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[messyvalentine]

MASTERLIST

Currently only writing STEVE HARRINGTON

ONGOING:

Maybe I could love you, too. Summary: Life would be easier if you weren’t so in love with your best friend. One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Someone like me Summary: You’re not sure why, but Robin’s best friend absolutely loathes you, without question. And that makes things difficult seeing as how you have a massive crush on Steve Harrington. One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight When there is nothing left to burn Summary: It’s been almost two years since you and Steve Harrington broke up. The last place you ever thought you’d see him again is in your classroom for career day. One

COMPLETED:

This is your fairytale. Summary: Steve Harrington wishes for a chance with Nancy Wheeler and you are there to grant it. One-shot. Here COMING SOON:

Keep it poetic Summary: Steve Harrington discovers a world that lies in a different dimension underneath Hawkins, Indiana. One where animals talk, trolls exist, and everyone likes to sing their emotions.

[messyvalentine]

When there is nothing left to burn

Part One of Two

Summary: It’s been almost two years since you and Steve Harrington broke up. The last place you ever thought you’d see him again is in your classroom for career day.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 6.4k

Notes/Tags: firefighter!Steve and teacher!reader, angst, takes place around four years after Season 5, descriptions of gear/equipment/rescue will not be accurate but I claim artistic license, reader same age as Robin and Nancy and assumes that reader was in the party from the beginning, Stancy never happened, descriptions of an accident and allusions to bodily injury

A/N: This was inspired by @beelzebzb comment on one of my recent story updates. Hope you enjoy it! It was such a pleasure to write. Firefighter!Steve hit the spot lol Title taken from Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars.

MASTERLIST

...

It was a quiet kind of love.

Something that began and ended so silently and softly that for months after the breakup, you had to remind yourself that Steve Harrington was no longer in your life.

A love that blossomed slowly but surely, as sometimes happens to childhood friends. In between fighting monsters and keeping each other alive, when you finally fell into each other, together, the rightness of it was just there. Unquestionable and unyielding.

The time before him sliding seamlessly into the time where it was just him.

And it worked so well, too.

You moved together like you were made for each other. Whether it was battling the evil from the upside down, making breakfast in the kitchen, or making love. You complemented each other perfectly in a way that settling down didn’t feel like a compromise, it just felt natural.

When he slid that little diamond ring on your finger, no one commented on the youth you still bore on your face. That maybe more of your life should be lived before making such a big decision. No one ever questioned the wisdom of it. Because it made sense, the two of you together.

And then it ended. Not with an argument.

It ended softly, with his quiet pleading.

With a whispered “Please” and not a shouted “Get out!”

But you left all the same. Engagement ring on the coffee table, full of unfulfilled promises.

And life continued without him. With you pretending that you didn’t have a Steve-shaped hole in your chest, wide and gaping.

However, the time after Steve feels displaced. Like a phase that doesn’t belong in the timeline and it’s caused everything to feel disjointed after that.

You tried to date, tried to see what love would feel like with other people. But nothing ever felt right, or fit right.

So you were forced to feel comfortable in your own skin. To sit with yourself, alone, something you hadn’t been in such a long time.

But he’s always there, occupying the corners of your mind. When you first received your teaching license, your first instinct was to call him. The phone already in your hand, the first three numbers dialed before you stopped yourself.

And it continued on like that for a while. During the bad moments, when the worst nightmares shook you violently awake, sobs erupting uncontrollably from your body. On beautiful days when it was bright out with a nice, calming breeze and nature’s colors were vibrant and alive.

The days you thought about the past. Of the things you’d been through together.

And on a day like this.

When your first grade class is having a career day.

Because Steve Harrington is standing at the back of your classroom dressed in his fireman uniform, with your colorful bulletin board serving as a backdrop. His face next to your makeshift calendar for November is not how you imagined seeing him for the first time in a very long time.

He looks good.

Healthy, and in one piece.

Okay, he looks great.

With his hair is shorter with the back cropped closer to the nape and the slight scruff along his jaw, Steve Harrington looks every bit as attractive as he did when you were still together. He’s filled out quite a bit since you’ve last seen him, and you cannot deny how good he looks in his uniform, a dark blue button up tucked neatly into his matching trousers. His shoulders appear broader, his uniform stretching over larger biceps than you remember and you let yourself wonder if he would feel the same if you stood in the circle of his arms again.

You mentally shake your head at the thought. Arms crossed tightly against your own chest and an equally tight smile on your face, you try to concentrate on listening to Simon Gubler’s father talk about the joys of being an accountant to six and seven year olds that have barely learned basic addition. You can feel the heat of his stare, the way that his eyes track your every movement as you walk around the room.

He isn’t supposed to be here.

Ashley Humphrey’s father is.

So yes, you are unprepared for Steve Harrington to step into your tiny classroom, overwhelming you with his presence. And you hate being unprepared.

You clap your hands, effectively cutting off Simon’s father before he can go into corporate taxation laws.

“Thank you so much, Simon’s dad, for explaining to us the wonderful world of accounting and numbers,” you announce as you walk to the front of the classroom to stand by your desk. “Does anyone have any questions for Simon’s dad?”

You peruse the room with a smile plastered on your face, even though the sight of little Sarah Matthews’s head lolling to the side on the edge of slumber makes you want to grimace. Not one tiny hand in the air.

“If there are no questions, lets all thank Mister Gubler for coming in and sharing his precious time with us,” you prompt your half-asleep class.

“Thank you, Mister Gubler,” they manage to chorus albeit a little slower and softer than you prefer.

Thankfully, Mr. Gubler is nice to enough to merely shrug his shoulders and wave to everyone before walking to the back of the room.

Taking a look at your list of names on your table, you swallow hard. You’re not even sure you checked. There’s only one person left to present.

“I know you are all very excited for our last presenter to explain their career to us.” Your students start to perk up at your words. “Ashley’s dad, Captain Humphrey, was supposed to be here today. Unfortunately,” your eyes flit to Steve’s for a moment before settling back on your class, “He isn’t yet able to make it in. He did send us a lovely thank you letter which I’ll be reading to the class after recess. But he does want us to know that he is very grateful for all the Get Well Soon cards you made for him.” Your eyes land on Ashley who sits at the front of the class and you give her an encouraging smile and she rewards you with a timid one.

You try to ignore the way your hands grow cold, and your back stiffens. “But, in his place we have today, Mister Harrington, one of our dedicated firefighters.” You can’t help but emphasize the word and you catch the way Steve freezes. “Let’s all give him a round of applause.”

Your kids enthusiastically clap their hands, which makes you feel a little embarrassed at the obvious lack of it earlier.

Steve starts for the front of the class and he’s careful with his steps making sure not to bump into any of the desks on the way, made difficult by the duffle bag in his hand.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Steve Harrington and I’m one of the firemen with the Hawkins Fire Department.” He tells your first graders as he comes to a stop just five feet away from you and he bends down to set his bag on the floor beside him.

You try your best not to look. But he crouches low to unzip his bag and takes out an off-white plastic object from the bag. You clear your throat as you look away.

 Standing, Steve shows the item to the class. “Raise your hands if any of you have one of these in your house!”

The show of hands is impressive and Steve grins. “That’s great, kids! This is a smoke detector and everyone should have this in their house. When the alarm goes off that means that there’s smoke in the house. And smoke means that there is a fire. When the alarm goes off, that means you need to call the fire department. Does anyone know what number you need to call?” He asks the children.

Your class doesn’t disappoint as they all yell. “Nine-one-one!”

You can’t help but smile as Steve goes through the rest of his presentation, the kids in rapt attention. He shows them his protective equipment from his bag, lets some of them even try the helmet on. You’ve forgotten how good he is with children, and you feel your defenses ease away into something warm.

Steve fields a million questions from the kids as well as expertly deflecting any requests to ride the red firetruck parked outside. And when you notice that you’re nearing recess, you find yourself a little disappointed that you need to cut his time short.

The kids are disheartened as expected, and they’re not shy about showing it. Plenty of moans and groans fill the small room and you bite your lip when you find Steve’s warm smile in the corner of your eye.

“Let’s all give St—” you catch yourself, “Mister Harrington an applause for his amazing presentation.”

After a loud and exuberant applause from your class, Steve gets on his knee next to Ashley’s desk. There’s a short, murmured conversation between the two of them before she leans in for a tight hug that Steve readily returns.

Your heart skips a beat.

Because there was a time that you thought of this as your future. But instead of Ashley Humphrey, it’s a little kid with Steve’s puppy dog eyes and your smile.

You tear your eyes away from Steve and take a deep breath. Clapping your hands together, the kids settle down in their seats. “We’re going to have recess soon so let’s thank our guests for coming here today and sharing their jobs with us. Let’s go ahead and say “Thank you guests” on three,” you instruct once the room is quiet. “One, two, three!”

“Thank you, guests!” the kids chant loudly.

“Good job, everyone! Now I’ll give you a few minutes of free time to speak with the guests for any questions you forgot to ask earlier. I know some moms and dads have been very patient and are waiting to get some hugs in before they leave.”

The kids waste no time jumping out of their chairs, some heading to their respective parents, others talking amongst themselves. You feel Steve turn to you, his attention fully on you once again. But before he can move towards you, a bunch of the boys manage to create an effective, and very loud wall as they inundate him with even more questions and requests.

You take the distraction and walk to the end of the room to speak with the rest of the volunteer parents. Shaking their hand and thanking them for their time, your attention still on Steve and his attempts to get to all the questions being thrown at him all at once. He takes the kids seriously, too, you realize and when your heart starts to melt you’re thankful that free time is over.

The last thing you need to fall back into the pit of regret that was already so hard to climb out.

You ask the kids to fall in line and it takes almost the full minute for them to cooperate and when the bell rings, you’re relieved that you won’t need to be back in Steve’s orbit for much longer. The kids file out of the room obediently and you walk them outside to enjoy their recess in the playground.

Rebecca, the kindergarten teacher, is already outside with her kids and waiting for you to join her. She readily holds a bag of pretzels out to you and you take a couple gratefully as you come to stand next to her under a shady tree.

Already married with kids of her own in their preteens, Rebecca and you grew close when her family moved last year from the city after her husband took a position at the hospital. She was warm, brutally honest in the most caring way, and a good friend in the times you felt like you had none.

“How’d career day go? I don’t think I’ve heard a more enthusiastic one before. My kids kept getting distracted by all the clapping.”

You chew a pretzel slowly before swallowing. “We had a firefighter for the last one so the kids were excited about that.”

“I forgot about that. I guess whoever Captain Humphrey sent was a hit with the kids.”

You hum.

Rebecca nudges your shoulder and nods over to your right. “That him? He’s cute.”

A gaggle of your kids have congregated by the fence, all staring at the shiny red firetruck parked by the curb. And there is Steve, standing next to it, looking right at you.

He has his arms folded across his chest as he leans against the side of his truck. A pair of sunglasses, sit low on the bridge of his nose. You almost smile at him trying to look cool and you’re not quite sure if the performance is for you or the children.

You quickly look away and clear your throat before digging back into the bag of Rebecca’s pretzels.

“You know he’s looking straight at you, right?” Rebecca points out.

You hum again.

Then, because you have no self-control, you casually run your fingers through your hair, fluffing it to the right side of your face as you peer back at him.

He’s still staring at you but the slow grin that falls across his handsome taunts you with the knowledge that he knows exactly what you’re doing. And the realization that neither of you are being all that subtle makes your heart skip a beat.

Again.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rebecca mutters from beside you. “Tell me you at least got his phone number.”

You almost choke on your spit. “Rebecca!” You hiss.

“What? He’s cute. And if I were ten years younger, I’d ask for his number myself.”

“I like how age is the one deterrent here and not the fact that you’re happily married.”

She snorts. “Stop deflecting.”

“I’m not,” you answer defensively. You heave a sigh. “Besides… it’s not like that.”

“What’s it like if not a handsome guy who has been staring at you for the last five minutes.”

You’re silent for a moment before you finally tell her the missing piece. “That’s Steve Harrington.”

“Your ex-fiancé Steve Harrington?” You feel Rebecca grab your arm. “You never said he looks like that.”

“Not that that has anything to do with anything.” You roll your eyes.

“See, now I regret never pushing you for details. You never even told me why you broke up.”

You sigh, finally turning your back on the direction that Steve is standing. “It’s a long story,” you simply say, before walking away.

…

As a kindness—although you think the use of the word is quite generous—Ashley’s father offers to have your first grade class go on a short field trip to the fire department. A sort of apology, he explained, for not having been able to make it to career day.

You prefer the apology without the added work of a field trip and the possibility of running into your ex again. But Ashley let the cat out of the bag to the rest of the class before a decision could be made and it didn’t feel right to deny her after everything that her family had already been through.

So on the last day of school before the Thanksgiving break, you pack the kids with their ill-concealed excitement into the school bus, along with the new teacher's aide, Jessica. You're appreciative of the extra set of hands and even if it someone who's still a little green. But Jessica is bubbly by nature, with shiny blonde hair that bounces as she laughs, and that matches the energy of the kids fairly well.

It's a short trip from the school to the fire station, thankfully, because the children are practically bursting with excitement eagerly peering out the windows and chattering about sliding down the pole (which you have already explained will not be happening) and riding the firetruck (which just might).

When you arrive at the station, Captain Humphrey is already waiting for you, a beautiful merle border collie obediently sitting by his feet. There's a warm, welcoming smile on his face as he stands, holding his hands behind his back.

You can already hear Ashley excitedly telling everyone, "That's my dad, guys! That's my daddy!"

Once the bus comes to a full stop, you quickly remind your class to be on their best behavior then have them form a line so that they can file out of the bus as orderly as you can manage. You and Jessica make sure that they have their sweaters and jackets on as the November air has turned predictably chilly with the onset of winter.

After you have the class congregated in the firehouse bay in front of the Captain, you walk straight up to him and he eagerly shakes your hand as he greets you.

“Good morning, Captain,” you greet him back. “Happy to see you’re doing better.”

“Thank you for coming to visit when I was still in the hospital. It really meant a lot to the family, especially Ashley, that you went through the trouble.”

You wave his gratitude away. “No trouble at all. Ashley’s such a sweet girl and I was happy to do it.”

"Well, you baked us so many cookies, Maggie brought some over here to the station and I think the guys are waiting for me to take another fall so they can have more of your chocolate chip cookies," he tells you with an easy smile. He opens his mouth to say more but Ashley all but barrels into his legs.

"Everyone, this is my dad and he's the boss," Ashley announces proudly.

Her dad laughs as he pats Ashley's head lovingly. "Not the boss, but one of the bosses. The real boss is at a conference in Indianapolis." He turns to the rest of the class then. "Thank you, everyone, for coming down here today! I'm Captain Humphrey, Ashley's dad. And this here," he gestures at the dog beside him, "is Tilly. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to career day but Steve told me that you all had a lot of fun."

There are several variations of "yes" from your students and you grin at their growing excitement.

"That's great! I'm going to take you on a tour of the station. Please make sure not to touch anything until I tell you that it's okay. And please no trying to slide down the fireman pole. We don't want accidents to happen in the fire station." Captain Humphrey raises an eyebrow.

You bite back a smile as the kids groan in disappointment and Tommy Hagan, Jr. lets out an exasperated "But that's the best part!"

But the children remain surprisingly obedient and cooperative as you're walked through the fire station and shown around. You go through the first floor where all the administrative offices are located and the locker area where the kids get to touch the different protective gear that they have. Each child is delightfully surprised when they receive their own little plastic helmet.

They also get to touch the pole. Some of the kids, particularly Tommy Jr. and his buddy/co-conspirator Seth Winslow attempt to climb up the pole to the second floor. But there's only so far they're able to go and you have to reach out to prevent Seth from landing on his tush.

Once you're ushered onto the second floor and shown through the dorms, kitchen and dining area as well as the room for firefighters to hang out during downtime, do you finally let out a sigh of relief at not encountering Steve Harrington. Likely on his day off, the firemen at the station on duty for the day seem fewer than expected.

You’ve tried not to think about him too much. Which you feel doesn’t work all that well because you end up thinking about him more. All your mutual friends have known to stay away from the topic of Steve when talking to you and you’ll admit that this has put a heavy strain on your relationships with them.

You lost far more than you bargained for.

Which is easy to do when you don’t bargain for anything.

The horn of a firetruck blares through the building announcing the return of one of the fire engines and children, initially startled by the loud sound, suddenly start cheering.

"Alright alright, settle down," Captain Humphrey laughs as he reaches his hands out to get the kids to quiet down. "We had a small fire in town earlier. Normally, I would go along with them, but I'm stuck behind a desk for a few more weeks so I'm glad that you kids came here today to keep me company. But..." he trails off, a knowing smile on his face, "Let's see if our brave firefighters can do a quick demo for us. Maybe they'll even let us ride the firetruck."

You pale a little at this despite your class once again bursting into loud cheers. Back rigid, you follow your class they shuffle down the stairs to the first floor where Steve Harrington is, once again, standing next to the familiar red fire engine locked in conversation with a sandy-haired man a few inches taller than him.

His hair is curling against skin, damp with sweat despite the cool temperature, and his face smudged a little with dirt. But this time, instead of the uniform he wore to your class, he's dressed in the protective khaki pants and a tight dark blue shirt that stretches across his chest and his arms, sweat making it stick to his skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Your mouth goes dry as intimate memories of you and Steve flash through your mind.

Would he still feel the same?

Would you?

"Harrington! Lewis!" The Captain calls out and the two men end their conversation abruptly to turn to their attention to their supervisor. "Can we do a ladder demo for the kids? Then maybe,” he winks at your class, “We can have them ride the truck."

You can feel Steve's eyes settle on you and you keep yours on the kids as they start jumping up and down cheering at the prospect of seeing some live action firefighting skills.

“We’re going to need a volunteer for the ladder demonstration.” Every single kid’s hand is high in the air and Captain Humphrey laughs at their enthusiasm. “Actually, I think it’s best to let your teacher help with the demonstration.”

“Oh I don’t think—” you start to reject the request.

“Has your teacher ever taught you kids the importance of cooperation and teamwork?” Steve cuts in smoothly. Your gaze meets his and you see the unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

Your class immediately confirms his statement and start throwing good-natured jabs at you.

“Fine,” you finally agree through gritted teeth. “What do I have to do?”

Apparently, you’re to simulate a ladder rescue and you’re directed by one of the trainees up the stairs and all the way to the roof. Your class starts loudly calling out to you once they see you in view and you can’t help but give them a cheerful wave.

You watch as the firefighters work to expertly maneuver the truck by the side of the building before the ladder expands to get closer to you. And of course it’s Steve, now dressed in full protective gear, at the top of it, a smile on his handsome face that widens the closer he gets to you.

“Are you ready?” He asks holding his hand out to you.

You instinctively take a step back, suddenly unsure of the safety of, ironically, a rescue demonstration. The beat of your heart picks up at the idea of being entirely too far off the ground for your liking.

But the seriousness in Steve’s eyes are unrelenting, holding you in place.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he tells you softly. “Do you trust me?”

Sweetheart, your heart stutters at the word.

The question carries more weight with it than it should. But you can’t deny that even after everything, you do still trust him.

You nod slowly and when you place your hand in his, the warm smile he gives you transports you to all the better days that always feature him and this exact smile.

Before you realize what’s going on, your feet are off the ground. Effortlessly carrying you over the short wall and into his arms steadying you as you make contact with the ladder that is suddenly beneath you instead of in front of you.

“You were perfect,” you hear his whisper amidst the children’s cheering and clapping.

But all your senses are centered on his arms steadying you, the nearness of him that you haven’t felt in a long time.

How it still feels right to be held by Steve.

Once you’re safely back on the ground, you determinedly keep your eyes on everything but Steve Harrington. It’s the only way you can assure yourself that you’ll be able to function as a responsible adult around your class.

Thankfully, Jessica is there to be hands-on with the kids and Lewis is there to help Jessica while he attempts to make small talk with her. A few more firefighters appear and introduce themselves then assist with loading the kids into the truck to take them around the block, a handful of kids at a time since all twenty-five of them wouldn’t be able to fit once.

While you wait with the rest of your kids, Tilly comes up to you and nuzzles your hand. You smile and crouch down to give her soft coat a pet, scratching behind her ears and she leans further into your touch, tail wagging aggressively with happiness.

“She’s a rescue, you know,” Captain Humphrey says as he comes up from behind you. “She was a hyperactive thing and the family that owned her first didn’t know what to do with her. Brought her to the pound to be rehomed.”

You laugh when Tilly nudges her cold wet nose against your chin. “I’m glad she found a home here then.”

“Oh, she doesn’t live here. She’s Harrington’s dog. He got her a year and a half ago, I think. Shortly after after he finished training.”

You straighten as you digest the information and Tilly whines at the sudden lack of attention.

“I see,” you murmur.

“He’s a good kid, Steve. Good head on his shoulders.”

You nod despite not knowing where any of this is going. Because it’s true.

“Never saw anyone work so hard. You know, it took him months to just be able to calm Tilly down, let alone listen to any of his commands. But he did and now she’s just a sweetheart.” His hands settle on his hips as he watches Ashley chatter happily with her friends. “I asked him why he bothered with such a stubborn dog and he said ‘Because I know what it’s like to not be understood by the people who were supposed to love me’. Tough words coming from someone so young.”

There it is.

You remain silent, having nothing to add to an already painful to hear conversation. So you nod again, pretending that the words don’t hurt, that you’re not the person who Steve was referring to.

But the words still creep along your veins, settles in your bones. And you go through the motions of being a good teacher with a smile on your face despite your heart breaking the entire time.

Getting back to the school is a relief and when the bell rings and the kids are long gone, you sit alone in your car, in the emptying parking lot and finally allow yourself to feel all the emotions that you’ve bottled up.

Because you’re the bad guy in Steve’s story.

The one that left.

The one that refused to understand him.

But it didn’t feel fair to you at that time. And it doesn’t feel any more fair now.

…

Like clockwork, Robin calls to let you know that she’s in town for Thanksgiving weekend. You always meet up for drinks one of the days that she’s in town for the holidays. The effort she shows is always appreciated and even when you don’t feel like going, you still make it a point to drag yourself out of your apartment to meet her.

It’s usually just the two of you at one of the local bars but she suggests going for drinks at a dive bar outside of town. Today, with the new snowfall, you really aren’t looking forward to the drive but you put your big girl pants on and bundle up for the weather.

You manage to get there in one piece but when you find her, she’s not alone.

She has Max and Nancy with her.

Okay, you can do a girls night.

They look happy to see you and each of them pull you into a tight hug. For a little while, it feels like everything is right again. Like you’re all just normal people, with normal problems.

Nancy talks about her job at the Boston Herald. Still focused on her career, made difficult when her bosses want her to cover weddings and social events instead of the investigative journalism that she really wants to do.

Robin is in her last year of college and not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do after. With Hawkins steadily growing in the aftermath of the upside down, she’s considering moving back. You tell her about the community college they’re building and suggest looking into becoming a lecturer.

Max shares the tiny diamond ring that sits on her finger and a round of congratulations are offered. But something inside you shifts even though you’re genuinely happy for your friend.

Jealousy, maybe.

Regret?

Something that reminds you that you once thought that you would have this kind of happy ending.

So when the three of them turn to you expectantly. You pretend not to notice.

“You really have nothing to share?” There’s a challenge in Robin’s tone that’s hard to miss. “Not even a little bit?”

You shake your head. “Same old. Just the same stuff as last year, really. Teaching first grade, which is fun.” You shrug. “I don’t have much of a social life.”

There’s a reason why Nancy’s good at her job. She levels you with an intimidating stare as she cuts through the fat. All the way to the bone.

“We know you saw Steve.”

You swallow down a healthy gulp of soda, wishing it was alcohol instead. “I did.” There’s no use lying. “Twice. He showed up to career day and then we saw each other again for a field trip to the fire station.”

“And?” Max questions. “That’s it?”

You give them a tight smile. “That’s it.”

Robin leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I know you never want to talk about why you broke up or really anything about Steve but…” she trails off awkwardly.

“He’s still in love with you.” Nancy finishes helpfully.

Robin nods. “Hasn’t even tried to date anyone.”

That’s news to you.

Not that it should matter.

Except you’d be lying to yourself, because it really does matter.

Because what was the point in leaving if neither of you are able to become whole without the other?

“You need to talk to him,” Max adds softly. “He comes over for dinner sometimes. He’s just… lonely. So are you.”

“No,” you tell them immediately. “That’s not… that’s…” You take a deep breath, your grip on your glass. “I left for a reason. I… this wasn’t something I did on a whim. All I wanted, still want, is for Steve Harrington to stop putting his life on the line. Because it was always me who had to put him back together.”

Max says your name softly, placing her hand on your arm.

That’s when you realize that you’re crying. You swipe angrily at your tears with the back of your hand, frustrated to still have this reaction after so long.

“When I close my eyes, I still see him. All the worst nightmares are of him. Battered and broken. All the times that I thought I almost lost him. There are already too many close calls and then he tells me that he wants to become a firefighter?” You almost yell out the last word, upset to relive the disappointing end of your relationship.

You take the tissues that Nancy kindly offers you and wipe your tears away. “We already did our part. We made it all go away. And at the expense of one of our own. We already sacrificed so much of ourselves. We deserve quiet lives. Why doesn’t Steve understand that? Why wasn’t everything that we had gone through enough for him? Why wasn’t I enough?”

The truth always comes out.

That’s how it ended.

Quiet words.

You asking him to choose.

Him telling you that he shouldn’t have to.

So you chose for the both of you.

You didn’t argue with him.

You just left.

He let you.

And you’re not sure what hurt you more.

“Remember that time,” Nancy breaks the uncomfortable silence with her soft voice, “When you went to visit family in Indianapolis the summer before sophomore or junior year?”

You give her a watery smile, already knowing where the story is headed. “Sophomore year.”

“Right!” Nancy snaps her fingers. “I remember now, because Steve just got the BMW. And you called him in the middle of the night crying—”

“Why were you crying?” Robin asks, smiling a little now that the mood has shifted thanks to Nancy’s story.

You blush a deep crimson. “I got my period but I didn’t have anything on me. I was too shy to wake anyone up.”

“Steve was panicked. He grabbed all his mom’s stuff from their bathroom and then drove the almost two hours to the city to hand deliver everything to you. He was grounded for two weeks when he got that speeding ticket on the drive back.”

Everyone is laughing now at the mental image of Steve frantically driving with the stolen feminine products in his car.

You remember opening the door to Steve. Remember seeing him standing outside your grand aunt’s house, arms laden with several multi-colored plastic packages. You knew then, in that moment as you stared at him in wonder.

“Every time I think about love, I think about that story,” Nancy reaches out and pats your shoulder.

Your eyes grow wet with tears again.

“I still love him,” you finally admit. “I always will. It’s been hard seeing him again. And—” you hiccup, “It’s not fucking fair that he looks so hot in that uniform!”

Nancy and Max laugh while Robin grimaces.

“You need to talk to him,” Max tries again. “But it doesn’t have to be now. Just when you’re ready.”

“But what if—”

Robin cuts you off with a quick shake of her head. “Whatever doubts you have, just remove them from your head. Steve Harrington will forever be in love with only you. There is no one else. Not for him,” she tells you with such convincing certainty that you believe her.

You allow the hope to blossom in your chest. Could it work? But the claws of reality still push into your skin. Could you live with Steve and what he’s chosen to dedicate his life to?

You don’t let yourself dwell on it, instead choosing to enjoy the rest of your evening with the girls. You bid them goodnight as they pile into Nancy’s car, all their homes being closer to one another while you live on the other side of town.

“Call me when you get home,” Nancy tells you as she climbs into her car. “And be careful driving out there. Roads might be icy.”

“Yes, mom,” you answer playfully. “Let’s make plans to see each other again before you and Robin drive back.”

“Absolutely.” She waves goodbye before pulling out of her parking space.

There’s an unfamiliar peace that settles over you as you drive back into town. For the first time in a long time, you seriously contemplate what it would be like to have that much needed conversation with Steve.

Would he understand?

Would he be willing to compromise?

Would you?

But life without Steve… has it been worth it? All you’ve been doing is going through the motions of your own life. Thinking that not feeling anything at all is better than the possibility of the hurt you could feel from Steve putting himself in harm’s way. But all you’ve succeeded in doing is rendering yourself empty. Just a shell of your former self. Safe in mundane, your life colorless since you left him.

The girls are right.

You need to talk to Steve.

And, you think, the sooner the better.

But fate has other plans for you. Because in your distracted thoughts you realize too late that there’s a deer in the middle of the highway. You swerve to avoid hitting it, but the tires of your car catch onto a patch of icy road causing it you to start to sliding sideways.

Panic causes you to commit the mistake of turning your wheel the opposite way and overcorrecting, and your slide turns into a vicious spin that gains momentum the longer you go.

“No no no,” you whisper helplessly, unsure of what to do or how to make it stop.

But it’s too late to figure it out.

The corner of your car hits the metal railing along the side of the road and your hands grip your wheel tightly as the speed combined with the impact causes your car to flip over several times as it careens into the ditch.

I don’t want to die, you think. I haven’t told Steve that I still love him.

Broken glass and the sickening sound of crunching metal overwhelm your senses and your seatbelt does little to protect you as you get jostled around like a ragdoll in your car.

The last image in your head is Steve’s happy grin when you said yes to his proposal and then everything goes dark.

…

A/N: Istg I'm a happy person. Promise. I'm writing part two now! Pls don't kill me.

[messyvalentine]

re: your question at the end of maybe i could love you too

i like steve becoming a teacher but i don’t like him staying in hawkins. i hate that it’s canon that he stayed behind while everyone else left. he deserves to experience the world beyond hawkins too 😔

Thanks for sending your answer in, friend!

I absolutely get it! In the context of the show, I can sort of understand why he stayed. I guess if I saved a whole ass town, I think a part of me would want to stick around, just to make sure nothing happens again.

However, even Hopper gets to leave and I’m just like… Steve, buddy, are we sure we want to stay?

And also dude, haven’t you had enough? Like that was severely traumatic, sir. In an especially physical way for you, too. May I suggest therapy first? Then maybe we can make some life decisions after?

And yes, Steve as a teacher/coach is so heartwarming. I think that short little league scene is the happiest we see him in the entire series lol

Anyway, love Steve. He’s the best❣️

Off to write firefighter!Steve. Wish me luck!

[messyvalentine]

Someone like me - Eight

Summary: Things get much, much worse and Steve takes you home.

Warnings: physical abuse by parent

Chapter Notes: Another difficult chapter to write and likely difficult to read. So I do apologize. Also I guess Steve has a thing with watching reader eat now? That just came out of nowhere so we're just gonna roll with it mmkay? And I know that I promised more backstory in this one but the chapter ended up too long so we'll take the rest of it in the next chapter. Not proofread nor edited!

A/N: I promised I would upload by the weekend and I almost didn't make it! Will try to update more regularly now that I'm not too busy!

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven MASTERLIST

...

You're not used to money.

You're not entirely sure what it means to have it. Your father having always been strict with it, used it as yet another tool to control you and your mother. You were taught to ask for things, beg even. Taught that things had a larger price than the one listed on a tag.

Your father's fancy lawyers made sure that your mother received almost nothing in the divorce and your mother was too worried to push for anything, just wanting to be able to escape her marriage at the cost of having nothing. The same fancy lawyers made it clear that your parents would have to split custody of you, allowing your father to not have to pay any type of child support to your mother.

You were afforded an allowance but those were to be allocated to very specific things. In college, you weren't allowed to get a job outside of the necessary internship. So your only access to money was your father's credit card, which he made sure to track all your spending. Clothing, those befitting your "status" were handpicked and sent to you regularly, regardless if they were to your tastes or not.

Finally getting your own job out of college was a relief, now having money for yourself and not being questioned on all your purchases was nice. And sometimes you feel a little guilty when you make some splurges on yourself. But your mom always reminds you to enjoy the fruits of your labor so you feel a little bit better about treating yourself.

But growing up like that has made you wary of money and what it means to have it.

And now sitting at the luncheon, yet another occasion for unnecessary pomp and circumstance over a simple meal, you’re even more sure that you’re out of your depth. You think this is something Mia would laughingly refer to as casual opulence but there’s nothing casual about it.

But today is different.

Because Steve Harrington decided that it should be.

Somehow, you're not seated at a table with your father, much to his displeasure. Instead you're comfortably situated with Steve to your left and a young, attractive couple, Sebastian and Caroline Lambert, on your other side. From the outside, they look like the perfect all-American couple, all blonde hair, blue eyes and bright and easy smiles. You’re initially intimidated by them before you find out that they’re probably the two most likable people you’ll ever meet at a function like this.

Sebastian and Steve, you quickly learn, have been friends since they were young, schoolmates at some exclusive private school in Indianapolis during their formative years. Sebastian was a “big brother” to Steve having been a few years older. Caroline, his wife, was originally from upstate New York, and had been waiting tables at a diner near West Point where she met Sebastian.

