hello! <3 thought I'd update my pinned post since it's been six months I've had this account and a lot has changed!
my name is grey and I am 19 years old, I grew up in london but currently living in brighton for uni! this is a very heavily music based blog, plus mainstream film/tv â I've got a couple heavy obsessions that are pretty steady on this account (marvel, shoot from the hip, stranger things, etc) and many more that simply come and go!
my pronouns are they/she but in general I don't mind how you refer to me :)
please chat! send me asks, request stories, everyone is welcome! in fact, below I have a list of all the people I write for (and the topics I'm uncomfortable with writing please keep a note of this!)
one of my main current obsessions is stranger things â I have been watching stranger things since s2 (i definitely shouldn't have been watching it but i have! shush don't tell my parents) and am a major major fan
fyi I have been listening to djo since mortal projections was released as a single for twenty twenty and I'm very protective of him, call me parasocial I'm beginning to own it lmao and I will be gatekeeping him for as long as a possibly can :D
I am also a major marvel fan (bucky barnes ily) so when doomsday comes out expect a revival of that obsession, plus I'm very into comedy at the moment (bo burnham, john mulaney etc) so if they pop up, expect them here <3
music I listen to: djo, the clash, hayley williams, goat girl, poppy, billie holiday, elis regina, declan mckenna, james marriott, greta isaac, jamiroquai, steely dan (+many many more, feel free to recommend artists as you can see I literally listen to everything)
Summary: Steve expects just another birthday. Instead, he discovers he's spent years building himself the family he'd always dreamed of.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of a neglectful childhood (steve's), found family, angst, everyone loves steve harrington (lmk if i missed anything)
A/N: pls blame jess (@holawdw) for the emotional damage đđ thank you SO much for giving me this idea and then spending several days screaming about it with me in dms because i genuinely don't think i would've written this without you. i knew the second you said it that this had to become a fic. i really hope i did your beautiful idea justice. thank you for trusting me with it, and thank you for emotionally ruining both me and steve đŤś
W/C: 8k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
If you want to be added to my taglist, leave a comment to lmk!
You wake before Steve does.
The curtains are still only half-lit, the early morning sun filtering through the gaps in soft bands of gold that stretch lazily across the bedroom floor. Outside, Hawkins hasn't quite decided to wake up yet. Somewhere in the distance a lawnmower coughs into life before giving up again, birds chatter noisily from the oak tree outside the window, and the whole house sits in that strange, peaceful quiet that only exists before the rest of the world remembers itself.
Steve is still asleep beside you, one arm escaped from beneath the duvet during the night, stretched lazily across the mattress until his fingertips brush yours, as though even unconscious he has some quiet need to know you're still there. His hair sticks up in every possible direction, flattened on one side and hopelessly unruly on the other, his face softer in sleep than it ever is when he's awake.
You smile to yourself.
Twenty-three.
It feels impossible somehow - not because twenty-three is particularly old, but because you've spent long enough loving Steve to remember nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Every version of him that existed between those birthdays and this one. Each year he'd grown a little gentler, a little quieter in himself, as though life had slowly been teaching him that he no longer had to carry everything alone.
Carefully, so as not to wake him too suddenly, you lean across and press a kiss against the centre of his forehead.
His nose wrinkles immediately. A low, sleepy groan rumbles somewhere beneath the blankets before one eye cracks open just enough to find you. "...Morning."
"Morning, birthday boy."
His expression falls with almost theatrical disappointment. "...Do I have to get older?"
You laugh quietly. "I'm afraid you don't have much choice."
"I was hoping we could skip this one."
"I'll write to the calendar."
"You think it'd listen?"
"Probably not."
He sighs dramatically before rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with the sort of resignation usually reserved for tax returns and dentist appointments. "...Worth asking."
You reach over to smooth an impossibly stubborn piece of hair away from his forehead. "You know," you say, "most people get excited about their birthday."
Steve hums. "I know."
"You don't."
Another small shrug. "I've just never really been bothered."
He says it so casually that anyone else might have believed him.
But you've known him long enough to understand the difference between someone who doesn't care and someone who learned, very early on, not to expect much in the first place.
Steve never disliked birthdays. That wasn't it. He'd simply stopped allowing himself to build them into something worth looking forward to.
Growing up, they were... fine.
There'd usually be a couple of presents, carefully chosen by parents who knew roughly what an eight-year-old boy ought to like but never quite what their eight-year-old boy actually did. His mother insisted on the same dense, healthy carrot cake every year because she preferred it to chocolate, somehow never stopping to consider that perhaps the birthday boy himself might have had other opinions.
Sometimes his parents were away entirely, leaving him with grandparents or a childminder and promising they'd celebrate properly when they got back. Sometimes they were there, though never really present. A birthday dinner if everyone happened to be home. A quick "happy birthday" over breakfast before somebody rushed off to a meeting. There was never anything cruel about it.
Just... distance.
Nothing bad enough to complain about.
Nothing good enough to miss.
By the time you'd met him, birthdays had become something he accepted with the same quiet indifference he accepted rainy Tuesdays or running out of milk. Nice enough if somebody remembered. Easily forgotten if they didn't.
He catches you looking at him. "What?"
You realise you've been absent-mindedly tracing your thumb across the back of his hand. "Nothing."
"Your face tells me it isn't nothing."
You smile. "I was just thinking."
"Dangerous."
"Oh, absolutely."
He grins, the corners of his eyes creasing in that familiar way that still makes something inside your chest soften. Then, just as quickly, he stretches with another sleepy groan and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.
"So..." He pushes them onto his nose. "...What's the plan today?"
The question is completely innocent.
There's no expectation behind it. No hopeful curiosity. No excitement. Just the quiet assumption that whatever happened would be perfectly nice, and perfectly ordinary.
You hold his gaze for a moment before leaning across to steal one more kiss.
"Oh," you murmur, smiling against his cheek. "I think you're going to have a very different birthday this year."
Robin is the first to arrive.
You hear her before you see her.
The front door flies open without so much as a knock, followed almost immediately by, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DINGUS."
Steve has barely managed to look up from the mug of coffee in his hands before something rectangular bounces unceremoniously off the side of his head.
"...Ow."
"You're welcome."
He picks the envelope up from the floor, turning it over suspiciously.
Across the front, written entirely in thick black marker, are the words:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DINGUS.
Beneath them, in much smaller handwriting:
Don't let this inflate your ego.
Steve laughs quietly through his nose. "I haven't even opened it yet."
"I know." Robin folds her arms with exaggerated satisfaction. "I just wanted to establish the tone."
You disappear into the kitchen under the pretence of making more coffee, partly because somebody has to rescue breakfast before it burns, and partly because you've known Robin long enough to recognise the expression she's trying very hard to hide.
She's nervous.
Steve, blissfully unaware, slides a finger beneath the flap and unfolds the card.
Silence.
Then another page unfolds.
And another.
Steve blinks. "...Robin."
"What?"
"It's..." He flips another page over. "...Really long."
She shrugs with studied indifference. "I got carried away."
"What did you write?"
"I don't know."
"You wrote it."
"I wasn't paying attention."
He gives her a look.
She refuses to meet it.
You watch him begin reading.
The smile appears immediately, tugging at one corner of his mouth as he reaches the first insult.
Happy Birthday to Hawkins' second-biggest idiot.
Congratulations on somehow surviving another year despite making some of the dumbest decisions I've ever witnessed.
He snorts.
Robin looks insufferably pleased with herself.
Then the smile begins to change.
It softens almost imperceptibly, his eyes moving more slowly across the page now.
You can't read the words from where you're standing, but you know Robin well enough to know exactly what she'll have hidden between the jokes.
She'll have thanked him for making Family Video bearable, for never making her feel like she had to be anyone other than herself, for listening when she came out without making it weird, without asking questions she didn't want to answer, without changing the way he looked at her afterwards. She'll have written about Starcourt. About Russian secret bases and demobats and everything in between. About the fact that, somehow, Steve Harrington had quietly become the safest place she'd ever known.
By the time he reaches the final page, the kitchen has gone strangely quiet. Robin is studying a loose thread on her sleeve with almost academic concentration.
Steve clears his throat before reading the last line aloud, his voice noticeably softer than before. "'Don't get emotional.'" He smiles to himself. "'I'm only saying this once.'"
Robin points at him immediately. "Exactly."
"You literally wrote three pages."
"I know."
"You called me your favourite person."
"I was clearly concussed."
"You said you'd trust me with your life."
"I mean..." She sighs dramatically. "I would."
His smile grows impossibly soft. "You know..." He glances down at the card again. "...Thank you."
Robin groans so loudly you almost laugh. "Ugh."
"What?"
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to hug me."
Steve doesn't even pretend to think about it. He simply walks around the table and wraps his arms around her.
Robin lets out the most exaggerated sigh you've ever heard. "This is disgusting."
"You started it."
"I wrote a card."
"You wrote three pages."
"I regret everything."
"No, you don't."
"...No."
She hugs him back anyway. Only for a second. Only because nobody's looking.
Except you absolutely are.
When they finally pull apart, Robin immediately pokes him in the shoulder.
"If you tell anybody I have feelings, I'll deny the whole thing."
Steve laughs. "My lips are sealed."
"They'd better be." She narrows her eyes. "And if you cry..."
"I'm not going to cry."
"You looked dangerously close."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I definitely wasn't."
Robin glances towards you. "He was, wasn't he?"
You smile over the rim of your coffee mug. "A little."
"I wasn't."
"You've still got watery eyes."
"It's allergies."
"In February?"
"...Shut up."
The conversation drifts naturally onto something else after that.
Dustin is apparently running late. Robin immediately starts complaining about his inability to tell the time while Steve joins in as though nothing unusual has happened, the two of them slipping back into familiar bickering before Nancy wanders in from the hallway carrying an armful of paper plates, looking between them with a knowing smile. "He's late again?"
Robin throws her hands into the air. "When isn't he?"
The room fills with laughter, and before long the conversation has moved on entirely.
Later, while everyone else is distracted in the kitchen and Robin is attempting to convince Joyce that frozen chips absolutely count as a vegetable, you catch Steve standing alone in the hallway.
The card is open again.
He's reading the third page for a second time, his thumb lingering over the final paragraph before he quietly folds it closed with surprising care. The smile on his face is small, thoughtful, the sort that only ever appears when someone has managed to tell him something he didn't realise he'd needed to hear.
He slips the card carefully back into its envelope.
Not tossed onto the side. Not left amongst the wrapping paper.
Carefully. Like something he already knows he'll keep forever.
Dustin arrives nearly forty minutes late.
He bursts through the front door carrying three different bags, a box of doughnuts, and what appears to be a screwdriver for reasons known only to himself.
"Sorry!" he announces before anybody has the chance to say hello. "The bus was late, the car wouldn't start, and then I had to help my mum move a bookshelf because apparently I'm 'the man of the house now.'"
Robin raises an eyebrow. "...You brought a screwdriver."
"I know."
"Why?"
Dustin looks down at it as though only just noticing it in his own hand. "...Huh."
Steve laughs. "There he is."
Dustin grins, dropping everything onto the kitchen table with considerably more force than necessary. "Happy birthday, old man."
"Thanks."
"You look ancient."
"I'm twenty-three."
"Exactly."
Steve rolls his eyes. "You'll understand one day."
"I'll never be twenty-three."
"You literally will."
"I refuse."
The conversation dissolves into laughter almost immediately.
Nancy is still trying to work out where everyone's coats are supposed to go. Joyce keeps disappearing back to the kitchen because she insists she's forgotten something. Holly trails after Steve, carrying a balloon almost as big as she is, asking if she can help despite clearly having no idea how. Derek is outside trying to light the barbecue with considerably less success than he'd predicted.
After everything that's happened over the last few years, days like this have become strangely precious. Nothing extraordinary. Nobody saving the world. Just everyone existing in the same place at the same time, talking over one another, stealing chips from each other's plates, and interrupting conversations with terrible jokes as though they haven't spent the better part of adolescence fighting monsters together.
More than once, you catch Steve quietly looking around the room.
Not at anything in particular.
Just... everyone.
It makes something warm settle gently inside your chest.
Eventually, as plates begin disappearing into the kitchen, Dustin freezes mid-conversation. "...Oh."
Steve glances up. "What?"
Dustin slaps a hand dramatically against his forehead. "...I forgot your present."
Robin doesn't even look up from her drink. "No, you didn't."
"I did."
"You absolutely didn't."
"I absolutely-" He stops, sighing with theatrical defeat. "...Fine."
Steve laughs. "I knew it."
"You were supposed to believe me."
"I've known you too long."
Dustin disappears into the hallway before returning a moment later, carrying something wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. It's awkwardly shaped, too large to be a book and too flat to be anything else. Without meeting Steve's eyes, he thrusts it into his hands. "There."
Steve turns it over carefully. "...What's this?"
"I said don't ask questions."
"You literally handed it to me."
"I know."
"Can I open it?"
Dustin rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. "...Yeah."
The room gradually quietens. Even Mike abandons the card game long enough to look over.
Steve peels the paper back with surprising care, trying not to tear it.
Inside is a thick scrapbook.
The cover is slightly crooked, one corner clearly glued back into place after an unfortunate accident, and across the front, in unmistakably Dustin Henderson handwriting, is written a single word.
STEVE.
Nothing else. Just... Steve.
His smile falters almost immediately.
Slowly, he opens it.
The first page is covered in old cinema tickets from Family Video movie nights.
The second is photographs.
Robin asleep against his shoulder. Lucas laughing so hard at something Steve had said that he's almost falling over. Max pulling a face behind Steve's back while he remains blissfully oblivious. A much younger Dustin wearing Steve's sunglasses, the frames so oversized they practically swallow his face.
Then come the things Steve doesn't even remember keeping.
Campaign maps from old Dungeons & Dragons sessions. Drawings Holly had made years ago that somehow ended up forgotten in his glove compartment. Polaroids. County fair wristbands. Birthday invitations. Receipts. Little scraps of paper everyone else would have thrown away.
One page is filled entirely with handwriting.
Robin's. Nancy's. Lucas's. Mike's. Will's.
Even Erica's, squeezed into one corner with the words:
"Don't let it go to your head, Harrington."
Beneath each name is a tiny memory.
"Steve bought me fries because I forgot my wallet."
"He waited outside my maths exam because he knew I'd panic afterwards."
"Drove us home in a thunderstorm even though he hates driving in the rain."
"He always says yes."
"Best babysitter ever."
Steve turns the next page much more slowly.
His fingertips linger against the edges as though he's frightened of damaging something.
"...Dude." His voice is barely above a whisper.
Dustin shrugs without looking up. "I know."
"You..." Steve lets out one quiet, disbelieving laugh. "...You made this?"
"...Shut up."
"No, seriously."
"It wasn't a big deal."
Robin snorts immediately. "He spent three weeks chasing us for photos."
"I did not."
"You literally made Joyce search her loft."
"That," Dustin points accusingly, "was research."
"And you bullied me into writing two pages."
"You wrote three because you got emotional."
"I did not."
"You absolutely-"
"Shut up, Henderson."
Laughter ripples around the room.
Steve doesn't join in.
He's still turning the pages. Slowly. As though every photograph contains a memory he'd forgotten belonged to him.
Then he stops. Halfway through the book.
You can't see the page from where you're standing.
You only notice the way his expression changes.
His shoulders soften. His eyes linger. His thumb brushes gently across whatever Dustin has glued onto the paper. "...You kept that?"
Dustin finally looks up. "...Yeah."
Steve swallows. "I didn't even know anybody still had it."
Dustin shrugs as though the answer should be obvious. "You don't throw away stuff that matters."
The words are so matter-of-fact that Dustin probably doesn't even realise what he's said.
But the room falls quiet anyway.
Because Steve is looking down at years of little moments he'd long since forgotten.
Movie tickets. Drawings. Receipts. Photographs. Inside jokes. Evidence. Proof that people had been quietly collecting pieces of him long before he'd ever thought to collect pieces of himself.
You watch him blink rapidly once. Then again.
Very carefully, he closes the scrapbook, resting one hand against its cover. "...Thank you."
Dustin clears his throat. "Yeah." A beat. "...Don't cry, dude."
Steve laughs softly, rubbing quickly beneath one eye. "I'm not crying."
Robin doesn't even glance up from her drink. "Third lie of the day."
Another ripple of laughter breaks the silence, the conversation slowly picking back up around him. But you notice something Steve doesn't seem aware he's doing.
He never lets go of the scrapbook.
Every time somebody shifts it to make room on the table, his hand finds it again almost instinctively, fingertips resting lightly against the cover as though he's quietly reassuring himself that it's still there.
The presents continue throughout the afternoon, though calling them presents hardly feels accurate anymore. Some are wrapped carefully, others arrive in supermarket carrier bags or with the price stickers hastily scratched away, and none of them are particularly expensive. None of them need to be. Somewhere between Robin's card and Dustin's scrapbook, the day has quietly stopped being about gifts at all; instead, it becomes a long series of people finding their own ways to tell Steve Harrington that they love him.
Lucas is next. He hands Steve a neatly wrapped box with a shrug that tries very hard to look casual, though he watches far too closely as Steve begins peeling back the paper. "It's not a big deal."
Steve smiles. "It didn't have to be."
Inside is a new baseball glove, the leather still stiff and untouched. Steve hadn't asked for one, but Lucas had noticed weeks ago that the stitching was beginning to unravel on the old glove he used whenever he played with the kids.
"You remembered," Steve says, turning it carefully in his hands.
Lucas looks almost confused. "Well... yeah."
"You noticed that?"
"You use it every week."
A quiet laugh escapes Steve. "I didn't think anybody was paying attention."
"Steve." Lucas shakes his head as though the answer should be obvious. "We notice everything."
Steve looks down again, his thumb moving slowly across the smooth leather before he thanks him with one of those small, genuine smiles that always reaches his eyes. Across the garden, Erica loudly informs Derek that the new glove still won't make Steve any less terrible at baseball, prompting Lucas to shout something defensive on his behalf while Steve laughs and calls them both ungrateful.
Max wanders over a few minutes later carrying nothing but a dog-eared paperback she'd spent the last month insisting he needed to read.
"You keep stealing mine," she says, pushing it into his hands. "Now you have your own."
Steve turns the book over. "I thought you liked lending them to me."
"I don't. I like getting them back eventually."
"I always return them."
"After six months."
"They're long books."
"They're four hundred pages."
"I'm a slow reader."
"I know." Her mouth twitches despite herself, but the amusement fades as she hesitates, scuffing the toe of her trainer against the grass. "...Thanks, though."
Steve blinks. "For what?"
"For always treating me like..." She pauses, searching for something precise enough. "...Just me. You never acted like I was broken."
His smile softens immediately. "You aren't."
"I know." Max shrugs one shoulder, suddenly fascinated by the book in his hands. "You just made it easier to remember."
She bumps her shoulder against his before walking away, leaving Steve watching after her for a moment before his attention drops back to the paperback. Nearby, Will quietly makes room for her beside him on the patio steps, neither of them saying anything as she steals a crisp from his plate.
Nancy catches Steve later while he's helping Joyce carry a tray of drinks into the garden. She slips a small envelope into his pocket so discreetly that nobody else notices. "Open it later."
He raises an eyebrow. "Secret?"
"I'd rather Robin didn't make fun of me."
"Fair."
When you find him reading it alone in the hallway a little while later, you discover it isn't really a birthday card at all. It's a letter, short enough to fit on half a page but written with the sort of care that makes every sentence feel deliberate. Nancy thanks him for always showing up, for never once asking whether somebody deserved saving before trying anyway, and for reminding her that kindness and courage were never mutually exclusive.
She ends simply:
The world is better because you're in it.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Jonathan doesn't write anything. That wouldn't be him.
Instead, while everyone mills around the garden balancing paper plates and cups of lemonade, he quietly hands Steve a photograph he'd developed himself. It was taken the previous summer, though nobody had realised Jonathan was holding a camera that afternoon. Steve is sitting on the grass with Holly asleep against one shoulder while Joyce is topping up everybody's drinks without asking. Will is showing Max one of his sketches, Mike is laughing at something beyond the frame, and El is lying flat on the grass looking at clouds.
You aren't looking at the camera either.
You're looking at Steve, smiling in that completely unconscious way people only ever do when they don't know they're being watched.
On the back, Jonathan has written a single sentence.
You always make it feel like home.
Steve stares at it for a long time. "...You took this?"
Jonathan nods. "You looked happy."
"I was."
"I know."
A quiet, bewildered laugh leaves Steve as he looks around the garden. Nancy is collecting empty plates; meanwhile, Robin is stealing chips off them before they can be picked up and taken into the kitchen. Everyone is talking over everyone else. Nobody is paying Steve any particular attention anymore.
The celebration has simply become itself.
"...You all remembered," he says, his voice nearly lost beneath the noise.
Jonathan studies him for a moment before giving the smallest shake of his head. "No."
Steve frowns. "What?"
"We didn't just remember." Jonathan glances towards the garden. "We wanted to."
It's such an ordinary sentence, spoken so quietly it almost disappears beneath the laughter drifting through the open door, but you watch something shift inside Steve anyway.
All day, some part of him has been waiting for somebody to admit they felt obligated; that birthdays are merely something decent people acknowledge because convention tells them to. Instead, every person keeps offering him the same truth in a different form.
Not simply happy birthday, but:
I'm glad you're here.
You make things better.
Life would look different without you.
And, perhaps for the first time in his life, Steve doesn't quite know what to do with the possibility that every one of them genuinely means it.
By the time the sun begins dipping behind the trees, the garden has dissolved into the sort of comfortable chaos that always seems to follow this particular group of people. Dustin and Erica have started teaching Holly a card game that she keeps accidentally cheating at. Mike and Lucas are throwing around a football, while El keeps spectacularly missing the catches and laughing anyway. Hopper has claimed the garden chair furthest from the noise with the determination of a man pretending not to enjoy himself, and Jonathan wanders quietly between them with his camera, capturing moments nobody else seems to notice.
Joyce, meanwhile, has somehow produced enough food to cater for an entire wedding.
Steve stands in the kitchen doorway, staring at the dining table. "...Joyce."
She looks up from the casserole she's carrying. "Hm?"
"There's enough food here to feed about thirty people."
"I know."
"There are, like, twelve of us."
"I know."
He gestures helplessly towards the mountain of dishes covering every available surface. "How did you even make all this?"
Joyce shrugs as though she'd thrown together a sandwich rather than enough food to sustain Hawkins through the winter. "I got carried away."
Robin wanders past and steals a roast potato straight from the tray. "She always gets carried away."
"I heard that."
"I wanted you to."
Steve laughs, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous."
Joyce smiles without looking up. "I know."
Nobody goes hungry when Joyce Byers is involved. Plates are filled faster than they're emptied, second helpings appear before anyone has the chance to refuse them, and every attempt to help clear away is met with a gentle but immovable, "Sit down. I've got it."
Steve tries anyway. Of course he does.
He appears beside Joyce with an armful of empty plates before she's even reached the sink. "I can help."
"I know." She takes them from him. "But today's your birthday."
"I don't mind."
"I know." She smiles at him over the top of the washing-up bowl. "So let somebody look after you for once."
The words are spoken so casually they almost disappear beneath the rush of running water, but you see Steve pause.
Only for a second.
Later, after dinner has dissolved into coffee, cake and half a dozen conversations happening at once, you wander back into the kitchen in search of more plates and find Joyce standing at the counter surrounded by plastic containers. She fills one, then another, then another: pasta, roast potatoes, slices of pie, enough leftovers to feed two people for the better part of a week.
Steve wanders in behind you just as she's clipping the lid onto the final container. "...Joyce?"
"Hm?"
"What's all this?"
She looks at him as though the answer is obvious. "Your dinners."
"My..."
"You work long shifts." She stacks another container neatly on top. "And I know you'll forget to cook for yourself if I don't send you home with something."
Steve laughs softly. "You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"You've already fed all of us."
"I know."
"This is too much."
Joyce finally stops what she's doing, placing both hands on the lid of the last container before sliding the entire stack towards him. "You'll take these."
He hesitates. "I don't need-"
"I wasn't asking."
There's no sharpness to it, no irritation, only the gentle certainty of someone who has spent years making sure the people she loves never leave her house hungry.
Steve looks down at the containers, then back at Joyce, and something shifts across his face so quickly that, had you not been watching for it all day, you might have missed it.
Recognition.
Not of the food.
Of the feeling.
Joyce has done this before: when he'd arrived after a shift looking exhausted, when he'd spent too many evenings helping the kids instead of himself, when she'd quietly wrapped slices of lasagne in foil because she'd "made too much again," despite everyone knowing perfectly well she'd cooked extra on purpose.
You realise, with a sudden ache beneath your ribs, that she has been mothering Steve for years. Neither of them has ever said it aloud. Neither of them has needed to.
Joyce notices his silence. "What?"
Steve blinks, almost startled back into the room. "...Nothing."
"You've got that look where you're thinking too hard."
A small smile finds him. "I was just..." He glances down at the containers again. "...Nobody's ever packed me leftovers before."
The kitchen falls unexpectedly quiet.
Joyce's expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Oh, sweetheart." She reaches out without hesitation, smoothing an affectionate hand over his shoulder as though she's done it a hundred times before. "Well." Another gentle squeeze. "They do now."
Steve doesn't answer. He only nods once, swallowing a little too hard before carefully carrying the stack across the kitchen and opening the fridge. He rearranges half the shelves to make room, setting each container inside with absurd precision before closing the door as though he's placing something valuable somewhere safe.
They're only leftovers. A few plastic tubs that will probably become lunch before work tomorrow.
But as you watch his hand linger briefly on the fridge handle, you realise they were never really about food at all. They were proof that somebody had been thinking about tomorrow on his behalf.
For someone who'd spent most of his life quietly taking care of everyone else, that might just have been the greatest gift he'd received all day.
When he finally wanders back outside, the evening has settled into that soft golden hour where everything seems to slow down. Fairy lights strung between the fence posts have begun to glow faintly against the darkening sky, somebody has started another pot of coffee, and the birthday cake sits half-demolished in the middle of the table, one candle still stubbornly refusing to go out despite Robin's repeated attempts to blow it over with exaggerated determination.
You lean against the kitchen doorway for a moment, simply watching.
Steve barely makes it back onto the patio before Dustin catches him again, insisting he absolutely has to see the scrapbook page he'd forgotten to point out earlier. Mike throws a crisp at him. Lucas joins in without even asking what they're arguing about. Max rolls her eyes so dramatically you're surprised they don't disappear entirely.
And through it all...
Steve laughs.
Not the polite laugh he gives customers. Not the awkward one he used to force whenever his parents invited colleagues over for dinner.
This one is different.
Loose. Easy. It belongs here.
You don't think he'd even realised the difference.
Not until today.
Hopper chooses his moment carefully.
He waits until Steve wanders away from the noise with another cup of coffee, escaping towards the edge of the garden where the old oak tree throws long shadows across the grass. It's the sort of place Steve always drifts towards when everything gets a little too loud - not because he dislikes the company, but because he's always needed a minute to breathe between moments.
Hopper follows a few seconds later.
Not obviously.
You watch from the patio without saying anything.
Steve hears the footsteps and glances over his shoulder. "Oh. Hey."
Hopper grunts something that could generously be interpreted as a greeting before stopping beside him.
For a while, neither of them says anything.
They simply stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out across the garden while laughter drifts faintly behind them. Joyce is gathering empty mugs onto a tray. Nancy is folding paper napkins that don't really need folding. Robin has somehow persuaded Holly to help blow bubbles across the garden while Dustin insists bubbles are scientifically impossible to catch.
Steve smiles into his coffee. "...Nice day."
Hopper nods once. "Yeah."
Silence settles again.
Not uncomfortable. Just... Hopper.
Eventually, he clears his throat. "Happy birthday."
Steve looks faintly surprised. "Oh." A small smile appears. "...Thanks."
Another long pause passes, and you almost wonder whether that's going to be the entire conversation.
Then Hopper speaks again, his eyes still fixed somewhere out across the garden. "You've done good."
Steve frowns. "What?"
"The kids."
A shrug. "They're good kids."
"They are." Hopper nods slowly. "They're better because you're around."
Steve's expression changes almost imperceptibly.
Hopper keeps talking before he has the chance to interrupt. "I've seen the way they look at you." Only then does he turn his head. "They trust you."
Steve opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
"You didn't have to keep showing up." Hopper's voice is as gruff as ever. "Nobody asked you to." Another pause. "But you did."
Steve looks down at the coffee cup in his hands. "I just..." A quiet laugh escapes him. "...They needed somebody."
"They did." Hopper nods once. "They got you."
For a moment, neither of them moves.
