dustin doesn't know - steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader
wc: 8554 summary: you and steve harrington become an unlikely pairing because of some english tutoring. the only problem? your little brother dustin does not want you to get together. follows season 3 but not super relevant for this part warnings: swearing, kissing, making out in public me: i LOVE this piece but it was simply too long to post as one part so is broken up into 2!! ik making it henderson!reader implies a race or appearance for r but i rlly thought smth like this would only happen to dustin - r can still have any appearance u please :)
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A lot changed over the summer that Dustin went to camp. Or, you supposed, when El closed the gate — whatever that meant. Dustin had told you a little bit when he came home battered and bruised and you demanded to know who you had to beat up. The rest you’d learnt through Steve as you… got to know each other.
You didn’t know how it happened, truly, but somehow, Steve Harrington got less ‘King Steve’ and more ‘dork who you kept seeing everywhere’. It really started in the second semester of your junior year — Steve’s senior. You’d been in English together. In the first semester he was annoying, loud, and much too charming for his own good. You didn’t think he took a single note in any class.
And then, after the winter break, something had changed. He’d taken a few days off school right before vacation, which was odd, and when school recommenced he was different. Quieter, for one, and didn’t hang around Tommy or Carol much either. You thought that was a good thing.
One otherwise inconspicuous Thursday final period, Steve Harrington looked at you for the first time.
“You’re, uh, Henderson, right?” He said, voice surprisingly quiet in the midst of the rest of the class’s chatter. Your head snapped up towards him, nodding in silence. “Great! Your brother is, like, super smart, right? Is it genetic?”
You stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed as you tried to discern what the fuck he meant.
“You need help in English?” You finally answered, head cocked to the side as you took in the complete helplessness in his hazel eyes.
“Um. Yes, yeah. I think I’m gonna fail this essay.”
You held back from retorting something cruel — just this essay? I sit behind you, I see all your grades. Instead, you hesitated for another moment before rolling your eyes and relenting.
“I have an hour or two after school, I can help you then.”
The final bell rang and you were up in a flash, pulling your books close to your chest as you fought your way out of the classroom. Despite the strange changes in Steve Harrington, you still didn’t think it was a great idea to be seen hanging out with him. Attention was the last thing you wanted in high school.
Safely tucked away in a private corner of the Hawkins High School library, you sat across from Steve, reading over his essay with furrowed brows. Steve was practically vibrating with anxiety, his bouncing heel producing enough power to flip the table if he so desired.
“Okay…” You reached the end of the paper, meeting his eyes again. “It’s not bad, Steve.”
“But?”
“But, did you actually read the question? I mean, it’s clear you’ve read the play and have some pretty good thoughts about it, but they’re not all related to the essay topic. Like, it’s really cool that you’ve picked up on a lot of the jokes in the play, but they’re not necessarily super useful for analysing themes of madness, right?”
“Right. Yeah, duh.” He tried to play it off but you could see that Steve was hurt or insecure, maybe feeling dumb?
“But! If the final was on, like, humour or comparing comedy and tragedy you’d be ready today with a pretty good essay!” It wasn’t like you to go around protecting men’s egos, much less Steve Harrington’s, but the more you learnt about him, the more he seemed like a kicked little puppy. Proving your thesis, he brightened at the praise, confidence building again.
“Okay, so how do you know what’s relevant? The play’s like a million pages long.”
To both your surprise, you spent nearly two hours with Steve, talking about Hamlet, drawing out mind maps of different topics the final could be on, and hardly straying from the purpose of your meeting. It surprised you. You would believe it if only 30% of your cohort actually read Hamlet, but three hours ago you couldn’t have been convinced that Steve was part of that demographic. He was smarter than you thought, though, and you were happy to admit it.
“Damn,” You caught a glance of the dainty watch wrapped around your wrist, “It’s getting late, I should go. Sorry.”
“No, no it’s okay,” Steve was quick to follow, papers collected in a haphazard pile, “Thanks for your help, I know you probably didn’t want to.”
You let him hold the door out to the parking lot open for you, ducking under his arm to where the sun was setting over the pavement.
“You’re surprising, Steve Harrington.” You smiled, wandering backwards as Steve took steps toward his own car — fancy, of course.
“Is that a good thing?” He yelled, pulling stares from a few girls sitting on the hood of their Jeep. You shrugged, skirt swishing as you turned on your heel, strolling leisurely up to the road.
It was approximately three minutes later when the BMW pulled up beside you, window rolled down.
“What are you doing?” Steve called over The Police, elbow resting against the window casually.
“What does it look like?” You didn’t stop, boots sinking into fresh earth as you walked along the unpaved roadside.
“Walking through Hawkins in the dark like someone who’s asking to go missing?”
“Not all of us have a Beemer, Steve.”
“Just get in, Henderson. I’ll drive you home.”