As she puts it, Carolina cleaned up nicely enough to be acceptable, but Sebastian's parents, who aren't particularly fond of society, thankfully didn't put too much emphasis on marrying within their class. However, his parents' dislike for such social gatherings also meant that they often had to step in and make an appearance on their behalf.

"Trust me," Caroline whispers to you, winking conspiratorially, "I'd rather be in sweats and eating junk food than be doing this."

"While watching trashy reality TV shows?" you add with a giggle.

Caroline moans, uncaring of who is watching. "Girl, yes! The trashiest."

"She's made me watch all the seasons of Love is Blind," Sebastian reveals, pretending to sigh deeply. "I think I might like it now."

You smile as you pick at your food that you've barely eaten and merely rearranged it on the plate. "I'm partial to Love Island myself."

"So good I cringed just hearing the name," Caroline laughs.

Steve, who’s been silent for most of the discussion but whose eyes you’ve felt on you the entire time, raises his hand and a member of the waitstaff automatically appears. He whispers something, blocks the conversation with his hand and the waiter smiles and nods in understanding before hurrying away.

“So, tell me.” Caroline leans down and whispers to you. “What’s going on with you and “The Hair”?”

You self-consciously touch your hair. “Is there something wrong with it.”

Caroline stifles her laughter with her cloth napkin. “I’m so sorry, I guess you didn’t know. Steve was known as Steve “The Hair” Harrington. You know,” she surreptitiously points at Steve’s thick of head of hair.

“Oh it’s tame now but…” Sebastian lifts his hands about six inches away from his head. “There was a time when it was just, like, a cloud of hair.”

You laugh at the thought of a younger Steve who is more carefree and less put together than the one currently sitting next to you, likely brooding. You feel that this younger Steve is what you would expect from the New York version of Steve, however. Not this manicured and polished gentleman who can seemingly disarm someone with a simple nod of his head.

Steve finally cottons on to the fact that he’s now the subject of the conversation and groans.

“Don’t tell her stuff like that, man,” he complains, but you can see a small smile there. “I have a reputation to protect and all."

Both Caroline and Sebastian burst into laughter and you allow yourself to grin at their antics. It's certainly an odd feeling to feel so comfortable in such a formal setting and when Steve's arm casually drapes across the back of your chair, you don't automatically stiffen.

You hazard a glance at him, see him relaxed as he lounges in his seat. Technically, he does own the place but the way he just appears at ease in every single setting, like he belongs in every space that he occupies does make you a little jealous. You realize now that maybe what drew you to him is exactly that. His confidence, the way he commands attention, doesn’t beg for it.

Thinking back to your conversation earlier, you're still unsure of what role you are to assume now in Steve Harrington's life. You're not used to the play-it-by-ear style that he seems dead set on as it requires you to trust him more than you're willing, and he gets to keep all the control he wants.

But if he can give you all the things he says that he can... You're willing to do whatever it is he asks you to do.

Because you can feel your father's eyes on you as he stares at you from tables away, still measuring you, assessing your every move. And you would really love to not have to deal with the anxiety that you've associated with being in his presence.

You're startled when the same waiter from earlier appears back at your table now, carrying a singular plate of food. He murmurs a polite “excuse me, miss” as he lifts the plate from in front of you and replaces it with a new plate.

French toast with fresh berries and a generous dollop of whipped cream.

Your sweet tooth engages and you bite your lip, unsure if you should touch it even though you know you really really want to.

The waiter is gone before you can ask any questions so you turn to Steve who meets your eyes with a steadying gaze. Then he tilts his head towards your plate as if letting you know that it’s okay.

You realize, sadly, that you were waiting for permission. Because that's how you were trained to act should your father be anywhere near you. To bow and scrimp before some authority figure, to wait for someone's permission to let you know that doing what you want is okay.

And Steve recognizes this in you.

But this is the first time someone has done this to benefit you.

And you hate that you can’t trust even this.

Caroline and Sebastian are huddled together their heads touching together that you can’t tell where one’s hair ends and the other begins. They’re both preoccupied with looking at something on Sebastian's phone, and thankfully haven't registered this silent conversation between you and Steve.

Gingerly, you pick up the new fork and knife that was set together with the plate and lick your lips before you cut into the fresh toast. Your eyes flutter as your lips close around the fork and you let out a pleased little sigh after you swallow. This is soon followed in quick succession by a few more bites. You can still feel Steve's eyes on you, tracking your movements so you turn to him and give him a hesitant smile.

He tilts his head to the side, regarding your silently. Then his tongue darts out to wet his lips, the action drawing your eyes to his mouth before the edges of it curve into a slight smile.

"Did not think I'd see the day when Steve Harrington becomes whipped like the rest of us."

Sebastian's comment draws your attention immediately, heat spreading across your neck and cheeks at having been caught blatantly staring at Steve. Sebastian looks almost pleased with you and Steve and you don't want to sully such a new friendship with misinformation.

"That's not—" you start to say.

"It was only a matter of time," Steve cuts in and you turn to him to find an amused smile on his handsome face. Something devoid of malice or pretense. And it unravels something in you that you’ve kept hidden for months. "I mean, if someone like you can find a wife—”

“Wife!” Sebastian exclaims, clapping his hands loudly. “Someone’s eager.”

Caroline nudges your shoulder. “She already has a ring after all.”

Overwhelmed with the unexpected turn the conversation has taken, you push your chair away from the table abruptly. You can’t regret the sudden silence the envelops the table at your actions but you smile politely and excuse yourself to use the ladies’ room.

The silence of the restroom is welcome and you resist the urge to splash water on your face. Instead you bring your hands to your face and give your cheeks a little slap. Just something to snap you back to reality.

Something to remind you that this is all just pretend.

But it feels cruel, instead. Finally being at the receiving end of Steve’s attention that you’ve yearned for so long. And the reality is, even if you get everything you want out of this, Steve being nice to you? Steve being the Steve that he is with everyone else but now directed at you?

You’re not sure how your heart will survive this.

Because it’s pulling all the want out of you. All the things that you’ve buried deep, hidden under lock and key. And as much as you’ve tried forget the shape of his lips against yours, you can’t help but remember with every smile he sends in your direction. Every kind gesture.

And that’s dangerous. You don’t know what Steve you’ll end up with when all this is over. When he finally gets what he wants… what happens to the two of you then?

You look at your reflection in the mirror and you caress the necklace adorning your neck with the same hand that bears your grandmother’s ring.

This is not real, you remind yourself. You need to protect your heart.

Realizing that you’ve been gone long enough, you quickly reapply your lipstick and make sure that your hair still looks perfect. A few deep breaths and you feel a bit more confident. At least confident enough to go back to the table and continue playing along with whatever it is Steve Harrington is trying to convince everyone of.

Pushing the door and stepping out, you make it a few feet before your father appears out of nowhere. He’s quick as he scans the empty hallway and grabs your wrist firmly before pulling you into what appears to be a private conference room, judging from the long heavy wood table at the center of the room, bordered by a dozen chairs. It is also as conveniently empty as the hallway outside. The absence of another person is never a good sign when it comes to your father.

Once your father ensures that the door is locked, he finally releases your wrist but not without forcefully pushing you against the wall. Your right shoulder takes most of the impact but the sudden movement causes you to trip in your high heels, sending you crumpling to the floor. Ice settles in your veins, terrified of what happens next. You’re not sure what your father is capable of, not when his fury is centered on you. Despite still being a little unsteady, you scramble to your feet, ignoring the throbbing pain.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asks harshly and you can’t help but tremble at his tone. “Who do you think you are?!”

Usually reserved and calculating, your father rarely raises his voice at you. Opting instead for psychological warfare when you are concerned, picking you apart with devastating calmness, you’re petrified by this newly awakened anger in him. The fear renders you mute, though you don’t think your father would have appreciated hearing anything from you anyway.

“You dare not answer my text message?! I go to your room before the luncheon to find housekeeping there in your empty room, telling me that you’ve been checked out since last night?!” He lashes out at you as he paces the length of the room. “And I find you today, you’re half an hour late to the luncheon and you dare to sit somewhere other than where I expect you to be, and not wearing what you’re supposed to!”

He comes to a stop before you, eyes wild with unhidden rage. The same eyes that match your own. The grip on your face is sudden. His fingers digging painfully into your cheek and jaw and you try not struggle, knowing from experience that fighting back has never been rewarded. You try to remain still, hoping to pacify him by being docile. But all you wish to do is run.

To not look back.

To find Steve.

“You do not do anything except for what I tell you to do. Do. You. Understand?”

Each word of his question punctuated by shaking your face with his hand, gripping growing tighter as his anger mounts. The look he gives isn’t anger. It’s hatred. Laced with disgust. And that terrifies you because you recognize it as the same look he would give your mother before he raised a fist against her. Your heartbeat starts to race and nausea bubbles up from your stomach as images of your mother broken and beaten flash before your eyes. But it's imperative that you stay as still as you can. If you can do that, you can survive it.

The pain from his hand on your face is unbearable now that you can’t the stop tears from forming in your eyes. You panic trying to keep them at bay since there is nothing your father hates more than crying.

Tears are hard to hide.

But it’s too late. He clocks your watery eyes and the expression of disgust grows to a frightening level.

“I-I’m sorry,” you sputter helplessly. “I-I won’t do it again.”

He doesn’t look pleased, merely mollified by your show of fear and obedience and he finally frees you. Turning on his heel, he starts to move away from you and you finally take the breath you desperately need.

“You’ll make sure to check back into that room where I can keep an eye on you.” He tells you with his back turned to you as he fixes his tie and the sleeves of his suit.

“But…” you start to say without thinking and instantly shut your mouth.

The consequence to your perceived impertinence is swift as your father’s palm hits you across the face, sending you reeling backwards into the same wall you previously fell against. You clutch your left cheek where he hit you, the heat beginning to bloom under your clammy palm. And you stare at the wall behind him in shock.

"Never talk back to me again," he warns, pointing his finger at you. "You're as useless as your fucking mother."

You close your eyes and try not to lose yourself in your fear. Your father always knows what he is doing. The mention of your mother is not something he's done in passing.

It's a reminder of how much worse things could have gone.

So you nod obediently, too scared to do anything else to incite any more of your father's wrath.

"I've changed my mind. I'll let everyone know that you aren't feeling well. My secretary will book you a ticket on the first flight to New York."

You nod again. And you don't move, don't even breathe until you hear the door click close behind your father and you are finally alone.

Finally by yourself, you allow yourself to collapse on to the floor and pull your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. Your breathing ragged, you will yourself not to cry. Instead you focus your eyes on the corner of the heavy wood table that sits in the center of the room.

You force yourself to count slowly from zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to zero to ten to ze–

The door swings open suddenly and Steve steps into the room. You watch as his anxious eyes scan the room quickly, his grip tight on the door knob, and when they fall on you, the anxiety melts into something like relief.

"Princess," he breathes. Carefully shutting the door behind him, he turns the lock before making his way to you.

Without another word, he picks you up on the floor and into his arms then walks the few feet to the table. Kicking a chair out of the way, he sits you on the edge of the table. You're unable to meet his eyes, not wanting to see the pity that will likely be there. But you let Steve's gentle fingers tilt your face up to him.

His fingertips are warm as they trace the heat of the slap on your cheek and his breath warmer against your skin.

"Look at me, princess. Please."

The pleading in Steve's voice is what undoes you, what allows the tears to finally fall as you finally meet his gaze. No pity to be found. Just solace.

And you take it.

Whatever Steve Harrington is willing to give you, you'll take it.

Sometimes, that’s all a broken girl can do.

"I promise you that that monster will never lay another hand on you again."

...

It takes some convincing but Steve’s adamant assurance that he can make it look like someone got on a plane without actually being on it. He's also made it clear that the staff are told to say that you have been shuttled to the airport with your belongings to catch your flight back.

You appreciate the effort, but even while you agree, you’re not sure what the plan is.

Only that Steve wants to make a “little detour” before heading back to Manhattan.

And you need to pack an overnight bag.

“Just pack things that are comfortable,” he tells you as he sits with you at the dining table, back at the penthouse suite.

Ice cubes wrapped in a small towel is pressed against your cheek, held in place by your hand. “Comfortable?” You repeat.

“Casual,” he clarifies. “No cocktail dresses. And definitely no ballgowns, no matter how good you look in them.”

Your eyebrows raise at the unexpected compliment and Steve merely clears his throat before pushing forward.

“We’ll be driving for over an hour so just make sure you don’t wear something you’ll regret. Just pack clothes. Anything else, we can get where we’re going.”

He leaves the table with that.

An hour later, you’re dressed in a soft pair of tan linen trousers and a simple white tank top. You slip your feet into a pair of brown leather sandals and your large handbag that you’ve repurposed into an overnight bag is packed and ready by the door.

You examine your cheek in the mirror, the bruise already covered in a healthy amount of color corrector and concealer. There’s a slight swelling that's unavoidable but otherwise you look fine.

It's the emotional destruction that you feel on the inside that you don't know how to fix.

Normally, you would call your mom or Mia. Maybe even Eddie. But this isn't something that you can run to them for. Never would you want to burden them with the knowledge this escalation in your father's treatment of you. Really, the only one that you can turn to is Steve and that feels like a boundary that you cannot cross.

As if bidden by your thoughts, there are a couple of knocks on the door followed by Steve's voice.

"Ready?"

You carefully part your hair so that the majority of it falls against the left side of your face. "Yes," you answer, your voice coming out surprisingly calm.

Walking the few steps to the door, you open it to find him standing in the hallway, dressed in a dark pair of jeans and a loose white button up shirt, the sleeves once again folded up to just under his elbow, and a simple pair of white tennis shoes. It's the most casual that you've seen him aside from being half-dressed earlier. The first few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned in a way that feels intentional but comfortable and offers you a view of the dark hairs on his chest.

When your eyes finally find his after your quick perusal, his knowing smile is back in place. "You know, a picture will last longer," he teases you.

You roll your eyes and pick your bag up from the floor. Before you can slide it down to your elbow, Steve takes it from you and steps aside to let you through.

Grabbing your sunglasses and phone that are sitting on the dresser next to the door, you step outside and walk straight to the elevator with Steve right next to you. The elevator doors open immediately when he presses the button and the once on the ground floor, he ushers you into a separate corridor apart from the one that leads onto the hotel lobby.

Leading into an elegant private entrance, you find at least five hotel employees waiting for your arrival. A gorgeous classic BWM is parked in the front, a two-door roadster with the top down in a beautiful deep burgundy color. The engine is already running and the hotel staff are quick on their feet as they open the doors immediately and the small trunk is popped open for Steve to deposit your bag before making his way over to the driver's side.

You're increasingly impressed that Steve calls them all by name, just a simple acknowledgement that means so much as you watch them all feel at ease in his presence. He even wishes one of the staff's kids good luck on a big baseball game tomorrow and you wonder how he's able to keep track of everything when he spends the majority of his days in New York. The logistics aren't there, at least on paper. Then you realize you really don't know anything about Steve or his life and all your assumptions have just continued to be wrong.

Not wanting to cause any delays, you make your own way to the passenger side and gratefully take the hand of the valet holding your door open as you lower yourself into the seat before swinging your legs and feet into the car as gracefully as you can manage. You make sure to thank the valet as he closes your door for you.

It's a nice drive. You've never had the opportunity to travel like this through Indiana and you can appreciate how different the cityscape is from New York. The windows are up, keeping your hair from flying around, making conversation easier, too. Although the second part proves unnecessary because the first hour of the trip is completed in silence, only music from whatever radio station it's able to transmit coming from the car's speakers accompanies you on the drive.

Steve announces that he's hungry while you're passing through Bloomington and the timing is impeccable because you're near starving, too.

It's when you're leaving a small cafe after an equally silent meal, that you notice a large black SUV that's parked a few cars down. When Steve pulls out onto the road, the SUV follows suit. It continues down each turn, each long road and you stare at it in the side mirror as it maintains its distance, always a few cars away from the one you're in.

You don't realize that you've been gripping your pant leg until you feel Steve's finger poke in between the fabric and your palm and you instantly loosen your hold, smoothing the linen back into place.

"It's security," he says without looking at you. "Don't worry."

Your brows furrow. "Why do we need security?"

"Why does anyone need security?"

That non-explanation doesn't sit right with you.

"Steve, if you want me to go along with whatever it is that you need me for, I think you're going to have to start talking to me a little more," you point out. "You need to give me some credit here, I got in the car with you not even knowing where we're going."

Steve's jaw clenches. Not angrily, but in a way that maybe words feel difficult.

"We're going to Hawkins," he finally says. "There are things that I need to show you, for you to understand everything. I can't... I can't just tell you. You need to see it."

There's a desperation in his tone that sounds so foreign to your ears coming from Steve. A silent pleading for you to be patient. To understand why he's only told you so much.

And it frightens you.

Because whatever it is you're driving towards, whatever it is that Steve wants to show you... Has everything to do with your father. And you're beginning to realize that although you aren't completely sure what kind of person Steve will prove to be in your life, maybe you don't know who your father is at all.

"Okay," you tell him, despite feeling anything but.

When you drive past the sign that announces "Welcome to Hawkins" your anxiety spikes almost immediately. But it's too late to rethink things now and you're not sure you'll feel safe anywhere but right where you are, even if you are in uncharted territory. Something you have a serious dislike for.

At first glance, Hawkins is just like any other Small Town, USA type of rural area. But even in the beauty of the setting sun basking the sleepy neighborhood you're driving through in golden hues, there's a feeling of unease that creeps into your bones and settles in permanently, unwilling to let go.

You think it's because quite a number of the buildings near the town center appear newer, making them stand out against the older architecture hailing from what you assume to be the 50s and 60s. Which is odd for such a small town with an appropriately sized population. Even the roads appear newly paved that it begins to make you feel like the town was haphazardly thrown together instead of growth happening naturally with the progression of time.

That's when you realize that something happened here. These are signs of a town that was rebuilt.

But why? What happened to this town? And what does your father have to do with it all?

You keep your questions to yourself. Promising to remain patient and wait for when Steve is ready to tell you what you need to know.

Steve turns down the road where you notice that the houses are significantly larger than the ones the lined the previous roads you’ve driven down. He drives until he reaches the largest house at the end of the street.

It looks like an older house, maybe something that would have been more in style forty or fifty years ago. The car crawls down the winding drive and comes to a stop next to another vehicle that's already parked there.

Hawkins Police Department, you read the decal pasted on the side of the truck.

The driver's door of the truck opens as soon as Steve puts the car in park. A tall, burly male who looks to be in his forties exits the vehicle. Dressed in what appears to be a standard issue khaki police uniform and a matching hat, you try not to be daunted by this stranger who reaches down and opens your door for you.

Steve has already climbed out of the car and closed his door and you remain still, unsure of what to do next.

Because does everyone get a personal greeting from the police when they first arrive in Hawkins?

"This her?" the man asks with a voice that sounds as gruff as he looks. He points his thumb at you as he talks to Steve who is rounding the back of the car to get to your side.

"Yup," Steve answers and you're surprised when Steve gives the older gentleman a tight hug. "Hey, Hop."

His hug immediately returned and you feel a warmth in your chest for this obvious close bond that they share. "Hey, son. Glad to have you back. It's been too long."

Steve finally turns his attention to you and offers his hand to you. Taking it, you allow yourself to be assisted out of the car. You smooth your palms down the sides of your trousers to make sure they're dry before offering your hand out to this stranger.

You introduce yourself with a polite smile and the older man takes your hand in a firm shake.

"Jim Hopper, Chief of Police here at Hawkins. But everyone calls me Hopper or Hop." That would explain the uniform. "I'm also this troublemaker's uncle, in case he forgot to mention that."

You glance at Steve who is gracious enough to look a little sheepish.

And that earns a laugh from Hopper.

"So you're that bastard's daughter, are you?"

You startle at the blunt question, unprepared for such frankness. But there's no animosity in the question. Just curious eyes that study you closely.

So you answer honestly. "Yes, I am."

Hopper nods, seemingly pleased with your answer, before turning to Steve. "I think this dumbass idea of yours might actually work, kid."

"I told you, Hop." You can feel Steve's eyes on you. "She's braver than she looks."

...

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[messyvalentine]

Maybe I could love you, too - Eight

Summary: Steve has a lot of important conversations and not all of them are good.

Chapter Notes: Steve POV! Finally! Lovely writing this absolute simp of a man. But there is an obvious tonal change in this chapter because of this. Not proofread. Not even edited, unfortunately as I need to leave the house right now. Will try to edit later. Sorry!

Smut Warning: bigdick!Steve, virgin!reader, fingering, oral f and m! receiving, piv, also quite a bit of dialogue with Steve checking in constantly

A/N: Just one more chapter and an epilogue to round everything out! I'll likely push out some drabbles for this one, just because I love them so much.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven MASTERLIST ...

Sometimes, Steve wonders where he would be if you didn’t manage to come stumbling into his life.

(Although, technically Mike and Dustin practically dragged you into it. But he likes to think he did most of the work.)

Likely he would be trapped in some vicious cycle of mindless dating and even more meaningless sex. Never knowing if anyone would come into his life and finally see him, and all the love he is always too willing to give away.

He likes how he feels with you. Likes the way you look at him with love shining in your eyes. Loves the way that he doesn’t need to guess where he stands with you. Loves that there is only him to have been able to receive all the love you have to give, just so he can give it all back to you and then some. He loves how you wear your heart on your sleeve. Because he doesn’t have to speculate how you feel about him, doesn’t get left in the dark. And he likes to think of the heart on your sleeve as his own, whole and beating.

Because, the truth is… Steve isn’t a nice person. Not always. Just that he tries to be. He isn’t a happy person either. It’s hard to be either, to be honest.

But you don’t care.

And so he’s carefully removed all the other versions of himself, even the carefully crafted ones, and settles into the one he really is. The one who is maybe a little more needy than he’d like to be.

The Steve who is learning to explain what he needs and wants instead of focusing on what he can give just to convince someone to stay.

The most important thing that Steve has learned about himself, however, is that now that he’s in a loving and secure relationship, he’s feeling a lot more confident about being Steve. The real one. Like maybe… he wants to start figuring things out now. Because maybe he isn’t so scared to try now that he knows there’s someone who’s going to be there for when it doesn’t pan out.

And if you can love him through the Family Video employee version of Steve, he thinks you’ll love him through anything.

He loves you just as much, if not maybe a little more.

Or at least enough to make through this weird double-date situation that you and Nancy had somehow put together at the last minute together. As if the two of you are friends now. And like you didn’t just spend the night teasing the shit out of him.

But sometimes, you smile these little smiles, the little Steve smile, the one that you have just for him and he just melts and lets you do whatever the hell you fucking want. Like pushing him into a booth to have burgers and fries with Jonathan Byers.

Look, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with Byers. He’s a decent dude. But aside from shared traumatic events and the tiny town of Hawkins and its inhabitants, there isn’t really anything to tie the two of them together.

And yet here Steve is, sitting across the table from Jonathan Byers like this is normal.

But he looks at you, sees how you glow as you speak with Nancy about summer plans and he thinks he might hear the words barbecue and pool being tossed around at some point, watches as your fingers think they’re being stealthily as they lift a fry from his basket and slide it between the lips he’d rather have on his own. He likes seeing you swimming in his tuxedo jacket, likes seeing you in any of his clothes, really. He especially likes it when your hand drops down to his thigh, absentmindedly massaging your fingers into his flesh.

He thinks he can live through this kind of torture.

And then you and Nancy head to the restroom (because girls have to go together all the time for some weird reason) leaving him behind with Jonathan.

Jonathan looks just as uncomfortable as Steve feels so Steve tries to smile at the other guy/former love rival though he thinks it may have come off as a grimace.

Jonathan doesn’t seem to mind though as he folds his paper napkin into what might be a boat.

“She’s cool,” Jonathan says, finally breaking the ice after giving up on his sad little origami project. “I was surprised when Nancy told me the two of you got together but now that I see you as a couple, I think I get it.”

“She’s awesome,” Steve corrects. “And yeah, the whole ‘making sense’ thing is overrated, I think.”

“I get it. No one ever thought Nancy and me made sense either. But… love, you know.”

Steve nods, unsure of what to say next because despite having killed interdimensional creatures and overlords alongside Jonathan, they really don’t have much to talk about.

He figures, honesty might be his best bet.

“Listen,” Steve folds his hands together on the table, “You probably have plans with Nancy for after this, because I know that I have… plans, with my girlfriend for after this. So what do you say, we get things on the road. Let’s grab the check so we can head out?”

Jonathan agrees immediately and Steve and him both push themselves out of the booth to the register to pay for their orders. Once the girls come out of the bathroom, Jonathan quickly tells Nancy that there’s something he’s been wanting to show her and leads her out of the diner with a helpless Nancy, who is only able to wave goodbye.

“He’s really effective when he puts his mind to it,” Steve mutters.

He grins down at you and proffers his arm. “Shall we head out?”

“You totally convinced Jonathan to leave, didn’t you?”

Steve chuckles before pressing a kiss on your lips and it’s all too brief but still always sweet.

“Believe me, he really didn’t take much convincing, sweetheart.”

…

Steve thinks he might seriously be done with you.

Despite his better efforts to try to reserve his plans for where his very comfortable bed is, he cannot quite seem to convince you to keep your hands off him. Which, technically, when he really thinks about it (and of course, he thinks about it and you quite a lot) there is nothing wrong with your girlfriend giving you a handjob while in the car.

But he’s trying to keep his eyes the road and it would be really beneficial to maybe not get pulled over by the cops because it is very difficult to concentrate with a girlfriend who seems dead set on breaking it. And when he feels your thumb swipe the sensitive tip of his erection, of course he’s going to swerve a little.

“Let’s try not to end up in a ditch!” you laugh and he would strangle you, really, but he loves you entirely too much for that.

So he plots his own revenge, because there’s no way he’s going to let you make him cum with at least giving you an orgasm first.

And he thinks that he’s ahead of the game when he has you leaning against the front door of the house, panting and needy from his kisses. But when he trails his fingers up your thigh, past that lace trim of your stockings that have been torturing him all evening, and encounters the sopping wet flesh of your cunt unhindered by the silk underwear he knew for sure you had on earlier, he thinks he might just cum in his pants.

“Are you fucking kidding me, sweetheart?” He can’t help but groan against your jaw before plunging his fingers inside of you.

He craves the little sounds he pulls from your lips as he thrusts his fingers inside of you. Loves the desperate whimpers and mewls as you roll your hips against his hand to get more friction, more pressure, anything that he can give you.

And he wants to give you everything.

Dropping down to his knees, he lifts your thigh through the slit of your dress and drapes it on his shoulder before he starts swirling his tongue around your engorged clit before sucking it between his lips. He almost smiles when you grind against his face and he loves that your fingers find the curls of his hair, tugging firmly but not enough to hurt.

“Steve,” you moan his name and Steve definitely loves the way you say his name.

He fucks his fingers into you, pumping them into your needy pussy, and when the pads of his fingertips push diligently and repeatedly against that spot that he knows makes you see stars, he’s awarded by you finally coming undone, shuddering deliciously against him as he holds you up with his hand on your hip, your heavy panting echoing through the empty house. He pulls his fingers out, wet and sticky, before he pushes his tongue into you, drinking the rest of you down.

Steve doesn’t think he loves anything more than having the taste of you on his tongue.

He’s painfully hard now and as he stands back up, he needs to take a moment to adjust himself. You looked so fucked out and he knows (absolutely knows without any doubt) that even if tonight only amounts to this… If it turns out that you’re not ready… he’ll be okay with that. Because he knows he’ll stick around forever and at some point you will be.

But for right now, this night, for Steve Harrington, has been perfect.

“I love you,” he tells you, because he needs to say it. These words that he has wanted to exchange with someone for so long. He gets to say them now whenever he feels them ring true and it’s often. “I love you so much.”

Your grin is so big, your eyes almost close all the way and it makes his heart feel just as big.

“I love you, Steven D. Harrington.”

At this point, he’s learned not to argue with you. If you say that that’s his name, then he supposes that makes him Steven D. Harrington.

You shrug his tuxedo jacket off and it lands on the floor by the stairs before you take his hand to lead him up to his bedroom. At the threshold you finally let go and walk into the room by yourself and stop at the foot of his bed before turning back to face him. It’s only then that he realizes you’ve lost your shoes somewhere in the house at some point.

You bite your lip as you stare at him, sultry and wanting. And Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

But then you reach behind your neck to undo the tiny little buttons that hold your dress in place and Steve frozen in his spot as he watches the top of your dress fall forward, stopping at your waist. His hardon is almost unbearable now but he stops himself from moving forward, not wanting to overwhelm you and just wanting you to feel comfortable to continue taking the lead.

He watches as you unzip the side of your dress and the garment finally pools around your feet. You’re left in just your black lacy garter belt clipped into your matching thigh-highs and Steve thinks that yes, if he dies now, he’ll be dying very very happy.

From where he’s standing, he can still see your pussy wet and glistening.

And fuck.

If something doesn’t happen soon, he’s totally going to bust in his pants.

Which is perfectly fine. If that’s what you want.

Except he doesn’t think that’s what you want because you walk towards him and he thinks that his heart is going to fall out of his chest when you fall to your knees before him.

He stays still as you undo his belt and whip it from the loops of his pants. With a coy smile that he can see from beneath your pretty lashes, you unbutton and unzip his pants. He lets out an involuntary hiss as the pants fall from his hips and brush against his erection straining in his boxers.

Warm fingers trace his abdomen, teasing the edge of his boxers where a dark, damp spot has already formed before you torturously pull them down enough to free his cock from its confines.

“Fuck,” he gasps when he feels your hands on him and he thinks he might die when he feels you lick the underside of his dick because this uncharted territory for both of you now.

Up until this point you have only ever used your hands on him, and he’s been perfectly fine with that. He’ll always be happy with where you’re comfortable. But it seems some renewed sense of confidence has come over you and fuck if he isn’t careful, he just might come all over you too.

His hands come up to grip the sides of the doorway to his room as you swirl your tongue around the leaky tip of his cock. The amount of control he exerts surprises even him as he tries his best to keep himself from fully thrusting into and fucking your mouth.

“So fucking good, sweetheart,” he babbles as you take more of him in. “Your pretty little mouth… So perfect… Fuck! Hang on, baby.”

He steps away from you, holding his hands up before him. “I love you but I… okay, if you keep going, then that’s it. I’m gonna cum in your mouth and if that’s what you want then… That’s cool. I can, um…”

Visions of your perfect little mouth full of his sperm almost makes him cum on the spot and he physically shakes his head. But you’re staring up at him, on your knees with your sexy thighs spread out that he can see the puffy lips of your pussy and—Steve shakes his head again.

“But what I’m trying to say is… Or ask, rather, is how far you wanted to go tonight. Because I’m kinda… I’m pretty close, sweetheart,” he tries to explain.

And all you do is smile at him, the one that’s just for him.

And you could honestly tell him that you just want to go to bed and yeah… he could jack off in the shower if he needs to.

“Sweetheart?” he tries again, a little desperately this time.

You remain silent as you get to your feet and catch his right hand in yours before leading him to the bed. Steve’s pretty sure his heart is going to knock a hole out of his chest by how fast and hard it’s beating, especially when you let go of his hand and settle onto his bed.

Then you part your legs for him and fuck you’re still so wet and sweet looking.

“I think I’m ready,” you tell him softly. “Not think. I know… I love you and I… I’ve been thinking a lot about what you would feel like inside me.”

He groans at your words and quickly unbuttons his shirt before tugging it off completely, leaving him completely nude. Arousal burns through him as you stare at him hungrily.

“I fucking love you, you know that right?” he tells you and he relishes your shy little nod as he settles over your body, fitting in between your thighs, bracing his weight with his arms.

He sucks in his breath sharply when the underside of his erection pushes against your sopping pussy and he swallows the moan that comes out your mouth when he slides his cock against your clit. He does it again reveling in the delicious wetness that you’re leaking, letting it coat his cock, but he knows he needs to stop before he gets too excited.

 Slanting his mouth over yours, Steve presses his fingers into you again, still unbearably wet from earlier and carefully stretches you out as he pushes them in and out of you. He knows he’s hitting that spot in you as you moan into his mouth but your hands come up and press against his chest, pulling your mouth away from his.

“No more teasing,” you gasp. “Just want to feel you inside me.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Okay, but… um… it might be best to make sure you’re…”

“I’m…?”

This is really something that he should have thought through. Because what words are appropriate?

“Prepared?” Is the word that he finally settles on.

Your forehead scrunches in confusion. “Prepared for sex? I’m on the pill, Harrington.”

Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath as he shifts his weight a little and moves from his forearms to his hands.

“That’s uh, good to know. Really good actually like fuck…” Because truly, he isn’t sure what he’s done in his life to be able to deserve you. “But uh…”

“Shut up and fuck me already, Steve,” you whine, lifting your hips up, desperate for contact.

“I will, baby, but I… I just need to make sure you’re… that you’re…” He’s really struggling here. “That you can handle it,” Steve finally admits, closing his eyes.

“Handle sex?”

“Yes, with me and my… you know.”

“Steve Harrington…”

His eyes fly open at the sound of your giggle.

