yeah, it's me, don't cream your pants

Bug | 29 | reqs are OPEN joe keery the man you are

[djosleftbuttcheek]

≫call me bug ≫18+ only blog ≫requests are OPEN for:

steve harrington

gator tillman

or watler "key" mckey

•.¸♡ Masterlist Key ♡¸.•'

🔥 - smut/sexual content 🩸 - violence/blood 🥀 - angst 🐦‍⬛ - dead dove 🏹 - request will add to as i see the need

➽────────❥ steve harrington

gardinias on the tile (series):

part one part two

➽────────❥ gator tillman

oneshot(s):

the wound that bleeds (dark fic) ╰┈➤ part two [🩸🐦‍⬛] ╰┈➤ part three [🩸🐦‍⬛]

[cinematicnomad]

STRANGER THINGS ▸ steve “the hair” harrington

season 4

[djosleftbuttcheek]

Omg no please don't apologise!!! I feel that HARD with depression, I'm so sorry your brain is in a hole right now ♥️♥️♥️ you don't owe anyone anything, just focus on getting yourself feeling better. Sending love!!

aw thanks so much anon ❤️ that means a lot. i did just sit in the sun like two days ago (it was 64 degrees which is CRAZY for feb) and i finally felt like life was worth living again. so we'll see!

[djosleftbuttcheek]

I just need you to know that I have thought about nothing else but that idea for a Steve fic you had,, like, highkey have been checking your blog every day lol <3

oof i am so sorry anon to keep you waiting lol life has been a real sumabitch and also i've been in a real bad depressive episode 👍 so um hopefully i will be able to use my brain and write that fic soon!

[yesornopolls]

Did you go to blockbuster video as a kid

Did you go to blockbuster video as a kid?

Yes

No

Voting ended onFeb 17

[sobac]

Interactions between Steve from season five and Gator? When Steve put his cap on backwards, it was kind of Gator-esque, so why not?

[emziess]

Steve Harrington + Looking Up

[cha0ticstranger]

eligible bachelors of the hawkins ton!

💌 just started the new season of bridgerton, and i can't help but to think about a stranger things x bridgerton au! let me know if you'd like to see more!

⋆˚࿔ thinking about Duke Steven Harrington, once engaged to the lovely Miss Wheeler, until she broke off the engagement. since then, every lady in the ton has chased after his affections, wishing that he might sign their dance card. but all the mamas have heard rumors of his rakish behaviors and indulgences. he's quite lucky that Lady Whsitledown has yet to expose him.

⋆˚࿔ thinking about Viscount Jonathan Byers, a reserved Lord who lingers near the walls of the party. rumors have long swirled around his family name, following his father's exit from society, leaving Jonathan the title of Baron. yet when his mama remarries Lord Hopper, Viscount Byers is set to inherit both estates.

⋆˚࿔ thinking about Baron Edward Munson, who has long rejected the motions of society. Lord Munson primarily uses his title to access the gentleman's club and London's artistic underground scene. if he attends a ball, he only stays the briefest amount of time before calling upon his carriage to return to his preferred haunts.

⋆˚࿔ thinking about Viscount William Hargrove, a brutish Lord who has recently returned from his travels across the continent. before he left last season, Lady Whistledown wrote of a rumor that the Lord had left a mistress with child. yet the rumor was disputed, and his return to society has been long anticipated ever since his sister, Lady Mayfield, became engaged to Earl Sinclair.

[djosleftbuttcheek]

literally remember watching a tiktok of a girl who had a cryptic pregnancy talking about how the moment she realised she was giving birth she locked the fuck in…. The human body is crazy but soooooo cool

dude, people who can give birth are freaking crazy. like, what they're capable of and what they can endure???? crazy shit. and not even knowing you're about to DO THAT??? even crazier shit.

this is gonna be so fun to write lol

[djosleftbuttcheek]

here I am begging you to write both pregnancy ideas for Steve because I genuinely had a hard time picking one over the other 😭

!!! myabe eventually i'll write the secret pregnancy/baby idea! that one is WAY more angsty tho.....cause the idea was that reader gets locked out of hawkins, finds out she's pregnant, doesn't want steve to worry himself sick about her, so she doesn't tell him about the baby.