It really didn’t take much convincing for you to hop into his passenger seat — spring hadn’t exactly sprung yet, and the nights still frosted over. To be fair to Steve, his car was really nice. He clearly loved it, there weren’t wrappers or trash stuck in the seats like the rest of your classmates who could drive, he really looked after it. It was nice.
Your mouth opened to tell him your address but Steve’s right hand was already in the air, waving you off.
“I’ve dropped Dustin off a million times, I know it.”
You shut your mouth with a start, simultaneously impressed and taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to you that Steve could have any sense of direction, last semester you would have been surprised if he found his way out of a cardboard box.
Rock music played through the car’s stereo, way nicer than the one in your mom’s old shitbox. Your hands folded across the madras plaid pattern of your skirt, picking nervously at your already chipping nail polish.
“Yeah,” You said after much too long of a moment, “Yeah, why is that?”
Steve’s head turned all the way to look at you for five seconds, the long straight road ahead open for his distraction. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head, trying to decipher how much you knew.
“Saved the world together or whatever. He’s a good kid.” You narrowed your eyes.
“Were you as banged up as he was after?”
“Worse.” Steve’s voice was uncharacteristically sombre so you let it go, bringing up instead your teacher’s horrendous embroidered cat cardigan this afternoon, which successfully veered you both into safer waters.
The drive ended, and no one was more surprised than you to admit that you wouldn’t have minded a little longer. Your hand lingered on the door, reluctant to leave.
“Thanks again for the ride,” You said softly, looking back at him.
“Anytime,” He replied, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, “Thanks for helping me study.”
“No worries. Let me know if, you know, you need more help before the final.”
Steve smiled, wide and blinding in the confined space of his car. He nodded like he didn’t quite believe you were offering.
“That would be great, actually. Keep this up and you might move up to be my favourite Henderson,” He joked, shrugging off whatever moment of vulnerability you thought he might have been showing.
“Yeah, right. I think Dustin would shed tears.”
So that’s how it started. Small, almost insignificant interactions that led you to believe Steve Harrington wasn’t who you thought he was. You didn’t tell Dustin, you didn’t think there was much point. He’d find out if it went further, but your friendship with Steve consisted of English study sessions and occasional lifts home.
The first time Dustin caught you was about a month into your study sessions, right before your week off for spring break. Music blared through Steve’s speakers but you’d chosen the song — Jessie’s Girl. You’d warmed up to him now, it didn’t take convincing to let him drop you home.
You were both singing loudly, off-key but enthusiastic nonetheless, and you had to keep telling Steve off for getting distracted.
“Hands on the wheel!” You squealed with a giggle as Steve mimed the guitar solo, head banging wildly. He obliged with a wide grin, still dancing too wildly for the fancy leather seat of the BMW.
“Relax, Henderson, I’ll get you home nice and safe — where can I find a woman like that?” He cut himself off, and you winced at his singing.
Just as he said, Steve swung a turn up into your driveway, tires screeching with the velocity. You made a show of clutching the grab handle above the door until he rolled his eyes, calling you dramatic.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You said as the car door slammed shut, waving another time as you unlocked the door to your home. Steve returned it, holding two fingers and a thumb up lazily over the steering wheel with a small smile before pulling out of your paved driveway.
You were smiling as you slipped inside, but it quickly faded when you saw Dustin, leaning over the couch to peer through the slotted blinds, clearly spying.
“What are you doing?” You snapped. Dustin jumped back, hands on his hips like your mother.
“Was that Steve Harrington?”
“No.”
“Why is Steve dropping you home?”
“So I don’t have to walk.” That was hardly true anymore. It was well into daylight savings and was hardly dark when you quit your study sessions, you and Steve were just becoming surprisingly fond of each other. Plus, you didn’t let Steve get distracted when you were working, so if he wanted to talk to you it was in the car.
“Are you fucking Steve Harrington?”
“No! Oh my god, Dustin, what is wrong with you?”
“Because yes he’s nice but he’s a total loser but also has slept with like a hundred girls and—”
“Dustin. I’m not sleeping with Steve.”
“Oh,” He sighed in relief, “Cool.”
God, he was annoying. You huffed, shoving past him off into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Jesus. Was it so unbelievable that Steve Harrington might be friends with you? And could you even call him your friend if you were effectively just his English tutor? You weren’t sure.
The friendship became a friendship shortly after — sorry, Dustin. Your plans for spring break were to laze around, gorge on ice cream and finish a few novels before beginning the hard slog through finals.
That plan was thwarted when your mom poked her head around your bedroom door, making you look up from your book.
“Hon, there’s someone on the phone for you. A boy.” Her grin almost made you want it to be a suitor. You’d never had a boyfriend, and while your mom of course never minded, her hope was really quite embarrassing. Cautiously, you picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing today?” Steve Harrington was on the other end of the phone, which was monumentally surprising.
“Uh, nothing, I guess.”
“Perfect! I’ll be at yours in half an hour,” Steve said cheerfully, like he was completely unaware of the effect he was having on you.
