Lee.

stranger things blog. He/Him.

[leesleelee]

Hello! My name is Lee and welcome to my stranger things blog.

You can find male!reader content on my blog. I only write for male readers.

Masterlist★

Request page, open..🫶🏽

Credits: the last border that I used is made by: kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Hiiii! So ifk if u remember and its completely ok if not!

I left a comment on a post of urs requesting this a while back,again if u dont remember its ok) Steve Harrington x male reader where reader is Nancy's gay best friend and Steve gets jealous of him all the time for how much hes around Nancy,and he thinks he's jealous because of her but he slowly realizes he's falling for reader? Amd its kinda messy and adorable stumbling Steve cause "oh my god,im gay!?" 😭and if u feel like it maybe dustin could be readers friend (they're in dnd to7gether?) So just steve struggling with his orientation then messy confession and fluff ensue?

(Idc if it has smutt at the end)

Again, dont feel pressured! 🫶💖

Oki byeee

The Harrington Hypothesis (Disapproven).

Steve Harrington x male reader.

Steve Harrington is a man of simple hypotheses. His current one? [Name], Nancy’s stoic, flannel-wearing, DnD-playing best friend, is a threat. Steve is convinced [Name] is trying to move in on Nancy, and he’s determined to protect his "territory"

CW: Language, Sexual Tension, Mild Violence, Internalized Confusion, Slow Burn Tension

Word Count: 3,100

The air in the Wheeler basement smelled like stale Cheetos, teenage anxiety, and the distinct, ozone-heavy scent of impending doom.

It was a Tuesday, or maybe a Wednesday,time had become a flat circle since Vecna started cracking teenagers like glow sticks,and the "Party" was strategizing.

Or, more accurately, they were arguing.

"It’s not about the sheer force of the fireball," Dustin Henderson insisted, slamming his hand onto the card table. "It’s about the radius. If we lure him into a confined space—"

"He’s a wizard-demon-thing, Henderson," Steve Harrington said from the couch, spinning a nail-bat that he wasn’t technically supposed to have indoors.

"He doesn’t care about geometry."

"It’s physics, Steve!"

"It’s magic!"

"Actually," a voice cut through the noise, low and calm.

"It’s tactical disadvantage. Dustin’s right about the radius, but Steve’s right about the environment.You don't box in a Lich unless you have a Paladin to tank the damage. And we don't have a Paladin. We have a babysitter with a bat."

Steve bristled, his hair practically vibrating with offense.

He looked over to where you were sitting on the floor, leaning back against Nancy’s legs. You were currently shuffling a deck of playing cards with one hand, looking bored.

You.

You were the problem.

You were [Name]. Nancy’s "friend from the newspaper" who had somehow assimilated into the group like a parasite.

You were shorter than Steve, probably five-eight on a good day, with messy hair that didn’t defy gravity like Steve’s, and you wore flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. You looked normal. You looked like a guy who pumped gas or mowed lawns.

But you were always there.

"I am not a tank," Steve huffed, crossing his arms. "I’m the stealth unit."

"You’re wearing a bright yellow sweater," you pointed out, not even looking up from your cards. "You’re about as stealthy as a disco ball."

Nancy laughed. She actually laughed, her hand dropping to rest on your shoulder.

Steve felt a hot, prickly sensation crawl up his neck. It wasn't just that you were mean to him—Robin was mean to him, Dustin was mean to him—it was that you were mean to him and Nancy liked it.

"Okay, focus," Nancy said, lightly squeezing your shoulder.

"[Name] is right. We need to rethink the supply run for Eddie. We’re running low on food, and if we’re going to barricade the trailer, we need actual hardware."

"I can drive," you offered instantly. "My truck has more space than the BMW."

"No," Steve shot up, nearly knocking over a lamp.

"No way. The BMW is faster. And it’s quieter. And I’m the designated driver. It’s the rule."

You finally looked at him.

You had these dark, heavy-lidded eyes that always made Steve feel like he was being evaluated and found lacking. You smirked, just a tiny tilt of the corner of your mouth.

"Relax, Harrington," you said, your voice dropping an octave. "I’m not trying to steal your steering wheel."

You’re trying to steal my girlfriend, Steve thought, narrowing his eyes. Ex-girlfriend. Whatever.

"I’m driving," Steve declared. "Nancy, Robin, and I will go to the War Zone. You and the kids stay here."

"Actually," Nancy interjected, "I need to go over the map with Dustin and Lucas. Steve, why don't you take [Name]? He knows what supplies we need better than you do."

Steve froze. "What?"

"Yeah," Dustin chimed in, munching on a pretzel.

"[Name] is a Level 14 Artificer in our campaign. He knows how to build traps. You just know how to hit things."

"I hit things very well!" Steve defended.

"Steve," Nancy said, giving him that look—the one that brooked no argument.

"Just take him. Please? We need the wood and the nails. And maybe something flammable."

You stood up. You were definitely shorter than him, forcing you to look up slightly to meet Steve’s eyes.

But the way you stood—feet planted apart, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of your faded jeans—made you seem bigger. Denser.

"Come on, Harrington," you said, jangling your keys before tossing them to yourself and pocketing them. "Let’s go on a date."

Steve choked on air. "Excuse me?"

"A supply run," you corrected, walking past him and bumping his shoulder. "Keep up, Princess."

The drive to the Army Surplus store was excruciating.

Steve gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. 'Tears for Fears' was playing quietly on the radio, filling the awkward silence.

You were in the passenger seat, looking out the window, one boot resting casually on the dashboard.

"Get your foot off the dash," Steve snapped. "This is German engineering."

You slowly turned your head, made eye contact, and deliberately wiggled your boot before putting it down. "Touchy."

"I’m not touchy. I’m protective. There's a difference."

"Right. Protective." You shifted, turning your body toward him.

The movement brought the scent of your cologne, something woodsy, maybe cedar and cheap cigarettes, into Steve’s personal space.

It wasn't a bad smell. It was actually kind of annoying how good it smelled. "Is that why you’ve been glaring at the back of my head for three days?"

Steve kept his eyes on the road. "I haven't been glaring."

"You have. You look like you’re trying to set me on fire with your mind. Which, considering what we’re dealing with, is a valid concern."

You chuckled darkly. "What’s your problem, Steve? You think I’m a Russian spy?"

"No," Steve grumbled. "I think you’re... clinging."

"Clinging?"

"To Nancy," Steve blurted out. "You’re always whispering with her. You’re always touching her. You guys have all these inside jokes. It’s weird."

There was a pause. Steve risked a glance. You looked confused, your eyebrows drawn together.

Then, a slow realization dawned on your face, and you let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Oh my god," you said, covering your mouth. "You’re jealous."

"I am not—"

"You think I’m trying to get with Nancy Wheeler?"

You were laughing harder now, a genuine, raspy sound that made your shoulders shake. "Dude. Really?"

"She’s a catch!" Steve defended, feeling his face heat up. "Smart, pretty, badass with a gun. Why wouldn't you be?"

You wiped a tear from your eye, calming down. You looked at Steve with an expression he couldn't quite parse. It was softer now. amused, but softer.

"Steve," you said, your voice taking on that patient tone people used with toddlers.

"Nancy is great. She is a queen. But she is... very much not my type."

Steve frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? Not your type? Who’s your type? Robin?"

You stared at him. The car stopped at a red light.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. You leaned in closer, invading the center console space. Steve felt his breath hitch.

"No, Steve," you said, your voice low, vibrating in the small space of the car. "Robin isn't my type either."

"Then who?" Steve challenged, though his heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Who is good enough for you if Nancy Wheeler isn't?"

You held his gaze. Your eyes dropped to Steve’s lips for a split second, so fast Steve thought he imagined it, before flickering back up. You smirked, a dangerous, heavy thing.

"I like 'em prettier," you deadpanned. "And dumber."

The light turned green. Steve slammed on the gas, flustered. "I’m not dumb!"

"I didn't say you," you said, leaning back into your seat and closing your eyes. "But if the shoe fits, Harrington."

Steve spent the next ten minutes driving and furiously trying to figure out if he had just been insulted or hit on.

He concluded he had been insulted. Definitely insulted.

The War Zone lived up to its name. It was a chaotic mess of camping gear, hunting knives, and suspicious-looking canisters.

"Okay," you took charge, grabbing a shopping cart.

"We need high-tensile rope, gasoline cans—empty, obviously—nails, and sheet metal if we can find it. Eddie’s trailer needs to be a fortress."

Steve trailed behind you, watching the way your back muscles shifted under the flannel shirt as you reached for a coil of heavy rope on a high shelf.

You struggled for a second.

"Need a boost, short-stack?" Steve teased, seeing an opening to regain his dignity.

You ignored him, stepped on the bottom rung of the shelf, and hauled the heavy rope down with a grunt.

You turned, practically dropping the coil into Steve’s arms. It was heavy. Steve stumbled back a step.

"I got it," you said, dusting off your hands. "Carry that."

"I’m not your pack mule."

"You have the hair for it. Very equestrian."

They moved through the aisles. Steve found himself watching you.

You were efficient. You checked prices, you tested the weight of hammers.

There was a competence to you that was undeniably attractive.

Not that Steve was attracted. He just appreciated... capability.

"So," Steve started, trying to sound casual as they looked at flashlights.

"If you're not into Nancy... why are you guys always whispering?"

You stopped examining a Maglite and sighed.

"We’re talking about you, usually."

Steve brightened. "Me? Good things?"

"Mostly about how high-maintenance you are," you said, crushing his soul.

"And... other stuff. Nancy worries about you. She thinks you’re lonely."

"I’m not lonely," Steve scoffed, picking up a hunting knife and looking at his reflection in the blade.

"I have plenty of friends. I have the kids. I have Robin."

"You have children and a lesbian platonic soulmate," you corrected.

"That’s not the same thing as having... you know. Someone."

Steve looked at you. You were leaning against the shelving unit, hip cocked, looking at him with an intensity that made the fluorescent lights of the store feel suddenly too hot.

"And who do you have?" Steve deflected.

"Mr. Mystery Man. You show up in Hawkins, join a DnD cult, and hang out with high schoolers. What’s your story?"

"I move around," you shrugged.

"My dad’s in construction. We go where the work is. I’m used to being the new guy. I don't usually get attached."

"But?"

You looked down at your boots, then back up at Steve.

"But Hawkins is... interesting. The people are interesting."

You took a step closer. The aisle was narrow. Steve backed up until he hit the shelf of sleeping bags behind him.

"You," you said, poking Steve in the chest with a gloved finger. "You are interesting."

"I thought I was dumb," Steve whispered. He couldn't help it.

The proximity was doing something to his brain chemistry.

You were shorter, yes, looking up at him through your lashes, but you felt massive. You had this grounded, heavy energy that made Steve feel floaty and unmoored.

"You are dumb," you agreed softly. Your hand lingered on his chest, right over the yellow sweater.

"But you’re also... brave. And surprisingly good at taking care of people. It’s a good look."

Steve’s mouth went dry. He stared at your lips. They looked chapped. He wondered what they felt like.

Wait. What?

Panic exploded in Steve’s brain. Red alert. Abort mission.

Why are we looking at the guy's lips? This is [Name]. This is the guy who called you Princess.

Steve jerked back, nearly knocking over a display of canteens.

"Right! Brave! That’s me!" Steve squeaked, his voice cracking like he was fourteen again.

"The Babysitter! King Steve! Okay! We need... matches! Let’s get matches!"

He turned and practically sprinted down the aisle.

You watched him go, a confused, slightly hurt expression flickering across your face before you masked it with indifference.

"Idiot," you muttered fondly.

Later that afternoon, they regrouped at Family Video to drop off supplies before heading to Eddie’s.

Steve practically threw the keys at Robin and sprinted to the employee bathroom.

He splashed cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror.

"Get it together, Harrington," he hissed at his reflection.

"You like girls. You like Nancy. You liked Tammy Thompson—wait, no, Robin liked Tammy Thompson. You liked... lots of girls! You are the King of Hawkins High! You do not want to make out with the snarky, short guy who wears flannel!"

But the image of your eyes, dark, heavy, amused, wouldn't leave his head. The way your hand had felt on his chest. The smell of cedar and smoke.

I like 'em prettier. And dumber.

"Oh my god," Steve whispered, gripping the sink.

"He was talking about me."

Someone banged on the door.

"Steve! Are you dying in there? We need to load the van!" It was Robin.

Steve unlocked the door and dragged Robin inside, locking it behind her.

"Whoa," Robin said, eyes wide.

"Personal space, dingus. What is it? Did Vecna get you? Do you need music? I can sing! Running up that hill, making a deal with God..."

"Stop!" Steve covered her mouth. "I’m not cursed! I’m... confused!"

Robin pulled his hand away. "Confused about the plan? It’s simple. We go to the trailer, we fortify, we wait."

"No! Not the plan! About... [Name]!"

Robin’s face went through a complex journey. Confusion, realization, and then a massive, beaming grin.

"Oh. Oh."

"Don't 'Oh' me!" Steve paced the tiny bathroom.

"He’s... he’s annoying! He thinks he’s so cool with his truck and his tools and his... arms."

"His arms?" Robin raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! He rolled up his sleeves and he has these forearms, Robin! And he cornered me in the aisle at the War Zone and told me I was interesting and he touched my chest and I think I stopped breathing for a solid thirty seconds."

Steve grabbed his hair. "And now I’m freaking out because I thought he was trying to steal Nancy, but I think... I think he was trying to..."

"Flirt with you?" Robin supplied helpfully.

"Yes! No! Maybe! Is he? Is he... you know?" Steve did a limp-wrist gesture that made Robin roll her eyes.

"Steve, he is literally the only person in this town whose gaydar pings louder than mine. Nancy knows. I know. Dustin suspects but thinks he’s just 'European' or something."

"Nancy knows?!"

"Why do you think they’re best friends? They bond over how impossible men are."

Robin laughed. "Wait, this is amazing. You have a crush."

"I do not have a crush!" Steve hissed. "I’m straight! I’ve dated, like, every girl in this town!"

"Compulsory heterosexuality is a hell of a drug, Steve," Robin patted his cheek.

"Look. Maybe you are straight. Maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re just... [Name]-sexual. But right now, you look like a panicked golden retriever. Just go talk to him."

"I can't talk to him! He makes me nervous! He’s... intense!"

"He’s five-foot-eight, Steve. You could physically pick him up."

"I don't think I could," Steve said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper.

"I think... I think he could pick me up."

Robin stared at him for a second, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my god. You’re a bottom. This explains so much."

"Shut up! I am not! I am King Steve!"

The atmosphere at Eddie’s trailer was tense. They were boarding up windows.

Eddie was freaking out in the corner, strumming his guitar nervously. Dustin and Lucas were crafting spears.

You and Steve were tasked with reinforcing the back door.

It was tight quarters. You were hammering a sheet of plywood over the glass. Steve was holding it in place.

"Higher on the left," you instructed, a nail between your teeth.

Steve adjusted the wood. "Here?"

"Yeah. Hold it steady." You leaned in, hammering the nail with precise, strong strikes.

Your body was pressed against Steve’s side. The heat radiating off you was distracting.

