warnings: mentions of alcohol. angst. emotional neglect. implied cheating. english is not my first language.
includes: slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining (eventually), s2 setting, jonathan byers x reader (just for the plot)
summary: things with your bf aren’t what they used to be.
somewhere in the middle of all that, steve harrington starts showing up more than he should.
a/n : hi. this is my first steve fic and the start of a series. the title is inspired by olivia’s upcoming album (you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love), which basically sums up the whole feeling of this story. hope you like it. <3
part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5
you didn’t notice when it started.
the happiness slipped away so quietly that one day you woke up and realized the innocent love you once felt for jonathan was gone, fading further and further until it felt like a memory that belonged to someone else. you didn’t understand why. after everything he’d been through last year, his little brother missing, the nightmares that followed, the way you’d been pulled into something way bigger than either of you, you told yourself things would get better. that you could make him happy.
but that didn’t happen.
he used to ask about your day. he used to take pictures of you when you weren’t looking, walk you home after your shift, hold your hand like it actually meant something. now you just felt alone. worse than before. and you didn’t have it in you to ask why he spent so much time with nancy wheeler anymore. you already knew you wouldn’t like the answer.
you took what he gave you. three nights a week, sometimes two. told yourself it was enough. at least when he was there, your head got a little quieter. the bad stuff didn’t feel so loud. but it wasn’t love. not really. it felt like obligation, like guilt, like he was sticking around because he thought he had to. and you were too tired to call him out on it.
you were tired of a lot of things. tired of hoping. tired of crying. tired of waiting for something to feel like it used to.
the only thing that still felt warm was max, and her loud, chaotic group of friends.
somehow you ended up babysitting a bunch of thirteen year olds half the time.
and lately, steve harrington had kind of inserted himself into that whole mess too.
the first time, he just pulled up in that stupid burgundy bmw, sunglasses on like he thought he was cooler than he actually was, waiting to pick them up. you stood there on the porch like, absolutely not, until all of them started talking at once and wore you down. so yeah, you let her go. because keeping max locked inside wasn’t gonna fix anything anyway.
most days steve stayed in the car, arm hanging out the window, acting like he didn’t care.
sometimes he’d wink at you, which was annoying. sometimes he’d get out and stand there like a tired babysitter, hands on his hips, waiting for everyone to get in the car without killing each other.
and yeah, you noticed him more than you probably should have.
he wasn’t the same guy you met earlier that year. not even close. you’d heard the stories, “king steve” and all that, but whatever that was, it wasn’t this. this version actually showed up, actually helped, didn’t act like he was above any of it.
and yeah, there was the whole nancy thing.
you heard about that too, dustin running his mouth like always, saying she “fumbled” him or whatever. which, honestly, made you curious in a way you didn’t love.
especially after halloween.
that night had stuck with you, more than you wanted it to.
his house, too many people, too loud.
he was drunk, like, really drunk, the kind where everything about him felt a little off. his eyes were red, like he’d been crying before anyone even showed up, and you knew why. the whole thing with nancy was still fresh, still messy.
he didn’t look like himself.
but he found you anyway.
stumbled over, a little unsteady, but focused on you in a way that didn’t feel like an accident. asked for your number like it mattered, like he actually meant it, even if the words came out a little slurred.
you didn’t know what to do with that.
before you could answer, his friends dragged him away, laughing, calling his name, turning it into something louder, easier to brush off.
and maybe it was nothing. maybe he was just drunk, sad, grabbing onto the first nice thing he saw.
you never really figured it out.
you thought he was cute. yeah. still do sometimes. but you shut that down fast, because your situation with jonathan was already a mess. you didn’t need another one.
still, steve kept showing up.
asking about school. coming inside instead of waiting in the car. sitting through their d&d games like he actually cared.
and lately, the way he looked at you wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was quieter than that. like he was trying to figure something out.
-
now you’re on dustin’s couch, sitting close enough to steve that your shoulders almost touch. the kids yelling about some campaign like it’s life or death. and weirdly, it helps. the noise keeps everything else out.
“hey,” he says quietly, leaning in a little. “you wanna go outside? these kids are driving me insane.”
you glance at him, a little surprised.
you’re not really friends, not officially. but it sounds nice.
“yeah, okay.”
you slip out into the backyard. cool air hits your face, fireflies blinking slow between the trees. it’s quiet out here, finally.
steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels.
“seriously, how do you do it? i’m here like twice a week and i already feel like i need a vacation.”
you let out a small laugh, hugging your arms around yourself.
“you’re not that bad at it. kinda weird actually. former king steve voluntarily hanging out with a bunch of middle schoolers.”
he scoffs, bumping your shoulder lightly.
“hey, watch it. i have a reputation.”
“yeah,” you mutter, “pretty sure that reputation is long gone.”
“wow,” he says, putting a hand to his chest like you actually hurt him. “that’s cold.”
you shrug, but there’s a faint smile there. it fades pretty quickly though.
he notices. of course he does.
there’s a pause, a quieter one this time. he shifts a little, glancing at you instead of the ground.
“you okay?” he asks, softer now.
“you’ve been kinda… off lately.”
you look down, picking at your sleeve.
“i don’t know. things with... with jonathan are just… weird.”
steve doesn’t interrupt. just listens.
“i thought at first that he just needed time,” you say. “i mean, his whole life was readjusting again. but then… he just started acting weird. and i kept thinking maybe if i was patient, if i didn’t push, it would pass. like he’d come back to how he was before.”
you let out a breath that sounds more tired than anything else.
“but it doesn’t. it just feels like i’m the only one still trying.”
you were probably saying too much, but it feels like the first time you can really talk to someone.
steve’s jaw tightens a little, but he stays quiet.
“he’s there,” you say, quieter now, “but not really. and i don’t wanna ask why he’s always with nancy because i already know what that means.”
the words hang there for a second before you realize what you just said.
you wince immediately, looking away.
“sorry. i didn’t— i shouldn’t have brought her up.”
“hey,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “no, it’s fine. seriously.”
you glance at him, unsure.
he shrugs, but there’s something a little more careful in his voice now.
“i mean… yeah, it sucks. but i get it. it’s worse when someone’s already halfway gone and you’re just… the last one to realize it.”
you swallow, nodding a little.
“yeah.”
another pause settles in, not uncomfortable, just heavy.
“why are you still with him?” steve asks after a second, not harsh, just… honest.
you blink, caught off guard.
“i— i don’t know.”
he watches you, not pushing, just waiting.
“i guess,” you start slowly, “because it didn’t used to be like this. he used to care. like, actually care. and i keep thinking maybe if i just hold on a little longer, it’ll go back to that.”
you laugh quietly, but there’s no humor in it.
“which is stupid, right?”
“no,” steve says immediately. then softer, “it’s not stupid.”
you look at him.
“it’s just…” he hesitates, searching for the words. “it’s just not how it works. people don’t… snap back into who they used to be just because you want them to.”
you nod, eyes stinging a little.
“yeah. i know.”
“and you shouldn’t have to beg for it either,” he adds, a little firmer now. “for someone to care about you, i mean.”
you don’t answer. you just stare at the ground.
he exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.
“look, i’m not great at this,” he mutters. “like, at all. i usually make things worse.”
“you’re doing fine,” you say quietly.
he huffs a small laugh.
“you deserve better than that,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
you glance at him.
“better than what?”
he gestures vaguely.
“that. feeling like you’re… second place in your own relationship. like you have to work for something that should just be there.”
you look away again, your chest tightening.
for a second, neither of you says anything. the quiet stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty.
then steve speaks again, more hesitant this time.
“he’s an idiot, you know.”
you blink, looking at him.
“what?”
he shifts, suddenly a little awkward, like he wasn’t planning on saying that part out loud.
“i mean…” he rubs the back of his neck, glancing away for a second before looking back at you. “if he were smarter, he’d notice… how you feel.”
your breath catches slightly.
he shrugs, but it’s softer now, almost shy.
“and you don’t deserve that.”
before you can respond, the back door swings open.
“shall we go? i’m tired of winning against those nerds.”
max’s voice cuts through everything, loud and dramatic.
you can’t help it. you smile.
“yeah, alright.”
the ride home is quieter.
max talks at first, going on about how she carried the whole game, how the others are “completely useless,” and steve throws in the occasional comment just to annoy her.
“you literally almost died twice,” he says.
“strategically,” max fires back.
“yeah, sure. very strategic near-death experience.”
you stare out the window, watching the streetlights pass.
at some point, max quiets down. by the time you turn onto your street, she’s already half asleep against the door.
steve doesn’t turn on the radio. doesn’t try to fill the silence.
it’s not awkward.
just calm.
he pulls up in front of your house.
max is out first, mumbling something that might be a goodnight before heading inside without looking back.
you reach for the handle, but pause.
“hey,” steve says.
you turn back.
he’s looking at you now, properly this time, hands still resting on the wheel.
“thanks for coming,” he says. “i mean it.”
you nod slightly.
“thanks for asking.”
there’s a small pause.
“and… if you ever need to get out again,” he adds, a little less steady, “or just not deal with everything for a bit, you can call me. or… not call. i don’t know. whatever people do.”
you let out a quiet laugh.
“i’ll keep that in mind.”
he smiles, quick and a little crooked.
“yeah. you should.”
you step out of the car, closing the door gently.
he gives you a small wave.
“night.”
“night, steve.”
you walk up the path, the porch light flickering faintly. you don’t look back again until you hear the car pull away.
the taillights disappear slowly down the street.
and something feels different.
like something small moved out of place, and you’re only just starting to notice it.
part of you thinks maybe it was about nancy. that he was just trying to figure out where things stood with her and jonathan. checking if there was still something there.
it would make sense.
it would be easier.
but there’s another thought sitting underneath that one, quieter, harder to ignore.
that maybe it wasn’t about her at all.
that maybe the way he looked at you, the way his voice softened, the way he said you didn’t deserve that…
maybe that was real. you push the thought down anyway.
because you already know how this goes. you start hoping, and it ruins everything.
and you’re too tired to pick up the pieces again.
guys if you want to be part of the tag list for this series just comment this post or this one:)
Summary : For the past few months, you and Steve have been trying to build something. But your relationship is marked by the wounds of the past: you fled a violent relationship with Billy, and since then, trusting someone has been a constant battle. Letting go, loving freely… still feels out of reach.
Warnings : Violence, angst, blood, scar
Writers notes : English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
It had been a long time since Steve had drunk this much.
He isn’t completely drunk, but it’s enough to make him clumsy as he tries to get the key into the lock of your apartment.
He sighs, his shoulder pressed against the door to keep from falling, his eyes burning with exhaustion as the key struggles to slide in.
The metallic click finally echoes and the door opens slightly.
He does his best to stay quiet, avoids the shoes scattered at the entrance so he doesn’t trip, and takes a moment to savor that feeling of being home.
Of course, it’s not his.
You don’t live together, but he sometimes stays over when you ask him to.
Only when you ask him to.
So he takes the time to appreciate the smell of cookies lingering in the hallway—your new way of keeping your mind busy—observes the new wool blanket you bought, the one he’d love to curl up in because he’s so tired, and looks, as always with a stupid smile, at that picture of the two of you you printed and placed on the coffee table.
Steve doesn’t come often because you don’t ask him to, but that picture reminds him that he still matters.
That he still exists in your thoughts despite your independence.
Alcohol makes him bold—that’s why he’s here in the middle of the night, without warning you.
He uses the spare key you gave him—he’s the only one who has it, along with Eddie, your brother.
He knows how much that means coming from you.
He remembers your bright eyes watching him as you placed the key in his palm, silent, but your gaze said everything.
He stops by the bathroom to freshen up, to tame his messy hair despite the late hour. He knows you probably won’t notice, but he always wants to look good for you.
The cold makes him hurry to your bedroom, the door slightly ajar. He pushes it gently and finds you near the edge of the bed.
It’s stupid, but he tells himself it’s because you knew he’d come, and you left space for him.
You’re half on your stomach, your right thigh pulled up toward your chest, your hands tucked under the pillow, your long hair spread across the mattress.
Something tightens in his chest, like he still can’t quite process that the two of you are… something. He doesn’t really know what, even if he has a vague idea of how it looks from the outside.
Especially after Robin told him he had a stupid grin every time you walked into a room.
Well, yeah. That was exactly it. He was in love with you. And it had just… happened.
You feel the mattress dip behind you, your senses already alert before you’re fully awake. Then you recognize his scent. Your body stretches against his like a cat enjoying sudden warmth.
His skin is cold against yours, and he savors your warmth even more as you curl up against him.
He knows it’s the fatigue talking, making you softer, maybe more compliant.
Your nose brushes against his arm, almost purring, and your heart swells with that feeling you never wanted to feel again.
Never.
He wraps his arm around your waist, gently tracing the skin of your stomach as he lifts your oversized sleep shirt.
His fingers brush that scar, thin but deep—the one you never wanted to talk about… but that he knows all about.
His jaw tightens. He buries his face in your hair to stop himself from thinking.
“Marry me.”
Your body tenses against him.
The words came out of his mouth on their own, but he was sincere when he spoke them.
“What?”
Your voice is still rough with sleep, but Steve’s words wake you instantly.
“I love you. I want to marry you.”
Saying those words finally feels freeing. He doesn’t understand why he didn’t say them sooner.
Well… if he’d been sober, he would’ve understood immediately. He probably wouldn’t have said them at all.
Panic creeps into you, but you choose to take it lightly.
The alcohol on his breath tells you where this ridiculous idea came from.
You also realize he’s here tonight when usually, you’re the one who asks him to stay—and he never dares on his own.
This thought makes your heart ache, as always: you know he's walking on eggshells with you. So as not to scare you away. Because you're too broken.
That's the first thing you think about now that you're fully awake.
“Why are you here?”
You turn slowly, trying to keep a smile so you don’t hurt him.
“What happened?”
Maybe his night out with the guys got a little wild…
“I missed you.”
In his half-closed brown eyes, you see the truth—his feelings are spilling over. And it hurts. Because you can’t say yours.
He hovers over you, propped on his elbow, his nonchalance giving him a roguish look.
“Did you drink too much?”
Because that’s the only explanation for such an emotional overflow.
“Just a little.” He leans down, brushing your lips. “I’m not completely drunk.”
You swallow, your mouth dry, and gently place your hand on his shoulder to push him down.
“You should sleep.”
He rolls his eyes, annoyed.
Because you’re not taking him seriously.
Because you’re not listening.
He knows your wounds. He knows everything.
But tonight, alcohol makes him forget, and impatience takes over.
“Did you hear me?”
He grabs your wrist, gently but firmly, just enough to keep you from pulling away.
“I love you.”
“You’ve had too much to drink, Steve.”
“Not enough to not know what I’m saying.”
You try to pull free, but his grip tightens slightly. He doesn’t realize his strength, and you know he doesn’t want to hurt you.
You know he loves you—you feel it in every word, every breath.
The determination in his voice is just another proof of the quiet love he has for you.
But that same determination clashes with yours. Your face hardens.
“Let me go.”
“I won’t until you say yes.”
Your eyes flare. He sees your expression close off and realizes he’s gone too far. Guilt hits him hard.
“I will never let anyone force me again, Steve. Anyone… not even you.”
He hears the sadness in your voice, the echo of your past, and realizes just how deep that invisible wall between you is.
But his own pain takes over. He lets go abruptly and sits up, arms wrapped around his knees.
“So what?” His eyes fix on the wall. “We just keep fucking until you get bored?”
His voice cracks, slightly. Almost bitter.
“How—”
“You know what? Fine.” He gets out of bed without looking at you, all clumsiness gone.
“If that’s the only way you think you’ll heal, or whatever the hell you tell yourself, then let’s keep fucking. That’s all I’m good for anyway.”
You hear him in the bathroom, angry—the sound of his belt, his shirt he can’t even button properly, rushing to leave.
He doesn’t slam the door. He just leaves the key on the table. Because he ultimately doesn't plan to return.
You find it there, alone, and for the first time, you feel the immense void he leaves behind.
Just like you now.
.
You roll your eyes, focusing on applying your mascara properly and ignoring the little voice telling you to stay home.
Eddie is tired of seeing you like this. You know he’s afraid you’ll relapse—you, the fragile thing everyone eventually sees as broken.
The microwave clock pushes you to drink your tea quickly. Eddie shouldn’t be long, but it’s still too hot, so you sit on the couch, holding the mug.
The picture of you and Steve is still there. It mocks you because you can’t bring yourself to take it down.
You resent him, even though you shouldn’t. He had every right to get tired of a woman who offered no future.
He had seen your demons, the ones you fought too hard. He saw your fragility beneath the mask you showed everyone… except him. Because he had broken through your walls.
Of course you were starved for love, just like him. You loved what he made you feel—that love could be gentle, not violent.
But you were so convinced you were broken beyond repair that you never gave him a chance.
But finally understand, I am combustible
You convinced him to leave you. To let you drown so he would walk away.
It was ironic.
You fought so hard not to be fragile, so combustible… and now you were burning from the inside. Because he wasn’t there anymore.
The apartment doorbell echoes through the silence.
You flinch, spilling a bit of tea onto the couch, as the music from the neighboring apartment suddenly blares. Your neighbor has clearly planned a party, and since you haven’t gone out all day, you didn’t see the note he slipped into the mailboxes.
“It’s open!”
You grab a dish towel to wipe up the spill, but a stain is already spreading across the fabric. You hear Eddie’s footsteps in the hallway.
“I’m almost done! Do you want some tea?” You straighten up. “I just need to finish—”
Your heart skips a beat. A cold shiver runs through your entire body. It’s not Eddie standing in front of you.
“Billy.”
“Hey, babe”
.
A week has passed. It’s not much—seven days.
And yet, it feels like an eternity when you’ve “left” the person you love.
Steve has a sinister smile at the thought of having left you, even though you had made it perfectly clear to him that your story was ultimately nothing more than a sex story.
He’s probably overreacting… but that’s what happens when your heart is in pieces, right?
And yet, here he is, on the other side of your street, leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, hesitating.
He wants to go up, to tell you he’s sorry.
That he’s willing to be just that for you—a guy you sleep with, whatever you want, as long as he stays in your life.
He sighs, grimacing at how stupid he feels for accepting that, but he doesn’t see any other way.
He fidgets with his keys for a moment longer before finally deciding to move.
After all, it can’t get worse than it already is. You’re not even together anymore.
Like he’s done it a hundred times, he enters the code to unlock the building and takes the elevator to your floor.
He repeats a speech in his head, something sharp enough to make you give in.
He mutters it under his breath as he steps out of the elevator and turns the corner down the hallway… then freezes.
“Fuck, Eddie!”
His friend’s body lies on the ground, a dark halo of blood spreading across his stomach, the wound still seeping in a slow, horrifying way.
“Eddie!”
He taps his pale face, trying to wake him, but he doesn’t move, his hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.
“Oh my God…”
A woman steps out of the apartment where music is spilling out, followed by a small group of friends who’ve come outside for some air and a cigarette.
Someone starts shouting to call emergency services, and everything descends into chaos.
And then Steve understands.
He leaves Eddie in the neighbor’s care, gets to his feet abruptly, his hands covered in his friend’s blood, and steps into your apartment.
He doesn’t recognize anything.
The living room is wrecked: the coffee table is overturned, shards of a cup are scattered across the floor, the cushions are strewn about, the couch sits askew as if someone rushed through to reach something… or someone.
His thoughts disappear. His feet move on their own toward the bedroom, following the marks carved into the wall, like a path deliberately left behind.
A dull fear grips him as he pushes the door open.
His fists clenched, he steps inside slowly, flipping on the light, which floods the room harshly.
The nightstands have been thrown against the walls, evidence of a rage that couldn’t be contained—and that now begins to take hold of him.
The bed is ripped open, the cushions torn to shreds, feathers scattered everywhere.
Dark stains blot the pale sheets.
A punishment for having shared that bed with him.
It stands out, brutally, like a stain too dark on something too clean.
The blood isn’t even dry when he brushes against it. His eyes lock onto what lies in the center of the bed: the broken frame.
The photo inside is scratched, but he can still make out your faces, your shy smile.
It’s placed there, as if to mark the reason behind all this rage, all this destruction—a symbol of the happiness you had found in his arms… while fleeing someone else’s.
And now… there’s nothing left.
Just the heavy, freezing silence and the emptiness left by your absence.
Billy found you.
A little nod to Le bonheur de ces dames by Angela Behelle ✨
9-1-1 S02E13
Steve Harrington masterlist JJ Maybank masterlist Rafe Cameron masterlist
Comments, likes and reblogs greatly appreciated ✨
Requests are open🌙
SO HIGH SCHOOL MASTERLIST
steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: you’re jonathan byers’s best friend. you live in hawkins, indiana, and you know everyone in the small town. you work two jobs to help your mom with bills while also managing to be the top of your classes. everything is normal until the day will byers goes missing, and the world as you know it is flipped upside down. and because of that, you form an unlikely friendship with the ‘king’ of your high school, steve harrington.
tags/warnings: steve harrington x fem!reader, use of y/n, mostly canon-compliant reader insert (maybe a few minor changes here or there), swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to ??? to lovers, seasons 1-5, mentions of child abandonment/neglect, mentions of dead parents, minor eddie munson x fem!reader, reader lowkey has attachment/abandonment issues, minor miscommunication, i hate murray bauman, writing might be shit idk.
masterlist !
wattpad link , ao3 link
–
PART ONE – tell me ‘bout the first time you saw me
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
PART TWO – you know how to ball, i know aristotle
PART THREE – are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?
PART FOUR – i want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you
PART FIVE – no one’s ever had me, not like you
EPILOGUE – you knew what you wanted and, boy, you got her
–
a/n: this series was originally posted on wattpad on christmas 2025, and i’m writing the last few chapters right now so i thought this was the best time to start posting it on here + ao3! idk i hope you guys like it. and don't worry, this series is basically completely written so i will still be focusing on writing other fics while posting this! more spidey steve is coming i promise you all.
— summary: steve is jealous of jonathan and head over heels for you. you're jealous of nancy, but you'll never accept that you might like steve. fortunately, there's alcohol and a big pool to sort it all out!
— pairing: steve harrington x female!henderson!reader
—word count: 6.5 k (wow)
— content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, oral (female receiving), some porn with some plot, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, friends to lovers, mutual pining, bratty!reader, a bit of angst, reader is jealous of nancy, steve is jealous of jonathan, steve is down BAD, kind of baddie!reader, drunk love confessions, praise kink, size kink, steve being pathetic for the reader as he should.
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
You met Steve Harrington back at that awful Halloween bash at Tina's where Jonathan practically dragged you along with him. Well, you had first seen him at school, however, you had never spoken, for obvious reasons.
He was a full-blown jerk, clueless, insensitive, and absurdly dull. The type of guy who was the least like your type of guy.
And him? He was hopelessly, devastatingly in love with you. Ever since he had met you that night at Tina's place, you had entered his life as if he was already yours, offering him comfort and a shoulder to cry on through one of the roughest patches of his life.
And to top it all off, you were his best friend's older sister. A feisty full-blown Henderson, a bad-tempered smartass, someone capable of pushing his buttons and turning his world upside down. Sometimes he thought you were even more annoying than Dustin, and that was an understatement.
But he loved you, to the core. You were so fearless, the best sister and friend, always humble, kind-hearted, and selfless.
He told himself it was stupid. He was stupid.
You barely tolerated him.
The first few days of your unlikely and emerging friendship you hardly glanced at him, only greeting him out of politeness.
Then, the first few months had been quite rough, more for him than for you. Because there were days, moments when he would try his heart out to catch your attention, to make you laugh, to at least have you smile at him, just for him.
Because Steve Harrington had always been the kind of boy who was used to being liked. Effortlessly. Girls smiled at him in the hallways, teachers forgave him things they never should have, and life had a funny way of opening doors for him without him even knocking. All his life, everything had been laid out for him on a silver platter; he didn't even have to put in much effort in order to get what he wanted.
But you?
You were a locked door.
You didn't like Steve Harrington.
And yet, you always felt that icy, crushing sense of jealousy creep over you whenever you saw Steve draw closer to Nancy, choose her above others, and compete with Jonathan for her attention and appreciation.
“You know Nancy has a boyfriend, right?” you asked him once, your expression too grim to match the humor in your voice. He had spent most of the afternoon competing with Jonathan over who had killed more monsters from the Upside Down—something completely ridiculous. “And that's Jon?”
Steve huffs at the way you pronounce that nickname, closing the passenger door of your Jeep and settling into the seat. “I was just saying facts. I did kill more shit down there last year. Jonathan wasn't even there.”
“He was in California. What the hell did you want him to do from California, Steve?” you retort in an overly defensive tone, determined to defend the honor of your childhood best friend.
Because of course you would leap to Jonathan's defense. That aggravated Steve even more.
He raises his eyebrows, smirking with triumphant mockery, “Exactly.”
“Can you two stop arguing like an old married couple?” Dustin chimes in, popping up between the two front seats from the back and glaring at you both with a sour look on his face. “And maybe drive? I'm going to be late.”
Steve leans back in his seat, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Jonathan Byers.
It was always Jonathan Byers.
Steve had never said it out loud—because admitting it would make him sound small, petty, exactly the kind of guy he was trying not to be anymore—but the jealousy had been there from the very beginning. From the way Jonathan knew you before he ever did. From the way you laughed more freely around him, softer, unguarded, safe. From the way you touched Jonathan's arm when you talked, a casual familiarity Steve would have killed for.
He hated that Jonathan didn't even have to try.
That he got your trust without earning it.
“So,” Steve mutters, staring out the window, “you and Byers hang out a lot now.”
You had already dropped Dustin off at Mike's house, so the two of you were all alone now, which was a rare occurrence lately.