“Steve, what?” It was too late, the line already clicked like punctuation to your interrupted conversation. You lingered for a moment, stuck in place as you tried to figure out what was happening.
If Steve Harrington was coming to pick you up to do… something, then you really had to dress the part. Not fancy, or anything, but presentable. Worthy of his reputation, you supposed.
Half an hour later, a car horn made you jump from outside. Straightening out your light cardigan, you ran to the door, calling a quick goodbye to your mother. You didn’t miss the excitement brimming in her casual “Have fun!”
“What is this?” You asked as you slid into his passenger seat, which was more than familiar to you after a month or so of three-ish lifts a week. You brightened as you found a lip gloss you thought you’d lost in the door pocket.
“We can’t hang out?” Steve looked straight at you for a moment before putting the car in reverse, pulling out of your driveway again. You hated when he sounded like an ignored little kid.
“Of course we can,” You answered quickly, buckling your seatbelt, “I just didn’t think we were that close. I’m basically just your tutor.” What you thought might have been hurt flashed over Steve’s face, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly.
“I don’t think that,” He said quietly, “I thought we were hanging out coz, you know, I think you’re cool.” It was your turn to look at him with wide eyes, the confession coming completely unexpected.
“I think you’re cool, too, Steve. As much as it pains me to say it.”
It was like night and day, Steve’s entire disposition shifting when you validated him, going back to tapping along lightly to the music playing on the radio. You didn’t recognise the song, The Rolling Stones, maybe.
“So where are we going?” You asked after a while, trying to re-fasten the thin gold chain around your wrist.
“Thought we could go bowling.” You couldn’t contain the loud burst of laughter that escaped you, the utter randomness of the suggestion taking you completely by surprise.
You were still giggling halfway through the game, tummy sore as Steve showed off theatrically, sending the bowling ball tumbling into another party’s lane. He waved it off sheepishly, grateful it was a few sophomore girls who still believed in the myth of King Steve. Hands clutched across your stomach you were basically doubled over, a series of hideous laughs bouncing over the synth-heavy background music.
“Steve!” You yelled through a whisper, “People are staring!”
“So what? Let them watch, I’m a good view.” He tossed another ball down the lane, scoring a perfect strike. The absolute disbelief blooming on his face was almost childlike. A soft sensation hit your chest at the sight, completely different from the persona Steve displayed at school. He was just a boy, only just an adult, technically. You jumped up to celebrate with him, both of you laughing and high-fiving ecstatically.
The day wound down at a diner, relatively new since Benny passed. It was nice, though, quiet and homey with vinyl booths. Steve had ordered you both strawberry milkshakes, promising for them to be worth your while. You reluctantly agreed that they very much were, sipping with content.
“So how come you read Hamlet?” You asked through a mouthful of french-fry, forgetting momentarily it was bad manners.
“What do you mean,” Steve’s eyebrows knitted together, “It was assigned for this semester.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m pretty sure only like four people actually read it. I’m pretty sure Tammy Thompson watched the Laurence Olivier film and called it a day. Why’d you read it?” Steve was silent for a minute, thinking about his answer.
“I guess I’m tired of King Steve,” He replied finally, playing with the straw of his drink as he avoided eye contact, “I’m almost graduating and what do I have to show for it? I don’t like my friends anymore, broke up with my girlfriend, and didn’t get into a single college. I’m not unhappy with my life or anything, but if there was ever a wake-up call, I reckon I’ve had it. I thought I might as well try not to be stupid as well as everything else.”
“You didn’t get into college?” The question escaped you before you realised it was impolite, hand creeping over your mouth in shame.
“Not yet.” He was looking at you nervously, like he was scared you’d walk out on him.
“Oh,” You said simply, “What are you gonna do next year then? If you don’t end up going anywhere.”
Steve livened up the more he talked, your lack of judgement clearly fresh for him. In the back of your mind, you wondered who was making Steve feel so bad about himself. He told you about the original idea of working for his Dad, but you got the impression that they weren’t too close, and the goal had changed. You didn’t blame him; it wasn’t like you were the poster child for good paternal relationships either.
“You could always work with me.” You grinned, “I work a few nights a week at Enzo’s. We’d be good coworkers, right?” Steve smiled at you, soft and earnest under the fluoro light of the diner. Then, he said:
“Do you have to put on an Italian accent?” And the moment was shattered, easy banter back to the forefront of your conversation.
Steve dropped you home in the Beemer, cutting the engine in the quiet of dusk. You lingered in the passenger seat again, not wanting the day to end. You were about to say something, thank him for the fun outing, when your mother burst out the front door, two heavy trash bags in her hands.
Her expression lit up when she saw you both, hurrying to throw the trash out so she could approach the driver's side window. You covered your face with your hands, preparing for the worst. Steve, on the other hand, looked delighted.
“Hi, Mrs Henderson.” He grinned, putting on the oozing charm you’d seen hundreds of times at school. You could barely catch all the words spilling out of your mom’s mouth, no doubt perfectly curated to embarrass you. She was talented like that.