they can only call each other occasionally, my thought is that the military are big sticklers about outside communication/controlling the narrative about what is really happening in hawkins

so they're on full lockdown for what...a little over a year (my guess is that they slowly put up more restrictions more and more, i mean, they had a whole WALL UP), so reader has had this baby, and this baby is like...six months old?? when the lockdown releases?

the first thing steve does is obviously call reader and ask where she's at (maybe a parents house and that's how she got stuck outside of hawkins in the first place, visiting them?) and is borrowing somebody's car to go see her

the absolute anguish on this guys face when he sees that baby and knows it's his.....anon i might just agree with you....

[djosleftbuttcheek]

hey so i have two steve ideas and both of them involve pregnancy (w/ steve?? a shocker!) but i don't wanna just write a bunch of pregnancy stuff sooooooooo......i leave it up to the people

which would you prefer (steve harrington x f!reader

cryptic/unknown pregnancy (set in s5)

secret pregnancy/baby, r gets locked out of hawkins (also set in s5)

Voting ended onJan 26

[djosleftbuttcheek]

expect the fic soonish my pretties (if only i didn't get sick yesterday and my head didn't feel like it was full of concrete)

[djosleftbuttcheek]

ahhh i would absolutely love to read a cryptic pregancy fic with steve!!!

!!!!!!!! Here’s what I have so far for that idea, as a little treat:

reader and Steve have been dating for a long time (like maybe s2ish??)

she goes into labor (doesn’t know it’s labor, maybe the gang thinks Vecna is doing something to her) in the UPSIDE DOWN when they’re investigating the lab/force field generator.

doesn’t have baby until they’re right side up again?? And maybe Vickie can help??

she’s super vague right now but I love it

[sweetlikenonsense]

You’re Not Alone (not when I’m standing right in front of you)

♡ When everything feels too much, he’s there to hold you through it.

Summary: You and Steve Harrington never saw eye to eye until the night you saw something you never thought you would, and everything you kept buried came apart in front of him.

Pairing: Steve Harrington × Buckley!Reader

Note: Saw a post about how someone saying “hey hey whoa” while another person is crying is the most intimate and comforting thing and it inspired this. Set in season 4.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, emotional distress, grief, trauma response, angst in that you see what happens to Chrissy - this is the aftermath.

Wc: 1.9k

You’re walking. 

You know that much. The rhythm of it, at least. 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right - the scape of your boot against the pavement when you don’t lift it quite high enough. 

You know you started at Forest Hills. 

You know you were at Eddie Munson’s trailer with Chrissy because she’d been acting weird. Because you were worried about her. Because she was your friend and she’d asked. 

He invited you both in - her with a flirty smirk, you with much the same, easy and familiar and harmless.

You looked around whilst they spoke, your eyes flicking over the interior. Messy but cozy. Lived in. Loved. 

You knew Eddie. You helped him when he struggled in a class he was meant to leave two years ago. He’d come to yours for last-minute tutoring before, but you’d never been to his place.

He looked relaxed here. More relaxed than you’d ever seen him. 

You remember thinking that. Clear as anything. 

And then -

Your mouth had opened. You remember that much. The shape of a question forming, the sound almost there. You remember turning toward Eddie, his attention still on Chrissy, still smiling, still unaware.

And then—

Nothing.

There’s a hard, hollow space where the rest should be.

Your jaw locks. Your tongue presses uselessly to the roof of your mouth. You know more happened-

Your hands had curled into fists without you noticing. Nails biting into skin.

She-

No.

You shake your head once, sharp and instinctive, like it would be possible to dislodge the memory before it finishes assembling itself.

Left foot. Right foot.

You don’t know where you’re going.

You just know that stopping feels dangerous. Like if you stop, your body will catch up to what your brain refuses to look at. Like standing still might invite the rest of it in — the sounds, the image, the way the air felt too thick in your lungs.

So you just follow the rhythm. The left foot. Right foot. 

