ok hear me out. a Joe fic where he films little videos for his future kids with you
i actually need him
˗ˏˋsilver camera
⤷ Joe Keery x reader
.ᐟ.ᐟ pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of being drunk
✦ A/N - this req is literally perfect I love you. The ending is kinda rushed apologies about that but still adorable!!
ʚɞ masterlist
One of the first times Joe had pulled out his camera to record was on a hike.
Joe loved hikes. Watching the views, having a challenge, and sitting down at a nearby restaurant to finish off.
You were halfway up a hill, both of you ridiculously out of breath. Joe slows down, and you quickly notice when he isn’t next to you anymore.
You watch as he fiddles with the front pocket of his backpack, whipping out the slightly old silver camera that you’re way used to seeing now.
You don’t notice it at first. You’re just taking in the view of nature. Being surrounded by trees, the sky filled with the beautiful baby blue you see in paintings. The way the leaves rustle slightly along with the breeze that cools you down.
It’s only until he speaks you notice his camera pointing at you.
“Say hi.” You can see the way he smiles, like it’s lighting up his whole face. The way his eyes never leave yours, always holding that sparkle that’s reserved just for you.
“Who am I saying hi to?” You walk closer to him, a smile tugs at your lips.
“Our future kids.” His tone soft and gentle.
Your face breaks out into a smile. Your cheeks turning into a soft pink. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He says sincerely. He turns the camera enough where you’re both in the frame. His hand snaking around your waist.
“We are currently hiking in the middle of nowhere.” He quickly pans the camera around the view. “And your mother was just freaking out that we got lost and that we were going to have to live in this forest like wild bears–“
“I never said that–!”
“Yes you did!”
You and Joe always had date night on a Thursday.
It was something that just fell into routine when you first started dating.
It was a day where restaurants would be quieter than on weekends. Buildings would be filled but not packed. Not everyone would be celebrating the end of the weekday just yet, but wanted to go out for a small glass of wine.
You were standing in the bathroom of your bedroom, finishing the last touches of your makeup.
Usually, you would go a little more basic and easier than you were doing now. Less heavy on the foundation and eyeshadow. But this week Joe had decided to book a table at a more fancy restaurant than you’re used to.
Normally, you would go to a local restaurant. Somewhere less expensive on the burgers and alcohol.
Right now, Joe was in the bedroom, probably messing around with his hair, as you assumed.
But instead, he was fiddling around with his camera.
He turns it on and starts recording. Sitting on your shared bed, he has a good enough view of you that he didn’t have to move to record you.
“Look at your mom. Isn’t she the most gorgeous woman in the world?” He speaks quietly from behind the camera.
“Baby, I can hear you.” You poke your head from around the corner of the door.
“I’m just telling our kids how you’re the most beautiful woman ever.” He zooms in on your face.
“Hi, kids.” A fond smile finds its way onto your face at the thought of it. Having kids with Joe. Having a future with him that seems so clear in mind.
“We’re about to go on a date. Somewhere fancy this time. Never been, but apparently it’s supposed to be good.” He walks over to you, recording the both of you from the bathroom mirror.
“Well, I sure hope it’s good because it’s expensive.” You lean into Joe instinctively.
“It’ll still be good because you’re there.” He kisses the top of your head.
The breeze was cold and refreshing. The kind you get when you’re on vacation and sitting by the sea.
The grass was long but short enough that it didn’t tickle your calves.
The sun was peaking through the trees, lowering below the horizon to cast a beautiful pink onto you and Joe.
You happily laugh, your forehead resting against Joe’s as he picks you up, spinning you around.
He soon lowers you down, giving you a quick kiss before digging into his jeans pocket. He quickly turns his camera on, pressing the button at the top of the silver device.
“You’re so pretty, baby.” He mutters affectionately. You smile, tilting your head towards the ground in half embarrassment.
“Hey, kids.” He begins, his smile evident in the way he talks. “Your mum and I just got engaged. Show them the ring, sweetheart.”
You oblige and hold up your hand, the diamond reflecting in the beams of sun, making it sparkle. He mumbles a “wow” under his breath, though it’s directed more at you than the ring hugging your finger.
“And the view is gorgeous.” He pans the camera around, but it quickly falls back to you. “More gorgeous with you in it, though.”
“You’re so cheesy.” You giggle out, the blush on your face still lingering. It hasn’t left since he was on one knee.
“You love it.” He teases, turning the camera around to show himself standing next to you. His puppy brown eyes shine into a light hazel in the sunlight. You lean into his side, your arm interlinking with his.
“We’re getting married!” His voice filled with excitement and joy.
The night was long but not long enough.
You really wish it could’ve lasted forever. Getting married to the man you love more than yourself, and then everyone getting wasted afterwards.
You and Joe finally made it back to the hotel. Both of you were too tired to even bother taking off your shoes.
You lay in bed, side by side, and shoulders touching. Your eyes threatened to close the minute your head touched the pillow.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Joe mumbled, his voice cracking due to the singing and shouting you had been doing all night.
“Joe, it’s like three in the morning.” You felt out of breath. Even talking taking too much energy from you.
“Hold on.” His hand wipes over the bedside table to find the camera. He finds it and holds it up to his face, enough so he can see you through it.
“Hi, kids–“ the moment he says that, you groan, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “We just got married.”
“Is this really a good example to set for our future kids?” You open your eyes to look at him.
“Maybe not.” He shrugs. “But we’ve gotta show them how much fun we had.” He flips the camera to reveal his slightly dishevelled self, a lopsided smile gracing his face.
“We got very drunk. So did Uncle Wes and Jake.” He said too casually. Like he’s already sure about it. It made your heart warm. “They’re even worse than us. I think they’re probably sleeping on the dance floor right now.”
“But other than that, we had the best time of our lives. And now I’m married to my best friend.” His voice was soft and gentle. So sincere it made your eyes sting.
He flips the camera to face both of you. You still lie next to each other, heads resting against one another.
“I love you.” You look up at him, your eyes heavy with sleepiness.
“I love you more.”
The monitors beeped, but you quickly got used to it.
The room was finally quiet. No more nurses coming in or out to check on you or the newborn, no visitors, and no crying baby. Just the quiet suckles that the baby made against your breast.
You were both exhausted, living off approximately three hours of sleep between the two of you in thirty eight hours.
Joe sat in a seat next to the bed, watching in awe at the newborn resting comfortably in your embrace.
“She’s so beautiful.” His tone was quiet, scared that the tiniest noise would startle her. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes once again.
To be honest, ever since she was born, there hadn’t been an hour he hadn’t cried.
“I can’t believe we made her.” Your voice carries the tired but gentle tone. “She’s tiny.”
He grabs the hospital bag that’s close by, whipping out the camera.
“You really brought that?” You raise your brows, watching as he turns it on.
“I have to get a video of my baby girl.” His eyes turn into the big puppy eyes you can’t be annoyed at.
“You’re here.” He starts the video. Capturing the soft baby that resting against you. “And you’re so beautiful.” His voice cracks. “You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more.” A tear runs down his cheek.
“I love you, my girls, so much. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” And once he says that, you’re both sobbing while looking at the newborn who had no idea how much they’re loved.
You were forced into an arranged marriage with the Crown Prince Steve Harrington of Hawkinswood, will your union blossom into love, or will you remain in the shadows, nothing more than a pawn for the crown?
i was thinking of a joe x costar!reader where they have been best friend since season one of st but kept getting shipped together and joe’s (ex)girlfriend made him stop seeing her outside of work or smt like that but then they broke up they still didn’t reconnect right away. fast forward to when end of beginning came out and people started saying it was about reader because she is from chicago and the entire chorus can be interpreted that way if you try hard enough. and you can end it however you want since i’m not that creative loll
thank you sm for your patience with this entire thing
chicago
joe keery x reader
val speaks - heyy pretty people! i've done all of my requests now i believe which is amaziiing!! i think im gonna keep them closed for a lil bit longer to do some of my own things n start the next chap of both sides andd whilst im starting up my new job bc i didnt realise how loong the process would b n how much i have to do lolol. buuut thanku sm for reading n being patient w me! love u all soso much n i hope ur all doing so well 💗
word count: 4.3k
when you met joe during the first table read for season one, it was easy. that was the thing that made everything after hurt so much, none of it had ever been difficult before.
you’d both been nervous, fresh-faced in that weird way young actors always are, pretending you weren’t intimidated while secretly overthinking every little thing. the cast was loud and chaotic already, kids running around, producers talking over each other, makeup artists trying to keep schedules together. and somehow in the middle of all that, joe had sat next to you like he’d known you already.
“you look terrified” he’d whispered while everyone introduced themselves.
you looked over at him. “i am terrified.”
“cool. me too.”
that was pretty much it.
after that, everyone just sort of attached you together naturally. you had scenes together all the time, interviews together, press days together. if one of you was there, the other usually was too. in behind the scenes clips there was always joe somewhere in the background making you laugh while you were trying to stay serious. during filming breaks you’d sit in each other’s trailers or wander around set annoying everyone else.
people noticed fast, fans especially.
at first it was harmless. edits online. compilations of you two looking at each other too long during interviews. comments about your chemistry. people clipping together moments that meant absolutely nothing to either of you but apparently looked like everything to everyone else.
“they think we’re secretly in love” joe told you once, holding up his phone while hair and makeup fixed his stupidly perfect hair.
you leaned over to read the tweet.
joe keery looks at her like she invented breathing.
you snorted. “they’re insane.”
“right?” he said.
then he smiled at the tweet again.
you noticed that but didn’t say anything.
honestly, you got used to it. the shipping. people making up entire relationships out of blurry photos and twenty second interview clips. it came with the show getting bigger. people wanted onscreen chemistry to be real offscreen too.
and maybe yours with joe looked a little too real sometimes.
because it kind of was.
not dating, not technically anything, but there were moments.
late night drives after filming, falling asleep against him on flights, his hand on the small of your back guiding you through crowds without even thinking about it, inside jokes nobody else understood, the fact he called you whenever literally anything happened to him first.
you tried not to think too hard about what it meant.
then season one ended and instead of drifting apart like most casts did, you stayed close.
he’d text you constantly. random thoughts. playlists he made at three in the morning. sometimes you’d facetime for hours without even realising it.
everyone around you just assumed you were together at that point.
you weren’t.
which honestly made it worse.
because there was never anything to lose exactly. nothing official. no breakup. no conversation about feelings.
just a friendship that slowly got strangled until there was barely anything left of it.
season two started filming almost a year later.
and joe had a girlfriend.
you met her once at first and honestly tried really hard to like her. because she mattered to him, so obviously you wanted it to work. and at first she was nice enough. quiet. pretty. a little cold maybe, but not openly rude.
until she saw what you and joe were like together.
you noticed the shift almost immediately.
the way her expression changed whenever you touched his arm while talking. or when he walked straight toward you between takes without even thinking about it. the way crew members joked about you two being “work married.”
one day you overheard someone from wardrobe laughing about another viral edit of you and joe.
“people genuinely think they’re soulmates” they said.
his girlfriend was standing right there when they said it.
after that, things got weird.
small at first.
joe stopped staying in your trailer between scenes, then he stopped inviting you out with everyone after filming.
texts got shorter. slower.
eventually he sent you one at nearly two in the morning.
sorry. things are just a little complicated and i want to focus on my relationship.
you stared at that message for ages because complicated how?
you never crossed a line, you never tried to make him choose.
even the tiny jealous part of you, the ugly hidden part you never admitted existed, knew she had a right to be uncomfortable. you got it. honestly you did. if you had a boyfriend who looked at another girl the way joe sometimes looked at you, maybe you’d hate it too.
but still.
after everything?
after years of being each other’s person?
you thought maybe you deserved more than a vague apology text.
the worst part was how natural joe made the distance seem.
he just.. did it.
like cutting you out was painful maybe, but manageable.
he started bringing her to set constantly after that. she’d sit beside the monitors or wait in his trailer during breaks. and every time you approached him, you could feel her watching.
not glaring exactly, just aware. like she was waiting for proof that everyone online had been right about you.
so eventually you stopped trying.
because there’s only so many times someone can make you feel unwanted before embarrassment starts replacing hurt.
the change between you and joe became obvious to everyone else too.
interviews got awkward, behind the scenes clips stopped showing you together nearly as much.
fans noticed immediately, making compilations about how “different” you two were now. people online blamed you, blamed him, blamed the girlfriend. conspiracy theories everywhere.
you ignored all of it.
or tried to.
but sometimes late at night you’d still end up reading comments.
he used to look at her like she hung the moon.
what happened to them?
and that one hurt most because you wondered the same thing.
during filming, you and joe only really talked when scenes required it.
“you good with this blocking?”
“yeah.”
“cool.”
that was basically the extent of it now.
sometimes you’d catch him almost saying something else before stopping himself, sometimes you did the same.
the silence between you became so normal it started feeling impossible to break.
season three was worse somehow because by then everyone had adjusted except you.
joe looked tired all the time.
not unhappy exactly. just off.
but you stopped trying to figure him out because it wasn’t your business anymore.
you missed him in stupid ways. not dramatic ways, just little things.
sending him songs when you couldn’t sleep, looking beside you during lunch breaks before remembering he wouldn’t be there anymore, wanting to tell him things and realising halfway through reaching for your phone that you couldn’t anymore.
and the annoying thing was that despite everything, despite how badly he handled it, part of you still understood him.
joe hated disappointing people. hated conflict. if his girlfriend felt threatened by your friendship, of course he’d try fixing it. he probably convinced himself distance was temporary at first.
then too much time passed and suddenly you were strangers pretending not to notice.
the hardest day was probably a press interview during season three.
the interviewer smiled at both of you and went “fans really miss your friendship.”
the room got quiet after that.
you laughed awkwardly. “people online are dramatic" but you didn’t look at joe when you said it.
he looked at you though, you felt it.
“yeah,” he said quietly after a second. “i guess they are.”
and for some reason that almost made you cry.
-
by the end of season three, joe and his girlfriend broke up.
you found out the same way everyone else did, ndirectly, through other people talking on set like it was old news already.
“they split a few weeks ago, i think.”
that was it.
no dramatic announcement. no messy public fallout. just over.
and honestly, for one stupid second, your heart lifted. which made you feel horrible immediately after.
because it wasn’t like things between you and joe were suddenly going to fix themselves now. if anything, it made everything more awkward. you couldn’t exactly go running back to him the second he became single again. people already spent years convinced you were secretly in love with each other. if you suddenly slipped back into old habits now, it would just prove everybody right.
so you didn’t, and neither did he.
you stayed in that weird in-between stage where you were polite but distant. not strangers exactly, but definitely not what you used to be either.
sometimes he’d linger near you like he wanted to say something, sometimes you caught yourself almost texting him before stopping.
but too much time had passed. there was too much history sitting between you now, heavy and embarrassing and unresolved.
the thing nobody talked about was how grief could become routine if you let it.
eventually missing someone stopped feeling sharp and started feeling dull instead. manageable. like an old ache you adjusted to carrying.
that’s what it became with joe.
until season four started filming.
then suddenly you were around him constantly again and it was awful.
not in a dramatic screaming-match way, honestly it would’ve been easier if you hated each other, instead it was just painfully obvious that both of you remembered exactly how things used to be.
you fell into old rhythms by accident sometimes.
talking over each other during interviews, laughing at the same thing before catching yourselves, standing too close out of habit.
and every single time, there’d be this weird pause after. like both of you realised it at once and didn’t know what to do with it.
joe was trying. you could tell.
he’d wait for you after scenes now, he’d ask you questions that weren’t strictly work related, he started texting again too. little things at first.
you still listening to that band you liked?
did you steal my coffee or am i losing my mind?
normal things, careful things, and you answered because ignoring him completely felt cruel after a while. you knew he wasn’t evil. you knew he hadn’t cut you off because he stopped caring about you.
if anything, that was what made it harder.
because if he’d just been an asshole, you could’ve hated him and moved on.
instead you understood him too much.
then halfway through filming, joe released a new song.
he’d released music before, so at first you didn’t think much of it. people on set mentioned it casually the morning it came out. someone played it from their phone in hair and makeup.
you barely listened until the lyrics hit.
your stomach dropped so fast it actually made you feel sick.
because chicago, because everyone knew you were from chicago, because the whole song sounded like regret wrapped up in nostalgia and things left unfinished.
and apparently you weren’t the only person who noticed.
within hours the internet lost its mind.
fans dissected every lyric. every old interview clip. every timeline. edits started appearing again, except this time they felt different somehow. less playful. people weren’t joking anymore, they sounded convinced.
you tried not to read it.
you failed completely.
late at night in your hotel room you listened to the song again with your headphones on, staring at the ceiling while your brain spiraled itself into knots.
another version of me, i was in it.
what the hell was that supposed to mean?
because part of you wanted to laugh at yourself. maybe everyone online was being dramatic like always. maybe it wasn’t about you at all and you were just self-absorbed enough to think it could be.
but another part of you knew joe.
you knew the way he wrote things without fully saying them. you knew how sentimental he secretly was beneath all the sarcasm and jokes.
and the worst part?
it sounded like mourning, like missing someone. like regret.
after that, filming went on a short break for a couple weeks.
and when everyone came back, you avoided joe completely.
not intentionally at first.
okay maybe intentionally. a little.
but what were you supposed to do? walk up to him and casually mention the fact the entire internet thought he wrote a song about losing you?
hey joe! cool song by the way. quick question, were you devastated over me this whole time or what?
absolutely not.
so instead you started disappearing whenever he was around.
you left set quickly, you stayed in your trailer longer, during group lunches you sat with other people.
and joe noticed immediately, of course he did.
you used to be the first thing he noticed in every room.
at first he thought maybe you were busy then he realised you genuinely wouldn’t look at him anymore unless you had to. it killed him, because he knew exactly why.
one afternoon during filming he caught sight of you laughing with natalia near craft services and for a second instinct almost took over. he almost walked over automatically like he used to.
then he watched your face change the second you spotted him approaching.
you looked away immediately and he stopped walking. that hurt more than he expected it to.
the truth was joe had hated every second of this for years now.
even during the relationship, even while he was choosing distance and convincing himself it was the right thing to do, he missed you constantly.
everything reminded him of you because for a while you’d been stitched into almost every part of his life without him realising it. music, movies, random streets in atlanta, dumb inside jokes nobody else understood.
he’d done what he thought he was supposed to do. tried to be respectful. tried to be loyal. tried to make his girlfriend feel secure.
and in the process he lost the person he actually wanted beside him.
the breakup had been horrible too. ugly in that exhausting drawn-out way where nobody was really innocent anymore. fights about trust. fights about you. eventually fights about the fact he clearly wasn’t over whatever existed between you and him.
she’d said it during their final argument.
“you never looked at me the way you looked at her.”
and joe hated himself because he couldn’t even deny it properly.
because selfishly, privately, he loved you. he probably always had.
not all at once, it happened slowly.
through years of choosing you first in his head without noticing. through wanting to tell you everything before anyone else. through every almost moment he buried because timing was bad or complicated or inconvenient.
and now he’d ruined it.
he’d finally written a song honest enough that people could see straight through him, and instead of bringing you back, it only pushed you further away.
one night after filming wrapped, joe sat alone in his trailer staring at his phone for almost twenty minutes before finally typing out a message.
i think you know the song is about you.
he stared at it then deleted it immediately.
because what right did he have to say that now?
-
by the time the song had been picked apart online for the third or fourth time, you were exhausted by it.
every interview seemed to circle back to the same thing, every comment section had decided it knew more about joe than joe ever said out loud and every time you saw his name next to yours your stomach did that awful little drop like your body was reacting before your mind could catch up.
you kept avoiding him.
you were suddenly always somewhere else when he walked in. always a little slower to answer if he spoke to you. always a little too busy, a little too tired, a little too focused on anything that did not involve joe keery standing six feet away with that look on his face like he had something to say and didn’t know how to start.
-
it happened after a long day of filming, when everyone was tired and half the crew had already cleared out. you were heading toward your trailer with your bag over one shoulder, eyes fixed on the ground because you could feel him behind you before you even turned around.
“hey.”
you stopped.
his voice was quiet, almost cautious.
you looked back and there he was, standing a little too close already, hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep himself from doing something impulsive.
“can we talk?”
your mouth opened, then closed again. for a second your brain just lagged, trying to catch up with the fact that he was actually asking. actually standing there. actually looking at you like it mattered if you said yes.
“please” he added, softer this time.
that was the part that got you.
not the song, not the internet, not even the way your entire body had been bracing itself for this conversation for weeks, just the please.
so you nodded once, because that was easier than trusting your voice.
he let out a breath like he had been holding it for days.
you both sat on the steps outside your trailer because somehow that felt easier than being trapped inside a room. the air was cool, the kind of late-night quiet that made everything sound louder. somewhere farther down the lot, somebody was laughing. a door slammed. someone called for a wrap on another set. life kept moving around you like it always did, completely indifferent to the fact that your world had shrunk down to this one awkward stretch of silence between you and him.
for a while neither of you said anything.
you picked at the sleeve of your hoodie, joe stared out into the dark and then back at you and then away again like he was trying to find the right first sentence and none of them were good enough.
“this has been awful” he said finally.
you gave a short, humorless laugh. “yeah.”
he nodded slowly. “i know i probably made it worse.”
you looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw that he meant it. no excuse in his face. no defensiveness. just tired honesty.
“a little” you said.
his mouth twitched, almost a smile, except there was too much regret in his eyes for it to fully land.
“that’s fair.”
another pause, then, because he had always been better at saying things once he got started, he went on.
“i didn’t mean to shut you out the way i did. i know that doesn’t change it, but i need you to know that.”
your throat tightened a little. you didn’t speak, so he kept going.
“i kept telling myself i was doing the right thing. for her, for me, whatever. i thought if i made enough space it would eventually stop being weird. and then it just… became normal. that’s the stupid part.” he let out a breath and dropped his head for a second. “it got normal before i realised i was losing you.”
that hit harder than you expected because that was exactly what it had felt like from your side too. not one huge disaster. just a slow, quiet disappearance.
you folded your arms over your chest. “i understood why you did it.”
he looked at you immediately.
“that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you said, voice lower now. “it felt like i mattered so little to you when i only got a text.”
his face changed at that. not in a dramatic way, just enough to show he heard it properly.
“i know,” he said. “i know. and i hate that i made you feel that way.”
you stared at the ground, blinking hard once. you had not expected this part to be easy. you just hadn’t expected it to feel so bare either, like both of you had spent years carrying around the same ache and pretending the weight was lighter than it was.
he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“i missed you” he said.
the words were simple. that was what made them dangerous.
you looked at him again. “joe-”
“no, seriously.” his voice was steadier now, like he had decided to stop backing away from it. “i missed talking to you, i missed you being around, i missed all of it. and i know i acted like i didn’t, but i did. every day.”
something in your chest pulled tight.
you swallowed. “i missed you too.”
that did it. the wall between you shifted, just a little.
joe exhaled like he had been waiting to hear that for a very long time.
then he glanced at you, almost nervous again, and said, “there’s something else i need to tell you.”
you already knew, or thought you did, but hearing it from him still made your stomach flip.
he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the steps for a second before looking back at you.
“the song was about you.”
you were quiet.
not because you were surprised that it was about you. part of you had known. maybe all of you had. the surprise was hearing him say it with no room left for interpretation.
“i wrote it after everything started feeling like it had gone wrong,” he said. “and when i was writing it, i kept thinking about how different i felt when i was with you. like…” he stopped, searching for the right words. “like i was a better version of myself. less in my own head. less fake. more like me.”
you stared at him, suddenly aware of your heartbeat.
he kept going, voice low and honest now in a way that made it impossible to look away.
“and that line about chicago was never just about a place. it was about you. about going back and still feeling all of it. about realising that saying goodbye to you felt like saying goodbye to something that might’ve actually mattered. a beginning i never really let happen.”
your breath caught a little.
“joe.”
he looked at you carefully, like he was bracing for you to pull away.
you didn’t.
you were just shocked. not because you had never suspected there was something there, but because hearing him say it out loud changed the shape of everything. it made it real in a way the internet never could. more intimate. more painful. more hopeful, maybe, in the most terrifying way.
you laughed once, quietly, in disbelief. “that is insane.”
he let out a tiny laugh too, relieved by it.
“yeah,” he said. “kind of.”
after that, the conversation stopped being about damage control and started being about everything else.
you talked about the weirdness of the last few years. about how strange it was that you could know everything about someone’s schedule, their favorite coffee, the way they acted when they were tired, and still end up feeling like a stranger. you talked about set memories and dumb moments and how much had changed without either of you meaning for it to.
he told you things you hadn’t known. how miserable he had been pretending he was fine, how often he had almost reached out and then convinced himself it would only make things worse, how he had read your messages from years ago more than once and hated how easy it had become to miss you.
you told him about the moments you had almost broken and texted him first.
the nights you’d seen something and thought, he’d get this. the times you’d laughed at something and then immediately felt stupid because there was no one left to explain it to. the way it had always been easier to be angry with him than to admit how deeply you’d missed him.
and the more you talked, the more familiar it all became.
not exactly the same, not yet, but enough.
joe started laughing again the way he used to, with his whole face, like he couldn’t help it once he got going. you rolled your eyes at him the way you always had. he teased you about one of your old habits and you threw a crumpled napkin at his chest. he caught it, grinning, and for a second it felt like the years between you had folded in on themselves.
you stayed out there for hours.
by the time the lot had gone almost completely quiet, your shoulders had stopped being so tense. the conversation had drifted into smaller things, then into more serious ones again, then back to stupid stories and shared jokes. it felt less like catching up and more like rediscovering a language you had once spoken fluently and had somehow not forgotten after all.
when he smiled at you, it reached his eyes again.
when you laughed, it came easier.
something in the air between you changed that night, not all at once, but enough that you both felt it.
after that, joe started finding his way back into your life in the smallest ways first.
a text about nothing, a joke during a long shoot day, a coffee left near your chair without a word, a quiet question after wrap.
you answered.
not immediately. not perfectly. but enough.
and slowly, without either of you forcing it, the old rhythm began returning in fragments. not the exact same friendship you had before, because that belonged to another version of both of you. but something older and newer at once, built on honesty this time instead of assumption.
you started choosing each other again in all the small ways that mattered.
and eventually, that turned into something else too.
not a declaration just a look that lasted too long. a hand brushed against yours and stayed there. a night that ended with him walking you back and neither of you wanting it to end.
then another.
then another.
until it was no longer pretend, no longer vague, no longer hidden behind what-ifs and bad timing and old hurt.
it wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t announced, it just happened the way real things sometimes do. quietly and all at once.
and being with joe again, for real this time, felt nothing like starting over.
hiii can i request joe keery x reader, where there both famous and have a little girl and it’s very private but the paparazzi one day follows them :)
ahhh something about joe being insanely protective over his little family while also being the softest dad alive??? obsessed. this one’s gonna be very “tiny hand in his, sunglasses on, trying to stay calm while internally losing his mind” energy
out of frame
Joe Keery x reader
Summary: When paparazzi finally catch a glimpse of the private life you and Joe worked so hard to protect, all he cares about is getting you and your daughter safely home.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, paparazzi/invasion of privacy, domestic fluff, comfort, mild angst, public scrutiny (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.8k
Joe’s daughter has his curls.
That’s the first thing everyone notices. Not publicly, obviously. The public barely knows she exists.
But the people close to you - friends, family, the occasional trusted crew member who’s been around long enough - always say the same thing when they meet her for the first time.
“Oh my god,” usually followed by, “She’s literally his clone.”
And honestly? They’re right. And you love it.
Same dark curls. Same huge hazel eyes. Same tendency to look devastatingly earnest while asking for another biscuit five minutes after being told no.
Joe pretends to be deeply offended every single time someone points it out.
“She has your nose,” he insists now, following your daughter through the farmers market while she drags him determinedly toward a flower stall. “And your attitude.”
“I’m three,” she informs him seriously, like that explains everything.
Joe looks at you. “See? Attitude.”
You snort softly into your coffee.
Saturday mornings like this are rare now.
Not impossible. Just… managed carefully.
Caps. Sunglasses. Quiet neighbourhoods. Places early enough that crowds stay thin.
It’s not that either of you are hiding your relationship anymore exactly. People know. They’ve known for years now.
But your daughter?
That’s different.
That’s yours.
And Joe’s always been fiercely protective over things he loves.
You learned that long before she was born.
The market is busy enough to feel alive but not packed, warm sunlight spilling across rows of fresh fruit and handmade candles while someone plays acoustic guitar badly near the bakery section.
Your daughter is currently trying to convince Joe she absolutely needs flowers.
“We already have flowers,” he tells her patiently.
“But these are pink.”
“…that’s true.”
“She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” you murmur.
Joe glances sideways at you, deeply unimpressed. “As if you’re any better.”
Your daughter gasps dramatically. “Mama lets me have ice cream before dinner sometimes.”
You gasp dramatically. “Snitch.”
Joe bursts out laughing.
God, you love him like this.
Baseball cap shoved low over messy curls, sunglasses slipping down his nose slightly, one hand carrying coffee while the other stays firmly wrapped around your daughter’s tiny hand like he physically can’t stop checking she’s still there.
He’s softer as a dad. Not weaker, just softer around the edges somehow. More open, more emotional. You think having her cracked something open inside him permanently.
Joe catches you staring.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“That’s never true.”
You smile into your coffee instead of answering.
Unfortunately, that’s around the exact moment everything goes wrong.
It starts subtly.
A man near the bakery lifts his phone slightly. Then another. Then somebody across the street says, “Holy shit, is that Joe Keery?”
Joe hears it instantly.
You see the exact moment his body changes. Not dramatically - most people wouldn’t even notice - but you do. Shoulders tighter. Hand gripping your daughter’s a little more firmly.
His gaze flicks automatically around the street, assessing exits before he’s probably even conscious of doing it.
Your daughter notices too.
Her little fingers curl tighter around his.
“Daddy?”
Joe’s expression softens instantly when he looks down at her.
“Hey, bug,” he says gently. “C’mere.”
He scoops her up onto his hip in one smooth movement while more phones start appearing around you. Not aggressive yet, but enough. Enough to make your stomach sink.
“Oh my god, wait-”
“Is that her, too?”
“Is that their kid?"
"Joe!"
Joe keeps moving. Calm. Steady. One hand secure against your daughter’s back while the other reaches immediately for yours.
“There’s the car,” he says quietly.
His voice stays level, casual enough that your daughter doesn’t panic.
That’s the thing about Joe. Even when he’s furious or anxious or overwhelmed, he never lets it hit her first.
Another flash goes off somewhere behind you, and Joe’s jaw tightens instantly.
Your daughter buries her face against his shoulder. And that’s it. That’s the moment he goes from uncomfortable to genuinely upset.
“Hey,” you say softly, stepping closer immediately. “Joe.”
“I know.”
But his voice sounds sharper now. Protective in that dangerous quiet way.
More people are noticing now. Turning. Whispering. Phones lifting higher.
One guy actually starts following you. Joe notices immediately. So do you. His hand tightens painfully around yours.
“Don’t look,” he mutters softly.
You nod once.
Your daughter whines quietly against his neck. “Too loud.”
Joe immediately pulls her little pink ear defenders from the tote bag hanging off the pram and slides them gently over her ears without even breaking stride.
Your chest aches a little watching him do it.
Because, of course, he remembered them. Of course he did.
“Almost there, bug,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss into her curls.
Another camera flash.
Joe exhales sharply through his nose. You can feel how hard he’s trying to stay calm.
“Joe,” you murmur again, quieter this time.
His eyes flick toward you behind dark sunglasses.
And there it is.
Not anger. Fear.
Not for himself - never for himself - just for you two.
Your daughter lifts her head slightly then, little hand grabbing onto the collar of Joe’s jacket.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Can we go home now?”
Joe visibly melts, like something inside him physically caves in at the sound of her tiny voice.
The car is only another minute away but it feels much longer.
A photographer calls Joe’s name again. Another asks if he can get “just one family photo.”
Joe doesn’t even look at them. He just opens the passenger door for you first before carefully helping your daughter into her car seat. His hands shake slightly doing up the buckle. Only slightly, but enough that you notice. Your daughter notices too.
Tiny fingers patting at his wrist gently. “Daddy?”
Joe looks up immediately.
“You okay, daddy?”
Oh.
That almost kills him.
You see it happen in real time.
His entire face softens into something so heartbreakingly tender you have to look away for a second.
“Yeah, bug,” he says quietly. “I’m okay.”
She studies him carefully for another second like she doesn’t fully believe him.
Then reaches out and presses one of her toy stickers onto his hand solemnly.
“There.”
Joe actually laughs. Tiny and breathless and wrecked around the edges.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
Only once both of you are safely inside the car does he finally get in himself.
The second the doors shut, silence drops heavily around you. No shouting, no cameras, just the low hum of the engine and your daughter quietly humming to herself in the back seat like nothing happened at all.
Joe sits there gripping the steering wheel for a second too long. You reach over carefully, resting your hand against his arm.
“Hey.”
He exhales slowly.
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
His sunglasses come off finally, revealing eyes still tight with adrenaline.
“She looked scared.”
“She’s okay.”
“I know, but she shouldn’t have to be okay about that.”
His voice cracks slightly around the edges now.
God.
You slide closer across the centre console immediately, fingers brushing slowly through the curls at the nape of his neck.
“Joe.”
He leans into the touch instinctively, like he always does.
“She’s alright,” you murmur again. “Look at her.”
You both glance back.
Your daughter is fully distracted sticking window-cling stars to the car door now. Completely recovered. Joe stares at her for a second with an expression so soft it hurts.
Then quieter, “I just wanted pancakes.”
You laugh softly despite yourself.
“What?”
“That’s all we were doing,” he says helplessly. “Getting pancakes and flowers and somehow people act like they discovered Bigfoot.”
That pulls another laugh from you, and Joe’s mouth twitches slightly at the sound.
He glances sideways at you.
“You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“I think she noticed I panicked.”
“You didn’t panic.”
Joe gives you a look.
“You colour-coded emergency contacts before her first nursery day.”
“That was preparedness.”
“You bought three baby monitors because you thought one ‘looked unreliable.’”
“It did look unreliable.”
You smile softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“Joe,” you murmur gently. “You’re a good dad.”
He goes very still at that. Not embarrassed exactly, just visibly affected. You don’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing it.
His thumb brushes once across your knuckles before he finally starts the car properly.
The drive home stays quiet. Not heavy, just tired around the edges.
Your daughter falls asleep halfway back with her headphones slightly crooked and one hand still clutching the flower she convinced Joe to buy her.
By the time you reach the house, Joe’s entire posture has softened again. Still protective, still hovering slightly while carrying her inside, but calmer now, safer.
You watch from the kitchen doorway while he carefully settles her onto the sofa beneath a blanket, moving with ridiculous gentleness for a man who usually walks into furniture at least twice a day.
Your chest aches again.
God, you’re so in love with him it’s honestly embarrassing sometimes.
Joe notices you staring when he finally straightens again.
“What?”
“You’re good at that.”
“At what?”
You nod toward your sleeping daughter.
Joe’s expression shifts instantly into something quieter.
Softer.
“I dunno,” he admits. “Feels like I’m winging it most days.”
“You are.”
He looks offended.
“We both are. So is every parent,” you add quickly.
“That’s horrifying information actually.”
You laugh softly while he wanders into the kitchen toward you.
The second he’s close enough, his arms wrap automatically around your waist and he buries his face against your shoulder with a tired groan. You smooth your hand slowly through his curls.
“Tough morning.”
“Mhm.”
“You handled it well.”
Joe shakes his head slightly against you. “Still hate it.”
“I know.”
Another quiet pause.
Then, muffled into your neck, “…thought somebody was gonna scare her.”
The honesty of it nearly breaks your heart, and you pull him closer immediately.
“She’s okay.”
“I know.”
“She’s got you.”
Joe exhales slowly.
Then lifts his head just enough to look at you properly.
“And you,” he says quietly.
Something warm twists painfully beneath your ribs.
You kiss him softly before he can overthink himself into spiralling again. Slow enough that his shoulders finally start relaxing beneath your hands. Joe melts into it instantly.
When you pull away, he still looks a little dazed.
“You kissed me to shut me up.”
“Worked, didn’t it?”
His mouth twitches slightly.
Then softer, “…love you.”
You smile immediately.
“Love you too.”
A tiny sleepy voice suddenly pipes up from the sofa.
“Love you three.”
Both of you turn instantly.
Your daughter’s still half-asleep beneath the blanket, curls smashed against the cushion while she squints blearily at you both.
Joe physically clutches his chest.
“Oh my god.”
You burst out laughing quietly.
Your daughter yawns dramatically. “Can we still have pancakes?”
Joe looks at her for one long second.
Then at you.
Then sighs like the world’s most put-upon man.
“Yeah, bug,” he says softly. “We can still have pancakes.”
ik i just sent a request but i also have other one that's just smut.. joe and reader just got married and they're on their honeymoon somewhere tropical and she's wearing the tiniest bikinis and joe can't control himself. she also brings new lingerie that joe hasn't seen before and it turns into a whole day sex marathon type of thing 😉
okay i may have gotten a little carried away here pahah. this request absolutely killed me because the idea of joe spending an entire tropical honeymoon one minor inconvenience away from combusting is SO funny to me 😭 this fic is basically just him being deeply obsessed with his wife for several thousand words straight. enjoy <3
honeymoon hazard
Joe Keery x afab!reader
Summary: Joe thought the honeymoon would involve sightseeing and relaxation. Instead, it mostly involves him losing his mind every time his new wife walks into the room wearing another tiny outfit.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, newlyweds, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral (f! and m! receiving), fluff (let me know if I missed anything)
W/C: 3.7k
Joe knows he’s doomed approximately six minutes after arriving at the resort. Maybe sooner.