“I hear you’re pals with my Dusty, too. It’s so nice that you’re all friends.” She beamed, shooting you a look that was clearly impressed with Steve.
“You’ve got some special kids, Mrs Henderson,” Steve said nicely.
“You know, I was a bit worried about this one.” She gestured to you, “So clever but such a homebody. Honestly, I was just glad she was leaving the house, I didn’t care who it was with!” Steve and your mother laughed in tandem as your face burned hot — there was no reason for Steve to be privy to your loneliness. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Steve. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” She directed the last part at you with a wink, which only worsened your embarrassment.
With your front door closed again, you and Steve were bathed in quiet. Except, of course, for the laughter that bubbled out of him.
“Shut up,” You hit his arm, “I am so sorry about her. She clearly doesn’t get out enough.”
“Neither do you, by the sound of it.” You shot him a reproachful look. “I’m just saying! Sounds like it’s up to me to get you out of this house.”
The silence washed over you both, a strange tension blooming between you. For a single moment, when Steve looked at you with those eyes, you thought he might kiss you. It was the softness, maybe; Steve exuded vulnerability in a way that you’d never expected. It sent a shiver of fear up your spine and you started moving, breaking whatever spell the BMW had you under.
“Thanks for today, Steve. I actually had a lot of fun.” You climbed out of the seat, sparing him a lingering smile. He returned it freely.
“Yeah, me too, this was — what do you mean ‘actually’?” You giggled at his affronted tone, looking back from the front doorstep to send him off with a little wave, not bothering to answer.
It wasn’t until a few minutes later, once you’d mostly fended off your mom’s endless questions and made it safely to your bedroom, that you heard Steve’s car start again and take off down the street. You wondered what he’d been doing.
You saw Steve four days that week. The picture house, the arcade, a walk around one of the many lakes in Hawkins. Not Lovers Lake, as you made sure to instruct him. Plus, one study session that you instigated so that Steve might actually feel on top of his English final.
Unfortunately, you’d come to like his company much more than you’d expected. Steve was funny as hell, which wasn’t necessarily surprising from someone who had a whole lot of friends, but it was nice to finally be the audience for it. As well as that, he was really nice. Like, incredibly kind. Never made you do anything you didn’t want to, always had snacks on hand when you were hungry. Steve joked once in passing that he was a good babysitter, and whilst you really didn’t want to think of Steve as your chaperone, he wasn’t wrong. There was something peculiarly maternal about Steve Harrington.
The only downside of all this hanging out? You were starting to develop a small (big) crush on him. Like, come on, Steve Harrington? How cliché. You could have picked someone more similar to you, quiet like Leo Miller, or a D&D nerd like Eddie Munson, but somehow it was Steve. Captain of the basketball team, ex-swim team participant, top of the senior social class. Jesus.
You weren’t gonna do anything about it, obviously. Steve had finals to focus on, and then he was graduating and would move on to something new. Why would he want a girlfriend still in high school? Assuming he even liked you back. Besides, you had your own things going on… like your novels.
If Dustin wasn’t completely offended by your frequent meetups with his cool older friend, he’d be fuming if he were in the Hawkins High School library on the evening in mid-May when everything changed.
During senior finals season, the librarians took on extra hours to keep the place open late into the night, and while many Hawkins students weren’t bothered to use the resource, you and Steve had basically made the place your home.
The table you both liked the most was tucked into a small alcove, behind the shelves and almost completely private. Occasionally, it had to get banned and filled with extraneous furniture because they kept catching students fucking in it, but they’d reupholstered the corner bench seat over winter break, and there weren’t any suspicious stains yet. Well, except for where Steve spilt his Coca Cola during a study session. Regardless, you knew Steve liked it because he got self-conscious studying around the general public, and you got nervous being seen with Steve.
So you were tucked into your little study nook, surrounded by snacks and papers and a fat copy of Hamlet between you. Steve ran a hand through his hair, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips.
“C’mon,” You teased, “Not tired yet, are you? The final’s tomorrow, this is it.”
“It’s like eight o’clock,” He groaned, “Can’t we take a break?”
You looked at him, trying to decipher if he was being genuine or just trying to get out of discussing character motivations in the play.
“Fine. Ten minutes.” Steve brightened immediately, pumping his fist. He slid out of the booth to stretch his limbs while you watched with a small smile, doodling tiny images in the margins of your composition book.
He flopped back into the booth, hair brushing against your arm.
“Good?” You looked down at him, trying not to show how flustered the simple touch made you.
“A few minutes more,” He pleaded, then changed the subject before you could deny him the break, “Are you gonna keep hanging out with me after finals?” Your mouth dropped open into a small ‘o’.
“I don’t see why not. Is this your way of getting rid of me?” A smile played on your lips, and Steve popped back up to vertical, offence written all over his face.