Streetlights blur past in soft yellow and amber smears. Houses sit quiet and ordinary, curtains drawn, televisions glowing faintly between the gaps. The normalcy of it all presses in on you, obscene in how untouched it is.

Your fingers curl tighter. Your nails bite deep enough to draw blood. 

Left foot. Right foot. 

You know this route.

The corner where the pavement dips just enough to catch the toe of your boot if you’re not paying attention. The little card shop with the hand-painted sign in the window that says please don’t loiter - letters chipped, the please in bold and underlines twice.  You’ve walked it a hundred times.

To see Robin. To kill time. To- 

“Hey, Buckaroo,” you hear a voice - smug, familiar, grinning. “Got nothing better to do than hang with your sister on a Friday evenin’?”

You know the voice without looking up. It’s the same one that’s been needling you for years, always expecting you to rise to it.

Usually you do. A jab. A sigh. An eye-roll sharp enough to draw blood.

You don’t.

You keep to the rhythm; left, right. 

But your shoulders tense, unconsciously, like your body recognised the sound before your brain caught up. 

“Buckaroo,” he repeats, closer now, tone light in a way that bites. “You ignoring me on purpose or is this you brooding?”

You slow. Not because you mean to — because your feet literally misfire, rhythm breaking just enough to throw you off balance.

Left foot. Right-

You stumble.

Steve swears under his breath and reaches out automatically, fingers brushing your arm. The contact sparks too bright, too sharp, and you jerk away like you’ve been burned.

“Hey—whoa,” he says, the edge completely disappearing out of his voice. “Okay. Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on him then, your chest tight like it’s been cinched too far in. The irritation is still there - hot, defensive - but it’s fraying around the edges.

“Don’t,” you snap, you try to ignore the fact that your voice shakes. “Don’t call me that.”

Steve blinks. Taken aback by the vulnerability in your tone - not the bite. He’s used to that.  “Okay. I—fine. Sorry.”

But he doesn’t step back. If anything, he leans closer. Watching you so intently. You feel like he can see every pore, every wrinkle, every crack. He sees the way your hands won’t stop trembling. The way your eyes won’t quite focus on his, or anything for that matter. 

“Hey,” he says, tone so soft it makes you want to let him in - but you know better. “You okay?”

Your shoulders pull in, chin lifting on instinct. “I said don’t,” you bite out, the words coming too sharp. Even for you.  “I’m fine.”

You know you’re not. You’re not convincing to anyone, least of all Steve.If you can hear it. He can too.

“I just—” he exhales, his hand lifting between you, stopping short. Close enough that you feel the heat of it against your arm before he pulls back. “You looked… off. I was just—”

“What?” you cut in, heat flaring, desperate to keep it there. Anger is easier than whatever’s crawling up your throat. “You were just what, Steve? Doing your obligatory check-in for Robin? Make sure I’m behaving?

“That’s not fair,” he says, there’s a bite to it now but you don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears.

“Nothing about this is fair,” you snap, the edge cracking. “You don’t get to come up all casual and- and start poking at me like I’m a joke.”

He flinches.

“Okay,” he says, a little bit of hurt  creeping into his voice that he isn’t quick enough to hide. “I was kidding. I didn’t realise—”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “You didn’t realise. You never do.”

Before he can respond, you cut him off. “You just say whatever comes to mind,” you snap. 

“Whatever lets you protect yourself. Protect Dustin. Protect Robin. Hell — protect everyone.”

You laugh, sharp and hollow. 

“But you’re full of shit, Steve. You can’t protect anyone.” Your voice cracks till it’s barely legible, but you don’t stop.

“It’s bullshit. All of it.”

Steve goes still. Not defensive, just stunned. Like something inside him just dislodged, his mouth opening around a response that doesn’t come. 

He knows you know about the party. About Nancy. About what she said. And he knows that no matter how ‘vicious’ your sparring can get, you would never cross that line.

But you keep going anyway.

“You couldn’t help,” you say, the words tripping over each other. “You just- you stood there.” Your voice is heavy with accusation, anger and exhaustion. 