The sounds of the party carry on behind them as though nothing extraordinary is happening. Someone starts another round of Happy Birthday purely to annoy Steve. Robin groans loudly enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.
Steve laughs automatically.
His eyes, however, have become suspiciously bright.
Hopper notices.
Naturally.
He pretends not to.
Instead, he reaches out, giving Steve's shoulder one firm, awkward squeeze before offering his hand.
Steve blinks. "...Really?"
"What?"
"The handshake."
"I'm trying."
Steve laughs through the thickness in his throat. "I know."
He takes Hopper's hand.
The handshake lasts barely two seconds.
It's probably the closest Hopper has ever come to saying I'm proud of you.
When he lets go, he clears his throat. "Don't make it weird."
"I wasn't gonna."
"You were thinkin' about it."
"...Maybe."
Hopper points back towards the house. "Go enjoy your party."
Steve smiles. "...Yeah."
He watches Hopper wander back towards the others before letting his gaze drift across the garden.
Robin has somehow ended up with Holly asleep against her shoulder despite loudly insisting children "smell weird". Joyce is packing slices of cake into foil while Nancy labels the containers before anyone can forget whose is whose. Lucas and Mike have wandered to the end of the garden with a football, Jonathan is crouched beside the flowerbed trying to photograph a butterfly Holly spotted, and Erica is shamelessly raiding the snack table one last time before anybody notices.
You catch Steve's eye from across the lawn.
He smiles at you.
Not because anything funny has happened. Not because he's trying to.
Simply because, for perhaps the first time all day, he's beginning to understand what every single person has been trying to tell him.
He hadn't just been thrown a birthday party.
He was home.
By the time the last of the washing up has been stacked beside the sink, the house has settled into a gentler kind of noise.
The loud laughter has softened into quieter conversations, and the music drifting from the old radio has become little more than background static. Through the kitchen doorway you can still see everyone scattered comfortably around the house, no longer celebrating in any organised sense of the word, simply... staying.
Robin has somehow ended up half-curled across one end of the sofa, arguing lazily with Max over what film everyone should watch before they eventually leave. El sits cross-legged on the rug with Mike, the two of them still passionately debating something that nobody else is listening to anymore, while Will quietly contributes the occasional comment that neither of them acknowledges. Joyce is wrapping the last slices of birthday cake in foil, Hopper pretending not to help while hovering close enough to hand her the tape every few minutes without ever admitting that's exactly what he's doing. Holly has fallen asleep against Nancy's side, Jonathan is carefully packing away his camera, and Erica is wandering through the living room helping herself to whatever snacks everyone else has forgotten about.
Nobody seems in any hurry to go home. Nobody seems to want the day to end.
Steve stands beside you at the sink, drying the final plate with considerably more concentration than the task really requires.
He's been quieter ever since Hopper wandered back inside. Not unhappy. Just... Thoughtful.
You hand him another plate, and he dries it automatically before speaking into the comfortable silence. "...I don't get it."
You glance sideways. "What don't you get?"
A quiet laugh escapes him, though it carries none of its usual ease. "Today." He runs the tea towel slowly around the edge of the plate. "They all..." He trails off, searching for words. "...They actually wanted to come."
The sentence settles heavily between you. Not because of what he's saying. Because of what he's accidentally revealing.
You wait.
He keeps looking down at the plate in his hands. "I know birthdays are..." He shrugs awkwardly. "People feel like they have to come, right? You buy a present. You sing. You eat cake." Another small shrug. "It's just... what people do."
You lean your hip against the counter. "Is that what you think today was?"
"I don't know." His smile is almost embarrassed. "It didn't feel like that."
"No."
"They weren't just doing birthday stuff."
"No."
He looks through the doorway towards the living room, where Robin has thrown another cushion at Dustin, Lucas catches it before it reaches him, and Joyce laughs so hard she has to steady herself against the arm of the sofa. "...They were celebrating me."
You smile. "They were."
He looks back at you, his brow creasing slightly. "I've never..." The sentence never reaches the end. Instead, he laughs quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "...I don't think I've ever had that before."
Your heart aches. Not because he's upset. Because he says it with such genuine surprise, as though the possibility had never once occurred to him.
You reach for his hand. "C'mere."
He follows without question.
You lead him slowly through the house without saying anything, simply letting him look.
Nancy is gently lifting Holly so she doesn't wake her. Hopper is quietly locking the back door, while Joyce wraps up slices of cake in individual napkins. Jonathan is wiping down camera lenses, Mike has drifted asleep in the armchair, and El gently covers him with a blanket. Robin is trying to convince Max that one more film won't kill anyone, despite half the room already falling asleep, while Erica is counting how much birthday cake she's managed to smuggle home.
Nobody's performing anymore. The party is over. This is simply what remains. People comfortable enough to exist in one another's spaces without needing a reason.
Steve watches them quietly. "They're still here."
"Mhm."
"They don't have to be."
"No."
"They've all got homes."
"They do."
He looks around again, confusion softening into something quieter. "So why..."
People who had arrived separately, from entirely different corners of his life, and somehow fit together now. People who, before him, had never all belonged in the same room.
"You spent years looking after everyone because you thought that's what made you useful."
His eyes meet yours.
"You drove them everywhere. You showed up. You fixed things. You carried everyone else's worries until they stopped feeling so heavy."
He nods slowly. "I thought..."
"I know." You step closer, your thumb brushing gently across his knuckles. "But somewhere along the way... they stopped needing you because of what you did."
His brow furrows.
"They stayed because of who you are."
The words seem to settle somewhere deep inside him.
"You became loved long before you even noticed."
For a long moment he simply looks at you.
Then his eyes begin to shine again.
You smile softly. "I've still got one more present."
He blinks. "You do?"
"Mhm."
You disappear upstairs for barely a minute before returning with something wrapped carefully in plain brown paper and tied with twine.
Steve laughs quietly. "I thought we'd finished."
"We had." You place it gently into his hands. "This one's different."
He unwraps it slowly.
Inside is a dark leather-bound photo album.
No title. No ribbon.
Just his name, pressed carefully into the cover in tiny gold letters.
Steve.
He opens it.
The first page isn't a photograph.
Just a single sentence:
You spend so much of your life looking after everybody else.
He turns the page.
Steve teaching Dustin how to drive. Steve asleep on the sofa with Holly curled against his chest. Robin laughing so hard she's crying while Steve looks completely bewildered. Max stealing chips from his plate. Lucas teaching him a ridiculous handshake. Jonathan catching him mid-laugh behind the camera. Joyce handing him another plate of food. Hopper clapping him awkwardly on the shoulder.
You.
All of them.
Beneath each photograph you've written a single line.
Not describing the picture.
Describing what it meant:
The day Dustin stopped needing a babysitter and started needing a brother.
The first time Robin laughed like she wasn't afraid anymore.
The afternoon you accidentally became Holly's favourite person.
He keeps turning the pages until he reaches the last one.
There are only six words:
Home isn't always somewhere you arrive.
He turns one final page:
Sometimes it's something you build.
Nothing else.
Steve doesn't realise he's crying until a tear lands quietly on the paper.
He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, shaking his head. "...Honey."
Very gently, you close the album beneath his hands.
"So..." You smile. "Happy birthday."
He looks at you for a long moment.
Then, without saying a single word, he wraps both arms around you.
Not because he doesn't know what to say.
Because, for perhaps the first time in his life... being loved has left Steve Harrington completely speechless.
By the time the two of you finally climb into bed, the house has fallen completely silent.
The fairy lights outside the bedroom window still glow faintly against the darkness, casting soft pools of amber across the ceiling, and somewhere downstairs the dishwasher hums steadily through the last traces of the evening. Steve's birthday cards are stacked neatly on the dresser, Robin's sitting proudly on top, still slightly bent where she'd thrown it at his head that morning.
The leather photo album rests beside them.
Closed now, but not put away.
You curl instinctively beneath the duvet, expecting exhaustion to pull you under almost immediately after such a long day.
It doesn't.
Some time later, you wake to find Steve still lying beside you, exactly where he'd been when you fell asleep. Only now his eyes are open, fixed quietly on the ceiling, his hands folded loosely across his stomach as though he's trying to untangle a thought that's been sitting with him for hours.
"...Hey."
He turns his head. "Oh." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologise for existing."
A tired smile appears. "I know."
You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. "What're you thinking about?"
For a while, he doesn't answer. The silence between the two of you has never needed filling.
Eventually, he lets out a quiet breath. "...When I was little..." He laughs softly to himself. "...I always wished I'd grown up with a big family."
The confession catches you off guard. He keeps looking at the ceiling.
"I used to imagine one of those really noisy houses. People everywhere. Dinner all squashed around one table. Too many birthdays. Too many Christmas presents." He smiles faintly at the thought before it fades again. "I don't know... I just thought it'd be nice."
You reach across the mattress until your fingers find his. He threads them through yours automatically.
"I thought..." He swallows. "...I thought I'd missed my chance."
You shake your head. "No."
For the first time since he started talking, he turns to look at you. "No?"
"You didn't miss it."
His brow furrows.
"You built it."
A quiet, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "I don't..."
"You've got Robin. Dustin. Lucas. Max. Mike. Will. El. Erica." You smile gently. "Nancy. Jonathan. Joyce. Hopper. Holly." You pause. "And me."
His eyes soften.
"They're your family, Steve."
He looks away again. "They..."
"They are."
"I know they care about me, but-"
"No." You squeeze his hand before he can disappear back into old habits. "They don't love you because you drove them everywhere. They don't love you because you babysat them. They don't love you because you fixed every problem before anyone else even noticed it."
You think back over the day.
Robin's card. Dustin's scrapbook. Jonathan's photograph. Joyce quietly packing tomorrow's dinner before Steve had even thought about feeding himself. Hopper, standing beneath the oak tree, trying to say I'm proud of you without ever using the words.
"They love you because you're Steve."
The room falls quiet again.
"You spent years believing people only stayed because you made yourself useful."
His eyes glisten.
"But somewhere along the way..." You smile. "...they stayed anyway."
He lets out one small, disbelieving laugh. "...When did that happen?"
"I honestly don't think anybody knows."
You think about Dustin, twelve years old, following Steve everywhere. Robin slowly deciding she could trust him. Joyce wrapping leftovers in foil because she'd quietly started expecting him for dinner. Holly climbing into his lap without asking.
None of it had happened all at once.
There wasn't a single moment where strangers became family.
It happened on ordinary Tuesdays. On lifts home from school. Movie nights. Late-night phone calls. Shared meals. Inside jokes.
One quiet act of kindness after another until, somehow, nobody could remember a version of life that didn't include Steve Harrington standing somewhere in the middle of it.
"It just..." Your thumb brushes gently across his knuckles. "...Kept happening."
His breathing catches.
You nod gently towards the bedroom door, beyond which the cards, photographs and carefully stacked leftovers still wait downstairs.
"If every single person chose to spend today celebrating you..." Your voice is barely louder than the rain-soft silence outside. "...it's because every single one of them can't imagine their life without you in it."
For a long time, he doesn't speak.
His breathing catches once. Then again.
He laughs quietly through the tears gathering in his eyes. "...You're really laying it on thick for a birthday."
"I know."
"You trying to make me cry?"
You smile, brushing the same stubborn strand of hair away from his forehead that you'd smoothed back that morning. "No." A gentle kiss against his temple. "I'm just telling you the truth."
Something inside him finally gives way.
Not dramatically. There are no great sobs. No speeches.
Just one quiet exhale that seems to carry years of loneliness away with it.
A tear slips silently down his cheek. Then another.
Without saying a word, he turns towards you and buries his face against your neck exactly as though that's where he'd always belonged.
You wrap your arms around him instinctively, your fingers disappearing into his hair as he lets himself be held. Completely.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Steve Harrington doesn't apologise for crying.
He doesn't explain it away. He simply allows someone else to carry the weight for a little while.
You press one last kiss into his hair. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
His reply is almost lost against your shoulder. "...Best one I've ever had."
You close your eyes, holding him a little tighter as the fairy lights continue glowing softly beyond the bedroom window.
This morning he'd asked if he could skip his birthday.
Now, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing against your chest, you realise birthdays were never really supposed to celebrate surviving another year.
Sometimes they're simply an excuse for everybody who loves you to remind you how very glad they are that you did.
summary: youâve lived your entire life without depending on anybody. steve harrington walked into your life ready to change that.
warnings: mayfield!reader, angst, little bit of arguing, canon violence, blood and bit of gore, avoidant issues to the max, sheâs so stubborn, and lowkey mean, crying kiss and makeup, cursing, the kids <3,
word count: 6.7k
Early in life, you learned pretty quickly the only person you could depend on was yourself. Your parents were always too busy fighting each other to pay any attention to you and no matter how much you wanted someone to care for you and hold you in your hard times, nobody ever did.
You tucked yourself into bed. You soothed yourself after a nightmare. You took care of yourself and never let anyone see how much you ached for help.
Eventually, the ache dulled and you found some sort of sick comfort in having yourself. At least you never had to deal with disappointment.
Then your baby sister came along.
You were overwhelmed by the intense need to protect her from everything you werenât. As you two grew up, you began to tuck her in, soothe her back to sleep, care for her every morning. Â
You distracted her when your parents argued and when their marriage finally met itâs inevitable end, you held her tight. Then, and without input from either of you, your mom moved you half way across the world to move in with her new husband and his step son.
It wasnât so much the move that upset you. You couldnât have cared less about California or being far from your dad â it was how much it upset Max.
Even though your mom promised it would be a fresh start, it wasnât. Nothing good changed in Hawkins. Your mom and Neil fought just as much as your parents. You and Billy fought even worse than them. It was the exact reminder as to why you never depended on anybody.
And then Steve Harrington entered your life.
He was like a breath of fresh air entering your lungs. Floppy hair, charming eyes and a dizzying smile. You were a goner before he even said his name.
But admitting that was another story.
It was obvious by the time you came into town, heâd gone through a pretty messy breakup but whatever happened, it got him to clean up his act. He was right beside you when you and Max got roped into fighting monsters in the junkyard. He was there when Billy tried to attack you and Lucas in the Byers home. He was the one who pulled you into a plot of underground Russians and it was him who held you and Max after Billy died.
It took him a year to finally break through your walls, but he proved himself to you. It was Steve Harrington who proved that there was at least one person you could depend on. Steve told you he loved you first â even though you already knew â and surprising to everyone, you let him in.
Steve was yours and you were his.
But as good as it felt, you couldnât let go of your bad habits. Grief and guilt tried to swallow you whole â mostly because you didnât even actually care that Billy died and how could you feel like that over someone whoâs supposed to be family?
You knew Steve would love you no matter what but the idea of letting him see the darkest parts of yourself? Leaving you bare and open to his scrutiny? It was terrifying. Slowly, you gave him pieces, enough to satisfy him, but you knew it wouldnât be enough forever.
Steve was patient, incredibly so, and sometimes you wondered how long it would be before he realized you werenât worth it.
Loving him came to you as easy as breathing did. Asking him for help? That felt humiliating. Like you were weak.
But soon, your mind wasnât on yourself anymore. It was on Max and when you all got sucked into a reality where she was next on a monsters kill list?
Well, shit hit the fan.
You, Steve and the rest of the group form a circle in the Wheelerâs basement. Itâs been three days since the random deaths started hitting the town and yesterday, Max told you all about the visions sheâd been having.
Sneaking into the high school and watching the way her eyes clouded over and she drifted somewhere else, had your heart dropping to hell itself.
Your biggest fear was now happening right in front of you and youâve never felt more helpless in your life.
You can hear Nancy talking about the plan for tonight and how the groups are supposed to be split up, but youâre not actually listening. Youâre standing right next to Max, one hand resting over the side of her chair and itching to grab her instead.
Youâve barely been able to take your eyes off her for more than a few seconds all night â itâs like youâre afraid if you blink, sheâll be taken from you. Right now, it actually feels plausible.
Itâs obvious to everyone, including her, just how much youâre hovering and you know itâs beginning to irritate her but you canât find it in yourself to care even a little bit. This isnât just you being an overprotective older sister â this is her life. Youâll be damned if you let anything happen to her.
Nancy calling your name pulls your attention from Max and you look up at her. âYouâll go with me, Steve and Robin to check out the site closest to the lab. We canât risk anybody seeing Eddie, so heâll stay with the kids,â
Thereâs not a moments hesitation when you speak. âIâm staying with Max.â
She glances around the others before she sighs. You can tell she wants to argue but she doesnât. âOkay. Just me, Steve and Robin then. You guys have to check out the woods and make sure the gate already closed. If anybody hears anything, you radio it in, okay?â Her voice is full of conviction, something no one tries to challenge.
Everyone nods, except for Steve.
âTake Henderson,â He says. Your gaze flickers up to where he stands beside you. âIâll stay with them instead,â
In all fairness, itâs a sweet gesture. The idea of Steve wanting to stay close to you and Max but lately, itâs all heâs been doing. Ever since Maxâs depression hit its highest peak, youâve been hovering her and Steveâs been hovering you.
Youâve tried to ignore the irritation that bubbles inside you every time he does it. Itâs ironic really â heâs only doing to you, the exact thing youâre doing to Max, but sheâs used to that with you. Youâre still not used to it with Steve.
âYou donât have to come with us, Steve.â You interrupt carefully. âI can handle it alone,â
He frowns down at you. âI want to.â
You donât respond before looking away and you let Nancyâs voice fill the silence you created. You can feel his eyes still on you but you donât look back up at him.
A few minutes later and everyone has dispersed, quickly gathering their things to head out. You took the opportunity to pull Max aside.
âHey,â You murmur, gently holding her arm. Youâre staring at her adorably freckled face, your heart aching at the sight of the braid you put in her hair. âAre you sure youâre okay to do this? If you donât want to, we can stay back and let them handle it.â
She groans and pulls away from you. âI told you, Iâm fine. Youâre treating me like a baby,â
Your mouth pulls down as you watch her fill her bag . âI donât think youâre a baby, Max. I think this is a real problem and I..âYou quickly grow irritated over the fact that she wonât look at you, busying herself with her bag. You grab her hand and force her gaze back on you. âHey, I donât want you getting hurt.â
She stares back at you, her expression unreadable. âIf you donât want me to get hurt, then stop babying me and let me figure this out.â
The tone in her voice takes you aback but before you can even respond, she rips her arm from your grasp and walks towards Lucas and follows everyone else upstairs.
Your shoulders deflate as you watch her leave.
Maybe she was right â maybe you were babying her, just a little, but what did she expect? This wasnât just a game â it was her life on the line.
All you want is to protect her. To lock her somewhere safe, far away where nobody and nothing could ever hurt her. Instead, youâre stuck on a ticking time bomb to save her.
Suddenly, Steve appears in front of you and holds your arm the same way you held hers only minutes ago. His large hands circle your arms, his thumbs brushing over your skin.
He gives you a small smile. âEverythingâs gonna be okay, baby,â
You glance up at him and sigh. âIâm not worried about me, Steve.â You pull away from his grasp and step around him to grab your jacket.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
âI know youâre not but I am,â
Your eyes flutter shut and you take a deep breath. You can feel the tension in your body begging to snap â at him. Â
âI donât need you to babysit me, Steve.â
You see him step next to you out of your peripheral vision. âIâm not babysitting you, Iâm â Iâm trying to be there for you,â
You can hear the confusion in his voice and your heart tugs at the sound, but itâs not enough to reel in your annoyance.
Steve hasnât taken his eyes off the side of your face and you donât move to look at him. âYouâre not though, youâre hovering. I donât need you to coddle me, I need you to help me find this Vecna guy and save my sister.â
Your frustration has bled through your voice and Steve picks up on it in seconds.
His brows furrow and his mouth is turned down in a permanent frown. âI am trying to do that. What â what do you think Iâve been doing these past couple of days?â He pauses for a second and shifts on his feet, moving until heâs right in front of you. You still keep your eyes downward, fixated on snapping in every button of your jacket. âBut baby, itâs not just Max Iâm worried about. Itâs you too, I can see the way itâs affecting you.â
Finally, your head snaps up at him, eyes blazing. âOf course itâs affecting me, Steve, sheâs my sister! But you treating me like glass isnât going to help. Youâre not helping, youâre just - youâre just suffocating me!â
As soon as the words leave you, you feel overwhelmed with regret. And the look on his face? He looks devastated. You watch as his entire body stills and his shoulders tense. He take a step back, as if your words physically struck him.
Your lips part, almost like youâre ready to say something but nothing comes out. Itâs completely silent.
You stand across from each other without a word, only the sound of uneven breathing surrounding you two.
Then, he shakes his head.
His eyes flicker away from you and he rakes his hand through his hair.
âFine,â He starts. His voice is low and broken â you can hear the hidden anger beneath it. âIf Iâm suffocating you then fine. I canât keep sitting here, trying to guess how to love you. Youâre right â youâre better off alone.â
Steve doesnât wait for you to respond before heâs walking away too, leaving you alone in the basement.
Your eyes burn and you can feel your throat tighten. Itâs shame and regret and guilt hitting you all at once but thereâs no taking it back. Thereâs no apology to fix it.
You had meant it â maybe not entirely â but youâre not used to the comfort Steveâs offering and instead of letting him help, you hurt him.
You hurt him.
Youâve never felt worse in your life.
A few minutes later, you made your own way upstairs and the only thing you could focus on was the way Steve completely avoided you.
He kept his back turned towards you while everyone filled Nancyâs car. The car ride was awkward to say the least. Nancy let him drive and instead of you taking the passenger seat beside him, Nancy sat there and you occupied the seat directly behind him and next to Max.
You hoped maybe his eyes would watch yours in the rear view mirror.
They didnât.
Not once did he make eye contact or offer any comforting touches.
It wasnât until then did you realize how much it actually helped you. Before, it felt like his touch was burning. Now, you yearned for it back.
Itâs a painful twenty minute car ride and once you make it to the middle of the woods, everyone barrels out of the wagon. You all stand around in another circle, listening to Nancy talk about the meetup point. Everyone is ready to split up when Steve reaches down to grab the bag from her hand and begins passing out flashlights.
Your eyes are hopeful when he moves to hand you yours. He still hasnât looked at you, instead keeping his eyes locked on the flashlight. Your fingers close around the object and you take a step closer to him, ready to try and initiate a conversation before you walk away but before you can, his grip drops and he brushes past you.
He was barely close enough for his shoulder to press against yours and you could smell his cologne as he passed you. Your heart ached as you turned around and watched him walk away â following Nancy further down the path of their own route.
But you donât stop him.
Instead, you flip your flashlight on and walk in the opposite direction. Away from him.
Itâs been nearly half an hour of walking towards the gate. The woods are dark and silent â save from the leaves rusting and crunching beneath your feet. Youâre not sure if the way the wind whistles is from whatever could be lurking between the trees or to blame on nature.
Still, not once has your mind wandered from Steve.
From the argument, the look on his face, his words. You couldnât blame him for what he said â you werenât exactly nice with the things you said but it still stung to think about.
You always knew you didnât make it easy for people to be around you â let alone love you but Steve did. He did wholeheartedly and unapologetically.
And what did you give him in return?
Basically a slap in the face.
Itâs hardly a surprise heâs met his wits end with you.
Max quietly steps beside you, her footsteps matching your own. For a few seconds, you donât really register her presence or the way she keeps side eyeing you.
âItâs okay to let someone in, you know.â She finally breaks the silence. âLike all the way,â
You glance up at her. Your response isnât immediate â youâre not even truly sure how to respond.
You choose deflection.
âYouâre one to talk,â You huff. âYou broke up with Lucas a few months ago.â
Max rolls her eyes. âYeah, and look where that got me,â
Your hand shoots out to grab her arm; forcing her to a halt. âDonât joke about that,â You say firmly. âYouâre going to be fine.â
She doesnât flinch at your tone and she doesnât pull away either. Your fingers tighten around her skin, as if her words were a declaration for someone to snatch her away.
She sighs quickly. âMy point is I let my shit control me. I couldâve asked for help â Lucas spent months trying and all I did was push him away. This wouldnât be happening if I just let him.â
Your eyes gloss over at the thought of her regretting the way she handled everything. She couldnât have known.
âYou donât know that, Maxie,â You murmur and for once, she doesnât bite your head off for calling her that.
Instead she shrugs and continues walking, letting you follow her. âMaybe not. But I do know if I make it out of this alive,â She looks away from you then and you follow to where her gaze lands on Lucas walking a few feet ahead of Dustin. âIâm going to fix it with Lucas because I love him and he loves me.â She looks back at you, a newfound sadness deep in her eyes. âAnd Steve really loves you. So get your shit together and stop pushing him away,â
Her words land exactly where she intended. Embedded deep beneath your ribs, stabbing through your heart. She was right â in every aspect.
If Steve was going to leave, he wouldâve done so already, but he hasnât. Heâs held you through almost every ugly part of your life and still loves you with every ounce of himself.
And if you havenât completely ruined everything between you two, you were going to fix it. Even if you didnât deserve him.
You glance at Max from the corner of your eye. âYouâre making it out of this alive by the way. Even if I have to burn the upside down to the ground myself.â
Max smirks at your words, even though you both catch the way your voice breaks. âWhatever you say.â
You and the kids keep walking further into the woods, so far until the trees begin to blend and you almost worry you wonât be able to find your way back.
You still havenât found the gate and youâre ready to pull everyone back and retreat before Dustin suddenly springs upwards. He murmurs out a string of curses and spins in a circle.
âHenderson, Iâm getting dizzy just looking at you. Whatâre you doing?â You grimace at the curly headed boy.
âThe compass. Itâs â itâs acting crazy. Itâs pointing in every direction.â He distractedly responds. His face is pulled tight, brows furrowed and a frown plastered on his mouth.
âMaybe itâs broken?â Lucas asks. Dustin glares at him.
âI know how to take care of my things, Lucas,â He hissed. Lucas glares back harder.
âI didnât say you didnât, Dustin, but why else would it be going haywire?â
âI donât know! Thatâs what Iâm trying to figure out, asshole â ,â
âYouâre the asshole!â
âNo, youâre the â .â
Max cuts them off with an obnoxious groan.
âAre you two ladies finished?â She snaps. âIf itâs not broken then that could mean the gate is near here. We need to try and find it, so stop your cat fight, alright?â
The two boys huff but ultimately listen.
The four of you walk in opposite directions, flashlights stuck to the ground as you inspect the floor for an opening. For a few minutes, the only sound around you is the branches snapping under your feet â everyone is quiet as they search for any evidence of the opening.
Suddenly, your light does catch something. Something red.
You move closer without thinking, but your steps are slow and careful. As you approach the sight, it almost looks like a cocoon reaching one tree, all the way across to the other. Thereâs dark, thick vine like branches surrounding what looks like the rift. The red flashes beam from beneath it, lighting up the dark woods around you.
But the closer you get, the worse it looks. Itâs not just sitting there - itâs moving. The thin layer covering it pulses like a heart beats rhythm. Slowly, lean just a little closer.
Without looking away, you speak up. âHey guys..â You start hesitantly. âI think â I think I found it,â
You know without looking the kids have wandered a little further than a few feet but still close enough to hear you. The sound of their distant voices fills the air around you.
âAre you sure?â Dustinâs voice rings out.
âIâm pretty sure,â You reply. You sink to the floor, squatting in front of the rift. âThis isnât something Iâve randomly come across befâ ,â
Suddenly, youâre cut off when one of the thick vines snaps through the cocoon like layer.
A fearful yelp tears from your throat and you jerk backwards, landing on your bottom against the hard ground. Your flashlight falls from your hand, rolling away and taking away any light you had before.
You hear the kids shout your name from far behind you and the sound of their footsteps rushing closer.
Your stomach sinks as you watch the vine slither across the ground and within seconds, wrap itself around your thigh. Even through your jeans, you can feel the cold and slippery skin of the vine â just before its hold tightens, tight enough to nearly cut off circulation.
Pain shoots from the skin of your thigh, traveling through every inch of your body. You donât even have time to react before it yanks you across the dirt.
Itâs white hot pain coursing through your veins, setting every nerve on fire. It feels like nails are sinking into your skin â almost like it has teeth itâs holding you by â as it drags you around. The pain is enough for a real scream to tear out of you this time.
The vine flips you around and your nails dig into the dirt of the forest, desperate to grab any leverage you can. Your skin fills with a hundred tiny cuts from branches and rocks digging into your skin as it pulls you across the floor.
Your legs kick with every movement of the vine in an attempt to break free but the more you struggle, the tighter its hold gets. You canât suppress the cry that launches from your chest â the sound bouncing off the trees around you.
Your chest is pressed to the floor when you see the kids running to you but before they can reach you, it pulls you further down. Max screams your name and even through your pain, itâs enough to gather all your strength. The vine pulls you past a pile of leaves and rocks.
