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English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.
Summary: You see Steve Harrington as the conceited golden boy everyone knows him to be, but when you are forced to tutor him, you see a different side of him and start to soften towards him, so much so that you fall for him. But when he has a perfect girlfriend he loves, and friends that see you as a joke, you know that you donât stand a chance.
Content: fluff, angst, slow burn, s1 Steve so heâs a bit of an asshole, mentions of shitty dads, a few uses of y/n, opposites attract, popular boy x nerdy tutor girl (Iâm such a sucker for this trope I had to do it), the timeline for s1 in this fic is a bit inaccurate but letâs go along with it for the plot please. Lmk if I missed any! (Pictures are not intended to reflect the reader)
Word count: 14.4k words
From the moment one of your classmates had asked you to tutor them in your freshman year, you quickly learned that you loved tutoring people.
Perhaps it was because you had always been a helper, and it felt good knowing that people were comfortable enough to come up to you and ask for such help.
But what you really loved about it was the outcome.
When the person you helped came to you afterwards and excitedly told you how they had aced their test, or how they had gotten a good mark on their assignment, it filled you with a quiet sense of pride. Not exactly for yourself, but for them. For their success, for their improvement. And because you had done that, you had helped them get to that success.
So naturally, you signed up to become an official tutor at the Hawkins High School Tutoring Centre.
It became apart of your routine. Staying after school to tutor someone, or having to come to their house to do so. Either way, you never really minded. All that really mattered was that you helped them not to dread class so much anymore, to help them to not have to scratch their head while looking at the work because they just didn't get it.
So of course, now in your sophomore year, you didn't mind when the coordinator of the centre informed you that a new person had been added to your roster. However, you didn't know who this person was because the arrangement had been last minute since the person's original tutor had been unable to do so, so he wasn't officially on your schedule yet. All that you knew was that he was a guy in the year above who had apparently been holding off getting tutored for a long time. This made you assume this guy was going to be a bit hard to work with, but you were always able to manage.
It had been thirty minutes since school ended when you sat in the library, waiting for this person to show up with your stationery already set out on the table. This person was already late, and should have already been at the table with you fifteen minutes ago.
You were thinking about the meatloaf you were going to have for dinner tonight when the doors of the library swung open, abruptly cutting off your thoughts and startling you. You looked up as the librarian glared at the culprit at the door, pressing a pointy finger to her lips.
And the culprit was the last person you expected to walk into a library of all places.
Steve Harrington.
As in Steve "The Hair" Harrington, also known as King Steve.
The kind of person who threw a raging party every Saturday, the kind of person who misbehaved in class because they knew there would be no real consequences, and the kind of person who would only ever be at school after hours for basketball practice.
So why the hell was Steve Harrington in the library of Hawkins High after school hours?
And why was he looking straight at you?
He didn't look happy by any means. He was obviously annoyed by whatever was plaguing him, and you grew nervous as he approached you while still wearing his irritated expression.
He came to a stop in front of your table, and you swallowed anxiously under his intimidating stare, starting to fiddle with the ends of your sleeves as a nervous habit.
"Are you Y/N L/N?" He asked flatly.
You blinked. "Yes. Can I help you?"
"You're supposed to apparently, you're my... tutor," said Steve, his face scrunching up as if the word physically hurt him.
Somehow, you had known from the second he had walked in with that look on his face, yet your stomach still dropped with dread when he said it.
You were happy to tutor anyone, but anyone didn't include Steve Harrington. It was something you had never worried about, because how were you supposed to assume that one day you would have to tutor King Steve out of all people?
You schooled your expression to the best of your abilities, and you recollected yourself as you nodded. "I see. Well... sit down, and we can get started."
You tried to say it kindly, but you immediately regretted doing so when he mumbled something grumpily under his breath as he reluctantly sat on the same table on you, pointedly choosing the seat furthest from you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, and you had a feeling that was an urge you would need to resist often.
You cursed the coordinator of the centre for setting up this arrangement. Clearly, this person didn't know anything about how you and Steve couldn't be any more different, because you truly were polar opposites.
While he played beer pong at house parties, you were studying. While he goofed off in class, you paid attention and completed all of your work. While he was at basketball practice, you were tutoring. While he always had a rowdy table at lunch, you had a quiet and calm one.
There was a spectrum, and you both sat at the opposite ends of it.
You just hoped you could swiftly help Steve pass a test so that it would be over as soon as possible.
***
After just one week, you could tell you were going to be tortured with tutoring Steve Harrington for a while.
To put it nicely, he... lacked concentration, and perhaps lacked a lot more. You really didn't think he was stupid, he just couldn't focus on what he needed to.
Only after two sessions, you had noticed that while you talked, he simply didn't listen and clearly didn't even try to. He always had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking about the party he was throwing that weekend, or what he was having for dinner. Sometimes he was clearly present in the moment, he just still chose not to take in a single word of yours. One time, he started to balance a pencil on his nose while you were explaining the math equation he needed to solve, and it had taken him ten minutes to realise you had stopped talking.
He was already by far the most difficult person you had tutored, and so far, you were lost on how to get through to him.
You didn't even know how or why he was in the tutoring program. He had made it clear since day one that he didn't want to be tutored by you, and he hadn't once shown an ounce of effort in any of your sessions. Maybe he had gotten pressured by his parents, that wasn't an uncommon reason behind kids coming to the tutoring centre. But then you had heard rumours that his parents was always out of town and that's why he was always able to throw parties, so if they were never there, why would they pressure him to do such things?
You didn't know, and you didn't really want to. You had no interest in Steve Harrington's life, no matter how handsome or charming he was. He wasn't all that interesting.
Nevertheless, you were still being forced into his life one way or another, so much so that you ended up with plans to go to his house on Sunday.
It had been during the usual tutoring session tucked away in the corner of the library, you overviewing your notes for your own work while he was supposed to be reading the textbook laid out in front of him. Of course, he was instead staring out of the window longingly, like he wished to be outdoors instead of stuck inside with you.
"Do we always have to do this in the library?" He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
You looked up, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, is it necessary to be in the library for all of this stuff?" He rephrased.
"Well... yeah. A library is the best place to study and get work done," you said, confused on why this wasn't obvious to him.
"Yeah, but... someone could walk in," he said quietly.
Oh, so that's what it was about. He didn't want someone to walk in and see him actually studying, something that was considered weird and nerdy for people like him. Or more specifically, he didn't want to be seen with you.
You sighed, and propped your chin on the palm of your hand. "Then where do you suggest we go if not a library?"
"I don't know, just like... not at school," said Steve, avoiding your gaze.
"Well, you could come to my house or I could come to yours. I've done that with other people when they weren't able to study at school either," you said.
He blinked. "You want me to come to your house?"
"Yeah, so I can tutor you. If that doesn't work, then we can go the public library or-"
"No, just..." he trailed off, seeming to consider it before sighing, running a hand through his hair that you couldn't help but look at. "My parents are out of town this weekend. You can come over on Sunday if you really want."
You were secretly glad he suggested his house. You didn't want Steve coming over and judging your house that was very much not a mansion like his probably was.
"Sounds like a plan," you said dryly. "What time do you want me to come over?"
"I don't know like... two o'clock?" Said Steve.
"Works for me," you said unenthusiastically, and he seemed just as eager as you were as he ripped some paper from his notebook and wrote his address on it, giving it to you.
"Don't take this the wrong way but can you please not tell anyone about this?" Steve asked.
You didn't resist this time, and let yourself freely roll your eyes. "Don't worry, I don't want anyone knowing about this either Harrington."
His eyes flashed with surprise, and you tried not to feel too satisfied as you had clearly startled him with that.
The rest of the week passed quicker than you would've liked it to, and before you knew it, you were climbing onto your bicycle with your bag on your back and his address in your hand. It was a longer ride than you had anticipated, and you soon realised why your houses were so far away from each others as you entered his neighbourhood, which was lined with rich houses and fancy cars in driveways, a stark contrast to your neighbourhood that was filled with actual life instead of excessively big, soulless properties.
You finally pulled up to Steve's house, and suddenly the nerves inside you increased tenfold. You certainly didn't want to be alone with Steve Harrington in his house that was go-to place for high school parties you were never invited to. But you were a tutor, this was your job, so you had to pull through. You were determined to get Steve to at least pass one of his subjects.
You took a deep breath before you approached the house and knocked on the door. You stood there for a few minutes with no answer, so you knocked again, and only a minute after that, the door swung open.
Steve looked like he had just rolled out of bed with rumpled clothes and hair that was tousled, out of its usual polished state, a sight that felt a bit shocking to see as he was well known for his perfect hair.
He blinked as if he was surprised to see you, and then he said, "I forgot you were coming."
Despite your nerves, you were able to remain cool and unbothered on the outside as you shot him a deadpanned look, sarcastically replying, "flattering."
He sighed. "I didn't mean it like that, I just- sorry, I know you've come all this way, but I can't do the whole tutoring thing today. I've got a killer headache, so I'm in not in a good state to study."
You actually did believe that he had a headache, but you had a feeling he was leaving out some details.
"Are you hungover?"
A pause.
"No," Steve scoffed.
But his hesitation had already answered your question.
"Have you made a hangover smoothie?"
He frowned. "Hangover smoothie?"
"You don't do that sort of stuff? My sister always did when she was in high school," you said. "Do you have a blender?"
"I... don't think so?"
"God, for someone who always goes to parties, you don't seem well equipped for your hangovers," you said quietly, but he heard it all the same, and he looked at you incredulously.
"I can't study," Steve repeated firmly, probably a way of trying to get you to leave.
But you only tilted your head. "I think you can."
"What?"
"Just drink lots of water, and we can get started," you said with a sweet smile.
"This is ridiculous, you can't-"
"But I can, because I'm your tutor, and you can be as difficult as you want, but I'm not giving up on you. So, are you going to let me in, or should I tutor you at school this week?" You asked.
Steve stared at you in bewilderment, like he couldn't even fathom the fact that someone was saying no to him, that someone was going against what he wanted.
He seemed to realise that you weren't going away anytime soon, so he widened the door, and you smiled with satisfaction as you stepped into the threshold, shoulder brushing against his as you walked further into his house.
Your confidence diminished as you followed Steve into his fancy kitchen, awkwardly standing in silence while he had a water in a glass that had probably been expensive, like most items likely were in the house by how everything looked, but you tried not to pay too much attention to it all.
He then led upstairs to his bedroom, and you tried not to show your surprise at the size of it, at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the shiny basketball trophies that lined the shelves, and the ensuite connected to the room.
It reminded you of how much of a typical jock he was, and how you were supposed to tutor this certain jock.
"Get started with it then," said Steve unenthusiastically, flopping onto his bed. When he noticed you weren't moving, he said, "you can sit down, y'know."
You cleared your throat awkwardly before sitting on the edge of his bed that you noticed immediately was very soft. Still, you didn't let yourself get too comfortable as you shifted your bag to your lap, undoing the zip and starting to unload your stuff.
Soon enough, there were books and pens scattered on the bed, both of you sitting opposite each other. He at least had a notebook opened in front of him with pen in his hand, but that was where it ended, while you explained the key points of the Civil Rights Movement for his history class.
"Are you hungry?" He interrupted you to ask. "I am."
You gave him a confused look. "Um... I guess I could eat, why?"
"I'll go get a snack!" He said eagerly, jumping up from the bed, "do you like potato chips?"
"Yeah...?"
"Great, I'll be back," said Steve, bounding out of the room, leaving you confused by his sudden hospitality.
When he was gone for longer than necessary just to get chips, you realised he was just making an excuse to not do his work, and it made your irritation grow. You needed to come up with a new strategy to get the information for the work through his head.
He eventually came back with a bag of chips that he sat between you so that you could share, but he still ate most of them as you focused on trying to make him learn. It became even more annoying to do so when he kept crinkling the bag obnoxiously and chewing excessively, all while sat in a stupid position on his side while leaning on his elbow.
And then you got an idea.
Just as he reached out for more chips, you snatched the bag out of his reach and placed it next to you.
Steve looked at you, clearly affronted. "You didn't have to take the whole thing if you wanted some."
"I made some flash cards for you," you said, ignoring what he said.
"Oh, great," he said sarcastically.
You shot him a look as you reached into your bag to pull out the pile of flashcards stuck together with a paper clip.
"Here's how we'll do this. For every answer you get right, you get a chip," you told him. "If you get it wrong, well, you just won't get anything."
He narrowed his eyes. "That's just stupid. I could easily get those back."
"Okay, then go ahead."
He held your challenging gaze before moving abruptly to try and startle you, reaching for the bag. But you were faster, taking the bag before he could touch it and placing it on your other side.
His mouth parted. "That was good luck."
"Just answer the flash cards Harrington, and you can get as many as you want," you said. "Only if you get them right though."
Steve groaned, running his hands over his face before he said, "fine, then shoot."
You smiled, pleased, and read out the first flash card. "What does the atomic number of an atom tell you?"
Steve was silent for a moment. "Uh, say that again?"
You repeated it, then he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.
"I thought we were doing history," he said accusingly.
"We were, but now we're doing science. I guess I didn't think you'd realise since you don't listen to anything I say," you said coolly.
Steve raised his eyebrows, and got off his elbows, sitting up. "Alright, so we're not holding back today."
"Why would I? I'm serious about tutoring you, Steve," you said while looking into his eyes, saying his first name for the first time without realising it. A smirk then tugged at his lips, and he subtly grew more confident.
"Atomic number... um... it tells you how heavy the atom is, or something?" He guessed.
"Incorrect," you said flatly, "but at least you tried. The atomic number of an atom tells you how many protons there are in the nucleus."
Steve frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"The nucleus of an atom is the centre of the atom, and it consists of the protons and neutrons," you explained, and at his lost expression, you added, "I can draw you a diagram-"
"No, just... next question," said Steve with a slight grimace.
You obliged, and went to the next card. "How many electrons are found in the first, second and third shells of an atom?"
"Jesus Christ," Steve murmured, rubbing his temple.
Feeling a stab of sympathy for him, you said softly, "want a hint?"
"Obviously."
"There are two found in the first shell, and the second and third are the same," you told him. "Well, it depends on which rule you're using, but we'll just use one for this one."
"I don't know, okay?" Steve snapped, still rubbing his temple. "We both know I don't know shit."
You deflated at his outburst, and you bit your lip, reading over the flash cards.
"Let's try this one, it's easy," you said gently. "What is the central part of an atom?"
Steve shot you a glare. "I don't-"
"I just said it," you told him encouragingly, "when I was explaining the answer to the first question. Think back on what I said."
Steve furrowed his eyebrows, "I..."
"I offered to draw a diagram of it."
You waited patiently as Steve went into deep thought, and then he blurted out, "the nucleus!"
You grinned. "Yes! That's right?"
Steve's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really! Good job, Harrington, I knew you had it in you," you said happily.
"Thanks. Now, can I have my chips back?â
"Oh, right," you handed the packet back to Steve, and he took it back eagerly, digging into the bag enthusiastically. You snorted, and he sent you a sharp look with no real bite.
"You haven't had any yet, have some," Steve offered, holding it out.
"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely.
"You said you could eat, so eat," Steve insisted, and you let out a little laugh before giving in and taking one.
"You know, it's not that you don't know shit, it's that you don't pay attention," you said. "If you just simply did that, you would know much more."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Tell me more about it later," said Steve, bored by school talk. "What's your favourite chip flavour?"
To your own surprise, you went along with the change of topic. "Salt and vinegar."
His face scrunched up in disgust. "Are you serious?"
"What's wrong with salt and vinegar?" You said defensively.
"Everything. It makes my tongue feel weird, and I hate the smell," said Steve. "It's disgusting."
"No it's not! What's your favourite then if you're such an expert?" You inquired.
"Chicken's good."
It was your turn to grimace. "Yeah, you're the last person who should be judging my favourite flavour."
Steve's jaw dropped. "You don't like chicken?"
"It's got a weird smell to it," you said.
"Salt and vinegar is the one with a weird smell!" Steve said furiously, and instead of snapping back at him, you couldn't help but burst into laughter.
Surprise flickered across his face at your laughter, before he was unable to stop himself from laughing with you. It felt so out of the ordinary to be genuinely laughing with Steve Harrington on a Sunday, a moment that you felt like you shouldn't have belonged in.
And when the ring of the telephone on his bedside table cut through the sound of your combined laughter, the moment vanished, and you no longer belonged.
"I'll get that," said Steve, sobering and jumping off the bed to reach the phone, taking it off the stand and holding it to his ear.
The awkwardness crept back into you as you sat in silence, trying to mind your own business as you looked down at the books set out in front of you. Still, you couldn't help but pay attention to Steve's conversation.
"Oh, hey Nance!" He said eagerly, and you blinked at the change in his voice. "Mhm... yeah, of course, I would love to. How could I ever say no?" He laughed then, and you could hear the muffled voice on the other end. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. See you then."
You were picking at the skin on your fingers by the time he put the phone back down on the stand, and you reluctantly looked up as he turned to you.
"Hey, so uh-"
"You have plans with your girlfriend?" You said it before he could, raising your eyebrows.
"Well... yeah," said Steve sheepishly. "So unfortunately, we're going to have to cut this short."
"I don't think you find that unfortunate," you said knowingly, getting off the bed and starting to gather your stuff.
"Yeah, I don't," he admitted shamelessly. "No one does homework on a Sunday anyway."
"People with good grades do," you said pointedly, and Steve's eyebrows furrowed at the jab. Yes, it was a little harsh, but you had realised by now that you needed to be harsh if you wanted to get your point across. You straightened up, looking him in the eyes. "Harrington, you can't cut a tutoring session short just because your girlfriend wants to hang out with you."
Annoyance spread across his face. "Why not?"
"Because that's not how it works," you said snappishly, getting irritated with his obliviousness. "We were finally getting somewhere, and then you just ditched it with no second thought. You signed up for this, so you need to pull your head out of your ass and go through with it."
Steve scowled. "For the record, I didn't sign up for this, my dad did, so you should know I'm not doing this willingly. Even if I was, I'm not going to ditch my girlfriend to be tutored by another girl in my own house."
"Doesn't she know you're getting tutored?"
"No, no one does!" He blurted out, and you blinked. "The whole thing's pointless. Seriously, you really don't need to do this. You know my girlfriend is really smart? She can just tutor me instead, and she's happy to do so."
"Maybe you should've told your dad that before he signed you up," you said coldly.
"You don't think I- you know what, it's none of your business. You should just give it up, because you should know by now that this isn't going anywhere," said Steve heatedly, and you clenched your fists, biting your tongue so that you wouldn't say something you'd regret.
You packed the rest of your stuff and zipped your bag with an angry sigh. You hoisted your bag onto your back and went for the door, desperate to get out of the house.
But then you paused by the door, gripping the doorframe tightly as you looked at Steve who was glaring at the ground.
"You don't understand that I'm not giving up, Harrington. This might be an arrangement neither of us like, but I'm going to help you no matter what, because that's what I do. You shouldn't doubt yourself so much," your voice became quieter the more you spoke, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
You turned before you could see him look at you, and you hastily left the house.
***
The next tutoring session in the library was awkward and mostly silent. You had tried to explain the work to him for the first fifteen minutes, but when you realised he was never going to listen, you stopped talking and looked at your notes instead. You gave him a textbook that you told him to read even as that was something the both of you knew he wasn't going to do. You spent the whole session trying to think of what to do about him, how you could get him to just listen to you.
It was at the end when he broke the silence.
"About the other day..." he started, and you looked at him too quickly, with too much hope. "I just... you know who my girlfriend is, right?"
Oh, so it was just about his girlfriend instead of an apology. You didn't know why you were expecting more.
But of course you knew his girlfriend. Nancy Wheeler, a pretty, smart girl who nearly beat your top grade in the class, and sometimes did when you lagged behind on work due to tutoring. She was quiet but kind, and never did a thing wrong it seemed. You weren't friends with her, but you liked her with the exception of the times she got a higher mark than you, and jealousy would flare up inside you without being able to help it.
You didn't know how someone like her was able to put up with Steve.
"Yeah. She's really nice," you replied.
Steve smiled, a soft look in his eyes you had never seen before. "Yeah, I know."
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
"I just want to ask you to not tell her about this... whole tutoring thing. Or anyone, for that matter. I don't want her to know because it's a bad look for me to be spending so much time with another girl," he explained.
"But I'm just tutoring you," you said with confusion.
"Yeah, but still," Steve shrugged.
You didn't hold back from rolling your eyes this time.
"And I don't want anyone knowing I'm getting tutored either. They might think I'm a nerd," said Steve, and then gave you an apologetic look. "No offence."
"None taken," you said sarcastically.
"Anyway, is that all okay?" He asked.
You sighed. "Yes, it is. I haven't told anyone anyway, and I don't plan to. My goal is just to get you to pass one test, and then you can be free."
"One test?" He repeated.
"Yes."
"It doesn't have to be an A or anything?"
"No, just a pass, even if barely," you said.
Steve nodded like he was accepting a challenge, leaning back in his seat. "Deal."
You hated how a small smile twitched at your lips. "Deal."
That next Sunday, Steve came over to your house instead. Leading up to it, you had been a nervous wreck.
People came over to your house all the time for tutoring, it had become normal for you, and you never minded it. But it was different with Steve, because he was different from all of the other people you had tutored. You had seen his big house, you knew he was rich just by looking into his driveway, so he was more likely to judge.
It wasn't that you were poor. You and your family were comfortable, but not rich, and you had a feeling Steve had only ever been around rich. You were the type of person who still only had a bike because you were saving up for a car, while he was the type to have his car bought for him.
You also just had wildly different interests, so yeah, you were pretty fucking scared.
You sat in your kitchen while your mum moved around you, biting your nails while you waited for Steve to come. You had deep cleaned your bedroom, and cleaned other parts of the house just to be safe.
You hated how much Steve Harrington was stressing you out.
"I think your new student is here," your mum said, looking through the window.
You jumped up at once, and joined her by the window, spotting Steve's burgundy BMW parked outside of your house.
Your mum raised her eyebrows. "He must be borrowing his dad's car.â
"No, that's his car," you said weakly.
She blinked. "Oh, wow. Okay."
You watched Steve get out of the car, subconsciously observing the navy jacket he was wearing over a polo shirt, along with his famous jeans that always fit him just right.
You blinked, startled by your own thoughts, and distracted yourself by heading for the door to greet Steve.
"Don't be weird!" You called out to your mum.
"I'm never weird!" She called back. That was a lie.
You opened the front door before Steve even reached it, and you internally winced at your eagerness.
He seemed to notice it by the slight raise of his eyebrows, but thankfully, he didn't say anything.
"Hey," he said casually as he approached you.
"Hi," you said blandly.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you were about to ask him what was funny until he spoke. "You know, you always speak in this tone."
You frowned. "Tone? What tone?"
"Like, this flat tone, and you're blunt too," he explained. At your skeptical look, he rushed to say, "not in a bad way, it doesn't have to be bad. Except for when you're like, insulting me."
"I don't insult you."
"You literally did this time last week."
"Just because someone's saying the truth, doesn't mean it's an insult Harrington," you said sweetly.
He clicked and pointed at you. "See? That's it, right there!"
"That wasn't an insult."
"No, but it was blunt."
You rolled your eyes, albeit a smile tugged at your lips against your will.
"Just come in, we've got work to do," you said, widening the door and stepping aside for him to come through.
"Yes ma'am," said Steve, stepping into the threshold, and you failed to keep your smile from widening.
Your smile dropped when you were reminded of your fears as you noticed him looking around your home, and you started to pick at your fingers.
"My bedroom's just upstairs," you said quietly, about to lead him to your room until your mum appeared with a wide smile.
"Hello! You must be Steve!" Your mum greeted brightly. She introduced herself by her first name, and you wanted to sink into a hole.
"Nice to meet you," said Steve politely, seeming taken aback from your mum's energy. But there was nothing judgemental on his face, just... surprise.
"I don't know how long you plan to stay over for, but no matter the time, if you want a drink or some food, feel free to come down and ask! Or just get some yourself, she can show you," your mum said kindly, referring to you. "If she lets you out of the room, that is..."
"Mum," you warned.
"I'm just playing around honey! She's just a strict tutor, she's determined," your mum told Steve.
"He knows, mum. I've been tutoring him for a few weeks," you said with annoyance. At least, you had been trying to. "We're going up to my room now."
"Okay. Good luck, Steve!" Your mum said playfully to Steve, and you groaned as you urged him along while he laughed, seeming heavily amused by your mum.
"I'm sorry," you said once you were out of earshot. "I told her not to be weird, and I guess she heard a completely different thing."
"She's not weird," Steve smiled. "She's... really nice."
He wore a strange expression when he said it, one you couldn't read, so you just looked away and dismissed it.
You swallowed nervously as you entered your room, Steve stepping in behind you, and you rushed over to set up the stationery on the floor, as if starting as soon as possible would give him less time to look at your room.
You called him down to sit, and your face felt hot as he sat down without saying anything, glancing at your posters with an unreadable expression.
Your focus was on English today where Steve had to write an essay. You didn't think it was particularly hard, but that was always different for Steve. So you went into it thinking that he would be ignorant to it as always, that he would just get distracted by something stupid again.
But he proved you wrong.
Because when you looked at him, his eyes were already on you, and they weren't glazed over with the other thoughts he usually had running through his mind. He seemed... focused, and it startled you. Especially so when he asked a question about the topic.
So you let him write the introduction of the essay himself, sitting in silence as he wrote. Both of you had your backs pressed up against your bed, the supplies laid out in front of you while you sat a respectful distance from each other.
You tried to mind your own business, but then you couldn't help but stare at him while he wrote something that you'd probably have to give some constructive criticism on. Either way, it felt oddly personal to see him like that. King Steve sitting in your bedroom, writing an essay after apparently listening to the tips and information you gave.
You noticed how his eyes slightly narrowed while he wrote, his tongue sticking out slightly while he concentrated. The small vulnerability was definitely strange to witness, but... nice to see.
You snapped out of your daze, and looked away from him.
You spent the next whole hour working on the essay. There were many scrunched up balls of papers by the end of the hour, all that had come from a frustrated Steve every time he made a mistake. You had to gently remind him that it wasn't his final copy, that these were only his drafts.
He ended up with an introduction he was somewhat satisfied with, and a written starting sentence for the next paragraph.
You never thought you'd say it, but you were actually proud of him. Proud of him for finally putting in the effort, for swallowing his pride and taking your advice.
Your mum came at the perfect time with a plate of chocolate chip cookies just as you had decided to give Steve a break. They were leftovers from the batch she had made only a few days ago, and while Steve had been politely thankful, you could see the delight in his eyes.
After your mum left, he took his first bite of the cookie, and stopped masking his joy.
"I love your mum," he said blissfully, throwing his head back as he savoured the cookie.
"Don't go throwing that sentence around please," you said with a small grimace.
"But I do! I swear, these are heavenly," he said solemnly, holding up the cookie like it was a trophy. "This is exactly what I needed after the worst hour of my life."
You snorted. "Uh oh, Steve Harrington's actually done schoolwork and now he's dying."
"I am," he said seriously, and you laughed, making him grin.
You fell into a relaxed silence as you grabbed a cookie for yourself, and it felt strange to feel so comfortable around Steve, to just eat cookies with him in silence like you were friends who did this all the time.
After a few minutes, Steve interrupted the silence as he nodded towards something on the wall, asking, "do you have siblings?"
You followed his gaze to the photos of you and your family hung up on your wall, one of which included a younger you surrounded by older kids that were in fact your siblings.
"Yeah, quite a few actually," you answered. "But they're all either moved out or at college right now, so I'm basically an only child at the moment."
"So... you're the youngest?" Steve inquired, and you weren't expecting the genuine curiosity in his voice.
"That I am," you said with a bashful smile.
Steve hummed as he stared thoughtfully at the picture of you and your siblings.
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have siblings," Steve said like it had been a thought in his head more than something he'd meant to say out loud, and that seemed to be the case by the way his face fell after he realised what he had said.
But you didn't pay any mind to it, continuing the conversation normally, "it's loud when the house is full. It can also be really annoying when I want some quiet privacy, because that always get disrupted. Well, I guess I get time to myself all the time now, but that's going to change when they come back for the holidays."
You hadn't meant to ramble, and heat rushed to your cheeks once you realised, but Steve
showed anything but judgement. If anything, he seemed invested in your words, a faraway look in his eyes like he was imagining the scene for himself.
"Sounds nice," he said so quietly you almost didn't catch it, and you decided not to let him know that you had heard it, because you somehow knew those words had only been for himself. He cleared his throat, seeming to recollect himself as his voice returned to its usual confident, slightly cocky state. "So, do you plan to go to college like them? Your siblings?"
"Yeah, I'm actually really excited to. It'll be nice to get out of Hawkins," you said with a smile, "what about you?"
Steve shrugged. "I guess. My dad wants me to. But anyway, I probably can't get in with the way I'm going," he gestured to his incomplete essay.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you really do have it in you, Harrington? And either way, it's up to you whether you want to go to college or not. Don't let your dad decide for you," you said lightly, popping a small piece of a cookie into your mouth.
Steve blinked, and something vulnerable flickered in his expression for a few seconds before it smoothed over, his walls coming back up.
He seemed to be in a rush to lighten the unspoken weight that now hung in the air, so in his haste, he grabbed another cookie and took a reckless bite of it, spilling crumbs onto your carpeted floor.
"Stop it, you're getting crumbs on my carpet!" You complained, grimacing as you picked the crumbs out of your carpet and sprinkled them back onto the plate.
When Steve let out a laugh, your expression soured and you decided to take a different approach, gathering more crumbs in between your fingers before throwing them at him.
He let out a sound of disbelief as he held his hand up to shield himself, and he narrowed his eyes at you before he picked some of the crumbs out himself and threw them at you.
"You jerk!" You laughed, swatting his arm before the two of you fought over the last few pieces of crumbs in the floor to toss at each other.
You both ended up in a fit of laughter that made your stomachs hurt from the sheer absurdity of it, and that was what you counted as the first successful tutoring session.