Possibly the second you boarded the plane in those tiny little shorts that kept riding up every time you stretched across his lap to steal his headphones.
Or maybe the moment the hotel receptionist smiled and said enjoy your honeymoon, and Joe physically had to stop himself from grinning like a complete idiot because holy shit.
Wife.
You’re his wife.
That alone already feels dangerous enough for his emotional stability.
Unfortunately, you make it infinitely worse.
The hotel room is beautiful in that aggressively expensive way that almost doesn’t look real. Huge windows overlook the ocean, soft white bedding, warm amber lamps glowing against dark wood furniture, while the balcony doors stand half-open to let salt air drift inside.
Joe’s halfway through unpacking when you disappear into the bathroom to change.
Five minutes later, you walk back out in a bikini so tiny it genuinely cannot be serving any purpose.
Joe looks up from folding a t-shirt.
Then immediately forgets how to function as a person.
You pause near the bed, adjusting one of the strings at your hip casually. “What?”
Joe stares at you in complete silence.
The bikini is white.
Tiny.
Actually criminal.
There's genuinely more exposed tit than fabric, and paired with your damp hair and sun-warmed skin, it’s enough to make his brain fully blue-screen.
“…baby.”
You burst out laughing instantly. “Why do you sound upset?”
“Because I am upset.”
Joe drops the shirt he’s holding directly onto the floor.
You grin wider immediately.
“Oh my god,” he mutters weakly, dragging one hand down his face. “Honey, you cannot just walk around looking like that now that I’m legally your husband.”
“That sentence makes zero sense.”
“It makes perfect sense actually.”
You laugh softly while he stands slowly from the bed, eyes still fixed on you like he’s trying to recover from physical damage.
The thing about Joe is that he’s expressive in a way that makes teasing him almost impossibly fun.
Every single thought he has flashes across his face immediately.
Right now, approximately ninety percent of those thoughts seem to be variations of holy shit.
You barely get one step closer before he grabs your waist and pulls you directly against him.
“Joe,” you laugh.
“Hm?”
“You’re staring.”
“I literally cannot stop.”
His forehead drops dramatically against your shoulder while your fingers drift automatically into his curls.
“This holiday’s gonna kill me,” he mutters.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You wore that bikini on purpose.”
“You’re my husband now,” you grin. “You’re legally obligated to deal with it.”
Joe lifts his head slowly.
Looks at you for one dangerous second.
Then says quietly, “That was a dangerous thing to tell me, actually.”
You laugh directly into his neck.
By day three, the honeymoon has completely ruined him.
Not emotionally.
Well. Emotionally too.
But mostly physically.
Because every single time he starts recovering even slightly, you appear in another outfit apparently designed specifically to destroy him.
Tiny sundresses.
Little bikini bottoms tied at the hips.
One of his shirts over bare legs while you pad around the hotel room, fresh from the shower.
Joe is suffering tremendously, and you’re enjoying it far too much.
The pool is nearly empty in the late afternoon heat, most people hiding indoors while sunlight glitters violently across the water. Joe's stretched out on one of the loungers, pretending to read.
Pretending being the keyword.
Because you’re currently climbing out of the pool directly in front of him and he hasn’t processed a single sentence of that page in at least twenty minutes. Water slides slowly down your stomach while you push wet hair back from your face.
Joe lowers the book very slowly.
“…this feels targeted.”
You laugh softly while grabbing your towel. “You’re still on the same page, aren’t you?”
Joe glances down.
Still the same page.
“…that’s not important right now.”
You grin and wander closer, stopping between his knees while he looks up at you like a dying Victorian man seeing sunlight for the first time.
“Baby,” he says weakly.
“Yeah?”
“I need a minute.”
“A minute for what?”
Joe gestures vaguely toward you. “To survive this.”
You laugh harder while his hands slide immediately to your hips.
“Poor you.”
“You have no idea.”
He leans back against the lounger slowly, pulling you directly into his lap while warm water from your skin dampens his chest instantly.
Neither of you cares.
Joe’s sunglasses sit low on his nose while he looks up at you with the softest, most ruined expression you’ve ever seen in your life.
It’s honestly a little overwhelming.
“What?” you murmur.
Joe just shakes his head slightly.
“Still can’t believe you married me.”
Your chest tightens immediately.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“Honey,” he says carefully, “I am thinking about approximately twelve things right now and all of them are about you.”
You burst out laughing again.
God, he loves that sound.
His hands slide slowly up your thighs while he presses lazy kisses against the inside of your wrist.
Then his eyes flick downward briefly, and the entire atmosphere changes instantly.
You feel it happen. Joe’s fingers tighten slightly against your skin. The lazy softness in his expression sharpens into something warmer. Heavier.
“Joe,” you murmur.
“Hm?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The husband thing.”
That gets a quiet laugh out of him.
“I’ve been your husband for like a week. I think I’m allowed.”
You smooth your fingers through his damp curls while he tilts automatically into the touch.
“Allowed to what?”
Joe looks at you for one long second, then leans closer until his mouth brushes your ear.
“Allowed to be completely obsessed with my wife.”
Heat floods your whole body instantly.
Joe notices immediately.
Smiles slowly.
Then kisses you hard enough to steal the breath straight from your lungs.
Your bikini survives approximately five seconds once you make it back to the hotel room. Joe tosses it carelessly over his shoulder before backing you - already stark naked - against the wall nearest the door.
"You're such a goddamn tease, you know that, baby? Huh?" he smirks against your neck, planting kisses down your collarbones, your tits, anywhere he can reach without dropping to his knees.
You can barely vocalise a response, your body melting into him, the contrast between the cool tile beneath you and the heat of Joe’s hands and mouth clearing every thought from your head.
One of his big hands palms at one of your breasts, teasing the nipple with his thumb, while his lips latch onto the other. The dual sensation has you keening, grabbing onto his ass with both hands to bring his hips flush to yours.
Joe groans deeply as his cock grinds against you through the thin layer of his swim trunks. "Fuck babygirl, you feel what you do to me?"
Seconds later, he's got you sprawled across the bed, and he's already moving over you, his trunks discarded in the meantime, and you were so distracted by his kisses you didn't even process him taking them off.
His kisses trail down your body once more, this time continuing on further down your stomach, until he reaches your inner thighs.
"Spread 'em for me, baby. Good girl," he murmurs, slotting himself between your thighs, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders.
He teases you gingerly, planting soft kisses up one thigh, before switching to the other. You're twitching beneath him, hips bucking up into the air, pussy clenching around air in anticipation.
"Pl- Please, baby. Please stop teasing," you manage, and he looks up at you with his big doe eyes, a tantalising smirk on his face.
"Patience, honey," he says, before he leans forward and inhales deeply. You smell like sea salt, sweat, sunscreen, and you, and Joe can't dive in fast enough.
His tongue licks a long, steady strip up your pussy, his thumbs spreading your lips wide for him. He alternates between those long, toe-curling licks and sucking on your clit, flicking it with his tongue, and in minutes you're cumming all over his face. He slows down but doesn't stop as he guides you through your orgasm, and you have to push your fingers into his hair, gripping onto his wavy locks to pull his face away from you at the overstimulation.
The smirk on his face is pure evil as he crawls back up your body, slotting himself between your thighs.
"You ready for me, baby?"
You nod your pretty head as he grabs his cock to line himself up with your entrance. The groan he lets out against your neck sounds almost carnal as he pushes inside in one steady thrust. You're so dripping wet he's met with no resistance, but the stretch always burns regardless. He stills inside you for a moment, always attentive, always waiting for you to let him know he's okay to carry on.
"Move, Joe. Move," you plead. And who is he to deny his pretty wife?
His thrusts are sloppy, drunk on your pussy, the way your tits bounce with each thrust, and maybe the three cocktails he enjoyed poolside this afternoon.
You love him like this. Uncoordinated, whiny, obsessed with you. He's become even more insatiable since the wedding, and you could never complain about it. It's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed.
He grabs your thighs to lift them over his shoulders, pressing your knees almost to your chest as he continues to pound into you. You're seeing stars as he kisses you breathless, swallowing the loud moans and whines you're sure will earn you a noise complaint about later, but you couldn't care less. Not when you're cumming on his cock seconds later, your legs quivering over his shoulders, tears of ecstasy streaming down your face.
"Where, baby? Where do you want me?"
"Inside, honey. Please, gimme your cum," you plead. His hips stutter with a loud moan, the loudest you think you've ever heard him, as you feel him shoot his load deep into your pussy.
He collapses on top of you seconds later, letting go of your legs to fall to the bed, his head resting on your breasts, rising and falling with your unsteady breathing.
Your fingers find his hair, and you swear he purrs.
Joe presses one last lazy kiss against your sternum, then shifts just enough to look up at you properly, curls a mess, lips swollen from kissing you, eyes soft in that way that still gets you every single time.
"You know I'm never getting over the fact you married me, right?" he murmurs.
Your chest aches warmly as you smile down at him, fingertips brushing slowly through his hair.
"Good," you whisper. "Wouldn't want you to."
The room smells faintly like sunscreen and saltwater afterwards.
The balcony doors are open wide now, curtains drifting softly in the warm evening breeze while golden sunset light spills across tangled sheets and abandoned clothes.
Joe’s lying shirtless across the bed beside you, one arm draped heavily across your waist while he watches you with sleepy satisfaction.
You glance over eventually. “What?”
“You’re pretty.”
You snort softly. “That’s your post-sex revelation?”
“No,” Joe says seriously. “I already knew that. This is just a reminder.”
You laugh quietly while his fingers drift lazy patterns against your stomach beneath the sheets.
The wedding ring on his hand catches briefly in the sunlight.
Your chest aches a little at the sight.
Joe notices your expression instantly.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“That’s never true.”
You smile softly and reach up to brush curls away from his forehead.
The reaction is immediate.
Joe practically melts into the touch.
God.
You don’t think he’ll ever stop reacting to affection like it physically surprises him.
“You really love me, huh?” you tease.
Joe grins lazily. “Honey, you have no idea.”
The lingerie nearly kills him completely.
You honestly forget you packed it until halfway through the holiday.
It’s buried right at the bottom of your suitcase beneath sundresses and bikinis and one of Joe’s sweatshirts you stole before leaving home.
Tiny little lace straps.
Soft sheer fabric.
Something bought impulsively after too much champagne during wedding planning.
You stare at it for a second.
Then grin slowly to yourself.
Oh, this’ll be fun.
Outside the bathroom, rain crashes softly against the balcony while Joe flips through television channels lazily from the bed.
“Baby?” he calls absently.
“Hm?”
“You disappearin’ forever in there or what?”
You bite back a smile. Then open the door.
Joe looks up casually. And immediately freezes.
Complete silence fills the room.
You lean lightly against the bathroom doorway. “Hi.”
Joe blinks once.
Then very carefully sets the remote down beside him.
“…Jesus Christ.”
You laugh instantly.
“What?”
“Honey,” he says weakly, “that is genuinely unfair.”
The look on his face almost makes you shy.
Almost.
Because Joe’s staring at you like he’s never seen anything beautiful before in his life.
His gaze drags slowly over you once before returning immediately to your face.
“You were just hiding this from me?” he asks quietly.
“I forgot I packed it.”
Joe laughs once softly under his breath like the information physically wounded him.
“You forgot?”
“I’ve had a busy week.”
“You can’t say things like that while wearing…” he gestures vaguely toward you, “…whatever the fuck this is.”
You burst out laughing.
Joe stands slowly from the bed. Crosses the room toward you. Stops directly in front of you while his hands settle carefully against your waist.
Warm. Steady. His thumbs brush slowly along your skin beneath the lace.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly.
The sincerity of it hits immediately.
Joe leans down until his forehead rests lightly against yours, then exhales softly through his nose.
“…you have no idea what you do to me.”
Your fingers slide automatically into his curls.
“You’re staring again.”
“Can you blame me?”
You grin slightly.
Joe kisses you slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then deeper when your hands tighten in his hair.
The rain outside grows louder. The room warmer. His hands slide lower against your hips.
He begins to bend to his knees, but you have other things in mind.
Your hand settles against the centre of his chest as you gently guide him backwards. He can’t help the startled look in his eyes at your actions, quickly followed by the shit-eating grin that always appears whenever you take control in the bedroom.
Your arms loop around his neck as you rise onto your toes, pressing gentle, teasing kisses to his lips while his hands grab at any part of you he can reach. Your shoulders. The small of your back. Your ass. Your thighs. He can’t get enough of you.
“Sit down, baby,” you whisper between kisses, and he slowly sinks onto the edge of the bed, almost reluctant to separate himself from your mouth. Or, he would be reluctant, if he didn’t already have a pretty good idea where this is going.
He’s practically ogling you, and you decide that bringing this lingerie was the best decision you’ve made since saying yes to marrying Joe. His hungry eyes can’t stay in one place for more than half a second. His hands grasp greedily at the backs of your thighs while his gaze flicks over your tits, your stomach, your face, your neck. He can’t believe he gets to call somebody like you his wife.
He counts his lucky stars again as you sink down to the floor between his knees.
He swears he blacks out for a second when you run your palms slowly up his thighs before palming at his rock-hard cock through his shorts with one hand, the other scratching lightly through the hairs of his happy trail.
His hips buck upwards instinctively into your touch, and you glance up at him with a smirk.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, and he lifts his hips obediently so you can slowly drag them down his thighs, pleasantly surprised to find he isn’t wearing any underwear.
“Someone was hopeful, huh?” you tease.
“Baby, we’ve had sex like three times a day since we got here. Who needs underwear?” he shoots back, though the cocky confidence disappears immediately when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock.
A sharp hiss leaves him.
You hover your lips over the flushed tip before letting a thin dribble of spit fall down onto him, slowly smearing it down his cock with your fist.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groans, and you hum softly before lowering your mouth to place a teasing kiss against the head.
His hips jerk upwards automatically, forcing the tip of his cock past your lips, and you smile around him.
“Sorry, baby. Can’t help it. Shit, I-” he starts, only to cut himself off abruptly when you take him all the way in one smooth movement.
He groans loudly, the hand not supporting his weight immediately tangling in your hair. Not pushing or pulling. Just holding. Grounding himself in you.
You don’t go easy on him.
You suck his cock with fervour, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you can with every downward movement. What you can’t fit in your mouth - because, let’s face it, your husband’s cock is huge - you pump with your hand in time with your lips.
“Baby, I’m- I’m not gonna last if you keep that up,” he groans, weakly trying to pull you off him by gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
You swat his hand away, pulling off him with a wet pop for only a second before murmuring, “Good. I don’t want you to last.”
Then you sink right back down onto him, taking him to the back of your throat.
“Fuck!” he nearly yells at the sensation. “Baby, I’m gonna cum. Lemme come on your tits, please? Wanna come all over that pretty lace set. It’s so fucking sexy, baby. Please. Please let me?”
He’s rambling now, completely wrecked as he teeters on the edge.
You finally pull off him with a satisfied hum, pumping his cock with both hands as you nod.
“Go ahead, baby. Mark me up. Show me I’m yours.”
He comes hard and loud, seemingly endlessly, rope after rope of cum painting your lace-covered tits, your neck, your chin.
For a few seconds, he just stares at you, panting heavily, completely overwhelmed by the force of his orgasm and the sight of you beneath him.
Then suddenly he’s reaching down to haul you up off the floor, practically throwing you back onto the bed.
“Your turn, honey.”
By the final day of the honeymoon, both of you are barely functioning properly.
The room is in chaos.
Half-packed suitcases.
Discarded clothes everywhere.
One of your bikinis hanging inexplicably from the lamp beside the bed.
Joe’s stretched across the mattress while you attempt to reorganise your suitcase for the flight home.
Attempt being generous.
Because every thirty seconds he distracts you again.
“Baby.”
You don’t look up. “Hm?”
“You’re pretty.”
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“Still true.”
You laugh softly to yourself while folding another sundress.
Joe watches you from the bed for another second.
Then:
“Come here.”
“You’re very clingy for someone who spent the first year of our relationship pretending to be cool.”
“I was never cool.”
“That’s true.”
Joe gasps softly in mock offense while you laugh harder.
Eventually you wander back toward the bed anyway because honestly, resisting him stopped being possible years ago.
The second you get close enough, Joe catches your wrist gently and pulls you directly onto the mattress beside him.
“You know what your problem is?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“You keep being my wife.”
You laugh against his mouth when he kisses you.
“That’s my problem?”
“Yes.”
“How tragic.”
Joe hums softly against your skin while his hands slide slowly beneath the oversized shirt you stole from him that morning.
Then quieter:
“Gonna miss this.”
Your expression softens instantly.
“The honeymoon?”
“Mm.” His nose brushes lightly along your jaw. “Getting to wake up with you every day with nowhere else to be.”
Something warm twists painfully in your chest.
You smooth your fingers slowly through his curls while he closes his eyes briefly beneath the touch.
“We’ll still wake up together at home.”
“Yeah,” Joe murmurs softly. “But here I get to spend all day staring at my wife in tiny little outfits without anybody interrupting me.”
You laugh quietly.
Then his eyes open again.
And immediately darken.
Oh no.
“Joe.”
“Hm?”
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The look.”
Joe grins slowly.
Then rolls carefully on top of you.
“You know,” he murmurs against your mouth, “I really think we should enjoy the last day properly.”
You laugh breathlessly while his hands slide warm against your waist.
That evening, Joe makes sure to fuck you on the bed, in the shower, and pressed up against the window to make the most of the view.
Needless to say, you make the most of that final day together.
Later that night, both of you lie tangled together beneath cool white sheets while waves crash softly outside the balcony.
The room is dark except for moonlight spilling silver across the floor.
Joe’s half-asleep beside you, one arm still wrapped possessively around your waist like he physically forgot how not to touch you this entire holiday.
Your fingers drift slowly through his curls while he hums softly against your shoulder.
“You awake?” you murmur.
“Barely.”
You smile into his hair.
Joe tips his head up slightly to look at you.
Still with that same stupidly soft expression he’s worn basically the entire honeymoon.
“What?” you ask quietly.
He shakes his head once.
“Nothin’.”
“That’s never true.”
Joe smiles slowly.
Then says, very softly:
“Think marrying you might’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your chest aches instantly.
You lean down and kiss him slow enough that he melts immediately beneath your hands.
When you pull back, he still looks dazed.
“You’re very emotional lately.”
“Honeymoon brain.”
“You’ve had honeymoon brain since the wedding.”
“Correct.”
You laugh softly while he tucks you closer against his chest.
Outside, the ocean keeps moving endlessly beneath the dark.
Inside, Joe presses one last sleepy kiss against your forehead.
And somewhere between the warm air, tangled sheets, and the way his wedding ring glints faintly in the moonlight, you realise you never want this feeling to end.
Summary: A hot day at Lovers Lake turns into exactly what the rest of the gang feared: Steve Harrington being completely incapable of keeping his hands off you for seven straight hours.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, mild suggestiveness (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.8k
A/N: The weather has been so awful recently where I am so I'm choosing to live vicariously through sunny hot weather fanfics :D
Steve is instantly in trouble the second you step out of the car.
Like his brain physically stalls for a second while you push the passenger door shut with your hip and pull your sunglasses down slightly to squint against the sunlight reflecting off Lovers Lake.
It’s July-hot already. The kind of heat that sticks to your skin immediately, heavy and golden and lazy. Cicadas drone somewhere in the trees while Max and Lucas immediately start arguing over who forgot the portable speaker before either of them have fully closed the boot.
You, meanwhile, are standing there in little denim shorts and a bikini top beneath one of Steve’s old button-ups hanging open over your shoulders.
And Steve?
Steve is absolutely fucking doomed.
“Oh, you are NOT surviving today,” Robin says immediately beside him.
Steve blinks slowly. “What?”
Robin snorts and shoulders past him toward the picnic bags. “Your face.”
“My face is normal.”
“You looked at her like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle.”
Steve looks offended. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
Across the car park, you glance over at them, pushing sunglasses up into your hair.
Your whole expression softens when you see him.
There it is.
That smile.
Warm and easy and automatic in a way that still kind of wrecks him.
Steve feels himself visibly melt.
Robin watches it happen in real time.
“Oh my god,” she mutters. “Painful.”
By the time everyone’s dragged coolers and towels down toward the lake, the entire place already feels alive with summer.
Music drifts from somewhere further down the shoreline. Water glitters beautifully under the afternoon sun. The wooden dock creaks beneath Dustin and Mike, immediately trying to shove each other into the lake while Nancy yells half-heartedly at them to stop being idiots before they break something.
Jonathan’s already taking photos.
Of course he is.
Mostly candid ones. Max laughing with her feet dangling off the dock. Robin dramatically collapsing onto a towel like she’s survived a war. Lucas trying and failing to throw a frisbee one-handed.
And, increasingly, Steve looking at you when he thinks nobody notices.
Unfortunately for him, everybody notices.
You’re digging through one of the coolers when Steve appears behind you seemingly out of nowhere, sliding both hands around your waist.
“Hi,” he says directly against your shoulder.
You laugh softly without even looking surprised anymore. “Hi.”
“You disappeared.”
“I walked like ten feet away.”
“Exactly.”
You grin while leaning back into his chest automatically.
God. Steve could live inside moments like this.
Warm skin beneath his hands. The smell of lake water and sunscreen and shampoo drifting from your hair. Your body relaxing into his without hesitation, like being close to him is muscle memory now.
It still gets him every single time.
“You gonna help me carry stuff?” you ask.
Steve nods immediately. “Absolutely.”
A beat.
Then, “…what stuff?”
You laugh properly then, bright enough that Steve feels it somewhere directly in his ribs.
Dustin gags loudly from the dock.
“Oh my god, you two are unbearable.”
Steve doesn’t even look away from you when he flips him off.
The water’s freezing.
Not properly freezing.
Just cold enough that everyone spends five straight minutes pretending they’re absolutely about to die while climbing in.
Robin shrieks loud enough to scare birds out of nearby trees.
Steve’s standing knee-deep in the water beside the dock when you finally wade in after everybody else, hands instinctively lifting toward you the second you stumble slightly over a submerged rock.
“Careful,” he says immediately.
You snort softly. “I’m okay.”
“Still.”
His hand settles automatically against your waist anyway.
The lake reaches just above his hips now, sunlight catching gold-brown through damp hair curling around his forehead. His stupid little sleeveless shirt lasted maybe fifteen minutes before he peeled it off complaining about the heat, leaving him unfairly pretty standing there all sun-warmed and broad-shouldered in the middle of Lovers Lake.
You’re not exactly unaffected yourself.
Unfortunately, Robin notices that too.
“Oh my GOD,” she yells from nearby. “Now she’s doing it too!”
You blink innocently. “Doing what?”
“The staring thing!”
Steve looks delighted immediately.
“You stare at me?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Robin groans.
Too late.
Steve’s grin turns positively unbearable.
“You think I’m pretty?”
You shove lake water directly into his face.
The sunscreen incident starts because Steve cannot behave normally for even thirty consecutive minutes.
You’re sitting between his legs on a towel near the waterline while he helps rub sunscreen onto your shoulders.
At least, that’s what’s supposed to be happening.
Instead, his hands have been resting suspiciously still against your waist for the last twenty seconds while he kisses slowly along the curve of your shoulder.
“Steve.”
“Hm?”
“You stopped applying sunscreen.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
Steve presses another distracted kiss beneath your ear.
“You smell good.”
You laugh softly. “That is not sunscreen.”
“Could be.”
“It’s literally coconut shampoo.”
“Still counts.”
Behind you, Robin makes the loudest suffering noise imaginable.
“I’m going into the lake and never coming back.”
“Can you drown quietly?” Steve asks absentmindedly, still focused entirely on you.
Robin throws a packet of crisps at the back of his head.
You’re laughing too hard to stay upright properly now, leaning back against Steve’s chest while he finally resumes rubbing sunscreen over your shoulders.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Mostly because he keeps getting distracted touching you.
His fingers drag warm circles against your skin while sunlight flashes across the water ahead of you. Somewhere down the shoreline Lucas trying to convince Mike to attempt a running backflip off the dock while Max loudly explains why that’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.
Everything feels loud and happy and bright around the edges.
Steve kisses the top of your shoulder again.
Then pauses.
“…you’re getting freckles.”
You glance back slightly. “What?”
“Right here.” His thumb brushes lightly across your shoulder blade. “Tiny little freckles.”
Something about the softness in his voice makes your chest ache.
God.
You’re so gone for him it’s embarrassing.
“You’re staring again,” you murmur.
Steve doesn’t even deny it this time.
“Yeah.”
Dustin makes another fake vomiting sound somewhere behind you.
Neither of you acknowledge it.
By late afternoon, everybody’s slightly sun-drunk.
The kind of tiredness that only comes from hours of swimming and heat and too much laughing.
Lucas and Max are sprawled across towels sharing crisps. Nancy’s finally managed to start reading uninterrupted while Jonathan lies beside her taking absentminded photographs of tree branches overhead.
Dustin’s still talking.
Nobody knows how he has this much energy left.
Steve’s sitting with his back against the dock while you lie half across his lap, damp from the lake and warm from the sun. His fingers move lazily up and down your bare thigh while he talks quietly with Robin about something you’re not really listening to anymore.
Mostly because you’re sleepy.
And because Steve keeps absentmindedly touching you like he physically can’t help himself.
Every few seconds, his thumb brushes your skin, his hand squeezes your knee, his fingers slide through your hair, his lips press automatically against your temple whenever you tilt closer.
It’s constant.
Easy.
Thoughtless.
Like loving you lives somewhere beneath conscious effort now.
“…you’re doing it again,” Robin says eventually.
Steve looks up. “Doing what?”
“You just kissed her mid-sentence.”
Steve blinks once. “Okay?”
“You didn’t even pause your conversation.”
You lift your head slightly. “Honestly, that’s kinda impressive.”
“Thank you,” Steve says immediately.
Robin looks exhausted. “I need both of you to know this is psychological warfare.”
Dustin points accusingly from nearby. “Seriously. Every time I look over, one of you is grabbing the other one’s face.”
Steve shrugs lazily. “Skill issue.”
“You suck.”
You laugh into Steve’s shoulder while he looks deeply pleased with himself.
Then, because he’s apparently incapable of restraint today, he tips your chin upward and kisses you again properly.
Dustin groans so dramatically that Nancy finally lowers her book.
“Oh my god,” she says flatly. “Let them kiss in peace.”
“You’re enabling them!” Robin cries.
Jonathan glances up from his camera. “Honestly? I stopped noticing like two hours ago.”
“You’re all traitors,” Robin mutters.
Steve looks unbearably smug afterwards.
“You know,” you murmur quietly against his shoulder, “they’re kinda right.”
“What?”
“You’ve been attached to me literally all day.”
Steve thinks about that for exactly half a second.
Then shrugs. “Yeah.”
“That’s your defence?”
“I’m in love with you. What do you want from me?”
Your entire chest goes warm.
Robin immediately pretends to choke on lake water.
“NO. Absolutely not. I reject this conversation.”
Steve just grins against your hair.
The best part of the day comes later.
Not the swimming.
Not the sunshine.
Not even Steve nearly dislocating his shoulder trying to show off diving off the dock after you laughed at him once.
It’s evening. When everything finally starts slowing down.
The heat softens into something golden and sleepy while the sky melts orange above the lake. Everybody’s quieter now, exhausted from hours in the sun.
Someone’s music still plays softly from the speaker near the towels. The dock creaks gently beneath shifting weight. Water laps lazily against wood while fireflies start blinking faintly through the trees surrounding the lake.
You’re sitting beside Steve at the very end of the dock with your legs dangling over the edge.
His arm’s wrapped around your waist automatically.
Of course it is.
Behind you, the others are still talking softly amongst themselves, but nobody’s paying much attention anymore. Robin’s lying across three towels dramatically claiming she’s dying of heatstroke while Will argues with Lucas about music.
For once, nobody’s yelling at you and Steve to stop being disgustingly in love.
Probably because everyone’s too tired.
You lean your head against Steve’s shoulder while warm evening air brushes across sun-warmed skin.
And quietly, without really meaning to, Steve says, “I think this might be my favourite day we’ve ever had.”
Your chest tightens instantly.
You tilt your head slightly to look at him.
His hair’s still damp around the edges. There’s sunscreen smudged faintly along one shoulder. His cheeks are pink from sun exposure despite the amount of sunscreen you forced onto him earlier.
He looks happy.
Really happy.
The soft kind.
You smile gently. “Yeah?”
Steve nods once.
Then quieter, “Everybody’s here.”
You glance back toward the others automatically.
Nancy laughing softly at something Jonathan says.
Max lying with her head in Lucas’ lap.
Robin still being dramatic.
Dustin somehow still talking.
Warm light stretching gold across the lake while cicadas hum steadily in the trees.
Home.
The whole weird little thing you’ve all built together somehow surviving everything thrown at it.
Steve’s fingers tighten slightly against your waist.
Then he leans over and kisses your temple absentmindedly.
You smile against his shoulder.
“You know,” you murmur softly, “everyone’s gonna start bullying us again if you keep doing that.”
Steve hums thoughtfully.
Then kisses you again anyway.
From somewhere behind you, “Oh my god, BOOOOO.”
You burst out laughing immediately while Steve grins smugly against your skin.
okayyyy picture this; post breakup joe keery x reader fanfic after reader broke up with joe because she faced backlash from his weirdo fans after they went public. it can be hurt/comfort, angst, make up fic, WHATEVER, just the concept is burned in my skull for so long I need to read it
“The noise around us”
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Joe Keery x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆
english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!
Summary: After relentless online hate destroys their relationship, you and Joe reunite months later and realize you never stopped loving each other.
Warnings: Online harassment, anxiety, emotional distress, breakup/reconciliation, toxic fan culture.
You know it’s bad when your therapist says the phrase “internet-induced hypervigilance” with genuine concern. You sit curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves pulled over your hands, while she explains that what happened to you after going public with Joe was, in fact, traumatic.
Not dramatic, not “part of dating a celebrity.”
Traumatic.
You nod like that information belongs to somebody else, because people only really sympathize with public scrutiny when it happens to celebrities themselves. The regular person beside them is apparently collateral damage. Background object. Acceptable casualty.
You learned that quickly.
The first paparazzi photos of you and Joe had dropped eight months ago. Eight months since he’d grabbed your hand outside a tiny sushi place because he was laughing too hard at something you said to remember there were cameras nearby. Eight months since the internet decided your existence was public property.
At first it was exciting in the surreal kind of way,friends texting screenshots, your coworkers whispering, fans posting things like:
omg joe keery has a girlfriend???
wait they’re cute actually
she kinda looks like….
You thought maybe it would pass, maybe people would lose interest.
Instead, interest sharpened into obsession. Your Instagram following jumped overnight, then doubled, then tripled.
People dug up your LinkedIn, your college roommate got DM’d asking if you were “nice in real life.”
A TikTok with blurry zoomed-in paparazzi shots of your body got over two million views under the caption:
joe keery’s gf is proof men only care about personality
You stopped reading comments after that.
At least you tried to, but curiosity is a form of self-harm sometimes, and eventually the cruelty escalated beyond random insults.
People figured out where you worked, someone posted photos outside your apartment building, girls online started making side-by-side edits comparing you to Joe’s exes, rating who “deserved him more.”
You laughed about it the first few times. Then you cried in the bathroom at work, then you stopped sleeping properly.
Joe noticed before you said anything.
“Baby.”
You’re sitting cross-legged on his couch pretending to watch a movie while actually rereading a Reddit thread about yourself for the fifteenth time.
Joe appears in front of the TV suddenly, blocking the screen.
“Hey,” you protest weakly.
“You’ve been staring at your phone for an hour.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“You’re doomscrolling.”
You sigh dramatically. “That term is so ugly.”
“Appropriate though.” He said reaching for your phone, you yank it away instantly. Too instantly.
Joe pauses and the playful expression fades “What are you reading?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm.”
You hate when he does that little hum. That I know you’re lying but I’m trying not to push hum.
He sits beside you slowly “Can I see?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
No argument, no pressure and this was somehow worse.
You stare at the paused TV screen.
“You ever wonder,” you say quietly, “if people are embarrassed for you?”
Joe blinks. “What?”
You instantly regret speaking “Forget it.”
But he’s already focused now, brows pulling together. “No, what do you mean?”
Your chest tightens, you shouldn’t tell him, you know how this ends. You know very well:
Joe getting angry on your behalf. Joe blaming himself. Joe apologizing for strangers like he personally handpicked every psychotic fan on the internet.
Still, the words spill out anyway “People say stuff,” you mumble. “About me. About why you’re with me.”
Joe’s face hardens immediately. “What stuff?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if it’s hurting you.”
You laugh once, but your laugh was sharp “It’s the internet, Joe. Everybody’s mean.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You look away, big mistake, because once he notices your eyes watering, it’s over.
Joe gently takes your phone from your loose grip before you can stop him.
Your stomach drops.
“Joe”
Too late, his eyes scan the screen, you watch the exact moment his expression changes.
Confusion at first, then disbelief, then anger so immediate it almost looks like pain.
The thread is brutal, hundreds of comments.
Picking apart your appearance, your voice, your clothes.
Conspiracy theories about you using him for fame despite the fact that you’d literally deleted most of your social media by then.
One comment reads:
she looks like she’d bully me in high school
Another:
he downgraded so bad i’m actually grieving
And your personal favorite:
if i looked like that i’d never post my face again
Joe stares at the screen for a long time.
You feel sick.
“Say something,” you whisper.
Very quietly, Joe locks the phone and sets it face-down on the coffee table.
Then he looks at you, not disgusted, not embarrassed but devastated.
“Oh, honey.”
And that… That almost breaks you more than the comments themselves.
Because pity from Joe feels unbearable.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly.
“You are absolutely not fine.”
“It’s just stupid people online.”
“Baby, you’re shaking.”
You look down, your hands are trembling.
Shit.
Joe moves closer carefully, like he thinks sudden movements might scare you of “How long has this been going on?”
You shrug “A while.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“What was I supposed to say?” Your voice cracks unexpectedly. “Hey Joe, your fans think I’m ugly and manipulative and they wish you were dating someone hotter?”
His face twists immediately “Don’t,” he says softly.
“Don’t what?”
“Repeat that stuff like it’s true.”
You laugh again, except this one sounds dangerously close to crying.
“Hard not to internalize it after the ten-thousandth comment.”
Joe goes very still.
Then: “Delete the apps.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s not!” The words burst out harsher than intended. “Because even if I delete everything, people still know who I am now. I can’t unknow this. I can’t walk around without wondering if strangers recognize me as your girlfriend.”
Joe’s expression crumples slightly at the last two words.
Your girlfriend.
At the time, anyway.
He reaches for your hand slowly. “You didn’t ask for this.”neither did he. That’s the horrible part.
Joe never treated you like an accessory to his fame. Never acted like you should just “deal with it.”
If anything, he seemed genuinely shocked by how ugly people became once your relationship turned public.
“You know what somebody said to me yesterday?” you ask quietly.
Joe’s jaw tightens. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.” You stare at the floor. “I was getting coffee and this girl recognized me. She asked for a photo.”
Joe frowns slightly. “Okay…”
“She took the picture and then said…” You swallow hard. “‘You’re prettier in person. Joe’s fans make you sound busted.’”
“What the fuck?”
You laugh weakly because his horror would almost be funny if it didn’t hurt so much “She meant it as a compliment.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know.”
Joe rubs both hands over his face slowly. You can practically see the guilt setting in.
“Hey,” you say quickly. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But it’s happening because of me.”
“No, it’s happening because people are weird.”
“People are weird about me.”
You hate that he sounds genuinely ashamed of himself. Joe stares at the wall for a long moment before saying quietly: “I can make a statement.”
You blink. “What?”
“I’ll tell people to back off.”
“That won’t help.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they don’t see me as a real person, Joe.”
The room goes still. That one lands, you continue more softly, “To them I’m just… an obstacle. Or a projection. Or proof they can somehow lose you to somebody ordinary.”
Joe looks at you then with this awful mixture of heartbreak and helplessness.
“You’re not ordinary to me.”
And there it is, the reason this becomes impossible, because he loves you so sincerely it hurts.
The breakup happens three weeks later. Not during a fight. Not because you stopped loving him.
Honestly, that would’ve been easier. It happens on a Thursday night in Joe’s kitchen while pasta water boils untouched on the stove.
You’ve barely slept in days, somebody leaked photos of your apartment building online again.
Your mom called crying because strangers found her Facebook account.
Joe had spent the last forty-eight hours oscillating between fury and panic.
And you’re exhausted, bone-deep exhausted.
Joe is talking when you finally say it.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
He stops mid-sentence. The kitchen suddenly feels too quiet.
“What?”
You stare at the counter because if you look at him, you won’t survive this.
“I can’t live like this.”
Joe’s voice softens immediately. “Okay. Then we figure something else out.”
“There isn’t another solution.”
“We can move.”
“It’ll happen again.”
“I’ll hire security if we need to.”
“That’s not normal, Joe!”
“I don’t care about normal!”
“I do”
The words echo, joe goes silent, you press trembling hands against your eyes.
“I miss being anonymous,” you whisper. “I miss leaving my apartment without panic. I miss not feeling watched all the time.”
Joe steps closer carefully “We’ll get through it.”
You start crying instantly because he sounds so certain and you aren’t certain anymore.
“That’s the problem,” you choke out. “I don’t think I want to.”
The second the words leave your mouth, Joe looks physically hit.
Like you slapped him and you immediately regret it.
“No, that’s not what I meant….”
“Yes it is.”
“It’s not about loving you.”
“Then what is it about?”
You open your mouth then close it again.
