SUMMARY: in which an injured steve harrington accidentally climbs through your window instead of your brother’s.
WARNINGS: mentions of blood & injury, strong language.
WORD COUNT: 1.2k +
Steve let out a string of curses as he climbed up the drainpipe, his hands gripping the window ledge for dear life as he hoisted himself up. Usually he could make his way up in five seconds flat, but the sharp pain shooting up his side was doing little for his agility.
It admittedly bruised his ego a little to have to rely on a fourteen year old child to patch him up after getting hurt during a patrol, but what other choice did he have? Dustin was the only person who knew about his secret.
He’d always known the little shit was too smart for his own good; he’d discovered there was something going on with Steve before he even knew himself.
From the moment he was bitten, the Henderson boy had hounded him with books about the effects of spider venom, endless questions about his web shooters, and suggestions about how he could modify his suit.
As insane as it drove him, he knew the kid was only trying to help. And honestly, he was just glad Dustin was the one to work it out and not Robin. If it was her, she might as well put a huge billboard up in Hawkins town square with ‘Steve Harrington is Spider-Man!’ plastered on it in bold lettering.
After a couple of fumbles, he finally managed to unlock the window and push it open. He brushed a tuft of hair out of his eyes, poking his head into the bedroom.
Then he froze.
The walls once covered in astronomy wallpaper were now painted a soft butter yellow, with string lights hung from either side. The creased Goonie’s poster had been replaced with a photo of Patrick Swayze in The Outsiders, and the shelf in the corner that was previously full of science textbooks was now stacked with records ranging from Duran Duran to Cyndi Lauper.
Oh, shit.
“Steve?”
His head whipped around at the sound of his name, his eyes comically wide as they set on you, sat atop your canopy bed in your pyjamas beside a copy of Cosmopolitan, with an understandably startled look on your face.
Yeah. This definitely wasn’t Dustin’s room.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” He trailed off, his chest heaving as he tried to come up with an excuse for the insane situation he’d landed himself in, but what could he say? What could possibly justify him stumbling through your window at ten o’clock, with his mask pressed against his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and his suit half torn to shreds?
Oh, God, his suit.
He parted his lips to defend himself, but you beat him to it, swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you sat up straight.
“Oh my god,” You murmured, you gaze lifting from his spandex-covered body up to his wide, brown eyes, “You’re Spider-Man?”
“What? No! This isn’t— I’m not—” He resigned himself with a sigh, “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little.”
You didn’t move straight away. He half expected you to yell at him for breaking and entering, or for getting blood on your new rug, but you didn’t.
You merely stood up and padded past him into what he could only assume was your en suite bathroom, leaving him standing ineptly in front of your windowsill. You returned not a minute later, a pocket first aid kit in your hands.
“C’mon,” You said, nodding towards the bed.
Steve probably should have said no, and if it was anyone else he would have, but much like your brother, you had this stubborn lilt to your voice that he couldn’t ignore. So, he swallowed thickly and staggered towards your bed, the mattress creaking under his weight as he lowered himself onto the duvet.
You sat down beside him, tucking your socked feet under your thighs. “I take it you came here for Dustin?” You asked casually, like you were talking about the weather as opposed to a literal state secret.
“Why would you think that?”
You shrugged as you popped open the kit, “He told me you’ve been helping him with his algebra, but I figured that was a lie, since you had to retake Mr. Thomas’ class last year.”
Steve grimaced. Partly from the memory and mostly from the pain he was in.
“Plus, he hid a book on web fluid under the couch.”
“Of course he did.” He huffed.
After pulling out a pack of cotton pads and a bottle of antiseptic, you nod towards his suit, “Can you take that off?”
“You could at least take me out to dinner first,” He attempted to joke, but the slight tremble his voice carried betrayed him.
You sat patiently and watched as he stripped himself of his suit, the material falling from his frame and pooling loosely around his waist. You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on his chest, dropping down to the subtle curve of his stomach and the trail of dark hair beneath his navel. You were pretty sure he noticed, but he didn’t say anything.
You cleared your throat and refocused your attention on the gash on his side, where dried blood had begun to cling to his skin. After soaking a cotton pad in antiseptic, you leaned over and pressed it to the wound, cringing when you felt him suck in a breath.
“I’m sorry,”
Steve hissed through his teeth and tipped his head back against the headboard, “Its okay.”
“This looks gnarly.” You murmur softly, “What happened?”
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “Would you believe me if I said a guy came at me with a knife?”
You shook your head and Steve sighed.
“It was a cat.”
That drew a laugh out of you, “A cat?”
“A really big cat.” He defended, his lips curling up as he struggled to hide a chuckle of his own.
Your eyes were glued to his abdomen as you cleaned him up, but his eyes were on you. He watched attentively, surprised at how gentle you were being with him. There was a practiced ease to the way you worked, most likely from years of tending to Dustin whenever he fell off his bike.
He watched you until you were done, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability that wasn’t there before, “You’re not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?”
You tilted your head to the side, soft and incredulous, “Steve. Who would I tell?”
He felt a little stupid for asking. He barely knew anything about you. Up until now, the two of you had only spoken once or twice in passing. What reason did he have to trust you?
But at the same time, you’d let him into your space and patched him up without so much as a question. That was more than most people would have done.