“No way! What? Do you not think I like you?” You burst into laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth when a roaming librarian gave you stink eye.
“I’m teasing you, Steve. Who wouldn’t like the person who helped you pass English?” Steve’s frustration wasn’t quelled — he was so easy to set off. One of the things you enjoyed about him.
“That’s not true! Jesus, there’s lots of things I like about you.” You were still feeling light-hearted and so made a ‘go ahead’ motion, testing to see how far you could push him. “You’re like super smart, obviously. It’s actually kinda crazy that your mom ended up with a crazy smart science kid and a class-topper in English. And you’re stupid funny when you let people hear, like, I can’t believe I missed out on it all year. I probably would have done better on The Great Gatsby paper. On top of all that, you’re pretty in the way that you don’t even know, like you’re totally unaware of the effect you have. Plus—”
“You think I’m pretty?” You didn’t mean to interrupt, but you’d never been told that before. Teachers told you all the time that you were smart, that you were a good writer; you saw it in your grades. You maybe weren’t perceived as funny, but you made your family laugh; it wasn’t something you were particularly worried about. But pretty? That was a whole different ballgame. Only people your age could call you pretty and have it matter; it just didn’t count when older relatives cooed it at Christmas.
“This is exactly what I mean! Obviously, you’re gorgeous, it’s not even contentious, and you have no idea,” Steve seemed to realise what he was saying in real time and shrank in on himself a little, “So, um. Yeah.”
“You think I’m pretty.” You beamed.
“Don’t get a big head about it, jeez.” Steve tried to play it cool but you could see him getting flustered. Instead of making you nervous, it made you strangely confident.
“Steve Harrington thinks I’m pretty,” You sighed dreamily, twirling your finger around one of your curls, “Should I run for prom queen after all?”
“Okay, I get it, I get it. Laugh it up. Anyway, Horatio, huh?” Steve rolled his eyes, trying to move on, but you wouldn’t let him. You were going at it, speaking at the same time as you mocked Steve whilst he desperately tried to change the subject.
“You’re so annoying.”
“I’m a real Molly Ringwald, you know? Everyone says so—”
Steve leant over where your bag sat between you, pressing his lips against yours. He lingered for a few seconds whilst your brain short-circuited, unable to do anything but sit there and take it. Steve pulled away just as quick, terror etched into his features from your inaction. It took you a second to recover, but you came back with a mission.
“All it took for you to kiss me was to be annoying? I can do that, you know, I —” Steve kissed you again, surer this time as he saw through your teasing. In the quiet of the library, he kissed you sweetly, hand moving up to cup your jaw, pulling you even closer.
You dropped the pen you’d been twirling with a soft clatter, instead deepening the kiss and threading your fingers through his hair, just as you’d dreamed about the night before. Steve’s hands felt huge on your face, completely encompassing your cheeks. It was perfect, entirely engrossing and all you were sure to think about for weeks.
He tried to go further, tongue swiping over your lip to ask for permission, but you pulled away instead, breathing heavy and erratic.
“Steve,” You whispered, breaths mingling as your foreheads rested against each other, “We can’t. We’re in public.”
“Don’t care,” He murmured, eyes closed as he captured your lips again, kissing you like you were his life source. You let him easily, returning it with equal fervour. It was probably lucky that the space between the table and the booth seat was only big enough for one body, because you wanted nothing more than to climb onto Steve’s lap, your entire body flushed red hot with desire.
Steve tried again, and you let him slide his tongue into your mouth, intertwining it with your own sloppily. You would never, not in a million years, have imagined you would be sucking faces with Steve Harrington in the high school library, but you had no plans of stopping.
It was only when the telltale click of the librarian’s heels clacked down towards you did you pull away, wiping your mouth hurriedly and pretending to be deep in thought over your paper. You couldn’t see Steve in your peripherals, but you assumed he didn’t have a very good poker face. A glance at him once the librarian passed proved correct, he was staring at you unashamedly, eyes still lidded with lust.
“Steve!” You told him off with a harsh whisper, “You have a final tomorrow.”
“You cannot be serious.” Steve sidled up beside you until your hips were pressed together, one big arm wrapping around your waist.
“Steve,” You sent him a look, dodging his attempt at a kiss despite your desire encouraging you otherwise, “You’ve worked hard on this. I’m not letting you throw away your final just because you’re horny. C’mon, we’ll do another hour and then the library’s closing anyway.”
Steve sighed dramatically but turned back to his own work, reviewing corrections you’d left on a practice paper. He didn’t last long, losing focus in a matter of minutes. First, it was just his hand drifting over toward yours, interlocking your pinkies as if you weren’t going to notice. You beamed down at your paper but didn’t say anything, knowing it would only distract Steve more.
He was satisfied for a few minutes before boredom struck again. Slowly, Steve leant over to you, pressing light kisses on your shoulder, moving up to your neck when you didn’t push him away. His teeth grazed a sensitive spot above your collarbone, making you shudder, and you called an end to it.