How do you explain that loving him became tied to fear? That every sweet moment started carrying dread underneath it? That every date night became strategic exits and baseball caps and checking over your shoulder? That strangers took something beautiful and made it feel dangerous?
Joe’s eyes are glassy now.
“You want to leave.”
It isn’t accusatory. You start sobbing harder.
“I’m so tired.”
Joe’s expression shatters, immediately he pulls you against him on instinct.
You let him, of course you do. He holds you while you cry into his sweatshirt, one hand cradling the back of your head.
“It’s okay,” he whispers automatically, but both of you know it isn’t.
After a long time, you finally force yourself to pull away, joe looks wrecked.
Red-eyed already.
“You deserve somebody who can handle this better,” you whisper.
His face crumples instantly “I don’t want somebody else.”
You nearly cave right there, nearly take it all back but then your phone buzzes on the counter.
Another notification, another stranger, another reminder.
You stare at it numbly, Joe follows your gaze.
Something in him breaks a little, because now he understands.
It’s not him you’re running from, it’s what loving him has done to your life and maybe that hurts even more.
“Please don’t do this,” he says quietly.
God.
You’ll hear that sentence in your nightmares later.
“I have to.”
Joe wipes at his face angrily “You’re really gonna walk out because of people who don’t even know us?”
“No,” you whisper. “I’m walking out because I don’t know myself anymore.”
That silences him, and when you finally leave his apartment that night, Joe doesn’t chase after you.
Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he loves you enough to let you go anyway.
Three months after the breakup, you become excellent at pretending. You pretend you don’t still sleep on the far left side of the bed because Joe always stole the right. You pretend hearing his songs in grocery stores doesn’t make your stomach drop. You pretend you don’t still instinctively reach for your phone every time something funny happens because for almost two years Joe was the first person you told everything to.
Mostly, though, you pretend you were the one who wanted this and That’s the hardest lie.
Because the breakup starts to calcify online almost immediately, fans celebrate, not openly at first, they disguise it as concern
they just weren’t compatible
honestly he seems happier now
she never fit his vibe anyway
But eventually people stop pretending.
Edits of Joe flood TikTok again with captions like:
HE’S FREEEEEE
And
we survived the war ladies
One tweet with over eighty thousand likes reads: joe keery beating the loser girlfriend allegations we all cheered
You stare at it in bed at two in the morning until your vision blurs, then you finally do something your therapist has been begging you to do for weeks. You delete every social media app.
Every single one, Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, Reddit. They are all gone.
The silence afterward feels unnatural. For the first week, your fingers twitch toward apps that aren’t there anymore.
You keep wondering what people are saying. Whether Joe’s been photographed with someone new, whether fans are still celebrating your disappearance.
Then slowly quietly and in the absence of constant noise, something terrifying happens.
You start missing him clearly again, not through panic, not through stress.
Just… honestly.
You miss the real things: joe singing absentmindedly while cooking, Joe’s stupid impressions, Joe tugging your legs into his lap during movie nights without even thinking about it, Joe kissing your forehead every single time he passed you in the apartment like affection was reflexive for him.
You miss being loved by someone gentle and unfortunately, therapy can’t fix that part.
“You should date,” your friend tells you over wine one night.
You stare at her like she suggested arson “No.”
“It’s been months.”
“I’d rather actually die.”
She snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m grieving.”
“You broke up with him months ago.”
“Against my will emotionally.”
“That’s not how breakups work.”
You sink lower into the couch. “I genuinely think Joe Keery ruined men for me.”
Your friend points her wine glass at you. “That’s the first sane thing you’ve said all night.”
You laugh despite yourself, then immediately get quiet again. Her expression softens “You still love him.”
You stare down at your drink “Yeah.” You said looking down, a knot forming into your throat
“Then why are you acting like this breakup is irreversible?”
“Because I hurt him.”
“You left because you were drowning.”
“I still hurt him.”
She sighs. “Okay. Maybe. But do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think if that man loved you enough to fight the internet for you, he probably still loves you now.”
Your throat tightens with more intensity and you look away before she notices.
Joe, meanwhile, becomes impossible to avoid accidentally not in person, online, or technically offline now, since your friends keep involuntarily updating you.
“You know he mentioned you again in an interview?”
“Nope,” you say immediately. “Don’t tell me.”
Your friend ignores you.
“He said, and I quote ‘Some things are too important to turn into performance.’”
You close your eyes “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Why is he like this?”
She looks deeply amused. “Like what?”
“Like a divorced poet from 1972.”
The worst part is that Joe never publicly moves on, no mysterious girlfriends, no rebound headlines. Nothing, which should not matter. And yet one night, unable to sleep, you make the catastrophic decision to google him for the first time in weeks.
Big mistake. You find paparazzi photos from two days ago.
Joe leaving a studio in a hoodie and sunglasses looking exhausted. The comments underneath are suddenly different now. People saying he looks sad, saying they miss how happy he looked last year.
One comment reads:
lowkey think we bullied that girl out of his life
You stare at the sentence for a very long time. Then close the laptop before you can spiral.
Too late though because now your chest hurts again.
The first time you see Joe after the breakup is worse than you imagined because this time he’s tipsy.
You’re at a mutual friend’s birthday party in Silver Lake, something you almost didn’t attend specifically because you knew there was a chance he’d be there but your friend convinced you.
“You cannot reorganize your entire life around avoiding your ex forever.”
Turns out maybe you can, because the second you walk into the backyard and spot Joe leaning against the railing with a beer bottle in hand, your soul nearly exits your body.
He notices you immediately. For a moment neither of you moves.
Then his expression changes into something small and startled and painfully warm all at once, like seeing you still catches him off guard.
“Hey,” he says.
God. That voice.
“Hi.”
Joe sets his drink down immediately, you notice he’s wearing the sweater you bought him last Christmas. Which feels illegal somehow.
“You came,” he says before seeming to realize how that sounds. “I mean…not that you wouldn’t—I just…”
You smile despite yourself. He exhales a little like the sight of that smile physically relieves him.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
“You already asked me that at the grocery store.”
“Right.” He laughs softly. “Still bad at this.”
There’s music playing somewhere inside the house. People talking. Glasses clinking, but suddenly all of it feels distant. Because Joe is looking at you in that terrible attentive way again, like the entire room rearranges itself around your existence.
“You look good,” he says quietly.
Your stomach flips traitorously“So do you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It’s a polite one.”
Joe laughs again, more genuine this time.
God, you missed that sound. You missed him. You missed him so much it became background radiation in your life.
Before you can stop yourself, your eyes flick toward the beer in his hand.
Joe notices instantly “I’m not spiraling, by the way.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You thought it.”
You shrug weakly. “You look tired.”
His expression shifts he became more serious now
“Yeah.”
Something in your chest twists painfully, because once upon a time, exhaustion in Joe was something you knew how to fix.
You knew how he liked his coffee, how he needed quiet after long shoots, how he got overstimulated at crowded events and squeezed your hand twice when he wanted to leave.
Now you stand three feet away from him feeling useless.
“I heard you deleted social media,” he says after a moment.
Your eyebrows lift. “Who told you that?”
“You disappeared.”
The simplicity of it hurts, he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I actually almost texted you when I realized.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His eyes meet yours “Didn’t think I was allowed to miss you out loud anymore.”
Your breath catches embarrassingly fast.
“Joe…”
“I’m serious.” He gives this small helpless laugh. “I keep trying to do the respectful ex-boyfriend thing and then I see you and suddenly I’m seventeen emotionally.”
You look down quickly because your eyes are burning already “I didn’t stop loving you,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.
When you finally look up again, Joe is staring at you like the earth just tilted off its axis “You didn’t?”
The vulnerability in his voice nearly kills you.
“No.” Your throat aches. “I just couldn’t survive what everything became.”
Joe’s jaw tightens slightly “I know.”
“No, I mean it literally.” Your voice shakes now. “I was anxious all the time. I stopped eating properly. I stopped going places alone. Every notification made me panic.”
Joe looks physically sick hearing it said out loud “You should’ve told me how bad it got.”
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
“I felt guilty anyway.”
You laugh weakly through the tears threatening your composure “Yeah, I figured.”
Joe takes a small step closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you can smell his cologne again.
Immediately your stupid heart reacts.
“I hated myself after you left,” he admits quietly.
Your eyes widen. “Joe…”
“Not because you left. Because I kept thinking…” He swallows hard. “What kind of life was I giving you if loving me made you afraid all the time?”
The ache in your chest becomes almost unbearable “You gave me good things too.”
Joe looks at you then, really looks at you “And were they worth it?”
You open your mouth to speak, but then you close it again, because that’s the horrible impossible question, isn’t it? Was loving Joe worth losing pieces of yourself?
And somehow your answer is still immediate.
“Yes.”
Joe inhales sharply, you continue before you lose courage “I think I’d do it all again just to know you.”
That wrecks him, you see it happen in real time.
Joe looks away abruptly, rubbing a hand over his face.
When he speaks again, his voice is rough “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve spent months trying to convince myself letting you go was the right thing.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
“And now?”
Joe laughs once, it is a small and broken laugh “Now you’re standing here looking at me like that and I feel completely fucked.”
You stare at each other. The air changes. You feel it happens. That terrifying magnetic pull that never actually disappeared.
Joe notices too, you can tell by the way his breathing shifts slightly.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
Your heartbeat stumbles “What?”
“The way I’m looking at you right now.” His eyes flick briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
You should. You absolutely should.
Instead you whisper “I don’t think I want you to.”
Joe’s composure breaks instantly, he crosses the distance between you so fast it almost startles you. Then stops himself at the last second.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.
And that almost undoes you completely. Because even now, after heartbreak and months apart and all the ways this relationship became painful Joe still asks.
You nod before your brain catches up with you. Joe exhales shakily like he’s been holding his breath for months.
Then he kisses you, and it is not cinematic, there are no fireworks.
It’s familiar. The exact softness of his mouth, the way his hand instinctively slides to your waist like muscle memory never left him, the tiny sound he makes when you kiss him back harder.
Your entire body recognizes him immediately, and suddenly three months apart feels both impossibly long and not long at all. Joe kisses you like he’s trying not to overwhelm you, like he still isn’t fully convinced you’re real.
Then you grab the front of his sweater and something in him snaps, his other hand cradles your jaw, the kiss deepens.
And God
You missed this. Missed him. Missed the way Joe always kisses like he means it.
When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathing unevenly. Joe rests his forehead against yours.
“Well,” he murmurs breathlessly. “That seems emotionally catastrophic.”
You burst out laughing, actually laughing, and Joe immediately smiles at the sound like sunlight just hit him directly in the face.
“There’s that laugh,” he says quietly.
Your chest aches because he sounds like he missed it desperately.
“You’re such an idiot,” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
But he says it fondly, like maybe being an idiot got him this moment back.
Music drifts faintly from inside the house. Someone shouts over a drinking game. The whole world continues around you while Joe keeps looking at you like he’s terrified to blink and lose you again.
Then reality creeps back in. Cold and sharp.
Your smile fades first, he notices instantly and his hands loosen slightly on you “What?”
You swallow. “This doesn’t fix anything.”
Pain flickers across his face, but he nods immediately. “I know.”
Your voice shakes now. “We can’t just kiss and pretend the last year didn’t happen.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“Your fans still exist.”
The words land hard Joe goes still and suddenly you hate yourself for bringing it up because the softness in his expression gets replaced with that familiar guilt again.
“I know,” he says quietly.
You step back then, arms wrapping around yourself instinctively “I don’t think I can survive going through all that another time.”
Joe watches you carefully.
“You know what the worst part was?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
His face tightens slightly. “What?”
“I started resenting being seen with you.”
The confession hangs there ugly and awful. You rush to continue.
“Not because of you. Never because of you. But because every nice thing became…” You laugh shakily. “A risk assessment.”
Joe’s eyes lower.
You continue softly, “Dinner dates became wondering if someone would photograph us. Vacations became checking whether hotel staff leaked information. Going outside became trying to figure out if strangers recognized me.”
Joe rubs a hand over his mouth, you can practically see his heart breaking all over again.
“I’d catch myself getting anxious every time you reached for my hand in public,” you whisper. “And I hated myself for that.”
Joe’s voice comes rough. “Hey.”
You look up.
“That is not your fault.”
Tears sting instantly.
“You say that like it changes how ashamed I feel.”
Joe steps closer again carefully “Look at me.”
You do and there he is
“I never once thought you were weak for leaving,” he says quietly. “I thought you were overwhelmed. There’s a difference.”
Your throat tightens painfully.
“You were angry though.”
“Of course I was angry.” He laughs once without humor. “I was losing the person I loved most.”
Loved.
Present tense disguised as past tense.
You notice, apparently Joe notices you noticing because he sighs softly and looks away for a second.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
His eyes flick back to yours carefully “You know what really killed me after the breakup?” he asks.
“What?”
“That everybody acted like they won.”
Your breath catches, Joe’s jaw tightens slightly now, months of swallowed bitterness finally surfacing around the edges.
“People were congratulating me,” he says quietly. “Like I escaped something.”
You stare at him.
“I’d go online and see strangers celebrating losing you like it was some kind of team sport.” He laughs once, hollow. “And all I could think was, congratulations, I guess. You bullied somebody I loved until she couldn’t do it anymore.”
The tears come instantly after that.
“Joe…”
“No, seriously.” His eyes shine under the backyard lights. “Do you know how insane it felt? Watching people who never met you decide they knew what was best for me?”
You wipe angrily at your face. “I didn’t want you fighting with your fans because of me.”
“They weren’t fans in those moments.” His voice sharpens unexpectedly. “People who enjoy hurting you aren’t loving me. That’s not the same thing.”
The certainty in his tone hits somewhere deep inside you.
For months you’d carried this quiet humiliation around like maybe the cruelty had been inevitable. Maybe this was simply the price of loving someone famous, but hearing Joe reject it so plainly cracks something open in your chest.
He notices your expression immediately and softens.
“I’m sorry,” he says more quietly. “I just… i spent so long being careful about what I said publicly because I didn’t want to make things worse for you.” He swallows. “But I hated watching you disappear.”
Your throat tightens painfully.
“I didn’t disappear.”
Joe gives you a look “You deleted yourself from the internet,” he says gently. “You stopped going places. Half our friends said you barely answered texts for a while.” His eyes search yours carefully. “You looked scared all the time near the end.”
The shame returns hot and immediate.
“I know.”
Joe shakes his head instantly. “Hey. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty.”
“I just hate that it changed me.”
His expression softens into something unbearably tender.
“Of course it changed you.”
The music from inside swells briefly when somebody opens the back door. Laughter spills into the yard before fading again.
Neither of you moves.
“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you whisper after a moment.
Joe closes his eyes briefly like that sentence physically hurts.
“I know you did.”
“I loved you enough to leave.”
His face crumples slightly at that.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “And I loved you enough to let you.”
Silence settles between you again, heavy and intimate. Then Joe looks down at the ground and says, almost to himself, “Still think that might’ve been the worst decision of my life.”
Your heart stutters.
“Joe…”
“No, I mean it.” He laughs softly without amusement. “I kept trying to convince myself that if I really cared about you, I should stay away. Give you your peace back.” His eyes lift to yours again. “But every day without you felt wrong.”
You can barely breathe suddenly.
“I’d reach for my phone constantly,” he continues. “Every stupid thing reminded me of you.” A tiny smile flickers. “Saw a woman drop an entire iced coffee in a parking lot last month and my first thought was I need to tell…”
He cut himself off abruptly, your lips part despite yourself.
Joe shakes his head once, embarrassed. “See? It’s still automatic.”
Emotion climbs your throat so fast it almost hurts.
“For me too,” you admit quietly.
His eyes close briefly.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers.
The vulnerability in that tiny reaction nearly undoes you, you look away first because suddenly the eye contact feels too intimate, too revealing after months spent trying to cauterize this wound shut.
“I don’t know what happens now,” you admit.
“Neither do I.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Yeah.”
You laugh weakly through lingering tears. “Great. Awesome. Love that for us.”
Joe smiles immediately, helplessly, like your sense of humor still catches him off guard in the best way.
“There you are again,” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips “What?”
“That version of you.” He gestures vaguely. “The one who says weird little shit when she’s emotional.”
You groan softly. “Please never describe me like that again.”
“No promises.”
God. There he is. Not the version of Joe the internet built in your head over the last few months. Not headlines or edits or paparazzi photos.
Just him, warm, earnest, slightly awkward when he cares too much.
The man you loved before strangers got involved.
The realization hits hard enough to make your chest ache. Joe notices you getting quiet again “What’s happening in your head right now?” he asks softly.
“I think I’m realizing the internet made me forget you’re a person too.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“Not permanently. I just… everything got so loud. Everybody had opinions about us all the time. About me. About whether I deserved you.” Your voice shakes faintly. “And eventually I started seeing you through all that noise instead of as just… Joe.”
Something vulnerable flickers across his face.
“That happened to me too sometimes,” he admits quietly.
You blink. “What?”
Joe leans back against the railing slightly, looking almost ashamed.
“There were days near the end where I’d see paparazzi outside and immediately panic about how stressed you were gonna be.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “And then I’d start feeling guilty before we even went anywhere.”
Your chest twists.
“I hated that,” he says softly. “Hated feeling like being with me was hurting you in real time.”
“You weren’t hurting me.”
“But my life was.”
Neither of you argues after that because it’s true.
Joe exhales slowly “I think we stopped getting to just be together,” he says. “Everything became defensive.”
You nod immediately because yes. Exactly that.
Every outing calculated. Every post scrutinized. Every public moment filtered through the awareness that strangers were watching, judging, documenting.
“You know what I miss most?” Joe asks suddenly.
“What?”
“You holding my hand first.”
The answer catches you off guard “What?”
He smiles faintly, sad around the edges “You stopped doing it near the end.”
Your stomach drops because he’s right, not consciously at first. But eventually you’d started waiting for him to initiate affection in public because you became afraid of what attention it might attract.
“I didn’t even realize,” you whisper.
“I know.”
There’s no accusation in it. Somehow that makes it worse.
Joe studies your face carefully for a long moment.
“Come here,” he says softly.
You hesitate only a second before stepping back into his space.
His arms wrap around you instantly, instinctively, like they remember exactly where you fit.
The second he pulls you against his chest, your entire nervous system betrays you.
Relief floods through you so fast it’s almost dizzying.
Joe exhales shakily too, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
Your eyes burn immediately. You forgot how safe he felt.
You clutch the fabric of his sweater tighter.
“I’m scared,” you admit into his chest.
“I know.”
“What if it just happens again?”
Joe is quiet for a long moment.
Then he says carefully, “Then maybe we do it differently.”
You pull back enough to look at him. “Differently how?”
“I don’t know yet.” His thumb brushes beneath your eye gently, wiping away lingering tears. “More boundaries. Less access. More private.” A small humorless smile. “Maybe I stop pretending I owe strangers unlimited pieces of my life.”
You stare at him.
Joe shrugs slightly. “I should’ve protected you better.”
“You couldn’t control people.”
“No. But I could’ve stopped acting like enduring it silently was the mature option.”
Something about the conviction in his voice makes your heartbeat shift.
“You really mean that.”
“Yeah.” He looks at you steadily. “Losing you clarified some priorities for me.”
Emotion swells painfully in your chest again.
Inside the house, someone starts loudly singing along to a song off-key. A burst of laughter follows.
Neither of you even glances toward the noise.
Joe’s entire focus stays on you “I don’t need us to decide everything tonight,” he says softly. “I just…” He exhales shakily. “Can you at least admit this still exists?”
You look at him, at the tiredness under his eyes, at the hope he’s trying very hard not to let become expectation, at the man who loved you enough to let you leave even when it destroyed him, and maybe your therapist would say this is reckless. Maybe your friends would call it emotionally dangerous.
But the truth arrives clean and undeniable anyway.
“It never stopped existing,” you whisper.
Joe closes his eyes briefly like the sentence physically hits him.
When he opens them again, they’re suspiciously bright.
“Okay,” he says quietly careful with it.
Like your love is something breakable he’s being trusted to hold again.
Hii can I request something like joe stopping whatever he's doing when reader asks for a hug or kiss randomly when he's doing work
“electric lady”
☆ joe keery x fem!reader ☆
hi !! thank u for the request 😭 this is a short one cause i literally sat down and wrote this in 10 minutes, i can actually picture him and the guys doing this <3 requests are still open btw !!
summary: joe’s trying to work on music in the studio when you come back with food and immediately interrupt him for attention. nobody really reacts anymore because this happens basically every day.
word count: 726
warnings: established relationship, fluff, clingy reader, kissing, no use of y/n
The studio door opened quietly enough that nobody really reacted.
Not because they didn’t hear it, but because they already knew it was you.
At this point, you’d spent enough time there that nobody even questioned it anymore. You came and went whenever you wanted, disappeared to grab coffee or food or run errands, came back an hour later carrying bags and drinks, and somehow always knew exactly what everyone wanted without asking.
So when the door clicked shut behind you and a paper bag landed on the table near the couch, nobody even looked up.
Wesley was still tapping a rhythm against his leg while staring at something on his phone, Adam was leaned over the synth muttering to himself about levels, and Trent was digging through cables on the floor trying to find something he’d apparently lost twenty minutes ago.
“Food’s here,” you announced casually.
“Love you,” someone answered from across the room immediately.
“Noted.”
Joe was standing at the keyboard setup near the middle of the room, one hand still resting against the keys while he replayed the same melody over and over under his breath.
You walked over behind him quietly before resting both hands against his shoulders.
Joe turned his head slightly the second he felt you touch him, and the second he realized it was you, his entire expression softened automatically.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“Hi.”
He turned around properly then, leaning down just enough to kiss you quickly without fully stepping away from the keyboard, one hand still absentmindedly resting near the controls the entire time.
You smiled a little when he pulled back.
“Give me a hug.”
Joe laughed softly through his nose like you were unbelievably demanding, but he was already opening his arms for you.
“There,” he mumbled once you wrapped your arms around him. “Happy?”
“No. Better hug.”
“Oh my God,” Adam muttered from somewhere behind you without even looking over.
Joe ignored him completely, pulling you closer for another few seconds while resting his chin briefly on top of your head.
“You’re clingy today,” he said.
“You texted me to come back faster like four times.”
“Yeah, because you left.”
Trent finally glanced over from the couch. “You guys are disgusting.”
“Remember when you literally called her crying because she forgot your fries once,” Wesley reminded him immediately.
“That was different.”
Joe laughed quietly against your hair before loosening his arms around you and turning back toward the keyboard again, fingers immediately finding the keys like his brain physically couldn’t stay away from the song for too long.
You stayed there beside him for another second, watching him replay the same part again.
Then you tapped his arm lightly.
Joe looked over immediately. “What?”
“One more kiss.”
Adam groaned loudly from across the room.
“Jesus Christ.”
Joe just smiled a little before leaning over again without hesitation, kissing you one more time while the keyboard notes still echoed softly through the studio speakers.
they genuinely act like everyone else in the room disappears 😭 thank you for the request <3
warning: ANOTHER TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF GO SEE YOUR DENTIST
summary: after spending domestic times together, joe's trip to japan makes both of you realize something. also, his sisters clicked it when they found out you're not a grandma.
issy talks: thank you so much everyone for supporting this fic. also, thank you to @eller41 so suggesting joe's sister found out she's not a grandma and tells him he's inlove by the way he's talking about her.
part 1 part 2 taglist: @bdllvr @sensiblyfreshtroll @roseosstuff @maferin @valentine-night @batmanssssss @eller41 @dramallama9 @psicodelica-me @fionaisinlove just tell me if u want to be added to the taglist, mwa!
With Joe Keery’s schedule getting tighter lately, your guitar lessons have turned into something flexible—moved around between rehearsals, interviews, late-night studio sessions, and sudden flights.
Every time he apologizes for rescheduling, he looks genuinely guilty about it. And every time, you just smile and tell him it’s okay. Because it is.
You understand. At least, that’s what you keep telling him, it doesn’t really matter anyway.
Not when the two of you somehow keep finding your way back to each other.
Sometimes it’s quick elevator conversations that stretch longer than intended. Sometimes it’s coffee at midnight in your apartment while Ella Fitzgerald hums softly in the background. Sometimes it’s him sprawled across your couch with Ponkan asleep on his chest while you test recipes beside him.
And sometimes, it’s this. Joe sitting on your kitchen counter again, long legs dangling slightly as he eats the pasta you made him like he hasn’t had a proper meal in days.
Your apartment smells like garlic, butter, and something warm simmering on the stove. Outside, the city glows quietly beyond the windows, but inside everything feels softer somehow.
Joe twirls the pasta around his fork before looking at you again. “Are you really sure you don’t want anything?” he asks for what feels like the fifth time tonight.
You laugh softly, shaking your head as you take another bite from your own plate. “Yes, Joe,” you say, amused. “Please stop worrying about me and go have fun in Japan.”
He watches you carefully for a second, like he’s trying to make sure you mean it. Because underneath the excitement sitting in his chest—the tour, the music, the movement—there’s still reluctance there too.
The kind that tastes bittersweet.
“Still,” he mutters, quieter now. “Feels weird leaving.”
Something in your chest softens at that. You smile anyway. “You’ll be back before you know it.”
Joe exhales through a small laugh, setting his fork down briefly. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I will.”
That was last night.
The memory still lingers warm in your chest—the smell of pasta sauce, the sound of his laugh, the way he hugged you goodbye at the door a little longer than usual before heading downstairs to meet his bandmates.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Being away from you is strange, not painful exactly. Just… strange in the way missing a song halfway through feels strange. Like something familiar keeps trying to play in the background of his day, but the ending never comes.
So Joe Keery texts you constantly. Not in an overwhelming way. Just little things, small pieces of his day he keeps wanting to hand to you first.
Photos arrive in your messages at random hours. A blurry picture of neon lights outside his hotel window. A convenience store snack he swears “changed his life.” His bandmates making faces in the background during dinner. A tiny kid at a fan signing holding one of his records upside down while grinning proudly.
And always, there’s a message attached.
joe: you would LOVE this place
joe: their matcha is insane
joe: like actually life changing
You smile to yourself before replying.
you: japan’s matcha is the best
you: enjoy it for me too
you: and be safe pls
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Disappear.
Appear again.
joe: yes chef 🫡
You send things too. Ponkan asleep belly-up in increasingly ridiculous positions. Fresh pastries cooling by the window. Rain against your café glass during closing time. A blurry picture of the espresso machine because “she survived another morning rush.”
Joe saves almost every single one. Especially the ones with you accidentally reflected in the glass somewhere.
One night, you send a picture of a failed pastry attempt, cream spilling sideways off the plate.
you: tragedy struck today
Joe laughs quietly to himself in his hotel room before replying.
joe: still looks better than anything ive ever made
joe: ahh i miss you
joe:...
joe: i mean NEW YORK
joe: obviously
You stare at the message for a second longer than necessary before laughing softly to yourself.
you: mhm sure joe
On the other side of the world, Joe buries his face into his hotel pillow.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
A few days later, after a long fan signing event and an interview that drained almost all remaining energy from him, Joe finally has a quiet evening to himself.
Which should feel relaxing. Instead, he keeps seeing things that remind him of you.
A café with floral curtains.
A ceramic mug shaped like a cat.
A bakery window glowing warm against the cold evening air.
It’s ridiculous. Honestly ridiculous but suddenly all he wants is to bring pieces of this place back for you. So he calls his sisters. The second the FaceTime connects, chaos erupts.
“Joe! How’s Japan?”
“Are you having fun?”
“Can you bring me snacks?”
“Wait—how’s the grandma?”
Joe bursts out laughing so suddenly he nearly drops his phone.
“Okay okay, hold on—”
His sisters keep talking over each other anyway.
“Did she bake you more cookies?”
“Are you surviving without your old lady pastries?”
“Joe probably misses her more than us.”
“He’s not coming home to us.”
“She’s NOT a grandma,” Joe finally says, still laughing. Silence, then…
“WHAT?”
All of them stare at him like he personally committed betrayal.
“You told us she was eighty or seventy!”
“I never said eighty!”
“You implied eighty, Joseph!”
Joe shakes his head, grinning helplessly. “Okay, fine. I was wrong.”
“Oh my god,” one sister gasps dramatically. “Tell us everything immediately.”
Joe leans back against the hotel bed, rubbing a hand over his face and somehow, once he starts talking he can’t really stop.
“She just…” he pauses, smiling a little to himself already. “She likes baking and jazz and vinyls. So I thought—”
“You profiled her as elderly,” one sister interrupts.
“Yes,” Joe sighs. “And I regret it deeply.”
His sisters laugh loudly. “But then I met her and—” He stops not because he doesn’t know what to say. But because suddenly there’s too much. Too many little things.
“She owns this tiny café,” he says eventually, softer now. “Like, really small. Kinda hidden too. But it smells like coffee and sugar all the time.”
His sisters go quiet, listening now. “And she makes everything herself,” Joe continues. “Pastries, drinks, all of it. And you can tell.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Joe says, trying to explain something that feels impossible to explain. “Everything she makes tastes… cared for.”
That earns immediate groans. “Oh, he’s gone.”
“No seriously,” Joe insists, laughing. “Like—you know when someone puts extra effort into tiny things because they genuinely want people to feel happy?”
His sisters exchange looks.
Joe keeps going anyway. “She talks about recipes like they’re stories,” he says. “And her eyes do this thing when she gets excited—” he stops abruptly.
“…what thing?” one sister asks slowly.
Joe blinks. “…nothing.”
“JOE.”
He groans, covering his face with one hand. “She just gets really happy, okay?” His sisters are smiling now. Big, knowing smiles. “And she has this orange cat,” Joe continues quickly, trying to redirect. “Ponkan. Evil little guy.”
“Not important,” one sister says immediately. “Continue talking about your wife.”
“She’s not my wife!”
“Yet,” another adds.
Joe laughs despite himself, shaking his head but then his expression softens again. “There’s just something about her apartment,” he admits quietly. “It’s… calm there.”
The room grows quieter after that.
Joe looks down briefly before continuing. “Like no matter how shitty the day was, I go there and suddenly everything slows down.”
His sisters don’t tease him this time because they hear it now too. The softness in his voice. The way he says your name without even realizing it.
Finally, one of them sighs dramatically. “Joe Keery,” she says. “You are so in love.”
Joe immediately sits up straighter. “No, I’m not.”
All sisters stare at him.
“Oh please.”
“That’s insane.”
“You literally sound like you’re describing a romance movie.”
“Are you watching romcoms now?”
Joe opens his mouth and closes it. “…is it obvious?”
“To us?” one sister says. “Painfully.”
“To her?” another adds. “Honestly? Hard to tell.”
Joe groans, falling backward onto the bed. “This is terrible.”
“No,” his sister laughs. “This is adorable.”
A beat passes then Joe sits up again suddenly. “Wait, actually, can you help me buy her something?”
All sisters immediately burst into laughter.
“There it is.”
“Oh my god.”
“He wants to buy her gifts already.”
“Don’t save him, he’s right where he wants to be.”
Joe points accusingly at the screen. “Can you focus?”
“Okay, okay,” one sister says, still grinning. “What does she like?”
Joe thinks for a second then his face brightens. “Oh.”
His sisters immediately notice. “Oh no,” one mutters. “That look again.”
“She collects Sanrio mugs,” Joe says. “She has this My Melody one she really likes.”
“Aww.”
“That’s actually so cute.”
“You need to buy her one.”
Joe nods immediately, already mentally committed. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I will.”
And the smile on his face afterward, a small, helpless, impossibly fond looks an awful lot like love.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Tokyo feels alive in a way Joe can’t fully explain.
Everything glows.
Neon signs stacked on top of each other, train stations humming endlessly with movement, tiny cafés tucked between buildings like secrets waiting to be found. The city feels fast and bright and restless—but somehow soft at the same time.
Joe likes it immediately.
Especially because every few minutes, he catches himself thinking: You would love this.
Which is exactly how he ends up stopping in the middle of the sidewalk that afternoon.
One of his friends nearly walks into him. “Dude—what?”
But Joe isn’t listening anymore because through the glass storefront in front of him, he spots something painfully familiar. A tiny pink character smiling back at him from a shelf.
Then another.
Then another.
Joe squints slightly. “…no way.”
His friend follows his line of sight. “Oh no,” he says immediately. “You’re thinking about her again.”
Joe ignores him completely and pushes the door open.
The store smells faintly like paper and vanilla-scented air freshener. Bright plushies and pastel shelves crowd every corner, soft music playing quietly overhead.
And there right in the center is the exact character printed on your mug. The same one on your bandaids.
The same one you once spent five full minutes explaining the lore of while Joe tried—and failed not to laugh.
“My Melody,” you had said seriously, holding your mug carefully. “She’s sweeter than Hello Kitty.”
Joe had stared at you. “You know lore?”
“She’s not just a character, Joe.” And honestly? The way you looked offended about it was one of the cutest things he’d ever seen.
Now, standing in the middle of a Japanese gift shop thousands of miles away from you, Joe suddenly finds himself grinning like an idiot.
“Oh, he’s smiling,” one of his friends teases quietly. “That’s bad.”
“Shut up.”
Joe picks up one mug.
Then another okay maybe six.
Then a small spoon set.
Then matching plates.
Then somehow an entire collection.
“You are absolutely in love,” his friend mutters.
“I’m literally just buying gifts.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
An older Japanese man accompanying their group notices the growing pile in Joe’s arms and laughs softly. He says something to the sales lady first before turning toward Joe with amused eyes.
“For your niece?” the man asks kindly.
Joe looks down at the mugs.
At the tiny pink bows.
At the little details he knows would make you smile instantly.
And without even thinking about it he smiles, a small fond smile.
“No,” he says softly. “For someone.”
The older man studies his expression for a second. Then his smile widens knowingly. “Ah,” he says. “Must be very special then.”
Joe should deny it or should laugh it off. Instead, he looks back at the shelf for a moment, already imagining your reaction.
The way your eyes will light up. The way you’ll hold the mug carefully like it’s something precious. The way your whole face softens whenever someone remembers small things about you.
And suddenly missing you feels a little too big for his chest.
“Yeah,” Joe admits quietly. “She really is.”
The rest of the day passes in soft little moments. Joe walks through crowded streets with shopping bags hanging from both arms, stopping every now and then whenever something reminds him of someone he loves.
Snacks for his sisters.
Keychains.
Tiny souvenirs.
But somehow he keeps finding more things for you too.
A cat-shaped spoon rest because it looks like Ponkan.
A notebook with tiny strawberries on the cover because it feels like something you’d leave recipe ideas in.
Packets of matcha he insists are “life-changing.”
His friends stop questioning it after a while. Mostly because every time Joe talks about you now, he gets this look on his face.
Soft.
Gone.
Like his heart already lives somewhere else.
By evening, he’s sitting at a tiny café tucked away from the noise of the city, a warm matcha latte between his hands. Rain taps softly against the windows. The café smells like milk bread and sugar and before he can stop himself, Joe reaches for his phone.
Snaps a picture.
Then another. The lighting is pretty, he tells himself.
That’s all.
But even he doesn’t believe that anymore.
joe: okay you were right
joe: japan matcha wins
joe: i fear youve ruined american matcha for me forever
A reply comes a minute later.
you: finally. character development
Joe laughs softly into his drink.Then another message appears.
you: did you have fun today?
and God something about that question. Like you genuinely care about the answer. Joe leans back in his chair, smiling helplessly to himself before typing back.
joe: yeah
joe: but i kept seeing things that reminded me of you
He stares at the message for two whole seconds after sending it.
“…oh my god,” he whispers immediately.
His friend across the table looks up.
“What did you do?”
Joe drops his face into his hands. “I might actually be in love with her.”
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Meanwhile, oceans away your apartment feels quieter than usual. You catch yourself glancing toward Joe Keery’s apartment door more often now.
Small unconscious things.
Looking up every time footsteps echo down the hallway.
Pausing whenever the elevator dings. Half-expecting his voice to drift through the walls at any second.
“Hey,” warm and easy, like he’s been there all along.
But the hallway stays still. And somehow, that makes his absence feel louder.
You miss the little things most. The soft sound of his guitar bleeding faintly through the walls late at night because he thinks no one can hear him. The way he hums absentmindedly while unlocking his apartment door.
The random knocks at your door followed by:
“I bought too much takeout again.”
As if either of you believe that anymore.
Tonight, your turntable spins softly in the corner of your apartment, but halfway through the song, you pause it. The sudden silence settles around the room.
Then very faintly through memory more than sound you remember Joe’s guitar.
The low strumming.
The unfinished melodies.
The way his music always sounded softer through the walls somehow.
Like hearing someone think out loud and against your will your chest aches a little.
Warmly.
Terribly.
“Earth to you, young lady.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts.
You blink, looking up. Mr. 6D sits across from you at the small chess table near his apartment door, watching you with deeply amused eyes.
Your brows lift slightly. “…sorry.”
“You’ve been staring at the same chess piece for two minutes,” he says.
You glance down.
Right.
Your turn.
“Oh,” you mumble, quickly moving your knight. “There.”
The old man looks at the board. Then at you. Then bursts into laughter.
“You just sacrificed your bishop.”
You stare. “…that’s a pawn.”
“Exactly my point.”
You drop your face into your hands immediately. “Oh my god.”
The old man laughs harder, shaking his head fondly. “You miss him.”
Your head shoots up instantly. “What? No, I don’t.”
The old man gives you a look. The kind older people give when they already know the truth before you do.
“Young lady,” he says calmly, “you have spent the last ten minutes looking at Joe’s apartment door like it stole your flour.”
You gasp softly. “I have not.”
“You also just tried to move your pawn diagonally.”
You groan. “I’m pathetic.”
“No,” he says warmly. “You’re in love.”
You nearly choke. “I am NOT.”
“Hm.”