His mouth pulls into a small smile, eyes glazing over with exhaustion. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You clicked the first aid kit closed and tossed the cotton pads into the bin before getting up and padding across the carpet into the bathroom. You slid the kit back under the sink where you found it and grabbed a glass, because you figured he needed it, and filled it with cold water.
By the time you got back to your room, water and painkillers in hand, Steve was dead to the world. He laid tangled amongst your duvet with his brown hair sticking up in several directions, soft breaths escaping his mouth as he dozed.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was the most relaxed he’d looked in weeks.
✶ ISN’T SHE LOVELY.ᐣ dad!steve harrington x reader
SUMMARY: in which steve is in awe of his first little girl. (can be read as a standalone or as part of the my girls universe!)
WARNINGS: may cause baby fever.
WORD COUNT: 0.8k +
When you first found out you were pregnant, Steve was terrified. Stunned, overjoyed and on cloud nine, sure.
But mostly terrified.
He didn’t know anything about being a dad. His own father wasn’t exactly anything to look up to. He was never around when he needed him, more concerned with attending business meetings and knocking back the whiskey than taking the time to get to know his own son. He didn’t know much, but he knew he didn’t want to be like him.
However, all the worries Steve had been harbouring for the past nine months melted away the second his daughter entered the world, all six pounds and three ounces of her.
Jane Theodora Harrington.
Her name was something you’d both decided on the moment you found out about her. It felt fitting. El was the reason you and Steve were still breathing, after all. Without her, you wouldn’t have even gotten to this point.
He was enamoured with her from the beginning, he wasn’t sure his heart had ever felt so full. He was always the first to volunteer to change her, let you rest while he tended to her, carry her around and chat away to her about his day like she had any idea what baseball was. He’d barely put her down since you brought her home from the hospital.
Even now, whilst the rest of Hawkins slept, Steve was tucked in the corner of the nursery in nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms with Jane against his chest, wrapped up in a blanket your mother knitted that practically swallowed her whole.
“And then, Miles Connor tried to steal second base,” He whispered against the top of her head, her little mouth set in a pout as she dozed. “But don’t worry, Theo picked him off. He’s getting pretty good, y’know. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
The mobile you bought spun slowly over her crib, playing a gentle tune as it did so, but neither of them seemed too bothered by it. It was only when he heard the floorboards creak that he looked up, watching you lean against the doorframe with your arms folded over your chest.
“I wondered where you disappeared to.”
His lips curl into a sheepish smile. “Hey, baby.”
It was impossible to stay mad when he looked at you like that, even more so with your daughter in his arms. You tilt your head to the side, biting back a smile of your own. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” He murmured, but it didn’t sound remorseful in the slightest, “She was crying.”
The mere raise of your brow was enough to break him. He crumbled instantly, glancing back down.
“Okay, she wasn’t crying. I just missed her.”
Tucking a strand of sleep-mussed hair behind your ear, you pushed yourself off the doorframe and padded across the wooden floor. As soon as you joined him in the rocking chair, he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, lips brushing against your temple.
The curtains hadn’t been fully drawn, allowing a slither of moonlight to poke through and cast a warm glow over the room. Jane lets out an almost inaudible noise, her little fists curling against the blanket as she squirmed in her sleep.
“She’s got your nose.” You observed.
Steve hummed in agreement, running his hand up and down your arm. “That look on her face, though, that grumpy pout. That’s all you.”
You let out a quiet scoff, nudging his side in a way that only made his smile grow even wider. He traces a thumb across the top of her head, enthralled by the way her eyelashes fanned over her cheeks and the gentle rising and falling of her chest.
“She’s ours, baby.” He breathed, voice dripping with undiluted awe. “Can you believe that?”
It wasn’t the first time he said something like that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last either. He just couldn’t help himself. He softened at the added weight of your head against his shoulder, the last few weeks of sleepless nights finally catching up to you. The three of you stay like that for a bit, bathing in the bliss, before his voice draws you back out of your fatigued state.
“God, I could have a million of her.”
“A million?” You murmur, unconvinced.
“Okay, maybe not a million.” He backtracks, “But definitely a couple. Three, at a push.”
SUMMARY: in which steve takes a vacation with his girls. (can be read as a standalone or as part of the my girls universe!)
WARNINGS: none.
WORD COUNT: 1k +
A quiet sigh slipped out of your lips as you came to, drawn out of sleep by the morning dawn. You didn’t know what time it was, but it was light enough for the spring sunshine to filter through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room.
You lifted your heavy head up from the pillow and turned to look over you shoulder, your vision still somewhat blurred. The spot beside you was empty, lacking the usual snuffly snores of your husband with his face buried into the pillow, and his hair sticking up at all angles.
It had been two days since Steve got off work for spring break and you had spent the weekend packed into an RV with four children, driving from Hawkins up to Maine.
It was something you’d both dreamed about since the days where his only worry was how much hairspray he was using.
A proper family vacation.
Something neither of you had growing up.
So, the first thing he did after he got his coaching job at the elementary school was buy a second hand ‘89 Winnebago and write down a list of states he wanted to visit.
After dragging yourself out of bed and pulling on a dressing down, you padded down the narrow hall to the living area. Jane and Ruthie were sprawled out on the couch as they shared a colouring book, the sounds of crayons scribbling against the paper blending in with The Kinks’ ‘Waterloo Sunset’ playing on the radio. Penny and Junie seemed unbothered by the noise, dozing peacefully in their bassinets by the table.