“Hey-” Steve starts, lost. Stood where? What are you talking about? Why are you shaking like this? How do I stop you from-

“You grabbed her foot,” you rush on, barely stopping to breathe. “Like that was going to stop it.”

“You tried to get her to talk to you,” you say, the words spilling faster, messier. “Tried to understand. You told her to talk to the counsellor. You told her she’d helped you.”

“Maybe that was true,” you choke, head shaking with your words. “Maybe you just needed it to be.”

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “Help me understand, baby. Please.”

But you don’t hear him. Or maybe you do and it doesn’t matter.

You just continue mumbling under your breath - only the odd word being picked up by Steve. You’re just trying to make sense of it all. How this could happen. How this could happen to Chrissy. Sweet, innocent, kind Chrissy- she just- 

Your rational brain is screaming at you that there are no answers to those questions - not right now - but you won’t hear it. You need to know. You need there to be a reason for it all - for what you just saw. And you need it now. Before- 

Steve cuts through briefly, “What—” 

“Bucka-“ he cuts himself off, then continues, “you’re not- you’re not making sense.”

But you just pressed on, words tumbling out now, without restraint, without an ounce of composure. “You begged and it- it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.” 

“I don’t understand.” He murmurs, voice so soft, so sad? 

You laugh again, but it’s wrecked, dissolving as soon as it leaves you. “Exactly. You don’t.” Your chest tightens. Your thoughts start slipping, coming out jagged, unfiltered.

“You try so hard,” you continue. “You say the right things. You do the right things. And everyone pretends that means something.”

He shakes his head, frustrated, wounded. Desperate.

“And it never matters,” you whisper. Solemn. Final. The anger finally caves in on itself. “It never does.”

Silence crashes down hard.

Your breathing goes uneven. You press your lips together like that might keep the rest in, but it’s too late ‘cause the pressure's already there, swelling, choking.

“I don’t know why I’m saying this,” your voice barely there, your body starting to cave in on itself. 

Steve looks at you. Really, really looks. His confusion softening into something closer to fear.

“Talk to me,” he raises his voice, desperate to break through your jumbled thoughts. Desperate for you to let him in before you break. “Please.”

You shake your head, backing away. Your thoughts won’t line up. Nothing will slow. It’s all too much. 

“I don’t…” You swallow, your breath hitching. “I don’t-” 

You turn your face away, but he’s already there. His hands come up without thinking, warm and steady, cupping your cheeks and guiding you back to him.

“Hey, hey, whoa,” he murmurs, desperately searching your face for answers, clues as to what happened to you. Catching the tears you didn’t even realise were falling. 

It’s too much.

A sound breaks out of you, thin and ugly. You shake your head hard, fumbling to break away from his hold.  

“Steve, don’t,” you mumble. “Please.”

He stills instantly, loosening his grip but refusing to pull away. “Okay,” he says quickly. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just—“

“I’m fine,” you whisper, over and over, like if you say it enough times your body will believe you. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Your shoulders fold in as the lie collapses. The sound that comes out of you isn’t loud. It’s broken. Your breath stutters, vision blurring as the fight finally drains out of you.

Steve’s hands hover, even more unsure now - one brushing your jaw, the other steadying your arm. He’d never seen you cry. Not after Will. Not after Hopper. Not once.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey. Look at me. Breathe with me, okay?”

You shake your head again. The words keep coming anyway, tangled and unfinished.

“I didn’t mean it,” you mumble. “I don’t know why I said it. I can’t—I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Your voice catches on every word. You can’t stop saying it, like if you apologise enough it might undo the damage. Might undo everything that’s happened. Everything you’ve said. 

Everything you’ve seen. 

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t- you have to know I didn’t-“ 

Steve closes the distance then. No hesitation this time.

Cutting you off with his arms. They come around you fully, solid and warm, pulling you in against his chest. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other presses firm and steady between your shoulder blades, anchoring you there as you finally allow yourself to break down in his arms..

“Hey,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You cling to him, breath hitching hard, apologies spilling into the fabric of his shirt all while he strokes your hair slowly, over and over, like he’s afraid to break you.

“Shh,” he says, low and steady. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t.”