You glance at him for a fraction of a second, catching the stiffness in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he averts eye contact entirely. He looks like a grumpy little boy, it's kind of funny and cute. “We've been friends since we were kids. We've always hung out.”
“Yeah. I know,” he says quickly, as if the words were venom on his tongue. “Just saying.”
There it is. He's such a passive-aggressive jerk when it comes to Jonathan.
“You're always just saying things about him,” you shoot back. "What's your problem, Harrington?”
That finally makes him look at you.
“Problem? My problem?” he laughs, sharp and humorless. He looks awkward now, a little self-conscious. “Nothing. Why would I have a problem?”
Probably because Jonathan is your best friend.
Because when you're scared, you reach for him first.
Because he knows things about you Steve doesn't—and maybe never will.
You sigh, exhausted, shaking your head disapprovingly. “You act like he's done some evil thing to you.”
Steve swallows. “He hasn't.”
That's the worst part.
Because Jonathan Byers had never been really cruel to him. Sure, he disliked him as much as Steve disliked him, and he kind of stole Nancy from him when they were still together, but he had never been intentionally rude.
Jonathan was just... there. Steady. Familiar. Important. Close.
Everything Steve wanted to be.
He also knew that you weren't exactly his type.
Because the truth was, you never had been.
You were better.
You were someone who saw meaning in shadows, who believed stories could save people, who challenged him without trying to change him. You saw him as he really was. You see him.
Jonathan was your person. Your best friend.
But, no matter what, Steve had always been special enough.
It made no sense, and you hated that the feeling existed at all.
Because you didn't want Steve Harrington.
You didn't like his stupid hair, or the way he pretended not to care when things hurt him, or how he filled silence with silly jokes. You definitely didn't like how easily people forgave him, how quickly Nancy Wheeler smiled at him, how natural it seemed for her to fit at his side.
So why did your stomach twist every time you caught him looking at her?
You told yourself it was protectiveness. That you were just being a good sister. A good friend. Dustin adored Steve, and maybe—maybe—you were just afraid he'd get hurt again.
But that lie got harder to swallow the longer it went on.
Because Steve had a bad habit of showing up when things fell apart. When your mom was working late and you kept having nightmares, Steve was right there, answering your three-in-the-morning phone call without hesitation. When the world went to hell—literally—Steve never ran. He stayed. Bloody, shaking, terrified, but still standing between danger and the people he loved.
Between danger and you.
And you hated how safe he made you feel.
There were nights when you sat across from him on the floor of your room, knees almost touching, sharing a blanket and a silence that felt too heavy to be accidental, a long-forgotten movie was playing on your television screen. You might not have paid attention to it, nor did you appreciate its corny jokes, but his laughter was all it took to make your day and night. His laughter was softer around you, more careful.
Falling for Steve Harrington felt like stepping off a cliff without knowing if there was ground below.
It had started innocently enough, in one of those impromptu gatherings that somehow always ended up at Steve's big house because his parents were never home and because, for some reason, he never said no when someone needed a place.
You remember that night very clearly.
Robin had shown up first, already halfway through a stolen bottle of something that tasted like regret and cough syrup. And Nancy and Jon showed up together a few minutes later, swearing they wouldn't get all lovey-dovey with booze in their system.
And then there was you.
Sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, back against the couch, laughing harder than you meant to as Robin—dramatically as ever— was telling you about the times at Scoops Ahoy, and how Steve kept blowing his flirting attempts with pretty girls.
At some point, with the sun already setting on the horizon of an uncharacteristically quiet Hawkins, the alcohol softened the edges of the room.
So, someone suggested the pool like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Robin was the first one in, cannonballing without warning and shrieking at the cold water. Nancy followed shortly after, already in their swimsuits, laughter bright and careless, Jonathan close behind her.
You stayed seated on the edge, feet dangling just above the water, denim already warm from the sunset, watching them with an amused smile.
“Come on, Henderson,” Robin calls, eyes glinting with trouble. “Live a little.”
“I didn't bring a swimsuit,” you protest, pointing down at yourself. “Unlike you degenerates.”
“And? That's never stopped anyone before,” she chirps too cheerfully, creeping dangerously close to you.
You don't even have time to register her next movement.
One second Robin is grinning at you, the next her hands are on you, and then—
You scream.
Cold water swallows you whole, clothes and all, the shock ripping the air from your lungs. When you resurface, sputtering and furious, the sound of laughter echoes around the backyard of Steve's big mansion.
“Buckley!” you whine out, hair plastered to your face, shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I regret nothing!” she shouts back, already retreating as Nancy splashed her in retaliation, laughing heartily.
Steve hadn't laughed.
He was already at the edge of the pool, crouched down, concern etched into his face as he reached out instinctively, his absurdly overpriced beer bottle abandoned on the ground, and his sunglasses — totally unnecessary since it was late afternoon — propped up in his hair.
“Hey—hey, you okay?”
You nod, still catching your breath, suddenly very aware of how soaked you were. How cold. How exposed.
“Yeah,” you respond, sulking. “I'm gonna fucking kill her in her sleep.”
Steve snorts softly, relief washing over him. “Yeah, That's the bare minimum we expect from you.”
He hesitates just for half a second before standing up and helps you out of the pool, hands tightly holding yours, one of them sliding down to your waist, with an awkward, hesitant touch.
His chocolate-brown eyes are glowing every time they shift from your chest to your face and back again, taking in how see-through the damp fabric of your shirt is now. “Uh... you can borrow something of mine— I mean, if you want. So you don't freeze.”
You blink at him, hugging yourself and feeling a little self-conscious. “You sure?”
It's strange to say the least. You'd had a few tough weeks, you had grown a little distant from each other since that thing on your car. Out of some silly jealousy, that's why.
And still, Steve is treating you with the same decency and care as in your glory days as friends. Just like always.
He shrugs, pretending it was no big deal. “Yeah. I've got like... a million hoodies.”
That is an understatement.
You follow him back inside his house, dripping quietly through the empty halls, covering yourself with a towel that he had handed you, the noise from outside muffling behind you. Steve leads you upstairs, steps careful, like he is afraid to scare you off.
“My room's—uh—here,” he says, pushing the door open.
Even though you had been to his house several times, for whatever reason, you had never been in his room before. So this was a new experience for you. One that, even though you didn't want to admit it, you found particularly intriguing.
And it is... nothing like you expected.
Not messy. Not careless. But warm. Thoughtful.
Your eyes wander before you could stop them.
A stack of vinyl records sat neatly by his turntable—records you recognize immediately. Your favorites. The ones you'd mentioned once, offhandedly, during a late-night conversation you hadn't thought he remembered.
There are movies too. VHS tapes lined carefully along a shelf—old horror, indie films, that one foreign movie you loved and had insisted was misunderstood. A couple of well-worn books lay stacked on his nightstand, spines cracked, margins dog-eared.
You pick one up slowly.
“This is... mine,” you say softly. “I mean—this is my favorite.”
Steve is frozen in place, turning to face you from within his open closet doors, previously very involved in a search for a pair of shorts that are preferably smaller than the ones he usually wears and a hoodie, for you.
“Oh. Yeah. You said you liked it,” he replies, too casually, spectacularly downplaying the significance of the situation.
You turn to him, eyes landing on the broad expanse of his back as he went back into digging through his clothes. “Steve... you don't— you don't even read.”
He laughs nervously, still not looking at you. “I do, sugar. N-now.”
The nickname slips out casually, he says it so sweetly. It's the first time you've heard him call you that in days. And it brings a cute little smile to your face.
There are photos pinned crookedly to a corkboard near his desk. Not trophies. Not popularity. Not reminders of who he used to be. Just moments.
Dustin missing a teeth. Robin mid-laugh. One of you, sitting on the floor back at your house, unaware, smiling at something just out of frame. Probably Steve.
You stare at that picture longer than you mean to.
It's candid. Soft. You're younger there, unguarded in a way you rarely allow yourself to be. It makes something tight coil low in your chest.
“Why do you have that?” you ask quietly.
Steve doesn't answer right away, he flicks a glance at you and then his eyes move down to the photo you're holding in your hands.
And when he does, his voice is low, stripped of bravado. “Because you look happy.”
And cute. And pretty. Like, the most gorgeous sight he's ever seen.
He digs a little more through his closet and finally, hands you a pair of Nike shorts and a hoodie—one of his favorites, judging by how worn the cuffs are.
The hoodie swallows you whole, warm and smelling like him. Soap. Shampoo. His perfume that is so masculine and yet, soft. So Steve.
You don't miss the way his eyes linger on you as he enters back into is room, once you let him know that you had already changed.
“Okay,” you start, crossing your arms, suddenly very aware of the way your heart is misbehaving. “So. You collect my favorite records. You read my books. You keep pictures of me like some sort of—”
“Please don't say serial killer,” he interrupts weakly and extremely embarrassed.
You snort, sitting down on the edge of his bed, slightly dizzy from the alcohol. “—like some sort of sentimental idiot.”
That gets a smile out of him. Real. Soft. A little sad. Like, drunk sad.
“Look,” he says, gesturing dramatically with his hands and walking towards you wearing an embarrassed little smile, “you don't have to make it weird—”
You're smart and quick enough to cut him off, of course. “You already did that, Harrington.”
“Fair.” He exhales, blushing so much both out of embarrassment and out of the quantity of beer consumed in the evening, “I just... I like knowing what matters to you. I'm trying to keep up,” his voice keep lowering gently as he continues, “I just— I just like you a lot—,” suddenly he is just a babbling mess of rushed words, “I like being with you, like, your company,” he shrugs, making an effort to appear casual, “so, you know, I-I care.”
I like you.
Not loved. Not needed. Just—there. Honest. Low. Patient.
You smile softly, shaking your head as you look up at him with eyes gleaming with longing and drunkenness. “You're drunk, Harrington.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily, smiling too, “and so are you, sugar.”
“Yeah but, I get you, I like you too, Stevie.”
The way you pronounce his nickname rings like sweet music to Steve's ears. You almost never say it. And he absolutely hates that nickname, but coming from you, it's different. He loves it. He'd listen to you say it all day if he could.
You smile back at him. God, you smile at him so easily when you let yourself. Or like now, when you're not sober.
You're smiling a lot.
Steve takes a seat on his bed next to you very cautiously, making sure he is holding your gaze. He sits so close that your shoulders brush against each other. But you don't pull away. And neither does he.
“And—” he says suddenly holds back for a moment, unsure whether to continue speaking or not, but then decides to go ahead anyway, “Jonathan.”
“Jonathan...” you repeat, slurring out the name.
Steve swallows. “Is it—” he stops, shakes his head once. “Is there something I'm not seeing?”
You frown slightly, not quite understanding exactly what he's getting at. “Meaning...?”
He forces himself to look at you now, brown eyes searching your face, not accusatory—just honest, curious and vulnerable all over.
Sober, you're the smartest person Steve knows. However, as soon as a drop of alcohol hits your system, your brain seems to go into stand-by mode, as if it were on vacation. Or maybe you're just playing dumb.
“Are you in love with him?”
The question lands softly.
That's what makes it hurt.
You blink, caught off guard by how gentle he sounds, regardless of the heavy topic he is bringing up. And in spite of that, he doesn't look or sound as defensive as he always is when it comes to Jonathan Byers.
“I—” You hesitate, then sigh, leaning back on your hands, sighing heavily and frowning, blinking really slow. “Jonathan's my best friend. He always has been.”
“I know,” Steve says quickly, looking down at you. “I'm not— I'm not saying it like it's a bad thing.”
“Well, you sound like it,” you smile a little, a kind of silly, carefree smile that you hardly ever show.
Steve opens and closes his mouth, stammering words out, “So... you've never—?”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head and wincing in disgust, “Ew, dude. That's sick to even think about. He's like a brother to me.”
Relief flickers across his face before he can stop it.
You notice.
“Good, that's good,” he breathes out the air he had been holding in his lungs, casting his gaze away from you toward the floor, blushing.
You tilt your head, studying him with narrowed eyes. “You care an awful lot for someone who claims he doesn't have a problem with Byers.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, suddenly on the defensive again. His lips twist into a grimace before he speaks. “Well, you've been spending a lot of time with him lately. It does seem a little suspicious.” He shrugs his shoulders dismissively. “Nancy and I thought for a moment that you two were onto something.”
“There it is,” you whisper, rolling your eyes. “This is what you do. You get weird and defensive and then act like I'm the problem.”
“I'm not saying you are,” he snaps back, sharper than before. The alcohol makes his edges rougher, his honesty more reckless. “I just don't get why you're always going out with him lately, always choosing him.”
That makes you sit up straighter, now you're a tiny bit more on the defensive. “I don't choose him.”
“You do,” Steve insists, finally looking at you again, eyes dark and earnest. “Every time. When something's wrong. When you need someone. When you—” he cuts off his own words as he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “You don't even notice you do it.”
You swallow, anger softening into something more complicated. “You don't get to be jealous, Steve. You don't get to act like this when you're still—” you hesitate, the bitterness of jealousy stinging your tongue. “When you're still half in love with Nancy”
He stands abruptly, raising his hands in offense. He looks very offended. “I am not—"
“You so are!” you fire back, standing too. “Everyone can see it. You look at her like she hung the damn stars, and then you turn around and accuse me of being in love with my best friend?”
Your eyes are brimming with tears of anger, frustration, and disappointment, but your words speak a completely different story. They are full of resentment: “And then you get angry out of nowhere and drift away from me and accuse me of something I haven’t even done, and suddenly I feel like I’m the problem!” Steve keeps quiet, gazing at you with the same anguish reflected in your eyes. “Why are you keep doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”
“Because I love you!”
The room goes quiet, awfully quiet.
The ringing in your ears from the rage suddenly vanishes, replaced by that deafening, heavy silence.
Steve is breathing hard, his chest heaving as if he's just run a marathon, his hands still raised in that defensive gesture that now looks more like he's trying to catch the words he just threw into the air.
“W-what?” you manage, the word barely catching on your vocal cords.
Steve looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole, but he doesn't look away. Not this time.
“You heard me,” he says, his voice losing its edge, turning raw and shaky. “I'm not in love with Nancy, okay? I haven't been for a long time. It's always been about trying to find... I don't know— maybe, a way to make you look at me the way you look at Jonathan. To be that important to you.”
He takes a step closer, pressing into this kind of invisible void that always kept you two apart, a protective barrier you had built around yourself, now trembling on the verge of collapse.
“It's you. It's always been you.” Steve continues, very much at odds with the dismissive expression on your face, lost for words. “Since that night at Tina's. You were so mean to me, and all I could think was, 'God, I hope she never stops talking to me.'”
He laughs, a low, self-deprecating sound that makes your heart ache in your chest.
“I read those stupid books because I wanted to understand why you liked them. I bought those records because I wanted my house to sound like a place you'd actually want to stay,” he brushes his fingers through his hair, voicing every thought that crosses his mind, his eyes filling with tearful emotion that overwhelms his heart, capitalizing on your uncharacteristic quietness. “I'm an idiot— I know. I'm a sentimental, clueless idiot because you— you are all I see. I see you when I try to imagine my future. With me. In a big house, with a dog and a cat and a couple of little kids who look just like you, with your beautiful smile and your big eyes and your brilliance. You are my future, my dream.”
You shake your head, blinking away a few tears. “I should go.”
You barely take two steps before his hand closes around your wrist.
It's careful—like he's giving you time to pull away.
You don't.
Your lips find his, warm and hesitant at first, then deeper, fuller, as everything you've both been holding back spills into that single moment. His hand loosens around your wrist, sliding up to cup your cheek instead, thumb brushing softly through your skin.
His other hand swings up and closes the door behind you, leaning against it, pressing you between the wooden surface and his body.
You break away from him just enough to catch your breath before kissing him again, more passionately, more feverishly.
Steve's kiss is everything you hadn't allowed yourself to imagine: desperate, yet incredibly tender, as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your lips.
His hands, usually so confident, tremble slightly as they move from your face to your waist, bunching the fabric of his own oversized hoodie that you are wearing.
“So smart, yet such a brat sometimes,” he mumbles hot against your mouth, his voice a jagged wreck of its usual charm. “Always got something to snarl back. Always slipping away from me.”
“Just shut the fuck up, Harrington,” you breathe out, your hands winding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. “You knew what you were getting into.”
Steve groans, a low vibration you feel in your own throat, and shifts his weight. He pressed his hips firmly against yours, pinning you to the door. The friction sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core, turning your knees into jelly.
He begins to trail kisses down the column of your neck, his warm tongue grazing your sensitive skin. You tilt your head back, a shaky gasp escaping you as his teeth caught on the spot where your shoulder met your neck.
“You have no idea,” he whispers, his breath hot against your collarbone, “how many times I've sat in this room, listening to those records, just wishing you were here. Having you just like this...”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his gaze dark and heavy with a possessiveness that made your heart hammer against your ribs. He reaches down, his fingers hooking under the hem of the hoodie, slowly sliding the soft fabric upward.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly, in contrast to the wild, dark desire that burned in his eyes.
You don't answer with words. Instead, you reach for the hem of his own shirt, tugging it upward in a silent invitation.
Steve don't need to be told twice. He pulls his shirt over his head and toss it blindly into the shadows of his room. When he presses back against you, the contact is electric.
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you the few short steps toward the bed, the party downstairs sounding like it belongs to a completely different world now.
The springs of the mattress squeaks under the weight of both of you as Steve lowers you down, his body a heavy, welcome heat following you closely. He doesn't break the connection for a second, his mouth finding yours again with a frantic hunger that tastes like expensive beer and desperate longing.
The soft fabric of his own hoodie is bunched around your ribs, and Steve's large hands are everywhere—mapping the skin he'd only ever dream of touching like this.
When his palms slid up your sides, grazing the undersides of your breasts, you let out a sharp, needy sound that was lost in his mouth.
“Steve,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he finds a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear.
Your hands are busy, too, wandering over the firm muscles of his broad back, feeling the way he tenses and shudders under your touch.
“You're so fucking pretty,” he coos, breaking away to trail a line of biting kisses down to your jaw. “You drive me crazy”
He seats up slightly, straddling your hips, his chest heaving as he gazes in awe down at you. The moonlight from the window catch the sweat glistening on his skin and the sheer, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. Without a word, he reaches down and pulls the hoodie over your head finally, tossing it to the floor to join his shirt.
You feel a momentary flash of shyness, but it vanishes the second Steve's eyes darkens, his breath hitching.
“God, you're beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire and adoration. “It's not even close to what I had imagined.”
“Did you imagine it?” you manage to ask, sheepishly battling your lashes at him, biting your lower lip.
Steve lets out a huff, running his hand along the curve of your waist and leaning back down toward you, his eyes sparking with nothing but pure adoration, teasing your lips for a kiss, “Every goddamn day.”
As he speaks, you reach up to unhook your bra, and Steve licks his lips as he takes in the sight of your pretty tits laid bare for him.
His hands comes down your body, cupping a breast with a reverence that made your blood boil. He leans down, his tongue swirling around one nipple before taking the tit into his mouth, his suction firm and demanding.
You moan out, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your hips instinctively bucking against his.
Steve groans against your skin, his hand sliding down, past the waistband of his own shorts on you, his fingers seeking the heat he knew was waiting so patiently for him. When he finds it, already slick and aching for him, your eyes roll back in your head.
“You want this?” he asks, his voice a low growl of a challenge, his thumb rhythmically grazing your wet folds. “You want me? I need words, baby”
“I want you, Steve,” you whine, your voice breaking with emotion. “Please—”
That is the breaking point. The patience he'd spent months cultivating snaps. He moves with a new, feral urgency, shedding the rest of your clothes until there is nothing left to obstruct his way onto you.
And then, he eats your pussy like it is his very last meal, lapping and drinking in everything you have to offer, every bit of wetness from you.
His tongue feels so familiar against you, as if it had known you all its life, as if its sole purpose is to consume you. It traces its way between your folds, all the way up to your clit and back down again, sliding in just deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs.
Steve, Steve, Steve...
You moan out his name like a prayer.
“You taste so good,” he marvels in awe, “so sweet, sweetheart”
Steve pulls back for just a second, his face flush and his hair a wild, beautiful mess, but he doesn't go far. He looks up at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark with a mix of hunger and a raw, vulnerable worship that makes your heart ache even more than your body.
He watches your face as his thumb continues the job to swirl against your clit, circling with a agonizingly perfect pressure that has you gripping the sheets until your knuckles turns white.
“I've spent every night for months wondering what you'd sound like,” he coaxes, his voice vibrating against your inner thigh. “Thinking about you cumming for me...”
He doesn't give you a chance to retort with some smartass comment.
He dives back into your cunt, his tongue moving with a relentles, purposefully pace that push you right to the edge.
You are crying out his name now, your head tossing back against the pillow as the first waves of a massive climax begin to roll through you.
Steve doesn't slow down; he drinks you, his hands holding your thighs firmly so you can't escape the pleasure, grounding you as the world shatters into a thousand bright sparks.
“Cum for me, baby.” he coos, already too pussy drunk to even form a rational thought more than to please you, “Cum on my tongue, yeah, just like that”
“Holy shit, Stevie—” you hiccup, feeling tears blur your vision, a wave of pleasure unleashing from deep in your belly. “I'm cumming—hmph!”
Steve gulps down all you give him like it is some kind of holy water.
You open your eyes, blurred with tears and lust, and see him. His chin and mouth are dripping with your essence, his dark, piercing eyes in awe of how your pussy is clenching around his fingers.
He doesn't pull away. He hovers there, hands trembling as they gripped your thighs, watching the way your chest heaved and your eyes struggle to focus on him.
“You okay?” he whispers, his voice cracking. He reaches up, using the back of his hand to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek, his touch surprisingly light for someone so clearly on the edge. “I didn't... I wasn't too rough? You're good?”
You can't even find an answer. Your body is still humming, the aftershocks of the orgasm making your muscles twitch.
So you just nod, “I'm perfect, Steve. P-please keep going, I need more.”
He moves right up, crawling over your pretty body, ready for him, his skin feels hot and slick against yours.
He moves closer to you and kiss your mouth, making you savor your own taste through him, his hands appreciatively caressing your thighs, palming the fat of your ass.
“Tell me if it's too much, yeah?" Steve breathes out, his forehead dropping low to rest against yours. “I've wanted this for so long, I don't want to mess it up. I don't want to hurt you, sugar.”
“Just fuck me already, Harrington,” you hiss right back, looking up at him with eyes half-closed in ecstasy, squeezing his forearm eagerly.
Steve sucks in a breath, leaning in close to kiss you once more, “Such a little brat.”
Then, he stands up, swiftly stripping off his pants and boxers under your attentive gaze. He is a handsome boy, always has been. His physique is strong, his shoulders are broad, his biceps are muscular, his six-pack is slightly marked, and beads of sweat roll down his tanned skin. You are drooling at the mouth from the urge of wanting to sweep your tongue along it, scooping up the salty sweat.
And he's so big that it has you in a chokehold. You really can't resist letting your eyes drift down. His cock is so hard that it looks painful, with a plump head dripping with pre-cum, twitching for you.
He kicks his clothes aside without a glance and moves back over you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles in between your spread thighs.
He doesn't just dive in. Instead, he takes a second to look at you—really look at you—lying there, flushed and open, so ready and eager for him, your hair forming a wild halo against his pillows.
He knows he can cum right there just by seeing you like that.
Steve reaches blindly toward the nightstand, his fingers fumbling with the drawer until he pulls out a small, square foil packet.
His breathing is ragged, his eyes never leaving yours even as he starts to tear the edge with his teeth. He looks so fucking hot.
As he starts to pull the condom out, you reach up towards him, your palm flat against his heaving chest, feeling the frantic gallop of his heart.
“Steve,” you whisper, your voice thick with demanding.
“I know, baby, I know, just—one second,” he mumbles absentmindedly, his fingers shaking slightly as he tries to roll it on.
“No,” you tell him, firmer this time. You hook your fingers into his, pulling the half-open condom away. “Don't. I want to feel you. All of you. Please”
Steve freezes. He looks down at you, his pupils so blown they've nearly swallowed the chocolate-brown of his irises. “Honey... I don't— are you sure? I don't want to—”
“I'm sure,” you interrupt, your legs winding around his waist, pulling his hips flush against yours. You can feel exactly how much he wants this, how hard his cock is, rubbing against your inner thigh. “Go raw, Stevie. Please, baby.”
The condom is abandoned, fluttering to the carpeted floor, forgotten.
“Holy shit, you're going to be the death of me,” Steve breathes out tremulously, his voice dropping into a register so low it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.
He lets out a low, guttural sound—half-sob, half-growl—and finally guide himself to your entrance. He pushes his bulbous head in between your wet folds very slowly, a steady, relentless inching that makes your eyes roll back.
Steve is so big and hot, filling every empty space you don't even know you have, even when his cock is just halfway inside your pussy. You felt your breath hitch as your body stretching to your fucking limit to accommodate around his size, the sensation so intense it was almost overwhelming.
“Oh, baby, there you go. You're doing so good, mhm. Breath for me, sugar, yeah?”
One inch, a trembling hot praise whispered against your ear, another inch, another soft praise...
And he goes like that until he is buried all the way to the hilt inside your fluttering pussy, his forehead resting against yours, both of you frozen in that perfect, overwhelming moment of connection. You are breathing the same air, your nails clawing up his back, his are gripping the bedsheets on either side of your shoulders.
Steve groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering at the sheer sensation of finally being home.
“Jesus Christ, you're so tight,” he whimpers, beginning to move. “You feel perfect, you're perfect”
Each thrust is slow, deliberate, and deep—a physical manifestation of every word he'd been too scared to say.