Steve was stood over by the stove in nothing but a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips, leaving his back muscles on full display. You made your way over to him, arms circling his waist and nudging your nose into the crook of his neck.
“Mornin’, baby.” He murmured, voice gravelly as he looked down at you. He was glowing in a way no father of four should at such an early hour. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. You didn’t have to let me sleep in, you know.”
“I know,” He hummed, turning back to the breakfast he was plating up, “But you looked comfy. I didn’t want to wake you.”
He dropped a quick kiss to the top of your head before picking up the two plates and carrying them over to the table. The colouring book was long forgotten, crayons tossed to the side as his daughters scrambled up to get a better look, their tiny mouths salivating at the stack of whipped cream, hershey’s kisses and blueberries galore in front of them.
“What is it, Daddy?”
“That, bug,” Steve said as he ruffled Jane’s bedhead, whilst Ruthie tucked straight in, “Is a chocolate chip, triple-decker, eggo extravaganza.”
She stared up at him, the words making little sense to her five years old brain.
His shoulders sagged. “It’s waffles. You’ll love ‘em, trust me.”
Jane still seemed skeptical, but she stuck her fork in anyway. Meanwhile, Steve returned to his spot beside you, slinging in arm around your waist and leaning back against the kitchen counter.
“They’ll never finish all of that.” You said, watching Ruthie lick the cream from her lips.
He hummed in agreement. You were right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when they looked so happy. He grabbed a strawberry from the array of toppings behind him, popping it in his mouth.
“It’s nice out. I thought we could walk down to the harbour. Let the girls run around, give the twins some fresh air.”
You nodded, your voice soft. “Sounds perfect.”
His mouth curved into a lazy, familiar smile, hands slipping underneath your robe as his thumbs traced the bare skin of your back.
Getting outside with four kids wasn’t an easy feat, you knew that more than most. But after three trips in as many years, you and Steve were finally starting to get the hang of it. You grabbed the girls’ hats whilst he smothered them in sunscreen, and soon enough you were all rallying out of the RV and beginning the walk down to the coast.
Jane and Ruthie ran a few steps ahead, the former keeping a tight grip on her little sister’s hand in a way that made your heart lurch with pride. Your husband remained beside you, hair perfectly tousled under his baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose as he pushed the stroller down the sidewalk, where Penny and Junie were observing the world around them with matching sets of wide, brown eyes.
It was moments like this that you were reminded how lucky you were to be able to give your daughters this life so full of love and adventure.
“You know, I could totally live out here.” Steve thought out loud, sneakers crunching against the gravel.
“No, you couldn’t.” You said knowingly, “You’d miss Hawkins too much.”
He merely scoffed at that.
“And what about the little league?”
He shook his head, as stubborn as ever. “Nah, the boys would be fine without me. They’re getting better, actually. Little Leo Cooper slid into home last week.”
No matter how much he complained about it, Steve loved his town. He’d fought tooth and nail for it, after all. To him, there was nothing like watching the sun set at the quarry or walking through the square on a winter morning. Not to mention his job that he’d grown to adore, but that didn’t mean his heart didn’t long for somewhere new. Somewhere without so many ghosts.
“Okay, maybe not now.” He retreated, voice growing softer. More thoughtful. “But one day, when the girls are older, I could see us retiring here. Learning to surf, eating our body weight in lobster rolls, maybe buy a sailboat.”
“A sailboat?”
He nodded, musing. “I could be a boat guy.”
You struggled to hold back a laugh, the sound prompting the corners of Steve’s lips to turn up. He lifted a hand from the stroller to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You rested your head against his shoulder, the two of you bathed in the sunlight and salt air.
SUMMARY: in which steve harrington is far too cool to admit that he can’t see.
WARNINGS: mentions of head trauma, strong language.
WORD COUNT: 1.1k +
Lately, Steve had been bumping into everything.
Sure, everyone made mistakes now and then, that was part of being human, except his were constant. A couch? He’d walk into it. A shoe? He’d trip over it. A wall? He’d narrowly miss it.
It started with headaches, the kind that he could feel pulsating between his eyes. He’d always brush them off, complaining the lights were too bright or that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. But then he found himself struggling to read things like the TV guide or the list of showings at the Hawk, and suddenly your face wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.
Then came the accidents.
It was only when he ran a red light almost crashed his car that you finally brought up your concern. As usual, he tried to laugh it off, but he’d never been a good liar, especially when it came to you.
He knew exactly what was happening. He’d always known the beatings and the concussions he’d suffered over the years would catch up to him eventually, but seeing it happen in real time hit him like a ton of bricks.
A quick trip to Hawkins Optical Shop confirmed that Steve was short sighted with a sensitivity to light, which was how you ended up in the front of the store, scanning a wall full of glasses whilst your boyfriend crossed his arms over his chest in misery.
You, on the other hand, were having a great time getting him to try on ridiculous looking frames. His face was priceless with every pair you handed him, each sillier than the last. You knew his protests were mainly for show, that beneath all the complaining he was actually quite enjoying the attention.
“Absolutely not. I look like a Beatle.” He grumbles, tugging off the black circular pair you’d given him. You have to bite back a laugh as you take them, setting them back down on the shelf and taking another look at the selection.
“Hey, what about these ones?” You ask seriously now, picking up a pair of round eye tortoiseshell frames.
Steve takes them dubiously, slipping them on and facing the mirror. He squints as he assesses his reflection. The glasses give him a surprisingly intellectual look, the blends of black and brown bringing out his eyes in a way that only made him more attractive.