Your breathing stutters, then falters again. He adjusts his hold, tighter than you had ever been held, closer than you ever would let someone. His forehead resting against the top of your head as he murmurs, “I’m here.” 

“I’m here, baby.”

P.S. Buckley! Reader is my new obsession 🫠 so if you want more of these two let me know 🫶🏻

[djosleftbuttcheek]

hey so i have two steve ideas and both of them involve pregnancy (w/ steve?? a shocker!) but i don't wanna just write a bunch of pregnancy stuff sooooooooo......i leave it up to the people

which would you prefer (steve harrington x f!reader

cryptic/unknown pregnancy (set in s5)

secret pregnancy/baby, r gets locked out of hawkins (also set in s5)

Voting ended onJan 26

[djosleftbuttcheek]

im so sorry to be that person, i really am, but do you know when there’ll be another chapter of your gator fic? 😭 i’m not trying to rush you i promise i just need it like air i love it so much i keep myself from constantly checking your page to see if you upload it

hahaha you're all good! i wish i had a better answer than this, but i'm not entirely sure when another chapter will be put up. i don't have a ton of time to write like ever, but i will try with all my might to write as soon as i can! for you, dear anon!!

[snoopyharrington]

what about innocent reader who works in a diner on the rough side of town, the place gets held up so frequently that gator is always sent to be first on scene to take statements & charm her till she’s a stuttering blushing mess- never telling her the gory details but coincidentally whenever he catches the guys responsible they conveniently show up to court with busted lips and black eyes..

lol ive been daydreaming about him

SHHHUT UP YOUR BRAIN !!!!! he’s always flirting and making you blush bc he absolutely loves seeing you get nervous and wring your hands in front of your apron. he thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen!

and god forbid anyone else ever tries to take her witness statement - gator barely throws the police cruiser in park before he’s marching up to you and the officer you’re talking to. you’re so nervous and you try explaining to the officer that you usually talk to gator when these things happen and you don’t know how to explain you’re more comfortable w him, so the relief that washes over you when you see him jump out of the cruiser is tenfold. (and ofc the offending officer doesn’t question it, esp not w ~that look~ in gator’s eyes.)

you love that he’s always so sweet and tender with you, never making fun of you for how shaken up you are even if it’s happened multiple times.

“shh, ‘s okay, honey girl. don’t have to be ashamed. pretty things like you should never have to go through bullshit like that.”

“jus’ a coupla lowlifes tryna scare the town. don’t worry, I got it covered, they’re not gonna be comin’ around here again. scouts honor.”

“we needa get you another job, sweet girl. can’t keep runnin’ into you like this, hm? would rather be makin’ you breakfast in the mornings.”

when the court date finally happens, you decide to go — not only because you know gator will be there, but also because you know it’ll give you some peace of mind to see these guys get sentenced to prison. you can’t hide the sharp gasp that falls from your lips when each of the criminals show up with black eyes, swollen noses, and bloodied lips, and when you ask gator about it after everything is said and done, he just smiles softly, reaching out to thumb at the corner of your mouth.

“told you everythin’ would be fine, didn’t I?” the sentiment makes your stomach swim nervously, but when he swipes his thumb over your cheek, your nerves go with it. “lemme give you a ride home, honey girl. bet you’ve never been in a police cruiser before.”

[auroralwriting]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ

being in love with steve harrington, who can't see a life beyond nancy wheeler, is incredibly difficult

steve harrington x fem!reader (s2 era)

word count | 2.4k

be warned! | general sad themes, unrequited love...?, steve is an unintentional dick, angst, fluff, jonathan byers being a good friend, no nancy hate, upside down is canon, ambiguous-ish ending maybe for a part two, not proof-read!!

notes | I haven't written in literal ages (thanks, school!) so if this one sucks.. then I didn't post it! But I love Steve and I'm super excited to post for him. I've been a Stranger Things fan since 2016. Genuinely. Big moment for little me. Hope you enjoy!

If you would have thought that you'd be spending your Friday night curled in your sheets, tucked under your duvet, crying like a kid, you would've at least brought yourself a snack to comfort you. Maybe a water to calm your raw throat.