“Are you talking about your dick?” You ask between laughing. “Oh my god, you’re talking about your huge dick, aren’t you?”

He flushes with embarrassment (although he is a little proud of it too). “I… Okay, not to get too much into it, but I just want to make sure that you’re… ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready.”

“Don’t make it sound like a challenge, sweetheart.”

“I’m ready, coach! Put me in! Or rather, put it in me!”

He closes his eyes and sighs. He loves you but he really needs you to stop making jokes when he is painfully hard as it is.

“Okay okay,” you relent. “How about let’s just try to see if your monster cock fits and if we fail, we’ll do it your way?”

A plan is a plan and if he gets to put anything inside of you, he’ll consider it a win.

When he shifts his weight closer to you, he groans at the immediate contact his dick makes against your slick cunt and can’t help but slide against, feeling your arousal coat him liberally and he thinks, this may just work the way you want it to.

When he tilts his hips back and thrusts again, the head of cock catches a little at your opening before pushing against your pulsing clit.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you moan.

No longer willing to wait, having been so unbearably hard for a ridiculous amount of time, he sits back on his legs and takes his erection in his hand, pumping it a few times to spread your wetness around.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Steve warns before pressing the head of his cock against your opening.

Your breathing is shallow now, tiny pants as you raise your hips again. “I understand sex, Steven.”

“Just… you need to tell me if it’s too much.”

“Just fucking put it in me, Harrington!” you yell and Steve obediently pushes in slowly, watching as the blunt head pushes into you and the sight of your cunt gripping his cock makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“You feel…” he tries but words fail him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

He pushes a little bit more, struggling to keep himself from pushing in all the way because the heat of you, the tightness, the slick, just feels too good. Your hands are clutching the bedsheets, twisting them between your fingers, and the way that your forehead is scrunched up, eyes screwed shut as if in pain slashes through some of the pleasure that he’s feeling.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes fly open and land on his. “Yeah, just… Yeah, I’m okay… Can you try moving again?”

Steve nods immediately, but before he pushes in anymore of his length, he places his left hand by your hip, long fingers spanning your abdomen. Staring at you, he licks the pad of his thumb before touching it against your clit, a soft caress at first and he’s a reward with the sudden tilt of your hips, taking in more of him.

“Fuck,” you groan, a sound so glutaral that almost undoes Steve. You pant a few more times before speaking again and Steve’s trying his best not to let his control slip with the way that your pussy is gripping his cock. “What if we just try to like push it in, all the way and I’ll just deal with it.”

Steve doesn’t answer, just nods and concentrates on playing with the throbbing bundle of nerves between your thighs and the sexy moan you release tells him to push in a couple more inches. He’s been hard for so long now that he isn’t sure how long he’s going to last inside you. The feeling of you choking his dick, a tightness he hasn’t felt before, is seriously testing his self-control.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he makes himself ask just to be sure. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

You nod immediately and he can’t help but lean down and capture your lips in a kiss and as your tongue slides against his, he pushes in a little bit more.

Your hands are on his back now, nails raking down his back deliciously and Steve allows himself to thrust a bit more earning a groan from both of you.

Suddenly, you tear your lips away from him and he follows your gaze and it turns towards where the two of you are joined and something like a nervous giggle erupts from your lips. He knows what you’re thinking—how is he still not all the way inside you by now.

So he distracts you, trailing his lips down your neck and down your chest before circling his tongue around your nipple. His fingers find your clit again, sliding against it bringing a soft whine from your lips and he feels you relax a little more under his attention. He takes the moment to push in the rest of his length into you, finally bottoming out.

“Steve…” His name dies on your lips, your chest rising and falling as you take deep breaths. Your eyes are blown out and he grasps the tops of your thighs where they meet your buttocks to push you firmly against him and your legs wrap around him instinctively.

He moans against your skin.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” he assures you because you are. You’re better than every single thought he’s had about you whenever he’s fucked his dick into his fist. “You’re taking me so well.”

And he takes that moment to thank whoever said that you could belong to him because he knows he’d be lost without you. But here with you, all he is, is found and seen.

His eyes close blissfully as your hot, wet cunt squeezes around him that he has take a couple of deep breaths to force himself to calm down. It takes him a moment to get to a place where he doesn’t feel like the slightest movement will make him cum. Beads of sweat have begun to form on his skin with the exertion.

“Please, Steve,” you plead and that’s all it takes for him to start moving against you.

The pace starts achingly slow but he needs you to get used to the size of him. But you’re a quick study and it doesn’t take long for you to start rolling your hips against him, looking for more friction. Steve knows he wants to draw this out but he doesn’t know if he can restrain himself long enough to do that, especially when you’re moving against him the way you are.

He pulls out almost all the way and thrusts back in, trying to give you what you want and your response is a pleased sigh and tightening around him. Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders and he groans.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so good,” he whispers and he repeats the action, earning another moan from you.

His control slips then and he snaps his hips against yours suddenly, unable to keep from fucking you the way his instincts are telling him to.

“Please,” you beg again. “I just need you…”

The hands on your hips tighten at your words. “Gonna give you what you need, baby,” he promises, voice rough with desire. “You’re doing so good.”

He begins fucking his cock in and out of you, a little more confident now that you’ve adjusted to the size of him. Pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before capturing your lips again in a deep kiss, his hands find yours and laces your fingers together, pushing them against the mattress as he slides inside you and out again.

He swallows each and every single moan and whimper you give him and he allows you take all his own groans and ramblings about how perfect you are. When he feels every part of you tighten around him, your grip on him, your thighs around his torso and your sloppy cunt around his cock, he knows you’re so close.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of him fucking into you, trying to get you to where you need to be. He’s so close behind you, and the desperation has him letting go of your hand to reach between you to rub your clit. A few circles are all you need before you’re arching your back off the bed.

“Steve…”

“Just let go, baby, I’ve got you,” he slurs and almost on command your pussy grips his as you finally reach your orgasm. He fucks you in earnest now, chasing his own high, a frenetic pace that has him gasping against your neck as he finally spills inside you, allowing your still spasming cunt to milk him of everything that’s been building up inside him all night.

He’s boneless by the time it’s over and he carefully scoops you in his arms before he rolls over onto his side, making sure not to put any weight on you. He smiles as your arms try to come around him, but fail. Instead one arm makes it across his waist and the other falls against his scalp, lazily combing through the damp strands of his hair.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” he whispers against your temple before pressing a tender kiss to it.

You make a series of noises that he thinks sounds positive and he chuckles. Shifting a little to grab one of the tissues from the box on his bedside table, your grip suddenly tightens, not wanting him to move.

“Just need to clean us both up, baby,” he explains and you answer with a lazy shake of your head.

“Later,” you murmur and he can already see the flutter of your lashes as they close. Your tiny breaths trace a line against his chest and he can’t help the grin that settles on his face.

“I love you, sweetheart. I can’t explain how thankful I am.”

A peaceful silence settles in the room and Steve measures your breathing with his own.

“I love you, too.”

…

When Steve wakes up, he immediately wishes for sleep to come back because of how comfortable he feels having you next to him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to waking up with you in his arms. There’s just a comfort there that you don’t even realize that you provide. And he knows, without a doubt that he will devote the rest of his life to making sure that his future will look exactly like this. You, sleeping on his pillow, mouth slightly ajar, hair mussed and a nipple peeking out from under the blanket.

Except there’s a noise coming from the house that immediately has him pull away from you. He’s silent for a moment trying to figure out what’s going on before the realization that his parents are home finally settles in his mind.

Ironic how they’re home when he thought they’d be gone and never around when he needs them to be.

As carefully as he can manage, he pushes himself out of bed and rushes to pull a pair of jeans on and a polo shirt, something presentable. Running his hands through his hair a couple of times to tame it, he quietly opens the door and steps out before shutting it just as silently behind him.

It’s his father’s voice that hits him first.

He’s ranting about something (likely about Steve, because when isn’t he?) and Steve quickly makes his way down the stairs. But not before almost tripping over your shoes. He scoops your shoes up before hurrying the rest of the way down the stairs and tosses them in the hallway closet before heading to the kitchen where his parents are seated at the table. He’s quick to notice that his tuxedo jacket from last night is hanging over one of the chairs.

Steve freezes when his father lowers the newspaper enough to give him a once-over.

“What are you doing up so late, Steven? Wasting away in your room?” his father snaps, harshly folding the newspaper in half.

The words are familiar to Steve. Almost like a script now that his father rattles every time he wants to feel like he’s a father.

“Actually, I have—”

“Have a little ambition, Steven,” his father continues, ignoring him completely.

Steve’s mother remains silent as she sips on a glass of red wine in the middle of the day, not even bothering to look at him. Steve wishes that maybe his mother didn’t care so little. Or at least would find it in herself to at least pretend that he’s her son and treat him like it from time to time.

His hands clench tightly and he tries not to feel so small under his father’s relentless glare.

All he’s wanted to do since the two of you got together is to introduce his girlfriend to his parents but now… Now he isn’t so sure he wants to if all they’re going to do is remind you of all the reasons why you would be better off without him.

“I just don’t understand how you can choose to just piss your life away after being given all the privileges you could possibly get.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?” he asks, trying to keep is voice calm.

“Are you serious?” His father lets out a sardonic laugh. “You were such a godawful student in high school that you couldn’t even get into any colleges. Not even fucking Tech.” The last word is said with such derision that Steve can’t help but flinch. “And now you’re stuck working some shitty job for shitty pay and for what? You’re going to just waste everything we’ve given you as you rot in Family Video?”

Everything we’ve given you.

The words keep repeating in Steve’s head until it feels like an echo in his brain.

He clenches his hands tightly at his sides. “I told you that it would be difficult to do both sports and maintain a good GPA,” Steve calmly explains, even as his heart hammers in his chest, unused to speaking up for himself. “But you were the one who insisted that I do both. You planned it all out for me—get the perfect girlfriend, get the sports scholarship, go to college. Just like you did. But… I’m not like you.”

His father studies him cruelly and Steve takes a deep breath, trying hard to crumble before him like he always would.

There’s something in him that wants to fight this time. To make them hear him. To make them see him.

“Nothing about what you said should have been difficult, Steven.”

“I can want different things, dad. Why does success have to be what you decide it should be?”

His father tilts his head to the side, jaw set. “You’re right about one thing,” his father finally says. “You aren’t like me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be such a complete and utter disappointment.”

That’s the final blow. The one that finally snaps the already delicate string that was holding onto a dream of making his parents happy. Because for once, Steve has so much joy in his life because of you.

And all he really wants is to be able to share that with his parents.

But he merely nods stiffly, unable to continue fighting for himself.

Except your hand slides into his, loosening his fingers until they’re laced together with yours. And Steve hopes that you’ll never let him go.

You’re barefoot in his parents kitchen, your hair a rat’s nest, and you’re dressed in a pair of his sweatpants with the waist rolled over several times to make it more manageable to wear and an old t-shirt of his from when he was in middle school. And you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” You demand and it takes Steve a moment to realize that you’re talking to his mom. “You’re his mother.”

His mother remains silent, merely raising an eyebrow at you and Steve as she raises her glasses once again to her lips. And Steve takes a deep breath, trying his best to keep his heart intact.

“Who the hell are you?” Steve’s father eyes are angry as they regard you.

Steve panic sets in quickly. “Please, sweetheart. Just stay out of it.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll stay out of it.” You shake your head. “But not before I tell your parents something.”

Steve thinks that his father might look a little bit impressed as he lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Apparently my home is full of rebellious teenagers today so why not?”

Your tongue swipes at your lower lip. “Steve is…”

Steve thinks he’s going to have a heart attack now. All he wants to pull you away from this conversation, from his parents and this house. But your grip on his hand remains firm and it tells him that you’re not going anywhere until you say what you need to say.

But you turn to look at him. And he sees all the love he’s ever wanted reflected in your eyes. And decides that he’s going to go where you want to go and if you want to stay, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Steve is a good man. In fact, I think he might be the best man I’ll ever meet.” You smile at him and he finds the courage to smile back. “Because he tries. He tries so hard for everyone. Tries to be the person that everyone needs him to be. And he does it all and never complains.”

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, his heartbeat slowing down as it also swells in his chest with love.

“But I don’t think anyone has ever really tried for him.” You tear your eyes away from Steve and stare down at his father. “You sit there and you want to talk about how big of a disappointment he is? When all his life, all he’s been trying to do is live up to this image of your dream son. And for what? To fit into your picture-perfect family?”

When Steve doesn’t think he can love you anymore, you scoff and roll your eyes at his father.

And he thinks…

He thinks he’s going to marry you one day.

“All I see are two miserable adults pretending that they’re the poster family for the American dream. But one day—and I hope and fucking pray that it’s one day soon—Steve is going to realize that he doesn’t need to live up to your impossible expectations.”

No, he thinks, he’s definitely going to marry you one day.

“That he doesn’t need you anymore. Because when that day comes, he’ll be all the happier for it. And you’ll just have an empty room in your house that used to belong to someone that had loved you.”

Steve doesn’t realize until he hears you sniffle that you started crying at some point. And he hates the thought of making you cry over him.

“But you never bothered to love him back enough to really get to know him and appreciate the man that he is.”

He doesn’t wait to hear what his father has to say. Because you’re right. About all of it.

And he’s done.

He pulls you by the hand, tugs you along until you make it out the front door. Remembering that he tossed your shoes into the abyss that is the hallway closet, he bends down and quickly sweeps you into his arms and carries you to his car. You can both hear his father’s angry yelling but the distance makes it hard to understand what he’s trying to say. And Steve can’t bring himself to care.

Steve sets you on the trunk and he moves to unlock the door for you, but you stop him, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me,” you say quietly.

He pauses before standing in front of you. Your eyes are shining, still wet from crying and Steve sighs as he wraps his arms around you.

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “But I don’t ever want you to cry over me ever again.”

“I love you, too, but don’t think I can promise something like that,” you tell him honestly, hugging him tight. “I feel too much for you. And everything that your dad said? That was so untrue. Because you’ve never once disappointed me.”

Steve’s always taken everything he can from everyone. Every single piece anyone has been able to give him, he takes it. Uses it to build up a person who is worth something to someone.

But he likes the weight that your words carry inside him. Not something unbearable, but something true and real.

Steve nods before pulling away to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

You wave him away with your hand. “It was nothing. And honestly, it felt really good to unload on your parents like that.”

“It felt good to hear it.”

Steve grins as he feels your hands cup his face. “Then I’ll keep saying it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You frown. “Actually, before we do anything else… I think I might need some painkillers. I honestly don’t know how I managed to get out of bed or walk down the stairs. There are muscles in places I didn’t know I had until now and they fucking hurt.”

“Ah yeah…” Steve nervously chuckles, rubbing his neck with his hand. Unfortunately, for the both of you, his plans of breakfast in bed and treating you like a queen while you recuperate from your first time having sex is no longer in the books thanks to his parents’ unexpected arrival.

“I’m sorry about that. I had a whole day planned for you and now…”

You shrug lightly. “Don’t be sorry. All things considered, it was perfect. Just…” You shift your weight a little. “I think I might need a couple of days to recuperate.”

“You flatter me way too much, sweetheart,” he jokes, kissing your cheek.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes. “By the way, not to be a snoop but I was in your closet looking for something wear… why do you have a baseball bat with a bunch of nails hammered into it sitting in your closet?”

…

Steve really doesn’t think there will be a day where things just go the way he wants.

And this shit is honestly getting tiring.

Because instead of spending the day in bed with you like he wanted, he is now in the Wheelers’ basement along with the rest of the ragtag upside down team. He feels a little sorry for you as you sit on the couch, munching on a slice of pizza while seven pairs of eyes are staring at you. But you don’t seem to mind at all as you continue to enjoy your pizza, absorbing all the details of the sordid story that he and others have just relayed to you.

“So let me get this straight,” you say once you’ve finished the slice you were working on. “There is—”

“Was,” Dustin can’t help but correct you and Steve rolls his eyes.

“There was a place that you call the Upside Down that is the exact replica of Hawkins, located beneath Hawkins. And it’s filled with all sorts of monsters which you all defeated, which is also what caused the fire at the mall. And now the Byers plus Chief Hopper live in California with Mike’s girlfriend who has super powers.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Mike argues and Steve is thankful when Max elbows his side.

“Okay, fine. That would be correct if you’re going to skimp on words,” Mike amends quickly, grumbling.

You turn to Steve then and he freezes a little because he really didn’t plan on telling you any of this. He really would prefer for you not to have known that there was ever a threat like that in the world. Would rather you just live peacefully without having to deal with the knowledge like the rest of them do.

But one of the things he loves about you is your single-mindedness. Once you decide on something—in this case, figuring out why it was necessary for him to arm himself with a ridiculous makeshift weapon—then you stop at nothing to figure it out.

“How many times have you put yourself in danger, Steve?”

Steve’s mouth falls open and he quickly scans the rest of the group for help. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I put myself in danger.”

“Three times,” Max answers helpfully.

Dustin shakes his head. “More like four times.”

“He got the shit kicked out of him at least three times, that’s for sure,” Lucas supplies.

“Yeah, but the first time Jonathan beat him up so I’m not sure that one counts,” Nancy adds. “At least I wouldn’t count that as really putting himself in danger.”

“Yeah, that was more of him being an asshole. And an idiot.”

Steve glares at Jonathan. And he really thought that he and Jonathan could start getting along.

“I think the Russians beat him up more than once, though.” Robin pauses, trying to remember. “I would say that would be enough to count three beatings. Or like, two and a half at least.”

Steve takes a deep breath before trying to reason with everyone. “Okay okay okay.” He holds his hands up in the air. “That’s enough.”

“Oh I agree,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, your eyes still trained on him. “It’s not at all alarming to find out that your boyfriend has some type of secret death wish.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he wants to die. In fact, I think he’s incredibly good at staying alive.” Dustin looks at Steve proudly and Steve would love nothing more than to shove Dustin into the deep freeze.

But before Steve can say anything, you cut in.

“Henderson, I don’t think you have anything to be proud of considering it sounds like you’re mostly to blame for fueling Steve’s propensity to play the hero.”

Everyone is silent.

Thinking.

“No yeah, that sounds right to me,” Max murmurs and the rest of the group nod in agreement.

Except for Dustin who sputters indignantly and Steve slaps a hand to his head as he shakes it.

This is not going the way he thought it would.

Once he convinces everyone to give you and him some space to talk and everyone trudges up the stairs talking about how they’re going to be back in fifteen minutes whether he likes it or not, he sits on the sofa next to you and takes your hand in his.

You let him, which he thinks is a good sign.

“Sweetheart,” he says after allowing the silence to go on for too long that it’s made him uncomfortable. “I know it’s a lot but, I just want you to know that all of that is over now.”

You snort. “No, the other weird parallel universe is gone. But you’re still you, Steve. And you need to…” You take a deep breath. “I need to know that whatever propelled you to dive headfirst into danger in the past has been dealt with. And I don’t mean the upside down. And I don’t think I mean Henderson though I now harbor visions of setting him on fire.”

“No, I get it,” he admits and takes a deep breath of his own. “Sometimes I wonder why I did all that. I didn’t have to, but I’m honestly glad I did.”

He pauses for a moment. “Except for the getting beat up by Jonathan and the events that led up to that.” Steve winces at the memory. He could really do with that not having happened.

“The kids are safe. And everyone is alive and…” He shrugs helpless, unsure if he’s digging himself deeper with each word. But he owes you honesty, even when it’s hard. “I’d like to think I had a hand in that. So I can’t regret any of things I’ve done to protect them. It’s worth the sacrifice”

Steve’s not proud of everything that he’s done in the past. But he’s thankful to have been around to help make sure that everyone was safe.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow however, not having been able to save everyone. The unfortunate burden of survivors’ guilt, he thinks. But every day he’s grateful that he was around to do something. And a part of him hopes that you can at least understand that. Maybe be proud of him.

You sigh as you squeeze his hand. “I’m at least glad that you all decided to tell me the truth. That you all trusted me enough to tell me this. I mean, part of me still wants to think that this is some elaborate joke that you all cooked up but…”

Steve melts a little when you lift his arm over your shoulders and snuggle into his side. “I am a little impressed. A little concerned with all the head injuries, though. But what I really want is for you to promise me that you’ll… exercise caution.”

“Exercise caution?” he chuckles, remembering the conversation he had with you when you first started hanging out with him and the rest of the group. “What are you, my mother?”

You roll your eyes before turning your head and playfully bite the fleshy part between his armpit and his shoulder. “Shut up, Harrington. You’re on thin ice as it is. But I’m serious. You’re worth much more than you seem to think you are. And that’s doesn’t sit right with me.” You bury your face into his side and Steve’s grip tightens around you. “The next time something happens—and I really hope nothing happens—but if something does, promise me that whatever you do next lets you at least come home to me.”

There’s a tight knot that forms in his throat that he manages to swallow down before pressing a kiss to your temple. Because he likes the sound of that very much, loves the idea of always coming home to you.

“I promise,” he whispers.

“Good,” you whisper back.

“You guys better not be fucking on the couch!” Mike calls down the basement stairs.

…

The week that follows the big revelation is one that is quiet and predictable. So he’s at least thankful for that.

You and Steve have been dating for a full month now and despite you not wanting to “be corny and celebrate” he still brings you a bouquet of flowers when he picks you up at school and even as you scoff and roll your eyes, he can still tell by your pretty smile that you love them. And he takes you to his house, once again empty of his parents, and cooks you a spaghetti dinner. Granted the sauce came out of a jar but you didn’t seem to mind at all.

The only thing he does have to adjust to is working with Eddie Munson.

There’s not anything wrong with Eddie but knowing that there was a time that you had romantic feelings for him, do get in the way of Steve wanting to be friends with the guy.

Except on Wednesday, you have plans to see a movie with Nancy and Robin after class, and Steve is stuck with a closing shift with Eddie. The movie is set to end about forty minutes after the Family Video closes and with it being such a slow night, he and Eddie already have all the tapes rewound and shelves stocked. The work is mostly done in silence, though Eddie likes to hum often to keep himself occupied.

Once closing time comes around, the two of them shuffle out the door and Steve locks the store. He debates just sitting in his car and waiting for the movie to end or driving home and then driving back to grab you.

“Would you like to partake in some herbal offerings, Harrington?” Eddie asks when Steve looks over to him. Eddie has the backdoors of his van wide open and despite the clear threat of anyone just casually happening by, he’s holding a perfectly rolled joint in his fingers.

Steve looks around cautiously.

It is already dark. And there isn’t anywhere he needs to be.

Fifteen minutes later and Steve is high off his ass in the back of Eddie’s van while they listen to Van Halen playing on the tape deck.

Eddie’s emptying out a bag of chips into his mouth, uncaring of the ones that spill onto the floor and Steve can’t even remember what they were just talking about.

He thinks it might be something about wombats and poop. But he’s not too sure.

In the settling silence, Eddie turns to look at him from where he’s sitting on the floor of his van, his back propped up by the back of the driver’s seat. Steve shifts uncomfortably, his brain struggling to piece together decent conversation.

“I need to thank you, you know,” Eddie tells him, “She’ll say she doesn’t need it, and she doesn’t. But… it’s nice to have someone else look out for her. She’s happier. Everyone can tell.”

Steve thinks that he’s malfunctioning for a good minute before Eddie’s words finally process through his sluggish brain.

“She’s like…” He feels his lips form the words. “The most amazing thing, like, ever. In my life. Like… All the things.”

He hears Eddie chuckle. “You don’t smoke a lot, do you, Harrington?”

Steve blinks a couple of times before the answer comes to him. “I do… Sometimes. But this shit is strong, man.”

“Didn’t think the dude that Henderson described as being a ‘badass’ would be such a lightweight,” Eddie jokes lightly.

“He said that?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve smiles a little to himself, pleased to know that Dustin would refer to him in such a way. For all that Dustin can be trying sometimes, he’s still the little brother Steve never knew he needed and it warms his heart that the kid would go so far as to vouch for him to other people.

“But now I’m not too sure.” Eddie nods grimly before cracking a smile. “Nah, man. I’m just kidding. You’re cool.”

“As a cucumber.”

Eddie snorts. “And now you’ve ruined it.”

The laughter bubbles out of Steve’s chest, relaxed though unbidden and Eddie joins in.

“She told me that you thought we had kissed.” Eddie states simply once the laughter subsides.

“Fuck, you’re gonna bring shit up like that you better having another joint on you somewhere.”

Eddie pulls one out, almost out of thin air. “Your wish is my command.”

Steve watches as Eddie lights it and takes the first hit before reaching across the back of the van to pass it over to Steve. He takes it gratefully and takes his own hit, enjoying the way it muddles his brain and untangles his nerves.

“I didn’t kiss her,” Eddie clarifies as he takes the joint back. “I was jokingly pretending that I was going to and then she said ‘Eww stop!’” Eddie says in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like you and Steve chuckles.

While the topic is certainly uncomfortable, he appreciates Eddie’s efforts in clearing the air with him.

“She’s like a sister to me, that one. But I’ll admit I was surprised.”

Steve manages to raise an eyebrow at Eddie. “Really? Dude, it was so obvious.”

“Really?” Eddie looks a little impressed. “You must have really been looking to see all that.”

“I was,” Steve readily admits. “Still am. I hope to always be.”

Eddie shakes his head and takes another drag of the joint before passing it over again. “That’s some heavy stuff, Harrington. You know you’ve only been dating for a month, right?”

“I do.”

“And you know she’s going off to college in New York, right? That’s not an easy drive no matter how fancy your car is.”

Steve swallows hard at that statement, despite his mouth feeling dry.

Of course he knows. He thinks about it every day. Counts the days until you have to leave in September, first day of classes slated for the ninth. That’s why he takes every opportunity available to him to be with you, instead of what he would normally do which is to overthink if it’s worth his time to invest in this relationship. He already knows the answer to that.

Absolutely. You will always be worth it.

“Yeah.” It comes out as a whisper. He stares at the joint in his hand, burning through the thin paper, and he takes another drag.

“Are you going with her?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I can’t… Just need to figure things out first. I don’t want to be dead weight.”

“Fuck that, man!” Eddie leans forward and snatches the joint back. “Look, I’m heading out to New York myself. No plans, just dreams and my guitar, brother.”

“Where would you even live, Munson?”

Eddie shrugs. “Couch surf for a little bit til I find a place of my own. I know a few guys out there that we’ve played shows with in the past.”

“How do you do that?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side curiously. “What do you mean? Do what?”

“Just do stuff.” The headiness is slowly ebbing away as the seriousness of the conversation starts to sink its teeth in him. “How do you know things will work out?”

“Oh, that’s beauty of it! I don’t!” Eddie kicks his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles before taking another drag, filling the already hazy van with more smoke. “No one’s ever expected me to be anything. A blessing and a curse, lemme tell ya. Never thought I’d amount to anything but it’ll be nice to surprise everyone if I do. If it doesn’t happen then…” Eddie simply shrugs. “Then doesn’t. But my gut tells me I gotta go out there and try, you know?”

Steve nods, uncertain of what to make of receiving pearls of wisdom from Eddie Munson of all people. But he’ll take it where he can get it.

“I’m not sure what it is that I’m meant to do just yet,” he finally admits.

“Who the fuck cares, man? You just graduated last year. Gotta give yourself a break, Harrington. The only thing you need to think about is whether you’ll find the answer here in Hawkins fucking, Indiana or out there.”

Steve finds himself staring at Eddie’s scuffed up boots that look like they’ve lived through a thousand lives compared to the spotless pair of Nikes on his feet.

“Your girl is going places. She doesn’t have to go by herself. Just saying.”

“I don’t want to pull her down, though. I want to be… someone. For her. I guess I don’t want to be some lost puppy she has to worry about while she’s doing her thing.”

“As one of your closest friends—”

Steve chuckles. “We’re friends now?”

Eddie pretends to be stabbed in the chest, placing his hands on his heart. “I’m letting you date my sister, dude. We’re like… blood.”

Steve decides not to mention that you and Eddie aren’t even remotely related and simply rolls his eyes and Eddie responds with a grin.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you’re kind of a downer. Totally my killing my buzz here. You got a chip on your shoulder. So what? We all do.” Eddie slides his back down from where he’s leaning until he’s laying flat on the floor of his van with his hands stacked behind his head. “But don’t be like my dad, man. Lemme tell you about Al Munson.”

Eddie heaves a long, tired sigh that Steve can feel in his own bones. “Because that man, all he ever fucking said was ‘When I hit it big, we’re gonna see the world, son’ or ‘When things start to work out for me, we’re gonna leave this trailer park, son’ and we never saw the world and I still live in the trailer park. All he was doing was waiting around for something to happen to him before he did anything that actually mattered.”

Steve realizes in that moment how similar he and Eddie are. Just a couple of kids with absentee parents who had to raise themselves even if they didn’t know what they were doing. And the thought makes him smile a little at the irony of it all given that at first glance he and Eddie look like the polar opposites.

“What if it’s here? What if I want to stay in Hawkins?” Steve finally admits.

He’s not good with plans. In fact, he sucks at them. At least the making a plan part. The following part, he’s quite good at. He’s always been reactive by nature instead of someone gifted with foresight. But now that he thinks about it, maybe he’s never really given himself a chance to try.

“Hey if your story is meant to take place in Hawkins, then that’s what’s going to happen. But!” Eddie shoves his boot against Steve’s shoe, getting a bit of dirt on it. Steve can’t bring himself to mind, though. “You gotta have that conversation with her, man. I’m telling you this as the best friend to both of you, she doesn’t know how to bring this shit up with you.”

Steve can’t help but smile at his sudden promotion to best friend.

“I hear you.” And he does, he really does. But maybe he’s the same. Because it’s hard. He likes this little bubble you’ve created for yourselves where reality hasn’t yet been allowed to set in. And it’s been nice to pretend that the future doesn’t exist when the present is so perfect.

“Now that I’ve done my best friend duties, have you ever listened to Pink Floyd, Harrington?”

…

A/N: Quick question – how does everyone feel about Steve’s canon ending? Did we like that he stays in Hawkins or do we feel like Steve should have been allowed to explore more of his options? Not going to affect the way this story ends, of course! But I am genuinely curious!

...

Taglist: @dreamerjj @bearwithegg @kurtsw7rld96 @itmekelpy @fingermonkey101 @eller41 @frankensteingotwet @beelzebzb @loonylups

[messyvalentine]

I need my next chapter of "someone like me". Where is it???😭😭

Hiiiiii!

So sorry! It’s been a busy couple of weeks tbh but I should be able to update everything by this weekend the latest! ✌🏼

[messyvalentine]

This is your fairytale.

Summary: Steve Harrington wishes for a chance with Nancy Wheeler and you are there to grant it. One-shot.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader, Steve Harrington and his unrequited love for Nancy Wheeler

Word Count: 6.2k

Notes/Tags: Prologue is written in third person but the rest of the story is in second person. No use of y/n. No upside down. King!Steve. Friends to (strangers to friends to) lovers. Not proofread. Seriously. Please let me know if there are glaring errors.

A/N: Hello! Wrote this one-shot as a thank you to everyone who has been so kind with their likes, follows, comments and reblogs of my two ongoing stories! It is wild that I’ve only been uploading stories to tumblr for a month now and have received so much love! Thank you so much my lovely honeybees for sharing your love with me!

MASTERLIST

...

Prologue:

Time passes in a way that somehow blurs dreams with memories, making it difficult to tell the two apart. So a young lady would find herself wondering if she did, in fact, push her brother into a pond when she was three or if it was just something she wished so hard for that she thinks it now to have actually happened. But that is how time is. It is friend and foe. It is breeze and still water. The presence of time makes one think of the future or causes another to dwell in the past.

But once upon time, there were, indeed, three children.

One young boy and two slightly younger girls.

The boy was a bit of a prince. At least he certainly carried himself as such. He didn't entirely understand the power that his family's name held, only knew that it could get him what he wanted whenever he wanted it. As if that wasn't bad enough, the boy was also incredibly charming. At such a tender age, he had an amazing way with words, twisting and sweetening them that even adults readily swallowed what he had to say.

But he was still a child. And as a child, he did childlike things. He ran through the backyard with wild abandon, his short limbs pumping with each step, lungs open and free. He ran and ran (which is usually the result of having no direction or goal) until he could no longer push himself to go further. So on his back he lay as he watched the clouds, making out shapes from the fluffy white puffs sailing across the sky.

A bunny.

A turtle.

Grandpa's mole that had that singular strand of hair growing out of it...

"Would you like to play?"

He pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at the two girls standing in front of him. Well. One girl was standing in front of him. She had short brown hair pinned back with a cheerful yellow clip. This was matched with an equally cheerful smile as she tugged on the second girl who seemed to be hiding behind her. The second girl lacked her friend's confidence and merely shifted her weight from one foot to the other while playing nervously with the end of her long braid.

"Nancy," the shy one whispered, "What if he doesn’t want to play?"

Nancy. So her name was Nancy.

"What's her name?" he asked, pointing at the unnamed girl.

"Oh! This is—”

The other girl tugged on Nancy’s hand refusing for her name to be shared with a strange boy and hiding fully behind her friend and out of his sight.