He hums, cocking his head to the side. “These aren’t so bad…”
“They look good on you.” You smile, catching his gaze in the mirror. He spins around, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to look stern. He fails spectacularly, though, drawing a laugh out of you.
His lips turn up at the sound and he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close and dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t get cocky.” He murmurs, “I’m still not happy about this.”
With a swift roll of your eyes, you reach for his hand and lace your fingers together. He lets you lead him over to the counter in the middle of the store, following after you like an obedient puppy dog.
The elderly receptionist, whose name tag read Benjamin, had been watching the two of you since you came in, smiling to himself as he rung up the purchase. Steve only let go of you to retrieve his wallet, paying for the glasses and taking the case and cleaning cloth from him.
After a final reminder to take care of his eyes, you follow him back out into the cool, autumn air, the bell above the door dinging with your exit. He pauses on the sidewalk, still adjusting to the feeling of the frames sitting on his nose. He could see everything with so much more clarity now; the signs across the street, the leaves on the trees. He glances down at you, his gaze softening as he got a good look at your features for the first time in God knows how long.
“I still think it’s bullshit that I need these.”
You tilt your head to the side, stuffing your hands into your — his — jacket pockets. “Steve, you couldn’t see.”
He scoffs lightly. “I could see perfectly fine.”
You both knew that wasn’t true. The number of inanimate objects he’d walked into spoke for themselves.
“It’s just,” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “They make me feel like such a dork, you know?”
In spite of his protests, the glasses didn’t look as bad as he thought they would, and he was relieved that his vision issues were finally sorted out. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course.
The next couple of days were pure bliss for Steve. His headaches had eased, he was no longer bumping into things, and wearing his glasses had quickly become like second nature. He couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without them. It wasn’t until Friday, during your weekly movie night at the Wheeler’s, that his insecurities began to resurface. He’d gotten used to wearing his glasses at home, but wearing them in front of other people was something else entirely.
The second you opened the basement door, you were greeted with the usual chaos that came with hanging out with a bunch of teenagers. Will and Lucas were rifling through a box of VHS tapes, whilst Dustin and Mike were stuck in a heated debate over sweet versus salted popcorn.
A creaky floorboard as you retreated down the steps grabbed their attention, their heads shooting up. Dustin, of course, was the first to notice the new addition to his friend’s face.
“Holy shit.” He gawks, “You’re wearing glasses.”
Steve swallows as all eyes fall on him. This was exactly what he’d been dreading.
“Yeah, I am. So what?” He tries to sound casual, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, as if daring anyone to make a snarky comment.
Robin, who was perched on the back of the couch, shook her head, tone considering, “Nothing. They actually… kinda suit you.”
Lucas nodded in agreement, abandoning the mix of movies. “You look all smart and shit.”
Eventually the group decided on a movie to watch, and two bowls of popcorn were placed on the coffee table. Everyone spread out whilst you settled comfortably on the floor between Steve’s legs, his fingers scratching absently at your scalp as the opening credits to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off fill the quiet basement. You let your eyes slip shut, humming contently.
Ten minutes into the movie, you felt his movement pause. He tilts his head down, lowering his voice to avoid the others overhearing. “Are you sure these things don’t make me look like a dork?”
“Steven,” You whisper, looking up at him with mock seriousness, “I have literally never wanted you more.”
His eyes light up, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You murmur, “And I’ll show you how much later as long as you keep them on.”
The corners of his lips quirk up then, and he drops a soft kiss to your mouth as he pulls you closer to his chest. “Your wish is my command, baby.”
✶ FRIDAY I’M IN LOVE.ᐟ steve harrington x fem!reader
SUMMARY: in which steve harrington is head over heels for the girl behind the hawkins hits counter.
WARNINGS: strong language, steve being a loser.
WORD COUNT: 2.1k +
“Steve.”
The Harrington boy was oblivious to Robin’s calls as he sat in his swivel chair inside the booth, his feet propped up on the soundboard. Despite having finished the Morning Squawk ten minutes ago, he still had his headphones sat among his beloved mess of hair whilst he glared down at a Rubik’s cube as if it had personally offended him.
“Steve.”
He didn’t even flinch, merely poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth whilst he focused on decoding the array of colours. Robin struggled to hold back an eye roll.
Rather than trying a third time — because let’s face it, it wouldn’t make any difference — she leaned forward and pulled the left pad of his headphones, watching it spring back against his ear with a soft thump. “Earth to dingus!”
“Shit—” He yelped, scrambling to tug them down around his neck and spinning around with a less than impressed expression. “What the hell was that for?”
“Stop playing with your toys and get off your ass.” She says, leaning back in her seat, “It’s the first Friday of the month. You need to go pick up the new releases.”
He set his Rubik’s cube down and folded his arms over his chest. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I don’t have a car. Or a license.”
“So take the bus.” He says. “I can’t go, I’ve got stuff to do here.”
“Of course you do.” She coos, nodding mockingly. “Like sitting eating boppers and listening to Wham. It’s not like you’re scared of the total babe that works behind the counter or anything.”
Steve’s gaze whipped up at the mention of you. Typically, it was Robin that went to collect the new releases from the record store, but on the off chance she was busy, he would go instead. The first time he went in search of Prince’s ‘Sign O’ The Times,’ he spent five minutes walking up and down the funk aisle. When you finally asked him if he needed any help, he almost tripped over a table of cassette tapes.