“Steve, I’m serious. We can’t do this here!” You swatted him like a cat.
The second the clock ticked over to nine, Steve was packing up his things, eager to get out of the library. You scoffed a little laugh, collecting your books much calmer, though you couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement bubbling in your stomach.
You both rushed through the library, for once, Steve not stopping to talk to everyone he knew. You couldn’t stop grinning, staring at the ground in an effort to make it less noticeable.
The air was fresh outside, a cool change coming with the night. The second the school doors shut behind you, Steve was all over you, grabbing your hand to pull you into him before kissing the daylights out of you. One of his arms wrapped securely around your waist whilst his other held the back of your head, keeping you locked into him. You had no qualms with the position, your own arms creeping up to connect around his neck.
You somehow managed to make it to Steve’s car — with a few interludes to sneak more kisses — but he didn’t unlock it, instead caging you in against the passenger side door. You giggled, brushing a strand of hair out of his face as you looked up at him coyly.
“Feeling good about the final?” Steve scoffed, clearly preoccupied.
“Feeling good about a lot of things.” He nudged your chin up, and you followed without question, finally giving him full access away from the danger of the library. Historically, you’d laughed at couples sucking each other’s faces off in the middle of the school parking lot, but there you were, letting Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington stick his tongue down your throat and grope your ass right there on the asphalt.
An involuntary moan escaped you, spilling out into the fresh air, and you came to your senses. You pushed Steve away by his chest, despite the fact that his neck craned to chase your mouth, addicted to your taste.
“Steve,” He kissed you again, “Steve. We’re in the parking lot.”
“Who cares,” He groaned, rubbing small circles into your hip over the fabric of your skirt, “No one’s watching us.”
“We have a final tomorrow! Don’t put all my hard work to waste now.” Steve looked at you for a long moment, then, deciding you weren’t joking, sighed and opened the car door for you. You grinned, treating him to another unexpected peck on the lips before sliding into the seat, pulling the door closed before Steve could distract you any further.
The drive home was quieter than usual, both of you strangely nervous after the overwhelming lust had somewhat levelled out. The radio played quietly, a new radio hit that you didn’t know the name of. You rambled about something that didn’t matter, how shitty your shift at Enzo’s was the other night, what you thought was going to be on the final.
Halfway through a tangent about the theme of action vs inaction in Hamlet, Steve rested his hand on your thigh. It was gentle, testing, and stole all the air from your lungs. When he noticed your stalling words, Steve lifted his hand to retract it, but you caught him first, silently affirming the action and letting him rest it back on the expanse of your thigh.
“Anyway, um, talking about Laertes as a foil to Hamlet could be a really smart move, especially because it’s so direct regarding their fathers’ deaths.” Your voice was shakier than normal, trying to pretend this wasn’t a monumental first. It felt like a teen rom-com, sitting in the popular boy’s fancy car with his hand on your thigh — not something you ever envisioned for yourself.
Steve chuckled and you knew he saw through you in an instant. Hawkins was a small town; he knew you’d never had a boyfriend, didn’t have much experience in anything, really. You were faithful to your novels and the few friends you did have, only attending a handful of parties across the almost three years of high school you’d completed.
Whilst you were scared of your feelings because of your inexperience, Steve was dealing with the opposite. On paper, you were very similar to Nancy Wheeler, which clearly hadn’t ended very well. But he liked you so much. Everything he’d said in the library was completely true, he liked your sense of humour and how you teased him, how smart you were and how you weren’t ashamed of it, and it definitely didn’t hurt that he thought you were completely gorgeous.
The car fell into a pocket of complete silence when Steve killed the engine. Nobody was ever up or moving around in Hawkins's suburbs after 9pm.
“Let me take you on a date,” Steve broke the silence, hand tense where it still sat on your leg.
“What?”
“I know I got a bit ahead of myself, and I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, actually, you’re a really good kisser.” You interrupted him with a bashful giggle, “But I want to do this right with you. Take you to dinner, hold your hand.”
You could feel your cheeks warming up, but you weren’t good at being romantic.
“Who knew Steve Harrington was more than library make-outs?” You teased, enjoying the way Steve opened his mouth to argue back before he clocked your tone.
“Yes or no?” He grumbled, performatively unlocking the car door for you.
“What about Friday at seven? I’ll even swap off my shift for you.” Steve gasped dramatically.
“No!”
“Hey, I’ll have you know that’s a big deal. I make the most tips by far on a Friday night.”
“I’ll have to make sure it’s worth your while, then.” You made a face that said you better, the moment of silence bringing back that heavy tension you experienced in the library, sparks zapping between you as Steve’s eyes flickered between your own and your lips.
Kissing Steve was exciting. In your limited experience with it, he poured everything he had into each and every kiss, practically devouring you. His hands were huge and warm and apparently obsessed with you, threading through your hair and wandering over your skin. He let out a million tiny, almost imperceptible little noises that communicated his pleasure, and you were quickly becoming addicted to them. It encouraged you to be brave despite your inexperience, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip. He rewarded you with a low moan, a nicer sound than any of the songs you’d ever sung along to on the radio together.