You lock your legs around his slim waist, pulling him even deeper, meeting every one of his thrusts with a desperate hunger of your own. The rhythmic "slap, slap, slap!" of skin against skin and the sound of your shared, ragged breathing fill the room, drowning out the distant music still sounding from the pool little party.
“Steve... please,” you whimper his name again and again, the knot growing tighter in the lower part of your belly, more intense than before.
“I got you, baby. I'm right here, hm?” he responds to your cries, leaning down to kiss each of your flushed cheeks, gently licking away a couple of stray tears that keep slipping from your pretty eyes. “I'm right here...”
He shows you. One of his hands lands on your lower belly, where the outline of his cock is clearly visible every time he fucks in and out of your messy pussy and then, Steve presses down just a little to get both of you to sigh, both feeling the pressure of his hand's weight.
And when Steve pulls out of you, he doesn't just shove back in again; he is agonizingly slow now, savoring the way your body stretched out and yielded to him, inch by excruciating inch.
Steve quickens the pace, his jaw tight, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. He is relentless, pushing you higher and higher until you find that sensation of that familiar coil tightening in your gut once more.
He leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss just as you break, your body pulsing around him. He could feel you were close, he could feel it every time he slid back inside you, bullying your cervix like he’s determined to mold your pussy to the shape of his cock. Your warm, plush walls contracting all around him, taking in his entire length right down to his base.
He's buried balls deep now, his hips slamming against yours with a raw, primal rhythm. And then, Steve suddenly slow down just a fraction, his muscles trembling with a fucking Herculean effort of holding back and not bust a nut right there.
“Steve, I'm—”
He pulls back a few inches, his face flushed a deep, beautiful red, sweat dripping from his chin onto your chest as he rests weakly on your tits.
“I know, I know,” he knows, his lips grazing one of your nipples as he speaks, drooling all over your skin. “Right there with you, baby. I'm—I'm so close. I can't... I can't hold it much longer. Where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you manage to choke out, your fingers digging into his hips to pull him back down and back inside you. “Fill me up, Steve. Don't you dare pull out.”
A low, feral growl rips from his throat at your words, a sound you had never heard come from him.
Steve is a good boy and he obeys you, as always, so, he surges forward, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and gives three more devastatingly deep, fast thrusts that have you seeing stars on the ceiling of his room.
“I love you,” he cries into your neck, his voice muffled by your skin as he finally lets go, pumping hot spurts of his cum right into your welcoming womb.
Soon, you have him reduced to nothing more than a wobbly, crying mess all over you, laying there on your chest all worn out.
You too are a fucking mess, cumming, earth-shatteringly, for the second time under the weight of his body, the suffocating sensation of his love and worship lavishing all over you and in you.
You can swear you see the entire universe flashing right over the expanse of his shoulders, and you can feel the heat radiating from its flames burning through your fingertips. Stars twinkling on his skin, lighting up each of his freckles and moles spread across his body like a constellation.
For a long moment, neither of you move.
The world slowly crawls back around you—the distant music downstairs, the hum of the house settling, the soft night light slipping in through the window.
Steve is still inside you, breathing hard, his forehead pressing against your shoulder like he needs the contact to stay grounded.
He presses a gentle kiss on your shoulder before leaning back just enough to look at you.
“I'm— I'm sorry,” he murmurs suddenly, panic threading his voice as he pulls back a little more. “Not sorry like I regret it, just— are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” you reply, flashing a sheepish, lazy smile.
After double-checking that you are indeed okay, with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip, he pulls out of you, carefully, delicately.
He then spends a good ten minutes cleaning you up, running a clean cloth between your legs, thighs, belly, with such care that it sometimes tickles you due to the overstimulation.
And after that, Steve collapses beside you on the bed, careful to tug a blanket over both of you, pulling you against his side. His arm wraps around you instinctively, protective, familiar—like he'd been doing this with you in another life.
You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heart slowly calm down beneath your ear.
“I meant it. What I said earlier,” he says after a little while, voice quiet now, stripped bare, gruff from all the moans and whimpers you got out of him. “I love you.”
You don't answer right away.
Not because you don't feel it—but because saying it out loud suddenly feels huge.
Steve's fingers still for half a second on your waist.
“You don't have to say it back,” he adds quickly. “I just needed you to know.”
You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes in the dim light and you lean in and kiss him—slow this time, soft, nothing desperate about it.
Steve's lips are warm, familiar already, like something you don't realize you'd been missing until it is finally there, all for you. When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, both of you breathing each other in.
“I love you too”
You carefully lie down on top of him now, on your stomach, pressing against his chest. One of his hands lingers on your lower back, affectionately caressing the curve of your ass, and the other is gently stroking strands of your hair behind your ear.
He exhales shakily, a sound that's half a laugh, half disbelief. “Okay,” he gasps. “Okay. Wow.”
You huff out a soft laugh against his chest. “Is that all you've got, Harrington?”
“Hey,” he protests weakly, palming your ass now, more playfully. “I just confessed my undying love and then had my entire soul rearranged. I need a minute.”
You sigh and nestle closer to him, your legs tangling with his under the blanket. “You're gonna be so annoying about this.”
“Oh, unbearably so,” he chirps. “I'm thinking lots of 'remember when you hated me' jokes.”
“You know,” you say casually, like you're commenting on the weather, your fingers toy lightly with the hairs on his chest, “it's actually really pathetic.”
Steve squints at you, but he is so happy he could fly. “Why do I feel like I'm about to be bullied?”
“You listened to all my favorite records,” you explain, pressing into his skin every time you name something else. “The sad ones. The pretentious ones. You watched my movies. You read my books.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. “...okay?”
You tilt your head, holding back a teasing smile. “Like, that's loser behavior.”
Steve shrugs, completely unbothered. “I listened to your records. I read your books. I watched your sad little movies.” He pauses, then tilts his head, grin widening. He is triumphant. “But you still fucked me. So, technically? I won.”
You groan. “I take it back. I don't love you.”
He is laughing, hugging you so tight you can't ever pull away from him.
The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ S.H.
⭐︎ Warnings: 18+ mdni! post apocalypse, character death, angst, mean!steve, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, blood, wounds -- all the gory stuff, smut in the future chapters, hurt/comfort
⭐︎ Pairing: Grumpy!Steve Harrington x sunshine(fem)!reader
⭐︎ Summary: Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end.
⭐︎ In collaboration with @hellfire--cult
⭐︎
Prologue ☀︎ When the sun hits, she'll be waiting
Chapter one ☀︎ Welcome and Goodbye
Chapter two ☀︎ Can you see right through me?
Chapter three ☀︎ You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost
Chapter four ☀︎ While I'm alone and blue as can be
Chapter five ☀︎ Watching cityscapes turn to dust
Chapter six ☀︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.
Chapter seven ☀︎ Fall back into place. Fall back...
Chapter eight ☀︎ Dead-eyed. Dead weight.
Chapter nine ☀︎ Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met
Chapter ten ☀︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen
Chapter eleven ☀︎ And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all
Chapter twelve ☀︎ You’re a bandit like me. Eyes full of stars
Chapter thirteen ☀︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far
Chapter fourteen ☀︎ The devil in your eyes, won't deny the lies you've sold
Chapter fifteen ☀︎ Every print I left upon the track has led me here
Chapter sixteen ☀︎ One day I am gonna grow wings...
Chapter seventeen ☀︎ Now I'm racing for what to do, all roads lead me right back to you
Chapter eighteen ☀︎ I'll give you all that I can, as long as you'll wait for me there
Chapter nineteen ☀︎ When you’re lying between my legs, it doesn’t matter
Chapter twenty ☀︎ If you can't survive, just try
Chapter twenty one ☀︎ Look into my eyes and baby, whisper
Chapter twenty two ☀︎ If anyone could’ve saved me, it would’ve been you
Chapter twenty three ☀︎ We could be safer, just for one day
This is single handedly one of the best pieces of writing that have ever graced my computer. I started bingeing this the other day and couldn't bring myself to do anything else.
With all the weird stuff that is going on with Tumblr right now, PLS go to the original post to like/comment.
After being forced to relocate when men from Hawkins Lab find you, Steve finds your new abode with just one clue from your phone call. You discuss your powers and what happens next.
notes — experiment!reader (reader is 009), mentions of Hawkins Lab, past torture/abuse, medical trauma, referenced experimentation, emotional distress, protective!Steve, angst, violence, implied sexual assault, i'm sorry but tw this gets extremely dark, suicide, death, mental manipulation, hurt/comfort
Steve harrington x fem!reader, 3.8k words
link to series masterlist
Steve has been walking for hours.
The woods at night are darker than he expected — darker than that first night, when he found you huddled against the oak tree.
Back then, he'd had the rain to guide him, the sound of your sobs cutting through the storm. Now there's only silence, and the moon, and the desperate hope that he's going the right way.
Heart, you'd said. Heart. Remember?
He remembers. Of course he remembers. That oak tree with the carved heart — he'd noticed it the night he found you, had run his fingers over the rough etching. He'd wondered who carved it, and when, and why.
The tree is easy enough to find. He's been there before, after all. But finding the tree is just the beginning. You'd said heart, and he knows you well enough by now to know you meant more than just the tree itself.
So he starts walking. Circles, at first, expanding outward from the oak like ripples in a pond. He looks for paths, for broken branches, for any sign that someone has been this way before.
And then he sees it. A small trail, barely visible, leading deeper into the woods. The beginning of the path looks like a heart. He smiles.
The trail winds through the trees, up a small rise, down into a hollow. And there, almost invisible against the darkness, is a cabin.
He moves forward, careful, quiet, his heart pounding so loud he's sure they can hear it. He doesn't know who else might be out here — the men who attacked the first cabin, maybe, or worse.
He keeps his hand ready, though he doesn't have a weapon. He didn't think to bring one. He only thought of you.
The cabin door is old, solid. He raises his hand to knock—
And then it opens. Hopper is standing there.
For a second, neither of them moves. Then Hopper's face shifts — relief, maybe, or something like it. "Took you long enough," he says quietly.
Steve laughs, a shaky, breathless sound. "Is she — is she okay?"
"She's inside. Asleep." Hopper steps back, letting him in. "Go on."
Steve doesn't need to be told twice. The cabin is small, warm, lit by a single lamp. A kitchen in the corner, a little sofa, a door that must lead to the bedroom. He's halfway across the room when said door opens.
And there you are. You're standing in the doorway in bare feet and the sweater he gave you — his sweater, you're wearing his sweater — and your eyes are wide and wet and fixed on his face. "Steve?" you whisper.
He can't speak. He can't move. He can only stand there, drinking you in, alive and whole and real.
You cross the room so fast you nearly fall, and then you're in his arms, your face buried in his chest, your hands gripping his jacket like he might disappear. He holds you just as tight, his face pressed to your hair, his eyes squeezed shut.
"I found you," he breathes. "I found you, angel."
"You came," you breathe. "You came, you came, you came."
"Of course I came." He pulls back just enough to look at your face, to cup it in his hands. "I'll always come. Always."
You look up at him — your face wet, your eyes shining, your smile so bright it hurts — and then you're practically climbing at him. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms lock behind his neck, and you press yourself against him like you're trying to crawl inside his skin, like you always have been trying so.
Steve stumbles back a step, catching himself, and then his arms are under you, holding you up, holding you close. You stay like that for a long time. Steve doesn't mind. He could hold you forever.
Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hand comes up to touch his face, your fingers tracing his jaw, his cheek, the dark circles under his eyes.
"You look tired," you whisper.
He laughs. "I've been walking all night. I couldn't sleep. I had to find you."
"You found me." Your smile is small and soft and everything. "You always find me."
He presses his forehead to yours. "Always."
Hopper clears his throat gently from the kitchen. "Maybe sit down before you fall down, kid."
Steve laughs again and carries you to the couch, settling down with you still in his lap. You don't seem inclined to move, and honestly, he doesn't want you to. He just wants to hold you and never let go.
Hopper pours two cups of coffee — black for himself, lighter for Steve — and brings them over. He sits in the armchair across from you, his eyes tired but alert.
"We need to talk about what happened," Hopper says quietly.
Steve feels you tense against him. His arm tightens around you. "I know," Hopper continues, his voice gentle, "that you've been through a lot. But there are things I need to understand. Things that might help us keep you safe."
You nod against Steve's chest, but you don't look up. Steve's hand finds its way into your hair, stroking gently, the way he knows you like. You relax against him just a fraction.
Hopper leans forward, his voice careful. "I'm not trying to scare you, kid. I'm trying to understand. The lab — they don't send that many men for just anyone. They want you bad. Worse than they've ever wanted anyone." He pauses. "I need to know why."
Steve feels you tremble. His hand slides from your hair down to your back, slipping just under the edge of his sweater — your sweater now — and rests against the warm skin at your side. He rubs slow circles there, soft, soothing.
"You don't have to tell us everything," Steve whispers against your hair. "Just what you can. Just what you want to. We're not going anywhere."
You turn your face into his neck, and he feels your breath against his skin. "In the lab," you start, your voice so quiet he has to strain to hear, "they test me. For everything. Telekinesis, like El. Pyro..." You try to remember. "Pyrokinesis. Many times." You pause. "I fail. Every time."
Steve keeps rubbing your side, slow and steady. His other hand stays in your hair.
"They said they are going to terminate me," you continue. "Kill. I think." Steve's jaw tightens, but he doesn't let it show in his touch. He just holds you closer. "Before I run... ran away," you correct your tense, which makes Steve press a kiss to your temple, "they said they are going to terminate me."
"But they didn't," Steve whispers. "They didn't terminate you. You got out."
You shake your head against his neck. "Before I left. The night I left. They found out."
Hopper leans forward, his face carefully neutral but his eyes sharp. "What do you mean, kid?"
You're quiet for a long moment. Steve can feel you gathering yourself, feel the way your fingers grip his shirt tighter.
"There was a guard," you whisper. "His name was Raymond. He was... bad. The worst." You swallow. "He hurt El once. A long time ago. I made him forget. Made him tired. Made him go home."
"But that night — the night I left — he came back. To my room. He was angry. He said he remembered. He said he didn't know how, but he remembered what I did. He remembered me... pushing into his head."
Your voice breaks a little. Steve holds you tighter.
"He said he was going to tell Dr. Brenner. He said they would finally know what I could do. That I wasn't a dud. That I was maybe the most powerful one of all." You pause. "He laugh. He said they will use me forever. That I would never see sun again."
Hopper's jaw is tight. Steve can see the anger in his eyes, but his voice stays gentle. "What happened then?"
You're quiet for a long moment. Steve feels your fingers twisting in his shirt, feels the way your whole body has gone tense.
"Angel," he murmurs, his lips against your hair. "You're okay. You're safe. Take your time."
You take a shaky breath. "I was so scared," you whisper. "He was so big. So angry. And he was going to tell them. He was going to—" You stop, swallowing hard. "I did not think. I just... reached out. Inside his head. And I told him—" Your voice breaks.
"Told him what?" Hopper asks gently.
You press your face harder into Steve's neck. "I told him to stop. To go away. To never hurt anyone again." A pause. "But it came out wrong. Or right? I do not know. I was so scared. I just — I pushed so hard. And I told him—" You stop again, and Steve feels you shaking.
Steve's hand keeps moving on your side, slow circles, warm and steady. "It's okay, angel. Whatever it was, it's okay."
You shake your head. "I told him to die." The words come out in a rush, barely audible. "In his head. I told him to die. And he—" You gasp, a sob catching in your throat. "He reach for knife and..." You stop, your whole body shaking now.
You can't finish. You don't have to.
Across from you, Hopper has gone rigid in his chair. His face is pale, his eyes fixed on you with an expression Steve can't quite read.
"He killed himself," Hopper says quietly. It's not a question.
Steve goes completely still beneath you. For a second, he doesn't breathe.
Mind reader.
You're a mind reader. You can get inside people's heads. You can make them do things. You can make them—
You've been in his head.
The realisation hits him so hard he feels dizzy. All those times he held you. All those whispered endearments. All those moments when he thought you were just learning to trust him — you were listening. You knew every thought. Every feeling. Every stupid, embarrassing, vulnerable thing that passed through his mind.
Did you know he was falling for you? Did you know he lay awake at night thinking about your smile? Did you know he'd already started imagining a future where you were his?
Did you know everything?
His heart is pounding. His palms are sweating. He can feel his own panic rising, a wave of it, unstoppable—
"Steve?"
Your voice. Small. Terrified. He looks down.
You're staring up at him with eyes so wide, so wet, so scared that it punches the air out of his lungs. Your lower lip is trembling. Your whole body has gone rigid in his lap.
"You're — you're scared," you whisper. "I can feel it. Your heart is beating so fast. You're—" A sob catches in your throat. "You're scared of me."
"What? No, angel, I—"
But you're already shaking your head, frantically, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I did not read your thoughts. I promise. I swear. I would never — I never—" You're gasping between words, your hands clutching his shirt like a lifeline. "Sometimes feelings slip through. I cannot help it. But I never — Not on purpose."
He stares at you. At the absolute terror on your face. At the way you're looking at him like he might push you away, like he might leave.
"You're my Steve," you sob. "I would never — I could never — please. Please do not be scared of me. Please."
Something in his chest cracks wide open. He thinks about everything you've been through. All the people who used you. All the people who hurt you. All the people who looked at you like you were a thing instead of a person.
And now you think he's going to be one of them.
"Angel." His voice comes out rough, broken. He cups your face in his big hands, forcing you to look at him. "Sweetheart, stop. Stop. Look at me."
You look at him with those huge, terrified eyes, tears still streaming down your cheeks.
"I'm not scared of you." He says it slowly, clearly, so you can see the truth in his eyes. "I was — for a second, I panicked. Because I thought about all the embarrassing things you might have heard. All the stupid thoughts I have when I'm around you." He laughs, wet and shaky. "But I'm not scared of you. I could never be scared of you."
Your bottom lip trembles. "But you — your heart—"
"My heart was racing because I'm an idiot who panics before he thinks." He presses his forehead to yours, his thumbs still gently wiping away your tears. "I'm not scared of you. I'm not going anywhere. You're my angel. You hear me?"
You stare at him, searching his face for lies. For pity. For fear. Your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your whole body still trembling in his lap.
"I love you," you whisper, so quiet it's almost lost. You've never said it to anyone before, but here, with Steve, you can say it. "I love you so much. I would never — I would never hurt you. I would never—"
"I know." He pulls you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing your face gently into the curve of his neck. "I know, angel. I know."
You cling to him, your fingers twisting in his shirt, your breath hot and uneven against his skin. He can feel your heart pounding, rabbit-fast, terrified.
"Shh," he murmurs, his lips against your hair. "Shh, I've got you. I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."
Steve holds you through it. Through the shaking, through the tears, through the gasping breaths that slowly, slowly begin to steady. His hand never stops moving on your back, slow circles, warm and soothing. "I love you," he murmurs against your hair.
"I'm gonna step outside," Hopper says quietly, already standing. "Check the perimeter. Give you two a minute." He pauses at the door, looking back at you both with something soft in his eyes. "I'm glad you found each other."
Then he's gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
"You... you love me?" you whisper then, like you can't quite believe it. Like the words are too big, too heavy, too good to be real.
Steve's heart cracks open all over again.
"Yeah, angel." His voice is soft, steady, sure. "I love you. I've loved you since—" He laughs, a little shaky. "I don't even know when. Maybe that first night, when you took my hand in the shower. Maybe when you smiled at me for the first time. Maybe just... always. Like I was always waiting for you."
"I love you too," you murmur. "I did not know what it was. I did not have a word. But it is—it is like sun. In my chest. In my head. Every time I see you."
Steve's eyes sting. He presses his forehead to yours again, breathing you in. "Like sunshine," he replies gently, tucking you closer to him.
You give him a wobbly smile, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Then you look back at the front door, checking Hopper's okay. Your eyes flit back to Steve. "He is... he is good. Hopper."
Steve nods, brushing a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering on the underside of your chin. "Yeah. He is."
"He is like... a dad." You say it slowly, testing the word. "I never had a dad. But I think... he is like that."
Steve's heart swells. "Yeah, angel. I think he is."
You're quiet for a moment, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. Then you look up at him again, shy and hopeful. "Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"You are... my Steve." You say it like it's the most important thing in the world. "Forever?"
He cups your face, so gentle, and kisses your forehead, your nose, the tip of your chin. You giggle — actually giggle — and the sound is so bright, so free, that Steve thinks he wants to bottle the sound and put it in his pocket, never let it fade away.
"Forever," he promises. "And ever and ever. You're stuck with me, angel."
You smile and curl back into his chest, your hand over his heart, your breath warm against his skin.
"Good," you murmur. "I want to be stuck."
Later, after Hopper comes back and the fire has burned low, you talk.
"Okay," he says quietly. "Let me make sure I understand. You can read minds — thoughts, feelings, memories. And you can also... plant things. Suggestions. Images. And if you push hard enough, they'll act on them."
You nod. "Like seeds. Small at first. Then they grow. They think it is their own idea."
Hopper leans forward in the armchair. "And Raymond — you didn't just plant a seed. You pushed hard. Made him see himself doing it. And then..."
Your face crumples slightly. "I did not mean to. I was so scared. I just — I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to never hurt anyone again. And he—" You stop, swallowing.
Steve's hand rubs your back gently. "It's okay, angel. You don't have to go over it again."
Hopper nods, understanding. "That's enough. I get it." He pauses, rubbing his jaw. "Here's what I'm thinking. The lab, they know you're a mind reader. Probably. They might have suspected for a while. But they don't know about the planting. The way you can influence people's actions. That's our advantage."
You look at him, curious. "Advantage?"
"Leverage," Hopper says. "If it comes down to it — if they find us, if there's no other way — you might be able to use that. Not to hurt anyone. But to protect yourself, and us. To make them forget they ever saw us. To make them look the other way."
Steve feels you tense slightly in his lap. He squeezes you gently.
"I'm not saying we're going to put you in danger," Hopper adds quickly. "I'm saying — what you can do, it's not just a curse. It's a gift. And if we're smart, it might be the thing that keeps you free."
You're quiet for a long moment, processing. Then, slowly, you nod.
"Okay," you whisper. "I... I can try. If I need to."
Hopper's face softens. "That's all I'm asking, kid."
The fire crackles, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind has picked up, rattling the windows gently. Everything feels warm, safe, right.
But something nags at you.
You can't explain it. A feeling, deep in the back of your mind. Like everything is too okay, that something is coming.
You shift in Steve's lap, trying to shake it off. His hand automatically soothes down your back. "You okay, angel?" he asks.
You nod against his chest. "Just... tired."
He kisses the top of your head. "Close your eyes, then. I've got you."
You do. You close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong. You listen to Hopper's breathing across the room, slow and even. You listen to the wind, the fire, the quiet.
But underneath it all, there's something else.
A presence. Faint. Distant. But there. Like something is crawling under your skin, lingering. You try to reach for it, to identify it, but it slips away like smoke. Every time you get close, it vanishes.
Probably nothing, you tell yourself. Just your mind playing tricks. You're exhausted.
Steve's hand moves in your hair, gentle, soothing. You focus on that. On him. On the warmth of his body, the safety of his arms.
The feeling fades.
You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Relief, maybe.
"Love you," you mumble, already half-asleep.
Steve's arms tighten around you. "Love you too, angel."
Hopper watches from his chair, a small smile on his face. He reaches for his coffee, takes a sip, and settles deeper into the worn cushions.
For a while, everything is perfect.
You don't know how long you've been asleep when it happens.
A voice. In your head. Not Steve's. Not Hopper's. Not El's. Someone else.
—can hear me, can't you? Number Nine.
Your eyes fly open.
The cabin is dark. The fire has burned low, it is just embers now. Steve is still asleep beneath you, his breathing slow and even. Hopper is slumped in his chair, his chin on his chest.
You didn't think you could really escape, did you?
You know that voice. You've heard it a thousand times, in the white halls, in the testing rooms, in your nightmares.
Dr. Brenner.
You press your hands to your ears, but it doesn't help. The voice is inside your head, not outside.
I'm closer than you think, he says, and there's something like amusement in his tone. Did you never wonder why the headaches never stopped? Why your walls never stayed up?
Your blood runs cold.
I'm inside them, he says. I'm inside your head. Does that scare you, Nine?
You reach up, without thinking, and touch the back of your neck. Just below your hairline. There's a spot there. You've always assumed it was a scar. A birthmark. Nothing to worry about.
But now, under your fingertips, it feels different. Hard. Like something small and smooth, just beneath your skin.
Three years ago, Brenner's voice continues, soft and pleased. A routine procedure. You were asleep. You never even knew.
Your breath catches. Your fingers press harder against the spot, and you feel it—a tiny bump, a foreign object, something that shouldn't be there.
A chip, he explains, like he's teaching a slow student. State of the art. It allows me to — how shall I put this? — visit. Whenever I want. Wherever you are.
Steve shifts beneath you, mumbling in his sleep. You don't move. Can't move.
I've been watching you, Nine. These past weeks. Your little boyfriend. The Chief. Your sister. A pause. You've been busy.
Horror crawls up your spine.
Don't worry, Brenner says, and his voice is almost kind. I'm not coming for you tonight. I just wanted you to know. To understand. You can run, but you can never hide. Not from me.
Sleep well, little ghost. I'll see you soon.
You sit there in the dark, trembling, your hand still pressed to the back of your neck. Steve sleeps on, unaware. Hopper sleeps on, unaware.
No one knows.
No one but you.
You look at Steve's peaceful face, at Hopper's relaxed form, at the door to the bedroom where El sleeps. They think you're safe. Free. You'll never be free, not really, not while he's inside you. A part of you. A little piece of the lab, buried under your skin, whispering in your head.
And he can find you. Always.