"So," you mumbled around the nails.

"You survive the bathroom break?"

"Shut up," Steve grumbled. "I was... strategizing."

"With Robin? In the men's room?" You took the nail out of your mouth.

"Harrington, if I didn't know better, I’d say you two were gossiping."

"We were discussing tactics."

"Uh-huh." You hammered another nail. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"You’ve been weird since the store. Did I scare you?"

Steve looked down at you.

You were focused on your work, sweat beading on your temple. A loose strand of hair fell into your eyes. Without thinking, Steve reached out and brushed it back.

You froze. The hammering stopped.

You turned your head slowly, looking up at Steve. Your faces were inches apart. The air in the trailer—usually smelling of stale beer and weed—suddenly felt electric.

"You didn't scare me," Steve said, his voice barely a whisper. He felt brave. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the apocalypse.

"You just... surprised me."

You dropped the hammer. It landed on the linoleum with a heavy thud.

You didn't break eye contact. You turned fully toward him, stepping into his space. Steve’s back hit the plywood they had just nailed up.

"Surprised you how?" you asked, your voice low, rough.

"I didn't know you thought I was... interesting," Steve stammered.

You let out a short breath, shaking your head.

"Steve. You’re the only thing in this town I’ve been looking at for two months."

Steve’s brain short-circuited. "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh.'" You reached out, placing a hand on the wall next to Steve’s head.

You were shorter, having to look up, but the way you loomed, the way your eyes darkened... Steve felt small. He felt held.

"I thought you were still hung up on Wheeler. That’s why I backed off."

"I’m not," Steve blurted out.

"I mean, I was. Maybe. But then... she kept pairing me with you. And you’re annoying. And you drive a truck. And you call me Princess."

"You act like a Princess," you countered, a smirk playing on your lips.

"I do not!"

"You use Farrah Fawcett spray."

"It’s good for the volume!"

You laughed, and then, without warning, you pushed up on your toes and grabbed the front of Steve’s yellow sweater. You yanked him down.

The kiss wasn't like the movies. It wasn't soft or tentative. It was messy. It was teeth and urgency and stubble burn. You kissed like you argued—stubbornly and with a surprising amount of force.

Steve made a noise—a pathetic, surprised squeak—and then melted.

His hands, which had been hovering uselessly, found purchase on your waist. You felt solid. You groaned into the kiss, your tongue swiping against Steve’s bottom lip, demanding entrance.

Steve granted it. He felt dizzy. He felt like the world was ending (which it was) and the only thing tethering him to the earth was the grip of your hand on his sweater and the rough press of your body against his.

You pulled back, just an inch, both of you gasping for air. Your lips were swollen, your eyes blown wide.

"So," you panted, your voice wrecked. "Still confused?"

Steve stared at you. He stared at your mouth.

He stared at the way you were looking at him—like he was the only person in the room, the only person in the dimension.

"Yeah," Steve breathed. "I’m confused about why you stopped."

You grinned, a feral, happy thing. "Good answer."

"Finally!"

They sprang apart. Dustin was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a makeshift spear and looking exasperated.

Eddie was behind him, peering over his shoulder with a massive grin.

"Jesus Christ!" Steve yelled, smoothing down his sweater. "Knock, Henderson!"

"The door was open!" Dustin yelled back. "And we’ve been waiting for you to finish nailing that wood for twenty minutes! The tension was literally suffocating us. Eddie almost started playing a ballad."

"I was gonna play 'Can't Fight This Feeling,'" Eddie confirmed, waggling his eyebrows. "Very moving stuff."

Steve’s face was a color of red that had not previously been discovered by science. He looked at you, expecting you to be embarrassed.

You weren't. You looked smug. You picked up the hammer, twirled it once, and winked at Dustin.

"Sorry, Henderson," you drawled. "Steve needed a... morale boost."

"I hate you," Steve groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I hate all of you."

"No you don't," you said, bumping your shoulder against his. It was a gentle touch this time. Possessive. "You love us."

.....

Credits: my Steve Harrington borders is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Marching Band Boyfriend.

Various Stranger things boys (Steve, Billy, Eddie, Johnathan, and Jason) x top male reader

CW: Light Sexual/Physical Tension (e.g., flirting, hand-holding, hugging, playful teasing), Mentions of High School/Teen Social Dynamics (peer pressure, cliques, school events)

Word Count: 3,426

Steve Harrington.

Instrument: You play trumpet — bold, loud, and confident, just like the way you carry yourself.

---

You first meet Steve through Robin, who’s been dragging Steve to all her band rehearsals and halftime performances.

She’s the one who proudly introduces you after practice one day, trumpet still in her hand, teasingly saying,

“Steve, this is my actual talented trumpet friend, so don’t embarrass me.”

Steve immediately plays it cool, flashing that effortless grin — but his confidence falters when you smile back. There’s something about the way you carry yourself: posture straight from years of marching, a bit of brass polish still on your fingertips, voice deep and grounded. He’s thrown off in the best way.

“That dude’s got lungs,” he mutters under his breath as you nail a high note that cuts right through the noise. Robin elbows him like, ‘You’re drooling, Harrington.’

He starts showing up to every halftime show “to support Robin,” but the truth slips out when Robin catches him staring at you during warm-ups more than once.

(“Jesus, Harrington, you’re practically drooling— it’s like watching a golden retriever watch fireworks.”)

You’re not trying to impress anyone — you’re just lost in your rhythm.

You’re one of the trumpet section leaders — loud, confident, and a little competitive.

Steve finds that incredibly attractive.

You’ve got this steady, easy dominance to your presence, and even though he’s used to being the popular, charming one, something about you quietly takes the lead without trying.

---

Steve starts finding reasons to “accidentally” run into you — at your locker, near the band room, even by the vending machines.

You’re wiping down your trumpet mouthpiece when he leans on the doorframe like it’s scripted.

“So... does it count as cheating if the trumpet section’s always flirting with the crowd?”

“Only if they’re better looking than you,” you shoot back, deadpan.

You see the way he stumbles for a second — all his old playboy charm cracking just a little. You like that.

He loves how easy you make him laugh. Your dry humor mixed with the confidence of a band guy who knows he can hold his own? Dangerous combo.

---

Sometimes you bring him to the empty band room after school — he sits on a stool while you warm up.

You tease him by pointing the trumpet at him like a weapon before letting out a low, lazy note that vibrates through the air.

“That’s… actually kinda hot,” he says without thinking, eyes widening as soon as it slips out.

You grin, and the sound of your laughter makes him blush harder than he wants to.

Sometimes, after late-night practice, you’ll let him hold your trumpet while you’re packing up.

He always pretends he knows what he’s doing — puffing his cheeks and making a terrible sound that makes you laugh so hard you can’t even be mad.

You’ll both end up laughing so hard that your cheeks hurt.

---

You’re definitely the one who keeps him grounded — you’ve got that confident, easy energy that balances his overthinking tendencies.

Steve’s secretly obsessed with your band uniforms. Every time you come to his house from a game, he greets you with:

“You look way too good in that to be playing a school instrument, man.”

You smirk, toss your trumpet case on the couch, and pull him in by the collar.

He pretends to groan but melts into your touch every single time.

He starts showing up at your performances. He’ll be the loudest one clapping — hair still perfect, voice hoarse from cheering.

“That’s my boyfriend! The one with the trumpet!”

Robin rolls her eyes. “We know, Steve. Everyone knows.”

Robin ends up being both your biggest wingwoman and your worst nightmare — she never lets Steve live down how whipped he is. (“You went to band camp, Steve. Band. Camp.” / “Yeah, well, he was there, so—”)

---

You’re the one who opens his world to new genres — funk, soul, marching rhythms he’d never paid attention to.

He secretly learns the names of famous trumpet players just to impress you.

When you both hang out, he lets you rest your head on his lap while you scroll through sheet music together.

He traces the lines of the notes with his fingers, pretending he understands.

“So like… this one means ‘play it sexy,’ right?”

“Close enough,” you say with a smirk.

---

He loves the calluses on your fingers. He’ll absentmindedly run his thumb over them when you’re sitting together.

Sometimes, you’ll play little tunes just for him — something soft and improvised — and he’ll look at you like you’re magic.

When you’re both out late after a game, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders, even if you don’t need it. “Marching band boyfriend privilege,” he jokes.

He’s proud — loudly proud — to be with someone like you.

“You’re like, the coolest band guy ever. Kinda ruins the stereotype, you know?”

“Guess you’re the reason people show up to games, Harrington.”

“Nah,” he grins, “pretty sure it’s you.”

He loves when you wear your uniform. The polished look, the gloves, the way the brass shines under the stadium lights — it drives him crazy. He’ll never say it directly, but you can tell by the way he looks at you that he’s weak for it.

---

The first time you kiss him after a game, you still have that metallic tang of brass on your lips. He tastes it and laughs against your mouth, mumbling,

“God, even your kisses sound like music.”

And yeah — that’s the moment he knows he’s hooked.

And every time you finish a performance and come down from the stands, sweat glistening and adrenaline still high, Steve’s right there waiting — arms open, eyes proud, voice soft:

“You sounded amazing, babe. Seriously. You blow me away every time.”

....

Billy Hargrove.

Instrument: Tenor Saxophone — smooth, bold, and commanding. The sound has a swagger that Billy can’t help but be drawn to.

---

Billy first notices you not at school — but during a post-game hangout at the bleachers.

You’re off to the side, your sax case open, playing something that doesn’t belong to the marching setlist — something bluesy, like you’re just feeling it.

The cigarette hanging from his lips nearly burns down to the filter before he remembers to flick it away.

He’s never heard someone play like that — relaxed, yet sharp.

You catch his gaze across the field — he doesn’t look away. You just smirk, still playing, the sound sliding right through him.

“You always stare at people like that, or is it just when they’re better at blowing than you are?”

“Careful,” Billy says, smirking, “I bite back.”

And from that night on — he’s hooked.

---

Billy’s drawn to confidence, and you have it naturally — not loud, not showy, but steady. You’re the type who doesn’t chase attention but somehow always has it.

He starts showing up at your practices under the pretense of “just passing through.”

You know he’s there — that Camaro parked in the same damn spot every time.

When you finish and walk over, he always has a cocky comment ready.

“Didn’t know band guys could make a sax sound that dirty.”

“Didn’t know pretty boys could blush that fast,” you counter.

He laughs, low and lazy, running a hand through his hair. That’s the moment you see it — the way he gets quiet around you, like you’re the only one who can rattle him.

---

Billy somehow convinces you to give him a “lesson.” You know it’s just an excuse to get you alone — but you don’t stop him.

He sits close while you explain finger positions, the proper mouthpiece control — and he’s barely paying attention to the instrument.

“You sure this is about the sax?” you tease.

“Nah,” he smirks, “just like watching your hands move.”

You blow a note right in his face just to mess with him. He laughs, leaning back, eyes sparkling. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, voice dripping with charm.

That tension stays — electric, heavy, but warm. Every time you’re near each other, it feels like static in the air.

---

Billy’s never been good with “soft” — but you get to see that rare side.

He’ll light your cigarettes for you, leaning close, his thumb brushing yours, pretending it’s casual.

When you play for him, he gets still. He’ll sit on your bed or hood of his Camaro, watching with that faraway look.

The music tames something in him — like the saxophone’s smoothness balances out his rough edges.

You once caught him humming one of your warm-up scales under his breath — and he turned bright red when you called him out.

“Don’t flatter yourself, babe.”

“You’re off key, Hargrove.”

“You’re lucky I like you enough not to prove you wrong.”

---

Your playlists together are a mix of rock and deep, sexy jazz. He teases you for liking “old man music,” but secretly he digs it — especially when you play along to it.

Sometimes he’ll ask you to play while he lies on your bed, smoke curling in the air, shirt half unbuttoned, eyes on you.

“Keep playin’, baby,” he’ll murmur, “sounds like trouble.”

When he’s mad — and he gets mad often — you’ll start playing something slow, calm. It brings him down every time.

“You’re like a goddamn spell,” he says once. “Can’t even stay pissed when you play.”

---

He’s not a “words” guy. He’s all about touch and presence.

Billy will show up to your games even if he doesn’t care about football — he’s there leaning against the railing, sunglasses on, a smirk on his face.

You know he’s watching you the whole time. When the show ends, he meets you outside the band room.

“You looked good out there.”

“You mean the uniform or the performance?”

“Both. Don’t make me pick.”

If anyone flirts with you, he gets quiet. Not loud-jealous, but intense-jealous. The kind where his jaw tightens and his eyes follow your every move.

You love teasing him for it. “Jealous, Hargrove?”

“Nah,” he says, stepping closer, “just making sure people remember who gets the encore.”

---

Sometimes, after a late-night drive, you’ll park somewhere quiet, and he’ll open up. Not much, just enough.

He’ll tell you that the saxophone reminds him of California sunsets — something smooth and golden he can never get back.

You rest your hand on his thigh, and he doesn’t flinch. For once, he lets himself just exist in the calm you give him.

You’re his safe sound — the one thing that doesn’t ask anything of him except to breathe and listen.

---

You once played him a slow, sultry jazz tune while he sat back, shirtless, cigarette smoke curling above him.

When you finished, he grinned that dangerous grin and said,

“You sure you’re in the right band, man? Sounds like you belong in a nightclub getting me in trouble.”

You winked, adjusting your mouthpiece. “Guess you’ll have to find out after hours.”

---

Eddie Munson.

Instrument: Snare drum — loud, precise, and impossible to ignore.

That heartbeat-steady sound fits you: calm under pressure, but powerful when you decide to go off.

---

Eddie first hears you before he meets you.

The echo of the drumline bleeds through the gym walls after class and he mutters,

“Whoever’s playin’ that’s got better timing than half my band.”

He pokes his head into the band room and sees you leading warm-ups, sticks twirling between your fingers.

There’s sweat on your temple, rhythm in your stance.

You glance up and catch him staring.

“You lost, metal-head?”

“Maybe. Depends if this place needs a rhythm guitarist or just another fan.”

You roll your eyes but grin — first time anyone’s made Eddie shut up mid-sentence.

---

He’s instantly obsessed with your timing. You’re the structure his chaotic riffs need.

When you two first jam, it’s ridiculous — drumline precision meets garage-band rebellion.

Robin later says it sounds like a marching band trying to flirt with a rock concert.

Eddie lives for that. “You’re like the metronome from hell, sweetheart,” he says while grinning ear to ear.

You’ll thump a rhythm on his thigh with your drumsticks when he talks too much. It always shuts him up — for about five seconds.

---

He’s constantly stealing your drumsticks, pretending to “conduct” while you play.

“Munson, those cost money.”

“Relax, maestro. I’m adding flair.”

He doodles little dragons on your drum pad when you’re not looking.

When the two of you walk through school, he’s clapping rhythms on lockers while you tap along — everyone knows it’s your signature sound now.

The Hellfire kids start calling you “Percussion Daddy.” Eddie nearly chokes laughing the first time they say it.

---

Eddie brags about you like it’s his job.

“My boyfriend can keep a cleaner beat than Metallica’s drummer, swear to God.”

You’re the one person who can calm his stage nerves.