***
The tutoring sessions with Steve changed after that day. Instead of it being something in your schedule you dreaded, it became something you actually looked forward to, because the times with Steve became enjoyable.
You both came to an agreement of doing tutoring twice a week, since you had other people to tutor and he had basketball practice. Wednesdays at his house, Sundays at yours.
You grew to favour Wednesdays and Sundays.
What it was, was that he was finally listening to you, and he was finally getting schoolwork done. There were many things about the work from each subject that you always had to explain to him multiple times so that he would understand, but you never lost your patience. He seemed surprised by this every time, looking at you like he was waiting for you to get angry after sheepishly asking for another explanation.
But you never did. You never saw any reason to.
It was not only that he was finally getting assignments done, but there had also been a shift in the dynamic between you. At the beginning, it had all been awkward silences and irritated glares, until you started to talk instead of letting the silences settle, until you laughed instead of throwing annoyed words and looks at each other, and the glares became playful instead of real. It began to feel less like a chore, and more like a fun hangout.
You considered Steve Harrington as a friend now, which felt ridiculous while simultaneously feeling right, because why wouldn't he be your friend? Sure, he didn't acknowledge you at school, and sometimes he talked about his girlfriend too much when he should've been studying, but he was kind. He was extremely nice to your parents, he complimented your home in a way that you knew he meant it, and he was always offering you food and drinks whenever you went to his house, or bringing them over whenever he came to yours.
You had even grown to like him so much that you started making hangover smoothies for him every Sunday when he came to your house, because he was pretty much always hungover on Sundays. You told yourself that you did it because you wanted him feeling well enough to be tutored, but deep down, you knew it was more than that.
Sure, he had his flaws, but Steve wasn't nearly as bad as you had initially thought him to be. Because you had seen a different side of him, a softer and more vulnerable side he never showed in public, in front of his popular friends and the girls that fluttered their eyelashes at him despite knowing he was taken. You wondered if he even showed that side to Nancy Wheeler.
It had especially shone through on one Wednesday when he came to your house instead of his. He had called you immediately after school to beg you to not come to his house, to have him come to yours instead just for that week. He hadn't told you why, but you had said yes anyway, because all you needed to hear was the urgency in his voice to know that it was important.
You hadn't asked when he arrived, even when he looked down more than usual. You still didn't ask when he wasn't nearly as talkative as he usually was, almost silent the whole time as you talked him through the history paper he had to write.
You were forced to finally do something about it when you noticed him doing nothing after you left him to do it on his own, his eyes glued to the paper with a distant look in his eyes, mindlessly tapping his pencil on his knee. It was easy to see as you were working in your living room, sat at either ends of the couch. You didn't want to push him as he clearly wasn't in a good mood, but unfortunately, giving him a push was what you were there to do.
"Steve," you said softly, bringing him back to the moment and capturing his attention. "Are you struggling to start the next sentence?"
He blinked. "Huh?â
"On the paper," you said, nodding towards it.
"Oh," he said, looking at it like that was the first time he had noticed it there. "Um... no. Just thinking."
"You've been thinking for a long time," you pointed out gently, and you swallowed when he fixed his hard gaze on you. "I just- if you need me to go through it again, you know not to be afraid to ask me-"
"For god's sake, I already know I'm stupid so can you just leave it alone for a second?" Steve snapped, and you jerked back a little, taken by surprise. "I don't need you talking to me like I'm some slow kid."
"I wasn't-"
"You were. You always do!" Steve said out of frustration, running a hand through his hair.
You stared at him for a moment, processing his words before you leaned back into your spot on the couch, accepting defeat.
"Work at your own pace then, Steve," you said flatly, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you shifted your body away from him, focusing on your own notes.
You didn't look at him for a few minutes, but the tension in the air was palpable as you felt Steve's gaze burn holes into you. He said your name after at least ten minutes had passed, and you looked at him to find his guilty expression.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking at the ground. "You're not doing anything wrong, I'm just an asshole. I don't even know why I'm acting like one when I literally wanted to come here."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The last place I wanted to be at was my house tonight, and for some reason, your place was the first thing that came to mind for an alternative," Steve admitted softly, and your heart skipped a beat. "I was so relieved when you said yes to me coming here instead."
The admission slammed into your chest, and it made your breath catch. Your house had been the first place he had thought of for an escape? Not Tommy Hagan's house? Not even Nancy Wheeler's?
Steve blinked as if snapping out of it, and frantically said, "sorry, that was a weird thing to say. I don't know why I- just forget that ever came out of my mouth."
"Don't be sorry. I think it's nice," you said softly, turning your body back to him as he looked at you curiously, "that you thought of my house as a better place to be. I didn't realise you liked it that much."
"How could I not? It's the place that holds the outcomes of your mum's glorious baking," Steve joked, and you laughed quietly, shaking your head at him. Steve smiled, but his face quickly sobered as he looked at you questioningly. "By the way, you haven't asked me anything."
"About what?"
"About what happened at my house, why I prefer to be here," said Steve bluntly.
You shrugged. "Not my business, is it? It's up to you if we talk about it."
Steve seemed taken aback by that, and you didn't know why he did. Was he used to people prying in his personal business that clearly upset him?
"But... don't you want to know?" Steve pushed.
"I guess I'm a bit curious, but I'm not going to force you to say anything," you said as if it were obvious.
Steve opened his mouth just to close it again, and narrowed his eyes. "You're weird."
You arched an eyebrow. "Or I'm just not nosy."
"Or that," Steve agreed in defeat, and you huffed out a laugh. You didn't expect anything more from him, but when he started talking again in a weaker tone, you listened. "My dad's just an asshole, and... is it really bad to say that I prefer my parents being away on a work trip to them being home?"
You didn't respond momentarily, staring ahead thoughtfully before you softly spoke. "I think you're allowed to feel however you want to, and you shouldn't be so quick to invalidate yourself."
You looked at Steve to find him staring at his lap with his eyebrows knitted together into a small frown, picking at his fingernails as he went into deep thought, probably taking in your words.
Neither of you mentioned it again after that. His asshole of a dad and his unstable home, that was. Every time his parents were home on a Wednesday, you always changed the plans around for him to come to your place instead. You never made a big deal out of it, never talked about the reason why, because you never felt it was necessary to make Steve explain himself more than he had to. It was something Steve appreciated more than you could realise.
It was a Friday night when your parents were in need of some last minute groceries. Your dad had been about to go get them himself before you had offered to get them instead. Your parents had both just come home from a whole day of working, and it had worn them down enough to the point you could see the exhaustion on their faces, so you had been generous enough to take a small weight off their shoulders. They had been hesitant to let you with the recent disappearance of a young boy named Will Byers, but they had been too tired to argue with you, so they let you go with minimal argument.
You weren't old enough to drive on your own yet, so you took your bicycle as you always did with a flashlight. The grocery store wasn't far away anyway.
You quickly popped in and out, getting what you needed with the cash your parents had given you. You took your bicycle out of park and struggled to juggle the full grocery bag in your hands while trying to get onto your bike safely, only having the fluorescent lights of the store behind you to help.
You heard a car pulling up to the curb in front of you, and didn't look up as you thought nothing of it, thinking it was just someone else coming to the grocery store until they suddenly honked. You jumped in surprise, almost dropping the bags as you looked up.
The headlights of the car blinded your vision for a moment, and you blinked rapidly as you squinted to see who was sitting in the drivers seat of the car. When you realised who it was, bewilderment washed over you.
The window rolled down, and Steve tilted his head to meet your gaze from the drivers seat. "What are you doing?"
You blinked, and shot him a look of disbelief. "What am I doing? What are you doing, honking at me like some idiot?"
"That's not very nice."
"Am I usually nice, Harrington?"
Steve snorted. "No. But seriously, what are you doing?â
"What does it look like? You do know what groceries are, right?" You asked sassily.
"I know that! But why are you... you're trying to get onto that bike while you're holding a bag that looks very full."
"Yes?" You said, confused on why he was pointing out the obvious.
Steve returned your confused look. "Didn't you bring your car?"
You gave him a deadpanned expression. "I don't have a car."
Steve didn't react for a moment as he comprehended what you had just said, and then his eyes widened. "You- you don't have a car?"
You looked at him with irritation. Of course a rich boy like him couldn't believe such a thing. "No, because not all of us are rich like you, Harrington."
Steve blinked, eyes flitting from you to your bicycle as he slowly seemed to understand. "Right... but you couldn't even bring your parents' car?"
"I can't drive yet. I'm a year younger than you, remember?"
"Then why-"
"Can you stop interrogating me and just get to the point of why you're here right now? Or have you just come to make fun of me for not having fancy transportation like you?" You snapped more harshly than you meant it, and a tense silence followed your outburst, making embarrassment flood through you.
"I didn't come to make fun of you," said Steve quietly. "I was going to ask if you wanted a ride back home."
Your face changed, not expecting that. "Oh."
"Yeah, um... well, do you? Want that ride?" Steve asked.
"Is it still up for grabs after I just bit your head off?" You said sheepishly.
Steve let out a laugh, and answered your question wordlessly as he got out his side of the car and walked around the BMW to approach you. He stopped in front of you, looking into your eyes for a second before he took your bike out of your hands.
"You're not about to throw my precious bike to the side of the road, right?" You asked, half joking.
He snorted. "No, I'm putting it in the trunk. You can get in the passenger seat, Iâll be there in a second, I just gotta put the seats down first."
You were about to speak up to say that he didn't have to go through so much trouble and that you could really just pedal your way home, but he was too swift in his movements as he opened the car door, leaning in to adjust the backseats of his car.
You tentatively got into the passenger seat, balancing the grocery bag in your lap. You glanced at Steve through the rearview mirror, and felt a weird fluttery sensation in your chest.
You stared ahead with a warm face as you listened to Steveâs movement before you could hear the sounds of him handling your bike. You looked over your shoulder this time, and watched the way he put in extra effort to make sure your bike was in a safe position before he closed the trunk. You turned back to the front, the fluttering in your chest intensifying as your cheeks started to burn. God, why were your cheeks burning?
You didn't move as Steve got back into the car and started up the engine again. After a moment of silence, he said, "you can put your seatbelt on, y'know."
"Right! Sorry," you said, your cheeks burning even hotter as you scrambled to put your seatbelt on.
Steve pulled out of park after putting his own seatbelt on, and you deliberately kept your gaze on the window while keeping a tight grip on the bag in your lap.
"You also don't have to keep that bag on your lap. You can put it on the ground," Steve added.
You might as well have been on fire at that point. You carefully placed the bag on the ground, avoiding his gaze. "Sorry, it's just... a nice car. Don't want to ruin it."
"Groceries won't ruin the car," Steve chuckled, and you smiled sheepishly. In your defence, it was a really nice car. "So, why were you on your own? Getting groceries, I know, but your parents didn't want to come?" Steve asked, genuinely curious.
"They were going to get groceries, but I decided to do it to let them rest. They're tired from working all week, so I just wanted to give them a little break," you explained bashfully.
Steve hummed. "That's really nice of you."
"Unheard of, right?" You joked.
"Not really," said Steve so quietly you were sure you imagined it, glancing at him to find that infuriatingly unreadable expression on his face again. "Still dangerous to be going out by yourself at night, though. Especially since that kid's just gone missing."
You did a double take, unsure if you had heard him right the first time. His tone was casual as he said it, but his jaw was tight. He surely didn't care, did he?
"Well, that kid was eleven, and I'm sixteen. I'm capable," you replied.
"Sixteen's not that much older."
"Oh come on, don't act all high and mighty just because you're a year older."
"I'm not. I'm just saying you need to be more careful because I- you don't want something bad to happen you," his voice grew quieter with each word, barely inaudible at the end of his sentence, but you were still able to catch what he said.
You shot him a confused look. He was acting weird tonight, you thought. There was that softer side of him showing that he never displayed in public, but it wasn't that. There was something about his energy that lacked its usual spirit, something dejected. Had it been his parents again, you wondered? You certainly weren't going to ask, though.
The rest of the drive to your home was silent and quick. The grocery store was only a short way from your house anyway.
When you arrived, Steve got out of the car with you to take your bike out of the trunk, being kind enough to park your bike where you directed him as you held the grocery bag.
"Thank you, Steve. For the ride and doing... all of this. You really didn't have to," you said sincerely as he leaned on his car.
Steve smiled weakly. "No worries. Couldn't have just left you there, could I?"
"You could've," you said calmly.
"I'm not that bad, L/N," said Steve teasingly, and you chuckled.
"Goodnight, Steve," you said softly, sending him a small smile.
He mirrored your smile, saying goodnight to you back with your name. You turned on your heel, starting the walk to your house as your heart raced in your warm chest.
When Steve called out your name, you turned around too quickly, making it seem as though you had been waiting for him to call you back. Perhaps you had been.
Steve scratched his neck, seeming nervous as he hesitated. "Um, sorry to be a bother but can I just ask for some advice?"
"Yeah, of course," you said, walking back over to him.
"Since you're a girl and all," said Steve quickly. "It's about Nancy."
You froze.
Oh. You forgot about Nancy.
Your chest twisted suddenly, nearly winding you and making you stumble, but you kept your composure and faced him with your chin up.
"Yeah, what's up?" You said airily.
"She's not happy with me right now. I invited her and her friend over to a party at my house, and she stayed over without her friend and now she hasn't seen her since, and she's really worried," Steve explained. "And I guess I was just more concerned about getting in trouble than her friend, and she got pissed off at me for it and... I don't know, I just don't know how to make it up to her."
You frowned. "Wait, her friend? Like, Barb?"
"Yeah, her. You haven't seen her around, have you?"
"No, not since Tuesday," you said.
"Well shit, that's the night she went missing..." said Steve, and your eyebrows drew together with concern. Just like Nancy, you weren't friends with Barb, but you had always thought she was nice. "Anyway, Nance isn't talking to me so I thought that you, a girl, would know how to fix it."
"Right," you said uncomfortably. "Why don't you ask your friend Carol? She's a girl."
"Yeah, but she's too... I just think you're someone who gives better advice," said Steve honestly.
You didn't know how to take that, and you hated how a smile twitched against your lips.
"Well, it seems simple. You just go up to her, apologise, and help her look for Barb. Or just be there for her. She's obviously distraught if her best friend is nowhere to be seen," you told him.
Steve nodded along, listening intently. "Yeah, okay... thanks."
You smiled weakly, "no problem."
Steve sighed. "I just... I really like her, and I don't want to mess it up, y'know?"
Your chest twisted even further, and you bit your lip, looking away from him.
"Yeah, that's understandable. Well, I hope it works out between you, but I have to go to bed now. My parents will get worried," you said briskly, already starting to talk away.
"Yeah, okay. Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight," you said quietly over your shoulder, and basically sped to your house, not looking behind you as you went back inside the safety of your home where he couldn't reach you.
That was the night you realised you had developed feelings for Steve Harrington.
But it didn't matter, because his heart only belonged to Nancy Wheeler, and you didn't stand a chance.
***
You were zoned out as you absentmindedly stored some of your books into your locker, your mind in a different place to your physical body.
Annoyingly enough, all it ever seemed your mind could stay on these days was the thought of Steve.
You knew it had been a bad idea to tutor him from the very start for many reasons, and now your worst fear had actually happened. Just like every other girl at Hawkins High, you had developed a schoolgirl crush on Steve Harrington, and he plagued your mind completely without permission.
It had been two weeks since you came to your realisation, and every tutoring session with Steve since then had been torture. It didn't help when he was his usual sweet self, bringing your favourite snacks when he came to your house, telling you how one of the posters in your bedroom looked cool, getting along with your parents, and listening to you with that concentrated look he had that was frustratingly handsome.
And it certainly wasn't helping that he now insisted on giving you a ride home every time you went to his house. He had asked you about your method of transportation to his house since he found out you weren't able to drive, and he seemed to take it personally when you told you just took your bike every time. Sometimes, you even got into small arguments about it, because you didn't like making him go through the effort of putting your bicycle into his car every time, but it made you learn that Steve didn't take no for an answer when to came to those sort of things.
Every ride home made your heart beat a little faster for him, and your feelings grew stronger with each time you both talked nonstop for the whole ride. It wasn't fair that he was able to make you feel such a way.
You used to judge those kind of girls before, the ones who batted their lashes at him in an attempt to get his attention, the ones who stared longingly at him in the hallways. Now you were one of them, and you felt so pathetic. You wanted to defend yourself by acknowledging that you had actually spent quality time with him and had gotten to know him as more than just a popular jock, that you had seen what was under the mask he always hid behind at school.
But did it even matter when he had never once remotely showed interest in you? When you technically weren't even friends, just acquaintances? You were his tutor for goodness' sake, of course you weren't supposed to feel this way. You had never even come close to feeling the same about anyone else you had tutored.
Of course Steve had been the one to capture your heart out of all of it. Him and his stupid soft smile that almost seemed reserved for you, him and his stupid jokes that made you genuinely laugh, and him and his stupid kindness in giving you a ride back to your house that night, putting your bike in his car without you having to ask him to do so, the implications of him caring about you when he expressed a concern for your safety.
All before he had asked you for advice on how to make it up to his girlfriend.
Even if you could've, you wouldn't. You certainly weren't the type to barge into a relationship, a very happy one at that.
You were snapped out of your daze when you heard someone call your name, and you perked up, looking into the direction of the voice.
A boy named Tyler came up to you, a student in your year that you tutored for maths and history. He had an excited expression on his face as he approached you with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Hi, Tyler," you greeted with a warm smile. "What's up?"
He grinned at you. "I have news. Good news."
"What is it?"
He held the piece of paper up to your face, showing you the contents. All you had to do was look at the B circled on it to know what it was.
"I got a B on my maths test!" He told you happily.
"That's amazing!" You said with a wide smile, pride blooming in your chest upon seeing the joy in his eyes. "I told you you had it!"
"I couldn't have done it without you," he said. "Seriously, thank you so much. You saved me."
You laughed sheepishly. "I'm just glad it worked out for you."
"I mean it, you're the best! I hope you're getting good credit for all of this tutoring you do," said Tyler earnestly. "You deserve it."
You smiled. "Thanks."
"I'll see you around. Hopefully I'll ace my history test next!" He said hopefully as he walked off, and you gave him a thumbs up before he fully turned away.
You turned back to your locker with a smile, your chest filled with warmth. That was why all those hours of tutoring was always worth it at the end of the day. The extra credit was a bonus, but it was helping others that really mattered for you.
You jumped at the sudden bang on the locker next to yours, followed by a familiar voice saying, "who was that?"
You turned your head in surprise, and your face morphed into an expression of disbelief as you saw him.
Because here Steve was, his body completely facing you while it leaned against the locker next to yours, his arms crossed and his eyes focused on you while everyone moved around you, all easily able to see the interaction between you two. The interaction between the most popular guy in school and some quiet girl who tutored people.Â
It was the first time Steve had ever even looked at you in the school hallways, let alone talked to you, so it took you a moment to respond to his question as you processed your current situation.
And god, you hated how your chest started feeling warm in a different way when you looked at him.
"Um- uh- just a guy I tutor," you said bashfully.
"What were you talking about? He seemed very happy about something," Steve asked, and you quietly grew confused at his curiosity.
"He got a good grade on his test. He came to me because I helped him study, and he really thought he wasn't going to do a good job, but I told him he would, and I was right," you said with a proud smile.
Steve narrowed his eyes at you, his expression unreadable. "Hm, interesting. You seem to like him."
You blinked. "Um... yeah, he's a nice guy."
"So, do you have a thing for him?" Steve said suddenly with a smirk.
Your face dropped. "What?"
"What? It's just a question. You can tell me, I promise it'll stay between us. If it helps, it seems like he might like you too," Steve lowered his voice and leaned in a little, causing heat to rush to your cheeks.
You tried to hide your flustered state by rolling your eyes and slamming your locker shut. "No, Steve. I don't have a thing for him."
"But wouldn't he be your type? Like, smart guys?"
You looked at him incredulously. "No offence to him, but he's not exactly a smart guy if he needs tutoring. God, Steve, just because I get along with him, doesn't mean I like him. I'm his tutor, and that's it."
His infuriating smirk didn't falter, his eyes shining with amusement as he said, "if you say so."
You sighed while rolling your eyes again. "You're so annoying."
"Your eyeballs will get stuck in the back of your head if you keep rolling them."
"Then stop doing things that make me roll my eyes, idiot."
Steve opened his mouth to continue the banter both of you would never admit you thoroughly enjoyed, but the next words never got to leave his mouth as you were suddenly approached by two certain people, one of which threw an arm around Steve.
"Couldn't find you for a second there Harrington, you disappeared on us," said Tommy Hagan, while Carol Perkins stood beside him, chewing gum obnoxiously while assessing you with her eyes.
Then, a smirk spread on her lips, her voice laced with amusement as she asked, "who's your friend, Steve?"
Tommy looked at you like he hadn't noticed you were there, and immediately started sniggering even though you hadn't done anything.
Steve's face fell, something more guarded taking over his expression at the presence of Tommy and Carol while panic flickered faintly in his eyes, and you noticed it. Meanwhile, your stomach churned uncomfortably as Tommy and Carol stared at you like you were some form of entertainment.
When Steve didn't answer Carol, you took it into your own hands and hesitantly said your name. She snorted, arching an eyebrow at you.
"I wasn't asking you," she said.
"Well you were looking at me when you said it, so maybe you should've been clearer about who you were talking to," you shot back coldly, and Steve's eyes widened while Tommy whistled.
Carol's face hardened, chewing her gum more aggressively.
"Sassy, aren't you? Honestly Steve, since when did we start stooping so low for new friends? We shouldn't be welcoming this kind of crowd," she said, looking at Steve with a scoff.
"We're not," said Steve quickly, and you frowned. "She's not my friend. She's just..."
He trailed off, catching your sharp gaze. He held it for a few moments before looking away, looking at his actual friends, "sheâs a stranger to me."
Your heart dropped.
A stranger.
Not a friend, not even an acquaintance, just a stranger. That's all you were.
âThen why are you even talking to her?â Carol snorted.
âBecause, um⊠she dropped something and I was just giving it back to her was all,â said Steve hastily, talking about you like you werenât even there.
Carol raised her eyebrows, unconvinced, and god, you wanted nothing more than to just shove her face into the locker like she deserved.
"As fun as this is, I'm hungry man, let's go eat!" Said Tommy, slapping Steve's back before letting go of him. He briefly glanced at you, his voice mocking as he said, "see you later... uh, whatever your name is."
Carol giggled, "yeah, see you sweetheart."
Tommy burst into another fit of sniggers, and your eyes caught it immediately as Steve let out a laugh, albeit it sounded a little more uncertain than the others.
But you were probably just imagining that just to make yourself feel better, because when the three of them walked away, Steve didn't look back at you once.
Your cheeks burned as he left you standing there, feeling like an idiot who had just been picked apart by a group of people who deemed themselves superior to you just because you weren't popular.
As if that hadn't already ruined your day, as if Steve hadn't already made your heart hurt enough, something happened at the end of your science class.
The class was pleasantly rowdy as everyone either did their written science work or talked with their friends about their plans for the weekend. You were one of the people doing their work, and was the first to walk up to the teacher to hand in your completed work.
"Well done, Y/N. I look forward to grading this, you never fail to impress me," your science teacher said, and you smiled sheepishly, thanking her quietly. "So, how's that tutoring of yours going?"
"Really good," you said, hating how Steve crossed your mind.
"I'm sure it is, I've even seen the evidence of it. You know, I never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington would be able to understand anything in my class, but proving by his recent results on his last test, it seems as though I have made it to that day," she told you with a smile.
You stilled. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head at you. "Hasn't he told you? He passed his science test the other day. I even almost gave him a B."
You narrowed your eyes, "the other day? I- did you give him these results?"
"Yes. I know he tried to hide it, but I could see how happy he was."
Your blood started to pump in your ears, the realisation slowly dawning on you as you comprehended what she was saying.
"I even heard he got a good grade on his English assignment too. I don't know how you've done it, but you've worked wonders on him," she said. "Good job."
You didn't say anything for a moment before collecting yourself enough to say quietly, "yeah, that's good."
You went back to your seat after that, the noise around you fading to the background as the gears turned in your head.
He had been passing tests and getting good grades on assignments, and hadn't told you? He had been keeping it from you?
Your jaw tightened, and you clenched your fists, something hot stirring in your stomach.
You were going to kill him.
***
You thought it had been apart of your dream at first, then you thought it was just some animals playing around outside. But when the persistent tapping kept on going every time you thought it would stop, you finally woke up, and investigated.
When you saw nothing was happening to your window, you went over to it anyway, looking outside to see the source of the noise.
It was much worse than an animal. It was Steve throwing rocks at your parents' window, the morning sun shining down on him and highlighting the small cuts on his face along with the purple bruise on his left cheek.
You gasped softly upon seeing his beat-up face, concern flooding you against your will as you worried about who did something like that to him. You stared at him in disbelief before rushing to put your dressing gown and slippers on, tidying your hair as best as you could before hastily making your way out of the house, not even bothering to be quiet since Steve was being noisy enough anyway.
You walked around your house to meet Steve now crouched, gathering more rocks to throw. You stood there for a moment, gazing at him with folded arms while he didn't notice you, lost in his own world. You reminded yourself that you needed to be hostile, that he still hadn't given you an apology for what he did a few days ago.
When he rose to his feet, you finally spoke up.
"Trying to wake my parents up?" You asked, and he jumped, whirling around to you with wide eyes. He blinked at your words, looking back to your parents' window as you clarified, "that's their room, genius. I know you like my mum's food, but you surely can't be that desperate."
Embarrassment flickered across his face at your words, and he looked back to you with shame. "Shit. Sorry."
You shrugged. "That'll depend on how grumpy they are this morning."
A short silence followed your words, and Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair, and you watched him closely, eyes lingering on his bruises. The injuries looked fresh, and it made you wonder why he was here instead of resting at home.
"Are you okay?" You asked gently before you could stop yourself.
Steve looked at you in surprise. "Huh?"
"Your... face," you said, gesturing to your own. "Seems like you're hurt. Are you alright?"
"Oh, I'm fine, but that doesn't matter," he said quickly, seeming ashamed of whatever it was. "What matters is what I came here to do, which is to say sorry for the other day."
You raised your eyebrows. "What did you do the other day?"
"You know, when we were talking and Tommy and Carol came over," said Steve, confused on why you were asking about the obvious until he realised you weren't playing dumb, you just wanted him to admit what he did wrong. "And then they were being assholes and I didn't do anything about it."
"Is that it?"
Steve's eyebrows knitted together as he seemed to search his mind for anything else. "I think so?"
You hummed quietly, keeping your face blank as you looked him over. You quickly noticed how something about him was off â not just the bruises and cuts on his face, but the way he held himself, the defeated look in his eyes that wasn't there before. You couldn't put your finger on it, but something in the air around Steve had shifted, and it made your curiosity grow stronger about whatever the hell had happened in the past few days that caused that and the bruises.
Steve sighed, his head hanging low as he said, "look, I know I messed up. I know that wasn't right of me and it wasn't fair to you, and you had to defend yourself which you shouldn't have had to because I shouldn't have let them treat you like that in the first place. If it's any help, it didn't feel good during that moment."
You scoffed. "It didn't feel good for me either."
The guilt in Steve's eyes strengthened, and he looked at you sorrowfully. "I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve that, after everything you've done for me-"
"Actually, it's okay Steve. We're not friends anyway, you don't owe me anything," you snapped.
Steve's face fell slightly like you had struck him. "That was stupid of me to say. I was trying to get them to back off of you, you know? They wouldn't have taken it well if I said yes, they would've been even worse."
"That's such a lame excuse. They were going to make fun of me no matter what you said, so you're just telling yourself that to feel better," you said sourly. "You're just like... I don't know, ashamed of me or something?"
Steve shook his head. "I'm not-"
"Then what do you call it? You're only nice to me when we're alone, and you're embarrassed to be seen with me in public. That's why you didn't want me to tutor you in the library. You literally said it yourself, you didn't want anyone to walk in and see," you poured out what had been pent up inside you through this whole ordeal. "You never acknowledged me in public until that moment for some reason, and even then, you said I was just a stranger."
"I know, I know, it was shitty of me. I shouldn't have- I'm really sorry," said Steve, and the worst part about it was how sincere he sounded, how real the apology seemed to be.
But you knew it would go back to normal after this, and with the last few days having given you room to think about it, you knew you couldn't go for any longer. Not with your feelings for him growing stronger everyday.
"I don't think this arrangement is necessary anymore," you said with a tight throat, avoiding his gaze as you said it. But even in your peripheral vision, you could see how his face dropped.
"What? But I still need to be tutored! I- I still need your help," said Steve frantically.
"There are other tutors at school, you can just go to them if you really need help," you said. "Also, didn't you say you could get your girlfriend to tutor you? She'll be happy to help."
Steve's expression shifted into something more hurt as he looked at his feet. "I'm not sure that's so true anymore. I'm not her favourite person right now."
Your chest tightened, and you finally looked at him, reading his crestfallen expression. Was that the reason why he looked like that? Because him and Nancy were arguing? You had a nagging feeling that there was much more to it, but you weren't going to push. You were too mad at him to do so anyway.
"Even then, I'm not the only tutor in the world. Besides, from what I've heard, you'll be just fine without tutoring anyway," you said bitterly.
Confused spread across Steve's features. "From what you've heard?"
"Yes. I'm not sure why I had to hear it from someone else that you had literally passed your science test, and got a good grade on your English assignment."
Steve's eyes widened slightly. "You- who told you that?"
"The science teacher."
"Why would she even tell you that? Oh my god..." Steve murmured, pressing his hands to his face.
"That doesn't matter, Steve. What matters is that for some reason you decided to hide the fact that you were improving," you scolded. "You neglected to tell your literal tutor that you had passed in two subjects!"
"I... forgot," said Steve unconvincingly.
You snorted humourlessly. "I don't think you did, and I don't even want to ask why you didn't tell me because you'll probably just give me another stupid excuse."