The sound alone is enough to make you defensive. “You are literally making things up.”
The old man simply moves his queen across the board. “Then call him.”
You blink. “What?”
“Call him,” he repeats. “Stop looking at the poor boy’s door like a sad Victorian widow.”
That pulls a laugh out of you despite yourself. “He’s probably busy.”
“Maybe,” the old man shrugs. “But I doubt he’d mind hearing your voice.”
And somehow that thought alone makes your stomach flutter.
You hesitate for another full minute before finally reaching for your phone. Mr. 6D watches with entirely too much satisfaction.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter.
“Young love is beautiful.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’re stalling.”
You glare at him once before pressing call. The line rings.
Once.
Twice.
Then suddenly the screen lights up and there he is. Joe appears slightly breathless, hair messy which made you think he just woke up. The second he sees you his entire face softens. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Hey,” he says immediately, smiling so quickly it feels instinctive.
God. You didn’t realize how much you missed that smile until now.
Your own appears before you can stop it. “Hey, Joe.”
For a second neither of you says anything. Just smiling at each other like idiots. Then both of you speak at once.
“How are—”
“Sorry, did I—”
You stop and laughs. Joe laughs too, shaking his head.
“You go first.”
“No, you—”
“You called me,” he points out.
“Right.”
Your smile grows a little sheepish. “Uh… I hope you’re not busy.”
Joe answers so fast it’s almost embarrassing. “Nope.”
You blink.
He clears his throat, trying again slightly calmer. “I mean—no. I’m free today.”
In the background, one of his bandmates yells something unintelligible. Joe immediately leans away from the phone.
“Shut up!”
You laugh softly. And just hearing that sound through his phone speaker makes something in Joe’s chest melt completely.
“What about you?” he asks, settling more comfortably against the pillows now. “How’s New York?”
You glance around your apartment instinctively. “Quiet.”
The word slips out before you can stop it. Joe pauses. Something softer enters his expression immediately. “…yeah,” he says quietly. “Japan’s loud.”
You smile faintly. “I baked today.”
“Oh?” Joe perks up instantly. “What kind?”
And just like that the conversation flows easily again, warm and comfortable. Like slipping back into your favorite sweater after being out in the cold too long.
Meanwhile, across the kitchen, Mr. 6D quietly celebrates his matchmaking victory alone with tea.
Joe Keery texts you the second his plane lands. Then again while sitting in traffic. Then once more when he finally gets back into Manhattan.
joe: alive
joe: jetlagged
joe: craving your pasta already
A few minutes later—
joe: hello???
joe: did ponkan eat you
Then—
joe: beginning to take this personally now
But no reply ever comes. Which is unusual Because even when you’re busy, you always send something.
A thumbs up.
A blurry picture.
A “sorry working!!”
Something.
What Joe doesn’t know is that one of your staff had an emergency earlier that morning, leaving you alone to handle the café during one of the busiest days of the week.
And now hours later you’re exhausted.
The city outside has already dissolved into nighttime by the time you start wiping down the counters.
Your apron is dusted lightly with flour. Your feet ache. The espresso machine finally sits silent after screaming all day. And the café smells faintly of sugar and coffee grounds and tiredness.
You sigh softly, stacking cups together while the old jazz playlist hums quietly overhead. The CLOSED sign already hangs in the window.
So when the bell above the door jingles you don’t even look up.
“We’re closed now, sorry,” you mumble automatically, still focused on cleaning the counter.
A familiar voice answers almost immediately. “Welcome back to you too.”
You freeze.
Your head snaps up so fast you nearly drop the towel in your hands. Joe stands near the doorway, hands full of paper bags, travel jacket still on, hair messy from the flight.
And he’s smiling.
He’s smiling at you.
You don’t even think. Your body moves before your brain catches up. You rush around the counter and straight into him. Joe barely has enough time to laugh before you’re colliding into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him.
The paper bags crinkle loudly between you. But Joe hugs you back instantly anyway. One arm around your waist. The other still awkwardly holding shopping bags.
And somehow despite the noise of the city outside, despite the exhaustion weighing on both of you everything suddenly feels quiet.
Joe exhales softly against your hair and wow. He missed this.
Missed you. More than he probably should.
“Well,” he says after a second, voice teasingly light, “seems like someone missed me.”
You pull back just enough to glare at him weakly. “Shut up.”
Joe grins immediately. “There she is.”
Only then you really look at him. The jetlag tired eyes. The softness in his expression the second he saw you. And something in your chest melts completely.
“You look exhausted,” you murmur.
“You look worse,” Joe replies honestly.
You gasp dramatically. “That’s incredibly rude.”
“You still hugged me though.”
“…unfortunately.”
Joe laughs quietly, warm and familiar. God, you missed that sound too.
“Oh—wait,” Joe says suddenly, shifting the paper bags carefully. “I brought you something.”
You blink. “Joe…”
“No, no. Hold on.”
He starts digging through the bags with surprising seriousness until finally pulling out a carefully wrapped box. The second you see the pink designs peeking through the packaging your eyes widen.
“No.”
Joe’s smile grows instantly. “Oh yes.”
You grab the box carefully and peel the wrapping back and immediately you gasp.
“Joe.”
Inside sits an entire Sanrio ceramic mug collection. Not just random pieces either. The specific set you once mentioned wanting but couldn’t find anymore.
Your mouth falls open. “You fucking did not.”
Joe starts laughing immediately at your expression.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, lifting one of the mugs carefully like it’s made of glass and dreams. “Joe, where did you even find these?”
“In Japan?”
You look up deadpan. “I know that.”
“I suffered for these,” he says dramatically. “You’re welcome.”
You stare at the mugs again.
Then at him.
Then back at the mugs.
And before Joe can prepare himself you throw your arms around him again. This time slower.
Tighter.
Longer.
Joe stills slightly at the impact before relaxing completely into it, his chin brushing the top of your head. And quietly almost without thinking he says: “Anything for you.”
The words settle softly between you.
Natural.
Honest.
Dangerously easy.
You pull back first this time, cheeks warmer than before. Neither of you mentions it.
Joe spends the next several minutes unpacking more gifts onto the counter while you react dramatically to every single one.
Matcha packets.
Tiny keychains.
Cat toys for Ponkan.
A strawberry notebook.
A little ceramic spoon rest shaped suspiciously like your cat.
“You bought him gifts too?” you laugh.
Joe shrugs. “He’s my son now too.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He likes me more than you.”
“That is biologically impossible.”
When you finally close the café for real, Joe helps without even asking. He wipes tables while humming softly under his breath.
Stacks chairs. Dries dishes beside you. And somehow the entire thing feels strangely domestic. Like this is something the two of you have always done. Like he belongs there beside you.
At one point, you glance over and catch him rolling up his sleeves while washing coffee cups.
And for some reason that nearly kills you. Because there’s something unbearably tender about seeing someone you’ve watched on screens for years standing in your tiny café kitchen asking:
“Where do you keep the good towels?”
By the time everything is finally clean, the city outside has gone quieter. The streets glow gold beneath streetlights. The air feels cooler now. And neither of you seems in any hurry to separate again.
So you walk home together. Side by side. Shoulders occasionally bumping. Paper bags swinging gently between your hands.
Joe keeps talking about Japan while you listen, smiling softly at the sound of his voice again. And somewhere between one streetlight and the next he glances at you.
Really glances at you he notice your tired eyes. your sleepy smile. The way you hold the Sanrio bag carefully against your chest.
Like it means something.
Like he means something.
And suddenly— Joe feels it again. That awful, wonderful sweetness blooming inside his chest. Warm as melted sugar. Soft as fresh bread pulled from the oven. The kind that lingers on your tongue long after the last bite.
He’s so completely gone for you and judging by the way you keep smiling to yourself while walking beside him—maybe, just maybe, you’re falling too.
older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader - a slow burn series of blurbs and one shots | modern au!
🎶All I really want is you, what would you do? Laying in the rain with you, middle of June🎶
summary: In between summer days, when the sun barely touches the sky, when no one else is awake, you start to fall in love.
this series takes place over the course of one summer and is told in the form of blurbs and one shots of your run in’s with your handsome neighbor.
warnings: 18+ for my blog and smut in later parts of the story. age gap: reader is 30 and steve is 42, drinking, smoking (steve smokes cigars), mentions of death (peep the widower), steve is not a dad in this one. sorry to my jenny crew.
SERIES PLAYLIST // Steve & Bandit sketch 🧡
Welcome to the neighborhood
Fancy meeting you here
Mr. fix it
Good morning & good night
Whiskey & cigars
I don’t know you, but I want to
Bad idea
Red, white, & boom
Ask me what I’m thinking about
Baby, I’m yours
Heaven knows you better (Epilogue)
bonus blurbs:
First camping trip with Steve at Starved Rock 18+
How Steve treats you on your birthday 18+
Trying a new position 18+
Fire pit cuddling
Steve and Orange Colored Sky Eddie FT call by @carolmunson
Hello lovelies!! This is a Mayfield!Reader x Steve Harrington version of 'Odds & Ends'!! It does take quite a bit of time to go in an edit out the pov/names/glaringly egregious physical descriptors so be patient!! If I slip up along the way let me know ✨
🅃🅁🄰🄲🄺🄻🄸🅂🅃
𝕊𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝔸
1. It's A Beautiful New Day
2. Girl Your Good
3. I Know The End Is Comin Soon
4. They Watch Me As I Go To Fall
5. These Tears I Can't Hold Inside — coming soon
6. Tell Me Is Something Eluding You, Sunshine? — coming soon
7. Good For Your Mind — coming soon
8. You Feel Alright When You Hear The Music Ring — coming soon
★ summary: the road you swore you’d never take again leads you back to steve, right back to your hometown. it always leads to him.
★ pairing: ex!fiance!steve harrington x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, arguments, jealousy, illusions to cheating but none actually, toxic relationship traits (just as a treat) ,car sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, rough sex, breeding kink, size kink, dirty mouth steve harrington, CANON big dick steve harrington
★ word count: 13.8k
★ notes: we are a week behind. no we’re two weeks behind 😁 pretend it’s christmas!!! find my steve masterlist here!
The Holidays rolling around always left a bad taste in your mouth, the subtle shift in the seasons trudging up memories you’d rather leave dead and buried. Instead, the moment the air chilled and the leaves began to fall, you were thrown back into the highlight reel of the best times of your life that now hurt with every breath you took. He still haunted your once-shared apartment; the city echoed his name wherever you turned. Even when he moved back home, you couldn’t face it. Avoiding spots you frequented together was easy. You could lose yourself in the city lights. Going back to your small hometown, you shared with him?
Not easy, not in the slightest. Small towns chewed you up and left you for dead. Everyone would associate you with him, and the risk of seeing each other was the highest it’s ever been. Your friend groups overlapped, all of them no doubt hating your guts. You could see it now, their faux empathetic looks, the glares of disgust being sent your way. The girl who dragged her fiancé to a big city, only to leave him in the dust behind her, unknowingly.
This was all you could dread while standing on your childhood home’s front porch step for the first time in a year. You tried not to think about a year ago when your left hand was heavier and your smile wider. Instead, you mustered up a pathetic smile, welcoming your family with open arms. Praying to drop the topic that was your personal life, which surely wouldn’t last as long as you’d hope.
The first crack came at dinner that night, your mother pulled out all the stops, a roasted chicken with all the sides. Before you could finish your plate, she cleared her throat loudly.
“I don’t wanna say much. But you need to know that I saw Steve at the grocery store the other day with all those kids. His parents left town again, so he’s all alone in that big house.” If she saw you flinch at the sound of his name, she didn’t address it.
“Thanks for the heads up. And the pity party attempt, mom.” You managed to get out, dropping your fork. Your appetite now undoubtedly ruined.
A few moments of silence passed before Mom took that as an opportunity to keep going. “You know they’re still family to you. They’d love to see you. I’m still planning on bringing them a pie. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without-”
“Mom, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t.” You snapped, pulling the chair out more dramatically than you should have.
“Y/m/n.” Your father sighed, pleading with his eyes for you to stay. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? How’s work been?”
Thankful for his diversion, you managed to get out some basics about work. The simple generic small talk. The only thing you could stomach. You just had to get through the next week, and everything would be fine. Right?
Word of your arrival in town spread like wildfire; you knew it would the moment someone drove past your parents' house and saw your car out front. The first person to call came as a surprise, your mother holding out the kitchen phone for you. None other than Robin on the line. The last time you spoke to her, you were choking back sobs, screaming at her to tell you where Steve had gone.
The night your life fell apart in front of your eyes was nearly 6 months ago. After 8 months of an engagement, the two of you decided to move, Chicago, calling your name. A fresh start, not too far from home. A place away from the expectations that lingered above his head, the ghosts that haunted underneath the town. You told yourself it was just stress from the move, stress from Steve having a hard time finding a job he loved. You convinced yourself that the distance that had grown between you two was normal. Wedding planning had been put on hold, simply trying to get through each day at a time. You weren’t in the city for 2 months before it came crashing down in front of your eyes.
It was a normal day, until it wasn’t. You came home from work, your home absent of the joy it used to bring. In the same kitchen he used to pick you up and spin you around in, he sat against the table. Illuminated by nothing but the city lights peering in through the window. Your keys hitting the bowl on the counter echoed through the still house.
“I can’t do this anymore.” He said, no pleasantries, no welcome home. Five words that tore open your chest, leaving you gasping for air.
“What?” You laughed because what else was there for you to do? Shock had taken over your body, feet glued to the spot. Overcoat still on, work bag dangling from your arm.
“This. Us.” He spoke through clenched teeth, tears staining his cheeks. “I can’t keep sitting in this apartment day in and day out, alone. Contributing nothing. You’re gonna end up hating me. If you don’t already.”
The bag slipped from your arm with a heavy thud. Rushing over to him, standing across from the table. “What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”
“It’s been coming for a while, Y/n. We both keep dancing around it. I see it, you’re stressed out, pretending you’re not carrying me behind you like deadweight,” He sniffled, “I’m a fuck up, an embarrassment. Everything my dad said, I would be.”
You reached for him with shaky hands, knees falling to the floor beside him. Pulling yourself into his lap, holding his hands in yours. “Stop, stop.” You demanded, “I have never seen you like that. Ever. Steve, your father is an abusive piece of shit. Who cares what he thinks? It’s only been a few months; it’s going to take time. Everything is going to work out. I keep telling you that, and I believe it.”
“I see myself like that, and I can’t unsee it. Day in and day out, I’m here in this city, alone.” He shook his head, barely responding to your begging him to look at you, to hold you back. To pretend he wasn’t okay with all that you built to slip through his fingers. “Yeah, we were bored at home, but this is the alternative? Being alone in a city that doesn’t care if I exist.”
You scoffed. “We didn’t leave because we were bored. We left because we deserved better. Because after everything you’ve been through, after everything we’ve been through, we earned a fresh start.”
“And what if this fresh start is killing me?” He laughed, a horrible, dry laugh from the depths of his chest. His body rattles against your hands.
Your breath stutters. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He admitted, the air around you two changing. Your hands slipped from his, still sitting back on your knees in front of him. He still barely looked at you, content to stare at the wood grain on the table. Committing the pattern to memory.
“So what, you want to move home?” You asked, the walls still smelled like fresh paint. The cardboard boxes you two procrastinated on throwing out lingered in the guest room. There hadn’t been enough time to make it home, the training wheels were still on.
“We can..” You sighed, rubbing your face. “We can maybe sublet the lease until it’s over. I don’t know. We have to see if there are even any places for us to rent back home.”
He turned in his seat, his eyes finally meeting yours. You could see his heart breaking on his face, and you knew. Something bone-chilling washed over you, nearly forcing your body flat on the floor.
“You don’t mean us, do you?” You managed out, tears already welling in your eyes.
His head shook, moving towards you. Joining you, knees aching on the floor you once rolled around in joy on.
“I love you,” he says, voice breaking. “I promise I do. This isn’t me walking away because I stopped loving you.” His hands gripped yours for a second before you yanked them away.
“Then don’t do this. If you love me, don’t leave me.” You sobbed, “If you loved me, you’d stay, or let me come with. I don’t care where we are; I want you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He reached for you again, his touch burning your skin.
“I have to,” he whispers. “Because I can feel myself holding you back. You deserve the chance to love this city the way you’ve always wanted to. I don’t belong here. I know I don’t. But you do. I’m not cut out for this life. Not this place, not this constant fight to prove I’m worth something. But you are. You shine here. And if I stay, all I’ll do is make you smaller so I don’t feel so lost.”
“So you go back alone,” you said, incredulous. “Back to the same streets, the same expectations from your father, the same ghosts?”
He gestured helplessly at the room, at the life you’d hauled here with too much hope and not enough certainty. “Better that than I stay here, pretending I belong.”
“You’re really going to throw this away?” You asked, tears streaming down your neck. “You’re going to throw away all the years between us because you won’t give it a few more weeks?”
“I can’t give you the life you deserve here.”
Your chest aches. “I don’t want this without you.” His thumb rubbed over the ring on your finger, a choked sob escaping your chest. You remembered the day he proposed, the reminder of the happiest day of your life turning bittersweet in a matter of minutes.
“I know,” he says, his own tears falling freely now. “And that’s why I have to let you go before I turn into something you resent.”
You sniffled, “If you walk out of that door, Steve Harrington, I will resent you. I’ll never forgive you for giving up on us, for walking out like a coward.”
He flinched at your words, understanding he deserved it. “Don’t think I’m giving up on us for nothing, I’m doing this for you.”
Then his hand falls, the space between you unbearable, a chasm building between the two of you.
“No,” You shook your head, a laugh tearing out of you like a mad woman. “You’re doing it because you’re scared. You let your father’s words get in your head, now you’re letting them ruin your life.”
“You don’t understand, and that’s okay.” He gave you a weak smile, standing up slowly. “But I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before.”
“Bullshit.” You sprang to your feet, pushing his chest. He didn’t move, just stood there taking whatever you’d give him. “You can’t say you love me while you’re actively leaving me. You just don’t wanna marry me anymore? A few rough months and you’re tapping out? That’s not how the real world works.”
“You’re not listening to me,” He seethed, “I am miserable here! I miss my friends; I am alone here with no one but you. If I go home, I have a job with my dad, and you can still live out your dreams.”
“My dreams mean nothing if you’re not here.” You yelled, pushing him roughly again. His hands come out to grip your wrists. “You’re not even fighting for us. You’ve given up.”
The realization hit you like a freight train, stumbling on your feet. “You’ve given up.”
“Y/n..”
“Out.” You sobbed, taking a shaky step back. “You want to leave so bad? Get the fuck out. Run back home to the people who thought you couldn’t do it. Prove them right. End up just like your fucking father. If you want to live and die in that town, don’t let me stop you.”
He knew rationally your words were just your heart breaking, and it tore him apart knowing he was the one doing it. You’d move on, he knew you would eventually. He just wanted you to have the life here you deserved, the one you’d keep him up all night daydreaming about. It just wasn’t going to be with him. So he resigned and walked into the room, grabbing his bags. All you could do was stand there, shell-shocked. Tears streaming down your cheeks. You ignored his goodbyes, waited until the door locked behind him to throw yourself on the floor. Screaming until your voice went hoarse. The next morning, you called Robin, begging her to tell you where he was. She said it was best she remove herself from this, wishing you well. All it took was one conversation, one bad night, and your entire life had crumbled right before your eyes.
Now, as you stood there lost in the memory, you snapped back, hearing her voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello.” She asked, making you blink.
“Hi?”
“Y/n,” Her voice rang out, too cheery. “It’s good to hear your voice. I’m glad you’re home.”
It was awkward, a painful awkwardness that sat in the middle of your chest. Your best friend, the girl you used to tell everything, was now someone you could barely have a normal conversation with.
“Yeah, you too.” You mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m not trying to be mean, but did you need something?”
She paused for a moment, “Uh, yeah. I just wanted to invite you to our Christmas party tomorrow. It wouldn’t be the same without you. We miss you.”
The honesty in her voice made your heart ache, but you couldn’t. “I don’t think that’s a great idea, Robin-”
“Steve said it’s fine.” She yelled, and you could hear mumblings in the background. “You don’t have to stay for long, just get some food. The kids really miss you, and so do I, Y/n. We miss our friend.”
You sighed, running your hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”
“Just, Steve’s house tomorrow at 7. Don’t worry about bringing anything. If you don’t come, that’s fine too, just…. Think about it.”
“Okay.” You said, before hanging up the phone. Your forehead banging the wall harshly.
The next 24 hours were spent pacing around your childhood bedroom, nearly burning a hole in the carpet. You could go and be social, see your friends. Fill the gap in your heart that formed the moment you last heard from them. If they hated you, they wouldn’t have invited you. Robin didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. But if you did go and walk into the Harrington household again, you weren’t sure if your heart could take it. It was naive to believe you could come here and not have a run-in with the man, but you didn’t prepare yourself enough for this.
On one of your last paces, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The same mirror you got ready in for your first date with Steve, which felt like a lifetime ago. The mirror you cleaned both of your bloody faces in after the Starcourt Mall fiasco. You let yourself linger on your appearance, no longer recognizing the girl who stared back at you.
“Fuck it.” You grumbled, your voice echoing throughout the empty room. You plopped down, dragging over your makeup bag. You would go, but you wouldn’t be happy about it. Your hands shook the whole time, nearly covering your chin in lipstick. They continued shaking as you drove to the store, picking out the most expensive bottle of wine the Hawkin’s supermarket had. The feeling only got worse when you pulled into the driveway. A black cloud dangling above your head.
The Harrington house was always extravagant, but dull. Lifeless in the way his parents decorated, only brought to life by the love Steve himself made. Today, it looked the opposite of that, with lights lazily strung up on the porch. The soft, warm glow of a Christmas tree peeking in through the front window. You thought back to your own home, where the tree sat untouched in a box in the spare room. What good was decorating if no one was around to see it but you?
You weren’t willing to admit it to anyone, but Chicago was lonely. Steve had it all wrong those months ago; you were only thriving because he was there with you. You were so focused on providing a future for you two that you let him slip through the cracks. The city was big, big enough to hide your sorrows. But what was the point if the city didn’t care if you were there? You hated that he was right, you hated that things happened the way that they did.
Once you had had enough of licking your own wounds, you tumbled out of the car. The wind was biting, soft snow still falling. You made a point not to look at Steve’s car on the way up the drive; you knew that BMW like the back of your hand. No point in ripping off another bandage. When you were face-to-face with the door, you clutched the wine like a lifeline, telling yourself you still had time to run. No one would even know you were here if you spun your tires fast enough.
All of your daydreaming of running away vanished when the door swung open, your hand still up, going to knock on the wooden door. “Y/n?” Max spoke, her eyes wide.
Maybe you should have called, maybe you should have told Robin you were coming. Maybe Robin lied, maybe she didn’t tell anyone you were invited. Maybe you weren’t invited, and Robin was meddling again.
All these fears vanished when Max basically leaped into your arms, wrapping them around your body tightly. You smiled in a way you haven’t in months, cheeks aching from the foreign movement.
“Max.” You breathed out, squeezing the redhead back with just as much vigor.
“Holy shit,” She laughed, her face still smushed in your trench coat, “I didn’t think you’d come. I missed you.”
“I missed you more, kiddo.” The wine bottle nearly fell from your hand when she pulled back. You kept your gaze on her; she had grown so much since the last time you saw her. “God, you’re like a proper adult now, huh?”
She rolled her eyes, taking the wine from your hand gently, “Not old enough to legally drink yet, but Steve said we can get a glass at dinner if we don’t break anything.”
For the first time in months, you didn’t flinch at the mention of his name, too overwhelmed with emotion to even care. “That sounds like him.”
You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her once more, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.” It was a quiet admission, one for her only. When everything happened, Max quickly grew to be the little sister you never had. It wasn’t fair for you not to reach out as much, but she was in college now. She had a life outside of Hawkins, just like you; she understood more than most.
“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, “All that matters is that you’re here now.”
You opened your mouth to speak, only to get cut off by a loud squeal of your name. Your head shot up, peering into the house. Within seconds, a hurricane of overgrown teenagers were barreling towards the door. Dustin’s mop of curls was the first to appear out of the doorway, nearly pushing Max aside as he leaped into your arms.
“Jesus assholes!” Max barked, the boys ignoring her as they crowded around you.
Lucas flanked your side, Mike towering over the group, El behind him, while Dustin was squeezing the life out of you.
“You smell good,” Dustin mumbled, making you roll your eyes.
“Thank god you’re here,” Lucas breathed out, “Max has been nonstop talking about you-” He was cut off, no doubt, by a smack from the woman herself.
Mike was rambling on about needing to ask you questions about school, something about wanting to intern at your job.
El had snuck up, her hands tugging at the ends of your hair. “You cut it?” She had a soft frown.
“I think it looks good!” Will spoke up, his arms wrapping around your side.
You were lost in a fit of giggles, doing your best to keep up with all the overlapping voices.
“Jesus, don’t overwhelm her!” Robin had now joined the party on the porch, her hands on her hips. That didn’t stop the kids from talking over each other; they eventually backed off a hair. Giving you time to hug each of them individually.
“Seriously, you smell really good, you look like some rich lawyer.” Dustin rambled, making Mike smack him upside the head.
“Jesus, you’re flirting with her?” He scoffed, “She works in publishing, by the way. Which is why I need to talk to her-”
“I’m not flirting, dude, that would be against bro code-”
You ignored them, wrapping your arms around El, almost picking her up off her feet. “Oh my sweet girl.”
“Y/n, I only spied on you a few times.” She smiled, making you sputter out laughter.
“Jesus, okay. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d have a stern talking to you about boundaries.” You shook your head, the smile hurting your cheeks now.
“Don’t worry, it was only because we were worried. Steve never knew.” Will spoke up, making you wrap your arm around the younger boy.
“Sorry, I worried you guys, really.” You spoke, looking around all of them. Letting your eyes land on Robin. Her hair was longer, and she seemed more sure of herself. More carefree than you remember her.
As if sensing the long-awaited reunion, they slowly shuffled back into the house. Leaving you and Robin alone for a moment.
“Robs.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Y/n.” She smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. You weren’t sure who ran to whom first, but the next thing you knew, the two of you were in each other’s arms. Squeezing so tight you could barely breathe, your head was in her neck. Willing the tears not to slip out of your lash line.
“I missed you.” You choked out, her hand gripping the back of your coat like you’d vanish if she let go.
“Missed you more.” She sobbed, her back shaking. “God, I have so much to tell you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I picked a side. I promised I’d never do that, but I did anyway. Then I waited too long, and I figured you hated me-”
“I figured you hated me.” A throaty laugh left your chest. Eyes thick with unshed tears.
She shook her head, pulling her head back to get a look at you. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend. I’ll admit I haven’t been the best one lately, but if you’ll still have me…”
“Robin Buckley…” You sighed, a toothy grin on your face. “I’ll have you. You’re never getting rid of me. Not really.”
“I do hate to cut this reunion short, but I’m freezing my ass off out here.” She said, making you throw your head back in a giggle. She looped her arms with yours, pulling you into the warm house. She helped you hang your coat up, giving the same one over everyone had.
“Dustin was right, you do look like a hot lawyer.” She whistled, making you roll your eyes.
“Please,” You scoffed, “Look at you? I know the girls at Smith are just dying for a piece of you.”
“Well doesn’t matter if they are; Vickie and I are finally going steady.” She grinned, you smacking her shoulder.
“Oh my god? Robin, that’s so awesome.”
“I’ll introduce you when I find her. I think she’s helping in the kitchen. Or in the cellar? I don’t know she’s been nervously running around preparing for today.”
You nodded, awkwardly following behind her into the living room. Nothing had changed in the house, but everything did at the same time. It was evident his parents hadn't been here in a while; it felt lived in. Warm and inviting, a stark contrast to how it was years ago.
Max caught your eye in the kitchen, putting the wine bottle you brought in the ice bucket. You spotted Steve behind her, with his back turned. You darted your eyes away, walking over to the couch where the party was draped over it. A video game console was plugged in, abandoned as they chatted amongst each other. You could only avoid him for so long, but you were going to prolong the inevitable as much as you could.
“So,” You started, plopping on the couch between Lucas and Will. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”
And missed a lot you had. You listened intently as they all told you about their freshman year in school, thankful for the break. Dustin was already a semester ahead at Princeton, go figure. Will and Jonathan had settled down in NYC. Jonathan, you learned, was not visiting until Christmas Day. Too many obligations and not enough time to travel. But his mom and Hopper would be here tomorrow to begin more holiday festivities.
Lucas and Max had just signed a lease on an apartment near Indiana State. Lucas made the basketball team, already gaining traction with recruiters. Mike was a year behind, letting El catch up with her schooling before they went to school near Montauk. Keeping Hopper and Joyce close. In the meantime, he picked up a passion for writing, no doubt why he was asking for pointers on publishing.
“I barely finished my degree, Wheeler.” You admitted, doing school while the world was ending wasn’t ideal, but you made it work. Fresh out of college into the real world, you were still finding your bearings. “But I do have some work friends, I can get some numbers.”
He seemed content with the answer, slinging his arm over your shoulder in a hug once more. It was then that the inevitable happened: Steve Harrington finally sauntered out of the kitchen. His eyes found yours in almost an instant, the room going still.
He looked panicked, his footfalls freezing. You were sure you looked the same, frozen in shock. Your hands fumbling around with your bracelets, something to occupy your shaky hands. Nearly everyone looked away, glancing at each other with nervous eyes. Unwilling to watch the trainwreck unfold. Steve took the first step, his hand coming up in an awkward wave.
“H-hey! Glad you could make it.” He stuttered out, nearly stumbling into the back of the couch. “Thanks for the wine. Do you want a glass?” He spoke too loudly, making Robin wince from behind him. It reminded her of his Scoops Ahoy days, talking too loudly when he was nervous. You stood up on shaky legs, the blood rushing to your head nearly making you dizzy.
“Yeah, I can get it though-”
“No!” He yelled, before running his hands through his hair, “No, I mean. You’re the guest. I can get it.” He was nervous, but in a way that had a pit forming in your stomach.
“It’s okay.” You spoke softly, a tone that used to be reserved for just him. “I’ll get me and Robin a glass. You can’t uncork it right anyway.”
Your words triggered a memory for both of you, one of you catching Steve shoving kitchen scissors into a half-broken cork, in an attempt to pour you a glass for dinner. He ended up pushing it further into the bottle. By the time you got it out, small pieces were floating around in your glass. You drank it anyway, straining out the small pieces with a grin on your face. Except this time, instead of the memory making you laugh, it made your heart stutter.
“Y-yeah.” He grumbled, watching you walk past him with an awkward grin. The moment you set foot into the kitchen, you were taken aback by none other than Nancy Wheeler. She was standing against the stove, stirring a pot.
“Hey?” You spoke, which sounded more like a question.
She jumped, startled by your presence. “Oh, Y/n. Hi.” She gave you a wave, her eyes wide. You and Nancy were never particularly close; you weren’t the biggest fan of how she treated Steve in high school, but you had a lot of respect for the woman. You always considered her a good friend, but something about her standing in Steve’s kitchen made you regret ever coming tonight.
“Nancy. How have you been?” You smiled, grabbing two wine glasses out of the cupboard, muscle memory taking over. But the cabinets had been moved around, you squinted. Before you could lean your head back to ask, Nancy was pointing at the cabinet next to it.
“Wine glasses are in that one,” She spoke absentmindedly, unaware of your spiraling thoughts. “And I’ve been good! Boston is… nice.”
You smacked your lips against your teeth, pulling out two glasses. Grabbing the corkscrew from the drawer. “That’s nice!” Your voice was a little too cheery when you uncorked the bottle, pouring yourself a larger glass than you needed.
“How’s Chicago?” She asked, moving to check whatever bird was roasting in the oven. It was clear she wasn’t interested in awkward small talk, but you appreciated her attempt at it nonetheless.
“Cold.” You gulped your glass, filling it up before setting it back in the ice. “Loud.”
“Yeah,” She laughed, “Sometimes you forget how nice the quiet is until you’re back home. You really can get lost in the city life.”
“Yeah.” You smiled at her, asking her if she would like a glass. She declined, but thanked you anyway. “Well, it’s been so good to see you.”
Thankfully, you found Robin, shoving the wine into her hands. “Think Nancy Wheeler hates me?” You asked quietly, Robin’s demeanor going taut.
She shook her head, taking a drink from her glass. That was all the answer you got from her before she pulled you back into the crowd. You mingled about, still not having caught a chance to meet Vickie. When Robin ran off to find her, you clung to Max’s side like following the light in the dark. You weren’t going to let her slip out of your life again; you weren’t going to let any of them. It was easy to avoid Steve, as he seemed content to step awkwardly around you most of the night.
The tension was unspoken, but everyone felt it. It hangs heavy, just like the mistletoe in the bedroom hallway that mocked you each time someone came out of the bathroom. Memories of the two of you haunted every corner of this town, but this was the epicenter. The home that the two of you shared for months, the party that called you their parents. The house that would be yours the moment his parents decided to finally buy their beach house in Florida.
Maybe this would be easier if you pretended Steve hadn’t branded every part of your body. The tan line from the diamond that sat on your finger for almost a year wouldn’t fade, no matter how much you scrubbed. You both spent too much time in the sun last summer, lounging around the lakeside for days on end. Your hair, he loved, had been cut off, your hairstylist swearing hair held memories. With each snip, you willed Steve to leave your mind, but you instead just found yourself missing the parts of yourself he held in his hands. No matter how many times you changed your style or willed yourself to be anyone else. At the end of the day, you were always going to be his. There was a part of you that would never belong to yourself again.
You turned to your left, and the redhead whom you thought was Max was now replaced by Vickie. The infamous girlfriend who had been running around all night, missing Robin at every turn. You smiled politely, “Vickie, right? Robin’s been looking for you.”
She smiled widely, teeth showing at the mere mention of her girlfriend. “Yes! I was helping with the chicken, then the stuffing, then I had to go in the cellar for wine, but it’s so dark down there, and I’ve just been running around everywhere.” She was out of breath, nervousness rolling off of her. You could see now in startling clarity just how alike she and Robin were.
“No, it’s okay. I’m fully convinced that the cellar is haunted.” You laughed, making her nod quickly.
“Literally! Also, I’m not used to rich people, because why do you need a cellar full of wine in your house? It’s beyond me.” She whispered the first part, making another laugh slip through your lips. That laugh was cut short when your eyes glanced into the kitchen yet again. This time, catching Steve towering over Nancy. His body was nearly caging hers against the counter, his hand steady on the cabinet above her head. It was clear he meant to grab something out of it, but the two of them paused. Caught in the moment. Now you were caught in it too, staring like a fish out of water.
It felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment, the way his eyes gazed down at her. Flicking back from her lips to her eyes. She did the same; it was buzzy. Even from far away, the tension between them radiated around the room, hitting you right in the chest.
“I heard him and Nancy have been close ever since she came back,” Vickie smiled widely, somehow completely oblivious as to who you were. But she caught you staring quickly. It wasn’t her fault; you hadn’t been here when they started dating. Just through the tail end of Robin’s pining. “He moved back home after he broke off his engagement. Real hallmark, you know? Holiday rekindling of old flames that never quite snuffed out, it’s sooooo romantic. Kinda like me and Robin if you think about it. High school lovers-”
Her words made the wine you drank nearly come back up your throat, your eyes still locked on the pair. Tuning out her rambling, you let yourself look at him this time, really look. Steve looked the same, his hair a little longer. Undeniably, there was a spark lit back within him, one you had missed. A wide smile on Nancy’s face as they talked, his head leaned down to hear her better. If he moved down any closer, their lips would be touching. The sheer thought of you having to witness that made you look away, swallowing down bile that had risen.
You supposed it’d make sense for him to move on; it had been months. Nothing was stopping either of you, but something about seeing it. About it being with Nancy, out of everyone. The same girl you’d compare yourself to late at night, the girl Steve swore he’d moved on from. It felt like someone had grabbed a knife and split your chest open.
“Yeah, sure.” You managed, catching Robin’s eye as she walked over. She paused midwalk, staring from Vickie to you, back to Steve and Nancy across the way.
“Oh fuck.” She said a little too loudly, all heads looking towards you all. Steve’s head pops up immediately, his eyes meeting yours. You knew this was a bad idea, a horrible, terribly bad idea. His body moved away from Nancy’s on instinct, but it was too late. Not like it mattered, not like anything mattered anymore.
“Oh my god. You’re Y/n, aren’t you?” Vickie gasped, her hand coming up to grab your shoulder. “I’m so sorry. This is so not how I wanted to meet you, Robin told me to be on my best behavior-”
You cut her off with a wave, “It’s fine. It was really nice to meet you.” You gave her a practiced smile, stepping away from the wide-eyed ginger. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”
Your heels clacked against the floor loudly in the now quiet room, excusing yourself. You chugged down the rest of your glass, setting it on the table before stumbling into the bathroom. Your hand clenching your chest, searching for an open wound that wasn’t physically there.
You leaned against the door, nearly falling to your knees in anguish. It felt childish; you had no claim over him anymore. Time had stretched a chasm between the two of you. But why did it feel like you were being split in two?
You gathered your bearings, letting your hands grip the sides of the sink. Staring back at your reflection in the mirror. “Get over yourself, Y/n.” You all but slapped your own cheeks, psyching yourself up. “It’s fine. Have dinner, then leave. Have Christmas, then go home. You can just leave.”
Within your own psychotic mumblings to yourself, you realized you weren’t any better than Steve, willing yourself to run away the moment things got complicated.
Outside, back in the living room, the tension wasn’t any better. Vickie’s mouth was agape, Robin stumbling to her quickly. Steve was still frozen in place, eyes locked on where you had run to. Nancy simply crossed her arms, shrinking herself into the corner.