Then a light turned on inside. You wrenched yourself away despite Steve clearly not caring, straightening out your outfit.
“Okay, we’re not going any further until I at least have a girlfriend label, bucko,” You joked, pushing the car door open but making no move to leave.
“Desperate much?” Steve matched your energy, “I mean, did you really think I was gonna give it up at the first kiss?” You laughed loudly, rolling your eyes.
“My mistake, didn’t know I’d been crushing on the Virgin Mary.” Steve made the sign of the cross, smiling at you giddily. “Stop distracting me,” You finally got out of the car, “We both have a big day tomorrow.”
“Can I pick you up tomorrow morning?” Steve asked in a tone that sounded almost shy. You smiled, lips pursed together as you tried to control your lovesick gaze.
“I think that would be acceptable.”
You thought about kissing him again, just once more to fully memorise the feeling, but you caught a glimpse of Dustin peering through the slatted blinds and straightened out, taking another step away from Steve and toward the door.
“I’ll see you in the morning!” You called, unlocking the door without looking, “Dream of Hamlet!”
Dustin was waiting for you when you turned to head to bed, arms crossed.
“Dream of Hamlet!” He parroted, mocking dripping from the words.
“Shut up, Dustin.” You pushed past him toward your room, just wanting to lie in bed and replay the evening in your head until you drifted off to sleep.
“You and Steve hang out, like, all the time. Are you sure you’re not sleeping with him?”
“God, Dustin, you can’t just ask me that! I’m your sister!”
“And he was my friend first, so if you make things weird, you’re gonna totally fuck up the party!” You stared at him, eyebrows knitted together as you tried to understand him.
“The party? I thought that was you and the nerds — sorry,” You winced when Dustin shot you a look.
“Remember what I told you about magic and monsters?” You nodded slowly, unsure if you actually did, “Well, Steve killed like a shit-ton of them, and now he’s an honorary member of the party. Like Nancy and Johnathan.”
“Nancy and Jonathan?” You said incredulously, the image of your brother’s friends and them together completely unbelievable. “Am I the only sibling who didn’t get called in to fight monsters and shit?”
“Not the point,” Dustin huffed, soothing his tense brow with his fingers, “The point is, you can’t get involved with Steve because it’s dangerous and it’s weird and it’ll completely ruin my life if I have to choose between you, okay?”
God, that sounded serious.
“We’re just friends, Dustin.” Lie. Just friends who made out in the library. And the parking lot. And the car. And were going on a date on Friday. Dustin didn’t need to know that, though.
“Fine, good.” Your brother was already walking away, muttering something about the ridiculousness of the thought of you two together.
You did feel bad about lying to Dustin, you really did. All things considered, you were pretty close siblings, and if it were anyone else, you might’ve actually told him you’d scored a date, just to prove you did leave the house. Clearly, whatever happened over the winter really connected them, though, and Dustin clearly looked up to Steve. You understood that he didn’t want anything to happen to their friendship.
But who’s to say the date was going to lead to anything at all? Maybe the crush was out of convenience, of you two seeing each other almost daily. Maybe the make-out was just a consequence of finals stress and raging hormones. Maybe the date would fizzle out, and you would go back to truly just being friends with Steve Harrington.
So there was no need to tell Dustin yet, right? You would let him cool off a bit, see where things went with Steve, and then tell Dustin when everything felt surer. That sounded like a plan you could manage.
Things did not, in fact, fizzle out with Steve. Completely the opposite, really. You didn’t have a lot of experience in the dating department, but you were pretty sure it was a good sign when you and Steve didn’t run out of things to talk about for the hours you spent inside the tiny diner that was quickly becoming your spot. Or when you took a walk around town because neither of you wanted the night to end. Or when Steve asked you to be his girlfriend at the end of the night. He’d even told you then that even he’d never moved that fast with a relationship, that he wouldn’t dare use a label like ‘girlfriend’ until at least five dates in, when things were more established. Things were clearly different for you two, though; it all seemed so clear to you. When he’d asked, shy and bashful like a nervous kid, you’d launched yourself into his arms, giddy and gleeful as you nodded yes.
Things never calmed down. You didn’t think anyone would have pinned you to be the girl who got obsessed with her boyfriend, but you couldn’t get enough of Steve. You didn’t see each other every day for the rest of the semester, you both did unfortunately have other finals, but it was pretty close. You had to draw some lines in the sand, though; neither of you could be trusted to focus on a math textbook when you were lying side by side on his bed.
You still hadn’t told Dustin. In your head, you had a million reassurances for it. It was still fresh, it was just the honeymoon phase, there was no guarantee it would last. It just made more sense to keep it quiet for a little bit longer, just to be sure when you did tell him. Steve understood, but you also knew he wanted to tell his friend, so you kept a nearish deadline, something he could look forward to: the championship basketball game.