Nancy turned back to the little boy, her smiling never wavering. "So do you wanna play?"

"I don't know... you're girls."

"And you're a smelly boy. But we can still play, right?"

When one is young, even the most ridiculous of statements make the most amazing sense. Prejudice is thrown out the window in favor of sharing sweets. Strict adherence to schedules is forgotten while playing hide and the backyard while mothers are gossiping in the sunroom. But time passes as it is wont to do and children grow up. Slowly but also in the blink of an eye.

Children grow up and they fall in love.

…

Act I:

Steve Harrington is a playboy.

That is the role he has chosen to play and he plays it with deliberate and almost astounding ease. He wears this title like a proud badge of honor, revels in making girls swoon. He likes the way they try to look pretty for him, hanging on to his every word, pushing their chests against his arm, hoping that he would choose to spend his precious time with them. Guys compete for his attention, wanting to be friends, try to make him laugh as he rules over the kingdom that is high school, needing to fill the part of court jester.

However, for all the posturing and theatrics, this king has a secret.

He is in absolute and irrevocable love with one Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy Wheeler, whom he has known since they were children and been in love with her for almost as long. The same girl who never treated him differently no matter how much popularity Steve has managed to amass. She’s never appeared to fall under the same spell as the rest of the student body. Instead, she regards him still as if he were the same little boy that had no idea how to tie his own shoes.

Sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he’ll gaze at her, wondering what it would be like to lace his fingers with hers, to brush his lips against hers, to inhale her scent as he holds her close. He wonders if she’ll be as sweet as he knows her to be.

But duty calls, and someone will eventually pull his attention away because everyone wants his attention. Somehow made precious by teenage dynamics, Steve’s attention is more valuable than gold to them.

That isn’t to say he hasn’t at least tried.

He’s invited her to the parties at his house, to hang out with his friends. And she has made an appearance to quite a few of them. The ones that won’t hinder her study schedule, the ones where he has to invite almost the entire high school, just to make sure she attends.

It hasn’t made a difference, however.

Nancy continues to treat him the same. The same little boy who used to rub his snot into the sleeve of his shirt. The same one who dropped a popsicle on the ground and then considered the possibility of still eating it.

It’s like he’s never grown up in her eyes, and sometimes, in those quiet moments when Steve is alone and no one is performing to gain his interest and all he has are his thoughts to keep him company, he knows that she is right. He really hasn’t.

So he slinks back into the shadows of his popularity. Where no one really knows who he is except for the careful façade that he has in place.

It’s comfortable.

Sometimes, it’s even nice.

It’s predictable at least and, if anything else, knowing how his day will go before it starts while boring, can also allow for him to not have to exert too much effort into thinking or acting like his cares.

Which is why he’s startled when you suddenly appear.

He’s standing next to the bleachers, using the metal fence that borders it to stretch in preparation to run the mile that is, unfortunately, required of all high school students in Hawkins. Nancy is already jogging along the oval, her pretty brown hair curly stuck to her forehead, soaked in sweat. He knows this because he’s been looking over his shoulder, keeping track of where she is, when he thinks no one is looking.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Steve straightens, confused at being suddenly spoken to when he just made sure no one was around to notice.

But there you are.

Sitting on the bleachers where there was previously no one. Your hair plaited into a neat braid, and a soft smile gracing your lips. You’re wearing the same sad Hawkins High PE uniform that he is, a pair of brand new tennis shoes on your feet.

You regard each other for a moment. Steve’s mind a swirl of chaos as he tries his best to place you. Yours is not a face that he can immediately place which seems an odd thing to say of such a small town and smaller high school.

Recognition finally flickers in your eyes and you laugh, something that feels light and surprising because it doesn’t feel orchestrated for him. It doesn’t feel like a performance.

“You don’t remember,” you simply state. Then you tease him, “We only grew up together.”

Your name, familiar and warm finally slides through his memories and slips past his lips and he stares at you in wonder.

“You moved.”

You nod, eyes never breaking contact with his. “Yes, and now I’ve moved back. A week ago. People can do that, you know.”

It’s been six years. Granted you and Steve were never as close as you were with Nancy, but there are things he remembers about you, like the way he liked your voice when you sang that Carpenters song that you love, or that you liked the orange popsicles because he likes the red ones so you would never fight over them.

Or how he scraped his knee one time and he wasn’t sure what to do but you calmly ran inside your home where your moms were busy gossiping and when you came back, you had a little band-aid with you. You gently assured him that he would be alright, that he would be okay and he believed you because you said it with such certainty that his heart didn’t have a chance to think otherwise.

“I suppose they can,” he finally replies.

You nod your head in the general direction of where Nancy is still jogging.

“You’re still hopelessly in love with her?”

His kneejerk reaction is to deny it, but he knows that you’ve been there from the start. Relentlessly teased the him and Nancy, well, mostly him with that childish song about kissing in trees. Nancy always rolled her eyes and pushed the idea as far away from her as possible. But Steve would always blush with his whole body and angrily ignore you in very pointed ways.

So he says nothing. Let’s the silence speak for itself.

And you smile, this smile of understanding like you know what it’s like to be in love with someone who doesn’t see it. It looks a little wistful but feels comforting and Steve can’t help but smile back, though his is more sheepish.

“Why not ask her out then?” you push, and Steve doesn’t know if he likes how curious you are.

No one ever asks these types of questions. Usually, the questions are about his opinions on things as if he were creating laws to be passed down to the masses.

Are you throwing a party this weekend, Steve?

What do you think about my new lipstick, Steve?

You don’t think that Duran Duran is cool, Steve? Oh, well, I don’t think they’re that cool either.

He likes Duran Duran, but wanted to see what reaction that would get.

Steve shakes his head. “No, I know she doesn’t feel the same way.”

Only pure confusion is on your face as you look at him. “How do you know if you’ve never asked?”

“Because I know.”

“Oh.” You laugh then, a full head tilted backwards laugh, like he told you the funniest joke he could muster.

Steve purses his lips in annoyance, very unused to being treated in this manner.

“Steve… do you even know Nancy?”

He hears the challenge in your voice, sees the way you cross your arms over your chest. And he’s taken back to years ago when you and him fought all the time for Nancy’s attention. You would never fail to inform him that Nancy was your friend first, and his friend second.

Craning his neck, he seeks out Nancy’s form like he always does when there’s an opportunity and he knows that you’re look at her, too. Always a competition.

But you moved away before any of you even got to middle school and it felt like a gap suddenly appeared in your absence, wide and insurmountable. Suddenly there wasn’t a reason for Nancy to hang out with Steve because boys had become yucky and immature and full of cooties to her and the only acceptable friend when you’re ten are other girls. And Steve just wanted Nancy to hold his hand like she did when they were kids.

“She talks about you sometimes, you know.”

Steve’s attention snaps back to you.

“I didn’t know the two of you still spoke.”

“We wrote regularly. Sometimes our moms let us call each other for special occasions—birthdays, Christmas…” Your shoulders lift in a light shrug.

“What did she say?”

Steve’s pulse races as he waits for your answer. He’s been wanting—no, needing—to know what Nancy thinks of him and the fact that it feels like you’ve dropped out of the sky with the information that he wants feels almost heaven-sent if he were so poetic.

“That you’ve both changed and stayed the same.” You lick your lips in thought. “She does worry about you, though. She made it sound like you were solely concerned with being popular and didn’t focus enough on your grades. But that’s Nancy, always wanting the best for everyone.”

He nods as he takes this new information in. Although these are things that he could have guessed, things that he thinks about himself, too. Not really news to be sure, but it does serve to cement what he already knew.

“Sounds like I was right then. She doesn’t like me.”

“But do you want her to?”

Steve thinks he may have misheard you so he can only look at you puzzled by the words that are coming out of your mouth.

“Do you want Nancy to like you?” You raise your eyebrows at him along with the question.

He nods immediately, though the strangeness of being stuck in this conversation with you finally creeps up on him. You’re someone who he hasn’t seen in years, yet somehow knows him more intimately than those he would call his friends.

“I guess. I mean, that would be the end goal, right?”

You nod back enthusiastically. “I think it’s sweet that you still stare at her like she hung the moon.”

“I don’t…”

“You do,” you reaffirm. “But I can help you.”

“Help me?”

You hum and you push yourself off your seat and hop over the last bleacher bench before joining him at the metal railing. Both of you watch as Nancy laughs with her friends as they near the completion of their run.

“I think I know her a little better than you.”

“You moved, though. I’ve always been here,” he argues.

You grin and shake your head. Holding your arms on top of the metal railing, you bend down and rest your chin against your stacked hands.

“You only see the parts you want to, Steve. But don’t worry.”

You reach out your hand and casually pat his shoulder, and Steve can’t help but stiffen. He’s unused to girls touching him without trying to get something from him. Whether it is a kiss, a touch, or a fuck, or just to satisfy a crush of theirs that they have… a touch always means someone wants something from him.

“I can help you understand Nancy and then maybe you’ll feel confident enough to ask her out.”

Except, it seems, where you are concerned.

…

Act II

Steve doesn’t know what he expected when he first agreed to your proposal. He was under the very reasonable assumption that you would just give him a quick run-down of all the things he already knew to be true about Nancy and that he would just laugh and tell you that he didn’t need you after all.

However, you decide to tutor him.

He’s failing physics. He’s not very good with numbers, they make about as much sense to him as Latin would and he doesn’t know a stitch of that either. You tell him that you and him will need to pull his grades up, to take it seriously because Nancy likes guys who are intellectuals.

And that is when Steve finds out that he would decidedly not be considered an intellectual.

Sometimes, his feelings get hurt by the words that come out of your mouth. You tell him to stop being superficial and immature and he thinks that he doesn’t know how to be anything else. That this is who he is. Because nothing else has served him as well as these and he has never really wanted to be more than what he already is. Then you turn around and announce that that is all he’s ever allowed himself to be.

It makes him feel inadequate, something he’s never felt before.

He really doesn’t like it.

And when he tells you that he doesn’t want to have to do all this, you just laugh and tell him to shut up and keep reading his textbook while you work on a practice test.

He isn’t even sure if he likes you.

But there are these moments. The quiet ones, like when your brow is furrowed in concentration as you pore over your own homework, where he can appreciate being in the company of someone who doesn’t have a hidden agenda. You’ll tell him stories of what it was like living in a bigger, noisier city. Of the time you think you pushed your little brother into a pond out of frustration and how your father had spanked you for being so naughty.

And he learns more about you than he thinks he’s learned about anyone else.

Learns that you still like orange popsicles. That you still have a weird fascination with frogs but also that your grandmother taught you how to sew and your favorite color is that in-between of pink, orange and purple that the sky turns when the sun starts to set.

When he tells you that that isn’t a color, you just stick your tongue out at him, still orange from the popsicle you took out of his deep-freeze.

You tell him things like how your father lost his job and to make ends meet, you had to move in with your grandparents.

Something temporary, you explained. Until your parents can get back on their feet.

But if Steve’s honest with himself, which he’s still getting the hang of really, he likes the idea of you sticking around.

Because you make it easy to be him. He realizes that maybe he doesn’t have any real friends, because why would you be the first person that he tells his little things to? The tiny thoughts that feel heavy in his heart. Things like what happens after high school, what happens if he can’t get into college? What is he supposed to do with his life?

And you say that the both of you will need to worker harder then.

The both of you will work harder.

Not just him.

Easier. You just make it easier. To breathe, to wake up each morning, to look forward to school.

It doesn’t take too long for the rest of the population of Hawkins High to notice that you have been hanging around Steve far more often than he would have allowed anyone else. And it leads to two very specific and interesting outcomes: boys find you interesting, and girls think of you as their rival.

You seem to think that it’s all very funny and take it all in stride without blinking an eye.

When he is awarded with a B-minus on his physics test, Steve seeks you out, paper clutched tightly in his hand. The gym is where he finally finds you, in the middle of playing volleyball with other students. With you finally in sight, he cares for nothing else, registers absolutely nothing as he single-mindedly makes his way towards you.

You don’t seem to notice his presence and when the game abruptly stops because he’s crossed the boundaries of the court, and girls will always be curious whenever Steve is anywhere near, he almost laughs at the look of confusion in your face. He doesn’t though, instead he pulls you to him as soon as you’re within grabbing distance. There’s a brief moment of recognition in your eyes and when he spins you around, you giggle as you hang on to him as tightly as you can.

When he finally lets you and you’re steady on your feet, you turn to him.

“Steve!” you say, breathless and panting, eyes twinkling with unhidden joy. “What’s going on?”

“I got a B-minus on my test!”

“You got a B-minus!”

Steve is somehow already prepared for you to launch yourself back in his arms. And it’s… different. To have you there. There’s little, tiny, very miniscule feeling that you’ve carved out a space for yourself in his life. Inside him. Made it your home. Because why else would it feel like his chest feels hollow and cavernous when you’re not around? And why else would his heart feel so full when you are?

Steve narrowly evades the gym teacher giving him a detention by fleeing away, but not before you make him promise that you would celebrate such a success.

When Steve walks out into the parking lot after class that day, he is unprepared for what greets him. You’re waiting next to his car as he has come to expect, but you’re not alone. You’re speaking with Tom Bradford, the quarterback from the football team. Same social circle. Not a friend. When he watches you push a tendril of hair behind your ear as you smile at Bradford, something in Steve tears, steadily and without warning. Like something that belongs to him being unexpectedly plucked from his hands.

He thinks, it’s understandable to be protective of you.

You’re still fairly new to the school and the other students are going to be curious. Going to approach you.

But this feels different than previous teenage boy attempts to get your attention. Because no one’s been able to truly gain it. Not completely. Not like now.

His footsteps grow heavy as he nears and he’s almost to you, so close when he finally hears the question.

“Would you like to go out on Saturday night?”

There’s a moment of hesitation there from you and Steve can’t help but cling to it. Latches onto it desperately as he steps into your space.

You let him, too. Small smile growing and blossoming into something bigger that spreads across your face and reaches out to him to loosen the knot he didn’t realize had formed in his throat, relaxes the muscles in his shoulders and arms that tensed at some point without him noticing.

“There you are!”

“Here I am,” he agrees, eyes flicking briefly to the other man who stares at him in irritation. “Ready to go?”

“Yup!”

He almost laughs at the way you practically bounce on the heels of your feet as you wait for him to unlock the passenger door for you.

“Bye, Tom! See you around!” You give a quick, distracted wave before disappearing into Steve’s BMW.

Steve walks over to the other side of the car but not before finally acknowledging the other guy.

“See you around, Bradford.”

“Whatever, Harrington.”

Steve finds it difficult not to take at least some pleasure from the exchange and a smile plasters itself on his face, immovable.

When he suggests that they celebrate with a milkshake, you roll your eyes and tell him that that sounds too boring. That you’d rather go on a picnic even though it’s nearing November and the breeze has grown chilly, a clear announcement of impending winter. But you pull him through the aisles of the grocery store and he is forced to take the bags of chips and the soda cans and the one singular apple that you push into his arms.

“Why didn’t you say yes to Bradford earlier when he was asking you out?” Steve finally asks the question when the two of you are lying on the grass near the shore of Lovers Lake. Side by side, the edges of his clothes almost touching the ends of yours.

You’ve been spending your time looking at clouds, pointing out the odd shapes that they draw high in the sky. But you quiet at the question.

Steve thinks he’s done something wrong but you turn to him with a bright smile.

“He’s nice but…” There’s a gloominess in the way you draw your breath in. “I think that maybe I might like someone else.”

A tingle that starts somewhere at the back of his neck pulls itself down his spine and he shivers. Pulling his jacket closer around him, he pulls himself to sitting.

“Who?” he brings himself to ask, unsure of why he is so invested.

You close your eyes and a sad smile creeps its way onto your lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve stills at that. Because he isn’t sure why it does matter, just knows that it matters to him. He thinks that if there is someone you like, that he’d want to know. He’d like to be able to see if this person that’s finally gained your interest is even near worthy of it. He wants to know that whoever it is that captures your heart that he… that he deserves it.

Because that’s what you deserve it, he thinks.

You pull yourself into the same sitting position, legs folded under you, facing him. Sadness still lingering in your smile.

“Nancy asked me about you today.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat at Nancy’s name.

“What did she say? Does she…” Steve trails off because for some reason it feels difficult to ask the question.

Does she like me?

It feels heavier now, in a way that it never has before. Because the question makes him wonder about things he’s never had to consider. He wonders what will happen if Nancy Wheeler becomes his girlfriend. Not so much what will happen to him.

But to you.

When he has a girlfriend, when his attentions need to be elsewhere, when his time will be spoken for by someone other than you…

What happens when you no longer need to be around him?

Who will be there to hold him up?

Amid the emotional whirlwind this sends him through, you simply reach your hand out and you rest it on his. The warmth settles him immediately and the grin you give him grounds him, causing the turbulent feelings to land instead of flying around in his head.

“You should ask her out, Steve.”

He shakes his head immediately. “What if she says—”

“She’s going to say yes, Steve,” you assure him.

And he should be happy, gleeful even. But all he can think about in that moment, as the sun begins to set behind you, painting a canvas of your favorite color around you, is how he wishes for you to never let go of his hand.

…

Act III:

It is as you assured him.

The following day, in the middle of the Hawkins High main hallway, Steve Harrington asks out Nancy Wheeler to see a movie after school and she says yes.

He seeks you out, as he’s learned to do, searches for you through the labyrinth of high school. He talks to people he’s never deigned to speak to before, asking if they’ve seen you. Travels through the library, from one end to the other then back again, turning down aisles of books he’ll never read in his life to make sure he hasn’t missed you. His heart slams painfully into his chest when he realizes that you’re not there.

And he thinks it cruel to happen so quickly.

To gain something precious but to lose you.

Doesn’t seem fair.

Because he doesn’t know how long he can survive the emptiness you’ve left behind. That space that you claimed, he knows, will always belong to you, whether you want it or not. It’s only been a few hours without you and Steve doesn’t want to think about when that stretches into days or weeks or months.

And so he resolves to busy himself.

He goes home, takes a shower, fixes his hair, carefully selects his clothes before putting them on. He drives to the florist to grab a small bouquet then makes his way to the Wheelers’ home to pick up Nancy for their date.

She looks pretty in her pink outfit, hair brushed until shiny and pinned back with a cute clip. He manages a decent conversation, but rapidly comes under the realization that there’s much between them to talk about. Nothing really that ties the two of them together that is interesting enough for the conversation to feel effortless.

He lets her pick out the movie, some romantic comedy that he pays the tickets for.

A bucket of popcorn and two sodas.

Once seated, he quickly tunes out the movie, heart in turmoil, unable to listen to someone speak about love. He thinks he’s being unfair to Nancy, but his mood is ruined for the day and he’s unsure of how to fix it. In fact, Steve thinks he might be broken.

He doesn’t try anything with Nancy, doesn’t try to put his arm around her shoulders. Doesn’t try anymore to impress her with his words or charm. Not when it feels too difficult, too forced.

When Nancy slides her cold fingers into his hand, he almost jumps out of his seat and then, curiously, follows it up with a quick apology.

He spots the slight quirk on her lips and he thinks, maybe he isn’t doing as poorly as he thinks he is. Perhaps there is still a chance to salvage this.

However, Nancy disappointingly declines his invitation to get dinner so when they’re standing outside of her door, he’s a little surprised when she leans up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek.

As he stares down at her in wonder, Nancy laughs and pushes his shoulder a little.

“You’re such a dumbass,” she tells him. “Cute, but really dumb.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“She begged me to say yes to you if you ever asked me out. She convinced me to give you a chance.”

His heart, the one that had been emptied out, now sits on the floor beside his sneakers. He’s not mad, not even ashamed that you would do something like that on his behalf. Not even hurt at the knowledge that Nancy would have never said yes if you didn’t intervene.

He’s just confused why you did it.

Why did you lie?

“I guess you didn’t know,” he hears Nancy murmur. He feels her step away from him, lean against her front door, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you remember when we first met when we were kids?”

The question takes him by surprise and he immediately nods his head. “Yeah, you came up to me to ask me to play.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Nancy laughs. “But did you know that she was the one who told me to do that? You remember how she was. She was so painfully shy. But she saw you there and she told me that you looked lonely and we should try to be friends.”

Nancy’s expression grows soft with the memory and she smiles wistfully. “I guess even then, she was the one that knew you best. You know, whenever she would write, she would ask about you, always looking out for you.”

Steve stares at her, the familiar swirl of jumbled emotions tumbling around him again.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I know you like me, Steve. Girls know when guys look at them like they hung the moon or something. That sort of thing feels more like infatuation, though. But I see the way she looks at you and I…”

“How?” Steve swallows hard. “How does she look at me?”

“The same way you look at her." Nancy smiles, almost to herself. "It’s just… everything.”

Steve doesn’t remember if he says goodbye to Nancy, doesn’t remember if she even entered her house, as he scrambles away from her front door and rushes to get into his car.

His heart is a hard, steady beat against his chest as he drives to your house. The same heart plummets when your grandmother says that you’re not home yet. So he spends what feels like forever driving through Hawkins, trying to find you, the one person who can calm it all down. He drives all the way to Lovers Lake to find it disappointingly empty save for some random couple sitting at one of the picnic tables.

It’s already dark and it feels like his car has raced down all the roads available to him in Hawkins. But all the things he wants to say to you continue thrum in his veins, pulsing under his skin. They sing through him, words that need to be let out, to be formed in his mouth into words to fall into your ears. A process that cannot be fully realized until he can find you.

He’s run out of options now, however, and only the thought of trying to find you again tomorrow assures him that it’s okay to go home and rest for the night. He can survive going through the motions for now.

Steve locks the front door behind and he’s about to trudge up the stairs when he hears his mother call out to him from the kitchen.

“Where have you been, Stevie? Your friend’s been waiting for you for a while.”

He peers around the corner where his mother is busy making dinner, something that looks like meatloaf. Maybe.

“Who?”

His mother looks up from the recipe book on the counter. “She’s outside, dear.”

There’s a solid weight in his chest. Something almost unbearable to carry and he’s not quite sure how he makes it to through the sunroom to get to the door that leads outside. His hand stills on the knob, the words that he’s been wanting to say now feeling more real.

You’re sitting next to the pool. Your socks and your sneakers are neatly placed next to you while you dip your feet into the warm waters of the swimming pool, careful not to get water on your skirt. Your head is tilted back, eyes closed and peaceful as the steam from swirls around you. He almost wants to not go out if it means disturbing you.

The sight of you fills all the empty spaces inside him. Feeling more confident now, Steve needs to take a deep breath before he opens the door and that instantly draws your attention.

Wide eyes stare back at him, unblinking as if you’re frozen on the spot. But you’re here.

With him.

The distance is too wide so he fixes it immediately by drawing closer to you with careful and measured steps, almost scared that if he moves too sharply, that he might frighten you away and then he’ll never get the chance.

You say nothing as he sits next to you, shoulders brushing slightly as he shifts around to fold his legs under him.

And then.

“How did your date with Nancy go?”

“Where were you today?” he says at the same time.

You look at each other and laugh.

It’s easy again. Simple.

In a way where things work and you learn not to question them.

“It was fine,” he answers.

Your brow furrows. “Just fine? You had the biggest smile just now when you walked out here. And now you’re telling me that it was just fine?”

Steve laughs, not realizing his natural reaction to your presence. He can't believe it took him so long to see it. “I…” He tries to start, but pauses to angle his body fully to you. “It was nice enough.”

You hum softly, kicking your feet in the water.

“Those are all words I would expect strung together for a date with someone who isn’t the girl of your dreams.”

Steve places his hands behind him and leans back. “Because she isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, frowning at his words.

Steve ignores your question in favor of asking one of his own. “That guy you like… why don’t you ask him out?”

He admires the pretty blush that stains your neck and works its way up to your cheeks. But you shake your head and avert your gaze in favor of staring at the water.

Leaning in a little, he nudges your shoulder playfully.

“C’mon, tell me,” he whispers softly, needing to hear you say it. Needing to know that what Nancy said is true.

He notices the shuddering breath you take before you turn back to face him. Face solemn as you say, “I don’t think he feels the same way,” you admit slowly.

“How do you know if you’ve never asked?”

Your mouth falls open at the question and Steve regrets asking the same question you asked him so long ago. Because you look devastated and heartbroken and that’s the last thing he’ll ever want to cause you.

“Steve…” his name dies on your lips.

So he kisses your lips. Eagerly and deeply. Kisses you to take all the hurt and replace it with all the love he feels for you, mend your heart with pieces of his own. He pulls you to him and he moans when you fit against him so perfectly that he thinks he really must be stupid to have not known, not seen.

When you pull away, eyes sparkling with happiness and hope, he knows that his shine in the same way, too.

“I love you,” he says as he cups your face in his hands. You smile at the words even though tears spring from your eyes and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

You cut him off with a shake of your head.

“This is perfect,” you say, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

…

Coda:

And they lived happily ever after.

[messyvalentine]

Someone like me - Seven

Summary: What’s the harm in making a deal with the devil?

Tags/Warnings: oldmoney!Steve, allusions to domestic violence and psychological abuse (from parental figure)

Chapter Notes: 4.6k word count. some hints as to why Stevie is such an angry boy. Not proofread.

A/N: I have come to the conclusion that old money Steve is the most satisfying version of Steve to write so far. Also, if you are a reader of Maybe I could love you, too. Sorry! That will be coming out soon! It's a lengthy chapter so I figured I would release this in the meantime since it was already written out.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six MASTERLIST

...

You take your time.

You turn the shower on, cranking it all the way. Hot. Scalding.

Then you take off your jewelry, earrings first, then necklace. You stare at your grandmother’s ring on your shaking hand and fresh tears start to fall from your eyes. You don't bother wiping them away.

You remove the wrong and place it on the bathroom counter together with the rest of your jewelry then you peel the ridiculous opera gloves from your arms. You wash your face methodically using what assume to be Steve’s own expensive facial wash sitting on the counter.

You’ve known not to trust anything or anyone.

And you definitely do not trust Steve Harrington.

It feels like Steve is constantly playing games, but you always understood the outcome because they were always cruel.

But now, this feels larger than that.

A bigger game that you don’t know how to play. The rules feel more complicated and the stakes are far higher than what you can afford.

Then you unpin your hair, allowing it to fall around your shoulders, before you strip off your delicate underwear and step into the shower to wash off the evening.

Shampoo. Soap. Conditioner.

You watch as the soapy suds turn clear as they filter through the drain. And you wish that your anxiety could fall away just as easily.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you step out of the shower. You decide to forego drying your hair and simply pull a comb through it instead. You’ve let Steve wait long enough, you think. So you merely try to wring out as much water as you can from the wet tendrils with a promise to indulge in your hair products the second you have a chance.

Instead, you slide your panties back on which feels wrong after having already taken a shower and you shake out the shirt that Steve has handed you, just a plain white shirt that feels more expensive than it looks.

You slip the shirt over your head and thankfully it’s long enough for it to end just above mid-thigh.

You grab your jewelry from the counter but it’s only the ring that you bother sliding back onto your finger. Padding back into the bedroom, you find your gown missing from the floor. You’re not sure if Steve is the type to have gone through the trouble of hanging it somewhere but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care about what happens to the damn thing.

You can hear Steve talking to someone on the phone and exit the bedroom to follow the sound of his voice.

He’s standing in the living room, staring out the window with his back to you. No longer wearing his tuxedo jacket, he has the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up his arms, and his hair has been loosened from its previous style, likely by the same hand that’s currently running through his hair.

“Make sure it’s done in the next fifteen minutes,” he tells whoever he’s on the phone with. “The quicker the better, please.”

It’s the please at the end of an obvious demand that makes your brows furrow in confusion. But, again, you need to remind yourself that you don’t know Steve Harrington, so it’s best to treat him like a stranger.

Who has been mean to you, eaten you out and then bought your grandmother’s ring for $300,000.

That’s all.

Steve turns to you as soon as you step foot into the living room. You force yourself not to tremble under his gaze, as he carefully examines you from head to toe. It feels more like an inspection than anything else, although you do find his eyes lingering on the top of your thighs where the borrowed shirt ends.

He rubs a hand down his handsome face before gesturing to the dining table on his left.

“Food’s here,” he states simply.

You nod and quickly make your way over to the table laden with what looks like every single dish off the menu. There are breakfast items, sandwiches, two different types of pasta and you spot a steak.

“This is too much,” you murmur, taking everything in.

Steve, who apparently did learn manners at one point and isn’t a complete Neanderthal, pulls a seat out for you and you plop onto it automatically. You feel him lean down close to you, his breathing audible as he pushes the chair closer to the table.

“I don’t know what you like so…”

He rounds the table and takes the seat directly in front of you.

You stare at each other for a few moments before Steve finally breaks contact.

“Go on, princess. I know you’re starving.”

There is none of the familiar bite in his tone. Just a tired resignation that you can understand.

You place your necklace and earrings on the table beside you and that action somehow garners an eye roll from Steve, although he remains silent as he watches you.

It’s different from the way your father eyes you when you eat. Less… calculating. Less exacting.

It’s not something that hurts.

You salivate at the plate of stacked pancakes, golden and fluffy and perfect, the butter already half-melted into it. So you pick that up and place it in front of you. Before you can reach for it, Steve grabs the porcelain container of maple syrup and sets it to your side for easier access.

The first bite is blissful and you close your eyes as you savor the sweet taste on your tongue. The second and third bites soon follow and you can’t help the pleased little moan that escapes between your lips.

Steve hasn’t moved since you began eating and you peer at him from beneath your lashes to find him biting his lower lip while looking to side. He shifts his weight a little in his chair before he realizes that you’ve been staring at him and he clears his throat.

The familiar stern version of Steve is back as he regards you silently.

“We have a lot of things to talk about.”

You try not to bristle at the fact that you've only been getting Steve to talk to you about the events that took place before he swept you out of the ballroom. But men like your father and Steve Harrington only want to talk when and if they want and you've had enough.

“I agree. I’ll start,” you counter, placing your fork and knife down.

You're a little surprised when Steve simply leans back and gestures for you to continue talking.

"Let me start by saying that after tonight, I think that it will be in our best interests if you and I continue to ignore each other's existence. I don't see how it will be beneficial for us to be in contact."

A slow smirk forms on along Steve's lips and though the reaction confuses you, you decide to continue your stance.

"I would like to thank you, however, for purchasing my grandmother's ring. It..." You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "It means a lot to me. But I will pay you back."

"The fuck you will, princess!" Steve snaps, eyes blazing. The reaction is so explosive that you're taken aback. "I am not taking your father's money. Do whatever the fuck you want with it. Throw it in the goddamn Atlantic ocean for all I care. But keep your family's money to yourself."

"You spent three hundred thousand dollars, Steve. I'm gonna pay it back and I never said anything about using my father's money."

Although, you really don't have that amount of money, you know you're resourceful enough to find a way to pay him back. Maybe a loan from Eddie.

"It's just three hundred thousand dollars, princess." He dismisses your concerns with a wave of his hand.

You shake your head. Because, no. The Steve Harrington you know is in some unknown band and grew up in Middle of Nowhere, Indiana and now he's taking up space in charity galas and talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars like it's nothing?

"Who are you?" you question him, unable to help yourself. "Help me understand something here, because none of this is making sense."

But before Steve can answer, the elevator dings before the doors swing open and a young bellhop as well as a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a soft smile, dressed in what you recognize to be a housekeeping uniform, walk into the living room. The bellhop struggles a little with a cart made heavy with luggage, which he wheels into the living room.

Your luggage.

"What the fuck?" you hiss.

You turn to Steve who has pushed his chair away from the table and is already walking to the new occupants of the room.

"Hey Thomas, Julie. Thanks for doing this for me last minute. I know it's really late now, too. Julie, if you don't mind unlocking the rest of the suite to allow access to the guest rooms, that would be great. And if you can get her settled in, I'll make sure you get next holidays off."

The woman, Julie, rolls her eyes and laughs at Steve and you wonder what would happen if someone had the audacity to act like this around your father. But the employees of the hotel seem comfortable around him and you’re quiet as you work through Steve’s words.

Holiday off?

Steve continues to converse with the two hotel employees with such familiarity; though Thomas seems a little nervous, maybe a newer employee. Then, spotting the large handbag hanging from a hook on the cart, Steve takes it down.

“Thanks again for working so late, you two. We’ll talk again tomorrow. I have a guest to entertain.”

He walks back to you and places the handbag on the chair beside you before settling back into his original seat.

You can hear the two employees as they disappear down the hallway and once you’re sure they’re out of earshot you stare at Steve.

“Your father owns this hotel.”

You’re not prepared for the sardonic laughter that comes out of him.

“No, princess. I own the hotel. Among others things.”

“Other things,” you repeat, unable to wrap your head around the fact that you have a distinct memory of Steve Harrington complaining about the cost of a carton of eggs.

He shrugs.

“All the money is from my mother’s side of the family. Harrington isn’t really a name in high society, but my father was ambitious, met my mother at Harvard and she was smitten. My grandparents hated him, though.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Steve leans back in the chair once again and crosses his arms.