You don't sleep for the rest of the night. You just sit there, in Steve's lap, and wonder how long you have before they come.
Summary: In which Steve doesn't realize that his way of coping with Nancy and his breakup is hurting Y/N in the process. He also doesn't notice that Billy Hargrove is not only trying to take his throne, but the girl he's loved forever too
Warning(s): Angst, mutual pining, Billy being bff material, smut, light choking if you squint, fluff, Steve being a dummy, riding, oral (f receiving), cockwarming if you squint
A/N: was listening to Forever by Jessie Murph while writing this
She didn’t really understand how she got to where she was. How she wound up in this position. Truth be told, she somewhat did, cons of asking Steve for a ride to the party.
She would’ve expected him to wander off with Nancy, and do his own thing as usual while she would go join some of her friends for beer pong. She’d expect him to tell her when he and Nance were ready to head out, as she always made sure they got Y/N home okay. Y/N would also expect for him to let her know if he got her a backup ride in case they left before she wanted to.
What she didn’t expect was to watch him storm away, eyes glossed with tears as pure anger set throughout his entire face, pushing past the people in the crowd. Her gaze dropped and frowning as she gulped another sip of her beer. “Steve?” Y/N called out towards his direction.
She followed when he didn’t even so much as acknowledge her, setting her cup somewhere on some random table, the music going to a soft hum as she stepped outside. “Steve, where are you going? What happened?” she calls out, watching him unlock his car. He still said nothing as he clenched his jaw.
“Steve?” she says once more, rushing down the yard as he started up his engine. “Steve!” her voice rises as he begins to drive off without her. Y/N lets out a few curse words as she flips off his car while it sped down the street.
She tried searching for Nancy when she got back inside, only to find her being carried out by Jonathan, explaining she was drunk off of her ass. She nods, thanking him while letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. When Jonathan offered her a ride, she politely declined, saying she would ask one of her friends to bring her back. Explaining that he should worry about getting Nancy home safely.
Which now led her to where she stood on the porch, drink in hand as she let out a frustrated huff. Her friends had all been long gone by the time she tracked down one of their boyfriends, stating how they were all planning to stay put for the night. She usually would’ve stuck with that idea, but she had to be home to bring Dustin to Mike’s the next morning.
“The party’s inside, sweetheart,” a voice chuckles behind her, making her roll her eyes.
She didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to. “Too overstimulating, and I’m trying to sober up enough to walk home.”
Billy Hargrove takes a seat next to her, cigarette in hand as he blows out a puff of smoke. “Thought King Steve was your chauffeur,” he snorted. “At least I see you following him like a lost puppy. How does Nancy not hate that?”
Y/N scoffs. “I do not follow him around like that. We’re best friends, and on top of that, they both want me to stay close by in case we need to leave. So don’t act all snarky, Hargrove.”
Billy lets out a loud laugh, taking in another drag. “I’m just saying,” he starts. “You’re a little obvious for how in love you are with Harrington. Maybe back off a bit, or better yet, leave the guy be.”
Y/N’s gaze snaps toward him, glaring hard. “What the fuck are you on, Hargrove?” she snaps, watching his eyebrows raise as his smirk widens.
“Struck a nerve, have I?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
He purses his lips while shaking his head. “Not a bit,” he takes another drag. “But he’s gotta watch his own actions before Nancy realizes he loves you too.”
Y/N’s eyes widened at his words.
“What are you talking about?” she snips, and he shrugs as he stands up, blowing out the last of his cigarette.
He turns back to her, holding out his hands for her to take. “I’m gonna head home, I’ll drop you on the way.”
“I’d rather take another gulp of whatever is in Tommy’s mystery punch bowl than ride anywhere with you,” she scoffs, Billy rolling his eyes as he lets out a huff.
“It’s the least I can do for being an ass-”
“You’re always an ass-”
“Are you always this much of a fucking headache, Henderson?”
Y/N just stares up at him in shock at his tone, watching as he stands in front of her with his hands on his hips. She then sighs, crossing her arms. “You’ve been drinking, Billy.”
He purses his lips once more with a smirk, shaking his head lightly. “I can take more than you think, honey. I am sober enough to drive with my eyes closed if I wanted to.”
She eyes him once more before taking his hands he then offers her once more, Billy helping her stand upright as he leads her to his car. He even opened up the passenger side for her, closing it once she was inside.
The engine revved to life, Billy giving her a smug expression before he sped off into the night.
It was quiet for the first few moments, Y/N’s gaze looking out the window with her hands picking at one another in her lap.
“So what is it about King Steve that makes you so obsessed with him? Let alone every girl I’ve met at that shit school of yours?” he starts up, making her groan and shake her head. “He seems like he’s so up his own ass, you can see his head coming up his throat.”
“Oh fuck off, you’re just as cocky. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, just let it go.”
He tuts. “Nope, I’m driving you home so I deserve to know what it is. You owe me that.”
“I’d rather jump out of the moving car-”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Well you’re wrong.”
Billy grabs her jaw to make her look at him as they rolled up to a stoplight. “Am I? Because it seems like you can’t see how you stare at him like he hung the moon.”
His tone is a bit more serious, nothing playful whatsoever as he looks at her, her eyes deflating as she sighs. She takes his hand off of her when the light turns green, rubbing her face in exhaustion. “There’s a lot to it,” she admits. “But he’s just always been there. Even in the worst circumstances, I’ve never had to question if he would be there for me. Even for my brother, he’s there at the drop of a dime.”
“Seems like tonight was the opposite.”
She rolled her eyes before sending him a scowl. “Something happened, so he probably needed to be alone. I get that way too when things happen. I’m gonna give him his space if so,” she explains, Billy snickering at her words.
“Wow you really are down bad, sweetheart,” he jokes. “Here I thought I’d be able to woo you somehow.”
“Not like I’d give you the time of day, Hargrove. That dick of yours has been in every girl known at Hawkins high school,” she shot back with a chuckle, watching as his jaw dropped lightly at her words. He puts a hand to his chest as he acts hurt playfully.
“Well played, Henderson. I’ll give you that,” he laughs, making her smile at him in amusement. “I like you, you’ve got some spunk to you.”
“You think I do, you should hear half the things my brother says.”
“Ah yes, the famous Dustin Henderson. I know all about that kid and his little shits of a friendgroup.”
She narrows her eyes and smacks his arm, making him hiss. “They’re good kids. Don’t you dare start.”
“They cause my sister to get into trouble, which causes me to get into trouble with our parents.”
“Well from now on if she goes off, you can tell your parents she’s with Dustin at my house. Have them call me and I’ll happily help you out. That way you don’t have to cancel any hookups of yours,” she jokes. “Fair trade?”
He rolls his eyes. “Noted.”
He pulled into her driveway, Y/N opening the door to step out, only for him to say her name softly. She bends down to look at him in the low car.
“Don’t wait around for a guy that’ll make you his second choice.”
She bit her lip. “He’s not like that.”
Billy gives her a look. “If you need help with igniting the fire, give me a ring.”
She laughs before closing his car door, waving goodbye as she begins to walk back to her doorstep.
It was the next morning, and Y/N had been stressing at the fact that she knew Steve was coming to pick her up this morning. She didn’t really want to deal with the awkward tension right away in that car, especially if things went down between him and Nancy.
She hesitated picking up the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number written down on a piece of gum wrapper from the night before. Her fingers slowly dialed the numbers into the keypad, biting her bottom lip as she held the phoneline to her ear. It didn’t ring for long, someone picking up the landline after a couple rings. “Hargrove residence, who’s calling?” a smaller voice, that didn’t take long for Y/N to know it was Max. She smiles softly to herself.
“Hey Max, it’s Y/N. I know this is going to sound weird, but is Billy there? He gave me a ride home last night, and I had to ask him something.”
She hears Max chuckle on the other line. “What in the world did you get yourself into last night?” she jokes, making Y/N run a hand over her face. “I swear it’s not what it sounds like. Steve ditched me, and Billy was nice to just give me a ride home.”
“If you say so,” Max snickered. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you because my brother is an asshole.”
“It’s not like that, but I’ve got it.”
There’s some rummaging on the other side for a few moments, before it was just quiet for a small second. Bily’s voice booming through the phone softly. “Well if it isn't a little miss lovergirl. You change your mind?”
“Very funny,” she chuckles dryly, twisting the phoneline between her fingertips. “I really don’t want to be stuck in that awkward tension with him this morning. Are you able to pick me up?”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, Y/N shaking her head to herself before rubbing her forehead. “It’s fine if not,” she says quickly. “I will just walk if anything. I just cannot deal with all of that first thing in the morning.”
Billy hums for a second, leaning against the doorway with a smug look on his face. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be to let a girl walk to school, hm? Especially if it’s the one that’s going to cause Harrington a hard time?” he jokes back, making her roll her eyes.
“I’ll just walk at this point-”
“Okay, alright fine. Sorry. Yes I’ll be there in a few. Hang tight.”
With that the line clicks, and Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She finishes up her morning routine and eats breakfast with Dustin across from one another.
As she is finishing up putting her dish in the sink, a car honks outside and it makes her freeze. Dustin eyes her with a confused look. “That’s not Steve’s car,” he says matter of factly. Y/N shuts her eyes for a second before huffing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Dustin smirks. “Oh I’m not worried,” he says slyly. “But Steve might.”
She shrugs. “Not my problem,” she mumbles before grabbing her bag, and going to give him a small hug. “Stay out of trouble today, please? Or at least wait till I’m home to go back into the woods.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, and nods. “No promises.”
With that she walks out the door, and looks up to see Billy’s car pulled up. Max is in the passenger seat, her smile widening at the sight of Y/N. Billy pushes Max’s arm, making her snap her head back at him with a glare. He nods to the backseat, making her huff and slide to the back.
Y/N smiles down at Max as she opens the car door to get inside. “Well good morning Maxine,” she chuckles.
Max smiles as Y/N hops into the passenger seat in front of her, squeezing her shoulders once she is inside. Once the door is shut, Billy sped off without warning, making both girls hold onto some part of the car while he laughs.
“Thank you,” Y/N says after a bit of driving. “For last night, and this morning. I mean.”
Billy shrugs. “Anything to make Harrington shake in his boots, I’m for it.”
She narrows her eyes while crossing her arms. “Is that all you’re keen on doing? To take some stupid title in the school that’s his?” she shoots, shaking her head. “If that’s your goal, you really have a low satisfaction line. Which is kind of sad.”
“That’s how he is,” Max sighs, making Billy glare at her through the rearview.
“Shut up, Max.”
“You’re not going to be an ass to her, not while I’m around. Especially if she’s right,” Y/N cuts in, making Billy roll his eyes.
“You sure have some spunk to you, don’t you princess?”
She grimaces at the nickname, smacking his arm. “Never that. Disgusting.”
“Okay fine,” he huffs. “No, I’m not just doing it to get on Harrington’s nerves. It is fun, yes, but I’m also doing it because I didn’t think you deserved to be ditched like that. I may be an asshole and go through girls like I do, but I’m not past letting a girl get left like that.”
Y/N raised her brows in shock at his words, but nodded slowly. “I don’t know how that really cancels out with how you treat women, but I guess that’s nice? Of you?” she trails off, not missing the way Max holds in a snort. Y/N trying to hide a smirk herself, and Billy eyes her.
“I’m half tempted to make you walk the rest of the way.”
“Do it, then. I said I was fine walking.”
Billy huffs out a laugh, turning down the street as the school comes to view slowly. “You really are a little shit like your brother.”
“If that’s what you think, then sure,” she shot back, not missing the way he coughs over a snort leaving his lips.
Y/N had a few side conversations with Billy after that throughout the schoolday, only when they walked past one another in the school’s hallways. Or if they were in the same class, he would come sit next to her instead, and just talk to her. Nothing more than platonic, Billy enjoying having a girl that didn’t want him just to say she had him, but because she actually wanted to be his friend.
The bell rang, signalling that second period was over. Y/N grabbing her books as she headed to her locker. She put away her history books and grabbed her things for physics, shutting her locker and jumped at the sight of Steve coming to view behind it. She held a hand up to her chest, letting out a breath. “Fuck, Steve,” she sighs. “You can’t just show up like that unannounced.”
Steve is looking at her with a hardened face, but his eyes are soft as he crosses his arms. “I showed up to your place this morning, Dustin said you were already gone. I was almost late to school. Where were you?” he asked her, making her eyes flick away from his. She tightened her grip on her books.
“I’m gonna be late for physics,” she mutters before trying to breeze past him. Steve grabs her arm and turns her back to him. Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, looking at where his hand was and then back up into his eyes. “Steve I have a test this period, I can’t be late-”
“Where were you this morning?”
Y/N sighs. “You now care? It seemed quite the opposite last night,” she shot, making his face drop.
“I was upset about the fight that happened between Nance and I. I just needed to get out of there,” he sighs, his voice getting quieter after each word he spoke. Y/N looked between his eyes. “I also just thought you’d be able to get a ride home from Tina or Rachel. So I didn’t really think about it after that.”
“Well then there you go. One of them picked me up this morning. End of story.”
Steve looks straight through her and frowns. “They’re not here today. Too hungover,” he shot back, Y/N snatching her arm away from his grip.
“Well either way I got home, okay? Just leave it alone.”
“Y/N-”
“I’ve gotta go Steve.”
She turns to walk away, only stuttering in her steps slightly when she sees Billy walking by. Based on the look on his face, he had seen the interaction and gave her a questioning look as if asking if she was okay. She nods curtly before breezing past him, taking a sharp turn down the hallway towards the labs.
Billy’s face turns back to Steve, he doesn’t miss the way Steve’s expression hardens at the small interaction he had with his best friend. Billy gave him a snide smirk before walking off, patting his chest when he passed. He was going to get under Steve’s skin if it was the last thing he did.
After Billy found out through Tommy and Carol that Steve and Nancy had gotten into a fight, pretty much breaking up at the party, he was going to get Steve to crack. He was going to make sure he pissed Steve off in every way possible, to the point he finally realized how much he wanted Y/N too.
At least, if Y/N wasn’t going to do it, Billy was going to do it. In the most menace way possible.
Especially when lunchtime came, he noticed Y/N was sitting at the familiar table that their entire group sat at, his eyes seeing Steve was still getting his food at the lunch line. Billy made his way over, sitting right next to her, leaning his elbow on the table causing her to jump at his sudden figure next to her.
She smacked his chest. “You cannot sneak up on a girl like that, Hargrove!” she hissed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. He smiles widely at her.
“When’s your free period?” he asked her, and she hummed while thinking and taking a bite of her food.
“Fifth, why?”
He leans toward her. “You should come sit in the gym for a bit. Watch me humble your little boyfriend for a change.”
She eyes him. “This again?”
He chuckles with a shrug. “I just want to push his buttons a little. I think you’d enjoy that after he ditched you after the Halloween party.”
“I already told you, he and Nance had a nasty fight. He apologized after that.”
Billy hums with a smug grin. “I think it still would be fun to watch, no? Come on,” he trails off, making her grimace.
“Fine. But only because I couldn’t reserve the study hall in the library.”
“Good,” he says before standing up, his eyes immediately meeting Steve’s, who was glaring straight through him as he watched the boy slowly stand from the spot next to her.
“Harrington,” Billy scoffs smugly. Steve’s eyes furrowed. “Wrong table, Hargrove.”
“It’s not if Henderson’s at it.”
Steve sets his tray down next to Y/N, the spot where Billy once sat, before standing over Billy
“Back. Off,” he says. “She’s not the next girl on your list, so move to the next will you?”
Y/N frowns, putting a hand on Steve's arm. “Steve, leave it be,” she says, only for him to still look at Billy. Billy’s smirk just widens as he eyes Steve up and down. He looks at Y/N, eyebrows raising.
She gives him a look as if telling him to knock it off as well, watching his eyes roll while he chuckles. He puts his hands up in defense, before pointing at her for a minute. “I’ll see you during fifth,” he chuckles. With that, he walks off, Steve huffing before slumping into the seat next to hers. She looks at him with an amused look, watching as he looks at her and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t start,” he says with a sigh, she snorts.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“He’s harmless. Just being nice, that’s all.”
Steve looks at her with a look. “He’s being nice out of the blue? Yeah, he wants you, honey. You’re one of the girls on that long list of his.”
“Okay, don’t be an ass,” she groans, rubbing her hand over her face. “I’m still pissed at you, so you have no right.”
He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be, I swear. I just,” he sighs. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You deserve someone better than that jackass.”
Y/N’s eyes still at his words. “Steve, I’m not interested in him. He’s really just being friendly, that’s all. Nothing more, I made sure to vocalize that.”
He eyes her before letting it go, nodding before taking a bite of his food. “How did you even cross paths?” he asks her, making her shrug. She hadn’t told him that Billy was the one who drove her home that night, knowing he was already having a hard time with what happened that night with Nance. The last thing she needed was for him to flip out on hearing she was seen leaving with Hargrove that night.
“Just one of the classes we have together. We were partners for something in Physics, so now we’re just friendly.”
He snorts. “I’ve never known that guy to be nice to a woman unless he wanted something else.”
“Steve.”
He eyes her, before huffing. “Okay fine, I’m sorry. I know I don't have the right to worry, but I do,” he says. “I’m also sorry. About last night. You didn’t do anything, and you would’ve just been there to let me rant about what happened.”
Y/N nods, her chest tightening at his words. “I get that you needed time, but you could’ve just said that as you were leaving. You left without a word as if I did something,” she explains. “I mean it’s not that big of a deal to me anymore, because I’ve literally been in those woods at night after being chased by those creature things, but it hurts because of how you left.”
Steve’s gaze softens as he stares into her eyes. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“You don’t need to make up for it. Just don’t shut me out,” she says, and he nods.
“So about Hargrove-”
“Steven.”
“Right, dropping it. Sorry.”
Fifth period came a lot quicker than she thought, not taking much time to grab her things to bring to the gymnasium. She saw that the guys were all already there, warming up for their game of Basketball, while she walked up to the bleachers to take a seat. She unpacks some of her homework, knowing it was better to get it done now rather than wait.
She nearly had to roll her eyes when she saw the giant smile on Billy’s face, seeing he wasn’t wearing his shirt, panting as they positioned themselves for the next ball drop. Steve’s eyes followed Billy’s, gaze hardening as he saw Y/N sitting in the stands, her face lightly red as she rolled her eyes at Billy. He turned back to eye Billy.
“You can’t just leave her be, can you, Hargrove?” he scoffs, panting as sweat rolls down his neck.
Billy shrugs, playing into it. “It’s fun when you want something you can’t have.”
Steve’s insides burn at his comment, zoning in as the game starts off not too long after.
Each time Y/N pulled her eyes up to watch the boys, she noticed how Steve and Billy were always on each other. She watches as Steve runs up on Billy, ball in hand as Billy guards up against him.
She can see that they’re exchanging words, but not for long because Billy then snatches the ball from him, going down the court to score. Billy stuck his tongue out smugly, panting and sweating as he eyed Steve in amusement, before going to wink at Y/N. Before Steve can say another word, he hears his name, causing him to turn and see Nancy.
Y/N’s heart clenches just slightly, not missing how easy Steve followed after her, Y/N’s eyes following the pair. Billy’s eyes leave the pair that exit the gym, his eyes softening as he sees Y/N’s longing stare at where the couple once stood. He felt his anger burn for her, knowing she was so into Steve that it hurt her. No matter how much she denied it.
He continued to play, anger radiating off of him as he creamed their team without Steve. One of his teammates had to exit the gym to go grab Steve as they got dominated by Billy.
When Steve came back in, he looked more pissed off than he did before, putting everything into his game that he could. Y/N knew something bad must’ve happened, based on how hard he was pushing up against his opponents. He was panting so hard she was convinced he would pass out.
The whistle blew soon after the excruciating game, Y/N having to prevent herself from wincing at the scoreboard.
She began to pack up her stuff, zipping up her bag as she made her way down the bleachers. Her eyes caught Steve’s, frowning at his expression. He looked like he was trying to zone out, wiping a towel across his face as he breathed heavily. “Steve?” she called, walking over to him.
“What happened? You okay?” she asks, walking with him as he goes to grab his water bottle. He hums while squirting water into his mouth.
“I saw Nance walk in-”
“Please don’t. Not right now,” he says, walking off towards the locker rooms. She turns to him with her eyebrows furrowed. “Do you want to go for a drive after school to talk about it?” she asks, and he shakes his head turning to look at her.
“You’re going to have to find another ride home. I’ve gotta stay here for tutoring tonight.”
“Again? You’re shutting me out? We just talked about this,” she says, and Steve looks down at her as his figure towers over her. He kissed her forehead softly. With that, he heads into the locker room, making her chest tighten just slightly. Billy’s hand comes up to her arm, squeezing softly.
“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.
“I just hate how he does this. He shuts me out when things go wrong.”
He takes another gulp of his water. “You want a ride home?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll just walk. I’ve got to wait for Dustin anyways.”
He hesitates slightly, before nodding. She nods at him. “Besides I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this study date with Heather tonight. Just go, I’ll be fine,” she assures, making him purse his lips before squeezing her arm one last time and heading to the men' s locker rooms.
The walk home was nice for her, as she and Dustin talked about everything he figured out for what’s going on with Dart, his new animal friend he found in their trashcan. Saying how he’s going to take him to the school tomorrow to see if anyone can figure out what he is.
Once they had gotten home, Y/N had immediately set to the bathroom to take a shower, rinse off the last few days as she let her thoughts run.
She sighed as she dries off and throws on her pajamas, hanging up her towel. She hears a knock on the door, she opens it slightly. Dustin looks at her sheepishly.
“Mom’s going to sleep early tonight, and I need to get to Max’s. Can you drive me?” he asks her, she groans.
“Did she say I could take her car?” she asks, and he nods. “Yeah, just- give me a second.”
“If anything you can stop at Steve’s on the way back. I heard Mike say that he and Nance broke up. He’s taking it pretty hard.”
She froze slightly, but rolled her eyes while throwing on her sweats instead of her shorts. “You guys need to stay out of their business.”
He snickers. “You know about it all too, so you’re just as nosey.”
She shook her head as she grabbed the keys from his hand. “I actually didn't. Steve has shut me out since it happened,” she admits, walking out to the car. “That’s why I’ve been getting rides from someone else.”
“You mean Billy?” Dustin shot, making Y/N halt in her tracks. Her head snaps back at him, she lets her eyes shut with a groan.
“Max,” she says more to herself, Dustin nodding as he packs up his bag.
“You need to be careful with that douchebag. He’s not good company to keep,” he explains. “At least that’s what Max says. Has a new girl with him every second of the day.”
Y/N squints at him. “I don’t want Billy. Just because he’s nice to me, doesn’t mean he has my attention,” she explains. “Besides. I’m already stuck on someone else. I couldn’t get over them if I tried.”
“Steve wants you too, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not this again-”
Dustin frowns as he opens his car door. “You’re his best friend, how has he not said anything?”
She shrugs. “He needs his space if it’s as bad as I think it is.”
“Or maybe he’s finally coming to the realization he’s in love with you.”
“Dustin!”
“What? It’s true!”
She rolls her eyes. “At least that’s what Nancy thinks. Said something about how he can’t fully commit. She thinks it’s because he’s obsessed with you.”
She palms her face. “Okay enough, stop eavesdropping on Nancy’s phone calls. I’ll tell her you’ve been listening next time.”
His eyes widened, only nodding before changing the subject about something Mr.Clark was teaching currently. Only, Y/N’s mind couldn’t focus as she thought about if that was really true. Her thoughts threw a million questions around her mind as her brother rambled.
Once she pulled into the driveway, she put the car in park and told Dustin to call her if he needed her to come get him. Knowing full well he would get back in one piece after everything that happened before El disappeared.
She pulled out of the driveway, beginning her trek home, her mind going to wander back to Steve. More so back to what her brother was saying earlier. He had to be wrong. Had to have heard the conversation wrong, right? Because she knew how in love he was with Nancy. He only told her more than one hundred times. Each time aching more than the last.
Y/N was sure he heard it wrong, not bothering to think much more about it as she drove back home quietly.
Once she got home, she could hear her mom’s wave machine going, meaning she was passed out. She set the keys on the table before trudging to her room, closing the door behind her.
She walked up to her phone, taking in a deep breath before raising the handle up to her face and dialing in Steve’s number. She wanted to check in, see if he was okay despite him shutting her out.
The line began to ring as she played with the cord, biting her lip as she waited. It seemed as though it rang forever, making her sigh. She knew he was home by now, but he was choosing to not answer. It went to the answering machine shortly after.
“Steve,” she says softly. “I know you’re hurting, and that you’re shutting down. But don’t shut me out, I want to help you. Whatever happened, I’m here to listen,” she says firmly. “But if you really want space, I'll give you your space. I just hope you’re okay.”
With that, she hung up the phone, and went to sit in her bed.
The next day wasn’t much better, as he was now avoiding her almost completely. Instead of prying, she chose to let it be, knowing he needed the space. She ended up walking to school that morning, only to get an earful from Billy, saying he would’ve happily stopped by to grab her again. She didn’t argue, as she was too exhausted to do so.
When lunchtime came, she saw him sitting at their table, making her eyes light up slightly. She began to walk over to him, going to sit in her normal spot. When she set her tray down, he immediately grabbed his own and began to walk away from her. She frowned at his behavior, her eyes burning slightly as tears lightly formed. She blinked them away.
Y/N didn’t notice how Billy had watched the encounter, how he had noticed them all morning. He walked over to sit with her, telling her to come sit in the gym once more during fifth period, in which she nodded.
She asked him how it went with Heather the night before, letting him ramble about it to distract her from the ache in her chest.