Before shows, he’ll squeeze your hand three times — your cue to tap out a little rhythm on his chest so he can breathe with it.

You bring structure to his chaos; he brings fire to your control.

When you’re working on new band cadences, he’ll lie on the floor of the band room listening to you play, hands behind his head, just smiling.

“I could live in that sound,” he murmurs once.

---

You two make mixtapes for each other. Yours has drum solos that make his head spin; his has guitar intros he wants you to “drum over someday.”

Late-night parking-lot sessions: you tap on the hood of his van, he strums along, and it somehow turns into a love song.

When you’re tired, he’ll trace little circles on the calluses of your fingers and whisper,

“They feel like proof you never fake it.”

---

You catch him watching you during halftime shows — hair whipping, grin wide.

When you walk off the field, he’s waiting by the fence with a water bottle and a proud look.

He loves falling asleep on your chest; he says your heartbeat sounds like a slow drumroll.

You keep one of his guitar picks in your jacket pocket, and he keeps one of your old sticks in his backpack like a charm.

---

He insists on recording a “collab demo.” It’s chaos — you both laugh through half of it.

You play an impromptu solo that makes the windows shake, and he stares like he’s seeing religion.

“You do realize that’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, right?”

You toss him a towel. “It’s called percussion, not seduction.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

---

Johnathan Byers.

Instrument: Flute — graceful, expressive, and layered. It takes discipline and soul to play it right, and Jonathan sees both in you.

---

Jonathan first hears you before he ever really sees you.

It’s after school — most of the band has left, but the sound of a flute carries softly down the hallway.

That sound is clean — not showy, but controlled and emotional.

He follows it, camera slung around his shoulder, and there you are, standing in an empty classroom by the window, golden light catching the silver of your flute.

You look up mid-phrase, caught off guard, and he freezes like he’s been caught trespassing in a sacred moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, lowering the flute. “You just scared me.”

“It sounded… really beautiful.”

You don’t know it yet, but he ends up recording a few seconds of that sound later on, calling the file “Something Real.”

---

Jonathan loves watching people create art, and you’re one of the few who makes him forget to hide behind his camera.

He starts taking more photos around the marching field, always finding you in the frame somehow.

When you catch him once, you just smirk:

“You could’ve asked for a close-up.”

“You’re easier to photograph when you don’t know I’m doing it.”

He’s awkward, gentle, and sincere — it’s what draws you in. You’re used to noise and competition in band; Jonathan’s quiet is a relief.

---

You’ll sit together in his room, listening to old records while you softly practice scales.

He’ll be editing photos or flipping through a sketchbook, humming along absentmindedly.

There’s this easy, shared stillness — like you both understand that silence doesn’t mean emptiness.

When he gets stuck on a photo series, you play something to match the mood he’s describing.

The flute fills the room, airy and melancholy, and he just… breathes again.

“You do with sound what I try to do with pictures,” he says once.

You smile. “Guess that makes us artists in sync.”

---

He’s a quiet lover — more gestures than words.

Warm coffee waiting for you before morning practice.

His hoodie folded neatly in your locker.

Photos tucked into your flute case with handwritten captions like ‘you looked peaceful here’.

You’re the one who gets him to laugh without meaning to.

Sometimes during long rehearsals, you’ll play a deliberately off-key note just to see if he looks up from his camera. He always does.

“You’re such a menace,” he murmurs, smiling behind his lens.

“You love it,” you say.

“Yeah. I do.”

---

The way you play moves him — it’s why he records you sometimes.

He’ll put on his headphones late at night, listening to snippets of you practicing.

Not because he’s obsessed, but because it grounds him. Reminds him that beauty still exists in small, real ways.

You once told him that the flute feels like “breathing emotion into air.”

He thought about that for days — even wrote it down on a photo of you, scrawled in messy pen ink:

You breathe life into silence.

---

He likes when you practice in his room — the sound bounces gently against the walls while he works on photos.

You’ll glance at him through your eyelashes when you play something softer, just to catch the way he looks at you — like he’s memorizing the sight.

After a long day, he’ll rest his head on your shoulder, murmuring,

“You make everything feel slower.”

And you’ll answer quietly,

“That’s how you listen to life, Byers.”

---

Jonathan isn’t loud about love, but he’s steady.

If someone mocks the band, he’ll speak up — calm but sharp. “Funny. Takes more talent than talking behind people’s backs.”

He doesn’t go to every game, but when he does, he’s easy to spot — camera in hand, half-hidden smile when you march past.

Later, he’ll show you a photo he took of you mid-performance, the instrument glinting in the stadium lights.

“You looked… free,” he’ll whisper.

You kiss his cheek, grinning. “You make me that way.”

---

One night, you’re both outside — stars above, the world quiet.

You pull out your flute and start playing a simple, soft tune.

Jonathan sits cross-legged beside you, eyes closed, recording the moment on an old cassette tape.

When you stop, the silence lingers heavy and gentle.

“I’m keeping that forever,” he murmurs.

“It’s just sound,” you say.

“No,” he shakes his head, smiling faintly, “it’s you.”

---

Jason Carver.

Instrument: Euphonium — rich, low, and commanding. Not flashy, but when it cuts through a field, people feel it.

It fits you: calm authority, confident posture, unbothered by noise.

---

Jason first notices you during a halftime show.

He’s mid-game, helmet off, watching the band set up. You step forward, instrument gleaming under the lights, and the first note hits like thunder.

He’s never thought about band before, but something about the sound — deep, smooth, heavy — sticks with him.

“Whoever’s on that thing just stole the crowd,” he mutters to a teammate.

Later, in the hallway, he catches you carrying the euphonium case. It looks heavier than his shoulder pads.

“You play that monster?”

“Yeah. You try carrying it in August heat.”

He laughs, eyes lingering longer than he means to.

---

He starts finding reasons to stop by the band hallway. “Coach said I had to talk to the pep band,” he lies every time.

You’re usually polishing your horn or leaning against the lockers.

“You here for music appreciation or just lost again, Carver?”

“Maybe both.”

The banter turns into little competitions — who can memorize the fight-song rhythm faster, who can balance the euphonium mouthpiece on their nose longer (you win every time).

---

Jason’s used to confidence; you meet it head-on.

He’ll toss a football your way; you’ll toss a valve-oil bottle back, perfectly aimed.

During games he keeps glancing toward the stands, waiting for that signature low brass swell that means you’re there.

Later he admits, “I don’t even hear the cheers anymore — just that note.”

---

You let him try holding the euphonium once. He struggles, groaning, arms shaking.

“You make this look easy.”

“You make throwing a football look easy.”

He laughs, cheeks flushed, more from how close you’re standing than from the weight.

When you play for him alone, he gets quiet. The vibration of the horn fills the small space; he swears he can feel it in his chest.

“It’s like… a heartbeat you can’t ignore,” he says softly.

---

Jason’s all intensity; you’re steadier, grounding.

He brags about you in his own way: “My boyfriend’s the guy that makes the whole band sound badass.”

You tease him for his dramatic speeches; he teases you for polishing the instrument like it’s a trophy.

After games, he finds you first — sweaty uniform, breathless grin — and hugs you despite the brass smell.

“You did great,” he says every time, voice softer than anyone else ever hears from him.

---

He loves the way your hands look on the valves — precise and strong.

When he’s stressed, you’ll tap gentle rhythms on his back, the same pulse you use to start warm-ups. It calms him instantly.

He keeps one of your spare mouthpieces in his locker “for luck.” You joke that it’s gross; he says it’s sentimental.

He starts picking up on musical terms, using them wrong on purpose.

“You’re my fortissimo, babe.”

“That’s not even—”

“Means loud and strong, right? Fits.”

---

Late-night drives after games: you rest your euphonium case in the backseat, windows down, music low.

He taps the steering wheel in time to whatever you hum.

Sometimes you’ll play a slow melody for him under the stadium lights after everyone’s gone. The echo lingers.

“Kinda romantic for a brass guy,” he says, grin crooked.

“Don’t tell the trumpet section.”

---

He once joined the pep band for a game, banging a drum just to stand near you.

Couldn’t keep rhythm to save his life, but the sight of him trying nearly made you drop your horn laughing.

Later he shrugged, “Guess I just wanted to be part of your world for a bit.”

---

Credits: my stranger things boy borders is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

hiii,first of all i wanted to say that I LOVE the way you write and i'm a huge fan of your works, and also I'm so glad you write x male reader because I love this kind of fanfics but they're so rare to find.

I wanted to request a Steve x male reader where steve doesn't know how to first approach the reader, oh and also i'd like the reader to be the cool dustin's brother (it would be awesome for them to interact).

i don't know if I was clear but enflish is not my first language i'm sorryyy.

anyways i don't actually care that much if you take my request as long as you pubblic a new fanfic because I NEED it.

thank you anyways

Atlas <3

p.s. I thought it would be cool and romantic to put my name at the end lol

Mixed reviews.

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Male reader.

Steve Harrington never expected to catch feelings for Dustin’s older brother — cool, calm, and completely unreadable. With help (and heckling) from Robin, Eddie, and Nancy, Steve tries to figure out how to make a move… without totally embarrassing himself.

CW: Slow burn romance, light swearing, identity exploration, Dustin.. being Dustin, soft and emotional vulnerability.

Word count: 3,414

Steve Harrington’s having one of those weeks.

Eddie wants to brainstorm a new campaign and keeps calling him “Himbo Bard” like it’s a compliment. Robin’s insisting he needs to stop flirting with girls he doesn’t actually want to date. And Nancy—well, Nancy has been giving him these little looks, the kind that make him wonder if she still sees parts of the old him.

The lost, trying-too-hard version. He doesn't like that.

So when Dustin asks him to pick him up for Hellfire after school, Steve jumps at the chance. Something easy. Something familiar.

He pulls up in front of the Henderson house right as the afternoon heat starts to melt into golden haze.

Hawkins is sticky this time of year—quiet, bugs humming, the air heavy with that particular scent of cut grass and nostalgia.

The kind of day that feels like a movie just before something changes.

Steve taps the steering wheel, sunglasses on, waiting.

The front door swings open like a storm. Dustin comes charging out with his bag half-zipped, curly hair frizzed up like he’s been running around since lunch. He's shouting back into the house, voice high-pitched with indignation.

“I told you, I don’t need a jacket! I’m not gonna freeze to death in a temperature-controlled room, Mom!”

Steve leans out the driver’s side window. “You fightin’ the entire climate again?”

Dustin flips him off without looking. “I’m fightin’ oppression.”

Steve chuckles. “Well, tell oppression to zip your backpack before it explodes.”

But Dustin isn’t listening anymore. He’s already shouting again, this time toward the side of the house.

“Y/N! You coming tonight or what?”

Steve leans forward a little, curious. He’s heard Dustin mention his brother in passing—a few stories here and there. You were older.

Did something with music. Liked “weird art films” and refused to help Dustin cheat on his algebra homework even when begged.

But he’s never actually seen you.

Not until now.

You’re perched at the edge of the porch, a slim book in one hand and a can of soda sweating in the other. You’ve got sunglasses on even though the sun’s already starting to dip.

Your legs are kicked out in front of you, ankles crossed lazily, and there’s a pair of over-ear headphones hanging around your neck, one side still slightly playing a muted drum beat.

You don’t look up right away. You just keep reading, flipping a page with your thumb.

“Y/N!” Dustin yells again, hands on his hips like a mom at the end of her rope.

Finally, you glance up. Slowly. Like you’re weighing whether it’s even worth the energy.

“Didn’t Blake bail on work again?” you ask, voice quiet but distinct. Calm. Kinda raspy, like you’d just woken up or maybe didn’t care enough to pretend.

“Probably!” Dustin calls back. “But you said if he flaked, you’d come!”

You sigh like you’ve already regretted making that deal. “I said maybe, not promise. There’s a difference.”

Steve watches the whole exchange with mild amusement.

There’s something about you that’s... unbothered. The kind of cool that isn't about clothes or cliques—it’s just baked into how you move, how you don’t move unless you want to.

Dustin gestures toward the car. “Steve’s here! Just ride with us!”

You finally turn your eyes to Steve.

He feels it. The click.

Even behind your sunglasses, he swears you’re looking right through him. Not in a mean way. Just... curious. Calm. Like you’re deciding if he’s worth your attention.

Steve’s mouth is dry.

You give a small, two-finger wave. “Hey.”

It’s not shy. It’s not warm, either. Just simple.

Steve clears his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Dustin walks toward the car, oblivious. “This is Steve. You probably know him from, like... every girl’s locker in 1985.”

You snort.

Steve flushes a little.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” you say, still looking at him.

“Oh.” Steve shifts, suddenly aware of how he's leaning too hard on the door. “Good things, I hope?”

You shrug. “Mixed reviews.”

Dustin howls with laughter as he gets in the passenger seat.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. “Tough crowd.”

You smirk. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He opens his mouth to reply—but you’re already putting your headphones back on, lifting the book, retreating into your little bubble of calm again.

Steve stares for a second too long. Then snaps out of it.

He gets in the car, trying not to let his face give him away.

Dustin’s still grinning. “You totally froze up.”

“I did not.”

“You did, dude. You were, like, blushing.”

“I was not blushing—”

“You want me to introduce you again next time? Maybe say you’re single and emotionally available?”

Steve throws the car into gear a little harder than necessary. “Keep talking and I’ll make you walk.”

Dustin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh, man. This is gonna be good.”

---

As they drive off, Steve glances in the rearview mirror. You’re still there on the porch, book in hand, but your head’s tilted just slightly—like maybe, just maybe, you’re watching the car pull away too.

---

It starts with a song.

Steve doesn’t even realize it’s one you were humming the last time he saw you until it comes on the Family Video speakers, some dreamy B-side from The Cure, just after closing. Robin’s in the back pretending to organize tapes but mostly just slapping labels on things that don’t need them.

“Did you put this on?” Steve asks.

Robin peeks her head around the aisle, eyebrows arched.

“You’ve worked here for a year and still don’t know how the rotation schedule works?”

“No—I mean—” Steve waves vaguely at the speakers.

“This song. Just reminded me of... never mind.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “Reminded you of who, Harrington?”

“No one,” Steve says way too fast.

She walks around the counter, crossing her arms. “You are being weird lately.”

“I’m not being weird,” Steve says. “I’m just... thinking.”

Robin snorts. “I’ve seen you think before. It usually involves staring into the middle distance and chewing on a pen cap. This is different. You’ve got that soft crush energy.”

Steve’s face burns. “I do not have soft crush energy.”

“Oh really? Because yesterday, when we were at the arcade, and Dustin mentioned his brother might show up, you whipped your head around like a golden retriever on espresso.”

Steve glares at her. “I did not.”

Robin leans on the counter, chin in hand. “Is it the hair? The voice? Is he older and smarter than you? That’d make sense.”

“I don’t even know him,” Steve says, flustered. “He barely said five words.”

Robin hums. “Must’ve been five very hot words.”

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands.

---

It gets worse later that night...

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and the scene keeps playing in his head.

The slow wave you gave him. That effortless, unreadable smirk. The way you sat on the porch like you weren’t waiting for anyone, like time moved around you.

