.
Pedro 🍯
Friday night okay for our scandalous outing?
You
depends
will there be food?
and you opening doors for me like a gentleman?
Pedro 🍯
I’d open every door in LA for you
even the ones I’m not supposed to
You
that’s hot
okay I’m in
what’s the dress code? do I need to look famous?
Pedro 🍯
You are famous.
In my phone. In my bed. In my head.
But no—look like yourself. That’s what I like.
You
you’re lucky you’re cute
I’ll give you flirty and effortless
Pedro 🍯
It’s a look that destroys me
every time
Friday Night – 8:04 PM
Private restaurant in West Hollywood
The hostess barely glances at you as she leads you down a narrow hallway to the back, where the lights are low and the table is tucked away in a cozy, dim corner.
Pedro’s already there, standing when he sees you. Black dress shirt, a little open at the collar. Trim beard. That soft smile that’s reserved for you now.
He says, “Wow,” under his breath when he sees you.
You grin. “That’s what you were waiting for?”
“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But it’s a damn good bonus.”
He pulls your chair out for you, brushes his fingers down your arm as you sit. The tension’s quiet but buzzing. This isn’t like being at his apartment in sweats and bare legs. This is real.
The waiter arrives quickly—Pedro’s arranged everything. Wine’s already poured. A cheese plate. You’re grateful, because you’re nervous.
“Not what you expected?” he asks, eyes warm.
“It’s nice,” you say. “Just… kinda crazy. We’re really out.”
He leans in, voice low. “We don’t have to stay long.”
“No,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I want to.”
You talk about movies. About food. He asks about your classes. You ask about scripts he’s reading. It’s easy, even with the candlelight and clinking glasses and murmurs behind you.
But at one point, you feel someone glance toward the corner—just a shift, a flick of someone’s head.
You both go still.
Pedro reaches across the table and touches your hand, thumb brushing the back of your fingers.
“Don’t look,” he says gently. “They won’t get anything.”
You nod, swallowing.
“I’m okay,” you whisper.
His grip tightens slightly.
“So am I.”
Outside the restaurant
Pedro’s car pulls around to the back entrance just like he’d asked. You both slip out quietly, sunglasses on—even though it’s dark—and hoods up. The manager gave him a discreet nod on the way out, like this wasn’t his first time protecting someone.
Once you’re in the car, doors shut, windows up, and seat belts clicked… he finally exhales.
You laugh a little, heart still racing. “That was weird.”
“It was,” he agrees, starting the engine. “But not terrible, right?”
You glance at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been watched while eating cheese.”
Pedro grins. “To be fair, you looked very hot doing it.”
You nudge his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
You do.
10:05 PM – His Apartment
He lets you in first. The lights are soft. The space smells like bergamot and whatever cologne still clings to his jacket.
You take your shoes off by the door without thinking. He shrugs out of his coat, throws it on the back of the couch. His shirt’s still half-unbuttoned.
“Wine?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Just water.”
Pedro nods and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the fridge. You trail behind him, watching the lines of his back move beneath the dark cotton of his shirt.
When he turns, you’re sitting on top of the counter, arms crossed.
“You’re quiet,” he says gently, handing you the glass.
You take a sip. “Just thinking.”
He nods. Waits.
You hesitate. Then, “Do you worry? About people knowing?”
He pauses. Then crosses to stand in front of you, leaning back on the opposite counter, arms loosely folded.
“I do,” he says honestly. “Not because I’m ashamed. I just… I know how people talk. And I don’t want them to get it wrong.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah.”
He watches you.
“I also don’t want to stop seeing you,” he adds softly. “So I guess I’ll figure it out.”
That makes your stomach flip.
“You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” you ask. “This?”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. Then he shook it.
“No. Not when you look at me like that.”
You blink. “Like what?”
Pedro smiles a little. “Like I’m not just some actor you had a crush on once. Like I’m… real.”
You don’t say anything, but you take a step forward. So does he.
Your hand lands gently on his chest.
“I like the real you,” you say. “Even when you’re dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic.”
“You literally made an escape plan for dinner.”
He chuckles in a low tone. “Fair.”
Your fingers hook at the collar of his shirt.
“Can I stay again?”
Pedro leans down and presses his forehead to yours.
“Please do.”
Pedro steps between your legs, his palms firm against your thighs, slowly sliding up under the hem of your dress. The fabric bunches at your hips, but neither of you cares. You’ve kissed him before, but not like this—not when everything feels like it might break open if you dare to go a little further.
“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, lips brushing just below your ear as his hands roam.
Your breath catches. “I haven’t even done anything.”
Pedro pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wore that dress.”
You tilt your head. “You told me to.”
He smirks. “Yeah. My own damn fault.”
His mouth is on yours again—hot, unrelenting. The kiss turns hungrier. You moan into it when he presses closer, the hard line of him slotting between your thighs.
His hands are greedy now, tracing the backs of your thighs, then cupping your ass, pulling you forward against him. Your hips grind instinctively. He groans into your mouth, like he’s trying to hold back but failing.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—Jesus—”
One of his hands slips around to your front, dragging his fingers between your legs over your panties. He feels how warm you are, how soaked the fabric is. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and full of heat.
“This all for me, baby?”
You nod, lips parted. “Been like that since dinner.”
He lets out a low, guttural sound and presses the heel of his hand right where you’re throbbing. You roll your hips against it, helpless. Your legs tighten around his waist as your back arches into him.
Pedro leans in, his voice ragged. “You want me to touch you?”
You barely manage a breathy, “Yes.”
His fingers hook into your panties, dragging them to the side. And then he touches you—slowly, carefully—like he’s trying to memorize every reaction. The pad of his middle finger slides through your slick folds, circling your clit just once.
You jerk slightly, gasping.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching your face. “You’re so wet already.”
You try to kiss him again, but he teases you, keeping his lips just out of reach. His fingers move lower, pressing gently at your entrance. He slips one inside, slow but sure.
Your head falls back. “Pedro—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adding a second finger, curling them just right. “You feel fuckin’ incredible.”
You rock your hips in time with his rhythm, your moans filling the quiet kitchen. The counter is cool beneath your thighs, but you’re burning everywhere else—chest flushed, heart racing.
Pedro leans in and kisses the underside of your jaw, then your neck, his voice hot and gravelly against your skin. “I wanna see you come like this. Just like this.”
You grip his shoulders, legs trembling slightly as the pressure builds. He keeps his thumb on your clit, circling it in time with every curl of his fingers.
“Fuck—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
“I won’t, baby. I’ve got you. Let go for me.”
It hits fast. Your hips stutter, mouth falling open in a whimper as you come around his fingers, clenching tight while he keeps working you through it. He watches every second of it, like he’s completely wrecked by the sight of you falling apart in his hands.
When it’s too much, you grab his wrist, panting. “Okay. Okay—”
He kisses you then, deep and messy and full of hunger. You taste yourself on his tongue, and somehow that just makes it hotter.
“Next time,” he murmurs against your lips, voice full of promise, “it’s gonna be in bed. And I’m not gonna stop until you beg.”
You smile, still breathless. “Who says I won’t beg right here?”
He laughs softly, tucks your hair behind your ear, and leans his forehead against yours. “You’re trouble.”
“You like it.”
Pedro hums, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “I really do.”
Pedro kisses you again—more urgently this time, like he’s chasing the taste of your moan. You’re still coming down from your high, but he’s nowhere near finished. His hand strokes down your thigh, then back up slowly, deliberately. His lips drag down your neck to your collarbone, tongue flicking over the skin as he murmurs, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby.”
You squirm in his grip, panting softly. “Pedro…”
He groans when you say his name like that, like a plea. His hands slip under your thighs, and in one swift, effortless movement, he lifts you from the counter and carries you into the living room. He lays you out gently on the couch, kneeling between your legs, spreading them with his hands.
Your dress is still bunched around your hips. Your panties are crooked, barely hanging on.
Pedro looks down at you—lips swollen, legs open for him, pupils blown wide. “You want more?”
You nod, voice shaky. “I—I want your mouth.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He leans in, dragging your panties down your legs slowly, deliberately. You watch him with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. He kisses the inside of your thigh first—soft, reverent—then bites, just a little, enough to make you whimper.
And then he licks you.
It starts slow—his tongue parting your folds, gentle strokes that make you arch your back. But he doesn’t stay soft for long. He groans into you like he’s starving, hands gripping your thighs as he locks you in place and sucks hard on your clit. Your hips jerk up, and he just tightens his grip, flattening his tongue and dragging it slowly up and down before circling your entrance.
You’re already close again.
“Pedro, fuck—oh my God—”
He looks up at you, mouth shiny, eyes wild. “Come again for me. Just like this.”
You tangle your fingers in his hair, anchoring yourself while he devours you. He slides one finger back inside you, then another, curling them just right as his tongue works your clit. You fall apart again—loud, shaking, hips grinding against his mouth as you come harder than before.
You feel him groan when you clench around his fingers. He fucking likes how wrecked you are.
When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless and trembling. He kisses your inner thigh one more time before leaning over you, lips slick with you, eyes blown wide.
You reach for him, cupping him through his sweats. He’s rock hard and twitching under your palm. “Your turn.”
He swears under his breath, grinding into your hand. “I’ve been dying since you walked in.”
You tug the waistband of his slacks down. He helps, finally freeing himself—and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He’s thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.
Pedro watches your face as you stroke him slowly, teasing him the way he teased you.
“You gonna let me take care of you?” you ask, sweet and soft.
He groans low. “Not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”
But he lets you guide him on top of you, your thighs still slick and spread. You rub his tip against your folds, not letting him in—just grinding, coating him in your arousal. You both moan at the contact.
He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, hips moving in slow, desperate circles.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters.
You wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, your voice a whisper against his jaw. “Next time, you’re gonna fuck me for real.”
Pedro pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “This isn’t even close to done, sweetheart.”
He ruts against you again, both of you panting now, bodies slick and sticky. He kisses you—deep and messy—as he comes against your stomach with a groan, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
You lie there together, tangled and panting, the whole room humming with the tension that still lingers.
Pedro finally exhales a breathy laugh. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”
You grin, heart racing. “Big, big trouble.”
He kisses your shoulder and smiles into your skin. “Worth it.”
You’re curled up in Pedro’s bed again, half-asleep with your cheek against his chest, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy circles on your back.
He shifts a little beneath you, reaches over with a yawn to grab his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lights up.
Then he goes still.
You feel it before you hear it—his body tensing just enough to draw your attention.
You peek up at him. “Everything okay?”
Pedro doesn’t answer right away. He swipes through something on his phone with a sharp breath through his nose, then hands it to you silently.
Your stomach flips.
It’s Twitter.
A photo. Grainy, long-lens, obviously taken from across the street.
Pedro Pascal on a late-night coffee date?He’s walking beside you on the sidewalk. His hood is up, and yours is too. Your face is angled down, half-covered by your oversized scarf. But it’s undeniably him.
His hand is on the small of your back. Gentle. Familiar.
The photo already has over 80k likes.
“Shit,” you whisper, sitting up a little.
Pedro watches you carefully. “Your face isn’t in it. You’re okay.”
“I mean… yeah, but people are gonna figure it out, aren’t they?” You hand him the phone, heart thudding.
There are already hundreds of quote tweets. Gossip accounts, stan edits, comments like:
“whoever she is… I fear I’m her now”
“idk who she is but I know she smells like vanilla and reads poetry”
“Pedro Pascal out on a date???? Real man hours”
“y’all think this is PR? 😭”
You fall back into the pillows, groaning into the sheets. “I literally had exams yesterday. I was studying in a hoodie like twelve hours ago.”
Pedro chuckles softly. “And now you’re an anonymous femme fatale. Wild.”
You glance over at him. “This doesn’t freak you out?”
“Not really.” He reaches out, brushing your hair back. “I’ve been through worse. You okay, though?”
“I mean…” You sit up, wrapping the sheet around yourself. “I didn’t think this was gonna get real like that. That fast.”
Pedro watches you quietly for a moment. Then he reaches for your hand.
“We don’t have to rush anything. If you want to pull back, stay private, disappear for a bit, we can do that. But I also—” He pauses, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I like this. You and me. I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
You soften. “I don’t want that either.”
“Then we play it smart.” He smiles a little. “Let them talk. They don’t know anything.”
You squeeze his hand. “Okay. But if I get doxxed by a thirteen-year-old running a fan cam account…”
“I’ll delete the internet for you.”
You laugh, and he leans over to kiss your temple.
Just like that, the tension fades a little. Not gone, not really, but tucked away beside the coffee cups and slow mornings and quiet confessions in bed.
You wake up later to the smell of butter and fresh coffee.
The space in bed beside you is empty, but warm. Sunlight spills through the curtains in long strips, cutting across the crumpled sheets and your bare legs. You stretch slowly, sore in the sweetest way, your body still humming from the night before.
You find Pedro in the kitchen, barefoot in his plaid pajama pants, the ones with a little rip near the pocket. He’s focused on the skillet in front of him, brows furrowed, spatula in hand like he’s trying to win an award for best boyfriend breakfast.
You linger in the doorway, quietly watching him like you’re afraid saying his name will break the spell.
He turns at just the right moment, catching you with a sleepy smile.
“Well, good morning, mystery girl.”
You grin. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? You are a mystery.” He gestures to the open laptop on the kitchen counter. “You’re trending.”
Your stomach dips. “So it wasn’t just a bad dream?”
Pedro nods. “Hashtag 'Pedro Pascal Date Night' has entered the chat.”
You groan and pad into the room, barefoot in his T-shirt, curling your arms around his waist from behind. “This is so surreal.”
He leans back into you just enough to kiss your knuckles. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Nothing changes that.”
You rest your cheek against his back. “I know, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it to feel this big.”
Pedro turns gently in your arms and cups your face with those warm, capable hands. “Then let’s keep it small. Just you and me in this kitchen. My bad pancakes. Your bedhead. The rest can wait.”
You nod. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like that.
A few minutes later, you’re sitting at the little dining table while he plates the eggs, toast, and strawberries in a way that’s oddly charming and not very symmetrical. He brings you your coffee just the way you like it—too much cream, not enough sugar.
“God,” you say, taking a sip. “This is dangerously domestic.”
Pedro raises an eyebrow, settling across from you. “Dangerous?”
You smirk. “You’re lucky I’m into it.”
He lets out a low laugh. “You have no idea how into you I am.”
You pause, caught off guard by how easily he says it. How it doesn’t scare you the way you thought it would.
After a beat, you lean across the table and whisper, “So what happens next?”
Pedro reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing the back of it like it’s second nature.
“Whatever you want,” he says. “We will figure it out. Together.”
And there it is again—that quiet thrum of something honest. Something with roots.
summary: eddie likes steve. he's not subtle about it. he's also brave about it, unlike you, and development: steve likes eddie back. you like both of them. well, ain't that just your fucking luck?
warnings: canon divergence, brief mention of homophobia/lgbtqphobia, polyamorous relationship, gn!reader (use of they/them pronouns), buckley!reader, fluff
word count: 7.6k
author's note: this one has been a long time coming! i started writing it so, so long ago, and it's finally ready! i really hope you enjoy it, and if you do, don't forget to reblog! comments are always appreciated as well ♡
↳ taglist ↳ ao3
Eddie was not very subtle.
Well, you actually weren’t sure he was even trying to be subtle, but, if he was trying, it was definitely not working.
Not with all the stolen glances, and the closeness and proximity every chance he could get. Not with all the pet names, and the cat calls, and with the ‘getting nervous and panting and kind of sweaty’ every time he saw more skin than just arms - like a little stomach when a shirt lifted, or a neck when a head was thrown back in frustration.
And you got it. You could definitely understand the appeal. Steve was very handsome.
When he took off his shirt to dive into Lovers Lake to find a portal, while Eddie lit up a cigarette you looked away because you saw the way Robin glanced suspiciously at Nancy - honestly, Robin was the only one not appealed by Steve's lack of shirt - and you did not want that kind of glance being thrown at you too. And after Steve was bitted by those fucking demobats, you saw it in Eddie’s eyes how he wished it was him bandaging Steve up instead of Nancy - and you also kinda wished it was yourself. He got way too serious about throwing his vest at Steve ‘for his modesty’ too.
And when Eddie called Steve ‘big boy’, Harrington was not the only one who got flustered, because suddenly your head was filled with many images that were not appropriate for the running-from-the-cops-and-also-from-a-interdimensional-monster situation you were all in. Eddie seemed so proud for making Steve lose his words. You just stood in the back of the RV and tried to ground yourself instead of giving into the little green feeling growing inside your chest when Nancy sat at the seat beside Steve while he drove. You heard them talking about kids, for fucks sake.
And when Steve looked so worried about Nance, did everything he could to wake her from her trance, even started singing a song he thought she liked, and was later so focused on listening to her plan. When he gave you a tight hug right before he left with the girls to the Creel house, you almost melted into a puddle. Then he looked so worried about Eddie, asked him to not play the hero when the actual plan was about to start, you could understand if Eddie's heart skipped a beat because yours definitively did - and you were sure the metalhead wanted to say something else when he called out for Steve, but he settled for ‘make him pay’ instead.
And you actually thought it was a one-sided thing, but when Eddie woke up weeks later in a hospital bed, in a different state, after literally almost dying in your and Dustin’s arms; you, Dustin, and Steve were there to see him wake up, the huge smile plastered on Steve's face was enough to light up the whole room and Eddie's own smile reciprocated. And you looked at Dustin feeling like you were interrupting something. And they shared a hug, and Steve was cautious not to hurt Eddie's tummy filled with bandages and stitches. And you and Dustin said you were going to grab a coffee, and when you came back they looked a little pinker in the cheeks than they were before and their hairs were all out of place - Steve’s hair was never out of place.
So, yeah, you could understand Eddie's crush on Steve. With his brown soft hair, all prepped up with too much Farrah Fawcett hairspray (Dustin couldn’t keep a secret for his life), always smelling so good. And his caramel soft eyes, worried about everything and everyone around him but himself. And his preppy, stupid polo shirts and jeans combo, always ironed - you were pretty sure he ironed them himself. The freckles that went all the way from his neck down his torso and his back, splattered in such pretty patterns you kinda wanted to connect them like dots in a kid’s play. With your tongue, to be more precise.
But! YOU, specifically, did NOT have a crush on Steve. You just understood why Eddie did.
When all dust had settled and you were able to go back to Hawkins - thank god for Hopper coming back from the dead and giving Eddie all the alibis he needed, and thank god for their FBI friends for covering everything up as they did with the mall situation the year prior - Steve was very eager to have Eddie staying at his place while the metalhead (and his uncle, of course) searched for a new home. Because his trailer was destroyed, of course. And he was still recovering from all the injuries, of course!
Steve was very smart when he needed to be.
Not everyone in Hawkins was entirely convinced of the whole made-up story, and some people were still very rude to Eddie and the Hellfire boys on the streets, but Hopper was definitely more respected than Powell. So no matter what some people thought, the truth installed was that Eddie was innocent after all. Everyone just had to accept that.
After a while, as life went back to normal - as normal as it can be when you’ve saved the world more than once and half the town was under restoration because of an ‘earthquake’ - you started noticing how the boys were always together. Like when you’d pass by Family Video to see Robin (to see Robin, okay!) and Eddie was also there, leaning on the counter with a soft smile as Steve registered someone else’s borrowed tapes.
Or when you’d go downtown and see them together sharing a banana boat on the new Scoops Ahoy franchise that opened up again on Main Street. Or when you’d volunteer with Robin and Vickie to help those whose houses were destroyed and both boys were also already there, following each other around on their assigned tasks. Or when you went to parties or threw your own parties and they always came in together, never left each other’s side, and went back home together too, always just the two of them.
One day you went to Eddie’s work at the music store and Steve came in behind him as he stepped out of the ‘employees only’ door.
I mean, there’s only so much someone who’s not an employee can be doing with an employee inside a ‘employees only’ room. We all know that.
“Hey, guys,” you greeted, faking obliviousness as you went straight to the New Wave session that was slowly growing as more bands went famous across the country - famous enough to reach Middle Of Butt-Fuck Nowhere, Indiana.
“Oh, hey babe!” Eddie smiled as he came to your side. “What can I help you with today?”
You pretended not to shiver with the nickname. “Well, aren’t you employee of the month,” you mocked, looking at Steve (still behind Eddie) from the peripheral, whose cheeks just went pink. “Do you have New Order’s latest?”
“Oh, I think I saw it back there!” both yours and Eddie’s heads turned to Steve as he enthusiastically revealed, and if you thought he was pink before, he had just created a new shade of pink just then.
“I’ll go get it for ya,” Eddie gave you a smile trapped between real and fake and left for the infamous ‘employees only’ back room.
You smiled at Steve, your own smile trapped between soothing and teasing, and turned your attention back to the vinyls in front of you. A few moments passed in silence before he decided to talk again.
“You’re going to Robin’s this weekend?” you looked him straight in the eyes after his question. He could not be serious.
His prolonged silence made it clear that he was serious.
“You do realize it’s my house too?” you asked.
“Oh Jesus fuck, yeah, no, of course!” he waved around and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I know, you’re siblings and all, I keep forgetting that, ‘cause you’re nothing alike, of course it’s your house, it’s just, I was wondering maybe you had, like, another commitment, maybe a date, I dunno, can’t hurt to ask right!” he was babbling.
God, he was so cute.
No, scratch that. Forget it, you’ve never said that. Forget it right now!
“No plans at all this Saturday except to hang out with you nerds. Don’t worry,” you winked at him and he let out a sigh as he smiled.
Eddie came back from the inventory room, New Order’s ‘Brotherhood’ in his hands and that typical huge smile on his lips. “There you go, babe.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and paid for the vinyl before leaving, waving at them through the huge glass windows of the storefront. They waved back just before you saw them running to the ‘employees only’ room again.
Guess they were in their honeymoon phase.
You were completely fine and not envious at all.
-x-x-x-
Saturday arrived, and as you were serving soda to the kids playing board games on the coffee table in the living room, Steve and Eddie walked in knowing there was no need to knock. You walked past them as you went back to the kitchen to fetch some chips.
“There you are!” Eddie sounded excited, a six-pack in one of his hands while he pulled you in for a tight hug with the other one.
You smiled. “Where else would I be, doofus? Hey, dingus.” You waved at Steve through the cloud of Eddie’s frizz.
The boys followed you into the kitchen to put their stuff in the fridge. Nancy and Jonathan were intertwined leaning on the island and only let go of each other to say hello to the newcomers as you poured potato chips onto a big bowl and went back to the living room. Everyone else came back with their drinks in hand, including Robin and Vickie who were in the garden for some reason, and chatter began.
This was something you tried to do at least once a month, reunite with everyone including the kids - especially since Hopper and Joyce joined forces and decided to stay in Hawkins, god knows why but you were grateful for it.
That month the reunion was set on your and Robin’s house, your parents finding it weird that their adult offspring were friends with so many high schoolers when you explained that what you were having was not a party, but a friendly get-together. They let you host it anyway, even with the weirdness of it all, when you promised to clean the whole house - not just the living area where you’d all be at - afterward. And they went for a date that night, to give you the full house - very nice of them, and good for them, you guessed?
Everyone had been busier, with the younglings busy with high school and the young adults attempting at adulting, but you all felt the need to check in on each other every once in a while, and just hang out together in peace instead of trying to fight bullies, or Russians, or interdimensional assholes. Shared trauma was a great bonding experience!
A few hours later you, Mike, and Erica were fighting to decide which movie you were all going to watch when Steve and Eddie came back from the kitchen with a chocolate pie they had brought and several plates and forks. Eddie cleared his throat loudly and the room went quiet, looking at them.
“I, uh, we wanted to share something…” Eddie said as Steve put everything on the coffee table. You adjusted yourself in the bean bag you were lying on. “Me and Harrington, we, uh. It’s just, like. I don’t know, I don’t think you’ll be mad or anything. I mean, it’s not like it’ll be a first-time thing, I know you’re all cool with it, considering Robin and Vickie, it’s just. Uh.”
“We’re dating,” Steve went right to the point.
There was a loud silence for at least one whole minute before Dustin spoke up.
“Okay, and the actual news is?”
Eddie and Steve blinked at the same time.
“What,” was more of a deadpan than a question out of Harrington’s lips.
“You really thought we were all this dumb?” Lucas asked gesturing around to point at everyone in the room. Everyone was nodding along.
“Neither of you is subtle. Like, at all,” Max wasn’t even looking at them anymore, sharing a She-Hulk comic with El.
You couldn’t hold your laugh any longer and saw the unexpected couple looking at you immediately. “You knew too?” Eddie sounded really offended for some reason.
You laughed louder, almost falling out from the bean bag. “Are you not listening? Everyone knew! I went by your work this week and you came out of the back room together! Your clothes were all crumpled,” you pointed at Eddie and heard everyone giggling along.
“And we saw you coming out of a dressing room in that fancy store Steve likes. Also together,” Mike pointed at him and Will, who nodded enthusiastically, a shy smile growing on his lips.
“Eddie’s not even trying not to flirt with you in front of our other clients anymore,” Robin stated.
“You were licking on the same popsicle when we went to the lake the other day. At the same time,” Nancy pointed out.
“Nothing serving as a barrier between your tongues besides a very thin strawberry popsicle,” Jonathan concluded with a smirk.
Both boys looked actually astonished as if they were so sure they were hiding something. They looked at each other again before sighing and sitting down in the only tiny space left on the couch, Steve almost in Eddie’s lap. You turned your eyes away.
“So is this our celebratory pie? For our fist man-on-man couple of the group?” you asked, already diving in to get your piece. “Here’s to many more to come!” Mike choked on thin air, you pretended not to notice.
The conversation was easily shifted back to the movie discussion, the couple ‘news’ soon forgotten as you all settled back into your domestic routine, pies in hands, beers and sodas being shared (age appropriately!), and screaming about terror versus action. Again.
-x-x-x-
Robin had called your work in the middle of your (and hers) shift to invite you to come with her, Steve, and Eddie to the movies after all of your duties were over. You’ve said yes and thanked the gods you always took a change of clothes with you to work so you wouldn’t have to show up to the theater in your ugly uniform.
Not that there would be anyone there you wanted to impress. Of course not.
As you arrived, the boys were already there, but your sister was nowhere to be seen. “She’s in the bathroom or something?” you asked. They shared a glance.
“I thought you’d talked to her?” Steve questioned. You raised an eyebrow. “She wasn’t feeling so good, so she went home. Said she’s sorry.”
“Something about diarrhea,” Eddie grimaced and you sighed.
“Great, love being the third wheel,” you murmured under your breath. “You wanna go do this by yourselves? We can reschedule. Invite Jon and Nancy next time too.”
“No, we wanna go with you!” Steve stated quickly and Eddie coughed loudly. “We promise not to go overboard, okay? We’ll put you in the middle seat.”
“Also, not everyone in Hawkins is nice. Mostly no one, to be honest. So we’re not adept to PDA anyways,” Eddie concluded, shrugging. “Basically no one knows we’re dating except for you, our friends,” his voice was in a very low tone, almost whispered, to not draw attention.
You empathized, also keeping your voice low. “Yeah, that sucks. Robin and Vickie are always complaining about it, and they’re also not openly affectionate to each other in public places. And honestly, I’m really scared for them sometimes. I know Robs can stand up for herself and Vickie, but they’re also so tiny. Little babies,” you brought your thumb and index finger together, showing how really smol your younger sister and her girlfriend were. “And people are mean.”
“What’re some bigots in comparison to a real-life D&D monster, babe? Don’t worry,” Eddie put his arms around your shoulder, Steve on your other side, guiding you to the ticket booth.
Eddie paid for the tickets - something about a fly, yeah, the bug - and both you and Steve fought for the right to buy the popcorn, but while you were bickering Eddie went and bought those himself too. As you finally went to the screening room and took your seats, Steve was serious about you being in the middle. Eddie went to the bathroom while the trailers didn’t start.
“So that’s what he’s like as a boyfriend? Doesn’t let you buy stuff?” you curiously asked Steve while shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. You kept your voice low again so no one would easily hear you talking.
He smiled dreamily. “Yeah, especially since he’s been getting ‘clean money’, as he calls it, with his ‘grown up’ job.” He made quote marks with his fingers. “He’s a really thoughtful guy. I mean, that was already obvious before, but as a partner… it’s different, you know?” you nodded and asked him to continue. He was getting flustered, talking about the boy he liked made him look so cute… You just had to. It was all you would ever get from him, anyway. “He’s very affectionate, as you could guess. He has to always be touching me in some way. I thought I would get annoyed at some point, but it still hasn’t happened and, honestly, I don’t think it will. I like touching him at all times, too.
“He also likes to do everything together, even silly minor tasks like getting groceries or something. Gets me little gifts almost every day, and not always stuff he buys, but things he sees that remind him of me. Flowers that he steals from other people’s gardens, he once bought me a heart-shaped pebble. It’s so stupid,” he giggled.
Giggled!
“And I love it. He’s so kind. People treat him like shit most of the time, and he’s still always as polite as he can. Only fights back the really aggressive ones. Kids are scared of him because of their parents’ closed minds, but he approaches them and tells them not to fear, and plays stupid magic tricks to get them to like him. Helps old ladies cross the streets and shit. He’s probably the best person I know,” he was rambling. Your heart was so full. “And I had no idea, you know. That I could feel like this for another guy. Eddie calls himself my bi awakening,” you both shared a laugh.
“You deserve it, Steve. After Nancy…” you gulped lightly, and so did he. “I didn’t think you would ever get over her. And she wasn’t able to give you the love you deserved, not her fault obviously, but still true. It wasn’t meant to be between you two. But you and Eds really fit together. Pieces of a puzzle, Dingus and Doofus. You give each other the love you don’t give yourselves with those annoying low self-esteem of yours,” you nudged him with your shoulder and he looked down to laugh, but you saw his eyes watering.
After a while, he looked up. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’m really, really happy.”
His smile was really brighter, and his eyes sparkled more. He looked lighter as if part of the huge hero weight he carried on his shoulders had been lifted. You could imagine that the fact that your lives not being in constant danger helped, but love… Love gets you through anything. And you were really, really happy too - for them.
When Eddie came back from the bathroom, bowing for a girl to walk in front of him to her seat, the trailers were already starting. And the bright light from the screen enveloped him in a kind of aura, and his hair looked so fluffy, and his Motorhead shirt sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, his arms covered in tattoos for show. His shredded jeans, and his chain belt, and his funny wonky walk, and the way he fiddled with his rings. He threw himself at the sit beside you, his arm instantly coming to the rest of your chair behind you while the other reached for the popcorn bowl on your lap, his huge trademarked smile plastered on his face and his beautiful calf eyes looking into yours. You gulped. Something inside your belly swirled.
“Ready for the film, babe?”
Your heart almost leaped out of your chest as you nodded and smiled back at him.
Shit.
You had a crush on Steve.
And you had a crush on his boyfriend.
You were so very screwed.
They gave you a ride home, even though your house was way off their own route, and made you sit between them in Eddie’s van too. Steve’s arm was around you and Eddie’s hand occasionally touched your arm or knee and they let you choose the songs - even though none of you shared musical taste by any means - while you commented on the movie. They even got off the van to give you hugs when you arrived home.
And although you had one of the best afternoons ever, you were also mentally exhausted.
Apparently, finding out you had crushes on two people who were dating each other and then spending your whole day trying not to make heart eyes at their every move was very draining.
Robin was in the living room, a random rom-com on the TV that she and Vickie were pretending to watch, while they were actually attached to each other’s mouths. They let go when they heard the door closing behind you though. Your parents were still not home from their jobs.
“Hey, how was the movie?” your sister asked excitedly. You raised an eyebrow.
“The movie was fun,” not that you had paid a lot of attention. “The being a third wheel part, not so much,” you got closer to them and messed up Robin’s hair. “I actually realized I have a massive crush on both of them and kinda wanna throw myself off a cliff right about now.”
You and your sister had absolutely no secrets between you (that’s how you ended up with her, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, a random middle-school nerd and a very sassy ten-year-old trying to break into a secret Russian base under the town mall Summer of ‘85). So it was a no-brainer that you were gonna tell her about your crushes. And you knew she was gonna tell Vickie anyway, so you just said it with her there and then.
Vickie’s eyes widened with your confession, but Robin didn’t seem to bother. “Yeah, honestly, I had that figured out. I know you too well, ya’ know. Can’t hide shit from me anymore. I’m glad you uncovered your truth, though.”
“Fair,” you shrugged. “You look good for someone with diarrhea, by the way,” at that, she did look guilty about, while Vickie laughed loudly, but you wasted no more time before heading to the bathroom.
You needed a long, calming bubble bath to realign your chakras and rest your stupid, stupid little head.
Later that night, contradicting your expectations Vickie went back to her house, and Robin knocked on your door with a PB&J sandwich for you that she left on your nightstand. You were already under the covers, your head buzzing with so many thoughts and feelings that you were no closer to understanding. And apparently, your sister knew that. She laid down beside you, both of you on your sides facing each other.
“How you feeling?” she asked, basically whispering.
You whispered back: “Like shit. I dunno what to do.”
“Do you wanna do something about it?” her hand found yours under the covers.
“I don’t think there is something to be done about it, Robs. They’re dating.”
You both went quiet for a few minutes. You were trying not to cry, but your sister’s caresses on your palm and the warmth of the blankets around you were making it very hard.
“I really thought Steve liked you, you know?”
“What?”
Robin smiled sweetly at you. “Yeah, he would constantly bring you up on random conversations at work. Wanted to include you in every plan we made,” she paused just for a minute. “But, in hindsight… he did that with Eddie too.”
“Well, Eddie reciprocated him faster. And made his move, so there’s nothing I can do about it now. And I’m happy for them, I really am. They look - they are! So happy together. This,” you gesticulated around yourself, “just some goddamn sour grapes. It’ll pass.”
“Yeah, it will,” she got closer to you and hugged you, and you finally let your tears drop.
“Might take some time. Might take some distance,” you sniffled. “But it’ll pass.”
-x-x-x-
You were serious about the distance.
So you tried to steer clear of Family Video, except on days you knew Steve didn’t have shifts on. You thanked every god and the universe that none of the bands you liked released anything so you wouldn’t have to go to Eddie’s work to buy new vinyls or tapes. You’d see them on the streets and take a detour, a longer route home, walked into stores so they wouldn’t see you back.
Robin noticed, of course, she knew you like the palm of her own hand, but she didn’t comment on it. She would invite you to movie sessions with her and Vickie and would hold herself so they wouldn’t be too touchy and accidentally make you feel bad. Not that you would actually care. It wasn’t them you were in love with, your bitterness was not that big.
You even tried to go on dates of your own, tried to force the crushes out of your system. People who’d ask for your number at work, one of your coworkers, even someone that started a conversation about mayonnaise on the market aisle once. But none of them were nice enough, or funny enough, or sweet enough, or snarky enough, or caring enough, or Steve enough, or Eddie enough.
You felt like the biggest idiot in the County.
You couldn’t hide from them forever, though. You couldn’t hide from them at your monthly get-together. Especially when it was being held at the Munsons’ new apartment - mostly financed by government hush money.
And you were avoiding Steve, Robin - his other soulmate - wasn’t. Therefore, it wasn’t a huge surprise when he pulled up on your driveway to give you and your sister a ride to his boyfriend’s house that night. You tried your best not to act like an asshole, but as you sat in the backseat you knew you were quieter than normal. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you through the rearview mirror at every stop at a red light. He didn’t ask, though. He just kept listening to your sister’s rambles.
But, after he rang the intercom and Eddie opened the gateway and Robin ran up the stairs, you tried to follow her but Steve stopped you with a weak tug on your arm. You turned to him.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his hazel eyes filled with worry. You softened.
“I’m good Stevie, can’t wait to see Eddie’s apartment, shall we?” you tried to get past the conversation, but he didn’t let go of your arm.
“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. Seriously, don’t worry. Let’s go, Eddie must be wondering where we are already,” you pulled your arm with strength enough to be released from his grip and went up the stairs without waiting for an answer. You heard him sigh, though.
When you reached Eddie’s floor, he was standing in the doorway. “There you are! For a second I thought you’d bail on me, babe,” he said, and if you had ever heard him call Steve babe you could swear he was talking to his boyfriend. But he only ever called you babe.
He pulled you in for a hug, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the smell of his cologne, the way his hair tickled your nose, the way his cold rings felt against your warm skin, and how he was tracing circles with his thumb on your shoulder.
This was way too hard.
You gently pushed him away, ending the hug faster than you really wanted it to end, and looked at his face. “Give me the tour, will you?”
He grinned widely at you, but you didn’t miss the questioning look he threw Steve behind you before he turned and started showing you the apartment. Dustin, Max, and the Sinclairs were already there - Steve picked them up before he did it with Robin and you.
It wasn’t a huge apartment, but it was enough for Eddie and Wayne. They had a fairly big living/dining room, separate from the kitchen, and two bedrooms now. Eddie’s room was already filled with posters on its walls and ceiling, the usual mess the boy used to make already scattered on the floor. Sweetheart had her special spot on the wall too, looking as beautiful as ever.
As you went back to the living room, complimenting and congratulating Eddie on the house, Nancy arrived with Mike and the Byers siblings. As a heartwarming gift, you had all agreed to participate in a campaign that day, even Steve, Max, and Nancy went for it - after lots of bribery, but still. You had always been curious about it, so it didn’t take much to convince you too.
So you all gathered around the dining room, pulled out your character sheets - the kids helped you create your own characters along the month - and settled for what you knew were hours of adventure. And some (a lot of) bickering.
The one-shot campaign was a success. Eddie was a great DM - not that you knew a lot about that, but it felt like he was a great DM. He said he had some insights from Will, who looked very proud of the help he provided. Everyone seemed to have a good time, even Nancy, Steve, and Max who reluctantly smiled their way through the campaign. Dustin had a blast that his favorite humans were together and enjoying the same things at the same time. Your characters saved the day in the end and it felt rewarding.
Mr. Sinclair had passed by and taken both his kids, plus Dustin and Max, home. Vicky was on her way there to get Robin and you. Nancy and Jonathan, in the living room talking to El, were waiting for their brothers, who were in Eddie’s room talking to both him and Steve.
As you were coming back from the bathroom, you couldn’t help but listen to the conversation.
“…so yeah, Will, it’s absolutely okay to like boys,” Eddie’s voice wasn’t loud, but you were just by the door so it was clear enough for you to hear.
“And how did you know you liked both?” Mike asked.
Steve cleared his throat and before you could pry even longer into their conversation, you passed by to the living room, sitting beside your sister on the couch, arms crossed.
“Okay?” Robin asked, and you nodded. El looked at you in that curious stare she had, and Nancy pretended not to notice. Jonathan was staring at the wall. Probably high out of his mind, and missing Argyle.
You poked on your cuticles until the LGBT lecture for the baby gays was over, and the four boys walked out of Eddie’s room. You smiled as sweetly as you could at Will and Mike - Will smiled back, but Mike seemed kinda shocked and so his smile was more of a grimace. Poor boy needed time to settle into his self-discovery, apparently.
“Shall we?” Nance asked and El and Jon got up from where they were sitting on the floor. They all said their goodbyes to Steve and Eddie before getting out.
A few minutes passed by in awkward silence, you and Robin sitting on the couch, the boys standing up in the middle of the living room, no sign of Vickie. You could see your sister and Steve having a weird telekinetic conversation, you knew he was the other third of her soul, and was already fearing for your life because your sister was known to make stupid-ass decisions.
“I’m gonna take a wee!” aaand there she goes.
She got up way too fast and you couldn’t hold her arm to force her to stay, and so you saw yourself alone with. The boys you liked. It was like your body was preparing itself to ignite into explosive inside-out combustion, a mantra rolling in your head repeatedly ‘calm the fuck down, breathe in-breath out, calm the fuck down!’, not helping very much but you still tried.
Eyes closed, you felt the couch sinking as they both sat beside you. You took a glance and Steve was directly to your right, Eddie beside him, both of them sharing another silent conversation before Steve turned back to you.
“So-” your attempt at cutting the ice was cut out.
“I like you,” Steve blurted. Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
“Steve, what the fuck, Eddie’s sitting right there,” you discreetly pointed at the other boy, your voice somehow caught between a yell and a whisper. Eddie wiggled his fingers at you.
“Yeah, he’s part of the conversation?” Steve answered, sort of asked, and you couldn’t be more confused.
“What.”
“We both like you,” Eddie joined, scooting closer to Steve, making Steve scoot closer to you, making you scoot a little backward.
What the fuck was going on.
“You. Both? Like me?” they just eagerly nodded. “Well, that’s fucking weird. Like, not normal. At all.”
“Is it, though?” Steve asked, no malice in his voice, eyes full of affection. “You like the both of us. Is that weird?”
“WHAT-how-what-no?! What! ROBIN?” your eyes went straight to the little corridor leading to the bathroom where your apparently betrayer of a sister was, and you could swear you heard some thumping coming from that direction.
Steve stretched out his arms, ready to touch you before he gave up. You couldn’t decide if you felt grateful or sorrowful. “No, your sister didn’t betray you. She didn’t have to tell me, I can tell when people like me.”
“You couldn’t tell with me,” Eddie pitched in, and you suddenly remembered he was there. Quieter, probably for the first time in his life. Why was he so quiet?
Steve rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s remark. “Yeah, okay, I said people, not big ass confusing nerds.”
“Are you telling me they’re not big ass nerd?” Eddie pointed at you, but you were still in too much shock to even process what he was saying.
Steve looked at you again, his eyes going back to that affection you saw before, and he called your name sweetly, and you had absolutely no idea what that conversation was and what you were supposed to tell them because, yeah, you liked them, but what? They liked you? And what the hell were you all supposed to do with that?