He’d only spoken to you a handful of times — he wasn’t even sure you knew his name — but there was something about you that caused both his brain and his body to completely shut down. He was sure that if his high school self could see him now, he’d laugh in his face. Pretty girls were supposed to get flustered over him, not the other way around.
He didn’t know what it was about you, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He insists with a little too much confidence that only made Robin scoff. She may have had a tendency to let her mouth run away with her sometimes, but she was far from stupid.
“Well, if you don’t want to go, I can—”
“No, I’ll go.” Steve sat up straight, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him how pathetic he was being, “I’ll go. I can go.”
He sprung up out of his seat before she could protest, fishing the keys for his BMW out of his back pocket. Robin didn’t even try to hide her smirk, pulling her headphones back on and turning back to the soundboard. “Make sure you get a good selection.” She calls after him, “And don’t get stuck making Bambi eyes at her this time!”
He simply raised his middle finger, shoving it over his shoulder as he walked towards the door of the station and making sure to slam it behind him.
Downtown Hawkins was never particularly busy, but since the lockdown it had become even more of a ghost town. People only seemed to head out for essentials, be it groceries from Melvalds or a rare showing at the Hawk. Steve would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt to see the town he loved so much reduced to this, but the lack of traffic made it hell of a lot easier for him to get in and out.
He pulled into the first empty space outside Hawkins Hits and killed the engine, climbing out and padding up the path.
The little bell above the door dinged upon his entrance, and his gaze snapped straight to the front counter. It was unoccupied, but there was a piece of paper stuck to the storeroom door with ‘In the back, be back soon!’ scribbled in sharpie on it that calmed his nerves. Part of him hoped that Eric, with his lisp and comically oversized glasses was working today so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself talking to you.
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he retreated down the nearest aisle and began to scan the collection in front of him, whilst humming along to Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ as it spun in the corner of the room.
He was so focused, in fact, that he didn’t notice you returning to the counter.
“Can I help you with anything?”
Steve visibly stiffened at the sound of your voice, the random album he’d picked up almost slipping from his grip. He shot around, his heart stuttering in his chest as his eyes land on your figure. “I, um… I’m Steve.”
Your brows lifted. Oh, God.
“From the Squawk.” He was quick to add, leaning against the display in a bid to seem casual. It wasn’t working. “My boss sent me to grab some new albums. For the station’s catalogue.”
“Okay. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” You ask, watching him chew down on his bottom lip in thought.
“Uh, no, not really. Except live albums. I’ve gotten in trouble for that before.”
The corner of your lip quirks up then. “Your boss sounds strict.”
A soft laugh slips out of him and he runs a hand through his fringe, pushing it out of his eyes. “Oh, yeah. She’s a total nightmare.” He says, “I feel like more of a slave than a sound guy most days.”
With a small smile, you step out from behind the counter and nod towards the back of the store. It takes everything in Steve not to stare at your ass in those jeans as you walk. “Well, I can’t have you getting in trouble again. Our new stock’s around here.”
You lead the boy over to a shelf full of records tucked away against the back wall. You crouch down, scanning titles and talking about cover art and sound quality. He was trying his best to listen, he really was, but the close proximity meant he could smell the vanilla perfume clinging to your neck. Not to mention he was practically hypnotised by the way your hair bounced as you turned to hand him an album.
He nodded at the right times, offering insight so you knew he was listening. Before long, he was carrying everything from The Cure to Def Leppard.
His chest tightened as you returned to your spot behind the counter, already missing the feeling of you beside him. He follows you across the room, setting the pile down in front of him whilst he racked his brain for an excuse to keep talking to you. “You don’t have the new Fleetwood Mac album, do you? I hear it’s meant to be great.”
You shake your head as you start ringing up his purchases. Your voice is a practiced kind of polite, like he isn’t the first person to ask you that question. “Not yet.” You say, “It’s in pretty high demand. I can hold a copy back for you when we get it, if you want?”
He straightens up, a spark of hope igniting inside him. He finds himself nodding like a dog on a dashboard. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.”
“Of course.” You hum, grabbing him a box and packing it for him. “Is that everything?”
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to ask if you were single. He wanted to ask for your number. He wanted to take you out for a meal at Enzo’s and kiss you in the back of his car afterwards. But as always in your presence, he had lost the ability to speak, so he merely nods and reaches for his wallet.
Fifty dollars and a smidge of pride down, Steve got back in his car and pulled out of the town square. When he got back, he kicked open the double doors of the Squawk, his keys between his teeth as he held the box of vinyls against his chest.
Robin looks up as he trudges in, poking her head out of the sound booth. “Hey, that was quick.” She observes, “What’d you get?”
He didn’t say anything. The box he was carrying was set haphazardly to the side as he collapsed into his seat like a toddler, his forehead hitting the soundboard with a thud. “What the hell is wrong with me?” He whines into the wood.
Robin, confused, spins around to face him. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“I can’t talk to her.”
It takes her a moment to catch onto what he’s talking about, but when she does, she’s grinning from ear to ear. “I knew you liked her!”
Steve lets out another groan, lifting his head up. His previously styled hair was now sticking up in several directions. “I mean I literally can’t talk to her. It’s like the second I step foot in that store, my mouth just forgets how to work.”
“I have the opposite problem.” She muses.