You barely have a second to think about it before your hand yanks the sharpest rock you find and youâre slamming it into the flesh like surface of the vine. You drive the sharpest point again, and again and again until it begins to squeal around your skin.
The grip slowly loosens but still tries to tug you further into the forest. You keep stabbing wildly, your vision clouded from pain and the dirt stuck to your face. Your arms burn from the movement until you strike directly at the top.
The rock slashes through the head of the vine, hard enough to slide right through its skin and pierce your own thigh.
The adrenaline coursing through your veins isnât enough to mask the pain and you scream in agony at the feeling of the rock puncturing your skin.
Finally, the vine forces itself out from under the rock and slowly slithers back deep into the trees.
Youâre gasping for breath, your entire body trembling as you drop the rock to the ground. Your gaze drops down to your thigh.
Blood soaks your jeans and you can see the way your thigh shakes from pain. Gingerly, your hands grasp the skin of your thigh, trying to apply pressure but your hands quickly stain from the blood.
The kids finally reach you and Max sinks to the ground beneath you, launching herself around you. You catch her as best you can with one arm, the other pressed firm against your wound.
âOh thank God!â She cries. You groan in pain â from both her bone crushing hug and your leg.
The boys shine their lights over you two, both letting out a sigh of relief until they catch sight of your leg.
âHoly shit,â Dustin gasps. You wince, breath shuddering.
âItâs â itâs not as bad as it looks,â You force out through your teeth. Max pulls away and looks at your legs next.
âAre you kidding me?â She exclaims. âYouâre literally gushing blood â thatâs as bad as it gets!â
âMax, calm down,â You mutter and it only pisses her off more.
âDonât tell me to calm down! That couldâve killed you,â
âYeah except it didnât,â You bite back.
You take a deep breath and swallow down a cry as you try to push yourself up. Lucas quickly drops beside you, arms slipping under your arms to help you up.
You wince at the pain shooting from your thigh, up to your chest, but you try to hide it. The last thing you want is for them to panic. Dustin appears in front of you.
He says your name carefully. âYour leg looks really bad, okay? We have to call â.â
You cut him off. âIâm fine, Dustin.â He looks ready to argue but you cut him off. âIs that a favorite shirt?â
The boy glances down at his shirt, brows pulled tight. âWhat? No, not really. Itâs just â.â
This time, you cut him off by yanking the bottom towards you and tearing a long piece.
âHey â what the hell!â He shouts, eyes wide.
Your only response is a groan as you wrap the fabric around your cut, tying a knot tight enough to burn. Max quickly pulls your arm around your waist, holding you from falling. Thereâs a muffled cry in your throat as you feel more blood slide down your leg but the makeshift tourniquet will have to do for now.
âI said Iâm fine,â You breathe out, one arm sliding across Maxâs shoulders. âWe canât just sit here and wait for someone to find us, alright? Itâs too dangerous out here,â
Despite the pain filling your body, your voice is firm and unyielding. The three kids look up at you and silence fills the air for a few moments before they all nod, murmuring agreements towards you.
The four of you begin to move forward together, back in the direction of the meetup point. Max holds onto you â one arm snaked around your waist and the other holding your hand draped over her shoulder. Lucas walks behind you two, carefully looking in every direction for any sign of danger. Dustin walks ahead of you all, flashlight beaming in front of him as he tries to make contact with the radio.
âI repeat â this is a code red. We are in dire need of rescue and we need a response!â His angry voice rings through the trees. âNancy? Steve? Anybody? Damnit!â He shouts.
You wince at the shrill sound. Everything around you feels heightened â the pain in your leg, the way your blood soaked jeans cling to your skin, the way blood continues to pour out of your cut and into your shoe.
âWeâre too deep in the woods, Dustin. The chances of getting a signal are slim,â Lucas points out behind you.
The walk towards the gate felt long enough but now, it feels endless. It feels like youâre walking in circles â every tree looks the same and every time you think youâre almost to the end, youâre met with the same sight of never ending darkness ahead of you.
âHow much further?â Max asks, her hold around your waist tightening.
Your face twists in pain but you stay quiet.
âI donât think itâs that far anymore. We passed this hill like ten minutes after we started walking,â Dustin says.
It should give you some hope but you donât think you have ten minutes of walking left in you.
You look at Max and you can see the complete fear covering her face. A sight you havenât seen since Billy attacked the group back at Starcourt last year. It kills you.
You canât give up now. Itâs not about you. Sheâs depending on you â they all are. Getting them back to safety is all that matters, no matter what.
Despite your mind telling you to keep pushing through the pain, your leg has decided itâs had enough. Before you even realize itâs happening, your knee buckles beneath you and you slip from Maxâs hold.
A sharp gasp slips past your lips as you crash into the floor. Your knees smack against the ground, a shattering feeling shooting up to your wound. Your hands barely catch you in time, the sticks and rocks digging into the skin of your palm.
Maxâs hand miss as they shoot out to catch you. Lucas appears next to you in the blink of an eye and the three kids huddle around you.
Max says your name tearfully. âYou canât keep going, we â we have to wait here,â
âWe canât,â You grit out. âItâs not safe out here for you guys, I can â I can keep going, I just need a min-minute,â
The kids all glance at each other before Dustin speaks up.
âOkay, you guys stay here with her. Iâm gonna walk further down, see if I can reach them on the walkie,â
âNo!â You try to manage your firmest tone but your voice cracks right down the middle. âHenderson, youâre not going alone. I can walk.â
You brace your palms against the ground and try to push up. Your elbows wobble beneath you and you barely make it into an upright kneeling position before they give out beneath you.
You cry out in pain but this time, Max catches you.
âLucas, go with him. Iâll stay here with her.â She orders.
âI said no!â You shout but the boys donât listen to you this time. They walk a few feet further away, Dustinâs voice echoing through the woods as he calls out their names.
âStop it!â Max snaps. âYouâre no help if youâre dead, alright! We need the others,â
Tears prick your eyes as her words settle in your chest.
Not from the pain but from frustration.
You were supposed to protect her. All of them.
Instead, youâre kneeling in dirt, grime and a pool of your own blood. Instead, youâre relying on three teenagers to take care of you.
The only thing youâre grateful for is the fact that you can still see the boys when you finally hear Nancyâs voice fills the air too.
âDus â Dustin?â Her voice cracks over the static. You watch the way the boys practically jump for joy at the sound of her voice and you can feel Maxâs body loosen just barely beside you.
âOh thank fuck!â Dustin curses over the radio. âNancy, we need help. We found the gate but Y/N, sheâs â sheâs hurt really bad.â
âWhat hap-happened?â
The cracks over the radio prove how weak the signal is and you worry youâre about to lose it entirely.
âIt was like, a vine from the damn rift. I donât â I donât know but itâs bad, she canât walk,â He explains.
The reminder of what happened has your face twisting. The way Dustin sounds explaining to Nancy how you got hurt â like you canât handle things. Like youâre weak. Itâs irrational, it really is but itâs all you can focus on.
Max notices the pained look on your face and the way your breathing turns uneven. She shifts to kneel in front of you and pulls your gaze towards her.
âWhat do you need?â She asks softly.
Your lip wobbles as you look at her.
Donât say it. Donât say it. Donât say it.
âI â I want Steve,â You choke out. Her eyes soften immediately and she squeezes your hands before turning her head.
âShe wants Steve!â She shouts to the boys. They both look over at where you both kneel on the ground and Dustin quickly locks in.
âWhereâs Steve? Sheâs asking for Steve,â He relays over the walkie.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
And then you hear him.
âDustin! Iâm right here. What happened? Where is she?â
Steve.
His voice is loud and frantic, almost like heâs too close to the speaker. Itâs hard to understand him completely and you can feel your eyes get heavier as Dustin gives him a quick rundown of what happened.
âIâm coming.â His voice cracks through the line.
Itâs two simple words, but itâs enough to bring you to tears.
You will them back with every bit of strength you have left. You already feel weak enough â actually crying in front of your baby sister will kill you before your wound ever can.
You try not to focus on the way embarrassment slowly begins to creep up on you but itâs hard not to feel it. Because Steve is coming and heâs going to see you â covered in blood and tears, helpless and exposed.
But as overwhelming as that feels, you also feel relief. Â
Because Steve is coming back to you.
As much as you fought against admitting it, all you want is him. You want to be wrapped in his arms, buried in his chest, and surrounded by his warmth.
You just want him.
Itâs barely five minutes before you can hear his voice shouting in the distance.
Heâs calling out for you â your name echoing through the air and off the trees. Your chest aches at the sound of his voice so close.
Finally, you see his flashlight through the trees a few feet in front of you and then you see him. He appears from between the trees, his eyes wide and frantic. He lands on Dustin first, the light flickering from him, to where you kneel on the ground.
The second his eyes land on you, heâs rushing towards you. Heâs within arms reach in seconds and he drops to his knees in front of you, the flashlight long forgotten at his side.
âHey, hey, hey,â He whispers, carefully pulling you from Maxâs hold. His eyes lock on the blood seeping from your thigh. âYouâre gonna be okay, baby,â He nods. âWhere does it hurt?â
Your lips part to answer but the words get caught in your throat.
The sight of him in front of you again â his puppy dog brown eyes wide with concern for you. His gentle voice soothing you. The warmth of his skin radiating from his body to yours.
Your resolve breaks.
Thick and hot tears slide down your cheeks, dripping down your face and soaking your neck. Your arms reach out to grab him and he doesnât even hesitate.
Steve meets you half way and you collapse into his chest. Your shoulders shake as you finally let yourself feel it all. You feel the pain of your cut and the pain of accepting help.
His arms wrap tightly around your body, holding you just as tight as you hold him. Your fists clutch the back of his jacket so hard you can hear your nails scratching the leather. You bury your face into his neck, soaking his skin in tears. He whispers gentle reassurances against your hair.
Your body wracks with sobs and not a single part of you cares about the others around you. You donât care that theyâre watching you two. You donât care if you look weak. All you care about is Steve.
âI got you baby, I got you,â He murmurs. Carefully, Steve shifts so he can slide one arm around your back and the other beneath your knees. He moves to stand and pull you with him, settling over his arms.
You cry out from the pain of your leg bending, eyes squeezing shut and your fingers tighten their grip on his shoulders.
âI know baby, Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorry,â He soothes. âI just gotta get you out of here, okay?â
You nod timidly, breath shuddering as you try to calm yourself down. Steve doesnât wait for anyone else before carrying you through the woods and back towards the car. He holds you as if you weigh nothing and turns what shouldâve been a ten minute walk into a four minute one.
The second the car is in view, Max runs to open the back door for Steve. He easily slides in, still holding you in his arms and settles against the window of the wagon. He holds you in his lap, your arms still wrapped around his neck and your head tucked under his chin.
Everyone quickly jumps into the car and before anyone can even buckle, Nancy is peeling off the gravel and onto the main road.
Steve holds you tight to his chest the entire car ride and you donât miss the way his eyes keep falling back to your leg.
âIâm â Iâm sorry,â You whimper against his skin. Steve shakes his head.
âDonât apologize baby, itâs okay. Everythingâs okay, I promise,â He reassures you.
Steve does his best to keep you conscious even as your eyelids grow heavy and begin to drop. Nancy breaks multiple speeding laws getting back to her house and when you finally make it back, he quickly pulls you out of the car and onto the extra bed they pulled into the basement.
Steve holds your hand the entire time Nancy cleans your leg. You were right before â as bad as it was, it definitely looked worse than it was. You squeezed his hand every time the antiseptic burned against your skin and he gently wiped your tears with his thumb.
He whispered sweet reassurances into your ears, planting gentle kisses to your face every time you winced in pain. Nancy managed to clean and dress the wound fairly quickly and once she finished, she steered everyone back upstairs to give you space.
Exhaustion has embedded itself deep in your bones and you gather all your strength to keep looking at Steve. Heâs kneeling on the side of the bed, one hand stroking your hair and the other laced with yours.
He looks completely content just watching you for the rest of the night but your guilt hasnât subsided even a bit.
âSteve,â You whisper so softly, he wouldâve missed it if he wasnât so hyperaware of you.
âWhat is it, baby?â
Your wide eyes stare up at him. âIâm sorry,â
Tears line your eyes again, hot and unyielding, and your lip wobbles. His eyes soften at you and he moves to lay beside you instead. He settles beside you, carefully pulling you into his chest.
âYou donât have to â.â
âYes I do,â You interrupt. Your voice is slow, but he lets you talk. âI didnât â I didnât mean it, Steve, I swear. I was just scared. Iâve only ever needed Max and now it just feels like Iâm losing her and I was scared if I admitted I needed you, I would lose you too,â You confess, tears staining your cheeks.
His face twists in pain at the sight of you crying. He raises his hand to cup your cheek. âI didnât mean what I said either,â He begins. âAbout you being better off alone. I was angry and I tried to hurt you back but it wasnât true baby, not for a second. Iâm sorry,â
His thumb glides across the skin of your cheek. You lean into his touch, brows pulled tight.
âI donât want to be alone anymore, Steve.â
He nods, his eyes glossing over. âYouâre not baby, you have me,â
You stare up at him and every instinct to shut him out disappears. âI need you, Steve. More than anything and I donât ever want to lose you,â
He exhales sharply. âYou will never lose me, okay? I swear to you. It doesnât matter whatâs going on â youâll have me until the end of fucking time, baby,â
Without another word, you bury yourself back in his chest and cling to him like second skin.
For twenty years, you convinced yourself you didnât need anybody else. You convinced yourself that accepting help meant admitting failure. But now, as you lay against Steveâs chest â completely bare and vulnerable to him â fully allowing him to take care of you, it all changed.
You finally admitted that you needed him and the world didn't end. He kept his promise. He was here, and he always would be.
summary: you and steve promised a long time ago to never go to sleep angry. imagine your suprise when he breaks that promise.
warnings: angst, arguing, steve is stubborn and a little mean, reader is also stubborn as hell, cursing, he doesnât in fact break the promise, hurt/comfort, crying, kiss and makeup, happy ending! he still manages to be sweet
word count: 3.2k
Dating with Steve Harrington was bliss, it truly was. He was a kind man, always a loyal gentleman. He was protective and was always there for you â physically and emotionally. He was funny and so incredibly charming.
By definition, he was the perfect man.
But with all of his perfections, he had one singular flaw. His stubbornness.
Steve Harrington was as hard headed as a brick wall.
And you? Well, you could almost give him a run for his money.
Any normal day for you two was loving. Except for today.
Today, Steve seemed to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He claimed you hogged the blankets all night, even though it was his monster feet who kicked them to the floor.
At first it felt like tired bickering. Once the sleep washed away from him and he got a little bit of food in his tummy, all would be well.
Wrong.
At breakfast, you argued about whoâs turn it was to do the dishes. You told him everything in the sink was left by him the night before â he argued that your name was next on the chore list.
You argued about how he forgot to make the coffee for the morning. He argued that you couldâve done it too â even though heâs always done it.
You argued over his misplaced keys. Over what time Nancy said to meet at the station. Over who gets to drive â this one was entirely your fault considering you donât even like to drive, but he was really pissing you off.
The car ride there was spent with your arms crossed tight and your legs tucked into the passenger door â away from his touch â and his fingers gripping the wheel so tight, his knuckles whitened. By the time you two made it into the station, you both angrily agreed not to talk to each other.
Itâs pettiness and stress masked as arguments about nothing. The tension between you two was palpable and the group picks up on it quickly.
Youâre all standing around the common room, ready to disperse into your own jobs. You and Steve always go with Dustin to monitor Hopper â leaving everyone else back at the station to take care of things.
Youâre dreading the idea of sitting in the pre-existing tension between Steve and Dustin, and it doesnât help the fact that youâre now arguing with him too.
You move to grab your jacket when he speaks up.
âNot you.â Steve says, his voice firm but cold. You blink up at him. âByers is taking your spot tonight,â Â
You laugh incredulously. âWha â Jonathan?â
He nods down at you, zipping up his own jacket. âHe knows how to handle the navigation,â
Your face pinches at his answer. âSo do I,â
Steve avoids your eyes as he gathers the rest of his things. Itâs not because of shame or fear, but from annoyance. âDo you?â
Your eyes narrow and you can feel the fury bubbling in your chest. âDo I?â You repeat. âYou know what Steve, you really have to get over whatever bug crawled up your ass today, alright? Youâre acting like â.â
Steve cuts you off before you can finish.
âNo, do you know what?â He slams his walkie down on the cushion of the couch. When his eyes meet yours, theyâre dark and clouded. Thereâs not a trace of patience or love in them and for a moment, that scares you. âThis isnât about you. Who knows how many more chances weâre gonna get if this goes wrong and the last thing I need is you fucking up the navigation. So for once, I need you to listen to what Iâm saying and quit nagging me, alright?â
Everything around you seems to still.
All that you can focus on is the irritation covering your boyfriends face and for the first time, maybe ever, itâs all aimed at you. For whatever reason, he seems to think youâre the root cause of his sour mood today.
So what if you donât have the best track record with reading the map? Steveâs lived in his town his entire damn life, he should know the streets by now.
Itâs not just frustration you feel anymore. Now itâs shame and insecurity and embarrassment. Shame because apparently, you nag him enough for him to remember. Insecure because you couldnât even guess how long heâs been holding this in. And embarrassed because everyone around you has also stilled â now staring at the two of you like youâre a pair of animals in a cage.
That thought angers you even more.
Your jaw clenches so hard you can almost hear your teeth grinding against each other and you can feel the way your nails dig into the skin of your palms as a way to calm yourself down.
Steve stares back down at you and after a beat of silence, he seems to register exactly what he said. His eyes flutter shut and he sighs, raising his hand to gently grasp your hand.
Your face is steel as you take a step back before he can reach you. You wonât cause a scene and you also wonât give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you just now.
âYou should go then.â You tell him. He grimaces at your cold tone and makes no move to leave.
He says your name gently. âI didnât mean it like that. Just â just come with and we can â.â
You cut him off this time. âNo thanks, I wouldnât want to fuck up the navigation again.â
Steveâs shoulders deflate when you echo his earlier words.
It looks like heâs ready to say something else but before he can, youâre spinning on your heels and downstairs to the basement to meet with Joyce at the intercom. You can feel his eyes following you as you disappear but not once do you turn or falter.
It didnât matter what was causing his sudden attitude change. You were done trying to be empathetic and understanding. He wasnât about to use you as an emotional punching bag â if he didnât want to be around you then you would give him that.
Itâs hours later when Steve finally arrives back at the station. In that time, his voice cracked over the intercom a few times with updates about movements and any military activity. Each time you ignored the pang in your chest and let Robin respond.
The crawl ended up being just another tally mark under the dead end section and you all began to filter home, completely defeated.
Steve didnât offer any words as you climbed into the car together, but neither did you. It was still tense but not as tense as when he left. His foul mood is still obvious but itâs no longer white hot anger. It gives you a little bit of hope.
When you finally make it home, itâs after 10. He still hasnât spoken to you but he lets you shower first, and you take the opportunity to try and get rid of your own anger.
You werenât sure if he really cared it wasnât your voice he was hearing. It didnât seem like he cared about your absence in the van, but then again it wasnât the focus of the night. His earlier words rang in your head.
Itâs not about you.
Yet here you were, making it about you.
Youâre smart enough to realize his blow up had little to do with you. It was a culmination of stress of the crawls, stress from his newly strained relationship with Dustin, stress from everything. You were just the only constant in his life and it seemed like you were the best thing to take it out on.
It doesnât make it right, but at least you understand.
Still, youâre annoyed at the very least.
But you two have made a promise years ago â to never fall asleep mad and with the way exhaustion is clawing at you, youâre ready to climb into bed and apologize for arguing all day. Itâs nothing a few sweet words and a few more sweeter kisses canât fix and the more you think about it, the more you crave it.
Fighting with Steve was one of your least favorite things in the world.
You quickly clean your mess in the bathroom and change for bed but when you step out of the bathroom and into your shared room, you freeze.
Itâs not the darkness or the quietness that stops you. Itâs the fact that Steve is already on his side of the bed, his back turned towards your side and asleep.
That asshole actually fell asleep.
You stand there, five feet away from him, in complete disbelief. It was his stupid idea to promise that and heâs the one who broke it first.
Your newly dissolved anger reignites and this time, itâs scorching. You have to fight the urge to abuse him with your pillow as you look at his sleeping frame. Youâve spent the last few hours trying to think of ways to make up with him and heâs just sleeping.
Your body is tense as you finally climb into bed. You make it a point to leave as much distance between your bodies you can without falling off the bed.
Steve is unmoving as you settle on your side and it angers you even more.
Now itâs not just the arguments from today. Itâs everything.
Itâs the arguing, itâs his careless words from earlier, itâs the coldness youâve been getting from him all day, itâs the short temper heâs met you with.
You feel small and almost like you mean nothing to him. Itâs a stretch considering all he actually did was fall asleep but damnnit, itâs the principle of it all.
Before you know it, tears are slipping from your eyes and soaking the pillow beneath your cheek. You bite your lip to keep the sounds as muffled as possible because the last thing you want is for him to see you cry.
For the first night in your entire relationship, you donât want to be anywhere near him.
Youâre not sure how much time passes when you finally stop crying.
You feel pathetic for it but itâs not out of sadness â because he didnât hurt your feelings (he did) â itâs because youâre just frustrated about the whole thing.
Heâs laid beside you, peaceful and still as he lets his body loosen and forget all its troubles. All the while, youâve been lying here crying.
There hasnât been a second where your frustration has even slightly dwindled. Instead, it keeps building and your exhaustion isnât helping matters.
The sound of Steveâs slow and even breathing behind you is enough to make you break. You donât take a second to rethink things before youâre shoving the blankets off of you and snatching your pillow in one hand.
You trudge into the darkness downstairs and throw your pillow against the couch. You pull the blanket that rests over the back cushion and settle into the couch.
Itâs achingly lonely down here but somehow it feels better than trying to stay beside Steve. You know youâll wake up in an even worse mood because of how uncomfortable the couch is. The cushions are lumpy, itâs almost too short for your body, itâs colder down here without the warmth of Steve comforting you.
Still, you force yourself comfortable and take another chance at sleep.
Upstairs, Steveâs subconscious has him flipping over in his sleep and his arms instinctively reach out for you. His hand slides across your side of the bed, ready to grab your waist and pull you into his chest but he feels nothing.
His eyes flutter open at the feeling of emptiness beneath his palm. It takes him a few seconds to adjust to the darkness of the room but when he finally does, he sees your side of the bed is empty and cold.
He leans up on his elbow then, taking a quick glance at the bathroom but the light is off and the door is shut. He scans the rest of the room but is met with nothing. It doesnât really register for him until he realizes your pillow is also gone.
He feels his stomach twist with nerves before he pulls himself out of bed.
His feet pad against the hardwood floor of your shared home as he makes his way out of the bedroom. The rest of the house is quiet and dark â he almost worries you left entirely.
He makes his way down the steps, into the living room and thatâs when he finally sees you.
Steve feels guilt hit him like a truck when he sees your small frame squished uncomfortably on the couch. Youâre lying on your side, knees curled into your chest and a small throw blanket covering your body.
He hates seeing you like this and even more, he hates being the cause of it. He knows without a doubt itâs his fault. He knew what he said earlier was cruel and completely uncalled for â and he didnât blame you for a second when you chose not to talk to him over the radio.
When he got back and saw how angry you still were, he felt like the best thing to do was give you space. Heâd been blowing up over the tiniest things all day, the least he could do was give you time to yourself.
So when he climbed into bed, it wasnât to break his promise â it actually wasnât even on his mind. He just didnât want to overwhelm or upset you even more.
Obviously that was the wrong choice.
His feet pull him towards you and he bends down so he can lift you up. He carefully pulls the blanket from you and slides one arm beneath your neck. Heâs ready to slide the other under your knees when you begin to stir.
Your head turns, lashes fluttering against the skin of your cheeks as you try to focus on what woke you up. Thereâs a softness in your eyes, one personally reserved for your boyfriend and he feels his heart ache at the sight.
But just as fast as it appeared, itâs gone when you blink.
You pull away from his hold and Steve lets his arms fall to his sides.
âWhat?â Sleepiness laces your voice but he picks up on the anger beneath it.
He swallows and kneels beside the couch so heâs eye level with you. âCome back to bed,â He whispers.
âIâm comfortable here,â You lie easily. Your hands grab the blanket at your feet and pull it back up to cover yourself, just before you shift to turn away from him.
Steve stares at the back of your head for a moment, immediately missing the sight of your beautiful face.
âBaby..â He sighs. Heâs ready to argue more but you cut him off.
âI donât want to sleep next to you, Steve.â Your voice is detached and cold.
His heart cracks at your response.
His ego tells him to walk away. To leave you to deal with your temper tantrum and to enjoy the bed to himself.
Heâs never ignored a thought so quickly.
âThen let me sleep on the couch. You go to bed, babe,â He offers softly.
Your anger aimed at him and your exhaustion has you groaning into the air. You twist your head just enough to face him.
âJust forget it, Steve. I want to sleep.â
Steve feels his own stubbornness filter back. âIâm not letting you sleep on the couch.â He says your name firmly â like a parent scolding a child.
You glare at him, your eyes so dark, there may as well be daggers shooing out of them.
âWhy not? You were sleeping so peacefully a few minutes ago. Go back and do it again,â You huff before turning your head to face the cushion again.
Steveâs jaw clenches, not from anger but from more guilt. He never wanted to make you feel like this â like you didnât matter.
Carefully, he moves to sit on the couch with you. You grumble something like go away but he ignores it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, and you try to pull away but his hold is firm.
âIâm sorry, baby,â He whispers, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheeks. Itâs a little damp and sticky from your earlier tears you didnât even bother to wipe away. He watches the way you avoid his gaze and the way your jaw ticks. âI shouldnât have spent all day arguing with you, and I definitely shouldnât have spoken to you like that. I was pissed off about these crawls and the way Hendersonâs been acting lately and I took it out on you,â His voice is so soft and gentle â itâs a dangerous contrast to how he spoke earlier. âYou didnât deserve that, baby and Iâm sorry.â
Your eyes gloss over again at his apology and you can slowly feel your resolve break. Youâre so tired and all you want is to wrap yourself in his arms again.
But youâre still pissed.
âIâm not your punching bag, Steve.â You say firmly. Thereâs a hint of a waver in your tone but he doesnât catch it. He nods, his eyes sad and regretful.
âI know youâre not,â
âAnd you donât get to take it out on me every time youâre pissed off.â
He nods again. âI wonât, I promise.â
Your eyes narrow, but itâs not as angry this time. âAnd youâre not allowed to go to bed without me again.â
Steve breaks a smile at your words but quickly tries to cover it, worried youâre not ready to joke with him again. It technically was meant to be lighthearted but the sentiment was serious.
âIâll stay awake forever if you asked me too, baby,â He responds, his hand gently stroking your skin.
You roll your eyes at his theatrics, but he doesnât miss the ghost of a smile on your lips.
He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. He doesnât try to deepen it â just lets you both feel the other close and intimate. When he pulls away, he leans his forehead against yours. âI really am sorry, baby.â He whispers.
You nod gently. âI know,â You bring your own palm up to his cheek this time and he plants a kiss to your palm before letting himself lean onto your hold.
Itâs quiet for a few seconds as you hold each other before you speak up.
âCan you carry me to bed now?â You breathe out, a smile plastered across your face. Steve grins down at you and within seconds, youâre in his arms bridal style. You gasp in surprise from his swiftness and heâs easily carrying you up the stairs.
He plants kisses across the skin of your face the entire way back to bed and once youâre finally settled in, he doesnât let you go for a second.
Summary â While you were cooking, Peter tries to distract you with kisses to confess that he forget to do the laundry.
The kitchen smelled warm. Garlic, butter, something slightly overcooked because you got distracted halfway through on your phone.
You stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, wearing one of Peterâs oversized t-shirts that slipped off one shoulder and a pair of soft shorts. Your hair was messily tied up, a few strands sticking to your neck from the heat.
From the living room, the TV droned quietly. Some documentary Peter had definitely put on with the intention of watching, but was now ignoring.
You didnât need to turn around to know when he walked in.
You felt him before you saw him.
Two arms slid around your waist, warm and familiar, pulling you back against him. His chest pressed to your back. His chin hovered near your shoulder for half a secondâ
âand then his lips were on your neck.
Slow. Intentional. Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
A soft kiss just below your ear. Another, lower this time. Then a lingering one that felt like he was trying to melt into you.
You paused mid-stir, eyes narrowing slightly.
Oh.
Oh, you knew this game.