You were mainly pissed off at Steve for the way he had treated you in front of Tommy and Carol the other day, that was what drove the wedge between you two in the first place, but him not telling you about his good results had been the final straw. Because those had been moments he was meant to share with you, because you had been the one to help him. He was supposed to approach with you excitement like Tyler had done, and he was supposed to brag about his results to you with a wide smile while you were silently proud of him.
You had been eager for that moment between you and Steve, but because of some reason that was unknown to you, he hadn't told you, and had robbed you of that moment.
So yeah, you were very pissed.
"So you're ditching me because I didn't tell you about two decent grades I got?" Said Steve, and you couldn't help but notice the hurt that seeped through his voice. You hated how it sparked guilt in you.
Yet, you stood your ground. "I told you that all you needed to do was pass one test, and you could be free of me. Did you just forget that?"
Steve's Adam's apple bobbed, his jaw tight. "No."
"Then why didn't you just tell me? I know you hate being tutored, so why did you drag it out?" You asked heatedly, your pent up frustration spilling out. You stared at him expectantly, impatiently waiting for his answer.
But he only stared back at you, his mouth opening uselessly with nothing coming out, his eyes holding a desperate look that tugged at your chest, that almost made you give in. But you fought back against it, and scoffed at his silence.
"There's no reason to keep doing this, Steve," you said, your voice weaker.
"But I still need help with my other subjects," said Steve quietly.
"You know how to study now, and you can help yourself. I've given you a little push, so now you can be independent," you reasoned. "And look at the bright side, you'll have free time on Wednesdays and Sundays now."
"But I..." he trailed off, and your heart skipped a beat as you thought he was finally about to speak, finally about to admit something.
But he chose not to say it, and continued with his silence.
You gazed at his face, taking in each detail of his features, memorising it for when you would think about him at night, when you wouldn't see him anymore. The softness of his dark hazel eyes, the moles scattered on his face, and his stupid perfect hair that you longed to feel with your own fingers.
"It really was nice tutoring you Steve, but I've done my job now," you said softly, sending him your first smile of the day, and your last for a while.
He looked at you with sadness, something close to devastation, but not quite there. Because maybe Steve Harrington was fond of you in the way he was fond of your mother's cookies, but he nowhere near cared about you in the way he cared about Nancy Wheeler.
And that's why you turned your back to him, walking inside your house without looking back at him, even when you heard the small, desperate "please," leave his lips.
if anyone asked later, nobody could remember who started the bet. maybe it was topper. maybe kelce. maybe one of the guys had laughed and said, there's no way she'd ever go for you. maybe rafe's ego had gotten the better of him.
it didn't matter. by the time it reached you, the details had already become irrelevant. all you knew was that somewhere, at some point, your name had become a joke.
it starts with a smile. that's the cruel part. nothing about it feels fake. rafe starts sitting beside you in class, walking you to your car after school, bringing you coffee exactly the way you like it, even though you never remember telling him your order.
he listens when you talk, really listens, almost a little too earnest. he remembers little things, asks about your exams, texts you good luck before presentations, holds your hand like it belongs there.
against every instinct telling you to be careful... you fall. slowly. completely. how could you not? he makes you feel chosen. like out of everyone in the world, somehow he looked at you and decided you were enough.
the bet is supposed to end after he gets you to say yes. that's what they agreed, except it doesn't. somewhere between fake dates and real conversations, rafe forgets which parts were supposed to be pretending.
he starts looking for you in crowded hallways, starts saving seats beside him automatically, starts smiling before he even realizes you're the reason.
one night topper laughs. "dude."
rafe looks up. "what?"
"you've already won."
rafe blinks. "...yeah."
"so dump her."
something ugly twists in his stomach. "shut up."
topper grins. "don't tell me you're actually into her."
rafe doesn't answer.
if only he'd ended it then. if only he'd told you. if only he'd chosen honesty before someone else did. maybe things would've been different. instead... you overhear it. not even the whole conversation, just enough. "best hundred bucks i've ever spent."
someone laughs. "can't believe she actually fell for it."
then another voice. quieter. "it wasn't like that." rafe.
your heart stops.
"don't start acting guilty now."
"i said it wasn't like that."
"because now you're in love with her?"
more laughter. someone whistles. you don't stay long enough to hear the answer. suddenly you can't hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat.
he finds you twenty minutes later, sitting in your car, not crying. he knocks gently on the window but you don't look at him so he opens the door anyway. "baby."
"don't." your voice is flat, completely emotionless. "just... don't call me that."
rafe's stomach drops. "you heard."
you laugh once. it's the emptiest sound he's ever heard. "heard enough."
"please let me explain."
you finally look at him. your eyes are completely hollow. "which part?" he freezes. "the part where you asked me out because someone paid you?" silence. "or the part where everyone else knew except me?"
he opens his mouth. nothing comes out. there isn't a version of this story where he isn't the villain.
"it started as a bet." the words barely leave his mouth and you flinch anyway, like they'd physically hit you. he notices. god, he notices and he hates himself for it. "but i swear to youâ"
"don't." your voice cracks for the first time. "please don't ruin every memory i have by telling me the moment you started liking me."
rafe's entire chest caves in. that's exactly what he was about to do. he was going to tell you the first date was fake but the second one wasn't. that the coffee became genuine. that every text after a certain point was real. that he fell in love somewhere along the way.
but listening to himself now... it sounds pathetic. like he's asking for credit because eventually he developed a conscience.
"i love you."
the confession comes out desperate. broken. too late. you close your eyes. for a second, he thinks you're crying but instead you whisper, "that's what makes this so much worse."
he doesn't understand. then you look at him. "now i'll spend the rest of my life wondering which parts were real." your voice trembles. "was our first kiss?" he says nothing. "the night at the beach?" nothing. "meeting your family?"
his silence isn't because the answer is no. it's because every answer sounds wrong now. every memory has been poisoned. every happy moment comes with an invisible asterisk. started as a lie.
â
the next few weeks are unbearable. rafe calls but you don't answer. he texts. you block him. flowers appear at your front door. you leave them outside until they wilt. he writes letters you never open. people tell you he's miserable, that he stopped going out, that topper tried apologizing too.
you don't care or at least that's what you tell yourself forgiveness isn't the difficult part. trust is, and trust, once broken like this doesn't simply grow back.
months later, he sees you by accident. you're standing in line at a coffee shop. you look happy, not completely, but happier, healthier.
he almost walks away. almost. instead old instinct cause him to quietly says your name. you turn, smile disappearing. not because you still love him and not because you hate him. looking at him feels like opening an old wound just to check if it still hurts.
it does.
rafe swallows. "can i ask you something?" you nod once. "do you think..." his voice catches. "do you think you'll ever forgive me?"
you look at him for a long time. long enough that hope begins creeping into his chest then you smile small. "i already have." his heart leaps until you continue. "that's how i stopped being angry." he frowns. "but forgiving you isn't the same as wanting you back."
the words settle between you gently.
"i believe you loved me." your eyes glisten. "i just don't want to think i'll ever stop wondering when you started."
and that's the tragedy of it. rafe knows the answer. he could tell you the exact day. the exact hour. the exact moment pretending became real but it wouldn't matter.
love born from a lie still has to live with one, and some cracks don't disappear just because you regret making them. sometimes the person you hurt heals. they just learn how to heal without you.
đŠâ⏠â iâm obsessed with clinginess. please throw me a man whoâs obsessed with me PLEASE đđ»
The curtains in Rafeâs room need to be fixed as soon as humanly possible. How he hasnât gotten them replaced yet is beyond his own comprehension, but right now, he can barely give more than two fucks about the extra sunlight filtering through his shitty ass curtains.
Rafe groans softly, muscles aching with misuse, skin warm beneath the thick covers. The moment his mind registers his surroundings fully, he freezes.
Somethingâs missing.
Is it his shirt? No, he took that off yesterday. He remembers chucking it into the laundry basket right before he went to sleep withâ
You.
You were right beside him when he fell asleep last night. You were in his arms when he woke up at the ungodly hour of five AM at a sudden loud noise he never found the source of.
But youâre not here now. Thatâs weird. Youâre always here when he wakes up.
âBaby,â Rafe calls out in hopes that youâre just in the bathroom. He stares at the ajar door leading to the toilet, but it doesnât move. No one responds to him. A few birds chirp outside his window, and he finally realises that heâs completely alone right now.
He pouts. Rafe Cameron pouts, because thereâs no one here to see him act like a child and heâs missing his pretty girlfriend too much. You left him to wake up alone, so that must mean you hate him.
Fuck. He knew it. He knew you hated him. Heâs had a feeling for a good amount of time. An angel like you should never settle for a bullshit of a boyfriend like himself, and you realised that yourself at last.
So Rafe trudges down the stairs of Tannyhill in an absolutely foul mood, sending glares toward every corner despite being alone in the Cameron estate. But even then, even as heâs pouting and frowning and waiting to punch anyone who appears in front of him, heâs still hoping that with every edge he turns, you might appear.
You donât. Maybe thatâs because he hasnât really turned any corners at all, but still. You donât appear. You just donât.
Have you really left? Left Rafe alone to wallow in his misery once again? He hasnât not had you in a while, and truth be told, heâs gotten too used to it. He knows he shouldnât, but he canât help it. He loves you too much, and he needs you too much. Every second of every day.
âBaby âŠâ he whines in frustration, to no one in particular, as he enters the kitchen, expression contorted like heâs holding back tears. He runs a rough hand through his buzzed hair and tries to grip and pull on his strands, but then he remembers that he doesnât have that hair anymore.
(He shouldâve listened to you when you told him not to shave off all his hair. Is that why you left him? Fuck. He hates his past self now. Why didnât he listen?)
Rafe heads straight for the coffee machine, grumbling under his breath about how you âbetter be surprising me with head for scaring me like this.â
âThe fuck?â
He whips around, almost spraining a muscle. His eyes are as wide as saucers, pupils blown so wide that the blue of his irises is almost nonexistent. Rafe swallows hard, Adamâs apple bobbing as he stares straight at you.
Shit. Did she hear that?
âWhatâs got your panties in a fuckinâ twist?â you scoff lightheartedly, amusement lacing your features as you laugh softly. Youâre holding a mug, filled with your morning coffee already, and Rafe thinks he might cry.
Your lips part again so you can say something, but Rafe doesnât hear a single word at all. His mind is racing, and his heart is beating too loudly in his chest. He can hear his heartbeat speeding up with every second that passes, and the pace with which he approaches you almost matches the rate his heart is going at.
âNoâ Nonononono, my coffeeââ you sputter, attempting to save your dayâs life support by leaving it safe on the nearest counter. A good half of it spills anyway when Rafe throws himself at you, clutching you so tightly you wonder if youâve done something wrong.
The base of your mug clatters against the marble counter. Rafe buries his face into your neck, inhaling your scent like heâs forgotten it over the time he spent without you in bed with him. He lets out a soft sound thatâs a little too similar to a dogâs pitiful whimper.
His nose twitches. âWhy did you leave?â
You roll your eyes, but hug him back just as firmly. Youâre a little pissed that youâve lost some of your energy in the form of caffeine, but you have no capacity to think about that as Rafe hugs you so close youâre practically one figure now.
âI was literally just going back up,â you deadpan, patting his back gently, trying to soothe him. You swear heâs crying into your shoulder â is he sniffling? Whining? Youâre not sure. You do know that heâs sulking, though. He always does.
And then the proof comes: Rafe groans, the sound muffled from the way he presses his face against you. Itâs familiar, because youâve heard it countless times over the course of your relationship. Which is practically every single fucking day.
He doesnât say anything, much to your exasperation. He never says anything though, so you donât know why youâre so pressed. You file that thought away and focus on soothing your big baby of a boyfriend.
For a few very long moments, the two of you stay like that. Youâre not sure how much time has passed, but itâs enough for you to grow tired on your feet (because you havenât had your morning coffee yet).
âCan weâ?â you begin, but Rafe cuts you off promptly.
âI thought you left,â he says sadly into your neck, and you can hear the slight crack in his voice. The shakiness and fear of his statement possibly being true when he woke up without you by his side. âFor real, baby. I thought you actually packed your shit and left.â
Your annoyance fades into a fond sort of concern. Rafe has attachment issues, and youâre the one person he actually loves too much to let go of. Heâs made it clear that anyone else can fuck off when he gets tired, but you? The six feet two future CEO of Cameron Development never wants you to be out of his sight. He needs to have you with him every time.
Itâs clear to even a blind person that Rafe canât function properly without you. Wardâs labelled you a liability countless times before, but Rafe doesnât care â he hasnât cared in a long time, and neither have you.
Your head turns to press a kiss against his temple. âSorry, baby,â you murmur, warm breath tickling his skin. He shifts a little and buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck. âI didnât think youâd wake up yet. You know Iâll never leave you like that.â
Rafe makes an unintelligible noise that youâre about to question, but then he pulls away from your neck and stares down at you with that pout. You fall silent immediately, watching closely as Rafeâs expression changes from sulky to hopeful and relaxed.
âYeah,â he whispers, like raising his voice even just a little would chase you away. âYou wonât. You love me too much.â
You flash a smile at him, cupping his face tenderly, when he suddenly leans down to kiss you. âRafeâ!â
He plants a giddy kiss on your lips, short and sweet, before pecking your entire face over and over again like he canât get enough of you. Rafeâs relishing the soft laughs youâre letting out, his heart lurching at the realisation that heâs making you laugh like this.
How could you leave him when you look so happy having his kisses all over your face?
âCome back to bed,â he mumbles, focusing his affection on the corner of your mouth. When he locks eyes with you, you can see the plea in the blue. âWe havenât cuddled enough.â
You nod despite yourself, already reaching for your mug (now half-filled because of a certain someone), but Rafe has other plans.
The fucker picks you up bridal style, ignoring the yelp you make.
âYouâre not escaping me this time,â he reasons simply, already walking out of the kitchen despite your protests about your abandoned (and spilt) coffee. You eventually quieten down about it when you realise Rafe wonât be turning around.
Now your coffeeâs going to get cold, and youâll have to make another one.
âYou donât need coffee when youâre gonna spend the whole day with me,â Rafe huffs petulantly, as if he can read your thoughts (and at this point, he probably can, with how well heâs able to decipher your expressions).
âYou are exactly why I need coffee,â you grumble under your breath, then let out a high-pitched scream when Rafe almost drops you. âHey! You know itâs true!â
âBut you still love me.â
âDebatable.â
âIâm gonna throw you out the window.â
âYou wonât do that. You almost cried âcause you woke up alone.â
âIâ Fuck. Fine. But weâre still cuddling.â
rafe who only ever seems to love you when he's drunk. sober, he's distant, distracted. always looking over your shoulder instead of at you, eyes never meeting yours as if he's scared of something. his texts are dry, kisses are rushed.
sometimes it feels like you're dating the ghost of someone who doesn't actually want to be there but give him enough whiskey and suddenly you're the center of his entire universe.
drunk!rafe who calls you at two in the morning just to hear your voice. "where are you?"
"home."
"stay there."
"rafe â"
"i'm comin' to you."
and twenty minutes later he's knocking on your door with flushed cheeks, messy hair, and that stupid, lopsided smile that only ever comes out when he's had too much to drink.
drunk!rafe who suddenly can't keep his hands off you. he's wrapped around you on the couch, resting his head in your lap, kissing your knuckles, tracing your face like he's afraid he'll forget it. "you're so pretty."
"rafe..."
"have i ever told you that?"
that's the cruel part. because no. not sober, he hasn't.
drunk!rafe who becomes so unbearably affectionate it almost feels like you're dating a completely different man. "come here."
"i am here." you say softly.
"closer."
no distance is ever close enough. he's always pulling you into his lap. always hiding his face in your neck. always mumbling little confessions against your skin that you can't physically bear to hear because you don't know if any of them are true.
"i miss you."
"you saw me this morning."
"still missed you."
your heart breaks every single time. this version of him feels so easy to love. this version actually lets himself love you back.
drunk!rafe who whispers every feeling he's too afraid to admit sober. "don't leave me."
"i'm not going anywhere."
"promise?"
"i promise."
"you're... you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
you cling to those words for weeks. by morning he'll barely remember saying them.
sober!rafe who wakes up with a headache and absolutely no memory of the way he spent an hour telling you how beautiful you are. he just walks into the kitchen, pours himself coffee, mumbles a quiet "mornin'. like the man who cried into your shoulder six hours ago never existed.
you wish with your heart he'd never say anything at all.
â
rafe who notices you're becoming quieter. you stop asking him for affection. stop reaching for his hand first. stop expecting anything from him unless there's a bottle on the counter.
he can't understand why. in his mind, nothing's changed. he doesn't comprehend why you're withdrawing, and it scares him shitless. and yet in yours, everything has.
reader who starts dreading the mornings. every tender night is followed by another emotionally empty day. it's like falling in love over and over with someone who disappears at sunrise.
one night he's drunk enough to cup your face with both hands and say, "i love you."
just like that. no hesitation. no walls. the words you've spent months aching to hear, in completely the wrong motion that you have no other option but to cry.
he smiles and kisses your forehead. "why're you cryin', sweetheart?"
"because i've wanted you to say that for so long."
"well... i mean it."
you believe him. only in that moment, he does.
â
the next afternoon you're sitting together in silence when you quietly ask, "do you rememberwhat you told me last night?"
rafe looks up from his phone. "what'd i say?"
your stomach sinks. "nothing."
you let the conversation die right there. hearing "i don't remember" would hurt more than pretending it never happened.
rafe who eventually realizes the pattern only when he finds one of your journals left open by accident on a morning that he wakes up to that's void of you.
one line catches his eye.
i wish the sober version of him loved me half as much as the drunk one pretends to.
he reads it once.
then again. for the first time, he sees himself through your eyes. not as a man who struggles to express his feelings but as someone who's taught the person he loves to wait for him to be intoxicated before expecting tenderness.
he can't decide which realization hurts more: that he does love you.
or that you've stopped believing you'll ever receive that love from the version of him that's actually awake enough to choose it.
Summary: A nightmare leaves Steve waking up fighting ghosts that aren't there. The second he realises he nearly hit you instead, he's convinced he's become the one thing he swore he'd never be.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, angst, nightmares, ptsd/night terrors (non-graphic), hurt/comfort, panic, emotional vulnerability, accidental near-hit (no actual injury), guilt, reassurance, insomnia, crying, fluff (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 3k
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Steve's house is silent.
Not the comfortable sort of silence that settles over a home every night, filled with familiar creaks and distant traffic, but the deeper kind that only seems to exist in the early hours of the morning, when even the world outside has forgotten to make any noise.
Beside you, Steve sleeps restlessly. Or at least, he's trying to.
His breathing has become uneven sometime during the night, his brow drawn tightly together against the pillow while his fingers twitch intermittently in the duvet as though they're grasping for something just beyond his reach. Every now and then, another quiet sound escapes him - something caught halfway between a sigh and a whimper - and each one pulls you a little further from sleep.
At first, you think he'll settle. Sometimes he does. Sometimes all it takes is another few minutes before whatever dream has found him loosens its grip and he sinks back into something more peaceful.
Tonight, it only gets worse.
His breathing quickens. Another fractured sound leaves him, this one edged with unmistakable fear, and his head turns sharply against the pillow as though he's trying to outrun something that refuses to stop following him.
You don't know what he's dreaming about. You never really do. Only fragments ever slip through afterwards. Running, somebody shouting, the sickening weight of the nail bat in his hands, blood, fear. Always fear.
You hesitate for a moment, watching his face crease with another expression of quiet distress before making up your mind.
Carefully - so carefully - you reach across the small space between you.
"Steve..." Your voice is barely louder than a breath.
Your fingertips settle gently against his shoulder. "Easy, honey..."
The change is instantaneous.
His entire body jolts violently beneath your hand.
Before either of you has time to understand what's happening, his arm lashes out with frightening force, driven entirely by instinct, by adrenaline, by a nightmare that hasn't realised it's over yet.
You recoil on pure reflex.
His fist cuts cleanly through the space your face had occupied barely a heartbeat earlier.
For one impossible second, time seems to stop.
Steve's eyes fly open.
He isn't in the dream anymore. He's here. In his bedroom. With you.
His gaze snaps immediately to where you've instinctively shuffled backwards against the headboard, your breathing suddenly just as uneven as his, one hand still frozen in mid-air where you'd reached for him only moments before.
He stares. At you. At his own outstretched fist. Back to you again.
The colour drains from his face so quickly it's almost frightening.
The silence that follows is absolute.
Not because neither of you has anything to say.
Because neither of you remembers how.
For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moves.
Steve's arm remains frozen exactly where it landed, still outstretched between the two of you, while his chest rises and falls in short, uneven breaths that sound far too loud in the silence of the bedroom.
The realisation hits him all at once. It crashes over him with such force that his entire expression crumples.
"Oh my God." The words leave him in a whisper so strained they barely sound like his voice at all.
He jerks backwards as though the sight of his own hand has suddenly become unbearable, scrambling away from you so quickly that he nearly tumbles straight off the edge of the mattress. The bedframe creaks violently beneath the sudden movement, but he hardly seems to notice, his breathing already dissolving into something ragged and panicked.
"I..." His voice breaks. He tries again. "I-"
Nothing - his throat simply refuses to cooperate.
You can almost see the moment replaying behind his eyes, over and over again, each repetition somehow worse than the last.
His fist. Your face. The space between them. Just inches - barely inches.
"Steve," you say softly, your own heartbeat only just beginning to settle now that the initial shock has passed.
His head snaps up. "No."
The word comes out immediately, almost desperate. Not angry - never angry. As though he can't bear for you to comfort him.
"I'm okay," you tell him quickly, instinctively reaching one hand towards him before thinking better of it. "You didn't-"
"I almost..." He stops. His jaw tightens. The sentence refuses to leave his mouth. He looks physically incapable of saying the words out loud.
Instead, he drags both hands back through his hair with enough force to leave it sticking up in every direction before climbing unsteadily off the bed altogether.
"Steve..."
He backs away another step. Then another. Keeping as much distance between the two of you as the small bedroom will allow.
He won't look at you. His gaze stays fixed stubbornly on the floor, his shoulders rising and falling with each uneven breath while he shakes his head over and over again as though he's trying desperately to wake himself from yet another nightmare.
"Oh my God," he whispers again. His voice is cracking now. "I'm so sorry."
You open your mouth to answer. He speaks over you before you get the chance.
"I'm sorry." Another breath. Another shake of his head. "I'm sorry."
It's as though he doesn't know any other words anymore.
Each apology sounds quieter than the last, spoken more to himself than to you, every one carrying the same horrified disbelief that he's somehow become the very thing he's spent years trying never to be.
You watch him standing there in the darkness, wrapped not in anger but in unmistakable fear.
Not fear of the nightmare.
Fear of himself.
And somehow, you realise that frightens you far more than the fist that never reached you ever could.
Steve remains exactly where he is, standing on the opposite side of the bedroom with his back half-turned towards you, as though even looking in your direction feels like something he hasn't earned the right to do anymore. His breathing has slowed a little, but only because it's been replaced by something somehow worse - a heavy, crushing silence that settles over him until his shoulders seem to sag beneath its weight.
You carefully push the duvet aside and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
The movement is enough to make him look up.
Immediately, he takes another step backwards.
"No." His voice is rough. "Don't."
You stop. "Steve..."
"I don't..." He shakes his head, swallowing hard. "Just... stay there."
The words don't sound like an order.
They sound like fear.
As though the only thing he can think to do is put more distance between the two of you, convinced that somehow it will make you safer.
Your heart breaks. "I'm okay."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
"You don't."
He finally looks at you properly, and the devastation written across his face almost steals the air from your lungs.
"What if next time I don't wake up?"
The question hangs between you.
"What if..." He laughs once, bitterly, the sound catching in his throat before it can become anything real. "What if next time I don't stop in time?"
"Steve-"
"What if I actually hurt you?"
His eyes flick helplessly towards his own hand again.
"What if one day..." He trails off, scrubbing both hands over his face as though he can physically push the thoughts away. "What if one day I screw something up so badly that I can't take it back?"
You realise then that he isn't really talking about tonight anymore.
Tonight simply cracked something open.
This is every fear he's ever carried quietly inside himself.
Every time he's worried he's said the wrong thing, every moment he's wondered whether he was enough, every lingering doubt that, despite trying so desperately to be good, he might somehow still become another person who lets somebody down.
"I keep thinking..." His voice is barely audible now. "I keep thinking that one day I'm gonna make some stupid mistake." He gives another tiny, humourless laugh. "And you're gonna realise you deserve somebody better."
Your eyes sting, but he doesn't notice.
"Somebody who doesn't wake up swinging. Somebody who doesn't have..." He gestures vaguely towards himself, unable to find the words. "...all this." His shoulders rise in a shaky breath. "I don't know." He looks down at the floor. "...Somebody safer."
The word lands like a punch.
You don't even think. You cross the room. He hears your footsteps and instinctively retreats another pace.
"No."
You keep walking.
"Please."
Another step backwards. "I don't want you anywhere near me right now."
"I do."
"Baby..." His voice cracks completely. "What if-"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
By now, you're close enough to reach him. Steve instinctively pulls his hand back behind him before you can take it, so you simply reach for the other one instead. His fingers are ice cold.
He tries to pull away. Not forcefully, just enough to spare you from touching him. You refuse to let go.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Then, very quietly, you ask, "You know what I was actually scared of?"
He doesn't answer straight away.
Eventually, without looking up, he whispers, "What?"
Your thumb brushes gently across his knuckles. "That you were having that nightmare alone."
His head lifts, finally, and his eyes meet yours. You feel his hand tremble inside your own.
"I wasn't scared of you." Your voice is so soft it almost disappears into the silence. "I was scared for you."
The last of the distance between you seems to collapse all at once. Not the space in the room. The space he'd spent the last ten minutes desperately trying to build between himself and the person he loved most.
And for the first time since he'd woken up, Steve stops looking at you like someone he needs to protect from himself.
Steve's hand trembles inside yours, though whether from adrenaline or sheer exhaustion, neither of you could really say. His eyes have dropped back to the floor again, unable to hold your gaze for more than a heartbeat at a time, as though looking at you directly only reminds him how close he'd come to something he can't bear to think about.
You squeeze his fingers gently. "Steve."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he gives the smallest shake of his head, blinking hard against the tears gathering in his eyes.
"I can't..." His voice fractures completely. "I can't look at you."
Your heart aches.
Very carefully, so slowly he has every opportunity to pull away if he wants to, you lift your joined hands between the two of you.
"Hey." Your voice is barely louder than the quiet hum of the refrigerator drifting down the hallway. "Look at me."
For a second, you don't think he will. Then, almost reluctantly, his eyes find yours. They're already full of tears.
You guide his hand upwards until his palm comes to rest against your cheek. The contact is feather-light, almost hesitant.
The instant he realises what you've done, he tries to snatch it back as though your skin has burned him.
"No."
You hold it there. Not forcefully, just enough to stop him retreating again.
"Steve."
His breathing catches. "I almost-"
"I know."
"I almost hit you."
"But you didn't."
"I tried to."
"No." You shake your head gently beneath his hand. "You had a nightmare."
He closes his eyes. "I don't care."
"I do."
When he opens them again, you're still looking at him with exactly the same tenderness as before. No fear, no anger, no hesitation.
"You had a nightmare," you repeat softly. "You woke up." A pause. "You stopped." Another. "You apologised."
His face crumples a little more with every sentence.
"You've spent the last twenty minutes being more frightened for me than you've been for yourself."
You slide your other hand over his, gently closing his fingers against your cheek instead of letting them hover there uncertainly.
"That isn't what dangerous people do."
A tear slips free before he can stop it, and you brush it away with your thumb.
"You know what you've done since the second we met?"
He doesn't answer.
"You've walked me home because you didn't want me crossing the car park alone."
Another tear.
"You've learnt exactly how I take my tea."
Another.
"You carry the heavy shopping without me even asking. You check that I've locked the front door when I'm anxious. You always sleep closer to the edge of the bed because you know I like the wall."
His shoulders begin to shake.
"You remember when I'm overwhelmed before I do. You notice when I'm pretending I'm fine. You have spent every single day we've been together making me feel safer than I've ever felt with another person."
Your own voice trembles now.
"So don't stand here and tell me you're dangerous because your subconscious mistook my hand for a monster."
That does it. The last fragile thread he'd been clinging to finally snaps.
A sob tears out of him before he can swallow it back, his knees almost giving way beneath the weight of everything he'd been trying so desperately to hold together.
He folds forwards instinctively, forehead dropping against your shoulder as though he's finally run out of strength to keep himself upright.
"I'm so sorry," he chokes out, the words muffled against your jumper. "I'm so, so sorry."
You wrap both arms around him without hesitation. "I know."
"I scared you."
"You did."
Another sob. "I hate that."
"I know."
"I never..." His voice disappears completely.
You simply hold him tighter, one hand smoothing slowly through his hair while the other rubs gentle circles across his back.
For the first time since he'd woken up, Steve lets himself cry properly. Not quietly, not politely, not trying to hide it. He just... cries.
And you stay exactly where you are, holding him together until he remembers, little by little, that the person clinging to him wasn't afraid of him at all.
She was just afraid of losing him to the nightmare he'd carried home.
Neither of you even attempts to go back to bed.
The bedroom has become too tangled up with everything that happened there, and besides, neither of you is tired anymore. Not really. The adrenaline has long since burned itself out, leaving behind only that strange, hollow exhaustion that arrives after you've cried harder than your body knows what to do with.
So, sometime around four in the morning, the two of you drift quietly into the kitchen.
The lights stay off - there doesn't seem much point in turning them on when dawn is already beginning to soften the edges of the sky outside.
Steve fills the kettle as quietly as he can, wincing apologetically when it clicks on with a sound that somehow feels far louder than it really is. You wrap an old blanket around both of your shoulders while you wait, neither of you speaking very much, because there doesn't seem to be anything left that still needs saying.
By the time the tea is ready, you're sitting on the kitchen floor with your backs resting against the cupboards, two steaming mugs forgotten on the tiles between you as the first pale streaks of morning begin slipping through the window above the sink.