You didn’t have to answer, though, because Robin got out of the bathroom and Wayne walked in through the front door, and Steve and Eddie scooted backward again, and you got up faster than your sister did with her ‘wee’ whatever.
“Robin let’s fucking go goodnight mister Munson nice to see ya bye boys what the fuck!” you didn’t stop to hear any of their answers, nor for Robin to catch up to you, nor to take a fucking breath, and just bolted down the stairs.
You had a lot of thinking to do that night, wrangled up in your sheets, a PB&J sandwich by your nightstand, Robin probably cuddled up to you.
What the fuck.
-x-x-x-
Two whole weeks passed by.
You continued on your ‘avoid them at any costs’ plan, even though Robin was all up in your ass bugging you to talk to them, even though you told her you didn’t know what to say, even though she practically gave you a scripted speech, even though she tried to convince you it couldn’t go wrong, even though she was most probably right, even though she kept saying Steve and Eddie were in sour moods, even though you felt like shit for making them sour. Because you still had no idea what to say.
But you were also in a sour mood, because you missed them, and because you didn’t understand but you wanted to understand, and because your crush was probably more than a crush, and you really wanted to see where all of this could go even though you have never heard or seen anything like this. Deep down in the confusing fortresses of your heart, you were willing to be a pioneer on that matter. Even if you very likely wouldn’t pioneer shit.
And so when your feet automatically walked six blocks from your work to Family Video on a random Tuesday after your shift, and your heart unclenched a little bit when you saw both Steve’s bimmer and Eddie’s van - and no sign of Robin’s bike -, and when you walked in and saw it with our very own two eyes that even though they were clearly happy to be around each other - Eddie bugging Steve in his closing shift - it felt like something was missing there, and you desperately clung to the idea that what was missing was you.
“How’d you talked about this?” you asked, their heads turning to the sound of your voice, Steve instantly letting go of the broom he was swiping the floor with, Eddie instantly standing up from where he was all slouched over the counter.
“This… what?” Steve asked, his eyes avoiding yours for a second to look outside from the glass doors. You turned around and switched the plate from ‘open’ to ‘closed’. Fuck Keith if he complained Steve closed half an hour earlier.
“This. You liking me. How did you get to that subject, and then decided to bring it up with me?” you pointedly looked at Eddie. He was way too quiet last time. You needed to hear him saying.
He apparently understood you just fine, “I brought it up. Even before we agreed we were each other’s boyfriends, I asked Steve something similar, how did he know he liked me, and he told me how confused he was because he liked both me and you,” he said.
You gulped and tried not to deflate.
“And Eddie said, quote-unquote, ‘fuck yeah they’re the best, I really think I like them too’. And we didn’t do much about it, because we didn’t think there was anything to be done, and soon we were serious about each other. Until Eddie took us to a gay bar he used to go to in Indy,” you think you remembered Robin talking about this to Vickie someday, their plans on going too.
“And we talked to some of the people I knew from other times, and we ended up talking about you a few drinks down, and. Apparently, there are people who date more than one person. And it’s okay,” Eddie shrugged as if it was nothing, a shy smile on his lips, and you hadn’t noticed but you were all a few steps closer to each other. Steve’s broom forgotten on the floor, both of the boys’ eyes on you, adoringly, sweet as fucking candy, a whole conversation they had about you with strangers at a gay bar in Indianapolis.
“I need to sit down.”
Steve brought you a cup of water, and Eddie was sitting beside you on the ‘employees only’ room couch in the back of Family Video. Fucking ‘employees only’ back room. Eddie wasn’t sitting too close, but he wasn’t far, and that was comforting.
You gulped down the water in practically one go and settled the cup on the side table. Scooted a little closer to Eddie, patted down on your other side, Steve followed your command and sat down too. You couldn’t look at them, though, not yet.
“You did your research”, your voice was quieter than you wished.
There goes being a pioneer, you guess.
“We weren’t even looking for it, the information just literally landed on our laps,” Steve said.
“We were just rambling on and on about the person we both like. A lot,” Eddie smirked, but there was no real danger in his smile, never was. Your shoulders decompressed a little, and it was like they were both waiting for that to scoot a bit closer. Eddie’s hands just beside your thigh, Steve’s arm draping behind you on the couch.
A few minutes passed by, your mind a whole mess of a race, but they waited patiently for your next question. “How would that even work?”
“Like any other relationship. Except it’s three of us instead of two. And we can have dates, no one will know it’s a date besides us, it’s what Eddie and I already do, people think we’re just two guys being bros. We will look like three friends hanging out, but we will know.”
“And we can sit next to each other and hold hands, hidden under the diner table, we can have a whole schedule,” Eddie joked, you chuckled, and he held your hand. You let him. Squeezed his fingers with your own. “And sometimes we can go to Indy and we don’t have to hide there.”
“Or we can have home dates, and Eddie can cook, and I can bake, and you can just sit there and look pretty as you do,” Steve’s fingers grazed on the nape of your neck. You got goosebumps.
“Are you saying I can’t cook?”
“Well, last time your lasagna was not that good-” you let go of Eddie’s hand to swat at his thigh, and he laughed out loud. “Just kidding, babe, it’s just cause we wanna treat ya,” you quickly held his hand back.
“You know how Eddie likes to treat the ones he cares about,” Steve said, and you remembered your conversation at the movie, that day.
“Did you plan that movie? When Robbie had ‘diarrhea’?” Steve’s cheeks turned instantly pink, and you and Eddie both snickered at that.
“Stevie might have begged your sister to leave,” there was so much fondness in Eddie’s voice, and you noticed just then, how much fondness was in the voice he used to talk to you, too. “You make him nervous, you see.”
Steve’s ramblings made more sense.
“You make him nervous too, he’s just the weird kind of nervous,” Steve remarked, and now Eddie’s quietness the other day made more sense too.
God, you had been oblivious.
“And we can make this work? You really think we can make this work?” you asked, still unsure. Okay, you weren’t a pioneer, but you still had never heard of this before.
“We can totally make this work, babe. I swear to you is not as complicated as it seems. Is just-” he interrupted himself, thought for a second, his eyes staring intensely into yours, vulnerable, a little pleading, decided to go with it: “Well, it can be just love.”
Eddie’s words echoed in your head for what felt like a long time. Not a fucking crush, oh no. You knew them too well for that. You knew yourself too well for that. All of the fear washed in a wave out of you, and you sighed a happy sigh.
Just love.
Felt right.
“Feels right,” you said, feeling Steve’s forehead thumping on your shoulder, his fingers getting lost in your hair, he was closer than before.
Eddie was closer than before, you looked at him, his nose touching yours, his breath tickling your skin, suddenly his lips on yours, and your whole body collapsed into him, your fingers still tightly holding onto his, your free hand searching behind you for Steve’s hand, Eddie’s free hand in your face, cradling your jaw, so gentle, his lips so soft even though you knew he had a habit of picking on the skin there, but he was so soft, so soft, so soft.
Steve’s lips were on your neck, and suddenly you switched it up, let go of Eddie’s lips, turned your head, now Eddie’s lips on your neck, your lips on Steve’s, he was soft, you knew he liked Chopstick, he was real soft, but his fingers on your neck, tugging on your hair, his hands on yours, he was a bit frantic, not as slow, not as gentle, just as sweet, sweet as fucking candy, and you were going into a sugar-coma, head spinning, breath caught, couldn’t wait to do this over, and over, and over, and hiding in a diner, and in a gay club in Indy, and in your house, and their house, in their beds, or your couch, and over and over and over again, dizzy with all the expectations because you felt it, right through those kisses: you could make this work.
Summary: Reader has a bad day, and goes to her best friends to make it better.
Steddie x pluz size fem!reader, friends to lovers, inexperienced reader, touch starved reader, no use of Y/N (we don't do that in this house), but definite use of pet names, these boys are ridiculous, use of "girl" and feminine pronouns, not an over abundance but they are there! Mentions of slight anger issues, volume control issues, and self esteem issues, all on the readers part.
This is literally only the second x reader fic I've ever written please be gentle!
Enjoy!!! I hope you're all having good days, but just in case, have this! *smooches you*
~°~°~
Your day had been... shit. That's what it had been. Just shit. And nothing new had really happened. Just the same old shit at work, always having to clean up everyone's mess before you could start your own work for the day. Just an endless cycle, day after day.
You clock out, head home, take a shower, throw on your pajamas, and head to see your boys.
They weren't... your boys.. technically. You all were just friends. Steve and Eddie were each others boys, and you were their friend, their best friend, their third wheel who some would say was maybe a little too close to both of them. But you loved them, both. And they both loved you. You were their girl.
And if in your heart of hearts you wanted more, well, no one needed to know that besides you.
Your stomach turned at the thought of them finding out. That you loved them both. A lot more than friends. Afraid they'd judge you, even though you knew, in the logical part of your brain, that they wouldn't. Ever.
You park your car next to Eddie's van and stomp up the steps of the trailer, ignoring the squeak they let out as you pass over them. The doors unlocked so you walk in, like always. Sighing deeply as the door shuts behind you, already feeling calmer. They both look from the tv to you, their heads moving in synch.
"Can I use your bedroom?" You grumble, shrugging out of your jacket and kicking your shoes off to join theirs in a pile on the floor. Eddie's face brightens as Steve frowns.
"Course you can!" Eddie makes to stand. And you know he's gonna come and hug you, and you want it, but you wanna lay in bed more. So you head straight to his room and fall on his bed with a grunt. Your face shoved into his pillow as you move around a bit, trying to get comfy. You settle on your side with a huff, and feel eyes on you.
Steve and Eddie are standing in the doorway, arms crossed, bothing giving you sympathetic looks.
"Bad day?" Steve asks, already moving toward you, he crouches by the bed, rests his hand on your shoulder. You nod, face still scrunched in a frown, you feel like you've been frowning all day.
"Did you eat yet?" He asks, his fingers moving gently through your hair. You shake your head, and Steve gives you a nod, pushes himself to his feet.
"I'll be back." He ruffles your hair and is gone again. And you... you don't know how he does it.
Because usually when people mention food around you, you immediately feel self-conscious, years of your mothers comments running through your head, but they way Steve asks, always, is full of concern, like he wants to make sure you're eating, not telling you you should be eating less.
"Need some love babe?" Eddie's voice cuts through your thoughts and you look at him, thinking, if he only knew. But you nod, once, still frowning. He claps his hands together once and rubs them together.
"Can do. Cuddles imminent. In three... two... one." His voice robotic as he walked toward you and then threw hismelf onto the bed, you rolled towards him, tried to hold yourself back but he grabbed you, curled himself around you, giving you a squeeze.
"Nuh uh. You're not gettin away I just landed!" He shouted, wiggling as he shook you in his arms. You determinedly keep the frown on your face, eyebrows knitted together as he lets you go, so you can turn and face him. He sees your frown and pouts at you dramatically.
"Wanna talk about it?" He ask, booping your nose gently with his finger, you scrunch your face but don't smile.
"Nothing to say really. Same shit." You sigh shake your head. He nods, snuggles closer, moving to put his arm under your head so he can get in your space better. You sigh, fingers picking at the sheets between you.
"I just get so angry. And upset. And then I feel like an idiot because no one else is upset. Or cares? And I'm just there seething and full of rage." You huff, frowning at him. He smiles brightly, moves his hand up again and presses two fingers between your eyebrows, trying to sooth the frown, you bite your lip, fighting a smile.
"But that's just how we like you sweetheart. Seething and full of rage. I'm gonna write a song about you, call it that." He smiles again, his fingers dancing over your face gently before he moves again and takes your hand when you growl at him.
"But I get it. It sucks when your emotions are big like that. But the way I see it, and Steve too, it just means you care. And maybe you care too much, at your job at least, cuz that's never gonna fuckin change right?" He scoffs.
"If anything it just gets worse." You grumble. He nods.
"Exactly. But outside of work, when you're with us, or the kids, we like it. You're so emotive, and I mean shit, you and Dustin get together and it's like a full on shouting match, whether you guys are mad or not." He laughs, your cheeks flush. You have volume control issues, that's... definitely a thing, you groan and hide your face in his arm.
"Hey no! It's a good thing!" He laughs, cups your cheek to get your attention, and then you're staring at him, eyes wide, as he blinks at you, soft smile on his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth and then back, his tongue running along his lips he looks at you. You stare for a second longer and look away, rolling to lay on your back with a sigh.
"Yeah. I guess." You say, you wish you could see yourself the way Eddie does, or Steve, or all your friends. You feel Eddie press close again, his hand settles on your arm, warm and steady as he touches you.
"Want me to go set it on fire? So you don't have to go back for a few days?" Eddie asks, he's so close to you, whispering in your ear, and normally that would make you flush, or lose your train of thought, but his words make you laugh, loud and bright. It bursts out of you, and then you snort and grimace, but you're still chuckling when you look back at Eddie, he's still smiling. His head resting on his hand, he's up on his elbow now, looking down at you, his eyes so fucking fond.
"There she is! Welcome back sweetcheeks!" He says, poking your warm cheek and then pressing a kiss to it.
The air in the room changes, he pulls back, but not far, his breath warm on your face as he looks down at you, eyes hooded, his hand moves up your arm, your skin tingling under his touch, his hand warm through your shirt. Your breathing is shakey as his hand moves further, cups your cheek, his thumb moving over your skin slowly. Your breath catches in your throat when his eyes linger on your mouth. Your brow furrows, you're frowning again, this isn't... he can't be.
"Eddie?" You breathe, at the same time he says,
"Can I kiss you?"
You blink at him, sure he can't have just asked you that, he's with... with Steve. But he's looking at you, his hand still on your face, his thumb moving over your bottom lip now as your heart pounds.
"You- what? What about Steve?" You stammer, licking your lips, your breath faltering again as Eddie tracks the movement.
"Hmm?" Eddie hums, his teeth digging into his lip as he stares at you, you know that look, he's only half paying attention, lost in a day dream. You gulp, he's lost in a daydream while staring at your mouth, his thumb pressed into your lip now, softly, but the pressure is intoxicating.
"St- Steve. What about Steve?" You repeat, weakly. Eddie blinks, looking at your eyes again.
"Oh. Yeah. You can kiss him too." His voice is floaty, like he's still not completely paying attention to your concerns, your heart pounds harder at his words.
"What?" You grab his wrist, tug his hand away from your face and he blinks quickly, coming back to himself.
"What?" He asks, trying to look innocent.
"I can kiss him too?" You repeat his words, pointedly, squeezing his wrist tightly. He nods, once, and fucking shrugs again.
"Yeah. See?" He turns to look toward the door.
"Hey Steve! She can kiss you too, right?" He calls, both of you looking at the ceiling as you hear something fall in the kitchen, you glance at Eddie, he closes his eyes, holds up his finger, nods.
"Uuhh..." Steve's voice floats down the hall, you can hear footsteps,
"Yeaaah." Steve's voice again, closer now. He steps into the doorway, face amused as he looks at you and Eddie. Eddie still towering over you, more so now, he's propped up on his hand, his other hand still in your grasp, resting on your stomach as you gape at them. Steve leans against the door frame, smiling now as he gives Eddie a look.
"You jumped the gun on that a bit, don't you think?" Steve asks, cocking his head to the side. Eddie groans next to you, drops his head back.
"Maybe! The forth of July is so far awaayyy." He whines, looking at Steve with big eyes. Steve laughs, shakes his head. Your heart pounds in your ears as you look between them both, you're... so confused. Steve points between the two of you,
"Pause this conversation. I'm gonna go turn the oven off." He says, sounding so much like a mom. And though you're so fucking confused, pretty sure you might actually be dreaming, because what's happening can't be real, you and Eddie both freeze, like always when Steve tells you to pause. You glance at each other, both of your mouths are open, like you'd frozen in the middle of speaking.
You both start grinning, trying not to laugh.
"You can move idiots!" Steve calls from the kitchen. You and Eddie both break at the same time, laughing and falling into each other. You notice you're still holding his hand against your stomach and let him go quickly, looking away.
"Sorry." You mumble, but he doesn't move his hand, drums his fingers against your stomach until you look down, looking at his hand resting there, your cheeks flushing, not wanting him to touch your stomach. Not that he can't see it. But him touching is different. You push his hand away, move it to the bed next to you. He tilts his head, but keeps his hand where you put it. He opens his mouth, brow furrowed, like he wants to say something, but Steve walks back in with a clap of his hands, settling them on his hips as he looks at you both.
"Okay! Let's talk." He says, sounding... chipper. You and Eddie share a look and then snort at him.
"Wow." You say, an over impressed tone in your voice.
"Steve what the hell? How is that romantic?" Eddie asks, shaking his head, dropping it into his hands. You finally sit up, groaning as you almost tumble to the side, Eddie catches you and holds you steady before letting you go again.
"Romantic? You yelled down the hall to me Munson!" Steve huffs, his thumb pointing over his shoudler. Eddie makes a face, then shrugs. You laugh, they're so stupid.
"He was doing okay before that." You mumble, fingers clenching in the sheets, then letting go.
"Oh yeah?" Steve asks, his voice dropping, making your head feel fuzzy as he looks at you. He looks... hungry. He walks toward the bed and sits next you, you try to make room for him and find yourself pressed against Eddie, who doesn't move.
You look over your shoulder at him, find him smiling sweetly at you.
"Hi." He says, his teeth digging into his lip again as he rests his hand on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your soft skin through your shirt. You're about to say hello back when you feel a hand on your knee, Steve.
You look back to him, your head spinning as you realize you're trapped between them. Though you know trapped is a strong word, they'd never make you do anything you didn't want to, and you know they'd let you up if you wanted.
"You wanna kiss me?" You blurt, looking at Steve like he's lost his mind. He laughs, squeezes your knee, leans forward, his eyes dropping to your lips.
"Yeah. We do." He emphasizes the 'we' as Eddie drops his chin on your shoulder, plastering himself against your back, his arms snake around you, hands hovering in front of your stomach before he rests them on your thighs. The touch makes you jump, but most touches do, you're not used to being touched, not used to people wanting to touch you.
"But I- I mean really? Me?" You ask, your hands shaking.
"Yes. You." Eddie breathes into your shoulder, moving to press his lips against your shirt. Your heart flutters. Steve moves his thumb slowly over your knee.
"But I- wait what was that about the fourth of july?" You ask, getting side tracked, but they both chuckle.
"We had a plan." Steve says.
"Steve had a plan. I thought we should just ask you during movie night." Eddie noses into your neck, making you whimper, he moves his hands up then, pressing his palms to your stomach and then wrapping his arms around you. You shift a little, clearly uncomfortable.
"I'm not letting go this time." Eddie whispers, then stills.
"Unless you really want me too." He says, his arms start to let you go and you grab them, haulting their retreat.
"No! I- I mean no, it's... it's nice." You look into your lap but feel him smile into your neck as he nuzzles closer.
"Anyway. My plan was to ask you at the carnival. But someone, couldn't wait I guess." He huffs, rolling his eyes at Eddie. You snort, patting his arm.
"I have no regrets." He says, sounding absolutely sincere.
"Well, maybe one." He whispers, one hand moving up your side, settling over your cheek, turning your head to look at him.
"What? What one?" You ask, shivering when you feel Steve press closer, his chest pressing against your side as Eddie looks into your eyes.
"I shoulda just kissed you earlier. Yelling at Steve ruined the mood." He sighs, licking his lips.
"Wow rude." Steve breathes into your shoulder, pressing a kiss there as Eddie moves his thumb over your lip again.
"She was so concerned about you babe. Didn't want me hurting you. Isn't that right?" He's staring at your mouth again, you're pretty sure your lungs have given up at this point, you feel lightheaded and overwhelmed and you never want it to stop.
"Aww. Really? That's so sweet of you babygirl. To be so concerned for me. But it wouldn't hurt me. I want this too. Want you too." Steve drags his nose across the skin of your neck, pressing a kiss behind your ear, your body feels like it's on fire, pressed between Steve and Eddie, both of them... wanting you. Eddie's thumb presses into your lip, harder this time, drawing your attention, you swallow thickly.
"Is this really happening?" You breathe, hands shaking where they're holding Eddie's arm around your middle, your fingers clutching him tight. He nods, still staring at you, you feel Steve nod, then feel his hand move up your arm to rest on your neck, his thumb soothing the skin under your ear.
"It's real." Eddie breathes, moving closer.
"We want you. Is that okay sweetheart? You wanna be with us?" He asks, his breath warm as it hits your face.
"We see the way you look us. We're not stupid. Or blind." Steve says, his lips brushing your skin again.
"I don't think your st- I mean I wasn't- I'm sorry." You're not sure what to focus on. But the thought of them noticing you looking at them that way makes your stomach flip, though your current situation certainly suggests they didn't mind it too much.
"You don't have to be sorry honey." Eddie whispers, smiling at you, his thumb dragging your lip down before he releases it. You whine in your throat, looking at him with wide eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.
"We liked it. We like you. Obviously." Steve says, chuckling into your neck, pulling you closer to him, away from Eddie, but Eddie follows, leans after you, still cupping your cheek. You shiver again, so much attention on you, their attention on you, making you warm all over.
"W- I like you too. Obviously." You echo Steve's phrasing, rolling your eyes, exasperated, feeling a little out of control. Eddie laughs, deep in his throat.
"I'm gonna kiss you now." He whispers, licking his lips again, eyes on your mouth.
"And I'm gonna kiss you next." Steve whispers, making you laugh, light and airy, a little manic sounding, as Eddie closes the distance, presses his lips to yours.
You sigh into it, whining again when Eddie's tongue runs across your bottom lip, at the same time Steve presses his lips against your throat. Steve opens his mouth, licks at your skin, making you gasp. Eddie takes advantage of your suprise, tilts your head just so and slips his tongue in your mouth, running it over your teeth as you moan, exploring.
Eddie pulls back, rests his head against yours, letting you catch your breath. A task nearly impossible with Steve mouthing at your throat, his hand on the other side of it tugging you closer, his other hand has moved around your waist, his fingers digging into your soft stomach, like he needs you closer.
"Eddie." You breath, he smiles, kisses you again, soft and sweet. And then he's gone, his mouth moving down you cheek to your neck, Steve's hand moving up your neck to turn your head towards him. You're panting as you look at him, your body thrumming with a heat and energy you've never felt so intensely before.
"Hi there." He says, a smirk on his lips as he looks at you.
"Hi." You sigh, already closing your eyes as he leans in. His lips are warm, and wet from the attention he'd been showing your neck. You whimper again, overly conscious of the fact that maybe you're doing it too much. But you can't really help it, the boys you've been in love with for years were both kissing you, and pulling you close. Both of their hands tugging at you, but it didn't feel like they were fighting over you, just, holding you, and needing you, in tandem.
"Steve." You breath it into his mouth, he smiles into yours, his hands moving to hold your face, pulling you closer, so he can kiss you deeper.
"He's got you princess. Don't worry. We won't let you fall apart." Eddie whispers, licking a long path up your neck and making you squirm, your hands tangled in the front of Steve's sweater as he pulls back, dips back in, kisses your bottom lip, sucks it between his, and then brushes his nose up yours. He rests his head against yours, his hands settling on your neck. Both of you panting into the space between you.
Eddie kisses back down your neck and then rests his chin on your shoulder again. His hand reaches out, grabbing at Steve.
Steve smiles, his lashes fluttering as he leans forward, kisses Eddie deeply as he hums against your back. You watch them kiss, until they part and look at you. You look away quickly, cheeks flushing impossibly deeper.
"Hey. It's okay." Steve's fingers under your chin bring your gaze back up to them.
"You're with us now. You can watch us whenever you want. Okay?" He says it so easy. You nod, feeling hot all over.
"C'mere." Eddie says, tugging you down onto the bed, melding himself against your back, nose pressed into your hairline as he nuzzles into your neck. Steve settles down in front of you, tangling your legs and resting his hand on your side. You squirm at the touch, somehow still feeling uncomfortable, after all that. Steve frowns, presses closer.
"You're ours now. We're gonna touch you. But only if you want us too. Is this okay?" He moves his thumb against the fold in your side, you squeeze your eyes shut.
"It is. Or I- I want it to be. It might take some getting used to." You open your eyes, squinting at Steve, and finding him smiling soflty.
"We can help you get used to it." He whispers, kisses the tip of your nose. Eddie snuggles closer, his arm wrapping around your side, hand settling on your stomach again.
"Be more than happy to. Looking forward to it, actually." Eddie whispers into your hair, presses kisses down the back of your neck until he's snuggled against you again. You chuckle, eyes on Steve, he smiles fondly.
"He gets clingy." Steve says, like it's a secret.
"Shut up Steve. I've been waiting to get in on this for fucking ever man. Let me have this." Eddie hisses over your shoulder.
"Yeah Steve. Let him have this." You huff, but there's a laugh bubbling in your throat. Steve scrunches his nose, snorts, and then curls closer, pressing close to your chest, resting his head on your shoulder.
Your hand twitches, you want to reach out, to touch him, but you're not sure. Steve notices, because of course he does. He takes your hand, presses a kiss to your palm.
"You can touch me. I want you to." Steve nods, lets his fingers slip away from yours and you move your hand over his shoulder, and then up into his hair, moving your fingertips over his scalp until he's humming happily, his eyes falling closed.
"Feeling better?" Eddie asks, kissing at your shoulder now. You nod, cover Eddie's hand on your stomach with your own.
"Yeah. One hundred percent. Best fucking day ever." You breathe, squeezing Eddie's hand as he laughs against your skin.
You lay there, warm, and comfortable, as they hold you. Steve falling asleep with your fingers in his hair, Eddie mouthing lazily at your shoulder. You close your eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of them around you, in case you open your eyes, or wake up, and it's all a dream.
But you know in your heart it's not, a dream that is, it's real, they're here, with you. Because they want to be, they want to be with you. You lay between them, cozy and calm, and happy.
Wake-Up Call
Pairing: Eddie Munson x You
Summary: Eddie doesn't want to get up. Sucks to be him.
Contains: Sleepy Eddie, snuggling under false pretenses, drastic measures, a hasty getaway.
Word Count: 400ish
Eddie Munson is not a morning person.
He would stay in bed all day if you let him.
Normally, you're happy to indulge him. You love spending a lazy day in bed just as much as he does. But today's schedule is packed, so Not Today, Munson.
You'd already hit snooze on your alarm once, and he'd grumbled and burrowed further into your warmth. You figured you could afford five more minutes. Five more minutes never hurt anybody.
And then the alarm went off again. Reaching over and turning it off this time, you begin the process of trying to wake Eddie up.
"Eds. It's time to get up." You know he hates getting up early, but he'll hate missing out on today's plans even more.
He responds with a muffled something that sounds a lot like a "no."
"C'mon, babe," you say softly as you rock against him.
A groan.
"Places to go. People to see. Up and at 'em."
Silence.
"Edward."
He whines.
"At least let me up?"
"No." He grips you tighter, and you wiggle in retaliation. He's not moving, and neither are you.
You scoff and begin to contemplate more drastic measures, and a wicked thought enters your twisted brain.
"Okay," you exhale in apparent defeat. Pretending to give in, you turn to face him and snake an arm around his back. He's awake enough to smirk like he's won. He really should know better by now. Your hand rubs his back for a moment, making him sigh happily… and then your fingers find the edge of the blanket.
In one firm jerk, the covers are on the floor and the cold air rushes in around you. He squeaks and instinctively curls into a ball.
"Mornin', sunshine," you say cheekily, giving him a peck and rolling out of bed with a smirk.
He's still in shock as you begin grabbing clothes to change into… and once he realizes what you've just done to him, he kicks his feet.
He kicks his feet like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum.
It's adorable. And it's also fucking hilarious.
You start laughing, and you can't stop. You laugh so hard, you have to catch yourself on a dresser before you collapse. Tears stream down your face. By the time you've caught your breath and dried your eyes, he's sitting up in bed, seething in your direction with eyes narrowed to the point they're barely slits.
You grab your clothes and make a break for the bathroom before he can get up and get even, cackling the whole way.
originally inspired by gif #3 in this work of art by josephchocolatebuttoneyesquinn
(and then I let it sit in my drafts for far too long and remembered it existed when I saw this beauty by userquinn)
summary: you loved steve harrington years ago, and he loved you. now, coming back to hawkins, you find that things may not be so different.
word count: 14.1k
warnings: fluff, smut, a little angst, exes to lovers, very much idiots in love!
a/n: here it is!!! i hope u guys like it!!! it took a while but hopefully it was worth it <3
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A ‘welcome home’ banner hangs lopsided on the wall.
The party is smaller than the ones you’d become accustomed to at school. That didn’t matter. What did was that your favorite people were around for this one.
It was meant to be a surprise, but Nancy gave you a heads up. She knows you hate surprises, you just don’t have the heart to tell Robin, who absolutely loves surprise parties. Planning them, to be exact. So, you acted shocked, put on your biggest smile.
It was worth it for the beaming grin on your friend’s face, the tight hug as a hello.
You didn’t realize how much you missed home until now. Until you came back.
Small talk isn’t so tiring when it’s with people you really care about. Eddie and Jonathan, Nancy and Robin, even the kids are there to give you the warmest welcome you could ever have. Hugs from some of them, teasing from all of them.
It’s perfect, but there’s an obvious absence. One you’ve tried and tried not to think about. But here, in this room, with these people, you can tell that without him, there’s a space waiting to be filled.
That space has been left open in your life for years. A gaping hole. Then, when the night’s half over and you’re convinced you won’t see him, you hear one word that has memories rushing back to you. Like a flood.
“Ace.”
There’s only one person in the entire world who calls you that. Steve Harrington.
The nickname isn’t the only thing that gives him away. His voice is engraved in your head, the tone, the way it hits your ears. It’s been years since you last heard it, and still, it feels so, so familiar.
You met in high school. Gym class, actually, and you’d been deemed Ace ever since. By him.
It started with friendship, reluctant at first and then impossibly close. It grew into the kind of undeniable thing that pushed you together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. In love.
He was really, really good to you. So good that you didn’t care about who his friends were or what his reputation was. You didn’t care when things changed and he went from King Steve to the best babysitter around. Over a year, you were together.
Then, he was gone.
When you told him you’d be going away for school, he was supportive, happy for you, even. Then, the day before you were set to move he sat you down and broke your heart. I can't be with you anymore, he said.
Not I don’t want to, or I won’t. Can’t. Like he had no other choice.
To this day, you’re not sure why he did it. You called over and over for weeks when you first got to school. He never picked up. You were only able to check on him through your mutual friends. Robin, Nancy, Eddie, all of them.
One day, he was the greatest thing in your life, the next, he’d completely disappeared from it. Like a ghost.
You pushed yourself through school, tried to let go of him. It got easier, but the pinch in your chest when you thought about him never quite went away. You tried being with other guys again, but nothing stuck. It felt like you were cheating, like you could never fully commit to someone else. Your mind, body, and soul still belonged to him.
It got easier eventually. You can’t remember when it did, but over time, thinking of Steve became less like a stab to the chest, and more of a pinch.
When you spoke to your friends, they’d mention him briefly. In passing, like they didn’t want to hurt you with something as simple as a name. You knew he was working at Family Video with Robin, you knew his parents were around even less than they used to be, and you knew he went on dates. Often.
Steve spent every year of you being away trying to convince himself that he did the right thing.
He missed you constantly, but he felt like he’d be holding you back if he stayed with you. A distraction from your college experience, a boyfriend who couldn’t even make it to college himself. Not enough for you.
Now, seeing you at the welcome home party Robin put together, he feels like the biggest idiot in the world. Universe, even. Because how could he have let go of someone that lights up the room like a ray of fucking sunshine.
It’s pathetic that all he could say to you after all the years was his nickname for you.
You turn around after hearing it, the sight of Steve a punch in the gut. He’s just as pretty, if not more, and though he mostly looks the same, he’s grown in ways you weren’t there to see. He’s almost a stranger now.
“Steve,” you manage. “You’re here.”
“Hi.”
It took a lot of convincing from the gang for him to come. Not because he didn’t want to (he wanted to see you more than anything), but because he didn’t want to do anything to make you upset.
Your haircut is different than before, and you hold yourself in a new way, too. But, as soon as he finds your eyes he feels like he’s in high school again, laying in his bed facing you or laughing at the back of the movie theater.
He thinks of the last time he saw you, the tears leaving trails down your cheeks, the way you didn’t let yourself sob until he walked out. His stomach is in knots.
“Hi,” you hold yourself back from reaching out and poking him to make sure he’s real. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Well, surprise,” he sings the second word and throws up some awkward jazz hands. A glimpse of the dork you remember.
Surprise indeed.
“I can leave,” he offers in your silence. He even turns to do so before you stop him.
“No! No, it’s just- it’s been a while.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. It’s too late for that, and as much as you want to know what happened, why he ended things and just… vanished, you aren’t so stuck on that anymore. Four years is a long time.
You aren’t mad about it, it just never fully left your head.
“How was school?” He asks. Safe, easy.
“Well, I graduated. So, that’s something.”
A wink of a smile has the corners of his mouth twitching up. You’re different, but you’re also the same girl he knew. It’s nice to see again, to have hope that he didn’t destroy you.
“I knew you would,” he scratches the back of his neck. He’s not used to feeling so awkward around you. “You can write your own essays, after all.”
That one makes you huff a laugh, makes you think back to late nights spent helping him fix up his writing. Red pen doodles and way too many distractions.
“One of my many talents,” you say.
There’s another pause, a stillness that feels so wrong for the both of you. He put the distance there, and he hates himself for it. “I’ll be seeing you around then?”
“Yeah, Steve. I’m home.”
Yes, he thinks. You are home. Hawkins was missing something without you in it. Or maybe that was just him. Missing something without you.
Just as you’re pulled away into a conversation with Robin and Max, Steve grasps your wrist gently. Your skin burns with the familiarity of his touch. Aches with the memory.
“It’s good to see you, Ace.”
Then, in a blink, he lets you go.
When you turn away, Eddie comes up beside Steve, claps a hand on his back. “Nice, man. Not weird at all.”
“Shut it, Munson.”
Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off of you. He searches for you when he hears you laugh, can feel his pulse jump when you throw your head back the way you always have. He lets his eyes linger when he knows he shouldn’t.
You catch him once. You can feel his stare on you like a breeze, tickling the back of your neck. When you turn towards him your eyes lock, just for a moment.
-
Hawkins is mostly the same. The stores on Main Street still have worn awnings, letters faded and colors dimmed. The arcade sign still flickers, Enzo’s is still the best restaurant. The movies where Steve used to take you on dates, his house with his BMW in the driveway.
It’s hard to be back and not let Steve bleed into everything.
At school, it was easy not to think about him. You’d bury yourself in studying and projects. Here, he’s everywhere you look. The town is painted with memories of you and him. He’s written all over the place.
You thought you were over what happened, that you could come home and not let it phase you. You had no idea it’d be like this.
Despite it all, you’re glad to be home. You like waking up to the peacefulness of light wind and leaves rustling. It’s a lot nicer than a dorm building full of students and the constant noise of the city.
You’re tremendously happy to be so close to your friends again, too. There’s no more worrying about whether or not you’ll see them anytime soon, no more sporadic phone calls that just make you miss them more.
But still, there’s that empty space. Steve-shaped.
The next time you see him you’d decided to visit Robin at work. It took you about a week of being home to get yourself to go into Family Video, knowing Steve works there. You have to get used to him again.
Sure enough, when you walked in, there he stood. Green vest and all.
When the bell above the door jingles to signal your entrance, Steve turns to look at you. He sets down the box of stock he’d been holding, and your eyes follow the way his arms flex before you can tell them not to.
“Ace, hi.”
“Hey,” you send a short wave his way, rocking on your feet. “I’m just meeting Robin for lunch.”
He probably knows that, but you say it anyway, trying to fill the void of silence that hums between you.
“Yeah. She’s in the back already,” he says. “I can show you.”
“Sure, thanks.”
He almost places a hand at the small of your back to guide you, just like he used to. It’d be so natural, so simple. Instead, he clenches his fist by his side and shuffles in front of you, nodding his head for you to
follow.
“So, um,” he stops in front of the door to the back, turning to face you. “We still do movie nights. All of
us, like we used to. You should come.”
“Are you sure?”
Movie nights are always at Steve’s, and you don’t want to be there if it’ll cause any problems, as much as you’ve missed the sense of tradition. Routine.
“There’s an open spot on the couch for you anyway. Always has been.”
When you were away, you worried your friends would replace you. Forget about you, even. That clearly wasn’t the case.
“I’d love to go. If you’re sure it’s okay.”
“As long as you still don’t mind Eddie talking through the important parts.”
You shake your head, a small, close-mouthed smile on your face.
“Wouldn’t be a movie night without it.”
The bell above the door rings again, and Steve turns to see the customer. “I should get back.”
You nod. You watch him go, watch him greet the woman who walked in with his classic smile.
You just have to get used to him again, that’s all.
-
Walking the steps up to the Harrington’s front door is something you’ve done time and time again. So, it shouldn’t feel so odd, really.
It used to be an almost daily occurrence. Now, it takes you some mental preparation before you can bring yourself to knock on the door. This time, it isn’t Steve who answers, it’s Robin. You’re grateful for it, because stepping into his house again is already a bunch to take in.
“You came!” She says, grinning.
“Of course I did. I missed movie nights a bunch.”
You really, really did.
While you had a couple of friends in Indianapolis, the connections were shallow. Especially compared to what you have here. There, they were friendships formed from convenience. Roommates or project partners. It was a lot lonelier than you let on.
“We missed you, too.” Robin walks you into the living room, where cheers of your name ensue.
“Look who it is,” Eddie speaks from where he sits on the ground in front of the TV, setting things up.
There’s a shift from the loud, giddy greetings when Steve walks into the room, bowl of popcorn in hand. It’s like everyone’s waiting for one of you to burst.
“Hey. You made it,” Steve says. No bursting, just some sort of tension that hasn’t gone away since you saw him at your party.
“Yeah. Thanks again for inviting me.”
“Surprised one of them didn’t beat me to it,” he nods at your friends that are scattered across the couches. Your friends whose eyes are ping-ponging between you both.
It’s almost like you can feel everyone take a breath of relief when you plant yourself by the armrest of the sofa. When you shoot Steve a small, barely-there smile. A peace offering.
Halfway through the movie—broken up by constant Eddie commentary, and various ways of someone telling him to stuff it—Steve notices the way you’re curled up, cardigan pulled tight over your body.
He reaches across Robin to hand you a blanket wordlessly. She nudges his shoulder when you aren’t looking, gives him a look that tells him she knows something, even if he doesn’t.
He’s always been attentive, but you’re surprised when the soft fabric is passed over. You wonder if he realizes it’s the blanket you’d always reach for when you were over. If he realizes he handed you the one you’d cuddled him under countless times.
He doesn’t, you’re sure. Why on earth would he remember those things? Or even care?
After that night, the group slowly becomes whole again. The others stop planning separate things with you or Steve. It’s like they waited for you to get acclimated to being around each other again, tested the waters.
It’s as sweet as it is sad. You never wanted to mess anything up, make anything harder.
Though you see Steve a lot more often, your interactions with him remain short and distant. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to feeling so far away from him.
While you were away, over time, the memories became less vivid, as did the pictures that still sit in your bedroom at home. Sun damaged and faded. Your feelings, though, they never really dimmed, only pushed to the back of your mind and shoved into a box labeled Steve.
That box has been bursting at the seams.
Still, you try to keep it shut, to push it all aside and be friends with him again. Or, friendly, at the very least.
Steve keeps a framed picture of you in a drawer in his bedside table. Maybe that’s weird. It used to sit atop of the table, but he moved it when it got too hard to look at your face without thinking of how it looked when you cried.
Having you around again is hard, but it’s more so a relief. He’s missed you so, so much, and even though things aren’t the same and they might never be again, he’ll take you in his life any way he can have you. And this is a start.
The hardest part, he thinks, is burying all the things he never got to say. I’m sorry, I just wanted what was best for you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s no use now, he knows that, so he swallows the words down. They make his stomach ache.
He needs to distract himself from it all, because it’s too much. Seeing your face almost every day again, not being able to reach out and hold it like he used to.
It’s way too much.
-
You got a job at Enzo’s to keep yourself busy.
While you’d love to stay buried in your bed all day, or walk around aimlessly until you end up at Lover’s Lake, sitting by the water and listening to it move, your parents decided it’d be better for you to do something valuable with your time.
Besides, waitressing isn’t so bad. You mostly work nights, allowing you the sleep-ins you love so much, there’s not so much pressure when you already know most of the people you serve, and the tips are always nice.
It’s mostly a breeze—besides a spill incident—until Steve shows up there on a date. Seated in your section.
Your coworker had warned you, “new table for you. Looks like a date.” And there he was. His hair done like always (does he still use Farrah Fawcett spray?) and his dress shirt a little wrinkled.
When it’s time to head over, you shut your eyes and take a grounding breath, slap on your customer service smile. You introduce yourself like you always do, the ‘I’ll be your waitress for this evening’ spiel.
Steve looks up from the menu as soon as he hears your voice. He’s stunned, eyes wide and mouth ever-so-slightly agape while he looks at you. He tries to recover quickly. If he’d known you were working tonight he never would have brought his date here, never would have subjected you to that on purpose. He feels like shit.
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” You say. Waitress persona engaged, praying your face doesn’t look forced.
She orders first. Her voice is sweet, and she’s pretty. Why'd she have to be so pretty?
“Just water for me. Thanks, Ace,” Steve says, letting the nickname slip. It’s like he can’t hold it in around you.
“‘Course.” You turn quickly to get their drinks.
“Ace?” Steve’s date, Becky, asks.
“We’re friends. From school. Just a nickname.”