âPeter.â
âHm?â He hummed innocently against your skin, like he wasnât currently committing distraction crimes.
You tilted your head slightly to give him accessâtraitor behavior, honestlyâbut your tone stayed flat.
âWhat do you want?â
He pulled back just enough to sound offended. âWhat? Nothing!â
âMhm.â
Another kiss. Slower this time. He nuzzled into your neck like a clingy cat.
âIâm just being affectionate,â he added, voice softer now, almost persuasive. âCanât I kiss my fiancĂŠe?â
You finally turned your head to look at him.
Deadpan. Unblinking.
Peter froze.
Because yeah, he knew that look.
His arms were still wrapped around you, but now he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Big brown eyes, slightly guilty, slightly hopeful. The puppy look was fully activated.
âSpill,â you said.
ââŚWhat?â
âPeter.â
âIâm notâthereâs nothing toââ
âPeter Benjamin Parker.â
He physically winced.
ââŚOkay, wow, full government name, thatâsââ
âSpill.â
He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against your shoulder like the weight of his crimes was too much to bear.
âOkay, fine! IâŚâ he hesitated, like maybe the truth would kill him, âI forgot to do the laundry.â
You blinked once.
ââŚThatâs it?â
âThatâs not just âthatâs itâ !â He protested quickly, lifting his head. âYou told me this morningâvery clearlyââPeter, please do the laundry,â and I said âyes, of course, I will absolutely do the laundry,â and then Iââ
âDidnât.â
âI got distracted!â
âWith?â
ââŚYouTube.â
You stared at him.
âYou forgot laundry because of YouTube.â
âIn my defense,â he added quickly, âit was a really interesting video aboutâokay, no, I donât have a defense.â
You sighed, turning back to the stove and stirring again.
âI gave you one task, mister.â
âI know, I know,â he said, tightening his arms around you again, voice softening. âIâm sorry. Iâll do it right now!â
He made a move to pull away.
You grabbed his wrist without even looking.
âItâs dinner time.â
He paused.
ââŚYeah?â
âDo it tomorrow.â
There was a beat of silence.
Thenâ
âWait, really?â
You glanced at him over your shoulder. âYes, really.â
His entire face lit up like youâd just handed him the keys to the city.
âYouâre the best wife ever!â
And before you could even react, he leaned in and kissed youâquick, soft, but full of that ridiculous, overflowing affection he always had for you.
You blinked, slightly stunned.
Then you slowly lifted your left hand, wiggling your fingers so the ring caught the kitchen light.
âStill fiancĂŠe.â
Peter looked at your hand. Then at you.
Then he shrugged, completely unbothered.
âMeh. Same thing.â
You narrowed your eyes. âIt is not the same thing.â
âIt is in my heart,â he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.
Steve Harrigton needs a date to his cousin's wedding and unfortunately for you, you owe your sister a favour.
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield!reader
words: 8.5k
contains: fluff, frenemies to lovers, (sort of) fake date, mention of precious king!steve behaviour, steveâs dad being a little awful, grief, guilt, mention of death of a sibling, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: ah so this one was so fun to write! i have never written a wedding guest fic before and oh, i just loved it! please enjoy
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Steve Harrington could not believe his luckâor lack thereof.
The day before cousinâs wedding, Juliet had called Family Video to cancel on him and so, Steve had naturally begun to panic.
He knew how much the wedding was costing his aunt Edithâthe only family member who he actually really likedâand so he knew how a last minute cancellation like this would stress her and his cousin Daisy out. Especially as he had already begged his aunt to allow him to bring Juliet with him in the first place.
He had called Robin but she was unfortunately sick with the flu. He had called his last ten dates but they were all either busy or flatly refused to go out with him again. He had even debated asking Nancy but shook the thought, she was his ex-girlfriend after all.
âWow,â Max Mayfield grins in mild amusement as Steve rattles off the list of girls he had asked to be his emergency plus one. âYou really need to find a hobby.â
Dustinâwho had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the partyâs weekly movie nightâlaughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.
âIâll just go alone,â Steve grumbles against his arm. âIâll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding andââ
âWhat about Maxâs sister?â
Steve canât help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.
He doesnât miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.
âWhatâs wrong with my sister, Harrington?â She asks pointedly and Steveâs ears turn red.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problemâ
âNothing!â Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. âAbsolutely nothing! She justââ
âHates his guts?â Dustin offers.
Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.
âShe doesnât hate you,â Max insists. âShe justâshe just thinks youâre an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.â
Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billyâs familyâand by extension your familyââtrashâ. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didnât take them back. He didnât apologise.
He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byersâ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didnât buy it. You had made it very clear that you didnât want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood whyâyou were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.
And so, Steve wasnât exactly convinced by Maxâs insistence that you didnât hate him.
âThere is no way sheâll go with me,â Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. âShe hatesââ
ââshe will,â Max says with a knowing smile. âShe owes me a favour.â
Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout âApril Fools!â.
When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.
âWhat for?â
âShe broke my skateboard,â Max explains. âI was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.â
Dustin laughs and the corner of Maxâs mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.
âGee, thanks Max,â Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. âBut I really donât think sheâll agree.â
And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one.Â
Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldnât help but roll his eyes.
Of courseâit was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they werenât fourteen.
âWeâre closing inââ
ââin five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.â
Steveâs stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didnât hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding.Â
âWh-what are you doing here?â Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. âRobin has the flu if thatâs what youââ
ââIâm here to see you,â you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steveâs hand before you look back up at his face. âMax told me about yourâyour plus one situation.â
âOh,â Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. âYeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. Sheâs cat sitting or something so canât um, make it.â
You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you donât, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. âIâll do it.â
The bopper in Steveâs hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.
âSeriously?â He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. âYouâyouâre notâthis isnât a prank, right?â
You frown slightly. âWhy would I do that?â
Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him.Â
âIâI dunnoâI justâyou know this is a wedding, right?â Steve asks you. âLike Iâll be in a suit and youâd wearââ
ââa dress,â you finish. âI know, Max told me. I have a dress if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. âIâm not worried about that, it's justâare you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this weddingâwith me?â
You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.
âYes, Harrington,â you say finally. âAs a favour to Max, Iâll go to this wedding with you.â
Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasnât dreaming or that you werenât going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasnât a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.
âThank you,â he breathes. âThank you so much. This means a lot. My family areâyeahâthis is just, itâs really great of you toââ
ââbut Iâm not dancing with you,â you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. âOr doing anything remotely touchy feely. Iâm just your plus one. Thatâs it. Thatâs all Iâll be.â
âThatâs fine!â Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. âMakes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Juâjust my plus one.â
You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. âGood. Glad we got that covered,â you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.
âYou know you need to pay for thââ
âSee you tomorrow, Harrington,â you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.
âCould you sit still? Just for two minutes?â
âIs this really necessary?â
Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.
You huff but you donât question her further.
You didnât want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morningâthe time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour awayâyou found that you were starting to feel nervous.Â
The pale green satin dress you were wearingâthe one you had been saving for Maxâs graduationâhugged your body in a way that you werenât used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didnât exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing youâd be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.
âIs it too late to back out now?â You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. âI meanâI could say I got the flu from Robin orââ
ââabsolutely not,â Max snaps at you. âJust give him a chance? Alright? Heâs not the asshole he was in high school.â
You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you donât respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldnât allow yourself to believe it.
By some miracle, you were ready just before ten oâclock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.
âStill wanna back out?â You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your momâs nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.
You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach.Â
âNo,â you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. âI made a promise so I should stick to it.â
Max looks at you before she smiles. âYou look really pretty, by the way.â
Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your momâs purse from her hands. âNot bad for a last minute wedding.â
The corner of Maxâs mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. âYou promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?â
âMaxââ
Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. âIâm serious. I want you two to get along. Youâre important to me, heâs important to me.â
You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.
âJust donâtâdonât tell him I said that,â Max adds.
You fight back a smile. âI wonât.â
It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.
âYou look great,â your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile backânot entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steveâthe guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steveâthe guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.
You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.
ââis the tie the right colour?â You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. ââPale greenâ was right of vague, I had toââ
ââyou donât need to match with her dress, itâs not prom, Steveââ
ââbut I thoughtââ
You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.
In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.
He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steveâreally look at himâand admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearingâthe tie of which almost perfectly matched your dressâhe looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.
The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.
âYouâre late,â you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesnât give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. âYou know itâs rude to show up after the bride?â
Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.
âIt was the tie! And there was some construction near theââ
ââstill. Youâre late.â
Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained.Â
âReady to go?â Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.
You nod, opening your momâs purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. âYeah. Ready toââ
ââwait!â Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. âLet me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.â
Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.
The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey.Â
It dawned on you that you hadnât ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But nowâyou face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.
One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.
âDo you have to hum while listening to music?â You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.
You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.
âItâs my car,â Steve points out. âI can hum in my car if I want.â
You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that youâd try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip.Â
Baby steps.
But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.
âAre you ready for this?â Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.
You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.
âYeah,â you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steveâs hand moves to open the door, you add, âitâs justâIâm notâIâm not great with family.â
Steveâs hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. âThat makes two of us,â Steve tells you. âSo donât worry. My parents hate everyone. Just donât take it personally and youâll be fine.â
You almost laugh. Almost.
To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.
As you walk by throngs of Steveâs relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of whoâs who while you try to keep up.â
âThatâs my uncle Simon,â Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. âBeen married like three times. Doesnât seem to understand what monogamy is.â
You bit back a laugh.
âThatâs my great aunt Saraââ
ââgreat aunt?â You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. âAre you sure sheâsââ
ââshe had a face lift,â Steve explains and you nod slowly. âWell, we all suspect sheâs had a face lift. Sheâs never actually said. She just keeps saying itâs because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.â
Another laugh you had to fight back.
Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.
âAnd this,â he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. âIs my aunt Edith. Sheâs a bit much butââ
âStevie! Oh, look at you!â
You watch in fascination as Steve Harringtonâthe guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three yearsâturns bright red.
âEdithââ
ââwhat?â Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. âIs it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?â
Steve doesnât respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesnât tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.
âAnd who is this beautiful young lady?â Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldnât help but smile at her. âSteve, is this yourââ
ââfriend,â Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. âJust a friend.â
In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.
âAnd a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,â Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. âIâm only teasing him, honey. Donât look so worried.â
You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. âNo, go ahead. Tease away. I didnât know he could turn that shade of red.â
Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle.Â
âOh, I like her already.â
The corner of Steveâs mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you canât help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You canât blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.
But Edith doesnât say anything, which you appreciate.
âYou two should probably head inside,â Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. âOr you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.â
You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.
âSorry about Edith,â Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. âSheâs reallyââ
ââshe was lovely,â you tell Steve. âReally. She wasnât too much at all.â
Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.
You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.
âBy the way,â Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. âI forgot to say earlier but you lookââ
But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.
As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a churchâalbiet, nowhere near as extravagant as thisâhad been at Billyâs funeral. Â
Despite the fact you hadnât been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billyâs death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasnât just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billyâs death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billyâs death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didnât, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Maxâs life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.
But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billyâs death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billyâs nameâwas that, try as you might, you couldnât protect Max from everything.
And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.
After the ceremonyâof which, you remember very littleâyou and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still werenât so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.
Though he wasnât saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didnât even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.
âOkay,â Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. âYou gonna tell me whatâs up? Did I do something orââ
You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time.Â
âI havenâtâI havenât been in a church sinceââ you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steveâs smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.
You miss how Steveâs eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.
âOh,â he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. âI didnâtâI didnât even think. Iâm sorry. Iââ
ââitâs okay,â you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. âIâm okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.â
Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasnât going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you werenât going to get away that easily.
ââI know Iâm not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me aboutââ
ââSteven! Weâve been looking everywhere for you!â
You watch as Steveâs face almost completely drains of colour.
âFuck,â Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a coupleâwho were undoubtedly his parentsâstriding towards to two of you. âOkay. Itâs just my parentâs. Itâs just myââ
ââoh, you must be Stevenâs girlfriend!â Steveâs mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you donât even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steveâs girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.
That son of aâ
âHe had told us you were pretty but I donât think youâd beââ
ââmom,â Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didnât care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.
Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steveâs parents didnât let your name pass without acknowledgement.
âOh dear,â his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. âI thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?â
You donât trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.
âWeâre terribly sorry for your loss,â his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. âAwful accident.â
You smile in acknowledgement but you arenât quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunatelyâor unfortunatelyâfor you, Steveâs father continues talking.
âAnd for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all placesâit must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!â
You swallow. It had been awful but you didnât think much of Danny Harringtonâs toneâof the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your momâeven if she had started drinking to copeâand a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.
But before you could tell Steveâs father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.
âDad, letâs notâletâs not go there, okay?â Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.
Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his sonâs words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.
âVery well,â he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. âEnjoy the evening, both of you.â
The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.
You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. âThat wasââ
ââIâm really sorry,â Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. âFor making them think that youâre my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didnât know what to sayââ
ââSteve, itâsââ
ââand Iâm sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didnât need me toâyou know. I justâmy dad he justâI couldnâtâI couldnât just let him talk to you like that. Like heââ
ââHarrington.â
Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.
âItâs okay,â you tell him gently. âIâI appreciate it. Really. Itâs fine, donât worry about it.â
Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you werenât lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you werenât used to around him.Â
âOkay,â Steve says with a grateful smile. âOkay. Thatâthatâs good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.â
âNo,â you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. âBut the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.â
Steve canât help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.
Baby steps.
He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.
âYeah?â you reply in a voice that you hope doesnât give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.
âI wanted toâI forgot to say this earlier,â he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didnât think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. âI thinkâyou justâyou look beautiful, Mayfield.â
You werenât entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.
âYou look pretty good yourself, Steve,â you say with a small, barely there smile.
Steve blinks and thenâ
âYou just called me Steve,â he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
You shrug, you pretend it wasnât a big deal.
Baby steps.
It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.
You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.
âPlease Steve!â the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. âJust one more!â
âLater,â Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. âLater, I promise!â
You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.
âWhat are you smiling at?â He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.
âNothing,â you say, hoping he doesnât notice the warmth of your cheeks. âJustâyouâre really good with kids.â
Even the colourful disco lights couldnât conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.
âYeah, well, Iâve had a lot of practice,â Steve murmurs. âKids are much easier when thereâs no Upside Down involved.â
You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.
Itâs quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steveâs fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You canât help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.
âYou want another drink?â Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. âI can get you anotherââ
ââdo you want to dance?â
The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away andâ
âYes,â Steve says quietly and with a nod. âIâd love to.â
You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.
âJust keep your hands to yourself,â you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.
âIâll be a gentleman,â Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. âPromise.â
The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight.Â
âDo my eyes deceive me,â Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, âor are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?â
You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.
âNo,â you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steveâs mouth to twitch. âCourse not, Harrington.â
âOh? Are we back to Harrington, now?â Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. âWhat did I do? Iâve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.â
It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn.Â
âJust keeping you on your toes,â you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him.Â
Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. âMisson accomplished.â
There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldnât move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.
âMayfield, Iââ
ââSteve!â
It was the voice of his younger cousinsâ, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.
âItâs okay,â you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. âIâll um, Iâll go get another drink while youââ
You gesture towards his younger cousinsâ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steveâs attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldnât deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight.Â
You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousinsâ easily.Â
âHeâs always been great like that with kids.â
The sound of Steveâs Aunt Edithâs voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steveâs beer.
âSorry honey,â she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her.Â
âItâs okay,â you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steveâs parents, Aunt Edith didnât make you feel even remotely nervous. âJust took me by surprise, thatâs all.â
âBecuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?â She offers with a wry smile.
Your face warms but you donât even try to deny it.
âYou know, Iâve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I donât think Iâve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,â she tells you.
You couldnât stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldnât quite put your finger on.
âIâm just saying,â she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, âthat I think, as his favourite auntie, that youâd be pretty grear together.â
You werenât quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.
Edithâs words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldnât lie to yourself, couldnât deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billyâs funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.
âYouâre looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.â
The sound of Steveâs voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.
âJust thinking,â you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. âHereâs another beer, by the way.â
âThank you,â Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. âNeed it after running around with those kids, Iâm too old for this shit.â
You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. âYouâre twenty one, Steve.â
âTwenty one going on seventy.â
You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.
âI know you just got us some drinks,â Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. âBut I really want to dance with my date.â
The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.
âPlus one,â you correct him, biting back a smile.
âSynmatics,â he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. âDance with me, Mayfield.â
There was no other answer but yes.
You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.
âEver thought that youâd be slow dancing with me?â He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away.Â
âNot even in my wildest dreams,â you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. âButâI think today may have helped me change my mind about you.â
âYeah?â He asks with a hopeful smile. âOr maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?â
You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didnât hurt.Â
âSomething like that.â
You and Steve didnât leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didnât leave Steveâs arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their drovesâthe bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.
âYou wanna head back?â Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.
âNot really,â you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. âBut I think weâre about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.â
Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steveâs eyes as he looks back at you.
âCâmon,â he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. âLetâs go for a walk.â
You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steveâs hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.
âI really thought you werenât going to say yes, by the way,â Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. âTo be my plus one, I mean.â
âI owed Max a favour,â you tell him. âBroke her skateboard. By accident.â
âShe mentioned that,â Steve smiles fondly. âI think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.â
You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. âTwenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonightâI have to admit, itâs been pretty good.â
âJust good?â Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile.Â
âNo, much better than pretty good,â you say. âMaybe something closer toâŚpretty incredible.â
âWhat? Me or the wedding?â Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.
âUndecided,â you tell with a whisper of a smile.
Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steveâs eyes remain on you, thought you donât see itâon the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Maxâs skateboard.
âFor the record, Iâm really glad you said yes,â Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.
âMe too,â you admit. âI umâit made me realise how silly I wasâfor um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.â
Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didnât matter but you continued talking before he could do so.
âI think Iâve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I justâIâm her big sister, you know? AndâI get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I justâI struggled to let go of what you said.â
âBecause it was cruel what I said,â Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. âIt was cruel and stupid and Iâm sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.â
âI know andââ
ââand if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand andââ
ââSteve!â
âYeah?â
You smile, shake your head and say, âI donât want to go back to ânormalâ after this.â
âThen what do you want?â He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.
You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, âanother dance?â
Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.
âDid I tell you how beautiful you look?â Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.
âYou did,â you whisper back with a barely contained smile.
âWell, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thoughtâfuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.â
Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.Â
âBecause Iâm annoying?â You offer with a teasing smile.
âNo,â Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. âBecause Iâve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. Thatâs why.â
Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steveâs mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasnât a dreamâthat Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.
And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.
âThen kiss me, before I change my mind.â
Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.
âAs you wish,â he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.
You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.
âFuck,â Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. âYouâre gonna ruin me, Mayfield.â
You donât know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.
âSo much for keeping my hands to myself,â Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and canât help yourselfâyou pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sisterâs skateboard.
A/N: this was written over the course of several days and i lowk forget the beginning. not proofread. love henderson!reader its my fav trope. this is probably shit, like i said, i forget writing most of it
steve harrington, to dustin henderson, was the coolest person ever. even if he didnt admit it, he thought it. it started before steve changed, when dustin still thought he was a douchebag. even when his personality was shit, his vibe wasnt.
y/n henderson was the older sister to the curly haired boy, and he thought she was pretty cool too. he thought it was cool when she played atari with him, or when she stayed up late and they spent all night watching movies and eating snacks. to dustin, his older sister was cool because she treated him like a friend, instead of someone only hanging out with him because of blood relation.
maybe that was his appeal to steve. steve had no real reason to hang out with dustin. he was 18, had his own friends, a job, a huge house that his parents never came home to, and basically everything else you could want. never asking out loud, dustin frequently wondered why steve would spend his saturdays giving dustin rides or letting him come over to talk comic books, when he could be doing literally anything else.
on top of being confused by the platonic love he received, dustin had also never seen a healthy version of romantic love. his father had left when he was young, just old enough to have a few clear memories of late night yelling and truck lights leaving well past bedtime. y/n remembered more, but she never talked about it. at least, not to dustin or their mom.
sometime between the fall of senior year, and the summer after graduating, steve and y/n had started dating. it happened so naturally most people missed it. one day, it seemed like everyone just knew. dustin included.
it took him a while to get used to the idea, lots of threats thrown to his best friend and even a few to his sister. but, he had come to accept it, especially when he saw how happy steve made her. he tried to keep his jealousy contained, and it only sometimes came out. when it did, y/n always assured him that steve still loved him, and steve always affirmed with a special day for just the two of them.
what scared him most, in the beginning, was the lack of knowledge. heâd seen how his parents marriage ended, with loud fights and slamming doors, and his friends parents werent making the best examples either. the wheelers house was always filled with a passive aggressive air that seemed as normal there as muddy shoes kicked off by the front door. spending lots of time there meant a friend was bound to hear an argument or two, but they always felt different from the ones he was used to.
while dustinâs parents yelled and his mom cried, karen shot short remarks to ted, while he monotonously brushed them off and ignored any real issue at hand. he house always felt strangely cold, even with the heating set high.
the byers household was different. dustin never saw the build up, only the aftermath. he saw the bottle of wine left out on the counter, or joyce sitting at the kitchen table and biting her nails while going through the mail. the house was always faintly stale, cigarettes and cool air trailing through. love had failed there too, another broken house with no stable example for marriage or how to be an adult.
lucas sinclairs house was probably the best example of a healthy relationship dustin had seen in real life. two parents, still together, who at least acted like they loved each other most the time. sure, they had their arguments and issues, but they at least gave lucas an alright foundation for how to coexist with someone.
from the very little dustin knew of the mayfield/hargrove household, it was nothing short of horrid and abusive. he never blamed max for going to lucasâ, or even when she would call y/n late at night.
from a very young age, dustin developed a pretty pessimistic view on life. grow up and graduate, get married, have 1-3 kids that you only sorta wanted, then either leave or get left. thats how everyoneâs lives seemed like in hawkins. in some ways, he wanted to change that. wanted to beat the odds and break the mold. but, that required believing in love. and dustin wasnt sure he could ever fully do that.
well, until steve harrington asked his sister out. the first few weeks had been tense, everyone scared of ruining something so sacred. after that, the fear mellowed into something soft, something trusting and easy. love.
he noticed it in ways others might not, because they werent looking, werent waiting for something that could be breaking point. he noticed the small, meaningless details that confirmed to him how well his best friend treated his sister.
the first time he noticed was at the mall.
dustin had needed a present for lucasâ birthday. y/n was already going to pick up steve after his shift at scoops ahoy, so she brought dustin too. steve got out early due to lack of customers, and joined the siblings in gift shopping. while dustin looked through gift options, steve stood off to the side, holding y/n in his arms.
âwe still on for movie night? i rented jaws, and i got those weird taffy things you like. they had blue raspberry, so i got a bunch. i know theyâre always out of them.â steve spoke quietly, hands still on her lower back while they talked.
it was a normal conversation, about premade plans. but, to dustin, it felt revolutionary. he paused while flipping through comics, instead favoring eavesdropping in on the conversation.
âyeah, maybe. i wanna see jaws, but im really tired today. i dont wanna fall asleep halfway through.â y/n said, equally as quiet. and she was tired, nightmares had plagued her night, halting her usual sleep schedule. dustin only knew that because heâd heard her get up around 2, and saw the puffiness of her eyes in the morning.
steve didnt get mad or passive aggressive, he didnt sigh or roll his eyes. instead, he readjusted his gentle grip on her and listened. âeverythingâll still be there tomorrow. you could still come over tonight. or stay home, whichever you want.â he shrugged.
dustin continued to watch, eyebrows knitting together while his sisters head rested on steveâs shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. what scared him most wasnt the closeness or how low steveâs hands held her hips, but rather how sweetly he looked at her, as if heâd be content to do nothing but stand with her for the rest of his life.
â
another time the couple stopped dustin in his tracks was a regular thursday night. dustin had been at the wheelers most the day, and when he came home, the house was quiet. his mom was out with friends, but his sister was supposed to be home. worry started to fill his chest, until he saw light shine from where her bedroom door as cracked open. he peaked inside, only to find her and steve curled up in bed together.
âpick a color.â y/n whispered, laying on her boyfriends chest. on her lap was a magazine, and in her hands a cootie catcher. a dumb, elementary school game being played by two 18 year olds.
the only light in her bedroom was from her lamp, noise coming from a mixtape she frequented. âpurple, cuz its your favorite.â steve said absentmindedly. he didnt have to think about it, it was now a permanent fact in his mind just as 2+2=4.
smiling, she spelt purple out loud while opening and closing the paper in her hands. âpick a number 1-4.â
âhmâŚ3.â
she opened and closed it 3 times, then had him pick another number. he picked 2, and she opened the paper flap. âit says youre gonna marry someone super cool and youâll never go bald.â she grinned up at him, booping his nose.
steveâs grin matched hers, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to her lips. âsounds like a pretty good future to me.â
âdo you find me cool, steven?â she whispered, voice mockingly strict, as if the question were to imply the person steve would someday marry anyone but her.
steve nodded very seriously. âoh, the coolest. weâll buy a pretty house with a big front porch, and weâll have, like, 3 kids and a cat. boom, perfect.â he spoke so certainly it made her heart thump loudly behind her ribcage.
from the doorway, dustin was still watching. something about the conversation was so painfully domestic, even after years of missing children and interdementional beings. it was scary to watch his sister growing up, scared sheâd leave him. but he also knew sheâd never do that, and with steve as a potential future brother and lawâŚit wasnt as scary.
âand youâll never go bald. thank god.â she sighed dramatically, tangling her fingers into the perfectly crafted waves on his head. her hands left his (now messy) hair after a moment and she dropped the cootie catcher on the bed, returning to her cat-like posture against his broad chest. âim glad you find me cool, because i dont think iâd ever want to marry anyone else.â her voice was quiet, drifty in a way that showed how close to sleep she was.
steve petted her hair, free hand resting still on her rising and falling stomach. âsleepy girlâŚkeep thinking those sweet thoughts and youâll have sweet dreams.â he promised, pressing loving kisses to her temples.
y/n frowned tiredly. âis that how dreams work?â her eyes barely cracked open.
steve only shushed her. âdoesnt hurt to try, baby. close those pretty eyes.â he continued to pet her head. once her eyes were closed, he kissed her forehead, holding her while she drifted off.
â
y/n had gotten hurt. nothing serious, thankfully. max had been trying to teach her how to skate, and she fell and broke her ankle. now, her right ankle was wrapped in pink casting. of course, that also meant she couldnt drive, which annoyed dustin when he first learned. but not getting rides meant nothing when he was silently watching his sister and his best friend.
steve had come over after getting the call from max, a long winded, stumbled over explanation that could have been less than 5 minutes. he now stood in front of the hendersons couch, handing his girlfriend a bowl of ice cream heâd brought over. âokay, youve got your favorite sweatshirt, your ice cream, special leg pillow, blanket, and iâve got the VHSâ. do you need anything else?â he asked, grabbing one of the movie cases. âweâve got the exorcist, willy wonka and the chocolate factory, rocky picture horror show, and american graffiti. take your pick, babe.â
dustin was in the kitchen, grabbing another slice of pizza from the box on the counter. he watched silently, not wanting to disturb the moment. he ate his food, watching how steve treated his older sister.
âi feel bubble wrapped.â she mumbled, but took a bite of her favorite ice cream with a content hum. her ankle wasnt even that bad, the doctor said it barely broke and would heal within a few short weeks.
steve picked up the rock picture horror show. ârocky picture it is.â he smiled. once the movie started, he sat next to her on the couch. âdustin, you watching with us?â he directed his voice to the kitchen.
âweâre watching rocky horror!â y/n added as she cuddled into steveâs side. her head laid on his shoulder, and she took another bite of her ice cream before feeding a bite to steve.
the younger boy padded into the room, holding his plate. âthought you didnt want me âintruding on your movie nightsâ with your boyfriend.â dustin said sarcastically. last time steve had been over, dustin had come into the living room and it had pissed y/n off because she hadnât wanted her baby brother intruding on her date night.
âthat was a date night, this isnât.â she rolled her eyes. dustin sat on the chair next to the couch, placing his plate of pizza on his lap. âand, we were watching porkys. im not watchig that with you in the room.â she said bluntly.
dustinâs eyebrows rose. âbut youâll watch rocky horror with me?â
y/n nodded, still eating her ice cream with an affirmative hum. steveâs arm was around her, rubbing her upper arm through his sweatshirt that she was wearing. it was her favorite one, she always claimed it was comfiest. she wore it at least once a week. his affection was casual, something steve did without even thinking about it. it wasnt something he did only because she was hurt, or to seem like a good boyfriend and to show off in hopes of impressing dustin. it was simply simple. y/n was around him, so he showered her with affection.
cuddling further into his shoulder, she glanced up at him through her lashes. âare you staying over tonight?â she whispered, not thinking dustin could hear. but he could. he stayed quiet anyways.
steve nodded. âyeah, âcourse i am. i meanâŚas long as your moms cool with that?â he looked down at her.
the eldest henderson grinned, burying her face into his chest. âyeah, she doesnt care.â
âgood.â he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. his eyes caught dustinâs and he gave him a small smile before focusing on the girl in his arms.