The silence isn't uncomfortable, it's simply tired.
Steve hasn't quite returned to himself yet.
He still startles a little whenever your hand brushes against his, still catches himself glancing at your face as though checking, over and over again, that you're really alright. Every now and then you catch him looking at you with the same wounded expression that had broken your heart in the bedroom, and each time you simply smile back until, little by little, his shoulders loosen another fraction.
The conversation drifts wherever exhausted conversations tend to go. Half-finished thoughts. Quiet apologies that no longer need repeating. Long stretches where neither of you says anything at all.
At some point, without either of you really noticing, your tea grows cold.
The warmth of the blanket, the gentle hush of the early morning and the simple relief of having him beside you begin pulling at the edges of your consciousness.
You don't fight it. Instead, you shuffle a little closer until your shoulder brushes his.
Steve glances down immediately. "You okay?"
You hum softly. "Mhm."
Another minute passes. Then, almost absent-mindedly, you let your head come to rest against his shoulder. Your fingers find his beneath the blanket, threading themselves through his with the same unconscious familiarity they've done a thousand times before.
You sigh. Not from pain this time - from comfort.
Steve goes perfectly still. "...Baby?"
You don't answer. Your breathing has already begun to settle into the slow, even rhythm of sleep.
For a few long seconds, he doesn't dare move. His gaze lingers on your hand curled trustingly around his before dropping to where your cheek is resting against his shoulder, completely relaxed, your forehead tucked lightly against his neck.
You're asleep. Not despite what happened - after it. With him. Because of him. Something inside his chest gives way all over again, though this time it isn't panic. It's relief.
Slowly, so carefully that he hardly disturbs you at all, he lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses the gentlest kiss across your knuckles before turning his head to kiss your hair.
"...Thank you," he whispers.
You don't hear him; you're already dreaming again.
Outside, morning arrives exactly as it always does.
A car rumbles past the house. Somewhere down the street, a neighbour opens their front door before leaving for work. A bird lands briefly on the windowsill above the sink, chirps once, then disappears again into the growing light. The kettle cools quietly on the counter. The world keeps moving.
And somewhere between the nightmare he'd woken from and the sunrise he'd been too frightened to watch, Steve finally begins to understand something he'd been utterly incapable of believing in the middle of the night.
The fact that you'd fallen asleep in his arms without a second thought wasn't proof that he'd failed to protect you.
It was proof that, even after everything, you still felt safest there.
And perhaps the greatest measure of a gentle man was never that he believed himself incapable of causing harm.
It was that the possibility of it terrified him enough to spend every single day choosing tenderness instead.
Summary : You anonymously host a podcast where students send in their confessions.
Steve is a regular listener who usually stays silent but calls in that night.
You don't know who he is.
Until a story told on the podcast makes you realize who is hiding behind the messages.
Warnings : Angst hurt/comfort
Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.Â
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
« We have one last caller for tonight, friends, who are you, night owl? »
The headphones slip from your ears and you grip them between your fingers to keep them in place. You frown when you realize that only silence reigns on the other end of the line.
« Is someone there? »
You signal Eddie to turn up the volume, thinking it's a bad connection.
« Good evening. »
The voice suddenly comes through, far too loud, and you jump, losing your headphones as they fall to the floor before you scramble to put them back on.
« Sorry, technical issue. » You clear your throat before continuing. « So, who are you? »
« I thought this was anonymous? »
The voice is warm despite the sarcasm, pleasant without trying to be seductive.
« It is, you can choose a nickname, mine is Nyx after all. »
« Batman. »
« Batman? Are you some kind of superhero? »
You tease him, a little surprised by the choice, and stifle a yawn when the exhaustion finally begins to make itself known, at nearly two in the morning.
« Some people see me that way. »
You can still hear his smile, but it sounds as though he doesn't believe it himself.
« Very well Batman, hero despite himself, why are you with us tonight? »
« I don't usually listen to your podcast, but I needed something to listen to in order to stay awake and study. »
You hear him move, the creak of a chair as if he's leaning back, and faint music echoes somewhere behind him.
« And I wanted to say that I disagreed with you about the people you consider privileged. »
With your chin resting in your hand, you patiently wait for him to elaborate while scribbling on your paper.
« Oh, looks like I touched a sensitive subject with Batman. » You snicker. « Want to confess your life story to us, Cinderella? »
Sarcasm has always been part of the way you approach things, making subjects less serious so they don't fall into drama, and that's what makes your podcast successful, where nobody knows who you are except Eddie, who is your partner in crime, as you both like to say.
« Sarcasm is your only weapon, I see. »
It sounds like he has put his phone on speaker because his voice seems farther away. The sound of paper being handled and a lighter being flicked tells you he's rolling himself a cigarette.
« May I offer a hypothesis? »
« I'm listening. »
« Let's take, for example, a boy who grows up in a wealthy family in a small town but is known by everyone. »
« Well, the story is off to a pretty good start... »
« Hold on, pretty girl, it's not finished yet. »
His tone is teasing, almost annoyed by your constant interruptions. You don't like the nickname he gives you, as if he knows you, and you frown.
« The boy grows up under constant pressure to succeed, where failure isn't an option unless he wants to end up on the streets. He grows up wearing a mask because keeping up appearances is important if you want to charm people more easily and get what you want faster. »
He exhales the smoke from his cigarette.
« He grows up without the most important thing. »
« A teddy bear to wipe away his sorrow? »
« Love. » He lets out a short laugh. « The most ridiculous thing in the world and yet the thing that keeps you going. »
You sink deeper into your chair, playing with your pen, skeptical.
« I suppose so, yes... »
« I'm not talking about the love between two people, but the kind you share with a loving family, the kind that binds a group together through the same passion, or the kind between best friends with whom you do stupid things that can land you at the police station on a winter night. »
You glance at Eddie, who gives you the same intrigued look, because that anecdote speaks to both of you.
« Now, let's take the example of a girl who grows up in a place where everyone expects her to fail. A run-down place, not exactly suitable for a little girl, but where she finds a best friend to grow up with and two parents who, despite their struggles, do everything they can to make her happy and loved. »
Voices can be heard in the background and he seems to get up to close a door before sitting back down.
« Maybe a trailer park on the edge of town? »
Your fingers stop scribbling on the paper because you grew up in a trailer park on the edge of Hawkins, with Eddie.
For the first time since the beginning of the call, you wonder who is really on the other end of the line.
A brief silence settles before the crackle of the last drag of his cigarette sounds out, followed by it being crushed into the ashtray.
« So, according to you, who comes out ahead? »
After the call from this Batman, you stayed alert over the following days, not entirely reassured by this boy who seemed to know more about you even though you had never revealed your identity. Eddie tried to reassure you by suggesting that it was only a coincidence that he had mentioned a trailer park and even though you pretended to believe him, you felt it wasn't true.
As proof, when you returned to your dorm room on campus, a bat was stuck to your door and nobody seemed to have seen who could have put it there.
The exchange between the two of you had caused quite a reaction, listeners wondering who this Batman was who had managed to silence Nyx, and you caught yourself waiting for his next call.
But two weeks passed without hearing his voice and, with undisguised weariness, you took one last call:
« One last night owl? »
« You should already be asleep, you can hear the exhaustion in your voice. »
Your body straightened at the sound of the expected male voice and you had to rein in your impatient curiosity.
To know if it had only been a coincidence.
If the two of you didn't actually know each other.
If he was some kind of stalker playing with his prey.
You hope that last possibility is false, you hate horror movies.
« Batman, » you finally say flatly. « I ended up thinking the Joker had gotten you. »
« It wasn't far from it. »
You hear his laugh on the other end of the line but you can tell there is no joy in it, as though he is laughing to soften the Joker that seemed to actually exist in his life.
« How are things going in Gotham? »
« The bad guys are always out, same old routine. »
As if your habits were already established, you hear him roll a cigarette and the crackle as he takes his first drag.
« Last time you talked about love, did Batman finally find it? »
« Not really. Batman mostly has a habit of ruining everything before it gets to that point. »
He exhales and you imagine the smoke surrounding his blurred silhouette.
« And what about you, goddess of the night? By the way, why that nickname, isn't it a little... vain? »
« She doesn't need anyone, she is enough for herself. »
You blow a kiss to Eddie who pretends to be offended.
« I think she intimidates people and, because of that, pushes everyone away. Enough that nobody dares come close. » He exhales smoke. « Even Zeus feared her. Am I right? »
You don't answer, jaw clenched even as you smile, unwilling to lose face before an audience that remains invisible.
« It's easier to laugh at people than give them an opportunity to hurt you, isn't it? »
« And you Batman, you don't want people to know who you are because you grew up in a shitty family despite your money? »
A brief silence follows and when he speaks again, he is no longer on speakerphone but seems to have pressed his phone to his ear, his voice becoming more intense.
« I just think she spends a lot of time pretending she doesn't need anyone. »
You are about to respond but he has already hung up, leaving you frustrated in an exchange you thought you were controlling.
Eddie heads to the restroom before leaving and you tell him you'll wait outside, the cool night air will do you good after such a brief yet intense conversation.
The smell of cigarette smoke hits your nose, making you grimace as though someone had just smoked one. You scan the parking lot, searching for a silhouette that might explain the smell, but there is nobody there.
When you turn around to wait for Eddie, something catches your attention.
A bat is stuck to the door.
Communication class having been cancelled, you head toward the studio, the only place quiet enough to continue working on this assignment that is driving you crazy.
A storm threatens to break and when a few drops begin to fall, you realize you wonât make it to the studio in time to avoid the downpour.
You rush beneath the bus shelter where the bench is broken, your bag clutched against you while waiting for the storm to pass. Another thing you dislike, besides horror movies: thunderstorms.
Busy looking at your phone while waiting for the rain to ease up, you donât pay attention to the silhouette that casually takes a seat beside you. You donât look at him but you would have preferred he waited somewhere else when you hear the music leaking from his headphones, making you wonder if heâs deaf.
A strange feeling suddenly comes over you, what if Batman had just taken a seat beside you?
Discreetly, you steal a glance and burst out laughing before you can stop yourself, only to compose yourself again when you see the boyâs annoyed gaze lift toward you.
Despite his headphones, he heard you laugh and looks at you as if you're the one who's crazy. His irritated gaze studies you for a second before turning away and you almost feel like flipping him off because of his disdain.
Despite the music spilling from his headphones, which sounds strangely familiar, you would almost recognize the timbre of his voice when he mutters something.
Almost.
Being the star basketball player on campus doesnât give him every right but youâve already explained that on your podcast and even if Batmanâs argument had been valid, Steve was the very definition of privileged youth who thought they could get away with anything.
Steve Harrington.
If there were an illustrated definition of the word privileged, his face would probably appear next to it.
As the rain begins to calm, you decide to leave the shelter at a jog while he starts rolling a cigarette. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât make the connection with your strange caller, but Batman certainly isnât the only student who smokes on campus.
Only a few days pass this time before he calls and even though you try to stay focused on every confession shared tonight, the irritation has still returned.
Because he's playing with you, you know it. This damn bat is getting on your nerves and although you're supposed to represent this goddess feared by all yet free, you feel as though you've chained yourself to him after only a few calls.
Maybe because the mystery is exciting.
Maybe because not knowing who he is makes all of this unique.
Maybe because it pulls you out of your loneliness, even if Eddie is there.
« That was our last call, sleep well, night owls! »
Eddie signals that there is one last caller and when you see that it's almost two in the morning, you know it's him.
He always calls last, just when you're about to hang up.
You signal Eddie to reject the call and for once, you leave feeling satisfied.
You were the one who got the last word.
He didnât call back.
Not the second week, not the third, nor any of the weeks that followed that month.
The euphoria of having had the last word quickly faded when you realized he wasnât going to call again and the feeling of having lost something followed you around. It was stupid, you didnât even know him.
Well, not really.
As you leave the studio, you almost hope to catch the smell of cigarette smoke that would announce he was there, silent. But only the scent of rain on the pavement lingers, so you head back toward campus. Like every evening, you expect to find a bat stuck to the wooden door but thereâs nothing there either.
« Shit! »
You forgot your headphones at the studio, the ones you use to fall asleep after a long day, and you quickly turn around to go get them.
On the way, a silhouette stands with its back to you, your shadow playing with his beneath the light of a streetlamp that makes him turn around sharply.
« What the hell are you doing here?! »
He looks just as surprised as you when you discover Steve Harrington, a cigarette between his lips and his phone in his hand. Once the surprise passes, annoyance tightens his features as he repeats:
« Itâs late, what the hell are you doing here? »
« I can do whatever I want! »
You feel like a little girl but thereâs something so strange in his gaze that you canât find anything else to say.
« What are you doing out here? Donât you have sleep to protect before yet another game?! »
He smiles as he exhales smoke before tossing away his cigarette and towering over you, almost blocking out the light of the streetlamp behind him. You notice a mark along his jaw before he speaks:
« Appearances can be deceiving. »
He straightens up and, before walking past you to leave, adds:
« Hurry up, the bad guys arenât sleeping tonight. »
The bad guys.
For a second, something catches in your mind.
Then Steve walks away and the feeling disappears just as quickly.
The show has been over for a long time but sleep refuses to come. The music you usually listen to before going to bed failed to carry you into dreams and despite your denial, you know it's his absence weighing on you.
You don't know where he is, whether something happened to him or if he's upset that you didn't take the last call.
And you're frustrated not to recognize yourself in this behavior, as if you were waiting for Batman to understand that, in the end, you didn't want to be alone.
Maybe this little game between the two of you had become something more, that in your mind it could turn into something like the stories you sometimes read in novels.
That it was the feeling Batman spoke about in his search for love in the broadest sense.
The rain has left behind a few puddles that you avoid on your way, hopping over them playfully like when you were little and your mother used to scold you for getting dirty while it only made your father laugh.
The campus is nearly deserted at this hour, but you make out a silhouette sitting on the curb, knees drawn up supporting his arms, one hand loosely holding a cigarette.
You recognize him, strangely enough. You have never seen Steve Harrington this much in recent months. You catch the acrid smell drifting toward you, like a call, a signal urging you closer to the silhouette that seems lost.
His eyes are fixed on the pavement, reddened by exhaustion and weariness, dark circles emphasizing the lifeless chocolate color of his gaze. The cigarette burns between his fingers, the heat creeping closer to his skin without making him react.
He doesn't seem to notice your presence even though you're now standing in front of him, intrigued by his silence. His lip is split, dried blood on his skin proving that whatever happened must have been violent and painful.
« Steve? »
It takes him a moment to lift his gaze toward you, and when he realizes it's you, a weary smirk pulls at his injured lip.
« Out again. »
You almost recognize that voice, now roughened, and he doesn't even grimace as he brings the cigarette to his lips. Frustrated that it's already burned down, he stretches his legs out on either side of your silhouette and pulls out his pack of cigarettes to take another one. He offers the pack to you but you refuse.
« You're right, it wouldn't suit you. »
« What's that supposed to mean? »
He glances at you briefly, the lighter's flame illuminating his eyes before everything fades once more. He draws his knees back up.
« You should already be asleep. You look exhausted. »
You can hear the exhaustion in your voice.
His words spin through your mind, echoing the ones you heard months earlier.
« What... did that to you? »
You're tempted to brush your fingers against the wound, a tingling sensation in your fingertips, but you stop yourself.
« I told you, not all of us are lucky enough to be born into a loving family. »
You frown as understanding dawns and take a step back, the shock tightening painfully in your chest.
He makes no move toward you, doesn't try to stop you, he's tired and no longer has the energy to pretend. The coincidences of your encounters only reinforce his belief that it wasn't fate when he saw you leaving the studio that night, that girl he had already seen in Hawkins but never approached. He had already been listening to your podcast without ever speaking up, appreciating the sound of your voice and the way you approached every confession.
« Why Batman? »
He shrugs.
« He hardly ever sleeps, and everyone sees him as a hero even though he's completely broken. » He takes a drag before exhaling the smoke. « He just wants revenge. »
Steve Harrington, king of the campus. The basketball hero.
He's none of those things in front of you tonight, just a broken boy.
And for the first time, you see the real Steve.
The boy you had reduced to his money, his easy smile and his basketball games.
Sitting on a curb at two in the morning, split lip and empty eyes.
Appearances can be deceiving.
I just think she spends a lot of time pretending she doesn't need anyone.
You hesitate before taking a seat beside him on the curb. Not too close so you won't scare him away, but not too far either.
Just close enough for him to know he isn't alone anymore.
And neither are you.
Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist
Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciatedâš
Summary: Summer 1985 at Starcourt Mall. You work at Lovelace Lingerie right next to Scoops Ahoy, where Steve Harrington is stuck in that ridiculous sailor uniform. What starts as a cute (and slightly embarrassing) meet-cute over a misplaced box of panties turns into stolen ice cream breaks, awkward but endearing flirting, Robinâs relentless teasing, and Steve falling head over heels for his âpanty girl.â
Word count: 6.8K
Warnings: NSFW, smut (detailed oral, penetrative sex, lingerie kink/play, semi-public elements), awkward flirting, canon-typical Steve self-doubt, set in Starcourt Mall summer â85 (fluffy AU, no Upside Down drama)
A/N: I was inspired by the lovely @keeryspullman when I learned that Scoops Ahoy is literally right next to Lovelace Lingerie in Starcourt Mall. What a perfect setup! And what better way to celebrate the 7-year anniversary of Stranger Things Season 3 than putting our favorite sailor (and his ridiculous uniform) back in action?
You never thought your summer job would involve this much lace, silk, and awkward male customers asking if things came in "sexy" sizes. But here you were, working at Lovelace Lingerie in the brand new Starcourt Mall, right next door to Scoops Ahoy. The nautical-themed ice cream parlor with its blue and white striped everything and sailor-uniformed employees was a constant source of amusement and lately, a source of butterflies in your stomach every time you caught a glimpse of a certain brown-haired boy through the glass divider or in the mall hallway.
The stores shared a wall, and on slow days, you could sometimes hear the faint "Ahoy!" greetings and the bell of the register from next door. Your store was all soft lighting, perfume samples, and mannequins posed in delicate bras and panties that made even the most confident shoppers blush. You spent your shifts folding panties into perfect stacks, helping women find the right fit for date nights or honeymoons, and politely redirecting the occasional creep who thought "trying on" meant something else.
It was a Tuesday in late June, the mall still buzzing with the excitement of its grand opening. You were in the back stockroom, sorting a new shipment of imported French lace panties, black, red, baby pink, with tiny bows and intricate patterns when the front bell chimed. You wiped your hands on your simple black skirt and blouse uniform and headed out, expecting another early bird customer.
Instead, standing there holding a large cardboard box labeled "Lovelace Lingerie - Fragile - Assorted Panties & Bras" was Steve Harrington.
He looked exactly like the rumors from high school: tall, athletic build, perfectly styled hair that somehow survived the sailor hat perched on his head, and that easy smile that had probably gotten him out of trouble more times than you could count. But up close, in the ridiculous navy blue shorts and striped shirt with the Scoops Ahoy logo, he looked less like the king of Hawkins High and more like a guy who was just trying to make it through the summer without losing his mind.
"Uh, hi," he said, shifting the box in his arms. His voice was warm, a little hesitant. "The delivery guy dropped this off at our store by mistake. Said it was for the place 'right next door.' I figured it wasn't for the ice cream, unless you guys are branching out into edible underwear or something."
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet store. "No edible underwear here. At least not yet. Thanks for bringing it over. That box looks heavy."
He grinned, and it did something to your chest you weren't ready to examine. "No problem. I'm Steve, by the way. From Scoops Ahoy. The one in the dorky sailor suit."
You took the box from him, your fingers brushing his for a second. It was heavier than you expected, and you set it on the counter with a small grunt. You introduced yourself as the girl working at Lovelace Lingerie. The one surrounded by... well, all this." You gestured to the racks of bras and the table displays of panties in every color and style imaginable.
Steve's eyes flicked to the open box: delicate thongs, bikini cuts, high-waisted briefs with lace trim, and his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. He quickly looked back at your face, polite and respectful, but the tips of his ears betrayed him. "Yeah. Panty central. Got it. Cool store, though. Very... lacy."
You smirked, already liking his awkward charm. "That's the point. Thanks again for the delivery. If you ever need help carrying ice cream tubs or something, I'm right here. Though I might not be as strong as you look."
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Deal. And hey, if you need any ice cream to survive the dayâon the houseâcome on over. We have this new flavor, U.S.S. Butterscotch. It's pretty good. Not as good as whatever fancy stuff you sell, but..."
"I'll keep that in mind, sailor," you teased, and the nickname made his smile widen.
He lingered for a moment longer, glancing around the store like he was trying to find an excuse to stay. "Alright, well... see you around, panty girl."
The words slipped out casually, and his eyes widened as soon as he said them. "Wait, I didn't meanâ"
You waved it off with a laugh. "It's fine. I've been called worse. Panty girl it is. See you around, ice cream boy."
He left with a wave and a sheepish grin, and you watched him go, the box of panties forgotten for a second as you wondered what the hell just happened. Steve Harrington had just called you "panty girl" and it hadn't felt creepy at all. It had felt... cute. Flirty, even.
That was the beginning.
The next day, during a lull between customers, you were arranging a new display of satin panties near the front window when you saw him again. Steve was at the Scoops Ahoy counter, serving a group of giggling teenage girls who were clearly more interested in him than the ice cream. Robin Buckley, his coworker with the sharp tongue and short hair, was rolling her eyes behind him, probably adding another tally to the "You Suck" side of their whiteboard.
You tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice how the sailor uniform somehow made his shoulders look broader and his legs look longer. He caught your eye through the glass and gave a small wave. You waved back, feeling silly but warm inside.
Steve's internal thoughts during the first week were a constant loop of "Don't screw this up" and "She's actually talking to me." Every time he saw you through the window, arranging panties or helping a customer, his chest did this weird tight thing that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He caught himself practicing conversations in the mirror at home, trying to sound cool and not like the nervous wreck he felt around you. Robin noticed, of course. She always noticed.
"You're gone, Harrington," she said one afternoon while they were wiping down tables. "Like, full-on heart-eyes, can't-stop-talking-about-her gone. It's cute. Disgusting, but cute."
"Shut up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it. "She's... different. She doesn't expect me to be anything. I can just be Steve. And she likes that Steve."
Robin softened a little. "Then don't mess it up. Be honest. Bring her ice cream. Ask her out before some other mall guy does. There are plenty of dudes staring at that store."
The thought of someone else asking you out made his stomach twist in a way that surprised him. Jealousy wasn't new, but this was protective, possessive in a way that felt right instead of toxic. He started making excuses to walk by your store more often. "Just stretching my legs." "Checking the mall directory again." Robin called him on it every time.
Later that afternoon, when the mall traffic slowed, Steve appeared at your store entrance again, this time holding two ice cream cones.
"Hey, panty girl," he said, grinning like it was an inside joke already. "Brought you a peace offering. U.S.S. Butterscotch. Figured you might need something sweet after dealing with mall weirdos all day."
You accepted the cone, your fingers brushing again. "Thanks, Steve. That's really nice. What do I owe you?"
"Nothing. Consider it a neighborly gesture. Or, you know, an excuse to come say hi without looking like a total creep who hangs around lingerie stores."
You laughed and took a lick of the ice cream. It was creamy, buttery, with swirls of caramel. "It's good. Really good. And for the record, you're not a creep. The guys who come in here asking if we have 'crotchless options for their girlfriend'âthose are the creeps. You're just... the ice cream guy who delivers boxes."
He leaned against the counter, watching you eat the ice cream with an intensity that made your stomach flip. "Yeah? Well, this ice cream guy thinks your job is way cooler than his. You get to touch all this fancy stuff all day. I just scoop frozen dairy and get yelled at by kids when we run out of sprinkles."
You spent the next twenty minutes chatting. He told you about how his dad had basically forced him to get the job after his grades weren't good enough for the college they wanted. How he used to be "King Steve" but that crown felt heavier every year. You told him about how you took the job at Lovelace because the pay was decent, the hours flexible around community college classes, and you actually liked helping people feel confident in their own skin.
"No judgment here," he said sincerely. "My exes always said I was clueless about girl stuff. Maybe I could learn something from you."
You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Planning on buying something?"
His ears went pink again. "For my mom! For her birthday. Yeah. Totally for my mom. She likes... nice things."
You didn't call him on the obvious lie. Instead, you spent the next half hour helping him pick out a tasteful satin robe and matching chemise set in soft lavender. You described the fabric, how it felt against skin, the way the lace details made it elegant rather than trashy. Steve listened like you were teaching him the secrets of the universe, his eyes on you more than the lingerie.
When he left with the bag, he turned back at the door. "Thanks, really. And... you can call me dingus if Robin does it too much. It's her thing."
You smiled. "I'll stick with sailor. Or Steve. Steve's good."
That night, you went home thinking about the way he said your name.
It became a routine.
The first week after the delivery felt like a dream you didn't want to wake up from. Every time the bell above the door at Lovelace Lingerie chimed, your heart did a little flip, hoping it was Steve. Most of the time it was just regular customers: women looking for bridal sets, teenagers giggling over push-up bras, the occasional husband dragged in by his wife looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. But the anticipation made even the mundane tasks fun. Folding panties became less of a chore when you could glance over and see Steve through the large glass windows that separated your stores in the open mall layout.
Starcourt Mall was still new and shiny in the summer of 1985. The air conditioning fought valiantly against the Indiana heat, but on particularly warm days, the smell of popcorn from the theater and pretzels from the food court mixed with the floral perfumes you sprayed on test strips at your counter. Scoops Ahoy had its own signature scent: sweet waffle cones, vanilla, and the faint ocean like cologne they probably gave the employees to stay in theme. You liked it. It reminded you of Steve.
On Thursday, two days after the box incident, you were helping a young woman pick out her first "sexy" lingerie set for a college boyfriend when you saw Steve again. He was outside the store, pretending to read the mall directory map but clearly watching you through the window. When you caught his eye, he startled like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar and waved awkwardly. You excused yourself for a moment and stepped out.
"Lost?" you teased, crossing your arms.
He rubbed the back of his neck, the sailor hat tilting slightly. "Nah. Just... checking out the mall. New job, you know? Trying to learn the layout."
"Uh huh. And the layout just happens to include staring into Lovelace Lingerie?"
His ears turned pink, a recurring theme you were starting to find endearing. "Okay, busted. I was hoping to see if you wanted to try that butterscotch again. Or... I don't know. Just say hi without it being weird."
"It's not weird," you assured him. "I like seeing you. Even in the sailor suit. It suits you. Pun intended."
He laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "You're too nice to me. Most people would be making fun of the shorts."
"The shorts are... something. But you pull them off. Tall, dark, and nautical."
"Flattery will get you free ice cream for life," he said, stepping closer. The mall crowd flowed around you, teenagers laughing, moms with strollers, but it felt like you two were in your own bubble. "Seriously, though. If you get a break, come over. Robin's been asking about the 'mystery panty girl.' I may have mentioned you."
"You mentioned me?"
"Only good things. Like how you didn't kick me out when I brought the box. And how you're the only person in this mall who doesn't treat me like I'm still wearing a letterman jacket and being an asshole."
You touched his arm lightly. "I like this Steve. The one who delivers misplaced packages and offers free cones. Keep him around."
His smile softened. "I'm trying. Every day."
That afternoon, during your fifteen-minute break, you did go over. Robin was behind the counter, serving a family, while Steve was in the back restocking napkins or something. The store was cute in a kitschy way, the counter looked like a ship's deck, complete with fake portholes and a bell. The menu board listed flavors with nautical puns: "The Mint Void," "U.S.S. Butterscotch," "Starcourt Strawberry Cheesecake."
Robin spotted you immediately. "Ah, the famous panty girl arrives. Steve's in the back. Try not to make out in the supply closet. Or do. I don't care as long as I don't have to hear about it for the next week."
You laughed. "Nice to meet you properly, Robin."
"Figured. He's been 'Steve Harrington, professional ice cream scooper and professional piner' since Tuesday. It's disgusting. In a cute way. You want a cone? On the house. Or on Steve's tab. Same thing."
Steve emerged then, wiping his hands on a towel, and his face lit up when he saw you. "Hey! You came."
"Break time," you said. "Thought I'd take you up on that offer."
He made you a double scoop of butterscotch in a waffle cone and led you to one of the small tables near the window. Robin gave you both a knowing look but stayed busy with customers.
"So," Steve said, licking a bit of ice cream from his thumb in a way that shouldn't have been attractive but was. "Tell me something about you that isn't 'works at the lingerie store and is way out of my league.'"
You thought for a second. "I go to community college part-time. Business classes, but I really want to do something with fashion or design eventually. Maybe work for a real lingerie brand someday, not just sell it. And I love old horror movies even though they scare me, and my favorite color is actually green, not black like my work clothes might suggest."
"Green. Got it. Horror moviesâI'll remember to hold your hand during the scary parts." He grinned. "My turn. I used to be... not great. In high school. Thought being popular meant being a jerk sometimes. Lost a lot of friends when I realized that. My parents are... complicated. Dad's disappointed I'm not at some fancy school. Mom tries but doesn't really get me. I like kids, actuallyâbabysat a lot last year. They're cool. And I have this weird fear of failing at everything now that I'm not 'King Steve' anymore."
You reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You're not failing. You're working, figuring it out. That's more than a lot of people do. And for what it's worth, I think this version of you is pretty great."
He looked at your joined hands like it was something precious. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Now eat your ice cream before it melts, sailor."
The rest of the break was easy conversation, favorite bands (his: The Police, yours: Madonna and some older rock), worst customer stories (his: a kid who cried because the ice cream wasn't blue enough; yours: a guy who asked if the store sold "dominatrix gear" for his "very specific" girlfriend). By the time you had to go back, you felt like you'd known him longer than a few days.
Friday brought the first real test of whatever this was becoming. A group of guys your age came into Lovelace, loud and laughing, clearly there on a dare or something. One of them kept making comments about the mannequins, asking if you were "the model" for the displays. You handled it with professional detachment, but it was grating.