He simplifies it. There’s no point in telling the whole story. It’s over—he’s had to remind himself of that constantly—and it’s his fault. Not the type of thing he needs to share on a first date, that’s for sure.
“Oh, okay. So, what are you getting?” Somehow, she accepts the answer easily.
You shouldn’t feel so shaken by this. Really, you shouldn’t. You were with Steve ages ago, and it’s been over. You don’t have any sort of claim over him anymore. None.
So why is your stomach twisting every time you catch him smiling at something she says?
All you know is that it won’t do you any good to think about that too much. You busy yourself with getting their drinks instead. You approach the table carefully, not wanting to spill anything.
“For you,” you set her drink down. She thanks you. She’s nice, too. “And, water for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You guys ready to order, or do you need a couple more minutes?”
It’s like you’re on autopilot, repeating the same phrases you do to every single table, hoping that it comes out sounding natural.
“I think we’re good,” Steve says, gesturing for his date to go first.
He almost feels like he should apologize to you. Then again, maybe he’s reading into things too far. As much as he feels like he can tell when you’re uncomfortable, when your smile is forced, he has no idea if your habits are the same as they used to be.
You’re cautious not to let your hands touch when you collect the menu from Steve.
The rest of their dinner is much the same, and you’re grateful any time you can distract yourself with a different table. Your actions are stiff, your words practically robotic.
Still, before he leaves, Steve leaves you a tip and a scrawled note on a crumpled receipt: ‘Thank you. Sorry for the ambush. -Steve.’
You still have notes from him, in that same, charmingly messy handwriting, buried in a shoebox in your closet. Notes you didn’t have time to get rid of in your rush to move. Notes you should probably get rid of.
Not only did he leave you a note, he was outside waiting for you when your shift was over.
He wasn’t going to wait. He was going to leave it at the note and hope that you weren’t bothered as much as he thought you might be. Maybe it was stupid to think you’d be affected by him being with someone else in front of you after all this time, but he couldn’t ignore the instinct he got when he saw the look on your face. The guilt he felt.
He catches you as you walk out the door, startling you a bit, “Ace, wait up.”
“God, you scared me. What are you doing here?”
“Sorry,” he says, falling into step beside you as you walk to your car. He’d parked two spots over. “Actually, I just wanted to say that. Sorry, I mean.”
“You already said that,” he tilts his head, a question. “On your note.”
“I didn’t want you to think I did that on purpose. I didn’t know you worked at Enzo’s until tonight, actually.”
“I haven’t been for long,” you amend. “I’m not upset with you, Steve.”
The words hold a lot more meaning than you expected. You really aren’t upset with him, not over tonight, and not over what happened years ago. You’re more upset with yourself for letting it get to you even now.
“Good. That’s- I never wanted to hurt you.”
His words are heavy, too. You’re too tired to hold the weight.
“What about your date?” You stop next to your car. He stops, too.
“I drove her home already. Came back after.”
Really, he was halfway home after dropping off Becky, but he couldn’t shake his worry that he’d caused even more strain on your relationship. He turned around without a second thought.
“She seems nice,” you say.
“Yeah,” he looks around the parking lot, stares at the streetlight for a second. “So, we’re okay?”
“We’re okay,” you confirm.
You can’t help but hope that saying it out loud will make things feel better with him. That maybe, you could be some sort of friends again.
He nods, “okay. Sorry again,” he searches for his keys in his pocket, “have a good night, Ace.”
He walks the short distance to his car while you fumble to unlock yours. Climbing in and shutting the door, you let your head fall against the steering wheel, forehead pressed to it.
What a night.
-
Steve’s seen Becky a few times since the date at Enzo’s.
She is nice, and he does like her, but he hasn’t been able to let her kiss him anywhere other than the cheek. So far, she hasn’t said anything, but he knows that he won’t be able to dodge her without question for much longer.
When you were gone, though it took time, he was able to be with other people. It never lasted long, and he rarely went through with things without thinking of you at least once. He can’t even give someone a peck on the mouth.
It’s like as soon as he thinks he can lean in and do it, his mind is all Ace Ace Ace, and he finds he can’t.
He’s trying his best to ignore it, to hope that in getting used to you being back, he’ll get used to not being with you, too. So far, it hasn’t been working very well. He dreams more often than not, and even in sleep, he can’t seem to escape your face.
Instead of digging into whatever mess he’s sure that’ll cause, he’s been seeing Becky.
It’s unfair, he knows it is. To her and to you, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He isn’t thinking straight because you’ve rushed back into his life so quickly he can’t catch up. He’s trying to bury the feelings he has for you by focusing on someone else.
Though, maybe focusing isn’t the right word, because his mind still wanders to you. A bunch.
He’s confused and he’s scared and he misses you. He doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s pushing to the surface once again now that you’re home, and he doesn’t want to because he’s afraid of what it’s sure to become. What might’ve never even left.
He misses you but he can’t do anything about that. So, Becky it is.
-
The breeze tickles your cheeks as you make your way through the trailer park in search of any of your friends.
Somehow, Eddie and his band managed to make their own gig out by the picnic tables, and, of course, he’d invited the group to come watch. When you first became friends with Eddie, he was reluctant to let you all in on his music. Now, though, he lets everyone know there’s a spot for them saved at every performance.
You follow the noise, finding where a small crowd of people has formed by the tables that have been pushed together to serve as a stage. Probably an unsafe one, at that, but it’s Eddie. He cheers when he spots you from where he stands on the middle table.
“She’s here!”
“Can't miss the first show I’m back for, can I?”
“The rockstar would not have that,” Robin says, giving you a quick side hug.
“Thank you for calling me a rockstar,” Eddie replies.
You say your hellos to the others, Nancy, sitting on the bench attached to the table Eddie’s stood on, Jonathan, fiddling with his camera.
“Is Steve not coming?” You ask. Hopefully in a casual way.
“No, he is,” Nancy says.
“Likes to be fashionably late,” is what Robin has to say.
You nod, turning your attention to Eddie, “so, how many of these songs are new?”
“To these fools, none,” he points lazily around the group. “To you, all of them.” He smiles, and it makes you smile, too. You’ve missed being able to support him in person.
“Can’t wait to hear them, then.”
“Dingus!” Robin yells happily.
You know she’s talking about Steve. You turn around to find him. Probably too quickly.
“Hey guys,” he waves. It’s then you notice that he’s not alone. His date that he took to Enzo’s is with him. She waves, too, her arm curled around Steve’s. “This is Becky.”
She’s met with polite greetings. Your mouth, for some reason, stays shut.
Robin comes to stand beside you. She looks at your expression, the shock that you shake your head to clear, the tiniest bit of hurt that lingers in your eyes. You look at her, and she raises her eyebrows at you, are you okay? It’s silent, but you know it’s what she’s asking.
Isn’t that a question. You don’t know why your stomach sinks when you see her with him. Again. Well, maybe you do know, you just don’t want to accept it. The feelings you’d had for Steve were meant to be long, long gone.
Only, since being home, you’ve realized they aren’t.
Even though things with Steve have been far from the same as before, even as when you were friends, he’s still Steve. He’s the kind boy you knew, only older. He still cares about the kids the way an older sibling would, he still puts his friends before anything, and he’s still the greatest person you know.
You simply shrug at Robin.
Then, Becky’s in front of you, “we already met, right?”
“Yeah, um, hi.”
“Hi. It’s nice to at least have a familiar face here.”
God, you want to dislike her so bad, but you really can’t. She’s kind, and she’s clearly making an effort to make a good impression. It’s annoying.
Steve knows he probably shouldn’t have brought her with him, but she’s been asking to meet his friends so frequently and he figured that Eddie’s gig would be as good a time as ever. At least here, there’s a crowd to hide in.
He really does like Becky, just not in the way he’s supposed to. He thinks he might’ve spent all of those feelings on you, and there’s no way he’s getting them back.
Eddie jumps down from the table and pulls Steve aside, “what are you doing?”
“Dunno what you mean.” He does, actually. Only, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“Come on, man. You can't tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you,” Eddie’s not talking about Becky. He’s talking about you.
“She doesn’t look at me. Not like that.”
“Sometimes you really are an idiot, you know? She looks at you like you put the fucking moon in the sky, all melty and shit.”
“She used to look at me like that. I fucked it up. That’s gone, okay?”
“Is it gone for you?” Eddie says.
“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says. When he looks at you, however, it feels like it matters. A lot.
“Just saying. Think you might’ve brought the wrong lady.”
Steve already feels bad about what he’s trying to do with Becky. Seeing her to distract himself from you. He hates that even his friends are seeing through it. Is it really that obvious?
Eddie turns away to finish setting up with the band. Steve sees Becky talking to you of all people and he almost smacks himself right there. He’s so, so stupid. He walks over, into the mess he’s created.
“Hey, Ace,” he nods at you quickly, then turns to Becky. “Why don’t we go find a spot to sit?”
“We aren’t watching here?”
Steve looks between you and her quickly. Really, he’s just trying to save you from having to talk to her. He can still tell when you’re itching to get out of a conversation.
“Think the speakers might be too loud for you, babe.”
You miss whatever reply she gives him, stuck on his use of the word babe. The last time you heard it come from his mouth, he was saying it to you. It stings even though it shouldn’t.
It’s over. It’s been over. So why is it so hard to forget about it?
-
You never really got used to seeing Steve with Becky.
He didn’t bring her around often—maybe for your sake—but when he did, you’d find yourself keeping your distance. At least one person between you and them, like a buffer.
It felt like the progress you’d made with Steve, with not feeling so far away around him, was disappearing every time you saw her standing with him. You hated it, how you let things affect you.
A couple of weeks went on that way. Then, you got a phone call.
You’d been sitting on your bed, back against the headboard, doing absolutely nothing. The shrill ringing came from your bedside table, and you leaned over to pick it up mindlessly.
“Hello?”
“Ace.”
It’s Steve. He hasn’t called you since you’ve been back. His utterance of your nickname sounds like a breath of relief.
“Steve? What’s going on?”
“Can I come see you?”
“What?” You’re convinced you misheard him, or that something’s wrong. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, promise,” he pauses. “Well, I broke up with Becky. But I’m good, okay?”
He broke up with Becky? He broke up with Becky and decided to call you. You’re not quite sure what to do with that.
“You- did something happen?”
“No, no. Just- I’ll explain everything. Let me see you.”
It's hard to say no to him, and you can’t help but be worried. You say yes, a quiet word whispered into the phone.
“Thank you,” he says. “See you soon, Ace.”
“Bye.”
You barely get the word out before the sound of his phone being hung up echoes in your ear. It’s only then, in the silence of your room, that you notice your heart pounding, a heavy thump in your chest.
Steve knows it’s selfish to want to see you now, after he’s just broken up with someone. It’s the first actual breakup he’s had since being with you, and yet, he’s not even upset. He just wants to see you.
Sure, he liked Becky, but she could never really erase his thoughts of you. He felt awful about staying with her for the reasons he did. So, he broke it off.
Now, he's knocking on your window.
The tapping wouldn’t be so noticeable if you hadn’t been waiting for it. He never did like using the front door.
You open the window for him, move backwards a couple of steps to give him enough room to stumble inside, hair a little messy, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, devastatingly pretty.
It brings you back to high school. Steve, sneaking through your window at night just to fall asleep with you, his arms a safety net, his steady breathing a lullaby. Steve, peering at you through the glass with that grin of his. Steve.
“You know you can use the door, right?” You say.
“Not my style,” he takes a second to look at you. “Hi, Ace.”
You shift on your feet.
“Hi.”
“I know this is…” He trails off. There’s not really a single word for it. “Thanks for letting me come.”
“I’ll always be here for you.”
You mean it. Even after everything, he’s Steve over it all. Your Steve, who was the greatest friend you ever had and, somehow, an even better boyfriend. He’s never been horrible to you; not even close.
Sure, he broke your heart and fell away from your life right after that, but you know him. You know there’s something he hasn’t told you about that, and if letting him in through your window again is a step closer to hearing it, you’re willing to take it.
“Even after what I did?”
“I don’t think you could ever really lose me, Steve.”
That hits him in the gut, a painful twist. Because he thought he did. Yes, he broke up with you (he regretted it very quickly), but he’d fought the urge to pick up the phone and call you at school more times than he can count.
“You’re a good person, Ace.”
He’s tiptoeing around whatever he wants to say to you. You talk softly, “why’d you want to see me?”
“I just needed to make sure you knew something.”
“What is it?”
“Just- I never kissed Becky. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.”
It’s the first time either of you have said it so plainly. There’s a wince on his face when he does. Small, but you catch it all the same.
“Robin said you were dating people, though.”
“Yeah, but I never kissed them. Ever. I couldn't.”
He slept with people—which was still hard—but to him, nothing feels as intimate as a kiss. He could never bring himself to cross that line with someone else. Not after how you would kiss him. The way everything else would melt away.
“I need you to know that. And I broke up with Becky because I couldn’t be with her without thinking of-” he stops, shakes his head, like he can’t get the words out. His eyes are holding onto yours when he says, “-someone else.”
“You climbed through my window just to tell me that?”
“I guess I did.”
He hadn’t thought about what comes next, what to do or say. Hell, he could barely even say what he meant in the first place. He wanted to say he’d been thinking of you, but the word got stuck in his throat. He hopes you can still read him enough to know what he meant.
“So, you were with Becky… why, exactly?”
“I thought- I don’t know. I thought I’d be able to push, um, someone else out of my mind if I was with her. I wasn’t, obviously.”
You’re practically speechless. Never would you have imagined that Steve was still thinking of you in any way, let alone so much so that he couldn’t fully give himself to anyone else.
Then again, you were never able to do that, either.
“I don’t know what to say,” you shrug, shoulder to your cheek.
“You don’t have to say anything, really,” he says, though there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You hate to be the one putting it there. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Steve. We aren’t together, I know that.”
He hasn’t been able to forget about that for a day. It’s like his life without you in it was a permanent winter. The snow never melting, the cold sinking into his bones. He hadn’t even realized it until you came back.
The wind picked up, frostbite ate away at him. Then, just like that, the sun was shining again. He hopes the snow will thaw soon.
He feels like an idiot right now. An idiot who can't spit out the right words and who can't leave you alone even when he knows he should.
“I should go.”
“Steve-”
“No, I’ll go. I’m sorry for dropping all of that on you.”
He’s turning his back to you, opening the window, worrying you all over again.
“You can stay.” Please, stay.
“I’m really sorry, Ace.”
Sorry for letting you go, sorry for disappearing, sorry for being a coward, sorry for fucking things up even now.
By the time you gather your wits enough to walk to the window, he’s crossing your lawn quickly. You watch him go until his figure fades into the night, the wind a low whisper in the air.
-
You do a lot of thinking that night, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. After what might be twenty minutes or two hours, you find you aren’t upset with Steve in the slightest. If anything, you’re worried.
And maybe, selfishly, a little hopeful, too.
It’s not even the breakup itself. It’s the way he spoke, the way his eyes lingered and his frustration seemed to soften just a little when he looked at you. It’s the way he had to make sure you knew he hasn’t kissed anyone since you, that he called and came over just to tell you that.
Maybe you should be angry, but all you feel when you think about Steve is something you’d convinced yourself was long gone. A feeling with wings, fluttering.
You decide that you need to talk to him again.
That decision has you walking through the door of Family Video early the next day, when you’re sure it won’t be busy. You had to double check with Robin that Steve was the one opening (you could practically see her knowing smirk through the phone), and sure enough, he stands behind the counter.
The bell above the door jingles, cutting through the silence of the store. Steve glances up to find you, rubbing his tired eyes to make sure you’re really there.
“Am I dreaming?” He says.
Steve was convinced you’d never want to see his face again after the shit he pulled last night. After dumping information on you that you hadn’t asked for, then leaving as soon as he got scared.
“If you are, so am I.”
“Robin’s not here.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to after…” he trails off, like he’s embarrassed to have to bring it up.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I feel like I should be asking you.”
“Steve.”
His name still sounds the best in your voice, he thinks.
“I’m okay, promise. Last night, I guess I just- I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. While I was gone.” Every single day since I left, I missed you.
You’ve both felt it for a long time, but now’s the first time someone’s been brave enough to say it. The words settle in the air for a moment, hanging between you.
“I’m sorry, Ace. For everything.”
You want to fall into his arms as easily as you used to, to squeeze him and tell him it’s okay, it can be okay, if you try hard enough. The counter standing between you stops you from it, maybe for the better.
“Do you think- do you think maybe we can be friends again?”
I don’t know if I can just be your friend, he thinks. Not after knowing what it’s like to kiss you and wake up beside you, to touch you and love you. If it’s the only way to keep you around, though, he’ll give it all he has.
“I’d like that.”
Your smile is almost shy, but it’s there.
“We used to be better at this. Talking, I mean,” you say, trying to be light.
“We’ll get better again.”
It’s quiet again, save for the murmur of whatever movie Steve chose for the morning playing on the TV.
“I hope you know I haven’t been, like, holding a grudge, or anything. I forgave you a long time ago.”
You had to, even when it still hurt, even when you still wonder why things changed so quickly. He’s a human as much as you are, and letting things fester for years wouldn't do either of you any good.
Still, like any wound, it still bleeds from time to time.
“Doesn’t change that I’m sorry, Ace.”
You shy away from the sincerity in his stare, from the brown in his eyes that could so easily draw you back into him completely.
He bends to catch your eye, though, making sure you know he means it.
-
Letting yourself get close to Steve again is easy, it’s the friendship that’s hard.
He’s a good friend, you see it in his interactions with everyone around you. He’s a good friend and still, you can’t stop thinking about the kind of boyfriend he is. Caring and loving, full of touches to give, a hand on you whenever it could be. You miss the warmth of that hand.
You keep that to yourself , though, because things are better. So much better.
You and Steve don’t avoid each other anymore, the smiles aren’t so forced or small, the words not so careful. The only subject you stay away from is the breakup, and even then, you don’t think about it so much now that he’s around again. You think about everything before that. The good and the in love, sticky and sweet.
Tonight, he’s convinced you to come along and chauffeur the kids to the arcade. In turn, you’ve convinced him to go inside with you.
The various neon lights bathe your skin, blues and oranges, pinks and greens. You can't help but think they glow a little nicer on Steve’s face.
“What’s the first game gonna be?” You turn to look at him over your shoulder as you walk between the rows of games.
“Your choice, Ace. This was your idea.”
“Fine by me,” you shrug a shoulder, grinning.
Falling into conversation with Steve proves to still feel natural. You’ve gotten the chance to spend time with him more since you talked that morning at Family Video, and it’s paid off. Light teasing and check-ins are what they used to be before.
The part that still makes your heart beat faster, almost like it’s trying to find his, is what hangs in the silence. There's knowledge there; the silence used to be comfortable, and now, it’s full of questions and tension. What’s too much? What crosses the line of friendship you’ve had to draw?
If you’re being honest, being Steve’s friend almost makes you miss him more. You had to do it this way, though, if only to protect yourself from losing him ever again.
You’ve been pushing away any thoughts of Steve as a boyfriend as far away as you can.
“Okay,” you stop in front of Pac-Man.
“A classic,” he nods, putting change into the slot. “Ladies first.”
“Scared, Harrington?”
“Of you?” He shakes his head. “Never.”
Of what he feels for you, maybe.
You play well, and Steve watches your hands move as you do. He watches your eyes as they flit about the screen, your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. Watches, still, when you throw your head back and groan when you lose.
“My turn,” he says, bumping you over with his hips.
Despite his confidence, Steve loses really, really fast.
“It’s broken,” he declares.
“It’s not,” you say. “Try again.”
“You just like to see me lose.”
You wiggle your way in front of him so that his arms cage you in, one on either side of you, leaning on the game. “I’ll show you.”
He hopes he isn’t breathing as hard as he thinks he is. He can feel the ghost of your back against his chest, so, so close. He slips another coin into the slot and lets you guide his hands to the controls.
His hands are just as warm as you remember. Solid and softer than they look. You refrain from interlocking your fingers with his and focus on guiding him through the game. It’d be so easy to hold his hand, though. Muscle memory.
This time around, even when the screen tells him ‘game over,’ Steve feels like he’s won something at the slightest bit of contact you’d initiated.
Dustin finds the two of you, still playing Pac-Man, and taps his wrist. Duty calls.
After dropping the kids off, the car much quieter, you let yourself look at Steve as he drives. His side profile, the slope of his nose and line of his jaw, the way he squints at road signs.
“You should be wearing your glasses,” you say. You’re not even sure if he still has them.
“You know I hate those things.”
It’s true, you do know that. He barely even wore them around you when you’d been dating. They made him shy, even though you told him he looks pretty either way, any way.
You find that you still know a lot of things.
You still know him. You know that he owns a pair of reading glasses. You know that he scratches the back of his neck when he’s nervous. You know that he knuckles at his eyes when he doesn’t get enough sleep. You know that he sunburns easiest on his nose, cheeks, and shoulders. You know him. All the small things, some he may not even know himself.
You might’ve missed some stuff, but really, you still know him. You still love him, too.
That realization hits you, a gust of wind strong enough to knock you off-balance if you weren’t sitting. You’ve been trying and trying to keep it all away. Yet, here you are, looking at the strand of hair that falls over Steve's forehead, realizing you love him all over again in the passenger seat of his BMW.
Maybe you never really stopped.
“Ace, did you hear me?”
“Hm?” You blink and suddenly he’s looking at you, too. And the car’s not moving. When did that happen?
“You zoned out on me, I think,” he runs a hand through his hair, pushing that strand you'd been focused on back into place. “We’re here.”
Your house, he means.
“Sorry. Thank you for driving,” you say, reaching for the handle and popping the door open. You bonk your head in your haste to get out.
“Shit! You okay?” He says, his hand reaching for you even though you’re too far to touch.
“Yup! Never better.”
Terrified by the four letter word that hasn’t left your head since it came back in, you can’t help but try to get away from Steve, from the boy who’s drawn the feeling from you in the first place without even trying. You hurry to the door with a rushed ‘bye!’
Steve stares at your front door even after you’ve closed it, eyebrows scrunched and mouth in a confused pout. He wonders what you were thinking about as he tried to grab your attention the whole way home.
-
Steve’s made a habit of visiting you at work.
If you’re working during the day, he’ll drive over on his lunch breaks and be sure to be seated in your section. If you’re working evenings, he’ll make some excuse about not wanting to cook dinner and still, he requests your section.
He‘s been coming so often that the hostesses don’t even wait for him to ask, they just nod and seat him at one of your tables.
You’ve had a lot of time to let your rediscovered love for Steve simmer, but it’s always there, making you smile like an idiot when you see him, making you stop yourself from reaching for his hand whenever it’s close enough.
It was naive of you to think you could limit yourself to friendly feelings for him. You know that now.
Walking out of the back, you find him sitting at what has become his usual table. A small round one, usually for two. The chair across from him empty. You like that better than when Becky was the one sitting in it.
“I’m starting to think you have no kitchen at all,” you say, standing behind the empty seat, leaning a hand on top of it.
“You caught me.”
“Seriously, you know you don’t have to come here to see me.”
“I want to come here to see you.”
Really, at this point, Steve thinks he’d be happy to visit you anywhere. Because of that, he’s definitely spending way too much money at Enzo’s.
“Okay then,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, then grab your notepad to write down his order. “What’ll it be this time?”
As much as Steve wishes you could sit down with him, he knows you have a job to do, so he gives you his order and takes any minute of conversation you can give him.
He watches you tend to the other tables you have, your smile and the way you talk, your mannerisms and the pattern of your steps. Often, he wonders if he’d still be sitting here, watching you with something in his eyes that can only be described as longing, if he never broke up with you that day. He likes to think he would be, only he’d be allowed to kiss you goodbye the way he so often wants to.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe he could get to do that again, one day.
Since he felt your hands over his those weeks ago at the arcade, he’s decided he’ll do whatever it takes to win you back. He’ll wait as long as he needs to, and do his best to prove that he won’t hurt you again.
Steve’s never stopped loving you, not for a second, and seeing your face again only reminded him of that. Being your friend again only amplified it.
Even worse, all of your friends are well aware of this. They never let him hear the end of it.
“Here you go,” you say, putting his food in front of him.
He shoots you a quick smile, “thank you.”
“‘Course. And don’t bother paying this time, it’s on me.”
“Don’t do that, I’m paying.”
“I already did it, okay? Just shut up and let me.”
When you walk away, he shakes his head and smiles at your retreating figure. Classic Ace, he thinks, so insistent on doing nice things. Yeah, he’ll wait years if he has to.
You chat with him when you can, telling him about a customer who’d yelled at you earlier in your shift over something so small, you can’t even remember why they were angry in the first place. He laughed through your story and offered to find the person and beat them up for you.
You reminded him that he usually loses fights.
A stern talking to, then, he’d said.
You giggled. Laughs like that came easy with Steve.
You were busy when he left, but when you went over to clean his table you’d found enough money left behind to pay for his food and give you a tip. You rolled your eyes at that. That’s Steve, always being the one to take care of everyone else. He can’t even let you pay for one damm meal.
He’d also left a note scrawled on a Family Video sticky note.
Thanks for letting me bug you again. Hope you’re not sick of me! -Steve x (and keep your money, please).
You folded it into a neat square and put it in your back pocket. This was a habit of his, too; leaving notes behind after he’d leave. So far, you’ve kept them all, in that same shoebox in your closet from high school.
You’re absolutely hopeless.
-
Steve didn’t have an excuse to call you, he just really wanted to see you. Or, hear your voice, at least.
“Hello?” You picked up after a couple rings.
“Ace. You busy today?”
“Mmm apart from laying down all day, no.”
“You wanna come lay down all day here?”
If he couldn’t hear you then, you would drop your face into your pillow and squeal. Instead, you press your free hand to your cheek and try to suppress your stupid grin.
“I guess I can shuffle some things around.”
“You’re awful,” he says. “I’ll see you soon?”
“Yep.”
A click and it’s quiet again.
It’s not even half an hour later that you’re knocking on the Harrington’s door. Steve opens up quickly (he’d been standing near the door waiting for you) and moves aside to let you in.
Steve scans your outfit as you walk ahead of him. You’re clad in slouchy sweats. He thinks you look beautiful. He thinks it all of the time, but there’s something about you being comfortable enough with him not to dress up that warms him from the inside out.
It reminds him of how you used to walk around his house, whenever his parents weren’t there, in your underwear and his softest t-shirt.
Baby steps, he thinks.
“Are you hungry?” He asks as you plop down onto his couch.
“I'm okay. A little tired.”
“I did ruin your plans of laying around, didn't I?”
“Ruin’s not the right word,” you say. You’d much rather be in his company than buried in your bed, anyway.
He sits next to you after turning on the TV, letting whatever’s playing stay on. There’s a respectable distance between you, your thighs close, but not touching.
“Are you happy you came back here?” Steve turns his head toward you. Here, as in Hawkins. Here, as in with him.
Your head pivots toward him, cheek on your shoulder. Your eyes find his. “Yes. Really happy.”
“Me too.”
There are a million things you could say, but then, in that moment, it feels like you don’t have to. Something silent is being shared. You look back at the TV and sink into the cushions.
As time goes on, your eyes grow heavier, blinking slowly trying to stay awake. Steve notices when your head falls forward a little and you force it back up.
“You’re tired.”
“Worked the closing shift last night.”
“You can lay down. I meant it when I said you
could do that here.”
“I’ll fall asleep.”
“That’s kinda the point.”
You frown at him. “But then you’ll be all alone.”
“Just lay down, Ace.”
You roll your eyes but do it anyway. You’d actually been ready to nap when Steve called, but figured sleep could wait.
He tries not to overthink it when he gently places a hand on the side of your head, urging you to use his lap as your pillow. You go easily and blame it on your sleepy mind.
Instinctively, once you’re settled with your cheek on his thigh, Steve pets your hair from your face. He pulls his hand back, afraid of overstepping, but you miss his touch.
“No, don’t. Feels nice.”
“Okay,” he almost whispers.
Steve’s hand goes back to your hair, pushing it from your face, letting his fingers get tangled in it before pulling them back and doing it again. You fall asleep quickly, surrounded by Steve’s scent.
You nap for about forty minutes. Steve’s hand doesn’t stop at all, afraid that you’d wake up. He hasn’t paid much attention to the TV. Instead, he’s been tracing the details of your face over and over with his eyes.
Your eyelashes kissing the skin of your under eyes, the slope of your nose, the way your lips are slightly parted and pouting. He’s known it for years now, but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
All soft and, by his standard, absolutely perfect.
Self-indulgently, he lets his hand wander from your hair, the back of his index finger tracing a delicate line from your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheek. You stir and he feels guilty.
“Did I wake you?”
You blink your eyes open and squint, turning so you lay on your back rather than your side, looking up at him. “Nuh-uh,” you say, even though he did.
If you were woken up like that every day, well, you’d become a morning person.
“Liar.”
“Am not.” He shakes his head, you yawn. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long. You feel better?”
“Much,” you nod, even though there’s a kink in your neck from the way you had it perched on his lap. You don’t care, it was the best sleep you’d had for a while.
You sit up and stretch until something cracks.
“Thanks for being my pillow.”
“Steve Harrington, human pillow, at your service.”
You push his shoulder lightly, “dork.”
You both laugh lightly. The sound fades when you realize how close your faces are. You reach up and brush the skin under his eye with your thumb.
“Eyelash,” you explain.
“Make a wish.”
When you were young, you wished on every birthday cake candle, every shooting star, that you’d find your person. Then, in your time with Steve, you wished to keep it. Now, as you blow the lash off your finger, you wish to have it back.
“Done.”
“What’d you wish for?”
“If it ever comes true, I’ll tell you.”
He nods, the tips of your noses brush. You can't stop your eyes from flicking to his mouth with him this close, you can feel his breaths, warm puffs of air against your skin.
Steve’s hand creeps up to cradle the back of your neck so gently you could cry. He uses it to guide you forward until your forehead is pushed against his.
“Steve.”
The whisper of his name is what snaps the rubber band. Steve tips your head up and kisses you.
It’s everything you remembered, and everything you’d forgotten, too. His lips are still soft, they still fit with yours the way puzzle pieces click together. Over time, you forgot how his feelings poured out of him when he’d kiss you. Now, he’s shy with it, slow-moving.
He pulls away, just for a second, to look at you, to check that you’re okay. You chase his mouth and he’s a goner, diving back in and inhaling deep at the feeling.
You can feel yourself melting into him, getting lost in the press of his lips against yours.
It hits you that Steve hasn’t kissed anyone since he was with you. That it’s been years since he’s last done this. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.
This is a big thing. Kissing Steve again is a big and scary thing. His free hand laying itself on your thigh jolts you out of it. You pull away, breathing heavy.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, pulling his hands away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s just- I shouldn’t have done that.”
You’re supposed to be pushing your feelings aside. You’re supposed to be friends, that’s it. You’re not supposed to let it get to this point again, because you know how it feels when it ends. That can’t happen again.
“No, Ace. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t be sorry, okay?” You stand up, almost dizzy. “I’m just gonna go, I think.”
“Hey, come on. Stay. It won’t happen again.”
“I just need to, um, clear my head.”
You hurry to the door, trying to slip your shoes on as fast as possible. Steve catches your wrist loosely as you reach for the door.
“You can talk to me. You don’t have to leave.”
“I need to think, Steve,” you open the door. This time, he lets you. Before you close it you turn to him, “I’m not mad, I promise.”
All he can do is nod slowly and stare at the door long after you’ve closed it.
-
You meant it: you’re not mad. Well, not at Steve. You’re mad at yourself, really, for letting yourself fall for him again, for making yourself remember exactly how it feels to kiss him.
You’re not mad at Steve and yet, you haven’t been alone with him since that day. It’s for your own good, you hope. You don’t want to let yourself be with him again because you know what it feels like to lose him. It hurts and it sucks and you’d rather love him quietly than feel that ever again.
It’s game night at the Wheeler’s now, and so far, you’ve lost pretty much every game. You find it doesn’t bother you all that much when you’re around such good people.
As Nancy shuffles Uno cards, you stand, “skip me this round. I gotta pee.”
“Thank you for announcing that,” Dustin says.
“You’re welcome, Dusty,” you ruffle his hair on your way to the bathroom.
Once you’re washing your hands, you inspect yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s frizzier than you’d like and your mascara’s smudged under your eyes. You use your pinky, wet with tap water, to wipe it away.
You unlock and open the door and find Steve leaning against the wall in the hallway. Not expecting anyone to be there, you jump.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, laughing lightly.
“Why’re you standing there?”
“Waiting for the bathroom.”
You don’t point out that there are more than one bathrooms in the Wheeler’s house. Instead, you move out of the doorway and let him go in. Only, he doesn’t move.
“Okay, I lied,” he confesses. “I was waiting for you.”
“Oh. Well, here I am.”
“Yeah,” he looks you over, like he can’t help it. “Will you come home with me? So we can talk about…”
As much as you wish you could just forget about that kiss, you can’t. It hasn’t left your mind for more than five minutes at a time. Often, you find yourself pressing your fingers to your mouth, searching for the ghost of his. Besides, how can you say no to Steve saying the words ‘will you come home with me’?
“Okay,” you say quietly, then, more sure, “okay, sure.”
You walked there, and though you’d usually much prefer the comfort of the BMW, you can’t help but worry about what he wants to say the rest of the night.
Once you’ve said your goodbyes and walk towards Steve’s car, you can almost feel Robin’s knowing smile as she watches you climb into the passenger seat.
The drive feels like a dream in the sense that you blinked and it ended. You suppose time can fly when you’re lost in thought, in what-ifs.
You only realize you’ve made it to Steve’s house when you hear the click of the gearshift and the quiet of the engine shutting off that follows. You follow him inside, watching the way he fiddles with his keys, his hand flicking on the lights inside.
He leads you to his bedroom. He knows he could’ve stopped in the kitchen or the living room, but he’s most comfortable in the only room that feels completely his in the house. He needs to be comfortable for this.
You sit on the edge of his bed, and he leans on the dresser across from you.
There’s an anticipation almost humming in the air. Who will speak first, what will they say.
“So-”
“Listen-”
You speak at the same time.
“You first,” Steve offers.
“I’m sorry for running out like that. I was just overwhelmed, I guess. Had to think.”
“Don’t be sorry, please. I feel like I should be apologizing to you.”
For so much more than just that kiss. Then again, he’s not really sorry for kissing you, he’s only sorry for possibly hurting you with it.
“We were doing so good.” He furrows his brows at you in question. “At just being friends.”
“I don’t think I could ever look at you as just a friend, Ace. Not after knowing what it’s like to have you.”
You want to tell him you feel the same, you want to tell him so bad. The words are stuck in your throat. You’re so afraid, so nervous, for what could happen if you try this again.
“Do you regret kissing me?” You ask instead.
“I know I should, but I can’t regret anything with you.”
“I don’t regret it, either.”
The room seems to shrink, the air thicken. Steve’s hands clench on the edge of the dresser, holding himself back, almost.
You don’t think you want him to hold back. You want to slap yourself for it, but you’ve missed the way his kiss melted you every day since you felt it. Maybe, if you can’t tell him, you can show him how you feel.
“Kiss me again,” you say.
“What?”
He must have heard you wrong. Only, when you repeat yourself, he knows he didn’t.
“You’re sure?” He checks.
All you can do is nod, almost eagerly. He pushes off from the dresser and stands in front of you. Your knees brush against the fabric of his jeans as he moves closer. His hands gently cup your face, tilt it up so you’re looking at him.
His eyes flick between yours, and when you nudge your cheek into his hand, like an encouragement, he bends down to place his lips over yours.
It starts gently, like the last one. Steve’s lips glide over yours slowly, making sure you don’t want to pull away. It feels like high school and sneaking through windows, like popcorn kisses at the movies and the feeling of Skull Rock behind your back. It feels like the past and yet, there’s an emotion there that wasn’t before.
Longing, knowing what it feels like to lose this.
It’s gentle until your hands snake their way under Steve’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the sunshine pouring out of him. That’s when his hold on your face becomes a bit more firm, one of his thumbs pushing on your chin to get you to open it for him.
That’s when the dam seems to break.
Steve kisses you deeper and deeper, pushing himself closer and closer until you’re being laid down on the bed. He pulls away from you, his lips kiss-swollen and pink, to give you space to push yourself up to his pillows.
He tugs his shirt off before climbing over you, his hands digging into the mattress on either side of your head, his brown eyes darkened.
“You okay?” He checks.
“Yes,” you nod, “I missed you.”
You wind your arms around his neck and pull him back to you, his mouth finding yours easily. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this with Steve, but the rhythm of it all comes easily. It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve spent so long learning what they like.
He kisses you enough to feel dazed, your head a jumble of SteveSteveSteve and your hips canting towards his unconsciously. He’d been holding his weight off of you before that, but feeling you brush against him had him pushing his hips against yours, pinning you to the bed.
You broke the kiss only to catch your breath, and Steve took the time to push wet kisses down your jawline, to your neck, breathing heavy in between them.
Selfishly, possessively, he tugs the neckline of your shirt down and sucks a hickey into your collarbone, licking over it when he’s done. Your hands have buried themselves in his hair at some point, and you feel his groan against your skin when you tug.
He moves down still, pushing your shirt up to bunch underneath your bra and peck his way across your stomach.
“Steve,” you almost whine.
He peeks up at you, “yeah, baby?”
Baby. He hasn’t called you that in years. The sound of the pet name in his voice is enough to have the dampness in your panties grow.
“You’re teasing me.”
“You used to like that,” he pouts.
“It’s been too long. Please.”
He’s trying to act composed on the outside when really, the word ‘please’ leaving your mouth is enough to have him push his crotch into the mattress.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. His hand pauses on the waistband of your pants, “can I?”
“Yes.”
He unbuttons them and tugs down the zipper, sits up on his knees to pull them down and off your legs, your socks and underwear follow.
Steve can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe you’re there, on his bed, looking so pretty for him. He resists the urge to pinch himself.
You grow shy under his stare, his eyes focused where you’re embarrassingly wet all because of him. You try to shut your legs, but he stops you with a hand on your knee, “you’re beautiful, Ace. You don’t need to hide. It’s just me.”
You’re not sure how to tell him the reason you care so much is because it’s him of all people. Steve who you’ve known for so long, Steve who you used to have, like this. Steve, who you love.
He lays down between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs, thumbs running back and forth soothingly across your skin. He kisses up your thighs and pauses when his breath hits your cunt. He glances up at you for permission.
You nod, a hand finding one of his on your leg and weaving your fingers together.
You try to keep your head up to be able to see him, but as soon as he runs his tongue up your slit it falls back into the pillow, a gasp escaping you. You squeeze his hand in yours.
Steve works you quickly, so much so that it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten a single thing about you.
His tongue runs over you again and again, your slick surely all over his mouth. When it hits the bead of your clit, your free hand is in his hair again. He grunts into you at the pull, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of it all.
When your hand squeezes his even tighter, Steve moves his free hand to your entrance, his mouth hit around your clit. He works a finger in, then a second. He curves them and searches until he finds the spot that makes you whimper out a noise he wants to hear again.
“Steve,” his name a breathy moan.
“Go on, baby. I can feel it. You wanna come?”
“Yes, yes, please.”
“I've got you.”
He works his fingers quicker, puts his mouth back on you and flicks his tongue and just like that you’re being pushed over the edge, your eyes squeezing shut and your hands holding him even tighter.
He watches as you come down, his cheek against your thigh, “so pretty.”
You manage a lazy smile, taking your hand out of his hair, “sorry. Did that hurt?”
“I liked it. You know that.”
He moves back up until his face is above yours, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on him.
Your hands trail down his back, his muscles shifting as he holds himself up. They land on the waistband of his jeans, tracing it around to his stomach, letting your fingers go further, feeling the skin just above his underwear.
You pull back from his mouth to glance down to where your fingers run back and forth over his skin, pausing to undo the button of his jeans.
“Who’s teasing now?” He says, voice low in your ear.
A shrug is your reply, followed by his zipper being pulled down slowly. His head bends to watch your hands work his pants and boxers down enough to free him, his cock hard and pink at the tip, pretty as ever.
You wrap a hand around him, “better?”
“Much.”
You work him slowly, like you’re trying to remember the feeling of him, your hand pausing at the tip to let your thumb run over it.
Steve tried to remember the way your hand felt against him when he was desperate and alone. Now, having you again, he knows his imagination could never do you justice. You’re soft in a way he never could be.
When you squeeze him a bit tighter, moving a bit quicker, he drops his head onto your shoulder, groaning.
“Ace.”
“Uh-huh?”
“If you keep doing that I’m gonna come,” he picks his head up, sets his eyes on yours, “I don’t wanna come like this.”
“Feels nice in my hand, though.”
“I can make it feel a whole lot better, if you’ll let me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want you, Ace.”
“I want you, too.”
He pecks your lips quickly before standing to take his pants off fully. You take your shirt and bra off at the same time. It makes you nervous to be naked in front of him again, and the way he looks at you doesn’t help. It’s a searing gaze, almost burning your skin.
“Look at you,” he whispers, almost like he was saying it to himself.
He climbs over you once more when you make hands at him. His skin is warm, mirroring the way you feel all over. Steve tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, trails his hand down your neck, to your chest. He cups you in his palm, squeezing lightly then letting a thumb run over your nipple.
You bite back a whimper.
His mouth gives the tit that isn’t in his hand attention, pecking and sucking and licking.
“Steve,” you push your hips up.
“Sorry, baby. Missed these girls, too.”
You roll your eyes.
He kisses your cheek and takes the hand off your chest to hold himself, running his head up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. When he pauses at your entrance, he looks at you.
“You’re still okay? Still want this?”
You nod, hands running in circles on the back of his shoulders, “yes. I’m ready.”