â
unbeknownst to the couple, dustin was once again in their line of vision when he probably shouldnât have been. he was supposed to have been at mikes for another hour at least, but had come home early to beat the rain. the record player in the living room was playing one of the albums y/n had, and the kitchen light was softly glowing overhead.
under the soft glow, he could see tear streaks down his sisters face. faint and damp on her skin. her lips were swollen and her eyes were puffy in the way they always were when she cried, and she was wearing her âsad hoodieâ, which was a hoodie that steve had given her to put on the first time he saw her cry, and ever since then, sheâd worn it when she was sad.
thankfully for y/n, steve was there too. he was wearing sweatpants and a sweater, and his arms were holding her. it only took a second for dustin to realize what they were doingâ dancing. the oven was on, and the smell of cookies lingered, and steve and y/n were dancing. her arms were loosely around his shoulders, and every so often her face would dip to his shoulders with a sniffle.
steve was humming along quietly to the melody of âbeautiful boyâ, the song playing from the player. he tugged her closer, hands gently clasped behind her back while he pressed an easy kiss to the side of her head. â5 more minutes until the cookies are done.â he whispered against her temple, continuing the slow steps that were only sort of âdancing.â a moment later, the two had turned themselves to the angle where steveâs eyes landed on dustin. âoh, hey.â he held y/n tighter to his chest, but her head lifted anyways.
quickly, she wiped her eyes with the cuffed sleeves of her sad hoodie. âhey, dusty. cookies will be ready soon, if you want any.â a forced, small smile traced her lips.
âyou okay..?â he asked slowly. it wasnt usual for his sister to cry, especially not in the kitchen while her and steve made cookies.
steve nodded for her, arms still snug to her waist. ârough day at work. uh, ill let you know when the cookies are ready?â he offered before she could attempt an excuse at why she was crying, for which she was very thankful.
dustin accepted that and went to his room, or so the couple thought. really, he stood where they couldnt really see them, watching the interaction with curious eyes.
âit doesnt matter what your boss said. your boss sucks. all he does is complain, complain, complain. oh, and yell at his employees.â steve said, sighing as he brushed hair from her face. âhe probably just had a shitty day and thought âwow, who better to take it out on than a teenage girl who already had to deal with a rude customer?â because hes a douchebag.â steve said bluntly.
making fun of her boss brought a small smile to her face, but she quickly buried it in steveâs shoulder again. âhes so mean. and he made fun of my shirt today. the one with the blue strips. he said i looked like a little boys wallpaper.â she sniffled.
steve kissed her head again, gently petting the back of her hair. ânext time you should tell him he should get that mole on his face checked out.â he whispered into her hair, grinning when he got a quiet snort in response.
before she could say anything, the timer went off and steve took the cookies out. y/n sat on the counter, watching him transfer them to the cooling sheet. once the cookies were moved, she made grabby hands towards him, pouting until he stood between her legs, resting his hands on her hips. neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and dustin continued to silently watch.
for their entire lives, y/n had never been good with talking about her feelings. to watch her be so open with steve feltâŚforeign. but dustin was glad she had him, even if he was scared they would someday break up or date each other. as scary as it was, he had also never seen his sister happier, and, for that reason alone, steve harrington would always be one of dustinâs favorite people.
Summary: You see Steve Harrington as the conceited golden boy everyone knows him to be, but when you are forced to tutor him, you see a different side of him and start to soften towards him, so much so that you fall for him. But when he has a perfect girlfriend he loves, and friends that see you as a joke, you know that you donât stand a chance.
Content: fluff, angst, slow burn, s1 Steve so heâs a bit of an asshole, mentions of shitty dads, a few uses of y/n, opposites attract, popular boy x nerdy tutor girl (Iâm such a sucker for this trope I had to do it), the timeline for s1 in this fic is a bit inaccurate but letâs go along with it for the plot please. Lmk if I missed any! (Pictures are not intended to reflect the reader)
Word count: 14.4k words
From the moment one of your classmates had asked you to tutor them in your freshman year, you quickly learned that you loved tutoring people.
Perhaps it was because you had always been a helper, and it felt good knowing that people were comfortable enough to come up to you and ask for such help.
But what you really loved about it was the outcome.
When the person you helped came to you afterwards and excitedly told you how they had aced their test, or how they had gotten a good mark on their assignment, it filled you with a quiet sense of pride. Not exactly for yourself, but for them. For their success, for their improvement. And because you had done that, you had helped them get to that success.
So naturally, you signed up to become an official tutor at the Hawkins High School Tutoring Centre.
It became apart of your routine. Staying after school to tutor someone, or having to come to their house to do so. Either way, you never really minded. All that really mattered was that you helped them not to dread class so much anymore, to help them to not have to scratch their head while looking at the work because they just didn't get it.
So of course, now in your sophomore year, you didn't mind when the coordinator of the centre informed you that a new person had been added to your roster. However, you didn't know who this person was because the arrangement had been last minute since the person's original tutor had been unable to do so, so he wasn't officially on your schedule yet. All that you knew was that he was a guy in the year above who had apparently been holding off getting tutored for a long time. This made you assume this guy was going to be a bit hard to work with, but you were always able to manage.
It had been thirty minutes since school ended when you sat in the library, waiting for this person to show up with your stationery already set out on the table. This person was already late, and should have already been at the table with you fifteen minutes ago.
You were thinking about the meatloaf you were going to have for dinner tonight when the doors of the library swung open, abruptly cutting off your thoughts and startling you. You looked up as the librarian glared at the culprit at the door, pressing a pointy finger to her lips.
And the culprit was the last person you expected to walk into a library of all places.
Steve Harrington.
As in Steve "The Hair" Harrington, also known as King Steve.
The kind of person who threw a raging party every Saturday, the kind of person who misbehaved in class because they knew there would be no real consequences, and the kind of person who would only ever be at school after hours for basketball practice.
So why the hell was Steve Harrington in the library of Hawkins High after school hours?
And why was he looking straight at you?
He didn't look happy by any means. He was obviously annoyed by whatever was plaguing him, and you grew nervous as he approached you while still wearing his irritated expression.
He came to a stop in front of your table, and you swallowed anxiously under his intimidating stare, starting to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves as a nervous habit.
"Are you Y/N L/N?" He asked flatly.
You blinked. "Yes. Can I help you?"
"You're supposed to apparently, you're my... tutor," said Steve, his face scrunching up as if the word physically hurt him.
Somehow, you had known from the second he had walked in with that look on his face, yet your stomach still dropped with dread when he said it.
You were happy to tutor anyone, but anyone didn't include Steve Harrington. It was something you had never worried about, because how were you supposed to assume that one day you would have to tutor King Steve out of all people?
You schooled your expression to the best of your abilities, and you recollected yourself as you nodded. "I see. Well... sit down, and we can get started."
You tried to say it kindly, but you immediately regretted doing so when he mumbled something grumpily under his breath as he reluctantly sat on the same table on you, pointedly choosing the seat furthest from you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, and you had a feeling that was an urge you would need to resist often.
You cursed the coordinator of the centre for setting up this arrangement. Clearly, this person didn't know anything about how you and Steve couldn't be any more different, because you truly were polar opposites.
While he played beer pong at house parties, you were studying. While he goofed off in class, you paid attention and completed all of your work. While he was at basketball practice, you were tutoring. While he always had a rowdy table at lunch, you had a quiet and calm one.
There was a spectrum, and you both sat at the opposite ends of it.
You just hoped you could swiftly help Steve pass a test so that it would be over as soon as possible.
***
After just one week, you could tell you were going to be tortured with tutoring Steve Harrington for a while.
To put it nicely, he... lacked concentration, and perhaps lacked a lot more. You really didn't think he was stupid, he just couldn't focus on what he needed to.
Only after two sessions, you had noticed that while you talked, he simply didn't listen and clearly didn't even try to. He always had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking about the party he was throwing that weekend, or what he was having for dinner. Sometimes he was clearly present in the moment, he just still chose not to take in a single word of yours. One time, he started to balance a pencil on his nose while you were explaining the math equation he needed to solve, and it had taken him ten minutes to realise you had stopped talking.
He was already by far the most difficult person you had tutored, and so far, you were lost on how to get through to him.
You didn't even know how or why he was in the tutoring program. He had made it clear since day one that he didn't want to be tutored by you, and he hadn't once shown an ounce of effort in any of your sessions. Maybe he had gotten pressured by his parents, that wasn't an uncommon reason behind kids coming to the tutoring centre. But then you had heard rumours that his parents was always out of town and that's why he was always able to throw parties, so if they were never there, why would they pressure him to do such things?
You didn't know, and you didn't really want to. You had no interest in Steve Harrington's life, no matter how handsome or charming he was. He wasn't all that interesting.
Nevertheless, you were still being forced into his life one way or another, so much so that you ended up with plans to go to his house on Sunday.
It had been during the usual tutoring session tucked away in the corner of the library, you overviewing your notes for your own work while he was supposed to be reading the textbook laid out in front of him. Of course, he was instead staring out of the window longingly, like he wished to be outdoors instead of stuck inside with you.
"Do we always have to do this in the library?" He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
You looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, is it necessary to be in the library for all of this stuff?" He rephrased.
"Well... yeah. A library is the best place to study and get work done," you said, confused on why this wasn't obvious to him.
"Yeah, but... someone could walk in," he said quietly.
Oh, so that's what it was about. He didn't want someone to walk in and see him actually studying, something that was considered weird and nerdy for people like him. Or more specifically, he didn't want to be seen with you.
You sighed, and propped your chin on the palm of your hand. "Then where do you suggest we go if not a library?"
"I don't know, just like... not at school," said Steve, avoiding your gaze.
"Well, you could come to my house or I could come to yours. I've done that with other people when they weren't able to study at school either," you said.
He blinked. "You want me to come to your house?"
"Yeah, so I can tutor you. If that doesn't work, then we can go the public library or-"
"No, just..." he trailed off, seeming to consider it before sighing, running a hand through his hair that you couldn't help but look at. "My parents are out of town this weekend. You can come over on Sunday if you really want."
You were secretly glad he suggested his house. You didn't want Steve coming over and judging your house that was very much not a mansion like his probably was.
"Sounds like a plan," you said dryly. "What time do you want me to come over?"
"I don't know like... two o'clock?" Said Steve.
"Works for me," you said unenthusiastically, and he seemed just as eager as you were as he ripped some paper from his notebook and wrote his address on it, giving it to you.
"Don't take this the wrong way but can you please not tell anyone about this?" Steve asked.
You didn't resist this time, and let yourself freely roll your eyes. "Don't worry, I don't want anyone knowing about this either Harrington."
His eyes flashed with surprise, and you tried not to feel too satisfied as you had clearly startled him with that.
The rest of the week passed quicker than you would've liked it to, and before you knew it, you were climbing onto your bicycle with your bag on your back and his address in your hand. It was a longer ride than you had anticipated, and you soon realised why your houses were so far away from each others as you entered his neighbourhood, which was lined with rich houses and fancy cars in driveways, a stark contrast to your neighbourhood that was filled with actual life instead of excessively big, soulless properties.
You finally pulled up to Steve's house, and suddenly the nerves inside you increased tenfold. You certainly didn't want to be alone with Steve Harrington in his house that was go-to place for high school parties you were never invited to. But you were a tutor, this was your job, so you had to pull through. You were determined to get Steve to at least pass one of his subjects.
You took a deep breath before you approached the house and knocked on the door. You stood there for a few minutes with no answer, so you knocked again, and only a minute after that, the door swung open.
Steve looked like he had just rolled out of bed with rumpled clothes and hair that was tousled, out of its usual polished state, a sight that felt a bit shocking to see as he was well known for his perfect hair.
He blinked as if he was surprised to see you, and then he said, "I forgot you were coming."
Despite your nerves, you were able to remain cool and unbothered on the outside as you shot him a deadpanned look, sarcastically replying, "flattering."
He sighed. "I didn't mean it like that, I just- sorry, I know you've come all this way, but I can't do the whole tutoring thing today. I've got a killer headache, so I'm in not in a good state to study."
You actually did believe that he had a headache, but you had a feeling he was leaving out some details.
"Are you hungover?"
A pause.
"No," Steve scoffed.
But his hesitation had already answered your question.
"Have you made a hangover smoothie?"
He frowned. "Hangover smoothie?"
"You don't do that sort of stuff? My sister always did when she was in high school," you said. "Do you have a blender?"
"I... don't think so?"
"God, for someone who always goes to parties, you don't seem well equipped for your hangovers," you said quietly, but he heard it all the same, and he looked at you incredulously.
"I can't study," Steve repeated firmly, probably a way of trying to get you to leave.
But you only tilted your head. "I think you can."
"What?"
"Just drink lots of water, and we can get started," you said with a sweet smile.
"This is ridiculous, you can't-"
"But I can, because I'm your tutor, and you can be as difficult as you want, but I'm not giving up on you. So, are you going to let me in, or should I tutor you at school this week?" You asked.
Steve stared at you in bewilderment, like he couldn't even fathom the fact that someone was saying no to him, that someone was going against what he wanted.
He seemed to realise that you weren't going away anytime soon, so he widened the door, and you smiled with satisfaction as you stepped into the threshold, shoulder brushing against his as you walked further into his house.
Your confidence diminished as you followed Steve into his fancy kitchen, awkwardly standing in silence while he had a water in a glass that had probably been expensive, like most items likely were in the house by how everything looked, but you tried not to pay too much attention to it all.
He then led upstairs to his bedroom, and you tried not to show your surprise at the size of it, at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the shiny basketball trophies that lined the shelves, and the ensuite connected to the room.
It reminded you of how much of a typical jock he was, and how you were supposed to tutor this certain jock.
"Get started with it then," said Steve unenthusiastically, flopping onto his bed. When he noticed you weren't moving, he said, "you can sit down, y'know."
You cleared your throat awkwardly before sitting on the edge of his bed that you noticed immediately was very soft. Still, you didn't let yourself get too comfortable as you shifted your bag to your lap, undoing the zip and starting to unload your stuff.
Soon enough, there were books and pens scattered on the bed, both of you sitting opposite each other. He at least had a notebook opened in front of him with pen in his hand, but that was where it ended, while you explained the key points of the Civil Rights Movement for his history class.
"Are you hungry?" He interrupted you to ask. "I am."
You gave him a confused look. "Um... I guess I could eat, why?"
"I'll go get a snack!" He said eagerly, jumping up from the bed, "do you like potato chips?"
"Yeah...?"
"Great, I'll be back," said Steve, bounding out of the room, leaving you confused by his sudden hospitality.
When he was gone for longer than necessary just to get chips, you realised he was just making an excuse to not do his work, and it made your irritation grow. You needed to come up with a new strategy to get the information for the work through his head.
He eventually came back with a bag of chips that he sat between you so that you could share, but he still ate most of them as you focused on trying to make him learn. It became even more annoying to do so when he kept crinkling the bag obnoxiously and chewing excessively, all while sat in a stupid position on his side while leaning on his elbow.
And then you got an idea.
Just as he reached out for more chips, you snatched the bag out of his reach and placed it next to you.
Steve looked at you, clearly affronted. "You didn't have to take the whole thing if you wanted some."
"I made some flash cards for you," you said, ignoring what he said.
"Oh, great," he said sarcastically.
You shot him a look as you reached into your bag to pull out the pile of flashcards stuck together with a paper clip.
"Here's how we'll do this. For every answer you get right, you get a chip," you told him. "If you get it wrong, well, you just won't get anything."
He narrowed his eyes. "That's just stupid. I could easily get those back."
"Okay, then go ahead."
He held your challenging gaze before moving abruptly to try and startle you, reaching for the bag. But you were faster, taking the bag before he could touch it and placing it on your other side.
His mouth parted. "That was good luck."
"Just answer the flash cards Harrington, and you can get as many as you want," you said. "Only if you get them right though."
Steve groaned, running his hands over his face before he said, "fine, then shoot."
You smiled, pleased, and read out the first flash card. "What does the atomic number of an atom tell you?"
Steve was silent for a moment. "Uh, say that again?"
You repeated it, then he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.
"I thought we were doing history," he said accusingly.
"We were, but now we're doing science. I guess I didn't think you'd realise since you don't listen to anything I say," you said coolly.
Steve raised his eyebrows, and got off his elbows, sitting up. "Alright, so we're not holding back today."
"Why would I? I'm serious about tutoring you, Steve," you said while looking into his eyes, saying his first name for the first time without realising it. A smirk then tugged at his lips, and he subtly grew more confident.
"Atomic number... um... it tells you how heavy the atom is, or something?" He guessed.
"Incorrect," you said flatly, "but at least you tried. The atomic number of an atom tells you how many protons there are in the nucleus."
Steve frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"The nucleus of an atom is the centre of the atom, and it consists of the protons and neutrons," you explained, and at his lost expression, you added, "I can draw you a diagram-"
"No, just... next question," said Steve with a slight grimace.
You obliged, and went to the next card. "How many electrons are found in the first, second and third shells of an atom?"
"Jesus Christ," Steve murmured, rubbing his temple.
Feeling a stab of sympathy for him, you said softly, "want a hint?"
"Obviously."
"There are two found in the first shell, and the second and third are the same," you told him. "Well, it depends on which rule you're using, but we'll just use one for this one."
"I don't know, okay?" Steve snapped, still rubbing his temple. "We both know I don't know shit."
You deflated at his outburst, and you bit your lip, reading over the flash cards.
"Let's try this one, it's easy," you said gently. "What is the central part of an atom?"
Steve shot you a glare. "I don't-"
"I just said it," you told him encouragingly, "when I was explaining the answer to the first question. Think back on what I said."
Steve furrowed his eyebrows, "I..."
"I offered to draw a diagram of it."
You waited patiently as Steve went into deep thought, and then he blurted out, "the nucleus!"
You grinned. "Yes! That's right?"
Steve's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really! Good job, Harrington, I knew you had it in you," you said happily.
"Thanks. Now, can I have my chips back?â
"Oh, right," you handed the packet back to Steve, and he took it back eagerly, digging into the bag enthusiastically. You snorted, and he sent you a sharp look with no real bite.
"You haven't had any yet, have some," Steve offered, holding it out.
"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely.
"You said you could eat, so eat," Steve insisted, and you let out a little laugh before giving in and taking one.
"You know, it's not that you don't know shit, it's that you don't pay attention," you said. "If you just simply did that, you would know much more."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell me more about it later," said Steve, bored by school talk. "What's your favourite chip flavour?"
To your own surprise, you went along with the change of topic. "Salt and vinegar."
His face scrunched up in disgust. "Are you serious?"
"What's wrong with salt and vinegar?" You said defensively.
"Everything. It makes my tongue feel weird, and I hate the smell," said Steve. "It's disgusting."
"No it's not! What's your favourite then if you're such an expert?" You inquired.
"Chicken's good."
It was your turn to grimace. "Yeah, you're the last person who should be judging my favourite flavour."
Steve's jaw dropped. "You don't like chicken?"
"It's got a weird smell to it," you said.
"Salt and vinegar is the one with a weird smell!" Steve said furiously, and instead of snapping back at him, you couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Surprise flickered across his face at your laughter, before he was unable to stop himself from laughing with you. It felt so out of the ordinary to be genuinely laughing with Steve Harrington on a Sunday, a moment that you felt like you shouldn't have belonged in.
And when the ring of the telephone on his bedside table cut through the sound of your combined laughter, the moment vanished, and you no longer belonged.
"I'll get that," said Steve, sobering and jumping off the bed to reach the phone, taking it off the stand and holding it to his ear.
The awkwardness crept back into you as you sat in silence, trying to mind your own business as you looked down at the books set out in front of you. Still, you couldn't help but pay attention to Steve's conversation.
"Oh, hey Nance!" He said eagerly, and you blinked at the change in his voice. "Mhm... yeah, of course, I would love to. How could I ever say no?" He laughed then, and you could hear the muffled voice on the other end. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. See you then."
You were picking at the skin on your fingers by the time he put the phone back down on the stand, and you reluctantly looked up as he turned to you.
"Hey, so uh-"
"You have plans with your girlfriend?" You said it before he could, raising your eyebrows.
"Well... yeah," said Steve sheepishly. "So unfortunately, we're going to have to cut this short."
"I don't think you find that unfortunate," you said knowingly, getting off the bed and starting to gather your stuff.
"Yeah, I don't," he admitted shamelessly. "No one does homework on a Sunday anyway."
"People with good grades do," you said pointedly, and Steve's eyebrows furrowed at the jab. Yes, it was a little harsh, but you had realised by now that you needed to be harsh if you wanted to get your point across. You straightened up, looking him in the eyes. "Harrington, you can't cut a tutoring session short just because your girlfriend wants to hang out with you."
Annoyance spread across his face. "Why not?"
"Because that's not how it works," you said snappishly, getting irritated with his obliviousness. "We were finally getting somewhere, and then you just ditched it with no second thought. You signed up for this, so you need to pull your head out of your ass and go through with it."
Steve scowled. "For the record, I didn't sign up for this, my dad did, so you should know I'm not doing this willingly. Even if I was, I'm not going to ditch my girlfriend to be tutored by another girl in my own house."
"Doesn't she know you're getting tutored?"
"No, no one does!" He blurted out, and you blinked. "The whole thing's pointless. Seriously, you really don't need to do this. You know my girlfriend is really smart? She can just tutor me instead, and she's happy to do so."
"Maybe you should've told your dad that before he signed you up," you said coldly.
"You don't think I- you know what, it's none of your business. You should just give it up, because you should know by now that this isn't going anywhere," said Steve heatedly, and you clenched your fists, biting your tongue so that you wouldn't say something you'd regret.
You packed the rest of your stuff and zipped your bag with an angry sigh. You hoisted your bag onto your back and went for the door, desperate to get out of the house.
But then you paused by the door, gripping the doorframe tightly as you looked at Steve who was glaring at the ground.
"You don't understand that I'm not giving up, Harrington. This might be an arrangement neither of us like, but I'm going to help you no matter what, because that's what I do. You shouldn't doubt yourself so much," your voice became quieter the more you spoke, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
You turned before you could see him look at you, and you hastily left the house.
***
The next tutoring session in the library was awkward and mostly silent. You had tried to explain the work to him for the first fifteen minutes, but when you realised he was never going to listen, you stopped talking and looked at your notes instead. You gave him a textbook that you told him to read even as that was something the both of you knew he wasn't going to do. You spent the whole session trying to think of what to do about him, how you could get him to just listen to you.
It was at the end when he broke the silence.
"About the other day..." he started, and you looked at him too quickly, with too much hope. "I just... you know who my girlfriend is, right?"
Oh, so it was just about his girlfriend instead of an apology. You didn't know why you were expecting more.
But of course you knew his girlfriend. Nancy Wheeler, a pretty, smart girl who nearly beat your top grade in the class, and sometimes did when you lagged behind on work due to tutoring. She was quiet but kind, and never did a thing wrong it seemed. You weren't friends with her, but you liked her with the exception of the times she got a higher mark than you, and jealousy would flare up inside you without being able to help it.
You didn't know how someone like her was able to put up with Steve.
"Yeah. She's really nice," you replied.
Steve smiled, a soft look in his eyes you had never seen before. "Yeah, I know."
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
"I just want to ask you to not tell her about this... whole tutoring thing. Or anyone, for that matter. I don't want her to know because it's a bad look for me to be spending so much time with another girl," he explained.
"But I'm just tutoring you," you said with confusion.
"Yeah, but still," Steve shrugged.
You didn't hold back from rolling your eyes this time.
"And I don't want anyone knowing I'm getting tutored either. They might think I'm a nerd," said Steve, and then gave you an apologetic look. "No offence."
"None taken," you said sarcastically.
"Anyway, is that all okay?" He asked.
You sighed. "Yes, it is. I haven't told anyone anyway, and I don't plan to. My goal is just to get you to pass one test, and then you can be free."
"One test?" He repeated.
"Yes."
"It doesn't have to be an A or anything?"
"No, just a pass, even if barely," you said.
Steve nodded like he was accepting a challenge, leaning back in his seat. "Deal."
You hated how a small smile twitched at your lips. "Deal."
That next Sunday, Steve came over to your house instead. Leading up to it, you had been a nervous wreck.
People came over to your house all the time for tutoring, it had become normal for you, and you never minded it. But it was different with Steve, because he was different from all of the other people you had tutored. You had seen his big house, you knew he was rich just by looking into his driveway, so he was more likely to judge.
It wasn't that you were poor. You and your family were comfortable, but not rich, and you had a feeling Steve had only ever been around rich. You were the type of person who still only had a bike because you were saving up for a car, while he was the type to have his car bought for him.
You also just had wildly different interests, so yeah, you were pretty fucking scared.
You sat in your kitchen while your mum moved around you, biting your nails while you waited for Steve to come. You had deep cleaned your bedroom, and cleaned other parts of the house just to be safe.
You hated how much Steve Harrington was stressing you out.
"I think your new student is here," your mum said, looking through the window.
You jumped up at once, and joined her by the window, spotting Steve's burgundy BMW parked outside of your house.
Your mum raised her eyebrows. "He must be borrowing his dad's car.â
"No, that's his car," you said weakly.
She blinked. "Oh, wow. Okay."
You watched Steve get out of the car, subconsciously observing the navy jacket he was wearing over a polo shirt, along with his famous jeans that always fit him just right.
You blinked, startled by your own thoughts, and distracted yourself by heading for the door to greet Steve.
"Don't be weird!" You called out to your mum.
"I'm never weird!" She called back. That was a lie.
You opened the front door before Steve even reached it, and you internally winced at your eagerness.
He seemed to notice it by the slight raise of his eyebrows, but thankfully, he didn't say anything.
"Hey," he said casually as he approached you.
"Hi," you said blandly.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you were about to ask him what was funny until he spoke. "You know, you always speak in this tone."
You frowned. "Tone? What tone?"
"Like, this flat tone, and you're blunt too," he explained. At your skeptical look, he rushed to say, "not in a bad way, it doesn't have to be bad. Except for when you're like, insulting me."
"I don't insult you."
"You literally did this time last week."
"Just because someone's saying the truth, doesn't mean it's an insult Harrington," you said sweetly.
He clicked and pointed at you. "See? That's it, right there!"
"That wasn't an insult."
"No, but it was blunt."
You rolled your eyes, albeit a smile tugged at your lips against your will.
"Just come in, we've got work to do," you said, widening the door and stepping aside for him to come through.
"Yes ma'am," said Steve, stepping into the threshold, and you failed to keep your smile from widening.
Your smile dropped when you were reminded of your fears as you noticed him looking around your home, and you started to pick at your fingers.
"My bedroom's just upstairs," you said quietly, about to lead him to your room until your mum appeared with a wide smile.
"Hello! You must be Steve!" Your mum greeted brightly. She introduced herself by her first name, and you wanted to sink into a hole.
"Nice to meet you," said Steve politely, seeming taken aback from your mum's energy. But there was nothing judgemental on his face, just... surprise.
"I don't know how long you plan to stay over for, but no matter the time, if you want a drink or some food, feel free to come down and ask! Or just get some yourself, she can show you," your mum said kindly, referring to you. "If she lets you out of the room, that is..."
"Mum," you warned.
"I'm just playing around honey! She's just a strict tutor, she's determined," your mum told Steve.
"He knows, mum. I've been tutoring him for a few weeks," you said with annoyance. At least, you had been trying to. "We're going up to my room now."
"Okay. Good luck, Steve!" Your mum said playfully to Steve, and you groaned as you urged him along while he laughed, seeming heavily amused by your mum.
"I'm sorry," you said once you were out of earshot. "I told her not to be weird, and I guess she heard a completely different thing."
"She's not weird," Steve smiled. "She's... really nice."
He wore a strange expression when he said it, one you couldn't read, so you just looked away and dismissed it.
You swallowed nervously as you entered your room, Steve stepping in behind you, and you rushed over to set up the stationery on the floor, as if starting as soon as possible would give him less time to look at your room.
You called him down to sit, and your face felt hot as he sat down without saying anything, glancing at your posters with an unreadable expression.
Your focus was on English today where Steve had to write an essay. You didn't think it was particularly hard, but that was always different for Steve. So you went into it thinking that he would be ignorant to it as always, that he would just get distracted by something stupid again.
But he proved you wrong.