“Because, princess, no matter how much you think that none of this involves you… You are very much part of the story now.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What do you mean?” You press, although part of you is worried what the answer is.

Steve moves to pull his phone from his pant pocket.

“I’m guessing your phone has been in that handbag of yours all night since I haven't seen it once."

You nod slowly, watching as Steve scrolls through his phone briefly before he shows you his screen.

"My assistant sent me this."

Your heart plummets at the headline of an article.

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL WINS BIG AT CHARITY GALA, BUT GOVERNOR'S DAUGHTER TAKES THE BIGGEST PRIZE.

Your eyes snap to Steve's and he looks as grim as you feel.

It’s not fair.

"This is your fault,” you whisper with a deceptive calm. "I was just minding my business and you just swoop in with your three hundred thousand dollars and your waltzing and your hotel ballrooms. And now you've messed everything up."

You're out of breath and panting after your rant. You know you’re being childish but the unfairness of your situation has taken so much freedom away from you and now you’re stuck.

With Steve Harrington.

Steve merely rolls his eyes. "Princess, I'm gonna need you to stop the stupid theatrics and I need you to open your fucking eyes. You don't think that all this was planned? I've known who you are. It's not my fault your father didn't care enough to tell you anything."

As much as you want to get mad at him, you cannot deny that he is right.

Aside from unexpected purchase of your grandmother's ring, everything that happened tonight was something that certainly feels orchestrated by your father in some way or form.

And you played your part. Almost too perfectly.

That takes the wind out of your sails and you take a deep breath.

“When you stalked me at the coffee shop… you knew that I would be here tonight.”

He gives you a curt nod. “I was trying to warn you. But you acted like a psychopath so…”

You ignore the pointed barb.

"Is that why you hate me so much?" you whisper. "Because you knew?"

Steve's jaw clenches and his lips purse as he considers you. "There are other things at play here, far bigger than you or I... If you can be someone that I..." He breathes in deeply before expelling it out his mouth. "I can trust, then maybe I'll tell you."

Trust?

The two of you stare at each other knowing one thing to be true.

You don’t trust each other at all.

…

You almost don’t want to get out of bed.

Almost.

But you have five missed calls from Eddie and three from your mom and it’s late enough in the morning that if you don’t respond, they’ll start to get suspicious.

There’s one text message from your father.

Do NOT mess this up.

You groan.

Because things have always been messed up and you’re not sure anymore what exactly anyone is asking of you.

You send a quick message to both your mom and Eddie, something light that assures them both that you’re fine and that you’ll speak to them once you’re back in New York.

According to the schedule your father’s secretary provided you, there is one luncheon that you are to attend with your father that starts at noon at one of the smaller ballrooms in the hotel. Something of a celebratory show of appreciation for the donors and successful bidders who don’t really need it but enjoy the honor.

Then you’re free until your flight tomorrow, Sunday morning and you should be back in your apartment by early afternoon.

Just need to give another push and you’ll be home.

You stretch your arms above your head and finally push the comfortable covers off your body. You don’t hear any sounds coming from the hallway and you’re not sure if Steve is awake yet or not.

Last night ended abruptly with Steve simply bidding you good night before disappearing into his room. And you had spent the next hour alone in your bed trying to figure out more about Steve Harrington.

You skim through the homework that you should have done and find a tiny blurb about who his parents and grandparents are and that he is the sole heir of his grandparents' fortune. Not a lot to go off of so you type his name into google and cross your fingers. Unfortunately for you, whoever is handling his PR is amazing at keeping any unwanted information about the man out of the news.

So now the only things that you know is that he graduated from Yale with a double degree in Economics and Music. There are some newer pieces regarding some philanthropic endeavors and a few groundbreaking ceremonies for new projects both in America and overseas. You google his grandparents next and that's where you get most of your information.

It started with oil, then land, real estate development. In the eighties they started building large-scale popular shopping malls across America. Somehow, Steve's grandfather had the luck of selling their shopping mall business for hundreds of millions of dollars right before the 2008 recession and were comfortably liquid to withstand it. Of course, that also meant they successfully evaded the dawn of online shopping and massive mall closures. Instead, they started a new business. Hotels, high-end resorts. Casinos. With the majority of these located outside of America and wisely investing in emerging markets.

And making a lot of money.

Oh, and his grandmother's family only founded one of the largest financial institutions in America.

That's when you stopped snooping. There was a moment when you considered calling Robin, but you and her are no longer as close as you once were and she would have too many questions that you wouldn't have the answer to.

You resolve to speak with Steve. There’s still so much to talk about, so many questions you need to ask him, but you’re unsure which Steve will face you today.

He’s at least marginally nicer.

You focus on getting ready. A massive amount of product, a good hair dryer, and arm strength are required to get your hair to cooperate and finally sit in shiny elegant waves down your back.

Makeup is meticulously applied. Something simple but makes you look flawless.

By the time you feel put together, there’s a knock on your door.

You wrap the fluffy robe closer around your body before opening the door.

You’re faced with an expanse of bare chest covered with dark curly hair. Steve Harrington is standing in front of you, half-naked save for a pair of well-tailored tan trousers, held up by a dark brown leather belt.

“What are you wearing for the luncheon?” He asks simply.

You swallow as you tear your eyes away from chest and ignore the knowing smile playing along his lips.

“I’m supposed to wear—”

“Supposed to?”

You look down at your toes peeking from underneath your robe.

“My father, he prefers that we match.”

You think of the light blue cocktail dress that is hanging in the closet. It is likely your father has either a matching dress shirt or tie.

“That’s not weird at all,” Steve mutters. “What’s your favorite color?”

You meet Steve’s steady gaze. “Green.”

He hums in approval. “I can work with that. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” You ask but Steve has already walked away bringing his phone to his ear.

Twenty minutes later and another knock on the door this morning has you opening it to a member of the housekeeping staff.

Someone cheerful who hands you a beautiful cocktail dress in a sage green structured silk with white and yellow hand-painted flowers. Thin straps hold together a straight cut bodice that cinches at the waist. The pleating at the sides allows a flattering skirt to drape down to just below the knee. It’s gorgeous, something that will compliment your body.

“Mr. Harrington says that he’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she, Charlene you read from her name tag, before handing you a small paper bag made with thick cardboard.

“Thank you, Charlene,” you reply kindly. “I’ll make sure to be ready by then.”

She smiles and gives you a polite nod. “Would you like anything to drink? Water or coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you,” you tell her kindly. “I’ll go ahead and get ready. But thank you again, Charlene.”

“You’re welcome!” she chirps.

She smiles at you again before closing the door to give you privacy to get dressed.

You don’t know how Steve has managed to figure it out, but the dress fits you perfectly. The shoes that you were supposed to wear with your other cocktail dress, a gold pair of strappy heels still work and after you get them on your feet, you turn to the paper bag you left sitting on the dresser.

Worrying your bottom lip, you open the bag and find a flat box, bigger than your hand. Overcome with trepidation, you debate whether or not to open it, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You pull the jewelry case out of the bag and open it to reveal a stunning pair of diamond earrings, and an exquisite matching diamond line necklace. The individual diamonds sparkle at you and you quickly snap the case closed.

Because a dress is one thing, but jewelry? Jewelry feels like a commitment and the weight of your new ring is already heavy on your hand. And Steve just started being civil with you last night but spent the better part of a year acting like an asshole. And now he's giving you diamonds?

You feel your anger start to simmer beneath your carefully constructed mask and you let it get the better of you as you march out into the hallway and stomp your way to Steve's room.

He has a white undershirt on and is sliding on a dress shirt that matches your own dress.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" you yell, throwing the jewelry case at him.

Steve's face goes from surprised to angry at your entrance. He isn't fast enough to catch it and it falls onto the marble floor with a clatter and he clenches his jaw as he tilts his head to side, as if physically trying to stop himself from doing something rash.

It only takes a split second for him to school his features before regarding you.

"That's an explosive response to getting diamonds, princess. Were they not good enough for you?"

You scoff, placing your hands on your hips.

"Listen, I don't know what game you're playing. I don't even fucking know who you are anymore. But I've had a lifetime of this, of being treated like a doll, like a pet, just existing to further someone else's plans. This dress," you pull at the skirt, "The jewelry. This is the same thing my father does with me and you think you can just... what exactly?"

You tilt your head up, trying to calm yourself before the tears can think to come. If there is one thing that you are going to succeed at today, is that you won't be letting anyone get the upper-hand.

Steve's glares at you. "I am nothing like your father," he says darkly.

"I don't care what you are. I'm not going to do this anymore." You throw your hands up in the air in exasperation. "I'm not going to go along with whatever you have planned in that psychotic head of yours. Because frankly, I don't trust you, Steve Harrington."

His eyes narrow at you. "And you trust your father, do you?"

You don't blink. "I trust myself," you answer him flatly. "That's who I trust. Do I trust my father? No. But do I trust myself to—"

"To not get hurt?" Steve's eyes burn into yours with challenge. "Is this the life you want? Just one grand performance after another, every mistake is a bruise until there's nothing left of you."

"You don't know me," you bite out despite feeling entirely too seen for your comfort.

"True. I don't. I'm willing to admit that..." He takes a deep breath through clenched teeth. "Certain things have come to light in the last twenty-four hours that make me realize that I don't, in fact, know you."

His admission feels like it should be worth something. But it's not an apology. Far from it, really.

But there's this feeling that you have. This feeling that you've had since Steve Harrington participated in the auction, slid your grandmother's ring on your finger. This feeling that has only increased since, with the sudden goodwill that he's decided to show you.

"You need me," you tell him and in that statement, you finally find vindication.

Because judging from Steve's stunned reaction, it's clear that he didn't expect you to discover something so quickly. But you suppose that's what happens when someone continuously decides to underestimate you.

"I don't know what it is that you need me for, but you do need me," you restate, allowing the wonder to eek into your voice. "This isn't some media darling exploit." You shake your head. "No, that's not it. That's not how you like to play things otherwise I wouldn't have had to search so hard for information about you."

Steve raises an eyebrow at that and you can't help but think that he might even look a little impressed.

"But I don't care what you need me for, Steve Harrington. I already have a part to play for one deranged man. I'm not looking for a side hustle."

Steve chuckles, like he's genuinely entertained by you and unease settles in your gut.

"If you're done, it's my turn to talk."

You draw a sharp breath at the sudden harshness of his tone and you nod jerkily.

Steve stalks towards you and you close your eyes as draws close only for him to shut the doors behind you.

"Whatever I am about to tell you, you cannot repeat to anyone, do you understand?" He comes around you then, suddenly capturing your chin in his warm hand. His eyes are menacing as he asks again. "Do you understand?"

You nod again, trying to stamp down the slight panic that you can feel climbing inside of you.

Satisfied with your acceptance, he releases you and moves to sit on a plush arm chair situated in the corner of the room. Then he gestures at the bed which you obediently sit on.

"Tell me, what do you know about Hawkins, Indiana."

Your brow scrunches in thought. "Isn't that where Nancy and Robin grew up? And you?"

"Yes... and no." Steve taps his fingers against the arm of the chair. "What I mean is, has your father ever spoken to you about Hawkins, Indiana?"

You frown and shake your head. "No, never," you answer honestly.

He studies you for a moment, as if trying to look for any indication that you've lied in some way.

"Tell me, princess, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

You're surprised by the question, unsure of how it all fits into the conversation, but the answer is immediate in your mind.

"My mom, I…" you take a deep breath not sure if you want to continue. To let Steve in on something that you've never willingly admitted to anyone else.

But something tells you that he's different from your father. And you hang onto that.

"I would want her to be safe. From him."

You watch Steve's adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"He's not a good man, your father."

"No, he isn't," you agree quietly. Closing your eyes, you add, "He's worse, actually."

There's a pause before Steve speaks again. "But what about for yourself? What would you want?"

You open your eyes to see Steve staring at you, his brown eyes searching for the answer in yours.

"Freedom," you finally say, your eyes landing on your grandmother's ring on your hand.

"What if I said I could give you all that? That I have the power to give you all the things you want?"

Steve's eyes are devoid of emotion now and you can't help but feel like you're making a deal with the devil.

But there are bigger, more evil monsters than Steve Harrington. And somehow this knowledge makes you feel oddly safe in his presence.

"What would I need to do?" you ask carefully.

Steve pushes himself off the armchair and grabs the jewelry case from the floor where it had landed earlier. Opening the case and taking the necklace out, he walks over to you and places the case with the earrings in your hands.

"I need you to play the part that you born to play, princess."

You feel Steve's fingers brush against the sensitive flesh at the back of your neck and you shiver in response. You help him push your hair out of the way to the right and you feel his arms come around you and the weight of the necklace settles onto the base of your neck.

His fingers slide down the back of your neck and when you think he's about to move away from you, he leans forward instead, his hands coming to rest at your shoulders and his lips grazing the edge of your left ear. Your back straightens in response and you try to ignore the growing arousal inside you.

"But when I am done with your father, there will be nothing left. Will you be okay with that?"

You close your eyes and nod.

"Good girl," he says as he releases you and you take a deep breath. "Because now that I think about it, I would very much like for you to be the one to take everything from him."

...

Read Part Eight here

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[messyvalentine]

hi could you add me to the taglist for someone like you! 🩷

Absolutely hun! 💕

[messyvalentine]

When will the next part of someone like me be uploaded

I love that series

Howdy there!

Tysm for reading Someone like me! This will be updated on Wednesday PM, PDT for reference.

Parts of the next chapter have already been written out! But my priority is getting the next part of my other series out first as she is a hefty baby that requires a lot of attention. That series will be ending soon tho then all my attention will go to Someone like me❣️

(That is before I push out my Enchanted x Stranger Things story that I have listed on my mlist 👀)

[messyvalentine]

Someone like me - Six

Summary: Steve Harrington is full of surprises. Not all of them are unpleasant.

Tags/Warnings: physical abuse, controlling behavior, smoking, oldmoney!Steve comes out to play

Chapter Notes: 3.3k word count. uh, let me lull you into a false sense of security with this chapter. muahahahaha! Not proofread.

A/N: usually, i update my stories alternately but it only took a few hours to get this done because it was such a fun chapter to write. hope you all enjoy!

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five Read Part One for story tags and warnings MASTERLIST

...

You really should have done your homework.

Because you're thoroughly unprepared for the sit-down dinner that follows. You find yourself sitting with your father to your left and Steve Harrington to your right. Uncomfortable isn't sufficient to describe the turmoil you're undergoing.

Thankfully, your father is preoccupied with chatting with the Harringtons who are seated next to him. The other occupants of the table are a young couple, you think Alan and Tiffany Ivers may be their names, the husband some political hopeful that somehow managed to land himself a seat at the adults' table, Table One. Front and center, where the important people are. The couple has tried numerous times to insert themselves into your father and the Congressman Harrington's conversation, where words like funding and legislation sound so commonplace. And you try not to grimace when Steve's mother makes a cutting remark at the immodest cut of Tiffany's gown that causes the younger woman to flush a terrible shade of red and excuse herself from the table.

Then there is the elderly couple seated next to Steve, the Abbotts, some old money old guard who are lovely if you ignore the intermittent complaining about how slow the waitstaff is. But of course, Steve has managed to almost immediately captivate them with his charm and wit, telling them little jokes and talking about his life at Yale.

And when did Steve Harrington go to Yale?

This night has just been you coming to the rapid conclusion that you know nothing about Steve Harrington. You may have had a crush on him, but you never actually thought to Google him and his life. Neither Robin nor Nancy had ever offered you any information outside of them having attended the same high school in some backwater town in Indiana and you just assumed that Steve had lived there all his life.

Only now to discover that Steve Harrington is a hypocritical, lying little turdbucket who should eat a bag of fucking dicks.

Wisely, you have made the conscious decision to not engage in any conversation, just so you can survive the rest of the night without anything else going horribly wrong.

Except Willa Abbott decides to include you in the discussion by turning to you and asking what someone would think a simple question.

"Is the food not to your liking, dear?"

You look down at your plate, on it a beautifully curated dish of salmon and vegetables over a swirl of some red-colored sauce.

"Thank you for asking, Mrs. Abbott. I fear I had a bite to eat earlier and find myself still full," you answer politely.

The elderly lady looks satisfied with your response and looks back to her husband and you think you may successfully evaded being included in any conversation.

Except your stomach churns from both hunger, because no, you did not eat anything the entire day, and anxiety, because there is nothing you like less than eating in front of your father. And just as you see Steve bring a forkful of salmon to his own mouth, your stomach gives a low grumble.

You flush crimson at the same time that Steve's fork comes back down on his plate abruptly and he covers up a laugh with a clearing of his throat.

He leans down to you then, close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your cheek and along the side of your neck.

"Just eat it, princess. It won't kill you. Or is salmon too pedestrian for you?"

You answer with a glittering smile and whisper back. "You have no idea what will and won't kill me, Harrington."

He pulls back just enough to see as his eyes studying you carefully and you try not crumble under his steady gaze, holding your pleasant smile carefully in place.

"You'd be surprised," he finally says, his eyes lingering on you a bit more before he turns back to his food.

"The two of you make the most beautiful couple. Don't you agree, Franklin?" Willa Abbott places a frail hand on her husband's arm. "Oh to be young and in love."

You almost let out a snort at the ridiculousness of that statement and Steve himself lets out a chuckle.

Unfortunately for you, that captures your father's attention and he turns to the Abbotts, bestowing them with a charming smile.

"Isn't that, right, Mrs. Abbott? We're very happy to see these two get along so well." Your father delivers this, playing the happy father. "I know my daughter seems quite enamored with the young Mr. Harrington already."

Enamored? It is almost inspiring to see your father at work with his lies, you think derisively.

Your anxiety goes up several notches, because if this is what your father has in store for you. This dream of you becoming Mrs. Steve Harrington... you feel nauseous at the idea, knowing that you'd just be exchanging one cage for another.

"Yes, they looked absolutely perfect on together on the dance floor earlier," the elderly woman practically gushes. She turns to you then, and gives you an encouraging smile. "You could do a lot worse than this charming boy."

Everyone turns to you, waiting for your response.

To encourage you, your father subtly angles his fingers to give you another firm and painful pinch which makes you straighten your back and smile.

"Mr. Harrington is very charming, indeed." You send Steve a look that you hope comes across as coy and not full of annoyance like you are actually feeling. "I wouldn't be opposed to meeting with him again in the future."

But as you look at Steve, you notice that his eyes flicker briefly to your side, where you father's grip had been before looking back at you. "The future?" he murmurs, the expression on his face indecipherable. "Let's be less ambiguous than that. How about tonight?"

You smile demurely. "We'll see."

Steve chuckles before turning to Mrs. Abbott. "I'm trying my best here, ma'am. But I have to say, I do like the ones that play hard to get."

Your father, satisfied with the outcome, turns back to his conversation.

And you try your best to hold your smile while taking a deep, grounding breath. You can make it through the rest of dinner.

Fortunately, the rest of the dinner you go on unnoticed.

Just when the dessert plates have been cleared off the table—yours was noticeably untouched—and you think that you are finally free, the lights in the ballroom dim with a spotlight centered at the podium to the side of the stage at the front. The emcee comes up to the stage to announce the start of the auction.

You really should have done your homework.

The emcee explains that some pieces were donated by some of the guests of honor tonight and that they were hoping that people be generous with their money in an effort to build a new children's hospital.

At that point, you tune everything out. Everyone's attention now on the ongoings of the auction, you have a bit of time to collect yourself and you don't have to school your features too much.

Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the amount of smiling you've had to do so far.

Both your father and Congressman Harrington have successfully won a bid each. Generous enough to make headlines but not generous enough that it would ever really hurt their pockets. You're counting down the minutes when the emcee finally announces the final pièce de résistance.

"This brilliant-cut diamond ring is ten-point-twenty-nine carats..."

The emcee's voice in the background drones on as you sit up in your chair once they project the ring in question on the screen behind the emcee.

It's your grandmother's ring.

"A precious heirloom that has been in family for countless of generations. Donated generously by our governor," the emcee reinforces for you. "We'll start the bidding at seventy-five thousand."

You remember this ring.

Your paternal grandmother had been precious to you. She had loved you and your mother and would often make you visit her. On one of those visits, she had given that exact ring to your mom. A legacy of the women in her family, to passed down to the next generation. As your father is an only child, your grandmother insisted that she gift it to your mother and she had initially wanted to say no. Stating that it should be saved for you, once you come of age. But your grandmother wouldn't take no for an answer and so your mother had to accept. Kept such a precious symbolic memento for the two of you.

Your mother had only worn it once in her life in public, however. At your grandmother's funeral when you were eight.

But your mother left it behind the day you left your father's house.

And now it is here. Sitting on a blue cushion, to be sold to the highest bidder.

You work your bottom lip, feeling the tears start to well in your eyes. But despite your heartbreak, there is nothing you can do. Even if you can afford such a thing, there is no way that your father is going to allow you to bid on it. That would be humiliating for him.

Eventhough he knows that this, donating something he knew to be so precious to you, is humiliating for you.

The bidding starts with surprising ferocity and the ring is quickly pushed to a hundred and fifty thousand.

You take a shuddering breath, small and quiet, but somehow still able to call the attention of Steve who turns to look at you and the wetness threatening to fall from your eyes. For some reason, he glances at the same spot on your hip that your father had been working all night to get you to fall in line.

"One hundred and seventy-five thousand to Alan Ivers!" the emcee calls out.

You look at Ivers who isn't subtle about trying to get into your father's good graces and grins like a little boy when your father gives him a thumbs up.

"Do I have a bid for one hundred eighty?" the emcee asks the audience.

Silence.

"One hundred eighty, going once, going twice—"

"Two hundred," Steve calls out.

You freeze.

The emcee appears stunned for a brief moment as Steve had not bid on anything thus far and suddenly is willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money.

"Oh, two hundred to Mr. Harrington. Do we have a—"

"Two-oh-five," Ivers cries out desperately.

You hear Steve sigh, apparently tired of Ivers.

"Three hundred," Steve says with an almost deafening finality that makes Ivers's shoulders slump in defeat.

"An amazing three hundred thousand from Mr. Harrington. Do I have three-oh-five?”

No one dares to bid again, the ring now at a ridiculous price.

“Going once, going twice... SOLD to Mr. Steven Harrington, son of Congressman Harrington!"

The applause that ensues roars in your ears, your father's cheers and claps are the loudest. Both he and Steve stand at the same time and they shake hands before your father claps Steve on the back in congratulations.

Meanwhile, you are left to shatter in your own seat. Emptied.

Forgotten.

In the chaos Steve asks to take the ring with him now, something of an unprecedented request. And while he goes up to the stage to retrieve his winnings, you start to count zero to ten to zero to ten to zero while you try to calm your breathing.

You try not to think about how things are so easily taken from you and how powerless you are to fight back.

There's a sudden hush that comes over the ballroom and it takes you a moment to realize that it's because Steve is standing next to you, looking down at you.

Holding out his right hand.

"Go on, girl!" Willa Abbott yells in the silence.

Ever obedient, you slide your left hand in his and Steve chuckles as he pulls you up to stand in front of him.

"What's going on?" you ask, perplexed.

Still holding your hand, Steve smiles. One of those smiles that mirror your own perfected ones. "What's going on is a very expensive way to ask someone out," he tells you before holding up your grandmother's ring in his right hand for you to see.

Then he slides the ring onto your left ring finger.

Your heart skips a beat.

"Have drinks with me tonight?"

Your eyes snap to Steve and the look he gives is one that dares you to say no. But ultimately it's your father watching this very elaborate spectacle that makes you agree.

"Yes."

"Good girl," he tells you, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before pulling you along with him.

The claps from the audience ring in your ears as you exit the ballroom.

...

Neither of you say a word as he almost drags you past the bank of elevators that you had used to access your room on the 25th floor and instead walk past a valet, who automatically greets Steve, guarding a private hallway that leads to a singular elevator.

Steve presses the elevator button and the doors automatically open.

Steve quickly ushers you through the doors and you're still too shellshocked by the turn of events that you don't think to question any of it.

That is until the elevator doors close and you open your mouth to say something.

Steve quickly gives you a stern look and the shake of his head and you obediently close your mouth. From the corner of your eyes you can see him study the corners of the elevator until it finally settles on the one that has the camera.

He crosses his arms as he leans against the wall, closing his eyes.

You realize you're in a high-speed elevator that leads straight into the penthouse suite and when the doors open, Steve strides past you leaving you to stand there.

The doors almost close when you finally come to your senses and quickly step out. The living room is well-appointed with two long, white curved couches facing each other with a circular glass table in the middle and pulled together with a large circular rug that is larger than your own living room. The living room is bordered by a formal dining area to the right and a kitchenette just beyond that and there is a wide hallway on the opposite side, paved in expensive marble leading to what you assume to be the primary bedroom.

The living room boasts a tall curved wall to match the furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows. You finally spot the door on the side that leads to the expansive outdoor area where you can see Steve already pacing.

At this point, there are two options.

You can leave.

Or...

You can stay and ask why Steve Harrington just spent three hundred thousand dollars to buy you your grandmother's ring.

Okay.

You take a couple of deep breaths and square your shoulders before marching outside. The outside is as impressive as the inside, offering a stunning view of downtown Indianapolis. The bright lights twinkle for as far as you can see and you're entirely too far up to hear any of the street noise.

You walk up to where Steve standing, an unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips. He’s finally stopped his pacing and is looking out at view instead.

"We need to talk," you say and you hate how shaky your voice sounds.

He looks over at you.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," you insist through gritted teeth. "Steve... why would you do something like this?"

Steve's eyes narrow. "Shouldn't you be thanking me or something?"

You jut your chin stubbornly but Steve's attention appears to be elsewhere as he lights his cigarette and takes a long drag.

Your grandmother's ring twinkles from where it's perched on your ring finger.

"Thank you," you finally say. "But you still need to tell me why."

"I don't owe you any explanations, princess," he scoffs, jaw clenching.

Not willing to give up but also not willing to risk ticking him off and not getting any information from him, you pick up the pack of cigarettes sitting innocently on top of the half-wall that lines the perimeter of the deck that Steve is leaning his arms on.

Taking one, you bring it to your lips and you're surprised when Steve automatically brings the lighter to the tip, cupping the flame with his hand.

After you successfully light the cigarette and inhale, Steve finally talks.

"I thought I imagined you smoking that night." He chuckles, shaking his head. "You're full of surprises, princess."

"If I'm full of surprises, what are you, Harrington?" You lean your back against the wall next to him and study him.

He tilts his head to the side to look at you before looking away. "A hypocrite, I know. You don't have to tell me."

You nod. "Glad we're on the same page about that."

Both of you fall into a tense sort of silence before Steve sighs.

"Horseback riding lessons at four. Played polo since I was five."

"Ballet lessons at three."

"Piano at three."

"Violin, seven."

"Archery, nine."

You laugh at that. "That's actually cool, though. Sailing, eight."

"Could say the same about sailing, princess. Golf, ten."

You blush a little at the slight compliment which Steve is quick to see and roll his eyes at.

"Same," you say softly. "Golf when I was ten."

You're both silent then. Twin little trophies living similar lives.

"Did you know who I was when you met me?" you finally ask.

He nods. "As soon as you told me your name, I knew."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He ignores the question as he moves away from the wall and flicks his cigarette over the edge. Then he takes yours from between your lips and gets rid of it the same way.

Before you can say anything, he grabs your hand and pulls you back inside and past the living room. As soon as the large king-size bed comes into view, panic sets in immediately and you automatically try to push Steve's grip from your wrist.

"No, Steve!" you cry out. "Please let me go!"

Part of you thinks that he won't.

So you're surprised when he does, but still manages to push you into the bedroom. You scramble to the far end of the room, trying to put as much distance between the two of you.

"Show me," he demands and the amount of tension you feel from him scares you.

"What are you talking about?"

Steve rolls his eyes before he stalks over to where you're standing. Instinctively, you flinch when he reaches a hand out and you see him falter for a second before he presses his fingers into your side.

You whimper at the contact.

The same exact place where your father had his hands on you.

Tears spring in your eyes as you look at him, terrified at what he's discovered.

"Steve..." you plead with him brokenly.

"Show me." he repeats, softer but still firm.

You take a deep shuddering breath and reach back to try to unzip the back of your gown. You manage to get it down to near your waist, but it catches half way.

"I-I..."

With a patience you didn't know him to possess, Steve places his hands on your shoulders makes you turn your back to him. With gentle fingers, he pulls the zipper the rest of the way.

"Show me," he whispers.

You bite your lip before you let your dress fall away to the floor, leaving you only in your underwear. You don't need to look to know what Steve is seeing. It's your shame in full display. You already know that a bruise has already formed, that it'll be an angry red before it starts to progress into a dark purple.

From behind you, you hear the sharp intake of Steve's breath before warm fingers gently touch the painful flesh.

It's the gentleness that breaks you first.

"Please don't tell anyone," you beg as your tears fall, no longer able to keep them in. "If he... if he finds out..."

Steve says nothing as you feel him move away from you. You hear him opening and closing a drawer and a shirt is tossed onto the bed beside you.

"Go put this on, bathroom is through those double doors," he tells you. "Then come outside. I'll order some room service."

...

Read Part Seven here

Taglist: @ophirei @hisparentsgallerryy @mrtonystark @heartheejake @kurtsw7rld96 @keksses @scaramou @cherry-vanilla21 @bearwithegg @powerpuffedbjtch @paradoxicalconundrum @deanscherrypie @beezusvreeland @apocalypse-v @stoneyggirl2 @callmeurfool @5secondsofdonewithyou @c4ssi4-luv @mystickittytaco @solynoche @batmanssssss @l33nlikeacholo @itmekelpy @mysteriousmysterygirl @sukiidaisuki @eclipseofforever @megjohnston23 @ludachrissy @belpsbelps @beelzebzb @eller41 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sespe08 @cciessuzi @djolover4ever @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @tvdumarvelhpsimp @mikefaistwife @ilovest3veh4rr1ngt0n @cosmicjamieee @izzycstairs

[messyvalentine]

Someone like me - Five

Summary: The angel and the devil meet again.

Tags/Warnings: dark!fic domestic violence, psychological abuse, emotional blackmail, all the good stuff

Chapter Notes: 2.5k word count. Not proofread.

A/N: This won't be heavy on politics, I don't like writing about politics. But it is a necessary plot point for the bigger conflict.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four Read Part One for story tags and warnings MASTERLIST

...

There is no better summer day than one spent in a New England coastal town. Even with the sun high up in the afternoon sky, the cool breeze that kisses the glittering waters of the Atlantic ocean makes sure that it's never unbearable to be outside to enjoy the day.

And you're trying to enjoy your day.

But sometimes, even in a place like this, it feels almost impossible.

"You've lost weight," your mother says as she hands you a glass of lemonade.

You're enjoying the beautiful weather from the comfort of your mother's front porch that boasts an amazing view of the water. You're sitting on one of two wicker armchairs and your mom slips into the other as you share a moment of peaceful silence.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," she finally says. "But I can always tell."

You exhale softly before fixing a small on your face and turning to her. "I'm fine, mom."

"No." She shakes her head. "No, you're not. And it's my fault."

"Mom, don't."

"No, it is," she says simply.

You don't look at your mom because you know all you'll find in her eyes is heartbreak and guilt and that's not what you came here for.

You train your eyes on the ocean, watch as the gentle waves lap against the stones that border the coastline. Somehow, it doesn't offer the peace it once did.

Because there was a time when the burden didn't feel so heavy. That short period of time when you thought your father forgot you and your mother existed and your mother's skin no longer bloomed the sickly colors of purple, blue and green whenever something in your father's world had made him feel out of control and your mom, she was convenient prey to make a man feel greater than what he should have been allowed to feel.

There was a time when you thought that you had been saved. That someone else had captured your father's attention and when he said that he was going to divorce your mom, that meant that he would no longer be in your life. This powerful creature, shadowless because he demanded to always live in the light.

You had only known peace when you were twelve. When you and your mom had packed your belongings and left. Half of you wanted to leave everything behind, scared that something as small as a pair of socks would have him hunting you down. But you and your mom took what you could.

And you didn't look back.

And you wondered how you were going to live a different life now that you weren't under his heavy thumb.

It was an adjustment for sure.

Because, you were quick to realize, even if you leave things behind, the ghosts will always be there to haunt you. Every time you make a mistake, your heart plummets in a way that feels irreparable. The tiniest blunder sends you into a panic and you've just learned to grit your teeth through a smile even though you're a crumbling mess inside.

Don't ever let anyone see how much they're hurting you.

You carried that with you. As well as the pretense of perfection, because you were still so scared that if you stepped out of line, he'd somehow find you.

And things were good for a little while. And you made friends, and your mom finally relaxed enough to where she could fall in love again.

And she remarried and you thought... you really thought, that maybe you were free.

Then your senior year started.

College applications.

You're still not sure how he knew but one day, one simple Tuesday out of an unremarkable week, your father called.

Asked what schools you were applying to.

You almost didn't answer, but the fear of what would happen if you did not say anything overrode everything else.