But this was an unexpected rush of emotions, brought on by none other than Steve Harrington himself.

The problem was, you didn’t even have the dignity of being mad at him. Because Steve Harrington didn’t try to hurt people. Well, maybe Jonathan Byers, or Billy Hargrove if he was being a dick, but never someone innocent. Never you.

He was a storm that only ever noticed the damage once everything was already wet and ruined and wrecked.

Your face was damp, your pillowcase stuck to your cheek. Your throat felt like you’d swallowed sand. Your hair was a mess, some pieces stuck in your tear-streaked face.

You stared at the ceiling long enough for the darkness to start moving in your peripheral, for the shadows to look like something crawling. Something stretching its arms across your bedroom walls like the Upside Down had figured out where you lived.

It didn't. Not tonight, at least.

Tonight, it was just the dull ache in your heart and the sound of Steve's voice rolling around in your brain.

Your eyes stung when you blinked. Your chest kept doing that stupid thing, that tight, breathless ache like your body couldn’t decide if it wanted to sob or vomit.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your mouth to keep quiet. To contain the sobs that tried to escape past your lips and echo off your walls. To try and contain your own feelings, just for one more minute.

The worst part about what Steve had said wasn't that he said it. No, Steve didn't really think before he spoke. It was how easy it was for him to say, how naturally it came.

You’d been talking about nothing. Literally nothing. The kind of conversation you had when you wanted the time to pass a little quicker. The kind of conversation most people would run from. Just small talk.

You’d said something about how boring Hawkins felt lately.

Steve had scoffed, soft and fond, like you’d just said the funniest thing in the world.

"Yeah," he’d said, smile tugging at his mouth, eyes drifting somewhere far away. "I don’t know. It wasn’t always like this."

Your stomach had fluttered, stupidly hopeful. "What changed?"

He’d shrugged. And then, like it was a confession he’d been carrying in his mouth all day:

"Nancy."

Just her name. Nothing else. Like that was the beginning and the end of it. Your smile had stayed on your face out of pure muscle memory.

"Oh," you’d said, trying to conceal whatever disappointment you felt. Like it didn't feel like swallowing a piece of glass.

Steve had laughed a little, like he hadn’t even noticed the shift in your voice. "I mean--not, like, now, you know," he’d added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just.. I don’t know. It was.. different. When it was her."

Nancy Wheeler was perfect.

You couldn't even deny it. She was a perfect student, a great daughter, insanely pretty, incredibly and obnoxiously loyal, strong and resilient. Nancy Wheeler might've been proof God had favorites.

Stomach riddled with knots, you nodded anyways. Because you were good at being the person people talked to when they couldn’t have what they wanted.

Steve Harrington liked Nancy Wheeler like she was the air he breathed.

A creek from your window caught your attention suddenly, the sound unusual for a window that stayed closed unless it was summer. You froze for half a second, heart jumping like you’d been caught doing something illegal.

The window opened, and to your surprise, Jonathan Byers poked his head in.

"Hey," Jonathan’s voice came through, careful. "You awake?"

"No," you replied, wiping your tears away with your pillowcase before Jonathan could spot them.

His reply came quick. "Can I come in anyways?"

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The door pushed open a little more and Jonathan stepped in like he didn’t want to startle you. He didn’t turn on the light. He didn’t do that overly bright what’s wrong? voice that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

"You left school early," Jonathan noted. Because of course he noticed. Jonathan was too observant for his own damn good. "You feeling okay?"

You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might give you an answer if you stared long enough.

"Yeah," you lied again, because lying was easier than saying Steve Harrington broke me in half and didn’t even notice that he did anything wrong.

Jonathan didn’t move for a moment. You could feel him standing there in the dark, the weight of his attention steady and quiet.

"Okay," he said finally.

The word didn’t sound like he believed you. It sounded like he was letting you have the lie without punishing you for it. You heard the soft shift of him sitting on the edge of your bed. The mattress dipped slightly from the weight of him sitting.

"I’m not here to interrogate you," Jonathan added, voice low. "I just… wanted to check on you." You blinked rapidly, trying to force the sting away. "Steve was worried when you didn't show up in last period."