“What was that?” Dustin broke the silence, watching Steve slowly regain control of his limbs again.
“Vickie, honey sweetie baby. What did you say?” Robin’s voice was shaky, while Vickie continued stuttering out apologies.
“Um. I just said- I don’t know.” She cried out, “I was just speaking. You know me. I just ramble sometimes, and she was looking at them, so I blurted out something-”
“What did you say exactly?” Steve spoke up, Nancy closing her eyes.
“Uh. I said something along the lines of ‘Wow, aren’t Steve and Nancy so cute? He left his fiancée and is back home with his ex. Like a bad Hallmark movie p-plot.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, everyone in the room winced, “Vickie, sweetheart. Why would you say that?” Robin’s eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” Tears were in the nervous girl's eyes, “I’m so sorry. It’s not my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Yeah, it’s not.” Steve barked, a little too cruelly for Robin’s liking.
“Hey, it was an accident.” She glared at her best friend, “Don’t blame her for misspeaking when you don’t even know what’s going on in your own life.”
Steve’s face fell, hating his business on display like this.
“Wait,” Mike raised his hand, much like a child asking a question in class. “Are you and Nancy back together?”
“No.” Steve and Nancy both scoffed in unison, the girl still trying to hide herself in the kitchen.
“You guys have just been weirdly close,” he muttered, throwing his hands up in defense.
“Okay, can everyone please get out of my business. Jeez.” Steve said, finally, holding his hands up. “Vickie, I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad. Besides, it doesn’t matter. We’re all adults here.”
“Barely.” You spoke up, your voice making all of them jump. In the midst of the chaos, they didn’t even notice you slinking your way out of the bathroom. Posture upright, as if nothing had bothered you. A part of Steve hated how unbothered you looked, your lack of emotion sat heavily on his mind.
“W-what?” He stuttered, looking at you.
“You guys are barely adults.” You laughed, it was hollow. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, but no one noticed except for him anyway. “Jeez, who died?”
“No one!” Nancy spoke up, opening the oven a little faster than she needed to. “Chicken’s done, can you guys set the table?”
There was a mad dash around the room, everyone wanting to find something to occupy themselves. You found Vickie, wrapping your arms around the still trembling girl, promising her everything was okay. As soon as she steadied her breathing, Robin brought the two of you fresh glasses. You found a spot at the table between the couple and Max. You felt old helping Max pour herself a glass of wine.
“You kids grow up fast.” You grumbled, sliding over the full glass to her. “Let me guess, everyone else wants one too?”
A chorus of ‘yes mom’s’ made you chuckle, a flashback to just a year ago getting called mom at this same table. The bottle was emptied on Dustin’s glass, to which he gave you a playful wink, making your eyes roll.
“How many girls are you wooing back at Princeton with that charm, huh?” You teased, sitting back down in your chair.
“Oh, the ladies love me. I’m irresistible.” He purred, making the others groan playfully at him while sides got passed around. Everyone loaded up their plates, eating amongst quiet conversation.
“God, Y/n, do you remember Tommy and Carol?” Robin asked, in between bites of a roll.
You scoffed, “Unfortunately.”
“They’re getting married. Steve got the invite last week. Twenty bucks says it’s a shotgun wedding.” She laughed.
“Wait, what?” You gasped, “I didn’t even know they were back together?”
“Yup, Tommy proposed on the football field,” Steve added, slowly joining in the conversation. “Think he’s trying to be a good person.”
Robin just cringed, “Proposing on your high school football field to the girlfriend you consistently cheat on?”
“I hate the guy, but at least he’s trying.” Nancy shrugged, not meeting anyone's eyes.
“But that’s total loser behavior.” Max joined in, “If Lucas proposed to me on the basketball court, I think I’d break his ankles so he could never play again.”
Lucas just sighed, “And that’s why I love you so much.”
“I think my dad did a good job proposing to Miss Joyce,” El spoke up with a smile. You remember hearing the news of that, tears prickling in your eyes as Joyce recounted the date he had set up.
“Honestly, that was probably the best proposal to ever happen. Hard to top that.” You raised your glass. While it was honest, a simple nod to the two older parental figures in your life. It didn’t sit right with Steve, the words on the tip of his tongue.
“I think my proposal was pretty good.” He grumbled into his plate, staring intently at the piece of chicken on his fork.
How many times tonight were his words going to pause the room around him? An awkward silence fell once again, the tension rising from the floorboards. One you couldn’t blame on the haunted cellar below your feet. You downed yet another glass of wine. When the clink of the glass hit the table, you realized you shouldn’t have spoken, shouldn't have had that last glass.
And El. Poor innocent sweet El Hopper just kept speaking, “How did you propose?”
You forgot she wasn’t there, still being hidden away by Hopper in the Cabin during all the endless crawls. Murray had apparently spent weeks searching for the exact ring Steve wanted for you. Smuggling it inside an unsealed peanut butter bopper. The ring smelled like peanut butter for days after he slid it on your finger. It fit like a glove. You still felt empty without it, your hand subconsciously going to twirl the delicate band that was no longer there.
Steve’s mouth fell open, his eyes darting to yours. You saved him from the awkward stumbling, giving her the softest smile you could muster. “It was sweet. He took me on a picnic to where we had our first date. Had candles. Robin made us a cake.”
You tried not to let it show just how badly the memories hurt, instead smiling fondly at the table. There was no attempt at hiding your history together here; it bled into every memory. Being together with someone for years will do that to you; your lives are so interconnected that sometimes it is still hard to remember where he ends, and you begin.
“I spilled wine all over her dress, and a bird ate the sandwiches I made while I was proposing.” Steve added, “It was a mess.”
“It was perfect.” You shrugged, leaning over to grab another roll from the bowl. “So Mike, when are you proposing?”
His eyes widen, and he stutters out a pathetic response. Max and El are giggling wildly at each other. Steve hated how well you were at changing the topic, deflecting the attention off of you two so smoothly. Hated how well the two of you worked in unison, in everything you did.
Dinner continued without another awkwardly timed comment, plates clattered as everyone took turns helping clean up. Dessert was cookies Vickie had made, the kids no doubt getting crumbles all over Steve’s overpriced couch. An hour of goodbyes later and the teenagers had scrambled back to their homes. Nancy left with Mike, giving you an awkward one-armed hug. You had all promised to see each other again before the break ended. Whispers of a New Year's Party, but nothing concrete.
All while Steve’s gaze was burning into your back, watching your every move. It made your collar slick with sweat, your hands trembling with bundles of emotions. You needed air and a cigarette. Your effort to sneak out was thwarted by none other than Robin.
“Leaving without a goodbye, Y/l/n?” Robin caught you, your hand still on the doorknob.
“I know better than to Irish exit with you people, I’m just getting some air.” You promised her, two fingers came up to her eyes, pointing them back at you, signaling she was watching. You laughed on your way out, letting the cool air chill your skin.
You walked out to his garage, leaning under the awning. To get away from the porch and prying eyes in the windows. You let your hands shake freely, dropping the nonchalant facade you held up for the past few hours. Letting that sickly sour feeling wash over you again. It was jealousy, anger, sadness, and something else you couldn’t quite place all wrapped around you at once. It was drowning in your own feelings, begging for one drop of air.
“So, about what you heard in there. With Nancy.” That was all he said, the back of your eyes prickling. You didn’t even hear him step outside, let alone stand beside you. You told yourself the tears were just from the cold air, but you knew better.
“If I wanted to know, I would have asked.” You shrugged, “None of my business anyway, is it?”
“It’s not what it looks like.” He pleaded.
All you could do was laugh, rummaging around in your purse for your cigarettes. A habit you picked back up again, the day after he left. You shoved the filter between your red painted lips, lighting it with ease. All while he stood and watched, eyebrows furrowed.
“So it doesn’t look like you dumped me to come back home and fuck your high school ex?” You couldn’t help but let the words slip off your tongue. There it was, the anger of yours he had become familiar with. He knew it was there, boiling just under the surface.
He sighed, “Nancy is still with Jonathan, you know. We’re just… friends.”
“You seem real sure of that.” You scoffed, letting the smoke wrap around you like a security blanket. “Besides, doesn’t matter, does it? You’re single. You can do whatever you want.”
He deflated, letting his hand rest on the porch. “Yeah. Guess so.”
The silence was deafening, the snow still flurrying around the two of you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. In just the past few months, you’ve changed so much. Your hair was shorter, and your eye bags were evident. A hallowness was deep inside you, and the light drained from your eyes. And it was all his fault; he knew that. He watched your hand flick the cigarette, the absence of the gleaming diamond on your finger making his breathing stop.
It didn’t even occur to him until now that this was the first time he’d seen you since he left. You were on his mind so often that it was as if he conjured up a new image of you every time his eyes opened in the morning.
The guilt pressed down on his chest, thick and suffocating, and the silence between you stretched too long. Long enough for old wounds to start itching. Long enough for that anger to claw its way up your throat, hot and familiar. You’d learned how to survive by holding onto it, how to use it to pull yourself out of the days where feeling nothing felt worse.
“I wish you’d just tell me what you were really thinking.” He spoke up, his eyes drilling holes into the side of your face.
You held onto tighter to the anger, the feeling comfortable in your hands. You’d rather feel angry than nothing else at all. So the insults began to slip out. If he was going to walk away and leave you again, you were going to make sure it was on your terms this time.
“Okay, do you really wanna know Mr. Peaked in high school?” You could barely believe the cruelty in your voice when you spat out the words, “I think you couldn’t make it in the big city. So to fuel your ego, you had to go home to our piss ant hometown and try to fuck your high school ex-girlfriend, right? Right back where you were in High School. Welcome back, King Steve!”
He stuttered back a few steps, recovering quickly from the whiplash.
“At least I’m not pretending to be happy. How is it up there on your high-horse? Because after this week, you’re going back to that lonely apartment.” He cackled, “Doesn’t matter how much money you make, how nice your clothes are, how much your snotty co-workers like you. You’re all alone out there. And I’ll be here, with my friends.”
The emphasis of my didn’t get lost on you. You suppose he was right; they were his friends first before you ever joined them. His words pierced your heart, nearly knocking you off balance. You thought this was it, but oh, he wasn’t done.
“You can’t make the pain go away by treating me like a villain, Y/n.” He said, his voice softening. “I hurt you. I know I did, and I’m so sorry. I was only doing what I thought was right, for both of us. I was drowning.” His voice cracked on the word. Both of your resolves are crumbling around your feet like drywall.
“We were supposed to drown together.” You snapped, “When you got down on one knee and put that ring on my finger, it was a promise. A promise to love each other through all the hard times, and you couldn’t even try. You just gave up on us. On me.” Your bottom lip wavered, staring down the man you loved more than life itself.
“I was doing what I thought was right-”
“Spare me the fucking bullshit.” You waved him off, “You could’ve sat me down. We could have talked it out like adults; instead, you ran home with your tail between your legs. Letting everyone feel bad for the boy whose fiancée left him in the dust-”
“You don’t know anything.” He laughed dryly, his hands running feverishly through his hair. “When I came home, did you know the first thing everyone said to me? Everyone. Robin, the kids, my parents?”
You stayed quiet, watching his chest heave. “They all said, “How did you ruin the best thing you’ve ever had?” He scoffed.
“You left! That’s how!”
“Remember that you let me leave.”
“What was I supposed to do, Steve?” You were in hysterics now, “Was me on my knees, begging and crying, not enough?”
“You let me leave Y/n.” He repeated, “You changed your number, you stopped talking to everyone. The only thing left for me to do was to drive up there, but I knew you wouldn’t wanna see me.”
“If you loved me, you would've.” You sighed, running your hands over your face. You were sick of the arguing, of the back and forth.
“You could’ve visited too! You ghosted everyone. You didn’t just hurt me with the radio silence. You broke Max’s heart-”
You stepped closer, pressing your finger harshly into his chest. “Leave them out of it.”
“You can’t even be honest with yourself.” He chuckled dryly. Watching you huff down the remnants of the cigarette that now stunk up his clothes.
“You don’t know me.”
“I think I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.”
“My life is different now.” You let out a breath, stomping the cigarette butt underneath your boot. “Don’t pretend you know how I’m doing. Who I’m with. Because you don’t. You don’t know anything about me.”
You knew what your words were implying when you said them, refusing to correct yourself. You wanted to see the hurt flash in his eyes, the same way yours did, seeing him and Nancy in the kitchen. But when the flash came, you couldn’t feel anything but guilt. Something shifted in those brown eyes of his; what started as hurt faded into something darker.
“Is there someone else?” His eyes were ablaze, a darkness in them you hadn’t seen before. You stayed quiet, looking up at him through your lashes. Unable to speak, the closer he got with each step. “Tell me, is there someone else?”
“And if there was?” You challenged, tilting your head at him.
“Answer me.” He demanded softly, still walking towards you like a predator stalking prey. You took a step back, eyes never leaving his until your back from pressing his snow-covered car. He was inches away, still waiting for your answer.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Then why even mention it?” He chuckled darkly, his leg slotting in between yours. You were pushed further back into the car, his body now on yours. Nothing could change the chemistry between you two, not time. God himself couldn’t change the way your bodies drifted towards each other. You were the compass, and he was your true north. You’d always find yourself back here. On your way to him, in this town.
“Does it bother you?” You met his darkened eyes, “Thinking of someone else taking what you left behind?”
“Don’t pretend-”
“Hey-oh whoa.” Robin’s voice broke you two out of your trance. The two of you were springing apart like there was a fire. Vickie’s hand was in hers, both clad in their coats, ready to leave. “Sorry. The snow is really coming down; we wanted to get back before it got any heavier.”
Steve cleared his throat, leaning awkwardly against the hood of the car. “Yeah, course.”
You walked forward, wrapping your arms around the two girls. Bidding them farewell, promising to see them soon. Robin left with a suggestive look towards you, making you flush. You watched her car roll down the road, feeling Steve’s eyes on your back. You don’t know how long you stood there, snow pelting your skin, before he spoke up.
“At least get out of the snow, Y/n.” You turned back, stepping back onto his porch.
“I should probably leave.”
He didn’t say anything, simply walked ahead of you, opening his door. You looked around for your coat, scrambling around. Before you could get your second arm in your sleeve, he broke you out of your rushing trance.
“Does he make you feel like I did?”
You paused, letting the coat fall to the floor. “What?”
He looked pathetic, his inhibitions falling when it was just you he was standing in front of. “Does he make you feel even a fraction of what I made you feel?”
It took you a second to remember the way you avoided his question, letting him believe a false narrative he made up in his own head. It made every nerve in your body set ablaze, the idea of him being jealous. You let yourself fall into the feeling.
“Does Nancy make you feel a fraction of what I made you feel?” You barked back, the tension rising. The two of you were playing with fire now, poking the bear just to see what would happen. This was foreplay, and after months of longing, the two of you were coiled tight.
“So you are jealous,” He grinned devilishly at you.
“You’re one to talk. You’re the one who pinned me to your car, ready to take me right there.”
All he did was stalk closer, “And you liked it, didn’t you?”
You were quiet, letting the air around you thicken. Yes, you liked it. It’s the first thing that got your blood pumping in months, a heat grew between your legs. A long-neglected aspect of your life you hadn’t thought of much until now.
“Yeah, you did.” He said cockily, watching your pupils go wide. Much like his. He knew your bedroom eyes well; he knew you were soaked underneath that satin skirt you had on.
“So what?” Your mouth was dry, meeting him halfway. The two of you are standing in front of the couch.
“Did you miss me? Miss my cock?” His words made goosebumps rise on your skin. You forgot just how filthy his mouth was. You remained quiet, the two of you in a standoff, to see who would break first. Your hands were clenched into fists, shaking wildly.
“I missed your cock but not that mouth.” You regretted your words the moment they came out, because his eyes lit up. He knew he had you right where he wanted you.
He then plopped onto the couch, his legs spread wide. You looked down at him in astonishment, “What-”
“You want it so bad? Come get it.” He patted his lap, the bulge in his khakis prominent.
“You’re such a cocky asshole, you know that?” You seethed, crawling into his lap regardless. Making yourself at home on top of his hips, “Acting like one taste of my pussy wouldn’t have you begging for more.”
“Never said it wouldn’t,” he grinned.
You weren’t sure who moved first, the next thing you knew, teeth were gnashing against skin. Lips pulled together tightly, hands squeezing and scratching wherever they could. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was hunger and frustration and longing wrapped up in heat, the kind that burned instead of soothed. It was animalistic. Every kiss felt like a confession, every desperate grab a way of saying what neither of you had managed to put into words.
“Did you fuck her?” You asked with a growl, pulling his head back by the hair on his neck. He let out a grunt at the movement, his eyes snapping to yours. Taking him by surprise at your sudden violence, the green monster tugs at you.
“Bet you wanna know-”
You yanked harder, his neck jerking. “I asked you a question.”
“F-fuck, no. No, I didn’t.” He whined, “She loves Jonathan.”
“Would you have fucked her? If she wanted to?”
“Probably.” The admission was sharp, his eyes pleading with you.
No words could match how you were feeling; instead, you brought your lips to his in a bruising kiss. As if you could will away any memory of her lips from his. Nails scraped against skin, leaving a painful reminder of you on his body.
No time was wasted in undressing; your shirt was pulled open. Your skirt pulled up over your hips.
“Baby, let me get you ready.” His hands slid up under your skirt, pulling your soaked panties to the side. His fingers were swiping at your entrance. He sensed your urgency, not wanting to hurt you.
You shook your head, continuing to pull his pants down to his knees. Still straddling his lap, you pulled his hand away despite his protests.
“Just need you, please.” The words were thick in your mouth, hovering on top of his hardened cock. Steve was well endowed; it took your body years to become used to his size. Now that it had been months, surely it would be difficult. But you were a masochist. You wanted it to hurt; you needed it to hurt. It’s what you felt like you deserved.
He hesitated, but nodded. Trusting you to make your own decision, his breath hitching when your wet slit rubbed against his tip. His hands braced your hips as you slid down, taking a few inches in a fast thrust.
The gasp that left your mouth was inhuman, your body falling into his hold. “Baby,” He hissed, “I told you to let me-”
You shushed him, the stretch burning in a sick twisted pleasure as you moved further down. Taking all nine inches of him in a gentle swoop. “Needed this. Just like this.” You cried out, your clit rubbing against the coarse hair that sat above his cock.
“Yeah? No one else can fill you up like this, baby.” He grunted, his hold on your hips sure to leave bruises. “Can they?”
You shook your head, grinding down on him slowly. Letting your cunt adjust to the intrusion, soaking him in your arousal.
“Have you been fucking other men, baby?” He mocked the slow, gentle circles he rubbed on your skin, contrasting with his evil words.
You didn’t respond; you couldn’t not while you were still catching your breath. “Bet every time they fucked you with their tiny cocks, you thought of me, huh? Couldn’t quite reach where I can.”
“Shut. Up.” You grumbled, pretending like you weren’t clenching around him at his words.
You lifted your hips, pulling off of him except for an inch before slamming back down. This cut him off from his next taunt, letting out a guttural moan instead. He was quiet after, helping you find a gentle rhythm. Your hips stuttered each time they met his, his bulbous tip hitting your sweet spot each time.
Neither of you was going to last long; you could feel it in the way his muscles tensed. Both of you hadn’t felt the touch of another since your last night together. You were both lost in the feeling, riding his cock like you’d die without it.
“Take that fucking cock.” He sighed, throwing his head back into the couch cushions.
“Do you ever shut up?” You stuttered, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulder blades. Lost in the feeling of him, before he stopped you. Holding your hips down on him, you barely got a chance to speak before he lifted his hips. Thrusting up into you experimentally, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.
“Tell me how good it feels,” He panted, ignoring how you struggled to bounce in his lap. “Tell me, or I’ll stop.”
You were quiet, meeting his eyes. “You wouldn’t.” You called his bluff, but unfortunately, he was serious as he began to slide you off his lap, excruciatingly slow.
“W-wait,” You cried out, placing your hand on his chest. “Please don’t stop.”
He thrusted up into you slowly, “Be a good girl and tell me how my cock feels splitting you apart.”
“God,” You sobbed, bracing yourself in his hold as he let you bounce on him once again. “Feels so good. S’fucking good baby. Please don’t make me stop.”
“S’what I thought.” His hand slapped your ass harshly, gripping the flesh to help guide you in taking him with each swivel of your hips. In the chaos, he leaned forward, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck.
“Where’s the ring?” He growled, his teeth biting against the flesh of your collarbone.
One of your hands was now laced in his hair, the other pressed firmly on his chest. “W-what?” You slurred, his pace still unrelenting. Fucking his hips up into yours without a care in the world.
“The ring. I want it on your hand.”
“You d-don’t deserve it being on my hand.” You barked back, letting your fingernails dig into his chest. The pain only spurred him on.
“I know.” He grunted, planting his feet.“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna fuck you with nothing but that ring on your hand.”
“Jesus.” You grumbled, nearly losing your balance. His hands gripped your hips tighter, taking over your movements completely. Fucking up into you as if you weighed nothing, your head falling back.
“This fucking pussy missed me, huh?” He grunted, as if the lewd sounds of your cunt squelching for him weren’t enough. Steve always had a filthy mouth; it only got worse when he had something to prove.
“Fuck you.” You whined, blindly covering his mouth with your hand. In return, all he did was bite down gently on your digits, continuing on.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” His words were muffled, your body coming apart on top of his. You screaming out his name only spurred him on, emptying his load deep inside your cunt. With each clench around him, you took him in deeper, holding onto him for dear life as you both rode out your orgasms with each other.
Sweat lined your skin. Steve’s warm lips were against your skin. Relishing the feeling of you still around him.
“You okay?” He mumbled, your eyes slowly fluttering back open. You didn’t know what you felt, now stuck in the after. After this complicated line was crossed. Where were you to go now?
“It’s late.” You said shakily, lifting your hips off of him slowly. Tears prickling your eyes when you were faced with the emptiness when he slipped out of you. You ignored his worried eyes, pulling your skirt back down. Fumbling with your shirt buttons.
“You,” He cleared his throat, pulling his boxers back up, “Don’t have to run out. You can stay. Wait a minute-”
“No, I should go.” You said clearly, stumbling around to collect your things.
“You’ve had a lot to drink, what we did-” He paused, “You need a minute to calm down.”
“I haven’t been drunk since we argued outside. I can’t use the wine as an excuse for this.” You rubbed messily at your eyes. “I’ll be safe, I just can’t be here. I need to go.”
He stopped you at the door, holding onto your hand. “Please call me when you get home. Or I’ll come over to check myself.”
You did call him that night, keeping it short and sweet before you trudged up to your room. Screaming into your pillowcase. You didn’t expect the night to go as it did, your heart unable to handle it. You woke up the next day with an emotional hangover, trudging through the next few days like a zombie.
You kept your promises, getting coffee with Robin. Going Christmas shopping with Max and El. You even spent lunch with your mother, ignoring her judgmental glares when you told her that you and Steve didn’t magically get together over one Christmas party.
Christmas Eve night, and the house was quiet, aside from the phone ringing loudly off the hook at 10 before midnight. You nearly tripped racing to the phone, picking it up in haste.
“Hello?” You spoke into the receiver quietly, praying neither of your parents would pick up the other line.
“Hey.” Steve’s voice rang out quietly, “Sorry if I woke you.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” You admitted, imagining him in his bed. The phone nuzzled between his cheek and neck.
“Me neither.” His voice was deeper than normal. Thick with sleep, and an unknown emotion. Your teeth bit down on your bottom lip, refusing to make the first move. You knew why he called you, and you hated that he knew you’d answer.
“Do you remember our old spot?” He finally spoke.
You were grateful that he couldn’t see your smirk through the phone, “I remember.”
“You can say no, but I can be there in 10.”
You should’ve said no. You should’ve told him you planned to drive home tomorrow, to leave this town with your tail between your legs. Unable to face what you’d done. But lines have already been crossed; what was one more time? So the words were leaving your mouth before you had the chance to reconsider the consequences.
“I’ll see you there.”
Minutes later, you had pulled your car into the abandoned parking lot, right between Hawkins High and Hawkins Presbyterian. It was here that you felt 17 again, sneaking behind your parents' backs to meet up with a boy. Going from one backseat to another. When the familiar rumble of Steve’s beamer pulled up beside you, it was the soundtrack to your teenage years. His engine turning off, his stumbling as he clambered into your passenger seat, as he belonged there.
His cheeks were flushed from the cold. “Hey.”
“Hey.” You replied, just as awkwardly as he did. “Merry Christmas.”
He made the first move, cupping your face in his large hand. Forcing you to look at him. “You’re so beautiful.”
No makeup on, in ratty high school pajamas, hair a mess in the moonlight. You were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen; nothing would change that.
“What are we doing?” You frowned, ignoring the way you nuzzled into his palm.
He only repeated your words with a gentle tone, “You tell me.”
“I don’t know.” You found yourself leaning in, chasing his lips with your own.
You hated how well you knew each other, falling into a rhythm as if there wasn’t a chasm between the two of you. It took all but a few kisses before you were stumbling into the backseat, clothes getting pulled off in every direction.
“Let me take care of you, please.” He was all but begging against your lips, his hands tugging at your pajama pants. Who were you to deny him?
It took a while to get a comfortable position, grown-up bodies not quite slotting together in the leather seats as teenage ones once did. Your head was leaning against the door, cushioned by an old hoodie as Steve lay half on the floor. His lips were trailing messy kisses up your thigh, before his tongue hit your quivering clit.
“Oh my god.” Your body immediately convulsed, head twacking against the car door by accident. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care as his mouth worked magic on you. Slowly inching his fingers deep inside you, curling them just enough to have you see stars.
It was moments like this that you were reminded of just how well he knew your body, playing you like a piano. Knowing exactly how to make you scream. So there was no surprise when a short few minutes later, you were coming apart on his face, lazily grinding against his nose. Chasing every ounce of pleasure from him. He would’ve kept going if you hadn’t stopped him with a short pull of his hair.
“I might get a concussion if we don’t switch.” You giggled, sitting up slowly. Having hit your head against the car door enough. “And you don’t need anymore head injuries.”
He laughed, but paused when he saw you flip over. Settling on your hands and knees for him, your glistening cunt wide on display for him.
“Jesus, fuck.” His cock got even harder if possible, as he balanced on his shaky knees. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, please.” You wiggled your hips at him, making more curses slip from underneath his breath. You wanted to wrap your mouth around him, but the limited movement didn’t allow for that. You heard him pull his boxers down, leaning forward with a cupped hand to your mouth.
He didn’t even need to give you directions; you were spitting into his hand. He used this to stroke his cock lazily, not as if he needed it since he worked you open this time.
Your hands were gripping the door when he slowly pushed in, the angle even deeper than the last time. His hand settled on your lower back while he pressed against your womb with each shift of his hips.
“S’fucking deep.” You babbled, “I love your huge fucking cock.”
Your praise only made him twitch deep inside you, dragging against your warm walls. “S’all yours. Your fucking cock, baby. Only f’you.”
You cried out his name when he moved. It was hot and fast. Both of you were chasing your highs greedily as the car rocked. The only sounds were the pornographic moans slipping through your lips and the harsh recoil of his hips hitting against your ass.
“Need you to cum again for me, baby.” He grunted through his teeth, his hand reaching between your legs to rub circles on your swollen clit. “Gotta feel it.”
With a fast nod, your cunt squelched around him. Your hand slid across the frosted glass, cooling your warmed skin as he trailed kisses up and down your spine. Coaxing you through the orgasm that had your legs trembling.
“Cum inside me.” You cried out, repeating it over and over. “Mark me as yours.”
“All your’s baby. Yeah, oh fuck yeah- take that cum.” He stuttered, his hips stilling as he emptied inside of you. Filling you up once more, plugging your cunt full of him. His fingers kept rubbing your clit slowly, feeling each twitch of your cunt suckling in his cum. “Good girl, taking it all.”
“Fuck.” You whined when he slowly pulled out, helping clean you both up.
He ended up on his back, pulling you onto his chest, awkwardly cuddling in the backseat. Your face nuzzled into his side, hand trailing fingers through his chest hair. A place on his side that was once yours every night.
“If you love me here, why can’t you love me there?” You asked, his chest stilling.
“I never stopped loving you. I haven’t even tried, I just know it’s not possible.” He admitted, his hand running through the ends of your hair. This hair now held memories of him, too.
“Like it. Your hair.” He admitted.
“Only cut it because it reminded me of you.” You admitted back, closing your eyes. Letting the beat of his chest echo in your ears. If this was going to be the last time the two of you were ever like this, you were going to cherish it. Even if it was in the backseat of your car, his head was awkwardly propped against the foggy windows.
“I didn’t cut my hair because I knew no one else would cut it like you.” He sighed, his hands stilling on your scalp.
“We’re hopeless.” He couldn’t help but agree, holding you even tighter.
“Do you wanna go back to my house?” He spoke quietly, not wanting the night to end. Not here, not in the backseat of your SUV like lovesick teenagers.
You didn’t even have to think when you nodded, the two of you dressing in comfortable silence. When you got to his house, he slipped your coat off your shoulders, a practiced motion you got down after years of Indiana winters. His hair was damp from the snow and sweat, tiny curls appearing on his forehead and the back of his neck. Your fingers ached to trace the spiral.
“I have some cider.” He spoke up, “Could warm us up.”
“You should steal some of your dad’s bourbon. I can spike it.” You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes this time.
“I like the way you think.” He parted with a kiss on your forehead. Leaving you to grab two mugs, warming up the apple cider. Successfully spiking it with the decanter he brought back. You migrated to the couch, settling in the spot across from him. The drink burned your throat, the spice settling deep in your chest.
“We’re gonna have to talk about it, you know?” He spoke, setting his mug down on the table. Leaning back on the couch, one arm spread against the back of it. “Like actually talk about it.”
He looked good, too good. The dark red cashmere contrasts against his pale skin, his still-damp hair falling across his forehead. Your fingers ached to run your hands through his locks again, to press your lips to his exposed neck.
“Tis the damn season.” You said sarcastically, your hand still gripping your mug tightly. Willing the spiked cider to enter your bloodstream faster. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just a weekend where we let ourselves pretend everything was okay.”
“It means everything, and you know that.” He spoke quickly, his eyes squinting at you.
Your mouth went dry, taken aback by his words. You knew it did the moment you two crossed the line that it was more than just sex. It could never be just sex between the two of you.
“Okay..” You slumped in your seat, “What does it mean then? Tell me. Because on the same day you were giving Nancy heart eyes, you fucked me on your couch.”
“I don’t see Nancy as anything other than a friend.” He swore, “I’ll admit, it was nice to feel wanted, I guess. I was lonely, and she was here. It was easy to slip into old shoes, harmless flirting. At first, just longing for someone. But Nancy.. We’d never work out. She still loves Jonathan, and I’d never get over you.”
“There’s no one else.” You admitted, answering his question from days ago. “I was just riling you up. Which was very toxic of me, but you’re hot when you’re making assumptions. I went on one date, snuck out through the back door of the restaurant, crying.”
While the thought made his stomach coil, he couldn’t stop the loud laugh that left his lips. “You’re kidding.”
“No, it was embarrassing,” You giggled, “He ordered garlic bread, hold the garlic, so it was just bread. And when I asked him why he didn’t just say bread, he said it wasn’t the same. The only thing I could think of was ‘Wow, Steve would make fun of him with me’. So I cried and left.”
“I would’ve made fun of him with you, but he didn’t deserve to go on a date with you.” He frowned a little through his laughs, “No one does.”
A sharp silence sat between you two. Snow was still falling from outside, and Cider still steamed in your mugs. The room smelled like pine needles and cinnamon.
“I don’t know what to do,” You admitted, feeling small under his gaze, “We both hurt each other, but have we hurt each other too much? Can we take back the things we said?”
“No,” Steve said.
Finally, after a brief moment of silence, your heart sank. So this was it, after everything, this was the closure you were avoiding. The kind that snuffed out the last bit of hope you’d been clinging to, leaving you no soft place to land.
“We can’t take it back. We said those things because we were scared and hurting, and pretending we didn’t mean it at the time isn’t gonna fix anything.”
His words hit like a gunshot at point-blank range. You took a moment to let the words sink in.
You swallowed hard, nodding. “So that’s it, then.”
He shook his head. “No. Not if you don’t want it to be.”
You looked up at him, confused. Unsure if it was the cider speaking, or him. But when you caught his eyes, they were clear and determined.
“We can’t go back to how we were. That much is obvious. Too much time has passed. We’ve both changed, I know I’ve changed.” He let out a soft laugh, “But that doesn’t mean it’s the end.”
Silence stretched between you two, no longer a sharp sting- just a heavy weight over the two of you.
“I spent months convincing myself that I made the right decision. I hurt you, I know I did. And there’s not a day that goes by, Y/n, that I don’t regret that.” He admitted, “I was lost. I was so lost and in my head, and I thought the only way to find myself again was space. I just kept thinking that if I stayed, you’d end up resenting me. That you’d wake up one day and realize you’d slowed yourself down for someone who couldn’t keep up. That you’d hate me the same way my dad hates my mom for ever keeping him in this town.”
His words were heavy with emotion, cut off by your shaky voice. “You didn’t have any right to make that decision without me.”
“God, I know,” he said. “But at the time, I couldn’t breathe. I was just treading water every day. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I was terrified you’d end up hating me. So I did the worst thing possible and sped up the process.”
“I don’t hate you,” You spoke quickly, “Steve, I could never hate you. Trust me, I tried.”
He cracked a sad smile at that, his thumb rubbing over the edge of his now-chilled cider.
“I guess I just thought leaving would give you space to become everything you were meant to be,” he said. “And maybe give me time to figure myself out. Looking back, yeah. I’d go back in time and change it if I could, but I can’t.”
“Did it?” You asked, “Give you time?”
He shook his head, cruel amusement on his lips. “Just made me realize that losing you made my life so much worse than it was. You changed, you know?”
You raised an eyebrow at him, “The hair isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Not that. You don’t need me the way you used to. You’re more sure of yourself, I can tell. And that scares me, because I know we can’t come back and expect things to be the same.”
“I don’t want the same,” you sighed. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Maybe we don’t decide everything right now.”
You glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… we take it slow,” Steve said. “No promises we can’t keep. No rushing back into forever just because we miss each other. Let me earn your love again. Let me earn you putting that ring back on your finger. I’ll do it all over again. I’ll even get back down on one knee.” He brought his hand to yours, lacing your fingers together. Tracing the empty spot on your left ring finger.
You nodded slowly. “No running this time.”
“No running,” he agreed, bringing your hand up to his mouth. Pressing the gentlest kiss to your knuckles.
It wasn’t forgiveness, not in the traditional sense. No one tells you what to do when someone you love hurts you, so you hurt them back twice as hard. It wasn’t a clean slate; there was no pretending to patch over bullet holes with cheap plaster. Starting over didn’t erase the hurt or fix the cracks in the foundation. It just meant choosing each other again, knowing exactly what it could cost. But waking up every day, fighting for each other instead of against one another, felt like something worth risking the pain for.
And maybe in a different lifetime, he would have stayed, maybe in another, you were the one to go. All you knew was that in this one, the two of you weren’t going to spend another second apart.
Steve Harrington x sunshine!fem!reader, 4.1k words
Summary: Steve Harrington treats you like an annoyance, all heavy sighs and eye-rolls, and you adore him anyway. Then he goes too far, says something that hurts, and realises that he's loved you all along.
Steve Harrington is mean to you.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice carries a permanent layer of exasperation that is seemingly only reserved for you in particular. He speaks to you in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles. You are, in his lexicon, “a nuisance,” “underfoot,” and most frequently, “in the way, sweetheart.”
He calls you “kid” when he’s feeling particularly dismissive, even though you're only a year younger than him, and he has a habit of flicking your forehead or ruffling your hair into a mess.
And you adore him. Hopelessly. You bring him a Coke without being asked, you memorise his work schedule so you can “accidentally” bump into him, and you hang on his every gruff word as if it’s gospel.
You're terrible at hiding your crush on him, shining from your eyes every time he enters a room. He finds it baffling. And, in his most private moments, a little bit breathtaking.
He finds your attention strange because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans usually involve re-shelving returns.
Yet, there you are. A constant. When he mutters about his stupid car making a weird noise, you nod along with grave concern and help him look up possible problems when you go to the public library. When he complains that Robin used the last of the good popcorn, you look genuinely outraged on his behalf.
You have this way of tilting your head just so when he talks, your entire being focused on him, as if the rest of the world has politely blurred into the background. It's unnerving.
It's also kind of nice.
It happens on a Thursday. Steve's had a horrible day. His head is pounding, his car is making a new, expensive-sounding whine, and a customer just yelled at him for five minutes because Risky Business was checked out. He’s a tightly coiled spring of pure, undiluted annoyance.
And then you appear. A burst of sunshine in the stale video store air. You’re holding a small, slightly lopsided cookie on a napkin, your face lit with a hopeful, proud smile.
“Hi! I baked,” you announce, presenting it to him like a sacred offering. “Chocolate chip. I know you said your grandma's were the best, but I tried the recipe you mentioned and I added extra chips, just like you like.”
You’re beaming, so pleased with yourself for remembering this tiny detail about him. You wait, your eyes wide and sparkling, for his approval.
Steve looks from your hopeful face to the cookie. The smell of sugar and chocolate, usually comforting, feels cloying. Your cheerful voice scrapes against the raw edges of his mood.
The spring inside him snaps.
“Christ, can you just… not for five minutes?” The words come out flat and cold, sharper than he intends.
Your smile wavers. “What?”