You were honest when you told him that you wanted to go to school in New York. NYU, you told him.

Columbia, he told you. Not a suggestion.

Ivy league. Nothing else would be good enough.

But you took it for something that it wasn't. Somehow, you thought that this would mean he was willing to compromise with you.

But you were naive.

So when you pushed for NYU, instead of arguing with you, he simply asked you a question. Five words.

"How is your mother doing?"

Columbia, you agreed.

Because that is what it was like growing up. Any disappointments, any time you failed to measure up, you never bore the responsibility.

Your mother did.

She was the price you paid.

Never once did she blame anyone but herself. And maybe that hurt you more than anything.

"The two of you are looking entirely too sad considering you have such a lovely view of the ocean."

You're startled from your thoughts by the arrival of your stepfather.

You smile, something genuine for once.

This man who you will always be indebted to, for putting your mother back together in ways you couldn't, is the only father figure you care to have in your life.

He ambles up the front steps, Eddie not too far behind. Both are holding fishing rods and an empty bucket.

"You too look like you guys were the ones that weren't able to catch anything," Eddie jokes as he grabs the fishing rod from Wayne as well as the empty bucket. "I'll take these to the shed."

"Yeah, we should probably head to town to grab some dinner.” Wayne looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck.

You chuckle. “Yeah, a fish dinner would be difficult without fish.”

Your mom tilts her head back as she laughs. A beautiful sound that fills your heart. Something pure and true. She gasps before laughing again, shoulder shaking with uncontrolled mirth. Something free.

And this is why you’ve come here.

Basking in the warmth of your mother’s happiness makes everything else worth it.

A simple reminder to make the sacrifices easier.

You drink your mother's lemonade then. Freshly squeezed, all love and effort.

It's the best thing you've tasted in a long time.

...

You examine yourself for what feels like the hundredth time. You received the ball gown via special courier a week ago along with the invitation. Some type of charity gala. Indianapolis, Indiana. Ten thousand dollars a table. You only know because you looked it up online.

You remembering staring at the invitation. The feelings of anxiety and fear, curdling in your stomach before you ran to the bathroom to empty its contents.

It didn't help.

Instead, you calmly called your father's secretary for the details of the event, asked what was needed of you and cleared your schedule to make room for travel and an overnight stay in Indianapolis.

A part of you wondered why you'd been summoned. But there were too many answers you didn't like the sound of. Sometimes, surviving can mean that you don't think of all the possibilities.

Five minutes after talking to his secretary, you received an email. Homework. A list of all the important people attending, positions, recent accomplishments. Entirely too long, you decided to forego it. But only because you knew as a woman, the only real thing expected by you of your father was too look perfect, despite his constant reminders that you were not.

But now here, dressed in a beautiful ivory gown and opera gloves, a delicate string of pearls decorating your neck to match the pearls on your ears, your hair twisted into an elaborate updo, you were the picture of perfection.

Just as you should be.

Just as is expected.

Trapped in some swanky five-star hotel in the heart of Indianapolis, in the grandest ballroom with the largest, most elaborate chandelier you've ever seen in your life. There's an orchestra playing in the corner, filling the room with dulcet tones of classical music. Waiters dressed in their formal black and white uniforms are carrying trays filled with flutes of champagne and little hors d'oeuvres.

As cages go, this has to be the most beautiful.

You smile your pretty smile as you are paraded in front of other people. Angelic and pure, sweet and poised. You shake hands with important people you have no knowledge of and speak only when spoken to.

Your words are precise and polite. You tilt your head to the side, just so, and smile charmingly from beneath thick lashes at men who you would have never wanted within a ten feet of you on a normal day.

And they eat you up.

This fake princess that you play.

You think, for a moment, that you father is pleased with your performance.

His little Ivy League graduate.

Top of her class.

Yes, she is quite beautiful, isn't she? Inherited all my best qualities!

Talking about you as if you weren't there.

Just a little doll who everything thinks is full of sunshine when the truth is you've never felt more empty.

Having been at this for almost an hour, you feel the mask slowly slipping away and you need a break from the forced pleasantries and political talk.

You surreptitiously let your father know that you are going to use the restroom. But his fingers dig into your hip. Painfully.

His face is one of utter, deceptive calm as he leans down to you.

The harshness of the words coming out of his mouth do not match the soft smile on his handsome face.

"Get it together and fix your damn face. I'm about to introduce you to someone."

He nods over to a group of people that have just arrived fashionably late.

You inhale deeply while smiling up at him widely and he gives you a short approving nod before pulling you with him.

The grip loosens.

Just a little.

You stop before a middle-aged elegantly dressed couple. They drip of old money, something you've been taught to sniff out a long time ago. You would think the older woman pretty, likely a great beauty in her day, but years of perfecting the same unimpressed look that she has as she takes in her surroundings has eradicated whatever charm she once held.

The man is undoubtedly handsome. Much like your father, you know he boasts an expensive education and pedigree as only this combination can result in this amount of confidence.

There is something familiar about the man and as you smile at him, the urge to vomit erupts from your stomach when the man is quick to note the modest amount of cleavage afforded by your strapless gown. You must have moved away instinctively because your father's dig into your side once again as he speaks with the wife.

You nearly wince, but you catch yourself immediately.

"Congressman Harrington, I'd like for you to meet my daughter."

Harrington.

You carefully school your features into something pleasant, despite your anxiety mounting quickly and furiously.

You really should have done your homework.

But, you reason with yourself as you politely shake the couple's hands, there could be a million Harringtons in the world.

Although you really only know of one.

And someone would have told you, right? Robin or Nancy... They would have told you. But then you have never explained to them your own circumstances, never told them about your own family. So why would they share any information regarding Steve Harrington.

You tune out most of the conversation as you study their faces and all you can see is how these two people could very well make a Steve Harrington. The thought makes you swallow hard and the need to run away becomes almost unbearable.

"Is your son here?" you hear your father inquire and you turn to look at him, hoping that your eyes don't betray your panic.

I have someone I'd like for you to meet.

Your father's words echo through your mind that your slowly losing by the minute.

There's no way.

But then suddenly, as if summoned, he draws forward and stands right in front of you.

You hardly recognize him.

Gone is the shaggy hair you've come to associate with him, and in its place something trimmed and set into place by expensive product. Scruff is gone, too, just a clean-shaven face. Instead of his casual clothes, he's in an all-black ensemble. Something that screams luxury, custom-couture that fits him perfectly. The polish on his undoubtedly Italian leather shoes so shiny they sparkle in the twinkle of the chandelier.

But it's the smile that he gives you that stuns you entirely.

The Steve Harrington that you know has only smiled at you once. The very first time he met you. Before he learned your name.

And this leads you to stare at the hand that he offers out you.

It's your father's firm pinch to your side that makes you lift your own hand.

There's a flicker in Steve's eyes as he takes your hand in his that makes you worry that he's somehow seen your father's discipline of you. But all of your worries are erased as he lifts your hand gently to press his lips against your knuckles.

"It's lovely to meet you," you manage to hear him say as he continues to hold your hand, refusing to let it go.

"The pleasure is all mine," you recite automatically.

And he smiles at you again. Charming and disarming all at once that you need to remind yourself that you know the real Steve Harrington.

And you hate each other.

You feel your father's hold on you fall away from your hip and you realize they've changed hands without you knowing. Your story continues to be written by others outside of yourself and your heart shatters at the knowledge that you can be traded like common goods so effortlessly.

"Would you honor me with a dance?"

Although your jaw would like to come crashing down to the floor, you simply smile.

You can recognize it now. The performance that mirrors your own. Careful, practiced.

He smiles back at you, all perfect white teeth.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

You nod and Steve leads you with the same hand that he hasn't let go of toward the dancefloor empty of dancers.

Walking wordlessly together, you stop in the middle of the dancefloor. You can still see your father in the corner of your eye, watching you carefully, studying your every move. Despite your heart steadily pounding against your chest, you allow Steve to place his hand on your waist, and you try not to think of that time in your apartment when he had you against the wall.

Steve nods in the direction of the orchestra and you recognize the music change into something else.

A waltz.

All eyes are on you now.

"Tell me you know how to dance, princess," Steve says and finally the familiar sarcasm makes an appearance.

"Don't worry about me, worry about yourself." You manage to snap through a glittering smile.

He chuckles, something that sounds foreign and odd to your ears, before he leads you around the dancefloor in precise, elegant steps. And you follow seamlessly, matching him impeccably.

Another performance.

This time for a bigger audience.

But this time, you have someone to share the stage with.

...

Read Part Five here

Taglist: @ophirei @hisparentsgallerryy @mrtonystark @heartheejake @kurtsw7rld96 @keksses @scaramou @cherry-vanilla21 @bearwithegg @powerpuffedbjtch @paradoxicalconundrum @deanscherrypie @beezusvreeland @apocalypse-v @stoneyggirl2 @callmeurfool @5secondsofdonewithyou @c4ssi4-luv @mystickittytaco @solynoche @batmanssssss @l33nlikeacholo @itmekelpy @mysteriousmysterygirl @sukiidaisuki @eclipseofforever @megjohnston23 @ludachrissy @belpsbelps @beelzebzb @eller41 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sespe08 @cciessuzi @djolover4ever @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @tvdumarvelhpsimp @mikefaistwife @ilovest3veh4rr1ngt0n

[messyvalentine]

Fuuuuuuuh.

Someone needs to remind me to stop writing on the mobile app. I thought I had so much done for the next chapter of Someone like me and now it is gone like 😫😫😫

[messyvalentine]

Maybe I could love you, too. - Seven

Summary: Some disappoints. A lot of scheming. General shenanigans. Also prom.

Chapter Notes/Tags: 8.6k word count. Some h/c, usual banter, and “new” character unlocked. Next chapter will be in Steve's POV.

Smut Warning: Masturbation, fingering, mentions handjob, oral f!receiving. I'm also not the best at writing smut so sorry for having to witness these little writing exercises of mine. Also, I don't care. I will continue to push the Steve Harrington is a munch narrative because tell me it isn't true.

A/N: I had originally planned for this to be the second to the last chapter, but there was too much content to keep in just one chapter. So the story is looking at two more chapters + epi. Also, I'm really contemplating an Eddie x other!reader fic from the same universe where Steve plays wingman. But do I really need another thing to write? Maybe.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Please read Part One for all story tags and notes MASTERLIST

...

You’re not sure what you expected when you first confessed your feelings to Steve. For some reason, part of you thought that your life would change in an exponential way, that there would be a day where you won’t recognize yourself anymore, because you’ve compromised yourself—a sacrifice made at the altar of teen relationships, and you have to pay the price somehow.

Except the opposite feels true.

Nothing changes.

Except for maybe the fact that you’re happier.

You have a hot boyfriend.

And… He really likes touching you. Oh, and kissing you.

Mostly it’s the touching part that throws you off. But only because you’re not used to being with someone who chronically requires that they have their hands or arms on or around you whenever you are able to occupy the same room. Although, this is your first relationship, you’re not sure if you’ve encountered anyone who needs to hold or touch you as much as they need to breathe. You’re not complaining, though. That part of the relationship is satisfying in its own way.

You and Steve have spent an impressive amount of time together in the three weeks that you’ve been officially dating. You didn’t think it was possible to spend so much time together considering that Steve has a full-time job and you are a full-time student. But he’s there almost every morning (often pretending that he didn’t just stumble out of your bedroom window five minutes ago), jokes with your mom, makes coffee for both you and your mom, grabs the morning paper from the porch. Just seamlessly fitting into your day.

If he has a morning shift, then he’s taking you to school. If he’s closing for the day, that means you’re spending your lunch period in his car. Doing stuff.

Thursday movie nights have expanded to include him, Max, sometimes Robin—band practice permitting—, sometimes Dustin, and Eddie. Although Eddie’s membership may soon be revoked if he does not stop bringing sappy romance films to watch. There are only so many times you can watch The Way We Were and listen to him sniffling on the armchair, using all the tissues in your house to blow his nose into.

You learn that it’s not difficult to love Steve.

He is sunshine and quiet moments, smiles and holding your hand. He makes you a mixtape of the songs he knows you like. He takes you to the bookstore to pick out books and never asks if you can leave already.

He tells you you’re beautiful when you don’t feel like it. Tells you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

And you wonder why it took so long for someone to love this man.

That’s why it breaks your heart when he finally meets your aunt and your uncle.

It isn’t under the best circumstances. You and your uncle Eric have commandeered the kitchen to make lunch for the two most important women in your lives. The Rolling Stones is playing on the radio while you prep the sides and even though Uncle Eric’s stuffed chicken breasts are already falling apart before he can put them in the oven, you think you have everything under control.

Until there’s a knock on your door.

You turn to your mom and aunt who are sitting at the dining table and your mom returns your confused look.

Abandoning the mashed potatoes, you wipe your hands on your apron to answer the door.

It’s Steve.

“Hey,” you say as he steps into the house. “What are you doing here?”

You take in the slump in his shoulders and his eyes that are usually so full of life and joy are devoid of any emotion. And that’s when you see that he’s clutching the same bouquet of roses that you helped him pick out yesterday.

They were supposed to be for his mom. He was excited when he told you a week ago that they were scheduled to arrive this morning to celebrate the holiday together.

Mother’s Day.

And now he’s here.

Your heart plummets at the realization.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” you say as you pull him into a tight hug. Tears prick your eyes and you hug him tighter, trying to absorb his pain, to take it from him or at least share the burden.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly, brokenly. “I had nowhere else to go.”

You hold each other tight until your mom finally comes over, quickly deducing what happened. And because your mom is the best, when you and Steve pull apart, she takes the bouquet from him and smiles.

“I love them, Steve,” she tells him honestly, “Thank you so much.”

Steve hugs your mom tight and you can tell that he’s trying his best to keep it together.

Your mom can see it, too.

“Maggie and I will finish the rest of the dishes, you already have almost everything done anyway. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

You nod and mouth a quick thank you to her before pulling Steve towards your room. When the door is finally closed and both of you are sitting on your bed, he finally lets himself cry. The sound of grief coming from Steve is so foreign and so unlike him. So you cry with him, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing how to ease this irreversible pain. Because how do you put together something that you didn’t break in the first place?

You lay next to each other, tears already wiped away, holding hands, when he finally speaks.

“I’m never going to be like my parents.”

“You couldn’t be even if you tried.”

He lets out a watery laugh and you turn to each other at the same time. You see his eyes shiny with new unshed tears. Not sad, but still emotional.

“You sure about that?”

“I bet my life on it,” you tell him decisively.

He smiles and reaches his hand over to caress the side of your face.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I love you.”

By the time your mom calls for you to eat and you get to the dining table, an extra chair had been pulled out of the garage and your aunt and uncle, likely having been appraised of the situation before you join them, go out of there way to be accommodating. They introduce themselves, saving everyone the awkwardness.

Then your aunt decides to lambast your character by saying she never thought you’d bring a boy home. Ever. And that firmly breaks the ice despite it being at your expense.

But because it makes Steve blush, you don’t even care.

“I apologize for just coming over and not calling beforehand,” Steve tells your family as he pulls his chair out, having just helped you onto yours.

You can tell that he’s a little intimidated by your fashionista aunt and her husband who is a looks like he would be a big grump—he’s a teddy bear—and also has fifty more pounds of pure muscle over your boyfriend.

It’s your aunt that takes his arm and pulls him onto his seat. “Steve, you can apologize by helping us eat this feast because your uncle Eric made a lot of food, trying to get this recipe right.”

“Yeah, because your aunt Maggie is a perfectionist. I’m a mechanic, not a chef,” Uncle Eric retorts making you and Steve laugh.

Uncle Eric and Aunt Maggie.

Steve is a little bashful at the way he’s easily embraced by your family. He tries to address your aunt and uncle more formally a few more times but they both wave him off, insisting on being referred to as Uncle Eric and Aunt Maggie.

Then you think Steve might cry again because after the first time they do this, your mom points a finger to herself and simply says, “and Mom.”

Steve looks at you, stunned, and you laugh and shrug.

“I can share, I guess,” you assure him.

After you’ve finished dessert, your uncle pulls Steve outside so that they can talk about the beamer, but mostly so your uncle can show off his ’67 Ford Shelby GT.

“So he’s the guy?” Aunt Maggie asks as the three of you sit in the living room having coffee. “The ring guy? Good job! He’s really cute.”

“There’s a ring?” your mother turns to you. “He gave you a ring?”

You frown. “No, he did not. We literally just started dating three weeks ago, mother.”

“Your feminist daughter bought a ring for him.”

You stare into your coffee cup as heat starts to bloom on your neck and cheeks. “It’s not like that. I just bought it on a whim. Not really for anyone. You can check my jewelry box if you’d like, it’s still there,” you tell them defensively.

Your aunt tuts and rolls her eyes. “What’s so wrong about gifting men with jewelry? I give your uncle jewelry all the time. He doesn’t wear it, but I still do it. Only so I can complain about how much jewelry I’ve given him and how little he’s given me.”

“Don’t teach her anything!” Uncle Mike whines as he and Steve step through the front door. “She’s still innocent. Keep your womanly wiles to yourself, Maggie.”

Steve laughs as he tosses a set of keys back to your uncle who catches it deftly in the air before patting Steve on the back. You choke on a giggle when Steve winces at the impact of your uncle’s meaty hand.

You smile, happy that your family loves him so much.

Then you frown, realizing something. “Wait, did you let him drive the Shelby? That’s not fair!”

“The kid knows how to take good care of a car.” Your uncle shrugs. “If I can trust him with you, then I can trust him with my baby.”

…

You have another difficult conversation with Steve a few days later that isn’t an argument. You haven’t argued yet, surprisingly, still enjoying that honeymoon period of the relationship where you both constantly give in to each other ad nauseum.

It’s when he finally asks, after weeks of avoiding the matter, what happened that night at the Harpers’ house.

You’re sitting on the couch in his basement. You’ve just finished watching Back to the Future because for some reason Steve doesn’t remember seeing the movie, which is a weird way to phrase it considering it just came out the year before. You don’t question it and frankly you have a huge crush on Michael J. Fox so who are you to stand between your boyfriend and a good movie?

He doesn’t say anything at first. And that feels worse somehow.

Because you know that he really doesn’t want it to be true. You don’t either but, it did happen and it’s not something that you’ll be able to change.

You can see his jaw working as he processes this information, see how his hands are balled tightly and you are both amazed and thankful that there is some restraint left in him preventing him from hunting down the douchebag.

Then he asks you to repeat it again, just to make sure that he understood everything.

So you do, although you don’t see how this will help.

You’ve gotten to a point where you’ve stopped thinking about it. But there are days that you are unfortunate enough to spot Andy Harper in the hallway and those days you can’t help but replay through those five minutes that you were waiting for Steve to come. Those days, you realize you still haven’t really forgiven yourself for being so stupid. And you’re not sure if you ever will.

He nods when you’re done, but you still feel that tension that’s stuck to his skin and it feels too different, almost wrong. You feel the space between you, pronounced by more than just physical distance, growing with the silence that envelops you both. Desperate to fix it, you carefully crawl onto his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Hey.”

The eyes that were trained on his lap finally meet yours.

“Hey,” he finally says.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking of all the things that could have happened if I hadn’t gotten to you in time. And I…” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I don’t like any of the images I see in my head.”

You lean against him, fitting perfectly into the curve of his neck and shoulder. “I think about that enough for the both of us,” you admit. “But you did make it and you were there.”

“I know but…”

“No buts.”

“Okay.”

You smile when you feel him relax enough to put his arms around you, too.

“I owe you another conversation, I think.” You pull away and look him square in the eyes. “About the week that I avoided you.”

“That was definitely more than a week, sweetheart,” he says pointedly, but he softens it with a small smile.

“Tomato potato,” you brush him off.

“I don’t think that’s how it goes—”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You really wanna talk about that or…?”

“Please continue,” he says graciously.

You take a deep breath. “You already know how I feel about you. I already told you, but I… I just wanted to make sure that you understand that that happened not because of anything that you did. And honestly…” You trace the freckles and moles that dot his skin. “It made me feel bad that you ever thought that that was because of you. Actually, that’s not entirely true.”

Steve looks terribly confused and you can’t blame him. You’re still new to the whole being vocal about feelings part of being in a relationship. And, honestly, you still kind of suck at it.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. I avoided you because I was starting to feel things that I… wasn’t used to feeling. And I wasn’t prepared to deal with it yet.”

You feel Steve’s hands grip your hips a little tighter. “So… it was about me.”

“Oh absolutely.”

You roll your eyes at the smug look on his face.

“Because you like me so much.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you still luuurve me.”

You shut him up with a kiss because that part of being in a relationship comes easy to you. And Steve more than obliges.

…

Prom is three days away and seems to be the only thing students are talking about in the hallways of Hawkins High. Immune to it all, you pat Robin’s shoulder during lunch as she sits sadly, hunched over her tray of mystery meat. You grimace, hoping the tips of her hair don’t somehow make their way into the gray gravy.

“Okay, I heard in the girls bathroom by the gym that Vickie broke up with her boyfriend and so she’s not going to prom,” Robin whines. “But! What if I’m misreading this entire thing? And even then, even if Steve is right and she is… of a similar persuasion as me, how would I even ask her that? Like how do I confirm it? And even if I do confirm it, why would she even go out with me? Her ex is like some super jock on some super jock scholarship at Purdue. And I am the opposite of all that.”

“Maybe they broke up because she wants the opposite of all that?” you point out as you unpack your lunch from its brown bag. “If all else fails, I could go with you. I guess I can find a dress somewhere. I don’t know.”

“No offense, but you’re like my sister and… I’m not into that kind of thing.”

You almost choke on your turkey and swiss. “I was just offering, Robin. Geez.”

“Well, why don’t you have Steve take you?”

“Because I don’t want to go?”

“But you just offered to go with me.”

“Because you want to go.”

Robin sighs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I may have heard that before, yes.” You shrug. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he has work that night and I don’t even have a dress so…”

Robin shoots you a knowing look. “So you do want to go.”

“I…” you sigh, putting your sandwich down. “I’ll admit that I didn’t want to go because I really couldn’t see myself having fun at this thing.”

“But now that you have a hot boyfriend?” She waggles her eyebrows at you and you nudge her shoulder. “Prom’s not looking too bad now, huh?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, a small smile playing along your lips. You can’t deny that Robin might be a little right.

The prospect of prom does sound more appealing now that you have someone like Steve to experience it with. But you would also be happy to just spend time with him without the whole stress that comes with getting ready for prom.

You push the idea far from your mind and don’t really think about it again until later when you’re in your last class of the day. Your Econ teacher dismisses the class and you drag your heels getting your things together, eyeing Vickie, who sits in the front row, shoving her notebook into her bag.

Before you can change your mind, you zip your backpack up and walk over to the redhead. “Hey,” you tell her, “Vickie, right?”

“Uh yeah!” She looks at you a little confused why you’ve struck up a conversation with her. “Hi!”

She smiles as you wait for you to say something and you scramble to think of a plan. “Oh, I uh… I was in the girls’ bathroom by the gym earlier and I overheard that you had just broken up with your boyfriend. And I… just wanted to say that I’m sorry it didn’t work out between the two of you.”

The more words that leave your mouth, the more awkward you realize you sound because not only have you never spoken more than three words to Vickie, but you are also essentially sharing gossip with her about herself. Which is very much out of character and something that you do not do.

She continues to smile at you, however, and she lightly shrugs. “Thanks? Just the long-distance thing is hard.”

“Doesn’t he go to Purdue? That’s not so bad, right? That’s like two or three hours away.”

She gives you a curious look. “I mean, yeah, one way. But an entire trip would be double that time. That’s just wasted time traveling when there are other things that you might want to be doing.”

You fall silent as you think about you and Steve.

Your plans haven’t really changed. You’re still attending NYU in the fall and Steve… you’re not really sure what his plans are. It’s not something you’ve talked about yet and, to be honest, maybe you were avoiding thinking about it altogether.

But NYU is more than just two or three hours away. It’s more than a full day’s drive even. And then having to drive back on your own? That doesn’t seem like much fun.

Vickie clears her throat to get your attention before she gives you a little wave. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she says politely.

“Wait!” you try to stop her and you almost sigh in relief when she does. “Um, my friend and I don’t have dates to prom and we were thinking of going together. If you want, you can join us?”

“Aren’t you dating Steve Harrington?” You can hear the confusion in her voice.

“Valid point! Um, he’s actually working that night so he won’t be able to make it. It’ll just be me and Robin.”

You make a note of how Vickie’s cheeks pinken at the mention of Robin’s name and you start to think that you may just be able to get away with this.

“Why not, right?” you give her an encouraging smile. “I mean, you probably have your tickets and your dress… wouldn’t want those to go to waste?”

“Um, yeah.” She nods, an excited smile gracing her face. “Yeah, that sounds like fun actually.”

“Okay, cool!” You pull a pen out of the pocket of your backpack. “Um, let me give you Robin’s number. She’ll have all the details.”

…

You and Steve exchange worried looks before you both stare down at Robin who is breathing in and out of a brown paper bag as she sits on the sofa in her living room. Not entirely sure how to tell Robin that you had basically set her up with her crush, you waited until the last minute, right when you and Steve were dropping her off at her house.

Then she promptly started to hyperventilate at the news.

“I don’t know… I mean,” you say uncertainly, “I did good, right? At least I thought I did good.”

Steve rubs your shoulder comfortingly. “You did great, sweetheart.”

Robin glares at both of you and you shrug helplessly.

“Someday, she’ll both forgive you and thank you,” he assures you.

You highly doubt that since Robin has yet to stop scowling at you, but Steve’s her best friend so you choose to believe him.

Robin pulls the paper bag to say something but is promptly interrupted by the phone ringing.

“Oh!” You snap your fingers. “I may have also given her your phone number and… I may have also told her to give you call to talk about prom details.”

Robin slaps the bag back onto her face and it takes both you and Steve to pry it from her fingers.

“It could not be her,” Steve points out, having successfully taken the bag away. “But you’re never gonna know if you don’t answer it.”

She gives you a long-suffering look before walking over to the phone attached to their kitchen wall to answer it.

“Hi, Buckley residence! Thi-this is Robin speaking.” You watch as Robin’s eyes glance over at you and Steve briefly before furiously blushing and turning her back on you. “Hi Vickie! Yeah, she did tell me about that…”

Steve chuckles and pulls you all the way to the car, neither of you bothering to say goodbye. You spend the car ride back to your house play fighting over the radio and once you’re safely ensconced inside your bedroom, Steve fights for his life trying to undo your bra.

You can’t help but laugh from where you sit on his lap. “Do you need help?”

“Sonofabitch,” he mutters as you feel his fingers continue to struggle with the tiny clasps. Finally growing tired of trying he falls back onto your pillows. “I swear I know how those things work.”

You snort. “Uh huh, sure.”

Reaching around to your back, you undo the clasps finally allowing the cups of your bra to fall forward.

“Finally. Boobies.” Steve says reverently as he tears your bra off completely and tosses it towards your desk before cupping his hands around breasts, feeling the weight of them.

“You need to stop saying boobies, Steve.” You pull the bottom of his polo shirt halfway up his chest. “Eye for an eye, Harrington. Let’s see those titties.”

“That’s…” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in the same direction as your bra. “That’s not any better.”

You hum as you lean down and start kissing his neck, your nipples hardening as they brush against the wiry hair on his chest. You move further down his chest and take pleasure in Steve’s little gasps as you circle his nipple with your tongue.

Your relationship with Steve has been very physical. You were honest with him from the beginning, letting him know that you haven’t had sex with anyone before or much of anything before, really. Steve’s been sweet and careful with you, always letting you decide how far you want to take things which has resulted in him patiently teaching you how to jerk him off then rewarding you with testing how many fingers he needs to push inside you to make you cum.

Two, you both found out. Plus, a very diligent thumb on your clit.

Given that he’s been enjoying your exploration of his body, you’re a little surprised when, just as you’re about to unbutton his jeans, he quickly places his hands on you and hauls you up and onto the mattress. You swap places with him and now you’re spread across the bed as he lies between your legs.

Steve looks down at you with an impossibly tender expression on his face and it never fails to make you feel delicate and fragile. With eyes as soft as the smile he gives you, he leans down and presses a dainty little kiss at the tip of your nose.

He clears his throat. “So…”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking—if you’re okay with it, of course—I was thinking that maybe…” He trails a gentle finger from your lips, down your neck and along the valley of your breasts making you gasp, before stopping at the waistband of your short skirt. “I could go down on you?”

“Down on me?” You’re stunned by the proposal, but only because you always thought guys hated doing it.

“Yeah…” He isn’t even looking at you; his full attention is on his hand that has just dipped down the front of your skirt and is slowly inching up your inner thigh. “I wanna eat you out.”

“You want to?” you verify again, unsure. But your eyes flutter shut as he presses an insistent thumb against your clit through your damp underwear, making both your breath and pulse quicken. “Um, okay?”

He gives you a lingering kiss before he moves to his knees. “Promise that if you feel uncomfortable or just want me to stop, you’ll tell me?”

You nod and smile but your hands grip your sheets, a little nervous at trying something you’ve never done before.

There’s a slight furrow of concentration on Steve’s brow and you get distracted by the way he bites on his lower lip as he works the button of your black denim miniskirt and slides it off together with your underwear.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly when he sees how wet you are and the intensity of his gaze on you makes you squeeze your thighs together to relieve the need for pressure and touch.

Sliding to the foot of the bed, he places his hands on your knees and gently urges them apart. Suddenly shy, you turn your head to side as your thighs fall apart and it’s only a moment later when you feel his warm breath on the inside of your thigh.

Arousal sings through your veins, and your breathing comes out hot and shallow through your open mouth as your hips move upwards in anticipation. You can hear Steve chuckle and his large hand rests on your abdomen to still you.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Let me give you what you need.”

You try not to squirm as you feel the tiny kisses and nibbles on your heated flesh, close enough but almost nowhere near where you yearn to be touched. Then finally, a wet flick of the tongue against your clit makes your hips buck again and this time Steve laughs as he holds you down firmly.

“So fucking reactive,” you think he says but you can’t be too sure with the blood rushing through your ears.

Before you can completely relax, you feel thick fingers slowly spread your pussy apart and Steve’s tongue is on your clit again, only this time there is no experimental touch just the steady flicking of your clit back and forth. You writhe in bed, trying your best not to grind into his face. Hands finding purchase of his hair, your fingers tangle in his curls and tug.

His lips close around your clit and when he sucks that sends a shiver through you and your fingers clamp onto his skull. You can feel the vibration of his laughter against your skin and you thrust your hips against him. You think you might maybe need a minute to calm yourself down or just try to breath, but that’s when his mouth drops down to your leaking slit and he swipes at it with his tongue, firm and relentless. The rocking motion coming from the bed, you realize, isn’t you but Steve rutting his hips against the mattress.

“Fuck!” you hiss at a particularly arduous swipe and your feet lift from the bed onto Steve’s shoulders.

The careful attention to your pussy goes on for what feels like forever and your clit is throbbing in time with your hammering heart. He’s earnest as he fucks his tongue into your pussy seeking that delicious spot that remains just out of reach. When he finally takes pity on you and pushes his fingers into you, they barely make it inside you, barely hit that spot that makes you see stars, when you start cumming. Eyes screwed shut, his name on your lips, your hips shoot up and Steve locks you in place with his hands and your legs slide down his back as he hungrily laps at your opening, trying his best to lick you clean.

When he finally releases you and you collapse onto the bed, boneless, Steve’s hands quickly go to the button of his jeans. You sit up to help but Steve quickly reaches out and pushes you back on to the mattress.

“Please just…” he says between pants, “I just need you to just stay like that.”

Obediently, you lie back down and you spread your legs for him again. All too eager, he pulls his zipper down and pushes his jeans down together with his boxers just enough to get his dick out. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. You don’t have a lot of experience with sex, in fact none at all, but you know Steve is larger than average in both length and girth. And you salivate at the sight of his hard cock as it curves towards his abdomen.

And the fact that you’re the reason why he is this solid and needy, makes you so heady with arousal still.

His large hand can barely fit around his cock and he walks to the right side of your bed, his eyes never leaving your body. You watch as he starts to jack off, first with his right hand, then switching over to his left so that he can place his right on your breast and start massaging it.

You gasp when his fingers pinch your nipple and without thinking, you cup your hand around his balls, and massage them in the same way he had taught you to. The unexpected action has Steve fucking his fist more urgently until his eyes roll to the back of his head. A gluttural moan is ripped from his lips and his hips jerk as thick white ropes shoot from the tip of his cock and onto your chest and tummy.

“Fuck, that was hot, sweetheart,” he gasps. Once his panting has subsided, he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple. “Hang on, lemme get you cleaned up.”

…

To say that your mom is thrilled that you are going to prom is nothing short of an understatement. In fact, she might be arguably more excited than you about this because when you tell her that you’re going to need a dress so you and Robin can go to prom with a friend, she squeals, claps her hands and disappears into her room.

Only to reappear with the dress.

“Aunt Maggie altered it for you to fit better.”

You laugh as you take the dress from her. “Of course she did. Thank you, mom.”