He thinks about how your voice dipped when you said, “Mixed reviews.”

And the way you looked at him—really looked.

He swears you knew.

He rolls onto his stomach, face in a pillow.

God, he’s so obvious.

---

Saturday – Eddie’s Garage

Steve’s sprawled on a beat-up couch in Eddie’s garage while Eddie tunes his guitar and complains about Mike screwing up another campaign.

“I mean, he’s a good kid,” Eddie says, twisting a knob, “but you miss one session and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the dungeon master.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, barely listening.

Eddie glances up. “You alright, man? You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend to listen but you’re secretly spiraling inside.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Steve lies.

“Uh-huh. Is this about Nancy?”

“No.”

“Robin?”

“No.”

“...Dustin’s brother?”

Steve freezes. “What?”

Eddie grins, smug. “Bingo.”

“I don’t even know his name,” Steve says defensively.

Eddie shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’ve got the ‘I think he’s hot and he intimidates me’ stare.”

Steve leans back and groans. “He just—he’s so—calm. Like, he’s not trying. And when I talk, I feel like I’m in a middle school play.”

Eddie chuckles. “You’re not used to being the awkward one, huh?”

Steve mutters, “It sucks.”

Eddie flicks a pick at him. “You’re fine, Romeo. Just don’t try too hard. You’ll crash and burn.”

---

Sunday – Wheeler’s House

Steve and Nancy are in the living room with Dustin and Mike, sorting through board games that somehow migrated into the garage.

Dustin is holding court, naturally.

“So Steve’s been acting super weird,” Dustin says, like he’s announcing global news.

Steve snaps his head up. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Mike says. “He showed up early to pick me up. He’s never early.”

Nancy looks up from the game box. “Is this about Y/N?”

Steve nearly drops the Clue board.

Dustin squints. “Wait. What about Y/N?”

Nancy blinks innocently. “Oh, I just figured. He’s been kinda... watching Steve lately.”

Silence.

Steve’s face goes blank. “Wait. What?”

Nancy smiles slightly. “You didn’t notice?”

Steve is spiraling.

Dustin looks from Nancy to Steve and howls. “OH MY GOD.”

Steve rubs his face. “No. No no no. Don’t start—”

“YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON MY BROTHER!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“This is disgusting! I’m telling Mom. I’m telling EVERYONE.”

“You are not—!”

“Do you wanna MARRY him?! Are you gonna be my brother-in-law?!”

“Dustin—”

Nancy’s laughing softly behind a hand while Mike looks vaguely horrified.

“Wow,” Mike mutters. “Now I can’t unsee it.”

---

Later that night – Steve’s House

Robin’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a grape soda.

“So let me get this straight. You’re crushing on Dustin’s older brother, and Nancy thinks he might be into you, and Dustin wants to exile you from Hawkins.”

Steve sinks into the cushions. “That about covers it.”

Robin pats his leg. “You’ve had worse weeks.”

Steve sighs. “He’s just... different.”

Robin tilts her head. “Different how?”

Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t try to be cool. He just is. And when I talk to him, it’s like... I don’t know. I forget how to be a person.”

Robin hums. “That’s kind of sweet. And tragic.”

Steve kicks at the rug. “I don’t even know how to start.”

She pauses. “You know, he works at Vinyl Alley, right?”

Steve looks at her slowly. “How do you know that?”

Robin grins. “Please. I’ve had a crush on him since junior year.”

Steve nearly chokes. “WHAT?”

“I’m over it. Relax,” she says. “I mean... not totally, but I like chaos, so I support this.”

Steve groans. “I need help.”

Robin clinks her soda can against his knee. “You need to just talk to him.”

Steve mutters into his hands. “Yeah. Right. Easy.”

Robin smirks. “Or, you could keep making puppy eyes from twenty feet away. That’s a solid long-term strategy.”

Steve throws a pillow at her.

---

It’s just past six when Steve pulls up to the Henderson house, thinking he’ll grab Dustin for movie night with Robin and Eddie.

It’s supposed to be a distraction. Keep things light. Keep his brain from looping around the way you looked at him a week ago—half bored, half curious, all center of gravity.

He hops out of his car, slicks his hair back once out of habit, and jogs up the driveway.

No sign of Dustin.

He knocks once. Waits.

No answer.

Then the screen door creaks open, and there you are.

Leaning against the frame like you’ve been there for hours. Barefoot, with a loose T-shirt that hangs perfectly, sleeves rolled a few times.

You’ve got a ring of condensation around your hand from a lemonade can. There’s music playing low from somewhere inside the house—Mazzy Star or maybe Cocteau Twins. Steve doesn’t know, but it fits you.

Your gaze is easy, slow-moving, like you already clocked him before the car even turned off.

“Dustin’s not here,” you say.

“Oh,” Steve says, heart immediately catching in his throat. “I—uh—he said to pick him up?”

You shrug, stepping onto the porch. “Probably got caught up at Lucas’s. He’s been biking over there after dinner a lot.”

Steve blinks. “Right. Yeah. Cool.”

You glance at the street. Then back at him. “You drove all the way here?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thought we were gonna watch Predator or something. Eddie said he had this whole commentary planned.”

You hum. “That sounds... unbearable.”

Steve laughs, more at himself than anything. “You’ve met him.”

“I’ve survived him,” you reply, lips twitching into a smile. “Wanna sit? Porch’s not that exciting, but it’s better than standing there sweating.”

“Sure,” Steve says, a little too fast.

You sit first, folding into the wooden chair like you belong there. Like you’re part of the furniture, part of the air. Steve chooses the chair beside you, not too close.

The space between you hums a little louder than it should.

It’s quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

You crack your can open again. The fizz breaks the silence.

Steve tries not to stare at your fingers.

“So...” you say, almost lazily. “You’re the guy who picks Dustin up like clockwork.”

Steve chuckles. “Somebody’s gotta keep him alive.”

“True,” you say, eyes half-lidded behind the dying light. “He listens to you more than he listens to me.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“No,” you agree. “But still.”

More silence.

Steve wants to fill it. He wants to ask you if you’ve always lived in Hawkins, what kind of music you like, whether you’ve ever felt like you were supposed to be somewhere else—someone else.

Instead, he says, “What’re you listening to?”

You tilt your head slightly, like the question caught you off guard.

Then you reach for the portable cassette player on the table beside you, flip it around so he can see the label.

“Red House Painters – Rollercoaster.”

He nods slowly. “Never heard of it.”

You give him a sideways look. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Steve laughs under his breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got... radio taste,” you say. “Like, safe taste.”

He smiles. “You’re not wrong. I was more of a Top 40 guy.”

“And now?”

Steve shrugs. “Trying to listen to other things.”

You lean back, one knee bouncing slightly. “Trying to impress someone?”

That hits.

Steve looks at you, eyes flicking to your mouth and then away. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

He pauses. “Am I trying too hard?”

“No,” you say easily. “Trying too hard would mean you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

Steve looks at you again, slower this time.

“And I don’t think you’re doing that,” you finish, voice quiet.

The cicadas buzz louder in the trees. A neighbor’s sprinkler clicks on across the street. Somewhere inside, a clock ticks.

Steve swallows. “You don’t talk like other people.”

You huff a soft laugh. “You don’t either. You just think you do.”

He looks down at his shoes, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Robin says I act like a golden retriever when I have a crush.”

Your head tilts, just slightly. “Do you?”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, shrugging. “But lately? Kinda feels like it.”

He looks up.

You’re watching him now. Really watching.

The smirk you wore earlier is gone, replaced with something more grounded. Thoughtful.

You shift a little in your seat, angling toward him.

“That’s the thing with you, Harrington,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “You don’t hide things very well.”

Steve’s heart thumps loud in his chest. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” you say simply. “That honest.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. And for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

The two of you sit in the warmth, the kind of quiet that stretches like a yawn.

The song from inside fades into another one—slower, sadder. Steve doesn’t recognize it either, but it makes his throat tight.

You lean forward to grab your drink again, and your knee brushes his.

Neither of you moves.

Steve feels electricity crawl up his leg, warm and searching. He doesn’t look away from you. And you don’t look away either.

Eventually, you sit back.

“You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you say casually.

Steve grins. “I get that a lot.”

You smile. Real this time. Not cocky, not distant. Just there.

Before Steve can say anything else, the distant sound of wheels on pavement echoes from around the corner.

Dustin.

You sigh through your nose. “Saved by the little brother.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, barely hearing it.

You stand slowly, stretching, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly.

Steve catches a glimpse of the soft curve of your waist, a hint of ink near your ribs. He looks away before he stares.

As Dustin’s bike screeches into the driveway, yelling something about Lucas being the worst teammate in D&D history, you nudge Steve lightly with your elbow.

“See you around, golden retriever.”

He freezes.

You smirk.

And just like that, you’re back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind you.

Steve watches it swing until it stills. And even when Dustin’s hopping in the passenger seat, still ranting about Mike and Eddie and his dice rolls, Steve’s brain is still on you.

And that quiet moment on the porch.

That brush of your knee.

And the smile you didn’t let anyone else see.

---

It happens again a few days later.

The air is thick with leftover heat, that sticky summer cling that hangs around after the sun dips below the trees. Streetlights flicker on like they’re yawning awake, fireflies blink lazily in the shrubs, and somewhere down the block, a lawn sprinkler ticks in time with the chirp of crickets.

Steve’s car rolls up quiet in front of your house.

It’s not planned. He tells himself he just happened to be driving by.

But the way his palms are sweating against the steering wheel says otherwise. He parks and sits for a full minute, watching your porch light glow through the screen door.

He could leave.

He should leave.

But then the door opens—and there you are, stepping out barefoot again, holding two bottles of orange soda by their necks.

You see him and smile like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You just gonna lurk there, Harrington? Or you want one of these?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets out of the car. “Do you read minds or something?”

“No,” you say, handing him a soda. “You’re just predictable in a charming, lost-puppy kind of way.”

Steve flushes but doesn’t argue.

You sit on the steps this time, not the chairs.

He drops down beside you, leaving a sliver of space between your knees. It’s quiet except for the bottle caps hitting the porch and the fizz of carbonation as you both take a drink.

After a long silence, you speak first.

“Rough night?”

Steve exhales slowly. “Just been... thinking.”

You nod, slow. “Dangerous habit.”

He smiles weakly. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something,” he finally admits.

You glance at him, brows raised slightly.

“Something I haven’t really said out loud before,” Steve continues, staring straight ahead.

“I’m listening,” you say, voice gentle now—none of the teasing from before. Just there with him.

Steve fidgets with the label on the bottle.

“I’ve always been good at liking girls. Or, like... thinking I liked them. It was simple. Easy. You get a girlfriend, you hold hands, people nod at you in the hallway like you’re doing something right.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t look away.

“But lately...” Steve trails off, then huffs out a breath. “It’s not that I don’t like girls. It’s just... they don’t make me nervous the way you do.”

That makes your mouth quirk just slightly. But you stay still. Let him keep going.

“I keep thinking about you. Not just the porch stuff. Just... how quiet you are. How you look like you’re always hearing things no one else can. How you talk like you’re choosing every word on purpose.”

He finally looks at you, full-on, eyes searching.

“I don’t even know if this is anything,” he says, voice low. “I just know I don’t feel like this around anyone else.”

You let the words settle.

There’s a warmth behind your ribs now. A slow, uncoiling understanding.

You set your soda down beside you. “You’re allowed to like things you didn’t expect.”

Steve watches you carefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back on your hands, letting your knee brush his again. This time, it lingers.

“You don’t have to label it,” you say. “Or explain it to anyone. Especially not me.”

Steve laughs quietly. “I don’t think I care about anyone else knowing. Just kind of wanted you to know.”

You nod once. “I know now.”

You both sit there a moment, letting the air fill the space between words.

The porch light buzzes overhead. A breeze picks up, rustling through the nearby trees. And in that space, something clicks into place—not like a dramatic kiss, not like fireworks. Just… gravity realigning.

Steve bumps your shoulder. “You still think I have radio taste?”

You grin. “Definitely. But I can work with that.”

He smiles. A real one this time. Open. Grateful.

You glance at him, a little softer now. “You’re better when you’re not trying so hard.”

“I’m not used to that.”

You shrug. “Start practicing.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you ever wanna—” he clears his throat, face flushing, “—hang out? Just, like... you and me? Sometime?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “That depends. Are you gonna keep saying weird, vulnerable stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yeah,” you say, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “I’m into that.”

Steve lets out a short laugh, head falling forward. “Thank God.”

You chuckle, nudging his knee. “Easy, Harrington. Don’t faint on my porch. You’re too pretty to pass out.”

He looks up, eyes wide. “Was that—did you just call me—?”

You stand, grabbing your soda, and walk inside without answering.

The screen door swings closed behind you.

Steve stares at it for a long time, heart racing like he just ran a mile uphill.

Then he grins.

Yeah. This is definitely something.

---

Days pass..

It’s a late Saturday afternoon, the kind where Hawkins glows like it’s been dunked in honey — warm and slow, shadows long on the sidewalk.

Robin convinced everyone to meet at the old picnic area near Lover’s Lake for what she dramatically titled a “mental health gathering.”

Translation: snacks, sarcasm, and watching Eddie yell at squirrels.

Steve pulls up in his car, and you’re already there — sitting against one of the wooden tables with your headphones around your neck, sipping from a bottle of cherry cola, ankles crossed, calm as always.

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are halfway through setting up a game of Uno on a folding table.

Nancy is adjusting the battery in a small portable radio she brought, claiming “someone needs to curate the vibe.” Eddie’s lying in the grass, eyes closed, pretending he doesn’t care.

Robin is mid-sentence when she catches sight of Steve walking up behind you. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she watches the way he doesn’t just walk — he drifts toward you like gravity’s involved.

You tilt your head back, see him coming, and give the tiniest smile. Just a flick of the mouth. But it lingers.

“Hey,” you say, like you were waiting for him.

Steve sits next to you, just a little closer than necessary.

Robin raises a single eyebrow. Nancy notices too — her lips press into a barely-there smirk. She nudges Robin with her elbow.

Dustin, of course, doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too busy triumphantly slamming down a +4 on Lucas.

“You absolute traitor!” Lucas yells.

“You played yourself,” Dustin shrugs.

As the chaos unfolds, Steve leans in slightly, speaking under his breath.

“You always drink that stuff?” he asks, nodding to the cherry cola.

You glance sideways, smirking. “Maybe I like sweet things.”

Steve blinks once.

Then twice.

You take a slow sip and don’t elaborate.

Robin almost chokes on a carrot stick from the snack bowl.

Nancy raises an eyebrow and murmurs to her, “They’re doing the thing again.”

“The what?” Eddie asks, rolling over lazily.

Nancy gestures subtly to you and Steve, who are in your own quiet little orbit at the end of the table, barely touching, barely talking — but fully locked in.

Eddie lifts his head, squints. “Are they—?” His voice drops. “No.”

Robin grins. “Oh yeah.”

Eddie sits up like someone just poured soda on his boots. “When the hell did that happen?”

Dustin looks up. “When did what happen?”

Everyone freezes for a split second.