Steve must have seen the tension from next door because he appeared at the entrance like a knight in sailor armor. "Hey, babe," he said loudly, striding in and wrapping an arm around your waist. "These guys giving you trouble?"
The leader of the group sized him up. "Who's this? Your boyfriend?"
Steve didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Problem?"
They backed off quickly after that, muttering about "not worth it." When they left, you sagged against Steve a little.
"Thanks," you said quietly. "I hate when they do that. Makes me feel gross even though it's just a job."
He rubbed your back soothingly. "I get it. People can be assholes. But you've got me now. Or... at least, I'd like to be that person for you. The one who shows up."
You looked up at him. "I'd like that too."
That was the day Robin officially declared you "official" on the whiteboard with a big heart and "Steve's panty girl" written in her messy handwriting. Steve didn't erase it. He added a little doodle of an ice cream cone next to it.
The weekend passed in a haze of work and growing closeness. Saturday was busy for both stores, moms buying back-to-school clothes for kids meant more foot traffic, and you sold several "date night" sets. Steve was swamped with families wanting cones before the movie theater. But during a rare simultaneous lull, he snuck over with a small bouquet of daisies he'd apparently bought from the flower cart near the food court.
"For you," he said, handing them over like they were made of gold. "Figured your store could use something that isn't lace or silk. Though those are nice too. Especially on you. I meanânot that I've seen you in them. Not that I was imaginingâ"
You cut him off with a quick kiss on the cheek, mindful of customers. "They're perfect, Steve. Thank you. And for the record, imagining is allowed. Encouraged, even."
His eyes darkened a fraction. "Noted."
Sunday was your day off, but you found yourself at the mall anyway, "just browsing." You ended up at Scoops Ahoy, watching Steve work. He was good at it: charming the customers, making the kids laugh with silly faces while scooping, remembering regulars' orders. Robin caught you watching and dragged you behind the counter.
"Break room," she said. "Go. Ten minutes. Don't get caught by the manager."
The "break room" was really just a small closet with a table and lockers. Steve joined you a minute later, closing the door behind him.
"Hey," he said, suddenly shy again now that you were alone in the small space. "Didn't expect to see you today."
"Couldn't stay away," you admitted. "Missed the view."
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the lockers. "The sailor suit view?"
"The Steve view," you corrected, pulling him down for a kiss.
It was the first real kiss, deep, exploratory, his hands on your waist, yours in his hair. He tasted like the sample spoons of ice cream he'd been trying. When you broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.
"This is crazy," he whispered. "I've known you less than a week and I already... I don't know. Feel like this could be something big."
"Me too," you said. "Scary big. But good scary."
He kissed you again, slower this time, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips. "I want to do this right. Take you out. Show you I'm serious. Not just the guy who flirts in the mall."
"I'd like that."
The rest of the break was spent talking in low voices, sharing more stories. He told you about the time he and his old friends had spray-painted something stupid on the school and got caught. How it was the beginning of the end for his "king" status, but also the start of him realizing he wanted more. You told him about your family, supportive but distant, proud you were in college but not understanding why you liked "frivolous" things like fashion and pretty underthings.
"They're not frivolous," Steve said firmly. "They make people feel good. Confident. That's important. You're important."
By the time Robin knocked on the door with a "Time's up, lovebirds," you were both grinning like idiots.
Monday brought more customers and more tension-building. A regular at your store, an older woman who came in every week for "something new to surprise my husband," asked about Steve when she saw him wave from next door.
"That's the ice cream boy, isn't it?" she said with a knowing smile. "He's been mooning over this store for weeks. Good for you, dear. He seems sweet."
You blushed but didn't deny it. "He is."
She bought an extra set "for your honeymoon" and winked on the way out.
That afternoon, Steve came over with a proposition. "So, Robin and I were talking. There's this thing at the food court this weekendâlive music or something. Not a date if you don't want it to be, but... it could be. If you want."
"It's a date," you said immediately. "But only if you promise to wear the sailor hat. It's growing on me."
He groaned but agreed.
The days leading up to the "date" (which was really just hanging out in public as more than friends) were filled with more visits, more ice cream, more stolen moments. You helped him practice "cool guy" lines for customers, which mostly ended in both of you laughing. He helped you carry a heavy box of new inventory without being asked. The sexual tension was simmering, little touches that lasted too long, looks that said more than words, the way he'd bite his lip when you described a particularly sexy piece of lingerie to a customer.
One evening, after closing, you were both lingering in the hallway between your stores. The mall was mostly empty, janitors cleaning, a few stragglers heading to their cars.
"I can't stop thinking about kissing you again," Steve admitted, leaning against the wall. "Is that okay to say?"
"Very okay," you said, stepping into his space. "I think about it too. A lot. Especially when I'm folding all those panties and wondering what you'd think if I wore some of them for you."
His breath hitched. "You..."
You kissed him then, right there in the semi-public hallway, his hands sliding under your blouse to touch bare skin. It was heated, a promise of more. When you pulled back, his eyes were dark.
"Friday," he said roughly. "After the food court thing. My place. Or yours. Wherever. I want... I want all of you."
"Yes," you said. "Friday."
The anticipation made the rest of the week deliciously torturous.
On Friday, the food court event was a local band playing 80s covers: Madonna, Michael Jackson, some Springsteen. You and Steve danced a little, his hands on your waist, your head on his shoulder during the slow songs. Robin was there too with some friends from band, giving you both thumbs up from across the court. It felt normal and special at the same time. Like you were just two people falling for each other in a mall, not aware of any bigger dangers or futures.
After the music ended, Steve drove you to his house. It was nice, suburban, a little empty feeling, but clean. His parents were out of town, he explained. You didn't care. The second the door closed, you were on each other.
Clothes came off in a trail to his bedroom. Your sundress, his nice shirt. You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, still in your bra and panties, the black lace set you'd worn specifically for this.
"Jesus," he breathed, hands roaming your thighs, his voice cracking a bit in that awkward but endearing way he had when he got flustered. "You're... fuck, you're everything. I mean, wow, I can't evenâyour skin is so soft and this lace... it's killing me already."
You ground down against him, feeling how hard he was through his jeans. "Show me."
He flipped you gently, hovering over you, his cheeks flushed as he tried to play it cool but his voice came out a little shaky. "Tell me if you want to stop. Any time. I don't want to rush or anything, I mean, you're just so... perfect, and I don't want to mess this up."
"I won't want to stop," you reassured him, pulling him closer.
He kissed down your body with hesitant reverence at first, his lips brushing your collarbone, then lower. His fingers fumbled slightly with the clasp of your bra before it gave way, and he let out a soft, awkward laugh. "Got it. Sorry, I'm usually better at... never mind." He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more confidence as your back arched and you moaned, his other hand kneading the soft flesh of your breast. He switched sides, lavishing attention, his tongue swirling and teeth grazing lightly, drawing out whimpers from you.
Then he moved lower, kissing a trail down your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. He peeled your panties down your legs slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you. "My panty girl," he murmured against your inner thigh, voice thick. "All this lace and you're still the prettiest thing in the room. God, I can't believe you're letting me do this."
His mouth found your center, tentative at first with soft kisses and licks, learning what made you gasp and buck your hips. He grew bolder, tongue circling your clit, two fingers sliding inside you, curling just right as he listened to your moans and adjusted. The sensations built quickly, his warm mouth, the slight stubble on his cheeks brushing your sensitive skin, the way he hummed in pleasure against you. You came hard, thighs shaking around his head, fingers tangled in his perfect hair, chanting his name like a prayer.
When you recovered, panting, you pushed him onto his back. "My turn." You took him in your mouth, slow and teasing at first, tongue swirling around the head, then taking him deeper, using your hand in tandem. He was a mess of gasps and awkward praises: "Oh fuck, that feelsâwow, you're amazing, I don't deserveâshit, keep going." He threaded his fingers in your hair gently, not pushing, just holding on as he panted and begged. "Babyâplease, I'm closeâ"
You climbed on top, sinking down slowly onto him, both of you gasping at the tight, hot stretch. It was perfect, slow rolls of your hips building to a steady rhythm, his hands guiding your movements, mouth latching onto your breasts again, sucking marks into your skin. He sat up, arms wrapping around you tightly, thrusting up into you as you rode him harder, skin slapping, breaths mingling in messy, desperate kisses. "Love you," he panted against your neck, voice breaking with emotion and pleasure. "Love you so much already. Feels so good, so tight and wet andâfuck."
The coil in your belly tightened again. You came with a cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge too. He followed with a broken moan of your name, burying his face in your shoulder, hips stuttering as he spilled inside the condom.
Afterward, you stayed connected for long moments, catching your breath, before cleaning up and collapsing tangled in sheets. He held you close, pressing soft kisses to your hair, your forehead, your lips. "I think I'm falling in love with you, panty girl," he said softly, almost shy. "Is that crazy? It's only been a few weeks."
You smiled against his chest. "Not crazy. I feel it too. My ice cream sailor."
Later, cleaned up and curled under his blankets, he traced patterns on your back. "Stay the night? I can drive you home in the morning. Or... whenever. No pressure."
"I'll stay," you said. "But only if you make me breakfast. And maybe bring me ice cream in bed."
He laughed. "Deal. Anything for my panty girl."
The next morning was domestic and sweet: pancakes (slightly burnt), coffee, him in boxers and you in his t-shirt, making out against the kitchen counter between bites. He drove you home with the radio playing loud, both of you singing along badly.
From then on, it was official. You were Steve Harrington's girlfriend. The panty girl to his ice cream sailor. You spent nights at each other's places when you could, weekends exploring Hawkins beyond the mall, introducing him to your friends, meeting his (Robin was already your favorite). He brought you coffee in the mornings before shifts, you brought him lunch from the food court. The whiteboard at Scoops got so many hearts and doodles that the manager made them clean it, but they just started a new one.
One particularly memorable night, you convinced him to let you "close up" the lingerie store with him there. After the last customer left and the lights dimmed, you locked the door and turned to him with a mischievous smile.
"Want a private showing?"
He nodded, speechless, eyes wide as you disappeared into the back. You came out first in a delicate white lace babydoll that skimmed your curves, the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Steve's jaw dropped, his hands twitching at his sides. "Holyâ I mean, wow. You look... incredible. Like, I don't even have words. Is this real life?"
You twirled playfully, then moved to the next piece, a red corset set with matching garters that cinched your waist and pushed your breasts up enticingly. Steve stood, reaching for you with trembling hands. "Can I... touch? Please? This is better than any fantasy I've had."
You let him. His fingers traced the lace edges, clumsy at first in his eagerness, then more sure as he kissed along your neck, down the swell of your breasts. He fumbled with the hooks of the corset, muttering, "These things are tricky, but worth it." Once it fell away, he worshipped every inch of exposed skin with his mouth and hands, whispering awkward but heartfelt compliments: "Your body is insane. Soft here... and here. I could do this all night."
Piece by piece, the lingerie came off. You ended up naked on the plush fitting room carpet, Steve's sailor hat perched comically on your head as he knelt between your thighs again. His tongue and fingers worked you open until you were writhing, begging. Then you pulled him up, rolled a condom on him, and sank down, taking him deep. You rode him slowly at first, savoring every inch, then faster, your hands on his chest, his on your hips, guiding and thrusting up to meet you. The store's soft background music mixed with your moans and his grunts, the mannequins silent observers to your passion. He came with a groan, holding you tight as waves of pleasure crashed over both of you.
After, wrapped in a discarded silk robe, you fed him pieces of chocolate you'd stashed in the break room. "Best closing shift ever," he said.
"Even better than scooping ice cream?"
"Way better. Though I might need to bring some butterscotch next time. For... reasons."
You laughed until your stomach hurt.
As the summer wound down, the reality of the future loomed, college for you, maybe a better job for him, the mall still standing but your time there feeling temporary. But Steve made it clear he wasn't going anywhere.
One evening, as you closed up together, he pulled you into his arms in the quiet hallway.
"Whatever happens," he said, "I'm in this. You and me. I love you. More than I thought I could love anyone this fast.
You kissed him, slow and deep. "I love you too, Steve. My unexpected summer romance. My favorite person in this whole ridiculous mall."
He smiled against your lips. "Even with the sailor suit?"
"Especially with the sailor suit."
And as the mall lights dimmed around you, the scent of ice cream and perfume lingering in the air, you knew this was just the beginning. The king had found his match in the most unexpected aisle right between the ice cream and the lace.
summary: in which the world feels as if itâs ending and thatâs actually not too far off from the truth. every shitty thing happening around you forces you to face what youâve been avoiding since you and steve broke up
warnings: explicit language, smut (18+), van sex, protected piv sex, bestfriend!robin, angst but with a sweet ending (woooo!!)
authorâs note: no episode eight spoilers but this does basically follow everything else that happens in season 5! the long awaited part two to we broke up last night !!! shoutout to this sydcarmy edit for using donât delete the kisses by wolf alice because iâve been obsessed with that song ever since and it fits the vibe of this very very well<333Â
If the entire night hadnât so quickly gone to shit, you wouldâve laughed at the thought of Dustin endlessly making fun of you and Steve for not knowing how to prevent a stupid power surge; which you were very certain that heâd be doing for the foreseeable future.
However, the power surge wasnât even the worst thing to happen tonightâ instead, it only added to the list of terrible things that seemed to immediately follow one after the otherâ so you didnât laugh; your mind was too scattered to do so.Â
In your head, you thought that Dustin being MIA for the crawl was going to be the most inconvenient thing to happen tonight. Because his absence meant that youâd have to take over his job for the crawl since you knew the most about how to work the telemetry tracker; even though you no longer spent crawl nights in the passenger seat of the van, you still remembered everything Dustin had shown you one time when you were curious.Â
You pretended as if you were completely okay with being in the WSQK van with Steve for the night because you had to be okay with it, there was really no other option. And at first, it had been completely fineâ you only talked when you had to; telling him when to go and stop and when to turnâ but then things quickly went downhill. Or maybe that was actually a too nice way to put it. It actually felt as if everything had been abruptly pushed off a cliff.Â
Moments after learning about what happened to Holly, Karen and Ted from Joyce, a power surge happened in the van, which cut you off from communicating with everyone back at the radio station and left you two stranded on the side of the road.Â
Five minutes quickly turned into ten, and a car had yet to pass by on this deserted street, but you werenât focused on the time passing because your mind was running a million miles a minute.Â
You were leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed as you stared down at your sneaker-covered feet. You were so deep in thought that you didnât even notice Steve suddenly standing in front of you.Â
His foot lightly bumped yours. âYou okay?â
âOh,â You looked up at him and shrugged. âYeah, just thinking.â
âDonât worry, somebodyâs gonna drive by, and weâll ask them for a jump, and then we can get back on the road and keep looking for Hopper.âÂ
You shook your head. Honestly, looking for Hopper was kind of the last thing on your mind right then; mainly because at this point it truly seemed like an impossible task.Â
âItâs not that, itâs just,â You stopped short and sighed, unsure if you should keep going because you couldnât remember the last time you and Steve had a real conversation; actually, you did remember, but a part of you hated thinking about that night on your roof. However, before you could potentially talk yourself out of saying more, you continued. âI just donât get it. Out of everyone, and after all this time, Vecna takes Holly? It doesnât make sense to me. And a lot of what weâve done these past few years hasnât made a ton of sense, but this especially doesnât.âÂ
âI donât get it either, but weâll all figure it out,â Steve responded, and you shouldâve expected to hear words of encouragement from him because it felt like classic Steve behavior, trying to find a good side to things and make bad shit feel okay; even if it was impossible for any of this to feel okay. âAnd the only good thing is that sheâs not alone in there, yâknow? Elâs in there too, and if anyoneâs gonna find Holly, itâs gonna be El.â
You considered his words for a second and then nodded. âYeah, youâre right.âÂ
For the briefest moment, it didnât feel as if the last real conversation youâd had with Steve was damn near seven months ago, but then a silence started to linger and an awkwardness settled and you were reminded of what you two were to each other now.
After the break up, you two quickly forced yourselves to learn how to be around each other without really being around each other. You peacefully coexisted in shared spaces, on opposite sides of said spaces, when everyone else was around, and at any other time, you skillfully avoided one another.Â
It was a little weird going through a break up when you had to see the guy almost every day, but you did it. There was no mourning period; although Robin had told you many times that if you needed a shoulder to cry or rant or yell about Steve on, sheâd be there, you never took her up on her offers. Instead of mourning the relationship, you simply pretended as if it had never happened in the first place. You buried your feelings down and instead focused on what you decided were far more important thingsâ the radio station, the crawls, finally defeating Vecna.
And thanks to Robin, who was somehow able to maintain being your best friend and Steveâs, while also having a girlfriend of her own, you learned that Steve was pretty much doing the same thing as you.Â
Everything was fine. Or perhaps you both were lying to yourselves that it was because it simply had to be.Â
âI have no idea how Iâd be able to function right now if it had been you. If youâd been taken like Holly, or if youâd ended up like Karen or Ted,â Steve admitted; his voice was quiet, and it sounded almost shy, but you heard him clearly. âAnd I know thatâs probably a stupid thing to say because of everything thatâs happened between us, and since weâve barely even spoken these past few months, but itâs just, yeah, itâs just the truth.âÂ
It wasnât a stupid thing to say. It was honest, so honest that it actually kind of hurt hearing him say that, but it made you realize that deep down inside of you, in a box that you had previously refused to open, you felt the exact same way.Â
âIf it had been you, Iâd be a fucking wreck right now.â
Your softly spoken words sat quietly in the cool November air. It was the first time in forever that you actually werenât pretending around each other. Pretending that everything was fine and that you could coexist as if there was no history between you two; good and bad. Â
Those words were the extent of it, though. Neither of you said anything more, but the look you two shared somehow told each other more than enough.Â
It said all of the things that felt way too hard to admit and all of the things that you had forced yourself not to think about these past seven months. How much you missed one another, how much you still cared, how perhaps breaking up had been the biggest mistake you two had ever made.Â
You pushed away that last thought, though. You really didnât want to think about it. Not in this moment. Not ever. Â
So you instead abruptly decided to do something that would probably also end up being a mistake in the long run.Â
You closed the space between you two before you could think better of it. Hands cupping Steveâs face and quickly leaning in so that you could slot your mouth against his.Â
If Steve was surprised that you were abruptly kissing him on this quiet street when you two were only supposed to be waiting for a car to pass by and help you, he didn't show it at all. He didnât waste a second to kiss you back, softly pushing you up against the side of the van and hands immediately finding your waist. Â
You knew that doing this was stupid and terrible, but this entire night had ended up being stupid and terrible, so maybe it was okay to add one more thing to the never-ending list.Â
You tried to solely focus on the feeling of Steveâs mouth against yours instead of anything else. He tasted like the peanut butter bopper that he had offered you ten minutes ago, moments after the van broke down; ten minutes that felt like an entirely different lifetime at this point, which suddenly worried you because that âdifferent lifeâ was the normal one, and now all you could think about was what this would mean in the long run.
âThis canât change anything,â You whispered against Steveâs lips, quickly convincing yourself that it was okay if things were different for this one singular moment because it wouldnât have to change anything else between you and him. If it did change things, that would open up an entire can of worms that you weren't ready to face yet, or ever. Â
âI know.âÂ
And those were the last words said in this moment. Â
Steve kissed you again, and it felt a bit more urgent that time around, so much so that you let out a soft, surprised sound. One of his hands left your hip so that he could grab the door handle that was behind you and slide the door open.Â
You practically fell into the van, but Steveâs firm grip on your hip softened the blow and steadied you as your back hit the carpeted floor; the rug that you had convinced him to get when he first got the van. The suggestion had been said nonchalantly, but Steve easily read through the barely there lines. The same night he put in the multi-colored shag rug, you two were âtesting outâ its softness, and then laughing afterward as you held each other in the darkness and he told you that putting carpet back here was a brilliant idea.Â
Your heart squeezed harshly at the memory. Even though the world had still been shitty like it was now, things had felt so much simpler back then.
Steve broke away from you for a second so that he could slide the door closed, and the moment it loudly clicked shut, you were guiding him back toward you, practically pulling him on top of you.Â
You didnât want to think in this moment, you just wanted to feel, but it was hard not to think about the last time you and Steve had been this close to each other and how much distance had come between you these last seven months, and how kissing him like thisâ like it was still second natureâ almost made it feel as if you two hadnât been constantly avoiding each other in the first place.
The weight of Steve against you also reminded you of how well you knew each other, and you silently wondered if that was something that would ever be forgotten. One of his hands was on your hip, squeezing softly, just how you liked, and his mouth found the spot on your neck that he knew drove you insane. Instinctively, your hands found themselves in his hair, pushing through the dark strands and lightly tugging, which elicited a soft groan in contentment from Steve that you couldnât help but smile at.Â
There was no need to say anything, no need to guide or coax with soft-spoken words, because you both just knew. You also felt like anything said in this moment would break the spell that you both seemed to have fallen underâ this spell where you both moved so innately and knew exactly what the other needed. Any words said would harshly pull you both back into reality.
Steve made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them down your legs, and you kicked your shoes off so that your jeans could come off completely. He softly groaned at the sight of your underwear and the obvious wet spot on them, and you couldnât even feel embarrassed about how easily he was turning your body into a needy pile of mush. Instead, your hands reached out to grab at his jeans, fingers quickly undoing his belt before he did the rest of the work.Â
You two seemed to be on the same page with how badly you needed this, and how quickly too. There was no need for teasing or taking things slow; youâd been apart too long to draw out getting to the one thing you both were suddenly aching for.
Your teeth sank into your bottom lip the moment Steve pushed down his jeans and boxers and pulled out his hard cock; looking at him, all of him, made you impossibly wetter, and you were certain that your underwear was completely soaked through. He was then leaning over you again and messily finding your lips. Feeling his hardness pressed against your inner thigh made you softly whine into his mouth, and the quiet groan Steve let out in response sounded like music to your ears.Â
He pulled away for a quick secondâ which got another needy whine out of youâ and he reached over to grab a condom from the box that was discretely taped underneath one of the shelves; a part of you was surprised that it was still there. You had been the one calling his idea brilliant more than a year ago when he showed you that, after you both quickly realized that your escapades in the back of the van wouldnât be an infrequent thing; you also laughed at how proud of himself he was, and you thought that the pleased smile on his face was the most endearing thing youâd ever seen.Â
You were slipping your underwear down your legs as you watched Steve put the condom on, and then you spread yourself for him. He groaned at the sight of you and didnât waste a second to settle himself on top of you again, warm body enveloping yours completely.Â
Steveâs mouth was on your neck once more as he pushed himself inside of you. Your arousal made it easy for him, but it was still a stretch; it always was, and it felt so damn good.Â
A loud moan fell from your lips, and your eyes pinched shut at the feeling. You were full, so full, and that was suddenly the only thought that consumed your mind. How great Steve felt inside of you, how every thrust of his hips pulled sharp gasps in contentment from you, how your heart felt as if it was about to explode in your chest because of how perfect this moment felt.Â
And it wasnât the way Steve was expertly fucking you that made this perfect. No, it was when his free hand softly found yours, intertwining them and settling them above your head, that made you never want any of this to end.Â
You really didnât want to get thrown back into reality.Â
But, you both were meeting your ends quicker than either of you expected toâ even though it did make sense, given that this was the first time this was happening in forever; Steve was honestly surprised that he hadnât blown his load the second he slipped inside of youâ and reality would come crashing in at any second.
Your breath started coming out in soft moans that matched Steveâs thrusts, and you were getting pulled closer and closer to the edge. His hand dropped from yours and instead slipped beneath your shirt, reaching up to give your bra-covered breast a harsh squeeze. You suddenly wished that the fabric was off of you entirely, but there wasnât any time for that.Â
Your hands found their home in Steveâs hair once again, giving a rough tug when a particularly slow push of his hips sent your mind spinning. The head of his cock pressed into the most perfect spot inside of you, making you whimper. A string of barely tangible curses fell from your lips, and your pussy clenched around him, somehow trying to coax him even deeper.Â
The low groan Steve let out was immediate, and he started picking up speed. His hand pulled away from your breast to snake between your bodies and find your soaked clit.Â
Your entire body was already aflame, so just one touch, one swipe of his middle finger on the sensitive bundle of nerves, pushed you off the cliff. Your back arched sharply, and your eyes inadvertently met Steveâs, and the fucked out look on his face only made you come harder.Â
He met his own end only moments after youâ watching you come was always the hottest thing ever to himâ and then his face became buried in your neck.Â
His quick breaths against your skin sent a shiver down your spine as your racing hearts slowed to a somewhat steadier pace. Steve slowly pulled out of you, an action that elicited a quiet whine from you, and then shifted off of your body. You shut your eyes and turned your head, forcing yourself not to look at him because you didnât want to read whatever expression was on his face. Would it be regret or something hopeful, or would it be neither and instead heâd be entirely unreadable? You werenât sure which option was the worst.Â
You opened your eyes when you felt like you had to, and then went into your own world for the next few moments. Finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs, and then doing the same with your jeans. You then put back on your sneakers and readjusted your shirt, pulling it back down in its normal place.Â
âYou still wear it,â Steve's voice pulled you out of your head, and you looked at him. His fingers were buttoning his jeans back, and his eyes were on your neck.Â
You felt your body become warm all over, almost embarrassingly so, as you processed his words, the first real words said in what felt like forever. Your hand immediately went up to grab your necklace, the necklace he had gotten for you on your first anniversary; it wasnât supposed to be seen anymoreâ you honestly shouldnât have even been wearing it. You slipped it back under your shirt, the âhiddenâ spot where it pretty much lived now.
âYeah, I never take it off,â You admitted softly and dropped your gaze from his, suddenly your lap became the most interesting thing ever to you. âI donât⊠I donât know why.â Â
Your quietly spoken words did nothing to alleviate any of your embarrassment; in fact, they only made it feel worse.Â
Steve placed a tentative hand on your knee. âIââ
âWait, I think I hear something,â You interrupted him, and then proceeded to pull the door open and quickly get out of the van.Â
Youâd been lying when you said it, but apparently the universe was on your side because there actually was a car driving down the street toward you.Â
You waved it down, and miraculously enough, it stopped, and Steve was walking over to stand next to you as you explained to this random girl your guysâ situation. Steveâs arm lightly brushed yours, and you didnât hesitate to move over a little, putting some distance between you two.Â
You were sitting cross-legged in the back of the van with a walkie-talkie in hand. Your mind wasnât thinking about what happened back here last night, instead you were focused on something else entirely. Your fingers pressed down on the talk button, while your free hand nervously played with a loose string at the hem of your shirt.Â
âDustin, Nancy, Jonathan, do you copy? Over.â There was nothing in response but the crackly sound of dead air and static. âSteve? Do you copy? Over.âÂ
Robin walked up to you as you waited patiently, impatiently, for any sort of reply. âDonât worry about him. Heâs gonna be okay in there.â
You werenât sure if that was necessarily true when you just saw him impulsively drive into the Upside Down, and heâd barely even made it through the shrinking gate.Â
âIâm not just worried about him,â You said as you set the walkie down and moved to sit at the side of the van, outstretched legs hanging off the edge and feet pushing into the grass below you. âIâm worried about all of them.â
âOkay, yeah, of course, but Iâm guessing that Steve is at the top of the worry list?â
âItâs completely equal, actually.â
âFine, Iâll nod along and pretend that thatâs true,â Robin responded as she sat down next to you.
For a second, you considered rebutting her words and telling her that it was true, but in the moment, you couldnât find it in you to lie again.Â
You turned to look at the walkie, almost reaching out to grab it, but you stopped yourself because you knew that there was no use in trying to contact them again; if they were in range, they wouldâve said something already.Â
You just hoped they were safe, you hoped he was safe.Â
Robin noticed the uneasy look on your face. âMaybe we coulââ
âMe and Steve had sex last night,â You blurted out, interrupting whatever she was about to say. You had no idea why you decided to admit that in this moment, but the words were coming out before you could even think about stopping them.Â
Robinâs eyes immediately widened in surprise. âWoah. Wait. What? When could you two have possibly had time to do that?â
âIt was when the van broke down, and we were waiting for a car to drive by and give us a jump,â You briefly explained and then half-heartedly shrugged. âIt kind of just⊠It just happened. It was abrupt and rushed, and yeah, I donât need to go through all of the details.â
She jumped up from where she was sitting next to you. âWait, in here?â You only gave her a meek nod in response that made her grimace. âOkay, Iâm happy for you guys, I really am, but still, gross.â
Instead of telling her that last night was not the only time that had ever happened in the van, you focused on something else she had just said. âThereâs nothing to be happy about for us. We both agreed that it wouldnât change anything.â
âBullshit, it changes everything.â
âWe donât want it to change anything.â
Robin sighed. âWhy?â
âBecause we broke up for a reason and weâre not supposed to get back together,â You answered, saying the words that you had convinced yourself were the wholehearted truth. The huff you received in response was immediate.Â
âAlright, well, Iâll finally say it, the reason you two broke up is stupid. One of the worst reasons ever, actually,â Robin told you, and before you could say anything in response to that, she continued. âI get that you both were scared of losing each other; that makes sense, itâs an understandable fear to have. What doesnât make sense is breaking up because of that, because of that fear. And I wouldâve said this forever ago, but it took so long for either of you to tell me what exactly happenedâ you both were just so weirdly vague about it. And then when you finally did tell me, you shrugged and immediately changed the subject.â
That was true. You avoided the topic of Steve like it was the plague; you even avoided the thought of him like it was the plague. Because the thought of talking about the break up felt embarrassing to you, to get into the why of it all and really think about how it all made you feel sounded like a terrible idea. Deep down, you knew that if you really thought about it, youâd come to the conclusion that it was stupid, just like Robin had said.Â
âShit,â You breathed out, you couldnât not come to the obvious conclusion at this point. âYouâre right.â
âThank you for finally admitting it. The first step is acceptance,â Robin said. âThe second step is getting back together.â
That got a quiet laugh out of you as you shook your head. âEasier said than done.â
âIt could be easy, though,â She told you and lightly nudged your shoulder. âNeither of you has moved on, you both still so obviously love each other even though you pretend that you donât, and you had sex last night. Clearly, you and him wanna be together. Even if you donât wanna outwardly admit it, both of your subconsciouses know the truth.âÂ
You had no idea what to say to those words that were pretty much entirely right, and luckily enough, you didnât have to think about what to say to them right then.Â
âHey,â You both turned your heads when you heard Ericaâs voice. She was standing by the barn and waving you two over. âYou guys have got to see this.âÂ
âOkay,â You responded, making your voice loud enough so sheâd hear you, and then you looked at Robin again as you stood up. âI canât think about me and Steve right now. We have world-ending shit to worry about.âÂ
âOn the contrary, my dear, dear friend, I think the end-of-the-world circumstances weâre in right now make the timing pretty perfect,â She responded and then considered her words for a second. âIn a way, itâs depressingly perfect, but still kinda perfect nonetheless. What better time to be a thousand percent honest about how you feel than when the fate of the world is at stake?â
You didnât know the answer to that question that had been circling your thoughts since Robin said a similar version of it two nights ago, and became even more prominent when you all managed to find Steve, Dustin, Nancy, and Jonathan in the Upside Down thanks to Mr. Clarke.Â
The first thing that you had wanted to do when you saw Steve coming out of Hawkins Lab was hug him because the relief you felt when you saw that he was okay almost made you want to cry. You didnât go up and hug him, though. The timing wasnât right.Â
And now here everyone was in the basement of the radio station, prepping things for the final battle against Vecna, and it annoyed you that you still couldnât figure out a clear-cut answer to the question.Â
Would there be a better time?