“Of course, honey.” She gives you a quick squeeze before pouting. “Steve really can’t take you?”

“No, he can’t. He doesn’t have anyone to swap with since they’re short-handed, and Keith says that if Steve doesn’t show, he’s gonna lose his job.”

You frown, debating how many ways you can mess with Keith. Steve would be picking you up at prom, however, to take you over to his house to spend the night. But you’re not telling your mom that part of your plans.

“Well, that’s not fair.” Your mother pouts again, arguably more disappointed than you about not getting to go to prom with Steve.

“It’s not a big deal, mom.”

She scoffs at this, as if personally offended, and you just roll your eyes.

Even then you don’t really realize how important prom is for your mom and aunt Maggie until Saturday, the morning of prom, and you find out that they’ve set up appointments for you and Robin to get your hair and makeup done. And your nails. Despite both of them knowing how little you enjoy being helpless at the hands of strangers. Max tags along for moral support and after some convincing from the two older women, she decides to get a trim as well. It’s fun, even if your social battery is slowly wearing out.

Back at home, even though you had already spent most of the day being poked and prodded and covered in a cloud of hair spray, your mom and your aunt continue to dote on you and Robin. Your mom has already managed to go through an entire roll of film to document the process and has a fresh roll already in.

With Robin getting ready in the guest room, and your mom, aunt and Max having migrated to the living room, you finally have some time to yourself. You debate taking the time to call Steve at work but you decide against it, thinking that it would just make the two of you sad.

There’s a knock on the door as you put on the diamond earrings that your mom lent you for the occasion. Must be Vickie since you all agreed for her to pick you and Robin up in her car so that you can leave with Steve once his shift is done.  There’s some talking happening in the living and you hope that Robin is already done to save poor Vickie from your mom and aunt.

You give yourself a once-over in the mirror happy with the alterations to the dress. The high neckline makes the dress look modest from the front and you just hope Principal Higgins doesn’t see how the back of the dress is near nonexistent. You shove some items into the small black bag that your aunt had given you before pushing your stockinged feet into your black shoes.

Once last look in the mirror to make sure your lipstick is perfect, you leave your room to walk out into the living room. Only to find just your mom, your aunt and Max, all wearing big grins.

You tilt your head to the side. “I thought Vickie was already here?”

“Oh, they just left,” your aunt explains.

“Without me?” You’re confused, to put it lightly. Vickie was supposed to give you her second ticket since Robin already had one. “I mean, I guess I can drive there myself. Or maybe one of you can drive?”

“Or I can drive you.”

You’re surprised when Steve steps out of the kitchen and into the living room, looking impossibly handsome in a classic black tux and carrying small plastic container of what you assume to be a corsage.

“What are you doing here?” you ask once you're able to pick your jaw off the floor and Steve has walked up to you.

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Heard you needed a date tonight.”

“But how?”

“Well, someone conspired to get Family Video a new employee,” Steve explains to you. “The new employee also gave me these.”

He pulls out a pair of prom tickets.

You stare at them dumbfounded before you finally realize what he meant.

“Eddie?”

Steve nods, grinning. “Eddie,” he confirms.

You turn to your mom. “You had something to do with this.”

“Do you have any witnesses to corroborate your claim?” With a sparkle in her eye, your mom stands and gives you a tight hug. “What can I say? I just really wanted to get a good picture. So go stand over there so I can take as many as I want.”

“Before we do that…”

Steve opens the plastic container in his hand revealing a corsage made with dark red roses and black lace. You can’t help the pleased smile that settles on your lips and Steve gently pushes the elastic band around your wrist. You see the telltale flash coming from your mother’s camera.

“Wait, I don’t have one for you.”

You’re not at all surprised when your aunt somehow brandishes the exact match of your corsage as a boutonniere. Another flash goes off as you place it on the lapel of tuxedo jacket.

Steve smiles at you fondly as you make sure you’ve secured it properly.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, it runs in the family,” your aunt cheekily answers for you and you roll your eyes. “Now do the next pose.”

It takes your mom running out of film and then crying and then your aunt following suit and then calling your uncle on the phone to cry to him about how time flies or something, and you and Steve having to comfort them before they decide that they’re satisfied and you can leave.

“I’m really happy you were able to make it, Steve.” You tell him as you sit next to him in the car.

He reaches a hand over the console to place on your thigh. You can feel his warm fingers take advantage of the high slit of your dress and presses his fingertips against your skin. Then you feel when he makes contact with the lace band at the top of your black thigh-high stockings.

The amount of satisfaction you get when his breath hitches is immeasurable and your smile only grows as he searches to find the garter strap that clips into your stockings.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he moans. “Tonight’s gonna be pure torture, isn’t it sweetheart?”

He looks at you with a pained expression and you merely smile at him innocently.

“To be fair, this was supposed to be for after prom.”

“Remind me to send Eddie a cake or something because if I had to wait until later to see you looking like this, I would have fucking hated myself.”

“Maybe we’ll leave early.”

“Maybe?”

…

“No one’s going to be able to tell.”

You’re trying your best to pin your hair back up and get your lipstick off of everything that isn’t your mouth. You grimace when your hair doesn’t cooperate with you quite the way you want.

“I look exactly like what everyone is going to think.”

“What’s that?”

You stare at your boyfriend. “What do you think?”

“You look like your boyfriend made you cum twice in the backseat of his car.” There’s no getting through to Steve when he’s looking this smug.

You find another errant hair pin in the fluff that is your hair and you use it to hold your hair in place and you’re finally satisfied with how you look.

“I look fine, right?” you ask for reassurance.

“Ravishing.”

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure you took care of the ravishing part.”

“You look perfect, sweetheart.”

"So do you," you tell him honestly.

He kisses your forehead before getting out the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you.

“My lady,” he says in fake British accent when he offers you his hand.

You laugh as you take his hand. “You’re such a dofus.”

Grinning, Steve tucks your hand into his arm and leads you the direction of the gym. The gym is oddly decorated. You were told the theme would be “Don’t You Forget About Me” because in a small town like Hawkins where nothing ever happens, The Breakfast Club coming out last year was a very big deal. But you’re not sure how anyone who didn’t have knowledge of the theme would be able to tell from the generic decorations found around the gym.

People are scattered around the gym, sitting at tables or on the dance floor while the DJ is playing something from Wham! There is an inappropriate amount of pink dresses in the sea of teenagers, no doubt all trying to embody Molly Ringwald. And Principal Higgins is busy making sure that amorous couples are a respectable distance from each other, only for them to go back to their indecent distance once he walks away.

“Looks like Principal Higgins just recycled all the prom decorations from all the previous years,” Steve murmurs into your ear.

“What was the theme of senior prom last year?”

“Time After Time,” he tells you, making a sweeping gesture with his palm in the air. “So romantical.”

It feels surreal to be at prom, in a place you previously didn’t feel or want to occupy. But Steve makes it easy. People who you’ve barely talked to in the last four years of high school come up to say hi and compliment your dress and in the moments that your social awkwardness kicks in, Steve is there to say the right things. He notices when you’ve deflated a little, not in a sad way but in a balloon that needs more air and he’ll take you by the elbow to steer you to some quiet little corner, to hold your hand and be quiet with you. And you don’t have to tell him, he just knows.

Sometimes, he’ll pull towards the dance floor and does a silly dance so you don’t feel too self-conscious because the last time you danced in front of people ended in such a disaster and your mind races sometimes with thoughts like how much you stick out like a sore thumb. Might not necessarily be true, but pokes at your fears all the same. It is while you’re dancing that someone comes over and taps on Steve’s shoulder.

“Jonathan,” Steve says in surprise when he turns around. “Hey, man.”

Jonathan looks nice in his tuxedo, although it does look to be maybe a size or two too big on him. Like this was a last-minute decision of his to come. His usual mop of hair is tamed into something more suited to the occasion but he looks a little sheepish as he regards the two of you.

Not too far behind Jonathan, you can see Nancy walk up to the two of you as well as Steve and Jonathan share an awkward handshake.

“I just wanted to say hi and, uh…” Jonathan seems to be grappling with his words and resorts to using desperate hand gestures to fill in the spaces.

“Thank you? Nancy, she… she told me that you told her to give me another chance.” You watch with a small smile as he reaches for Nancy’s hand and squeezes it tight and share a sweet look. “I appreciate it.”

Steve nods and claps Jonathan on the back. “Nah, man. You two are good for each other. Just needed to be reminded of that.

You wrap your arm around Steve’s waist, and he grins down at you. “Actually, you probably already know each other, but this is my girlfriend.”

You realize, in that moment, that this is Steve’s first time introducing you as his girlfriend. But it’s the way he says it, full of pride, showing you off, like a kindergartener sharing his prized possession during show-and-tell. It fills you with a tenderness that you’ve come to associate with just Steve. He’s the only one that can elicit such emotions from you, and you are more than okay with that.

Jonathan shakes your hand and Nancy gives you a pretty smile.

“You look nice, Nancy,” you tell her kindly and you mean it. She’s wearing a cute lilac dress that looks lovely against her complexion.

She returns the compliment before she and Jonathan tell you to enjoy your night and they walk into the crowd on.

“That felt surreal,” Steve murmurs as he wraps his arms around you. “Jonathan and I, we… well, we never really got along that well.”

“Being in love with the same girl will do it,” you snicker as you bring your arms up to his neck.

“Which is why, being in love with this girl is so much easier.”

You pretend to look around for someone. “Which girl? I can be an amazing wing woman, you know!”

Your heart swims in warmth when he rolls his eyes and grins down at you. “Not that I doubt your capabilities, but I think I’m happy exactly where I am.”

“Good,” you say, as you press your cheek against his cheek as you rock to the music of Phil Collins, “Because I have no plans of letting go.”

Which turns out to be untrue not fifteen minutes later when you need to get to the girls’ bathroom. You leave Steve by the refreshments table where a couple of his former swim team buddies have struck up a conversation with him. It’s only after you’ve successfully relieved yourself that you finally run into Robin who is all smiles and a flurry of baby blue as she practically runs into the bathroom.

“Hi!” she says to you before running into the stall you just freed up. Through the bathroom stall door, she attempts to continue the conversation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you and Steve.”

You seriously doubt that. You and Steve both knew where she was for the most part, but her and Vickie were so wrapped up in each other that you decided to just leave them alone and just be there for Robin if in case things don’t pan out the way any of you hoped.

“We’ve been around. King Steve’s reappearance in Hawkins High is interesting to some people, I guess.”

The toilet flushes before the door swings open and Robin comes back out to wash her hands.

“Yeah, the beginning of the school year was weird as Steve’s best friend. Everyone kept asking if we were going out.”

You shrug. “That’s because you’re too friendly, Robin.”

“I’m just friendly enough, thank you.” She smiles, mostly to herself as she dries her hands.

“You having fun?”

You watch in the mirror as Robin’s reflection turns a deep pink.

“Yeah… thanks again for… all this.”

“Anytime.”

Robin turns around to face you and before you can say anything, she gives you a tight hug.

“I promise that if you and Steve ever break up, you’re the one that gets to keep me.”

“Is this a bribe for me to never break up with Steve?”

She releases you then. “I’m going to be honest and tell you that I’m too happy to be offended.”

The two of you laugh and walk arm-in-arm as you make your way back to the gym.

Unfortunately, your return to the gym also means that you catch an overzealous girl in a bright turquoise dress walk up to your boyfriend who now stands alone drinking a sad cup of punch. The girl is quick to sidle up to him, arms pressed together to emphasize her breasts, and you really want to slap the flirty look off her face. Steve looks down at her, rolls his eyes, and mutters something that makes the girl first pause and then look dejected and quickly walk away.

Something blooms in you then, and it isn’t just satisfaction. Not completely.

And whatever it is, is going to get Steve Harrington laid tonight.

Or more laid. If that is at all possible.

…

The thing about having a night go exactly the way you want also means that you inevitably are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which is an unfortunate conundrum because when things go south, your first thought is that you wish you hadn’t been thinking about it at all.

It comes just as you are finally exiting the gym. They had just called out prom king and queen, and to no one’s surprise, Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham win. More than half the prom goers are still inside, bouncing along to Madonna, but you and Steve are entirely too worked up from a night of touching each other but not quite feeling.

You spot Jonathan and Nancy, both sitting on top of the hood of her car, laughing while they share what appears to be a can of Pringles between them. And you think that maybe you really had nothing to worry about with Nancy. And maybe it would have been nice to have gotten to know her a bit more if you had the chance.

You’ve barely stepped onto the pavement of the parking lot when someone calls out your name. Yells it with a slight slur in the speech that lets you know whoever it is likely snuck some alcohol in.

Steve is the one that turns first and instinctively positions you behind him.

Shrouded in the darkness, Andy pushes himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against and stumbles into the glow of one of the exterior lights. His bowtie hangs limply around his neck, and his dress shirt is half-tucked with the first buttons undone.

A shiver of fear overtakes you, memories of the way he had grabbed you that night immediately running through your mind. You know nothing is going to happen. Steve won’t let it. But that still doesn’t erase the memories from your brain, and it’s created an automatic response in you.

You’re not sure why Andy is trying to get to you now, after weeks of successfully ignoring each other. As far as the rest of the school is concerned, nothing happened. Only a few people having witnessed his transgressions. And the rest of the school was left to wonder about how Andy broke his nose.

But now, during prom, there are more people, more curious onlookers that were about to get into their respective cars that are now stopping to see what’s going on.

“You should head back inside, Harper,” Steve tells him firmly. “Sober up before you drive, man.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Harrington.”

“Just a suggestion, dude.”

Steve places his hand on your lower back and starts back in the direction of the beamer. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Just ignore him,” he tells you and you obediently follow him.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Andy yells.

“Just keep walking, sweetheart.”

You nod and keep pace with Steve until you’re almost to the car.

“You’re a fucking loser, Harrington. Former prom king Steve Harrington, everyone. Just basking in his former glory because he’s just a pathetic has-been who peaked in high school.”

You crane your neck and see Andy’s arrogant face looking triumphant.

The thing that you’re finding out about yourself is that you don’t particularly care if someone says anything cruel about you.

But if they say something about someone you care about?

Well, then.

It’s safe to say they will die.

Any previous fear you held at the mere idea of Andy Harper is immediately replaced by pure hatred. You step away from Steve and manage to make it halfway to Andy before your boyfriend can stop you with a hand on your arm.

“Don’t do anything rash, sweetheart. We’re on school property and you’re close to graduation. Wouldn’t want you to put that in jeopardy.”

Good point.

But before you can respond, Steve shrugs his tuxedo jacket off and hands it to you. When he starts unbuttoning the sleeves of his dress shirt, which admittedly you adore the slow reveal of his forearms, you roll your eyes and shove his jacket back into his arms.

“I’m pretty sure that Andy isn’t eighteen yet, Steve. If you beat him up, that’s gonna be worse as someone who is a legal adult,” you argue. “I’m a girl, I can always claim self-defense.”

Steve considers this for a moment before shaking his head. “He would have to attempt some type of assault for that to work and I’m not going to let it get that far.”

You both stare at each other, both weighing out your options until you’re interrupted by Jonathan who jogs up to you, Nancy not far behind him.

“Are you two debating who is going to beat up Andy?!” Jonathan yells, and he’s looking at you two like you’re crazy. And just so you have no doubts as to his feelings about what’s going on, he voices them. “Are you guys crazy?”

“Yes,” Steve and you respond in unison.

Andy appears to have realized what is going on and has had enough time for his brain to catch up to his mouth. Because his eyes go a little wide before he starts scurrying back to the gym.

You’re a little disappointed at this and when you turn to Steve, he appears to share your sentiments.

“Hey, you guys wanna go grab some burgers and milkshakes with me and Jonathan?” Nancy offers.

You smile at her. “Sure!”

…

Read Part Eight here

Taglist: @dreamerjj @bearwithegg @kurtsw7rld96 @itmekelpy @fingermonkey101 @eller41 @frankensteingotwet @beelzebzb @loonylups

[messyvalentine]

When will the next chapter of 'someone like me' release???

Love it btw!!!!!!

Thank you, luv!

I’ve been busy this week 🫣 a lot of driving around this week, which isn’t fun. If anyone else has been personally victimized by the 405 freeway this week, I feel ya.

I’m in the process of editing the next chap for my other series which will be uploaded tomorrow, and then I can finish writing out the next chap for Someone like me.

Should be in the next 2-3 days. Saturday the earliest, Sunday the latest! 🫶🏼

[messyvalentine]

Someone Like Me - Four

Summary: Unfortunately, there's more than one villain in your story.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: dark!fic, mild stalking, anxiety, psychological abuse, emotional blackmail, and implied domestic violence

Chapter Notes: 2.5k word count. Shaping the background of the story is so rough to write tbh. also, I'm going to start crowdfunding to pay for therapy because of this story fyi

A/N: I'm just realizing that I'm playing this deadbeat dad card in my two ongoing stories so far. But necessary evils, my loves. Promise after this one, I won't do it again.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three Read Part One for story tags and warnings MASTERLIST

...

You shut your laptop with a frustrated sigh. You would push it away from you if you could but ever since Eddie has temporarily moved himself and his messy habits into your one-bedroom apartment, he has managed to cover every single surface in your apartment with his things.

There’s even a foam finger sitting on top your toilet’s water tank. And Eddie doesn’t even like sports.

You can hear his quiet snores coming from the bedroom as he claimed the bed while you were out on your morning run.

You decide you need to relocate in order to get some work done and start the packing your work stuff to continue your work on the proposal that you will be pitching on Monday. Sending a quick text to Eddie to let him know that you'll be stepping out to get some work done, you also make a mental note of hiring a cleaning company and billing him for it.

It’s the least he can do seeing as how he’s not paying rent and is essentially squatting in your home.

Finally, twenty minutes later, you're comfortably sitting in a quiet corner at a clean table with your favorite drink at your favorite coffee spot where you often work when you need a change of scenery. You pull your hair into a ponytail to move it out of your face. The quiet murmur of conversation from other patrons is blocked by your headphones and you attempt to lock in and focus on your work.

You have a lot riding on this. You finally landed the position of assistant editor a month ago and have been trying to pin down your first acquisition. The proposal is meant to get feedback from your senior editor and you want to impress.

Time passes without you noticing and it is only marked by finding your cup empty. You stretch your arms above your head and crane your neck to ease the tension that has built up while working. Pushing away from the table, you pull your headphones off and set them on the table before you grab your phone and make your way to the counter.

You’re here so often that you’re on a first name basis with most of them and Stephanie is the one that greets you at the counter

“Flat white, please, and I think I’ll have one of your almond croissants too,” you tell her and she smiles as she punches in your order.

“It’s not too busy right now so we can just bring that over to you. You’re in the corner, right?”

Giving her a bright smile, you nod. “Thank you, Stephanie. I appreciate it.”

You raise your phone to pay for your drink but another hand holding a phone shoots out and completes the purchase for you.

You glance over to see Steve Harrington standing next to you. Without saying anything you walk back to your table.

Sliding your headphone back on, you resume your work. You’re almost done with your proposal and you’ll need to start putting together your presentation next. Deeply focused on your work, you only look up when your drink and pastry are placed on the table.

You look up and smile, expecting to see Stephanie but instead you get Steve.

You drop the smile and return your focus to your laptop screen. But Steve won’t be ignored as he lifts your belongings from the only other seat at the table before setting it down on the empty space behind your laptop.

He sits down with his arms crossed simply staring at you.

You ignore him.

Instead, you diligently keep working since you’re almost done. You’re not sure how long you sit there but apparently it’s long enough for Steve to get impatient with you.

You feel your headphones being pushed behind your right ear and you shoot him a glare.

"Whatever it is that you have to say. I'm not interested."

He scoffs looking at you before nodding slowly. "Princess finally has teeth."

You think he almost looks... proud of you as he says this. But whatever you think you see in his expression is wiped clean by the narrowed eyes he levels you with.

"You have me blocked. On everything."

You don't bother responding and move the headphones back to their spot over your ear.

You pull your fingers away when you see your laptop being pushed shut. Refusing to stoop to his level, you calmly and quickly pack your things away. But as you’re about to lift your heavy bag from the table to leave, Steve places a hand on the strap of your bag.

You pull.

So does he.

And he has the gall to glare at you.

Instinctively and self-preservation, you grab the half-full little paper cup of water on the table next to yours and throw the liquid in his face.

There’s little satisfaction you’re allowed to have as your focus remains on trying to escape his presence. Ignoring the unwanted attention you’ve started to attract, you quickly take advantage of Steve’s stunned expression and grab your belongings before weaving your way through the cafe and finally the exit.

Once on the street, you start walking, jogging really, in the direction of your apartment. You glance over your shoulder and see Steve on the side scanning the crowd for and you duck into the first store you find.

It’s a children’s clothing boutique.

You quickly step between two clothing racks, breathing shallow and pulse quick. Eyeing the street between hangers and looking like a lunatic, you clench your fists, worried that he would find you.

You're not sure why you escalated it that far. All logical thought seems to fail you whenever Steve Harrington is concerned which is why you're taking cover between among onesies and pacifiers.

Twenty minutes without spotting Steve pass before you finally feel comfortable enough to leave the store. That and the sales associate was starting to eye suspiciously.

Your lulled into a false sense of security as you walk the fifteen minutes to your apartment.

Where Steve is waiting for you. Leaning against the brick wall of your apartment building. Arms crossed tightly across his chest, jaw clenched. The tips of his hair still mildly damp, you think.

He spots you instantly.

His grins and your breath hitches.

The door is closed, that means your building doorman is somewhere in the lobby as he usually. But you can do this.

You square your shoulders and jut your chin with a confidence that you'll never truly possess.

If you can just make it to the door, you'll be okay.

if you can just get to the door, everything will be fine.

You'll be okay.

You'll be okay.

You make it roughly five steps away from the door before you feel the heavy weight of a large hand on your shoulder. Afraid, you rip your arm away from his grip.

"Get the fuck away from me!" you yell and as if someone answers your prayers, your building doorman calls out your name as he stands with the door wide open now.

Steve has no choice but to watch you leave as you find yourself in the comfort of your building.

You look over at your shoulder to see Steve staring at you with an inscrutable expression on his face. You heart hasn't stopped hammering against your rib cage, a steady staccato that starts to press at your temples too.

In the safety of the elevator you run your fingers along the brass handle bars that border the three sides, cold to touch. You touch the wood paneling of the walls, your fingertips taking in the details of the grain. You count one to ten to one to ten until the elevator doors open to your floor.

When you finally enter your apartment, you find Eddie in the living room, flipping through Netflix.

"Hey, did you get your work done?"

You smile brightly. "Yeah, absolutely!"

…

You stride through the doors of an upscale fine dining restaurant in the heart of Midtown at exactly six ‘o clock.

Father enjoys an early dinner.

The hostess already knows who you are. It’s one of the five restaurants your father will lower himself to dine at and this rotation has been ongoing for the last seven years since you started attending college in the city.

It’s part of your agreement with him.

Dinner every other month, second Saturday. His secretary always calls three days in advance to remind you. No, she never asks if you’re available. It is always understood that you will make time.

Thankfully, your father has been busy the last few months and needed to cancel. It’s offered you some time to recuperate from the last dinner.

You make your way through the dining area and into one of the private rooms tucked away in the far corner that offers the most privacy. You find your father at his table. He looks handsome in his impossibly expensive custom-tailored suit. A dark navy today. The same shade of the elegant shift dress that you are wearing.

You were told this before today so you could match.

Father and daughter. A pair perfected by genetics.

“You’re late,” your father says not bothering to look up from his phone. Someone from the waitstaff comes out of nowhere to pull out your chair for you.

“I apologize for my lateness, father.” You tell him and you take your seat.

A cloth napkin is placed on your lap and a menu is held out to you to take but your father waves it away. “Don’t bother,” he commands them, still not looking up from his phone. “I’ve already ordered for us.”

You swallow nervously when you spot a modest looking gift bag sitting on the spare chair at your table.

Your father finally looks at you then.

A smile breaks across his stern face. “I see you’ve noticed my gift. Go ahead and open it.”

You try not to bite your lower lip–it’s a habit your father despises–and gingerly reach for the bag.

It’s a weighing scale, you realize as you pull it out.

You smile brightly at you father. “Thank you very much, sir.”

“From our last dinner I noticed that you had some weight gain.” He shrugs. “You seem even heavier now. Do make sure you get that under control.”

You nod, despite having lost a few pounds since you last saw him. “Of course, father.” You return the gift to its bag and place it back on the chair.

Your father begins to tell you about his gubernatorial exploits in the state of Indiana. Apparently unsatisfied with his old money status stemming from the pharmaceutical company that has been in your father’s family for generations, your father decided to run for governor of his home state a couple of years ago and won.

It’s not hard to imagine why. People lapped up the his charming, educated ways. He was the epitome of class and money rolled into a physically attractive package. Your father who requires no media training whatsoever as he shines naturally with his suave and confidence and charisma. Of course all the middle-aged housewives and anyone over the age of sixty are going to vote for him.

Drinks arrive.

White wine for father. A glass of sparkling water for you.

“How is work?” He inquires.

“I was recently promoted,” you tell him evenly. “I left a message with your secretary when it happened.”

Your father raises an eyebrow and you freeze. You recount what you words, go through them to find what you said that may have been misconstrued as inappropriate.

“I told you I could get you a better position with a far superior publisher.”

“I-I—”

Your father’s eyes narrow. “Do not stutter,” he demands.

You take a deep breath. “I apologize, father. I will try my best to not do that again.”

He nods brusquely.

“I merely want to be able to have a chance to prove myself. While I will always appreciate the things that you have and continue to do for me, I believe that earning my way through the ranks teaches valuable lessons in humility and gratitude.” You deliver the lines just as you have practiced a million times in front of your bathroom mirror.

You hold your breath, clenching the cloth napkin on your lap hard that your manicured nails are biting into your palms uncomfortably.

The vibration from your father’s phone results in a distracted nod as he turns his attention to the device.

You finally release the breath you were holding in. Not too loudly as that wouldn’t be ladylike.

First course arrives.

Father has a rich-looking soup–some type of bisque, you think. The waiter slides a small salad in front of you.

As usual.

The salad you are served isn’t one on the menu. It’s one that your father specifically requests.

Just for you.

“Something wrong?”

You smile wide. “No, father. Thank you for ordering for me.”

He gives an approving nod.

Obediently, you finish your salad in silence.

Speak, only when spoken to.

The plates are taken away and your father has his entree served to him. Something that looks like lamb in possibly a red wine reduction with perfectly shaped potatoes and carrots.

Your place setting remains empty, so place your hands primly on your lap.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No, father."

"Good. I have someone I'd like for you to meet."

You freeze before remembering yourself and quickly find your composure.

Smile.

"Yes, of course. I'd love to meet him, sir."

He nods, pleased with your response.

You think you're safe, that you've survived another painful dinner with your father. You're so close. He never eats dessert. Doesn't see it as something to waste time or energy on.

You think you'll leave unscathed relative to all your other dinners with your fathers.

You think that maybe... he'll go easy on you.

"How is your mother?"

He wipes his mouth with his napkin before tossing it on the table.

You blink.

You breathe.

"I-I—"

He looks at you sharply.

Before he can issue a warning, you answer.

"She is fine, sir. I spoke with her yesterday."

He stares at you. Examines you. Looks at all your flaws like he listing them in his head.

"Tell her I said hello."

You will not be telling her anything.

You smile pleasantly.

"Of course, father."

"Good girl."

He stands from the table, picking his phone up.

"My secretary will call you to confirm our next dinner."

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

That's the last thing he tells you before he walks away.

Once you're sure he's gone, your shoulders finally sag and you can finally breathe. You clench your jaw tight to will the tears back and once you regain your composure, you put a smile on your face before you leave the room.

Poised and collected. You leave. "Gift" in hand.

This cage. These dinners.

All the things that keep your mother safe from him.

You just need to play the perfect daughter and everyone will be safe.

...

Read Part Five here

Taglist: @ophirei @hisparentsgallerryy @mrtonystark @heartheejake @kurtsw7rld96 @keksses @scaramou @cherry-vanilla21 @bearwithegg @powerpuffedbjtch @paradoxicalconundrum @deanscherrypie @beezusvreeland @apocalypse-v @stoneyggirl2 @callmeurfool @5secondsofdonewithyou @c4ssi4-luv @mystickittytaco @solynoche @batmanssssss @l33nlikeacholo @itmekelpy @mysteriousmysterygirl @sukiidaisuki @eclipseofforever @megjohnston23 @ludachrissy @belpsbelps @beelzebzb @eller41 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @sespe08 @cciessuzi @djolover4ever @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @tvdumarvelhpsimp @mikefaistwife

[messyvalentine]

Maybe I could love you, too. – Six

Summary: A breakfast conclave. Eavesdropping. Dustin Henderson is Team Steve. And how does it become a love triangle if only two people are involved? Asking for a friend. OR: It's your turn to convince Steve Harrington that he should choose you.

Chapter Notes: 8.3k+ word count. She's a cute chapter. Promise! Smoking and alcohol. Just a little misunderstanding to keep it spicy. Not proofread.

A/N: I love writing friendly dialogue. I love writing dialogue in general, in case that needed to be pointed out lol But yeah, this was an easy one to write.

Read other parts here: One | Two | Three | Four | Five Please read Part One for all story tags and notes MASTERLIST

...

You wake up the next day to the smell of pancakes. Which is really an amazing way to wake up. Except for the instant feeling of dread that washes over you when you realize you need to go to school today.

Normally, you like school. Enjoy it even.

But today is the first time since Andy’s party last Saturday that you’ll be seeing your classmates again. And you’d really rather not. And it’s not because you’re scared of Andy, no.

Or maybe, yes.

At least a little bit. Which is really fucking with you. Because you don’t feel like yourself, which you really really hate.

So you think happy thoughts, which leads you to think about Steve and all the good things that he makes you feel. And you sigh happily as you burrow further into your pillows hoping they smell a little bit like him still.

And yuck.

This is not like you at all.

But also you never thought of yourself as the kind of girl that would enjoy being kissed by Steve Harrington but these are the cards you’ve been dealt and they’re not bad cards at all. And he’s a great kisser so… you’re not going to complain at all.

With a groan, you push yourself out of bed and determinedly get ready for school. You settle on a pair of blue jeans and black tight-fitting shirt held together by little black buttons that go down the front that you think Steve would like and—

Stop.

You need to calm down. And also not dress for a man, but dress for yourself.

Although, if you both like it, then what’s the harm? you think as you grab your beat up black Converse to wear for the day. Once ready, you grab your backpack and you have to double-back to your desk a tube of strawberry lip gloss before you leave your room.

Just in case.

There are people in your house, is your first realization, when the noise of several people talking over each other greets you.

A lot of people.

Confused, you stand right where the living turns into the kitchen and peer around the corner to investigate, to find too many people for your small house.

Because not only is Steve there, with Robin and Max. But Eddie decided to show up for breakfast with the entire Hellfire club.

You stop your survey of your own home, your back hitting the wall before you take another peak into the kitchen and no, this is definitely your kitchen with your mom laughing at something that Robin has just told her while flinging pancakes and the Hellfire club standing around kitchen island, shoveling pancakes into their incredibly unattractive gaping maws.

And Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are sitting at your dining table having a pleasant conversation. Of course, Max is the first one to spot you as she sits next to Eddie. Her eyes are wide in a sort of “Come save me” look and you begrudgingly push away from the wall and into the kitchen.

“Good morning… everyone?” you say carefully and it feels like a million pair of eyes turn in your direction. “I guess today is the day that my mom and I literally get eaten out of house and home. So thank you, guys.”

You roll your eyes and as you walk over to your mom, everyone shouts their morning greetings at you. You’re quick to note that only one person ends their greeting with “sweetheart” and try to ignore the way your stomach flips. And the irritating catcalling that ensues.

“I promise I didn’t know anything about this?” you tell your mom as you press a kiss to her cheek and you wave at Robin

Your mom chuckles as she plates two pancakes for you. “I don’t mind, it’s nice to see everyone here.” She gives you a knowing look. “I see Steve is here. Does that mean—”

You put your hand over your mother’s mouth to stop her from talking but not before Robin giggles and offers to give your mother all the information she knows.

Contemplating murder early in the morning, you narrow eyes at Robin before turning back to your mom. “I will tell you later,” you promise her before taking your hand away and grabbing the plate from her. “But thank you for putting up with…” you trail off as you glance at Gareth pouring enough syrup on his plate to give him diabetes. “All this.”

She presses a kiss to your kiss. “I thrive in chaos,” she tells you, ruffling your hair.

“Chaos?” you mutter as you walk past the debauchery happening with breakfast goods. “Fairly sure I woke up in hell.”

You sit on the only chair left, which is to the right of Steve and as you settle in, his arm drops across the back of your chair and pulls it a closer to him. The chair makes an annoying scraping sound as it moves across the tiled floor of the kitchen that draws everyone’s attention to you and Steve.

You try to ignore everyone’s stares, including your mom’s. Meanwhile, Steve looks thoroughly unperturbed and quite pleased with himself.