He’s big, and the stretch of him pushing into you is sharper now that you’re not used to it. He soothes you with sweet words and soft kisses to your neck.
Halfway, he checks in, “good?”
You wrap your legs around his thighs and pull him in the rest of the way, whining when his pelvis is against yours.
“Fuck,” he says into the skin of your neck, just below your ear. “You’re heaven, Ace.”
“Move, Steve,” your hands tighten on his shoulders. “Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling back slowly only to push in again. You can feel everything, you think. Maybe because it’s been so long or because sex with someone you love is better than any other sex. Maybe it’s just Steve.
He’s all over you. His hair tickling your chin, his mouth open against your neck, breaths hot against your skin. He’s in your mind and in your heart and in you, deeper than anyone else. You feel so full. Of him, of emotion, of memories of nights you used to have just like this one.
Full of him in every way.
“God, you’re perfect,” he says. “There’s nobody like you. No one, Ace.”
“I-” love you, you almost say. “Steve.”
The pitch of your voice tells him to go faster, and he lifts his head to see your face. Mouth agape, soft moans and breaths spilling out, eyebrows scrunched, eyes falling shut when he finds your spot.
“Open your eyes,” he says, softly. “Come on, baby.”
You do, blinking them open and looking up at him. His hair is a mess around his head, sweaty strands falling over his forehead, his cheeks are flushed pink and you’re sure they’d be warm to the touch.
He drops his forehead against yours, your sounds and breaths mingling between your mouths, your noses nudging against each other with every push of his hips.
Your arms go around his neck, one hand tangling itself in the hair at the nape of his neck. You’re getting closer and closer and by the way his movements grow just a bit faster, a bit sloppier, he is, too.
“Ace. Baby, you’re there, yeah? I can feel you squeezing me,” his lips brush yours as he speaks.
“So close, Steve.”
He’s holding himself up on one elbow, trailing his free hand down to rub circles over your clit. “Come on.”
You finish with a cry of his name, your eyes squeezing shut. It’s overwhelming, the feelings that blind you. The pleasure and the affection, the heat and the love you really don’t think you could imagine. So much so that tears slip from the corners of your eyes.
He’s not far behind, “shit. Where do you want me?”
In your haze, you can barely manage a reply, “tummy.”
He pulls out and jerks himself until you can feel him coming on your skin. He moans and it’s a beautiful sound. You run your hands over his skin through it all, grounding him and yourself.
Your foreheads are still together, slick with sweat.
“Fuck,” he pecks you once, twice, three times. “You okay?”
“Really good.”
“Will you stay?”
You hadn’t even thought of leaving. You wouldn’t dream of it. Not now, at least, in your post-orgasm daze where fears and worries don’t reach you.
“Mhm,” you hum your agreement.
Steve’s grin splits his cheeks, wide and toothy and infectious enough to make you smile, too.
“I’ll be right back,” he rolls away from you, standing beside the bed. Before walking away, he bends to peck you again. He heads to the bathroom after that.
You note the freckles that dot his back and shoulders as he goes. A constellation you never forgot; burned in your memory. One you used to play connect the dots with in the mornings.
He comes back with a wet cloth, wiping his come from your stomach and then cleaning you up as gently as possible, giving a soft apology when you whimper in sensitivity.
He tosses the cloth aside when he’s done and searches his drawers for a clean pair of boxers. He tugs them on then finds a baggy sleep shirt for you. You watch him the whole time, the way he moves and the way the streetlights seeping in through the window light his skin.
Coming back to you, he tells you to sit up and puts the shirt over your head. He didn’t even have to ask, he knows what you like to sleep in. When you look at the shirt he picked, you find it’s one that used to be your favorite.
You bring the fabric to your nose and hide your grin in it.
Steve pulls the blankets over you, then himself when he lays down beside you. He doesn’t even hesitate before tugging you closer with an arm around your waist.
“I really missed you, Ace.”
“Missed you, Steve,” you reply sleepily.
He kisses your forehead.
You fall asleep easily, Steve’s fingers running back and forth over your skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
-
Steve wakes up before you do.
You’ve both moved in your sleep. Now, you lay on your stomach, face turned towards him and cheek squished into the pillow. He lays on his side, propped up by his elbow, looking at you.
He looks at you, asleep and pretty, and wonders how he could ever give you up.
His free hand tucks your hair behind your ear, away from your face, brushes his knuckles across your cheeks as lightly as possible. He moves to your arm and traces the words ‘I love you’ into your skin.
He draws the words over and over, only pulling his hand away when you rouse.
You breathe in deep before opening your eyes, moving your head on the pillow to look over at Steve properly. His eyes are already set on you, puffy with sleep and full of something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.
“Hi,” his voice is different in the morning, lower.
“Hi.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Mhm,” you stretch your legs and turn onto your side. “You?”
“Better than I have in a while, actually.”
You can tell that there’s something he wants to say, that he’s thinking of the words. It makes you nervous, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. Maybe he regrets it. Almost worse, maybe he doesn’t.
“Can I say something?”
“Steve-”
“No, let me say it. If you hate it, we can forget about it, okay?”
His eyes are soft, pleading. You can tell that whatever it is, it really matters to him and there’s no way you can ignore that.
“Okay.”
“I still love you.”
His words hang in the air, your chests both rise and fall a bit quicker, hearts beating faster in tandem.
You’ve been dreaming of him saying it to you, and yet, hearing it out loud, you can’t help but be terrified. You love him, you know you do, and it scares you. It’ll hurt worse the second time around if you lose him.
“I still love you,” he continues in your silence. “I miss you so much, Ace. I want to do it again. I want to be with you and do it right.”
“I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You didn’t. You won’t. I’ve thought of you every day since you left,” his hand finds yours atop the sheets, fingers linking. “I didn’t want to break up with you, and I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Why did you?”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. Squeezes your hand, too.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. You were going off to school and I’d be here and I didn’t want to hold you back. I wanted you to go and to do it fully.”
Your heart pinches in your chest. Steve really believed he’d been doing you a favor by letting you go.
“It hurt for a long time, Steve. I don’t know if I can do that again.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you again, Ace,” he swipes away the tear that falls from your cheek. “Just answer one thing for me?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love me?”
It’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“Of course I love you, Steve. I would’ve stayed if you asked me to.”
“That’s why I did it,” his thumb runs over your cheek gently. “I couldn't let you give it all up for me. But you’re back now, and I love you and you love me. Let me try again.”
You want to say yes. So badly, you want to be with him. So why can't you just say it? It’s like glue’s been dropped down your throat, sticking all the right words in it so that nothing useful comes out. You try anyway.
“I’m just scared.”
You shut your eyes.
“Will you look at me?” You do, and right then it’s hard to feel scared anymore. He’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything. “You’re my forever. I know you are. Let me show you.”
You focus on his hand in yours, his touch on your face. You focus on the fact that this is Steve. Steve who you love, who you know you want to be with past all the fear and worry.
“Okay,” you nod.
“Okay? Like, you’ll be my girl again?”
“Yes, yeah.”
His grin spreads wide enough to have his eyes crinkling at the corners. He rushes forward to kiss you, three quick pecks broken by your smiles.
“Can I tell you something?” You ask him, suddenly brave, like his kiss fixed everything.
“Anything.”
“I wished for you. On that eyelash. The day we kissed.”
He kisses you again for that.
༄
thank u for reading! if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought it would mean a bunch <3
Play wrestling with bff Steve and getting giggly when he just straight up manhandles you 😭😭😭
✶ ┄ SORE LOSER !
summary: steve harrington doesn't like to let you win until he realizes how good it feels to lose.
pairing: best friend!steve harrington / f!reader
word count: 1.6k
warnings: a lil bit suggestive towards the end, but nothing crazy
a/n: i got super carried away with this lol i kinda just took this request and ran with it and well... here we are :) enjoy!
Steve never lets you win.
He thinks it’s letting you off too easy.
The boy’s competitive to a fault. He can’t stomach a loss, even if it’s in something as meaningless as a carnival game you only wanted to play for the giant dinosaur plushie that’s half the size of you.
He always ends up giving it to you when he inevitably wins, wearing a big smug smile on his pretty, pink lips. You take it from him with a pout. The childlike scowl is quelled only by the funnel cake he buys you after.
It doesn’t matter what it is — a game of monopoly, trivia questions on the ends of popsicle sticks, taking in the groceries — Steve finds a way to make all of it competitive. He wants to have the most fake money and little fake properties, he wants to shout the answer before anyone else can, he wants to carry more heavy plastic bags than everyone else. Just to say that he did it.
If you put this much effort into school, you’d be in college right now, Harrington, you’d tease.
Not my fault you’re a sore loser, he’d retort. I’ll let you win the next one, sunshine. Promise.
He never does.
You and Steve play-wrestle like a couple of kids. It usually comes out of nowhere. You’ll make fun of him, he’ll shove at you, and you’ll shove back harder. Then it just turns into a game of who’s stronger than who — and it’s always him. Obviously.
You try your hardest to prove your strength, pushing at him with nimble fists and wriggling something fierce in his hold, but you come out red-faced with a participation ribbon laced within his taunts. And even though he’s got several inches on you and quite a bit more muscle, he never lets you win. Ever.
He manhandles you, perhaps a little too rough at times, but it wasn’t like he had to be kind to you. You weren’t dating or anything, you were best friends — this is what a couple of pals do, right?
They play fight on the carpet of the other’s movie room after being told their closest confidant would murder them in a game of fuck, marry, kill between Anthony Michael Hall and Robert Downey Jr. with zero hesitation.
Friends totally force the other onto the ground by grabbing at the bottoms of their thighs before kneeling over them, wrenching their wrists in their grip and pressing their hands to the ground on either their head.
It’s the definition of being best buds. Truly.
For the first time, you manage to get the better of him. You’re pressed beneath his weight, breathing heavy and rapidly tiring, and you wave the white flag of surrender.
Just when Steve's letting you up and swiping a hand through his mussed hair, you force him onto his back and straddle his waist — like he always did to you — and giggle with mirth at the idea of finally beating him.
He doesn’t find a similar enthusiasm in it, though. His tune changes almost immediately.
You beam down at him, the words of a taunt on the tip of your tongue, and you notice how his cheeks flare pink. His honey-colored eyes widen and his mouth falls softly agape. He glows red in embarrassment and you think he’s just upset that he lost, but he sounds like he’s panicking. The words rush out of his mouth — “Alright, shit, fine— you win, sunshine. Get off, alright? Off, off, off.”
His hand swats at the side of your knee to hurry you off him.
“Alright, jeez!” you concede with the roll of your eyes, halfway annoyed that he just can’t let you win anything. “You don’t have to be such a sore loser about it, Harrington—”
You understand his haste in that moment, when you feel him brush your inner thigh. Like, all of him — as in, the boner trapped in the sweatpants he’s wearing, all rock hard and raging in its cotton confines.
Suddenly, you’re just as bashful and panicked as he is.
Your eyes lock at the rock hard realization but neither of you can think of anything to say.
Do you apologize? Do you act like you didn’t feel anything? Do you trust your voice to make a stupid joke so you can move on and forget any of this ever happened? You’re not quite sure.
And in the five-second silence, Steve just wants to die. Internally, he’s praying for a strike of lightning to take him out on the spot because he’s never been more embarrassed in his life.
He’s certain that he’s grossed you out, or worse, made you irreversibly uncomfortable.
In the mess of thoughts running through his head, he tries to rush out some apology that might soothe the awkward air. Your laughter does all the work for him before he can.
It bubbles like sunshine from your mouth, filling the silence and allowing Steve to breathe again. He finds himself chuckling under his breath with you, though he’s still red-faced about it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, sunshine,” he chides with the roll of his eyes, though a smile hints at the edges of his mouth. He rises on his elbows to look at you. “What was I supposed to do? Your tits were in my face and your ass was on my dick— sorry for being human!”
“Sorry, alright? I’m sorry,” you manage through hearty giggles. You settle finally at his side and look over at him, still grinning. “Want me to leave so you can… take care of it or whatever?”
He knows you’re joking but he shakes his head anyway. “Nah, it’ll go away. Let’s just… finish this stupid movie.”
“Stupid movie? You picked it!”
“Yeah, so I could see Kelly Lebrock in a bikini!” he argues back, more thankful for the familiar bickering than he ever thought he’d be. “But you made me miss it!”
“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“Watch it, sunshine,” he grumbles, half-heatedly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to worry about finishing, Harrington,” you joke and giggle when he shoves you.
You would’ve helped him, if he wanted you to. You know it’s uncomfortable and that it’s partially your fault. You also know that all of those are just excuses to cover up the fact that you’ve always wondered what his cock looks like.
He’d need only ask you, but you know that he won’t.
Even if he did like you in that way, it’d just make things all complicated. And that was totally the opposite of the effortless relationship you’ve developed with him. The kind of effortless where he can be rock hard next to you, and you’ve both decided to just move on from it.
Steve, meanwhile, spends the rest of the movie not watching a single damn minute of it. He’s too busy trying to calm himself down like a teenage boy and figuring out he can get you on top of him again without being too obvious about the whole thing.
He decides he might just start swallowing his pride and let you win sometimes.
I'm late for work again
And even if I'm there, they'll all imply
That I might not last the day
And then you call me
And it's not so bad, it's not so bad
Manager!FemReader x Steve Harrington
summary: It’s Friday, your busiest day at Family Video, and Steve’s nowhere to be found. After he finally shows up late for work, every little inconvenience that night starts to snowball for him. All he wants to do is go back to bed.
warnings: mishaps in the world of retail, grumpy Steve, food mention, Reader is a tiny bit mean to Steve, Steve having a hard time asking for help on top of brain fog, confrontation and apologies, comfort after reader and Steve both have a tough day, hugs & kisses type fluff, Steve’s love language is physical touch, Reader’s is acts of service, secret relationship
word count: 4.1k
4:06 PM
“Hi, sorry, I’m here” follows the sound of tinkling bells as the front door of Family Video swing open. “-sorry, I know I’m late.”
Steve rushes in, hiding behind a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, looking less put together than usual. A half-tucked polo shirt rises up his waist, becoming even more undone as arms are raised to slide on his green vest required by company dress code.
Fingers from both hands are frantically combing back outgrown messy locks, the hairs on his upper lip cast a shadow darker than usual. Overslept? Hungover? Whatever his excuse was, you didn’t have time for it.
“You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” You stress, announcing over customers, making it known to Steve you were keeping track of the time, who obviously already knew that.
He avoids your glare, head turned away slightly so as to not be too conspicuous as he makes a direct line to the bathroom.
“You could’ve at least called! You’ve worked here long enough to know Friday’s our busiest day!”
“Sorry, I know, my bad.” is mumbled in passing, making you talk to the back of his head of unwashed hair.
4:28 PM
Avoiding further confrontation is his main goal after a bad start to the shift. He’s also doing anything he can to not be on your bad side for the rest of the day, starting with compliments that usually lift your mood.
Steve’s eyes scan you up and down, a flirtatious smile as he leans his elbow on the shelf, “Your hair looks nice today.”
“What was wrong with it yesterday?” The snippy reply is said strenuously, not having the most appropriate time for workplace coquetry as you’re struggling with a stack of VHS tapes that look like they could topple over from your hold at any second.
Bad timing feels like a ball of lead just dropped in his stomach.
Another attempt after you’ve somewhat cooled off, and hands are less full. Steve stands near you in the Romantic Dramas, trying to get your opinion on organization.
“So hear me out, I kind of had this idea-” He steps in, chest close to your shoulder as he gestures to the movies in front of the two of you, making endearing wide eyes look up at him from the closeness.
He smiles, seeing your face not with furrowed brows at him, “What if we move these guys over here, that way the shelf won’t look so-”
Steve’s flickering eyes then settle to watch your face express slight repugnance after a small scrunching sniff of your nose, making him trail off with the last bit of his sentence before stopping completely to ask you what’s wrong.
“Did you have Rodeo Burger for lunch?” you raise an eyebrow, recognizing exactly what the smell was.
Steve brings a hand up to wipe fingers across his mouth, smelling his breath, and wondering if bits of food were still lingering. Pads of fingers abrasively rub the small hairs on his upper lip, tongue feeling his teeth in case anything was stuck, “I got some for lunch earlier, yeah…”
Fortunately Steve’s vest perfectly covered the big brown blob-like stain from his spill when he was scarfing down a saucy western bacon double-cheeseburger he grabbed at the drive through before his shift started.
”I can tell, man” You teasingly titter, turning back to your reshelving task, not paying attention to Steve enough now to catch his embarrassment.
“You smell like barbeque sauce.”
5:12 PM
You’re watching Steve from afar, you see he’s quietly getting frustrated at the computer.
Typing, typing, click. Error.
Typing, typing, click. Error.
Typing, typing, click. Error.
“C’mon, piece of-” He slaps the side of the boxy sandy-beige monitor
“Steve, Steve,” You walk behind the counter with urgency, “-stop hitting the computer.”
“It’s busted or something,” he throws his hands up off the keys, “I swear- this has been happening every damn time I’ve used it today. It hates me.”
“I doubt the machine has a personal vendetta.” You huff, trying to figure out how it was always “broken” whenever Steve used it this evening.
You place a hand on your hip, sighing as the other subtly massages a tiny circle to the ache in your temple, “Show me what you did.”
“I typed it all in, see,” He inputs the customer’s information as so, “-but when I wanna go to the next bar it doesn’t let me.”
“It doesn’t let you?” You blink, finding it hard to believe. Both standing with your cheek almost on his shoulder, you closely inspect Steve’s actions.
“Yeah, watch.” He taps away the rest of the information he just typed a dozen times, finishing, then hitting the enter key once.
Then twice.
Then to rapidly tap, filling your ears with obnoxious clicking that absolutely did not help your headache.
“Steve, Steve. Stop, Stop.” Your hand waves to get him to cease the infuriating sound.
“It’s not broken but you’re definitely going to break it like that.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with this stupid thing” He mumbles, arms crossing.
You suck your teeth, knowing exactly what the problem was. Steve was missing a tiny detail,
“It’s because you’re not holding down shift when you enter.”
Steve blinks, “What?”
You impatiently step in front of him, head looking back and forth with each one of your actions.
One finger holding down on the Shift key, the other ever so gently presses Enter.
Like it was a magic trick, hands dazzle over the keyboard as you try not to make it too apparent you’re rolling your eyes.
“Oh.” His posture sinks, that familiar dropping feeling in his stomach he’s had all day. Steve’s voice is low, feeling a little pathetic. “Thank you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, turning away to leave.
6:04 PM
The register ran out of receipt paper mid rush of the end-of-the-work-day crowd, because of course it did.
Apologizing to the current customer you were assisting, you drop down under the counter to the box where the extra rolls were kept. Blind hands search around the small cardboard box, only to find it completely empty.
You shot back up, eyes roaming the store for a certain employee.
“Steve,” you call out to him over the chattering of customers.
He’s squatting to reach one of the lower shelves in the front, eyes wide the second he was alerted by your voice.
“I thought I asked you to grab more receipt paper from the back?”
“Uhm,” he lightly grips the candy box of raisinets, “Yeah, you did”
“So… what are you doing restocking candy?”
His voice is low, guilty knowing he left an unfinished task, “I couldn’t find-“
“Never mind.” You huff. “I should’ve done it myself.”
7:36 PM
Your eyes dart all over the place, anxiously looking at your watch when a familiar blur in your blind spot appears.
“What the heck, man?” You exclaim as your neck twitches to turn your head and see Steve just standing there, “Your break ended, like, twenty minutes ago!”
Steve stutters, “I’m sorry. It’s just my wa-”.
“It’s just whatever.” You cut him off, huffing and puffing while also trying to retain a pleasant smile while assisting the next customer.
“You’re here now, Steve, go and make yourself useful.”
You’re practically seething through clenched jaws as he scurries off to toss his jacket in the breakroom, “I’m up to my elbows in returns as it is, I don’t really have time to take over the register and do your job for you.”
Steve’s brows furrow and he nods, posture slumped, turning away with eyes glued to the ground while a thumb and index finger swiftly pinch and swipe under his nose.
You don’t notice it, but Robin certainly does.
8:50 PM
“Hey boss,”
She speaks up at the end of the night. She’s got her jacket zipped up all the way to her chin and her bright blue backpack tightly strapped to her shoulders.
“Hey, Robin,” You look at her then check the time, surprised it was already the end of her shift. You possibly have another two hours here before you could even call it a night. “You’re heading home now?”
“Yup, it’s quittin’ time.” She playfully swings her fist and lanky elbow in one motion, awkwardly pretending to be enthusiastic for the day’s end.
“Alright, cool.” You nod with a smile, “Thanks for all your help today. Have a good night.”
“Um, actually…” She places a sticker covered bicycle helmet on the empty counter so she could use both hands as she nervously chatters on.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for like, a second. Real quick?”
“Okay, yeah, sure. “ You step away from your work, giving her your attention. “What’s up?”
“So, I don’t wanna seem out of place or rude in any way, um,” Robin’s hands start vaguely motioning to get the conversation going, the chain from her ring attached to a bracelet swinging. “it’s just an observation that I’ve had and you can totally correct me if I’m wrong like,”
“Robin-” You politely interject, making sure she takes a breath. “What’s on your mind?” A friendly way to tell her to just spit it out.
Her weight shifts from one leg to the other, hands falling to place palms flat to the counter. You watch as black fingernails start rhythmically start tapping a few times, the gears in her head are trying to put together her main point,
“It’s just um- Steve’s kind of having a shitty day?So I was wondering, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job or anything, but do you think you could, maybe, not be so hard on him? Like take it easy on the poor guy.”
There’s a twinge in your chest.
Steve was having a bad day? He hasn’t said anything, you try to reason with yourself.
But... you also haven’t really taken the time to ask if he was okay. You sensed something was off the second he stepped in late, but ut was just one thing after the other, everyone else demanding your attention.
Your heart pounds in your chest but you keep a cool composure, looking at the tall girl as you reply, “Well, If he just did the simple tasks the first time he’s asked, I wouldn’t have to come off as hard, y’know?”
You look at Robin, what you’re saying was put plain and simple. “I don’t mean to be mean, but the least he could’ve done today was keep track of time.”
“Ah-! Well, you see,” Her face scrunches up, having a missing piece of information that you were unaware of the whole day. “That's the thing. Steve’s favorite watch stopped working aaand his car battery died this morning.”
Your face dropped, “Oh.” was all you said, though you didn’t mean to say it out loud
“Yeah, It’s sorta why I was here on time.” She eases in an uneasy smile, “Steve usually gives me a ride when we have the same shift?”
You nod, recalling their frequent buddy-buddy carpooling.
“-but today, as you can see, I took my bike.” Robin’s honey husked voice emphasizes her decorated hard helmet with a few knocks.
Your arms cross, trying to not crumble thinking about how hard you’ve been on Steve all day. Your tone is slightly defensive as you speak to Robin, “Well he could’ve called, I understand those things happen.”
“Right. Totally. He could’ve called.” Her face scrunched up again, “But um, Steve has this thing about asking other people for help.”
Shit.
You knew about the thing.
Now it was your turn to feel that lead ball of guilt drop in your belly.
9:23 PM
“Bye-bye, thanks for coming in, guys, have a nice night.” You forcefully smile as you send off the last of the customers who took their leisurely time even after closing, holding the door for them to immediately lock it once they leave.
You let out a big sigh of relief, releasing the tension in your jaw and feeling facial muscles relax after a full day of pseudo-friendly customer service. Now that the store was closed, it was just you and Steve
You were tidying up the counter, throwing away disregarded receipts and grabbing pens that always somehow managed to find their way out of the cup holder near the register.
“Hey.” You then call over to Steve, watching him mindlessly sweep the same spot near the Westerns section.
He looks up at you after a twitch in his face, like he was anxiously preparing himself to be critiqued on his broom technique.
You lean on elbows over the counter, fingers picking at cuticles as you carefully try to, what feels like, cordially speak to Steve for the first time today
“Is… everything alright? You haven’t really been plugged in today.”
He exhales, dropping whatever tension he held in his stomach.
“Yeah, I’m cool.” He shrugs off, looking back down for another sweep of nothing in the aisle. “Just one of those days.”
“Those days?” you inquire.
“Yeah, like where everything just sorta, I don't know, piles onto each other. Like it snowballs. I don’t know, tomorrow’s a new day, it’s cool.”
That’s a lot of “cool” and “I don’t know” you take note. Obviously, it was all the contrary. This was that thing Robin was talking about before she left.
“I get that.” you nod empathetically,
“Is it okay if I ask what happened?”
Steve presses his lips together, a subtle nod that builds confidence as he sets the broom aside on one of the shelves. Hands slide together like he was brushing off dust, then he sighs
“I don’t know, I just woke up today and just didn’t want to get out of bed. You know what I mean?”
You nod, attentively listening with relation to the familiar feeling. “Yeah, sure.”
He walks over to where you stand, joining you behind the counter. A few feet of distance cushion your bodies.
“Actually, I didn’t really sleep too well last night, or like, at all.” He places his hands on the counter behind his back, a quick hoist of himself to sit on the counter you just sprayed and wiped down that might still be a bit damp. Though you were a little too late to mention that.
Steve notices, realizing there’s a bit of moisture on his palms. He rubs to dry his hands on his denim covered thighs, slightly annoyed but overall unbothered. Of course another inconvenience was thrown his way.
“By the time I could even close my eyes the stupid birds were already chirping.”
Steve went on and you listened, watching him finally vent all the things that had been building up like steaming pressure in hot pipes.
“My watch just randomly stopped working, so I have to find some place that can fix it, maybe it's a spring or coil or something, I don’t even know. My grandpa gave it to me so it’s like, old, old. -My car battery died so I had to wait on my dad to help me jump start it. I was already late for work but he didn’t care.
Oh, then how could I forget?”
He gestures his hand to you, then to himself, taking off his vest now that there are no customers around. “I spilled barbeque sauce all over my damn shirt in the car, trying to at least eat something before my shift.”
Steve tosses the vest on the counter after folding it into somewhat of a ball, “So yeah, I’m sorry if I wasn’t all that plugged in today-”
There’s a small lump in his throat, a gulp as he looks at you with worry, “I’m not… I’m not fired am I? That’s not what this talk is about?”
“No, no, of course not!” You assure Steve this talk was definitely not about employment termination. “No, I get it. I mean, I understand what you’re saying. It just wasn’t a good day for you.”
He nods his head, eyes drifting off like what you said was an understatement.
“And I know hearing my nagging voice is probably the last thing you want.”
“No, your voice isn’t naggy.” Steve looks back at you, “You’re not naggy. My brain has just been in a fog today, I’ve been forgetting steps. I’m sorry. I know that I’ve been frustrating you like, all day.”
“It’s okay,” You smile warmly, having a better understanding of where his head’s been all day. “It’s only really frustrating when I have to keep reminding you about like, simple stuff, and you don’t say anything. I’m aware that this isn’t the first time you’ve had one of these days…We’ve talked about this before, remember?”
You reach under the counter at the side of Steve’s dangling leg for a task list, “There’s even this dorky laminated sheet that you don’t use. If you can’t remember, just look at the list. That’s what it’s there for.”
You hand it over, still as clean as the day it was made, not a single trace of dry erase marker by anyone.
“I’m sorry. -and it’s not dorky.” He apologizes in raspy voice, picking up the plastic covered printer paper, scanning it closely while nodding at the simple typed up tasks. “I should just use the list you made me.”
Steve places it at the side of this thighs as arms then come close to his body to cross and provide some sort of comfort. “It’ll make your job easier.”
You place a hand on his shoulder, tilting your head to get him to look at you. “It’ll make your job easier, Steve.” You emphasize, giving him quick shake before letting go and putting the list back underneath the register before stepping over to stand before Steve’s knees.
“I’m supposed to be your manager, not your mom.”
“I know-” He huffs again, words pausing with a rise and fall of big crossed arms as his chest dramatically expands then deflates.
“-And I know we’re at work, but” his head lowers, following an exhort as hair that wasn’t kept with any products today falls out of place to cover half of his forehead,
“-could you just, please, be my girlfriend for me right now?”
Your expression instantly softens, broken down from the way your boyfriend is looking at you, dog-tired after nothing went his way today.
“Steve,” you exhale, tilting your head again to catch his poor, sorrowful gaze.
“Of course, baby.” You coo in a near whisper, arms reaching up to take their place on his strong shoulders.
Steve jumps back down on his feet before you, arms uncrossing to wrap tightly around your torso, holding you close to him for the first time today.
Chest to chest, his nose presses into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling of your comforting scent while you slowly start to rub his back.
The two of you stay like this for a while in the dark store, half of the lights turned off from closing, an orange glow on your embracing bodies from the giant neon store sign on the wall.
This was all he wanted since last night. Feeling your warmth against his body, his eyes close, finally being able to relax.
Your eyes close too the second you swear Steve starts naturally rocking your bodies, making all his troubles from today melt away.
Your hand comes up to comb through the back of his soft chestnut hair, ”I’m sorry I went off on you today.” you whisper to the side of his head, as pads of fingers start to gently massage the area. “I feel like an asshole “
“It’s okay.” He mumbles into your neck. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve said something.”
You pull your head back so he now looks at you in the face. Your fingers continue to rake through the long hairs at the bottom of his neck.
“-but I should’ve paid more attention.” You shake your head, “You mean a lot to me, Steve. ”
Hearing that makes the corner of Steve’s lip raise in a soft smirk, but inside, he’s glowing from your love.
You watch as deep brown eyes scan your features, finally getting an up and close look at your beautiful face.
Steve thanks you for making him feel so much better just from your hug. Of course you tell him it’s no problem, making him smile by saying it’s the job you love the most.
You then watch a lick of his lips before out comes a raspy tone, “From the looks of it, I’d say you had a pretty shitty day too.”
A scoff and roll of your eyes have you placing your forehead on his clothed clavicle, “Oh, god, Steve, you don’t even know.” you grumble on his chest.
He brings up one of the clasped hands from the bottom of your back to stroke down your neck before you gain the strength to lift your weary head.
“On top of feeling like shit for yelling at you- Keith got his arcade schedule mixed up so I had to come in early and cover for him- oh, I didn’t even get to tell you that asshole still came in to eat all our red vines! With the audacity to tell me I need to place an order because we’re running low.”
Steve chuckles and it warms your chest to see a smile on the beautiful boy’s face. He continues to hold you close as you go on,
“-The delivery truck only delivered half of the shipment we need for this weekend, so good luck trying to rent that new Harrison Ford movie, I guess. - I think I put on the wrong bra today so my boobs are killing me -Someone left their old blue icee on the ground over in Science Fiction, I accidentally kicked it and it was all sticky and melted and totally ruined my new white shoes.” You stop to take a dramatic sigh, Steve trying his best not to laugh at your theatrics, though they were lifting his mood to actually see you speak comfortably with him.
Being so close to Steve, your nose playfully crinkles up again and you tease another one of your inconveniences with a whining giggle,
“And my boyfriend smells like barbecue sauce instead of Old Spice.”
Steve rolls his eyes, giving you one last laugh at his messy mishap before leaning his face into you, hovering cheek to cheek. You could’ve continued on to tell Steve about your problems, and he would have gladly had an open ear, but the gentle graze of his nose and the touch of his lips lovingly pressed against your aching temples make you lose your train of thought. You give him the satisfaction of melting in his tight hold, dreamily sighing as he kisses more and says sweet nothings, apologizing for the stressful things that brought mental and physical exhaustion upon you.
“Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” He says, making you hum, still love drunk from his tenderness.
A sound comes from you something along the lines of “I dunno.” Making Steve chuckle with another nuzzle to the side of your head.
“I can help with the bra thing though.” He encouragingly whispers, “And as for the barbecue smell, well, maybe we can wash this day off together.”
“Oh?” your expression lights up, “Baby, I would kill for a hot shower with you right now.”
“So do you wanna get out of here now?” Steve chuckles, his suggestive voice again making you soft, butterflies going crazy in your tummy.
“Yeah,” You answer with a half shrug, not even bothering to break away from his gaze to look at your half-cleaned up surroundings. “We’re about done here. If not then Keith’s actually got some work to do tomorrow morning.”
Before turning to grab your bag, you find Steve is reluctantly letting you go, so you give him a kiss on the nose, making his tired eyes relax shut once again.
“Oh-“ you pause, reality coming back to you after detaching from Steve, “before I forget, did you catalog those new arrivals for inventory?”
“Uhhh.” His eyes pop open. “Shit.”
“Steve.” You say his name in a long, defeated sigh.
“Kidding! I’m kidding.” He bites his bottom lip. “You should’ve seen your face, babe. -Yeah, it’s all printed out and in the white binder under the counter.”
“And you didn’t just-“
“I didn’t just throw it in there, I punched holes and everything.”
“And you-”
“Yes, I place marked it with a post it note”
“Not the-”
“Not the fluorescent yellow ones, the little pink ones you like. See? I’m not totally useless, babe.”
His attention to your seemingly ridiculous requirements give you a bright blush to your cheeks that match your favorite post it notes.
“Thanks.” You smile, “-and I never said you were useless.”
“Ehh,” he tilts his head, begging to differ. “-you kinda did when I came back late from break.”
“No, I said make yourself useful.” You lean into him again and Steve’s hands are more than happy to resume their place on your hips, “There’s a difference.”
The two of you lean in for another kiss, stopping right before lips touch for you to speak up again,
“Did you take out the trash?”
His satisfied smile twitches, a drop and slight purse of his lips, the tiniest of pouts.
“Can I just have one kiss and then I’ll go do it?”
You’re pulling back but his arms snake around you despite your denial. “No, trash first, then smooches.”
“But I want smooches now.”
“No.” You chuckle, like you were talking to a five year old.
“Please?”
You give him a stern raised brow, again saying no, and he brings you back with the same tight embrace as before, making you wildly giggle with every turn of your head to avoid his puckered lips and obnoxious kissy noises.
“Steve!” You exclaim, trying not to laugh and give in. You’re determined to keep using kisses as leverage.
Steve holds you, his hands gripping his own wrists as you continue to playfully wrestle. Even as you have him slightly bending over after going limp to try and escape his boa constrictor-like hold, he stretches his neck out to try and kiss your sweet giddy grinning face.
“Just a one? C’mon, give daddy some sugar.”
“Daddy!?” you laugh, getting distracted by the self proclaimed title, which was enough for Steve to hold you by the face and catch you in a kiss.
Your giggles escape through your nose that’s squished at the side of his. You may be trapped but there’s little resistance on your part.
Until fingers make their way to Steve’s sides, tickling him as a last resort in your escape.
“Wait- wait! Stop-!” He laughs while still pressing his nose to your face.
“That’s not fair-!” As long as he’s holding you, you still attack his ribs.
Then a sudden banging of glass on the locked door make both of you stop your lovers wrangle and turn heads like two deers caught in a semi truck’s blindingly bright headlights.
Only on the other side of the glass weren't headlights, but Robin’s eyes almost as big as them, jaw dropped with a horrified look on her face.
Steve finally lets go and you fix the wrinkles of your shirt, a clear your throat as you walk around the counter to unlock the door.
“Heyyy, Robin, we were just-”
“Ahh-Ah!” She cuts you off with a wave of her hands, “Spare me the details! I just forgot-.”
“Keys?” Calls Steve’s voice, approaching from behind as he walks up to the door too, practically having the psychic ability to know why she could be here.
He stands there sideways in the door way with you, holding Robin’s keys that were more keychain than actual key. “Here, Rob-” he says as she snatched them, trying not to make eye contact with the either of you.
Steve scoffs, “Look, we were just-”
“Ah! La-la-la!” She puts her black nail polish fingernails in her ears, again emphasizing she wanted to be spared from any details of what she just saw.
You and Steve just look at each other in passing side glances, then at Robin until she quits the childish act and you can explain that you’ve been seeing each other the past two and a half months.
But disclosure just wasn’t in the cards tonight as Robin is all ready to turn back home.
Her hands drop and she goes to shove the keys in her pocket, a fast zip up of the bomber jacket for its safe keeping as she hops back on her bike.
“Hey boss,” she looks at you, now with a mischievous grin and a shake of her head,
“-earlier when I asked if you could take it easy on Steve, I didn’t mean for you to do… whatever that was.”
comments and reblogs are very much encouraged, appreciated, and cherished ♡
steve harrington x roller-rink!reader {4.5k} steve gets forced into taking the kids to the new roller rink, but he doesn’t mind so much once he meets you. basically just steve being a massive simp for reader. no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns.
“Can you all slow down? You’re gonna end up on the floor before you even get inside.” Steve watches as the group of kids he’s somehow been roped into looking after clamber out of his car, legs over arms and feet hitting one another as they rush towards the door of the roller rink.
It’d opened up in the next town over a couple of weeks back, and since then all he’s heard is “please Steve we’ll pay for the gas” and “don’t you want us to have fun? after all the shit we’ve been through?” The guilt tripping worked, of course, and that’s how he ended up carting 4 kids out of town to spend an hour throwing themselves around on roller skates.
“Pick up the pace, Steve!” Dustin shouts back as the older boy drags his feet behind the group, the younger teenagers already at the door itching to get inside.
“Yeah, come on, hurry up.” Max and Lucas join in the heckling, whilst Mike just stands with his arms crossed giving Steve that infamous unimpressed stare.
“Alright, alright!” Steve huffs as he quickens his step a little, following his friends - though today they were better described as nuisances- inside the building.
“Wow Steve, real nice, I forget how generous you are.” Dustin quips, always the one to bite back to Steve’s remarks. It was why he was Steve’s favourite.
Steve just flips him off, shooing the group towards the counter so they can actually get on the rink, and then in turn get out. The place was already giving him a headache, and it’d been what? Two minutes?
Steve just flips him off, shooing the group towards the counter so they can actually get on the rink, and then in turn get out. The place was already giving him a headache, and it’d been what? Two minutes?
“Hey!” You grin up at the group of teens from your barstool behind the counter, hands braced on the counter so you can push and twist iit from side to side. “How many’s it for?”
“Four, please.” Dustin pushes his pile of quarters and a few crumpled dollars across the counter towards you, a toothy grin on his face.
“Awesome, you guys rollerbladed before?” You look along the line of teenagers who all shake their heads at you, minus the red haired girl who gives you a small, barely there nod. “It’s easy, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Your voice is sweet, like it could be coated with honey or molasses, and is probably the last thing he expected to hear at a roller rink full of grotty kids and their unimpressed parents. When he finally gets a glimpse of you he thinks you somehow look sweeter than your voice, if that was possible. Your hair pulled up high but a little messy as your bangs fall out the front and frame your face, lips coated a cherry red that matches your works logo printed across your shirt and the red hot pants you’re wearing. You’re all long legs and saccharine smiles, and Steve thinks he might be in love.
“Stop gawking, Harrington.” Lucas turns and smacks a backhand to Steve’s chest, pulling him out of whatever trance you seem to have him in.
“Shut up.” Steve hisses at the boy, eyebrows raising in some sort of warning that holds no real power and he knows it.
You think it’s cute, and try to quell the smile that wants to work its way across your lips. You busy yourself with counting up the mounds of change the teenagers had placed on the counter, overhearing the group bicker under their breaths with the older boy.
“Well you’re all paid up, you get an hour on the rink, we’ll call your wristband colour when it’s time for you to scoot.” You wave the paper wristbands at the teens, them all eagerly putting their arms onto the counter so you can affix them.
“And you’re their guardian I’m guessing?” Your eyes are still focused on sticking the wristbands carefully together, but the question is clearly posed at Steve, who’s still cursing Lucas for as good as ruining any chance he had at even speaking with you.
“I guess, technically, I’m just the babysitter.” Steve shrugs, ruffling Dustin’s curls much to the boys dismay.
“Cute.” You finish attaching the last wristband and finally look up at Steve, your eyes glistening like they’ve got stars inside them that flicker and glow with each blink. “I just need you to sign in, essentially says if anything happens you’re in charge of taking them to their parents or the ER or wherever they need to go.” You slide a clipboard across the counter, a slip of paper already half filled with phone numbers and signatures. “You guys can go collect your skates from the desk just down there.” You smile at the group who quickly scurry off, hands grabbing at arms to drag one another over to the desk a few meters away.
“Does that happen a lot?” Steve scribbles down his name and phone number, now starting to really regret agreeing to be the chaperone for the outing if it has a high potential to end in an emergency room visit. He passes the clipboard back over to you and you look over the details to check everything’s okay before tucking it back under the counter.
“Nah, not really. Kids are pretty resilient, they’d have to really go down to do any actual damage.” You shrug, tapping your pen against the hard surface in front of you as you lean your other elbow there, chin resting against the palm of your hand. “You sure you don’t wanna go for a spin?” There’s a little teasing in your voice, not quite mean but just confident enough to have Steve choking on his words.
“Yeah, I - I’m sure. Someone’s gotta be responsible, right?” Steve chuckles, hand going to the back of his neck to rub at the skin there. It’s way too hot in this place, he thinks. That’s definitely the only reason he’s feeling flustered.
“Well if you change your mind, you know where I am.” You blink up at him through thick lashes, corners of your mouth curling into a smile and Steve thinks he might actually faint or maybe even drop dead if he doesn’t catch his breath in the next few seconds.
“Steve! Stop flirting and get over here!” Dustin cups his hands around his mouth as he shouts just to make sure his voice travels far enough, it definitely would’ve reached Steve without the added amplification.
Steve thinks he’s definitely going to drop dead now. “I better go. Duty calls.” He chuckles nervously and juts his head towards the kids who were now all standing watch.
“See y’around, Steve Harrington.” The way you say his name makes his stomach twist into a knot, he didn’t know it could sound so pretty considering he’s heard it every day of his life but here he is, hoping he gets to hear you say it again.