“I’m serious, Robin.” He deadpans, “Something’s wrong with me. She was right there. Why didn’t I just ask her out?”
Despite how much she relished in teasing him, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic towards the boy. She hadn’t seen him this hung up on a girl since Nancy Wheeler in the summer of ‘85, and she did not need a repeat of his moping puppy dog routine. “You could always ask her now.” She says, eyes flickering towards the door.
A scoff slips out of him. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Steve lifted his head up to follow Robin’s gaze, his jaw going slack. There you were, standing in the doorway of the station with a tote slung over your shoulder, scanning the room with soft eyes as though you were looking for someone. God, you were cute.
A quick nudge from Robin manages to snap him out of his daze, and he almost stumbles over his own feet as he dashes out of the booth.
“Hey. Hi, hello," He says, running a hand through his hair as he tries to regain his usual cool composure. "What are you doing here?"
His futile attempt makes you smile. It’s only then that he spots the sealed copy of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Tango in the Night’ tucked under your arm. “The delivery guy came just after you left.” You say, holding it up, “I thought I’d drop it over on my way home.”
It was a simple gesture. One you’d probably done a hundred times before, but the fact you’d gone out of your way for him ignited a warm, fuzzy feeling in Steve’s chest. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his colleague poking her head around the door, watching you both with curious eyes. He shoots her a look that clearly reads ‘leave us alone’ and she hurriedly disappears back behind the wall.
With Robin’s gone, the energy between you both shifts. It’s quieter. Purposeful. He turns back to you, one hand slipping into the pocket of his jeans as you pass him the album. “Thanks for this.” He utters. “You just saved me from a total ear bashing.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Up until now, most of your interactions had been over a counter. But the newfound proximity gave you a chance to study him properly. He was attractive, that much was obvious. If it wasn’t his face, his doe eyes, or the moles dusted over his cheeks, it was the way he held himself, even when he was nervous.
“Although, I have to admit,” you say, voice lowering, “Deliveries aren’t exactly part of my job description.”
He looks down at you, eyes going soft. “Oh, do you need me to pay?”
“Steve…”
“Yeah?” He all but whispers, suddenly realising just how close your faces were.
Your lips brush against his before he has a chance to comprehend it. It’s brief — your way of testing the waters — but he doesn’t seem to mind, his pocketed hand coming up to your waist as he kisses you back. The rest of the world seems to fade out of view. Gone was the static of the faulty equipment and Robin’s constant demands; all he could feel was you and you felt amazing.
Eventually, though, his need for air wins out and he moves to rest his forehead against yours. His face was flushed, his lips glossy from your own as he tries to remember how to breathe. “Do you wanna get dinner sometime? With me, obviously.”
You laugh, the lovely, breathless kind. “I’d love to.”
SUMMARY: in which you and steve make a pact ahead of the final battle against vecna.
WARNINGS: implications of death & sex, strong language.
WORD COUNT: 0.9k +
Technically speaking, you’d been through worse.
You’d been kidnapped, drugged, strangled by inter-dimensional vines, and beaten within an inch of your life. And that was just in the last three years.
You’d survived before, so in theory, you could survive again. But as you sat atop of a gun cabinet in the basement of the WSQK, lacing up your combat boots, you struggled to shake the feeling of impending doom weighing on your shoulders.
You finished your double loop with a huff, dropping your feet down so they were dangling a few inches above the floor. Now that the plan was in the place, the room was bustling with people changing and loading up on weapons, but it was Steve that caught your eye first.
“What do you think?” He quipped, lifting his hands up by his sides. There was a small smile on his face, but you knew what that smile meant. It was his way of deflecting.
You took a moment to take in his appearance — the red bandana tied around his neck, the leather jacket he bought at The Warzone last year, and the backwards cap perched on top of his unruly mess of hair, a stray tuft poking out at the front. If the circumstances were different, you’d probably tell him to fuck the plan and drag him to the nearest empty sound booth.
But, unfortunately, the world was ending.
It was only when your gaze dropped down that you noticed the pistol in his hand. “I think you should stick to the baseball bat.”
His smirk faltered. “What?”
“Have you ever actually shot a gun before?”
“Well…” He began to stammer, glancing down at the pistol before looking back up at you, his eyes softening, “Not in real life. But you should see me at Duck Hunt. I’m, like, a total pro.”
There he went again, trying to lighten the mood. Though, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, just a little bit. “Here,” you say, hopping off the cabinet, your boots hitting the ground with a gentle thud. You held out your hand for the gun and he slipped it over to you, “I’ll get you a rifle. Stabler. Easier.”
Steve had known you long enough to be able to tell when you weren’t okay. The slightest tremble in your voice. The fact you wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. He watched as you set the gun down on the cabinet, his voice soft, “What’s the matter?”
It was a stupid question, admittedly, but he had to ask.
“I just…” You bite down on your bottom lip, “I have a feeling.”
Steve studies your expression for a second, enveloping your hand in his and pulling you closer to him, “What kind of feeling?”
“Like we’re not going to make it this time.”
“We’re gonna make it.” He says instantly, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand.
“You don’t know that. The stakes are higher this time. So fucking higher.”
You were right, he couldn’t predict the future, but if the last three years of his life had taught him anything, it was that he had to optimistic. If he wasn’t, if you went out there knowing you were going to lose, then none of you stood a chance.