When fifth period came, the boys were playing much harder than they had the day before, Y/N was writing down her notes as she heard yelling. She looked up, watching Billy yell out King Steve as he dribbled the ball. She watched the banter. “I like it. Acting tough today,” he plays.
Steve rolls his eyes, guarding Billy. “Jeez, do you ever stop talking man? Come on,” he ushers back in a snippy tone. Billy just laughs as he dribbles the ball. “Why? You afraid coach is going to bench you now that I’m here, huh?” he pushes, watching the fire in Steve’s eyes ignite. With that, he pushes forward and checks Steve with ease, causing Steve to land on the ground with a loud thump and screech on the gym floor. She stood up like a reflex, shock written all over her face. She doesn’t miss the way he goes back over to Steve, lending down a hand.
Steve glares at Billy, but takes his hand. “Or are you more afraid I’m going to take the one girl you’re too afraid to admit you couldn’t commit to Wheeler for?” he taunts, watching as Steve’s eyes harden. “You’re moving your feet. Plant them next time. Draw a charge,” he growls, before slamming Steve back into the ground and walking away to cheer with his teammates.
He slowly straightens up, his eyes going over to the bleachers where he spots Y/N. She’s looking at him with both confusion and concern in her eyes, he doesn’t say anything, only looks away and gets back up to join his own team.
Y/N’s heart aches as he goes back to acting like she’s just another person in the gym, slowly going to sit back down.
Steve goes to guard Billy again, his eyes so harsh, they could’ve put Billy six feet under if looks could kill. “You’re not going to touch her. You’re gonna stay away from her,” he snaps, watching as Billy gets the ball passed to him.
Billy laughs at his words, expression smug. “Careful. You almost sound territorial,” he snickers. “Besides, if I wanted her. I’d have her already. But she’s too stuck on the only guy who takes her for granted.”
Steve charges after him at that, playing as hard as he can the rest of the class period.
When the whistle blows, Y/N is quick to grab her things and leave. Not wanting to stick around after what she witnessed, and knowing she also needed to get ready to take her test after school ended.
The boys headed to the locker rooms to shower, Steve letting the water wash away every ounce of anger he had towards Billy. Only to huff when he knew it wasn’t going to work.
“Don’t sweat it Harrington. Today’s just not your day, man,” Billy says in the stall next to him.
“Not your week, more so,” Tommy chuckles with a smug smirk on his face. “You and your princess break it off for one day, and she’s already running off with the freak’s brother,” he says, making Steve look at him with light confusion before looking away.
Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh shit,” he says. “You don’t know. Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday, and still haven’t shown. That must just be a coincidence, right?” he cackles, Steve eyeing him, scrubbing the suds through his scalp.
“I don’t give a fuck about them. He can have her for all I care,” Steve snaps back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Billy smirks with a hum.
“Oh I know,” he trails off. “You finally come to your senses over your Henderson girl, right? I hear she’s the reason you hate commitment. Because you want to commit to her, is that it?” Billy taunts, letting the water run down his chest.
Steve scoffs and shakes his head, paying no mind to what either man was saying. “You don’t know her like that.”
“Oh, yes I do. I know a lot more than you think.”
Steve froze in his spot, his head slowly turning over towards Billy. “The fuck did you say?”
Tommy laughs, giving Billy a look. “You better tell him before he finds out through someone else, Hargrove,” he says, before grabbing his towel and turning off the shower.
His words make Steve freeze. “What’re you talking about?”
Tommy wraps his towel around his waist. “Wow you really have been out of the loop,” he trails off, nodding his head at Billy. “She left with him after the Halloween party. Why do you think they’ve been so inseparable? Girl can’t get enough of him.”
Billy glares at Tommy. “Goodbye Tommy,” he snaps back, watching the guy walk away with a smug grin on his face. Steve’s jaw was clenched, his eyes darkening as he looked over at Billy.
“Relax, Harrington,” he chuckles. “Since some dick I know left her by herself that night, I was a gentleman and drove her home,” he admits, smirking happily. “You’re lucky she’s so obsessed with you, otherwise I definitely would’ve taken her back with me, and trust me,” he chuckles while turning off the shower, patting Steve on the shoulder. “I’m still debating.”
Steve eyed him hard as he left, whipping off his own shower head.
Y/N had finished up her test, smiling warmly at her teacher as she handed it in, bidding a goodnight as she left the classroom. The halls were now quiet as it was after school hours, the rain slowly beginning to dribble outside as she could hear the echoes of other students playing in the gyms.
When she opened up the school doors, the breeze had gotten a little chillier, goosebumps arising on her skin as she walked down the sidewalk. The rain slowly picked up as she walked, making her put her hood up.
Her eyes squinted as she noticed Steve’s car was still there, making her frown. She then froze only slightly as he stood, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He looked more than upset. He looked livid. “Steve? Why are you still at school? I thought you didn’t have tutoring tonight.”
“Get in the car.”
She frowns at his cold tone the closer she got. She shook her head.
“No. Not after how you’ve been treating me lately,” she shot back, walking up to him. He clenched his jaw as the rain began to get heavier. He towered her figure, eyes staring down into her own. “I have to wait for Dustin too.”
“He went home with Mike,” he answered quickly. “Get. In. The car,” he says once more.
Instead of prying, she huffs and walks over to the passenger side where he goes to hold open the car door for her, letting her slide in. As he closes her door and rounds to his side, she sets her bag on the floor in the back. He slams his door shut before reversing out of the parking lot, and driving off.
“Why are you so pissed off? What did I do to you to make you hate me so much in the span of seventy-two hours?” she finally breaks the silence, her arms crossing over her chest as the rain poured.
His jaw tightens at her words, hand rubbing over his jaw. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you acting like a dick? All I’ve been trying to do is help you, and you act like I don’t exist,” she scoffs as she keeps her gaze on the window. “I don’t know what happened between you and Nance, but I’m just trying to be there for you.”
He stays silent for a few moments, and then speaks. “We broke up. Things were complicated and she said things between us weren’t going anywhere.”
“You could’ve just talked to me, you didn’t have to shut me out. I would’ve listened,” she says in a softer manner. Still somewhat firm to show she was standing her ground.
“It seems you had your hands full with Hargrove anyways,” he says under his breath, but it was loud enough for her to hear. She snapped her head over to him.
“What?”
“You really took a ride home from Billy Hargove? Of all people? Seriously?”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you didn’t run off like you did! Besides, he offered and was actually nice to me the entire way,” she explains, running her hands through her hair. “You have no right to be upset. You’re the one ignoring me and acting all big macho whenever he’s around.”
“Is he the one who’s been picking you up too? Bringing you home even?” he shot, making her roll her eyes.
“You’re a fucking ass. Why are you so obsessed with this guy?”
“Because he’s not good for you! He wants to fuck you, and then leave you for the streets! You’re nothing but a piece of pussy to that man!” he blows up, making her eyes harden and her eyebrows furrow.
“Stop the car.”
“What-”
“Stop the fucking car, Harrington! I will not be scolded like I’m a fucking child by you! Stop the fucking car, so I can walk the rest of the way.”
Steve looks at her like she is crazy. “Are you kidding? It’s pouring-”
Y/N starts to unlock his car doors, going to pull open the lever as the car was still driving, causing Steve to slam on his brakes as she opened his car door. “Y/N seriously?” he screeches, getting out of the car to follow after her. “Get back in the car! You’re being ridiculous!”
“I’m not! You’re the one being an asshole, Harrington!” she yells back, not looking behind her. She hears him let out a frustrated groan before slamming his car doors shut, and his engine coming up to the side of her. He rolled down the window.
“Get in the car, Y/N!”
She ignored his pleas, her body shivering as she was now drenched from the pouring rain. “Y/N M/N, get in the damn car before I make you,” he warns, letting out a low growl as she still looks forward and keeps walking. Steve brakes the car once again, opening his door and stomping up to her figure.
Y/N feels arms wrap around her waist, despite her protests, she’s then thrown over Steve’s shoulder. “Put me the fuck down, Steve! What the fuck is your problem?” she screams out, punching at his lower back.
“Seriously, let me down! I’m fuckign done with you and your bipolar fucking behavior-”
Her words die in her throat with a squeak as a loud smack is heard, a sting following on her ass a few moments after. She narrows her eyes. “Did you just-?” She trails off as he walks over to open his backseat doors.
Steve softly places her figure into his back seats, ignoring her curses and shouts at him as he slams the door shut and gets back into the driver’s seat. He sped off after that, not missing the way she was sending daggers to the back of his head.
“I told you to get back in the car, and you didn’t listen.”
“Because you were treating me like shit, and started accusing me of sleeping with Billy. When all he’s been doing, is being a better friend than you. Nothing more than that.” she spat, crossing her arms over her shivering figure. Steve sighs, clenching his jaw at her words. Knowing deep down that she was right, he was being a total asshole to her.
“Not when I feel how I feel about you. I can’t move on, even if I tried.”
He froze, his heart stopped for a split second at her words, realizing she had said it so quietly in hope he didn’t hear, but he heard her perfectly clear.
All of his anger slowly washed away as her words repeated in his mind, realizing that Nancy was right. He couldn’t tell Nancy he loved her, not when Y/N had been here all along. No matter how hard he tried, he really tried to make things work with Nancy. But she knew it wasn’t meant to be.
Because he couldn’t control how strong his feelings were becoming towards Y/N. Nancy knew it too, she saw it when he didn’t. Which was why she couldn’t blame him. He did try. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not after how things just ended with Nancy. He needed to see if what he felt for Y/N really was real, which was why he pushed away. Turns out it was more real than he ever knew or understood. Especially after hearing Billy’s words.
“We’re going to mine,” is all he says, making her glare at him.
“What? No, I’m drenched, I need to go home and-”
“I have stuff you can borrow, so stop whining. We need to actually talk,” he shot back, making her go quiet with her mouth open in shock. “No distractions, nothing. Because your brother will somehow bring us into the next adventure going on, and we need to figure our shit out.”
Y/N lets out a grumble, but doesn’t argue any further, the car was quiet the rest of the way to his place.
Once he parked in his driveway, he grabbed both of their bags, then opened the door for her to get out. She whisks past him as he locks his car, the pair running up to take cover under the slight covering over his front doorstep.
When they both got inside, the sound of the rain pattering hard over the roof was heard, as well as the light sounds of the occasional thunder booming. He sets down their stuff, huffing at his now drenched state, shrugging off his jacket.
“You can shower in mine. I’ll use my parents.”
He leads them upstairs, grabbing her a towel and walking her into his room that she knew all too well. He hands her a pair of his sweats and a hoodie of his she always used to wear, before grabbing his own towel and heading towards his parents’ room without another word.
She goes into his bathroom, looking around as she sees it’s still the same. It’s been a while since she has been here. Her having the decision that maybe they shouldn’t hang out like they used to when he started dating Nancy. She didn’t want Nancy to think otherwise, and knew it wouldn’t look right.
Y/N let the shower run for a bit, letting it get warm as she stripped down her soaked clothes, a light shiver running down her spine.
Once the steam had filled the bathroom, she stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded down her back, making her let out a small hum in content at how good the warmth felt. She rinsed and washed up quietly as she let her thoughts linger as she rinsed her hair.
She was too in her mind to hear the door open slowly, Steve closing it behind him as he saw her back turned away from his figure.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Not after hearing what she said. He was sick of dancing around it.
When he opened the glass door, Y/N jumped at the noise and turned towards him with eyes wide. “Steve? What’re you doing?” she asked softly, her voice sounding exhausted. Defeated. Steve said nothing, only closing it behind him and walking to her slowly. Y/N’s eyes followed his own as they took in her figure, then eyes softening as his eyes found her own.
He stopped just inches in front of her, the water running over them both, Steve towering over her as he looked down at her. Her eyes staring between his own as his hand came up to her jaw to make her fully look up at him.
He inched closer to her face with his own, their lips just millimeters away. Y/N’s hands stayed covering her chest, but slowly slid down in relaxation as their lips barely touched.
Their eyes looking between one another for what felt like forever, Y/N looked back at Steve with one final nod. That’s all it took, and his lips slammed down onto hers. It was hungry, needy, passionate. Fire ignited between them both as their lips moved in sync. Tongues fighting and teeth clashing as their pants filled the air.
Steve brought both of his hands to her hair, pulling her head back to let his lips openly trail from her lips, biting at the bottom one before going to her cheek, her jaw, and down her neck. Y/N’s eyes shut with absolute bliss at the feeling of his lips making contact with her hot skin. How his tongue poked out every so often, teeth biting at some spots.
Her arms came up to his forearms when he found a sweet spot behind her ear, making him hum in satisfaction. Y/N had grown greedy, and in dire need of his lips on hers once more, making her grab his face from the spot in her neck to slam their lips back together.
Steve’s hands trailed down from her hair, down her body, leaving sparks and fire in his trail as he touched her everywhere he could reach.
He never realized how much he craved her until now. Now, he couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t live with the fact that any guy could have her like this. Could’ve been in his spot. He especially couldn’t stand the fact that Billy almost could’ve been in his place if he waited any longer.
The thought alone made him grip her hips hard, making her whimper lightly in his mouth. He groaned as she bit his lip. They broke apart, just millimeters away from one another as he looked at her with a haze in his eyes.
“I’m never letting you go now,” he muttered softly, leaving one hand on her hip while the other trailed to her belly button. He watched her lips hitch in a gasp at his touch. Her eyes were big and hazy as they looked up at him. The rain poured hard outside, being heard even through the shower running around them. “Not when I’ve got you like this. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve always wanted you. That was the problem, honey.”
His hand trailed down her navel, just above where she needed to feel him most. Her insides burn with desire and need for Steve.
“I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every second of every day,” he trails off, leaving soft kisses on her lips between his words. “You were always the one thing I came back to,” he hums, letting his hand finally cup her heat. He smirked lightly as he watched her eyes roll back as he let his fingers rub up and down her slit.
“Steve.”
“Hm?” he says, letting his hand figure out what she liked, how she wanted, needed, to be touched. Her face would contort when he rubbed or flicked certain spots, making him bite his lip as she watched her lose any ounce of control she had.
“Hargrove kept saying how he would take you like this. How he was debating on it,” he taunts, letting a finger slide in, Y/N let out a moan as her head fell onto his chest. He chuckled darkly as he felt her beginning to hump herself into his hand. “I kept thinking about that. Picturing. It pissed me off.”
She shook her head as her hand went to grasp at his wrist while he pumped his fingers in and out of her. “Never would’ve happened,” she moans. “I wouldn’t have let it happen.”
He takes his free hand from her hip and trails it up to her neck, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes are still lightly closed, light moans and whines leaving her lips.
“You sure? It seemed like you enjoyed getting pretty friendly with Hargrove.”
She shook her head. “Only wanted you. I only want you.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he says softly, taking his fingers out of her, causing her to groan at the sudden loss of contact. “I wish I believed that,” he says, shaking his head. She frowned at his words, still dazed and confused at the fact he left her high and dry.
She decided to push right back at his smugness.
“Maybe I should. If you’re only going to leave me high and dry. I’ll let him finish your job.”
Steve’s eyes darkened at her words, causing him to turn off the water behind her, then grabbing both of her thighs to wrap around his hips. He walked them out to his bedroom, slamming her body onto his bed as he towered over her figure.
“You and that mouth of yours are going to get you in trouble, honey.”
He spread her legs open, biting his lip as he tried to muster his groan, but failing miserably.
“And here I was going to be nice and give you my tongue,” he tuts, before grabbing his dick and sliding it through her folds. “But after that little stunt you pulled, I’m not feeling so nice anymore.”
With that, Steve slams all the way into her. The pair both let out moans at the feeling, Y/N grabbing his hair in one hand while the other scratched down his back. Steve began to pump in and out of her fast and hard, lips and tongue busying themselves with her breasts as they bounced with every thrust.
“Steve, please,” she whimpers at his pace. He looks up at her through his lashes, seeing how she is biting her lip to keep from moaning louder. He releases her left nipple with a pop and leans down to kiss her hard.
“Maybe if you fix that attitude of yours, I’ll take my time,” he groans into her mouth, capturing her moans in his own. “Fuck you the way I’ve been dying to. Nice and slow to show you how in love I am with you. You’d love that wouldn’t you?”
Y/N’s hand grips his hair to pull his head back to make him fully look at her. “Please, baby,” she moans out breathlessly, causing Steve to groan. She clenches around him tight, causing him to stutter his movements. Steve soon begins to slow down slightly, still hitting that spot inside of her that she loved oh so much. Her grip loosened on his head, both hands going to grab the headboard behind her as her back arched. Steve looked down at her in amazement, mouth open as he moaned out her name.
“So fucking pretty, fuck,” he pants, taking her slower as his gaze falls to where they’re connected. He sees her hips grinding up to meet his own, making him bite his lip and grab them to meet his own with each thrust. “You’re fucking mine. Not Hargrove’s. I don’t share. Especially not when it comes to you.”
Y/N can feel the tightness in her stomach getting closer and closer with every thrust, causing her to look back at Steve who is so focused on watching him thrust in and out of her.
“Steve I’m-”
“I know, I can feel it. Let go whenever, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
It didn’t take much for her after that, clenching and sputtering around him with a loud moan that followed with his name. Steve came shortly after, placing his lips over her own as his hips stuttered against her pelvis. When their lips broke apart, Steve’s head immediately went into her neck, kissing at her collarbone a few times as they lay there breathless.
Y/N’s hand trailed from his shoulders, up into his hair. She didn’t miss how his body broke out into goosebumps from her touch. His breathing slowed moments later, his now softened cock still inside of her. She could feel him twitching again, hardening as she clenched around him each time he twitched. “Steve,” she moans softly, gripping his hair as she feels his tongue and teeth biting at the skin along her chest.
“I need more,” he groans out against her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. She arches into his mouth more at the feeling. His hands pushed down her hips as she started to nonchalantly grind up against his hips, letting his own hips slowly thrust and grind into her. “Gonna go all night. I might just need to have you like this forever,” he moans into her nipple, before pulling away with a pop. Y/N grabs his head and pulls his lips back down to hers, his thrusts hard but slow. Moans getting louder between them both as Steve hit that one spot inside her that made her toes curl.
Before Steve could react, Y/N had tightened her grip on him with her legs, turning them over with him still inside of her. She took his hands from her thighs and laced them with hers, pressing them into the mattress beside his head.
Her eyes looking into his with such adoration and want in them. She began to grind into him, moans leaving her mouth as she bit her lip from being too loud. Steve looked up at her mesmerized, mouth agape as he takes in everything about how she looked on top of him.
“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he sighs, watching her throw her head back she grinded and bounced on him.
She let go of his hands, bringing hers to lean back on his thighs as she worked her way on him. Steve’s hands immediately went to the crevice where her hips and thighs met. He gripped them in a bruising hold, guiding her every move as he met his hips with hers. “Fuck Steve,” she moans out, not missing the way he hit that spot inside her once again.
“Nobody will ever get to see you like this, Never again,” he moans as he lets one hand slithering up her front, going to grip her neck in a tight enough hold for it to go to her head. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling. “Not even Hargrove. This is mine.”
“Always has been,” she sighs while looking back down into his eyes. Their highs were coming closer than they did the first time, Steve pulling her down by her neck to meet her with a sloppy kiss.
Both of their movements became faster and faster as the pit in their stomachs got tighter and tighter. “Let go baby. I’m right behind you,” Steve breathes out against her lips, her nodding against him before her hips stutter and stilled as she reaches high. Steve took over and thrusted up into her through both of their highs as Y/N fell forward onto his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails running through his hair. His hands trailing up and down her back as they lay there breathlessly. “This is gonna sting a bit,” he said first, before slowly pulling out of her. They both let out a loud hiss, Y/N followed with a slight whimper at the emptiness as she gripped his hair lightly.
“You okay?” he hums against her, and she nods lightly. He chuckles. “We should probably clean up soon.”
She hums. “Soon. Just not yet,” she breathes out softly against his chest.
“Oh no, I’m basking in this as long as I can,” he chuckles softly. She smiles against his chest at his words. “I’ve got you, and I will not be letting you go anytime soon.”
“So you like me?” she jokes, making him grab her jaw softly to look up at him. He looked at her like she had two heads.
“I think we both know I’m way past liking you,” he admits, making her eyes soften at his words. His thumb caressed her skin softly. “It only took me how many years to come to my senses.”
“It took me being friends with Hargrove for you to come to your senses,” she shot, making him roll his eyes.
“Whatever,” he laughs, making her snort. “He’s not gonna let up on this, you know. He will be giving you shit till the end of time for taking so long.”
Steve eyes her. “He really knew before I did? Ouch.”
She smacked his chest softly. “He figured it out, I didn’t have to say a word.”
“Well, I still don’t like how flirty he is with you. So he better knock that off,” he says slowly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“How will you do that?”
“Oh, honey we’ve got all night. I’ll make sure he knows to keep his hands off.”
Saw ur recent Joe Keery fic and here i deliver an idea i had in mind, I know Halloween is over and all but, Joe reacting to his gf wearing/dressing up as the characters he has played as (ex: Steve,Kurt,Gator,Keys, etc) like they just wanna dress up as the character he played as just to get an reaction from him or something. Like, they dress up as scoops ahoy!steve cuz they saw a costume of it in a shop and went like "oh! I wanna try hehe" complete wig and all LMAO anyways yeah! Sorry i yapped a bit too much whoops-
~🐰
જ⁀➴ ♡ Cosplay of My Heart
જ⁀➴ ♡ Joe Keery x Reader
Summary: You ambush your boyfriend with a week of living cosplay's of his filmography. He's officially banning you from his IMDb page.
જ⁀➴ ♡ Fluffy/Comedy!
A/N: this request was adorableeeeeee, so much fun to write, lowkey Joe's just terrified you know his characters better than him.
Word Count: 2,650
The door to your apartment swung open with the metallic clink of keys hitting the bowl, followed by the familiar shuffle of Joe kicking off his sneakers. "Babe?" His voice carried that slightly raspy, end-of-day tiredness that you loved. "I'm hom - "
The word died in his throat like a phone call dropping mid-sentence.
He stood frozen in the entryway, one hand still gripping the doorframe, the other suspended in the air mid-gesture. His mouth hung open, a perfect 'O' of disbelief, and you could practically see the synapses in his brain misfiring as he tried to process the visual information assaulting his retinas.
You stood in the kitchen doorway, hip cocked against the frame, wearing the full Scoops Ahoy atrocity: the high-waisted blue shorts that stopped at an aggressively unflattering length, the striped shirt that practically screamed I work for minimum wage and I have opinions about sprinkles, and - crowning achievement of your scheme - the wig.
Not a cheap Halloween store knockoff. This was a work of art. The brunette wings swept up from your temples in a gravity-defying arc that seemed to challenge the laws of physics, the hairspray creating a helmet so rigid it looked like it could deflect bullets. It sat slightly askew on your head, giving you the appearance of a disturbed seagull that had crash-landed into a Duluth trading post.
Joe's satchel slipped from his shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud that neither of you acknowledged.
His eyes - those unfairly long-lashed, expressive brown eyes - performed a complicated dance: widening, squinting, widening again, then darting down to your shorts and back up to the architectural nightmare on your head. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, twice.
"Is that - " His voice cracked like a pubescent teenager's, shooting up an octave he hadn't accessed since Stranger Things Season Two. He pointed with a trembling finger, his hand hovering at chest height like he was afraid to get too close. "Is that my hair? Where did you - how did you - " He looked wildly around the room as if searching for hidden cameras, or perhaps a time machine that had transported him back to 1985. "We're in January!"
You struck a pose, double finger-guns aimed directly at his sternum. "Ahoy there, sailor. Interested in a triple-decker sundae? Or perhaps... my digits?"
Joe's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound emerged - just a breathy, astonished wheeze.
He took one unsteady step forward, then stopped, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. His shoulders started to shake. You could see the laugh building in his chest like a tidal wave, pressing against the dam of his disbelief until it burst free in a snort that he immediately tried to smother behind his palm.
"You're wearing the shorts," he observed, his voice coming out muffled and stratospheric. He dragged his hand down his face, stretching his cheek out of shape, eyes still fixed on your legs. "The short shorts." His voice cracked on the second 'short,' breaking into a higher register entirely.
"They chafe a little," you admitted, tugging at the hem. "But fashion is pain, Joseph. Now, do you want to check out my boat, or are you just going to stand there looking like your brain blue-screened?"
He looked at you - really looked at you - and you could see the exact moment horror tipped over into delirious amusement. His eyes crinkled at the corners, crow's feet deepening, and his mouth twisted into a expression caught halfway between agony and adoration. He bent at the waist, hands on his knees, wheezing.
"You know," he gasped, looking up at you with watery eyes, "half my therapy... is about that hair." He straightened slowly, still breathing hard, and walked toward you with the careful steps of a man approaching a wild animal. "I moved mountains to escape that hair. I spent three years growing it out, then hacking off a good chunk of it off and dying it blonde and then finally apologising to my reflection. And here you are..." He reached out, his fingers hovering millimeters from the synthetic blond strands, his touch gentle and reverent and terrified. "...wearing it in my kitchen."
"Correction," you said, tossing an invisible scoop. "I'm wearing it in our kitchen. And I think intimacy means sharing trauma, don't you?"
"That's not - " He wheezed again, doubling over, his forehead nearly touching your shoulder. When he looked up, his face was flushed pink across the cheekbones, his pupils blown wide with mirth. "Oh my god. The hat." He reached up and flicked the brim of the paper sailor hat, which wobbled precariously. "You're wearing the hat. You look like a cast member from a lost episode of The Love Boat that got banned for being too emotionally damaging."
"Thank you. I was going for 'transcendent.'"
He crossed the remaining distance in two long strides, his hands coming up to cup your face - careful, so careful not to disturb the wig, as if touching it might summon some ghost of Hawkins past. His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his touch warm and slightly calloused, and you could feel the suppressed laughter vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours.