“The hovering. The… the constant attention.” He gestures vaguely, his jaw tight. “It’s suffocating. Do you ever just… exist without making it about trying to get me to notice you?”
Your face crumbles in less than a second. The light in your eyes dims so completely it’s like someone flipped a switch. Steve's mean, but he's never this mean. Not on purpose, not with an intent to hurt, but this hurts.
You look down at the cookie in your hand as if you’ve just realised you’re holding something disgusting. Your lower lip gives a tiny, traitorous tremble before you bite down on it hard, trying to steady yourself.
You don’t say a word. You just set the cookie down on the counter, turn on your heel, and walk out.
The silence you leave behind is deafening. Steve stands there, staring at the stupid, lopsided cookie. The angry heat in his veins instantly cools, replaced by a cold, sinking dread that pools in his stomach.
What has he done?
"Steve."
He turns. Robin is standing there, her face pale. She looks dangerously close to tears, staring at the space where you just were, then back at him, her expression one of utter disbelief.
“How could you?” she whispers, her voice trembling with a hurt that isn’t even hers. “How could you say that to her?”
He opens his mouth, but no defence comes.
“She’s just trying,” Robin continues, her voice gaining strength, thick with emotion. “She tries so hard, all the time, just to be near you. She thinks you hung the damn moon, and you just…”
Her voice switches to an angry tone. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? For someone to look at you like that? After everything? To see all the crap and the baggage and the scars and still think you’re worth a lopsided cookie?”
Steve feels like he’s been hollowed out.
“She’s the kindest person who walks in here,” Robin says, her voice breaking. “And you made her feel like a pest. You broke her heart, dingus. And for what? Because you had a bad day?”
She turns and walks back into the storeroom, leaving him alone with the cookie and the echoing, agonising truth of her words.
You don't show up at all on Friday. Robin only speaks to him when absolutely necessary, and every clipped word feels like a shard of glass.
Every time the bell jingles, Steve’s head snaps up, a pathetic, hopeful lurch in his chest that’s immediately crushed when it’s not you. He straightens the same row of horror movies six times.
By Saturday, he’s a walking bruise. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t eat. He’s been hollowed out and filled with a churning, toxic mixture of guilt and terror. He drives past your street three times but can’t make the turn. What if you look at him with that shattered expression again? He doesn’t think he could survive it.
Sunday is worse. The silence in his own house is maddening. He tries to watch TV, but he just sees your face—the way it fell. He hears Robin’s voice: You broke her heart.
He has to fix it. He has to try. Even if you slam the door in his face, he has to see you.
Monday afternoon, after a horrible shift, he drives to your apartment. His hands are sweating on the wheel. He knocks. Once, twice. No answer. Just a faint, muffled sound from inside that twists his gut.
He knows where your spare key is. You’d told him, months ago, laughing as you taped it under the ugly ceramic frog pot by your door. “In case I ever lock myself out!” you’d said. He’d rolled his eyes then. “That's the worst possible hiding spot, sweetheart. If I was a thief, I'd look there first.”
His fingers are clumsy as he feels under the cold ceramic. The key is there. Using it feels like a violation, but the silence from inside your apartment is worse. He unlocks the door and pushes it open slowly.
“Hey…? It’s me,” Steve calls, his voice strained.
The living room is dim, blinds drawn. And there you are. Not on the sofa. On the cold hardwood floor in front of it, curled into the smallest possible ball. Your arms are wrapped tight around your knees, your face completely hidden in your knees.
The sight knocks the air from his lungs.
“Oh, angel,” he breathes, the endearment a pained exhale he didn’t know he had in him.
He closes the door and crosses the room in three long strides. He doesn’t hesitate. He bends, slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and scoops you up from the floor. You’re so light, so boneless with misery, you don’t even startle. You just let out a small, broken whimper against his neck.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Can’t have you on the floor, sweetheart. It's so cold.”
He sits on the sofa and settles you on the cushions between his legs, your back to his chest, so you’re fully surrounded, cradled in the space he makes for you. One hand splays over your heart, feeling its frantic, sad rhythm. The other cradles your head, his fingers sinking into your hair.
You finally break. A raw, ragged sob tears from your throat, and then another. You twist in his hold just enough to press your face into the collar of his shirt, your tears soaking the cotton instantly.
“That’s it,” Steve whispers, his lips pressed to your temple. “Let it out. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. God, I hate that I said that crap to you.” His own eyes burn, but he keeps his voice steady to calm you as best he can. “I didn’t mean it. Not a single word. You’re my favourite thing in the whole world.”
His hand moves from your chest to find yours, lacing your icy fingers with his and bringing your joined hands up to rest under his chin. “I love you,” he says quietly, the first ever time. “I’m in love with you. And I was so scared of it I tried to ruin it.”
You tremble against him, your sobs slowly softening into hitching breaths. You turn your head just enough to look up at him, your eyes swimming with a heartbreak he put there. He hates himself for it. “You looked at me like I was nothing,” you whisper, the words scraped raw.
“You are everything,” he corrects, his voice thick with tears. “And I was too stupid to know what to do with it. Forgive me. Please. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
You stare at him, searching for the lie, finding only a desperate, open honesty you’ve never seen before. You blink up at him, eyes clearing of their sadness.
"You... you love me?" you whisper, your voice small and hoarse from crying, but laced with a wonder that makes his heart clench.
Steve lets out a watery, relieved breath that's almost a laugh. He nods, his nose brushing against yours. "Yeah. So much it makes me stupid. Obviously."
A shaky, almost incredulous little giggle escapes you, followed by a sniffle. "You are stupid," you agree, but the words are soft, devoid of any real bite. They're just a fact.
"You bake me cookies and look up car manuals for me," he points out, his thumb stroking your cheek. "So what does that make you?"
"Also stupid," you mumble, but you're nuzzling into his touch now, a movement that sends pure warmth through him.
"The perfect amount of stupid," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. It's chaste, gentle, a promise. "My kind of stupid."
You're quiet for a moment, your fingers tightening around his where they're still laced together. You're studying him, the last of the walls around your heart crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. "You're really not just saying it because I'm sad?"
Steve's chest aches. "Partly, but not in the way you think," he murmurs quietly. "Not 'cos I feel sorry for you." He shifts you slightly so he can see your face. "I'm saying it 'cos seeing you this sad... because of me... it's like looking at the sun going out."
He takes a deep breath. "The truth is I'm an asshole. An asshole who's in love with you. But I'm gonna try to be less of an asshole, if you'll let me."
You're quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. Then, you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. "You're not an asshole. You're just... you. And I really love you."
The words, so softly spoken, land in the centre of his chest and explode into a supernova of pure joy. He closes his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him, before pulling you tighter against him, burying his face in your hair.
"Say it again," he murmurs, the words muffled.
"I love you, Steve."
He kisses your hair. "Again."
A real, genuine laugh bubbles out of you, light and clear. It's the best sound he's ever heard. "I love you, you big, mean, stupid jerk."
"That's more like it," he laughs into your hair, tucking you closer against his front.
The next day, Tuesday, around the usual time, the bell over the Family Video door gives a single, timid ting.
Steve’s head snaps up. His heart, which has been a heavy, anxious weight in his chest all morning, gives a hopeful, painful thud.
You’re standing just inside the door, frozen. You’re clutching a small, brown paper bag to your chest. Your eyes, while clear of the devastation from yesterday, are wide and watchful. You don’t smile, not yet. Even after yesterday, you're still wary. He doesn't blame you.
Steve sets down the pen he’s been fidgeting with and slowly rounds the counter. He stops a few feet away from you, his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly. Barely any gruffness, there, only soft care.
You swallow, your grip tightening on the bag. “Hi, Steve.”
“You brought me something?” he asks, his voice a low, coaxing hum. He nods toward the bag, a gentle prompt.
“Cookies,” you say. “I… I wanted to try again. Properly.” You take a small, hesitant step forward and hold it out. “If you want.”
Steve’s heart swells. God, you're the bravest person he knows. He closes the distance between you, hands coming up to cover yours where they hold the bag.
“Look at me, angel,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper meant just for you.
You lift your gaze, and he holds it, letting you see every ounce of the remorse and adoration in his own. He sees the flicker of fear in yours, the memory of his cold voice. It guts him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking gentle circles on your skin. “C’mere.”
He opens his arms.
You hesitate for just a heartbeat, your eyes searching his. He doesn’t move, just waits, his expression open and patient.
Then you step into him, and he folds you into his chest with a sigh of pure relief. His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed wide on your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you close. He feels you take a deep, shuddering breath, your body slowly relaxing against his.
He presses a lingering kiss to your temple. “I’m not gonna yell again. I’m not gonna be mean. Okay? My voice is never gonna sound like that when I’m talking to you. That guy’s gone.”
You nod against his chest, your arms tightening around his waist. “Promise?” you whisper.
“I swear on everything,” he vows. Steve pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re safe with me. Always. You could set the whole damn store on fire and I’d just be worried you got ash in your hair. You’re it for me. Got that?"
A smile tugs at your lips. "Got it."
He smiles back, his own eyes stinging. “Good.” He leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “Now, what do you say we actually eat one of these cookies together?"
You let out a wet laugh. "Okay."
He keeps one arm around your shoulders as he leads you behind the counter, pulling out the stool he keeps there just for you. He opens the bag, pulls out two slightly-less-lopsided cookies, and hands you one. He takes a bite of his own, watching you the whole time.
“Mmm,” he hums, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Perfect. Just like you.”
You blush, ducking your head, but you’re smiling as you take a bite of your own cookie.
The back room door bangs open, to Robin standing there, arms crossed, taking in the scene. Steve leaning against the counter, his body angled towards you, a soft, dopey smile on his face as he watches you eat. You perched on the stool, swinging your feet a little, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.
She lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable.”
You jump a little, your eyes going wide like a deer in headlights. Steve just shoots Robin a look that’s half-warning, half-plea.
Robin ignores him and stalks over, plucking the remaining cookie from the bag. She points it at you. “So. This is it? He says ‘I love you’ once, and you just... fold? No further questions? No demands for a written apology? No ceremonial burning of his hairspray? I could've helped you with that, you know.”
You shrink a little on the stool, clutching your half-eaten cookie to your chest. Your eyes dart from Robin’s stern face to Steve’s fondly exasperated one. “He… he meant it,” you say, your voice small but terribly earnest. "He said he was sorry. And that I was his favourite thing in the world."
Robin stares at you. She looks at your utterly sincere, smitten expression. She looks at Steve, who is gazing down at you with a look of such raw, besotted tenderness it’s almost embarrassing to witness.
She shakes her head. "You're hopeless, babe. Adorable, but the biggest pushover in Indiana." She takes a big bite of the cookie. Chews. Her eyes widen slightly. "Holy shit."
You blink. "What?"
Robin points the remaining half of the cookie at Steve. “You are a lucky fuck, you know that?"
Steve grins knowingly. "How so?"
“How so?” Robin repeats, her voice full of theatrical disbelief. “Let me count the ways. One: she bakes.” She takes another bite, speaking around it. “And well, might I add. The chocolate is still melty. The edges are crisp. The centre is chewy without being raw."
"Two: she looks at you like you invented the concept of joy. Even after you were a monumental dingus. The freaking loyalty, oh my God." She pops the final piece of the cookie into her mouth. "And three: you do not deserve her. And yet, here she is."
Steve's grin hasn't faded as he turns his attention from Robin's impassioned rant to you. Your face is burning with flustered embarrassment.
He leans down to turn you on the stool so you’re facing him, your knees bumping his legs. “She’s right,” he murmurs. “I am a lucky fuck. The luckiest. And I definitely do not deserve you. But I'm gonna try to."
“You don’t have to try that hard,” you whisper.
“Yes, he does,” Robin interjects, leaning on the counter. “The minimum effort is daily compliments, foot rubs on request, and never using the word ‘suffocating’ for the rest of his life.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at you, a lovestruck smile on his face. He leans down to give you a kiss. It’s slow. Sweet. A gentle press of his lips to yours that feels like a promise sealed. When he pulls back, just an inch, he’s smiling, his nose brushing against yours.
“Alright, that’s my cue! I’m clocking out early before I develop diabetes from second-hand sweetness,” Robin announces, grabbing her bag and scattering off, the bell jingling after her.
The store is suddenly, wonderfully quiet. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by shelves of movies and the late afternoon sun streaming through the window.
Steve doesn’t move away. He stays right there, looking down at you, his features soft with adoration.
“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, warm rumble, as if he’s greeting you for the first time all over again.
“Hi,” you whisper back, feeling a fresh, giddy shyness bubble up.
One of his hands comes up, his fingers gently brushing a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth. His touch lingers, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip. “You’ve got a little…” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on your mouth.
“Oh,” you breathe, your lips tingling under his thumb.
Instead of pulling away, he leans in and kisses you again. This one is even softer than the last, just a tender press of his lips, over and over, as if he’s savouring the taste of chocolate and you and love. When he finally leans back, his eyes are dark with a soft, dazed kind of wonder.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You duck your head, but he catches your chin with a gentle finger, tilting it back up.
“Hey,” he coaxes. “None of that. Look at me.” You do. His smile is unbearably fond. “There you are. My gorgeous girl.”
The praise, so sincerely given, makes you squirm with happy embarrassment. “Steve,” you whine softly, a feeble protest under his attention.
He chuckles. “What? It’s true.” His hands slide from your face down to your waist, his grip firm and sure. “You’re sitting here, at my work, swinging your feet and blushing ‘cos I called you gorgeous. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
You bite your lip to stop the ridiculous, happy smile that wants to take over your whole face. It doesn’t work. You’re beaming at him, and he looks like you’ve just given him the sun.
Steve's heart feels too big for his chest. “God, you’re pretty,” he breathes, the words falling out, reverent and awestruck. “The most stunning, beautiful girl in the whole damn world.”
You’re melting, a puddle of adoration in his hands. “You’re so… much,” you manage to whisper.
He grins, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin. “Only for you, sweetheart.” He kisses the tip of your nose, which makes you scrunch it up, and him smile. “Only ever for you.”
So, Steve Harrington is mean.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice still carries a permanent layer of exasperation, but it’s reserved for idiot customers and broken VCRs. He still speaks in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles, but they’re directed at Dustin’s latest conspiracy theory and the never-ending mess in the break room.
He is, and always will be, a little bit of a grump. A lovable grump with a sharp tongue and a low tolerance for nonsense.
But not to you. Never to you.
To you, his voice is soft. His sighs are breaths of contentment against your hair. Now, you are, in his lexicon, “sweetheart,” “angel,” and most frequently, “baby”. He calls you “kid” only when he’s teasing, his eyes sparkling with affection. He still ruffles your hair, but now it’s a prelude to tucking you under his chin. He still flicks your forehead, but it’s feather-light, followed by a kiss to the same spot.
He finds your attention breathtaking. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s going to spend every day of his life trying to be a man who does. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans now and forever involve you.
You're terrible at hiding your adoration, shining from your eyes every time he walks into a room. He no longer finds it baffling. He finds it home.
And when he comes home after a long day, his shoulders tight with the weight of the world, and sees you curled on the sofa waiting for him... the grumpiness melts away. The sharp tongue gentles. The guard drops.
“Hey, baby,” he’ll murmur, as he sinks down beside you and pulls you into his lap.
“Hi, Steve,” you’ll whisper, nuzzling into his neck.
And he’ll sigh, soft and deep, and press a kiss to your hair. “Missed you,” he'll say.
Sometimes, the air in your house will smell like brown sugar and warm chocolate. He’ll pause in the doorway, smiling.
“You baked,” he’ll state, the words soft with awe.
You’ll nod from your spot on the couch, a little shy, always so pleased to have done something for him. “Extra chips,” you’ll say, just like that first time, but now your voice is sure, your smile confident in his love. “Just like you like.”
He’ll toe off his shoes and cross the room, not to the kitchen for a cookie, but to you. He’ll sink down and gather you close, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.
“Perfect,” he’ll murmur against your skin, and he won’t be talking about the cookies.
Later, he’ll eat three in a row, making ridiculous, happy noises of appreciation, and you’ll laugh, tucked under his arm, your heart so full you think it might glow. He’ll kiss your temple, his lips dusted with sugar, and whisper, “I love you, sweetheart.”
There's no grand gesture. No dramatic, romantic declaration of love, but you wouldn't want one anyway. You just want him. Steve. Your Steve. Mean to the world, impossibly, beautifully soft with you.
|| desc - steve is well and truly in love with you, he always has been, but you couldn't seem less interested in his eyes. this leads him to think you must just be immune to his charm (impossible) or fine being single. truth is you're neither of those things, your simply oblivious, as is he too apparently.
val speaks - get it get it i did a spin on 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' haa so funny basically just excited for this album 😋😋 enjoy babas !! ++ this is another steve fic without much of the actual stranger things plot (as in the upside down) bc i loved the one i did like that the other day he he
basically a childhood friends to lovers even tho they've secretly always been lovers slowburn w some cluelessness 😁
word count: 8.3k
the first thing anyone ever knew about steve harrington was that he was loud.
not loud in volume, though he could be, especially when he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose at age eight because you told him the punchline to a joke wrong on purpose, but loud in presence.
even as a little boy, steve had always seemed to fill every room he walked into, every backyard he ran through, every sidewalk he skidded his bike tires across. he was all scraped knees and crooked grins, wild hair that never sat flat no matter how much water he slapped on it, and a habit of speaking before he thought, then somehow charming his way out of whatever trouble that got him into.
and somehow, from the very beginning, wherever steve was, you were too.
your mothers liked to joke that before either of you could even walk, you’d already claimed each other. two little babies in matching sun hats sitting in paddling pools in neighbouring gardens, grabbing at each other’s hands with sticky fingers and refusing to settle unless you were side by side. apparently, steve used to cry when your parents took you inside for naps, little fists clenched, cheeks red, angry at the universe for daring to separate him from his favourite person.
some things never really changed.
you grew up attached at the hip in the kind of way people only are when history roots itself so deep between them that pulling apart would feel like tearing skin.
you learned to ride bikes together, both of you wobbling dangerously down your street while your dads shouted instructions that neither of you listened to.
steve crashed first, straight into a hedge, and you laughed so hard you tipped over too. he came out with leaves in his hair and a branch caught in his shirt collar, grinning like an idiot, and before he even checked his own scraped elbow, he was kneeling beside you asking if you were okay.
that was steve.
always checking for you first.
there were summers spent so thoroughly tangled together they blurred into one endless golden memory.
afternoons in his parents’ pool until your fingers wrinkled and your skin smelled permanently of chlorine, competitions to see who could hold their breath longest underwater, cannonball contests that ended with his mother yelling because water splashed onto her expensive outdoor furniture.
nights where you slept over so often that both houses stopped asking questions, your toothbrush permanently living in the bathroom connected to steve’s bedroom, one of his old shirts becoming your designated pyjama top.
you built blanket forts in his room and swore they were castles. you made secret handshakes that changed every month. you whispered under covers with flashlights when thunderstorms rolled in, talking about stupid things and serious things and everything in between.
you saw every side of each other.
the ugly sides too.
you saw steve cry the first time his dad called him a disappointment.
you saw him go quiet after, quieter than should’ve been possible for a boy like him, shoulders tense and eyes glassy as he sat on your bedroom floor staring at nothing.
you sat beside him and said nothing at all, just leaned your shoulder against his until he leaned back.
that became your thing.
when his parents fought, he came to your house.
when his father got cruel, he came to your house.
when business trips left that giant empty house colder than winter, he stayed at your house, eating dinner at your table and laughing with your parents like he belonged there, because he did.
your mother kissed the top of his head when he looked especially worn down, your father taught him how to fix things in the garage.
your home became the place he exhaled and you became the person he always looked for first.
always.
through bad haircuts and braces and acne and awkward limbs that grew too fast for your bodies to catch up, you stayed constant.
until high school came and suddenly, painfully, neither of you were awkward anymore.
you grew into yourself quietly, like spring unfolding. pretty in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but stole it anyway.
soft eyes that noticed everything. a laugh that was rarer now, but warm enough to make people chase it. intelligence that shone bright and effortless. kindness that lived in every small thing you did. helping someone pick up dropped books, remembering birthdays nobody else did, always offering your notes to the kids who missed class.
you were beautiful in the sort of way people didn’t fully understand until they looked twice.
steve understood immediately.
and steve, god, steve grew into himself like he’d been handcrafted for trouble.
broad shoulders. soft brown eyes hidden behind ridiculous lashes. hair that somehow always looked perfect. that stupid smile capable of making half the female population of hawkins forget their own names.
and steve knew it.
or at least, his ego did.
king steve, they called him.
captain of popularity.
girls hanging off his arm, boys desperate for his approval, parties every weekend. loud music, expensive beer stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet, people packed into his house hoping to breathe the same air as him.
he played the part beautifully.
cocky grin, easy charm, careless laughter, pretty girls, empty conversations. but there were things everyone noticed that nobody understood.
how steve only went to parties if you were invited too, even when you almost never came. how he always looked around rooms like he was searching for someone. how if anybody talked badly about you, even as a joke, his entire face changed. how he got mean.
how no girl, no matter how gorgeous, ever lasted long.
how every relationship seemed flimsy compared to the quiet girl who sat beside him in class helping him pass english, who rolled her eyes at his jokes but smiled anyway, who knew where he kept spare house keys and which scar on his knee came from which childhood disaster.
what nobody knew was that steve harrington loved you so badly it ached.
it lived in him like breathing. natural, constant, unavoidable. it was in the way he memorised everything about you.
how you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating. how you chewed on pen caps while studying. how you always gave him the marshmallows from your hot chocolate because you hated them and he loved them. how your nose scrunched when you laughed for real. how you never noticed when boys stared because you were too busy living inside your own head.
it killed him a little, that obliviousness.
because steve flirted constantly.
he tested waters in stupid ways.
telling you about girls he hooked up with, watching your face for any crack in your expression.
there never was one.
just your soft, distracted little hums. sometimes a wrinkled nose if the girl sounded awful. sometimes advice.
advice.
jesus christ.
he’d stare at you, really stare, eyes warm and helpless and completely gone for you, and you’d blink back like he was just steve.
just your steve.
your best friend.
meanwhile, he was halfway to insanity.
what steve never saw were all the quiet ways you loved him back.
how you kept every note he’d ever scribbled you. how no boy ever compared, which was why you’d only dated twice and barely liked either of them. how every time he brought a girl around, something sharp and sour twisted in your chest. how you knew the exact shade of hazel his eyes turned in sunlight.
how you sometimes laid awake at night, staring at your ceiling, replaying the way he smiled at you that day or how his hand rested warm on your back guiding you through crowds.
how your mother’s teasing words looped endlessly in your head.
you and stevie were made for each other.
you’d laugh it off, call her crazy, then spend hours wondering if maybe she wasn’t. wondering if steve could ever look at you and see more.
wondering what it would feel like if he kissed you. wondering if kissing steve would ruin everything, or finally make sense of everything that already existed between you.
and every morning after, you’d wake up and slip right back into your place beside him like those thoughts had never happened at all.
best friends.
always.
completely blind to the fact that the boy beside you was one heartbeat away from loving you out loud.
and equally blind to the fact that you already loved him too.
-
life carried on the way it always had.
which was strange, really, considering there was this constant thing sitting between you and steve. neither of you touched it, neither of you spoke it aloud, but it lived there all the same. tucked into glances that lingered too long, into hugs that held just a second more than necessary, into the easy way your lives folded around each other like they were built to fit.
more days turned into more weeks, more weeks into more months, and everything stayed beautifully, painfully normal.
you still sat with him while he copied your homework answers in that messy handwriting of his, tongue poking slightly into his cheek in concentration like he was actually trying, even though half the time he was writing complete nonsense because he was too busy talking to focus.
you still spent lunches together. sometimes alone, sometimes with your few close friends, sometimes with whatever crowd steve had orbiting him that week, but even in a room full of people, his attention always drifted back to you.
always.
you were still the first number he called. still the person he showed up for without asking. still the person he looked for in every crowded room.
and he was still yours in all the ways that mattered, without ever actually being yours at all.
one night after dinner at your house, your mother insisting steve stay because she’d made too much food, as if she hadn’t been cooking with him in mind from the start, the two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, exactly where you always ended up.
lying on the floor.
side by side.
staring at the ceiling.
it was a strange little ritual you’d created years ago, one that somehow stuck. whenever something weighed heavy on either of you, whenever thoughts got too loud or life got too complicated, you ended up here. flat on your backs, shoulders nearly touching, eyes aimed upward like answers might be written in the cracks of your ceiling paint.
this was where the real conversations happened.
not the casual chatter, not gossip, not jokes, this was where truths lived. the ugly ones, the tender ones, the ones neither of you gave anybody else.
steve let out a long breath beside you, one hand resting on his stomach, the other tucked behind his head.
“he’s doing it again.”
you turned your head slightly toward him.
“your dad?”
he laughed once, humourless.
“who else?”
his jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“he’s on this whole thing about how i need to start learning the business now, so when he retires i can just… step in.” his voice hardened around the words. “like it’s some fucking honour.”
you stayed quiet.
you’d learned years ago that steve needed space to unravel before he needed comfort.
“he talks about it like he’s handing me a kingdom,” he muttered. “when really he’s handing me a prison sentence.”
your chest tightened.
because underneath the bitterness, underneath the anger, you heard what steve wasn’t saying.
he was scared, scared of becoming him. scared of looking in the mirror one day and seeing his father staring back.
steve scrubbed a hand over his face.
“i swear to god, i’d rather work in some shitty grocery store for the rest of my life than do what he does.”
that made you smile softly.
not because it was funny, though the dramatic way he said it was very steve, but because you knew him.
you knew this wasn’t about business being boring this was about morality. about goodness. about the way steve, despite all his pretending and ego and polished king-of-hawkins image, had the softest heart of anybody you knew.
he wanted to be kind, gentle. different. nothing like the man who’d raised him.
you reached your hand out between you, your pinky brushing lightly against his.
“what do you actually want?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“after high school.” you looked back up at the ceiling. “college. life. what do you want, stevie?”
the room went quiet for a second, then two. then he laughed softly under his breath. not a happy laugh, the sad kind.
the self-deprecating kind.
“college?” he scoffed. “c’mon.”
you frowned instantly.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like you’re stupid.”
he turned his head to look at you then, brown eyes soft in the dim lamp light.
“i’m not exactly ivy league material.”
“you’re smarter than you think.”
“i’m really not.”
“you are.”
there was firmness in your voice now, the kind that always made him listen.
“you just don’t try because somewhere along the line, somebody convinced you there was no point.”
his expression shifted. small, almost wounded, because you always saw right through him.
always.
you kept going, softer now.
“you’re smart, steve. genuinely smart. not even just academically, you read people better than anyone i know. you remember everything that matters. you’re creative. funny. emotionally intelligent, even if you pretend you aren’t.” you nudged his shoulder gently. “and if i have to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, i will.”
steve stared at you and god, there was that look again. that look that made your stomach turn over.
warm, completely devastating. then, because he was steve, he ruined the moment on purpose.
“well,” he sighed dramatically, “in that case, i’ll just follow you wherever you go.”
you snorted.
“oh yeah?”
“absolutely.” he folded his hands over his chest. “be your little house wife.”
that made you laugh properly.
bright and sudden.
the kind of laugh that always made him smile like he’d won something.
“house wife?”
“yeah.”
“you?”
“i’d be incredible at it.”
“you can’t cook.”
“i can make toast.”
“you burn toast.”
“crispy toast.”
you laughed harder and soon he was laughing too, that big, warm laugh that filled your whole room.
then the laughter settled into something softer. comfortable quiet. and somewhere in that quiet, the strange truth of it hung there,
every version of the future either of you had ever imagined always included the other. always.
sometimes you were neighbours with houses connected by a garden gate. sometimes coworkers. sometimes roommates in a big city. sometimes pen pals, a ridiculous idea born from sixteen-year-old steve drunkenly declaring he was moving to italy after eating pasta he called religious.
you still teased him for that.
but every dream, every joke, every passing thought about what came next, included us.
never 'me'. never 'you'. always us.
neither of you spoke about the deeper version of that dream.
the one with shared mornings. shared beds. children with messy hair and stubborn attitudes. a home that belonged equally to both of you.
but somewhere, buried deep, you’d both imagined it.
more than once.
steve swallowed hard against that thought.
then casually, too casually, he asked,
“how come you’re still single?”
you turned your head.
“you’re single too.”
a slow smirk spread across his mouth.
“yeah, but i haven’t always been.”
you rolled your eyes.
“neither have i.”
“middle school boyfriends don’t count.”
you laughed.
“according to who?”
“according to me.”
you shook your head, smiling, then shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and that answer sat strangely warm in steve’s chest.
because maybe, maybe you liked being single. maybe there was nobody. maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t want him specifically.
weirdly, that hurt less.
he smiled faintly, staring back up at the ceiling.
then you asked quietly,
“why haven’t you settled down with anyone?”
his chest tightened because there were a thousand truths he could say. because i’m in love with my best friend. because nobody feels like you. because every girl i kiss isn’t you.
instead, he shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and selfishly, your heart liked that answer far more than the possibility of him loving somebody else.
silence settled again.
then steve spoke, voice quieter than before, serious,
“promise me something.”
“anything.”
he turned his head toward you.
there was vulnerability there, raw and boyish and achingly honest.
“don’t forget me.”
your brows pulled together instantly.
“steve-”
“i mean it.” he swallowed. “when all this ends. when college happens, life happens… if we end up in different places…” his voice got softer. “don’t forget about me.”
your whole chest ached because forgetting steve harrington would be like forgetting your own name.
impossible.
you reached across the floor and took his hand fully. fingers threading together like second nature. like instinct. like home.
you squeezed once.
“never” you whispered.
and steve squeezed back, holding your hand in the dark like it was something precious.
something worth keeping.
“promise?”
you smiled softly.
“i promise.”
neither of you realised then just how much that promise would come to mean.
-
by the time prom season rolled around, steve was losing his goddamn mind.
he sat at the edge of his bed one night, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the carpet while every thought in his head somehow circled back to you.
which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. most roads in steve’s mind led to you, had for years.
but this was different, this was bigger.
this was prom.
the last school dance.
the final stupid, sweaty gymnasium decorated with cheap streamers and glitter and songs that would probably suck and punch that tasted vaguely like chemicals.
and steve wanted one thing.
just one.
you.
not in the way he’d had you before. showing up together because that’s what you always did, wandering in side by side because steve bringing you was as natural as breathing, dancing stupidly together in between him getting dragged off by friends and you laughing at him from the sidelines.
not as best friends.
not as what everyone already assumed you were.
he wanted to take you, really take you.
wanted to stand on your doorstep with flowers and nerves and sweaty palms. wanted to tell you you looked beautiful and mean it so hard it hurt. wanted to dance with his hands on your waist and know it meant something different.
wanted one night where he could pretend, or maybe, if he got lucky, not pretend at all.
so he came up with a plan.
a stupid plan. a deeply embarrassing plan. a plan that, in hindsight, made him want to throw himself directly into traffic.
he was going to make it obvious.
not say it, because apparently despite being steve harrington, king of confidence, he became a complete coward when it came to you, but obvious enough.
obvious enough that if you smiled a little wider than usual, blushed even slightly, acted flustered in any way he’d ask you.
simple. easy. foolproof.
except it was none of those things.
because monday morning, the second he pulled into your driveway, he already started acting insane.
normally, steve would pull up, lean dramatically on the horn once, and wait while you came out rolling your eyes.
his logic always being, your house is right there, you can hear the horn when i get in the car.
instead, that morning, he got out. walked to your front door. and knocked. actually knocked.
when you opened it, bag over your shoulder, hair still slightly messy from rushing around getting ready, he nearly forgot every coherent thought in his head.
you blinked at him then squinted suspiciously.
“…why are you at my door?”
he immediately panicked internally.
say something cool.
say something normal.
“felt like it.”
idiot.
your eyes narrowed further, mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile.
“okay…”
you kept looking at him funny all the way to the car, and honestly, fair enough.
but then he made it worse.
because when you reached the passenger side, he darted ahead and opened your door for you.
you stopped dead.
“what are you doing?”
steve leaned against the open door casually, like he wasn’t having a full body crisis.
“being nice?”
you laughed softly, confused and amused all at once.
“you are nice.”
“being nicer.”
you stared at him for a second then shook your head, smiling to yourself as you got in. that smile hit him like a truck.
holy shit.
was that wider than normal? was that flirty? was that polite?
what did that mean-
and thus began the longest week of steve harrington’s life.
because once he started, he couldn’t stop.
every class you didn’t share, he was waiting outside when the bell rang.
leaning against lockers trying to look casual, heart kicking up every time your face lit up when you saw him.
he carried your books.
your bag.
once, your stupid heavy history textbook that you always complained about.
he held doors open.
walked you to every class.
blew off tommy and half his friend group every lunch just to sit with you.
actually did his half of your joint assignment, not copied, not barely attempted, actually did it, and when you looked at him like he’d grown another head, he just shrugged like it was no big deal while internally screaming notice me.
he bought you lunch monday.
again on wednesday.
again on thursday.
sat in the library with you after school willingly.
willingly. the library.
for hours.
and every single thing you did made his brain short circuit.
because you just accepted it. completely. you didn’t question him much, didn’t pull away, didn’t act weird, didn’t reject any of it. you simply smiled that sweet little smile and let him fuss over you.
let him carry your things. let him buy your lunch. let him walk you around school like you were something precious.
and worst of all you looked happy about it. which should’ve been good. right? that should’ve been good.
except now steve was spiralling because what the hell did happy mean?
did you know what he was doing? were you oblivious? were you pitying him? were you just enjoying the attention?
meanwhile, you were living in your own version of insanity.
because steve had always made you feel special.
always.
from childhood to now, there had never been a moment where you doubted your place in his life.
but this?
this was different. this was soft, intentional. sweet in ways that made your stomach flip.
it felt suspiciously like being courted. like being wanted. like being his girl.
and god you liked it. liked it so much it scared you. so no, you didn’t question it. because if you asked, what if it stopped? what if he laughed and said he was just messing around? what if this tenderness disappeared?
so instead, you quietly soaked it in.
let yourself pretend just for a little while. let yourself imagine this was what loving steve openly might feel like.
which meant steve’s giant, ridiculous plan was failing spectacularly for one very simple reason-
the both of you were idiots.
by friday, steve was at breaking point.
he sat in his last class barely hearing a word the teacher said, knee bouncing under the desk.
what the hell was happening? surely by now, if you liked him, you would’ve said something. asked him what all this meant. given him something obvious back.
right?
unless you didn’t like him. unless you just thought he was being nice. unless this was normal to you because he’d always treated you well and you saw no difference.
jesus christ.
he’d spent an entire week acting like a lovesick freak and somehow ended up more confused than when he started.
the final bell rang and steve made a decision.
enough.
no more weird signals, no more spiralling, no more stupid plans.
he was asking you tonight.
flat out.
whatever happened, happened because he was absolutely not surviving another week of this.
what steve didn’t know was that at that exact same moment, sitting in class chewing the end of your pen and smiling stupidly to yourself remembering how he tucked your hair behind your ear at lunch you were thinking,
please don’t stop whatever this is.
please let me keep having this version of you.
even if it’s not real.
even if it’s only for a little while.
-
steve waited outside your last class.
again.
at this point, it had become routine. somewhere in his ridiculous attempt at flirting came a habit he’d accidentally fallen in love with.
there was just something about it.
the way your face always softened the second you spotted him leaning against the lockers. the little smile you never seemed able to hold back. the way you automatically walked toward him, like your feet knew where they belonged before your brain caught up.
it made something warm settle in his chest every single time.
so yes, even if his original reasons for waiting outside your classes had been pathetic and embarrassingly romantic, now he did it simply because he liked it.
liked being the person you looked for, liked walking beside you through crowded halls, liked carrying your books even when you insisted they “weren’t heavy.”
liked the feeling of everyone seeing you together.
he liked it far too much.
that friday, though, he was restless.
you noticed almost immediately.
the way his fingers tapped against his leg. the way his jaw kept tightening. the way he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it again.
still, you didn’t ask.
if there was one thing years of knowing steve harrington had taught you, it was that when he was ready to talk, he would.
until then, you let silence be comfortable.
and it always was with him.
the drive home was dipped in golden evening light, quiet except for the radio humming softly in the background and the occasional sound of steve drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel.
when he took a corner too fast his hand instinctively shot out, catching your thigh for a second to steady you.
warm, solid, gone too quickly.
neither of you said anything but your stomach flipped anyway.
when he pulled up between your houses, you reached for the door handle-
“wait.”
your hand froze.
you turned back.
steve looked terrified, actually terrified.
your heart immediately started hammering.
oh my god.
oh my god.
was he-
this was it. this had to be it.
the weird week, the sweet gestures, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he’d been hovering close like he couldn’t help himself-
this was him asking you to prom.
your whole body went warm.
steve swallowed hard. right. just say it.
say prom.
“do you wanna go prom-”
your breath caught.
his heart launched into his throat.
“-dress shopping with me?”
silence.
steve internally punched himself in the face.
coward. absolute coward.
you blinked.
then laughed softly, trying to ignore how quickly hope had risen and crashed in your chest.
“are you getting a dress this year too, stevie?”
he huffed a little laugh, looking down, shaking his head.
“no, i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “y’know, i’ll drive us to the city. we can get all fancy and buy expensive shit we probably don’t need. get ice cream on the way home.”
he looked up at you then.
hopeful. boyish.
impossibly handsome.
you smiled, a real one.
“that sounds nice.”
his shoulders loosened instantly.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
you opened the door, stepping out, then turned back with a grin.