Steve tries very hard to look like he’s not mentally collapsing.

You, cool as ever, just stretch your legs and say, “Hey, Dust. You ever figure out why your Uno strategy sucks so bad?”

Dustin squints. “Deflecting, are we?”

Eddie snickers.

Robin leans back on her elbows, grinning like she’s watching a live TV reveal.

Dustin’s eyes narrow. He looks at Steve. Then at you. Then back.

You’ve seen this look before — it’s the face he makes when he’s putting together a scientific theory or sniffing out secrets with Erica.

He squints harder. “Wait a damn minute.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest—too late.

Dustin stands up, hands flat on the table. “YOU’RE DATING MY BROTHER?!”

The birds scatter from the trees. Mike nearly drops his cards.

Steve lifts both hands like he’s under arrest. “Dustin—listen—”

“Since WHEN?!” Dustin yells, looking back and forth between you both like he’s witnessing a crime scene.

You sip your soda. “A while.”

Robin’s snorting with laughter now, face buried in Nancy’s shoulder.

Eddie says, “I knew something was weird! The night at my place, when Steve said your name and then immediately forgot what year it was? That makes so much sense now!”

Dustin starts pacing like a lawyer delivering his closing argument.

“Steve Harrington, you told me to brush my teeth last week! That’s like — a big brother thing! You can’t do that and be—you can’t date my actual brother! That’s betrayal on two fronts!”

Steve runs a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d react like this!”

“I mean,” Steve admits, “a little, yeah.”

Dustin glares at you. “And you! You just let him into the house like it was no big deal!”

You lean back lazily. “He already had a key to the house... metaphorically.”

Robin shouts, “OH MY GOD.”

Eddie drops backwards into the grass again, wheezing.

Nancy smiles, folding her arms. “I think it’s sweet.”

Dustin groans like someone just stabbed him in the heart with a +4 card.

“No. Nope. I refuse. Steve is like my divorced dad and my annoying uncle combined! This is gross!”

You tilt your head. “Would it be better if I dumped him and dated Eddie?”

Eddie perks up. “I’m flattered.”

Steve blurts, “Please don’t.”

Robin collapses into laughter.

Dustin dramatically falls into a lawn chair, hands over his face. “God. I have to change schools.”

Lucas pats him on the back. “You don’t even go to school right now.”

“College, then!”

“You’re not in college.”

“I’LL SKIP STRAIGHT TO RETIREMENT.”

Nancy kneels beside him, voice dry. “Dustin. Breathe.”

---

As the sun begins to dip—

The group slowly reassembles. Uno resumes. Robin and Eddie still throw teasing looks at Steve, who can’t seem to stop looking at you.

You’re laid out on the blanket now, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping your soda and watching the clouds change color.

Steve lies down beside you, not quite touching, but close.

Dustin eventually calms down. He throws a single potato chip at Steve’s head in a weak display of dominance. It bounces off harmlessly.

“Don’t break his heart,” Dustin mutters.

You glance sideways at him. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Dustin grumbles. “Because then I have to pick sides. And you know Mom would make me take the couch.”

Steve smiles faintly at that. Reaches over and gently brushes your knuckles.

You let him.

And the sun melts into the lake, quiet and gold and perfect.

No grand gestures. No declarations.

Just this.

Two people who didn’t plan on anything, finding something that feels like home.

---

Authors note: hii Atlas!, thank you so much for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it so much and I had overall a great time making it ☺️ I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! And thank you so much again🩷

Credits: my steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Stay still for me.

Johnathan Byers x top! male reader.

Jonathan wants to take Polaroids of you — shirtless, relaxed, just for his eyes. But you turn the camera on him instead.

CW: Artistic, Slow-Burn, Sensual, comfort, slight smut, mentions of insecurities.

Word count: 900

---

The storm outside was soft, a lullaby tapping against the windows of the Byers house.

You sat on Jonathan’s unmade bed, one leg tucked under you, watching him load a fresh pack of Polaroid film into his camera.

“You sure about this?” he asked quietly, not looking at you yet.

His fingers worked carefully, almost nervously, like the camera was made of glass. "I don’t wanna, like... make you uncomfortable or anything."

You tilted your head, smiling at the way he avoided eye contact when he got in his own head.

“Jon. You literally asked me if you could take shirtless Polaroids of me, and I said yes. You're not making me uncomfortable.”

He finally glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a little smile.

His hair was still damp from his earlier shower, curling near his ears, and the collar of his hoodie was stretched out like he’d been tugging at it.

“I dunno,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against the camera’s grip. “Just feels... different now that you’re actually sitting there.”

You leaned back slightly, letting your spine curve into the headboard.

“You mean, now that I’m actually shirtless?”

Jonathan flushed, eyes flicking to your chest for a split second before looking away. “Yeah. That.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“You’ve seen me naked, Byers.”

“That was different,” he murmured, adjusting the light on his nightstand. “We weren’t, like, trying to freeze the moment. With a camera. For later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You planning on keeping these in your wallet or something?”

He smirked a little, but his voice stayed low.

“I was gonna keep ‘em in my box of stuff under the bed. With the rest of my shame.”

You snorted. “You’re such a freak.”

Jonathan finally looked at you again, properly this time.

And that quiet nervousness in his expression? It was fading. Replaced by something more focused. Intentional.

“Stay like that,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He stepped closer, raising the camera slowly to his face.

“Just—look at me like that. All relaxed. The way your eyes look when you’re teasing me but not fully smiling yet.”

You gave a slow smirk anyway. “You mean this look?”

Click. The Polaroid snapped. He didn’t even blink.

“I’m serious,” he said, lowering the camera to wait for the photo to develop. “You have this thing in your eyes sometimes. Like you’re gonna say something cocky, but you hold it back. It’s… intense.”

You shifted, letting one arm drape across your stomach as you leaned a little further into the pillows. “You mean hot.”

Jonathan gave you a knowing look. “Yeah. That too.”

You held his gaze now. “You should let me take one of you.”

He froze. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I look like shit in pictures?”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” You sat up straighter. “You take beautiful photos, Jon. But you never let anyone turn the lens back on you.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but closed it again.

You let the silence stretch for a moment, the quiet hum of rain making the whole room feel like it was floating.

Then you stood, moving toward him. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a skittish animal.

“You trust me, right?”

He nodded.

You gently took the camera from his hands. “Then let me show you what I see.”

Jonathan hesitated—but sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, fingers twitching in his lap.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But don’t... make me look stupid.”

You crouched in front of him, raising the camera. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Click. You caught him mid-blink.

“Try again,” he murmured.

Click. This time, you waited until his eyes lifted to meet yours. There it was—soft, uncertain, but wide open.

You set the camera down on the floor. “Perfect.”

Jonathan looked down at you. “That’s not fair. You didn’t even let me pose.”

“That was your pose.” You rested your hands on his knees. “And it was honest.”

His breathing shifted, just slightly, as your thumbs rubbed gentle circles over the denim of his jeans.

“You’re gonna make this weird,” he muttered, voice low.

“Define weird.”

He smiled. “You looking at me like you’re about to ruin me on my own bed.”

You moved closer, hands sliding up his thighs, slow and sure. “You’re not stopping me.”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours once—light, barely there. “Didn’t say I wanted to.”

Your hands moved to cup his face, thumbs brushing the edges of his cheekbones. “You still nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “But mostly just…”

“Turned on?” you offered, smiling into his skin.

He laughed, breath catching. “That too.”

The kiss deepened, slow and warm like the rain outside. When you finally pulled him gently back onto the bed, you didn’t rush.

You kept whispering to him — about how beautiful he looked, how soft his skin felt under your palms, how much you loved the way he trembled just a little when you kissed his neck.

And Jonathan? He didn’t hide anymore.

He let himself be seen.

He let himself feel it all.

Even the Polaroids scattered on the floor seemed to glow in the dim light — frozen memories of the boy who finally stopped hiding behind the lens.

---

Credits: my Johnathan border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Running up that hill.

Steve Harrington x male reader

Steve watches Max being pulled back from Vecna’s grasp and realizes how easy it is to lose someone. You find him sitting alone outside, trying to act fine. You walk him through the fear, the guilt, and the realization that in this world, love isn’t something you wait to say. He confesses something he’s been afraid to say out loud: that he wants a future with you—even if he’s not sure he gets one.

CW: Slow-burn emotional fluff, comfort, with a touch of angst, takes place during season 4.

Word count: 843

---

The sun was setting in that strange, soft Hawkins way — hazy, almost red, as if the world itself was still bleeding from everything you’d just gone through.

Max was safe.

Barely.

But safe.

The group had retreated back to the Wheeler basement, the only place that still felt like neutral ground.

Everyone was tense, eyes wide, hands shaking. Robin was pacing. Dustin was crying but trying to hide it behind his hat. Lucas hadn’t let go of Max since she came back.

You sat on the steps, quiet, jaw clenched, heart thudding in your chest like it still didn’t believe it was over.

Steve wasn’t in the basement.

You noticed it quickly. He’d been there a second ago, hovering near Max and Lucas, checking if she could still move her fingers, asking if she felt cold, then… he disappeared.

So you stood up, shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans, and slipped out of the house.

The air was heavy with that early-summer humidity, and your eyes caught him immediately — Steve, sitting on the back porch, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the lawn like it had answers.

He didn’t look up when you opened the screen door.

But you still stepped out, letting it slam lightly behind you.

“You good?” you asked softly.

Silence.

For a few beats, it stretched too long. Then Steve’s voice broke it.

“I’m fine.”

You scoffed lightly. “Bullshit.”

Steve let out a weak laugh.

“Yeah. Kinda sounded like it, huh?”

You sat beside him. Not too close, but enough that your knees almost touched. He didn’t look at you.

His jaw was tight, his hair was a mess, and there were still faint streaks of blood down his neck — whether his or someone else's, you didn’t know. Didn’t matter.

“She almost died,” he whispered after a pause. “Max.”

You nodded slowly, eyes on the pink sky. “Yeah. She almost did.”

“I couldn’t do anything. None of us could.” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly.

“I’m supposed to keep them safe. That’s what I do, right? Babysitter Steve. The guy with the bat. The guy who takes hits so the kids don’t.”

You turned toward him, resting your arm on the top step behind him. “Steve.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept looking forward. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“I’m not mad at anyone. I’m not— I just keep thinking about what would’ve happened if those headphones didn’t work. If she didn’t hear that song in time. If I had to— if I had to watch her—”

His voice cracked, then cut off completely. “I can’t do that. Not again.”

You stayed quiet, letting the silence sit with him. A breeze passed. You could smell grass, blood, and Steve’s shampoo — citrusy, almost warm.

“I used to think I had time,” Steve said suddenly. “Time to figure myself out. Time to maybe, like, find someone and settle down. Get out of this town. Work a real job. Have a house with a pool. Be normal.”

He laughed, bitterly. “But the world doesn’t stop breaking long enough for that, does it?”

You shifted closer, and this time, your thigh did press against his. Solid. Grounding.

You didn’t speak yet — not until he turned to look at you. His eyes were glassy, tired. Honest.

“I don’t care about normal,” you said softly. “I just care about you.”

Steve blinked at that. Like he didn’t expect it.

Like you hadn’t already shown him a hundred times in small ways: in the way you made sure he drank water after every fight, or how you stood in front of him when things got dangerous, or how you always — always — checked on him last, because he liked pretending he didn’t need checking on.

“You scare me,” he admitted, voice low.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You make me want things again.”

You swallowed, throat tightening.

Steve turned, facing you more now, arms resting on his legs.

“You make me think about a future, and I hate that I even want one in a world like this. But I do. With you.”

His voice was shaking.

“I want to wake up next to you. I want to kiss you without looking over my shoulder. I want to take you to stupid movies and hold your hand in front of the whole town. I want... I want to make it out of this.”

You leaned in, gently, cautiously, like giving him the chance to pull away.

“Then say you will.”

Steve looked at you for a long time. The streetlight flicked on behind you, casting everything in golden haze.

You looked into his brown eyes — wide and searching — and saw the cracks healing even as he sat there, breathing through the weight of what he’d almost lost.

“I will,” he whispered. “If you’re there too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.”

Then your hand found his.

And he let you hold it.

Tight.

Like it meant everything.

Because it did.

---

Credits: my Steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Band Practice.

Eddie Munson x Male reader.

Eddie’s band is crashing at your place again. He keeps trying to focus on playing, but you’re sitting on the couch in a tank top looking like a full fantasy.

CW: Shameless public affection, Eddie being obsessed with you, domestic queer joy.

Word count: 645

---

The garage smelled like sweat, pizza, and Eddie's cologne — a cheap, spicy scent that somehow still drove you crazy.

It was barely 5PM, and your garage was already vibrating from the noise of guitars, drums, and Eddie Munson yelling,

“No, no, no—again, Gareth! The chorus comes in after the second bridge, not the first!”

You were stretched across the beat-up couch in the corner of the room, one leg slung over the back, sipping warm Coke out of a can and watching your boyfriend with quiet amusement.

He was a mess — hair wild, black tank top clinging to his back with sweat, fingers flying across his guitar like they were made of magic.

And he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Every few minutes, you caught him sneaking a glance in your direction — eyes dark and mischievous, mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin.

“Eddie, come on!” Jeff groaned from the drum set. “Focus.”

“I am focused,” Eddie shot back, but then he looked at you again, dragging his lower lip between his teeth.

“Just not on you guys.”

You smirked. You were wearing one of his old Hellfire Club shirts, cut at the sleeves, stretched over your chest and tucked just right into your jeans.

You knew what you were doing. And Eddie knew it too.

After one more off-tempo verse and a dropped stick, Gareth finally threw up his hands.

“Alright, fine! Practice is over. Your boyfriend wins. Again.”

Eddie didn't even pretend to argue. He set his guitar down, practically dropped it, and made a beeline straight for you.

“Practice is over,” he repeated, breathless, straddling your lap without warning.

“I need my man.”

You chuckled and set your Coke aside just in time for Eddie to grab your face and kiss you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was a craving — all tongue and teeth, messy and loud, like the rest of your life together. You gripped his hips, feeling the heat under his clothes, the way he practically vibrated in your hands.

From across the room, you heard someone groan. “God, get a room!”

“This is our room,” Eddie muttered against your lips, not even turning around. “Go home, Gareth.”

Eventually the guys filtered out, one by one, muttering complaints and jokes — but you weren’t listening. Not when Eddie was tugging your shirt up, pressing kisses under your jaw, whispering,

“You know what you do to me when you sit there looking like that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Looking like what?”

“Like a fuckin’ dream,” he murmured, running his hands up your chest. “My dream. You make it real hard to play when you sit there all confident and quiet and hot.”

You leaned in, grinning. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Eddie laughed — low and rough — before kissing you again. His hands found your waist, pulling you in like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t. You kissed him back, firm and sure, and when he moaned into your mouth, you didn’t hesitate to push a little deeper.

Minutes later, his forehead was resting against yours, breath shaky, smile lazy.

“I wrote a song about you,” he whispered, flushed and dazed. “It’s terrible.”

“I wanna hear it.”