You wave him off as he goes to join the group of teens, all clutching their new roller blades and giggling amongst themselves as Steve chastises them for ‘making him look like a dickhead’. You press your lips together and sit back on your seat slightly, pulling your eyes away from Steve so that you don’t look like a complete weirdo staring at him.
You’ve always been confident, walking tall and smiling your way through life. It came pretty easy to you, not in a big headed way but more just self assured. It wasn’t the first time a guy had gotten shy around you, but there was something about Steve that piqued your interest. Besides the fact that he was undeniably the prettiest guy you’d seen in a long time. It also made a nice change to have someone your own age in the building other than your co-workers, normally you dealt with grumpy parents or exhausted teachers and sure you were nice to them but you didn’t actually want to talk to them, get to know them more than just a name and number.
You don’t have much time to think about it though, because more kids are piling through the door and you’ve got wristbands to give out, now’s not the time to start daydreaming about a guy you met for all of five minutes.
After about half an hour of sitting on the sidelines and watching the kids loop around and around the wooden rink to obnoxiously loud music, Steve has well and truly had enough. The coke he bought was too sweet and hurt his teeth and was definitely making his headache worse.
He runs a hand over his face, slouched over so his arms can rest on his knees because the bench he was sitting on wasn’t exactly the comfiest and sitting up straight against the hard backboard was hurting his spine.
“Looks like you’re having fun.” You sit yourself down next to him on the bench, a cherry slush in your hands and a teasing smile on your face. You smell just as sweet as the rest of you, vanilla and cherry and just a hint of something floral underneath the rest of the candied notes.
Steve instantly sits up straighter, a little wide eyed at the fact you’re actually sitting next to him. “S’that obvious?” He gives you a sort of apologetic smile, as if you’re going to be mad he’s not having the time of his life at your work.
“Just a little.” You sip your slush, lipstick leaving a red stain around the white straw. “Y’know we run an over 18s night the first thursday of every month, you should come. I promise it’s more fun, plus you can bring some friends your own age.”
“Are you asking because you need to get numbers up? You got, like, a referral scheme going on or something?” Steve jokes, though he does genuinely want to know, it’s just easier to pose the question this way.
You laugh a little and shake your head. “No, I’m asking because you’re cute and it’s an easy way to see you again.” You’re nonchalant with your words, but they make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.
“You won’t be working?”
“I‘m sure I can swing an evening off if I’ve got a reason to.” You stand up from your spot next to Steve and stretch out your back a little. “Just think about it.”
“Do I at least get your name? Might help my friends believe that the pretty girl actually invited me.” Steve was staring up at you, the dim overhead lights casting shadows over his face and accentuating his features. His eyes almost looked black, his irises deep brown with large pupils in the low light. You really do think he’s pretty.
“Sorry handsome, just assumed you could read.” You tap a red lacquered nail against the name tag on your shirt, Steve’s eyes following your pointer and a small ‘oh’ falling from his lips. “I’ll see you Thursday.” You say it more as a statement than a question, eyebrows raised a little but a playful smile on your lips as you walk back to your desk.
Steve doesn’t mind sitting around as much after that, the next half hour passes much quicker than the last because his mind is reeling over the fact that you want to see him again. He’d pinch himself but he might look a little insane and he doesn’t want you to revoke the invite.
By the time the kids make their way over to him, skates returned and sufficient energy burned, he’s still in a world of his own.
“Earth to Steve, hello!” Dustin waves his hand in front of Steve’s face, the older boy flinching back from the palm that’s dangerously close to his face.
“Chill out, idiot, I can see you.” Steve huffs, standing up from his spot on the bench that never did get more comfortable.
“You gonna stay and gawk all night or actually take us home?”
“You’re all assholes, you know that?” Steve pushes the curly haired boy in front of him, the group all heading towards the door to the parking lot.
“She’s too cool for you, dude.” Dustin calls back, making sure to be a few feet in front to prevent another shove.
Steve groans. “I will literally leave you all here.”
—-
Your shift had finished half an hour ago, and changing out of your uniform had taken you all of five minutes as you swapped your staff t-shirt for a black turtleneck of your own and tucked it into the pleated red skirt you’d worn on shift, which means you’ve spent about 25 minutes lingering at the bar and making small talk with your colleagues.
You’d promised to hang around for a little while anyway, some of your friends finishing work at the same time so it meant you could all properly catch up, but mainly you were hoping that Steve would actually show up.
Thinking back, maybe you were too casual with your invite. Not specific enough that you wanted him to come to see you, not just because you think he’d have fun. You hope that’s not the case.
Steve, on the other hand, is getting an earful from his friends on the drive over. He tried to bring it up subtly, that they should try something new for a change and there was definitely no other reason that he had a sudden interest in roller skating. But apparently Dustin had already snitched to Eddie, outed him as having a big teenage crush on the pretty girl who works at the rink, so he had no choice but to own up and beg his friends to just do this one thing for him, please, just this once.
To his surprise, they’d agreed. Albeit reluctantly, mostly just to see him fumble over his words and attempt to flirt, but that was good enough for him.
Your skates are slung over your shoulder, laces tied together so they can hang there without you needing to keep a hold on them. You lean against the bar, facing out across the rink that is a lot calmer than usual, making small talk with your friends but not really paying attention. They know why you’re distracted, so you don’t feel as guilty for being a little out of it.
So when you see Steve, and who you assume are his friends, walk in, none of them are shocked as you excuse yourself from the group and walk over to the boy with a big grin on your face.
“Steve Harrington, you came.” You meet him midway across the room, staring up once you’re in front of him with big eyes and sickly sweet smile. “And you brought grown ups.” You look at the three people Steve was with, who all look between you and Steve a little bewildered.
“Yeah, well, you know how much I loved it here last time.” Steve chuckles, hands shoved into his back pockets. Robin coughs behind him, looking at him with raised brows when he turns around. “Uh, this is Robin, Eddie and Nancy. All grown ups.”
You introduce yourself to them all, polite ‘hello’s’ and ‘nice to meet you’s’ exchanged before you turn your attention back to Steve. “You want a drink? I can definitely get us free soda but they know I’m not 21 yet so I can’t get much else.” You hold your hand out to Steve, and his brain short circuits a little bit before he actually takes it so you can guide him over to the bar.
“He wasn’t lying.” Eddie looks between Nancy and Robin, who both look back at him with the same shocked expression. Not to be cruel, but it did sound too good to be true.
“Huh, can’t believe all it took for Steve to get back in the game was to get out of Hawkins.” Robin nodded, watching you and Steve make your way across the floor.
You walk backwards so you can keep looking at Steve as you move, he looks even better than you remember. “Y’know, you had me worried you were gonna stand me up for a minute there.” You smile at him, tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth and a playful look in your eyes.
“I’d have to be real stupid to do that.” Steve can barely focus because all he can feel is how soft your hand is in his, the tips of your nails pressing gently against his skin. It’s barely there, a minuscule pressure that is somehow all he can feel.
You giggle and shake your head at him before turning to actually look where you’re going. Steve breathes and realises he’s been holding his breath since you held his hand.
You get to the bar and ask Steve what he wants, but he just says to get him whatever you’re having, so you end up with two cherry slushes. “I swear this place is gonna make my teeth rot, I drink so many of these.” You hand Steve his drink and sip your own.
Steve takes a sip and wonders if that means you’d taste of cherries if he kissed you. “They’re pretty good though.”
“Ugh, I know.” You sigh. “D’you think your friends will want anything? I kinda dragged you away there.”
“Think they’ll definitely forgive you if you get ‘em slushes, especially Eddie.”
“That’s good, gotta make a good first impression.” You order 3 more of the same bright red drink, carefully placing them into your hand so they’re balancing against each other. “Okay, got the apology slush, let’s go.”
You move so smoothly, like the entire world bends itself around you. Steve thinks that maybe it does, you’re none the wiser.
You sit with Steve’s friends for a little while, crammed into one of the booths so you’re pressed close to Steve’s side. You lean into him a little, head almost resting against his shoulder as you answer their questions about you.
“You go to college?” Robin asks, her words muffled by the straw that she’s trying to sip from at the same time as speaking.
“Mhm.” You nod, fingers playing with the silver pendant that hangs around your neck. “Just community college though, nothing crazy.”
“What d’you study?”
“Oh it’s so boring, you’ll think I’m so lame.” You look up at Steve for the last part, doe eyed through your lashes.
Steve has to stop himself laughing at the thought of him ever thinking you’re lame, or anything even close. “I definitely won’t.”
“Yeah, you’re way cooler than Steve.” Robin agrees, instantly following up with a “no offense” as her friend shoots her a glare.
“I study finance, I always just sorta got math y’know? So it just made sense. Total snooze fest, I know.” You roll your eyes dramatically, leaning back so you’re tucked further into Steve’s side.
“So you’re, like, super smart then?”
“I’d say averagely smart.” You shrug, dropping the pendant from your fingers and placing your hand on Steve’s knee. “Right, I think it’s time we skate, don’t you?” You shuffle in your seat to nudge Steve along the booth. “C’mon, up and out.”
Steve wouldn’t even know how to begin to say no to you. He stands up out the booth, waving bye to his friends who all look at him like he’s a goner, absolutely done for. He probably is. “This is hardly fair, you’re basically a professional.”
“I’m giving you the perfect excuse to hold my hand and you’re complaining?” You tease, lips pulled into a pout.
“Yeah, you’re right, I’ll shut up.”
You perch near the edge of the rink to put your skates on, sat alone whilst Steve goes to sort getting some of his own. Your fingers pull the laces tight, they’re pretty worn from how often you use them so you make sure to tie them extra tight. Steve comes and sits next to you with his newly acquired pair, the smell of his cologne hitting you as soon as he’s there. “You smell really nice.”
Steve chuckles, pulling the skates on. “Thanks, so do you.” It feels like a pretty weak response considering how intoxicating your perfume is.
“Oh, that’s good. I was worried I smelled like wood polish and shoes after working.”
“Only a little bit.” Steve smirks at you, only a little bit and it’s so full of affection rather than anything cruel that you think you’d let him insult you all night and it’d be fine.
“You’re a real charmer, Steve Harrington.”
You take the lead heading onto the rink, so used to moving about in your skates that it feels natural at this point. Steve’s a little slower behind you, but he speeds up when you hold your hand out for him for the second time that night.
His hands much bigger than yours, fingers hooking through your own and gripping tight as you step onto the wooden floor of the rink.
Steve let’s you skate a little ahead of him, your arms stretched out but still joined at the hands. He can see you properly now, doused in colourful light that reflect off your skin and leave you looking like you’re in a kaleidoscope as you move. He feels a little embarrassed when you turn around and catch him staring, but you don’t seem to mind. You just smile at him, head tilted to one side as you hold out your other hand for him to take.
“You’re gonna have to tell me if I’m gonna bump into someone.” You’re facing Steve fully now, feet gliding to push you backwards whilst you hold both his hands.
“That’s a lot of responsibility to give to a guy you’ve met once.”
You shrug. “I’ll take the risk.”
You move around the rink slowly, not really focused on your surroundings as you talk about yourselves a little more. There’s a few close calls where you nearly skate into people, barely pulled away in time by Steve who keeps apologising even though it just makes you laugh.
“I’m sorry, I’m being a really bad guide.” Steve pulls you out of the way of another person, inadvertently bringing you closer to him as he does.
“It’s okay, I’ll let it slide. Only ‘cause you’re cute.”
Every time you compliment him, Steve genuinely worries his heart might stop beating. That or beat so hard it pushes its way out his chest.
After a while you end up standing at the edge of the rink, feet still moving a little so you can twist on the spot. Your fingers are playing with the hem of your skirt, nails brushing against the skin of your thighs. Steve tries to stop himself looking, because he doesn’t want to look like a creep. It’s totally not appropriate to stare at a girl's thighs the second time you meet her, he thinks to himself, as much as he might really want to.
You’re completely oblivious to his internal debate, just musing on about how you’d just got the newest Pet Shop Boys album on tape but when you look up from your hands you realise that Steve’s not really paying attention. “You’re totally not listening.” You don’t sound mad, if anything you sound a little amused as Steve seems to snap out of his trance and look down at you with an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re so pretty and cool and you’re smart, and you’re talking to me and it’s just -“ The words fall out of Steve’s lips quickly and all in one breath, because if he doesn’t say it now he might actually explode. “It’s a bit crazy.”
You giggle at Steve’s rambling, reaching your hand out so your fingers brush against his. “So if I said I wanted to kiss you, that’d completely throw you for a loop?”
Steve swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. “Might kill me on the spot.” He’s only half joking.
“Oh, I better not then.” You bite down on your bottom lip and let out a small sigh for dramatic effect.
“I’ll take the risk.” He repeats what you said to him before, his honey brown eyes focused on you as they flick between your eyes and your mouth.
You move your body closer to his and bring a hand up to the side of his face, running your thumb slowly across his cheek down to his jaw. His skins soft, save for the small specks of stubble that are scattered across his jawline, but they feel nice under the pad of your thumb. Your fingers rest at the nape of his neck, brushing against the curls that gather there and tangling in them.
You pull his face down to you gently, no real pressure applied but more of a guidance. You push up as much as you can on the balls of your feet, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips to his. It’s a simple kiss, soft and a bit cautious but still sweet. More than enough to make Steve feel a bit dizzy from it.
You pull away, still keeping your face close to his. “Still alive?”
Steve can feel your breath against his lips as you speak, your voice so warm and soft he thinks he might melt. “Just about.” He whispers, the moment a bit too surreal for him to speak any louder. Like it might all disappear if he does.
You grin at him, and feel a swell in your chest at his sweetness. You don’t normally find yourself taken by any guys, but something about Steve had you feeling like a teenager with her first crush again. Maybe it was because he just seemed so enamored by you for no other reason than the fact you were you. You weren’t going to question it.
You end up writing your number on the back of Steve’s hand, carefully drawn out numbers in red sharpie that you’ve picked up from behind the counter and a little heart next to it. “Don’t do that dumb thing guys do where they wait like a week to call, ‘cause it’ll wash off by then and you’d have to come here and hope I write it down again.”
“Would you write it down again?” Steve asks even though there’s no way he’s not going to call you tomorrow. He’d call you tonight if it wasn’t a crazy person thing to do.
“You could just call me and then you won’t have to worry.”
“I’m obviously going to call you.”
You lean up and press another kiss against his cheek, your lips plush against his skin and he can feel their touch even after you move away. “Good move.”
thank u for reading !! i’m going to write a second part / sequel for this so keep your eyes peeled if h enjoyed this <3
Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any video he wants.
Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Word count: 8.8k
Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.
A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!
divider by firefly-graphics
August 1981
"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."
You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.
"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."
He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.
"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."
"I'll help you with your work," you say.
Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.
"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."
Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.
"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."
"You think?"
You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.
"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.
The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.
"Why wouldn't we?"
"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."
You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.
"You are not dumb, Steve."
One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.
He had made you swear not to tell anyone.
"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."
His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.
"Tommy says I am."
"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."
You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Yes, Steve. I promise.”
“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”
You nod and lay back on the floaty.
“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.
“Just us?”
“Just us.”
Now. (January, 1987)
You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.
Whoops. Right. You're still at work.
You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.
You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.
And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?
Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.
“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”
Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.
“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”
“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.
“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."
The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.
“Who’s gonna make me? You?”
You lean against the side of the game, considering.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” he says.
You snort.
“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”
He glances at you.
“So?”
“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”
You wink at Dustin. He beams.
“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.
The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”
Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.
You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.
“You’re awesome, Y/N!"
You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”
Dustin sours.
“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”
“No way!"
He shakes his head.
“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”
You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”
“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.
“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."
You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.
Dustin shrugs, starting the game.
“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”
“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”
“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”
“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."
You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.
"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."
"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."
"Wow. Impressive."
"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”
“You would?”
The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.
“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”
“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."
“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”
“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”
Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.
“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."
"'Kay!"
Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.
"Who do I ask for?"
"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"
"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"
"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."
Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.
The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.
"Can I help who's next?"
You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!
"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.
"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"
You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.
She nods in realization.
"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."
You wince.
"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"
Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.
"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"
"Pretty in Pink," you say.
"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"
"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."
She grins.
"Me too. She's pretty."
"Super pretty," you agree.
The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.
"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."
You take her hand. "Y/N.”
"Did you go to Hawkins High?"
"I did. Graduated last year."
"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"
You nod.
"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."
"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"
"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."
You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.
"How come?" she asks.
"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."
Robin smiles sympathetically.
"They're jerks," she says.
You huff. "Yeah."
You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.
Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.
"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."
"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.
She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.
You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.
The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.
"Have you been waiting long?"
You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.
Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.
He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.
"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."
You blink.
"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.
"No," you manage.
"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"
He doesn't remember you.
You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.
And he doesn't remember you.
"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.
You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.
"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."
"I have to go," you say.
You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.
Her brows rise.
"Oh. Is everything—"
"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."
"That's okay, we can just—"
You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.
Only there do you stop to catch your breath.
And then you cry.
February 1982
"What do you think about Marie?"
You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.
"Marie Iverson?" you ask.
"Yeah."
Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.
"I don't know. I don't know her that well."
"She's cute."
"I guess so," you say.
It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—
"I was thinking of asking her out."
The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.
"Shit, here. Take mine."
Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."
"Sure. So what do you think?"
"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."
"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."
Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.
"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.
"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."
"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."
Steve deflates.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."
You sigh and rub your temple.
"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."
"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."
Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"
"Writing?"
"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."
"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."
He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.
"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."
Steve laughs, nose scrunched.
"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."
"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."
"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"
"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."
Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."
Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.
You shuffle your papers into a stack.
"Can we study now?" you ask.
"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."
"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."
He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.
"Lemme take you out," he says.
You nearly swallow your tongue.
"Wh–what?"
"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."
"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."
Steve beams. "I'll drive you."
Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.
You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.
Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.
"Just us?" you check.
You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.
"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"
You check your watch and close your book.
"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."
Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)
"Please," he says. "For helping me."
Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."
Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.
"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."
You perk up at that. "Really?"
"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"
"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."
And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.
Now
You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.
"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."
You might have overshot the perks, though.
Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.
"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."
She shoots you a mean look.
"I'm complaining to the manager."
You paste on a smile.
"You do that. Have a nice day."
She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.
Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.
"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.
Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.
You lean your elbows on the countertop.
"What'll it be, gang?"
"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."
You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.
"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.
"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."
Dustin accepts this with no argument.
"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."
You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.
He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.
"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.
"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"
Lucas nods.
"Yup. They're both parents."
You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.
"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."
"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."
"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"
Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.
"What?"
"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.
"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."
"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."
"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.
Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.
"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."
"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.
"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.
"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."
"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."
Dustin nods eagerly.
You blink. "He protects you guys?"
Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.
"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."
"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."
"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."
"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."
You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.
"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."
"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."
"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"
Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."
"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”
“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.
“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”
You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.
When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.
"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"
"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."
"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"
"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."
"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.
"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."
"And why can't your babysitter take you?"
You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.
"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."
Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.
"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."
"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."
“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.
You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.
“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”
“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.
“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”
You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.
“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”
Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”
You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”
“Byeeee!”
They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.
March 1983
“Okay, but if you had to choose.”
“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”
Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”
“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”
“Exactly! My birthday.”
He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.
“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”
“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”
“I keep telling you you need glasses.”
“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”
He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.
“Shit,” he says.
You belly laugh in delight.
“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”
“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”
"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."
You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.
The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.
“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”
"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.
“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”
“‘S cold.”
“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”
He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”
“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.
“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.
“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.
“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”
“Can’t believe no one else came.”
You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.
“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”
You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.
“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.
“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”
“I listen.”
Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.
“God, I miss you,” he says.
You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.
“I’m right here, Steve.”
“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”
Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.
“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”
“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”
“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.
“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”
You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.
“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”
“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”
Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”
His laugh is warm in your neck.
You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.
Now
“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”
“Game plan?” El asks quietly.
“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”
She stares at Lucas.
“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”
“Right.”
“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”
You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”
Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”
“Or a total disaster,” Max says.
You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.
“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”
The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.
“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”
Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”
“Uh-huh.”
The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.
“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.
You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.
“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”
Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.
“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”
He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.
“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.
“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”
“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”
“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”
He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”
“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.
“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”
“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”
Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.
“Harrington, man, what’s up!”
Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.
“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”
Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.
“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.
“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.
“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”
America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.
“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.
You feel a burst of pride.
Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.
“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”
“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”
No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.
“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”
Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.
Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”
Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”
Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.
“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”
He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.
“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”
The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.
“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”
“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”
Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.
“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”
She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”
“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”
Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”
You’re suddenly exhausted.
“What do you want, Steve?”
“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”
“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”
“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”
“I didn’t want it that much.”
“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”
“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”
“Y/N—”
“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”
Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.
“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”
“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”
“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”
Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.
So you run. Again.
You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.
You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?
So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.
Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.
Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.
"Slushie?"
She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"
You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"
"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"
Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.
You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.
"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.
Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"
"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"
Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.
"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.
"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"
"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."
Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.
"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."
"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."
You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.
"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."
"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."
Robin smiles a sad smile.
"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."
The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?
"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."
"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."
"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.
"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."
You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.
"If you two are—"
"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."
"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."
Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."
You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.
"This town is so shit," you say.
"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."
"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."
Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."
"I can sometimes be an asshole."
"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"
You laugh. "We'll get jackets."
"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.
You look at the tape in your hand.
"Does Steve like John Hughes?"
"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."
He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.
"I did want to watch this one," you say.
"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.
You suppose not.
December 1984
You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.
Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.
Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.
Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.
You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.
A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.
You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.
Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.
"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."
There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.
It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.
Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.
Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.
Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.
No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.
You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.
But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.
You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.
Now (And Forever)
The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.
It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.
The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.
Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.
That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.
I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.
You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.
I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.
Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.
I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.
But I miss you. I always have.
Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.
I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.
Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.
It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.
I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.
I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.
You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.
Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.
Sincer
Lo
Your friend,
Steve
You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.
You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.
It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.
There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.
You knock on the door three times. And wait.
Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.
The door swings open.
Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.
“I got your letter,” you say.
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.
“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”
Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”
“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”
His brows knit. “What?”
“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”
“Like a friend?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.
“Always.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”
You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—
“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”
And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.
“I missed you,” you confess.
Steve nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”
“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.
“Hmm?”
You pull back to look at Steve.
“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”
a/n: u can read me for literal filth in this piece, i won’t even lie to u lmao. it’s disgustingly full of praise and petnames and steve’s biggest turn on is being told he’s loved <3 big ups to em (@familyvideostevie) for literally being the reason this got written at all & if u haven’t guessed by now, practically ever single idea i have is consulted by kenny <3 (@hawkinsindiana) also thank u steve stans for being my cheerleaders love u guys sm (@spideystevie @harringtonbf) & sanne too (@sanguineterrain) bcos talking w you helped sm <3
word count: 6.9k hehe
summary: One Sunday, filled with too many kisses to count and a sureness in your heart that you are entirely in love with Steve Harrington. You tell him him for the first time in a flurry of love and lust, tangled in his sheets. [established relationship + smut, praise, petnames, + first i love you + fem!reader] MINORS DNI this piece contains nsfw content and is intended for 18+ readers.
It was often a question on your mind: How does one know when they’re in love?
For you, it was as easy as a Sunday.
When you wake on this Sunday morning, it’s in Steve’s arms. You’re in his bed, intertwined beneath the sheets and warmed by more than just the sun that peeks through the gap in his curtains. The room glows golden. His warmth creeps under your skin and his love finds you even when he sleeps, still snoozing against the pillow when you drift into consciousness.
He’s beautiful. Soft brown curls that crumple against the pillow, long lashes that you know even the girls at Hawkins High were envious of, faint barely visible freckles that hide under his tan. He’s beautiful and he’s yours. It makes you giddy to even think that.
Based on the TikTok trend where girls don’t say “I love you” back to their boyfriends.
You were annoyed. Not mad, not angry, just annoyed.
You never had a problem with Eddie’s DnD campaigns, if anything you loved how passionate he was about his hobbies and his club. But tonight was different.
It was supposed to be date night and somehow it had slipped out of Eddie’s head so he went on to make plans with the guys, deciding that they would get together to finish a campaign that very same night.
Usually you wouldn’t make a big deal of it, but you had been so busy lately, barely getting any time with your boyfriend, that you were looking forward to date night.
Instead you ended up laying on your bed, trying to read your well loved copy of Pride and Prejudice, while Eddie scrambled to get his things.
“Alright, babe. I’m off.” he announced, picking his bag and walking out of the bedroom. “Love you!” You didn’t reply back.
You expected to hear the sound of the door opening and closing but there was only silence. After a moment, you heard Eddie’s steps coming up the hall.
“Love you!” He said again, this time in a singing voice.
Again, you didn’t say anything.
“Babe!” Eddie poked his head into the bedroom.
“Yeah?” You asked without looking at him.
“I’m leaving now.” He said.
“Mhm…” You flipped a page on the book and pretended to keep reading.
“I love you.” He repeated.
“Yeah, alright, have fun.” You said instead.
This really threw Eddie off.
“Baby? Babe!” He called out, this time fully stepping into the bedroom. “I love you.”
“Tell the guys I said hi, okay?” You still wouldn’t look up from the book.
“Baaaaaabe!” He whined.
“What?” You asked, acting confused.
“I said I love you.”
“I heard you.”
Now Eddie was starting to get worried. You would always say it back. And none of you ever left the house without a kiss or saying “I love you.”
“Are you mad at me?” Eddie asked while dropping his bag on the floor. “What did I do?”
“I’m not mad at you.” Again, you played dumb.
“You must be, if you’re not saying it back. Tell me what I did so I can fix it?”
You felt yourself starting to crumble. Eddie was pouting adorably and giving you his biggest puppy dog eyes.
“What day is it today? Did I forget our anniversary?” He asked while trying to remember. “No, that’s not it. I know for sure it’s not your birthday….”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Eddie. I promise, I’m not mad.” You replied shaking your head.
“Alright.” Eddie picked up his bag again. “You sure?”
“Yes, Eddie. I’m sure.” You smiled softly and went back to your book.
“Okay, I’m going now.” He stepped out of the bedroom. “I love you!”
You bit your lower lip hard, now trying to contain your laugh.
This time when you didn’t say it back, Eddie came rushing into the bedroom, dropped his bag and jumped on the bed, crawling on top of you.
“Baaaabyyyyyy I said I love you!” He repeated.
“Eddie! What are you doing?” You asked giggling.
“Why won’t you say it back?” He pinned you against the bed. “Don’t you love me anymore?”
If there was one thing you would never, ever do, is make Eddie feel insecure. You knew he had a lot of self esteem issues since you two started dating, and you always tried to remind him of how wonderful he was.
So when he started doubting you loved him, you gave up.
“Of course I do, silly.”
“Then why wouldn’t you say it back?” He pouted.
You rolled your eyes and sighed.
“Tonight was date night, Eds.”
You could see the wheels turning in Eddie’s head as realization hit him.
“Fuck!” He sat up on the bed and ran his hand down his face. “I knew I must’ve forgotten something! And you!” He pointed at you. “You said you weren't mad at me! Why didn’t you tell me?”
You shrugged and looked away.
“I didn’t want to worry you, it’s not a big deal.”
“It must be a huge deal if you won’t say you love me.”
You shrugged again.
“Let me make a phone call and then we can have our date night.” He said but before he got up you took him by his arm.
“No, don’t cancel on the guys. It’s okay, really. We can have a date night some other time.” You said.
“Nah, my girl is mad at me, that’s more important than some DnD campaign.” He said, but you knew it upset him.
“No, I mean it, it’s fine. Really.” You insisted and he looked at you with concern.
“Are you sure? You’re not saying it just to make me happy, right?”
You quickly shook your head.
“No, I’m sure. Go and kick their asses, okay?”
Eddie thought for a moment.
“I’m so sorry I’m such a clutz sometimes, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed you and got up.
“I know, thanks baby.” You said and smiled.
“Alright, I’m off now.” He took his bag and walked out of the bedroom. “Bye! I love you!”
There was a moment of silence.
You giggled and hid your face behind your book as you heard Eddie running towards the room.
“You little shit!” He climbed on top of you again, this time tickling you. You laughed and tried to get away from him.
“Nooo, stoooop!”
“Say it back! Say you love me!” He said, still ticking you.
“Fine! Fine! I love you! I love you!” You said between laughs.
hi bestie, could i please request either steve or eddie, whoever you're feeling more, smoking weed with their good friend f!reader and learning that she gets a major oral fixation when she's high? love your writing the absolute most!
author's note: look, i couldn't choose so you get both. i also don't write steve often so if this is horrible i'm sorry lol
cw: 18+ (minors dni), established friendship, steve is a little clueless, smoking/getting high, threesomes, oral fixation (sorta, i lost focus pretty quick lol), oral (f & m receiving), mentions of steddie, lots of kissing and teasing each other, if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 5k
Steve wasn’t supposed to be here—not that you cared, but it was a surprise when you walked through the door that night and he was settled on Eddie’s living room couch, shoes left by the door and his sock covered feet plopped up on the cushion that separated him and Eddie. You can’t even imagine the conversation you interrupted when they both stare at you wide-eyes, like Eddie forget to mention to Steve that you were coming over—or that possibly, he forgot about you coming over at all.
It wasn’t a weekly thing, but Eddie would pick a few random nights out of the month to smoke with you and watch a couple movies—you’d knew each other since grade school, when Eddie had much less of a mane than he did now and wasn’t nearly as intimidating to people. Not that he could ever seem that way to you, it was impossible.
“Oh, hey—” Eddie breathes, fingers tapping absently against the arm of the couch where his arm was slung over, knee tucked up under his forearm, his foot planted firmly against the cushion. He was dressed down, a plain black shirt and similarly colored sweatpants. Steve still had on his work uniform, pinned name tag stuck to his vest, “Steve’s here.”
You smile slightly, closing the door shut behind you and tossing the small bag on snacks on his cluttered kitchen counter. “I see that.” You nod, making eye contact with the culprit, Steve looked severely out of place, “Steve.”
“I should go, right?” Steve asks wearily, finger pointing toward the front door. “I feel like I’m interrupting something—“
“No, it’s fine.” You assure him, “I just—“ A small laugh bubbles from your chest, “since when does Steve Harrington smoke weed?”
“Hey—I’ve smoked before,” Steve defends, “I mean, my parents would kill me if they found out about it, but I have a few times.”
You glance over at Eddie, his face riddled with amusement.
“He’s a crowd smoker, isn’t he?”
“A what?”
“You only smoke around groups because everyone else is doing it—but to answer that question,” Eddie looks at you with a narrowed gaze, “he’s not.”
“Oh?”
You’re intrigued, you couldn’t help it—hanging out with Steve had never been on your agenda, but it wasn’t the worst possible scenario.
“We’ve smoked a few times before,” Eddie explains, “like, once or twice.”
“So, you’re cheating on me with Harrington?” You feign the shot to your ego, hand pressed against your chest as you leaned against the counter, still a large distance from the two boys.
They looked comfortable, at ease—despite your steady friendship with Eddie, you didn’t realize just how close him and Steve had become. You’ve only tagged alone to Family Video a few times with Eddie, figuring most of it was just polite small talk, but it all makes a lot more sense now.
“I could never,” Eddie smiles, reaching for the blunt tucked securely behind his ear, flipping it through his fingers, “anyways, are we gonna start a game of twenty one questions or—“
“Wayne’s gonna kill you if he finds out you smoked on his couch.” You remind him.
“Obviously—“ Eddie retorts, “that’s why we’re moving this to the bedroom.”
You grimace in subtle disgust, “God, why do you say it like that?”
“It’s a special place,” Eddie replies dramatically, “where all the magic happens.”
Steve looks up at you, eyes wide but soft, lips down-turned in a slight frown, “Is he always like this?”
“With me?” You ask redundantly, “Yes.”
Not that you minded any of it, Eddie was probably the only person that could get away with talking to you in such a manor that didn’t make you immediately want to vomit.
Eddie always called it the Munson charm, whatever that was.
Steve coughs through the first couple of drags, not allowing the smoke to reach his lungs properly. It was like watching a baby try to stand on it’s own for the first time and Steve was severely out of his element.
“Have you been letting him smoke like this?” You ask Eddie, eyes widened in shock. Eddie shrugs, pressing the joint to his lips. “You’re a terrible friend.”
“I could shotgun him,” Eddie jokes lightheartedly, “but I don’t need him falling in love with me.”
“Like, when you shotgun a beer?” Steve asks curiously, eyes watching your movements carefully, lips closing around the joint and breathing in deep, chest heaving at the action. His look lingers down the valley of your chest before quickly averting back to your eyes, “I’ve done that before.”
You and Eddie both share a similar laugh, glancing over at Steve with amusement, Eddie offers a soft, “Uh—close, but not really.”
“Not close at all.” You shake your head, looking at Eddie with bemusement. “Steve, have you actually been able to get high? I mean, do you ever feel anything?”
“Well, there was that one time—“ Steve doesn’t elaborate, eyes turned up toward the ceiling as he thought, head tilted slightly, “but that wasn’t weed.”
Your mouth hung open slightly, watching Steve chew at his bottom lip, “I’m not even gonna ask,” You respond, glancing over at Eddie, “—wanna demonstrate?”
Eddie smiles widely, “My pleasure, sweetheart.” Eddie rests his hand on the side of your face, joint shoved between his lips as he breathed in the smoke before carefully holding it off to the side, using the leverage he had on your face to squeeze your mouth open, blowing the smoke into your own mouth, laughing airily as his tongue grazed your own.
Steve couldn’t do anything but stare, eyes glazed over in astonishment as he watched the exchange, both of you pulling back with a satiated smile.
“How have we never done that before?” Eddie asks curiously, pulling back with a subtle pout.
“Because, you disgust me.” You smile, lying through your teeth. You couldn’t openly admit how quickly your mind drifted elsewhere when you got this high, how easily a simple touch could drive you crazy.
Eddie was handsy like this, always finding a reason to cuddle up against you or kiss you lazily—and you didn’t try to stop him, but it was very few and far between that you actually allowed it. You were good at burying it away, offering a small peck or closed-mouth kiss in return, but even that was maddening. If it went further, Eddie would call it out immediately—he had no problem teasing you about it.
“Here, do Harrington.” Eddie suggests with a snide smirk, watching as you rolled your eyes annoyance.
You turned to a curious Steve with a small, comforting smile and mirrored Eddie’s actions, pressing the joint to your lips and grabbing at Steve’s face, which he welcomed easily, tilting his neck slightly as your palm curved around the underside of his firm jaw. You could feel the prickle of stubble against your fingertips, something that sent a surge of excitement through your body despite how hard you tried to ignore it.
“Do I just—“ Steve stammers, quickly interrupted by a head shake from you, pressing your lips to his fully, blowing the smoke into his mouth, a small noise escaping his throat in response, tongue grazing against your top lip accidentally as he pulled away, “—fuck, sorry.”
Eddie can see it on your face when you pull away, swallowing hard as you watched Steve lick his chapped lips, blurting out a, “No fuckin’ way.”
“What?” Both you and Steve respond in unison.
“That’s why you don’t want me kissing you?” Eddie asks, a snide smirk pulling at his face.
“Eddie,” You warn, “shut up.”
Steve eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, watching the exchange between you two.
“Let’s do it again.” Eddie urges, knowing exactly the type of reaction he would get if you let him, “One more time.”
“No.” You grumble, ignoring the immediate interest your body has in the matter.
It wasn’t that you didn’t find Eddie attractive, that wasn’t the case at all—but you and Eddie had always been careful about crossing that line. However, Eddie wasn’t the one who wanted that, it was you. He’d pounce on you in a heartbeat if you allowed it, and frankly, your judgement was skewed at the moment.
“Just the one,” He begs, “and I’ll leave it alone.”
It was a dangerous move to make and you blamed your lack of hesitancy on the high that was creeping in, huffing out a long sigh before waving him forward.
“Fine.” You grumble, an eager Eddie already poised to lean forward. Steve doesn’t know where to look, feeling like he might be intruding, but he watches on anyways.
Eddie presses his lips against yours fully, with all the confidence he can muster, tongue dragging along yours slowly, smoke forgotten about as it seeps through the cracks, bellowing out of his nose as he initiates the kiss. You moan brokenly, eyes falling shut as you played into his game, unable to help yourself. It was just too good.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie says lovingly, pulling back for a brief moment, “you’ve been keeping secrets.”
“Am I missing something?” Steve asks, breaking through the tense silence that had developed between you and Eddie, your eyes glaring pensively into his own.
Eddie chuckles deeply, passing the joint to Steve, “I never really noticed until just now—“ He points at you sparingly, “It’s only ever when we smoke that she acts that way and I didn’t think anything of it until I watched you two. I assumed you were just playing it up to mess with me—“
“I like being kissed when I’m high,” You offer bluntly, “or just like—my mouth gets really sensitive, I can’t explain it.”
“I think you just did.” Eddie remarks, offering a sickeningly sweet smile your way.
“Is that bad?” Steve asks, still partially confused. “I don’t see how that’s a problem?”
Eddie makes a noise of triumph, “See, Steve gets it.”
“I get it.” Steve agrees, hands motioning toward himself.
“Great—you’re both geniuses. Now, can we move on?”
Eddie was resilient though—and apparently, so was Steve. They both share a look, similar to what you walked in on earlier. Your eyebrows furrow slightly, glancing between the two of them.
“Hey—no, what was that?” You ask, finger wagging back and forth between the two of them briefly. You’re almost embarrassed to ask, afraid you might be overthinking things. “Wait, are you both, like—“
“No!” Steve responds quickly, clearing his throat to better compose himself, “No, uh—we’ve kissed before but that’s it.”
Something tells you that's a lie.
“Steve was asking if I’ve ever had a threesome.” Eddie interrupts, “I told him no—unfortunately, Steve forced himself into a tricky predicament and now he’s completely in over his head, aren’t you pretty boy?”
“Was I supposed to say no?” Steve asks, like the idea seemed ridiculous. “Who says no to that?”
“Lots of people,” You tell him, “—you don’t need to feel obligated because it’s some, like, rite of fuckin’ passage. That’s all bullshit.”
“I mean, I wanted to.” Steve assures you, “I still want to.”
You press further, “But?”
“I might’ve played it up,” Steve admits, “They’ve both never done it before and I told them I had some experience with it.”
“Steve,” You groan, covering your face with your hands in frustration, “oh my god—you know what, it actually makes total sense.”
“What?” Eddie asks.
“Why you two are friends,” You tell him, holding up your fingers to emphasize your point, “Clueless, full of yourself, and way too horny.”
“So, we’re just drifting over your whole oral fixation thing?” Eddie laughs, “Like that wasn’t just a few minutes ago?”
You clench your jaw, snatching the joint from Steve’s hands angrily and taking a long, deep drag. You weren’t high enough to deal with this, not yet.
“Then what the fuck was that look?” You ask, “Or are we keeping secrets now, Eddie?”
And there’s nothing he hates more than his own words being used against him, a saccharine smile spreading across your face.
“I told Steve I’d be down to help him practice, but that we’d need to find another participant,” Eddie shrugs, “kinda defeats the purpose of a threesome if you can’t find a third.”
“I might’ve brought your name up earlier,” Steve admits shyly, “I was just joking initially—but you walked in right after that.”
It all makes sense then, the weird look and tension that lingered when you stepped foot inside Eddie’s trailer. You could feel it now, but less uncomfortable—and you almost, almost propositioned them yourself. But no, you weren’t nearly as bold as either of them. Plus, with the high kicking in, you couldn’t help yourself.
“I’m not having sex with either of you,” You tell them firmly, and Eddie has the courage to laugh, plucking the joint from your fingers and snuffing it out in the ashtray at his bedside, “not in a million fuckin’ years.”
“Hey, woah—woah,” Eddie chides, “slow your roll, sweetheart.”
Eddie was wounded, but he didn’t show it.
Steve blinks heavily and you can see it on his face, the switch in his demeanor as the weed settles in.
“I just wanted to—I don’t know, test it out?” Steve shrugs, “Some kissing and stuff.”
“Unless you’re afraid to watch us kiss,” Eddie presses, “is that it? Is it too much for you?”
He’s only teasing, but it’s enough to make you retort in annoyance.
“Oh, like when you nearly busted in your pants after I made out with Chrissy Cunningham in front of you at that party last year?” You ask with a snark to your tone, “I can handle myself a lot better than you can, Eddie.”
Steve eyes you wearily, still looking ridiculous in his work uniform, the vest bunching up around his stomach where his shirt had ridden up from him laying out on his side against Eddie’s bed.
“So, is that a yes?” Steve asks hopefully.
“On one condition,” You tell him, “we never speak of this again.”
“Deal.” They both respond in unison, far too eager.
It feels like a fever dream, Steve leaning over you to reach for Eddie, meeting him in the middle of your lap. He’d finally took the vest off after some persuasion from you, striped cotton shirt riding up in his stomach, the few buttons it did have were completely unbuttoned and failing to hide that patch of chest hair hidden underneath. Eddie smiled into the kiss, the dimple in his cheek deepening at the emotion he showed, the familiar sense of giddiness spreading throughout his body.
You’re not sure what to do, where to look, until Eddie’s hand is squeezing at your thigh, over the material of your jeans, a reassuring pressure that reminded him that you were still a part of this—he wanted you to watch, as taboo as it was for you.
“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Eddie assures you, mouth still very much involved with Steve, both of there eyes shut in pure bliss as their mouths met at an unhurried pace, all tongue and sloppy cadence. “You can stare all you want.”
And you do it, falling back on your palms as Steve’s hands fell in front of himself, just between the space in your legs, your chest rising and falling with every slow breath you took, afraid to move, afraid to interrupt the moment—until Steve separates from Eddie without hesitation and pulls you to him, the heat of his palm spreading out across your cheek as he kissed you gently, less forced that with Eddie.