You sat on your hands on the second row of the bleachers, anxiety flowing through your body. For once, you regretted not having more school pride, you knew none of the rules of basketball. Obviously, the ball going through the net was good, but you could truly say you didn’t know very much more than that. Luckily, Dustin and his little friends liked Steve enough to show up, so Lucas was dividing you and them, whispering a running explanation.
The only downside to this was that Lucas was a smart kid. You cheered louder every time Steve scored, and covered your eyes every time he was knocked around. The first time you might have gotten away with it, but when it was every time, and only Steve, you could feel Lucas looking at you strangely. All you could do was shoot him a hopeless, floundering glance and pray he wasn’t going to spill the beans. He just smirked, and you knew he’d keep the secret at a price of many favours.
Steve tossed the ball through the net and the gym exploded, you along with them, cheering louder than you ever had. He turned to the Hawkins stands, bathing in the applause, but his eyes lingered just a moment longer on you. You beamed, eyes alight with excitement as you communicated telepathically across the gym, a moment of recuperation before he was back running up and down the court.
Hawkins lost, to absolutely nobody’s surprise. You honestly did not know if they’d ever won a championship, and wouldn’t be surprised if the answer was no. This year was remarkably close, though, and to losers that was pretty much the same thing. Hawkins High students flooded the court, you included.
It was pandemonium, students and bodies everywhere, pushing and shoving their way around, trying to get attention from the star players. Your eyes were only on one. You found him across the room, hardly paying attention to the gaggle of students fawning over him, craning his neck to search through the crowd. When you found each other, the connection was instant, navigating the crowds like fish in the sea.
Despite the people around you, you didn’t hesitate to launch into his arms, feet hovering above ground as Steve swung you around with strong arms. Your arms locked around his neck for stability, keeping them there when he gently set you down. The world could have been caving in around you, and you would not have noticed, entranced by Steve.
“Tough loss,” You said simply, playing with a rogue curl at the nape of his neck.
“There was no way we were gonna win.” Steve’s arms stayed tight around you, the student body weaving around you as he planted you safely on the court.
“Still. A valiant effort.” You smiled up at him, butterflies making their way up to your throat when he returned it. Sweat rested on Steve’s brow and he stank like a teenage boy, but you really didn’t mind as much as you should have.
You lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss, appropriate for school grounds. Steve was greedy, always with you, so it was you who broke the kiss as well, teasing exasperation in your eyes.
“C’mon, you need a shower before you rub off on me. I already feel wet,” You grumbled in high spirits, loving the way that Steve laughed at you, eyes full of affection. He took one of your hands from behind his neck, using it to twirl you once then swung your hands between you, leading you to the gym doors.
Quietly, you realised the sheer publicity of your actions, head swivelling to look around the room. A few girls were staring at you, but you tried to just smile and keep moving. You knew Steve had hooked up with other girls, and being with him at all was bound to catch some eyes, but attention had never been your strong suit.
The only person who hadn’t seemed to have seen the display of affection was your little brother. It had pros and cons, you would probably rather die than have Dustin see you kiss someone, but it would have eliminated the need to actually tell him, too. Lucas saw it, giving you a knowing smile before ushering his friends out of the gym. You’d be doing him a lot of favours this summer, you thought.
Steve dropped half the kids home, which kind of foiled your plan of telling Dustin about you then. You still weren’t sure how he would react, and you weren’t risking that with fucking Mike Wheeler watching it all go down. So it was delayed again.
The next few weeks were a complete blur; the last few finals, a school dance, your boyfriend’s graduation, and Steve dragging you on more outings than you’d probably been on in the past year. And somewhere along the way, officially telling Dustin you were dating just… slipped under the radar. To be fair, you hadn’t even told your mom in fear of the embarrassing questions, so it all just lodged itself in a crevice of your mind that didn’t become relevant until you and Steve waved him off for his month-long nerd camp.
You were admittedly sombre, going to miss your little brother more than you wanted to. Consequences of having few friends, you guessed. So you squeezed him tight and sent him off in the car with a quick kiss to his temple, standing with Steve on the cement of your driveway as your mother drove off into the distance.
“Oh shit,” You said quietly, after a long moment of silence, “I don’t think he knows you’re my boyfriend.” Steve stared at the horizon, then you, then back to where you both imagined the car would be.
“No way,” He said finally, “I’ve talked about you when I hang out with him, he knows we went to prom together. Sure, he hasn’t seen us PDA, but he totally knows. He’s a smart kid.” You nodded, but you weren’t convinced.
Dustin was smart, of course, and could be mature beyond his years. He was still a pubescent boy, though, and half the time was as thick as a brick wall. You’d told him, twice, that you and Steve were just friends, that might’ve been enough for him to write off any small couple moments he might have seen. It wouldn’t be out of character, especially if he was looking for affirmation that you were just platonic.