Ultimately, you decided to go with your gut that was telling you no, there wouldnât be a better time, and you ran with that answer before you could change your mind.Â
âHey,â You said when you walked up to Steve; heâd just finished talking to Dustin. âCould we⊠Can we talk?â
He didnât hesitate to nod, and you noticed the hair on his forehead that was sticking out of the backwards baseball cap he was wearing bob a little. âYeah, of course.â
Everyone else was too preoccupied with what they were doing to notice you and Steve heading upstairs to the sound booth. You let him walk in first, and then you shut the door behind you both.Â
âIâve been meaning to ask,â Steve started the conversation as if heâd been the one to bring you into this room. He gestured to the band-aid on your forehead, a band-aid that was nicely covering the cut on your head but not really the bruising around it. âHowâd you get that?â
âOh, it happened when Robin, Murray, and I were getting chased by the demos, and the truck crashed,â You told him. With everything else that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, youâd completely forgotten about the crash; your head didnât even hurt from it anymore. A concerned look immediately crossed Steveâs face, and you shook your head. âDonât worry, it looks worse than it actually is.â
His thumb lightly grazed the band-aid. âYou sure?â
âPositive,â You answered and then pointed at the bruise on his left cheek and the cut on the other side. âWhat happened to you?â
âDustin and a Rubikâs cube,â He answered, which only made your eyebrows furrow in further confusion. He shook his head. âLong story.âÂ
You nodded at that, hoping that there would be a chance to get the full story later. You honestly wanted to hear about every little thing that happened when he had been in the Upside Down; you knew the gist of it because of what he, Dustin, Nancy, and Jonathan had explained to everyone, but you were still so curious.Â
It was almost as if you two had led entirely different lives these past couple of days, which felt foreign because when everything happened at the mall two years ago, you never separated from each otherâ it was you, him, Dustin, Robin, and Erica down in that underground Russian lairâ and when everything was happening with Max and the Vecna stuff started last year, you two were right next to each other too.Â
In a way, this newfound separation made sense; your friends were good about not pairing you two up unless absolutely necessary because of the break up. And you knew exactly how different things wouldâve been these last two days if it had never happened, and you suddenly wished for that alternate universe.Â
âIt was a mistake,â You told him. That wasnât how you initially planned to start this conversation, but it did feel like the right thing to say first. âBreaking up, I mean. It was a huge mistake⊠At least, thatâs what I think. Iâm not sure where your head is right now, or if youâve even been thinking about us at all, considering everything else thatâs going on. And it would make complete sense if you havenât been thinking about it. I shouldnât be thinking about it right now, not when weâre hopefully about to kick Vecnaâs ass, but Robin got in my head about âperfect timingâ andââ
âYouâre right,â Steve put an end to your rambling, and you were grateful that he stopped you, especially with those words. âIt was a huge mistake.â
A small smile tugged at your lips. âYouâve been thinking about it?â
âIâve been thinking about it,â Steve nodded, returning your smile. âItâs kinda been the main thing on my mind since that night in the van.â
It made you feel a little relieved knowing that your heads had been in the same place these past two days.Â
âI still really worry about you, and the thought of something happening to you still scares me,â You softly admitted to him. âAnd Iâm just now realizing, or more so, finally ready to accept the fact that not being with you didnât change either of those feelings in the slightest.âÂ
You both were scared of losing each other, so you had figured that if you let each other go, that feeling would go away too.Â
But, you and Steve werenât together, and you hadnât been for seven months, and yet you were still terrified at the thought of losing each other, and you both had actually been honest enough to admit that on the night of that godforsaken crawl. Â
Technically, you had already lost each other, you were literally broken up, but somehow that changed absolutely nothing. You still cared and you still worriedâ so much, probably too muchâ and you finally realized that that would probably never change.
âI still love you,â You told him, eyes not breaking from his. âHonestly, I think Iâm always gonna love you, no matter what. And I don't wanna keep lying to myself, and I donât wanna keep pretending that I donât.â
Steveâs hand found yours, intertwining it with his, and his thumb started softly stroking the back of your palm. âIâve missed you so fucking much. It was so weird not being able to talk to you at all, about anything; good or bad, big or small. And it was so weird that it felt like we were worlds apart when all I really wanted to do was ask if you were doing okay.â Your heart squeezed at his honest words. âI still love you too. That never changed for a second.âÂ
You were smiling as his hand left yours so that he could pull you in for a hug instead. Your body practically melted into him the second his arms were wrapped around you, and you immediately returned the embrace, sighing in contentment at the feeling of being this close to him.Â
You buried your face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him that youâd missed so goddamn much, and if heâd asked, you wouldnât have even felt embarrassed to admit it. You never wanted to let him go, both physically in this moment and metaphorically too, and you could tell by the way Steve squeezed you tightly that the feeling was mutual. Â
âWe have an audience,â He whispered in your ear after a moment, which made you pull out of the embrace a little so you could turn around.Â
It was Robin and Dustin on the other side of the glass, smiling at you both and then high-fiving each other.Â
You were laughing as you rolled your eyes at them, and then you turned your attention back to Steve. âHi.â
âHi,â He responded, smiling back at you. His fingers went up to your neck and softly grabbed the chain of the silver necklace you were secretively wearing, slowly pulling it out from where it was tucked under your shirt. âWhy couldnât you take it off?â
It didnât scare you to admit the truth. âI think I subconsciously thought that if I took it off, it would mean that I was completely giving up on us, and I never wanted to do that.â
His hand played with the small book pendant that hung from the necklace for a moment longer and then went up to stroke your cheek, eyes finding yours again. âIâm glad you never took it off.â
âYeah, me too,â You smiled shyly at him and then turned your head a little, so that you could kiss the inside of his palm.Â
âYouâre a genius, by the way,â You told him, arms coming up to rest on his shoulders, and his hands found your waist in response. âThe beanstalk plan. Fucking incredible.â
Steve smiled widely at your words and gave your waist a light squeeze. âThanks.â
His nose moved in to brush yours, and then his lips were finding you. You didnât hesitate to kiss him back, arms immediately circling his neck to pull him closer to you. God, youâve missed this.Â
A sudden knock on the glass made you two pull away from each other. You both turned your heads in the direction of the sound and only saw Robin that time. You couldnât hear what she was saying, but you could read her lips.Â
âHey, lovebirds, itâs time.â
The final battle.Â
You and Steve nodded at her words and gave a quick thumbs up that she returned before walking away.Â
Steveâs lips pecked the side of your head. âYou ready?â
âNever, but letâs do it.â
The reality of it all was slowly settling in. The thought of losing him swirled in your stomach and made your heart pound, but you willed every last melancholic thought away.Â
Your hand found Steveâs, and you gave it a light squeeze. âI love you.â
summary: in which going through a break up is hard, but whatâs harder is having to spend the majority of your night in the WSQK van with your ex because no one knows youâre broken up yet
warnings:Â explicit language, forced proximity (kinda), a lot of bitchy!steve and bitchy!reader, dustin being dustin<3, brief mentions of the loss of a parent, eddie mentions, angst (because i fear iâm incapable of not writing angst)
authorâs note: a part two will be coming !!!! (allegedly)
Your plan was to avoid Steve for the rest of your life.Â
It was a completely impossible plan because pretty much everything about your lives were intertwined; friends, work, even your mom was obsessed with him and you had a feeling that it was going to take a lot of convincing for you to get her to stop randomly calling him over to fix something around the house like sheâd grown so accustomed to the last two years.Â
However, even though it was impossible for you to never have to see his stupidly cute face ever again (you wondered if you would eventually get to a point where you didnât think he was cute), you could at least ignore him.Â
And that was exactly what you set out to do when you woke up the morning after the break up.Â
Robin would be the first one to know about it, and you were sure that sheâd understand that there was no way that you and Steve could work side by side at The Squawk as sound techs/doing anything and everything else that was needed around the radio station anymore. Youâd already come up with the perfect solution to that problemâ heâd do mornings and lunch, youâd do late afternoons and the evening, and you two would alternate nights.Â
You sipped on the strongest cup of coffee, using the harsh bitterness as a form of encouragement, before leaving your house and heading to the radio station. You promptly sighed when you saw Steveâs car already parked in the nonexistent parking lot; every bit of courage you had quickly dwindled down to nothing.Â
The only good thing about him showing up before you was that it probably meant that heâd already told Robin about the break up, so you luckily wouldnât have to be the one to say it. Â
However, the universe apparently decided not to be on your side this morning because you were entirely wrong about that assumption.Â
âThereâs gonna be a crawl tonight,â was the first thing Steve said to you when you walked in, and you immediately knew what his words meant.
It would be stupid to bring up the break up and tell everyone now when all attention needed to be focused solely on the crawl. It was still a new thing to all of you; this would only be the sixth one, and a million things could go wrong. Therefore, you and Steve announcing your break up would be the epitome of terrible timing.Â
And that also meant that you and he couldnât act like anything was wrong or âoffâ between you two, which meant that youâd have to go through one more day of âbeingâ in a relationship.Â
Which triply meant that your plan of ignoring him forever was also entirely out of the window for the time being.Â
Even though there had only been five of them so far, your designated spot on crawl nights was the passenger seat of the WSQK van. With Steve in the driver's seat and Dustin in the back doing the actual complicated work.Â
That set up was practically written in the nonexistent bylaws, so you knew that going against it would look weird, and you didnât want to be the one to fuck with the ânormâ and potentially throw everything else off too.Â
You all needed this, and you needed it to work, so you were okay with sucking it up and forcing yourself to be in a car with your ex-boyfriend for a few hours.Â
âOkay, Iâve tried to pretend that things donât feel disgustingly weird in here, but I canât do it any longer,â Dustinâs voice broke through the silence that had been prevailing in the van for the past thirty minutes. âWhat the hell is wrong with you guys?â
Steve sighed as he kept driving down the quiet street. âWhat are you talking about, Henderson?â
âUsually, I have to constantly yell at you guys to shut up up there so that I can concentrate on keeping track of Hopper, but this entire night you guys have been deathly quiet. Whatâs wrong?â
âMaybe your yelling finally got through to us?â Steve said, dodging the question at hand.Â
âI wish I were that intimidating,â Dustin responded, obviously not believing Steveâs words. âSeriously, whatâs up? Did you two get into an argument about whoâs prettier, or who loves the other one more?â
It was almost comical how far off from the truth Dustin was, but it made sense why heâd think that you and Steve were in some silly or lighthearted argument, because thatâs all they usually were. Â
âWe broke up last night,â You answered, not turning your eyes away from looking out the window and at the houses slowly passing by as you said the five words.Â
âWeird joke.â
âNot a joke, Henderson,â Steve jumped in, and if he was surprised that you had just blurted it out like this, so abruptly when you couldâve just made something up or kept avoiding the question, he didnât show it. Â
âOh,â Dustin mumbled. âShit, what happened?â
âEnzoâs,â You answered first because you wanted to say something before Steve did.
Dustin let out a confused sound. âWhat?â
âIt was about a dinner reservation,â You explained; it was barely an explanation, but it was pretty much the gist of what happened.Â
âYou guys broke up over a dinner reservation?â
âYes,â You said simply, and then immediately heard Steve scoff under his breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowing. âWhat?â
âNothing,â He shrugged. âIf you wanna say that it was only about that, then sure, whatever, thatâs fine.âÂ
âWhat would you say it was about then?â
âYou being stubborn.âÂ
You rolled your eyes and let out your own scoff. âYouâre insane.â
âOkay,â He said and then turned his attention solely back to the road. He didnât fight you on your words, which annoyed you a lot more than if he had said something more.Â
âAlright, none of what you guys just said helped me understand what happened between you two, so can you just do a play-by-play of what happened last night?â Dustin asked.
Steve let out an annoyed sigh. âHenderson, weâre broken up. Thatâs that. Why does the why and how of it all matter to you so much?â
âIt matters because as a founding father of this relationship, I obviously donât want to see it end,â He answered in a âduhâ tone, which made Steve immediately shake his head.Â
âHow many times do I have to tell you that youâre not the reason that we started dating?â
âReally? So, whoâs the one that told you about the girl who worked at the bookstore and who I was certain that youâd immediately hit it off with?â Dustin said, and then didnât hesitate to continue because the question was obviously rhetorical. âYeah, thatâs right, me!â
âI knew about her way before you got back from camp,â Steve told him. âThe Waldenbooks was only two doors down from Scoops.â
âYeah, but Iâm sure you wouldâve never actually talked to her if I hadnât made us go there to get the Russian to English dictionary.âÂ
âDude, I wouldâve totallyââ
âWe should do it,â You interrupted Steve on whatever long winded tangent he was about to go on. âLetâs give him the play-by-play of what happened last night.â
Steve glanced at you. âYouâre only siding with him because you wanna disagree with me.â
âNot true.â It was entirely true, and Steve knew that. It was why he gave you the most deadpanned look ever, and you only gave him a dry smile in response.Â
âMaybe this could be like couples counseling. Iâll be your guysâ therapist right now,â Dustin said, which made you slightly regret siding with him because you didnât really like the thought of this night being turned into 'therapy hour.'
âNo way,â Steve quickly responded, taking a quick look back at the teen. âI already know youâre just going to agree with her no matter what, even though your loyalties should lie with me because Iâve known you longer.â
âI promise to be a completely unbiased party,â Dustin told him. âNow, someone start the story.âÂ
The long story short was that it had all been a stupid argument about nothing that actually felt like it was about everything, but neither you nor Steve were ready to admit that.Â
âWe were supposed to go on a date,â Steve started before you could even think about what to say first. âI planned the whole thingââ
âWait, hold on. Turn left at the next street,â Dustin interrupted him mid-sentence. Steve made the turn, and then Dustin was quiet for a second, taking a moment to make sure that the signal was still strong and everything was still going to plan. âOkay, continue the story.â
He was damn good at multitasking.
âI showed up at her house at eight,â Steve continued. âAnd when she opened the door, she immediately rolled her eyes.â
âOuch,â Dustin mumbled under his breath.Â
âI could tell with the way you were dressed that we were going to Enzoâs and I hate Enzoâs,â You said, feeling the need to defend yourself.
âYouâve never said that.â
âOkay, well, Iâve never said I liked it.â
âYou liked it just fine a year ago,â Steve said, and he didnât give you any time to rebut his words before he kept going. âJust admit that you wouldâve hated anywhere I wanted to take you.â
âIs that true?â Dustin asked.Â
You sighed as you crossed your arms and let your head fall back against the headrest. âNo, thatâs not true at all.âÂ
Steve scoffed, and you didnât have to look at him to know he was also rolling his eyes. âBullshit.â
âItâs not bullshit.â
âOkay, so what about last week when I said we should go to the movies? Or the week before that, when I suggested just driving around and listening to music?â He asked and took a quick glance at you. âDo you also suddenly hate those things too?â
âYes, Steve, I hate going to the movies, and I hate music, and I hate cars and driving. I hate everything, actually. Is that what you wanna hear?â The sarcasm was evident in your tone, and you looked at him only for a second before turning your gaze back to the window.Â
He shook his head, clearly annoyed. âItâs impossible to talk to you.âÂ
âDitto.â
âAre you guys sure you wanna break up?â Dustin jumped in. âYou got the old married couple vibe down perfectly.â
âShut up,â It was said in damn near perfect unison, which made you and Steve look at each other and then promptly look away.Â
âI donât think it's proper etiquette to verbally abuse your therapist,â Dustin said in a tone that was almost too Dustin-like. âEspecially when heâs just trying to lighten the mood.â
ââLighten the moodâ?â Steve responded, eyebrows furrowing. âAre you a therapist or a comedian?â
That got an abrupt, quiet laugh out of you that you immediately tried to cover with a cough.Â
âWas that a laugh I just heard?â Dustin asked, not missing a beat. âIt was at my expense, but Iâm okay with that if it means weâre making progress.â
You could feel Steveâs eyes on you, but you refused to meet them. âNot a laugh, just a cough.â
âYeah, of course,â Steve mumbled.Â
âOkay, we never got a final answer to that last question, so letâs go back to it,â Dustin said. âWould you honestly have hated anywhere that Steve wanted to take you on this date?â
The short answer was genuinely no, but of course, there was more to it than that, and surprisingly enough, you actually wanted to be completely truthful.Â
âIt wasnât about Enzoâs or the movies or any of it. It was about how you were doing everything. After all of that terrible shit happened last year, you started treating me like I was some delicate thing that would break at any given moment, and you started holding on so fucking tight, and thatâs what I hated,â You said and then breathed out a sigh. âYou just became so⊠clingy.â
The moment the word fell from your lips, you regretted it. You werenât trying to hurt Steve, but even you could admit that was probably the worst thing you could say to him, and Dustinâs immediate surprised gasp only confirmed that.Â
You looked at Steve, but his eyes were planted firmly on the road, and he didnât say anything. It was too dark to read his face, and also too hard because you could only see half of it.Â
The van became silent for a few moments, uncomfortably so, until Dustin told Steve to make another turn, and he did.Â
You kept staring at him, willing him to meet your eyes. âIâm sââ
âSure, yeah, maybe I became kinda clingy, but at least I cared about the relationship,â Steve started before you could finish. âYou stopped caring after everything happened. And I know youâre hurting, but you never wanna talk about itâ about your dad, about Eddie, about anything that happened last year. All you did was push me away when I was just trying to fix it.âÂ
You pretended that you didnât feel so affected at his abrupt mention of your dad and Eddie. âAnd Enzoâs would just magically fix everything?â
âObviously not, but I donât know, I just wanted to do anything to help make you feel at least a little bit better,â He admitted softly. Â
There was nothing that you felt like you could say to that. The fact that he said âwantedâ in the past tense reminded you of what you two now were to each other. And for the first time since it happened, the thought of him not being yours and you not being his anymore actually saddened you, and it was impossible to push the feeling away. It mixed harshly with the annoyance and anger that this entire conversation had already brought out in you. Â
Dustin broke the quiet. âWho initiated it?â
You turned back to look at him. âInitiated what?â
âThe break up,â He elaborated, and for a second, you completely forgot that this whole thing was about you two explaining to him what happened.Â
âShe did,â Steve answered.Â
You rolled your eyes at how irritated he sounded, as if it all had been entirely your doing. âOkay, yeah, I said the actual words, but you pretty much started it by first asking if there was any point to us being together anymore.â
Steve breathed out an annoyed sigh. âWas I even wrong to ask that when you basically just confirmed that you hated everything I was doing in our relationship?âÂ
âNo, you werenât wrong. Surprisingly enough, you were very right,â You told him, sarcasm clear in your tone.Â
Dustin immediately took notice of the sharp energy shift. âUm, okay, I think weâre making the opposite of progress now, so maybe we should justââ
âLet me out here,â You interrupted him before he could finish whatever he was about to say.
Steve gave you a confused look. âWhat?âÂ
âStop the van and let me out here,â You told him, meeting his eyes just for a second. âI wanna go home, but Iâm not gonna fuck up the crawl by asking you to take me, so Iâll just walk.â
He shook his head at what he considered a terrible idea. âNo way, your house is like twenty minutes away from here.â
âItâs fine. I donât care,â You said with an exasperated huff. âI just cannot be in this car with you anymore.â
âFine,â Steve responded and pulled over to the side of the road.Â
âThanks,â You said, giving him a dry smile before you got out of the van and slammed the passenger door behind you.Â
The three quick knocks against your bedroom window came around one in the morning, and you were certain that it was Steve.Â
He was the only person who would come to your house this late, and the three knocks were his signature. There was a time when hearing the familiar quick taps would flood your stomach with giddy butterflies. Now you were only hit with something that felt melancholic because of how different things were.
You pulled back your curtain and saw him on your roof and at your window. You pushed it up a little.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â
âI wanted to make sure that you made it home okay,â He answered with a nonchalant shrug. âThat you didnât trip and fall on your walk and end up lying hurt in a ditch somewhere.â
That was exactly the way his mind worked, and at one point in time, it was the most endearing thing ever to you. It still kind of was.Â
You pushed your window open further so that you could step out and join him on your roof instead of letting him in your room. âYou donât have to do that anymore. You donât have to care.â
Steve gave you a look. âTwo years of caring isnât just gonna turn off in one day.â
He was right, but you refused to tell him that.Â
âEveryone asked what happened to you when we made it back to The Squawk after the crawl,â He said as you two settled yourselves on a flatter part of the angled roof. âDustin told them that you werenât feeling well.â
You nodded at that. âAny big news to report from the crawl?â
âNope. Same results as last time. No Vecna, no anything,â Steve answered with a quick shake of his head. âWhat were you doing here?â
âPutting together a box with all of your stuff that I have,â You told him. Youâd been in the middle of folding his last t-shirt when he knocked on your window. âIâm not done yet, but Iâll probably have it for you tomorrow.â
âI havenât even thought about that yet,â Steve said, which was a response that you expected because it hadnât been the first thing on your mind either. You really only started doing it because you were angry.Â
After your twenty-minute walk, your annoyance from the night still hadnât worn off, and when you spotted a smiling picture of you and Steve taped up above your dresserâ that had been there since the summer you metâ you got the sudden urge to get rid of everything.Â
You found an empty box in your garage and then started packing up his t-shirts and hoodies that you pretended you werenât sad about having to part with, along with some movies that he had left at your house, and other random things that technically belonged to both of you but youâd rather he just have them.Â
âWell, you need to think about it soon because I want my Queen tape back,â You said. âIâm also pretty sure I left my one red swimsuit at your house, and it would be nice to have that back too.â
Steve nodded at your words and then got quiet just for a second. âWhat about gifts?â
Instinctively, your hand went up to touch the necklace hanging from your neck, but it stopped short because you didnât want Steve to see you do it. It didnât cross your mind yet if you should give him back the necklace he gave you on your one year anniversary; it was silver and had a book pendant hanging from it, and you still considered it the best gift youâd ever gotten from someone. You rarely ever took it off, and you especially couldnât imagine doing so now.Â
âGifts are⊠whatever you wanna do with them, I guess,â You ultimately answered. âYou could definitely keep the Walkman I got you, if you want, but I will once again say that I want my Queen tape back.âÂ
Steve held his hands up in mock surrender. âGot it. You will get Sheer Heart Attack back, I promise.â
âThank you.â
A comfortable quiet began to linger, and just for a moment, you felt as if you were back to how things used to be. After everything happened at the mall, you two spent a lot of time out here on your roof, staring up at the night sky and soaking up as much of the summer weather as you could. It was during those early stages where everything between you two was new and sweet, and it was hard to be apart from one another. And even when that âhoneymoon phaseâ settled into something more real and deeper than either of you had initially expected, it all still felt so damn good. You missed that feeling; you missed it so much more than you wanted to admit.Â
Just like caring wouldnât magically go away after two years, neither would the love you had for him.Â
âIâm sorry,â You abruptly said, breaking the silence and sighing into the cold air. âIâm sorry that I made you think that I stopped caring about us. Honestly, I cared so much that the thought of losing you tooâ just like my dad or just like Eddieâ really fucking scared me, so I started pushing you away instead, and I didnât even realize I was doing it until it was too late, and at that point it felt easier to just keep pushing instead of fixing things. And you didnât deserve that. And I shouldnât have called you clingy; you definitely didnât deserve that either. That was really fucked up. Iâm sorry.âÂ
That was probably the most honest youâd been in ages; to Steve, to anyone else, to yourself even. And it felt good, even as sad and depressing as your words were. Without all of that bottled up, you felt like you could breathe just a little bit easier.Â
âYou were kind of right, though,â Steve responded. You could feel his eyes on you, and you didnât hesitate to meet his gaze. âI did become clingy. I was basically doing the same thing as you, but the opposite version. I was so scared of losing you that I held on way too fucking tight, and I didnât even realize it until you called it out in the van.âÂ
It made sense; so much sense that you felt like you shouldâve recognized that a lot earlier, but you had been so lost in your own head and ruining things in your own way that you hadnât seen any of it.Â
âSo we both messed everything up because we were scared idiots,â You concluded, and Steve let out a quiet, almost sad laugh.
âI guess so,â He mumbled as he pushed a hand through his hair. âSo, now what?â
Maybe this fully honest conversation about everything was what you two needed to move in the direction of actually fixing things; one conversation definitely wasnât enough, but it was a good start. But also maybe none of it would be enough, and you couldnât bear the thought of things being okay only for a little bit before having to just go through all of this again.Â
Although breaking up last night had been a decision that was made in haste from both sides, it didnât feel like something you should go back on now.Â
âTomorrow weâll tell everyone weâre broken up, and weâll also tell them that weâll be able to coexist just fine,â You answered quietly, finally looking away from him. Â
You almost said that you two could be friends, but the word wouldnât fall from your lips. There was a part of you that would rather be nothing to him than have him go from being the most important person in your life to just a friend.Â
You could also imagine the lines getting blurred way too easily; the break up was too fresh, and you couldnât picture having a normal, friendly conversation about random nonsense with him anytime soon.Â
In this moment, you were fine with going back to the plan that youâd decided on this morningâ ignoring Steve as much as you could.Â
âOkay,â Steve nodded at your previous words, and you werenât sure why there was a part of you that thought he was going to argue them.Â
âOkay.âÂ
Another beat of silence lingered for a moment.
âI should go,â He said, and you gave him a half-hearted nod in response. âClose your eyes. I donât want you to see how I get off the roof because it probably wonât be graceful.â
That got a soft laugh out of you, and you covered your eyes with one hand. âIâve already seen you be 'not-so-graceful' a bunch of times up here, but okay.âÂ
âIt feels more embarrassing now that weâre not dating,â He told you, and you didnât have time to say anything back, or really even process how him saying that for the first time made you feel, before you heard some movement next to you and then an awkward-sounding thud.Â
âBye.âÂ
You took your hand down from your eyes and saw Steve now standing on your front lawn and looking up at you.Â
This wasnât the last time that youâd ever see him or even the last time youâd ever talk to him, but somehow this moment did feel pretty monumental, somehow more monumental than what happened last nightâ this moment weirdly felt more finite, like the true ending to something that was technically already over.
You gave him a small smile that you hoped didnât look as sad as it felt. âBye.âÂ
c/w á°.á backward hat!rafe + your anklet on his shoulderâąïž, unprotected p in v, poolside sex, w.a.m., language, pet names (baby, pretty, my girl + no y/n), obsessed husband!rafe, kelce + top catching strays, rafeâs grumpy as hell + rafe is down catastrophically bad per usual â§âË â ౚৠâ§â .á
âHell no.â
Topper pauses halfway through reaching for his ball marker and looks over. âWhat?â
Rafe points at him fast. âI know what youâre gonna ask. Fuck off.â
Topper stares at him for a second before a laugh escapes. âJesus Christ, dude.â
Beside him, Kelce just shakes his head, snickering under his breath while he crouches to line up his putt. The ball sits a few feet from the hole and heâs still smiling when he lines up his putter behind it.
âWe havenât even said anything yet.â
âDonât need you to.â
âYou donât even know what I was gonna ask.â
âYes I do.â
âNo, you donât.â
âYou were gonna ask if I wanted to grab a drink after this.â
âIs that a bad thing?â Topper asks, lifting an eyebrow at Rafe like heâs officially lost his mind.
âYou donât want an answer to that, Top.â
He hooks a finger beneath the sleeve of his golf polo and rolls it a little higher on his bicep, adjusting the fabric before dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. The UV index has to be somewhere around ten and he feels every bit of it.
âThe only reason Iâm out here is because she said itâd be good for me.â
Topper snorts and Kelceâs chip barely makes it out of the sandpit.
âAnd youâve been thinkinâ about leaving since hole one,â Topper chuckles, shaking his head.
âParking lot,â Rafe cuts him off. âI was thinkinâ that since the parking lot, Top.â
But even thatâs a lie. He was thinking that the moment that he watched you wave to him over your shoulder before you stepped outsideâthat little string bikini peeking out of the top of your shorts, tormenting him beyond belief.
Ever since then heâs been crossing holes off in his head like an advent calendar from his own personal hell.
âHeâs not even listening,â Kelce teases.
Rafe looks over at him, blinking slowly a few times with his lips pursed and his hands resting on his hips.
ââCourse Iâm not.â
âUnbelievable,â Topper sighs. âI was just telling Kelce we could do another eighteen holesââ
Rafe canât even contain his disgustâwincing, brows pinched tight, nostrils flared with a side eye dripping with judgment.