Even the sound of someone saying his name made you feel like you were going to faint. "I bet."

The tone in your voice was enough to tell Jonathan something had happened with Steve to make you leave. He just knew you that well, the way someone knew another person when they've grown up together.

"What'd he do?" Jonathan's voice held a hint of something angrier than worry. In some ways, Jonathan wasn't fully trusting of Steve still.

Which, yeah. Fair.

"He was talking about.. her," you said, and even the word tasted bitter. "Nancy."

Jonathan didn’t flinch. He didn’t defend her. He didn’t insult her. He didn’t turn it into some dumb rivalry just because he got the girl in the end. He just listened.

You let out a small, shaky breath. "He said her name like.." you struggled, blinking away tears that refused to stop. "Like it was the only one that mattered."

Jonathan didn't push you to go on. He waited, shifted a little, but stayed patient, eyes trained on your face like he was watching your every miniscule movement.

You turned your head slightly, staring into the darkness until you could barely make out Jonathan’s outline.

"I think I’m in love with him," you whispered, the words stinging your tongue.

"Yeah," Jonathan said gently. "I figured."

Your eyes snapped open, horrified. "You--you knew?"

Jonathan made a small sound that might’ve been a shrug. "You’re not that subtle."

"I thought I was subtle," you croaked, mortified.

"No," Jonathan said, almost fond. "You’re.. obvious. In a way that’s kind of painful to watch."

You let out a broken laugh that immediately dissolved into a sob. "Oh my God. Does-Does Steve.."

Shaking his head, Jonathan replied with a chuckle, "No. I don't think he has a clue."

"I hate it," you said, voice shaking harder now. "Because he’s--he’s nice to me. He’s sweet, and he makes me laugh, and he looks at me like I matter sometimes, and then he talks about Nancy like she’s the whole world and I feel like--"

"You're the second option when she's not around."

You blinked, staring at Jonathan with wide eyes. He'd just read your mind perfectly. It was a little bit jarring.

"Yeah," you softly said, "like I'm his backup when Nancy's not around."

"Steve’s a.. good guy," he said, and the way he said it wasn’t worshipful. It was careful. Honest, even if he hated that it was. "But he’s not careful with people. Not always. Not in the way you are."

Your kindness transcended life itself. The way you cared for everything and everyone, even if it was stupid Tommy Hagan or one of the kids. The way you thought about each word carefully before you spoke. The way you held yourself softly and gently.

"What do I do?" Jonathan turned to you like he didn't quite expect those words.

He thought for a moment, taking a slow, deep breath in. "Give yourself time. Give yourself space. You're more than whatever Steve makes of you. And he's just a stupid boy." You laughed at that, sniffling at the end. "Let yourself feel what you're feeling. Then pick yourself back up and be better. Not for him, for you."

"When'd you get so wise?"

"Probably when I learned there's a whole world under our own." He paused. "Listening to Nancy rant will also do that, too."

"Thank you," you whispered. "You're a good friend."

Jonathan’s eyes softened in the dark, like your words hit him somewhere he didn’t talk about.

He didn’t smile the way Steve smiled; big and easy and careless. Jonathan smiled like it was a privilege.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Well.. I’m trying."

Your throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t grief that flooded you. It was gratitude. The kind that made you feel a little pathetic, because it shouldn’t have been this rare to be treated gently.

Jonathan stood up slowly, like he didn’t want to jostle the air. He hovered for a second, awkward in that way he always was when things got too tender. "Just get some sleep, okay? Nancy said she wants you to come over tomorrow to make sure you’re feeling better."

"Tell her I’ll use the door like a normal person," you teased, feeling a bit lighter. Jonathan chuckled, still deciding to exit out your window.

It shut behind him, and the room was quiet again. But it didn’t feel as empty.

Saturday morning came like a punishment.

You woke up with your throat still raw, your eyes swollen, and your stomach hollow like you’d been starved for years. The house felt too normal and bright. It made you want to scream.