“No, you don’t,” he laughed, nose scrunching. “It rhymes ‘hot’ with ‘a lot.’”

You laughed into his neck and squeezed his thigh. “You’re such a loser.”

“Yeah, but I’m your loser.”

You stayed like that for a while — tangled in each other, the garage quiet now except for your heartbeats and Eddie’s low hum as he pressed kisses along your jaw.

The amps still buzzed, and the smell of pizza still lingered, but the rest of the world had gone quiet. It was just you and him. Loud love in a loud world.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Credits: my Eddie border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Are you planning anything for Jonathan? He's literally so baby girl-

Yes I do, I have lots of ideas for him😭🩷

[leesleelee]

The babysitters Chronicles.

Steve Harrington x male! reader

After the events of season 3, Hawkins has settled into a quieter routine. However, the threat of the Upside Down lingers in the background. You, Lucas' cousin has moved back to Hawkins to help out. While helping out, you meet someone who ends up being your teammate.

CW: Mild Language, emotional vulnerability, romantic themes, mention of past trauma, light angst.

Word Count: 6,863

The babysitters.

We were under the same roof.

The summer had passed, but Hawkins was still settling back into some semblance of normalcy.

At least, that’s what your parents told you as they sent you off to stay with your cousin Lucas and his family.

After everything that had happened, it was clear you were needed, even if you weren’t sure what your role would be in all this.

Your first day in Hawkins was quiet, too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made you feel like something important was still lingering in the air. You hadn’t been around Lucas, Mike, Max, Dustin, or the others much before, so you didn’t know what to expect.

All you knew was that things had been... complicated. And now, you were supposed to help take care of the kids. Easier said than done.

The house you found yourself in was familiar, Lucas’ family home, but it felt different now, like the walls carried secrets you weren’t privy to yet.

The laughter and chaos coming from the living room was a clear indication that life here, though quieter, was anything but normal. You hesitated at the doorway, unsure of how to join the group, and whether they’d even care that you’d just moved into town.

The first thing you noticed was the noise. It wasn’t loud, not exactly, but it was constant.

Mike and Dustin were arguing over some ridiculous game on the floor, while Lucas and Max were half-heartedly attempting to referee.

The energy was almost too much; too many moving parts, too many voices, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Just... overwhelming.

Then, your eyes landed on him.

Steve Harrington, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His presence seemed to fill the room, not with the usual ‘king of the school’ bravado you’d heard about, but with something warmer;

more grounded.

He was part of the chaos, but he was also a quiet anchor in the middle of it. His eyes flickered over to you as you stood there, unsure of how to make an entrance, but instead of the usual dismissive glance or curiosity, there was a softness in his gaze.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice surprisingly calm amidst the rowdy chatter. He offered a small smile, the kind that didn’t try too hard but was somehow inviting.

“You must be the new guy.”

You nodded, not sure if that was the right thing to do.

“Yeah, that’d be me. I’m... staying with Lucas for a while.”

Steve’s expression softened, his arms uncrossing as he straightened up.

“I figured as much. Everyone’s talking about you.” There was no teasing or judgment in his tone, just a genuine acknowledgment.

You glanced at Lucas, who was still in the middle of breaking up another argument between Mike and Dustin, and then back to Steve.

“How do you... handle all of this?”

You asked, half-laughing at the mess in front of you. The kids were all loud, taking sides, making plans for whatever trouble they were about to get into.

Steve looked over at them with a small shake of his head, like he was used to it by now. “It’s... a work in progress,” he said slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.

“You get used to the noise. And the drama.” His smile grew slightly, and you could see how he effortlessly slid into his role as the unspoken leader of the group. “You’ve got your hands full now, though. This lot knows how to make a mess.”

“Seems like they’re good at it,” you commented, your voice dry, feeling the weight of the situation.

You didn’t know how you were supposed to fit in, how you were supposed to navigate being the new person here.

Steve gave you a knowing look. “Don’t worry. We all get thrown into the deep end at some point. You’ll be fine.”

His tone was light, but there was something reassuring about it, as if he genuinely meant it.

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just watched as he moved across the room, stepping into the chaos like it was second nature to him.

He bent down to break up a new fight between Max and Dustin, using his usual calm, but firm, voice to smooth things over. There was a practiced ease to his movements, like he had done this a hundred times before.

You stood there for a moment, observing him. He was different from what you expected, much more patient and steady.

You’d heard the stories, Steve Harrington, the former high school king, the one who had been through his own share of messes, but somehow ended up here, looking out for the kids.

He was more than just the nickname.

It wasn’t until you saw him glance back at you, that small, amused smile tugging at his lips, that you realized you’d been watching him a little too intently.

He raised an eyebrow, catching your gaze, and for a second, there was an unspoken understanding between you two, something fleeting but real.

“Okay, new guy,” he said, his voice a little more relaxed, like he was letting down some of his own walls.

“Want to team up? We can tag team this babysitting gig. Trust me, it works better when there are two of us.”

You didn’t know what made you agree, but there was something about Steve, something that made it easy to fall into a rhythm with him, even if it was just a simple offer to help manage the chaos.

You nodded, stepping a little further into the room.

“Sure,” you said, your voice quieter now, more certain. “I can give it a shot.”

For a moment, it didn’t feel so overwhelming.

With Steve, there was a quiet reassurance that maybe, just maybe, this would be easier than you thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, helping to take care of the kids and settling into Hawkins.

And maybe, just maybe, there was more to Steve than the stories you’d heard.

As the two of you began working together to keep the kids from escalating into more trouble, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures, the way Steve made sure you were comfortable and involved, offering quiet smiles and half-jokes when the kids got too rowdy.

It was nothing big, nothing overt, but in that moment, you realized something, this wasn’t just babysitting.

This was the beginning of something new.

And even if it was just a small spark, you couldn’t help but feel like it had the potential to grow into something more.

---

The moment you agreed to help, you immediately regretted it.

Max had suggested they all play a game of Dungeons & Dragons, but somehow it devolved into an all-out war of opinions, everyone trying to one-up each other with the most ridiculous rules.

Dustin and Mike were arguing over whose character was the most powerful, while Lucas tried to keep them in check, but his attention was split.

Max, naturally, refused to be part of it at all, folding her arms and glaring at the lot of them as if she were too cool for the entire situation.

And in the middle of it all, Steve was... well, Steve.

His usual nonchalant attitude made him seem like this was just another ordinary Saturday for him.

He leaned back against the couch, one hand lazily draped over the backrest, while the other played with a half-empty bag of chips.

You glanced at Steve, silently pleading for help. He caught your eye, his lips twitching in amusement, but he didn’t offer any immediate assistance.

Instead, he was waiting for you to jump into the fray. You took a deep breath and stepped into the chaos, walking over to where Lucas and Mike were practically nose-to-nose, arguing over whether a roll of the dice was “totally unfair.”

“Hey!” you called out, a little louder than you intended. All heads turned toward you.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, something almost like pride flickering behind his eyes as you took charge of the situation.

“Okay, seriously?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re gonna be here all day if you keep fighting like this. What’s the point of a game if you don’t even know the rules?”

Lucas shot you a grateful look.

“See? I told them it’s about having fun, not trying to win every single time.”

“I don’t always try to win,” Dustin protested, looking offended.

He glanced at Mike.

“But Mike’s character is completely OP. I mean, who even lets a wizard have that many spells?”

“Yeah, well, you guys aren’t playing right!” Mike shot back, completely missing the point.

Steve leaned in, clearly enjoying the drama. “Boys, boys,” he said, with a theatrical sigh.

“How about we agree that everyone can have their turn to be the biggest nerd, but nobody gets to hog the spotlight? Deal?”

You could practically hear the collective groan of annoyance from the kids, but it did the trick, at least for the moment.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Dustin grumbled, sitting down with a huff.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Just as things seemed to calm down, a high-pitched shriek cut through the air.

Max had decided she was done with the game and was now attempting to sneak into the kitchen to steal the last of the snacks.

“Hey! Max! Get back here!” Steve shouted, moving with surprising speed as he jumped off the couch and chased after her.

You didn’t hesitate to follow, knowing the chaos would only escalate if someone didn’t stop it.

You found Steve cornering Max at the kitchen table, a small bag of pretzels clutched in her hands like she was about to make a getaway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steve asked, his voice amused but firm, his hands on his hips as if this were a routine.

Max rolled her eyes dramatically, holding the snacks out in front of her like they were a trophy.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting a snack. You guys have been hogging everything.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone eating pretzels since last week, Max,” you said, crossing your arms.

“You just want to be dramatic, huh?”

Max flashed you a smirk. “If you’re gonna let Steve win, that’s your problem.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender.

“I’m just here to keep the peace, not to pick sides.”

Steve leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a secret.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, his words only meant for you.

“She gets really feisty when she’s hungry.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. “Noted.”

Max huffed, crossing her arms, but Steve wasn’t letting her off that easily. He took the bag from her hands with a dramatic flourish, giving her a look of mock disappointment.

“You can have some, but you have to promise to play nice with the others. No more stealing snacks.”

Max rolled her eyes again but grudgingly nodded.

“Fine, whatever.”

With the snack crisis temporarily averted, you and Steve returned to the living room, but not before you heard Dustin and Mike get into another heated discussion about which character was the best choice for their next round.

You exchanged a glance with Steve, who was clearly done with the constant back-and-forth.

“You wanna call it quits for the day?” Steve asked, leaning toward you with a grin.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I think that’s probably a good idea. They’re never going to agree on anything if we don’t step in.”

Just as you were about to suggest a break, the sound of crashing plastic echoed from the corner of the room.

You and Steve turned just in time to see Lucas trip over his own shoelaces, sending a bowl of popcorn flying across the floor.

The kids burst into laughter, and even Steve couldn't hold back a chuckle.

You couldn’t help but smile at the mess of it all, and for a moment, it felt like you were just another part of the family.

“You know,” you said, shaking your head,

“I can’t tell if I’m actually helping or just making things worse.”

Steve shrugged, his grin widening.

“Sometimes it’s about surviving the chaos, not solving it. Trust me, you’re doing fine.”

As the room settled into a familiar pattern of laughter and minor bickering, you realized that, despite the madness, it wasn’t so bad.

Steve had a way of making the chaos feel manageable, and it felt like, maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this.

---

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the room.

The chaos of the afternoon had finally settled into a comfortable lull, and the kids had either scattered to their respective corners of the house or fallen into a quiet, tired stupor.

The game was over, the snacks were long gone, and the living room now felt almost eerily calm in comparison to the frenzy that had come before.

You leaned back against the couch, the soft hum of a television in the background barely audible.

Max was sprawled out in one of the armchairs, her headphones in, while Dustin and Mike were attempting some quiet video game battle in the corner.

Even Lucas had found a moment to relax, reading through a comic book by the window.

Steve, on the other hand, had found a quiet corner near the window, arms loosely crossed as he gazed outside at the fading light.

His usual energy had settled, his expression softer now than it had been all day.

You watched him for a moment, the way the light caught the edges of his hair, how his gaze seemed far away, lost in thought.

It was the first time today that he didn’t seem like he was on high alert, ready to jump in and referee the next round of bickering. He looked... peaceful.

For a moment, you considered just letting him be.

But something about the quiet pulled you closer, a small voice telling you to take a chance, to say something.

“Hey,”

you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt strange to break the silence, but you did anyway. “You doing okay?”

Steve shifted slightly, as though your voice had brought him out of his thoughts.

He turned his head slightly, catching your eye. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he uncrossed his arms and sat up a little straighter.

“I’m good,” he replied, his voice low and calm.

“Just... needed a second. Been a long day, huh?”

You nodded slowly, relaxing into the cushions as you considered his words.

“Yeah, it’s definitely been... eventful. But, uh, it’s not so bad. You’ve handled it pretty well.”

Steve let out a small, almost embarrassed chuckle.

“I don’t know about that. Half the time I’m just winging it.” His gaze flickered toward the kids again, watching them interact with a small, fond smile on his face.

“But, I guess it works out. You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me? I feel like I’m just getting dragged along.”

“That’s part of the fun, right?” Steve said with a shrug, still grinning a little. His tone was teasing, but there was a warmth there, too, a genuine appreciation.

“But seriously, you’ve got a good way with them. They listen to you, which is more than I can say for myself sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, shifting so you were sitting a little closer to him.

“I guess we make a good team, huh?”

Steve glanced at you again, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah, I think we do.”

His voice was quieter this time, more thoughtful. “It’s kind of nice, y’know, having someone to share all this with. Feels a little less crazy when it’s not just me trying to keep everything in check.”

You didn’t say anything right away, letting the words sink in.

You had noticed, of course, how Steve had a way of keeping things under control—of bringing a sense of calm to the madness.

But hearing him say it, hearing the vulnerability in his voice as he admitted he wasn’t always sure he had it all together, made you feel... closer to him, in a way.

Like you weren’t just playing along in his world, but that you were starting to share it.

“You know,” you said quietly, looking out the window where the last remnants of the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, “I didn’t think it’d be like this when I moved here. All the noise, all the... chaos.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “But it’s kind of nice. In a weird way.”

Steve followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked out at the fading light.

“Yeah. It’s nice. I think the chaos makes the quiet moments worth it.” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back another smile.

“And... I think the quiet moments make the chaos feel a little less crazy, too.”

You smiled at his words, the weight of the afternoon finally lifting off your shoulders.

The world outside seemed a little calmer now, the house filled with the soft sounds of the kids in their own little worlds, and Steve sitting next to you, as relaxed as you’d ever seen him.

There was something comforting about this silence, the way everything felt in sync for once.

You didn’t feel the need to fill the air with conversation or distractions. Instead, you could just enjoy the moment for what it was, a brief, quiet pause in the midst of the whirlwind that had been your day.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you met his eyes, a soft, unspoken understanding passing between you.

Maybe it was the way the evening light softened everything, or the way his presence just felt right, but in that quiet moment, you couldn’t deny it: being here with him felt... good.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve said, the words simple but meaningful, his voice steady and warm.

You nodded, a quiet smile curving on your lips. “Me too.”

---

The days after the babysitting adventure had settled into something like routine.

The kids were still as chaotic as ever, but with each passing day, you found yourself easing into the role.

There were moments of laughter, moments of frustration, and, more often than not, you found yourself alongside Steve, trying to juggle the madness.

It wasn’t so much the kids that had started to feel comfortable, it was being around Steve.

Somewhere between handling arguments over video games, calming Max down after she’d stormed off in a huff, and Steve always having just the right words to make everyone laugh or take a break, you’d started to notice something.

The way Steve looked at you wasn’t quite like it had been at first. It was subtle at first,an extra beat of silence when your eyes met, the small, easy smiles that didn’t feel forced, like they used to.

There was an ease in his presence now, a comfortable kind of quiet that you found yourself craving when the noise of the group became too overwhelming.

Today was no different. The kids were in the backyard, playing basketball, and you’d volunteered to stay inside with Steve, mostly because the sun was just a little too hot, and you both had been the designated “guardians of peace.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a drink, while Steve was lazily washing dishes, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The rhythmic sound of water running, the occasional clink of plates, and the quiet murmurs between you two were almost soothing.