âWeâre not inviting you, Cameron. Calm the fuck down,â he blurts.
Ding! Rafeâs hand moves, diving for his pocket like someone challenged him to a goddamn duel.
Kelce drops the head of his putter against the grass, shaking his head judgmentally. Rafe rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone without a shred of shame.
âYouâve got a problem,â Topper says.
âA legitimate fucking problem,â Kelce adds.
âI canât help that neither of you like your wives,â Rafe mutters and both of their mouths hang open in disgust. âWhatever,â he says, sounding so genuinely unbothered. âCause he is.
Then he looks down at the screen and suddenly nothing else matters.
Youâre stretched out across one of the lounge chairs beside the pool with a book propped open. The afternoon sun reflects off your skin. The book covers half your face, but that isnât helping him concentrate because the rest of you is impossible to missâthe soft swells of your breasts pressed against the pool chair, the curve of your ass, just a taste of your thighs. Your feet are crossed, the little anklet he bought you glittering in the North Carolina sun.
âLook at him,â Topper says, nudging Kelce with his elbow.
âNot a single thought in that head,â Kelce adds as he steps forward and rests his putter behind the ball, taking his time while he studies the break.
The green goes quiet for a second while everybody waits for him to hit it. Before he can even pull the putter back, Rafe steps directly into his line and sinks his putt without hesitation.
Topper starts barking out a laugh and Kelce stares at him in complete disbelief as his ball rolls toward the hole. âYou are such a prick,â Kelce says.
âWeâre done.â
âWe are absolutely not done.â
âThis feels done,â Rafe answers, bending down to grab his ball, starting toward the flag before the argument is even over, Kelceâs ball still rolling toward the cup.
âYouâre unbelievable, Cameronââ
Rafe cuts off Kelceâs critique, kicking the ball, sending it careening away. âIt was gonna hook left anyway,â Rafe says over his shoulder, digging his keys out of his pocket, heading toward the parking lot as the two bitch behind him. âYou two suck at golf, by the way,â Rafe calls back.
âFuck you, Rafe,â Kelce laughs weakly, walking toward his ball.
âShort gameâs terrible.â
âRafe!â Topper calls but he flicks him off in response.
âDonât even get me started on you, Top. You read greens like an eighty-year-old man with cataracts, fucking useless.â
âJesus Christ,â Topper gasps.
Rafe doesnât even bother organizing his clubs when he reaches the parking lot. He yanks them out of the cart, tosses the entire bag into the trunk with absolutely no regard for the thousands of dollarsâ worth of equipment inside.
He jogs around the side of the car, yanks the driverâs door open, and practically falls into the seat before firing the engine to life.
Gravel spits behind him as he throws the car into reverse, backing out of the spot in one smooth movement before shifting into drive.
The second he hits the main road, he grabs his phone and calls. His thumbs drum against the steering wheel as the summer wind whips through the car, his pulse hammering, still racing from that power walk to his car.
âHey, baby,â your voice fills his car and he softens in his seat, hands wrapping a little tighter around the wheel as he smiles.
âHey pretty,â he hums.
His voice is softer now, gravelly from talking all day and sweeter than it has any right to be considering the way heâd been speaking to Topper and Kelce five minutes ago.
If youâd been standing on that green listening to him threaten both of them, youâd absolutely have something to say about it. He already knows exactly what youâd tell him too. Be nice. Stop being grumpy. Theyâre your friends. The problem is that he doesnât care about any of that right now.
âWhere are you?â You ask curiously, and he can hear in your voice that you know he dipped out of there sooner than he should have.
âJust left.â
âYou just left?â You giggle.
âMhmm...â Your voice comes through the speakers and instantly makes him feel better than the entire golf outing did.
Traffic slows for a red light and the drumming starts again as he waits for it to change.
âYou werenât gonna get a drink or something?â You ask. âRelax?â
âAbsolutely not.â
The answer comes so fast that you start laughing again. The corner of his mouth twitches as he shifts in his seat. âThey were stayinâ to practice puttinâ, baby.â
âReally?â You ask, not convinced in the slightest.
âYeah. Theirâuhhh⊠Their short games suck.â
âGotcha.â
âIâm serious.â
âIâm sure you are.â
âTheyâre fuckinâ terrible, baby. That was a long-ass day,â he grumbles and you giggle. He leans back against the headrest as he lets the moment breathe for a minute. âKids been easy on you today?â
âActually, yeah.â
âYeah?â
âJust laying by the pool,â you say.
âSounds rough.â
âFuckinâ terrible, baby,â you echo his words back to him and he smiles. âTheyâre actually at Wheezieâs.â
The car accelerates, completely subconscious on his part, but you hear it loud and clear. Rafeâs eyes flick briefly toward the speedometer while a grin starts pulling at the corner of his mouth. âOh yeah?â
âRafe Cameron, slow down.â
The grin only gets worse, sinking a little lower in the driverâs seat, as one hand falls to the shift stick.
âIâm goinâ slow, baby.â
âYou are not,â you answer. âYou accelerated the second I said the kids werenât home.â
âDid I?â You can practically hear the grin in his voice now as he weaves through traffic. âSo.â
You start laughing, knowing exactly where heâs going to go with this. âWinnieâs in Charleston with Jackson.â
âGot it. And Max?â He asks eagerly.
âHe left like an hour ago.â
âOn the boat?â He asks, knowing thatâs an all-day affair.
âMhmmâŠâ
Rafeâs laugh rumbles through the phone. âInteresting,â he says.
âInteresting?â You laugh and sigh sweetly.
âSounds like I get you to myself all day?â
âSounds like it.â
By the time he turns into the neighborhood, heâs grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The gates open and he barely slows down as he pulls through them, already spotting flashes of blue water between the houses.
âYouâre almost here, arenât you?â
âAbsolutely,â he hums. âSee you outside, baby.â
The second he turns into the driveway, the car barely has time to rest before heâs throwing it into park, killing the engine.
The garage door rumbles overhead and he doesnât wait, ducking underneath it before it can open all the way. His shirtâs halfway over his head before he even reaches the mudroom. By the time he steps inside, heâs carrying the polo in one hand, snagging his swim trunks from the laundry room with the other.
He stumbles slightly, kicking off his golf shoes without ever breaking stride. Future Rafe can deal with that problem. Present Rafe has more important things to do.
His golf shorts are already undone by the time he reaches the hallway. He steps out of them, steps into the swim trunks, and keeps walking without stopping once to grab his hat, tugging it on before he flicks it to the back.
Now heâs finally home and the only thing he cares about is the backyard door sitting at the end of the room. He reaches it a few seconds later and quickly slows down, dragging the glass door open.
And that last bit of tension breezes out of him, because there you are.
Youâre curled up in a chair with a book open in your hands, completely unaware that heâs standing there.
He admires you for a momentâone leg crossed over the other while sunlight dances across the pool behind you. He soaks in the scene heâd spent eighteen holes waiting to get home to.
Then a sharp whistle rips through his lips.
Your head lifts at the sound.
The book lowers into your lap and a smile breaks across your face so fast it makes something in his chest tighten.
You start to uncross your legs, already leaning forward like youâre about to stand, but he points at you.
âNah, baby,â he says. âStay right there. Iâm cominâ.â
You laugh under your breath and fall back against the chair.
The cushions dip beneath his weight as he climbs on top of you. One hand braces against the armrest while the other finds your thigh, his broad palm sliding higher as he guides you closer.
âMiss me?â He asks. Rafeâs smile tugs a little wider when you whisper yes, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your thigh.
He slides a hand along your side, guiding you onto his lap as one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest while the other lifts to cup your cheek.
âGoddamn, I missed you. Donât make me do that shit again,â he mutters, shaking his head once before leaning back enough to look at you properly. âMânot home enough for that.â
âOkay, baby,â you laugh.
âI mean it.â
âYes, sir.â
âDonât try to charm me after that, pretty. That was hell.â He leans in first this time, forehead brushing yours for a second before his lips find yours. âI love you,â he murmurs.
Your hand presses against his chest, nails scratching lightly down sun-warmed skin. He pushes the cup of your bikini to the side, wrapping his lips around your skin while his other hand drifts between your thighs.
âOut here?â You ask with a laugh.
âWeâre all alone, baby. Why not?â His lips brush yours again before trailing along your jaw. âWe can go inside tooââ
âRight here,â you whisper.
âThatâs what I thought,â he hums. âWhoâs my girl, huh?â
You smile, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. âIâm your girl.â
âMhmm.â His thumb drifts along your collarbones to your shoulders, nudging one strap down before the other. âYouâre my fuckinâ girl.â The words come out rough enough to pull a smile from you.
You reach up and untie the small bow holding your swimsuit top together. The fabric slips loose between you.
Rafeâs eyes drop as you toss it away. âJesus Christ, baby.â A low groan slips out of him as he tips his forehead against yours for a second, hands lifting to squeeze your tits in his big palms as his mouth finds yours again.
You glance down briefly, catching his swim trunks sitting low on his hips from where youâd been tugging at them, bunched slightly against his muscular thighs, the fabric stretched tight across them.
âTake these off,â you whisper, the words barely leaving your lips before he slides down in his seat, tugging down his shorts with him, his heavy cock smacking against his toned stomach with a snap, his eyes locked on your body.
His hands squeeze your hips, digging in as he drags your clothed pussy on top of him, head pressing back into the chair. The sun beats down on your skin. A thin line of sweat catching his chain before it rolls in a lazy train down his chest.
âThey said I got a problem,â he mumbles through a smirk, his jaw tightening as you keep moving against him, the heat of your body bleeding through the fabric of your swimsuit, finally snapping whatever patience he had left.
âYeah, baby?â
âYou see any problems here?â He asks breathlessly as he reaches for the bows at your hip, tugging them free, yanking away the rest of the fabric in a hurry as his hands close around you again.
He blows out a breath like heâs finally gotten rid of the last thing standing between him and what he wants, his hand diving between your thighs.
His fingers press inside and he gasps, working you with his hand as you rest on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath, his muscles flexing with each push of his hand.
âJust jealous they donât have a woman like you?â He hums as he pulls his hand away just long enough to drag you in.
Rafeâs lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pulls you down on him. You grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your wetness wrap around him tight.
âFuck, me,â he mutters under his breath, dragging you closer, smiling against your lips before capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.
âOh my god,â you whine.
âPussyâs so perfect.â
His eyes lift to yours in a lust-ridden daze, muscles flexing as he works you over on his length. You bounce on his lap, wet slaps of sweat and slick filling with air around you mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep groans.
You grip the arm rests, circling your hips and he throws his head against the back of the chair to get a better look, his eyes drifting between your face and the bounce of your tits, falling to his lap where your pussy swallows him up each time you sink down.
His legs spread a little wider, feet resting on the ground, hips pitching to fuck up into your soaked hole. Your head throws back as you rise on your knees, letting him hit that perfect spot, the knot in your belly tightening, your body impossibly hot.
âRafe,â you moan.
âYeah?â He asks, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice. âBeen playinâ this shit over and over in my mind, pretty. Let me have it.â
You cry out as he pounds your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, as your pussy flutters around him. He looks up at you in a haze, lips parted, brows softening as your release wets his lap and thighs.
âOh shit, that's my girl⊠Thatâs my baby,â he praises, making you gasp when he rolls you onto your back, not giving you a moment to breathe before heâs on you again.
He looks down at you with a smile, adjusting his hat, staring at the wet mess between your thighs. âWhy the fuck would I ever wanna leave you, huh?â He asks as he pushes your legs against your chest, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders.
You whimper out a little breath as he taps his cock against your pussy, muscles jumping with each slap.
He pushes in slow, tilting closer to get as far as he can go, pressing a deep kiss to your trembling lips. âGonna cum in your pussy,â he whispers, his voice breaking with pleasure. âMâso, so fuckinâ close.â
His face turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your ankle, right against the charm. His ab muscles clench as he rolls his lips, sweat sliding down his temple.
âIâm so deep,â he mumbles. You nod quickly, lip bitten between your teeth, hands gripping the arm rests tight.
âSo fucking deep,â you whisper.
âYeah?â He asks breathlessly. âFuck me.â
He loses his rhythm, thrusts growing uneven as he snaps against your skin. His muscles quake, shoulders trembling, slamming into you in one heavy thrust.
His eyes pinch shut, head falling forward, cumming deep inside you with your name on his lips.
He lets your legs go but he doesnât let you get far, snuggling into you again, kissing your foreheadâthen your nose and your lips.
âGoddamn,â he mumbles, lingering while your breathing slows together.
He sits down next to you, dragging you close, kissing you as he grabs your thigh, tugging it over the top of himâclose not close enough.
âThis,â he huffs out a deep breath through a smile, relaxing into the lounge chair. âThis is whatâs good for me.â
âYeah?â You giggle, tilting your chin up for a kiss that he gladly steals. You rest your head on his shoulder, the warm summer breeze blowing against your skin, the soft music that you had playing while you were reading filling the space in between.
âYou sent that picture to me on purpose,â he breathes.
A smile stretches on his lips when you donât answer right away, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
âHoly shit, you did? Didnât you?â He asks, tilting his neck to look you in the eyes and you shrug and smile.
âThought it would get you home quicker.â
His hand comes down heavy on your thigh as he dips in, brushing his nose against yours, chuckling deeply against your lips before he kisses you.
Summary : During your summer internship at the Hawkins Post, you're investigating the strange events shaking Hawkins. Steve Harrington, meanwhile, has one mission: keep you from digging too deep. Convinced that a few charming smiles would be enough to steer you away from your investigation after learning you once had a crush on him in high school, he quickly realizes things are far more complicated than he expected.
Warnings : Season 3 Angst
Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.Â
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
You were doing your best to listen to him without letting your annoyance show, but you had to admit it: lately, Steve Harrington had been getting seriously on your nerves.
Ever since you had decided to investigate Hawkins more seriously â the town where you had grown up and where all kinds of strange things happened â he always seemed to appear out of nowhere to change the subject, tear apart your theories, or simply discourage you by his mere presence.
You had barely spoken to him before all this, and you had no desire to start after what he had put Jonathan through. Jonathan was your friend. He was the one who had introduced you to photography before offering you a spot on the school newspaper and eventually asking you to follow him and Nancy for this summer internship at the town newspaper.
« Listen, Harrington. » You raise a hand to interrupt him with a sigh. « I get that taking ice cream orders all day can't be that exciting, but you're going to have to find yourself another hobby besides sabotaging my work. »
He straightens up, finally moving away from your desk where he had been leaning. His arms cross over his chest as his brows furrow. « Sabotaging your work? »
« Yes. » You stand up, ready to leave. « I get that you're doing this because Nancy works here. Or because Jonathan's here. Honestly, I don't care. But that doesn't give you the right to sabotage my work. »
You finish putting your things away before switching off the small lamp on your desk, plunging the room into darkness, lit only by the glow of the exit signs. « I'm in a hurry, so if you don't mind... »
« I don't have feelings for Nancy anymore. » The idea that people might still think that irritates him, as if Steve Harrington only existed through that failed relationship. « And it has nothing to do with... »
« Okay, okay. » You walk past him. « I don't have time for this. I still need to stop by the high school to pick up some files and... anyway. Thank you for all this... enthusiasm about helping with my investigations, but you can stop now. »
Steve hesitates for a moment at your smile. It seems genuine, yet the hint of pity in your eyes is enough to make him wince inwardly. He wishes he could tell you that you're completely wrong. That it has nothing to do with Nancy, or Jonathan, or even himself. But he also knows that, to you, he will always be the boy who broke your friend's camera.
It was stronger than you: every time Steve Harrington was nearby, a wave of irritation rose inside you. And yet, he had never done anything to you personally.
But the memory of Jonathan, hurt and humiliated, always came back to mind.
So you ignored the way Steve held the door open for you. You ignored the fact that he never raised his voice at you. More than anything, you ignored that he kept coming back, day after day, despite your hostility.
The stupid and naĂŻve teenager you had been when you first started high school would probably have claimed that all of this was nothing more than a badly placed crush.
Because before Jonathan, before Nancy, before all those strange events that seemed to follow Hawkins everywhere, you had a crush on Steve Harrington.
A crush you had buried without the slightest regret the day he went after your friend.
With the music blasting through your car speakers, just the way you liked it, and your hand gripping the steering wheel tightly, you head toward the high school under Steve's frustrated gaze.
Once again, he hadn't managed to change your mind, and he doesn't know why the idea that you might think he still has feelings for Nancy affects him so much.
He didn't really know when things had changed, or at what point protecting the damn snoop had stopped being a simple favor for the team.
He takes his time turning the key in the ignition to start the car when the walkie-talkie left on the passenger seat crackles.
« Steve, code red! »
Dustin's voice reaches him, muffled and annoyed, and Steve grabs the device.
« It's late, Henderson, you'll get your ice cream tomorrow! »
« We're being chased by the high school janitor! »
They were supposed to be watching a movie at Lucas's house.
« What the hell are you doing there?! »
« Max thought she saw Billy near the stadium, so we... »
« I'm coming! »
The disappearances shaking Hawkins were becoming increasingly alarming. And things had become even more complicated since you had decided to stick your nose into it, despite Jonathan's efforts to steer you away from that lead.
« Damn snoop. »
The curse slips through his clenched teeth.
When the rest of the group had decided he was the best person to sabotage your investigation, Steve had thought it would be easy; according to Jonathan, you'd had a crush on him at the beginning of high school, so he had convinced himself, rather foolishly, that a few crooked smiles and his natural charm would be enough to steer you away from all of this.
He had quickly realized he was wrong, even finding himself wondering whether that crush had ever really existed when he discovered just how much animosity you seemed to have toward him.
It's only when he spots your car in the parking lot that he remembers you were supposed to stop by there.
Shit.
The photo is nothing extraordinary: a forest landscape with, in the distance, a person who seems surprised to have their picture taken. There's nothing special about the image, and yet it intrigues you, as though there were something escaping you, a detail you just couldn't put your finger on.
After staring at it without blinking for so long, your eyes have become dry and you keep rubbing them before finally deciding to leave. Night has fully settled in now, the hallways of the high school are eerie with only the dim glow of the neon lights illuminating the building, and when you slam the door of the photo lab behind you, you get the strange feeling that you've woken something up by how loudly the sound echoes.
At the end of the hallway, a figure stands motionless, as if waiting for you, and you freeze before recognizing the school janitor.
« Oh, Mr. Montrevel, I'm sorry, I stayed late, I'm leaving right now! »
The relief you felt upon recognizing him quickly fades, however, when he doesn't react, his imposing figure still standing between you and the exit.
You take a few steps toward him, your concern gradually replacing your embarrassment.
« Mr. Montrevel? You... »
An arm wraps around your waist, stopping you in your tracks, a hand pressing over your mouth to muffle the scream threatening to escape you. You should have panicked, of course you should have, but you instantly recognize Steve's cologne, which is enough to calm you for a moment.
His expression is tense, and he doesn't even look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the motionless figure in front of you.
« Don't move. »
His voice is barely more than a whisper and, although he brought you a semblance of comfort a few seconds earlier, his behavior is starting to worry you. He slowly guides the two of you backward, but the strap of your bag suddenly gives way and it falls to the floor with a dull thud.
« Shit! »
The figure immediately springs into motion and moves toward you at a quick pace; Steve grabs your hand without hesitation and pulls you along as he runs away from the janitor.
You don't like running, you hate it, and your lack of stamina quickly makes itself known as your lungs tighten and your pace begins to slow.
« No, no, hurry up! »
« What the hell is going on?! »
You force him to stop so you can catch your breath, your hands braced against your hips, while Steve curses into his walkie-talkie.
« He's in the school, get out of there! »
« We're calling Nancy and Jonathan! »
« Grab the bat! »
You don't understand a word of what he's saying, vaguely recognize Nancy's brother's voice through the static and...
« Wait, a bat? » You take a step back. « Harrington, you... »
He grabs your hand to pull you behind him when he sees the janitor appear, his gaze empty, almost possessed, and hits him in the face with the walkie-talkie. The man lets out a strange sound, but Steve doesn't waste a second and pulls you away with him without any resistance from you, so stunned are you by what just happened.
He finds a random door, locks it before leading you to the back of the room. He doesn't seem panicked, on the contrary, he seems to understand the situation and, even though his calm should reassure you, anger takes over.
« Harrington, you're going to tell me what's going on! Right now! »
He moves toward you, a finger pressed to his lips while you step back.
« Shh! Stop talking! »
« Don't tell me to shut up! You just... »
In a single step, he's in front of you; his hand comes back over your mouth and you crash into the cabinet behind you.
His eyes wide, Steve tries to make you understand that you need to stay quiet and he must be convincing enough, because you stop moving.
Footsteps echo through the hallway, stop near the door, and you hold your breath until they move away.
Steve lowers his head, relieved that the two of you managed to stay hidden, until you abruptly push him away.
« Talk now or I'll scream! »
« You could've done that earlier, you know? »
He tries to joke, but the seriousness in your expression immediately wipes the smile from his face. He leans against the desk â you're in the chemistry classroom after all â and rubs a hand over his face.
« The disappearances... They have everything to do with a creature that... comes from another world. »
You stare at him in disbelief, and even he seems doubtful that he just said those words out loud. It's one thing to talk about it with people who already know, it's another entirely with someone who knows nothing.
« Are you kidding me? »
« No! » He straightens up. « I've been trying to change your mind ever since you started investigating because if you get involved in this, you're going to... »
« That's why you've been bothering me at the newspaper? »
« I told you I'm not in love with Nancy anymore. Why else would I have come? »
A disappointment that comes out of nowhere tightens your chest; and yet, you can't blame him. You're nobody to him.
« Listen, I... » He takes a step toward you, mistaking your silence for disbelief. « I know this isn't easy to believe, but... »
« They're possessed. »
You murmur those words to yourself as you dig through your pocket for the photo you slipped inside earlier.
« That's it... They're possessed. »
« What? »
« I took this picture a few weeks ago and I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what, and Mr. Montrevel had that same look in his eyes... They're possessed. »
Steve doesn't know how to react, surprised to see you accept this news so easily, as though it were somehow more rational that a creature from another world could take control of the people of Hawkins.
« Wait... Mr. Montrevel is possessed? » Your eyes lock onto his as the realization hits you. « Oh my God, he's going to kill us. »
He's almost relieved to see you react normally, until panic takes over.
You try to speak, but the words get tangled together as the air starts to leave your lungs. It had been a long time since your last panic attack, not since you started high school and all the exercises your therapist had taught you.
Your hand clenches around your sweater as though you want to tear it off your skin, your heart races and you collapse to your knees under Steve's now panicked gaze.
Without thinking, he drops down beside you and takes your face in his hands as he recognizes the signs of the panic attack.
« Look at me... try to think about something... something pleasant. »
Despite your vision blurring, you look at him with the urge to tell him how ridiculous all of this is when a possessed man is probably trying to kill you.
At that thought, your breathing becomes more and more uneven and, against all expectations, while he's still holding your face in his hands in a desperate attempt to bring you back to him, Steve kisses you.
He doesn't really know why he does it. Maybe because he can't stand watching you struggle for air anymore. Maybe because, for weeks now, he's spent all his time protecting you without being able to explain why. Or maybe because, in the middle of this dimly lit classroom, with a possessed man hunting you through the hallways, it's the only thing that comes to mind.
The kiss is clumsy, rushed, nothing like the ones he's given before, but it lasts a second too long, his hands slipping from your cheeks into your hair as though trying to anchor you a little more firmly in reality.
« Steve? Do you hear me? We're outside with Nancy and Jonathan! »
The crackling of the walkie-talkie pulls both of you out of your bubble and you remain frozen while he stands to retrieve the device left on the desk. There's a bit of blood on it, but Steve pays it no attention. Beneath his apparent confidence, he's every bit as shaken as you are.
« The janitor? »
« We saw him run out, but we figured we'd wait for you. Did you find your damn snoop? »
He closes his eyes at the nickname he gave you and that Dustin was all too quick to adopt.
« Yeah... I found her. »
« Great. I hope her crush hasn't worn off so you can... »
Steve immediately cuts off the transmission, his jaw tightening as he realizes too late what you might understand from that.
You may be breathing more easily now, but your heart races at Dustin's words. You push yourself up against the desk and run a hand through your hair under Steve's worried gaze.
« I won't say anything. » Misinterpreting his expression, you promise to keep to yourself everything he just confessed. « I'll choose another topic for my assignment. »
You leave the crumpled photo on the desk, as though giving up your investigation were easier than facing what had just happened.
He wants to take a step toward you, tell you that none of this is only about that damn parallel world, that you should talk about what just happened, but he does nothing.
He simply watches your silhouette silently leave the room, the walkie-talkie clenched in his hands.
This was supposed to be simple, wasn't it? A few smiles, a few lies, and you would have given up your investigation.
That's exactly what had just happened, and yet, as he watches you walk away, Steve doesn't feel the slightest hint of relief.
Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist
Taglist :
@dwindella
Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciatedâš
Summary : He believed he could never measure up.
Warnings : â ïž Explicit sexual content - self-harm - suicide attempts - mental health themes - adult themes - depression - anxiety - suicidal thoughts - feelings of despair. â ïž I hope I havenât forgotten anything.
Writerâs notes: English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.
Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
It was supposed to be simple: find Pope, get the keys to his apartment, and wait patiently for his return. Your friend had been relieved to find you that evening, holding you tighter when he saw that you were still struggling, but that the monster inside you was starting to suffocate under your relentless efforts.
We were celebrating Kiaraâs thirtieth birthday, with Tanny Hill hosting all the guests so she could experience the moment as it should be. Everyone was there: kooks, pogues, and the long-buried blessed axe, finally forgotten.
The noise of the party was deafening, the drunken laughter and the cheerful atmosphere failing to calm you. As you passed by the living room, you saw the birthday cake being served and paused for a few moments just to watch your friend.
Old friend.
She looked so beautiful in her blue dress, Sarah and Cleo at her side tossing chairs into the air as everyone sang, âHappy birthday, Kie!â
You would have loved to be with them, to savor the moment with your friends and assure them that you were doing better.
But it was too late: they had all given up, and you didnât blame them. Only Pope had stayed in touch, silently, to preserve that bond.
You had lingered for only a few seconds in the shadows, letting the candlesâ trembling light brush across Kiaraâs face.
No one had seen you. No one⊠except Rafe.
His blood ran cold when he caught sight of your silhouette, his heart racing as if it had suddenly come back to life while he had wanted to bury you. The darkness didnât allow him to make out your features, but he knew it was you.
And he couldnât understand what you were doing there, when you were supposed to be far away.
He saw your fingers rubbing your wrist absentmindedly, and his grip tightened around his glass. Crush the object instead of you.
His steps followed yours as you slipped quietly up the stairs, the music drowning out the sound of his feet on the steps.
When you tried to close the door behind you, Pope had told you to grab the bag he had prepared in the second room. A force from the other side prevented you from latching it, and you stepped back in surprise.
âGod, what the hell are you doing here?!â
Eyes wide at Rafeâs sudden presence, panic coursed through your veins like a freezing poison. He was there, furious, his eyes like blades ready to pierce you, and the door slammed behind him, echoing like a thunderclap.
A small voice in your head let out a breath of relief: his anger meant he still felt something for you. As messed up as it was, you clung to that flicker.
âIâm here for Pope.â
Of course. What did he think? That youâd be there for him? He had guessed as much, but it still hurt deep in his gut. Seeing you broke his heart all over again, especially when your dark eyes didnât flinch, silently daring him.
He knew that inside you, everything was chaos. That his presence hurt you as much as yours hurt him, that tingling sensations ran down your fingers just as they did down his, proof of your mutual need to touch.
God, it hurt him like hell to see you there, after three years. He didnât know how you were holding up, if you were even surviving, while you kept ending up hospitalized.
He acted like he didnât care, and yetâŠ
Your calm was only a façade: only your hand, absentmindedly touching your wrist, betrayed your anxiety.
He noticed that you had gained weight, that your hairâstill messyâwas clean, and that your skin had regained some color, erasing the ghostly pallor that still haunted his memory.
Then he saw that image he had tried to forget: you, lying in the bathroom, the thick red liquid running from your wrist. Your frail figure swallowed by clothes too big for you, as if to disappear, to become invisible.
But you had never been invisible to him. Not even now.
âYouâve got some nerve showing up here,â he hissed.
âJust leave! I didnât ask you to follow me!â
He didnât move. He stayed frozen in front of you, surprised to see you angry when it should have been him.
You took a step toward the bathroom door, trying to escape his gaze that had become too heavy to bear⊠but instead of holding you back, Rafe pushed you inside.
The door slammed behind you, trapping the burning heat of his eyes and the tension suffocating both of you.
Catching yourself on the sink so you wouldnât slip, your eyes shot Rafe a black glare he knew all too well. Still fixed on him, you sought to punish him for seeing you when all you wanted was to disappear.
âWhat? Doesnât this bring back good memories? You and me, here?â His mocking voice betrayed all the anger he still held toward you. âYou liked being here, didnât you?â
The memories came like flashes: the white tiles stained with blood, Rafeâs face hovering above yours as he shouted for you to stay.
âPlease⊠donât leave me.â His hands searched for your pulse, the paramedics pushing him back while his clothes were soaked in that red.
He had thought he would die the day he found you unconscious. And it was even worse when he tried to see you at the hospital, only to be told that you refused to let him in.
You backed up against the bathtub, eyes still lowered, unable to face all those shared memories.
âYou said youâd stop⊠that youâd call me when things got bad.â Rafe remembered every one of your words. âYou smiled at me, promising youâd quit your bullshit⊠but you lied.â
You didnât want to listen. Every sentence dragged you back to the period you were trying to forget.
But the farther you moved away from him, the closer he came. His hands settled on your jaw, holding you gently against the sink.
âI thought you were dead, godâŠâ He pressed his forehead to yours. âYou left⊠without saying a word.â
It had been hard for you, but you had finally understood that the monster inside you was deeply rooted. You had accepted the idea that you needed to heal, that you were too broken for Rafe. You didnât want to drag him into the darkness that consumed you, a darkness whose origin you didnât even know.