"I hate this," he said softly, his voice dropping to that lower register that always made your stomach flip. His eyes searched yours, dancing with mischief. "I hate this so much. I'm horrified. I'm traumatised." He leaned in, his nose brushing your temple, and whispered, "I'm possibly aroused, and I need to reevaluate that later in a safe space with professionals."
"So... you like it?"
"Adore it," he groaned, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of the peppermint gum he always chewed. "You're unhinged. Completely unhinged." He kissed you then - soft, sweet, lingering - and when he pulled back, he was grinning, his hair falling into his eyes. "Take it off before I have flashbacks to the heat stroke."
"Mm, no." You stepped back, executing a twirl that sent the wig shifting a full three seconds after your body stopped moving, like it was operating on a delayed feed. "This is just the beginning."
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Two days later, the front door clicked open with its usual snick, followed by the sound of Joe humming something under his breath - some jingle from a commercial, off-key and content.
He rounded the corner into the living room and stopped so fast his sneakers squeaked against the hardwood.
You stood by the window, backlit by the afternoon sun, holding a bright green toy water gun. The hoodie you wore was a patchwork of ride-share logos - Lyft pink and Uber black clashing violently across fabric that looked like it had been sourced from a clearance bin at a gas station. The wig had been restyled, less poofy to emphasize the faintly unhinged look in your widened eyes.
Joe's phone slipped from his hand.
It hit the carpet with a muted thwap, and he didn't even blink.
"Kurt?" he guessed, his voice a strangled whisper. He took a step backward, hitting the wall, and leaned against it for support. His chest was heaving slightly, his mouth working silently as he catalogued the details - the vacant expression, the slightly parted lips, the thousand-yard stare you were aiming out the window.
"I need five stars, Joe," you said in a flat, affectless monotone, turning your head toward him with the slow, mechanical movement of a malfunctioning robot. Your eyes were too wide, unblinking. "Give me five stars or I'll drive us both off the cliff of customer satisfaction."
Joe's hand flew to his mouth, his fingers pressing hard against his lips as his shoulders began to shake. He slid down the wall until he was crouching on the floor, his knees pulled up, his free hand gripping his hair at the crown. He looked up at you through his fingers, his eyes wet and gleaming, and made a sound like a teakettle boiling over - high-pitched, breathless, broken.
"Where did you even - " He had to stop, dragging in a ragged breath that hitched in the middle. "Thrift store? You went to a thrift store and came back looking like you're about to explain cryptocurrency to me at a red light?"
You pointed to the plastic toy camera duct-taped to your chest. "It's tracking my every movement. Just like my paranoia."
"Okay, first," Joe wheezed, dragging himself up the wall using the doorframe for leverage. He stood there swaying, his face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes darting between your face and the logos on your chest. "First of all, the irony of you wearing this while not knowing how to parallel park is sending me into orbit." He took a wobbly step forward. "Second, you look terrified. Kurt always looked like he was one bad review away from faking his own death. You’ve got the eyes. You’ve got the twitch."
"I'm method acting," you whispered, leaning into his personal space. "I'm currently experiencing a low tip percentage and an existential crisis about the gig economy. Do you have any water? I don't trust the tap. The government."
Joe made a wounded noise, bending forward until his forehead rested on your shoulder. His whole body was vibrating with suppressed laughter, his hands coming up to grip your waist as if grounding himself. "Take the wig off, babe," he gasped, his voice muffled against your collarbone. "I think it's cutting off circulation to your trauma centers."
"Not until you admit you love me more than Steve Harrington loves hair products."
"That's a low bar and you know it!" He lifted his head, his face inches from yours, his eyes streaming tears that he wasn't bothering to wipe away. His grin was wild, unguarded, younger somehow. "You're a lunatic. I brought you coffee and you're cosplaying my nervous breakdown."
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
By the third costume, Joe had developed a tell - a specific twitch in his left eyelid that spasmed every time he walked through the door, bracing for impact.
He walked in humming, keys jingling, and immediately froze.
The apartment was dim, lit only by the glow of your laptop screen. You stood in the center of the room, bathed in blue light, wearing a short sleeve button down over a basic tee, and your hair - your real hair, thank god - had been arranged in Keys' sweet, earnest middle-part, falling in soft waves around your face.
You pushed up the fake glasses on your nose and smiled - a small, tentative, devastatingly sincere expression that was so purely Keys that Joe physically recoiled, his hand flying to his chest like he'd been shot.
"Mr. Keery," you said, your voice gentle, precise, carrying that slight lilt of someone who spent more time with code than people. "I've calculated the probability of you loving me, and it's... one hundred percent."
Joe's mouth fell open. He took a step back, then forward, then spun in a complete circle in the entryway, his hands gesturing wildly at nothing.
"Why do you look good in this?" he demanded, his voice cracking on the last word. He advanced on you with the urgency of a man confronting a paradox, his eyes wide and desperate. "This is Keys. Keys is wholesome. Keys is pure. He wears linen shirts cares about fiber content!" He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of your shirt, rubbing the material between his fingers, his expression crumbling into disbelief. "You look wholesome. I can see why I - I mean... this is disturbing how good this looks on you!"
"Do you want me to stay in character?" you asked, tilting your head in that specific, bird-like manner, your eyes wide and earnest behind invisible frames. "I can talk about programming and the beauty of existential awareness in artificial intelli - "
"Stop!" He grabbed your waist and hauled you flush against him, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He was shaking his head back and forth, his breath hot against your skin, laughing and groaning in equal measure. "You're a menace. A complete menace who clearly has too much access to my filmography and my wardrobe." He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his expression softening into something awe-struck and achingly tender. His thumb came up to trace your cheekbone, his touch reverent. "I'm going to have to start hiding my scripts so you don't show up dressed as Gator next."
You went very still.
Joe lifted his head, suspicion blooming across his face like a slow-motion explosion. "No."
"Define 'no.'"
"No."
"But I already bought the MMA shorts!"
"NO!" He picked you up then, lifting you clean off your feet, the cardigan bunching between his fingers as he spun you around. His laughter rang out, bright and uninhibited, echoing off the apartment walls. "Absolutely not! I'm drawing a line! The line is drawn!"
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Twenty minutes later, you were both sprawled on the couch, you back in your own sweatpants and t-shirt, your head in his lap. Joe was scrolling through the photos on his phone - dozens of them, capturing each costume in mortifying detail - occasionally breaking into fresh giggles that made his stomach muscles jump under your cheek.
"I'm keeping these," he declared, his voice rich with satisfaction. He turned the screen to show you a particularly horrific shot of the Scoops Ahoy wig sliding slowly off your head mid-pose. "Blackmail material. If I ever need to feel better about my career choices, I'll look at my girlfriend dressed like a deranged ice cream man having a stroke."
"You love it," you said, burrowing closer, your hand resting on his chest where his heart beat steady and fast.
His thumb paused on the screen. He looked down at you, and the amusement in his eyes shifted - softened - into something deeper. The laughter faded from his mouth, but not his eyes; they remained crinkled at the corners, warm and fond and fixed entirely on you.
"I do," he admitted quietly. His free hand came up to brush hair back from your forehead, his fingers lingering, tracing the shell of your ear. "You're insane. Completely bonkers. The fact that you know these characters - the way you captured Kurt's dead-eyed paranoia, or Keys' earnest little head-tilt..." He shook his head, marveling. "You see me. Not just... not just the actor, or the hair, or whatever. You see the work. You see the dumb parts and the serious parts and you..." His voice thickened slightly. "You dress up like them to make me laugh. You embarrass yourself in synthetic wigs just to see me lose my mind for ten minutes."
He leaned down, his lips brushing your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. "That's... that's pretty special, weirdo," he whispered.
"So you'll let me do Gator?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.
His laugh burst out, surprised and delighted. He dropped the phone, cupping your face with both hands, his nose wrinkling. "I'm changing the locks. I'm changing my name. I'm moving to a remote cabin in Vermont."
You grinned, reaching up to boop his nose. "Worth it."
"Absolutely," he agreed, pulling you up for a proper kiss - slow and sweet and smiling against your mouth. "But if you ever wear the Scoops Ahoy outfit to a red carpet, we’re having a very serious conversation about couples therapy and possibly a conservatorship."
"Deal," you said. "But I'm keeping the wig."
"I figured," he sighed, resigned and delighted and utterly in love, his arms tightening around you like he never planned to let go. "God help me, I figured."
Summary: You get a bit more than you bargained for when Steve picks the movie for your movie night.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
WC: 3.4K+
Tags: MDNI, smut, female!reader, established relationship, pornography, (m)masturbation, dirty talk, very subtle degradation, kinda sub and bratty steve if you squint
The piercing ring of the telephone filled your living room, pulling you from the pages of your book.
“Hello?” You say into the receiver, a film of annoyance coating your voice.
“Woah, hey babe it’s only me,” chuckled the voice through the phone, “sorry, is this a bad time?”
“Oh hey Steve,” you sigh contently into the phone at the sound of his voice, “no, no, I was just reading ‘is all. What’s up?”
“Well, I was calling to see if you had any plans tonight but obviously you’re very busy with your book.” Steve’s voice dripped with flirtatious sarcasm.
“I think I can pull myself away, depending on what you have in mind.” Your tone matched his.
“I’ve gotta close here but I thought I could swing by your place after work. I’ll bring a movie, some snacks and you know, some condoms.” Steve listed casually. “Does that sound better than your book?”
“Hmm I don’t know, it’s a pretty good book.” You twirled the telephone cord around your fingers as you spoke. You imagined Steve doing the same on the other end of the call.
“Maybe I can sweeten the deal…” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “We can do that thing you liked that we tried out last week?” Steve’s voice lowered to a sensual whisper, suddenly hyper aware that he was in the very public setting of Family Video, multiple groups of people milling around the shelves on a busy Saturday afternoon.
Your thighs involuntarily pressed together at the memory he was referencing. You opened your mouth to speak but were silenced by another voice coming through the phone.
“Hey lover boy! Save your dirty talk for later, we have customers.” Robin’s distinctive, friendly bullying echoed in the background. You pictured the scene in your mind, Steve was no doubt blushing the shade of a ripe tomato. You stifled a giggle.
“Uh okay I gotta go but I’ll be there around 9 see you later princess I love you bye.” Steve said all in one breath as he quickly hung up the phone. He didn’t care that he couldn’t stay on the line to hear you say ‘I love you too’, he knew you’d whisper it to yourself as you lingered the phone to your ear–and you did.
The rest of the day you tried to be a normal functioning person but your thoughts easily distracted you. Wondering what Steve was doing at that very moment.
Wondering if he was wondering what you were doing at that moment too.
Wondering about the things he would do to you later.
He filled every wrinkle of your brain. Every nerve in your body.
Nine fifteen. You had showered and changed into some comfy clothes. A t-shirt stolen from Steve’s draw that he had at your place and a pair of pyjama shorts. You thought it easier to forgo the underwear underneath. You didn’t feel like you had to put on some elaborate outfit to impress Steve, he liked you in any form but mostly whatever made you feel comfortable.
You were in the middle of draping some blankets over the couch when his usual knock rapped at your door.
Steve stood in your doorway still wearing his Family Video vest from work, with a tight polo shirt underneath it, tucked into his light wash jeans that stretch over his hips just right. His face lit up at the sight of you. He scooped you into an embrace as he entered the warmth of your apartment.
“Honey, I’m home.” He said into your neck as he held you. He loved to role play like a married couple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world that he would marry you some day.
You smiled against his chest as you clutched at the back of his vest, breathing in the scent of his cologne that he obviously just applied in the car to cover the smell of the video store carpet he had been surrounded by all day.
His hand came to cradle the back of your head, signalling you to attach to his lips. You both sighed into each others mouths like you had been aching for it all day, which you were.
“So what did you bring?” You pulled yourself from him just enough to be able to speak.
Steve held up the plastic bag in his hand.
“Take a look.”
You rummaged through the bag, it was filled with bags of chips, packs of candy and a box of condoms. You found a video tape at the bottom and pulled it out to inspect Steve’s movie choice.
“What the hell is this?”
You held up the video tape like it was contaminated. You looked over the cover. A woman in a skimpy outfit with her breasts unnaturally pushed up, pressed against a shirtless man who looked like he was on steroids. The title read Teacher’s Pet.
“It’s a movie.” Steve said nonchalantly.
“It’s porn.”
“It’s still a movie.”
“Steve, you really want to watch porn together?”
Steve chuckled as if you had asked a silly question.
“Not like that.” His arms came to rest on your shoulders. “We can like make fun of it, it’s probably so terrible, it’ll be funny.”
You looked at him with a sceptical expression. He looked back at you with those big brown eyes, the ones that always got him exactly what he wanted.
“C’mon, if you don’t like it just tell me and we’ll turn it off, okay?”
“Fine.” You said with a squint in your eyes. “Go put the tape in, I’ll get us some drinks.”
Steve gave you a peck to the cheek as he took the tape and bag from you and stumbled over to the VCR, taking off vest and shoes on the way.
You returned to the living room with a beer for Steve and a glass of wine for yourself, placing them on the coffee table as you watched Steve crouch in front of the TV.
“Ready?” He turned to you for your consent.
You simply nodded and patted the spot on the couch next to you. You settled into his side as he pulled you close, your legs curled up next to you as his arm wrapped around you to rest his hand on your hip.
The TV came to life through the static, the speaker blaring the most painfully sexy but un-sexy, 70s jazz. You giggled, maybe Steve was right, this might be funny. You grabbed a handful of chips to munch on as you tried to decipher the plot that began to unfold.
“Is he like, her professor or something?” You mumbled through a mouthful of chips.
“Looks like it.” Steve replied.
“But they look the same age.”
“I don’t think you’re really supposed to think too much about it.”
Suddenly, loud moans filled the room as the couple on the screen started having sex against the wall in what looked like a school corridor.
“Woah, I wasn’t expecting that.” You said with a laugh.
“You weren’t expecting the porn stars to have sex?” Steve had more of a matter of fact tone.
You gave Steve a light hit on his chest causing him to furrow his brow as he turned his head to you. You kept facing forwards toward the TV.
“I mean yeah, obviously they’re going to at some point, but where’s the build up, the foreplay, the passion.” You gestured wildly at the screen as you spoke, emphasising your words.
“I’ll make sure to get a porno with a more engaging plot next time.” Steve half joked.
“Next time?” Your head whipped around to face Steve, he was back to looking at the TV, a mischievous smile across lips.
You two continued watching the events progress in front of you. It was pretty non-stop, different positions, locations. The whole time you rambled on about how things didn’t make sense or wouldn’t actually feel good in real life. Even complaining about how unflattering the lighting was. As you kept talking you realised it had been a while since Steve had spoken, which for him was quite unusual.
“Steve?” You turned your face to look at him.
“Hm?” He hummed in response. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
And that’s when you noticed it. The way his chest was rapidly rising and falling, his skin slightly flushed, hand gripping the arm of the sofa.
“Oh my god this is turning you on!” You accused.
“Nuh uh.” Steve childishly protested like he had just been caught stealing the last cookie.
“I know you Steve, I know when you’re turned on.”
He finally turned his head to look at you and you noticed how wide his pupils had gotten.
“Okay so what?” Steve retorted. “There’s people fucking right in front of me, of course I’m gonna be turned on.” His voice cracked a little as he raised it slightly.
“But it’s just so…” You scrunched up your face, searching for the right word. “Gross.”
“Since when are you grossed out by sex?”
“This is not real sex! It’s so over the top and fake and it’s literally just close ups of this girls vagina getting rammed.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love to watch me do the same to you.”
Your breath hitched, surprised at his words.
“That’s different Steve. That’s you and me. Not some jacked up random people who are paid to fuck each other.” Your voiced raised at the end, a little annoyed.
The room continued to fill with over the top moans, mostly from the woman. Steve’s eyes kept glancing back between you and the TV, like he didn’t want to miss a second of the dirty video or of you.
Your eyes scanned his body again, this time you noticed more of the growing buldge in his jeans. You couldn’t lie, you were now also very turned on. Not because of the porn but Steve’s response to it. He always looked so good when he was horny.
You didn’t want to let him think the situation had affected you in a similar way. You wanted to see how far you could push him.
You stood up from the couch, planting yourself firmly in front of Steve’s eye-line to the TV, situated between his widely out stretched thighs.
“If you like it so much, show me.” You said, your voice holding strong and composed.
“What?”
“Show me how much you’re enjoying this god awful porn and touch yourself.”
Steve opened his mouth as if to say something but all that came out was a soft whine. He was stunned, sure you could be a little bossy in the bedroom sometimes but never like this. You standing over him with an almost disappointed look on your face made heat rise throughout Steve’s body. Whether that was from embarrassment or something else, he wasn’t really sure.
You raised your eyebrows at him as if to say ‘go on’ but he remained completely frozen in place, unsure if this was some kind of trap.
“Are you being serious right now?” Steve said breathlessly.
You crossed your arms over your chest and shifted your weight on to one foot, popping your hip out.
“Dead serious.”
You held his gaze as he looked up at you. His hand slowly moved to palm himself through his jeans, he bit down on his lip at the feeling of slight relief.
You moved out the way of the TV. His eyes followed you across the room as he rubbed over the hardening crotch of his jeans. You sat in the arm chair that faced the couch. You could no longer see the screen from your angle, only Steve.
“Ah ah ah,” you scolded him, “don’t look at me, look at the screen.”
“C’mon baby don’t be like that.” Steve pleaded.
You gave him another stern look, gesturing with your head in the direction of the TV. He didn’t know how you were able to remain so composed while he was quickly becoming a writhing mess.
“Fuck.” Steve whispered, mostly to himself.
He undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans to shove his hand in between his jeans and his boxers, giving him a better angle to stroke himself. Steve did have a bit of an attitude sometimes but he usually did what he was told. So there he was, hand down his pants, eyes glued to the obscene images, the feeling of your stare on him like hot lasers burning his skin.
You got up momentarily and Steve moaned softly thinking your were approaching him, but you just leant over to reach for your glass of wine on the coffee table. You sat back in your chair, making yourself comfortable. You took a sip from your cold glass, your eyes not leaving the movement of his hand for a second.
“What about you?” Steve breathed out his words making them only just audible over the load moans from the tiny TV speakers.
“What about me?” You replied, like it wasn’t obvious what he was asking.
“Aren’t you gonna–ugh–touch yourself too?”
“Nope.” You said, emphasising the ‘p’ and taking another sip of your wine. “I’m not into that gross stuff like you are.” You lied. Steve knew you were lying. You were currently demanding he get himself off all the while demeaning him for his sexual desires. It took every ounce of self control inside you not to match his hand movements with your own.
Steve moaned at your soft degradation of him before it turned into a slight chuckle.
“Oh honey, I just know you’re fucking soaked right now.”
He glanced over at you, not long enough for you to scold him, but long enough to see the flush that had coloured your skin. You held back a laboured breath as you bit into your lip. He knew you too well.
Steve was still pretty much just teasing himself through his boxers. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself before speaking again. Steve was beginning to pathetically whimper, he needed more, you wanted him to have it.
“Go on Steve, show me how you fist your cock.” Your voice sounded a little bit annoyed, you were getting impatient at how long it was taking him to make actual skin to skin contact with himself.
Steve didn’t even realise he was waiting for your permission until you granted it. He scrambled to take off his jeans. He pushed them down his legs, lifting his thighs off the cushions and kicking his trousers off completely. He pushed his underwear down enough to release himself from their confines. He drew in a breath as the cold air hit the heat of his length.
You watched as he spat in his palm and wet his dick all over. His large fingers gripped around his thickness. You felt heat pool deep within you.
“Agh, shit!” He moaned your name along with a few expletives as his hand slowly moved up and down his ever hardening cock. He settled further back into the couch cushions, head thrown over the back as he picked up a little speed.
Before he got too lost in the feeling of his own touch, you snapped your fingers, drawing his attention back to you. He lifted his head, his eyes immediately drawn to your’s like magnets. He never stopped the movement of his hand as his dark, pleading eyes bored into yours.
“Tell me what’s going on.” Your voice slightly horse as you lost a bit of your composure. Steve gave you a confused look, too lost in himself, and you, to comprehend what you were asking. “In the video Steve. Tell me what they’re doing to each other.”
“Oh–ugh–umm.” Steve slowed down his movements to a lazy stroke so he was able to form actual sentences. He turned his head back towards the screen. “They uh, the girl is bent over this desk and–oh fuck–“ Steve interrupted himself as his hips involuntarily thrusted up into his fist.
“And what Stevie?” You encouraged, voice softer now.
“God he’s fucking her so good and–ah–deep, fuck.”
He sped up like he was trying to match the rhythm of the performers. His shirt had scrunched up to reveal the trail of hair that ran down from his chest all the way to where he fucked himself.
“You wanna fuck me like that?” You asked just as casually as you’d ask what he wanted for dinner. Your flippant tone somehow more of a turn on than a sultry one. Like you weren’t even fazed by what you were doing to him.
“Yes, god yes! You know I do.” Steve let out and strangled groan like he was begging you to let him spilt you open right there on the coffee table. “I wish I had a tape of you like this.” He continued, Steve seemed to always start rambling whenever he was close. “A tape of me fucking you, you take my cock so good baby, I’d watch that shit all fucking day.”
His words were the thing that broke you. You spread your legs and tilted your pelvis to show him the damp patch that had gathered in your shorts.
“Steve…” Your once level voice was now just a shaken whisper. If Steve’s ears weren’t so tuned in to the sound of his name from your throat, it would have been drowned out by the slapping of skin that emanated from both Steve and the TV.
He turned his gaze to meet your eyes and they flickered over your body like he was trying to take in every inch of the vision of you all at once.
“Would you do that for me, let me film us make love?”
Make love. You repeated those words in your head as you inhaled a deep breath. Steve Harrington, at his core, was still a hopeless romantic.
You simply nodded. Your heart racing. You felt every pulse of your heartbeat gush blood throughout your body.
Steve drew out a loud moan showing you how close he was, you barely even registered the ones coming from the TV anymore. He was frantic. Breathing heaving and short. Hips thrusting quick and hard into his fist. His other hand gripped the arm rest, his knuckles glowing bright white.
You just watched. Even though you were aching, you were frozen in place, mesmerised. The image was so filthy yet so beautiful. Steve totally lost in himself, in his thoughts of you and letting you bare witness to it. You didn’t want to draw any attention away from him by seeking your own release.
“Let go for me Stevie.” Now it was your turn to beg. “I want to see you come.”
Steve wasted no time succumbing to your wishes. The sound of your needy voice opened the flood gates. His short breaths turned to whimpers as his hips halted and fell to the plush sofa. His hand continued to work himself tiredly through his release. Spilling himself over his stomach, wetting the hair that dances across his tummy like delicate brush strokes. His head hung heavy over the back of the couch, his eyes tightly shut. His entire body glistened with sweat and other substances, illuminated by the glow of the TV.
And then he looked at you.
He looked at you with a familiar look. A look he reserved only for you. Only for moments like these where you both held on to the invisible string connecting your hearts. Your breathing matched his as it began to slow, chests rising and falling in unison. Your eyes locked on each other, as if the other would disappear the moment you looked away.
Steve held on to your gaze as he leant forward, reaching for his, no doubt now lukewarm, beer bottle on the table in front of him. He took a series of long gulps to quench the thirst he had worked up. Still, his eyes never left yours.
He stood from the couch, took off his dampened shirt and removed his boxers, leaving him completely naked in the middle of your living room. You followed his stare as he rounded the coffee table and leant down to turn off the TV, abruptly cutting off what sounded like the final climax.
He stopped in front of you where you sat, both hands on his hips. A small smirk grew on his face.
“You are so dead.” Steve shook his head at you as he spoke.
You leapt out of the chair running away from him. You let an out a high pitched shriek as you narrowly evaded his grasp and he started chasing you down the hall to the bedroom.
You were in for a long night.
A/N: Sooo I may already have started writing a part 2 for this if anyone is interested???? Thanks for reading <3
summary: While "King" Steve wanders the halls of Hawkins High with your broken bracelet in his pocket, you’re seeking an escape from your father’s violence, trading one hell for another by entering the Hawkins woods, the same place that took your mother and Will Byres went missing.
warnings: angst, mention of death, trauma, abuse, alcoholism, slut-shaming (towards reader), bullying, injuries, blood, hints of sexual abuse, parental death and domestic violence.
It started simple. A quick turn of his head as you passed him in the hallway. You were always focused on other things though, busy with your own life and problems. It was a bubble he’d never broken into before, you were untouchable, unbothered and disinterested by him, like he didn’t exist in your world.
He didn’t fault you for it, although Steve Harrington was too arrogant and cocky most of the time, he was self aware enough to know that sort of thing didn’t interest you in the slightest. The popularity, the way-too-loud parties his crowd of people went to. Acting like they were rebelling by doing everything every suburban teenager does.
Drinking, smoking, having sex, pretending to be interesting. It was exhausting to witness, let alone live it.
Steve knew that, knew the hangovers weren’t fun, that coughing in a room full of second hand smoke was bad for his health, that the shows of intimacy between two people that wouldn't otherwise pay attention to each other were meaningless, that laughing way too loud at jokes that weren’t funny killed the soul.
Steve Harrington knew. He knew it was bullshit and that popularity titles wouldn’t mean anything when the diplomas were handed out and everyone moved on from being stupid teenagers, into less stupid college students.
The future however, hadn't caught up to him yet. Steve ´The King’ Harrington, could remain sitting comfortably on his throne of self-importance and pretend that his ruling would last forever.
He knew it wouldn't, that time is a fleeting thing and the clock was ticking, deducting second after second of the remaining time he had to be known, noticed and cared for, even if only superficially.