Because when you looked at him, his eyes were already on you, and they weren't glazed over with the other thoughts he usually had running through his mind. He seemed... focused, and it startled you. Especially so when he asked a question about the topic.
So you let him write the introduction of the essay himself, sitting in silence as he wrote. Both of you had your backs pressed up against your bed, the supplies laid out in front of you while you sat a respectful distance from each other.
You tried to mind your own business, but then you couldn't help but stare at him while he wrote something that you'd probably have to give some constructive criticism on. Either way, it felt oddly personal to see him like that. King Steve sitting in your bedroom, writing an essay after apparently listening to the tips and information you gave.
You noticed how his eyes slightly narrowed while he wrote, his tongue sticking out slightly while he concentrated. The small vulnerability was definitely strange to witness, but... nice to see.
You snapped out of your daze, and looked away from him.
You spent the next whole hour working on the essay. There were many scrunched up balls of papers by the end of the hour, all that had come from a frustrated Steve every time he made a mistake. You had to gently remind him that it wasn't his final copy, that these were only his drafts.
He ended up with an introduction he was somewhat satisfied with, and a written starting sentence for the next paragraph.
You never thought you'd say it, but you were actually proud of him. Proud of him for finally putting in the effort, for swallowing his pride and taking your advice.
Your mum came at the perfect time with a plate of chocolate chip cookies just as you had decided to give Steve a break. They were leftovers from the batch she had made only a few days ago, and while Steve had been politely thankful, you could see the delight in his eyes.
After your mum left, he took his first bite of the cookie, and stopped masking his joy.
"I love your mum," he said blissfully, throwing his head back as he savoured the cookie.
"Don't go throwing that sentence around please," you said with a small grimace.
"But I do! I swear, these are heavenly," he said solemnly, holding up the cookie like it was a trophy. "This is exactly what I needed after the worst hour of my life."
You snorted. "Uh oh, Steve Harrington's actually done schoolwork and now he's dying."
"I am," he said seriously, and you laughed, making him grin.
You fell into a relaxed silence as you grabbed a cookie for yourself, and it felt strange to feel so comfortable around Steve, to just eat cookies with him in silence like you were friends who did this all the time.
After a few minutes, Steve interrupted the silence as he nodded towards something on the wall, asking, "do you have siblings?"
You followed his gaze to the photos of you and your family hung up on your wall, one of which included a younger you surrounded by older kids that were in fact your siblings.
"Yeah, quite a few actually," you answered. "But they're all either moved out or at college right now, so I'm basically an only child at the moment."
"So... you're the youngest?" Steve inquired, and you weren't expecting the genuine curiosity in his voice.
"That I am," you said with a bashful smile.
Steve hummed as he stared thoughtfully at the picture of you and your siblings.
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have siblings," Steve said like it had been a thought in his head more than something he'd meant to say out loud, and that seemed to be the case by the way his face fell after he realised what he had said.
But you didn't pay any mind to it, continuing the conversation normally, "it's loud when the house is full. It can also be really annoying when I want some quiet privacy, because that always get disrupted. Well, I guess I get time to myself all the time now, but that's going to change when they come back for the holidays."
You hadn't meant to ramble, and heat rushed to your cheeks once you realised, but Steve
showed anything but judgement. If anything, he seemed invested in your words, a faraway look in his eyes like he was imagining the scene for himself.
"Sounds nice," he said so quietly you almost didn't catch it, and you decided not to let him know that you had heard it, because you somehow knew those words had only been for himself. He cleared his throat, seeming to recollect himself as his voice returned to its usual confident, slightly cocky state. "So, do you plan to go to college like them? Your siblings?"
"Yeah, I'm actually really excited to. It'll be nice to get out of Hawkins," you said with a smile, "what about you?"
Steve shrugged. "I guess. My dad wants me to. But anyway, I probably can't get in with the way I'm going," he gestured to his incomplete essay.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you really do have it in you, Harrington? And either way, it's up to you whether you want to go to college or not. Don't let your dad decide for you," you said lightly, popping a small piece of a cookie into your mouth.
Steve blinked, and something vulnerable flickered in his expression for a few seconds before it smoothed over, his walls coming back up.
He seemed to be in a rush to lighten the unspoken weight that now hung in the air, so in his haste, he grabbed another cookie and took a reckless bite of it, spilling crumbs onto your carpeted floor.
"Stop it, you're getting crumbs on my carpet!" You complained, grimacing as you picked the crumbs out of your carpet and sprinkled them back onto the plate.
When Steve let out a laugh, your expression soured and you decided to take a different approach, gathering more crumbs in between your fingers before throwing them at him.
He let out a sound of disbelief as he held his hand up to shield himself, and he narrowed his eyes at you before he picked some of the crumbs out himself and threw them at you.
"You jerk!" You laughed, swatting his arm before the two of you fought over the last few pieces of crumbs in the floor to toss at each other.
You both ended up in a fit of laughter that made your stomachs hurt from the sheer absurdity of it, and that was what you counted as the first successful tutoring session.
***
The tutoring sessions with Steve changed after that day. Instead of it being something in your schedule you dreaded, it became something you actually looked forward to, because the times with Steve became enjoyable.
You both came to an agreement of doing tutoring twice a week, since you had other people to tutor and he had basketball practice. Wednesdays at his house, Sundays at yours.
You grew to favour Wednesdays and Sundays.
What it was, was that he was finally listening to you, and he was finally getting schoolwork done. There were many things about the work from each subject that you always had to explain to him multiple times so that he would understand, but you never lost your patience. He seemed surprised by this every time, looking at you like he was waiting for you to get angry after sheepishly asking for another explanation.
But you never did. You never saw any reason to.
It was not only that he was finally getting assignments done, but there had also been a shift in the dynamic between you. At the beginning, it had all been awkward silences and irritated glares, until you started to talk instead of letting the silences settle, until you laughed instead of throwing annoyed words and looks at each other, and the glares became playful instead of real. It began to feel less like a chore, and more like a fun hangout.
You considered Steve Harrington as a friend now, which felt ridiculous while simultaneously feeling right, because why wouldn't he be your friend? Sure, he didn't acknowledge you at school, and sometimes he talked about his girlfriend too much when he should've been studying, but he was kind. He was extremely nice to your parents, he complimented your home in a way that you knew he meant it, and he was always offering you food and drinks whenever you went to his house, or bringing them over whenever he came to yours.
You had even grown to like him so much that you started making hangover smoothies for him every Sunday when he came to your house, because he was pretty much always hungover on Sundays. You told yourself that you did it because you wanted him feeling well enough to be tutored, but deep down, you knew it was more than that.
Sure, he had his flaws, but Steve wasn't nearly as bad as you had initially thought him to be. Because you had seen a different side of him, a softer and more vulnerable side he never showed in public, in front of his popular friends and the girls that fluttered their eyelashes at him despite knowing he was taken. You wondered if he even showed that side to Nancy Wheeler.
It had especially shone through on one Wednesday when he came to your house instead of his. He had called you immediately after school to beg you to not come to his house, to have him come to yours instead just for that week. He hadn't told you why, but you had said yes anyway, because all you needed to hear was the urgency in his voice to know that it was important.
You hadn't asked when he arrived, even when he looked down more than usual. You still didn't ask when he wasn't nearly as talkative as he usually was, almost silent the whole time as you talked him through the history paper he had to write.
You were forced to finally do something about it when you noticed him doing nothing after you left him to do it on his own, his eyes glued to the paper with a distant look in his eyes, mindlessly tapping his pencil on his knee. It was easy to see as you were working in your living room, sat at either ends of the couch. You didn't want to push him as he clearly wasn't in a good mood, but unfortunately, giving him a push was what you were there to do.
"Steve," you said softly, bringing him back to the moment and capturing his attention. "Are you struggling to start the next sentence?"
He blinked. "Huh?â
"On the paper," you said, nodding towards it.
"Oh," he said, looking at it like that was the first time he had noticed it there. "Um... no. Just thinking."
"You've been thinking for a long time," you pointed out gently, and you swallowed when he fixed his hard gaze on you. "I just- if you need me to go through it again, you know not to be afraid to ask me-"
"For god's sake, I already know I'm stupid so can you just leave it alone for a second?" Steve snapped, and you jerked back a little, taken by surprise. "I don't need you talking to me like I'm some slow kid."
"I wasn't-"
"You were. You always do!" Steve said out of frustration, running a hand through his hair.
You stared at him for a moment, processing his words before you leaned back into your spot on the couch, accepting defeat.
"Work at your own pace then, Steve," you said flatly, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you shifted your body away from him, focusing on your own notes.
You didn't look at him for a few minutes, but the tension in the air was palpable as you felt Steve's gaze burn holes into you. He said your name after at least ten minutes had passed, and you looked at him to find his guilty expression.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking at the ground. "You're not doing anything wrong, I'm just an asshole. I don't even know why I'm acting like one when I literally wanted to come here."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The last place I wanted to be at was my house tonight, and for some reason, your place was the first thing that came to mind for an alternative," Steve admitted softly, and your heart skipped a beat. "I was so relieved when you said yes to me coming here instead."
The admission slammed into your chest, and it made your breath catch. Your house had been the first place he had thought of for an escape? Not Tommy Hagan's house? Not even Nancy Wheeler's?
Steve blinked as if snapping out of it, and frantically said, "sorry, that was a weird thing to say. I don't know why I- just forget that ever came out of my mouth."
"Don't be sorry. I think it's nice," you said softly, turning your body back to him as he looked at you curiously, "that you thought of my house as a better place to be. I didn't realise you liked it that much."
"How could I not? It's the place that holds the outcomes of your mum's glorious baking," Steve joked, and you laughed quietly, shaking your head at him. Steve smiled, but his face quickly sobered as he looked at you questioningly. "By the way, you haven't asked me anything."
"About what?"
"About what happened at my house, why I prefer to be here," said Steve bluntly.
You shrugged. "Not my business, is it? It's up to you if we talk about it."
Steve seemed taken aback by that, and you didn't know why he did. Was he used to people prying in his personal business that clearly upset him?
"But... don't you want to know?" Steve pushed.
"I guess I'm a bit curious, but I'm not going to force you to say anything," you said as if it were obvious.
Steve opened his mouth just to close it again, and narrowed his eyes. "You're weird."
You arched an eyebrow. "Or I'm just not nosy."
"Or that," Steve agreed in defeat, and you huffed out a laugh. You didn't expect anything more from him, but when he started talking again in a weaker tone, you listened. "My dad's just an asshole, and... is it really bad to say that I prefer my parents being away on a work trip to them being home?"
You didn't respond momentarily, staring ahead thoughtfully before you softly spoke. "I think you're allowed to feel however you want to, and you shouldn't be so quick to invalidate yourself."
You looked at Steve to find him staring at his lap with his eyebrows knitted together into a small frown, picking at his fingernails as he went into deep thought, probably taking in your words.
Neither of you mentioned it again after that. His asshole of a dad and his unstable home, that was. Every time his parents were home on a Wednesday, you always changed the plans around for him to come to your place instead. You never made a big deal out of it, never talked about the reason why, because you never felt it was necessary to make Steve explain himself more than he had to. It was something Steve appreciated more than you could realise.
It was a Friday night when your parents were in need of some last minute groceries. Your dad had been about to go get them himself before you had offered to get them instead. Your parents had both just come home from a whole day of working, and it had worn them down enough to the point you could see the exhaustion on their faces, so you had been generous enough to take a small weight off their shoulders. They had been hesitant to let you with the recent disappearance of a young boy named Will Byers, but they had been too tired to argue with you, so they let you go with minimal argument.
You weren't old enough to drive on your own yet, so you took your bicycle as you always did with a flashlight. The grocery store wasn't far away anyway.
You quickly popped in and out, getting what you needed with the cash your parents had given you. You took your bicycle out of park and struggled to juggle the full grocery bag in your hands while trying to get onto your bike safely, only having the fluorescent lights of the store behind you to help.
You heard a car pulling up to the curb in front of you, and didn't look up as you thought nothing of it, thinking it was just someone else coming to the grocery store until they suddenly honked. You jumped in surprise, almost dropping the bags as you looked up.
The headlights of the car blinded your vision for a moment, and you blinked rapidly as you squinted to see who was sitting in the drivers seat of the car. When you realised who it was, bewilderment washed over you.
The window rolled down, and Steve tilted his head to meet your gaze from the drivers seat. "What are you doing?"
You blinked, and shot him a look of disbelief. "What am I doing? What are you doing, honking at me like some idiot?"
"That's not very nice."
"Am I usually nice, Harrington?"
Steve snorted. "No. But seriously, what are you doing?â
"What does it look like? You do know what groceries are, right?" You asked sassily.
"I know that! But why are you... you're trying to get onto that bike while you're holding a bag that looks very full."
"Yes?" You said, confused on why he was pointing out the obvious.
Steve returned your confused look. "Didn't you bring your car?"
You gave him a deadpanned expression. "I don't have a car."
Steve didn't react for a moment as he comprehended what you had just said, and then his eyes widened. "You- you don't have a car?"
You looked at him with irritation. Of course a rich boy like him couldn't believe such a thing. "No, because not all of us are rich like you, Harrington."
Steve blinked, eyes flitting from you to your bicycle as he slowly seemed to understand. "Right... but you couldn't even bring your parents' car?"
"I can't drive yet. I'm a year younger than you, remember?"
"Then why-"
"Can you stop interrogating me and just get to the point of why you're here right now? Or have you just come to make fun of me for not having fancy transportation like you?" You snapped more harshly than you meant it, and a tense silence followed your outburst, making embarrassment flood through you.
"I didn't come to make fun of you," said Steve quietly. "I was going to ask if you wanted a ride back home."
Your face changed, not expecting that. "Oh."
"Yeah, um... well, do you? Want that ride?" Steve asked.
"Is it still up for grabs after I just bit your head off?" You said sheepishly.
Steve let out a laugh, and answered your question wordlessly as he got out his side of the car and walked around the BMW to approach you. He stopped in front of you, looking into your eyes for a second before he took your bike out of your hands.
"You're not about to throw my precious bike to the side of the road, right?" You asked, half joking.
He snorted. "No, I'm putting it in the trunk. You can get in the passenger seat, Iâll be there in a second, I just gotta put the seats down first."
You were about to speak up to say that he didn't have to go through so much trouble and that you could really just pedal your way home, but he was too swift in his movements as he opened the car door, leaning in to adjust the backseats of his car.
You tentatively got into the passenger seat, balancing the grocery bag in your lap. You glanced at Steve through the rearview mirror, and felt a weird fluttery sensation in your chest.
You stared ahead with a warm face as you listened to Steveâs movement before you could hear the sounds of him handling your bike. You looked over your shoulder this time, and watched the way he put in extra effort to make sure your bike was in a safe position before he closed the trunk. You turned back to the front, the fluttering in your chest intensifying as your cheeks started to burn. God, why were your cheeks burning?
You didn't move as Steve got back into the car and started up the engine again. After a moment of silence, he said, "you can put your seatbelt on, y'know."
"Right! Sorry," you said, your cheeks burning even hotter as you scrambled to put your seatbelt on.
Steve pulled out of park after putting his own seatbelt on, and you deliberately kept your gaze on the window while keeping a tight grip on the bag in your lap.
"You also don't have to keep that bag on your lap. You can put it on the ground," Steve added.
You might as well have been on fire at that point. You carefully placed the bag on the ground, avoiding his gaze. "Sorry, it's just... a nice car. Don't want to ruin it."
"Groceries won't ruin the car," Steve chuckled, and you smiled sheepishly. In your defence, it was a really nice car. "So, why were you on your own? Getting groceries, I know, but your parents didn't want to come?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.
"They were going to get groceries, but I decided to do it to let them rest. They're tired from working all week, so I just wanted to give them a little break," you explained bashfully.
Steve hummed. "That's really nice of you."
"Unheard of, right?" You joked.
"Not really," said Steve so quietly you were sure you imagined it, glancing at him to find that infuriatingly unreadable expression on his face again. "Still dangerous to be going out by yourself at night, though. Especially since that kid's just gone missing."
You did a double take, unsure if you had heard him right the first time. His tone was casual as he said it, but his jaw was tight. He surely didn't care, did he?
"Well, that kid was eleven, and I'm sixteen. I'm capable," you replied.
"Sixteen's not that much older."
"Oh come on, don't act all high and mighty just because you're a year older."
"I'm not. I'm just saying you need to be more careful because I- you don't want something bad to happen you," his voice grew quieter with each word, barely inaudible at the end of his sentence, but you were still able to catch what he said.
You shot him a confused look. He was acting weird tonight, you thought. There was that softer side of him showing that he never displayed in public, but it wasn't that. There was something about his energy that lacked its usual spirit, something dejected. Had it been his parents again, you wondered? You certainly weren't going to ask, though.
The rest of the drive to your home was silent and quick. The grocery store was only a short way from your house anyway.
When you arrived, Steve got out of the car with you to take your bike out of the trunk, being kind enough to park your bike where you directed him as you held the grocery bag.
"Thank you, Steve. For the ride and doing... all of this. You really didn't have to," you said sincerely as he leaned on his car.
Steve smiled weakly. "No worries. Couldn't have just left you there, could I?"
"You could've," you said calmly.
"I'm not that bad, L/N," said Steve teasingly, and you chuckled.
"Goodnight, Steve," you said softly, sending him a small smile.
He mirrored your smile, saying goodnight to you back with your name. You turned on your heel, starting the walk to your house as your heart raced in your warm chest.
When Steve called out your name, you turned around too quickly, making it seem as though you had been waiting for him to call you back. Perhaps you had been.
Steve scratched his neck, seeming nervous as he hesitated. "Um, sorry to be a bother but can I just ask for some advice?"
"Yeah, of course," you said, walking back over to him.
"Since you're a girl and all," said Steve quickly. "It's about Nancy."
You froze.
Oh. You forgot about Nancy.
Your chest twisted suddenly, nearly winding you and making you stumble, but you kept your composure and faced him with your chin up.
"Yeah, what's up?" You said airily.
"She's not happy with me right now. I invited her and her friend over to a party at my house, and she stayed over without her friend and now she hasn't seen her since, and she's really worried," Steve explained. "And I guess I was just more concerned about getting in trouble than her friend, and she got pissed off at me for it and... I don't know, I just don't know how to make it up to her."
You frowned. "Wait, her friend? Like, Barb?"
"Yeah, her. You haven't seen her around, have you?"
"No, not since Tuesday," you said.
"Well shit, that's the night she went missing..." said Steve, and your eyebrows drew together with concern. Just like Nancy, you weren't friends with Barb, but you had always thought she was nice. "Anyway, Nance isn't talking to me so I thought that you, a girl, would know how to fix it."
"Right," you said uncomfortably. "Why don't you ask your friend Carol? She's a girl."
"Yeah, but she's too... I just think you're someone who gives better advice," said Steve honestly.
You didn't know how to take that, and you hated how a smile twitched against your lips.
"Well, it seems simple. You just go up to her, apologise, and help her look for Barb. Or just be there for her. She's obviously distraught if her best friend is nowhere to be seen," you told him.
Steve nodded along, listening intently. "Yeah, okay... thanks."
You smiled weakly, "no problem."
Steve sighed. "I just... I really like her, and I don't want to mess it up, y'know?"
Your chest twisted even further, and you bit your lip, looking away from him.
"Yeah, that's understandable. Well, I hope it works out between you, but I have to go to bed now. My parents will get worried," you said briskly, already starting to talk away.
"Yeah, okay. Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight," you said quietly over your shoulder, and basically sped to your house, not looking behind you as you went back inside the safety of your home where he couldn't reach you.
That was the night you realised you had developed feelings for Steve Harrington.
But it didn't matter, because his heart only belonged to Nancy Wheeler, and you didn't stand a chance.
***
You were zoned out as you absentmindedly stored some of your books into your locker, your mind in a different place to your physical body.
Annoyingly enough, all it ever seemed your mind could stay on these days was the thought of Steve.
You knew it had been a bad idea to tutor him from the very start for many reasons, and now your worst fear had actually happened. Just like every other girl at Hawkins High, you had developed a schoolgirl crush on Steve Harrington, and he plagued your mind completely without permission.
It had been two weeks since you came to your realisation, and every tutoring session with Steve since then had been torture. It didn't help when he was his usual sweet self, bringing your favourite snacks when he came to your house, telling you how one of the posters in your bedroom looked cool, getting along with your parents, and listening to you with that concentrated look he had that was frustratingly handsome.
And it certainly wasn't helping that he now insisted on giving you a ride home every time you went to his house. He had asked you about your method of transportation to his house since he found out you weren't able to drive, and he seemed to take it personally when you told you just took your bike every time. Sometimes, you even got into small arguments about it, because you didn't like making him go through the effort of putting your bicycle into his car every time, but it made you learn that Steve didn't take no for an answer when to came to those sort of things.
Every ride home made your heart beat a little faster for him, and your feelings grew stronger with each time you both talked nonstop for the whole ride. It wasn't fair that he was able to make you feel such a way.
You used to judge those kind of girls before, the ones who batted their lashes at him in an attempt to get his attention, the ones who stared longingly at him in the hallways. Now you were one of them, and you felt so pathetic. You wanted to defend yourself by acknowledging that you had actually spent quality time with him and had gotten to know him as more than just a popular jock, that you had seen what was under the mask he always hid behind at school.
But did it even matter when he had never once remotely showed interest in you? When you technically weren't even friends, just acquaintances? You were his tutor for goodness' sake, of course you weren't supposed to feel this way. You had never even come close to feeling the same about anyone else you had tutored.
Of course Steve had been the one to capture your heart out of all of it. Him and his stupid soft smile that almost seemed reserved for you, him and his stupid jokes that made you genuinely laugh, and him and his stupid kindness in giving you a ride back to your house that night, putting your bike in his car without you having to ask him to do so, the implications of him caring about you when he expressed a concern for your safety.
All before he had asked you for advice on how to make it up to his girlfriend.
Even if you could've, you wouldn't. You certainly weren't the type to barge into a relationship, a very happy one at that.
You were snapped out of your daze when you heard someone call your name, and you perked up, looking into the direction of the voice.
A boy named Tyler came up to you, a student in your year that you tutored for maths and history. He had an excited expression on his face as he approached you with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Hi, Tyler," you greeted with a warm smile. "What's up?"
He grinned at you. "I have news. Good news."
"What is it?"
He held the piece of paper up to your face, showing you the contents. All you had to do was look at the B circled on it to know what it was.
"I got a B on my maths test!" He told you happily.
"That's amazing!" You said with a wide smile, pride blooming in your chest upon seeing the joy in his eyes. "I told you you had it!"
"I couldn't have done it without you," he said. "Seriously, thank you so much. You saved me."
You laughed sheepishly. "I'm just glad it worked out for you."
"I mean it, you're the best! I hope you're getting good credit for all of this tutoring you do," said Tyler earnestly. "You deserve it."
You smiled. "Thanks."
"I'll see you around. Hopefully I'll ace my history test next!" He said hopefully as he walked off, and you gave him a thumbs up before he fully turned away.
You turned back to your locker with a smile, your chest filled with warmth. That was why all those hours of tutoring was always worth it at the end of the day. The extra credit was a bonus, but it was helping others that really mattered for you.
You jumped at the sudden bang on the locker next to yours, followed by a familiar voice saying, "who was that?"
You turned your head in surprise, and your face morphed into an expression of disbelief as you saw him.
Because here Steve was, his body completely facing you while it leaned against the locker next to yours, his arms crossed and his eyes focused on you while everyone moved around you, all easily able to see the interaction between you two. The interaction between the most popular guy in school and some quiet girl who tutored people.Â
It was the first time Steve had ever even looked at you in the school hallways, let alone talked to you, so it took you a moment to respond to his question as you processed your current situation.
And god, you hated how your chest started feeling warm in a different way when you looked at him.
"Um- uh- just a guy I tutor," you said bashfully.
"What were you talking about? He seemed very happy about something," Steve asked, and you quietly grew confused at his curiosity.
"He got a good grade on his test. He came to me because I helped him study, and he really thought he wasn't going to do a good job, but I told him he would, and I was right," you said with a proud smile.
Steve narrowed his eyes at you, his expression unreadable. "Hm, interesting. You seem to like him."
You blinked. "Um... yeah, he's a nice guy."
"So, do you have a thing for him?" Steve said suddenly with a smirk.
Your face dropped. "What?"
"What? It's just a question. You can tell me, I promise it'll stay between us. If it helps, it seems like he might like you too," Steve lowered his voice and leaned in a little, causing heat to rush to your cheeks.
You tried to hide your flustered state by rolling your eyes and slamming your locker shut. "No, Steve. I don't have a thing for him."
"But wouldn't he be your type? Like, smart guys?"
You looked at him incredulously. "No offence to him, but he's not exactly a smart guy if he needs tutoring. God, Steve, just because I get along with him, doesn't mean I like him. I'm his tutor, and that's it."
His infuriating smirk didn't falter, his eyes shining with amusement as he said, "if you say so."
You sighed while rolling your eyes again. "You're so annoying."
"Your eyeballs will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them."
"Then stop doing things that make me roll my eyes, idiot."
Steve opened his mouth to continue the banter both of you would never admit you thoroughly enjoyed, but the next words never got to leave his mouth as you were suddenly approached by two certain people, one of which threw an arm around Steve.
"Couldn't find you for a second there Harrington, you disappeared on us," said Tommy Hagan, while Carol Perkins stood beside him, chewing gum obnoxiously while assessing you with her eyes.
Then, a smirk spread on her lips, her voice laced with amusement as she asked, "who's your friend, Steve?"
Tommy looked at you like he hadn't noticed you were there, and immediately started sniggering even though you hadn't done anything.
Steve's face fell, something more guarded taking over his expression at the presence of Tommy and Carol while panic flickered faintly in his eyes, and you noticed it. Meanwhile, your stomach churned uncomfortably as Tommy and Carol stared at you like you were some form of entertainment.
When Steve didn't answer Carol, you took it into your own hands and hesitantly said your name. She snorted, arching an eyebrow at you.
"I wasn't asking you," she said.
"Well you were looking at me when you said it, so maybe you should've been clearer about who you were talking to," you shot back coldly, and Steve's eyes widened while Tommy whistled.
Carol's face hardened, chewing her gum more aggressively.
"Sassy, aren't you? Honestly Steve, since when did we start stooping so low for new friends? We shouldn't be welcoming this kind of crowd," she said, looking at Steve with a scoff.
"We're not," said Steve quickly, and you frowned. "She's not my friend. She's just..."
He trailed off, catching your sharp gaze. He held it for a few moments before looking away, looking at his actual friends, "sheâs a stranger to me."
Your heart dropped.
A stranger.
Not a friend, not even an acquaintance, just a stranger. That's all you were.
âThen why are you even talking to her?â Carol snorted.
âBecause, um⌠she dropped something and I was just giving it back to her was all,â said Steve hastily, talking about you like you werenât even there.
Carol raised her eyebrows, unconvinced, and god, you wanted nothing more than to just shove her face into the locker like she deserved.
"As fun as this is, I'm hungry man, let's go eat!" Said Tommy, slapping Steve's back before letting go of him. He briefly glanced at you, his voice mocking as he said, "see you later... uh, whatever your name is."
Carol giggled, "yeah, see you sweetheart."
Tommy burst into another fit of sniggers, and your eyes caught it immediately as Steve let out a laugh, albeit it sounded a little more uncertain than the others.
But you were probably just imagining that just to make yourself feel better, because when the three of them walked away, Steve didn't look back at you once.
Your cheeks burned as he left you standing there, feeling like an idiot who had just been picked apart by a group of people who deemed themselves superior to you just because you weren't popular.
As if that hadn't already ruined your day, as if Steve hadn't already made your heart hurt enough, something happened at the end of your science class.
The class was pleasantly rowdy as everyone either did their written science work or talked with their friends about their plans for the weekend. You were one of the people doing their work, and was the first to walk up to the teacher to hand in your completed work.
"Well done, Y/N. I look forward to grading this, you never fail to impress me," your science teacher said, and you smiled sheepishly, thanking her quietly. "So, how's that tutoring of yours going?"
"Really good," you said, hating how Steve crossed your mind.
"I'm sure it is, I've even seen the evidence of it. You know, I never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington would be able to understand anything in my class, but proving by his recent results on his last test, it seems as though I have made it to that day," she told you with a smile.
You stilled. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head at you. "Hasn't he told you? He passed his science test the other day. I even almost gave him a B."
You narrowed your eyes, "the other day? I- did you give him these results?"
"Yes. I know he tried to hide it, but I could see how happy he was."
Your blood started to pump in your ears, the realisation slowly dawning on you as you comprehended what she was saying.