This was new to him, and you; he didn’t want to come on too strong and you appreciated that, but it wasn’t nearly what you were hoping for. You needed the intensity, all of it—if this was following you all to the grave, it was going to be worth it.
Eddie makes a noise, noting the frustration on your face.
He tuts, running his fingers gingerly through the back of Steve’s hair, “More, Harrington.”
You laugh softly against his lips, “Really, it’s okay—I don’t need you to hold back.”
“You sure?” Steve asks quietly, noses bumping together gently in the process, leaving slow, lingering kisses against your lips, the kind that had you chasing after him for another. “I can get a little, uh—“
“Intense?” You finish for him, “Even better.”
Steve chuckles at that, slipping his hands around your backside until they’re resting just underneath the curve of your ass, adjusting you gently until you’re laid out against the mattress, Eddie following along too as he sprawls out on his side, fingers drifting along the skin of your exposed stomach, shirt pulled up slightly in the process.
Steve follows through on his words, hand pulling at your thigh until it bracketed against his hip, tongue delving into your mouth without hesitation, alighting every nerve-ending possible, an audible moan slipping from your throat and into Steve’s mouth. He bucks his hips involuntarily through his movements, pulling at your hands until they’re locked above your head in his grip, freeing one of his hands to tip your chin up, kissing you until you can’t breathe, pulling away briefly to allow yourself the luxury, catching glimpse of Eddie’s relaxed state, palm rubbing at the front of his sweatpants lazily. Steve notices it too, glancing down with a soft laugh.
“You did say ‘and stuff’,” Eddie defends weakly, his idle hand still resting comfortably against the expanse of your stomach, a constant reminder of his presence—not that you could forget it, “don’t worry, I’ll keep it in my pants.”
“Don’t,” You tell him honestly, and Steve pulls back slightly, startled by your words, “—what? I said no sex, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy all the other stuff.”
“Are you sure?” Steve asks for reassurance.
You nod, “I mean, I would be doing the same thing to you, but uh—“ You looked up to your joined hands and back down at him, “there seems to be a problem.”
“O-oh,” Steve responds quickly, releases your hands gently. You smile devilishly, hands fisted into the front of Eddie’s shirt to pull him closer, “can I touch you?” Steve asks, neither pleading nor begging, rather just checking in.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” You say admittedly, shifting your legs until Steve can shove his knee in the apex, Eddie’s lips becoming curious as they latch into your neck, “—hey, no marks.”
Eddie makes a small noise of disapproval, the flurry of his hair near your face smelling of cheap weed and old spice, “Touch her, Steve.” Eddie instructs, his wandering hands following the line of your body until they reach the button on your jeans, deft fingers working away to pop it open.
Your hands feel empty, jittery with anticipation and the only thing you can think to do is busy them, rubbing your open palm over the front of Eddie’s sweats, a noise of approval leaving his throat as his lips latch onto your neck. He ruts slowly, savoring the friction as his hand finds its way toward Steve’s thigh and over the front of his own jeans—Eddie knows exactly what Steve’s packing, unbeknownst to you and the smug grin on his face is obvious as his hands search and squeeze gently, a rough, throaty chuckle leaving Steve’s mouth as he kisses you once more. It’s deep and needy, teeth dragging against your bottom lip as his hands move in time, slipping over the front of your underwear, his fingers rubbing over the soft patch of wetness.
Steve eyes connect with yours in a look of knowing, mumbling a soft, “Yeah?” at the obvious state of your arousal.
“I told you it was a problem,” You say through a weak laugh that quickly turns into a gasp as Steve moves the fabric to the side and runs a finger through your folds, gauging your response, “I really can’t help it.”
“And thank god for that,” Eddie remarks, shoving Steve out of the way gently to pull your mouth to his, kissing you hungrily, tongue darting out towards yours in a challenge, begging you to chase him, “right, Harrington?”
You roll your eyes in annoyance, looking up at an amused Steve, his fingers working slowly against your cunt, careful touches until your face scrunches up in pleasure, finding just the spot he was looking for, “He talks too much, doesn’t he?” Steve asks with a flippant tone, glancing over at his friend who can’t be bothered to care, mouth dragging against yours as you pull away to speak, a soft moan slipping from your lips.
“Absolutely.” You nod slowly, gripping the front of Eddie’s jeans a little tighter, his cock throbbing underneath your touch.
“I know something that’ll keep my mouth busy,” Eddie hints, earning a skeptical look from you.
But, lines were already being crossed and you couldn’t be bothered to stop him, offering another nod his way.
“Fuck—go ahead,” You breath and Eddie pulls away swiftly, you glance up at Steve, watching as he tried to process what was happening, his own cock straining behind the zipper of his jeans, “come here.”
Steve shifts hesitantly on his knees, your fingers slipping past his waistband, pulling him the rest of the way.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Steve interrupts, your fingers trailing over the bulge in his jeans, “I don’t really—“
“Steve,” You drag out, “I want to.”
“Are you sure?” Steve asks.
It’s endearing, how often he tried to check in with you—and maybe it’s his own nervousness doing the talking, but it’s comforting knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling as if you were losing your mind.
“It’s either your mouth, your fingers, or your dick—” You list off, shifting slightly as Eddie pulled at your jeans, interjecting with a snide, “I know what I’d chose.” You smile up at Steve, “You heard him, Harrington.”
And to be fair, you had a sense of Steve’s size, but it’s much more intimidating when he yanks at his jeans, underwear following suit until his cock was standing stiff in front of your face—and suddenly you’re jealous that you’ve shit on Steve’s flirting tactics for so long, because the confidence was absolutely justified. Eddie’s fingers squeeze at your thighs, bring you back to reality and to the realization of your bare cunt positioned in front of Eddie’s face—all weird and awkward tension completely dismissed when he smiles up at you, offering a teasing, “Go easy on her, big boy.”
Steve is just as unfiltered as Eddie in his actions and words, but while Eddie is the type to offer you constant praise and sweet remarks, Steve is nothing but a mess in his own mind, murmuring out a soft, repetitive, “Fuck, fuck,” as you mouth at the tip of his cock, tongue running along the slit to taste at the rivulet of precome resting there, the weight of his cock against your tongue driving you wild, a tinge of excitement running through your body as Eddie’s tongue flattens out over your sensitive clit, moaning from the over-stimulation.
You can’t help but stare up at Steve’s parted lips, plump and wet from how often he licked them, eyes solely focused on you as his hesitant hands came up to cup your face, fingers gliding into the hair at the base of your neck, giving him an unobstructed view as your cheeks hollowed out, mouth sinking down on him in languid strokes, leaning heavily on your elbow as you free hand reached up to cover what your mouth couldn’t reach. It only seems to spur Steve further, pleading eyes boring into his own—you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Steve nods, using the leverage he had to push his cool deeper until your eyes water from the force of it, pulling back with a strained gasp, wiping at your spit covered lips.
“Fuck, I’ve never—“ Steve sighs, “People always say it’s too much,” He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, but he’s staring down with intrigue, the gears turning in his head, “can you take more?”
Eddie’s working you up quickly, tongue flicking over your clit in hurried movements, using his hands to keep your thighs spread to the point of strain, muscles protesting the stretch. Your hand leaves Steve’s cock briefly, burying into the curls at the top of Eddie’s head, hips bucking up into his face selfishly.
Eddie shakes his head slightly, pulling away in punishment.
“Answer him, sweetheart.” He orders, “Don’t let me distract you.”
You give him an incredulous look, filling with a sense of rage at his stubborn, only interrupted when Steve’s fingers tapping at the underside of your chin, urging you to look up at him.
His eyebrows raise in question, earning a jerky nod in return, letting him guide his cock against your lips, his own hand gripped firmly at his shaft like he’s struggling to stave off his own orgasm, a small pout forming in his lips as he watched his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth until it’s just as deep again. You breath through your nose, a slow, deep intake as he pushes even further and holds you there, his head falls back, “Fuck—that’s so,” Steve lingers on the words, interrupted by Eddie’s never-ending comments.
“She likes the praise, Steve.” Eddie supplies, “No reason to hold back now.”
Steve nods absently, groaning out a broken, “Good girl,” and you swallow around him at that, pulling an even needy groan from his chest, “Oh, good fuckin’ girl.”
He pulls back suddenly, allowing you some relief before slipping back in, his hips moving eagerly into your mouth, hands still gripped firmly at the back of your neck as he fucks into your mouth just as you hoped for, taking as much as him as you could—even if it still wasn’t enough.
You can feel the deep pit of pleasure in your belly, thighs struggling against Eddie’s hold as you tip over the edge unexpectedly, moaning against Steve’s cock—and he’s not expecting it either, gasping out a desperate, “Where? Where can I—“
Steve’s never gone so far to come inside someone’s mouth without asking, but you don’t need to hear it, urging him along with your mouth, lips closing around him tightly as you work him over until he’s coming with a rough groan, pulling gently at your hair from the sheer force that his orgasm hits him, hips thrusting slightly as he rides it out, coming down your throat in long, thick spurts. It’s an afterthought to swallow as he pulls his dick out slowly, resting back on his calves and closing his eyes in exhaustion, letting go of your hair to rest his palms against the mattress.
Eddie looks up with a satisfied grin, having witnessed the exchange with a heated gaze, mouth still shining with your wetness and making him look insane as he laughed, “She’s a keeper, right?” Eddie compliments.
Steve nods dumbly, taking a deep breath as he speaks, “I’ve never came in anyone’s mouth before—that was…”
“Really?” You ask with a lilt to your voice, “Never?”
Steve shakes his head, staring at you openly until Eddie’s forcing his way back up and connecting his mouth with yours sloppily, chuckling through the motions as he pulls Steve down clumsily—he can taste Steve on your tongue, the headiness of it and you can taste yourself just as well, an intense exchange as Eddie sighs into your mouth, “Wanna taste her?” He asks to Steve, tilting his head to the side as Steve hovered over, face just a few inches away from both of you. He smile slightly, connecting his lips to Eddie’s with practiced ease, allowing the dirty exchange of Eddie’s tongue licking into his mouth, pulling on the metalhead's hair in response that has Eddie groaning playfully, teeth showing through his grin.
“I might have to give up that other threesome.” Steve jokes, loose hair bouncing against his forehead as he pulls away, both you and Eddie looking up at him curiously.
“You heard the lady—it’s a one and done deal.” Eddie explains with a hint of sadness, playing up the emotion.
But, Eddie knows far too well, eyeing you until you finally give in with an exasperated sigh.
“We tell no one,” You emphasize, “got it?”
Steve nods eagerly.
“Told you,” Eddie teases, tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he smiles, glaring up at Steve, “didn’t I?”
“Told him what?”
“Steve’s a little irresistible to the ladies and gents,” Eddie says knowingly, “even the stubbornest ones.”
You roll your eyes dramatically, “We can forget him next time.” You tell Steve, which he shrugs in response too, seemingly agreeing.
“Hey,” Eddie responds with offense, voice cracking slightly, “what—that’s not fair.”
“She’s the boss.” Steve defends, finding the time to pull his pants back up and shift to lay beside you on the bed.
“Oh wait,” The thought dawns on you suddenly, staring down at Eddie’s noticeably less prominent bulge, “—you didn’t—“
“I did,” Eddie laughs uncomfortably, shifting to reveal noticeable wet spot at the front of his sweats, “speaking of, I need to go change.”
“I’ll keep her company.” Steve grins devilishly, letting Eddie flick his vest back in his direction, the material hitting him directly in the chest as Eddie disappears down the hall.
Eddie’s only slightly offended when he returns to Steve pressing you down into the mattress again, teasing you with the slowest kisses possible. But you pull him in without question, letting him fall into a lazy rhythm of trading kisses—and maybe when the high wore of you’d regret all of it, but you can’t be bothered to care.
summary: you decide it’s high time eddie finally meets your parents. your boyfriend isn’t so sure.
warnings: fluff!!! plus cool parents.
a/n: based on this prompt, sentence prompts can be found here and here. this was also very self indulging; the dad in this is based heavily on mine and I lost him to cancer last year, but he loved stranger things and I'm positive Eddie would have been his favorite character for the same reasons in this story. this was, of course, beta’d by the talented and gifted @kitmon . happy reading!
“You what?”
You huffed, arms crossing under your bust as you repeated, “I want you to meet my parents.”
Eddie blinked hard, absolutely baffled by your statement. It wasn’t long before a scowl crossed his pretty features, mouth morphing into a frown while his brows pinched together.
“No.”
“What?” Your own lips twisted into a pout, tensing when he denied you.
“No,” Eddie sighed, eyes fluttering shut to compose himself. Once he’d reined in his emotions, he approached you, his hands slipping over your hips. “Look at me, kid. I’ve never been the guy pretty people like you bring home to the ‘rents.’”
It wasn’t completely true, the last time he’d met the parents of a girl he’d been seeing, he quickly realized she was just using him to upset them. While he was all for anti-conformity, his feelings had been caught in the crossfire; and he’d been left devastated. It turned out, being used hurt like a bitch.
“Well, since I’m pretty,” you agreed, hands sliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders and tug him closer, “and I’m also bringing you home to meet my parents, so I guess your logic is pretty flawed, huh?”
Eddie couldn’t fight the small smile, he knew exactly what he was signing up for when he fell for your stubborn ass. “I guess it is.”
You grinned, hands moving to cup his cheeks as you drew him in for a heated kiss.
“They’re gonna love you, all they want is for me to be happy. Luckily for you, you happen to make me very happy.”
Eddie’s arms wrapped completely around your waist, pulling your chest flush up against his.
“God, I hope I do.”
“And I’ll hide my dad’s brass knuckles, you’ll be fine,” you joked and Eddie laughed nervously, lifting you off the ground as he made his way to his bed.
“I think I’m gonna need you to reassure me a little more, honey,” he drawls with droopy eyes and a crooked smile, “but maybe with a little more skin-to-skin contact.”
The next evening found you waiting anxiously for Eddie’s arrival by the front door. Your house smelled amazing, your mother had gone all out when you informed her that Eddie would be attending dinner. She’d demanded to know his favorite foods and had called into work to have more time to prepare. You had a feeling she’d love him. Your dad, on the other hand, made you a little more nervous.
He was a big, burly man. Not as around as he’d like to be, what with being a trucker, but he was also a big softie. With you, anyways. He hadn’t liked any of your ex-boyfriends. You were positive it was because he simply didn’t like you dating anyone. But, you had a secret weapon, something neither was aware about the other. While you’d supplied a couple of details to your dad about Eddie and a couple of details about your dad to your boyfriend, you’d purposely neglected to mention–to both men– that your father and Eddie actually had something in common; their taste in music. Heavy metal, some hard rock and a couple of other slightly altered genres in-between. Your dad had more guitars than you could count around the house, though he kept his most precious one in the master bedroom, mounted to the wall in its special display case, facetiously referred to as ‘Cheryl.’ When Eddie had introduced you to Sweetheart, you had been instantly reminded of your father’s guitar.
So, you just had to make sure to bring it up before your dad could find a bogus reason to hate him. Easy peasy.
The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts and you quickly opened the door for Eddie. He was obviously nervous, and you could tell he was trying to seem as unlike himself as possible—something you didn’t exactly like—by wearing only a white shirt, a pair of unripped jeans you’d never seen him sporting before then, and a blue flannel. He had his hair back in a ponytail as well—that you didn’t mind too much, he looked so cute when he put it in ponytails and buns—and was holding a bouquet of pink roses.
You yanked him over the threshold, giving him a quick but thorough kiss.
He mumbled a ‘hello to you, too’ against your lips, a hand reaching up to cup your cheek but you pulled away before he could deepen it, eager to get the introductions started.
“You know, I think you’re hot all the time, even right now but I prefer when you dress like yourself.”
He looked sheepish, cheeks tinging a pretty shade of pink. “I just wanted to make a good impression."
“I know, baby,” you reassured him, a hand reaching up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I want my parents to meet you, though. I’ll let this—” you gesture down to his attire, a little more boring than anything he’d normally wear. “—slide, but if you try acting differently, we’re gonna have a problem on our hands. I want you to always be yourself.”
The smile Eddie rewarded you with had you weak in the knees, and you nearly melted when he leant down to press his forehead against yours. “As you wish.” I love you.
Satisfied, you bypassed the living room where your father was sitting on the recliner, watching tv, and made your way to the kitchen instead. He could meet your mom first.
“Mom,” you called to get her attention, she glanced up from the dish she was working on, her face nearly splitting open with how big she grinned at the sight of you holding Eddie’s hand. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie, this is my mom. Um,” you sarcastically faltered, “what’s your name again?”
She rolled her eyes at your joke, pulling off her apron as she closed the distance and introduced herself.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. These are for you.” Eddie held out the bouquet to her and the gasp she let out was comical, the hand that hadn’t accepted the flowers flew to her chest.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing, these are beautiful! You know what, I’ve got to get these into some water right this minute.” You watched with amusement as she threw her apron into the sink of all places before she dug around in one of the cabinets for a vase.
“Honey, why don’t you introduce Eddie to your father? Dinner’s ready, I’m just gonna put everything on the table, will you get your brother, too?”
You agreed and then pulled Eddie out in the direction of the living room. His palm was beginning to feel slick against yours and you squeezed it to calm his nerves.
“Hey dad.” You stopped in the entryway, trying not to appear as nervous as your boyfriend was when your dad twisted his upper half around to look at you. “I’d like to introduce you to Eddie.”
Your dad used the remote to switch off the tv (oh God, why did that simple action scare you?) before pushing himself up. He was clearly intimidating, face passive and unreadable as he approached the two of you.
You gulped, but soldiered on, “Daddy, this Eddie. Eddie, this is my dad; I’ve known him all my life.” Another intentionally bad joke, pitiful attempt to ease the tension. Unlike your mom, your dad didn’t even offer an amused roll of his eyes, just stared you down.
Eddie held out his hand, willing his nerves to not fuck him over. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Your dad eyed his hand for a moment before reluctantly shaking it. Your eyes narrowed at him in warning and, despite how much he wanted to, he didn’t break Eddie’s hand.
Your father still hadn’t said anything though, and you knew he was quickly convincing himself to not like Eddie so you supplied, “You know, daddy, you actually have a lot in common with Eddie. He loves heavy metal, too. Plays the guitar real good, he’s in a band and everything.”
It was like a flip switched, your dad’s eyes lit up as he regarded Eddie with something akin to interest. “You play?”
Eddie nodded, eyes flashing to yours before you gave him a reassuring nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. Pretty often, actually.”
“What do you play on?” You could tell your dad was testing the waters, trying to size him up and determine if he actually held the interest or if you two were just trying to impress him with a white lie.
“NJ Warlock, 24 fret,” Eddie answered without hesitation.
Your dad raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle, there was obviously something impressive about it but you didn’t know all that much about guitars. Except that you kind of wanted your dad’s. No real reason why, you didn’t even know how to play though your father had tried to teach you on more than one occasion.
“An electric man. I don’t mean to be rude, just wasn’t expecting that from you in that get up. You look like you’re about to sing me the entire Simon & Garfunkel discography with an acoustic.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I sort of dressed down for the occasion, a lot of people assume the worst about anyone in leather and I wanted to make a good impression.”
“If you want to make a good impression, you can show me what you’re made of. I’ve got my own Warlock upstairs, just hold on a minute. Sweetheart, I’m gonna go get Cheryl, if your mom calls us to the table, distract her for a couple of minutes.” You watched as your big, bad dad ran up the stairs like a child, eager to show his new friend his cool toy.
“Oh, you definitely won him over.” You glanced up at Eddie to find him already watching you, finally looking a little at ease with an excited grin stretching his lips.
“You think so?”
You didn’t get to reply as your dad bounded back down the stairs, jumping the last two, the white guitar with the bandana tied to the bottom of the strap clutched in his hands like it was some precious cargo.
“Check it out!” Your dad beamed, holding the guitar out to display it in all its apparent greatness. It was just a white guitar to you, but from the way Eddie was looking at it, it must have been impressive.
“Holy—wow,” Eddie caught himself, leaning down to closely inspect the guitar. “She’s a beauty. I don’t see so much as a fingerprint on it, you must treat her right.”
That was exactly the right thing to say, your dad’s chest puffed with pride under the praise.
“C’mon, I’ve got the amps in the garage. Come get us when the table’s ready, will you, sweetheart?” Your dad lead Eddie over to the garage, and with how relaxed Eddie seemed to be, you found yourself not worrying about the possibility of your dad murdering your boyfriend. Instead, you went upstairs to fetch your brother, Lloyd, for dinner. Once you got his attention, he had promptly let you know he’d be down in ten minutes, all of which you spent arguing with him for not listening to you.
The loud sound that was Eddie shredding on your dad’s guitar didn’t even surprise you, you were used to your dad playing at his ridiculously loud volume but something in your belly warmed, knowing Eddie was bonding with your hard-to-impress dad.
You ended up dragging your brother down with you just as Eddie and your dad emerged from the garage in the middle of a conversation regarding Metallica and Van Halen, your mother in tow. She hated when your dad used his amps this late so she’d probably gone over to yell at him.
“Sweetheart, he’s good at playing! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did! Numerous times! You always tuned me out.”
Lloyd was swatting at your hand that was gripping his upper arm but you didn’t release him from your hold until you’d all flooded into the dinning room. The nine year old adjusted his glasses, glaring over at you as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. Your mom and dad sat on either end of the table and Eddie was sat next to you, your hands intertwined under the table.
Lloyd waved his hand from his place, holding his other hand to his chin as he signed his question.
Who’s he?
You’d almost forgot to introduce them!
You rolled your sleeves further up your arms, fingers signing the sentence as you spoke, “Eddie, this is my little brother Lloyd. Lloyd, this is Eddie.” You used a custom name sign you’d made for Eddie, fingerspelling it out for your brother so he’d know who you were referencing from then on.
Lloyd grinned, pleased that you hadn’t come up with something he’d consider lame like you had in the past. He stuck his thumb up in approval.
“He’s deaf,” you explained, though you could already see the gears in Eddie’s head turning as he figured it out on his own. Lloyd reached up to turn his hearing aid on, something he only did when around company or other hearing people other than you, your mom and your dad.
“Oh, uh—nice to meet you, Lloyd.” Eddie glanced from you to Lloyd, relieved when he noticed you signing to your brother, obviously interpreting for him.
Lloyd smirked, and his fingers began moving furiously as you voiced for him, “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve read all about you—HEY!” You slammed your fist on the table top, glaring at the little menace and the smug look on his face. He quickly twisted his upper half around, his back almost completely to you as he wrapped his arms around himself, wiggling his hands over his shoulders to mock your diary entries noting your make-out sessions.
“No fighting at the dinner table!” Your mother scolded, giving the both of you a stern look.
“He just—you always let him get away with it, mom!” You argued, brows furrowed in annoyance as you sank back into your seat.
“Stop reading your sister’s diary,” your mother said aloud as her nimble fingers signed a much shorter version of it for Lloyd. He just shrugged and began loading his plate up with food.
You rolled your eyes, positive that he’d continue to do it so you’d have to find a new hiding place for it in your own damn room. You turned to face Eddie, who appeared thoroughly amused with the interaction, a small smile on his face as yours grew abashed, suddenly shy and embarrassed about the whole thing.
Your mother came to your rescue though, “So, Eddie, I’m told you’re a senior. Is that how you two met? in school?”
Eddie squeezed your hand under the table as his nerves came rushing back now that school had been brought up, fearful of having to mention failing to graduate twice. Really gonna impress ‘em.
He tried not to let his voice quiver, “Uh—yes, yes. We have a class together.”
That’s not how you met, he’d been dealing to you for the last two years, but telling your mother that would only guarantee them forbidding your romance.
You could only sit in your chair and hope your poker face didn’t give anything away, though you knew very well your parents packed and shared a bowl when they thought you and Lloyd were asleep. You’d found the bong in their bedroom while searching for your walkman they’d taken captive after a brief grounding. Hypocrites.
Despite how badly he didn’t want to actually bring it up, Eddie felt inclined to, as though hearing it from him, unprompted, would somehow make it his saving grace.
“This will actually be my,uhm,third a-and final senior year.”
You could feel Eddie’s hand tighten around yours—though it wasn’t painful—as his body tensed up, waiting for the inevitable judgment and the comments they’d berate him with.
Instead, your mother looked slightly sympathetic but not pitying, and your father didn’t even look like he cared about some high school three-peat senior dating his kid, focusing on cutting into the meat on his plate instead. He mumbled, “High school’s a bitch.”
“Honey!”
“What? It’s not like he can hear me.” Your father gestured to Lloyd, who was purposely unaware of the discussion before him, and then nodded in your direction. “And we both know that one has the mouth of a sailor.”
Eddie was flabbergasted, mouth slightly open in shock—not only because of the lack of a negative reaction regarding his education, but also at how non-judgmental your parents seemed to be in general. He wasn’t used to that from adults. Wasn’t used to not being picked apart for his flaws.
“That’s how we met, you know. In high school,” your mom crooned, staring at your father with lovesick eyes. “I got held back my senior year and met him in my Economics class the next fall.”
Your dad snorted, lifting his glass of water to his lips with a grin. “You’re being selective again, my love. You didn’t get held back, you were expelled.”
“Minor details, I appealed it and ended up graduating eventually—but you’d better learn from my mistakes.” Your mother pointed her fork threateningly in your direction and you held up your hands in defeat.
“I don’t stick it to the man, mom. The man isn’t worth my time, here, anyways.” You knew all about your mother’s hippie past.
Your mother seemed to notice how quiet Eddie had gotten, looking unsure of himself in his seat. The motherly nature she so naturally possessed came tenderly out, “I’m assuming you were expecting a different reaction?”
He hesitated only a moment, glancing at you for support. You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to bump your shoulder against his arm to encourage him.
Eddie licked his lips before answering. “Yes. Truthfully, I was pretty nervous about all of this. I’m not—I’ve never been really welcomed or accepted before, with these kinds of things.” Or anywhere, really.
Despite being sat at your dinner table, surrounded by a picture perfect family, Eddie wasn’t overtly aware or self-conscious about the ink on his skin; intentionally hidden by his clothing. He wasn’t overtly aware that he was almost able to legally drink but still struggled with a high school Civics class. Being with you and your family almost made him feel like he wasn’t a freak.
“It’s a little—’’
“Daunting?” Your mother supplied, a thoughtful expression on her features.
“Yeah,” Eddie exhaled, nodding once.
“Well, you’ll find that everyone in this house has something about them that makes us a little more unique than most. I grew up in a pretty rough setting myself, one in which I was always desperate to escape. When we had kids, we decided that we’d never make them feel like they had to escape. I extend that belief to all my guests as well, you are welcome in our home as you are. I can tell you’re doing your best and you make my child—” you rolled your eyes, intent on starting a drinking game one day for every time she referred to you as her child, “—happy. Plus, I’m hoping this means you’ll actually come inside from now on instead of scaling my roof to reach a certain window.”
“Yeah, I’m tired of replacing those damn shingles.” Your dad added, even though you knew he was excited at the idea of another musician hanging around the house, one which he could have jam sessions with.
“You still haven’t. Now, pass the mashed potatoes.”
The rest of dinner went off without a hitch; Eddie seemed much more at ease with your family, comfortable and you loved watching him as they interacted with each other. Even Lloyd was developing an attachment to him;. Once he’d found out Eddie played Dungeons and Dragons, he was practically begging you to take him to Hellfire sessions, even though you weren’t actually a part of Hellfire. When Eddie offered him a spot in his next campaign, you had no choice but to happily agree.
He looked like he was part of your family. You hoped that one day, he really would be.
After everyone was done eating dinner, your father and Lloyd quickly tidied up the dinner table and hauled the dishes off to the kitchen for washing while your mother set up the living room for a movie.
You and Eddie slipped out the front door, keen on spending the rest of the night, just the two of you.
“So? Polling the audience, what does the survey say?” You intertwined your fingers with his, leaning into him as you walked down the driveway towards his van. Once you reached the van, he pressed you up against the side of it, arms caging you in as he rested his palms against the vehicle on either side of your head.
“Survey says your family is really, really fucking cool.”
You beamed up at him, eyes shining as you noticed the glimmer in his own warm, chocolate gaze. “I’m pretty sure they think the same thing about you. In fact, I think my dad may be my competition. Did you see the look on his face when you listed the bands you listen to?”
Eddie laughed, his dimple prominent as he flashed his teeth. “Sorry to break his heart but I’ve only got eyes for you, kid.”
He leaned down and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, meeting him half way to press your lips eagerly to his. He groaned as your tongue swiped along his bottom lip, slipping into his mouth once he’d given you the opportunity. You stayed there, lazily making out against his van for a good couple of minutes, oblivious to the flash of your Polaroid camera from one of the living room windows. Your mom thought you’d like to have a cute little keepsake from the night. She also thought it’d be a really good moment to display during a future wedding reception; there was no way that boy wasn’t going to be asking them for permission to marry you in the future.
She was positive from the moment you’d walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, that she’d just met her future son-in-law.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[22.4k] A biggie. Best friends to lovers, summer, childhood, pining, crushes, a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, the last cherry popsicle and three promises.
When you were both eight years old, Steve Harrington handed you the last popsicle and told you he loved you.
It was the most innocent kind of talk, from the mouths of kids, fresh faced, summer freckles, ankles dipped in the pool and sunburn on your cheeks.
You weren’t truly sure you both knew what those words meant back then, the depth and meaning that they held. But you said them back, lemon and sugar on your tongue and he’d beamed at you, brighter than the Indiana sun and that was that.
And that night, when you were camped out on his bedroom floor, the first day of summer vacation and his bed sheets draped across your heads, he shared his secret stash of twizzlers with you, lips tinted red and pinkie fingers linked.
His eyes were solemn when he whispered to you, the dulled yells of his parents downstairs acting as his backing track. His mom was slurring a little, his dad laughing mirthlessly and something smashed. You had both flinched, moved closer together between the pillows and stuffed animals.
You remember his mouth brushing up against the shell of your ear, hushed promises falling from his lips, the kind that only an eight year old could make.
Steve Harrington promised you three things that night:
One, he’d always be your best friend.
Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary.
And three, he’d never break your heart.
He only kept two of those.
Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?
“I think Jessica is coming over,” Steve said as he handed you a can of soda, the cold condensation on it making your fingers slip over his.
You screwed your face up and rolled your eyes behind your sunglasses - Steve’s sunglasses - ‘cause it was a rare Saturday that you’d managed to get off work together, seventeen and desperate for time to do nothing with your best friend.
It wasn’t meant, but you let the sound of annoyance slip from your lips, stretching yourself out on one of the Harrington’s sunloungers. Steve looked at you from where he’d sat himself down by the pool edge, exasperated and somewhat fond. You picked at the edge of your bikini bottoms, peachy orange and still damp from the water.
You scrunched your nose, looking over at him from over the top of his old Ray Bans as he took a sip of his cola, eyes on you, waiting for you to talk. He knew you wanted to say something, could tell from your face, the way you twisted your lips and fidgeted with your swimsuit.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
If you didn’t know the boy well enough, you’d have thought his tone was condescending, maybe even a little mocking. But when you were both fifteen, he’d stood by your side at the counter of the ice cream parlour, watching your cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink when the older guy behind the freezer had winked at you, handed you your cone and called you ‘sweetheart’.
Steve had called you the same ever since, never getting tired of the way you lit up at it, all soft and full of affection, lips twisted to hide your smile, nose turning pink.
“I thought it was just gonna be us hanging out today?” You asked, trying to keep your voice level, casual.
It was silly the way your chest was hurting, an anxious creep across your bones, making your skin too warm in a way that the sun wasn’t. It wasn’t necessarily because you didn’t like Jessica, you didn’t really know, honestly.
But you’d been in Steve’s life long enough to know that not many of his girlfriends had liked you. It made hang outs and movie nights awkward, a fresh set of eyes on you, watching the way you and Steve interacted, holding back from the way you’d normally touch him, keeping your head off his shoulder, throwing your legs over the arm of the chair instead of his lap.
You’d go to the kitchen, the bathroom, bringing back more snacks and a drink only to hear the boy being interrogated about how long had Steve known you, didn’t she have a boyfriend and god, why was she always here?
You’d stand with your back against the hallway wall, a packet of twizzlers crushed to your chest as you listened for Steve’s response. It was always the same, sure and strong and leaving no room for argument. It made you feel warm and a little safer, like you belonged in the Harrington house just as much as him, brought up in the large home with its pool and absent parents together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas in the dining room, mom and dads by your sides.
“She’s my best friend,” he’d always say, “where she goes, I go.”
Some girls put up with it for longer than others, dirty looks given to you out of the car window when Steve would insist on dropping you home too, a messy press of a kiss pushed to your cheek before he made sure you got in your front door okay.
There were girls that were done after bumping into you in the school hall, a sweater on your frame, the hem almost covering your shorts and god, they’d think, that looks awfully familiar. They’d sit in whatever class they had next, eyes on the chalkboard but their minds trying to decide if they’d seen that sweater on Steve’s bedroom floor before, thrown lazily over the back of his desk chair.
You’d find them arguing about it at his car after school, voices clipped and raised, drawing a little too much attention and you’d hear your name said like a curse. Steve would let them walk away, hands rubbing at his eyes and when he’d pull himself onto the trunk, he’d find your gaze across the parking lot and he’d smile, a little soft and a little sad.
But he’d look at you from the driver seat when he was taking you both home, eyes flickering with something else as they dare to roam across your shoulders, your chest. You’d catch him staring, brows raised and your knowing smile would make him blush but he’d tell you, everytime:
“Looks better on you anyway.”
Steve shrugged, looking a little guilty but swung a leg into the pool, letting the water swish around his shin.
“I know, but,” another shrug, his gaze on the blue tiles, “she’s my girlfriend.”
You sighed, pushing yourself off of the lounger and walking over to the edge of the pool, chlorine and cedar from the garden filling the warm air. You poked a toe to the boy’s side before sitting down next to him, both feet in the water and the garden slabs sun-warmed against the back of your thighs.
You nudged a shoulder into Steve’s, fighting a smile when he did it back, shuffling closer so your arms brushed together.
“We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages,” you told him, trying to sound annoyed but your words came out a little mournful, huffy even. “It’s been weeks.”
You knew it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Between school and both of you working weekend jobs, it was hard to find time to see each other. And since the startling realisation of finding out there were kids with superpowers out in Hawkins, other worlds that held monsters and magic, you figured trips to the cinema were at the bottom of both of your lists.
“M’sorry,” Steve said anyway, and you hated the way he sounded, like he really meant it, like it made him sad too. “If the kids didn’t need rides to the arcade all the damn time, maybe we’d-”
You rolled your eyes, fond. “You know it’s not the kids I mind, Harrington.”
And that was true. You and Steve had taken your unofficial babysitter roles pretty seriously, and with six twelve year olds to wrangle together, it would’ve been a hard enough job without the threat of impending doom lurking behind every corner.
You’d grown up thinking monsters only lived under your bed, hiding behind your closet door, and they could be banished with a flashlight, a kiss from your mother, the promise of chocolate chip pancakes in the morning from your father.
But you’d grown up too fast, seeing things that weren’t supposed to be real and you hated the way you knew how to butterfly stitch someone's skin back together, how you’d seen too much of your best friend's blood.
He pressed his nose to your shoulder, warm skin on warm skin and he let his teeth graze you, a playful threat of a bite before he sighed, knowingly, understanding.
“Jess said she likes you,” Steve offered, hands on the grass as he leaned back, head tilted to the sun. He was watching you from under his lashes, the length of them casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Said you had chem together and you were crazy smart.”
You scoffed, laughed mirthless, because the only reason Jessica Preston knew you had class with her was ‘cause she used you to cheat off of you before you moved seats.
“I bet she did,” was the only answer you gave, because the garden gate was suddenly squeaking and Steve was standing up, splashing water over your thighs as he greeted the girl in question.
“Jess, hey!” Steve called out, reaching for her and pressing a kiss to her lips. His came away glossy and a little pink as Jessica reached into her bag, pulling out a tube and quickly reapplying. He gestured to you, smiling, “you two know each other, right?”
You grimaced, holding your hand up in some sort of wave before you pushed Steve’s glasses onto your head.
“Sure,” you said, not sounding sure at all. You stood up, brushing drops of water and small flecks of gravel from your skin. “Chemistry, Mrs Telford’s class.”
Jessica squinted at you, pretty features twisted in confusion and Steve wanted to jump head first into the pool from the awkward silence that had filled the yard.
“Right!” The girl finally gasped out, all false smiles and white teeth. “Totally! Of course.”
And then, you were dismissed.
“Steve, there’s a party tonight,” you heard the girl tell him, stomach twisting as you walked past them, grabbing your shorts from the lounger and dragging them up your legs. “Matt’s parents are gone and,” she tapped a finger on his chest, trailing it down his sternum. “So are mine.”
You wondered if you had too much sun, wondered if the heat was what was making your insides bubble, your chest feeling too tight. You found your way into the kitchen, the open patio door doing nothing to curb the same heat that had leaked in from outside.
You ran the tap, waiting for it to turn freezing before filling a glass and chugging it, back pressed against the counter so you didn’t have to look out the window.
You could still hear them though.
“You can pick me up, right? I’ll be ready at eight and then you can stay over at mine,” Jess was practically purring and it made you slam the now empty glass down into the sink a little harder than you meant to. “We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”
“Uh, actually, we’re having a movie night later,” you froze, turning to look over your shoulder to see Steve gesture to you through the window. Jess followed his hand, lips downturned and eyes holding venom.
“You’re kidding right?” The girl asked, disbelief spilling from her lips. “I’m offering you a night in my bed and you’re turning me down for Back To The Future with her?”
It was actually The Goonies, you’d wanted to tell her, but Steve was licking his lips nervously, eyes flickering between you and Jess and you really wish you could say something to save him.
You stepped out the patio doors, arms crossed self consciously over your chest. “Steve, it’s okay, we-”
Steve shrugged and he didn’t look surprised when Jessica stepped out of his embrace, glossy lips twisted in shock and annoyance.
“We’ve had it planned for a while Jess,” he explained, “movies, pizza and-”
“Well come after,” Jess demanded, like it was simple. “Or better yet, just do your stupid movie night some other time.”
Steve looked confused, staring down at the girl as if he was wondering which part she wasn’t understanding. You grimaced, eyes wanting to fall shut ‘cause you knew what the boy was going to say and god, you wished you could hide from it.
But then he was explaining to her that you were staying over, crashing at his like you always did, like you had done for years.
Steve said it so plainly that you almost wanted to laugh. In fact, your lip twitched, the threat of a smile pulling at it and you turned, toeing at the grass as you waited for the impending blow out. The boy had an endearing habit of stating the truth with such a sincerely soft tone, almost oblivious to the carnage his honesty could sometimes cause.
“I’m sorry,” Jessica stated, voice climbing a little higher in volume and pitch as she took in this new information. “I could’ve sworn you just told me you had another girl staying with you tonight.”
Steve scrunched his nose, mouth parting as he wondered what he was supposed to say to that. He floundered, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to gain some control on the matter.
“Jess, what? It’s not a big deal, it’s not like that.”
And he was right, it wasn’t. Not yet.
Nothing had ever happened with you and Steve, not when you were pressed together at night, side by side in his bed, moving closer as you slept, pillow creases on your cheeks, hands close to places you shouldn’t have been touching.
Nothing happened in the mornings either, when you were both soft with sleep, hair mussed and misbehaving, warm hands and toes pushing into the other's skin as you tried to find the comfort of that lazy feeling in each other.
You’d never noticed him stare at you when you got out of the shower, skin still damp, hair pushed back from your face and a too big shirt clinging to your thighs. He never realised you held your breath when he pulled his top off at night, body warm and solid beside you, fingers desperate to trace a map of constellations across his back, freckle to freckle.
Your realisation that your best friend wasn’t just attractive, but was pretty, was a slow burn. It came as you aged, an appreciation growing as you did, Steve too. You noticed the boys in your class as they grew taller, filling out, and you didn’t realise the same was happening to Steve until the summer you both turned fifteen.
You’d spent school vacation at his parents lake house, watched him laze shirtless on the small motorboat, new muscles flexing, drops of water casting tiny rainbows across the tanned skin it clung to. He’d grown his hair out, chocolate brown strands out of control and messy, boyish as it was pretty. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, new feelings, and when Steve continued to throw you over his shoulder, playing in the shallows of the lake, his wide hands spanning the curves of your thighs, your hips, you ignored the burn his touch left behind.
Jess huffed out a laugh and it sounded dangerous, a little like a threat. She found your gaze, held it until hers dropped to scan you up and down, doing her best to make you feel small.
“Whatever, Harrington,” she shoved past Steve, shoulder edging into his chest as she headed for the gate. “Ask your little friend to suck your dick instead.”
You burned at her words, eyes wide as you stared at a crack in the patio, refusing to watch as she stormed through the gate, the hinges protesting loudly as it was slammed shut, leaving you both in silence.
The trickle of the pool filter was the only sound for a minute, maybe two, then you heard Steve sigh, heavy and world weary. You looked at him, feeling a little guilty.
“Shouldn’t you go after her?” You asked.
Steve gave a half shrug, already moving to sit down on the lounger that you’d spent your morning on. You joined him, sitting on the end so you didn’t touch, like you weren’t supposed to after Jessica’s accusation.
“Nah,” he told you, “it’s fine, it’s… whatever.”
You snorted and the sound made the corners of his mouth lift a little, eyes flitting over to you, always interested in what you were going to say.
“That’s a new height of romance, Harrington,” you mused, foot dipping into a small puddle of pool water. You drew lines and shapes on the dry concrete with your toe, watching the sun dry them out almost instantly. “It’s whatever?”