“So,” Steve said, his voice breaking the silence, “how’s school been? You surviving senior year?”

You glanced up from your drink, considering the question. “It’s been alright,” you replied, a small shrug following your words.

“I mean, it’s school. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But it’s... different, you know? Moving here after everything that happened... it’s kind of thrown me off. I feel like I’m still adjusting.”

Steve chuckled, wiping his hands dry on the dish towel.

“Yeah, I get that. Hawkins has a way of making things feel a little weird, right? Everything’s either too normal or too weird, never just... normal.”

You laughed softly, nodding in agreement.

“Exactly. It’s like one minute, I’m trying to figure out how to survive high school, and the next, I’m wondering if I’ll have to deal with some weird, otherworldly creature again.”

Steve smirked, tossing the towel aside and leaning against the counter. “I’m pretty sure that’s part of the charm of this place. You never really know what’s gonna happen next. Makes life interesting, I guess.”

The way he said it made you chuckle, and for a moment, it felt like you were just... talking.

Not about anything important, not anything heavy, but just sharing a moment of lightness, of understanding. It wasn’t often that you felt that way with someone, especially after moving to a new place.

But with Steve, it was easy.

“You know,” you said after a beat, “I didn’t really expect you to be this... chill.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Chill? What, you thought I’d be some angry jock or something?”

You shrugged, trying to hide your smile. “I don’t know. It’s just—well, you’re different than what I thought you’d be.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I get that a lot. People usually think I’m all about the hair, the car, the ‘cool guy’ persona.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Guess I got that reputation, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his self-deprecating humor. “I mean, yeah, but there’s more to you than that.”

You paused, looking down at your drink as you thought for a moment. “It’s just... you’re not what I expected. But in a good way.”

Steve’s expression softened at your words, and for a moment, you both just stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, the noise of the kids in the backyard still distant.

There was something comforting about the silence between you two, something that felt like it was slowly pulling you both closer.

Steve shifted on his feet, his gaze never leaving you as he leaned in slightly, as though choosing his words carefully.

“Well... I’m glad to hear that. Honestly, I didn’t really know what to expect from you either when you moved here.”

You looked up at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Oh yeah? What did you think I’d be like?”

He chuckled softly, his expression light.

“I don’t know, honestly. I thought you’d be like one of those people who just comes in, says ‘hi,’ and disappears. You know, all distant and stuff. But you’re... not like that at all.”

You smiled, a small, genuine smile that came naturally. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Steve’s grin was playful, but there was something more behind it. “Nah. Not bad at all.”

It was funny, how easy it felt to talk to him.

The way the conversation flowed from one moment to the next, no forced pauses, no awkwardness. It felt natural, like the both of you had always been able to share this space.

The kids outside were getting louder, the ball bouncing off the ground, a few of them laughing at some sort of inside joke, but it didn’t matter.

It felt like you and Steve were in your own little bubble, and for once, the rest of the world didn’t need to intrude.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Steve said softly, almost as an afterthought, as he turned back to the sink, his fingers absently running over the rim of a glass.

“I mean, you’ve made things... easier.”

You watched him for a moment, the words hanging in the air between you two.

He hadn’t said anything too deep, but there was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart skip a beat

You were getting used to this, getting used to him being around, getting used to the quiet moments, to how easy it felt to just be in each other’s company.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” you said, the words coming out quieter than you meant them to.

For a moment, Steve didn’t respond, but the smile he gave you was enough. It was soft, almost shy, but there was something in it that told you he felt the same way.

---

It had been a long week, the kind of week that blended together, filled with the usual mix of chaos, laughter, and quiet moments with Steve.

Every time you thought the day would settle into something predictable, there was always a curveball, whether it was Dustin’s never-ending energy, Max’s occasional storms, or the endless basketball games in the driveway.

But, despite the noise, the moments spent with Steve felt different. Lately, you’d found yourself looking forward to them more than you cared to admit.

It was late on a Friday evening, and the kids had all scattered off to their rooms, giving you and Steve the rare chance for some time to yourselves.

The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the night outside.

You were sitting on the couch, a book in your lap, your thoughts wandering far from the pages in front of you. You could hear Steve in the kitchen, putting away some leftovers from dinner, humming to himself absentmindedly.

The usual chatter and playful teasing had quieted down, and you realized, for the first time in a long while, that you weren’t focused on keeping things light anymore.

You weren’t just babysitting the kids or keeping the peace.

You were... drawn to Steve.

And it wasn’t just about the way he’d smile when he caught your eye, or how he’d laugh when you cracked a joke. It was the way he made you feel. Safe. Understood.

Like you were both in this together. Like this moment, this piece of life, was something worth holding onto.

Without thinking, you closed the book and set it aside, standing up and walking toward the kitchen, your steps slow but deliberate.

Steve was humming louder now, moving around the kitchen, but when you leaned against the doorframe, he paused and glanced over at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s up?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

You hesitated for a second, not entirely sure what you were about to say, but knowing that it was time to say something.

Something that had been building up in you for weeks now. Something you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“I don’t know,” you said, the words coming out a little quieter than you meant them to.

“I guess... I’ve been thinking.”

Steve tilted his head slightly, clearly interested, but he didn’t push. He just stood there, waiting for you to continue, his expression soft and open.

“About... us, I guess,” you continued, your heart beating a little faster now.

“About how things have been. How... I’ve been feeling. And, I just—”

You stopped yourself, taking a breath. You didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t know how to put into words what had been bubbling up inside you.

But Steve, in his usual way, seemed to sense what you were getting at. His expression softened, and he took a step closer to you, his voice gentle.

“You mean how it feels like we’ve been getting closer?” he asked, his tone teasing but sincere.

You nodded, looking up at him.

“Yeah. I didn’t think it would happen this way, but... yeah. I guess I’ve been feeling it too.”

Steve leaned against the counter, letting out a small breath as he looked down at his hands.

For a moment, you thought he might change the subject, but instead, his voice softened, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.

“You know,” he began, “I’m not always this put-together. Like, I joke around and act like I’ve got it all figured out, but... I don’t. Not even close.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you, and you stepped closer, silently encouraging him to continue.

He glanced at you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before looking away again.

“After everything that happened with... the Upside Down, losing people, and just... everything,” he said, his voice faltering slightly,

“it messed me up. I tried to be the guy who could take care of everyone, who could keep it together for the kids, but sometimes... it feels like I’m barely holding on.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words.

It wasn’t often that Steve let his guard down like this, and hearing the cracks in his usual confident exterior made you realize just how much he carried on his shoulders.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Steve continued, shaking his head with a small, self-conscious laugh.

“Maybe because you’ve been there too. You get it, in a way that not a lot of people do.”

You reached out instinctively, placing a hand on his arm.

The gesture was simple, but it seemed to ground him. He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his expression was almost overwhelming.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Steve,” you said softly. “You don’t have to be the guy who always has it figured out. We’ve all been through a lot, and it’s okay to lean on someone else sometimes.”

Steve let out a small breath, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah. I think I’m starting to figure that out. Especially with you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and the realization of what he’d just said made your heart skip a beat.

He hadn’t said it directly, but the meaning was clear. You weren’t just someone he was confiding in. You were someone he trusted, someone he wanted to keep close.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Steve said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m glad you’re here too.”

Your hand lingered on his arm for a moment longer before you stepped back, the weight of the moment settling between you. There was something undeniable in the air now, something unspoken but understood.

The connection between you two wasn’t just friendship—it was something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

Steve stared at your lips and cracked a smile.

---

It had been a few weeks since that quiet night in the kitchen when everything changed.

You and Steve hadn’t spoken directly about what happened, but the air between you was different now.

The small moments lingered longer, the playful touches and glances felt heavier, and the teasing banter was layered with something unspoken. Something real.

The kids, of course, hadn’t noticed anything, too caught up in their own world of campaigns, arcade games, and adolescent drama.

But you noticed. Steve noticed. And, slowly but surely, the dynamic between you two shifted into something neither of you could name just yet.

The first time it hit you was at the arcade.

It had been Max’s idea to gather everyone, and somehow, you and Steve had been roped into chaperoning.

The kids scattered the moment you arrived, racing to their favorite machines and leaving you two by the snack counter.

Steve leaned casually against the counter, sipping a Coke, his hair as perfect as ever.

You couldn’t help but smirk at how effortlessly he pulled off the whole "cool guy" look.

“You know,” you said, nudging him playfully,

“you’ve got a serious reputation to uphold. Babysitter extraordinaire, hero of Hawkins… how do you handle all the pressure?”

He laughed, a genuine, warm sound that made your chest tighten.

“It’s tough, but someone’s gotta do it,” he quipped, taking another sip. Then he glanced at you, his expression softening. “I mean, it helps having backup now.”

The way he said it, so casually but with a weight that told you he meant it, made your stomach flip.

You looked away, pretending to focus on the kids in the distance, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you.

“Backup, huh?” you replied, your voice teasing but quieter now.

“Guess that makes me your sidekick.”

Steve nudged you back, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that felt deliberate.

“Nah, more like my boyfriend.”

The word hung in the air between you, and for a moment, it felt like the entire arcade had gone silent.

You glanced at him, and the small, knowing smile on his face made your heart race.

“Boyfriend, huh?” you murmured, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He shrugged, his smile widening. “Yeah. You know… someone I can count on. Someone I can... trust.”

The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of something big.

But before you could respond, Dustin’s voice cut through the moment, shouting for both of you to “hurry up and come see this!”

Steve chuckled, the spell between you broken but not forgotten.

“Guess duty calls,” he said, giving you a quick wink before heading toward the kids.

You followed, your chest still buzzing from the exchange.

---

The second time it happened was during a late-night drive. The kids were all asleep in the back of Steve’s car after a long day at the pool, and the quiet hum of the engine filled the silence.

You were sitting in the passenger seat, your head resting against the window as the streetlights flickered past.

Steve glanced over at you, his hands steady on the wheel.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

You turned to him, smiling softly. “Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”

He nodded, his eyes flicking back to the road. “It’s been a long day.”

There was a pause, and then he added, almost hesitantly, “You know, I’ve been thinking… I like this.”

“Like what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“This,”

He said, gesturing vaguely. “The quiet. The… normal. After everything we’ve been through, it’s nice, y’know? Just driving around with you. Feels... right.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It does.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, but the air between you was charged, every glance and shared silence saying more than words ever could.

---

The third time it happened was at the Wheeler’s basement, during another one of the kids’ chaotic campaigns.

The two of you sat on the couch, watching the kids argue over strategy, your shoulders pressed together.

Steve leaned in close, pretending to whisper about the game but letting his breath tickle your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Doubt it,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his proximity.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade.

You could feel the tension building, the unspoken feelings between you growing harder to ignore.

Before either of you could say anything, Lucas shouted in triumph, breaking the moment.

Steve groaned dramatically, leaning back against the couch, but his hand brushed against yours as he did. Neither of you moved it.

It was moments like these, small, fleeting, but deeply significant, that defined the slow burn of your relationship.

Every shared look, every playful touch, every quiet conversation brought you closer, inch by inch, until the line between friendship and something more was barely there at all. And though neither of you had said the words yet, you both knew they were coming. It was just a matter of time.

---

The night was still, the stars scattered across the sky like someone had spilled glitter over velvet.

You and Steve were sitting on the roof of your house, a favorite spot you’d both discovered during one of the kids’ sleepovers.

The chaos of the day had finally settled, leaving behind a peaceful quiet that you’d grown to cherish in moments like these.

Steve sat beside you, legs stretched out, his hands resting on his knees as he gazed up at the stars.

He looked calm, content, but there was something in his posture, his fingers tapping absently against his leg, the way he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, that told you he had something on his mind.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but clear in the stillness.

You turned to him, caught off guard by the question. “Next?”

“Yeah, like... after all of this. The kids, Hawkins, everything.”

He gestured vaguely to the sky, his lips quirking in a small, self-conscious smile.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like this town is all I’ve got, y’know? Like I’ll always be Steve Harrington, babysitter extraordinaire.”

You chuckled softly, nudging him with your shoulder.

“You’re a little more than that, you know.”

He smiled at the nudge, but the vulnerability in his eyes didn’t waver.

“I don’t know. I guess I just... I want more. Something real. Something that makes me feel like... I belong.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

You felt your heart ache at the openness in his voice, the quiet longing he rarely let anyone see.

“You do belong, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentle but firm. “To the kids, to this place... to me.”

The last part came out before you could stop it, but you didn’t regret it.

It was the truth, and it was time to stop dancing around it.

Steve turned to you, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the moment your words sank in.

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean it,” you continued, your voice quieter now.

“You’re not just... some guy who keeps the kids out of trouble. You’re more than that, Steve. You’re... everything. To them, sure, but to me, too. And I don’t want you to think you’re not enough, because you are. You always have been.”

Steve blinked, his breath hitching slightly as your words settled over him.

Then, slowly, a small, almost disbelieving smile began to tug at the corners of his lips.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear something like that?” he asked, his voice soft, almost like he was afraid to break the moment.

You smiled back, your chest tight with emotion.

“Maybe as long as I’ve wanted to say it.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, Steve reached out, his hand brushing against yours before lacing his fingers through yours.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like... like I finally found someone who sees me. Not just the guy who drives the kids around, or the guy who screws things up half the time. Just... me.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, and without thinking, you leaned closer, your free hand resting lightly on his arm.

“I see you, Steve,” you said softly, your eyes locked on his. “I’ve always seen you. And I—”

The words caught in your throat, but you didn’t need to finish them. The look in his eyes told you he already knew.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

“I think I’m falling for you,”

he murmured, his voice trembling slightly but filled with sincerity.

You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I think I already have.”

The confession hung between you, weightless and freeing all at once.

Steve pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression soft but filled with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

Then, with a tenderness that made your breath catch, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft, unhurried, and filled with all the emotions that had been building between you for weeks. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a promise. A promise that this was real, that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

When you finally pulled back, Steve smiled at you, his cheeks flushed but his eyes shining with a happiness you’d never seen before.

“So,” he said, his voice teasing but warm, “does this mean you’re my boyfriend for real now?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you squeezed his hand. “Yeah, Harrington. I guess it does.”

And as you sat there on the roof, your hand in his, the stars shining above, you knew that this was just the beginning. The beginning of something real. Something that finally felt like home.

Thank you, Hawkins.

---

Credits: The Steve Harrington border I used was made by me, but the blue border was made by: kodaswrld!! Go and support them 🫶🏽

[leesleelee]

Undercover Connection.

Billy hargrove x mechanic! male reader.

You, a senior in highschool works at Hawkins local mechanic shop, where Billy brings his Camaro for repair after a particularly reckless night. But your calm demeanor intrigues him.

CW: strong language, mild violence, implied abuse, smoking, emotional vulnerability, tense situations, minor injury(s), soft romance.

word count: 3,163

Sometimes the people you meet are a blessing or a lesson learned.

You were quiet but you were also skilled. This is how you got a part-time job at the Hawkins mechanic. Being reliable and skillful was rare, like a blessing.

People knew you were reliable with cars, and also keeping things to yourself. Preferring the quiet hum of engines over the noise of high school drama.