"I even heard he got a good grade on his English assignment too. I don't know how you've done it, but you've worked wonders on him," she said. "Good job."
You didn't say anything for a moment before collecting yourself enough to say quietly, "yeah, that's good."
You went back to your seat after that, the noise around you fading to the background as the gears turned in your head.
He had been passing tests and getting good grades on assignments, and hadn't told you? He had been keeping it from you?
Your jaw tightened, and you clenched your fists, something hot stirring in your stomach.
You were going to kill him.
***
You thought it had been apart of your dream at first, then you thought it was just some animals playing around outside. But when the persistent tapping kept on going every time you thought it would stop, you finally woke up, and investigated.
When you saw nothing was happening to your window, you went over to it anyway, looking outside to see the source of the noise.
It was much worse than an animal. It was Steve throwing rocks at your parents' window, the morning sun shining down on him and highlighting the small cuts on his face along with the purple bruise on his left cheek.
You gasped softly upon seeing his beat-up face, concern flooding you against your will as you worried about who did something like that to him. You stared at him in disbelief before rushing to put your dressing gown and slippers on, tidying your hair as best as you could before hastily making your way out of the house, not even bothering to be quiet since Steve was being noisy enough anyway.
You walked around your house to meet Steve now crouched, gathering more rocks to throw. You stood there for a moment, gazing at him with folded arms while he didn't notice you, lost in his own world. You reminded yourself that you needed to be hostile, that he still hadn't given you an apology for what he did a few days ago.
When he rose to his feet, you finally spoke up.
"Trying to wake my parents up?" You asked, and he jumped, whirling around to you with wide eyes. He blinked at your words, looking back to your parents' window as you clarified, "that's their room, genius. I know you like my mum's food, but you surely can't be that desperate."
Embarrassment flickered across his face at your words, and he looked back to you with shame. "Shit. Sorry."
You shrugged. "That'll depend on how grumpy they are this morning."
A short silence followed your words, and Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, and you watched him closely, eyes lingering on his bruises. The injuries looked fresh, and it made you wonder why he was here instead of resting at home.
"Are you okay?" You asked gently before you could stop yourself.
Steve looked at you in surprise. "Huh?"
"Your... face," you said, gesturing to your own. "Seems like you're hurt. Are you alright?"
"Oh, I'm fine, but that doesn't matter," he said quickly, seeming ashamed of whatever it was. "What matters is what I came here to do, which is to say sorry for the other day."
You raised your eyebrows. "What did you do the other day?"
"You know, when we were talking and Tommy and Carol came over," said Steve, confused on why you were asking about the obvious until he realised you weren't playing dumb, you just wanted him to admit what he did wrong. "And then they were being assholes and I didn't do anything about it."
"Is that it?"
Steve's eyebrows knitted together as he seemed to search his mind for anything else. "I think so?"
You hummed quietly, keeping your face blank as you looked him over. You quickly noticed how something about him was off â not just the bruises and cuts on his face, but the way he held himself, the defeated look in his eyes that wasn't there before. You couldn't put your finger on it, but something in the air around Steve had shifted, and it made your curiosity grow stronger about whatever the hell had happened in the past few days that caused that and the bruises.
Steve sighed, his head hanging low as he said, "look, I know I messed up. I know that wasn't right of me and it wasn't fair to you, and you had to defend yourself which you shouldn't have had to because I shouldn't have let them treat you like that in the first place. If it's any help, it didn't feel good during that moment."
You scoffed. "It didn't feel good for me either."
The guilt in Steve's eyes strengthened, and he looked at you sorrowfully. "I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve that, after everything you've done for me-"
"Actually, it's okay Steve. We're not friends anyway, you don't owe me anything," you snapped.
Steve's face fell slightly like you had struck him. "That was stupid of me to say. I was trying to get them to back off of you, you know? They wouldn't have taken it well if I said yes, they would've been even worse."
"That's such a lame excuse. They were going to make fun of me no matter what you said, so you're just telling yourself that to feel better," you said sourly. "You're just like... I don't know, ashamed of me or something?"
Steve shook his head. "I'm not-"
"Then what do you call it? You're only nice to me when we're alone, and you're embarrassed to be seen with me in public. That's why you didn't want me to tutor you in the library. You literally said it yourself, you didn't want anyone to walk in and see," you poured out what had been pent up inside you through this whole ordeal. "You never acknowledged me in public until that moment for some reason, and even then, you said I was just a stranger."
"I know, I know, it was shitty of me. I shouldn't have- I'm really sorry," said Steve, and the worst part about it was how sincere he sounded, how real the apology seemed to be.
But you knew it would go back to normal after this, and with the last few days having given you room to think about it, you knew you couldn't go for any longer. Not with your feelings for him growing stronger everyday.
"I don't think this arrangement is necessary anymore," you said with a tight throat, avoiding his gaze as you said it. But even in your peripheral vision, you could see how his face dropped.
"What? But I still need to be tutored! I- I still need your help," said Steve frantically.
"There are other tutors at school, you can just go to them if you really need help," you said. "Also, didn't you say you could get your girlfriend to tutor you? She'll be happy to help."
Steve's expression shifted into something more hurt as he looked at his feet. "I'm not sure that's so true anymore. I'm not her favourite person right now."
Your chest tightened, and you finally looked at him, reading his crestfallen expression. Was that the reason why he looked like that? Because him and Nancy were arguing? You had a nagging feeling that there was much more to it, but you weren't going to push. You were too mad at him to do so anyway.
"Even then, I'm not the only tutor in the world. Besides, from what I've heard, you'll be just fine without tutoring anyway," you said bitterly.
Confused spread across Steve's features. "From what you've heard?"
"Yes. I'm not sure why I had to hear it from someone else that you had literally passed your science test, and got a good grade on your English assignment."
Steve's eyes widened slightly. "You- who told you that?"
"The science teacher."
"Why would she even tell you that? Oh my god..." Steve murmured, pressing his hands to his face.
"That doesn't matter, Steve. What matters is that for some reason you decided to hide the fact that you were improving," you scolded. "You neglected to tell your literal tutor that you had passed in two subjects!"
"I... forgot," said Steve unconvincingly.
You snorted humourlessly. "I don't think you did, and I don't even want to ask why you didn't tell me because you'll probably just give me another stupid excuse."
You were mainly pissed off at Steve for the way he had treated you in front of Tommy and Carol the other day, that was what drove the wedge between you two in the first place, but him not telling you about his good results had been the final straw. Because those had been moments he was meant to share with you, because you had been the one to help him. He was supposed to approach with you excitement like Tyler had done, and he was supposed to brag about his results to you with a wide smile while you were silently proud of him.
You had been eager for that moment between you and Steve, but because of some reason that was unknown to you, he hadn't told you, and had robbed you of that moment.
So yeah, you were very pissed.
"So you're ditching me because I didn't tell you about two decent grades I got?" Said Steve, and you couldn't help but notice the hurt that seeped through his voice. You hated how it sparked guilt in you.
Yet, you stood your ground. "I told you that all you needed to do was pass one test, and you could be free of me. Did you just forget that?"
Steve's Adam's apple bobbed, his jaw tight. "No."
"Then why didn't you just tell me? I know you hate being tutored, so why did you drag it out?" You asked heatedly, your pent up frustration spilling out. You stared at him expectantly, impatiently waiting for his answer.
But he only stared back at you, his mouth opening uselessly with nothing coming out, his eyes holding a desperate look that tugged at your chest, that almost made you give in. But you fought back against it, and scoffed at his silence.
"There's no reason to keep doing this, Steve," you said, your voice weaker.
"But I still need help with my other subjects," said Steve quietly.
"You know how to study now, and you can help yourself. I've given you a little push, so now you can be independent," you reasoned. "And look at the bright side, you'll have free time on Wednesdays and Sundays now."
"But I..." he trailed off, and your heart skipped a beat as you thought he was finally about to speak, finally about to admit something.
But he chose not to say it, and continued with his silence.
You gazed at his face, taking in each detail of his features, memorising it for when you would think about him at night, when you wouldn't see him anymore. The softness of his dark hazel eyes, the moles scattered on his face, and his stupid perfect hair that you longed to feel with your own fingers.
"It really was nice tutoring you Steve, but I've done my job now," you said softly, sending him your first smile of the day, and your last for a while.
He looked at you with sadness, something close to devastation, but not quite there. Because maybe Steve Harrington was fond of you in the way he was fond of your mother's cookies, but he nowhere near cared about you in the way he cared about Nancy Wheeler.
And that's why you turned your back to him, walking inside your house without looking back at him, even when you heard the small, desperate "please," leave his lips.
đŠđđ˘đŤđ˘đ§đ : steve harrington x reader
đ°đđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ: old money!steve, waitress!reader, slow burn, enemies-ish to lovers, idiots in love, mutual pining
⥠¡ ¡ ¡ ⥠¡ ¡ ¡ âĄ
The card room is full of men old enough to be your father.
Some are old enough to be your grandfather.
They all call each other by their last names and gamble away more money in a single hand than you make in six months, all while finding the time to tell you you'd look prettier if you smiled.
The tips are obscene, though.
So you smile.Â
You refill glasses before anyone has to ask and laugh politely at jokes that haven't been funny in thirty years.
You pocket your tips. You move on.
Until one Thursday, someone new walks in.
He couldn't be more than a year or two older than you.
Maybe not older at all.
He's got the kind of face rich boys seem to keep well into their thirties: hazel eyes that catch warmth in the low chandelier light, a strong nose and soft, full lips. Thick brown hair that refuses to stay in place, falling forward in a way that looks accidental even though you know it probably took a 300-dollar haircut to make it look that effortless.
He's dressed simplyâpale blue Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and dark slacksâbut everything about him is stupidly expensive if you know what you're looking for. Â Â
The watch, the loafers. The clean, understated cologne and the heavy gold signet ring on his left hand.
Old money.
Of course.
Another trust-fund prince getting dragged in by his daddy to âlearn the family business.â
You grab the bourbon ordered for seat fourâtwo fingers of Woodford Reserve over fresh iceâand carry it across the room.
He glances up as you set the glass beside him.
Unfortunately...
He's somehow even better-looking up close.
His eyes are stupidly big, lashes stupidly long. There's a scattering of tiny moles across his left cheek, little imperfections that stop him from looking carved out of marble.
Rich boy's got a nice face.
Shame about everything else.
His eyes catch yours for a moment before he gives you a polite nod.
âThanks, honey.â
Then his attention drops right back to his cards.
You blink.
Honey?
Who the fuck is this guy?
He's your age.
Maybe younger.
You've got seventy-year-old regulars who've been calling waitresses âsweetheartâ and âdollâ since before you were born, but somehow hearing it from someone who probably still remembers freshman orientation is infinitely more irritating.
You turn on your heel before he catches the expression crossing your face.
Trust-fund asshole.
Probably couldn't tell you what a gallon of milk costs if you put a gun to his head.
Fuck that guy.
¡ ¡ ¡
Well.
Turns out, trust-fund asshole is good at poker.
Disgustingly good.
Heâs not loud about it either; thatâs what the older men hate most.
For almost an hour, he folds hand after hand, absently spinning that signet ring around his finger while everyone else slowly convinces themselves that he's way out of his depth.
So it's almost funny, when this twenty-something-year-old cleans out someone who's been playing cards since before he was born.
You have to bite back a laugh when one of the regulars slams his cards down hard enough to rattle everyone's glasses.
Serves him right.
By the time you make another round, half the table is bleeding chips.
Everyone's in a foul mood.
Everyone except for seat four.
You set another Woodford beside him.
âThanks, honey.â
He smiles, this time.
The corners of his hazel eyes pinch with it, little creases fanning outward. It gives him an almost boyish look, rounding out his cheeks, smoothing away the sharp lines of his face until thereâs something disarmingly gentle about him.
Huh.
Then he goes right back to looking at his cards.
Asshole.
¡ ¡ ¡
The game finally breaks sometime after midnight.
You're clearing glasses when you notice a thick wad of cash tucked under silver-spoon dickhead'sâseat four'sâempty tumbler.
You assume it's meant for the cashier... until you pick it up.
It's all hundreds.
A lot of hundreds.
You count it once. Then again. Then a third time because surely, surely, thereâs no way.
Your head snaps up toward the entrance and find him standing by the coat room, shrugging into a camel-colored cashmere overcoat that could probably cover your student loans three times over. Â Â Â
You hurry after him before common sense can stop you.
âHey! Um, excuse me!â
He turns.
âI think, uh...â You hold up the money. âI think you made a mistake.â
His eyes drift over your face, then flick down to the wad of cash pinched between your fingersâfifty crisp hundred-dollar bills. Â Â
He blinks at you, those ridiculous lashes fanning against his cheeks, his brows drawing together like he honestly can't figure out why youâve chased him down. Â
A tiny little crease appears between his brows, which would almost be cute if he wasn't so disgustingly wealthy.
âDid I?â
â...Yeah.â
He studies the cash for another second before understanding dawns on his face.
âOh.â He gives a small shrug. âNo.â
âNo?â
âThat wasnât a mistake. It was for you.â
You laugh, because that's insane.
To someone who just walked away with well over a hundred thousand dollars, five grand probably feels like buying coffee.
To you, it's rent. It's gas, tuition, groceries, bills. An entire semester where you wouldn't have to hold you breath every time you swiped your debit card.
âI... I can't take this.â
His brows pull together again. âWhy not?â
You stare at him.
âBecause it's... five thousand dollars? That'sââ You huff another disbelieving laugh. âI mean, that's just... way too much for a tip.â
He glances back toward the card room, then back at you.
Smiles, just a little.
âDidn't seem like too much from where I was sitting.â
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
And before you can think of another reason to refuse a tip worth more than your savings account, he's already shrugging the rest of his coat on, straightening the lapel with an absent swipe of his thumb.
He turns toward the door, making it only three steps before he pauses.
One hand settled on the brass handle, he glances back over his shoulder.
âYou're here Thursdays, right?â
It takes you a second to answer.
â...Yeah?â
His smile comes back.
âGreat.â
He tucks his hands into his coat pockets, gives you a little nod, and heads for the door.
âI'll see you next week, honey.â
And then he's gone.
¡ ¡ ¡
He comes back the next Thursday.
And the Thursday after that.
By week five, you've learned his name.
By week six, you've stopped rolling your eyes every time he calls you honey.
By week seven, he starts lingering after the games instead of disappearing the second the last hand is dealt.
One night, you're hauling a crate of empty glasses toward the bar when, without warning, the weight disappears.
You glance up to see a pair of hazel eyes blinking down at youâa warm, boyish smile on those plush lips, almost sheepish, like he's not sure if you're going to let him help or tell him to get lost. Â
You raise a brow. âUh, I'm pretty sure that's not your job.â
âNo, itâs not,â he agrees easily.
âThen why are you doing it?â
He shrugs like the answer couldn't possibly be complicated.
âGets me an extra five minutes.â
âFive minutes?â
âWith you.â
He says it so casually that it takes a second for the words to actually land.
And when your face flares with heat, youâre grateful heâs too busy balancing the crate to notice.
¡ ¡ ¡
After that, Thursdays become a little easier.
The job is still the jobâthe endless dance of dodging wandering hands, stepping away from men who mistake a smile for an invitation and politely slipping your wrist free from people old enough to know better.
But Steve Harrington becomes your bright spot.
He never touches you unless youâre handing him a glass.
Heâs the only man in the room who doesnât let his eyes linger on your ass or snap his fingers to get your attention. Â
He always arrives ten minutes early.
Always orders the same Woodford Reserve. Always says thank you.
Always calls you honey.
You learn little things about him.
That he tips everyone far more than necessary.
That he folds cocktail napkins into perfect little squares whenever heâs lost in thought.
That his thumb always finds the gold signet ring on his finger when heâs making a decision.
That he taps it twice against the felt whenever heâs nervous about a bluff.
(You never tell him you figured that one out.)
You learn that Steve doesnât talk much about his work or his family. Â
Instead, he asks about you.
Your classes, your major. The exam you mentioned weeks ago that he somehow remembers without you ever bringing it up again.
You tell yourself heâs probably just like that with everyone.
That Steve Harrington is simply the kind of person who makes people feel noticed.
Special.
You never quite believe it.
¡ ¡ ¡
One Thursday, the game wraps up just before midnight after two of the regulars call it early.
The older men filter out puffing expensive cigars, grumbling about bad beats and rematches.
You're halfway through counting your tips when Steve appears beside the bar.
Hands tucked into the pockets of a navy wool coat, rocking back on his heels.
He waits until you look up.
âHi.â
âHey.â
And Steve Harringtonâpoker prodigy, heir to whatever impossible amount of money his family had sitting aroundâsuddenly looks unsure of himself.
Which is new.
And, admittedly, a little adorable.
You set your money down.
âEverything okay?â
âYeah.â He answers too quickly, then clears his throat. âYeah. I justâcan I ask you something?â
You eye him suspiciously.
âWith you? Depends.â
A small smile pulls at his mouth.
âFair.â
He pulls his hand from his coat pocket, resting it on the bar between you. His thumb brushes over the gold signet ring on his finger, twisting it slowly.
âWell, I was just wondering, if you're done for the night...â Â Â Â
Tap. Tap.
Two soft taps against the bar top.
You bite back a smile.
âWould you let me take you to dinner?â
You blink.
â...Right now?â
âYeah.â
âIt's midnight.â
âLate dinner, then?â
His expression is so serious that you have to bite back another laugh.
Steve watches you, a faint smile tugging at his own mouth.
âWhat?â
You shake your head, reaching for your jacket.
âNothing.â
âNo, what?â
You look back at him, pursing your lips.
âYouâre just... so different from what I thought youâd be.â
He tilts his head slightly, a flicker of amusement creasing his expression. Heâs not offended in the slightestâif anything, he looks intrigued.
Steve Harrington has never been someone who seemed bothered by other peopleâs opinions of him.
âIn a good way or a bad way?â
You consider him for a moment, taking in the guy you were so sure you had figured out from the second he walked through the door.
This boy youâd dismissed as just another entitled douchebag, who turned out to be so downright strangeâawkward where you expected arrogance, thoughtful where you expected indifference.
SYNOPSIS: After a tabloid scandal costs Tonyâs daughter her spot at MIT, she begins to unravel, and to make matters worse, her dadâs intern, who she hates, is now sat next to her at dinner. What can go wrong?
PAIRING: TH! spider-man x stark! reader (vaguely)
WARNING(S): mentions of sexual content, female reader, use of y/n and lots of angst.
WC: 2k ish
We are sorry to inform you -
Those six words had been playing on a loop in Y/n Starkâs head ever since she first opened the letter. She paced back and forth across her bedroom, rereading it for what had to be the hundredth time. It didnât make any sense.
She was a Stark. Not that her last name shouldâve gotten her in, even if Tony Stark donated millions to MIT every year, which he did, She had earned it. Straight Aâs, a perfect 4.0 GPA, student body president, countless extracurriculars, glowing recommendations the list goes on.
This had to be a mistake. Theyâd mixed up her application with someone elseâs. Sent the wrong letter. Because why else would she not get in?
Then it hit her.
Y/n Stark, Hot, Legal and Ready!
That was the gross headline of the article that had come out the week prior, featuring an interview with Spencer Aston a rich trust fund asshole sheâd drunkenly slept with after the last Stark Gala. It wasnât supposed to happen that way, Sheâd always imagined her first time being special the whole thing, candles, rose petals and someone she loved.
Instead, sheâd gotten into a big blowout fight with her dadâs intern, Peter Parker, at the last stark gala ending with him telling her she was impossible to love. That he didnât know a single person whoâd touch her with a fifty foot pole, along with some more hurtful words. Sure, sheâd definitely started it, but there was something about Peterâs words that got under her skin.
So she made one of the worst decisions sheâd ever made, which is really saying something. Spencer hadnât just told his friends, heâd gone to the press. He gave a full on record interview describing their âsteamy night together,â painting Y/n as some spoiled party girl with daddy issues whoâs desperate for attention.
To say Tony was furious would be an understatement. He called the entire story complete bullshit, saying his little girl would never do something like that and that heâd never even met Spencer Aston before in his life.
Stark Industries immediately released a statement calling the article entirely false, defamatory, and deliberately damaging to y/nâs reputation. He threatened lawsuits and sat for a whole article about â the real story behind Y/n Starkâs fall from graceâ. He even held a whole conference for the press about it, blowing it all way out of proportion.
Of course, sheâd denied it. Who wants their dirty laundry everywhere, especially when their âdirty laundryâ includes a rich trust fund dick that is publicly talking about what you wanted in bed. It would be easier to deny and never think about it again, right?
Well, Apparently not.
MIT hadnât rejected her grades. Theyâd rejected the girl from the headlines.
God, Parker would just love this.
From junior year onwards, heâd somehow wormed himself into every aspect of her life. What began as her dadâs painfully awkward intern had somehow turned into Tony Starkâs favourite person, and her rival. Tony would spend evenings stuck in the lab teaching him everything he knew.
She wanted that, so why did Peter get it?
She couldnât even escape him at family dinners, every conversation inevitably turns into Peter and his remarkable achievement of the day. One of these days he will fix climate change just to spite just to prove hes better, sheâs certain.
âY/N! Dinnerâs ready!â Pepperâs voice cut through her thoughts.
She looked down, the rejection letter was still clenched in her hands, the edges crumpled where her fingers had been gripping it too tightly.
With a frustrated sigh, she tossed both the letter and envelope onto her comforter before forcing herself toward the bedroom door. The smell of roasted garlic and rosemary drifted up the hallway, mixed with the sound of laughter.
Her brows knitted together in confusion, Were they having guests? She rounded the corner into the dining room and immediately understood, Nearly every Avenger was there.
Normally, she wouldâve enjoyed the company but tonight she barely noticed them.
Mostly because standing at the head of the table, laughing at something Tony had said, was the golden boy himself, Peter Parker. Bruce stood beside him, with a smile on his lips while Peter rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed by whatever compliment Tony had obviously just thrown his way. Y/n felt her jaw tighten.
Of course, the one day her entire world came crashing down, Peter Parker had somehow found his way into her house like some little roach that wouldnât go away. Did he not have a home or something? Why was he always here, her frustration growing with each new thought.
Tony spotted her first.
âThere she is!â he beamed. âPerfect timing. Come here, kiddo.â
Y/n forced something that vaguely resembled a smile trailing over to them. Peter looked over, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. The smile slipped from his face ever so slightly, replaced with a nervousness, but he didnât take his eyes off of her.
âWeâre about to sit down, we saved you a spot,â Tony said with a grin as they headed to the table, his arm guiding her. Of course, it was right next to Peter. Today had to be solid proof that the universe had a sadistic sense of humour.
âAh, amazing.â she began pulling out her chair and settling in. âJust where I wanted to sit.â Y/n muttered as everyone began settling down and the wine started getting poured.
The team settled into small talk across the table about a recent mission. Something about a woman declaring her love for Steve after he had saved her? Honestly, she wasnât paying attention. Y/n kept her eyes firmly on her lap, picking at her freshly manicured nails. She could feel Peterâs gaze flickering back and forth between her and the table.
âY/n, did you get your admission letter yet? Peter was telling me heâd received his. Two prodigies. MIT is one lucky college,â Tony gloated, taking a sip of his glass, looking to pepper with a proud smile painted across his lips.
Y/n looked up at the whole table, staring expectantly with small, polite smiles. Her stomach sank. She coughed before letting out a breath she hadnât realised she was holding in. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words suddenly failed her. She let out a small, breathy laugh as the air grew slightly awkward before shaking her head with a smile.
âWell, actually, itâs funny,â she began, a dry laugh escaping her lips. âIâm actually not going to MIT. I got rejected.â
As the words left her mouth, the room suddenly got pin drop silent. Steve quickly picked up his wine glass, taking a few sips avoiding all eye contact, Tonyâs face was suddenly devoid of all humour, his brows furrowed as he processed her words and Peter eyes were wide like he had just witnessed a murder.
âWhat?â Tony asked, tilting his head like heâd just been told the worldâs worst joke.
âYeah, yeah, not even waitlisted, just rejected.â She added bitterly, picking up her wine glass, taking a sip, before raising her eyebrows and adding, âOh, and the cherry on top, that article, yeah, all true! I lost my virginity to that jackass, I mean, talk about bad judgement.â
Tonyâs expression was completely unreadable, Natashaâs jaw dropped slightly, side eyeing Clint who shared in her expression while Bruce awkwardly looked away from the table, suddenly finding himself deeply interest in an abstract vase near the door, actually scrap that maybe he was just eyeing the door planning his escape.
Steve looked around the table before opening his mouth to speak, putting on his best supportive uncle face, âWell, upwards and onwards, as they s-â before he could finish, Tony interrupted him.
âHold on, Iâm sorry. Let me get this straight you didnât get into MIT, you lied about that article that I publicly defended you against. You do realise the repercussions this could have for our family, right? And seriously, MIT, why?â Tony spoke coldly, his eyes never leaving Y/nâs face, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. âIâm not mad you didnât get into MIT, Iâm mad you could possibly be this stupid. You were a shoe in, Y/n. I mean, Jesus, I raised you better than this.â He continued.
the whole dining room was completely silent, Peter awkwardly coughed before slumping in his seat.
Y/nâs mouth fell agape at Tonyâs words. She cocked a brow in confusion. âOh, our familyâs reputation. What about mine? Dad, I wanted this college too, just because Iâm not some perfect virgin prodigy like Peter.â She argued angrily, throwing a hand towards Peter as if to present him. He suddenly covered his face with his hands leaning on the table, trying to hide from this whole situation.
Natasha let out a small chuckle at Y/nâs words, which was promptly followed by a cough, trying to cover the amusement she was finding in this whole situation. She got a prompt shove from Clintâs elbow, which was followed by him quickly shaking his head as if to say, âNot the time.â
âRight, I think we should all take a moment and- â Pepper begun, politely folding her hands in her lap, offering a tight lipped smile.
âAlso, you didnât raise me better than this. You didnât raise me at all. You were away wetting your dick with random women for half my childhood, but sure, yes, you raised me better, Dad.â Y/n spat out bitterly.
Bruce audibly choked on air and quickly looked around at the rest of the team, who were sharing in his tense awkwardness. Y/n took a look at them all before her eyes landed on Tony, who was staring at her, shaking his head like she had just spat on his shoes. Then her eyes landed on Peter, who had this sad pitying look on his face, and that somehow made her feel worse than her fatherâs reaction.
âExcuse me, Iâm going to my room,â she muttered before turning and leaving the dining room. As she headed to her room, she could hear awkward conversation starting up again. Guilt ate away at her stomach, that was not the way she assumed that would go at all.
Y/n closed the door and immediately fell backwards onto her mattress, landing onto the stupid letter that uncomfortably stuck into her back. She groaned, sitting up to throw the letter away from her immediate sight, but as she did, a small, timid knock came from her door.
âCome in.â she called as the door opened to reveal Peter Parker. Oh great, heâs here to gloat, she thought cynically. âYou know, if youâre here to gloat, you can just leave. Iâm really not in the mood for you.â She added, sitting up, her eyebrows furrowing at him.
âWhat? No, no, Iâm not here to gloat. I mean, I know how I would feel if I- â before he could even finish, Y/N cut in.
âI donât want your pity either, Parker,â Y/n began, standing up and making her way to Peter, who stood by the door still. âYou won, congrats. Want a medal?â she bitterly said, looking him up and down.
Peter stood in disbelief, letting out a sharp breath. âWhat? None of this is about winning. Whatâs the prize here, MIT? I mean, God, we both know you deserved a spot at that school.â He argued, talking with his hands rapidly, hearing his words make tears prick at her eyes. She shook her head before looking down to avoid his gaze.
âNo, Peter, this is about Dad. My Dad. Of course you got into MIT. Of course, youâd never do anything to risk that and he knows that. You won. So, well done, now youâll always be perfect to him, and Iâm the fuck up that ruined everything.â Tears flowed as she kept talking. It quickly turned into broken sobs before she could process it. Peter walked over to her, unexpectedly wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tightly as her chest heaved.
What was happening right now? This is Peter Parker, the same Peter Parker who she fought with on the Daily, but before she could pull away, he spoke again.
âI donât want your Dad, Y/N,â he muttered softly into her hair. âIf you heard the way he talks about you while working, heâs so proud of you.â
His words only made her sob harder, relaxing into his chest, making his shirt wet with tears. He didnât seem to mind, though.
âI just wanted to feel loved.â She admitted, gripping onto Peter. She didnât know why she was admitting this all, but she felt safe. He made her feel safe.
âYou are loved,â Peter said so softly that she almost missed it.