Sometimes, it was just too much.
So you had left him behind, to protect him, to keep him from getting tainted by all the shit you carried.
Your eyes welled up as his gaze locked onto yours, his hand still resting on your jaw.
âI wanted to protect you from all of thisâŠâ
âBullshit!â he snapped. âDonât hide your cowardice behind some excuse about protecting me.â
He knew you didnât want him to drown with you, but damn⊠he was in love with you. Of course he was your lifeline, of course thatâs what he wanted.
âI was never enough,â he concluded.
âDonât say thatâŠâ your hand rested on his. âYou donât get to say thatâŠâ
âIf I had been enough, you would have stopped hurting yourself.â His gaze flicked over the thin scars revealed by the light. âIf I had been enough⊠you wouldnât have tried to die in my bathroom.â
Every word hit like a punch to your chest. It burned Rafeâs mouth to say them, but damn⊠did you finally understand?
He felt like shit, not enough for the girl he loved, the one who had chosen to leave him in the worst possible way rather than fight for a life by his side.
Letting out a sob, you pressed your forehead against his collarbone. His hand slid down along your neck, while your fist clenched around the collar of his shirt.
You were only eighteen when you met, Rafe falling for your freedom and your silences. He hadnât seen how dark your thoughts were, and when he realized, you thought he would leave, run away. But he stayed, taking you as you were. Every wound you inflicted on yourself hurt him too, yet he was there, healing, kissing each of your pains.
You had made multiple trips to the hospital, your friends trying in turn to pull your head above water, to no avail.
But the last time had been too much, your scar still swollen despite the three years that had passed proving it.
âYou know the worst part?â He gently lifted your tear-streaked face. âItâs that, despite everything⊠despite the fact that you broke my heart, I still love you. I still want you.â
Your lips met his, softly, hesitant as you waited for his reaction. His hands came to rest on your head, threading through your hair to pull you closer. It was strange that the only person who had broken him was also the only one capable of comforting him.
You were his greatest sorrow, and yet he dove back in.
With gentle movements, his hands slid your top over your arms. His fingers brushed over all those little scarsâsome he already knew, others he was discovering for the first time. Each one reminded him that he hadnât been there.
âIâm doing better,â you murmured softly, drawing him closer. âItâs been six months.â
He wanted to believe you, truly. But he knew your past lies, so he simply smiled. His hands resumed their caresses over your skin, and the top of your chest shivered under his touch. He moved slowly, rediscovering the skin he had loved to brush, caress, and kiss.
Following you, he hadnât planned to undress you, only to let his anger out on you.
And yet, you were practically naked in front of him when he lowered your pants, your soft thighs streaked with faint marks.
Then urgency took over, as if he once again realized you could slip through his fingers.
His hand passed the barrier of your panties, his fingers meeting the wetness already there just for him.
âPlease,â you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, âpleaseâŠâ
He quickened the movement, your walls tightening rapidly around his fingers. It had been so long since anyone had touched you that your orgasm exploded almost instantly.
Rafe didnât wait for you to recover and turned you to face away from him, lowering your panties slightly over your thighs, one hand resting on your nape to arch you a little more.
âLook at yourself.â
You moaned at his words, forcing yourself to look at your reflection in the mirror at the same moment Rafe penetrated you. Overwhelmed by the burning sensation, you closed your eyes, and he paused his movement to let you adjust to him. Feeling you so tight made him clench his jaw, and after a moment, he resumed his thrusts.
âLook,â he said again, tugging at your hair, âlook at us.â
It was almost a plea, a prayer for you to see for yourself that you were worth it. Your gaze met his through your reflection, his blue eyes darkened by the pleasure he was taking. His hand slid under your throat, pulling you a little closer against him.
âSee?â he whispered into your ear. âI still see you.â
A tear rolled down, and his thumb gently wiped it away. âYouâve broken my heart so many times⊠and Iâm still here, damn it.â He resumed his slow thrusts. âIâm as broken as you are when youâre not here. Only you can fix that.â
You took his hand, pressing his palm to your mouth and kissing it. You understood his request: it wasnât the first time he had asked, but it was the first time you knew it was possible.
His movements grew slightly more urgent as the pleasure built between you, an electric charge running through your lower belly. You came first, Rafe pressing against your back as his orgasm struck him in turn.
After a little while, he withdrew gently and realized you hadnât protected yourselves. At his grimace, you understood, and embarrassed, trying to hide, you reassured him: âI havenât been with anyone since you.â
It was ridiculous, but his ego swelled. He hadnât hesitated to drown himself in other bodies to forget you.
âIâve always protected myself.â
You nodded, picking up your top to cover yourself. Rafe got dressed as well, lost, not knowing what to say or do.
His anger was still thereâyou could see it in the light in his eyes and the way he ran his hand through his hair. You wanted to calm him, but maybe it was too soon, despite what you had just shared.
He was about to open the bathroom door, then pressed his forehead against it with a sigh.
âPlease⊠donât leave again,â he murmured, almost pleading. âDonât break me again.â
He wanted to hate you for everything you had put him through, to leave you there like shit, to hurt you with his words.
But he couldnât.
You wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his back, and his hands settled over yours.
âIâm not giving up, Rafe. Iâm doing my best.â
And for the first time in a long time, you felt that things could finally be gentler. Because you were really trying.
Rafe Cameron masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Steve Harrington masterlist
Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciatedâš
Requests are openđ
I hope you are doing well and that you are surrounded by love and care.
hi! u asked for some rafe oneshots req, so i thought that maybe u could do rafe helping reader on her period. he's usually cold in their relationship but this is the only time where he softens and cuddles her. tysm<3
Make it better
pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
blurb: Rafe comforting you when you're on your period
warnings: fluff, kissing
wc: 1k
You were curled up under the covers. Again. Just like you were every single month, for the few days when your body decided to turn against you and your hormones decided to do their own thing. And every single time it was terrible. Cramps. Headaches. Mood swings. The whole lot.Â
Rafe noticed immediately when he strode in. The way your face was scrunched in discomfort. The way you were on your side, pressing into the mattress like you wanted to melt into it. Heâd been out with his father the whole day. Some business thing that you didnât ask too much about. It was obvious to him that you were in pain.Â
âHey⊠hey baby, whatâs wrong?â he murmured, throwing his jacket over a chair before sitting down next to you on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly as he tried to get a better look at you. He was surprisingly gentle in times like this, something no one would expect from Figure 8âs golden boy.
You shook your head, burying yourself deeper into the bed, answering back with a strained, âIâm fine.â
Rafe frowned. âDonât lie to me.â His voice was still soft but firmer this time, as he gently brushed your hair back from your face. âTell me whatâs wrong.â
You couldnât stay quiet when he spoke like that. âItâs just cramps,â you mumbled, eyes a little glassy from the pulls of pain. It was a little embarrassing to admit that to him. The fact that you couldnât even deal with some tiny cramps. What if Rafe got disgusted and left or something?
Just as the thought popped into your mind, his weight was off the bed again. When you looked up, he was gone, his presence no longer there. Great. Why did you tell him that? A sob crawled its way out of you, the mood swings making every emotion feel that much more intense.Â
However, before you could dwell on it for too long, Rafe was walking into the room again. Was he holding⊠a heating pad? You stared at him in shock this time, hair messy and fresh tear tracks on your cheeks.Â
Rafe didnât tease you or comment on that. No matter how cold he usually was, heâd never stand you hurting on his watch. If there was a problem, heâd fix it. Make you smile again. You deserved it. Deserved all the love and care in the world. Rafe knew that while also knowing you could do better than him. But damnit if he didnât try his best to give you it all.Â
You whimpered slightly as Rafe sat on the bed, pulling you into his lap so you were curled against his chest. The shift in positions caused your muscles to tense again, a wince escaping you, but that pain soon melted as Rafe pressed the heating pad against your stomach. You sighed into his shoulder, instinctively leaning towards the heat.Â
âIs that better?â Rafeâs voice was gravelly, his breath fanning over your ear.Â
âMm⊠yeah,â you nodded, relaxing slightly for the first time in hours. âFeels goodâŠâ
Rafe watched you intently, memorising how you loosened up. His hand ran through your hair again, the other moving to place the heat pack under the shirt that you're wearing. One of his loose faded tees. You gasped softly at the added relief, curling into his touch.Â
Rafe tilted your chin, wanting you to meet his eyes. âDonât hide from me again. Tell me everything. You understand?â
You nod, still a little bit shy. You werenât used to being cared for like this during your period.Â
Rafe mustâve noticed, that protective look in his growing. âIâll always take care of you, baby. I take care of whatâs mine.âÂ
You didnât know what to say, but his words made you feel wanted in some way. If being his meant feeling like this, youâd take it.
âYou wanna watch a movie? We can watch one of those cheesy romcoms you love,â Rafe asked, as if knowing a distraction was what you needed.Â
Your face lit up at his words. Rafe hated romcoms. âReally?â
âMhm.â Rafe tried to play it off, but he couldnât hide the way his expression softened at the pure joy in your eyes. âWe could have some ice cream too. Chocolate?â He knew that was your favourite.
âYes! Can we?â you squealed, practically glowing at that point. The cramps hadnât necessarily gone, still a faint feeling in your stomach, but you were focused on them now. Only about having a night in with Rafe. You always savoured every second when he was soft like this.Â
Rafe chuckled, gently picking you up and carrying you downstairs. He placed you on the couch, wrapping you in a fuzzy blanket before heading to the kitchen. He returned holding a bowl of ice cream and two spoons. âGo on. Pick whatever,â he drawled, plopping down next to you.Â
After way too much careful consideration, you decided on 10 Things I Hate About You. Rafe groaned playfully, rolling his eyes, âAgain?â
âYou said pick anything,â you giggled, resting your head on his chest, cuddling into him.Â
Rafe froze for half a second before wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer. âOnly because those stupid cramps are hurting my girl,â he murmured, settled the heat pack carefully before opening the ice cream.
âYou know you love my taste in movies,â you smiled, grabbing a spoon and digging into the tub. You hummed as it melted on your tongue.Â
The opening credits rolled as Rafe asked, âHow is it?â He took a spoonful for himself a second later.
âPerfect,â you whispered, softer now as you settled against him. You werenât sure if you were talking about the ice cream, the moment, or him anymore. All you knew if the cramps were something you could barely notice right now.
âIâll always make it better, babyâŠâ
a/n: sorry this is like kinda short but i always love a little soft comfort rafe moment. as always thank you sm for the request! more oneshots will be coming sooonnn đâš feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards âê«áȘĘ
Summary : After getting assigned to the universityâs end-of-year musical as punishment for yet another mistake, Steve Harrington was only supposed to be an extra⊠until Robin lets slip that he can sing, landing him the lead role opposite you. Between rehearsals, where your characters fall in love beneath the glow of a 1930s cabaret, the line between the stage and reality begins to blur dangerously.
Warnings : love always love shit
Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.Â
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
The moment you see the troubled look on Jonathanâs face, you know the news wonât be good.
âBilly broke his leg. He wonât be able to play James Parker.â
He drops down against the table set in front of the stage. The dim lighting casts enough light across his features to show just how exhausted he is. One hand rubs over his forehead.
âThis is a disaster.â
A collective sigh ripples through the cast.
Just weeks before opening night, Billy had to go and mess around with his car when he was playing the lead opposite you.
Steve Harringtonâs snicker echoes from somewhere behind you. You force yourself not to turn around and glare at him. Ever since the beginning, that idiot hasnât taken the project seriously, and youâre convinced he would have been more useful cleaning the theater than participating in the show.
You hate that arrogant jerk.
âWhat if we ask Eddie?â
Jonathan doesnât even bother answering. His expression says it all.
âHarrington can sing.â
A muffled noise comes from behind you â and you sincerely hope he just choked on his own saliva.
You turn toward Robin, sitting beside you.
âWhat?â
Jonathan straightens up and looks directly at Steve.
âWait, you can sing?â
âNot really.â
Immediate relief washes over you.
âSee? HeâŠâ
âHeâs lying,â Robin cuts in. âI heard him the other night. He even plays piano.â
Steve instantly loses some of his confidence and jumps down from the table heâd been sitting on while waiting for this pointless meeting to end.
âJesus, are you spying on me or something?â
âI forgot my headphones.â
Robin gives him a satisfied smile, arms crossed, pretending not to notice the outraged look you shoot her. And to think sheâs supposed to be your friend.
âJonathan, wait. Canât we talk about this? Ask everyone what they think?â
âWe donât have time to find another lead,â he replies firmly. âWeâre already losing time.â
âBut he doesnât know anything about theater!â
Your frustration finally boils over. The pages of your script crumple in your fist.
âHeâs always hanging around backstage! He doesnât care about this project at all!â
Steve gives an approving nod. For once, he seems to agree with you. Still, he mostly looks amused watching you lose your composure, seeing the control you always seem to have slipping away because of him.
âItâs just a college play, sweetheart. Not Broadway.â
You clench your jaw at the ridiculous nickname and turn your attention back to Jonathan.
âI donât want him as my scene partner.â
Your friendship with Jonathan goes back years â long enough for him to swallow his irritation. Even so, his expression remains unyielding.
âWe need him.â
âJonathanâŠâ
âFine. Harrington, youâve got the lead role.âHe grabs a folder from the table.âWe start rehearsals again tomorrow.â
Your heart pounds wildly. You, who always keep everything under control, have just lost the one thing you need most to keep your anxiety in check.
Steve leans closer, his breath brushing your ear, his voice low and teasing.
âYou lose, sweetheart.â
âI think we should change this line. It sounds way too⊠cheesy.â
âWeâre not asking you to think, just to recite!â
There were only two weeks left until opening night, and for the past three weeks, every rehearsal had been a disaster.
As if some kind of curse had fallen over the production: Billy had gotten injured, Jonathan had to manage the student newspaper and could no longer be around for his own show, and the worst disaster of them all had a name: Steve Harrington.
Sitting on the dusty edge of the stage with a pencil tucked behind his ear, he reread the lines he was supposed to memorize but clearly found ridiculous.
âNo guy is ever going to walk up to a girl he likes and say, âMy heart beats faster whenever Iâm around you.ââ He lets out a laugh before looking up at you.âSeriously, who says that?â
âA man in love, you idiot!â
You grit your teeth, pinching the bridge of your nose.
âThis play takes place in the thirties! Men actually knew how to express themselves back then!â
You catch the hint of amusement at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing, content to watch your reactions, clearly entertained by how ridiculously easy it is for him to get under your skin.
âFine. Weâll keep the line if it means that much to you.â He lets out a sigh as he stands up.âIâve got to go.â
âWhat? We still have the final scene to rehearse!â
Your eyes dart frantically across the pages you still have left to work through.
âThe scene where the poor guy kisses his singer? We can skip that.â He slips on his jacket and runs a hand through his messy hair. âUnless you want to kiss me now?â
He says it so seriously that you freeze in place, warmth rushing to your cheeks.
âRelax, Iâm kidding. BreatheâŠâ A mischievous smile spreads across his face.âUnlessâŠâ
He tilts his head slightly, his expression suddenly more serious.
âTell me youâve kissed someone before ?.â
You run your tongue over your suddenly dry lips, your throat tightening as embarrassment spreads through you. Steveâs gaze shifts almost imperceptibly, becoming softer, more uncertain.
âYou know, you idiot, just because Iâm not dating anyone doesnât mean Iâve never kissed anyone, okay?â
You cross your arms over your chest and shoot him an unimpressed look, but Steve only seems to hear one thing.
âYouâre not dating anyone?â A smug smile tugs at the corner of his lips. âSweetheart, you really didnât have to tell me that.â
He walks past you before adding over his shoulder: âControl freaks donât exactly attract people.â
He knows his words hit their mark. Your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to kill him on the spot as he leaves the room.
And for a moment, heâs almost proud of himself.
But as he crosses the parking lot toward his car, his satisfaction slowly gives way to something else. A small pang of guilt settles in his chest at the thought of leaving you behind like that.
âOw!â
âSheâs alive!â
Robin rolls her eyes dramatically, a mouthful of pins between her lips as she adjusts your stage costume.
âIâve been talking to you for ten minutes and you havenât answered me once!â
You apologize, trying to focus on the conversation again, but your mind refuses to stay in the present.
âAre you nervous about next weekend? Youâre going to be amazing!â
Robin reassures you, convinced your distant mood is just pre-show anxiety finally kicking in, but you know itâs something else entirely.
Youâre still angry at Steve for calling you a control freak. You hate that label because it throws all your insecurities back in your face: the anxiety, the constant feeling of losing control, the fear of never being good enough.
The theater helps you manage all of that.
Even though that conversation happened a week ago, youâd planned to tell him exactly what you thought about it during tonightâs rehearsal.
ExceptâŠ
You found Harrington instead, his eyes fixed on his script as though the lines had been written specifically for him, his voice slipping effortlessly into every song.
You never expected him to take any of this seriously, and little by little, youâve realized that he works alone, off to the side.
He practices his songs by himself, stays after class to learn the choreography, and knows every lyric by heart.
He pushes himself to give his best, doing everything he can not to disappoint anyone.
But disappoint who?
Because every time he walks into this room, he hopes to catch your eyes on him.
âDo I really have to wear this?â
Robin sets a hat on Steveâs head and struggles to straighten the costume jacket over his shoulders.
âI liked it better when I was just wearing the shirt.â
âShe told me you were difficult, but I seriously underestimated how bad you are!â
Her.
No need to ask who sheâs talking about.
Itâs Steveâs turn for costume fittings and, even though Robin is nice, he hates the ridiculous outfit heâs supposed to wear. Realizing she isnât listening to him, he gives up arguing, already planning to find a way around the costume requirements on opening night.
âRobin, I think we should skip the heels unless you want me to break something like Billy did!â
Still annoyed, Steve turns around at the sound of your arrival, and his eyes widen instantly, his lips parting before he can stop himself.
Heâs seen you dozens of times before.
Arms crossed at the back of the rehearsal room, eyebrows furrowed whenever he forgot a line, a pencil tucked between your fingers and that need you have to keep everything under control.
But now, beneath the warm lights of the cabaret, you look like someone else entirely.
The black dress hugs your figure before flaring slightly around your legs, the satin catching the light with every movement. The neckline, elegant without being revealing, shows a side of you heâs never noticed before, while the tiny beads sewn into the fabric shimmer with every step you take.
And for a second, Steve looks away.
Fantasizing about you?
Hell no.
âAre you listening to me? Harrington!â
You finally snap the words in front of his face as he seems to come back to reality. There arenât many rehearsals left before opening night, and you need everything to go perfectly.
Even if it means pushing aside the frustration he constantly stirs up in you, frustration that only grows tonight because he seems completely distracted.
âNo need to yell like that!â
He takes a step back, thrown off by your closeness and by the thoughts that have been betraying him ever since he saw you in that damn dress.
âIâm yelling because youâre not paying attention!â
He shakes his head, slipping back into that infuriatingly smug expression.
âIâm right here, sweetheart.â
âI mean your headâs somewhere else, idiot!â
âStop calling me an idiot!â
âOh, so you get to call me sweetheart, but I canât call you an idiot?!â
He takes a deep breath because he has no comeback and, more than anything, because he wants to wipe that satisfied smile off your face. He steps back again, gripping his script tightly.
âWhere were we again?â
âThe final scene. The kissing scene.â
His breathing turns uneven, and the irritated expression crossing his face makes you roll your eyes.
âLook, I donât want to do this any more than you do...â
Suddenly, his lips are on yours, and your entire body tenses.
Your eyes remain wide open, fixed on his furrowed brow as though heâs trying to figure something out.
His lips brush against yours before he deepens the kiss hesitantly, driven more by impulse than thought.
The shiver that runs through you forces your eyes shut, letting him take the lead.
If Steve suspected that youâd never really kissed anyone â at least not enough to know what you were doing â he knows for sure now, feeling your hesitation, your awkwardness, which, against all logic, makes his heart race.
It feels good.
Really good.
And the soft, surprised sound that escapes your lips hits him like a shockwave.
He pulls away abruptly, his hands still framing your face, his eyes wide at what heâs just done.
âHappy now?!â
The door slams behind him before you can even process what just happened.
You should be furious.
Instead, your fingers drift to your lips, unable to forget the feeling of his against yours.
âPlaces in five minutes!â
Chaos erupts backstage. The actors go through their little rituals to make sure everything goes smoothly, Robin makes the final adjustments to everyoneâs costumes, and you simply try to breathe.
Itâs the first time youâve ever been nervous before a performance, and it frustrates you because theater is supposed to calm you down.
But it doesnât.
Ever since that kiss neither of you has mentioned, rehearsals have gone surprisingly smoothly. Jonathan is thrilled, impressed by your sudden professionalism, completely unaware of whatâs been going on in both your minds.
Steve has acted like nothing happened, so youâve followed his lead, playing your role perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that heâs managed to convince himself the kiss meant nothing, that what he felt was only because he hadnât been with a girl in a while.
And yet, he keeps replaying the memory of your soft gasp in his head, his eyes drifting toward your silhouette as you adjust your neckline.
He wishes he could get rid of this strange feeling tightening in his chest, but one final clap announces that the show is about to begin.
Everything goes perfectly.
No missed steps. No wrong notes.
The smiles are genuine, the emotions even more so, and Jonathan watches with tears in his eyes as his work finally comes to life.
For the final scene, Steve takes his place behind the piano to accompany your last song.
He knows the score. He masters every note.
But he has absolutely no control over the way he looks at you, and the way that look unsettles you.
Your voice rises at the exact moment his fingers find the first notes, creating a kind of harmony the two of you never managed to reach during rehearsals.
Your eyes remain locked on each other.
And for the first time, Steve understands why the cabaret owner heâs playing falls in love with his singer.
He understands those ridiculously romantic lines he used to make fun of.
Most of all, he understands that what he feels for you isnât just because of that black dress he saw you wearing during the fitting.
The song ends in complete silence. The lights remain focused on the two of you, alone at center stage.
âSteve!â
Robin whispers loudly enough for him to hear, but quietly enough that the audience wonât notice.
He snaps back to reality and rises from the piano bench to walk toward you.
Your expression is unreadable, and he doesnât know whether it belongs to the character youâre playing or to the way you truly feel.
Youâre such a good actress that it shakes him.
He moves closer â just as the script instructs â and when heâs standing in front of you, he notices the tiny specks of glitter scattered across your cheeks.
âI believe Iâm falling in love with you.â
You frown because that isnât the right line, but he kisses you before you can say anything.
Just like last time, that dizzying sensation of falling overtakes you and, this time, you wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as though heâs the only thing keeping you grounded.
His lips linger against yours as he pulls you closer, his hand sliding up your back, tracing the beaded patterns sewn into your dress.
And then the curtain falls.
The scene is over.
He leaves quickly once the congratulations are over, once Jonathan has finished thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication.
He even asks Steve to join the next production, but Steve declines.
Heâs done being an actor.
Jonathan insists, telling him that his final line â âI believe Iâm falling in love with you.â â was even better than the one he originally wrote.
Steve only smiles.
Robin talks to him about starting a band, and for the first time that night, he smiles for real.
Music, thatâs his thing.
He lingers by his car, the cool night air making him wish heâd already left as he smokes his second cigarette.
Eventually, everyone files out of the theater, their conversations blending into a cheerful hum before they begin saying their goodbyes.
Then he hears your laugh.
A laugh heâs barely ever had the chance to hear because he spent so much time trying to get under your skin.
He looks up just in time to see you walking away.
He knows exactly why heâs still standing beside his car.
But for the first time in his life, Steve Harrington doesnât have the courage to walk over to you.
Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist
Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciatedâš
18+ smut!! oral (fem receiving), fingering, panties in mouth, nipple play, roommates, curvy!reader, secret relationship, pet names (baby, sweet girl), female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
wc: 1.4k
When you first moved in with Steve and Robin, you hadnât at all expected your small crush on Steve Harrington to intensity the way that it did. But you couldnât help it, not when you got to see Steve shirtless at least once a day or when he was being sweet and making you breakfast before work.
Your once manageable crush festered into something that felt out of control and living with him didnât help. Not one bit.
And so, you really hadnât at all been expecting for Steve to reciprocate those feelings. But surprisingly, he did. He had told you so one night that Robin was out on a date and you both had been a little too honest after consuming one too many drinks.
It had been three months since that night and you couldnât be happier with Steve.
Aside from the fact that no one knew about your relationship, that was.
There was only one reason for the secrecyâbeing that you had both promised Robin on the very first day you all moved in together that you wouldnât fall into a relationship of any kind (romantic or sexual) and mess up the whole roommate situation.
But here you and Steve wereânot only secretly fucking behind Robinâs back but also crazy about each other.
"Shhh, I know baby, I know," Steve tries to hush you gently as two of his fingers bury themselves inside of your dripping hole before steadily pumping in and out of you while you mewled above him. âCâmon, baby. You gotta be quiet. Robinâs still asleep. Donât want her hearing this, do you?â
You bite your lip in an attempt to be quiet but Steveâs fingers curl against that spongey spot inside of you and you canât stop the whimper that leaves your lips.
And Steve Harrington is fucking grinning at the sound because of course, he loves this. He loves you writhing beneath him, pleasure blossoming across your face with every curl on his fingers.
He tuts, pressing a wet kiss to the meat of one of your thighs before he sinks his teeth into the plush flesh. Your lips part, a wanton moan about to leave them before Steveâs other hand covers your mouth, muffling the sound.
âDo I have to keep you quiet, sweet girl?â He hums, fingers plunging into you once more, your pussy making obscene wet sounds that only seem to encourage Steve as he pulls his hand away from your mouth to press a sweet kiss there. âI know whatâll keep you quiet.â
You whimper as he withdraws his fingers from your dripping hole, his digits were now coated in your slick. The sight makes your core ache while Steve uses his other hand to drag down your panties that he had pushed aside to attend to your needy cunt.
He kisses his way up your body, worshipping youâevery dip, every curve that he had become obsessed with over the last few months. His lips seal themselves around one of your nipples and the feeling goes straight to your core as his wet tongue lavishes the peaked pebble. Your body feels hot, something that felt close to electricity surging through you as his hand attends to the other breast, kneading the weight carefully in his hand before rolling your nipple between two deft fingers.
âStevie, Iââ
But Steve hushes you again, making you whine as he switches his mouth to your other breast, flicking your sensitive peak with his tongue.
âGood girl,â he murmurs, pulling away to marvel at the sight of his saliva coating your heavy breasts, at the softness on your stomach and swell of your hipsâhis heavy cock now so hard at the sight of you that it almost hurt (but Steve didnât really care about himself right nowânot when you were laid bare beneath him). âNow. Open up for me, baby.â
Your brows furrow, momentarily confused by the instruction before you look to see what he was holding in his hand. The lacy fabric of your soaked panties. You understand his intentions almost instantly.
You part your lips before you open your mouth fully for himâhis eyes softening slightly at the absolute trust you had in him. The trust that he promised himself he would never, ever take for granted.
âThatâs it,â he hums encouragingly as he carefully presses the lacy fabric past your lips, slotting the material into your mouth. The heady taste of your slick against your tongue fills your senses and something about it was so hot and arousing that your felt your pussy clench around nothing.
âPatience, baby,â Steve murmurs and your body jolts as you suddenly feel his breath hot against your thigh, his fingers gripping onto your hips to tug you towards him.
You let out a muffled whimper as he blows cool air against your puffy clitâswollen and begging for his attention. Your body thrums in anticipation, thick thighs widening as Steve nudges them further apart with his shoulders.
It was just as Steve lowered his mouth to glide his tongue between your soaked folds, just as his nose brushed against your sensitive clit and you threw your head back to let out a moan muffled by your own panties that you heard footsteps right outside Steveâs bedroom door.
You both stillâyour bubble bursting at the thought of Robin stumbling into Steveâs room and catching him was his head between your legs and you with your own damn panties in your mouth. Your heart pounds in your chest as you strain your ears to listen to Robin outside his room.
But the footsteps walk right by his room, towards the bathroom on the other side of the apartment. You breathe a sigh of relief, your muscles unclenching and body relaxing.
You barely have time to recover however as the moment you hear the bathroom door shutting behind Robin, Steveâs mouth returns to your cunt with renewed vigor.
The panties manage to stop the obscene moans from leaving your lipsâthe sort of ones you couldnât help as your boyfriendâs tongue licks a stripe right from your dripping hole to your clit. The sensation makes your body writhe beneath him and one of Steveâs large hands has to hold you down by your hips. You can feel him grinning against you, absolutely loving the way you were moving beneath him as he circled your clit with his tongue.
Your reaction was instantâa surge of something hot courses through you, your hips try to jerk upwards, wanting more but Steve prevents them from doing so as his hands hold you down against his mattress.
He shows no mercy, his tongue lavishing your clit like it would be the last time, his saliva completely coating your sensitive bud. Youâre whimpering and whining behind your panties and you want more andâhe gives you exactly that.
âGonna be a good girl and give me what I want?â He murmurs against your heat in a low voice, his free hand finding its way between your legs, thick fingers easily pressing inside of you with a wet squelch and making your body convulse beneath him. âGonna be a good girl fâme and come?â
You nod because it was all you could do as the dual sensation of Steveâs fingers pressing and curling inside of you and of his mouth sealing itself over your clitâit was all too much. Your body was wound tight, the coil in your lower stomach tightening and tightening as you barely register anything other than your fingers that were curled into the sheets beneath you and Steveâs worship of your pussy with his mouth and fingers.
And when you finally came, it crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt it in every nerve in your bodyâthe white hot pleasure surged through you, almost making you almost momentarily forget where you were.
But it was Steve fingers still pumping in and out with you, tongue gliding over the skin of your thighs that keeps you tethered to the earth. The sweet nothings he whispered against your skin were almost nonsense to you in your bliss, but they made your heart beat a little bit faster all the same.
âFuck, youâre incredible,â Steve whispers against your plush flesh, biting lovingly into the meat of your thigh and groaning. âI think I mightââ
âSteve? You in there? Do you know where the toothpaste is?â