Your quiet demeanor is nothing compared to Billy Hargrove. He was hot-headed. Unbearable. Reckless. You two were complete opposites.

It was a Friday after school, the sun was hotter than usual. It felt unbearable, every sweat that went down your face felt like a bullet. Your face read nothing, like it always was.

But your brain was a jumple of thoughts clashing into each other.

You were working on an old pick up truck. You were too busy on tightening the bolt on the old pick up truck.

As you were too focused on working on the truck, the bell above the garage door jingles sharply, cutting through the rhythmtic hum of tools and clanking metal.

You notice Billy Hargrove stride in. But your attention was focused on working on the truck. Why should you give all of your attention on some dick head at school? Yes, Billy Hargrove was very pretty. His plump lips wrapped around his cigarette made you question things.

But that doesn't make up the fact he's a reckless selfish dick.

Billy's usual cocky smirk was plastered all over his face. Even though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. His Camaro sat just outside, steam rising faintly from the hood, a testament from his reckless driving.

Behind the counter, you barely glanced up, you were busy with the truck. The sound of heavy boots approaching didn't faze you.

"If you're here for a quick fix, you're out of luck. I'm the only one working today, and I've got three cars ahead of yours."

This catches Billy's attention, making the curly head pause by the indifferent tone. Most people in Hawkins either flinch or try to hard to please him, but you? You don't even seem to care.

"Yeah well, my car's not exactly running right now, so you'll have to make time. Can't have Hawkins' bad boy walking everywhere, can we?" Billy sharply said as he leaned against the counter, smirking.

This makes you finally look up, raising a eyebrow as he takes in the sight of Billy. The infamous mullet that is a dirty blonde color, leather jacket, fluffy curls, pretty blue eyes, and a perpetual smirk. Everything about him just screams trouble.

You can tell he is obviously impatient.

You spoke up dryly, "Bad boy or not, your Camaro is not special. You're getting in line like everyone else." You said as you rolled your eyes in annoyance. He was starting to get on your nerves.

"What, you don't think my 'baby deserves VIP treatment?" Billy responsed to you, in a mocking tone.

You shrugged and turned back to the truck, "Your 'baby' looks like it got into a fight with a tree." You mocked at Billy back.

"Be glad I'm not telling you to scrap it." Billy just rolled his eyes at your mocking. He let out a sharp laugh, more genuine than he expected. He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you worked.

"What's your deal, huh? You always this charming, or just saving it for me?"

"Just for you. Now either tell me what's wrong with your Camaro or find another shop." You said as you were still focused.

Billy felt his eyes narrow in response, but he doesn't argue. He's not used to being brushed off like this, and he isn't sure if this annoys him or intrigues him.

Billy started to grumble. "Engines overheating. Won't stay running for more than five minutes."

As Billy said this, you finally set down your wrench, wiping your hands on a rag in a fast motion. You step out behind the counter, motioning for Billy to follow him to the car.

"Pop the hood. Let's see if I can save this piece of junk."

Billy watches you approach the Camaro with ease that rivals his own confidence. For the first time in a while, Billy feels like he's not the one in control, and he's not sure if he minds it.

The Camaro’s hood is popped, and the garage is filled with the faint smell of oil and overheated metal. You leaned over the engine, flashlight in hand, while Billy stands off to the side, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the scene in front of him.

“When’s the last time you checked the coolant?” You said as you were focused on the engine.

Billly shrugged again in response, “What, you think I keep track of that stuff?”

You smirked faintly. “Yeah, I can tell. This thing’s running on fumes and bad decisions.” You responded, amused.

Billy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the workbench, Billy grinned.

“You’re real mouthy for a mechanic.”

You shot Billy a glance

“You’re real cocky for someone who can’t keep his car running.”

Billy lets out a short laugh at you, surprised by the quick comeback. He picks up a wrench from the workbench, spinning it in his hand absentmindedly.

“You always this pleasant, or is it just my lucky day?”

“Depends. You always this much of a pain?” You added as you returned to the engine, not missing a beat

Billy chuckles, the sound low and genuine, and for a moment, there’s an unspoken truce in the air. He watches as you methodically works on his car, the faint glow of the flashlight catching on the streaks of grease smudged across their cheek.

Your hair sat perfectly on you as you worked effortlessly on his car. How could someone look great while having such a, dirty job?

Billy paused for a while, “You’re good at this.”

You glanced up at him, startled by the unexpected compliment. But then you shrugged.

“Had to be. This town doesn’t exactly offer much else.”

Billy shifts, his cocky demeanor fading slightly.

“Tell me about it.” Billy added as he leaned against his car.

The garage falls into a quiet rhythm the hum of tools, the faint tapping of raindrops starting to hit the roof, and the occasional creak of the workbench as Billy leans against it.

After a while, Billy breaks the silence.

“You ever think about leaving? Like, just packing up and getting the hell out of here?”

You started to pause, glancing at Billy.

“Sure. All the time. But it’s not that simple, is it?” You said as you looked straight at him.

Billy meets your gaze, something vulnerable flickering in your eyes.

“No. It’s not.” Billy responded softly.

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet desperation that you recognize but doesn’t push. Instead, they offer a small, knowing smile and return to the task at hand.

“Well, if you ever figure out a way, let me know. I could use a ride out of here too.” You added as you chuckled.

Billy doesn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Billy said as he quieted down.

The moment lingers, and for the first time, Billy feels like someone understands what he’s been carrying.

—-

Over the past few days, Billy returns to the shop under the pretense of checking his car, though it's pretty clear he just wants an excuse to talk to you.

You're guys' conversations start out casual but then gradually start to turn more personal. And you start to notice that Billy begins to let his guard down. Which surprises' you.

The big bad boy starting to be vulnerable to you? And you guys aren't even friends..

The rain has grown heavier, pounding against the roof of the garage in a steady rhythm. You start wiping grease from your hands with a rag while Billy sits on the workbench, idly spinning a screwdriver in his fingers. The Camaro is still half-repaired, but the tools have been set aside for the night.

It is a Tuesday after school, and a storm started not too long ago.

“Guess you’re stuck here for a bit. That storm’s not letting up anytime soon.” You broke the ice as you glanced at the rain.

Billy leans back and faintly smirks. “What, you offering to babysit me now?”

You shrug, leaning against the counter “Just saying. Unless you wanna swim home, you might as well get comfortable.”

Billy chuckles softly, but it doesn’t carry the usual bite. For a moment, he just watches the rain, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful.

“Y’know… sometimes I think about driving until I run out of gas. Just… keep going until I’m somewhere else.” Billy said quietly.

You start to study him, sensing the weight behind the words.

“What’s stopping you?”

Billy’s jaw tightens, and he looks away, gripping the edge of the bench.

“Neil.” Billy pauses, then adds bitterly, “And all the other crap tying me to this place.”

You decide not to push, recognizing the name as Billy’s stepfather. Instead, you let the silence stretch, giving Billy space to continue if he wants.

Billy broke the long pause

“It’s like… no matter how hard I try to get ahead, he’s always there to remind me I’m nothing.”

You cross the room and lean against the bench beside him, your shoulder just brushing Billy’s.

“You’re not nothing. He just wants you to believe that so you don’t fight back.” You said softly.

Billy looks at you sharply, his defenses rising instinctively, but you don't flinch. Your calm, steady gaze unnerves him in a way he doesn’t understand.

Billy scoffs.“What do you know about it?”

“More than you think.” You responded as you shrugged.

Billy opens his mouth to retort but stops himself. There’s something in your tone an unspoken understanding that keeps him from snapping back. Instead, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Why are you even talking to me? Most people either hate me or keep their distance.”

You started to grin.“Maybe I’m not most people.”

Billy huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but the tension in his shoulders eases slightly.

“You’re weird.” Billy said muttering.

You started to smirk.

“Takes one to know one.”

The rain continues to fall, and for a moment, the only sound is the rhythmic drumming on the roof. You lean your head back against the wall, glancing sideways at Billy.

“You’re allowed to let your guard down, y’know. At least for a little while.” You spoke up gently.

Billy meets your gaze, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. He wants to argue, to brush off the comment, but instead, he just nods slightly.

Billy decided to speak up, barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The moment hangs in the air, charged but quiet. Billy’s usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and real.

"Here." You said as took out something out of your jeans pockets. It was a pack of cigarettes. This catches Billy's attention as you also pull out a lighter.

As Billy watches you light the cigarette, he also watches as you press the cigarette to your lips. Making Billy feel something weird inside of him. It felt like his body was on fire. A fire that he could not put out.

His gaze starts to linger on you. There was a fleeting moment of unspoken attraction.

As the silence continues, Billy stares into your eyes as you stare into his pretty blue ones. You looked at Billy fondly as you puffed smoke out of your lips.

Billy then snatched the cigarette out of your hands, looking at your beautiful (color) eyes as he took a drag. This sudden movement catches you off guard, but in a good way. It felt like he set something off in you.

Your left hand goes and twirls in Billy's dirty blonde curls. Watching him take more drags on your cigarette, making you grin for a second.

The silence was loud, but it felt amazing.

--

The rain has slowed to a steady drizzle, but neither of them has made a move to leave the garage. Billy sits on the edge of the workbench, fiddling with a lighter he pulled from his jacket pocket. You lean against the counter across from him, arms crossed as you watch Billy with quiet curiosity.

You decide to break the silence. “So, what’s your plan? Gonna sit there all night, or are you actually gonna say what’s on your mind?”

Billy glances up sharply, the lighter snapping shut in his hand.

“Who says anything’s on my mind?”

“Your whole vibe, Hargrove. You’re like a radio stuck on static.” You said smirking faintly.

Billy huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?”

You shrug “I try.”

There’s a beat of silence before Billy speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“It’s just… different, alright? Most people look at me and either hate my guts or try to get something out of me. But you? You don’t even flinch. Why?” Billy said as he looked at you, confused.

You start to tilt your head, studying him for a moment.

“Because I don’t think the guy you show everyone else is the real you. You’re just good at pretending.” You responded calmly.

Billy freezes, the lighter in his hand forgotten. He looks away, his jaw tightening.

Billy spoke up defensely. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I want to.”

Billy’s head snaps back toward you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of mockery. But all he finds is quiet sincerity, and it throws him off balance.

Billy gruffed, “You’re crazy, you know that?”

This just made you grin in response.

“Probably.”

The tension between you too is palpable now, the air thick with unspoken words. Billy fidgets with the lighter again, his usual cocky demeanor slipping further away.

Billy started to hesitate.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do this. The whole… opening up thing.”

You step closer, closing the space between the two of you. You lean against the workbench beside Billy, their shoulder brushing his.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once. Just… start with what you’re feeling right now.” You added, gently.

Billy’s gaze drops to the floor, his fingers tightening around the lighter.

Billy responded quietly, “I feel like I’m falling apart. Like I’m trying so damn hard to hold everything together, but it’s never enough.”

You didn't say anything right away, letting Billy’s words hang in the air. Instead, you reach out and place a hand on his, stopping the nervous movement of the lighter.

“You’re stronger than you think, Billy. You just don’t have to do it alone anymore.” You said with a firm tone.

Billy’s breath catches, his usual mask cracking wide open. He turns to face you fully, his blue eyes flickering with a mix of uncertainty and something deeper.

Billy, almost whispered, “Why do you care?”

“Because I see you. The real you."

Billy saw you smile faintly.

The words hang between you two for a moment before Billy leans in, hesitating just inches away from you.

“Tell me to stop.” Billy said softly.

You met his gaze. “I’m not gonna.”

That’s all the permission Billy needs. He closes the gap, his lips crashing against you in a kiss that’s both desperate and tender. For a moment, the world outside the garage—the rain, the town, everything—fades away.

When you two pull back, Billy’s breathing is unsteady, his forehead resting against your own.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Billy said quietly.

You just grinned at this.

“Takes one to know one.”

Billy laughs softly, his hand still lingering on theirs. For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels grounded.

---

Days have past and the rain has stopped, and the first hints of dawn are peeking over the horizon. The garage is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools as you finish tightening the last bolt on Billy’s Camaro. Billy leans against the car, watching them with an expression that’s unusually soft.

You, wiping your hands on a rag speaks up,

“Alright, she’s good to go. Don’t push her too hard, though. She’s not as indestructible as you think.”

“You talking about the car or me?”. Billy responded to you as he smirked.

You grinned.

“Both.”

Billy laughs, a sound that feels lighter than usual, and you can’t help but smile back. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the silence comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do all this, y’know.” Billy said quietly as this catches you off guard but you shrug.

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to.”

Billy steps closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Why?” Billy said softly.

You paused for a moment, meeting his gaze.

“Because I think there’s more to you than what everyone sees. And because… I care about you, even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

Billy’s expression falters, vulnerability flickering across his face.

“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Billy added as he almost whispered.

You reach out, brushing your fingers against his.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again. And again. As many times as it takes.”

Billy exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, and squeezes their hand.

“You’re too good for me, you know that?” Billy said as he looked into your eyes, smiling. A genuine smile.

You grinned at this.

“You’re probably right. But I’m not going anywhere, so you’re stuck with me.”

Billy shakes his head, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Guess I’ll have to make it worth your while, then.”

The Camaro gleams under the faint light of the garage as Billy pulls the keys from his pocket and tosses them in the air.

“C’mon. Get in.” Billy said smiling

You raised an eyebrow “What?”

“You said you wanted out of this town, right? Let’s go. Just for a drive.” Billy said as he stared right into your pretty eyes.

You start to hesitate for a moment, surprised by the offer, but then you smile and grab your jacket.

“Alright, but if your car breaks down again, you’re the one fixing it this time.”

Billy grinned. “Deal.”

You climb into the Camaro, the engine roaring to life as Billy revs it. You glance over at him, the streetlights reflecting in his eyes, and for the first time, Billy looks free.

As they pull out of the garage and onto the open road, the town fades into the background. The sky is painted with streaks of orange and pink, and the cool morning air rushes in through the windows.

You smiled, “Where are we going?”

Billy glanced over at you. “Anywhere but here.”

You lean back in the seat, the weight of the night lifting as they drive toward an uncertain future together.

---

Credits: my Billy border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Masterlist.

Hello, this is where you can find all of my posts and content 🫶🏽

Steve Harrington.

The babysitters Chronicles.🍼🫶🏽

Running up that hill. 🖤

Mixed reviews. 💝🎧

Billy Hargrove.

Undercover Connection 🩷

Eddie Munson.

Band Practice..🎸🎤

Jonathan Byers.

Stay still for me 📷🩷

Jason Carver.

Nothing here yet...

Credits:

All of the borders of the boys were made by me but the first and last border were made by: kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[leesleelee]

Request page.

Hello! This is my request page that you request fics from. Please read my rules first before you do so:

I will write head cannons and full fics.

I only write for male readers only.

I do write NSFW but I only do top!male!reader, I do prefer to write fluff but I don't mind smut.

I only write for strangers things characters that are over 18.

Please be detailed when requesting, so I have more of an idea of what you want.

And if you follow all of these rules and comply, I will write what you request when I get the time to.

Dont be shy!

Credits: the first and last borders that I used on this post are made by: kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