You managed to wash your face and brush your teeth without looking too closely at yourself in the mirror, because the girl staring back just didn’t quite feel like your normal self.

Downstairs, you barely tasted breakfast. You barely heard your parents talking. You just moved like a shadow, pulling on your shoes, grabbing your jacket, stepping outside into the cold.

The air was sharp enough to wake you up fully.

Unfortunately.

Hawkins didn’t give you the luxury of staying in bed forever. Neither did the Wheeler’s’ front porch, where you found yourself standing, trying to use your jacket to shield you from the nip in the air.

You lifted your hand to knock, but the door opened before you even could.

Nancy Wheeler stood there in a sweater and jeans, hair pulled back, eyes alert like she’d been waiting for something terrible to happen. When she saw you, her gaze flicked over your face with that same sharp observation Jonathan had.

Something in her expression softened.

"Hey, I’m glad you felt up to come by," she smiled softly. "Come on in."

You hesitated for half a second, then walked in slowly, wiping your palms against your jeans like you could scrub the nerves away.

Then you saw him. Steve Harrington. The one person your heart yearned for, yet broke for. It was awfully poetic. It was also really, really bad timing.

He looked up when you walked in. And his face--his stupid face--lit up with relief? Or maybe a touch of warmth?

"Hey," Steve said, voice bright. "There you are."

Your chest tightened so suddenly it almost stole your breath.

There you are. Like you belonged to him. Like you were something he could count on.

Your mouth went dry. Nancy’s eyes flicked to Steve for a fraction of a second. Then back to you. It was no secret Jonathan had shared your words from last night with her. It was also obvious he did not tell Steve.

Steve took a few steps closer, brows drawing together in a look of confusion.

"Are you okay?" he asked, quieter now. "You weren’t at school yesterday. Jonathan said you--"

Your stomach sank at your name on Jonathan’s tongue, like it had passed through other mouths and become something public. You knew he wouldn't do that, but it still made you anxious. "I’m fine," you said automatically, then stopped yourself.

No. Jonathan told you not to do that.

You swallowed, forcing the truth out in a more real way. "I wasn’t feeling good," you said. "That’s all."

Steve’s face shifted, concern deepening. "Okay," he said. "Well.. I’m glad you’re here now."

The words shouldn’t have hurt. They did anyway. Because being glad you were here didn’t mean he wanted you. It just meant he liked having you near. And that was the problem. You didn’t want to just be near, you wanted to be everywhere he was. To invade his space like a parasite that he would welcome.

Nancy cleared her throat, stepping forward slightly like she was giving you an exit. "We were just going over everything again," she said. "Making sure we’re ready if.. anything happens."

Her voice didn’t tremble when she said it. But her eyes flicked to the windows, to the shadows beyond them. And you remembered, suddenly, that your heartbreak didn’t exist in a bubble.

There was an entire other world beneath yours. A place that didn’t care about Steve Harrington’s feelings. Or yours.

Jonathan appeared in the hallway, hair still messy, expression unreadable until his eyes landed on you. Then, subtly, he softened. Like he was proud you came anyway.

"You okay?" he asked again, but this time it wasn’t about Steve.

You nodded once, barely. "Yeah," you whispered. "I’m okay."

Jonathan held your gaze for a beat, like he was reminding you: Give yourself time. Give yourself space. Be better--for you.

Steve shifted beside you, glancing between you and Jonathan like he could feel the tension but didn’t know why. Then he did the thing that made your heart do something awful. He smiled. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping like it was a secret meant only for you.

"Hey," Steve murmured, almost shy. "Did I do something?"

Your breath caught. You just stood there, frozen, because the truth was a loaded gun in your throat. Because the answer was yes.

Yes, Steve.

You did.

But you didn’t do it on purpose. That almost made it worse.

You swallowed hard, forcing your face to stay neutral. "No," you said softly. "Just.. really don’t feel the best still."

Steve’s shoulders eased immediately, relief washing over him so fast it was insulting.

"Okay," he breathed out, smiling again like you’d just saved him from something. "Cool. Cool."

You hated yourself a little, because part of you was still happy to be the one who made him feel better.

Even while you were breaking.