“it’s a date.”
and walked away.
steve sat frozen in his car.
date.
date?
did you mean date date?
or date as in phrase?
people said that all the time.
right?
right??
he smacked his forehead gently against the steering wheel.
meanwhile, halfway to your front door, you were spiralling too.
why would you say it’s a date? why would you say that?
that sounds romantic. that sounds intentional. he’s going to think you meant it romantically.
except he doesn’t like you.
probably.
so now you sound insane.
great.
perfect.
wonderful.
still, somehow, both of you went to bed smiling because stupid was easier when it felt this good.
-
nice and early the next morning, steve was at your door.
knocking.
again.
except this time when you opened it, you were very much not ready.
hair wild, sleep still heavy in your eyes, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, soft pyjama shorts, bare legs and sleepy confusion.
steve forgot how breathing worked.
you frowned at him.
“why are you here?”
his brain completely short circuited.
“…shopping.”
you groaned.
“shit.”
you looked over your shoulder at the clock and winced.
“i overslept.”
steve finally recovered enough to shrug casually.
“i’ll wait.”
he walked past you like he belonged there, because he did, headed straight to your room, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself face down onto your bed.
dramatically, arms spread, muffled voice immediately rambling into your duvet.
“had the weirdest dream last night.”
you stood at your mirror trying to brush your hair while pulling on jeans.
“what?”
more muffled nonsense.
something about a shark. your third grade teacher. a ferrari. possibly italy.
you laughed.
“i understood none of that.”
he lifted his face slightly, cheek squished against your pillow.
“it made sense in dream logic.”
“sure.”
then face planted again, continuing to ramble while you got ready, his voice muffled into your blankets.
it was domestic in a way neither of you thought too hard about.
easy, dangerously easy.
soon enough, you were in the car headed toward the city.
the windows down, music loud. summer warmth creeping in. you stopped at a roadside place for breakfast sandwiches, then got back on the road. where steve immediately became unbearable.
“bite.”
you looked at him.
“…what?”
“feed me.”
“you have hands.”
“i’m driving. i need to concentrate.”
you stared.
he opened his mouth expectantly.
“bite.”
your eyes narrowed, he looked ridiculous.
you hated how cute it was.
with a sigh, you held the sandwich up for him. he leaned over dramatically, taking a huge bite, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
you laughed despite yourself.
“you’re such an idiot.”
secretly, steve loved the little annoyed crease between your brows. loved making you roll your eyes. loved that you always indulged him anyway.
shopping somehow started with your dress.
steve had expected torture. hours of standing around, fabric talk, waiting, boredom.
instead he got to watch you try on dresses, which was apparently heaven. every single dress had him losing his mind quietly.
blue. green. white. sparkly. simple. dramatic.
even the absolutely hideous monstrosity he tossed into your pile as a joke, some bright orange ruffled nightmare, looked unfairly cute because you came out striking poses and making ridiculous model faces until he laughed so hard he nearly cried.
“that one?” you asked, spinning.
“burn it.”
you grinned.
but then you stepped out wearing soft baby pink.
simple, elegant, gentle, completely you, and steve forgot how to speak.
you looked beautiful.
not pretty, not cute, beautiful. the kind that hurt to look at because it made wanting feel too big inside his chest.
you smiled shyly at your reflection.
“i kinda love this one.”
steve could only nod.
because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably propose.
when you disappeared back into the changing room after trying on the final dress, leaving the pink dress hanging outside, steve moved instantly.
straight to the register.
money down.
done.
easy.
when the cashier smiled warmly and said, “that’s sweet- paying for your girlfriend’s prom dress”
steve didn’t even think, didn’t correct her, just smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the word slipped out naturally like truth. he walked back holding the dress bag proudly. when you emerged and saw it, your face scrunched instantly.
“steve harrington-”
“don’t start.”
“i told you i was buying it-”
he shrugged, smiling.
“it’s our last prom, princess. gotta treat you right.”
princess. that stupid nickname. it hit you exactly where it always did.
that awful lovely feeling.
but you’d become very good at hiding it so you only rolled your eyes.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and generous.”
“annoyingly generous.”
“you love me.”
you smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the quiet honesty of it made his chest tighten because you meant it one way and he heard it another.
then he grinned, standing.
“c’mon.”
you looped your arm through his without thinking.
“your turn.”
shopping for steve’s suit was, thankfully, much quicker.
mostly because he cared significantly less than you did.
he tried on maybe three jackets, two pairs of trousers, one shirt, then stood in front of the mirror shrugging like, yeah, this one’s fine, while you looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“fine?” you repeated.
steve adjusted the collar lazily. “yeah.”
“fine is your final prom outfit?”
he looked down at himself.
navy suit. clean lines, fitted enough to make his shoulders look unfairly broad. white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway while he changed ties.
hair slightly messy from pulling shirts over his head.
beautiful, unfortunately.
he shrugged again.
“looks good enough.”
you stared.
“good enough” you echoed flatly.
his grin only widened “mhm.”
but then, then he did something so stupidly sweet that your entire brain briefly stopped functioning.
the woman helping fit him asked what colour tie he wanted, before she could even list options, steve answered immediately.
“baby pink.”
you blinked.
he looked over at you casually.
“to match your dress.”
simple, matter-of-fact. like it was obvious. like there was never another option.
to match your dress.
your heart practically punched through your ribs because it was little things. always little things with steve. the details, the quiet thoughtfulness, the instinctive way he always included you in everything.
the way matching your dress mattered to him.
not because it was prom, not because it was fashion, but because it was yours.
you stood there smiling like an idiot while he tried on ties, your mind spiralling somewhere far, far away.
and honestly?
you barely paid attention to anything else after that.
just him.
his hands fixing his cuffs, his soft smile when he caught you staring, the way he kept glancing toward you for approval.
god.
you were in trouble. deep trouble.
when you guys got in the car both taking a deep breath, pausing before the long drive home, you stopped him.
“steve?”
his hand froze on the key.
“yeah?”
your heart hammered.
this was insane, absolutely insane but suddenly you couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep wondering. couldn’t keep pretending every soft thing between you didn’t mean something.
so you looked at him and did exactly what he’d been trying to do all week.
“do you wanna go to prom with me?”
steve blinked.
once.
twice.
“…what?”
you smiled nervously.
“prom.”
he laughed softly, confused.
“we always go together.”
you swallowed then forced yourself to say it.
“i mean… properly with me, steve.”
his entire body went still, heart pounding so hard he could hear it.
“what?”
god.
he looked so confused, so beautiful.
and suddenly courage, reckless, terrifying courage, grabbed hold of you. you leaned forward and kissed him.
soft, quick.
the second your lips touched his, your whole body lit up like lightning.
then panic immediately followed.
oh god.
what did you just do?
you pulled back instantly, mouth already opening to explain, apologise, ramble, but steve’s hand came up, cupping your cheek.
warm, gentle, and he pulled you right back in.
kissed you properly.
like he’d been starving. like he knew exactly what your lips would feel like because he’d imagined it a thousand times, but somehow it was still better.
so much better.
you could actually feel him melt, his whole body softened into it and then, that little sound.
a quiet sigh against your mouth.
soft, content, completely helpless. it shot straight into your chest. your new favourite sound. absolutely.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, smiling in complete disbelief.
then he said-
“i hate you.”
your eyes flew open.
“…what?”
he laughed breathlessly.
“i have been waiting my whole life for you to show literally any sign that you liked me.” he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes wide with mock offence. “and the one week i actually decide to try and something about it, you beat me to it.”
you burst out laughing then he did too, forehead dropping back against yours. then suddenly he leaned back fully, staring at you like you were insane.
“no, seriously- what?”
you blinked.
“what?”
“why now?”
you shrugged, cheeks warm.
“i’ve always liked you, stevie.”
steve’s jaw actually dropped.
“what?”
you laughed.
“i’ve always liked you.”
“then why didn’t you say anything?!”
you gave him a look.
“why didn’t you?”
he stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“because you never acted like you wanted me back. ever.”
you frowned.
“maybe you’re oblivious.”
steve scoffed so hard it was almost offensive then gave you the most irritated look imaginable.
“i do not wanna hear you call anybody oblivious. you are the most oblivious person alive.”
you gasped.
“no i’m not.”
“yes, you are.”
“i’m cautious.”
“cautious of what?”
you went quieter then.
honest.
“reading too far into things.” your fingers picked at your sleeve. “you could’ve just been being nice, y’know? i didn’t wanna lose you.”
steve’s whole face softened instantly.
his hand found yours.
squeezed.
“in no world do you lose me, idiot.”
your eyes rolled automatically, mostly because if you looked at him too long you might cry.
then, lighter, you said,
“been waiting your whole life?” you smiled. “dramatic ass.”
he laughed then shook his head.
“no, i’m serious.”
“right.”
“i am.”
“okay, sure-”
before you could argue, he grabbed your face again and kissed you hard. full of grin and relief and years of built-up wanting.
when he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
“and yeah,” he murmured. “i’ll go to prom with you.”
he winked.
“it’s a date.”
you groaned, laughing.
“that line was awful.”
“worked the first time.”
you shoved his shoulder.
he caught your hand, kissed your knuckles and then finally started the car.
the drive home was spent sharing ice cream, stealing kisses at red lights, and smiling so much both your faces hurt.
and when he parked between your houses that evening for the first time going home next door didn’t feel like enough.
because now, finally, you knew exactly where home was.
and it was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at you like he’d found his whole world.
-
the week leading up to prom was, quite possibly, the happiest either of you had ever been.
which was saying something, considering you and steve had spent your whole lives making happiness out of ordinary things.
bike rides and late-night talks. pool days and movie nights. studying together, even when steve mostly just distracted you.
shared dinners. inside jokes.
the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.
you had already built a life around each other long before romance ever entered the picture.
but now there was kissing. and, quite frankly, that improved everything.
the strange thing was, almost nothing about your relationship changed, and somehow, everything changed.
you still woke up most mornings to the sound of steve’s car horn, or, more recently, to the sound of him knocking on your front door because apparently now he liked seeing your sleepy face. you still rode to school together, still shared lunches, still studied in the library after classes, still spent evenings draped across each other’s bedroom floors talking about life until one of you fell asleep mid-conversation.
you were still you.
he was still steve.
best friends in every way that mattered.
except now, when he saw you, his face immediately softened into the most helpless smile. except now, his hand naturally found yours every chance it got. except now, when he dropped you off at home, you kissed him goodnight. except now, when he made you laugh, he looked at your mouth afterwards like he couldn’t help himself.
except now, he kissed you whenever the urge struck him, which was often.
very often.
because steve had apparently been suppressing years of affection, and now that he was allowed to touch you the way he’d always wanted he simply never stopped.
a kiss on your forehead when he saw you in the morning. a kiss on your cheek while waiting in line for lunch. a kiss against your temple while you studied.
a quick peck when he passed you in the hallway. a longer one when nobody was looking.
soft kisses, laughing kisses, hungry kisses that left you breathless, lazy kisses that happened just because you were standing close.
sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, stare at you for a second, then kiss you like he’d just remembered he could.
when you’d laugh and ask what that was for, he’d just grin.
“been wanting to for years.”
as if that explained everything. as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart explode every single time.
steve, somehow, became even sweeter.
which you honestly hadn’t thought possible.
he was constantly touching you in little ways. fingers brushing yours, hand on the small of your back, absentmindedly tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder while reading over your work even though he wasn’t actually reading any of it.
he looked at you like you were his favourite thing on earth, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.
truthfully, he couldn’t.
steve had spent years loving you quietly, years convincing himself he was okay with just having you however he could get you.
best friend. neighbour. constant companion.
he had told himself that was enough.
it hadn’t been, not really.
and now he got to kiss you. hold your hand. hear you call him yours in little casual ways that made his brain completely short circuit.
my stevie.
mine.
god.
he’d never been happier.
and you felt exactly the same.
you weren’t even officially dating yet. somehow, neither of you had actually labelled whatever this was, but it didn’t matter.
you were his.
he was yours.
everyone knew it.
that was enough.
for now.
then prom night arrived.
you spent the afternoon at your friend’s house with your three closest girlfriends, all of you crowded around mirrors with makeup scattered everywhere, hairspray thick in the air, music playing too loudly in the background while laughter bounced off the walls.
it was chaos, beautiful chaos.
and, naturally, your friends spent most of it teasing you mercilessly.
“finally,” one of them said dramatically while curling your hair. “do you understand how painful it’s been watching you two circle each other for years?”
another snorted from where she was doing eyeliner.
“literally years.”
“it was embarrassing,” the third added. “for everyone involved.”
you laughed, shaking your head.
“we were not that obvious.”
three deadpan looks met your reflection in the mirror.
then all together-
“you were.”
one of them groaned dramatically.
“he looked at you like you hung the moon.”
you covered your face.
“okay, stop.”
they only laughed harder but beneath the teasing was genuine relief. everyone who loved you had been waiting for this, waiting for you both to finally stop being idiots, waiting for the inevitable.
because to everyone else you and steve had always been a love story waiting to happen.
later, after hugs and promises to meet at prom, you headed home to get dressed.
and when you finally stepped into your baby pink dress, the same one steve secretly bought for you, you stared at yourself for a long moment.
soft curls framing your face, makeup gentle and glowing, the pink bringing warmth to your skin.
for once, nerves hit.
not because of prom.
because of steve.
because you wanted him to look at you and feel what you always felt when you looked at him.
then, a knock at the door.
your stomach flipped instantly.
you carefully made your way downstairs, hand lightly gripping the banister so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and halfway down, you froze.
your mother had already opened the door.
steve was standing inside.
flowers in hand, pink flowers, the exact shade of your dress, suit fitted perfectly, tie matching you exactly like he’d planned, hair done but still somehow perfectly messy, looking so unfairly handsome it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.
then he looked up and froze. completely.
his whole body went still, flowers slackening slightly in his hand. mouth parting, eyes wide.
you nearly froze too but you also nearly missed a step, so survival instincts forced you forward.
when you reached him, smiling shyly, steve still looked stunned.
then softly, so softly,
“you look so beautiful."
his voice full of awe.
you felt your cheeks warm.
“you look handsome.”
that snapped him into a grin.
your mother immediately started gushing.
“oh, look at you two-”
your father, already prepared, handed her the old camera.
same tradition every dance, same photo spot every year.
except this year felt different, this year felt important.
steve’s hand settled naturally on your waist.
firm, warm, possessive in the gentlest way. you tucked into his side and both of you smiled brighter than you ever had before.
click.
perfect.
the second you stepped outside and the front door shut behind you steve kissed you. immediately. like he physically couldn’t help it.
you laughed softly against his mouth when he pulled away.
“what was that for?”
he shrugged, smiling.
“sorry. i feel like i have to all the time now.”
you blinked.
he looked adorably sheepish.
“i waited too long before.”
your whole chest melted.
you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“good job i don’t mind.”
his smile widened impossibly.
the drive there was perfect. madonna played loudly, steve complained-
“this song again?”
-while secretly singing every word.
badly. using one hand as a fake microphone. you laughed until your stomach hurt and when he caught you looking at him with that soft smile he winked.
god.
you were doomed.
prom itself was… nice.
crowded, hot, loud. friends dragged you apart almost immediately, his crowd calling him over, yours pulling you in. reluctantly, you separated. but only briefly. because, like always, you found your way back to each other.
effortlessly, like magnets, just in time for the slow dance.
his hands found your waist, yours looped around his neck. you swayed together beneath dim lights, forehead resting lightly against his, smiling softly at nothing and everything.
it was perfect, too perfect, too short. because when the song ended, steve frowned.
“that’s bullshit.”
you laughed.
“what?”
“not enough dancing.”
before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd.
out the doors, into the parking lot.
you were laughing the whole time.
“stevie- what are you doing?”
he just laughed breathlessly.
“trust me.”
he dragged you to his car, opened the door, turned the radio on, shoved in a cassette, then david bowie filled the warm night air.
steve dramatically bowed.
held out his hand.
“may i have this dance?”
you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt then placed your hand in his.
under stars, in a mostly empty parking lot, next to his car, you slow danced.
giggling, stepping on each other’s feet, swaying dramatically, kissing halfway through because neither of you could help yourselves.
it was perfect. better than prom itself.
afterwards, breathless and smiling, you both looked toward the building, then at each other and silently agreed-
fuck prom.
ice cream was mandatory, then home.
summer air still warm enough that sitting in his back garden felt perfect.
until suddenly steve gasped, shot upright and ran to the pool, crouching beside it staring in dramatically.
you followed quickly.
“what? what?”
he waved urgently.
“come look.”
you leaned closer and he shoved you in. cold water swallowed you whole. when you surfaced gasping, steve was doubled over laughing.
that little bitch.
fine.
game on.
you frowned dramatically.
“ow- steve-”
his laughter stopped instantly.
“…what?”
you grabbed your arm.
“i think i hurt it-”
panic overtook his face.
“shit- how?”
he reached down and his hand out.
the sweetest idiot alive.
you grabbed it and yanked.
he crashed in beside you with a loud splash. when he surfaced, hair plastered down, face full of betrayal, you were laughing hysterically.
he looked annoyed for exactly two seconds before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your waist holding you close in the water.
laughing softly now too.
then he kissed you.
forehead resting against yours after, smiling wide.
then quietly, like truth he’d been carrying forever,
“i love you.”
your eyes opened.
you smiled.
“i love you too.”
his face softened so completely it almost broke you.
then he hugged you hard like he never wanted to let go.
later, dripping wet, climbing out of the pool steve paused. looked at you seriously, then “that means you’re my girlfriend now, by the way.”
you smiled.
nodded.
“okay.”
he frowned jokingly.
“…okay?”
you blinked.
“what?”
he shoved wet hair back.
“i always thought you were perfectly happy being single.”
you smiled softly.
shrugged.
“maybe i was just waiting for you.”
he rolled his eyes immediately, tugging you into his side as he walked you both inside.
Summary: After becoming a single mom at 21, you decided to abandon your dreams of ever becoming an actress, but with a push of your sister you audition for the biggest new Netflix show and get the part, now you navigate the world of fame while juggling motherhood and love. // you struggle with your feelings and co-parenting, Caroline hates school and joe's moving?
Word count: 5.4k
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I am not dead! but now that summer's starting my seasonal depression has made an appearance and i've been struggling with my mental health a bit (noah kahan's new album has gotten me through this week surprisingly). anyways i've had most of this chapter written for a while so i just added a bit to the end and ta-da new update! i swear they will make up soon (ish) but anyways i'm working on a smau update too so be on the lookout for it! as always, if you want to be added to the taglist or you've asked before and i've missed you lmk in the comments of this one! ◡̈ (not proof-read)
JK Masterlist
2,931 miles
"You are an absolute idiot" Are the first words that come out of Natalia's mouth as her and Charlie enter Joe's apartment.
"You brought her?" Joe sighs.
"Of course he brought me" Natalia scoffs "Someone needs to drill some sense into that tiny brain of yours and sadly this man won't be able to do that"
The apartment feels cold and empty in a weird way, Joe's sure to Charlie and Natalia it looks just the same, nothings out of place, not really, the little trinkets you bought from thrift stores and flea market to decorate are still up and most of Caroline's stuff is still laying around, but it's not.
The throw blanket you've had since high school is no longer draped across the back of the couch, the books you swore you needed, even after he bought you a kindle, because nothing beats the smell of a new book are not scattered around the house, the vanilla air freshener hasn't been refilled and you haven't been in the apartment for so long that your scent no longer lingers.
"Is she back yet?" Charlie asks, Joe shakes his head.
"Have you talked to her since?" Natalia questions, Joe shakes his head no again "And Caroline?"
"Yeah, I've been calling Jenna's phone pretty much daily to talk to her" He says.
"I just don't get it" The woman sighs "You guys were so good, I talked to her while Care was visiting you, she said she was looking into taking a little vacation once you two were done. What happened?"
"I don't know" He rubs his face "We just… I don't even know, it just escalated so quickly"
"You mean you escalated it so quickly" He gives her a look "Sorry, not trying to take sides or make you feel worse but from what I know she was genuinely trying to have a conversation and you were looking for a fight"
"I wasn't looking for a fight, she wasn't talking to me" He scoffs.
"Right" Charlie speaking up surprises both Joe and Natalia who didn't think he'd have much to say about the topic "What? Why are you looking at me like that? All three of us know he's being an idiot"
Joe looks insulted by his words "I mean, yeah, but I wasn't planning on saying it" Natalia tells him "Listen, you know I love you both, and Care, and I will support you and be there for whatever either of you need but this breakup makes zero sense to me and I'm not sure it is the best thing for you both"
"But it's not our relationship so we're staying out of it" Charlie adds nodding.
"And" Nat speaks again "I definitely think you two need to talk, like actually talk. In person, face to face, same country, same city, not over facetime talk"
"Do you think she will want to speak with me?" He sighs, a hopeful yet scared look in his eyes, he has no idea what he'd even say.
Natalia shrugs "I think you should at least try, but she's also so valid if she says no"
You don't say no, a couple days after you land back in California, you agree to bring Caroline over to visit for a few days, you book a hotel nearby even though at this point you want nothing more than to be in your own bed but there's no way you'll sleep at that apartment with him.
The air in LA feels suffocating but you push through it, ubering to the hotel to check in and drop your stuff off first before taking another car to your old apartment with only a small bag for Caroline, some stuff that she'll probably be leaving here along with the other things your sister left behind when she packed up your things.
It's weird, to stand in front of the door of a place that used to be yours for so long and suddenly feeling like a stranger, you still have the keys, in case of emergency, but you don't use them, instead you knock, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait.
Joe, on the other side of the door, has been not so patiently waiting for you for a while now, he started out pacing in the living room, then moving to the kitchen to make sure there were snacks out in case you or Care wanted something, then he remembered he hadn't made his bed this morning, not like you were planning on going into the bedroom but who knows right? After the bedroom he decided to sit down and watch an episode of Survivor that was playing on the TV, but he couldn't concentrate so he turned that off, and after a minute of silence he became to anxious and went back to pacing, which is where he is now.
He's frozen, mid pace, strartled by your knock, a part of him expected you to use your key, then he remembered this was no longer your apartment so of course you'd knock. He takes a few deep breaths "You're okay" he repeats to himself quietly in between inhales, reminding himself it's only you, it doesn't really help but he can't keep you waiting much longer, so he opens the door.
"Daddyyyy!" Caroline comes barreling into him immediately, he picks her up and holds her tight, taking a big inhale, thankful to get another few seconds to regroup himself before letting her down "I missed you"
"I missed you too baby" He smiles at her "I've got some snacks in the kitchen, why don't you go get something?" She nods and runs off, he finally looks up at you "Hi"
"Hey" You smile awkwardly, he hates that this is where you are now after the years you've spent loving each other.
"Can we like… talk?" He scratches the back of his neck, you nod and walk in. You hate that you feel like an intruder in what used to be your home just months ago.
"Yeah… actually, I wanted to show you some um schools I've been looking at for Care" You sit down on the couch, he eyes you for a second before sitting on the other side of it.
"I was actually… no, yeah, schools" He stutters.
You look at him with a raised brow "What?" He shakes his head motioning for you to continue "Joe, we're in the situation we're in because we didn't communicate properly before, if we're co-parenting we're doing this right so whatever you have to say please just say it"
He sighs "I just thought we should talk about us"
"The only us left is as co-parents" The words taste bitter in your tongue as they come out and you see a whisper of hurt cross his face but he immediately schools his face back to neutral.
"Right, sorry" He takes a breath to recompose himself, he deserves this he tells himself, then continues "So, schools, in San Jose?"
You nod "Yeah, I don't have any more projects lined up right now and honestly I think as she gets older she needs more structure in her life so I'm taking a break from acting for now" He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn't "We toured a few private schools" You dig into your bag and take two brochures out "These are the ones I was leaning to the most but I was also looking into public schools and honestly? I was thinking to go the public route"
He nods looking at the brochures in his hand, the facilities look amazing, new high tech to help educate the minds of tomorrow and all that bullshit that fancy new schools promise looking back at him, they look like good schools, but he knows his girl would be happier somewhere with more leniency.
"Yeah, whatever you think is best, as long as she's happy and safe" He says "You've got any favorites?"
"There's one close to the house, a few blocks away, like walking distance" You tell him "We've walked past a few times, she likes their playground, I was thinking that one"
"The one with the green building and the care bears on the back wall?" He asks, he remembers passing it once or twice when he was visiting with you.
"Yeah, that one" You discuss logistics for a couple more minutes until Caroline walks back into the room, you know you have to talk to her about the breakup, she's smart, she know things are changing and you'd rather be upfront with her "Hey Care? Why don't you come sit here with us?"
She hops onto the couch between you two and asks "Am I in trouble?"
Joe immediately shakes his head no reassuring her that she's okay "Of course not baby, we just want to talk to you" You say and give Joe a look to see if he wants to start, when he doesn't you continue "You know how you and I went over to your auntie's house when we came back from Poland instead of coming here with daddy?" She nods listening intently "Okay well that's because that's where you and I will be living now"
"But what about daddy?" She asks, her once Australian accent has faded over time, but spending a lot of time with Charlie and Joseph last season and then a lot of time in Germany and Poland along with spending some time with Tom has her speaking with a mixed accent between something European and American, you're sure she'll lose it once she starts school, but you can't deny the fact that it's adorable.
"I'm going to stay here, but you'll still come and visit sometimes, and I'll try to go see you in San Jose as much as possible" He says.
"I don't wanna go" She looks up at you with big watery eyes "I wanna stay here with you and daddy"
"I know honey, but…"
"You don't love me no more?" She asks Joe and you almost gasp, Joe's biggest fear is coming true right in front of his eyes.
You jump in when you see the tears welling his eyes "Of course daddy loves you baby" You reassure "This move has nothing to do with that, we both love you a lot, but some time mommies and daddies can't live together anymore, so someone moves away, but they always love their kids"
You realize at that moment that explaining this to a five year old is not easy at all "Care, I will always love you, so so so much, and it hurts me to be away from you, but it's going to be just like when I'm working away okay?" He picks her up and sits her on his lap "I'll call as much as possible, and like I said, you'll come over, or I'll visit, we'll see each other all the time"
"Okay" She tells him quietly looking down.
"Hey" He calls for her attention "You're my favorite person ever Care-bear, I love you so so so much babygirl" He pulls her close into a hug and she tucks herself into him instantly, he looks up at you with glassy red eyes and you give him a small smile.
Later that night, after you've gone back to your hotel and he's tucked her in, he leans down to kiss her forehead as she sleeps peacefully curled into her bed with her dragon clutched in her arms "I'm sorry I've messed things so much for us Care bear" He whispers caressing her face careful not to wake her up "I've lost your mama, but I'll work hard everyday to show you just how much I love you my sweet girl" Then he thinks for a minute "And hey, I'm not giving up just yet, I'm just giving her some space, but I'll get her back, I'll make up for being a dummy. Don't you worry baby, I'll make things right"
Over the next few days you have a few meetings, and meet up with friends, at some point you even end up at a party where you're introduced to Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter, parties like that are the ones that make you realize how far you've come in your life and career.
Joe on the other hand is surpised by his sister visiting, it's his second day with Caroline, she decided she wanted to play hair salon just like her auntie, so Joe sits on the floor with her behind him on the couch as she runs her tiny hands through his hair adding colorful butterfly clips to it and even using a pink hair coloring chalk that barely stains his dark hair but she insists are the 'perfect highlights to add dimension', words she probably doesn't fully understand but spews out anyways.
She's just ran off to her room to get her makup kit when the doorbell rings, he knows it has to be someone he knows and has clearance into the building or security wouldn't let them in, so he's not too shy about opening the door with his hair a mess. He regrets his decision when Kate bursts out laughing and takes her phone out quickly to get a picture of him.
"Damn Joey, really dig the new look" A different voice breaks through his sister's laugh.
"Shut up" He rolls his eyes with humor "What are you guys doing here?"
"Visiting my favorite brother, what do you mean?" Kate finally stops laughing enough to speak "And Cass tagged along because she still can't get over you" She jokes.
Cassandra Hadley, one of Kate's best friends since they were little kids, they went through all stages of school together all the way from second grade and have been inseparable since. When the girls were 10 Cass had a huge crush on Joe, and being that young meant she had no idea how to hide a crush so it became a running joke within the family that Cass has always been in love with Joe.
She eventually did get over him though, and they have been friends for forever since she was always around their house, the joke has never really gone away even though it has been toned down as they've gotten older and dated people seriously, in fact, up until a few months ago Cass was in a really commited relationship that everyone thought was heading to a marriage.
"Awe Cass" He smiles teasingly and pulls her into a hug "I'll always have time for my number one fan you know you can just call right?"
"Fuck off" She scoffs pushing him away playfully.
"Careful, tiny ears around" He says hugging Kate as they move inside, his words make Kate gasp.
"Care's here?" She asks, Joe shakes his head sarcastically.
"No, I've just been trying out new styles for fun" He huffs "Yeah, she is,and she's being awfully quiet so I better go check up on that"
"I thought they'd broken up?" Cass asks once Joe's out of earshot.
"Yeah, but he's been raising that baby since she was like one" Kate explains "I guess they're co-parenting now"
"Right" Cass nods "And how do we feel about the ex?"
"I love her" Kate admits "She was perfect for him, I just hope she doesn't shun us out completely because they're not together anymore"
A few days later Joe and Cass are making lunch, Kate having ran to the store and get the tomatoes they were missing after loosing rock paper scissors, Caroline tagging along. "I'm going to the bathroom don't burn that shit" Joe points at his friend as he walks backwards.
He's gone for about 10 seconds when the doorbell rings and she decides to open the door, on the other side is you, a confused look in your bare face as you take sight of the beautiful girl in one of Joe's old shirts, one you've worn to bed before, who stands in front of you. "Hi!" She greets cheerfully.
"Uh hi" You reply with a tone as normal as you can muster "Is joe in?" You're trying not to freak out at the thought of Joe having another woman in here while your daughter stays with him.
"Yeah, he's just in the bathroom" She replies, you're both still standing on the doorway and you're wondering if she'll let you in.
"Hey!" Joe walks up behind her "You're early. I wanted to have lunch ready so you'd have something to eat before heading to the airport"
"Yeah, I just wanted to get there early" You say, conscious about still standing outside "Is she ready?"
"Oh, she's out with Kate actually, they ran to the store to get some tomatoes, shouldn't be long now" Joe explains, then realizes where you are and moves past Cass "Come in, come in"
"Thanks" You murmur walking in.
Cass shoots Joe a look as you set your bag down on the table by the door "Oh, this is Cass, she's one of Kate's best friends" He introduces.
"And by default one of this idiot's friends as well" She adds.
"Nice to meet you" You give her as much of a smile as you can, but you're not too fond on her yet, it's not been that long since your breakup and you're obviously not over it yet but you refuse make a scene right now "Do you know if they're going to be long? I have a friend waiting to give us a ride downstairs"
Joe looks shocked "I thought I'd drive you after lunch"
"That's okay" You shake your head, honestly, if he was alone, or if it was only Kate here, you would've potentially considered his invite, but with Cass in the equation you really just want to get out of here as soon as possible "We'll get something there, I read there were some big lines today so I'd rather not take any chances" That's a lie, you didn't read that anywhere.
"Oh, okay" He nods "They should be back anytime now, really"
You nod and thankfully the universe is on your side because in comes Kate with your daughter "Mommy!" Care screams running to you.
"Hi Care-bear, I missed you" You hug her "You have fun with daddy?"
She nods with so much force you worry she'll give herself a headache "Auntie Kate is here" She points back to Kate who is excitedly waving behind her.
"I see that, why don't you go say bye to daddy and get your thing huh?" You wave back
"We leaving now?" She pouts, you nod "M'kay"
"Hey, long time no see" Kate wraps you into a hug when Caroline runs to Joe.
"Too long" You say into the hug "How are you? I had no idea you were visiting"
"I'm good, it was kind of an impromptu trip, we surpised Joe" She points at her friend "You've met Cass?"
You nod "Well if I had known we could've made plans"
"Sorry" She gives you a sheepish smile "I didn't know you'll be around actually"
"We just got back and Care missed him so…" You trail off, behind you Joe's knelt down securing Caroline's backpack straps through her arms as he speaks to her, after a few words she nods and hugs him, he carries her back to you.
"Alright, she's all packed" He says standing awkwardly, he has no idea how to say goodbye to you.
"We're gonna go check on the food" Kate moves with Cass but not before giving you a hug "It was good seeing you, don't be a stranger!"
"Well, we should get going" You say to Joe.
"Oh uh… yeah, can I… walk you down?" You're about to turn him down but the way him and Caroline are clutching to each other tells you they're not ready to let go yet so you nod and pick up your bag.
Downstairs he buckles your daughter down saying his goodbyes once more, greeting your friend in the car before turning back to you.
"Have a good trip" He puts his hands into his pockets to stop them from wrapping around you and the awkward tension kills him.
"Thanks, I'll let you know when we land" You assure him, that's a part of your traveling routine that you haven't shaken off yet "And uh, about the school stuff"
"Yeah" He nods "I'll try to make it out there as soon as I can"
You nod and get in the car, the distant goodbye so foreign to both of you that it feels incomplete.
That night Kate, Cass and Joe lay around his living room with a bottle of wine being passed around refilling glasses, soft music plays from the speakers "I'm just saying, what's keeping you here in LA if you hate this place so much?" Cass says from the couch, Joe just finished his rambling about how empty and sad his apartment feels now that he lives alone and complaining about how much he's been hating LA recently.
"Work" He grunts from the floor, he'd been laying upside down on the other side of the couch at the beginning, only coming up to sip on his wine, until he got too dizzy from the alcohol and blood flowing to his head, so he'd slid down to the floor.
"You can work from everywhere" Kate reminded him "Plus, if you come to New York, you have access to pretty good studios, and you're closer to Chicago and the band"
"But farther from my girls"
"Your girl" Cass points out "Singular"
Joe grunts and Kate chuckles, she's the only one sitting upright by now, she's twiling her drink on the loveseat "Hey, you got yourself into that one Joey"
"Whatever" He mumbles "Sell me on it. Moving to New York"
The girls look at each other and Cass springs up then they both start talking non stop, both excited about the prospect of Joe being closer to them again.
"Chill out" Your sister says as you pace the floor while she gets ready for a date with her new boyfriend,well, they've been together for a few months now but it's new to you because you've just met her a few days ago when he joined your sister to pick you up from the airport "You said she's his sister's friend, there's probably nothing more there"
"She was wearing his shirt" She gives you a look as she applies her mascara "I've worn that shirt before" You finally drop on her bed, Caroline's in the living room watching a movie while coloring so you two have been catching up "Like throw on after a long night of sex worn it"
Your sister grimaces "I love you, I like Joe, I don't want to know about your sex life. Anyways, I think you're catastrophizing and we're just not there yet"
"But like… I have no right to be upset about it right?"
"You're allowed to feel upset, you've loved this man for years, you're co-parenting your little girl together and that's not something that's just gonna go away" She tells you "But he's also allowed to move on. So are you for that matter"
"I don't know if im ready for that" Your voice comes out mumbled under the pillow you're clutching over your face. You're not sure if you mean you're not ready to move on yourself or for him to move on.
"Mama" Caroline appears on the door "Can I call daddy?"
You're really grateful that you have a few months until you have to do the press tour for The Hunger Games, even more grateful that your first few sessions are on spring break because your daughter is having a really bad time at school.
Although nothing points to her having troubles through the school day, in fact the teacher has shared photos to the classroom groupchat where she appears happy, Caroline hates the idea of waking up early and spending half of her day at a place where she didn't have Joe or you or any of her aunties and uncles. You felt guilty about it, you knew keeping her on set with you for this long instead of giving her an environment with kids her age hadn't done her any good and now you were in this situation because of it.
"You excited to see daddy today?" You ask trying to distract her from the fact that you are only a few blocks away from school to avoid a tantrum. Joe's supposed to land in a few hours and you agreed to let him join for pickup.
"Are we gonna pick him up now?" She asks from her booster seat.
You look at her from the rearview mirror and sigh, she's not going to like your answer "No honey, you have to go to school first remember?"
"No!" She frowns but you're thankful she's not screaming "I don't wanna, I want daddy"
"I know Care-Bear, but you have to go to school while daddy's on the plane" You try to explain.
That's when you turn into the school parking lot, there's a line for drop-off that's moving pretty efficiently, but with Caroline's struggles you've learned it's better for everyone if you park and drop her at the door yourself.
"Mommy no" Her bottom lip wobbles and your heart breaks, you feel like the worst mom ever every morning when you drop her off.
"How about this" You park and turn the car off shuffling on your seat to face her as best as you can "We can text daddy and see if he's busy, maybe you can wish him a good flight before he boards" She nods excitedly and you really hope he's free to talk because if not you've just made your morning worse.
Unfortunately he doesn't reply to your text and it's getting closer to the bell, Caroline gets even more restless as the car line gets shorter so you decide to say fuck it and call anyways, if he doesn't answer then that means he's busy, but maybe he's not and he just hasn't noticed the text.
You get excited when the facetime call gets picked up and then almost immediately that changes to disappointment when Cass' face appears onthe screen instead of Joe's "Oh, hi!" She smiles like it's completely normal for her to pick up the phone.
"Hey, uh, is Joe around?" You ask with a million questions racing through your mind.
"Oh yeah, let me just…" You see her manouver through the apartment "Joe!" She calls out and then stumbles and curses "Shit, sorry, there's boxes all over this place, you'd think with his job he'd be more used to moving but apparently moving for a few months is not the same as fully moving or something like that" She rambles, fully moving? Where the hell is Joe moving to and why didn't he say anything before? "I told him he could just get new things in New York but no, apparently he… oh, speaking of, here he is"
She passes the phone to him and he looks confused "Oh, hi! Is everything okay?"