 Simultaneously, as if they have choreographed it, Eddie and Max both raise an eyebrow at the two of you and cross their arms as they lean back in their respective chairs.

Ignoring them in favor of grabbing the syrup bottle from the center of the table, you frown when you find the handle sticky. Steve immediately hands you a napkin to wipe your hand with and while you try to remove the residue from your palm, he lifts it himself and pours the perfect amount onto your pancakes.

“What the hell am I watching right now?” Eddie whispers theatrically to Max who shakes her head in mock disgust.

“I don’t know but it’s making me nauseous.”

You roll your eyes. “My breakfast can do without any commentary,” you snap.

But Steve merely laughs and when you look at him, your eyes automatically zero in on his mouth, specially that little curve from his cupids bow that you would really like to kiss… He catches you staring at his lips and sends you a wink and your cheeks burn as you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your meal.

“Want to tell me why my house is a circus and stinks of teenage boy so early in the morning?” You ask after swallowing a bite of food and pointing your fork at Eddie.

Eddie looks offended by the accusation. “How do you know it’s my fault.”

“You’re serious,” you say flatly. “Fine, don’t tell me how this little breakfast conclave came to be. It’s only my house you all have invaded.”

Steve chuckles. “They pulled up as soon as I got here with the girls,” he tells you.

“Traitor,” Eddie mumbles. “I thought we were friends, Harrington.”

You tilt your head to the side and frown, shaking your head. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Why can’t Eddie and I be friends?” Steve pouts pretending to be hurt.

Max visibly cringes and pushes away from the table. “I want no part in this.” She walks over to where Lucas is standing between Dustin and Mike and you grimace because that can’t be much better than this.

You make quick work of your breakfast and after helping your mom load the dishwasher and giving her a tight hug, you push everyone out of the house. It is chaos as they determine where everyone is going to go and what seats will be occupied.

But everyone just somehow (and correctly, really) assumes that you are going to ride shotgun in Steve’s Beamer. Robin, Max and Lucas slide into the backseat while everyone else piles into Eddie’s van.

The drive to Hawkins High is filled with incessant chatter and they drown out the anxiety that mounts the closer you get to school. You don’t realize you’ve been clenching your fists until Steve places his right hand on top of yours and massages your knuckles.

This does not go unnoticed however, and Robin’s high pitched tittering travels the length of the car and grates in your ears. Hopefully, she gets over this soon because you will not be able to deal with it much longer.

The parking lot is already fairly packed with cars, but Steve is able to find parking right next to Eddie’s van. The Hellfire members along with your own carpoolers all wave at Steve as they start walking towards the main building and you’re about to follow after them but Steve grabs your right hand.

“It’s looking better,” he tells you after examining it. Then he presses a tender kiss to your knuckles and you gasp a little when his lips make contact with your skin.

You hate how the sweet action makes you feel a little shy, not used to this attention. Especially receiving it in the parking lot of your high school. But Steve isn’t done and he takes your left hand in his right and pulls you towards the entrance of the school.

“What are you doing?” you ask him, your voice going up a notch in surprise and confusion.

“Just making sure.”

You shoot him a questioning look but he doesn’t answer you and instead continues to pull you in the direction of school.

Once the two of you are about fifteen feet away from the entrance, Steve’s grip on your hand loosens but only so he can place it gently on the side of your neck. You can feel the stares of your fellow students start to zero in on you and Steve and you feel a sort of unfamiliar panic, being the center of attention.

“Just look at me,” Steve commands you and your eyes snap to his obediently.

“What are you doing?”

“I know I said I would wait but,” he leans down and you feel the light graze of his lips on yours. “Just humor me for a second. I don’t want anyone to bother you today.”

You nod and before you can say anything, his lips are on yours. It’s a sweet kiss, enough to curl your toes and feel the stirrings of arousal low in your abdomen.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he greets you as he draws away, a tender smile on his face as he regards you. “You look nice today. I wanted to tell you that earlier but I knew you wouldn’t want your friends to overhear.”

“So you tell me this in front of the whole gossipy student body of Hawkins High?”

He chuckles. “A means to an end,” he tells you simply before pressing a kiss right by your left eye. “I’ll pick you up after class.”

You nod and he reaches down to give your hand a quick squeeze before walking away.

And you realize that you could watch Steve Harrington walk away for the rest of your life. Well, not like that, but more like… that. Because apparently, you’re an ass guy.

You shudder at the realization and shake your head as you turn towards the entrance.

Where Eddie and Max are both leaning against the exterior wall beside the front door with their arms crossed over their chests with matching smug expressions on their faces.

…

It’s Tuesday night when you finally get some one-on-one time with your mom. Steve’s working a closing shift at Family Video, giving you the first meal you’re sharing with just her.

And you’ve been ignoring her curious stares for the last half hour as you studiously work on your beef stroganoff.

Boy talk hasn’t really been a common topic in your home. Yes, you’ve spoken to your mom before about boys but it’s mostly to complain about how high school boys are dumb and stupid and stinky and… Aside from Eddie, Steve’s been the only guy to really capture your attention.

She clears her throat. “I like him for you.”

You hum.

“Steve.”

You put your fork down. “Okay, go ahead. Get it all out, mom.”

“Well, I think that he’s really good for you.”

“And how has Steve been “good” for me?” Sarcasm absent from your tone, just genuine curiosity.

She shrugs lightly. “There’s something different about you. Like you’re lighter now, less angry, less reactive to things that you don’t like. Not that there’s anything wrong with you, but it did seem like you were hell-bent on just… not taking a chance on yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it this way. For the longest time, it was just you and Eddie, and you sort of fed into each other’s anger but when you have someone who is exactly like you, you become stuck.” She draws a square in the air with her fingers.

“You two were in the box. And because you were in that box together, the box was safe. Didn’t need to challenge the box or leave the box to see what’s outside. But being stuck like that doesn’t allow you to grow.”

You stare at her.

She stares back, but with a knowing smile playing along her lips.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “and what about Steve?”

“It’s simple, with Steve it feels like you’re willing to try to not be in the box all the time. You seem to trust him enough to open the box for you when you need to and he seems to understand that sometimes you need to be in the box, too. That it’s okay.”

“So I’m in a box,” you say slowly, trying to wrap your head around your mother’s analogy. “And Eddie is in the box with me. And Steve takes me in and out of the box.”

“Yeah, he opens the lid of the box for you.”

“Mom. That sounds insane.”

“It really isn’t.” She turns her attention back to the food on her. “I think it’s a great analogy.”

“I beg to differ.”

“So what is going on between you and Steve?”

“Oh, uh,” you stammer, suddenly shy. “Steve told me that he likes me.”

Technically, he said he wanted you. But you figure that’s the same thing.

“I figured as much.”

“Yes, all-knowing mother, I get it,” you huff.

“Do you like him?”

You prop your elbows on the table, food now forgotten and lean your chin into your hands. “I do,” you state simply. “But—”

“Ah-hah! A but.”

“Mom,” you draw out the word in frustration. “Just… okay, fine. He told me that he wants to be with me but that I should really think about whether that’s something I want, too. He kept saying he wants to make sure that I take time to decide.”

“That sounds very mature of him.”

“I know! It is! But the way I’ve been handling things hasn’t been mature.”

“Are you worried that you’re not mature enough to be in a relationship with him?”

“Yes? Maybe? He’s just… he knows exactly what to say, every time. And what to do, because he has been nothing short of perfect. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know if I trust myself in a relationship. Oh my god,” you rub your hands down your face. “I’ve gone insane.”

Your mom chuckles. “I think worrying about being mature enough shows maturity.”

You frown at her words. “What do you mean?”

“Honey, maturity doesn’t always come from age. Sometimes it doesn’t even come from lived experiences. People do stupid things all the time but they won’t always learn from them.”

You grimace a little at her words, your antics last Saturday still fresh in your mind. Thankfully, either Steve’s plan worked or Andy doesn’t care enough, which you highly doubt, but no one has bothered you about it at school.

“I think being worried about this and talking about how you feel instead of bottling it all up shows me that you’re learning.”

“I guess…”

“And I also think with Steve, if you’re always honest with him, you’ll never disappoint him. And trust me, being in a lot of relationships doesn’t make you an expert.”

You nod slowly. “I guess you’re right.”

You didn’t realize how much you needed your mom’s assurance until it settles deep inside you.

“Mother always knows best, after all.” She gives you a cheeky grin before pushing away from the table. “How about I pack some leftovers and you can take it to Family Video?”

You lean over to hug your mom tightly. “You’re the best.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in your car, heading over to Family Video. You realize that you’re doing girlfriend things while not yet being a girlfriend but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

And it’s really telling that you would choose to not only leave the house after you’ve already taken your bra off, but to drive across town to bring Steve food.

You really like him.

You flush at the thought of his smiling face and somehow, even that imaginary moment makes it worth it.

When you arrive at Family Video, the parking lot is pretty empty with only Steve’s car parked just off to the side of the entrance and you park right next to him. You run your fingers through your hair a couple of times to fluff it and you stop when you realize how self-conscious you suddenly are.

“Whatever,” you mutter as you get out of your car and grabbing the packed food, you close and lock your door.

From outside, you can already see Steve and Robin having a heated discussion about something. Robin has her face propped up on her hands and elbows as she leans against the counter, looking up at Steve who is sitting on the counter angled away from you. Or rather, you realize as you come closer, Robin appears a little upset about something and Steve is waving his hands in the air in the middle of what looks like an impassioned speech.

“Do you know who pauses Fast Times at fifty-three minutes five seconds?” You can hear him yell as you come to a stop just outside the door. They haven’t noticed you yet, so you stay where you are to see how it plays out… or eavesdrop, depending on how you see things. “People who like boobies, Robin!”

“Eww, gross don’t say—”

“Boobies!”

“…boobies.” Robin finishes, glaring at Steve.

“It’s not a big deal, okay? I like boobies,” Steve says gesturing to himself, then he gestures to Robin. “You like boobies. Vickie likes boobies! Definitely!”

You tilt your head, brow furrowed. Somehow you didn’t think that your suspicions would be confirmed this way, but this works, too.

Choosing that time to announce your arrival, you push the door open.

Robin’s face turns ashen as she pulls herself upright then proceeds to stop moving. Possibly even stop breathing too, but you’re not sure.

“Hello!” you greet them cheerfully.

Steve cranes his neck towards the door, a look of horror on his face before he realizes that it’s you and he quickly grins and jumps off the counter to jog up to you. He’s a few steps away when he stops and holds his hands up.

“Okay, I’m very happy to see you but also…” He looks back to Robin who hasn’t yet moved then raises a hand to rub the back of his neck. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”

You shrug and walk past him to place the bag of your mom’s Tupperware containers filled with leftovers on the counter. “Who ordered the double cheese and sausage?” you quote the movie with a grin. “I love Spicoli.”

Robin stares at you and you don’t like the fear that you see there. Steve too, is eerily silent.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “You like girls.”

She nods slowly.

“You’re a lesbian?”

“Yes,” she responds softly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You frown. “Are there other ways?”

Robin glances nervously at Steve before looking back at you. “I mean, probably? But none that currently comes to mind.” She lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

You feel Steve come up beside you, placing an arm around your shoulder, his hand gently squeezing the top of your arm. It’s not in a threatening way but more in a plea for you to go easy on his best friend.

“I think that makes you the most interesting person that I know,” you tell her honestly and smile.

Relief spreads across her face and she takes a deep breath before letting it out. “Thank you,” she responds, smiling back.

You lean a little over the counter. “So, have you kissed a girl?”

You watch as Robin turns a deep pink. “I—I, uh,” she starts stammering.

Beside you, Steve slaps his free hand to his forehead and pulls it down his face. “Oh god, please don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“No,” Robin finally confesses at the same time.

You give her a mischievous wink. “Oh well, do you wanna give it a try?”

Robin looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust as her eyes quickly flit between you and Steve.

“I don’t th—”

Steve interrupts Robin suddenly. “Are you fucking—no, stop. Stop this right now,” he demands.

You giggle. “Steve Harrington, I didn’t realize you would have such strong feelings against two females kissing.” You tease him before leaning into his side and wrapping your arm around his waist. “I thought that guys like that sort of thing.”

He snorts and draws you closer to him. “I’ve made a grave mistake ever hoping you two would get along.”

Robin, who has finally relaxed considerably, shoots you a conspiratorial wink. “Oh she and I can get along alright.” She says before making a kissy face at you.

Steve groans.

“I hate this,” he mumbles as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

…

The whole house smells of chocolate chip cookies. That’s what you and Max finally decided on baking for your movie night after a lengthy debate. Sitting on your couch, you have a spread of freshly baked cookies, a bowl of popcorn, and a pack of Red Vines between the two of you.

Your mom, curiously, is out for dinner and drinks with a friend. Again.

The Outsiders is playing on the television because of course movie night with two girls is going to involve watching a bunch of young and distractingly gorgeous men.

Unfortunately, a knock on your front door interrupts your focus on Robe Lowe’s face.

“Just keep watching,” you tell Max as you stand up. “I’ve only seen this movie a hundred times.”

Opening the door, you find Eddie looking terrible. You’re quick to note the dampness at the ends of his eyelashes.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask, concerned.

He peers over your shoulder to see that Max is on the couch and he tilts his head over to the porch swing. “Can we talk? Privately?”

“Yeah, of course.” You step out and close the door behind you.

Eddie is already sitting on the swing, fiddling with the rings on his fingers, when you sit beside him. He takes a couple of deep breaths and the two of you sit in the darkness as you wait for him to say something.

“I think Chrissy and I broke up,” he confesses quietly.

“You think or…”

“No, I know.” He sighs, tilting his head back. “We definitely broke up.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him honestly, not knowing what else to say.

You draw your feet up on the swing and fold your legs under you as you face him. He has his eyes closed and you can hear a soft sniffle, so you reach out and pat his hand.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” you try.

He shakes his head, brushing at his face with his arm. “I guess you were right.”

“About what?”

“She…” He pauses, the words appearing too difficult to say out loud, and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “She said it wasn’t a big deal.”

You frown.

“What happened at Andy’s party. To you,” he explains. “She said that Andy was just drunk, but that he isn’t ‘A bad guy’.” He lifts his hands in air quotes before dropping them back on his lap.

Oh. You start to think of all the ways you can carefully get rid of Chrissy’s body.

“And I just… I walked out on her. Left her at the diner in the middle of cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Because… What the fuck? Why would she say something like that?”

Eddie turns to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I don’t know… Because I’ve been a pretty bad friend to you?” He sighs, bringing his hands to his face.

“I guess I wanted her to be this… perfect person like I thought she would be. But, I guess I’m not perfect. So… why should anyone else?”

“So that’s it then?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He rubs his hands down his face. “It was a good run, though.”

You make out the whites of his teeth as a small smile pushes onto his face as if remembering something fondly.

It feels weird to finally hear it happen. This is what you have been waiting for, but all you feel is sadness for your best friend who had their heart broken.

“I mean, you get to say that you dated the head cheerleader for a while,” you tell him, trying to cheer him up.

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah. We didn’t get to go on that double-date though.”

“Please stop.” You shake your head even though you smile at the thought of going on a date with Steve.

Wait, you haven’t even been on a date with Steve. Aren’t there steps you need to take in a relationship?

“How’s it going with Harrington, by the way? He seems like a cool dude. Although,” Eddie drawls, cutting into your spiraling thoughts. “I don’t remember him being that way the whole time. But Henderson vouches for him and Henderson is an upstanding little dude. The best I know.”

“I mean… Is it weird?” You chuckle. “Yes, it’s weird. He means a lot to me, though. But… we’re not really anything yet.”

“Yet?”

“Not yet,” you confirm. “But soon, I think.”

“Does he know how you feel about him?”

You shake your head. “I will soon.”

Eddie turns his gaze away from you and tilting his head back once again and groaning. “So I guess we’re both single again for the time being.”

“Again? I was always single. Although now, I’m in this weird limbo state.”

Eddie snorts. “A relationship purgatory.”

“A waystation for the romantically challenged.”

“Layover for the amorously inclined.”

“That’s so stupid.” You laugh.

Eddie grins at you. “I missed this.”

You nod, grinning as you look down at your lap. “I do, too. We’ve been fighting a lot, and this is nice.”

“Yeah… But you’ve also been difficult to talk to, you know,” he says as he flicks your knee. “For a minute there I thought that…”

You still at the implications of Eddie’s words and your eyes snap to him to find him gazing at you. “You thought what?”

“Never mind.”

“Eddie.”

He sighs. “I thought that maybe you were jealous.”

That lands. Somewhere between your heart and your feet.

Not in a guilty or regretful way. More of an exposed way, like your skin has been peeled back and left opened for everyone to see.

You nod slowly, looking away. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“Because…” You take a deep breath. “Because I was jealous. And it made me act like a bitch to you. It made me not act like the best friend that I should have been.”

“You were jealous?” Eddie repeats.

“Okay, I want to be honest with you.”

“Absolutely, honestly always.” Eddie pulls himself up straighter.

You bite on your lower lip before taking a deep breath. “And you have to promise that whatever I tell you, that you won’t get mad.”

“Fuck, dude. You’re making me nervous.” As if to prove his point, Eddie runs both hands into his hair, making it messier than normal. “Where’s the body? How long do we have to hide it?”

You grimace. “It’s not.. that big of a deal…” you explain weakly.

“That is the second time a girl has said that to me tonight and the first time didn’t end so well,” he huffs. “Spit it out then. Heart’s already broken and shit.”

“Promise first.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, I promise.”

“I maybe…” You take another deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut. “There may have been a time where I thought that I might like you as…”

You open your eyes to find Eddie staring straight at you. “More than a friend.”

The silence between the two of you stretches for a lot longer than makes you comfortable. Eddie hasn’t moved, even an inch since you’ve revealed your hard-kept secret and your heart is racing at the thought that you might have destroyed your friendship with Eddie.

A pair of headlights from a car driving down your street suddenly illuminate Eddie’s stunned face. After a few seconds of him not moving, without warning really, he suddenly leans down dangerously close to you, his mouth just inches from yours.

It takes a moment for you to react, but you jerk away while simultaneously pushing his face away from yours. Violently. “Eww, stop!” you exclaim. “What are you doing?”

It’s hard to see Eddie’s reaction now that the car has sped away and all you see are taillights in the distance.

But you hear his laugh, throaty and free. “You just confessed that you’re in love with me and it’s eww stop?” he gasps then laughs again.

“I was in love with you,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “Or I thought I was, and guessing from that kneejerk reaction… I maybe really wasn’t?”

“Hey, now that’s just offensive.” He crosses his own arms. “I’ll have you know that plenty of babes want some of the Munson.”

You make a vomiting sound. “Why did I ever think that I liked you like that?”

The front door opens and you look over at Max frowning at the two of you.

“If you guys are done reaffirming your platonic relationship, there’s only six cookies left.”

You and Eddie look at each other before scrambling off the swing and pushing each other away to try to the beat the other from getting into the house first.

…

You’re not sure what it is yet, but something feels wrong. Maybe it’s the fact that you were expecting Steve to pick you up that morning like he had been since the start of the week. You had waited until the last possible moment to drive you and Max to school because at that point, you were going to make both of you late.

Max insisted that you do not overthink things. Steve probably just overslept since he had another closing shift last night. And while that sounds like a perfectly reasonable explanation… it does nothing to make you feel any better.

Then Eddie decided that you’re somehow conjoined twins and refused to leave your side, citing that you are his “security blanket” and you almost broke his arm when he tried to pet your head. You spent your lunch at the library because you honestly wanted to avoid seeing anyone at that point and you made it through the rest of the day in a sort of inexplicable daze.

But the sooner you get out of school, the sooner you can go to Steve.

Although you’re not quite sure where Steve is since he wasn’t around to let you know what his schedule for the day is looking like.

You’re tired as you shuffle through your locker like you do every Friday after class. When you finally close it, you find Dustin Henderson rocking on his heels, waiting to talk to you.

You’ve come to learn that this is never a good sign.

“Henderson. You’re in my way. And yes, before you ask, I will be attending Hellfire tonight,” you tell him tiredly as you try to push past him.

But he stops you by lifting his hands up. “I want to talk to you about something not related to Hellfire.”

“Oh yay,” you say flatly. “So excited.”

Your sarcasm is lost on Dustin as he stares at you with a serious expression on his face. “I need to talk to you about Steve.”

“Color me surprised. You always seem to want to talk about Steve.”

“Well, maybe,” he says a little testily, “If you two can get your shit together, then I wouldn’t have to intervene so much.”

“If I listen will you let me go after?”

“Yes.”

You snort. “Okay, fine.”

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how all this works. Love hasn’t been messy for me like it has been for you.”

You snort. “Wow, thanks, Henderson. Always knew you liked me.”

Dustin continues as if you didn’t say just anything. “All I know is that I have an awesome girlfriend who is perfect and I cherish her with every cell in my body.”

“Okay…”

He lifts a finger to stop you from talking. “Listen, never in a million years, and I mean like the probability of this happening was near zero, but for some reason Steve loves you.”

It takes an extraordinary amount of patience to not strangle the shit out of him. But you remind yourself that you need him alive so he can tell you about how Steve may allegedly love you.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning a little. “Did he tell you this?”

“No, yes. Look, I know Steve and I knew him through his post-Nancy phase of yearning and pining and that was honestly pathetic. And then that time that he thought that he was in love with Robin.”

“Robin?” You did not need to know that.

“And then he went on a date with a girl who smelled suspiciously like cheese. Like all the time. I told him it might be fungal but he wouldn’t listen. But I promise you, this time it’s different.”

You think that if you let him, Dustin will recite the entire Steve Harrington encyclopedia to you unasked.

“Different how?” You can’t help but be a little intrigued.

“Different in a way where he isn’t scared. He isn’t scared that he cares so much. Also he isn’t so careful?”

“Dustin, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Listen—”

“I am,” you point out tersely.

“I’m only going to talk about this once and that’s it. Because part of me thinks this should come from Steve but also part of me isn’t sure that he’s all that self-aware so maybe it has to come from me? I don’t know. But Steve’s more than my best friend. He’s my brother and I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if I didn’t feel like it would be worth it.”

You soften a little at Henderson calling Steve his brother. “Okay…”

“Steve’s had a weird life, you know? There was this one time that he was helping get a demod…”

Dustin falls silent and his eyes go wide like he’s said something he shouldn’t have.

“What demo?”

He snaps his fingers. “No, sorry a dog out of the Byers’ fridge.”

“A dog?!” you yell. “What the—”

“HOT DOG!” Dustin yells back even louder. He flattens his hands out in front of him as if to calm himself down before continuing. “He was helping me remove a hotdog from a fridge.”

“Why would you need help removing a hotdog from a fridge?” The conversation is starting to give you a headache and if you never see Dustin Henderson in your life, that honestly wouldn’t be too bad. “How does that ma—”

“Moving along,” Dustin interrupts you impatiently. “Steve was helping me with this thing. He didn’t have to. Pretty sure he was concussed at this point.”

Concussed? From a hotdog?

“What the fuck, Henderson?”

Dustin shakes his head vehemently. “He wasn’t but that isn’t the point. The point is that while we were doing this thing, I asked him about his parents, right? And he said, he doesn’t think his parents like him. Like they don’t like him, neither one of them. Who thinks that way? Actually, maybe he was concussed.”

You know his parents have been largely absent from his life, but you never knew that he felt that way and the knowledge makes your heart ache.

Dustin gestures at the two of you. “You and I, we’re children of divorce with shitty dads, right? But I think it’s safe to say that we have pretty great moms. I mean c’mon, your mom bakes us brownies for D-and-D and they’re literally filled with love and chocolate. That’s a mom. Steve’s parents? Never saw them. Couldn’t tell you what they look like. Because they’re never around.”

“I know but I still don’t know where you’re going with this.”

“Hang on, I’ll get to it. But that’s Steve. I think Steve just thinks that people don’t like Steve. Because if his parents don’t like him… who will? But I like Steve. I think he’s the best. But Steve? Steve doesn’t think he’s the best,” Dustin continues to blabber on.

I’m not worth much, Steve’s words echo in your head. You hate that he thinks that about himself and your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

“Did you know how many times I’ve had to watch him awkwardly flirt with girls when he was working at Scoops Ahoy last summer? So many. Because he felt that he needed to play into this weird playboy persona.”

You stare at Dustin. “Not helping your case here, Henderson.”

He ignores you. “But I digress—”

“Like you have been this entire conversation, Dustin?”

He continues to ignore you. “My point is this. Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone who likes him. Where he is just genuinely Steve and not Steve Harrington, with the hair and the popularity and the BMW and the king of high school. And every time he puts on something fake for someone, pretends to be something that he’s not then I know, he’s really just scared. And no one should have to feel so scared.”

“Okay, I have no idea what you’re talking about. This scared version of Steve that you keep talking about? I don’t know…” You shake your head.

Because all he’s ever done is be brave around you, for you.

“You’re right and that’s exactly my point!” Dustin points at you, as if he’s successfully explained something when you’re still struggling with what he’s saying.

“There are people like me and Robin who get that part of Steve sometimes. But I think with you, he never feels scared enough to hide. Steve likes himself a little bit more when he’s around you. Like he’s comfortable with you to just be Steve and not have to be anyone else.” He takes a deep breath. “And I think that that’s something that no one has been able to do in a really long time.”

“And you think that this means that he loves me?”

“I mean…” He levels you with an intense look. “Do you love him?”

“Henderson…” You’re not sure if you want Dustin Henderson to be the first person you reveal your feelings to.

Dustin shakes his head, frustrated with your unwillingness to admit to how you feel about Steve. “No, because I’ve seen you with Eddie and I think Eddie is great. But honestly, I think I like the you that you are when you’re around Steve. I think if you’re really honest with yourself, you know that you’re also less scared because Steve makes you feel safe. In a way that no one else has.”

“Fuck, Dustin.” You exhale. “This is a lot to process.”

“I know. That’s why I saved talking to you about this for the end of the week. So you have the weekend to process. Or…”

“Or?”

Dustin grins at you then, crossing his arms over his chest in seeming victory. “I mean fuck Eddie. Fuck Hellfire. Fuck D-and-D.” He pauses for a moment. “I can’t believe I just said that, but whatever. Go find, Steve. Tell him how you feel.”

You let out an involuntary laugh.

“Go,” he urges you. “Go find him. Tell him how you feel. Please.”

You nod pulling your bag strap closer to you. “Yeah, okay.”

You’re gonna tell Steve.

Maybe even ask him out on a date.

“Also before you go, you should probably know that Steve thinks you and Eddie kissed for some reason.”

…

You spend hours driving around Hawkins trying to pin down the whereabouts of Steve Harrington. He isn’t home and apparently, while he did make it to his shift at Family Video in the morning, Keith let you know that he had asked to leave early because of a migraine. You even drive to your own house to check if his car is parked there, before doubling back to Hawkins High in the off chance that he was picking Robin up.

Nothing.

You’re almost about to lose hope when you decide to widen your search and drive over to Lovers Lake.

And that’s when you spot Steve’s BMW and his lonely figure sitting on one of the picnic tables, staring out into the lake while smoking a cigarette and surrounded by a couple of beer cans.

Tears prick your eyes as you park and exit your car. You hate that you’ve made him feel this way.

He stiffens a little at the intrusion but doesn’t bother checking to see who the new arrival is. Just goes back to inhaling his cigarette again. And you take a deep breath before you start walking over to him.

He doesn’t look at you when you sit next to him on the table, feet on the attached bench.

“Why are you here?” he asks bitterly.

You shrug. “Because I love you.”

He freezes at the words then lets out a sardonic laugh that hurts your heart.

“You love me,” he says flatly before taking another drag of his cigarette.

You simply hum before falling silent, watching the clouds of smoke that he exhales into the wind.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you eventually say. “I never stood a chance, actually.”

Still refusing to say anything, he drops the butt of his cigarette into an empty can of beer. You remind yourself to be patient but with Steve, to show him the same patience he has always shown you. And if he hasn’t asked you to leave yet then maybe you still have a chance to make it right.

You lean back until you’re laying on the table, looking at the darkening sky.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Hellfire or something?” he finally asks.

“This is more important.”

“More important than Eddie Munson,” he says sarcastically. “You flatter me too much, sweetheart.”

There’s nothing sweet in the way that he spits out his favorite pet name for you and you wince at the sting you feel.

“Dustin told me,” you reveal. “About what you saw last night.”

“You know what,” he interrupts you. “If you’re here to soften the blow, please just leave.”

He reaches for the pack of cigarettes and before he can get to them, you grab them and shove them into the pocket of your jeans. His hands clench.

“You know what? Don’t leave. I’ll go.” He stands up abruptly and hops off the bench.

Scrambling off the table you quickly step in front of Steve only for him to roll his eyes and try to get around you. You block him again and when he tries to move past you hold you hands to stop him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells at the sky, still refusing to look at you.

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “Trust me. I’ve been trying to figure that out, too,” you joke.

“I can’t do this.” You catch the pained expression on his face before he turns to you angrily. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t stand here and look at you, do you understand?”

“Steve…”

“No, you got to decide when you get your time and your space and now, I’m asking you to leave me the fuck alone, okay?” he bites out harshly.

You close your eyes against his cold words, tears now falling down your face and you try not to let the words coming out of his mouth convince you to be scared. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” you whisper.

He laughs, hollow and empty. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because…” you plead, searching for some glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Why would I want that when all I want is to be with you?”

Steve’s breathing is shallow, hands still clenched, but he’s staring at you waiting for you to continue.

And you take the silent opening that he’s willing to give you.

“Because Eddie and I didn’t kiss last night. And the only thing that happened was just us agreeing that we’re best friends and nothing more,” you explain desperately.

He remains quiet as he continues to look at you, but you can see his shoulders relax a little.

“Sometimes, it scares me how well you know me,” you confess.

You try not to be unnerved by his continued silence and instead decide to keep pushing.

“See, there’s this box and you… You open the box. And I’m in the box.”

You shake your head, frustrated that you can’t seem to get anything right. “Okay, forget the box. When I say scared, I don’t mean it in the same way when you’re watching a horror film and you know that girl is stupid and she’s gonna die first and you just know that a jump-scare is coming..”

You take a deep breath, wiping your tears away. “But it’s scary in the way that it feels like I’m standing on the edge of… something.” You reach out to take Steve’s hand and he lets you. “That if I embrace the feeling, if I jump, if I take this chance, then things can change in a way I haven’t prepared for.”

You unfurl the fingers from his fist and lace them with yours.

“The thing is, Steven D. Harrington—”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips and you’ve never known the happiness of just single smile until this moment.

“At some point,” you continue, your tears falling freely down your face, “That if turned into a when. And I was really hoping that when could start now. Because I’m not scared anymore.”

You bite your lower lip as you stare at him waiting for a response or even just a small reaction.

His eyes finally soften. “Okay.”

And relief blooms inside you making you smile at him despite still crying.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nods.

“How…” You sniffle a little. “How do you do it? How do you seem to know what I want and need? Because it’s like you… just know. When I need to be quiet. When I need to talk. When I just need you there, to hold my hand to… to kiss me. To let me know that I’m safe, that I’m going to be okay. How do you know?”

Steve finally smiles at you then, the most beautiful one he’s ever given you that your heart automatically files it away because it’s its own little love letter to you.

“Because,” he answers brokenly, tears forming in his own eyes. “I need those moments just as much as you.”

You give him a watery laugh and you nod. “Makes sense.”

“Fuck,” he exhales before finally pulling you into his arms.

You melt into him, heart soaring, and wrap your own arms around his waist. It’s the kind of moment you want to remember forever. So you breathe in the familiar cologne now tinged in cigarette smoke. Take in the way the corduroy of his jacket feels underneath your cheek. The way that his pulse throbs under your lips as you press a tender to kiss to the side of his neck.

“You love me?” you hear him whisper into your hair.

You giggle before nodding.

“Say it again.”

You pull away from him just a little bit to look him in the eyes and can finally see all the love that he has for you. His brown eyes are shiny even in the darkness and his smile is lovely and true. And he’s yours.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.” You press a kiss on his nose. “Do you love me?”

He hums, pulling you tighter to him. “Maybe,” he jokes. “I could love you, too. Like if I really put my mind to it. But we’ll see.”

You groan and tilt your head upwards. “I hate you,” you whine.

“Nah, too late. You already said it.”

“I take it back.”

“Nuh-uh. No take-backsies.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, you made me think for almost an entire day that you and Eddie kissed, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that image out of my head.”

You frown. “First, I didn’t make you think anything. You’re the one who jumped to that conclusion all by your lovely self. Second, before you spiral out of control, can you talk to me first? And third, do you know how many times I’ve had to witness you and Nancy Wheeler making out in school?”

“That’s not fair.” He pulls you close and chuckles into your hair.

“Well, then we’ll just to agree to disagree.”

He laughs then, a hearty belly laugh that erupts from him unexpectedly.

“Sure. But only because I love you,” he whispers before kissing you.

...

A CHEESY TITLE INSERT. HAD TO DO IT.

Read Part Seven here

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