He used his free hand to tilt your head up, so you didn’t miss the sincerity in his brown eyes. “We always make it. We’ve been through literal hell and back, but we made it out every single time. No matter how shitty our plans were, we made it out and I’ll be dammed if we don’t do it again. Besides,” The corner of his lip quirks up a fraction, “I came up with this plan, so it’s a pretty good one.”
You hadn’t realised you were crying until you felt him brush a tear away from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What if something happens to me?”
Steve shook his head like he refused to even consider the possibility. “It won’t. I won’t let it.”
“Steve…”
“If something happens to you,” He relents, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, “Then something happens to me.”
You knew exactly what that implied, and it made your heart lurch, “Steve—”
He cut you off, his voice more stern than you’d ever heard it. “I’m serious, baby. I’m not coming out of there without you. I can’t live in a world without you in it. It’d break me.”
You knew arguing with him was futile. Once Steve had an idea in his head, very little was going to change his mind. “If we die, we die together?” You breathe.
He nods, swiping away the remains of your tears and holding his other hand up in between the two of you. When you interlock your pinky with his, he brings your hands up to his lips in a gentle kiss. “If we die, we die together.” He confirms.
You mirrored his actions and he dropped your hand, only to pull you in for a bone crushing hug, cradling you against his chest and burying his face into your hair.
“I love you so much.” He murmured against your scalp, “We’re gonna be okay.”
As you stood in his embrace, digging your fingers into the fabric of his jacket, you felt the weight on your shoulders lifting ever so slightly. If everything went to shit, you had a fail safe. And maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to use it.
SUMMARY: in which steve harrington is the world’s softest dad. (can be read as a standalone or as a follow up to my girls)
WARNINGS: none.
WORD COUNT: 0.9k +
“Remember to put the twins down before seven.” You say as you lift your jacket off the hook and pull it on, glancing over your shoulder at your husband.
“I know, baby.” Steve nods from the doorway, swaying gently from side to side as he holds both Penny and Junie against his chest, unable to stop the slight turn up of his lips.
“And give Ruthie a bottle.”
He nods again. “I know.”
“Oh, and don’t let Jane—”
“Don’t let Jane stay up past eight, no matter how much she begs. I know.” He cuts off your rambling with a smile, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking a step forward. “I got this, baby. You don’t need to worry. I’m not a complete pushover.”
You stop what you’re doing then, your jacket half buttoned up as you turn to face him fully. The moment your eyes met his, your shoulders drop in realisation. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
It was the same every time you left him alone with the kids. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, because you did. More than anyone else. But you had a tendency to panic, and with everything you and Steve had been through, he couldn’t exactly blame you. Instead of answering your question, he took another step closer to you, gaze softening. If his arms weren’t so full of babies, you knew he’d wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in your hair. But this would have to do.
“Go and enjoy yourself. Me and the girls will be fine, I promise.”
You watched as he tilted his head down, a silent plea in his brown eyes. You got the memo immediately, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss. It was brief. A quick peck, but that didn’t stop it from making his heart swell.
“I love you.” He murmured as you pulled away, “Now, go. And say hi to Robin for me.”
Once you were out the door and he heard your car pull out of the driveway, he padded up the stairs towards the nursery. He paced around the dimly lit room for a while until he felt the babies’ breaths even out, their little fists uncurling from his shirt.
He managed to set Penny down in her crib without a fuss, but Junie wasn’t so easy. She let out a soft squeal, as if the idea of him putting her down physically pained her, which in turn, pained Steve.
“Hey,” He cooed, his nose brushing against the top of her head, “You’re okay. Daddy’s here…”
With the sound of her father’s voice combined with the physical contact, it wasn’t long before the baby dozed off again, allowing him to lower her into her crib and tuck the blanket around her with careful hands.
He switched off the light and retreated back downstairs towards the living room, where Jane and Ruthie were in the middle of constructing a den in front of the TV. A den that consisted of three dining chairs, yours and Steve’s bedsheet, and more stuffed animals than any child really needed.
“As cool as this is, it’s time to start getting ready for bed.” He announced from the doorway, watching their heads poke out from under the sheet. The matching set of wide eyed, Bambi-like looks he was met with were almost enough to break his firm demeanour. Almost.
“But, Daddy!” Ruthie pouted.
“But we want to watch E.T!”
Steve’s brows knitted a little at Jane’s remark. He didn’t need to ask where his five year old daughter learnt about E.T, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting Dustin babysit again.
He let out a soft sigh, moving closer to the girls and crouching down to their level, tucking a stray hair behind Jane’s ear. “It’s too late to watch TV now, bug. Maybe tomorrow.”
Jane tilted her head to the side, “Why not tonight?”
Steve had always been the more lenient parent out of the two of you. When it came to disciplining the girls, you were usually the one to yell at them until they apologised, whereas he was the one who stood behind you, mouthing ‘don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.’ He knew they all had him wrapped around their tiny fingers, but he just couldn’t bring himself to be mad about it.
He slips his eyes shut for a second before dropping his shoulders. “Alright, fine. We can watch E.T.” He tugged Jane closer to him and gently tickled her stomach, drawing a giggle out of her, “But if your mom asks, it was your idea.”
He put her back down and headed over to the TV set, pulling the overflowing drawer of VHS tapes out and rifling through them until he found what he was looking for. He stuck the movie into the VCR, switched it on, and wandered back over to the girls.