"Uh…" You want to ask so much but the words don't come out of your mouth.
"Daddy!" Caroline jumps out of her seat and launches herself to the front to grab your phone from you.
"Hey Care-Bear" His voice softens fully in the way it always does when he's talking to her "What's up, you ready for school?" A big reason for Joe's visit this weekend is because of Caroline's struggles at school, you're both hope hanging out with him for a few days will do her enough good to go to school on Monday in a better mood and maybe give her a better perspective of it.
"I don't wanna go daddy" She sniffles but there's no tears on her eyes which is a win in your books "I wanna stay home and see you"
"Oh baby, I wanna see you too. But going to school is so much fun! You get to learn so many things and make so many friends, and I still have a long time until I make it there and you're going to be sooooo bored waiting foe " He says.r me at home" He says trying to stop the meltdown he can see coming "Can you do me a favor and go to school while I am on the plane? I promise I'll see you as soon as you're done"
"No, school's boring" She argues"Can we get ice cream?" She asks and it makes you chuckle.
"Yes baby we can get ice cream" He tells her with a chuckle of his own.
"Okay we should be going now or we're gonna be late" You say looking at the time on your dashboard "Let me know when you land"
With that you hang up, a little bit of the abruptness comes out of pettiness because Cass is there and also because apparently he's moving to New York and hasn't said anything about it to you even though you said you're supposed to be co-parenting. Of course your anger comes from the co-parenting part, because him moving to New York means he won't get to see Caroline as frequent anymore, because he won't be less than two hours away anymore. Yes, it has all to do with that and nothing with the way your blood boils every time Cass is around.
Thankfully, Joe's call helps and for the first time since she started school Caroline walks in without tears in her eyes.
Joe arrives at your house an hour before pick up and you are thankful to have the time to talk to him without Caroline. He drops his bag by the door because instead of getting a car to his otel he drove straight to you. Your sister is at work which means you're alone for the first time in a while.
"Are you moving to New York?" You finally ask after the beginning pleseantries pass.
He chokes on the water he'd just sipped on, how do you know he's moving? He thought he'd have some more time to gain courage to tell you about it before the weekend was over "Yes" He still answers truthfully because the last thing he wants is to lie to you.
"Ok" That was not the reaction he expected from you and it stuns him even more.
You don't even look up from the kitchen counter you've been wiping for a few minutes now.
"I was going to tell you this weekend" He says.
"Right" You're too calm for his liking, why are you so okay with him moving so far away? It took Cass and Kate days of relentlessness to even really consider the move because he didn't want to be that far from you and Caroline and you're just okay with it?
"I would've told you sooner but it's a recent decision"
"Yet your apartment is fully packed" He frowns, when you called this morning he purposefully kept his camera angled in a way that wouldn't show the mess of boxes covering every inch of the place "It's okay" You shake your head "You don't owe me any explanations or anything, not anymore"
He calls your name softly, his hands inching close to yours without actually touching them because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable "We have a daughter together, I owe you the universe for giving her to me" He's fought with the thought of not being enough of a father to Caroline for too long in the last few months since losing you he realized he couldn't stay in that mindset, he was here to stay, that little girl had been as much his as she was yours since the moment she laid in his arms when she was just a few months old "I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner but honestly? I was afraid because telling you about it meant it is real, like completely fully real. And I hate the fact that I'm not going to be as close to you and Caroline as I've been. Telling you about the move finalizes it, it means it's happening and I'm not backing out of it"
"New York sounds like the perfect place for you" You tell him "It's a great place for you to continue with your music, the band'll be closer and so will your family"
But they won't, because while he loves his parents and sisters, you and Caroline are the first faces that come to his mind when he thinks of family, and you'll be 2,931 miles away.
I loved your whimsical reader as a whimsigoth girly myself and I was wondering if you could mayhaps write Steve X Whimsical reader. Like big Stevie Nicks vibes.
Probably season 1 Steve.
Maybe his friends are taking the piss out of her and he's just in awe as he watches her walk past, and they're like "you okay man?" But he just fell in love at first sight
Okay thank you bye
under your spell
steve harrington x reader
val speaks - looooove this trope and whimsy reader soooo much. hope u like what i did w this 💋 ++ the whole upside down n such isnt included in this! just a lil highschool love story (which i also kinda got carried away with lol)
word count: 6.7k (not kidding) (dont say it)
the first thing you noticed about hawkins was how small it felt.
small in that strange, suffocating kind of way. like everybody knew everybody, like secrets didn’t stay secrets for very long, like if you tripped in the hallway at school on monday morning, somehow the woman working the register at the grocery store would be asking if your knee was alright by tuesday afternoon.
it was nothing like home.
not that home had ever really felt like home, either.
your father’s work had always kept the three of you moving. city to city, house to house, one unfamiliar bedroom after another, boxes that were never fully unpacked because, eventually, there’d always be another move waiting around the corner. you’d learned early not to get attached to walls, to streets, to people. learned how to fold your life into cardboard and tape it shut.
hawkins was just another stop.
except this one had been harder.
maybe because you were older now. maybe because you were tired. maybe because for once, just once, you’d begged your parents not to uproot everything again, and for once they’d smiled those apologetic smiles parents wore when they’d already made up their minds weeks ago.
“it’ll be good for us” your mother had said brightly, stirring sugar into her coffee like she wasn’t rearranging your whole life with a sentence.
“it’s an incredible opportunity” your father had added without looking up from his papers.
as if that made it easier.
as if it meant anything at all.
so, on your first day at hawkins high, you walked through the doors alone, shoulders draped in a dark velvet shawl despite the mild weather, silver rings decorating nearly every finger, long skirts brushing your boots as you moved. moonstone hanging at your throat. bangles softly clinking at your wrist. your hair loose and wild in a way your mother called untidy and you secretly loved.
heads turned.
you didn’t notice.
or maybe you did. maybe you were simply used to it by now, used to being looked at like something odd and curious, like a painting hung crooked on an otherwise perfect wall. you’d long since stopped caring.
you were too busy trying to read the map of the school folded in your hand. too busy trying to find your locker. too busy trying not to feel like the new girl.
and that was exactly why you didn’t see steve harrington stop dead in the middle of the hallway.
one second he was laughing at something tommy hagan had said, shoulder bumped against carol’s locker, basking in the easy warmth of attention like he always did. king steve, crowned by hawkins high itself. perfect hair, perfect smile, effortless charm, the kind of boy girls watched when he walked by and boys either wanted to be or wanted to punch.
the next second, he forgot how to breathe.
it was ridiculous, honestly, he knew it was ridiculous.
but there was something about you.
something soft and untouchable and strange. like moonlight made human, like you belonged barefoot in a forest somewhere instead of walking the polished floors of hawkins high.
you moved like you heard music nobody else could.
steve stared.
actually stared.
tommy followed his line of sight, then barked out a laugh.
“you okay, dude?”
steve blinked.
“what?”
tommy smirked. “you were lookin’ at her like she descended from heaven or something.”
carol rolled her eyes. “please. harrington’s just found his next conquest.”
normally, steve would’ve laughed. thrown out some easy line. leaned into the version of himself everybody expected.
instead, he kept looking.
“who is she?”
tommy snorted. “new girl. moved here last week, apparently.”
steve barely heard him.
because you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear while squinting at your locker combination, brow pinched in quiet concentration, and for some completely insane reason, steve thought it might be the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
and that, that was a problem.
because girls usually chased him, not the other way around.
still, for the rest of the day, he found himself looking for glimpses of you.
across the cafeteria. through classroom windows. walking the halls.
always drifting somewhere just out of reach.
and then, by pure dumb luck, or fate, if steve were feeling dramatic, last period hit. and there you were. three rows over, near the window.
sunlight spilled over your desk, catching in the silver jewelry at your wrists, making you glow faintly. while everyone else half-listened, half-dozed through class, you actually paid attention. scribbling notes in messy looping handwriting, doodling stars and vines in the margins of your notebook.
steve spent more time watching you than the board.
when the bell rang, his heart did something embarrassingly weird.
because suddenly he had a choice.
walk away or do something.
and steve harrington had never exactly been known for walking away.
so he caught up to you in the hallway.
“hey-”
you turned, blinking slightly, eyes curious but cautious.
up close, somehow, you were even prettier. not in the polished, glossy way hawkins girls were pretty, not in the neat, expected way. you were wild pretty. haunting pretty.
for a second, a very stupid second, steve forgot every line he’d ever used.
“…you’re new.”
genius.
absolute genius.
your mouth twitched.
“observant.”
he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “right. yeah. i’m steve.”
“i know.”
that threw him.
it wasn’t smug when you said it, just factual. simple. of course you knew who he was. everyone knew who he was.
“right,” he said again, because apparently that was the only word left in his vocabulary. “so, uh… hawkins. how’s that treating you?”
you tilted your head, considering.
“it’s… small.”
he grinned. “yeah. that’s fair.”
a beat passed.
then he did what came naturally.
“there’s a party friday. at my place. you should come.”
usually that worked like magic. usually girls lit up. usually they said yes before he even finished asking.
but you just looked at him for a moment like you were seeing something beneath the polished exterior everyone else bought into.
and then you laughed softly.
not mean.
not mocking.
just warm, amused.
“are you flirting with me?”
steve’s face heated instantly.
“what? no- i mean- kinda-”
your smile widened.
it made something in his chest turn over.
“that’s sweet,” you said gently, adjusting the books in your arms. “but i think i’ll pass.”
and then, just like that you walked away.
leaving steve harrington standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, thoroughly, spectacularly rejected.
tommy would’ve had a field day.
carol might’ve actually fainted.
because that never happened. ever.
but steve didn’t feel embarrassed. didn’t feel angry. if anything, he was more interested now.
watching you disappear around the corner, he smiled to himself.
a challenge. great. he liked challenges.
meanwhile, you walked home thinking very little of it.
steve harrington was charming in a rehearsed sort of way, but there’d been something almost clumsy underneath it. something earnest he clearly tried to hide behind that perfect smile and practiced confidence.
you’d heard whispers already.
king steve. popular, pretty, slightly cruel company. a little too aware of how adored he was.
but when he’d stood in front of you tripping over his own words, cheeks faintly pink, well.
he hadn’t seemed cruel.
just strangely boyish, almost soft. still, it wasn’t something you lingered on.
you had bigger things to think about.
like home.
or what passed for it.
the second you stepped through the front door, your mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen.
“how was school?”
followed quickly by-
“did you meet anyone?”
and from the dining room, without lifting his eyes from paperwork-
“make any friends?”
you sighed quietly, dropping your bag by the stairs.
“it was fine.”
“fine?” your mother appeared, already immaculate despite the late hour, dressed for some club meeting or dinner or tennis thing. “just fine?”
“yes.”
“and friends?”
“no.”
her expression fell like this was tragic news.
“sweetheart, you have to put yourself out there.”
your father nodded absently. “connections matter.”
you nearly laughed.
connections matter.
funny, coming from a man never home long enough to know you.
“i’m okay on my own” you said simply.
your mother exchanged a look with your father, one of those quiet parental looks full of concern you never asked for.
the weird girl, their eyes seemed to say.
always alone.
always elsewhere.
but solitude had never frightened you. you’d built a whole life inside yourself years ago. music playing softly in your room, candles lit, books stacked by your bed, journals full of thoughts nobody would ever read. your own little world, untouched by anybody else’s expectations.
that night, curled near your bedroom window with fleetwood mac humming low from your record player, you barely spared steve harrington another thought.
but across town, sprawled across his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling steve thought of little else.
the sound of your laugh. the silver at your wrists. the way you looked at him like he was just another person.
not king steve, not hawkins royalty, just steve.
somehow that mattered more than he understood. he smiled helplessly into the dark, he’d see you tomorrow.
and next time, he’d do better.
-
steve, to his own surprise, did not give up.
if anything, being turned down had only made whatever strange thing had lodged itself in his chest grow stronger.
normally, steve liked easy.
easy smiles, easy girls, easy conversations he could glide through half-paying attention because he already knew exactly what to say and exactly what version of himself they wanted. he knew how to be charming. knew how to tilt his head just right, flash that grin, lean casually against lockers like he belonged there, because he did. hawkins high had made a throne for him long ago, and steve had slipped into it like it was custom made.
but you, you were impossible to read. and that made him want to keep trying.
so he did.
it started small.
a casual hello in the hallway.
then a stupid comment muttered under his breath in class that made you bite back a smile despite yourself.
then purposely “forgetting” his pencil so he could lean over and ask for one of yours.
you’d stared at him flatly.
“you have one tucked behind your ear.”
steve had reached up, touched the pencil, then grinned.
“right. forgot about that.”
your eyes had rolled so dramatically he thought they might get stuck but there’d been that little twitch in your mouth after.
that tiny almost-smile.
and steve, embarrassingly, had carried that moment around with him for the rest of the day.
then, one monday afternoon, he walked into science class and dropped into the empty seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
you looked up from your notebook slowly.
stared at him.
then rolled your eyes.
“you have assigned seats.”
“mr. clark likes me.”
“he absolutely does not.”
“that kinda hurt my feelings.”
you sighed and turned back to your notes, but you didn’t tell him to leave.
that was enough.
after that, sitting beside you simply became a thing.
and god, steve never thought he’d say this in his life, but science class became the best part of his day.
not because of science, he still hated science, but because of you.
because somehow every conversation with you wandered into places he’d never expected.
you made sarcastic little comments under your breath that caught him so off guard he’d laugh loud enough for people to turn around and stare.
real laughs, too. the kind that bent him forward slightly, hand over his mouth, eyes watering.
not his usual practiced chuckle. not his social laugh. real ones.
and that was new.
you found yourself letting him stay.
which was new for you, too.
at first, you tolerated him. then you entertained him. then, somewhere along the way, you started waiting for him.
just a little.
it wasn’t even because he was steve harrington. if anything, that mattered less and less the more you knew him. it was because underneath all that polished confidence and occasional unbearable ego was something unexpectedly earnest.
he was curious about everything.
that was what caught you off guard.
you’d mention some old record you liked, fleetwood mac, joni mitchell, david bowie, and next day he’d come in asking questions.
“okay, so what’s rumours about?”
“everything.”
“that’s not helpful.”
“heartbreak. cocaine. cheating. being impossibly cool.”
“sounds intense.”
“it is.”
then next week he’d casually mention listening to it.
and have opinions. bad opinions, mostly. but opinions.
or he’d ask where you grew up, what your favorite place was, what made you hate hawkins less on certain days and more on others.
he listened when you answered.
and when he talked, really talked, not that polished king steve nonsense, you found yourself listening too.
because steve was smarter than people gave him credit for. much smarter.
he noticed things, understood things, sometimes he’d say something unexpectedly thoughtful, and it would catch you completely off guard.
it made you remember that high school labels were lazy things. too neat, too simple.
popular. loner.
golden boy. strange girl with too many rings and her head in the clouds.
none of it was the whole truth.
one afternoon, walking between classes with steve trailing beside you, talking animatedly about something ridiculous, tommy appeared, smirking like he always did.
his eyes swept over you.
“serious question,” he said. “are you, like… a witch?”
carol snorted.
you stopped walking, slowly turned your head, looked him dead in the eye, then rolled your eyes and kept moving.
not worth it.
but what stayed with you, what lodged under your skin, was that steve said nothing.
didn’t laugh, didn’t defend you, just stood there awkwardly. caught between worlds he apparently still didn’t know how to separate.
that disappointment sat bitter in your chest the rest of the day.
so when science came, you ignored him.
completely.
steve sat down beside you, smiling like usual.
nothing.
“hey.”
silence.
“you mad?”
nothing.
“okay, definitely mad.”
you kept writing.
“c’mon.”
nothing.
“this is brutal.”
still nothing.
finally, you glanced at him.
“your friends are assholes.”
the words were quiet but sharp.
steve blinked.
“yeah” he admitted softly.
“and you just stood there.”
that hit harder because you were right.
he rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“i know.”
you looked away.
“not exactly king behavior.”
he laughed quietly at that, because there was that sharp tongue of yours, but there was guilt sitting underneath it.
“you’re right,” he said. “i should’ve said something.”
you didn’t answer.
a beat passed.
then,
“i’m sorry.”
that made you look at him.
because steve harrington, from what little you knew, didn’t seem like someone who apologised easily.
but he looked sincere and annoyingly, your anger softened.
“fine” you muttered.
his grin broke instantly.
“fine?”
“don’t push it.”
he held up his hands.
“noted.”
truthfully steve loved moments like that. loved that you didn’t just melt because he smiled at you.
loved that you challenged him, called him out, expected better. everyone else in his life seemed content with whatever version of steve was easiest to have around.
but you made him want to be better and that terrified him slightly. because it mattered. you mattered, more than he understood.
over time, your conversations got softer.
deeper.
you told him about moving constantly as a kid, about never bothering to plant roots because life always yanked them up anyway.
he told you about big empty houses, parents who were physically there just enough to criticize but never enough to actually know him.
“my dad only talks to me if i screw something up” steve admitted one day, voice oddly flat.
you looked at him.
“my father only talks to me when he wants me to become something i’m not.”
steve stared at the desk.
“that sucks.”
“yeah.”
“for what it’s worth…” he glanced at you. “i think whoever you are is probably better.”
your chest tightened unexpectedly.
“that was almost profound, harrington.”
“almost?”
“don’t let it get to your head.”
he smiled and smiled wider when you did too.
the strange thing was, deep down, you were beginning to realise you and steve weren’t all that different beneath the surface.
lonely in different ways, misunderstood in different ways, performing different versions of yourselves for the world.
on paper, it made no sense.
hawkins’ golden boy and the weird girl who wore moonstones and velvet and looked like she belonged dancing barefoot under moonlight.
but sitting beside him one late afternoon, listening to him animatedly tell you about the time a stray dog somehow fell into his swimming pool while he was home alone-
“and i panicked,” steve said, laughing at himself, “so i made it bacon.”
you blinked.
“you cooked bacon for a random dog?”
“it looked stressed.”
you stared.
then laughed, full and bright and real, head tipping back slightly.
steve immediately forgot what he’d been saying. because he’d made you laugh like that and suddenly nothing else in the room mattered.
not labels, not hawkins, not what people expected. just you, smiling at him like he was worth smiling at.
-
over the months, something quiet and strange settled between you and steve.
something neither of you named, something that, somehow, became yours.
it stayed within the walls of school, mostly.
shared classes. hallway conversations. stolen moments by lockers that turned from five-minute chats into nearly making each other late for class. lunches where steve would ditch whatever crowd he was meant to be sitting with just to lean against your table and complain dramatically about whatever minor inconvenience had ruined his day.
usually tommy.
often carol.
sometimes his hair.
“humidity” he’d say grimly, running a hand through it like it had personally betrayed him.
you’d deadpan, “thoughts and prayers.”
and he’d laugh, that real laugh, easy and warm and slightly too loud.
you got used to him, dangerously used to him.
used to the sight of him grinning when he spotted you in the halls. used to him dropping into the seat beside you in science like it belonged to him now. used to his shoulder brushing yours accidentally-on-purpose.
used to the way he always, somehow, seemed genuinely interested in whatever odd little thing was on your mind.
and steve got used to you, too.
used to your sharp tongue. your dry humor. the strange dreamy way you talked about music like it was religion. the way your fingers were always adorned with silver rings that caught the light when you spoke. the way you seemed detached from the world one second, then deeply present the next.
he liked learning you.
every piece.
even the quiet ones.
and for the first time since moving to hawkins you started liking it there.
not because of school. not because of people. but because one afternoon, wandering behind your house with nowhere better to be, you found a narrow dirt trail weaving through trees and tall grass.
you followed it, and followed it, until it opened up onto a hill.
just rolling fields stretching endlessly beneath a sky that somehow always seemed bigger in hawkins than anywhere else you’d lived.
wildflowers scattered in patches, wind soft through long grass, quiet. real quiet.
not lonely quiet, peaceful quiet.
you found yourself going there often.
sometimes with a book. sometimes with music humming softly through headphones. sometimes with nothing but your thoughts.
it became yours.
your place.
then one evening, your parents gone, your father buried in work somewhere, your mother at some dinner party or whatever social thing filled her endless schedule, you were alone, curled on the couch in gray sweats and an old oversized hoodie, record player spinning softly in the corner.
a knock sounded at the door.
you frowned.
late enough to be strange.
you padded over, opening it, and blinked.
“…steve?”
there he was on your porch, hair slightly windswept, chest rising a little too fast like he’d been rushing around town.
and weirdly he looked upset.
not visibly crying upset, just off.
his smile when he saw you was mostly relief.
“oh, thank god.”
you frowned deeper.
“what?”
he rubbed the back of his neck.
“i knocked on, like… five of your neighbors’ doors before i found your house.”
“…why?”
“because i knew you lived around here and-”
he stopped himself.
looked suddenly embarrassed, looked down, then back up, and beneath his usual charm there was something vulnerable there that caught you off guard.
“are you okay?”
he nodded immediately.
too quickly.
which told you enough.
“yeah,” he said, voice quieter. “yeah, i just…”
he exhaled.
“can we- i don’t know, do something? sorry, that’s weird. it was probably weird coming here, i just needed to get out and-”
you sighed softly, already slipping your shoes on by the door.
he stopped talking.
watched you.
you straightened and nodded toward the path.
“come on.”
his eyebrows lifted.
“that’s it?”
“you don’t need to explain.”
that made him go still for a second.
then smile. a real one. small at first, then bigger.
“okay.”
he stepped back so you could shut the door behind you, falling into step beside you as you walked.
after a moment, he glanced over.
then down.
then back at you.
“it’s weird not seeing you in one of your big old skirts.”
you looked down at your gray sweats.
snorted softly.
“yeah, well. witches have time off too.”
steve laughed but then his smile faded a little.
he looked at the ground.
quietly-
“i am sorry they said that.”
you glanced at him, really glanced at him, the sincerity there, the guilt he’d apparently carried longer than you realised.
you shrugged lightly.
“honestly?”
he looked up.
you smiled faintly.
“i kinda like it.”
that made him grin, really grin, and before you could think better of it, you reached for his hand and pulled him down the side path behind your house.
only for a second.
just enough to drag him forward.
then you let go.
but steve still felt the warmth of your hand long after.
“where are you taking me?” he asked.
“you’ll see.”
“your witch lair?”
he muttered it mostly to himself, squinting suspiciously at the dark trail ahead.
it made you laugh unexpectedly.
“maybe.”
“i knew it.”
by the time you reached the hill, twilight had bled into night, stars faintly peeking through the dark blue sky.
hawkins stretched dimly below, quiet little lights flickering in the distance.
wind brushing softly over the grass.
steve stopped beside you.
“…whoa.”
you smiled to yourself.
“yeah.”
the two of you sat and talked.
about nothing, about everything.
you kept the conversation light because whatever had sent him to your porch tonight was clearly heavy, and instinctively, you knew he didn’t want to carry it for a while.
so you distracted him.
talked about weird dreams. bad songs on the radio. how strange raccoons looked when they used their little hands.
whether aliens were real. whether fleetwood mac was better than the beatles.
“that’s insane” steve said.
“it’s correct.”
“deeply wrong.”
“deeply right.”
he laughed again. and again. and slowly, whatever sadness had sat on his shoulders when he arrived seemed lighter.
steve noticed what you were doing, of course.
noticed you never asked. never pushed. just gave him space to breathe.
and it made something in his chest ache softly.
because no one had ever really done that for him before.
hours later, when he walked you back to your front porch, both of you lingering awkwardly in that 'i guess this is goodnight' way, he shoved his hands in his pockets, looked at you softly and said “thanks for this.”
you shrugged.
“no problem, king.”
he scoffed immediately.
“absolutely not.”
you smiled.
he looked past you at your dark house then back at you.
“…you home alone too?”
you chuckled softly and nodded.
“yeah.”
he nodded slowly.
“same.”
and there it was again, that quiet understanding between you, that shared loneliness.
different houses, same emptiness.
you leaned against the porch railing.
“if you’re ever too lonely…”
his eyes lifted.
you gave him a small smile.
“you know where to call.”
steve immediately lifted his hand and made a dramatic little phone sign with his thumb and pinky.
“already am.”
you rolled your eyes then he paused, lowered his hand, and suddenly looked almost nervous.
“…can i actually have your number, though?”
you squinted.
“smooth.”
he flashed you that grin.
the grin.
“worth a shot.”
you laughed quietly.
then noticed the pen tucked in his jacket pocket.
without asking, you plucked it free, grabbed his wrist, and wrote your number across the inside of his forearm in messy looping ink.
steve stared at it like it was sacred text.
you capped the pen.
handed it back.
“don’t lose your arm.”
he looked up, smiling so wide it almost made your chest tight.
“no promises.”
that night, steve drove home with your number written on his skin and a feeling in his chest he couldn’t quite name.
and from that point on the strange, wonderful little thing growing between you bloomed into something deeper.
still friendship, still undefined, still oddly yours, but no longer confined to school walls.
now it stretched beyond them.
phone calls late at night. unexpected visits. inside jokes nobody else understood. small moments that quietly became important.
and somewhere in all that without either of you noticing you were becoming each other’s favorite person.
-
there were some things you learned quickly about being friends with steve harrington.
first, he was loyal in ways that surprised you. second, he was far softer than he let most people see. third, he still belonged to a world you didn’t.
and sometimes, that stung more than you cared to admit.
because while your friendship with steve grew into something strangely precious, late-night calls, random drives, walks to your hill, him showing up at your house whenever his own felt too empty, you calling him whenever the silence in yours got too loud, he still had his people.
tommy.
carol.
the crowd that orbited him like moons around a planet.
his main people.
and they hated you.
or maybe hate was dramatic.
they just didn’t understand you, and people often mocked what they didn’t understand.
it was little comments at first.
witch girl. freak. moon child.
asked if you read tarot cards in the girls bathroom. asked if you cursed people for fun. once, carol asked if your skirt was made out of curtains.
you’d looked down at it and said-
“thank you but no, vintage velvet.”
which had annoyed her more.
you usually brushed it off.
mostly because you’d spent your whole life being seen as odd. mostly because you refused to give cruel people the satisfaction.
but if you were honest it bothered you a little.
not because of them, because of steve. because he never said anything.
he’d laugh awkwardly, go quiet, look uncomfortable, but he never stopped it. and who were you to tell him how to handle his friends?
who were you to make him choose?
so you swallowed it and smiled and carried on.
then one lunchtime, it all snapped.
you were sitting alone in the cafeteria, legs tucked beneath your chair slightly, book open in your lap while absentmindedly picking at fries gone cold.
quiet. peaceful. until shadows fell over your table.
you looked up.
tommy.
carol.
two others from steve’s crowd lingering behind them.
tommy leaned forward slightly.
“where’s harrington?”
you blinked.
shrugged.
“don’t know.”
carol crossed her arms.
“really?”
“really.”
tommy laughed dryly then leaned closer.
“you should probably drop whatever weird spell you’ve got on him.”
your brow furrowed.
“…what?”
“he’s been so lame since you weaseled your way into his life.”
that made you chuckle softly.
“sounds serious.”
tommy’s face darkened.
you heard the drink before you fully registered what was happening, felt it the second later.
ice cold soda dumped straight over your head.
you gasped sharply, whole body jolting at the shock of freezing liquid soaking through your hair, dripping down your face, your shirt, your book.
the cafeteria went dead silent.
tommy tossed the empty cup aside.
“don’t be such a bitch next time.”
your breathing hitched, humiliation burned hot in your chest.
you looked up and beyond them stood steve.
frozen.
watching.
his face looked like something had cracked open inside him.
shock. then anger, real anger. his jaw tight. eyes dark.
you didn’t stay long enough to understand it, you shoved back from the table and ran. past the staring faces. past whispers. past the burning shame in your throat. straight to the girls bathroom.
you locked yourself in a stall and sat there breathing hard.
god.
you hated his friends. you hated hawkins. you hated feeling small.
after cleaning yourself up as best you could, damp hair, sticky skin, borrowed sweatshirt from lost and found because your shirt was ruined, you made one decision:
you were going home.
you weren’t staying another second.
you made it halfway down the road before you heard-
“hey!”
steve’s voice calling your name.
you kept walking. faster.
then footsteps behind you.
a hand gently caught your shoulder, turned you.
his face was flushed, breathing uneven, eyes full of worry.
“are you okay?”
you shrugged his hand off.
“i’m fine. i’m just gonna go home.”
he grabbed your wrist lightly.
“don’t give me that shit.”
your eyes snapped to his.
his voice was sharp, but only because he sounded scared.
“are you okay?”
you looked down and noticed his knuckles. bloody. raw.
then his split lip.
your eyes widened.
“…what happened to you?”
he immediately looked away.
“nothing.”
you squinted.
“steve-”
he rolled his eyes.
“answer me first.”
you folded your arms.
“…i’m good. just wet.”
his mouth twitched.
“wet?”
you smacked his arm with your free hand.
he laughed softly despite the cut on his lip.
then quieter-
“i’m fine too.”
you stared.
he added “just… sorted something out.”
your eyes narrowed, he said nothing more, just kept hold of your hand and started walking.
you stumbled slightly.
“where are we going?”
“walking you home.”
“you have a car.”
“i know.”
“why are you walking?”
he shrugged.
“you like walking.”
you blinked at him.
“you’re willingly leaving your car?”
“yeah?”
you stared harder.
“that thing is your baby.”
“shut up.”
you laughed softly despite everything.
and somehow the image of it was ridiculous enough to make your chest lighter,
you, damp and smelling faintly of cola, him bruised and bloody, walking side by side down a quiet hawkins road like it was normal.
when you got home, you invited him in.
told him to sit. changed into dry clothes. then returned with a damp towel, cotton pads, and antiseptic.
he looked deeply offended.
“i can clean myself up.”
you sat in front of him.
“you absolutely cannot.”
“rude.”
“true.”
he sighed dramatically and let you dab carefully at his split lip.
your fingers were gentle. soft.
steve watched your face the whole time.
the concentration in your eyes, the little furrow in your brow.
beautiful, god, beautiful.
finally, quietly, you asked “what happened?”
he leaned back.
“something that should’ve happened a long time ago.”
you frowned.
he rolled his eyes.
“tommy.”
your hands stopped.
your eyes widened.
“…this was because of me?”
“yeah.”
guilt immediately hit your chest.
“steve, i’m sorry-”
“don’t.”
his voice was firm.
you looked up.
his eyes were serious.
“don’t apologise for that.”
he shook his head.
“i should’ve stuck up for you the first time his big mouth said something.”
your mouth twitched.
“yeah… maybe.”
he laughed, soft and breathy.
“fair.”
later, you sat together on your back porch, night settling around you, quiet stretching comfortably between you.
then steve spoke again.
“i’m sorry.”
you looked over.
“it’s not like you did it.”
his jaw tightened.
“i let it happen.”
you were quiet.
“it’s fine.”
he shook his head.
“it’s not.”
then he looked at you. really looked at you.
hair still slightly damp, wrapped in a big sweater, silver moonstone resting at your throat, eyes soft in porchlight.
beautiful in a way that hurt.
and suddenly steve couldn’t help himself.
he leaned in and kissed you.
soft. warm. hesitant for half a second until you kissed him back.
you immediately felt him smile against your mouth. a real smile. happy, almost relieved.
when you finally pulled apart, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. close enough to feel each other smiling.
after a quiet moment, you whispered “why haven’t you been going to parties recently?”
his hands stayed loosely around yours.
his answer came easy.
“got better things to do.”
your smile widened in the dark.
and somewhere inside you something quietly, finally, fell for him too.
-
he months that followed were, quite simply, golden.
not perfect, because nothing ever really is, but golden in the way memory softens around the edges and leaves only warmth behind. golden in the way summer evenings feel endless when you’re young enough to believe maybe they actually are. golden in the way two lonely people, having found one another, suddenly stop feeling quite so lonely.
somewhere along the line, it just became you and steve. a unit, a certainty.
school became the two of you orbiting each other like it was instinct. every hallway somehow led him back to you. every lunch somehow ended with his legs tangled with yours beneath cafeteria tables, stealing bites off your tray because apparently his food was never as good as yours, despite it usually being exactly the same thing. every class you shared became half-learning, half-passing notes, half-whispered conversations that made teachers glare and you both grin like idiots.
and after school, after school was yours.
always.
sometimes it was quiet nights sprawled across his bedroom floor, records spinning low while homework sat mostly ignored between the two of you.
you’d be scribbling equations in the margins of his notebook because, despite the act he liked to put on, steve was actually smart, he just lacked patience and confidence and had spent years pretending he didn’t care enough to try.
“you’re making me look stupid” he’d complain, chin in his hand, watching you write.
without looking up, you’d reply, “no, you do that yourself.”
“mean.”
“true.”
“beautiful, but cruel.”
that would make you laugh softly, and steve, every single time, would forget what he was meant to be learning because he was too busy staring at your smile like it held every answer he’d ever needed.
other nights, he’d drag you out somewhere.
always somewhere strange.
always somewhere secret.
one warm summer night he took you to the outdoor basketball court by the edge of town, the asphalt still warm from the heat of the day, cicadas humming loudly in the trees.
he bounced a ball toward you.
“tonight, i teach you greatness.”
you looked at the ball.
then at him.
“this feels deeply unlikely.”
“have faith.”
“i have none.”
you were terrible, genuinely awful.
your shots missed spectacularly. your dribbling lasted roughly three seconds before the ball rolled away from you. you once somehow threw it directly into steve’s chest.
hard.
he dramatically dropped to the ground clutching his heart.
“you’ve killed me.”
you stood over him.
“weak bloodline.”
he laughed so hard he could barely breathe.
then reached up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you down beside him on the warm concrete.
the two of you laid there shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up at the stars, sweaty and breathless and smiling stupidly.
“you know,” he said eventually, “you’re the worst basketball player i’ve ever seen.”
you turned your head.
“and yet you’re in love with me.”
steve smiled at the sky.
completely helplessly.
“yeah,” he said softly. “that’s the weird part.”
truthfully he loved everything about you.
not just the obvious things.
not just how beautiful you were, though he thought that every day with startling force, beautiful in ways he couldn’t even explain properly, but everything else, too.
the little things.
the way you hummed absentmindedly when you read. the way your rings clicked softly together when you gestured while talking. the strange little words you used for ordinary things. the way you’d stop mid-walk to admire a particularly nice leaf. the way you smelled faintly of incense and old books and lavender.
the way you made everything feel softer.
safer.
magic, almost.
steve joked often that maybe tommy had been right.
“think you did put me under a spell.”
you’d look up from your book.
“what makes you say that?”
he’d grin lazily from where his head rested in your lap.
“because i think if you asked me to rob a bank, i’d probably do it.”
“good to know.”
“only if you wore one of those big witch skirts while we did it.”
you’d laugh.
he’d smile.
and that was enough.
you became so stitched into his life that even his house changed.
his empty big house stopped feeling so empty because you were everywhere.
your books piled on his bedside table. your sweaters draped over chairs. silver jewelry forgotten by sinks. records stacked beside his stereo. candles in his room because you hated the cold sterility of it. little pressed flowers tucked into mirrors.
pieces of you everywhere.
you practically lived there now.
and because both your parents and his were so spectacularly absent, no one really noticed.
or if they did they didn’t care enough to say anything.
which was fine by both of you because it became the two of you against the world.
and strangely, that felt enough.
you learned one another completely.
not surface-level knowing, not favorite color and favorite song knowing, real knowing.
you knew steve got quiet when he was upset. that he scratched behind his ear when he was nervous. that he secretly loved praise because he’d spent most of his life starved of it.
you knew a simple “well done” after one of his basketball wins would have him smiling for days.
not because he needed approval but because it meant something coming from you.
because you saw him, really saw him, and loved what you saw.
that changed him.
he stopped chasing praise from everyone else, stopped aching for approval that never filled the emptiness anyway.
because yours did.
so simply, so honestly.
and steve, for perhaps the first time in his life, stopped feeling lonely.
he stopped feeling like he had to perform. around you, he was just steve.
messy-haired, loud-laughing, soft-hearted.
sometimes stupid. always trying. and deeply loved.
one afternoon, you noticed a silver ring on his hand.
your ring.
you blinked.
“…did you steal that?”
he looked down.
shrugged.
“borrowed.”
“steve.”
“it reminded me of you.”
you stared.
then snorted softly.
“you just think it looks cool.”
he grinned.
“that too.”
but later, when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him absentmindedly turning it around his finger while smiling softly to himself.
and your heart nearly burst.
he kept a crystal in his pocket too, one you’d handed him jokingly, telling him it brought good luck.
he carried it everywhere.
when you teased him for it, he shrugged.
“you’re already my good luck charm. don’t really need it.”
then quieter “but it reminds me of you.”
everything reminded him of you.
songs. sunsets. flowers. silver jewelry in shop windows. lace curtains blowing in open windows.
everything soft and beautiful and strange somehow led back to you.
and hidden in notebooks, tucked between pages, slipped into jacket pockets, little notes.
his awful messy handwriting.
love ya :p
miss your face already and it’s been twelve minutes
you kept every one.
every stupid, sweet thing.
because steve loved loudly when he loved. wholeheartedly without reservation.
utterly.
truly.
and he was utterly, truly enamored by you.
sometimes he’d simply look at you and smile like he couldn’t believe you were real. like somehow, impossibly, he’d stumbled upon magic.
and maybe he had.
because on warm nights, lying together under hawkins skies, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily playing with your rings steve would think, quietly and honestly:
before you, he was lonely. before you, he was hollow in places he didn’t know could be filled. before you, he was pretending.
and now, now he was full of something warm and bright and certain.
love.
simple as that, complete as that. the kind that settles deep in your bones. the kind that feels like home.
and for two people who had spent most of their lives searching for somewhere, or someone, to belong to-