“I dunno,” Steve sighed, reaching over to pluck his sunglasses back from the top of your head and pushing them over the bridge of his nose. He looked good with them on, you mused, too pretty, too nice. “Wasn’t like we had that much in common.“
“Then why date her in the first place?” You asked, face twisting with annoyance.
Steve had developed a habit in freshman year of dating girls who gave him nothing more than wandering hands in the back of his car, passive aggressive comments when he missed their calls and whiplash when they found out about you.
A smirk tugged at his lips, a handsome match with his Ray Bans and messy hair and he turned to you, eyebrows raised.
“You’re a pig,” you muttered, trying to sound disgusted but Steve was pushing his fingers into your sides, hands dragging over your ribs and you were laughing despite yourself, “get off me!”
You were ignored, unsurprisingly, and you wondered if Jessica had made it back to her car yet, if she’d driven away or if she had heard your shriek of delight when Steve suddenly stood and scooped you up.
One arm was wrapped around your waist, a wide, rough hand pressed against the skin just under your breast, his thumb grazing the of your bikini. The other curved itself on your thigh, your body held tight to his as he ran with you, hurtling you both to the edge of the pool and you pressed your face into his neck when he jumped, bracing yourself for the cool water.
Steve didn’t let you go until you both surfaced, his feet planted on the bottom of the pool as he pushed you both to the surface. Your hands were around his neck and you gasped, water dripping from your lashes and lips, hair a wet mess and he was laughing. That soft laugh that made any summer day feel warmer than it already was, a laugh that reminded you of fresh lemonade and bedroom sheet forts.
He let go of your legs before you waist, letting the lower half of your body slide out of his grasp and slide against his, so you were chest to chest, your abdomens pressed together and you almost lost your footing, chin slipping under the water, eyes gazing up at him despite the way the sun made it hurt.
Maybe it was the way you pressed a hand to his stomach to ground yourself, feeling the muscles tense under your touch, maybe it was the way you were looking at him, maybe he just forgot he wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. But something happened and Steve cleared his throat, letting go of your waist and allowing himself to fall backwards and under the water.
He reappeared a few feet away, hair darker and slicked back, eyes a little wild as he looked at you, like you were suddenly dangerous.
And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you.
You weren’t overly fond of Nancy Wheeler, not at first.
You couldn’t deny that the dislike you felt for the girl stemmed from jealousy and your own inability to get a handle on your feelings but, you had to admit, she was better than most of the girls Steve had dated before.
Pretty, smart, sharp and with a keen eye. She liked journalism, the quiet and even you. You shared the knowledge of The Upside Down, bonded over the fear you both felt for her brother and his friends and when you passed each other in the hallway, you nodded, civil and overly aware of all the things you’d both seen together.
You weren’t joined at the hip and you didn’t love how she slid her hand into Steve’s, or how he kissed her at her locker, telling you he’d catch up with you at lunch. You’d spent months telling yourself you weren’t jealous of Nancy, just that you missed your best friend and you resented the way the girl took up all his free time.
You missed the way he snuck in your bedroom window, a pointless task and waste of his energy, ‘cause your parents would hear him clambering up their drainpipe, eyes rolling, fond and affectionate, ‘cause it was Steve.
He’d always told you that he did it for the fun of it, to see you smile when his head appeared over the sill and so you’d help him clamber over the window frame. He’d spend the late hours with you, whispering about nothing and laughing about everything, shoulder to shoulder in your bed until you both fell asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets, his shoes in the middle of your floor and his arm slung over your waist.
You liked it when the sun woke you early, the curtain still opened from when you’d forgotten to close them after Steve’s sudden appearances, the light pink and peach as it leaked into your room. It painted stripes of light and shadow over your walls, over the boy’s broad shoulders and cheek, the other smushed into your mattress, hair a mess and lips parted sleepily.
You got to admire him like that, when his eyes were still closed and he was so unaware. Steve couldn’t catch you staring, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they looked, if he knew how pretty you thought he was, if he thought you were pretty too.
He still picked you up for school in the morning, his BMW sat at the end of your drive but his clothes were sleep creased, hair mussed from spending the night with Nancy instead, sneaking through her bedroom window and not yours. He still smacked a kiss to your cheek when you parted for class but it wasn’t the same, he wasn’t quite just yours anymore and you hated the way it hurt.
So yeah, you could appreciate that Nancy was a nice person and seemed to be good for Steve - at least, until she wasn’t - but you didn’t have to like her for it.
When she broke your best friend’s heart, you’d found him sitting on the hood of his car after school, lips downturned and expression sour, nothing but worry beating in your chest ‘cause you hadn’t seen him since the morning before and no one answered your calls to his house that night.
But then rumours started swirling around the halls, floating over tables in the cafeteria like wildfire and you couldn’t fucking find him. You saw Nancy in the library during your free period, her head bent close to Jonathan Byers as they whispered about something you couldn’t hear, their hands on the table, fingers too close to touching and Nancy had the right to look guilty when her gaze met your own.
So you’d marched straight over to Steve and he crumbled a little when he saw it was you, slipping off the hood and letting you usher him to the front seat. He didn’t really hesitate when you held out your hand to him, silently asking him to let you take care of him.
He placed the car keys in your palm, eyes tired, face sad and you were desperate to fix it. You hadn’t seen Steve like that before and you didn’t know what to do, his pain was yours, your heart beating hard against your chest until you felt like your bones were bruised.
There were talks of the girl cheating on him, wandering around late with Jonathan and you knew they shared the same worries and trauma that you all did when it came to knowing things the rest of the town didn’t, but you didn’t know what was happening between the pair.
So you drove him home, listened when Steve told you that he loved her, that he didn’t know how to fix it. But then it was and then it wasn’t, a game of on and off, yes and no, that you couldn’t really keep up with.
It all came to a head on Halloween, after months of leaving your window open for no one.
Steve climbed in, startling you, hands finding your bedroom floor before his feet did and when he stood, eyes meeting yours, you wanted to be mad at him.
It had been a week since you hung out, passing in the halls and waving when you could, exams stressing you out and his time taken up by Nancy and all the parties he seemed intent on going to. He’d given up trying to get you to go with him, sick of it all after the second time, a spare part, third wheel, an audience to his kisses with Nancy.
But he stood by your bed with the most forlorn expression on his face, features soft and watery and you simply pulled back the sheets, shuffling over to the side that had been made yours when you were both seven, so Steve could claim his.
The boy toed off his shoes, his jacket falling to the carpet as he shrugged it off and you felt like a kid again when he crawled across your mattress, shuffling underneath the covers and pushing himself against you.
Steve got as close to you as he could without asking for a hug, his pride already seemingly too hurt to put himself out there, even with you. But he didn’t hesitate when you turned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you, your nose pressed into his hair. He smelled like smoke and weed from the party, a little like Steve underneath it.
He returned your touch instantly, seeking it out with a desperation that almost shocked you, eager to accept it when it was offered. He tugged you in by the waist, arms wrapped around you and his face pressed into the crook of your neck.
He wished he told you then, that you smelled like summer and afternoons by the pool, like cherry popsicles and promises and home. But he didn’t feel brave enough, not then, not yet.
“We broke up,” Steve finally mumbled, voice a little broken and muffled by your neck and hair. “She broke up w’me. Called us bullshit.”
You frowned, confused, pulling back a little in the hopes that Steve would look at you and explain but his grip on your waist only tightened and you patted at his hair, smoothed the almost curls at the nape of his neck and whispered his name.
“Steve, hey, babe, what?” You received a groan in answer but you persisted, shuffling out of his grasp and gripping his chin with your finger, pushing at him a little pleadingly until the boy looked up and met your gaze.
“What happened?”
Steve didn’t answer until you pulled the sheets over your heads, your own little bed fort that let the dim light of your bedside lamp filter through, soft and warm and hazy. You let go of his chin, your hand smoothing his hair back from his face and he pushed his cheek into your touch as he spoke.
“Nancy, it’s over,” he told you, a frown pulling at his brow, “she said the whole relationship was bullshit, that I was bullshit.”
You held your breath, letting him talk as you smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone, feeling him relax into you despite the way he was letting his words tumble from his lips, mixing in with his emotions until he was stuttering over himself.
“She, she said we were just acting like we were in love?” Steve caught your stare, his eyes confused as he looked at you, as if he could find an answer in your gaze but you just gaped at him. “Said that I only thought I was in love with her ‘cause I was too busy tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t in love with someone else, or some shit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.”
“What?” You whispered, voice full of surprise because what the fuck?
“Right?” He answered, indignant and wide eyed. “I don’t know what she was talkin’ about, she would answer me, just told me she wasn’t in love with me and god, fucking Byers took her home.”
“Jonathan?”
You screwed up your face, hardly even reacting when Steve groaned again, pushing himself back into you, his face comfortably pressed into your chest, just above the swell of your breast, his mouth warm through your shirt.
It should’ve startled you, the proximity, the intimacy, especially after missing him for so long. But it was still Steve, your best friend, the boy that promised to be there until the very end.
“Why’d Jonathan take her home?” You asked, your cheek pressed to the top of his head as you spoke, the sheets fluttering around you both as Steve shifted, arms wrapping around you more, pulling you until you were flush with his body.
He couldn’t have been touching more of you if he tried.
“She was drunk,” he mumbled into your chest, lips moving over your shirt, making the material shift across your skin and it lit you up, body electric and the air buzzing. “I told him to. She didn’t want me.”
You sighed, eyes closing at the pained sound in the boy’s voice and you let him hold you, your own hand taking into his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked.
“Steve,” you murmured, soft and sympathetic.
He whispered your own name back to you, his tone the same and it made you smile. You could feel his own against your chest, lips lifting, breath coming out in a small huff.
“You could still talk to her tomorrow, y’know?” You said conversationally. You hated yourself for trying to fix it for him, for attempting to out the girl back between you both but fuck if you weren’t a good friend. “Maybe she just said all that shit ‘cause she had too much to drink.”
You twirled a length of the boy’s hair around your finger, making it curl. “Was it Jack Templeman’s punch? That dude makes rocket fuel in a bowl, she might have been absolutely wasted.”
Steve shook his head before he pulled back, falling into your pile of pillows and gazing at you.
“Nah, I don’t wanna chase her,” he said and despite the sadness in his voice, he sounded sure. “I don’t wanna be with someone who thinks I’m bullshit. I mean, I know I’m not perfect, but damn, bullshit?”
You shook your head, gaze hard and you wanted to shake him, to make him understand how wrong Nancy was.
“Steve, you're not bullshit.” He held your stare, lips parted. “You’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sorry I don’t know why Nancy said that, I wish I could-”
He stopped you before you could continue, a small smile lifting at his lips and he found your hands between the tangle of sheets, tugging you over to him and onto his chest. You lay your head there, protesting when Steve’s finger poked at your cheek, fond and soft.
“I know what you’re gonna say, sweetheart, and it’s fine.” He sighed, sleepy and weighted. “You don’t need to fix everything for me, not this time, anyway.“
You fell silent, thinking about the times Steve was referring to, wondering if this was finally the year he stopped needing you. The thought made your chest hurt, your eyes blur and you sniffed.
“My dad’ll be home from that conference soon,” he mumbled softly and you could tell without even looking at Steve that he had his eyes closed. “You can come fight my battles for me then, how’s that sound short stuff?”
It was silly, his words. The way they made you feel. Like you were needed again, important. Like he didn’t wanna face the things that scared him without you. It hurt that after all those years, he still felt like that about his own father but it calmed a part of you to know that he didn’t seem as cut up about Nancy Wheeler as he once was.
“Are you okay?” You asked, tentative, and you made a face ‘cause god, that seemed like a stupid fucking question. “Will you be okay?” You asked instead.
Steve hummed noncommittally and you craned your neck to look up at him, smiling when you were proven right at his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as you shifted over him, tucking yourself into his side.
“I mean yeah, sure,” he murmured, voice dropping lower and rougher as sleep pulled at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”
He turned his face to yours at that, nose nudging at your forehead as he blindly sought out your features, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your temple.
“M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair and you stilled, swallowing the lump that had caught in your throat. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been around.“
You squeezed your eyes closed at his words, letting them burn until you were sure you weren’t going to cry.
You wanted to say it was okay, to soothe him, to make Steve feel better but the lie got caught on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him something that wasn’t true.
You shrugged instead, lips twisted to keep them from turning downwards, his words heavy on you because god, you’d missed him so much.
“I missed you,” Steve whispered and fuck, it lit you up inside. “Like, really missed you.”
He was soft and gentle with it, words brushing against your temple, breath warm, hands twisting in the sides of your shirt, barely grazing at your skin, head butting at yours playfully.
He was Steve, he was late nights, long days, summer rainstorms, driving lessons, flunking your test, Saturday afternoon drives, feet on the dash, music too loud, smile blinding.
He was a little bit yours again.
“Yeah,” you sighed, feeling a little lighter than you had before, eyes falling shut like Steve’s. “I missed you too, Harrington.”
Steve’s breath was becoming slower, chest falling heavy and lazy and you both curled into each other on instinct, sleep pulling both of you together, the same way it did when you were both ten and piled on the sofa, movie still playing.
“You still my best friend?” His voice was a soft mumble, and you heard the worry there, hidden behind a crack of humour.
“Yeah, I’m still your best friend.”
—————
You didn’t see Nancy until a week later, and when you did, you didn’t expect her to corner you at your locker, big eyes wide and asking if you could talk.
You met her after school, walking to the opposite end of the parking lot from where Steve would be waiting on you, perched on the hood of his car as usual.
Nancy saw you coming, her face a little nervous as she bid goodbye to Jonathan who’d been standing beside her and you watched as they squeezed each other's hand before he took off.
You raised your brows as you approached, tugging your headphones to sit around your neck and you wondered what Nancy Wheeler could possibly have to say to you.
The world wasn’t ending, the kids were all safe and she wasn’t your best friend's girl anymore.
She squinted at you, trying to work out your mood, your emotions but you remained a little stoned faced, wondering if Steve would be pissed if had to see you here. You knew they’d spoken since Halloween, a chat that Steve had said felt too formal and stilted, but the air was cleared enough that they could cross paths when dropping Dustin, Will and Lucas at Mike’s house, an awkward wave exchanged from the front door to the car.
“You wanna sit?” Nancy asked, gesturing to a bench that sat by the edge of the school line, shadowed by trees that provided a little coverage from the wind that was picking up now that winter was approaching. You kicked at the leaves on the ground and shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, holding it tighter to your body.
“Sure,” you muttered, following her across the grass, leftover rain sticking to your boots.
The sky was still blue, a crisp Fall day that turned your nose pink, numbed your fingers and had you wishing for a Hawkins summer, the smell of sunscreen and cut grass replaced with rain and the promise of snow.
You sat on opposite ends of the bench, bodies turned to face each other and with the safety of your school bags between you both. You picked a dead leaf off the sole of your shoe, waiting for the other girl to talk.
“Look, I don’t know what Steve’s explained to you,” Nancy said, voice cracking a little with what seemed like nerves. “You know, when we spoke the other week.”
You shrugged, “I mean, not much,” you answered, “but it’s really not my business to know.”
Nancy nodded at that, appreciative, “I guess but I just want us to be friends, you know? I wanted you to understand why I broke it off with Steve. He’s a great guy but-”
“I know he is,” you interrupted, brows pulled together in confusion ‘cause there was never any debate about that. You softened a little when Nancy smiled at you, lips pulled up and eyes a little knowing. “Sorry, that was rude.”
“It’s fine,” she told you, voice lighter than it had been before. “Like I said, Steve’s great… I guess I just didn’t love him the way I should’ve. And maybe that would’ve been a little easier if I didn’t see the way he looked at someone else.”
You frowned, staring at the girl as she looked back at you, silently willing you to catch on.
“What?” You asked, “I thought this was about you and Jonathan? You can’t act as if you haven’t been glued to Byers hip since this happened.”
Nancy had the right to look guilty, picking at her nail before looking back up at you. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I didn’t mean for what happened with Johnathan to happen… it just did, but that doesn’t make it okay.”
She brushed a curl from her face, bringing her bag down to her feet so there was less separating her from you. The wind rushed at you both, stinging your cheeks and whipping at your clothes before it settled back down and let Nancy speak.
“I’m not blaming this on Steve, I’m not, and I shouldn’t have said he was bullshit,” she rushed out, “maybe we were just meant for other people you know? And think that, maybe, Steve doesn’t know that he’s already found his person.”
“I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, “but whatever. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear the two of you arguing every other day.”
Nancy nodded, smiling at the way you were avoiding her gaze, your mind suddenly racing with what she’d said.
“For what it’s worth,” the girl murmured, foot nudging friendly against yours, “it would probably make it a lot easier on the poor guy if this girl could admit that she was in love with him too.”
“Alright, yeah,” you stood up suddenly, cheeks flushed and your head a little scattered. “I think you’ve got it twisted Wheeler, but, uh, good talk.”
The girl hid a laugh, pressing her lips together as she watched you gather your bag, eyes shining. Nancy nodded, looking up at you as you stood a little awkwardly. You raised a hand in a goodbye, a small smile lifting at your lips in what seemed like an amicable agreement.
You stopped before you got too far, the sun in your eyes as you squinted back at the girl who was still sitting on the bench.
“Hey, Nancy?” She looked at you, eyes surprised.
“Yeah?”
“Are you happy?” You asked and she was taken aback at how genuine you sounded. She paused, eyes flicking over to where Jonathan’s car was parked, engine idling as he waited for her.
She nodded, resolute. “Yeah, I am,” she answered quietly and confidently.
You nodded too, surprised at how it warmed you to hear that. You never wished ill on the girl, you just didn’t like how she broke your best friend, leaving you to put him back together again, piece by piece.
“I’m glad Steve’s got you, you know,” she called back before you could start to walk away again and her words made your heart stumble. You swallowed, looking at her with parted lips. “He’s lucky to have you.”
And well, wasn’t that a statement to behold?
When you finally clambered into Steve’s car, bringing the chill and some stray leaves from the outside, Steve was frowning softly, concerned by your lateness.
He looked at your flushed cheeks, pink nose and glassy eyes from the sharp wind and cranked up the heat, pointing his vents to your side too.
“Where’ve you been?” He asked, voice worried, “I was gonna call in the kids, start a search party.”
You laughed, a little strained after the conversation you had, rubbing your hands together for warmth and you shrugged, noncommittal.
“I was uh, just catching up with a friend.”
Can I go where you go?
When Steve got a job after graduation at Scoops Ahoy, it was supposed to mean free ice cream and catching a late showing at the cinema after his shifts.
It brought you Robin Buckley, Steve in a sailors hat, a new flavour of ice cream every month and fucking Russians.
You thought dimensions and demogorgons were about as much as you could handle but Dustin came back from camp with a new gadget he’d built, some kind of high tech radio that looked like it was held together with duct tape and paper clips but the thing actually worked.
It worked well enough to pick up secret codes from underground labs, translated by Robin and well, fuck. Suddenly you were trapped in an elevator that wasn’t actually supposed to be an elevator and Erica Sinclair was going to miss her Uncle Jack’s party.
You knew Steve wasn’t happy with you, you could tell by the way his jaw was set, the way that he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and his lips twisted and his gaze dropped when you tried to catch his gaze.
It made the air in the elevator crackle and buzz, tension on top of tension as you moved around each other, looking for a way out, hardly touching, hardly speaking. Robin twisted her lips, sympathetic, when she caught your gaze, your face flushed with annoyance.
He’d told you not to come.
Not out of meanness, or because you had fallen out, simply because he didn’t want you in harm's way. You’d ended up yelling at each other, a hundred feet below the mall and trapped in a metal box because why did it matter when Robin and the kids were stuck there too?
Steve, of course, cared that he had another friend, a thirteen year old and a ten year old to keep safe and he had every intention of doing so. But he couldn’t help but feel sick, his stomach rolling, at the thought of you being put in a dangerous situation.
You’d told him that he was being stupid, that you weren’t leaving him. You thought you’d seen all the dangers Hawkins had to offer, you could handle yourself, you could help him.
His worst fears came true when you all got split up, Dustin and Erica hopefully somewhere above you all, on their way for help, for something, anything.
But then a man came, tall and dressed in uniform, badges adorning his chest, and he took one look at the way Steve stood in front of you when he entered and swung for the side of his head.
The boy fell backwards, dazed, groaning at the shock and pain of it all before pulling himself off of the floor, body slow and sluggish. He lifted his head in time to see the same man gripping you by the back of your neck, hair fisted painfully in his grasp as he pulled you out of the room. Robin was yelling, swearing as she tried to get a grip on you, her hand wrapped around your ankle from where she was on the floor but you were pulled from her easily, a swift kick sent to her stomach for the audacity of her trying.
Steve felt his heart leave his chest, plummeting to his stomach, his blood running cold and everything around him slowed down. His vision was fuzzy but he could see the panic on your face, lips parted in a gasp as you tried to get to grips with what was happening.
Russians. A lab. Under Starcourt Mall.
He couldn’t move fast enough and he wanted to yell out, he wanted to run. But it was like being trapped in a bad dream, body damp, sheets tangled around his limbs as he tried his best to scream, to move, but nothing fucking happened.
The door slammed shut before the ringing in his ears could stop and he could taste blood in his tongue, metallic and horribly warm. He made his fists bleed from pounding on the door, knuckles cracked and bruised, voice wrecked from yelling your name.
He only stopped when the man came back, pulled him from Robin's side and threw more hits to his face, his body. His skin was littered with angry bruises, almost black, skipping the shades of lavender and pink, turning inky within minutes.
Between each punch, Steve spat out blood and asked where you were, groaning as he spoke. He was ignored, time and time again, until he lost it completely, tried to lash out, fists swinging, legs thrashing and he wasn’t sure if he was crying, or it was just blood dripping down his face but he wanted to sob, desperate for you.
He was thrown to a chair, tied back to back with Robin as some guy in a white coat threatened him with surgical equipment that looked like it didn’t belong in a hospital and when his eyes fell shut with the weight of his injuries, he wondered if he’d ever see his best friend again.
You were finally gathered up in what could’ve been hours later, maybe one, maybe five. A guard tugged at your wrists, taped together and red raw from where you’d tried to pull them apart and suddenly you were pushed through the same door they’d taken you from, thrown at Steve’s feet and the yelling continued.
Who did you work for, who did you work for, who did you work for?
It didn’t end until people were dead and Starcourt Mall was on fire.
Alarms had gone off, Dustin rushing in with an electric cattle prod of all things, weidling it like battleaxe and telling you all you had to run. You weren’t sure who was supporting who as you all tumbled back to the surface, dripping blood and tears onto the mall floor as Steve gripped your hand with a fierceness you’d never experienced from him before.
But then there were guns, El broken but still fighting, the rest of your friends, concern and confusion written on their faces ‘cause when you had all been fighting Russian Soviets, they’d been fighting Billy, the evil inside of him turning him into something different from the boy you’d seen in the school halls.
You’d held Max when he fell, body bloodied and ripped open, eyes glassy like he’d known what was coming. You left the mall that night with a new fear of loud noises, of fireworks that cracked and snapped in the sky. You knew what burning flesh smelled like, you knew that there was more to be said about monsters, more danger in the world than just the creatures that lurked in the cracks of the earth.
You knew that evil could come in the shape of a man, a familiar face, behind a uniform, a doctor's white lab coat.
You were tired, beaten, a little bloodied and bruised and your throat was raw after you’d screamed for Steve, fists beating on the door as you went ignored. You heard him from behind the steel walls, his voice as wrecked and panicked as your own and you sobbed when you heard his yells turn to groans, sickening wet thumps of bone hitting bone, breaking up the sound of him calling out your name.
You sat beside him in the ambulance, hands still clutching each other tightly, fear of being torn apart again ripping through you both. The medic wanted to take him to hospital, to make sure his cheekbone wasn’t shattered, that you both weren’t suffering from shock or concussion but Steve refused, just wanting to go fucking home.
The sky was angry, red and crying, plumes of black and crimson smoke billowing from the broken building and you didn’t know what to do. People were dead and the whole world seemed to be burning.
But Steve took you by the hand, pulled you to his side as you made sure everyone was okay, as well as they could be considering the circumstances and the boy stood a little numb as he watched you drop to your knees and fold Max into a hug, tears streaking through the blood and dirt on your cheeks when you pressed a kiss to El’s forehead.
Everyone was a little broken, barely standing, barely breathing and it didn’t seem difficult to continue the lie to your parents, calling them from a pay phone to say that you were okay, you had seen the news but it was fine, you had been at Steve’s the whole time, you’d be home in the morning.
You let Jonathan bundle you both into the back of his car, one of his old jackets thrown around your shoulders as Nancy sat in the front, Steve beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He dropped you both at Steve’s front door, little to be said between the hour of you as shock and tiredness tugged at your bodies, your heads. Hands were pressed to shoulders, squeezing softly, telling each other everything you all needed to say but couldn’t - not then, not just yet.
The Harrington house was empty, as expected and the rooms felt darker and colder than they had before, empty and too big, your harsh breaths rattling too loudly and you could feel a panic building inside you, clawing at your chest.
It grew when you looked at Steve’s face, dried blood and dark bruises making him look like he was about to fall apart and when you squeezed your eyes closed, you could hear the way he yelled your name, raw and broken.
A sob bubbled from your throat, spilling from your lips and you’d barely taken a breath before Steve was in front of you, arms pulling you into him, a hand around your neck, foreheads pressed together. It was supposed to ground you - and it did, in a way - but the cries still came, stuttered and broken, the heavy kind of sobs that made your body heave with the exertion of it all.
Steve held you through it, both of you swaying unsteady on your feet in the middle of his hall, shoes streaking dirt across Mrs. Harrington’s white tiles. Neither of you could ask the other if they were okay, ‘cause the answer was obvious but when your tears finally stopped, your face wet and your head sore, the boy took you by the hand and led you up the stairs.
He walked past his bedroom door, the little slice of heaven you most wanted at that moment in time, the only place in the large house that truly felt like home to you both. It was a surprise when he nudged open the door to the main bathroom, rarely used due to all the ensuites that were accessed through bedrooms but the large corner tub there suddenly looked like a gift from above.
You felt like a spare part when Steve let go of you long enough to turn the taps, filling the bath with hot water and a mixture of his mother’s expensive soaps and bath milks, sweet smelling bubbles and steam filling the room.
You found a first aid kit underneath the sink, pushed to the back of the cupboard, unused and when you motioned to the boy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he did without arguing. He spread his legs for you without you needing to ask, standing between his knees with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you mumbled out apologies, dabbing the stinging liquid into his skin.
Steve simply held onto your legs, eyes closed and his hands wrapped around the back of your knees, his thumbs stroking over the sensitive skin there as he whispered back, telling you it was okay, it’s fine, I'm fine sweetheart.
The cuts on his face didn’t seem as angry, as severe, when you wiped away the blood that crusted around them but the dark bruises seemed mean and vicious against the pale cast of his skin, shock seeping out all the colour from his cheeks.
He let you press a kiss to his forehead, clutching at the sides of his head, fingers buried in his damp, messy hair and the push of your lips was fierce, conveying everything you wanted to say but couldn’t, because fuck, you didn’t know how to tell your best friend that you think you were falling in love with him. Because how else could the thought of losing someone hurt so fucking much?
Steve left you alone to bathe, skin stinging as you stripped down to your underwear, your body and bones lazy as you pulled at your jeans and shirt. You gave up when you got down to your underwear, cotton pants and lacy bralette mismatching in a clash of cherry print and forest green and they both stuck to your skin as you slid into the hot water.
You drew your knees to your chest, eyes closed and head pressed there as you let the heat nip at you, cuts and scrapes protesting but it was good to feel something when your head felt numb, your chest hollow. You weren’t sure how long you sat there for but you could've sworn someone was calling your name, a knock on the door echoing on the tiles and your mouth felt too fuzzy to answer.
Steve could only hear the slow, steady drip of the tap and panic rose in his chest when you didn’t answer him and he had thoughts of you unconscious and slipping beneath the bubbles.
So he knocked once more, heart racing before he turned the handle and pushed at the door a little, calling out your name.
He heard the water splash at the sides of the tub, movement at least. But then he heard you sniff, the noise turning to soft sobs and it gripped at his heart, crushed it a little and before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, bare feet on the tiles and staring down at you, tucked into the smallest ball you could amongst the bubbles.
Neither of you spoke as Steve pulled off the shirt and cotton sweats he’d changed into, his own eyes glassey as he left his boxers on, stepping into the water with you, sitting down in the space behind you.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world when he spread his legs and pulled you into them, your back to his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around your knees too, holding you to him. He let you cry like that, head bent over yours, the two of you curled into the water together, steam licking at your skin. You think you felt a tear drop from his eye, warm as it slid through your hair and onto your cheek and the feel of it made you search for his hand, scrambling desperately under the hot water and foam so you could link your fingers through his.
Your grip on each other was as tight as it was when he’d pulled you to your feet after Dustin saved you from pliers and scalpels, the same way it had been when a six year old Steve had helped you up from the playground, knees scraped and front tooth missing after falling from the monkey bars. It was the same touch you granted him when you were twelve and he had to go to the emergency room, his arm broken after falling off of his bike. You’d begged to ride in the ambulance with him and his mom, his ink stained fingers reaching for you, not Mrs. Harrington.
When you had no tears left to give and the water was turning lukewarm, Steve turned the tap again, let the hot water fill the room back up with steam and soothe your tired bodies. He grabbed a sponge, tapped at your knee until you turned to him, face to face and unbelievably vulnerable.
But you let him smooth the sponge over the bare skin that he could see, up your arms, wiping away the soot from the fire, the stubborn dried blood that didn’t want to leave. He squeezed warm water over your chest, looking at your eyes and definitely not your bra, the pretty, green lace turning darker against your skin.
He pressed a kiss to your hair when you let your head fall into him, too tired to sit up and when you couldn’t hear the far away whine of sirens in the distance anymore, he helped you stand, the water that was light pink with blood swirling down the drain. He wrapped you both in towels, murmuring the whole time that you were okay, he had you, it was gonna be fine.
You pulled your favourite shirt from underneath his pillow, tugging it on and falling into his bed, the smell of Steve and home surrounding you in the same way that the sheets did, soft and comforting. The boy clambered in beside you, body stiff and pain settling in his bones but you glued yourself to his side, hands intertwined and pressed between your chests and you couldn’t close your eyes until Steve leaned into you, breath warm and smelling of mint as he pressed his lips to your ear as he told you:
“Remember when I promised you that I’d protect you from everything bad?”
You nodded, remembering that cherry flavoured popsicle and the way Steve’s pool looked so much bigger and deeper back then.
“We were eight, Steve.”
He hummed in agreement, forehead rubbing fond against your own and you revelled in the fact that you both smelled like the same cotton and lemongrass body wash.
“We were,” he agreed, voice a soft whisper, cracking a little from the yelling that had ripped his throat apart. “But the promise still stands, sweetheart.”
You opened your eyes to look at them and he looked a little fuzzy as you teared up. But Steve shook his head gently, hand tightening around your smaller one.
“No more tears, please babe,” he sniffed too, as if the entire night suddenly hit him, “I got you now, yeah? I’m never gonna let anythin’ happen to you, promise.”
You slept then, a little broken and fitful, but every time you shifted in your sleep, the boy followed, bodies traversing across the mattress and between the sheets. When you woke in the morning, you had your head on Steve’s chest, a leg thrown over his own, your thigh hitched high over his and his arms were a vice grip around you, his face pressed to the top of your head.
The sheets were on the floor, a pillow by the door as if it had been kicked and the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain, bright and warm and mocking.
The world felt a little different after that night, and so did your friendship with Steve Harrington.
I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all.
Working at Family Video with both Robin and Steve meant that you got to spend a lot more time with your friends. It also meant that Robin was more privy to watching how you and Steve interacted with each other and it had the girl taking notes on your relationship with the boy like her new favourite science experiment.
“Look, I’m just saying, he’s not really dated since Starcourt and the boy lost it over you that night.”
You rolled your eyes, still putting away the videos that were stacked in your arms as Robin followed you up and down the aisles. The store was quiet, a Tuesday afternoon giving you little to do but you’d graduated after you fought a monster and survived the soviets, so applying for colleges wasn’t all that high on your to do list.
Your parents had taken that news better than Steve’s, both couples perplexed at their kids' choices to stay in Hawkins and work for the summer but at least your Dad had threatened bodily harm against you when you’d told him.
You eyed Steve who was on the other end of the store, leaning lazy against the counter as he ticked off the delivery list. He looked a little older, like you did, but the stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders made your lips part every time you chanced a look.
He was still Steve, but he was a little taller, a little stronger. He was still late night drives and sneaking through your window, mixtapes on your birthday and cherry popsicles in his backyard during the summer. Maybe he flirted a little more with you, comments suggestive and compliments coming easier but you tried not to think about it. When you did, late at night and alone in bed, it made your head spin, your lips part, your eyes close.
You sighed, turning to Robin to tell her with an exasperated whisper, “we’ve been best friends since pre-k, of course he was upset that I was dragged away by a fucking Russian Soviet, Robin.”
She rolled her eyes at you, stumbling over her own foot as she tried to keep up. Steve glanced up at you both at the noise, brows furrowed as you both froze, eyes a little wide and you waved, hands raised awkwardly in unison.
“What’re you both doing?” He called out, suspicion lacing his voice and you felt heat travel from your chest to your cheeks.
“Nothing,” Robin called out at the same time you told him you were fixing the horror section.
Your voices piled over each other and you wanted to groan, because Robin couldn’t lie to save herself and now you both looked like idiots. But Steve just smiled, fond, and turned back to his stack of papers.
“I'm telling you,” Robin continued, voice a little lower now, “Steve likes you, like, he likes you, likes you. Why can’t you see that?”
You stopped and turned at her last words, truly taken aback at how sincere she sounded, how confused she seemed.
‘Cause Steve was still Steve and you were still you and nothing in the world could really change that. Steve had promised you that he’d always be your best friend, and at nineteen, that still seemed like a pretty sweet deal.
You shrugged, pushing the last copy of Nightmare On Elm Street onto the shelf and you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling far too exposed at her interrogation.
“It’s not like that,” you told her, whispering still, “it’s never been like that with Steve.”
She huffed, swiping a finger along the row of videos and blowing away the dust she’d collected. Robin turned, an eyebrow raised. “Would you want it to be like that? ‘Cause seriously, dude, I still can’t believe that, in like, sixteen years of friendship, you’ve never even kissed once.”
You shrugged again, holding back on telling the girl that sometimes you thought the same.
When you were fourteen, you thought that Steve was going to be your first kiss. Looking back, you weren’t sure why, you just did. Maybe it was a feeling, maybe it was hope, maybe it was just inevitable.
‘Cause you grew up beside the boy and never once did he feel like a brother, and that had to mean something, right? He held your hand when you watched scary movies, when you crossed the road on Main Street, when it was rush hour, just like your parents had told you to when you were seven. He never dropped your hand, he never kicked you from his side of the bed when the movies you watched together became too much.
You went through middle school and high school still the same, joined at the hip, still sharing secrets, still holding hands when things got too hard.
But then one summer, Hayley Collins had a birthday party and you’d been sick, too ill to attend but Steve had still stood underneath your bedroom window, features twisted with conflict as you told him it was fine, he could go without you. You remember telling him to have fun, and to bring you back some candy.
He did. He brought you back fistfuls of sweet stuff, bags of M&M’s and pop rocks but you didn’t expect him to bring his lips to your ear and tell you a secret you never expected.
Steve had had his first kiss. A game of spin the bottle in Hayley’s basement with her cousin who was from out of town. A girl a year older, a girl who had pretty blonde curls and a reason to wear a real bra.
You remembered the feeling when your heart sank and the pop rocks stopped fizzing on your tongue. You wondered why the sugar tasted bitter, why your eyes were suddenly pricking with hot tears and when the boy asked if you were okay, a grin slipping from his lips, you lied and told him that you still felt sick.
You turned to Robin, a fake smile pulling at your lips as you tried to act casual, as if her words weren’t kickstarting a feeling in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore for the last five years.
You furrowed your brow, turned to the cart that was still full of videos no thanks to your friend, and picked up another pile. You stacked them until they reached your chin, until they gave you a reason to walk to the other side of the stands and take a deep breath.
“I haven’t really thought about it,” you lied, and it felt heavy on your tongue, tasting too sweet and sinful. Because of course you had. “It’s not something that’s crossed my mind.”
Robin saw right through you and you could tell by the way her brows rose and she hid her smile behind a press of her lips.
“Sure,” she said, voice too light. “Humour me then. What do you think would happen if you did let it cross your mind?”
You stared at her, mouth agape, because what the fuck was the girl getting at.
She grabbed some of the videos you were holding, The Exorcist close to slipping from its slot underneath your chin and she started stacking them beside you, completely out of alphabetical order, but that was a problem for another day.
“Just listen,” she said and you hated how she sounded excited. “What do you think would happen if you asked Steve to kiss you?”
She dropped a box, cursing when the corner of it hit her toe but she bounced back up, bright eyes still brimming with all the thoughts that were swirling round her head at once.
“Cause you know he would, right? Like the poor guy can’t say no to you, he’s never been able to.”
You made a sound of protest, heart hammering in your chest because Steve was still right there, fingers running though his hair, pen between his lips and so completely fucking oblivious.
But Robin suddenly stopped and spun to face you. She wrapped a hand around your wrist, soft and warm and you could tell she was choosing her words carefully before she said them, a sure fire way to tell that the girl was being serious.
“There’s a reason that none of his girlfriends have stuck around, babe,” Robin murmured, sincerity lacing every word. “It’s ‘cause he always picks you, every time.”
—————
It had been a week since Robin had cornered you at work, whispering to you about Steve and kissing and god, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
You thought about it when he gave you a ride home after work, sun setting, the day turning pink and casting indigo shadows over his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.
You thought about it when he pushed himself into you during Saturday morning shifts, his body lazy as he leant against you, his chest to your back and his head on your shoulder. It felt softer and intimate than when he’d done it before, your mind running wild with the idea that if you turned around and kissed him, right there in the middle of Family Video, he might kiss you back.
You thought about it when you were lying by his pool, his parents gone, the kids and Dustin’s new friend Eddie starting water fights on the lawn. You’d watch the way Steve watched you, jealous eyes and lips pouted when Eddie soaked you with a water balloon, skin damp, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. You watched how he softened and lit up again, your attention on him when you shook your wet hair over his bare chest and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze followed the movements you made when you bent to slide your shorts back up your legs.
So maybe it was for those reasons that you turned to him one Friday night, when it was just the two of you out in his backyard, and asked him why he’d never kissed you.
It could’ve been the joint you’d been sharing making you feel braver, or maybe the shadows that you were hiding in, the spaces that the pool lights didn’t quite reach.
Maybe it was the way Steve had been looking at you each time you took the joint from his lips and put it between your own. Hair a little messy, eyes hooded, jaw slack.
Maybe it was because of all of it. Maybe it was because you were nineteen and growing impatient. Maybe it was sixteen years of build up. Of wondering, wanting, waiting.
The air smelled the same way it did when you were eight, chlorine and cedar from the trees, that afternoon's sunscreen mixing with weed and smoke. Your tongue was stained red from the popsicle you’d had, Steve’s blue and there were new freckles on both of your faces, noses a little pink from lying out in the sun all day.
And when the afternoon faded into evening and the sky was lilac, Steve produced a joint with a grin, a wiggle of his brows and suddenly you were lying on the deck together, the pool filter trickling in the background and laughing soft as you blew smoke into the night.
There was a buzz of insects from the forest that stood behind the house, the faint hum of someone’s music that played from a couple of yards over and you felt the warmth radiate from the boy from where he lay beside you.
Your bare feet pointed to opposite ends of the pool, one of yours dipped into the water and your heads were touching, cheek to cheek. If you turned to look at him, you knew your lips could slip over his easily and the thought of it made your body fizz.
He had just plucked the joint from your mouth, thumb grazing clumsy over your top lip, fitting pretty into the dip of your Cupid’s bow when you tilted your head, cheek resting on the patio, the slabs still warm from the afternoon sun.
“Hey, Harrington,” you sounded quiet and lazy, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But god, your heart was in your throat, pulsing like a warning. “You ever thought ‘bout kissing me?”
If Steve was shocked, he didn’t show it, not really. His eyes widened slightly, joint hanging slack from his lips and he stubbed it out on the concrete before swallowing, hard.
He turned to you, noses almost brushing and you watched the way his gaze settled on your lips.
“Why d’you ask?” His voice was a hush, warm and rough.
You shrugged, boldness faltering because he hadn’t answered your question but holy shit, he was still looking at your mouth, the way your tongue snuck out to wet your bottom lip before you spoke.
“Just something Robin said,” you told him, nose scrunched.
Your words made his lips part, nodding in understanding because of course Robin was involved and the girl had been at him too, hounding him in the stockroom at work, calling him out on his obvious crush on your over old, dusty videos.
But all the boy could say was, “oh.”
And then there was silence, for a second, maybe two. It felt like minutes, like an hour, like the sky was suddenly crashing down on you, as if lavender clouds and the stars were going to bury you were you lay but then-
“I have,” Steve said, quietly sure. You looked over at him as he blew out a breath, “course I’ve thought about it. ‘Bout kissing you.”
“Oh,” it was your turn to keep silent, his admission washing over you like a tsunami sized wave, one that you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep your head above.
You sat up suddenly, shocking Steve and he leaned up onto his elbows with wide eyes, watching as you turned to face him, legs crossed and knees knocking into his thighs.