You didn’t pretend to be above it all, being part of the social food chain was a given and you had always existed at the bottom of it. Not a freak by any means, you didn’t care for d&d, rebellion against authority or any other sort of corny movement amongst the students of Hawkins High.
You were at the very bottom. The Slut.
Used by everyone, loved by no one.
Perhaps care wasn’t the word you’d use to describe your feelings about the social perceptionpeople had of you. It was more like annoyance at the humiliation that was casted over you, at being known for something that wasn’t even true. Not entirely at least.
Not in the way they thought to be true.
You were well aware that the truth didn’t matter in the ecosystem of Hawkins High. It was all about appearances, to portrait yourself as something worth it of attention, the type of attention that saved you from being an outcast to the entire student population.
The truth was you had underestimated how much people cared about the skeletons others had hidden in their closet. You thought, — naively so — that they wouldn’t care about yours.
You had been invisible almost all throughout middle school. Always in your own little world because back then it didn’t really matter to be relevant, there were a lot of kids like you, who wouldn’t bother anyone and keep to themselves.
Being introverted and tired by the turmoil of a family life that nobody spoke to the other about, there wasn’t an understanding of how bad or good one had it. Well, until your mom died, then you understood everyone lived bastly different lives.
So it wasn’t a shock when eight grade rolled around and everyone seemed to suddenly belong to something. Choosing a trait about themselves and running with it as their main personality, the thing everyone had to know them for.
Playing basketball, being rich, having straight A’s, being pretty, being dumb, being a freak, being a party animal — which was just being a glorified alcoholic — or seemingly the worst one could possibly be in the small, pretentious town of Hawkins, Indiana.
The Slut.
You woke up with a headache, eyebrows furrowed in discomfort the second you felt the sunlight peak through your window and shine brightly into your face. The taste of cheap vodka and orange juice still lingering in your mouth, completely nauseating.
Perhaps you shouldn’t have drank yourself to sleep, again. But the fight with your dad had been good enough reason to want to lose consciousness even if it came with the consequence of feeling like shit on a monday morning.
He was probably still asleep on the couch, you could hear the sound of the TV still on, being interrupted every few seconds by snores. He too, had decided that getting drunk was better than dealing with you.
That was his nightly routine after all, screaming at you because of whatever bullshit reason he could find, and if he didn’t find any, then…whatever happened next wouldn’t leave your mind for days.
You tried not to think about what would happen later tonight. Instead, you simply got up and got ready for school, because no matter how shitty Hawkins High was, it was still better than being trapped between the four walls you called home with your dad.
Getting ready was done in silence, or as silently as you could because the stupid floor of the trailer you lived in made an agonizing sound every time you stepped on it.
Taunting you.
After a routine of carefulness and fear of waking up your own appointed hell, you grabbed your backpack and car keys before slipping out through your window without making any noise. The action was so engraved in your bones that you could do it in your sleep.
The drive towards school was the first and only time of peace you would probably get for the rest of the day. Between the snarky remarks girls made about you in the hallways and the math test you had to take during 2nd period, you had already decided this would be a shitty day.
Steve Harrington on the other hand? He had decided today would be a great day the second his car rolled into the school’s parking lot and saw yours already parked in the space furthest away from the entrance.
Odd, he thought.
Although he had never bothered to check where you parked before. Maybe this was normal for you, seeking the extra exercise for whatever reason a girl like you might have to walk such a deceptively long distance.
He didn’t bother to think about it for more than a moment. Instead, he grabbed his backpack and jogged towards the entrance of the school, not before noticing a somewhat familiar — and now broken— bracelet laying on the floor next to the trash.
He picked it up and analyzed it for a few seconds. At first he thought it was from some kid who had gotten bullied and it fell to the floor but no, a few more seconds of staring at the piece of jewelry and he already knew who it belonged to by the infamous initials engraved in the back of the heart shaped charm.
Without giving it even a second thought, he shoved the bracelet into the left front pocket of his washed blue jeans. He would return it, obviously. He wasn’t that much of an asshole, he knew it probably meant a lot to you.
That’s why he planned on returning it when he had the chance to.
The walk from your car all the way to your locker was made in the same hurry you always moved with. Not late by any means, just trying to avoid the same assholes that always had some sort of comment to make about you.
Your routine didn’t help though, because they still found their way in front of your locker, leaning against it like they owned the place. Theirs to stand there and block you from taking out your History textbook.
Still, it didn’t really mean much other than a quick snarky comment and insults that had lost their edge the first week of Shophomore year. It had gotten old pretty quickly, now three months later it just felt stupid to stand there and listen to them spew the same nonsense.
“Wow, Skanks these days don’t even make an effort to look good” Carol Perkins said in that snarky way she spoke to everyone. Chewing gum in the obnoxious way she always did no matter what time of the day it was.
Disgusting.
Melissa Driscoll just laughed beside her. All of them did, because god forbid they have a genuine reaction of their own and not just copy each other.
“Don’t say that Carol, you look really good” You replied with a fake smile plastered on your lips pushing her to the side — with not even half of the strength you wished you had used — to gain access to your locker.
Luckily Tommy was nowhere to be seen, otherwise you weren’t sure what would’ve happened to you.
Carol scoffed as one of the girls beside her, Jessica Murwood pretended she was going to hit you but ultimately didn’t. She wasn’t going to risk detention for a petty fight she hadn’t even started.
So much for loyalty, you thought.
“Are we done here? because I have much better things to do than help your self-steem” You added with a venomous tone.
Taking out the History book you never even ended up using during class before shutting your locker with more force than needed, just for the pleasure of startling them.
“What the hell is your problem?” Melissa said with barely concealed anger in her tone, her eyebrows so furrowed it made her look much older. She would clearly need botox in 5 years if she didn’t want to look fifty while being twenty.
You didn’t bother to respond this time, instead you just turned around and started walking towards class just as the bell rang announcing the start of first period.
Great. You would be late for class thanks to Carol and her stupid friends who seemed occupied muttering insults about you between each other. Hopefully they choked in their venom, Hawkins High could do with a few less bitchy students.
Unbeknownst to you, Steve Harrington had witnessed the whole conversation, not intentionally of course. He wasn’t a stalker or anything like that, he was just passing by when he heard your voice and out of curiosity stood nearby to hear you.
He had your bracelet after all and that seemed like a good enough reason to hear what you were talking about. Because what if you thought Carol had stolen it when in reality he had it? He would have to speak up and give it to you.
Not because he cared about you, but Carol Perkins was the girlfriend of Tommy H. and he didn’t want his friend’s girlfriend to get detention over something so stupid. He owed loyalty to her, not you.
Or that’s what he told himself, that he wasn’t paying attention to you because he didn’t want to make your social reputation more miserable than it already was, although he wasn’t that terrible of a person to make that happen either way.
Clearly you could defend yourself though, so Steve felt no need to do anything other than laugh at the way Carol and the other girls didn’t respond with something quick enough to you that would hurt your feelings the same way you had hurt theirs.
It went miserably.
During first period Mr. Brown had made an example out of your tardiness by making you go get a tardy slip from the main office. Where the secretary looked at you with a face of disdain before taking her sweet time filling out the paper with your information.
Clearly she had a problem with you. Because when Heather Holloway walked in with that fake innocent look in her face and saying she needed a tardy slip filled out, the secretary looked at her with a motherly expression and responded in a much better tone.
Then you had a math test in second period. You had studied, spending all your free time doing the exercises the teacher said that she would put on the test. Clearly she had lied, because the second you sat down and saw the questions on the paper, you knew that you wouldn’t get a good grade in the slightest.
Now it’s lunch time and you have nothing to eat nor money to buy food, so sitting in hunger in the middle of the school field drawing on your notebook is all you can do to pass the time.
It isn’t that bad. I mean sure, your stomach kind of aches because of how empty it is and your wallet is basically begging you to go pick up an extra shift at Fair Mart so you can afford lunch next week, but other than the embarrassing reality you are living right now, everything is perfectly fine.
“hey” you hear a voice say, a pair of clearly worn in black boots coming into your view making you look up, immediately reconizing the person in front of you.
Jonathan Byers.
“I need your help with something” he says, his face holding a certain sort of worry that told you something is terribly wrong, specially since he is asking you for help.
“hey…what do you need my help with?” you ask him, closing your notebook to hide what you were drawing moments ago.
“my brother Will, he’s missing in the woods” Jonathan starts, clearly uncomfortable “I need help with his poster so I can put it up…and with everything else” he takes a deep breath, the camera hanging from his neck following the movement from his chest.
“yeah…I can help you” You reply simply, tone softer than the one you first had answered him with.
You and Jonathan have always been kind of close since neither of you has had any friends since Freshman year, there’s this sort of alliance where you sometimes hang out to not be so lonely, or do group projects together in the classes you share.
Alright. Will is missing, that’s something really serious but you aren’t sure how right it is to get yourself involved, specially since the last time you even talked to the kid was more than a year ago.
You weren’t about to deny him any help though.
“Do you remember what he was wearing the last time you saw him?” you ask him, a strange feeling of doom traveling down your spine, goosebumps rising on the nape of your neck.
Strange.
If you were honest right now, you had to admit that you can’t fully understand why Jonathan is asking you for help. Sure, he is in need of support because having his little brother be lost in the woods is a terrifying concept but that still doesn’t cover it for you.
Not that you believe he has a secret agenda or anything, that would be a horrible assumption to make about someone who is nothing but kind to you. I mean, you even enjoy his company every time he graces you with it, which isn’t often at all.
This is different though, extremely so. Because seeking help from you, who has almost half the town against your very existence because of a reputation that stuck more than anything had ever stuck before, makes you very much useless in any sort if serious situation.
Perhaps he thinks you might understand, that with your mother having died in the very same woods under somewhat similar circumstances makes you somehow more understanding of his situation. That rings true.
You can put yourself into the worn in black boots of his situation and feel the fear travel all throughout your body like it did all those years ago, when you hoped your mother had gotten fed up with your father’s abuse and just ran away from home.
Jonathan’s voice snaps you out of your sudden trance “are you alright?” he asks you, his eyebrows furrowed once more at your sudden strange behaviour.
“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to” His tone betrays the neutrality he tries to portrait through his facial expression, he sounds utterly broken at the conclusion that formed in his mind about you not wanting to help him.
“I do!” you exclaim to stop him from deciding he actually doesn’t need nor wants your help in this situation “I do want to help” you say with a calmer tone, shoving your notebook inside of your backpack before standing up.
“I’ll help you with the poster and putting it up around the city” You announce to him, offering to do more than you could probably afford to, already calculating how many shifts at your job you were renouncing to.
“really?” Jonathan says, surprised about how much you were willing to do for him.
He doesn’t say it out loud, not that he has to for you to know what he’s thinking. But he wasn’t all that sure you would agree to even help with the poster. He is acutely aware of your reputation, of the things you’ve done and the things people claim you have done even if there’s no proof.
He’s also not immune to the popular opinions and rumours – no matter how much he claims to be above them – he’s heard about you. in fact, he has fallen in the trap of believing what was being said more than once.
Jonathan wants to believe this wont blow up on his face later on, that maybe this could be a shifting point in your social reputation, for the better obviously. Something he shouldn’t even be worried about right now because his brother is missing, but he is worried, always is.
Maybe it is the way you’re both stuck in the same situation. No friends, continuously antagonized by the population of Hawkins High and somehow being forced to feel bad about it. like the fault is yours and not theirs for being so judgemental about people just trying to survive and not sink even further into the poverty line that you´ve been tethering since childhood.
“Yeah, I also know the woods pretty well so I can help look” You offer even more, because the more you think about Will out there, probably scared out of his mind, freezing and hungry, the more you remember what your mom must’ve felt in her last moments.
You don’t want that destiny for Will Byres.
Jonathan lets out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding all this time, nodding at your words with a new but somewhat small sense of hope.
You want to feel some of the hope that begins to plague his eyes at the prospect of having higher chances of finding Will with your help but you had never worn naivety well, or at all if you were completely honest with yourself.
Instead you simply decide to indulge in the statistics of people found alive who have gone missing in the woods, which although is a small number, it still is bigger than cero and that is enough for you to decide that Will would become part of that statistic.
“yeah…that would be great” Jonathan finally relaxes.
His next thought is a cruel one, he’s very much ashamed of thinking it the second it formulates in his mind but – and yet again he feels terrible about it – it’s his true sentiment right now and he knows that if you could hear it, you would be okay with the cruelty of it.
You’d be okay with the cruelty that comes with the fact he feels a lot better having you go through this with him because you know how it feels, the emptiness in the new found silence that plagues the house when a person it’s missing from it.
The pain of having your heart tear ever so slightly with every second that passes without knowing if they are safe or not. The doubt of how not knowing how this situation will end, if with a sentimental reunion, or a casket you couldn’t afford without sacrifing your college savings.
Jonathan is glad that your heart breaks alongside his, because he isn’t sure if he could survive this if it was any other way.
Entering the building of Hawkins High never gets easier, it always feels like walking down towards hell’s gate and asking to be let in, like it’s a choice and not an obligation for you to enter this place.
If you had it your way you wouldn’t even graduate high school. You would be content with leaving right now, with only freshman year complete and three months of sophomore year to show for yourself, because there truly is no point in accomplish anything in Hawkins.
“How many copies of the poster do you have?” You ask jonathan as he begins to put up Will’s missing poster on the bulletin board, the contrast between the description of what Will was wearing the last time he was seen and the happy thanksgiving messages felt somewhat nauseating to look at.
“almost three hundred, why?” Jonathan responds without looking at you, his eyes darting across the board trying to find push pins that weren’t holding up anything to use them.
“Oh, it’s just that when I was looking for my mom-” you stopped talking for a seconds, the sentence leaving your mouth made you feel horrible in a way you hadn’t experienced in almost two years.
It was better not to think about it. “What i mean is that if you want Hawkins to be filled with posters you’ll need about six hundred copies” You rearrange the phrase so that mentioning your mom again is left out of the conversation.
“I’m talking every damn street having at least one poster in it” You pick up a push pin that wasn’t holding anything before handing it to Jonathan with a small smile.
“That would cost like 60 bucks and I don’t have that much money” Jonathan answers with a tone that snuffs out whatever attempt at lighting up the mood you had made with your last comment.
You think for a second, trying to come up with a solution to a problem that wasn’t solvable in the slightest in the short span of a few hours. Then an idea came to your mind.
“In my job at Fair Mart they pay me minimum wage, so three dollars and thirty-five cents an hour, 60 bucks devided by that is basically 18 hours of work which is the max amount of hours I can work during the week” You say rapidly, hands moving somewhat frantically as you try to make what you are about to offer something sane.
“I can ask my boss to pay me in advance for next week so we can pay for the copies and put them around town” The words leave your mouth and it’s like in that very moment every one in the hallways chooses to fall into a deafening silence.
Jonathan turns to face you with an expression that is unreadable but just as he is about to speak, his eyes look behind you, making you turn around to see what stopped him from what you would probably assumed was going to be a speech about how he didn’t want to take your money.
“Hey…” Nancy mumbles ackwardly without even so much as looking at you “I wanted to say, you know, um…I’m sorry about everything” She looks behind her and you follow her gaze until it lands on the one group of people you hate the most.
Carol Perkins, Steve Harrington and Tommy H. The only half decent person being Barb who you hadn’t talked to since eight grade, when she started crying when someone lied and told her your mom was found dead in the woods that were close to her home.
The look of clear amusement and mocking that Tommy’s eyes hold as he waves at you is something that should be enough to send him to jail for the rest of his life. But what’s worse than the clearly faux empathy he shows you is the way that Steve Harrington just decides to ignore the situation in it’s entirety and looks away.
You don’t bother to see what expression Carol or Barb are wearing. You didn’t care what they thought or felt about all of this or really anything at all.
“Everyone’s thinking about you” Nancy continuous speaking and you cannot help but scoff at her words, she’s clearly lying to save the face of her new friend because your reaction makes her eyes snap towards you for a second, like she can’t believe you’re indirectly calling out her bullshit before turning to look at Jonathan again.
“It sucks” she adds, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly.
“Yeah” Jonathan repies with a harsh tone. He doesn’t like the pity words, the way Nancy speaks like this is happening to a kid she has no relation to just because Steve Harrington and his horrible friends are standing a few feet away, using this conversation like a show made for their amusement.
She seems to pick up on it though, quickly adding onto her words with something of actual sustenance and not just vague bullshit “I’m sure he’s fine…he’s a smart kid” her tone begins to soften. Then the school bell starts ringing.
Nancy takes a few steps back mentioning a chemistry test, her gaze shifts between you and Jonathan “Good luck” she says, nodding at you with an expression you know is hiding a small simmering level of annoyance, walking towards Steve Harrington before they all walk down the hallway towards class.
Not until she is out of your eyesight you turn towards Jonathan, frustration clear as day on both of your expressions “What was that?” you mutter with a raised eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest.
He simply shrugs before turning towards the exit and walking out.
What. The. Fuck.
You don’t bother finding Jonathan after he suddenly left, he clearly didn’t want your company after the weird interaction you two had with Nancy Wheeler, who seemed very determined to preserve her good social image instead of actually caring about Will being missing and how that affects Jonathan.
You couldn’t really judge her for it though. If you had the social reputation she does, the money, the friends, the grades, the family. Just one tiny thing that she has, you would also do anything to keep it in your life, even if it meant acting like douchebag sometimes.
Then again, you don’t have any of that so hating her feels reasonable.
You don’t hate her though, or it doesn’t feel like it at least. It’s just that comparing your life with hers makes it very clear to you that some people are born with everything to succeed in the world, while others have to fight for the scraps of goodness that people throw at them out of pity.
The difference is laughable, and God do people laugh about it whenever they can. Pointing out the torn up clothes you wear, the way your jeans are your mothers and the jacket that clearly isn’t your size is your father’s.
Because you have never owned anything, always borrowing, begging, groveling for scraps of warmth and love nobody wants to give you. Nancy Wheeler doesn’t struggle like you do, she doesn’t debate every month between keeping the heating on or having food on the fridge.
She has the privilege of a fridge full food, a warm house, parents that care for her not out of obligation but because it’s a given. She is so surrounded by love and stability that it’s impossible to picture her living any other way.
She has everything a person like you could ever want and she doesn’t even know it.
You’re jealous of how her existence has value, how she is aware of it and doesn’t pretend otherwise. The confidence she has when she claims a space in conversations, the way she knows what to do and say every time.
She is the type of girl with a fate sealed in gold.
It’s infuriating how she owns everything she touches, how the money she has and the reputation she has make her something desirable.
The second you step through the door it becomes very evident the way this night will end.
Your dad is sitting on the couch with a bottle of whiskey empty and laying on the cushion beside him, the small living room is dirty, so disgustingly dirty. There’s plates of food on the coffee table that you were almost sure had been there for more than a week.
Cigarettes butts are scattered all over the floor surrounding him, like the idea of getting up and looking for the ashtray that is in the kitchen counter never crossed his mind, which it probably was the truth, you didn’t want to think about it though.
He’s looking at you and you wish his stare was cold and detached as it usually is when he decides to deal with you. But your father is drunk, so very drunk and his eyes hold nothing but rage and depravation.
It transforms you into who you truly are at heart.
Behind the mask of maturity hides a terrified fourteen year old girl who has never been anything but prey to the people meant to care for her.
“You’re late” Your dad says, voice rough and low. His legs spreading apart, his right hand grabbing his chin while his elbow is pressed against the armrest, but what he’s holding in his other hands is what takes away your breath.
His leather belt, resting perfectly still on his lap, his fist holding the objet in place like it will try and run away from him. You think that if the objects in the house came to life, they would indeed run away from him.
“I’m sorry, sir” A trained response falls from your lips, big doe eyes glassy and breath strained with a fear that you can never fully shake off.
He isn’t a forgiving man, you know it better than anyone else, even more than your mother who had only been able to escape this hell in a casket.
You wish you could trade places with her sometimes, she knew how to deal with him when he got like this, when the brutality of his punches turned into something deviant, unnatural, inmoral, inhumane.
Pretty little bird trapped in a cage, wings clipped so you won’t be able to fly away.
“You don’t seem very sorry to me” He rasps out, sending the coffee table towards you and hitting your legs with one powerful kick.
The pain is there before you can register his action, it takes your breath away in one swift motion and forces a primitive reaction out of you, crouching as your body curls into itself to cover your vital organs from him.
The tears follow soon after, tiny broken little sobs falling from your lips as you keep your head down, so afraid of looking up at him because you know the moment you do everything will come crashing down on you.
“I want my mommy” You don’t recognize your voice as the words escape you. It sounds so… so small and innocent, like your four year old self had come out from the valllies of your mind to request the only thing that could cure you.
Save you.
But you cannot put out a fire with prayers to a dead God, begging for your mother won’t do any good and yet, you still beg.
Maybe because your life depends on it, because you don’t want to grow up into the shape your father tries to beat you into taking, or maybe the reason is nothing but the pure instinct of survival.
“What did you say?” Angry, he sounds so angry.
This time the pains steals your breath away, it’s sharp, sudden and excruciating in a way you had never experienced. Your ears ringing loudly as your head throbs in pain, the crown of your head it feels extremely warm, the pain is born from there and it travels down your neck into your spine.
Only when your ears stop ringing and the house falls into an uncomfortable silence do you hear the sound of something dripping. It confuses you because you know the faucet is shut and the one in the bathroom doesn’t work.
The you notice it, droplets of crismon red falling to the floor with a steady rhythm, broken glass and the missing empty whiskey bottle that sat next to your father a few seconds ago.
It takes a few more seconds of focusing and processing till you connect the dots before you’re lifting your hand and touching the crown of your head before moving your hand into your line of vision.
Blood.
“See what you made me do?” Your father speaks one more, his voice holds less anger but much more annoyance. He knows he took it too far this time, that this violence is dangerous not only for your health but also for his freedom.
He knows he can´t do much more tonight, not if he doesn’t want to leave marks that you can’t excuse with clumsiness and back luck. Instead he gets up and moves towards you, steps heavy against the creaky floor that does nothing but cry beneath his weight.
He moves the coffee table to the side and crouches in front of you, form this close you can smell the alcohol and nicotine that sticks to him like tree sap to a childs hand, unforgiving, unmoving and so very overwhelming.
His hands grabs a hold of your chin and tills your head upwards, forcing eye contact even though you can’t see anything through the tears that fall from your eyes. Ever so slowly he wipes them away, so softly it almost makes everything that happened before feel like a hazy dream.
“Why do you make me do this to you?” He whispers, fingers digging sofly into your face, holding you in place like you might attack him back if he doens’t remind you what he has done and will do to you if you try to fight him on this.
Somewhere between the dull ache of his nails digging into your cheek and the warmth of his hand against your skin, you find the love he feels for you. It is a small and ugly thing, full of teeth and resentment, it does nothing but scream into the abyss of the space between hate and comfort it hides in.
You could scream at him, escape this mess with a punch to his face and nothing but the clothes on your back to start a new life, and it feels like the correct choice to make every time you find yourself crouched and trying to protect the most fragile parts of your being.
But your father can be so sweet, so caring and loving despite his anger, his addictions, his depravation…that the thought of ever harming him back seems insane, like a betrayal of the biggest degree, because when he shows his love it makes everything he’s ever done wrong turn into ash and be blown away by a soft summer breeze.
How could you ever harm him?
“I’m sorry, dad.” You whisper quietly against his hands, eyes tightly closed to pretend this is nothing but love, instead of sinister manipulation and torture.
You are sorry about everything, and in between that ache of apologeticness that hides between your ribcage, you cannot help but feel the most sorry for yourself.
The awareness of deserving something even just slightly better than this is very much there, in the front of your mind every waking moment, but what can you do about it? there’s nothing out there for you. At least in here, trapped between the four walls of a burning house, you can feel the heat against your skin and pretend is the warmth of a loving home.
You don’t believe for a second that the apology is enough to appease him, but there’s nothing else you can mutter that will come even close to save you from the fate that awaits.
Your father takes a deep breath and his hand tightens his grip, it’s painful and dominating in a way that everything else in your mind leaves you, everything except fear.
“You never learn” He stars speaking, jaw clenched by the sheer amount of anger his body is made of “You never listen to the shit i tell you to do and then act like a fucking victim when i teach you a lesson” his nail dig dipper into your skin the marks already forming and already deciding they won’t fade until days later.
“This is your fault, everything that I’m about to do is your fault” With those final words he lets go of your face and stands up.
Then his hands latches to your hair with a violent and forceful grip, it makes the wound on your head bleed once more, the pain so strong it feels like your wound has been set on fire. He doesn’t care about it, that much is obvious with the way his fingers tighten when you squirm.
But the panic starts to really set in when your father starts dragging you across the floor as he begins walking towards….
No. No, Anything but that.
Your hands move by instinct, grabbing at anything that is close to you, the coffee table, the wall, the carpet. Anything that will anchor you into place and stop him from trapping you in that room because there truly are fates worse than death and that is one of them.
You scream so hard that your throat hurts, the horror of knowing what would happen once your father got you into the room and closed the door making you try and crawl away, the adrenaline numbing the pain of his grip on your hair.
Then a thought comes into your mind, a horrible yet brilliant one.
The broken glass pieces laying on the floor getting your attention as you waste precious seconds measuring the consequences of your actions. There isn’t much time to think though, a rough tug to your hair as your father continues to force you down the hallways reminds you of it.
It makes you pick one of the largest pieces of glass you can reach in panic before stabbing it directly into your father’s leg with strength that is born from fear alone.