Despite the den not being designed for his broad, 5’11 frame, he somehow managed to fit inside, although his back probably wouldn’t thank him for it. Ruthie tackled him immediately, wrapping her little arms around his neck and cuddling into his side. Meanwhile, Jane settled on the floor beside them, lying on her stomach and resting her chin in her hands in a way that reminded Steve all too much of you.
By the time you got home, the end credits of E.T. were rolling, and your husband and your daughters were tucked away under the sheet, totally out for the count.
SUMMARY: in which steve harrington has four daughters he would do anything for.
WARNINGS: just some tooth rotting fluff.
WORD COUNT: 1k +
Steve Harrington always knew he wanted a big family.
Maybe it was something to do with his own absent parents. Or the fact that he never thought he’d amount to anything. He didn’t know.
But in between fighting inter-dimensional monsters and being drugged by russian soldiers, the two of you always dreamed of making it out one day and starting a family of your own.
But that was all it was. A pipe dream.
Until it wasn’t.
So, when El sacrificed herself and broke all final ties between hawkins and the upside down, you and Steve said ‘screw it’ and got married. And nine months later, in the spring of 1989, you welcomed your first daughter, Jane Theodora Harrington.
Then, in the summer of ‘92, Ruthie Robin Harrington came along.
And now, in the fall of 1994, a weary Steve returned home after a long day of coaching baseball at the elementary school, closing the front door carefully behind him. He knew the girls were most likely asleep, and the last thing he wanted was to wake them up.
“Daddy!”
His tired demeanour softened, however, the moment he heard Jane’s voice, and he smiled as he turned to see his five year old daughter running towards him, little Ruthie trailing along behind her.
“Hey, there’s my girls,” He murmured, voice quiet as crouched down and pulled the two of them in for a hug, pressing kisses to the top of their heads,“You’re supposed be in bed.”
He looked up the sound of further footsteps, his gaze softening even more at the sight of you stood in the hallway, holding the two newest, smallest additions to your family in each arm, Penny and Junie Harrington.
“And you were supposed to be home an hour ago.”
“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He smiled sheepishly up at you. “I had to give the boys a pep talk after the game. It turns out I can’t expect a bunch of ten year olds to play like the Yankees.”
You had to hold back a laugh, watching as he ruffled the girls’ hair and stood up with a small grunt, making his way over to you.
“Hey, Pen. Hey, June…” He cooed, running a hand over each of the twin’s heads before lifting it to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. “I missed you today.”
Your mouth twitched, your head tilting to the side. “You were gone for five hours.”
“Yeah, five hours too long…” He hummed, leaning in closer only to be tugged back by two pairs of tiny hands. When he glanced down, he was met with Jane and Ruthie staring back up at him with looks far too intense for that of a five and a two year old.
“Daddy, can you read us a story?”
Steve knew he should say no. That it was already way past their bedtime. But there was no way he could resist Jane when she stood there with those big Bambi eyes that he only had himself to blame for, and you both knew it.
His shoulders slumped in defeat. He shot you an apologetic smile before bending down to scoop up Ruthie, setting her on his hip and nodding towards Jane. “Come on, then. But just one.”
The little girl’s eyes lit up and she was sprinting up the stairs before he could even finish his sentence, her feet patting against the wood. Once they reached their bedroom, flicked on the light and set Ruthie down on top of her bed whilst Jane flopped down on hers with her legs tangled between the covers and her arms folded over her chest expectantly, a mannerism Steve was sure she’d gotten from you.
Once Ruthie was tucked under the duvet, he turned towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room that was topped with an array of stuffed animals. He didn’t need to ask what book they wanted, already scanning for the familiar spine of Charlotte’s Web and fishing it out.
He’d read it to them so many times now that he practically knew it word for word, not to mention he’d mastered the voices, but he didn’t care. Not when it made his girls so happy.
Just like every other night, he barely made it through the first chapter before they were both out, their soft breaths filling the quiet room, and the sight made Steve’s heart ache in his chest. He sat between their beds until he was sure they were asleep, before standing up and switching off the light, letting the warm glow of the night light spill over them.
He shut the door behind him and padded back downstairs to the living room, where you were sat on the couch with Penny asleep beside you and Junie in your lap, drinking blissfully from a bottle.
A small, tired smile appeared on his lips at the scene before him, and he pushed himself off the doorframe and wandered over, lifting Penny up, carefully and practiced, from her moses basket.
“Hey, sweet girl,” He murmured, his voice low. The baby let out a tiny noise of protest at the movement before relaxing against his chest, cheek squishing into his dress shirt.
You watched as he lowered himself down onto the cushions, one hand held protectively over Penny’s back. He was such a softie these days, and it was such a far cry from the cocky high school jock you first met.
“God, I’m tired…” He muttered, letting his eyes slip shut.
You laughed. “You won’t be wanting a fifth, then.”
“Oh, no, we’re having a fifth.” He hummed immediately, resting his head against the back of the sofa, “Just give me a couple of years to recover first.”
He may have had tendency to joke around, and he may have been running on four hours sleep, but something told you Steve was being serious.
WHO I WRITE FOR; stranger things, ✶ steve harrington ✶ eddie munson ✶ robin buckley
WHAT I DO NOT WRITE; ✶ abortion or miscarriage ✶ rape ✶ incest
i take a lot of pride in my writing so i would appreciate it if you didn’t copy it, translate it, or repost it without my permission. i also do not support the use of generative ai, nor do i use it in my work. thank you for reading! 𖥔 ݁ ˖
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