Y/n didnât reply. She couldnât. She hated that he was seeing her so weak. This wasnât her, but he didnât make her feel bad. If anything, she felt better that he was holding her. Begrudgingly, he let go of her, stepping back slightly, still only inches apart.
âI never understood why you hated me, but I think I finally know now, Y/n. I am not your competitor. Youâre so incredible, youâre like the smartest person I know, not to mention Iâve never seen anyone more compassionate and passionate when around people they love,â he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers.
Something stirred in her chest at his words. His face was so close and he looked completely genuine. Silence settled between them, and she couldnât even remember what she hated him for less than twenty minutes ago. Her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth then back up again as the stood in comfortable silence.
âPeter, I- â Y/n began before being interrupted by a slightly aggressive knock as the door opened. Peter immediately took a big step back from her, awkwardly like he was caught in the act. Tony lent on the doorframe, looking between the two for a moment before Peter let out an awkward cough.
âIâm gonna.. go?â he said like it was a question. He looked at Y/n as she gave him a tight smile and quickly left the room.
Tony stayed in the doorway for a long moment after Peter disappeared down the hall.
âIâm going to reach out to the admissions board first thing tomorrow mor-,â Tony started walking towards her. Y/n shook her head, taking a step back as he approached.
âNo, no, donât do that, Dad, please,â Y/n interrupted. âI donât want to be the girl who only got into MIT because Tony Stark made a phone call. If I get in now, thatâs all anyone will ever think.â
âThey rejected you because of that article.â His voice was firm, almost matter of fact. âThatâs discrimination. They judged you over your personal life instead of your academic record.â
âAnd whose fault is it that the article even mattered?â she shot back.
âYou went on every news channel you could find, called it fake, threatened lawsuits, made this whole massive spectacle.â Her voice cracked despite herself. âYou turned it into international news when if we left it, it wouldâve been old news within a week.â
âI was protecting my daughter,â Tony said sternly. âI was trying to prove that article isnât you and doesnât get to define you.â
âWell, it kind of does when itâs now the first thing that comes up when people search my name.â Y/n replied coldly. âIâve got nothing to defend me. Iâm not an Avenger like you. Iâve done nothing to make me a âgood personâ, so now by default Iâm just a nepo baby with daddy issues who also happens to be a massive slut.â
Tonyâs face softened as he listened. Y/n sighed, shaking her head and walking over to her bed, wiping her eyes and sitting on the edge.
âI donât care about stupid MIT or the articles. Well, I do, but.. I care about proving myself to you and making you proud more,â Y/n added quietly, avoiding eye contact with her dad.
Tony made his way to her bed and crouched down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. âYou could never disappoint me. Youâre smarter than I ever was at your age. I am so proud of you.â He whispered. Y/n sniffled and gave him a small smile. âBut you are very grounded for lying, kay?â He added, smiling at her, before getting up with a groan and muttering something about getting old.
Before heading out the door, he paused. âOh, the kid definitely has a thing for you. Let him down gently, yeah?â And with that, he closed the door.
She let out a sharp laugh, Peter Parker like her? yeah, right.
summary: reader is getting ready to go out and peter sits with her while she does her makeup
word count: 0.9k
warnings/tags: sfw, fem!reader, fluff, no y/n, use of pet names
The squeak of the old window closing in the living room sounds over the get ready playlist you turned on just minutes ago. You, however, donât break your attention from your own reflection as you use the fluffy headband to keep your hair from getting into your face when you start your makeup.Â
âBaby?â Peter's voice fills the small apartment, âIâm back from patrol.âÂ
âIn the bedroom!âÂ
His approaching footsteps grow louder as he pushes open the door. There stands your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, still suited up from patrol; however his mask is clutched in his hand, revealing his unruly brown curls. The slight bow in his shoulders and droop of his eyelids reveal just how grueling patrol was for him, but still his eyes soften as they land on you sitting at the vanity.Â
He shuffles over to the chair, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into the crook of your neck. âMissed you,â He mumbles as he sinks into your touch.
You turn your head slightly to plant a soft kiss against his slightly sweaty hairline, âI missed you too, Peter.â You lift your hand to scratch his scalp softly and you swear he's about to start purring against your skin. Â
He lifts his head from you and surveys the variety of makeup items lying about the vanity. âWhere are you going?â
âI have a girls night tonight, remember? Weâre gonna go to the bar that's across the coffee shop you like.âÂ
Recognition flashes in his eyes as you mention this to him again, âNoâyeah I remember you telling me about that. I forgot, Iâm sorry.âÂ
âItâs okay,â you smile at him through the mirror. âWas the night bad tonight?âÂ
âVery,â he says as he starts peeling the red and blue suit off and replacing it with a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt with a chemistry joke printed on the front of it. âBut it's better now Iâm here with you.âÂ
You smile at him over your shoulder as you start applying primer to your skin.
âCan I sit with you while you get ready?âÂ
âOf course, Pete. You don't gonna ask.â
He grabs the small ottoman you keep in the corner of the bedroom and uses that to sit next to you. Neither of you say much due to Peterâs exhaustion and your concentration, and instead let the music fill the silence between you both.Â
As you reach for your blushâthe one makeup item you really spurge on because the formula is incomparableâyou accidentally knock it over, sending it tumbling to its end. You close your eyes just waiting to hear the sound of the packaging shattering on the floor, but it never comes. You dare to peak an eye open and see the product safely cocooned in Peter's hand.Â
âPeter! You saved my blush!â You beam at him as he carefully places it back onto the desk, this time closer to the middle just in case. You lean over your seat to pepper kisses across his face. âThank you, thank you, thank you baby.â Â
He laughs and as you pull away, you notice the obvious pink tint now staining his cheeks. âIt was nothing,â he says as he awkwardly pulls on the end of his shirt. âIf I couldnât save your makeup, then I donât think Iâd be qualified to save people.âÂ
âThat Peter tingle of yours is no joke,â you proclaim before giving him one more kiss, this time to his lips. It doesnât take him long to register the kiss and reciprocate it back, bringing his hand up to rest against the side of your neck and pull you slightly closer. You gently smile into the kiss, before reluctantly pulling from him, but he chases your lips, wanting more. âI have to finish getting ready, Pete.â
He sighs dramatically, leaning back, âFine.â
âDonât worry, Iâll give you double the kisses when I get back.âÂ
âTriple.â
You laugh but nod, âTriple the kisses it is then.âÂ
You start adding the finishing touches to the makeup, completing the look to match your outfit. You set the last product down and stand up from the chair to do a couple of turns for Peter now that you're fully dressed with the makeup down. âWhat do you think?â
âYou look⌠stunning.â He whispers as his eyes scan every detail you put into your outfit tonight. He stands from the ottoman, intertwines your fingers, then pulls you gently so youâre standing in front of him. âI donât know what I did to deserve you, but Iâm grateful.â
You smile up at him and tenderly squeeze his hand three times. Heâs looking down at you with such devoted love that you canât stop the heat spreading across your face. âProbably all that good karma that comes from being a hero.âÂ
He laughs quietly, pressing a feather light kiss to your lips, not wanting to ruin the makeup you spent so long working on. Your phone pinging multiple times pulls your attention away from him and you read the text from your friend telling you the uber you're all sharing is out front.Â
âOkay, I gotta go.â
âYouâll call me if you need anything, right?âÂ
âAlways.â You press one last lingering kiss to his lips, âI love you.â
âI love you too, baby. Be safe.â
authors note: i haven't posted in like a week im sorryyyy. its been hard to figure out what to write about BUT finally wrote for my og. i dont know why it took so long for me to write for him, but i finally did it
Summary â After getting stabbed on patrol, you seek Peterâs help. Heâs furious, but his anger fades into love and comfort.
The pain in your stomach was unbearable. Every step you took sent a sharp, searing ache through your body, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, forcing yourself to climb up the fire escape. Blood dripped from your wound, soaking into the black fabric of your suit, but you ignored it. You had to get to Peter. You knew he was homeâheâd told you he wasnât going on patrol tonight because of finals.
Reaching his window, you mustered the strength to knock. Once. Twice.
Seconds later, the curtains shifted, and Peterâs face appeared, his expression soft with confusion before it twisted into pure horror.
âHolyââ He scrambled to unlock the window, shoving it open. âY/n? What the hell happened?!â
You barely had the energy to answer as he reached out, gripping your arm to help you inside. The moment your feet touched the floor of his room, your knees buckled, but Peter caught you, arms tight around you.
His touch was warm. Yours were freezing.
âYouâre bleeding,â he muttered, voice tight with panic as he looked down at your stomach. His hands hovered over the gash, the fabric of your suit already dark with blood. âShit. Shit. Why didnât you go to the compound?â
You gave him a weak, lopsided smile. âDidnât want to deal with the yelling and questions from Tony.â
Peter didnât laugh. He didnât even crack a smile. His jaw clenched, and his brown eyes burned with fury as he guided you toward his bed.
âYouâre so damn stubborn,â he grumbled under his breath, lowering you carefully onto the mattress.
âHey,â you protested weakly, âI prefer the term independent.â
Peter shot you a sharp glare, making you shrink slightly. âShut up.â
He knelt beside you, unzipping your suit with quick, jerky movements. You let him peel the fabric away from your body, revealing smooth skin stained with blood. His hands hesitated when he noticed how much of it there was.
Peter swallowed hard. âFuck, Y/nâŚâ His voice was barely above a whisper.
âIâm fine,â you mumbled.
Peter snapped his gaze up at you, furious. âNo, youâre not. Youâre stabbed. Thatâs, like, the opposite of fine.â He ran a hand through his curls, then exhaled sharply. âIâI need to stitch this up. I need toâjustâstay still.â
You watched as he practically ripped open his first aid kit, hands shaking as he pulled out antiseptic, gauze, and a suture kit.
âLie down,â he ordered.
You did as he said, wincing as you moved.
Peter took a deep breath, then grabbed the antiseptic. âThis is gonna hurt.â
âNo kidding,â you muttered.
The second the antiseptic touched your wound, you hissed, arching your back slightly. A sharp, burning pain spread through your stomach like wildfire.
âAhâdamn itââ Your hand shot out, gripping Peterâs shoulder instinctively. You squeezed hard, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie.
Peter barely even reacted. He was too focused, brows furrowed, lips pressed together tightly as he cleaned the gash. He worked quickly, but his hands werenât as steady as usual.
Once he was satisfied, he grabbed the suture kit. You felt your heart drop at the sight of the needle.
âOh, come on,â you groaned. âSeriously?â
Peter shot you a look. âYou need stitches.â
You sighed, closing your eyes. âFine. Just⌠be gentle, okay?â
Peter scoffed. âYeah, well, maybe you should be gentle with yourself and not get stabbed.â
You cracked one eye open. âWow. Great advice, Parker.â
âShut up,â he muttered again, but there was no heat behind it.
Then, he started stitching. The sharp sting of the needle made you clench your jaw, and your grip on his shoulder tightened.
âYouâre such an idiot,â he muttered under his breath.
You blinked, barely able to process his words through the haze of exhaustion. âWhat?â
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and furious. âI said youâre an idiot. What were you thinking, going out alone?â His voice rose, trembling with anger. âYou got stabbed, Y/n! Stabbed. Do you even realize how close you were toââ He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. âGod! Youâre reckless.â
You swallowed hard. âPeterââ
âNo,â he snapped, tugging the stitches a little tighter than necessary. You winced, and guilt flashed across his face, but he didnât stop. âI get that we do this whole vigilante thing, but you donât go out injured. You donât go out alone. And you sure as hell donât come to me after getting stabbed like itâs some minor inconvenience.â
Your chest tightened. You knew he was scared, but right now, you couldnât deal with his anger. You were exhausted. Your body was screaming, and all you wanted was comfort.
But instead, Peter was yelling.
Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision.
âI donât need this right now,â you whispered.
Peter froze. The anger drained from his face as his gaze dropped to your eyes, taking in the way your lashes glistened with unshed tears.
His throat bobbed. âY/n, Iââ
You sat up, ignoring the dizziness that hit you instantly. âI canât do this. Iâm tired, Peter. I just want some silence.â Your voice cracked. âI donât need you yelling at me.â
You pushed yourself off the bed, but your legs wobbled, and you nearly collapsed. Before you could hit the floor, Peter was there, catching you.
His grip was firm but gentle. âWait,â he murmured, voice much softer now. âIâm sorry.â
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat.
Peter stepped closer, his free hand cupping your face. âIâm sorry,â he repeated, brushing his thumb against your cheek. âI shouldnât have yelled. I was justâGod, Y/n, I was scared.â
You sniffled, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were glassy with emotion, filled with concern, with love.
Peter exhaled shakily. âPlease. Just let me finish taking care of you.â
You hesitated for only a second before nodding.
Peter guided you back onto the bed, this time more careful, more gentle. He grabbed the roll of bandages and began wrapping them around your waist, his touch featherlight now. When he finished, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another on your arm, then your knee.
Your breath hitched.
Peter moved back up, his lips grazing yours as he whispered, âYou scared the hell out of me.â
You cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his jaw. âIâm sorry.â
He kissed you. Soft and slow, like he was afraid you might break under his touch. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his curls.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. âStay over,â he murmured. âPlease.â
You gave him a tired smile. âYou gonna yell at me again?â
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. âNo. Just gonna hold you.â
That sounded perfect.
You nodded, letting him climb into bed beside you. He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you as if he was afraid you might disappear.
âSleep,â he whispered.
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Safe. Warm. Loved.
Summary: Peter sees you again after the memory spell was casted to make you forget him, but it seems that your heart still remembers the flowers he used to give to you.
Content: angst, fluff, vague implication of reader having powers, one use of y/n, set after no way home, lmk if I missed any!
Authorâs notes: so just for this fic letâs all pretend that yellow dahlias bloom in spring, I had a vision and I was too far gone to change it đ
Word count: 1.6k
Requested here
Spring was always a beautiful time of year to be in New York City. When trees were breathed back to life and flowers started to flourish again, there was a peace found amongst the city. While it was always busy, the crowds became somewhat steady as the spring season didn't attract as many tourists as summer and winter did. It almost felt perfect.
Peter hated spring.
But he hadn't always. No, he used to actually love spring, because someone else had once helped him to see the true beauty in the season, in the flowers that bloomed.
But he didn't have that person anymore. He didn't have anyone, so what was the point?
Now, he dreaded spring. Now, the warm feeling in his chest he used to get from it was replaced with an ache, filled with a longing for something that seemed like a lifetime ago. The blooming nature only served as a reminder, rubbing it in his face that everything he had was gone.
He couldn't wait for the season to end.
He walked past a florist shop everyday on his daily route through New York. He noticed that the shop had become busier ever since spring had started, with citizens staring at the vibrant and colourful flowers displayed in front of the shop. Multiple times, he had to hold back from stopping and looking himself.
He refused to stop at the florist shop, to even hover there. He was too afraid of the risk, the risk of running into the owner of the store who he observed as easily as breathing. How you arranged your flowers in the early morning inside the store, playing soft music in the background while you existed in your own world. How your eyes lit up when someone walked in, how you laughed whenever talking with a customer, how you charmed a flower to look more beautiful with a golden glow beneath your hands when you thought no one was looking, how you always launched into precise detail whenever you were asked questions about a certain flower.
And most of all, he noticed the yellow dahlia necklace you still wore. The necklace your hand still played around with, whether you were conscious of it or if it was just an instinct. He had given you that necklace, so he wondered how warped your memory had been about receiving it.
He didn't think you had ever noticed him before, not like you used to. You would barely spare him a glance now.
It hurt for it to be that way, to have things change so drastically, but with time, he had accepted that his wounds from it would never be tended to. Just as long as you were never inflicted with another wound of your own again, he was okay with his unhealed ones, and he could settle for watching from afar.
But then he came across an obstacle that challenged his decision of keeping a distance from you. When he was taking his usual route and reached the part of passing the florist shop, you were there.
You were always there, but this time, you were right there. You were standing outside the shop, adjusting the flower placements on the displays at your storefront. The morning sun beamed down on you, highlighting the shine in your hair.
Peter halted in his tracks, his heart doing a backflip. He looked around frantically to see if there was another way of passing without being so close to you, but the next pedestrian crossing wasn't until the next intersection, and the last one he had passed was a few minutes away, and he really didn't feel like turning around and taking so much time just to avoid you.
You didn't remember him. He was completely erased from your mind, why would you bat an eye if he walked by? He would just be another citizen to you.
So he shoved his hands into his pockets, kept his head down, and continued straight forward, quickening his step to walk past you as quickly as possible.
With his gaze glued to the ground, he couldn't see the way yours flicked to him and stayed there.
He was someone you saw often. One of those strangers that you somehow always spotted in a bustling city, a stranger you never acknowledged. He always walked past your shop, and you were pretty sure he always looked in, but he had never once stepped foot inside. You wondered if he wasn't a flower person, or if he just never had any special occasions to buy flowers for.
Because something you always took notice of was that he looked sad. It was easy to spot in his face. The weight he carried in his eyes like he was hiding a heavy burden, the exhaustion lining his features, the timidity in his body language like he was trying to make himself smaller.
You don't know why you always noticed him. Many people walked past your shop everyday, lots looked and never walked in, and he had done nothing in particular to be different from the others. But whenever you saw him, you always felt a strange tug in your chest, and it proved a challenge to tear your eyes away from him, like he was some sort of magnet. It felt like you could tell what kind of mood he was in just by taking one look at him, like that was something you had grown familiar with, which didn't make sense because you had never met him before.
You were pretty sure you had never met him before, but your gut quietly told you otherwise. You always ignored it, because what did it know?
And suddenly, he was right there. Walking past you, shoulder nearly brushing against yours as he passed, and it felt like you had actually made contact with the way you shivered.
You were in the middle of handling a bouquet of yellow dahlias, rearranging some of the flower displays in front of your ship. You looked down at the flowers in your hands, and then back to the man who was now walking away from you.
Your mouth moved before your mind could think.
"Excuse me!" You called out, and the man immediately stops in his tracks, clearly having heard you.
For one embarrassing moment, you thought he was going to ignore you and keep walking until he slowly turned around, a cautious look on his face like he wasn't sure if you were talking to him. When he met your direct gaze, surprise flickered across his face, his eyes visibly softened in a way that felt like it was meant just for you.
"Sorry to bother you, I just..." you said, now regretting calling for him as you fumbled around nervously with the flowers in your hand until you were just holding one. You approached him with the flower, and hesitated a moment before holding it out for him to take. "Here, this is for you."
He blinked, the surprise intensifying on his face as his eyes flitted between you and the flowers. "What?"
"It's for you," you repeated softly, sending him a kind smile.
"The flower? Oh, um... how much for it?" He asked.
Your smile widened. "Well, it depends on the customer. But in your case, it's on the house."
His eyes widened. "Oh, wow. That's really kind of you, but I couldn't possibly take that."
"Please, I insist," you said, even without knowing yourself why you were insisting. "Unless you don't like this kind of flower? I can get you a different one-"
"No, that's okay. I don't want to make you go through any more trouble," he said hastily, and you let out a soft chuckle, your chest fluttering in a way that felt vaguely familiar.
Since he still wasn't taking the flower, you took matters into your own hands and reached forward to place it into his chest pocket. He jerked slightly, startled by your advances. You quickly pulled away at the fear of making him uncomfortable while he stared at the flower now tucked into his chest pocket.
"It's a yellow dahlia," you informed him with a soft smile. "Lovers used to get those when they reunited."
You weren't sure why you told him such an intimate fact, and you didn't even know why you were giving him a free flower in the first place. You never really gave people flowers on the house anymore ever since your business had started booming, but it felt different with him. Like he had done more to deserve it. Perhaps you had just wanted to brighten his day since he looked so sad. Perhaps it was more, a more you couldn't remember.
You couldn't read the intense look in his eyes as he stared at you, his expression having changed when you told him about the lovers reuniting. You couldn't tell if you had said the wrong thing, and you really hoped you hadn't, because there was something about this man that made you want him to like you even though you had just met, even if it didn't feel like your first time meeting.
He cleared his throat abruptly, breaking your gaze as he turned his head away, and you swore that his eyes looked glassy for a second.
"Thank you for the flower, but I should get going now. Good luck with everything Y/N," he said softly, glancing at you again before he turned around and walked off at a brisk pace, his head hanging low.
You blinked at his abrupt departure, your curiosity piqued as you watched him leave, your chest feeling weirdly warm from the interaction in a good way.
And just know I WILL leave a comment calling out AI use on your post if you use it in any way. Cities are being deprived of water because of this shit. âOh but it does this and that and yadayadaâ WE ARE IN A GLOBAL WATER CRISIS. THIS WILL AFFECT YOU TOO. YOU ARE CONTRIBUTING TO SPEEDING UP YOUR OWN DEMISE.
And donât say any of that âbut your phone and social media uses water!!â Yes I know bitch, and the whole point is to limit how much of that you contribute to. Iâm hardly on social media at all these days aside from here, and have cut back my phone usage heavily. Ai however, COMPLETELY OPTIONAL. Get that shit out of creative spaces and for the love of god, look into the consequences of your own actions, and replenish that with better action instead.
The worst part is, it doesnât have to be this way. We can put a moratorium on data centres. We can delete the apps. We can stop funding the companies. We have lived without this shit before. We can still do that.
There is no excuse now. I know damn well yall know how bad it is and use it anyway. I hope you wither in guilt and feel the weight of your ignorance tenfold. May the repercussions come your way first.
summary: when borrowing steveâs car ends in an accident that leaves it completely wrecked, youâre left shaken and terrified of how heâll react. except when he finds you, itâs painfully clear he couldnât give a fuck about the damage.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.
âHeâs going to kill me.â
The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.Â
You barely recognize your own voice. Youâre staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.
All you can see is Steveâs face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.
âOh, sweetheart,â the older woman says gently. âTry not to worry about that right now.â
You shake your head, breath hitching. âNo, you donât understand. Heâsâfuckâheâs going to lose it.â
Because not even twenty minutes ago, youâd been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steveâs car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.
The road had been clear, thatâs until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid itâsending the car headfirst into the tree instead.
If it werenât for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you donât know what you wouldâve done.
Steveâs car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.
The woman âwhoâs name you learned to be Mrs. Dunneâsighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. âIâm going to call for help, all right? My daughterâs a nurse. Sheâll look at you.â
She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.
Youâre still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.
âI need a number,â she says gently, already leaning across the seat. âWho owns the car?â
Steveâs name sticks in your throat, except you canât even pull the words out. You point instead. âGlove compartment.â
She finds it quickly â a worn little address book, containing numbers and detailsâ and flips until she nods. âGot him.â
âHey,â a voice says nearby. âIâm Vickie.â
You look up to find a girl. She canât be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
âCan I take a look at you?â
âIâm fine,â you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. âI meanâIâm not fine. But I donât think Iâm that injured.â
Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. âOkay,â she says gently. âStill gonna check you.â
She guides you toward the back seat of the carâwhich is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like sheâs afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.
âI swear I wasnât speeding,â you blurt, words tumbling over each other. âThe road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didnât even think, I justââ
âHey,â Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. âPause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?â
You try. The breath stutters anyway.
âThatâs okay,â she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. âWeâll take it slow.â
She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. âYouâve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.â Her voice stays calm. âAny dizziness? Nausea?â
âI feel sick,â you admit. âBut I think thatâs just because of⌠everything.â
âThat makes sense.â She presses gauze gently to your forehead.
You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. âSorry.â
âDonât be,â she says quickly. âGlass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.â
âIt is worse,â you choke. âSteveâs going to see this and heâs going to lose it. Oh, Godâthe carââ
She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. âSteveâs your boyfriend?â
You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. âItâs his car. His brand new BMWâwhich he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally paid an insane amount of money for it and shows it off every chance he gets.â
A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. âIâm dead. Iâm actually so dead.â
Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. âI donât know your boyfriend, hon,â she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, âbut cars can be fixed. People canât. I really donât think heâs going to care about the car when he sees you like this.â
âHe will,â you say immediately, shaking your head. âHeâs gonna take one look at it and justâGod. I shouldnât have borrowed it. I shouldnât have touched it at all. I shouldâve just walked, Iâfuck.â
âWell, my mom already called him,â Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. âAnd she called your friends too. Heâs already on his way.â
Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. âNo. Oh my God.â You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. âYou should go, both of you. Youâve done more than enough, and I really donât want you here when heâwhen he sees it.â
The image wonât leave you alone: Steveâs face hardening, his furious rage leading him to probablyâ rightfully soâ break up with you. Your stomach twists at the thought, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.
Vickie shakes her head before youâve even finished. âYeah, thatâs not happening.â
From across the road, her momâs voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. âNone of that, honey!â
Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. âWe are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.â She softens just a touch as she looks at you. âWeâll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. Thatâs that.â
âThank you, Mrs. Dunne.â you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.
Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way heâd said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to youâ
A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.
You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before itâs even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.
Youâve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.
Terrified.
His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then heâs moving fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.
Vickie and her mom both straighten. âWell,â Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. âThatâll be him.â
They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register.
Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.
âOh my God,â he breathes, voice breaking. âHey. Heyâlook at me. Fuckâare you okay?â
The Dunnesâ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steveâs frantic words.
He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.
âHey. Heyâlook at me, okay? Baby, câmon.â
You canât.
Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.
âIâm sorry,â you manage, words tripping over each other. âIâm so sorryâI didnât mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop andâand I know how much you love it and I shouldnât have taken it andââ
âHey.â His voice cuts through, âHey. Stop.â
Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.
âI know it was stupid,â you ramble, tears blurring everything. âI know itâs your car and itâs new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didnât mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accidentââ
ââlook at me,â he says, low and steady.
Steveâs hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.
Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.
âBreathe, baby,â he says immediately, softer now. âJust breathe with me. In and out. Come on.â
You suck in a shaky breath.
âGood. Out. Yeah, thatâs it. Again.â
You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.
âThatâs it, good job,,â he murmurs. âYouâre okay. Iâm here.â
Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.
âNow,â he says, voice firmer, sharper, like heâs trying to anchor you to reality. âAre you hurt?â
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. âNoâbut your car, itâsââ
Steveâs jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.
âDid I ask about the goddamn car?â His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.
You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he leans closer, pressing just slightly, like heâs trying to pin you in placeâbut itâs not dominance, itâs urgency.
âI asked if youâre hurt,â he says again, softer but no less intense. ânot the car.â
You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyesâit isnât anger. Itâs terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you.Â
His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyesâa world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.
You shake your head slowly, trembling. âNo,â you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. âMânot.â
He exhales hard through his nose, âDoes your head hurt? Your temple?â he says gently now.
You sniff, shaking your head again. âNo. It stings, butâthere was an old woman and her daughter. They saw the accident. The daughterâs a nurse. She helped me.â
Steve nods. âI know. She called me.â
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.
âJesus fucking Christ,â he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.
âDonât ever do that to me again,â he murmurs, voice thick. âYou hear me? Donât scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.â
In truth, the moment heâd gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadnât thought about the car. Not even for a second. Heâd pictured you bleeding, broken, or worse; not breathing.
Heâd borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.
You blink up at him, voice small. âSo⌠youâre not mad about your car?â
His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. âMad?â he echoes. âNo. God, no.â
He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. âI donât give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheartâhell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.â
You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. âI donât think youâre that rich, Steve.â
He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. âOh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.â
You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. âAre you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!â
âIâm laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,â he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. âYou looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.â His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. âBesides. Youâre my baby. Not that damn thing.â
Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.
âNow, come on,â he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. âLetâs get you checked out at the hospital.â
You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. âBut Vickie already wrapped me upââ
âI know,â he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. âI just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.â
You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.
steve harrington masterlist
a/n: likes, comments, and reblogs are all highly appreciated <33
Please stop filling the âx readerâ tags (and smut/angst/fluff) with responses to your inbox
Iâm searching for a fic, not your response to an ask.
itâs not x reader, itâs not a oneshot/blurb/chapter, so please donât put it in the tag where people go to find fics.
I get that people may really love a fic of yours! and will send things in your inbox and you have every right to answer them and the praise is well deserved!
but Iâm clicking on the tag to read fics, not to read the responses to your asks as if itâs an Instagram stories âask me anythingâ question boxâŚ
I specifically avoid blogs where I see their inbox in tags more than I see their ficsâŚ
no hate to anyone! Please donât take this as me hating on you or saying you should not respond to your inbox, you should! Just donât do it in the âx readerâ (smut/fluff/angst) tag!
I acknowledge that this is hypocritical, as Iâm using the tags im asking people not to use in posts that arenât a fic - but Iâm using them ONCE, to spread some awareness of me asking this, to the tags, some people may agree with me and agree itâs annoying and some may not.
Either way, this is ONE post, I wonât tag them again, so you can go back to browsing for things to read :)
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