“Why haven’t we?” You asked, bemusement colouring your tone and you couldn’t help but press your hand to his where it lay on the deck. Your fingers brushed over his, a new kind of touch. “Why haven’t we ever kissed?”
You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat, if it was rattling against your ribs as loud as it seemed to be. You held your breath as Steve sat up too, mirroring your pose and crossing his legs until you were knee to knee and looking like a couple of innocent kids again.
He shrugged, blowing out another breath and he tugged a hand through the front of his hair, making it stand on end. He looked a little wild, like you short circuited him, like you were half way to ruining him.
The boy’s voice cracked a little when he tried to answer and you wondered if this was okay, if you should’ve asked but then Steve was speaking, his thumb drawing absentminded circles over your bare knee.
“I’m not really sure,” he said and he spoke soft and quiet, like he was telling you a secret. “I suppose I just didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”
It was the answer you expected. Best friend first, the prospect of a girl to kiss in the background of his mind. You should’ve been happy, you should’ve felt loved, but the idea of never having Steve in the way you realised you wanted him was becoming more crushing by the day.
“Or maybe,” he suddenly continued, “I guess… I guess I didn’t realise I was allowed to.”
Your lips parted at that, a small bomb dropped in the middle of the Harrington’s backyard. You waited for the pool to empty, for the small wave to hit your back, for the sky to light up but nothing came and Steve was watching you, waiting.
“You’re allowed to,” you whispered and oh my god, you didn’t feel high enough for this, but you continued, tummy dropping and skin electric. “You’ve always been allowed to.”
You heard Steve’s breath hitch and it only felt natural when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb pressed to the spot behind your ear and god, he was leaning in and so were you.
“I just don’t know if we should,” he was telling you but he was still moving into you and his hand never fell away from your face.
“It’s just a kiss,” you told him, voice shot, lips falling apart and you could smell his aftershave, the leftover chlorine that stuck to his skin and he was summer, he was cherry and smoke and god, he was forbidden, he was yours. “Friends can kiss, doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“It’s really just curiosity, right?”
His nose was bumping against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed at the feel of the other's breath falling across your lips and you wondered if he’d taste like his popsicle, blue raspberry, sugar and fizz.
You nodded at his question, too gone to speak and the movement made your top lip brush against his. Sparks against your skin, electric, dangerous and it made you sigh.
“Steve?” You whispered, eyes squeezed shut like you were seven again and making a wish beside your birthday cake, candles making your skin glow.
He hummed, thumb still pushing against that spot on your neck, “yeah sweetheart?”
“Will you kiss me?”
And fuck, maybe Robin was right because the boy didn’t say no. In fact, Steve didn’t say anything, he just moved into you until your nose was pressed into his cheek and his lips were plush against yours and oh my god you were kissing your best friend.
He still tasted like raspberry, like you thought he would. Like summer and promises and pool days and a little smoke and Steve.
It was a slow push of his lips to your own, mouths slanting over each other’s, soft and languid like you both knew this was your only chance. You thought you heard him moan, a soft, low noise that made your chest hurt and when the kiss lingered, you brought your hands to his cheeks, fingers splayed over his jaw as you tugged him a little closer, greedy.
And when his tongue licked at the curve of your bottom lip, his hand travelled to tilt at your chin, asking you to open for him, you did, no questions asked. You sighed, blissed out, when his tongue slid over yours, a hand falling to fist in his t-shirt, soft cotton crumpled in your hand because you felt like you were going to float away.
Then Steve was pulling back, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours and eyes still slammed shut as he gave you another secret, pressed to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your neck.
“I always thought you were gonna be my first kiss,” he said it like a confession, like something holy. “M’sorry you weren’t.”
And then he was back on you, lips melted between your own and you knew that the pretty noises that you pulled from him would play like a record in your dreams for months on end. Steve was grasping at your hip, the material of your dress bunched under his hand, making the cotton hitch higher up your thighs.
You were in his lap, wide hands on your sides, guiding you as you kissed him, lovesick, eyes closed, body buzzing and you fell across his knees, thighs shifting apart to cage him underneath you and oh my god.
Fuck.
You sat a little higher than him, knees planted on the deck and his head was tilted back to kiss you as you crowded him. One hand was on your jaw, thumb rubbing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper now, a little dirty and when he pulled a small moan from you, his hand clasped at the back of your thigh, skin on skin.
You could feel him hard underneath you and it made your head feel fuzzy, your body pleading with you to drag yourself along the length of him, hips rolling, chest heaving.
When you pulled back, panting, the reflections of the pool were bouncing off your faces, ripples of light dancing across the boy's features, hitting his eyes and turning them caramel. You felt golden when he touched you, skin lit up, the air around you both crackling like a storm was coming.
Maybe it was still the weed, maybe it was a new found courage, maybe it was just teenage hormones and the thought of seeing each other naked for the first time since you were both four, but when Steve asked if he could take you inside, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.
It felt different in his bedroom when you both tumbled in, colliding with the dresser as you kissed each other like you meant it, like you’d never do it again. The room felt smaller, darker, softer, more intimate than it had ever been for you and suddenly you felt like a girl at the end of date.
Steve touched you like you were more than just his best friend and it made your stomach roll, your thighs rub together and you couldn’t quite get over the way his hand spanned the width of your cheek, fingertips grazing your hairline whilst his thumb managed to pull at your bottom lip, eager for more of you.
It all got a little wild after that, loose change and bottles of aftershave cologne clattering off of the drawers, falling to the floor as Steve picked you up and slammed you on top of it, legs spreading for him to fit in between. Hands roamed up your thighs, pushing at the soft skin there until he hitched a knee up and over his hip, pressing himself into you.
Your dress came off first, his shirt following, a mix of colours on the carpet and he pressed his lips to the skin he uncovered, mouth over lavender lace and delicate straps.
It felt desperate, you felt desperate. And when he sucked a bruise into the column of your throat, you keened, high and needy. It made the boy groan, mouth vibrating against your chest as he kissed over the lace triangles covering you, his gaze flicking up to watch you nod at him before he was pushing one aside, tongue smoothing over a nipple.
It made you grab at his hair, fingers delving deep, tugging in appreciation and you were prepared for the sound it pulled from him, low in the back of his throat and it made his eyes flutter shut.
“Sweetheart,” Steve huffed out, hands skimming up and down your sides as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up.”
He sounded wild, unravelled and sharp around the edges. It made you feel full of power, pretty lips and lace and soft skin, and you pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants and before you could ask, you were being manhandled again, legs around his waist and his hands on your ass.
He sat you both on the bed like that, spread out pretty on top of him, knees pushed into the mattress as you pulled at his belt, holding yourself up as he shuffled out of his jeans. He sucked tiny bruises on your collar bones as your bra was peeled off, nothing but your underwear separating you both and you felt his hands drag down your back, a touch that was so affectionate and soft that it took your breath away.
Then night seemed slower after that, like time paused for you both, just for you to remember every touch. Like the world stopped spinning on its axis just for you two, just so you would both remember the way the other felt, ‘cause fuck, you had a feeling this wouldn’t happen again.
“We don’t have to go any further,” Steve gasped, lips barely leaving yours as pushed and pulled at your hips, helping you rock over him, body rolling across his lap. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
But you were ready to climb him, your hands grabbing at his hair to tug him back to you, kisses swallowing his words and telling the boy that you wanted exactly the opposite.
It was strange how natural it felt, to tug the length of him out of his boxers, the feel of him hot and hard in your hand. You shuffled in Steve’s lap as he palmed you over the lace of your underwear, breath uneven. It didn’t take long for him to tug them down your legs as he slid on a condom, your foot kicking purple lace to his bedroom floor and you suddenly felt like you were underwater; body moving lazy and slow as you lifted yourself onto your knees, Steve’s hands strong and reassuring as you took him in your hand and sunk down onto him.
Neither of you moved, bodies tangled and still as you fit perfectly in his lap, arms wrapped around each other as you panted heavy into parted lips. Steve whispered your name, like a prayer, soft and broken before he pushed his lips to yours, head tilted into you so he could catch your lips deep and slow.
He grunted in surprise when you tightened around him, body clenching on his at the touch of his tongue across your bottom lip and you whimpered, hips beginning to wiggle. This was more than you’d felt before, more than wandering hands in back seats, more than a quick and fast hook-up in a party bathroom, more than fingers under skirts in your bedroom when your parents were asleep across the hall.
“Can I move?” You ask, quiet, your hands grappling desperately at Steve’s shoulders palming over the muscles there. “I need to move, Steve, please.” If you were begging, you didn’t care, because you felt so full, so tight around him and you couldn’t help but admire the way the boy looked underneath you.
But Steve didn’t have you waiting long, any teasing long forgotten about ‘cause he felt like he was wound too tight and you felt like fucking heaven around him. You didn’t know your eyes were wet until his thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, breath stuttering and you both gasped and swore when you lifted yourself up, just to rock yourself back down.
He moaned your name so prettily, lips glossy from your kisses and his eyes were hooded, gaze set on you, jaw slack, hands roaming across the expanse of your back as he held you to him.
You moved over him with purpose, Steve answering with low groans and he pulled soft whimpers from you, your hand catching his face so you could look at him, gazes heavy and hot, pinned to each other. Your thumb found the curve of his bottom lip, tugging a little and Steve moaned when the pad of it slid over the edge of his teeth.
“Steve,” you gasped, hips moving messy and the boy grabbed at your ass, helping you ride him a little faster.
“That’s it, sweetheart, tell me, tell me what you want and I’ll give you it,” he pressed his lips to yours as he spoke, words slipping over your lips, your tongue and god, they tasted sweet. “I’ll give you anything.”
“More,” was all you could manage, breath hitching, eyes slamming shut ‘cause Steve’s hand dropped between you both, skin slick and he pressed his thumb over your clit; quick, hot circles that made stars flash behind your eyelids.
“Close?” Steve asked, voice rough and you nodded, moving a little wilder over him, the boy reciprocated, hands holding your hips still so he could thrust up hard into you until you were biting down on the muscle on his shoulder, thighs tensing, eyes tearing up.
Steve whispered your name when he came, arms tight around you, head buried in the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he’d always remember the way you felt around him.
He kissed you one last time that night, bodies still naked and stretched out between his sheets and you didn’t say anything to each other as you caught your breaths, eyes wide on each other. There was a part of you that wished you could have the excuse of alcohol, too messy after some party to remember. You couldn’t blame the weed either, the half smoked joint still stubbed out in the backyard, hardly enough to do anything than let you both share a buzz.
In the morning, you pulled on your clothes, wrinkled on Steve’s bedroom floor, still smelling of smoke and the boy. You tiptoed around his room, searching for your underwear, your shoes, all while the boy lay on his bed, face down, hair mussed and the white sheets barely covering his waist.
You wish you had it in you to let yourself drop back down into bed with, to have the courage to press a kiss to the freckle on his right shoulder, smooth a soft hand down his spine. But the sun was coming in through the window and your lips were still swollen from your best friend’s kisses and everything was starting to taste like a mistake.
You didn’t know it, but Steve was awake as you left, eyes open and face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like your shampoo, heart beating wild in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t call out to stop you. And well, that was that.
My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue.
You didn’t talk about it.
A week passed and neither did Steve and before you knew it, you were a month down the line, the feel of your best friend's lips on your skin feeling like a fever dream and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to forget the feel of him moving against you, inside you.
It hurt to look at him, for a while. It got worse before it got better, stilted conversations and awkward eye contact, the taste of regret in both of your tongues and all the things you wanted to say to each other were left unsaid.
But it was fine.
Steve asked you round for a movie one Friday, videos stacked on the coffee table in his living room, your favourite sweater of his lying out on the arm of the sofa along with red vines and the good kinda popcorn.
You didn’t push yourself into his side like you normally would and you didn’t know if that disappointed him or not, but when he dropped you off home later that night, the sky was a dark, rosy pink, the lingering smell of rain in the air and he smacked a messy kiss to your cheek before you climbed out of his car.
It was fine. Until it wasn’t.
Steve started dating again, one girl, two girls, three girls. Lucy on Saturday, Matthew David’s cousin Paula the next Friday, Cindy from last year's cheer squad the week after.
You didn’t ask about it and he didn’t tell you, just poking an affectionate finger to the apple of your cheek when he told you he’d see you the next day. You were his best friend, again, still, only.
It was fine until one Friday shift, when you disappeared into the back room a little earlier than the store closed. You came back out in a new dress, short and pretty, with blush on your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. Robin had wolf whistled, Steve had frowned.
“Where are you going?”
His tone of voice cut you in half, accusatory and a little shocked. Steve leaned over the counter, a finger picking delicately at a lock of hair that you’d spent too long trying to get to sit nicely.
“A date,” you told him, voice soft, gaze lowered as you tried to cram lip gloss tubes and perfume bottles into your bag.
“With who?” Was the instantaneous response, that same tone of voice.
You saw Robin’s gaze flitting between the pair of you, not privy to the events that took place a month prior, but not for a lack of trying. The girl was perfectly aware that something happened. She just didn’t know what and neither your or Steve had told her anything.
“Nate Owens,” you told him and god, why was it so hard to meet his eye? “You know, he was on the team with you.”
Steve pulled his brows together, bewildered at your answer. “Yeah, I know him, why the fuck are you going on a date with Owens?”
You heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath and she watched as you squinted at the boy, annoyance on your features. Knowing what was to come, she grabbed the last of the returns and made her way to the other side of the empty store, leaving you two alone.
“What?” You huffed out, exasperated already. Your stomach was tumbling and you hated the way you didn’t know why. Maybe it was first date jitters, maybe it was the way Steve was looking at you, maybe it was because you knew you had absolutely no interest in dating anyone that wasn’t your bet fucking friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Steve grappled for something to say, stuttering over excuses until he tutted and grabbed the stapler, carelessly turning it over in his hands as he told you, “you’ve got nothing in common with him, like, at all.”
You scoffed, pulling at the hem of your dress and smoothing out imaginary creases, you were annoyed, something burning and twisting inside of you. “Sure Harrington, I forgot you choose all your dates based on compatibility and shared goals for the future.”
“He’s a douchebag,” Steve tried again, “he’s only after one thing.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I am too,” you said loftily and you didn’t look for Steve’s reaction, you didn’t want to. You moved from behind the counter, leaving a cloud of perfume in your wake and headed for the door. “Robs, I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”
Before the girl could answer, Steve was tailing you, moving across the store with that stupid stapler still in his hand and he called out your name, making you stop and turn.
“He’s just gonna hurt you,” the boy explained and you hated how his voice had turned a little softer. “You can do so much better than him.”
“Yeah?” You turned fully, chin raised and shoulders set as you locked eyes with Steve. “Who should I date then, Steve? Who’s good enough?”
The air felt electric, fully charged as the boy stared back, lips parting, chest barely moving as if he was holding his breath. If Robin was still there, you didn’t know, your mind only registering the way the boy was still silent in front of you.
“That’s what I thought,” you eventually muttered, hot tears threatening to prick at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t wait sixteen years to start taking an interest in my love life Harrington, I’ve got by just fine without your advice.”
You’d opened the door by the time Steve replied, voice hot and clipped with anger and something else, a tone you’d never heard him use with you before. “Yeah, well, don’t come fucking crying to me when he turns out to be a dick.”
You laughed humorlessly, your back turned to him as you faced the night outside, the cool air nipping at the heat on your cheeks. You wanted to go home, to chance a look at Robin and silently ask her to clamber into bed with you, if she’d let you cry onto her shoulder as you ate pizza and watched reruns of Charlie’s Angels.
There was also a part of you that wanted to turn to Steve, glassy eyed and confused, to ask why it suddenly felt like you were fighting for the first time since middle school.
But you didn’t.
You walked out into the night and let the door slam shut behind you.
If you’d hung around, you would’ve heard Robin slam down the copy of Stand By Me that she was holding, eyes a little angry and disappointed as she looked at the boy and said:
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
‘Yeah,’ Steve thought, ‘he knew he was.’
----------
You hated that Steve was right, you hated that Nate Owens was a pig, you hated that he did nothing but look at your chest over the dinner table, you hated that he tried to lean in for a kiss the minute you both got back into his car, you hated that he got pissy with you when you didn’t let him push his hand up your dress, you hated that he told you to put out or get out.
You hated that he left you on the side of the road, a little out of town, at a restaurant that you didn’t really know, dinner paid for with his daddy’s money.
You hated that when you finally found a payphone at the side of a dark gas station, you punched in Steve’s number. You hated that you started to cry when you heard his voice, you hated that he told you was coming to get you.
Steve found you easily despite your awful directions, and when he asked if you were okay, voice quiet and gentle, you choked out a little sob, feeling pathetic and Steve told you to stay put, that he would be there as fast as he could.
He definitely broke some laws to get to you, flashing through amber lights faster than he was supposed to and when he pulled into the station only twenty minutes later, his heart ached at the way you leaned against the brick wall, half in shadows with your arms wrapped around you, the slight wind picking at the hem of you dress, lifting it from you thighs.
Steve got out of the car before you could move, pushing yourself off of the wall and he hated that your eyes were glassy, that you seemed embarrassed. You let him tug one of his sweatshirts over your head, one he specifically grabbed for you before rushing out of his door, ‘cause he watched you leave work without a jacket and if he’d been in a better mood when you were going on your date - if you’d have been going on a date with him - he would’ve teased you about being cold later.
Steve opened the passenger door, waiting for you to fold yourself into the front of his car and when he got back in, the only light coming from the old neon sign that was flashing red, telling customers that the store was open.
He wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, squeezing it until his knuckles turned white and he glanced at you, expression almost unreadable.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
“No,” you shook your head, and it was true. You’d thrown an elbow into the Nate’s chest when he tried to push you too far, too fast, the sharp point of your arm catching him just below his throat and he’d turned on you, telling you to get the fuck out. “The only thing hurt is my pride, but I guess that’s on me, huh?”
Steve sighed at that, turning fully in his seat so he could face you, his hand coming up to press into your cheek, his thumb running gently under your eye, catching the tears there before they fell.
“Sweetheart-” Steve started, but you were overwhelmingly emotional, everything from the night and Nate and Steve suddenly becoming too much and god, you just wanted to yell with it.
“What? Is this the part where you say I told you so?” You tried to sound biting, but the words hitched in your throat, fresh tears springing to your eyes. “Why’re you even here Steve?”
You knew why.
“Cause you asked me,” he answered, simply and that was all there was to it, wasn’t there? “And I’m not gonna tell you shit, I’m… I’m sorry I acted like that early, I dunno what was wrong with me.”
You wanted to press further, you wanted to ask him if he truly didn’t know the reason he acted like an asshole. You wanted to ask if he was jealous, if he wanted you the way you wanted him, if he missed you, if he thought about you when he went on all these dates, if he wanted to kiss you again, if he thought about it all the time, the same way that you did.
But Steve was still talking, fingers slipping from your face to pick at a stand of hair, playing with the end of it absentmindedly. The car felt too small, too warm and too dark, and you were sure that the last time you were both this close, you’d been in Steve's bed, wrapped around him as he made you come.
“He didn’t deserve even an hour of your time,” he told you, brows knitted together in a frown. “And you deserve better than Nate fucking Owens, you’re too good for him,” he repeated his statement from earlier and it made you chest ache, your tummy tumble over because god, you wanted to be brave.
“Who’s good enough then, Steve?” You breathed it out, voice almost a whisper because you were so close to losing it, to grabbing the boy by his face and telling him how you felt, how’d fallen in love with him fuck knows how many years ago and you’d only recently let yourself believe it.
He started, wide eyed, lips parted and waiting, the same reaction he’d had back at Family Video. But you didn’t walk away this time, you let out a huff of laughter, no humour in it as you sat back in the seat and started out of the windscreen. The gas station was deserted, the night creeping into a new day, the clock ticking closer to midnight and the light was still flickering.
It painted you both crimson, eyes brighter than they should’ve been, cheeks rosy. You pushed a foot to the dash, dress slipping up your thigh and gathering in the crease of your leg, showing off way too much skin but you didn’t care.
“I grew up with all the other guys in our grade knowing that I was Steve Harrington’s best friend,” you told him, voice hushed and cracking, “all of them too scared to touch me ‘cause your stupid ten year old ass always threatened to beat them up.”
He was still staring, lip twitching as if he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not because it was true. But then he watched a tear slip down your cheek and it caught the light, a flash of ruby before it got caught on your top lip and you licked it away.
“Then in high school, I was a challenge, ‘cause I was still Steve Harrington’s best fucking friend. Boy’s would either be terrified to talk to me or treat me like the best prize they could win. They thought I was off limits, some thought I was your girlfriend and god, Steve, fuck…”
You swallowed, hard, breath catching in your chest and the car was so silent, the boy watching, listening.
“I never thought that I wanted that, to be anything more than your friend. I didn’t,” you tried to sound convincing, but even to your own ears, your protests sounded weak. “But then you kissed me.”
You looked at him from under your lashes, hands twisted nervously in your lap, his sweater fisted between your fingers and you hated the way it smelled like him, like mint and cedar and smoke and suddenly, it was all too much.
“I know I asked you to,” you blurted out, eyes brimming with tears again, spilling over the line of your lashes and suddenly, you didn’t care about what you said anymore. “But fuck! Robin said that you never say no to me, that you’d do anything for me and god, I just wanted it once, I didn’t know it would go that far that night… I don’t regret it,” you rambled, words falling clumsily over the next and you chanced a look at him, his eyes full of shock but there was a softness behind it, familiar and fond. “I don’t regret it at all, I just-”
You sucked in a breath, let your head fall back onto the rest and let your eyes fall closed before you admitted another secret.
“I just can’t stop thinking about it.”
You kept your eyes closed as you kept talking, the words, the confessions, falling so much easier now that you’d started. The dark made you feel a little bolder, the silence of the boy encouraging you to just keep spilling your heart out, no interruptions.
“I thought that maybe you would feel the same, that you’d say something first, ‘cause you’ve always been braver but then you started dating that girl, then the other one. And maybe I was just stupid, maybe I was wrong,” you sighed, gazing to the side to catch Steve’s eye, a warmth blooming over your entire body, embarrassment, adrenaline and the feeling that you were throwing yourself off a cliff surging over you. “But there was a part of me that thought you’d maybe figure out you loved me too.”
You didn’t know what you expected, really. There was such a large part of you that still believed you were only going to ever be friends, that if Steve wanted more, he would've told you by now. That part told you you were imagining things, that sleeping together was nothing more than an experiment, a product of being high and bored with your best friend. It told you to ignore the way you thought he looked at you, the way that sometimes, you were so sure his touch lingered for longer than it needed to.
But then there was a voice in the back of your head, a shit, it sounded a little like Robin’s and it told you that the boy before you would do anything for you, anything you asked. And wasn’t that why he was here now? It told you that friends didn’t look at each other like that, that friends didn’t have to untangle themselves from each other's arms each morning, that friends didn’t kiss like you had both done.
Steve whispered your name then, a hand reaching out to catch yours.
“You know I love you,” he whispered, voice a little shocked, a little awed. He sounded broken too, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. “I’ve always loved you, you’re my best friend.”
Your heart fell.
“I- I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve said and he was rambling, falling over his words as his eyes searched your face for something he wasn’t going to find. The softness you’d held in your features was gone. “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you-”
“Don’t call me that,” you choked out, your heart racing, your stomach twisting. You thought you might be sick. “Fuck, shit, take me home.”
You pulled your hand away from where the boy held it, your demand sounding harsh and too loud in the quiet of the car. You couldn’t look at him. The red light was still flashing, flickering and it suddenly felt like it was splitting your head in two, like it was pulsing to the same beat as your heart.
Steve said your name again, pleading, his hand on your arm, silently begging you to turn, to look at him.
“Can you let me explain? Please, god, I didn’t mean it like that, you have to understand-”
“Take me home, Steve, please.”
But he ignored you, tugging the keys out of the ignition and leaning forward, a hand tilting at your chin to try and a catch your gaze but your cheeks felt too hot and the burn at your eyes told you that you were going to start crying again and all you could think about was the list of boys who were too scared to make you theirs, too happy with a quick fuck in the back of their shitty cars and you never used to care because you were only ever happy with one boy.
You knew you should’ve let him talk, that you owed him his chance to speak but the burning sensation of embarrassment and rejection was creeping up your spine like poison and you hated it, you couldn’t stand it.
You panicked.
You pulled at the door handle, fingers clumsy as you pushed the door open, clambering out with Steve’s sweater still swamping your frame and you could hear the boy calling your name even after you slammed the door shut.
You made a start for the alleyway behind the gas station, somewhere the car couldn’t follow and by the time you made it a few streets over, you realised Steve wasn’t coming for you anyway.
You got halfway home before the rain started falling, a pathetic spit that misted into the air and soaked you through. It made your hair stick to your cheeks, Steve’s sweater damp and hanging heavy on your body and by the time you reached home, it didn’t smell like him anymore.
Good, you thought.
Because when you were eight years old, Steve Harrington was the first big to tell you he loved you and then he promised you three things:
One, he’d always be your best friend. Two, he’d always protect you from everything bad and scary. And three, he’d never break your heart.
It took almost twelve years, but shit, the boy finally broke one of them.
Take me out, and take me home.
It took Steve twelve years to break his promise to you, but only four days to fix it.
Which was impressive really, when he spent the first three days agonising over what to say to you. You’d been avoiding him like the plague, worse than the plague, quite frankly.
He expected you at work the next day, chest sore from holding his breath as he watched the door, eyes tired from staying up all night.
He’d stayed in that gas station parking lot for too long after you’d left, eyes wide as he watched you leave, disappearing behind the alleyway almost instantly.
Steve had slammed his hands on the dash, overwhelmed with everything you’d said, admitted to him, with glassy eyes and he fucking hated how he’d made your bottom lip tremble, your breath hitch and stutter as you tried not to cry.
He’d panicked.
And you’d left.
He’d driven home slowly, trying to catch sight of you on the sidewalks that led home, rolling down the streets that looked unfamiliar to see if you were there, trying to find shortcuts. When the rain had started, he’d cursed, no sight of you anywhere and by the time he’d pulled up outside your house, he was relieved to see your bedroom light on, a sign you’d made it home safely.
He wanted to knock on the door, to climb into your bedroom window and try to make you smile again, to stop you crying because he couldn’t fucking stand it when you cried, especially because of him.
But the window was shut, a rare sight and he knew it was a hint, a very obvious clue for him to stay the fuck away. He watched your light flicker off, the house bathed in darkness and he’d sat, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes and cursing himself.
He should’ve told you, he shouldn’t have been so fucking scared.
You didn’t show up at work and when he asked Robin if she’d heard from you, the girl had told him that you were sick, had called in early and spoke to Keith.
“She’s put in a line for the entire week, actually, said it’s a bad bug,” Robin had told him knowingly. “Whatever you’ve done, Harrington, I suggest you fix it.”
Steve didn’t ask how Robin knew, didn’t press her for any more details, ‘cause he knew her too well, knew she wouldn’t tell him shit so he just slammed a video he was supposed to be rewinding on the desk, and sighed, heavy and tired.
“I know.”
You didn’t answer his calls. With your parents visiting family out of town, there was no one in the house but you and you made a point of refusing to pick up the phone at all.
Robin would visit, not bothering to knock as she slipped into your house, huffing and humming to herself as she climbed your stairs, barging into your room unannounced.
She set a careful gaze on you, a lump underneath the duvet, as she dumped your favourite snacks at the foot of your bed.
“You’re not sick, are you?” You hated how it didn’t even sound like a question, just an accusation. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
And you did, you told her everything from the joint, to your kiss, the entire night. You told her about Nate, about your confession, about the way Steve looked at you when you told him that you thought he loved you too.
Robin listened, curled up by your pillows beside you, your head on her shoulder and her cheek resting on yours, a bag of Reece’s Pieces between you both.
“I know that this probably isn’t what you wanna hear right now,” the girl began, patting your hand with her own, “you know, with you being all heart broken and what not.”
You huffed.
“But I don’t believe for a second that Steve doesn’t love you, that he isn’t in love with you.”
“Robin, please,” you groaned, shoving your face into her arm, because she was right, you didn’t wanna hear it. You’d spent too long trying to convince yourself that she was right, Steve was in love with you, only to blurt out your feelings for him and have him look at you, sheer panic on his face, in return.
She sighed, knowing it was useless trying to make you see her side of things, so she pushed her nose to your temple, blew a raspberry to the side of your head and stole another Reece’s Piece.
“Have you spoken to him?” She asked, voice unusually quiet.
You shook your head.
“Have you let him try?” The girl said knowingly.
You shook your head again.
Another huff, a somewhat affectionate butt of her head to yours and then she turned, shuffling against the pillows until you were face to face.
“He’s really broken up about this,” she told you and her words made you wanna cry again. “You need to let him explain.”
You sniffed, eyes watering and despite the ache that still lived in your chest, you nodded.
“‘Cause I don’t think you said things right, y’know?” Robin squinted at you, trying to make sense of what you’d told her Steve had said that night. “He’s a guy, shit, he’s Steve. Communication isn’t his strong point.”
“I don’t know what’s more clearer than ‘you’re my best friend, I can’t lose you’. Idiot or not, he made it pretty obvious that we’re never gonna be anything more.”
The movie that you had both hardly been watching was over, the screen fading to black and the credits rolling. A love song started to play, soppy and too cheery and you grunted, searching for the remote between the sheets before angrily pressing the off button. Silence fell over you and Robin snorted, flinging herself over your lap and looking up at you with a small smile.
She pressed a finger to the tip of your nose and you scowled.
“Ever think that maybe he’s just scared?”
Your frown deepened and you stared down at your friend, lips parted at the absurdity of her question.
“What?” You scoffed. “I’ve watched him take down a demogorgon with a baseball bat, Robin, the boy isn’t scared of much anymore-”
“He also got his heart broken by the first girl he told he loved,” Robin interrupted. “He dates girls that he isn’t really interested in, that are the complete opposite of you. His folks are never around, he’s made his own family out of his friends.”
You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling thick, your chest tight.
“You're probably the most constant thing in his life, y’know,” she mused, voice unbearably soft. The girl brought a hand up to tuck a stand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture fond. “He’s always had you, maybe he’s just scared to fuck things up and lose you.”
You couldn’t say anything. You didn't want to. ‘Cause that stupid burn was scratching at your eyes again, at the back of your throat and you were so done with crying, you were so over pushing your face into your pillow to dry your face.
Robin sat up suddenly, stretching and bending down to pull on her shoes. She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth before smacking a kiss to your cheek and you were still silent, bundled up between pillows and blankets in bed.
“Talk to him, babe,” she told you, heading for the door without any other goodbye, “ I’m sure he’s got a lot to say.”
Fuck.
You picked and put down your phone six times before you decided to pull on your shoes and start walking. It didn’t take long to walk from yours to the Harrington’s, but you moved at a snail's pace, playing tightrope along the edge of the sidewalk before you stopped at the corner of Steve’s street, heart suddenly ready to burst from your chest. The sun started to set as you waited, hesitating. The sky turned from blue to lilac, tangerine and peach and the air became still.
You walked up his front path, hand raised, ready to knock.
It was a sparkler between your ribs kinda feeling, jump off a cliff kind of feeling, take a shot of tequila kind of feeling, risk fucking everything kind of feeling.
You’d walked away from the boy, his words stuck in his throat, your name dying on his lips and now you were ready to make it up to him. ‘Cause Steve was right, whatever either of you felt, you couldn’t lose him either.
The idea of rejection hurt, but not having Steve Harrington in your life hurt even more.
So you knocked.
Once, twice, three times, but no one answered. His car was in the drive, no parents to be seen and you took a deep breath before you plucked up the courage to open the door like you normally could.
Your footsteps echoed in the large hallway and the only sound you could hear came from the backyard, the tinny sound of music playing from outside. You found him there, spread out lazy by the edge of the pool, shirt off, one leg dipped into the water and his hair messy from swimming and the leftover heat from the day.
Shadows from the tree branches above fell over him, cutting through the gold light, streaks of pink and rose painting his skin pretty and you stood for just a second, watching through the open patio doors.
You tugged anxiously at the tagged hem of your shorts, the T-shirt you’d tucked into it suddenly feeling too constricting and you wanted to pull at the collar, you wanted to take off running again, because the sight of him hurt.
Before you could step out into the last patch of sun, Steve sat up, muscles flexing, pool water swirling and he froze, lips parted and staring at you.
It had only been four days since you’d last seen him, but it felt like far too much time had passed. You hadn’t gone that long without him in years, not since your parents told you that they were taking you to Utah to spend a summer with your grandparents. They’d cut the trip short by two weeks, aggravated and done with their fifteen year old daughter who didn’t shut up about how much she kissed her best friend.
Yearly trips to the lake house with the Harrington’s resumed the summer after that.
The boy whispered your name as if he’d scare you off and he sounded tired, sounded a little broken, just like Robin had said.
You lifted your hand in an awkward wave, stepping out into the yard and into the streak of sun that stretched across the patio. It warmed you, skin lit up, a golden glow slanting over both of you and even from where you stood, Steve’s eyes looked like honey.
“Hey.”
He stood, a hand raking through his still damp hair, making it even messier than usual and he mimicked you, hand raised, wingers waggling shyly, as if you hadn’t known each other for seventeen years.
“I was just coming to see you,” Steve admitted and he sounded as nervous as you felt. “I tried calling you. A lot.”
You nodded, feeling guilty and it burned at your chest. “I know, I’m sorry.”
Steve nodded, bare foot scuffling against the slabs and you wanted to crawl back into your bed, already feeling defeated. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this with Steve.
“I was gonna come round, you know,” Steve started again, gesturing to you, he looked lost, a little helpless. “Before now I mean… I just- I didn’t wanna upset you and you didn’t answer the phone so I just,” he shrugged, looking at the pool instead of you. “I didn’t wanna upset you any more.”
Almost silence; the trickle of the pool filter, the buzz of insects, the sway of the wind in the tree branches.
And then, “I’ve missed you,” Steve said, voice softer than before. “A lot.”
You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding then, feet moving forward and you let yourself fall into one of the loungers, a space beside the pool that was so overly familiar.
You looked at the boy then, and god, he was the last cherry popsicle, he was sunshine, he was summer, he was full of promises and all your secrets, he was late nights and early mornings, first crushes and last kisses.
“I’ve missed you too,” you told him, voice hurting with sincerity.
It seemed to be all the boy needed to surge into action, because he relaxed at your admission, moving to the other lounger so he could sit across from you, bare knees almost bumping and he was leaning forward, invading your senses and he smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, mint and cedar and boy and summer and Steve.
“Why’d you leave?”
“I’m sorry,” you told him, eyes suddenly filling with tears because you were so embarrassed by it all. From your outburst to your storming away, leaving the boy sitting confused after he’d come to get you. “I just- I couldn’t sit there and handle the rejection, I never should have said anything, it was so stupid of me-”
You were stopped by his hand reaching out and covering your own, that familiar warmth of his fingers twisting between yours, a wide, rough palm, calloused on your own.
You looked at him, cheeks warm with your ramblings and he sighed, affection radiating from him as he gazed at you. He didn’t look confused this time, or panicked. Maybe a little bit scared but there was something else there and it shone a little brighter.
“Sweetheart, I never once tried to reject you,” Steve huffed out a soft laugh, “shit, I don’t think I could if my life depended on it.”
“What?” You froze, brows knitting together as you replayed the same conversation you both had in the car and you shook your head, confused. “You literally told me I was your best friend, Steve, that you couldn’t lose me.”
“And that’s true!” He burst out, “you just never let me finish!”
He sighed, using his free hand to scrub over his face and he took a deep breath before he faced you again.
“I panicked.” He said it so simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m so sorry babe but I fuckin’ panicked. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you, you can’t even fucking imagine how long. I just didn’t wanna mess it up, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk not having you.”
A sound of surprise left your lips at his words and you wanted to laugh at the irony of them, ‘cause yes, yes could imagine. But you kept quiet, letting the boy speak, making up for how you didn’t last time. You squeezed his hand instead, hoping it was reassuring enough.
You watched him lick his lips as he thought about his next words and your brows rose when he suddenly moved, kneeling in front of you and tapping at your knee, silently asking for you to spread your legs and let him in. You did, almost embarrassed by the lack of hesitation on your par but Steve moved into the space tour created for him, suddenly too close.
You exhaled a little slower, could count the new freckles on his nose, could see the small scar that cut through his brow, the one you gave him when you were seven and pillow fights got too boisterous.
He smoothed his hands up and down your thighs, a touch that brought comfort and he took another deep breath, readying himself for what he wanted to tell you.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen,” he said slowly, each word dropping like an atom bomb and you wondered if the earth was shaking. “Maybe longer, I was probably too stupid to work it out before then.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh and Steve grinned at the sound.
“It took me a little while,” he admitted, gaze lowering as if he were suddenly shy, “I didn’t know the difference between loving you and being in love with you. You’ve been in my life for as long as I can remember.”
His fingers found the frayed hem of your shorts, twisting the strands between his fingers absentmindedly.
“I remember Nancy telling me that, uh,” he cleared his throat, words catching on his lips with nerves and hesitation, “she uh, told me that I didn’t love her like I thought I did. That I was in love with someone else.”
You inhaled sharply, remembering the girl telling you something similar that day on the bench. You’d been confused and a little irritated at her, defensive maybe, now that you looked back on it. You remembered the way she twisted her lips to hide a grin that she didn’t want to annoy you with, eyes all too knowing.
“I kinda realised then,” Steve nodded, eyes finding yours from under his lashes and god, you wondered when his face had moved so close to yours. “She was totally right, I just didn’t really wanna admit it.”
“Why not?” You asked, voice a little sad, ‘cause that had been years ago, and you felt overlooked, like so many missed opportunities had passed you both by and god, were the two of you really that stupid?
“I was stupid!” Steve burst out and you laughed, a little sad with watery eyes but shit, you were too. “So I kept dating random girls, anyone, really. Tried to take my mind off you, tried to forget about you in my bed.”
God, the memory made you burn.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, still leaning into you, eyes closed like he was at confession. “Asking you out on a date seemed so ridiculous when I already know you better than anyone else.”
Your nose grazed Steve’s, and you let out a small sigh because as much as you were hurt by it all, you understood. You and Steve had seen every movie there was to see, had taken trips out of town to every concert, spent too many evenings at burger joints and ice cream parlours. You probably wouldn’t have guessed you were on a date with the boy unless he was in a tux and there was a chandelier above you.
And that seemed like a big ask.
“I would’ve loved to go on a date with you,” you said anyway, cause the idea of Steve pulling up outside your door with flowers in his hand gave you butterflies, tugging at your heart in a way that made you warm.
“Yeah?” He smiled, blinding and it only widened when you nodded.
He moved impossibly closer still, cheek to cheek so he could find your ear with his lips, hands moving to your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside.
“I spent so long tryin’ to work up the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend,” his admission sounded like his biggest secret yet and you held your breath as he whispered it to you. “So long that years passed and we got older and suddenly the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t seem enough.”
It was strange, but you knew what Steve meant. The word seemed too arbitrary, too normal, to describe the relationship you had with each other, how you felt about the other.
“I know,” you told him, voice just as soft and quiet as his. “I’d still like to be yours though.”
His grin was contagious, warmer than the sun that was starting to set, brighter than the rays on the pool and you swore the world was spinning a little faster in excitement, as if the planets and the moon were just as happy as you were.
“Yeah?” He asked, low and rough, nose pressing to your cheek, lips just brushing yours.
You nodded, eyes fluttering closed, waiting, wanting.
“Can we always be this close?” Steve asked, and you melted a little at the question, at that soft sincerity he always managed to give you.
“Yeah, god, please,” you answered and your voice sounded a little husky, a little pleading because you couldn’t imagine anything else. “Can you kiss me, now?”
The boy swore under his breath, the curse mixing with a huff of laughter and he smiled against you, mouth pressing happy to your cheek and you beamed at him, lashes tickling his skin, both of you warm against the other.
“Could never really figure out how to say no to you, y’know that?” He whispered, as if he was giving away a secret. Steve let his lips hover over yours, his hands wrapping around the small of your back, fingers playing with your belt loops, pulling you flush with him. Your hands smoothed over his bare chest and around his neck, skin hot with the sun, with being near you.
“Can I take you on a date?”
Something bloomed inside of you, wildflowers between your ribs, a new day of summer, a heatwave in your chest.
“If I say yes, will you kiss me?” you asked, a little bratty, a little teasing. You’d waited so long for both, you didn’t know what you wanted first.
But then Steve was pushing into you, lips pressing down onto your own, his hand along the underside of your jaw as he used his thumb to push a little under your chin, tilting you up to his mouth so he could lick into you, adoration pouring into you. You felt the way he loved you, like the way everyone else saw it. It still felt new, his lips on yours, new in an exciting way, new in a ‘god, I could get used to this’ way.
“Lemme take you on a date,” he said again, a smile on his lips, pressing it to yours and his voice was sunshine but rougher, even warmer and it made you smile that cheek hurting kinda smile.
You nodded.
“You still my best friend, Harrington?”
Steve pulled back to look at you, eyes shining. “That and more, sweetheart.” And when he said that, it felt enough. ‘More’.
“You still gonna protect me from everything bad and scary?” You nudged the tip of your nose to his, voice sweet.
“With everything I have in me,” he answered honestly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching your laughter. “Baseball bat and all.”
“Promise you won’t break my heart?” You asked, forehead to his, eyes full of every emotion you felt. Love, excitement, fear, hope, nervousness, adoration.
“Promise you won’t break mine?” Steve whispered back, a hand on your cheek, thumb grazing over your lip.
“I promise,” you told him, hands gripping right at his shoulders, running across the nape of his neck, diving into his hair.
“I promise,” he repeated, and shit, you believed him.