His rage is quickly snuffed out bt the hot white pain that runs through his body, it forces him to let go of your hair and fall to the floor with a pained groan, his hands coming to clutch the wound to try and stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry dad” You say repeatedly as you stand up with shaky legs, grabbing your backpack from it’s place by the front door and running out without thinking twice about your fathers screams.
The first that pops into your mind is to take your car and drive, leave this place forever and mever look back at what you would be leaving behind.
The idea doesn’t last very long, no matter how tempting it is to simply escape.
You know that it would be easy for him to find you and that’s the only thing that you don’t want.
Your father, albeit alcoholic, violent and depraved towards you, knows that the life he forced upon you inside of the trailer isn't one he can talk or make true outside of it.
That's why he has friends, why his cop friends in Indianapolis still mention his ex-girlfriend from high school and what she is up to, like your dad still has a claim in her.
Like if he says the word, they'll drag that poor woman to Hawkins and hand her to your father without a question.
You know the only real plan you can pull off is to walk into the woods, and get lost there for a few days.
Runaway teenage girls have never been a worry to the Hawkins police. Even more so, nobody that knows your name would want to help find you either.
That's why it doesn't scare you the moment your feet enter the woods.
A Steve Harrington x Reader fanfiction | multi-chapter | popular!reader & popular!steve | slow burn | seasons 1–5 | strangers to… | +18 EVENTUAL SMUT
Summary:
You are Hawkins High’s resident "Golden Girl"—beautiful, brilliant, and destined for medical school. While you never asked for the popularity that follows you, you carry it with a quiet, unshakable confidence, spending your time helping others and noticing the subtle truths everyone else ignores. You don’t hate Steve Harrington; you simply refuse to be another one of his distractions, giving him exactly the weight he deserves and nothing more. Behind your perfect exterior, you carry your own private struggles, but your focus remains on the future. Over the years, Steve finds himself constantly pulled back to you, forced to face the only person who sees through his act and challenges him to be the man he’s afraid to become.
Masterlist:
Season 1:
Chapter 1: The Vanishing Of Will Byers
Chapter 2: The Tutor
Chapter 3: A Better Taste In Nightmares
Chapter 4: Friends?
Chapter 5: Stand By Me
Chapter 6: Asshole
Chapter 7: The King Is Dead
Chapter 8: The Weight We Share
Season 2:
Chapter 9: The Mess Behind The Curtain
Chapter 10: I Love You, Scarface
Chapter 11: Got Drunk On You
Chapter 12: We Can't Be Friends
Chapter 13: Bad Chem
Chapter 14: The Weight of You
Chapter 15: Half a Breath Away
Chapter 16: Close the Gate
── 𝜗𝜚 summary: A car accident sends you to Hawkins General where you meet a man named Henry. He helps you heal from your past by giving you a world where you can forget everything from before and start anew.
── 𝜗𝜚 pairing(s): henry creel x fem!reader, eventual steve harrington x fem!reader
── 𝜗𝜚 warnings/tags: age gap (reader is 19 henry is 40), memory loss, fluff, manipulation, toxic relationship, mentions of abusive and drunk father, memory altercation, identity loss, ptsd, trauma, angst, nightmares, happy ending, more specific tags on each part!
part 1: past the blood and bruise - henry creel
A car accident sends you to Hawkins General where you meet a man named Henry. He helps you heal from your past by giving you a world where you can forget everything from before and start anew.
part 2: past the curses and cries - henry creel
You wake up in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. Henry says you can't trust them, that they will only hurt you, yet they don't seem to want anything other than for you to be safe... even if that means getting Henry out of your head.
part 3: there is happiness - steve harrington
It's been a month since you started living at Steve's house since his parents are never home. You have to relearn almost everything—how to use the washing machine, what foods you like, everything. But through it all you still have to learn to live with the silence in your head.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[18.7k] prompt: "Can I kiss you?" Childhood friends to lovers, growing up together, that damn garden gate, a slow burn like summer.
1979. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night.
When you were twelve years old, you moved to Hawkins, Indiana: population twelve thousand.
It had cedar lined streets, an old town hall, an outdoor pool behind a chain link fence, one supermarket and a boy next door called Steve Harrington.
You saw him from your bedroom window, his across from yours, the house your parents bought only a stone's throw away from his. He waved at you through the glass, smile wide, hair messy and wild. He had a scrape on his cheek from falling off his bike, a poster above his bed for a band you’d never heard of.
The next morning, he knocked on your front door and asked you if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You rode on the back of his bike, hands clutching his shoulders, eyes bright and wide and Steve shared a slushie with you, tongues raspberry blue, cheeks sticky and sun kissed.
He taught you how to play pac man, hands already so much bigger than yours when he slid them over your own, joystick between your fingers, laughter bubbling in your chest when you won.
Steve came back the next morning, and the next, the days bleeding into one long summer in a new town that was all wheat fields and quarries, dust roads and white picket fences.
Then a year later, a week after your thirteenth birthday, you came home from your grandparents in the new dress your parents bought you, a pretty, sunflower yellow thing that fell to your knees and fluttered when you spun.
You ran straight to the Harrington’s house, one hand knocking impatiently on the door, the other holding the box of sugar cookies you had insisted on saving and taking home to Steve.
You weren’t sure when it had happened, not really. But at some point over the course of twelve months, Steve Harrington had become your best friend. It happened the way summer did, a slow roll into warmth and blue skies, the familiarity of seeing him every day, the same way the sun slipped through the cracks in your bedroom window shutters.
He was bike rides, fresh banana muffins from the bakery on Main Street, water balloon fights when you were supposed to be in bed, running in the back yard as your parents shared wine and barbecue dinners. He got taller, his hair got wilder and you both got closer.
Steve opened the door, smile wide, eyes bright, just for you. He took a cookie and your hand, leading you to his bedroom as his parents yelled out their greetings from the kitchen and you tumbled into his room, chest bursting with how happy you were ‘cause the entire car ride home, you had been so excited to see Steve.
Steve had too many pillows on his too big bed, a guitar in the corner, a basketball shirt in a frame above his desk. There were books lining shelves, a stereo on his dresser and towers of cassette tapes. His room always smelled like fresh air and boy, something minty, the summer sneaking in from his always open window, the chlorine from the pool below.
He’d turned to you then, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, taking in your bare shins with their new bruises, one from falling in your skates, the other from tripping outside the library. Steve was yet to turn fourteen but he decided then that yellow was his favourite colour, buttercup bright, that deep rich shade that was painted on your dress.
“You look like a princess,” he said earnestly, voice soft with embarrassment ‘cause Kyle from school said it wasn’t cool to be best friends with a girl.
Steve had told him to shut up, brows knitted together, cheeks blushing and he’d spent that rest of recess so confused, ‘cause the boy thought you were the coolest person he knew.
You flushed at his words, nose scrunched and you picked at the hem of your dress, dipping into a clumsy curtsy, the way all the Disney princess did on the tapes your mom let you watch.
“Thanks,” you beamed, all teeth and sore cheeks ‘cause Steve always made you smile real hard.
You felt nervous then, wondering where you and your yellow sundress fit into Steve’s room, but the moment broke, that unfamiliar jitter in your stomach disappeared Steve tugged you down onto his navy blue carpet, NES console beeping as it came to life and he handed you the extra controller, smile bright.
The day turned to night too quickly, the way it always did when you were with Steve, and soon enough the Harrington’s phone was ringing and Steve’s mom was yelling up the stairs, telling you it was time to go home for dinner.
Steve walked you out like he always did, shoulders touching as you both hurried down the stairs, eyes tired from the TV screen, fingers sticky from sugar cookies. The sun was just starting to set, the world outside was hazy and peach coloured, lavender clouds low in the sky and everything smelled like cut grass and your mom’s lemon trees.
Steve walked you to where his lawn met yours, the streets tired and empty ‘cause the summer heat was still lingering, making the air heavy and sweet. You watched as the boy chewed his lip, uncharacteristically nervous, backs of hands brushing as you walked across the grass, damp blades brushing your bare ankles and you wondered why your best friend's cheeks were so pink.
“Paul Matthews kissed Gemma Kennedy under the bleachers,” he suddenly blurted out, and you frowned, lips twisting.
“He did?” You asked, unsure of why this news was being shared. You didn’t like Paul Matthews, he was annoying and never gave anyone else a shot of the swings at recess. “What’d he say?”
Steve shrugged, all boyish and innocent. “He said it was kinda gross.”
“Gross,” you repeated, features scrunched. “Why’d Gemma wanna kiss him anyways? Paul smells like gym socks.”
Steve snorted, a shoulder bumping into yours. You could smell your dad’s pasta from the open kitchen window, the pop of a bottle being opened, soft music from one of your mom’s favourite bands.
“Do I smell like gym socks?” The boy asked, suddenly self conscious and you poked at his ribs, head shaking.
“No,” you told him earnestly, voice all quiet and sweet ‘cause it was like you were both the only two in Hawkins at that moment. “You smell nice. Like cookies and bubblegum.”
He grinned, too pleased with your assessment and before you hopped over the flowerbed that split your home with Steve’s, he caught your hand, palm a little clammy.
He murmured your name, voice shy and it made your tummy tumble in a way that you still didn’t understand, not properly, not yet.
You turned, eyes wide ‘cause you were both reaching an age where boys and girls didn’t really hold hands playing in the street anymore, and if they did, it meant something else. It made kids whisper in the playground, pass notes in the classroom and suddenly watching the older students kiss each other at their lockers didn’t seem as icky.
“Have you kissed anyone?” Steve asked you, voice laced with curiosity.
You flushed, heart raging, pulse picking up ‘cause you hadn’t and suddenly it felt like the most embarrassing thing in the world. But Steve still had his hand over yours and he squeezed your fingers a little tighter, and something about it felt so reassuring, like he’d keep every secret you gifted him.
“No.” A pause, a worry, a flutter of nerves. “Have you?”
Were you supposed to? Was a boy meant to like you now? Has Steve kissed a girl? Have you missed something monumental?
“No.”
Oh. A beat of silence that seemed to stretch an age.
“Can I kiss you?”
Oh.
“You wanna kiss me?” You asked, lashes blinking slow, mouth parted. You could taste the sugar cookies you’d shared with Steve still melting on your tongue. “Me?”
Steve stumbled over his words, cheeks flushed rose and he licked at his lips, unsure of what to say ‘cause Jesus Christ he was thirteen years old and had no idea what he was doing. But he remembered something that Paul had said to him, legs kicking as they sat on the swings together, sun beating down on their backs.
“Wish I had kissed Kimmy Cheng instead,” the boy had said, somewhat thoughtful, brows scrunched. “I really like Kimmy, maybe that would’ve made it better.”
It had made Steve think then, chewing at his cheek ‘cause the only girl he really liked was you, his best friend. You didn’t make him nervous, and when the movies you watched with him got too scary, you held his hand, face behind a pillow and he didn’t hate that. Not at all.
“I mean, I guess?” Steve mumbled and god, he didn’t understand why his stomach was flipping over, that same feeling he got when he decided he was gonna climb that old oak tree over by Fifth, the one that was too high, that had thick branches that swallowed the world below your feet. “Would be easier if our first kiss was with each other. Might be less embarrassin’, y’know?”
That made sense, you thought, ‘cause you really didn’t want another boy telling everyone your kisses were gross and Steve wouldn’t make fun of you if you were bad at it, would he?
“Okay.” You said decisively, and you took a deep breath, wondering why your heart was beating so fast, the same way it did when Steve went too fast on his bike, your fingers digging crescent moons into his shoulders, eyes tearing up at the whipping find, hair covering your face and his. “Now?”
“Now?” He repeated eyes wide and then he swore, quiet, ‘cause he wasn’t supposed to and his hand readjusted his grip on yours, palms clammy and fingers linking.
You hadn’t held hands like that before. It felt different, a little funny, closer.
But before you could comment on it, the boy was leading you between the two houses, the air warm and trapped between bricks and he opened his garden gate, feet clumsy as you both half ran down the skinny strip of yard at the side of his home.
It was overgrown there, the little hidden patch of long grass and wildflowers that grew underneath Steve’s bedroom window and it smelled like honeysuckle and lavender. You could hear the trickle of the pool, your mom’s music and the setting sun cut through the slats in the fences in stripes, lighting you both up with gold and bronze.
It smelled like summer, you decided, the perfect July day and when Steve spun to face you, you let out a noise of surprise. You were happy to notice that he seemed nervous too, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, hand tugging through his already wild hair.
But you were both hidden there, in the edges of the garden, stolen away from the rest of the town and out of sight of your parents. It felt like the biggest secret of all, one to lock away in the depths of your journal and this felt so much more than giving away the last cookie, more than backseat bike rides and a handmade friendship bracelet, more than sleepovers on Steve’s living room floor, heads touching when you fell asleep.
“What do we do?” you asked, nothing more than a soft whisper.
Steve shrugged, heart rattling against his ribcage and he licked his bottom lip and stumbled a little closer. The toes of his trainers touched your sandals and he was already a little taller than you but he blinked, gaze settling on you from underneath thick, dark lashes and you gulped.
“I don’t really know,” Steve murmured, hands flexing by his sides ‘cause he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold yours, or place them on your sides, your shoulders.
He shoved them in his pockets instead, hiding the way they shook a little with nerves and he gasped when you moved closer still, knees bumping clumsy against his own and he could count the freckles on your nose, and he wondered if they matched the ones on his skin, a present from long summer days outside.
“Will I just-?” Steve’s voice cracked and he flushed but you didn’t mention it, you didn’t laugh, you never did. “Should I?”
You weren’t sure what possessed you, maybe all the sugar you’d consumed, maybe it was the heat of sun on your shoulders, maybe it was the way your tummy was rolling with nerves and worry but you grasped at Steve’s shoulders, pushing yourself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to the boy’s without any sort of announcement.
Another gasp, warm skin, nails digging into arms, two pairs of eyes wide, noses bumping.
It lasted a few seconds, maybe less. But your lips were tingling when you pulled away, cheeks a new kind of hot and Steve looked a little shellshocked. You both rocked on your heels into the grass, too tall lavender brushing against your shins and then the boy smiled, a burst of sunshine in the shadows, and he looked delighted.
You were sure your ears were burning, the tips feeling hot and when you looked at Steves, you found his were pink too. You beamed, a nervous giggle, a laugh that got caught in your chest and when you heard your mom’s voice call from the back door - so close to where you were both still standing - you jumped, two kids trying not to be caught doing something they shouldn't.
The garden gate squeaked when you ran back through it, the hinges calling after you and you smelled like a bouquet of flowers as you ran across both lawns, feet tripping over your front porch as you ran inside.
Something pretty bloomed in between the spaces of your bones that day, when Steve Harrington decided that you were both going to be each other's first kiss. It stayed there, for so much longer than you thought it would. You’d always remember it as brown sugar and vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle, feeling brave, honey coloured eyes and complete and utter innocence.
1981. Devils roll their dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.
You didn’t even want to go to the party, you didn’t even like Karen Vincent and you were damn sure she didn’t like you. You knew you were only invited because of Steve, a slip of pink paper passed to you after Karen and her friend Shauna slid between you and the boy at his locker, hands on his chest, on his arm.
You’d wrinkled your nose at it all, fingertips gripping the invite like a ticking time bomb but the girls had learnt the hard way that Steve wouldn’t show if you weren’t welcomed too.
It’s how you found yourself crammed into the Vincent’s basement with too many other fifteen year olds, the music making the walls vibrate, the punch bowl spiked with something that shouldn’t have been mixed with fruit juice and god, it was too warm.
It was just past ten o’clock and your parents wanted you home for eleven, which meant that, by default, that was Steve’s curfew too. You’d both been allowed to walk home on the condition that you stuck together and kept to the main roads, the summer months making the nights light enough that you could see both the sun and the moon in the sky, the clouds a hazy orange as they sunk into the horizon.
You’d spoke to a few kids you shared some classes with, avoided the snack table and its fizzing punch bowl, the concoction no longer the same colour it was when Karen’s mom poured it. And then there was a pop of a bottle cork, splashes of spilled liquid on the already sticky floors, some cheers and a circle was made.
Fuck.
“Seven minutes in heaven!” Yelled a boy you didn’t really know, some kid from the same basketball team as Steve, “let’s go losers!”
There was a symphony of wolf whistles and giggles as kids piled into the middle of the room, coffee tables and armchairs pushed out of the way in favour of a seat on the floor, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with their classmates, eyes wide and searching for their next possible date to the arcade.
“Harrington!” the same boy called out, “get in here!”
Steve appeared beside you, hand brushing gently on your elbow and you frowned without meaning to, wondering why it’d taken him so long to return from the bathroom. But then you saw Karen by his other side, lips glossy and smacking blue bubblegum, eyes sharp on you as she grinned.
“Are you playing Steve?” she asked, lashes blinking, voice coy.
You grimaced, already taking a step back from the ever growing circle. Someone was placing the now empty bottle in the middle and you eyed the closet door across the room like an old nemesis. Your stomach was twirling, and it wasn’t from all the pizza rolls but the smell of chocolate pretzels and red vines wasn’t helping.
But Steve’s hand curled around your arm, still gentle, but he could read you like a book. He tsked, his smile playful but eyes gentle, as if he could feel the nerves radiate off of you. Maybe he could, maybe he could hear the way your heart rattled inside your chest, louder than the music, deeper than the bass.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, crowding into you a little so he could find your ear with his mouth. He was so much taller than you now, the top of your head barely reaching his chin and you scowled, knowing what was coming. “Where you goin’ princess?”
“Home,” you told him stubbornly and you suddenly hated the way your denim skirt was sticking to your thighs, too constricting, too warm.
You heard him sigh, making a noise that only a best friend could, the sound of someone being done with your shit but loving you nonetheless. You moved backwards, hips bumping into the table that was piled high with empty red cups and the boy followed, a puppy at your feet, the same way it had been for three years now.
“Aw c’mon,” Steve groaned, “if you go home, I gotta leave too and you promised me you’d stay until curfew.”
You huffed, arms crossed protectively over your chest, ‘cause you hated the way people were starting to stare. They always did with you and Steve, especially when he touched you like, so casually, so gently.
“I can leave on my own, Steve, I’m a big girl.”
No you weren’t. You were fifteen and still scared of the dark after Steve made you watch Day Of The Dead when both of your parents were out late at the new Italian restaurant just outside of town.
But then, a poke to your arm, your cheek, the end of your nose. You swatted at him, hiding your smile between a press of your lips.
“You know my mom would kill me if I let you walk home alone,” he grumbled but it was soft, still gentle. “Fuck, your mom would kill me after.”
“You can’t be killed twice, stupid,” you said but it lacked heat, an excuse to say something other than agreeing to a game you didn’t wanna play.
He still knew you too well, scoffing at your evasion, hand curling warm around your wrist and pulling you back to the party, back to him, bodies bumping in a too close proximity that became more tense with every year that you got older.
It was becoming harder to ignore that your best friend was pretty. You were sure he’d wrinkle his nose at your choice of adjective but Steve grew up and missed the awkward stage, shoulders broad at the same time he grew a foot, wild hair becoming only a little tamer, more product in it and eyes still warm and brown, a new dimple in his cheek you loved to press your finger into.
You’d heard the other girls in your year call him hot, a total babe, whispered through giggles in the locker room. But your best friend still looked at you all soft, the same way he did before he gave you his first kiss and he took yours, pressed against the honeysuckle in his backyard. He teased gently, took your hand when the streets got too dark and you were both late for curfew, pressed a foot over yours under the dinner table when your mom started talking about test results and extra curriculars.
Steve was still your best friend. But he was really, really pretty.
“There he is! Harrington!” Another boy - Jake someone, from your English class - had forced his way through the crowd to clap a hand on each of your shoulders, pushing you both into the circle. “And you brought your princess, how ‘bout that, huh?”
You flushed, with both annoyance and embarrassment, ‘cause one day when you were all still twelve, Steve spotted you across the park, hands twisting around a basketball as he took in another new dress you wore and called you a princess again. It just so happened that his friends had heard it too.
His nickname for you never left, but neither did your classmate's memory of the incident.
And then Steve’s hand was ripped from your arm, bodies separating you both and he was manhandled to the one side of the circle, you to the other, shoulders squished between a boy and a girl you vaguely recognised from gym class, maybe biology too. It was warmer on the floor, heat and teenage hormones gathering sticky between too close bodies, the smell of cheap aftershave and someone’s mom’s perfume mixing with Kool-Aid and sprite.
“Okay so! You guys know the rules!” Karen was standing from her spot in the circle, suspiciously opposite to Steve, eyes wide and hands animated as she gestured to the closet door on the other side of the room. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on is all yours for a whole seven minutes.”
The group giggled, excitement rippling through the circle, bodies shuffling, overflowing cups spilling.
You panicked, scanning the line of faces until you found Steve’s, his eyes already on yours, knowing and soft. He was mouthing something to you, silent underneath the music and chatter.
“It’s okay.”
But then Jake was shoving a hand to Steve’s shoulder, urging him into the middle of the circle with a raucous cheer that only teenage boys could make, the rest of the basketball team joining in and Steve bowed his head, lips twisting into an almost smile that he couldn’t really hide.
You watched as every girl perked up like a meerkat, backs straight, hair twisted around fingers, elbows digging into competitors that tried to make their space in the circle more known.
Your stomach rolled again and it only got worse when Steve spun the bottle and the glass flashed green in the centre, bodies bowing forward to see where it would land.
It sounded like you were underwater, excited voices and yells sounding far away, dulled with the thump of the music. The bottle had spun and spun and spun, landing on you with such precise finality that Karen audibly groaned.
You looked up, Steve’s eyes wide on yours, lips parted and cheeks pink. Before either of you could speak, before you could shake your head or grab your jacket from the sofa and run up the basement stairs, your hand was grabbed by Jake, lips stretched wide and voice booming.
“King Steve and the princess!” He cheered and his excitement was echoed by your classmates, hollers and whoops following you as the boy grabbed Steve with his other hand and the three of you were tripping over stretched legs and forgotten bottles, heading for that fucking closet door.
“Wait!” You said, voice sharp and god, you could hear the panic there.
You couldn’t kiss Steve. You didn’t want to kiss Steve. You shouldn’t kiss Steve.
But Jake ignored you and the music was turned up a little louder again as the rest of the party lounged on their spaces on the floor, heads turned and tilted to watch you both with interest, and your arms only found Steve’s chest when the door was yanked open and a few sets of strange hands shoved you both in.
The door closed, a gust of air, a click, the muffled sounds of the party locked away behind wood. It was dark, musty and your foot hit a shoe rack, your back against a bundle of winter coats that had been retired for the summer.
“M’sorry,” Steve whispered and you knew he was referring to making you stay. You could’ve been half way home by now, trainers scuffing the edges of the sidewalk, fresh air kissing your cheeks. “Didn’t think it would land on you.”
You grunted an unladylike response as your eyes adjusted to the low light, a sliver of warm white coming in from the cracks on the door hinges, letting you see the way the boy was looking at you guiltily.
“Whatever,” you grumbled ‘cause you really didn’t want to kiss your best friend but you hated the way Steve sounded disappointed at the idea.
You weren’t sure how long you could keep lying to yourself, but you were certain you had another few years in you.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, voice still soft, as if anyone outside of the closet could possibly hear the music and yelling. “S’not like we have to kiss.”
You snorted, chest sore in a way that felt like rejection and you hated how it stung. You looked at Steve, his eyes still on you as he shoved a hand into his jeans pocket, another raking through his hair in a way you knew all too well. He was nervous, agitated.
“Sorry I’m not Karen Vincent,” you snarked and god, you hated the way you sounded jealous, you hated the way the words burned your tongue but Steve didn’t pick up on it. There was nothing to pick up. “Promise this wasn’t some sort of elaborate cockblocking plan.”
It was Steve’s turn to laugh, a huff of air that hit your cheek ‘cause he was so close and he was all cheap beer, gummy worms and hair gel.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the boy mumbled but there was a teasing to his voice, a not so serious lilt.
You pressed your fist into his arm anyway, a hardly there punch that packed no heat and he poked his finger into your side in retaliation. You swatted at him, glaring ‘cause he knew you were ticklish and all the movement sent an empty shoe box hurtling down from a shelf above you both.
“I do not cockblock you,” you pouted, almost offended.
“Not on purpose.” Steve snorted, “Took me all of freshman year to get everyone to believe you weren’t my girlfriend.”
You scrunched your nose at the memory of it, boy’s catcalling you from afar, whispers when you and Steve walked to school together every morning, the unappreciative glares from the girls who wanted him instead.
“Whatever,” you mumbled again. “How long left?”
“It’s only been like, a minute, jeez, that bad being stuck with me princess?” Steve’s voice was teasing and his hand snuck out to grab at your waist again, touch familiar, but his fingers were tickling, poking gently at the spaces between your ribs and you wriggled against him, knees bumping off of skis and old bikes.
“Yes,” you lied and the boy knew, ‘cause you could see the way the light through the crack lit up the curve of his grin.
“Besides, we’ve kissed before,” Steve suddenly said, cautious and soft. His hand was still on you, cupping your elbow to hold you near and it slid down to grasp your wrist. He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “Remember?”
You warmed at the memory, wondering why on earth Steve had to bring it up now when you had both never mentioned it since.
“Of course I do,” you huffed, hating the way you sounded bothered. “It wasn’t that long ago. And it hardly even counted.”
Steve scowled, his hurt puppy expression painted across his features. Big, brown eyes set you in place with a stare. “It did so count,” he grumbled, “you were my first kiss.”
“And you were mine,” you fired back, as if this was suddenly an argument that you had to win. Steve always let you win.
“Have you kissed anyone else?” His voice was full of curiosity, void of any embarrassment, not like the way you felt when he asked you such questions.
It made you flush, eyes wide and lips parting, as if you weren’t supposed to say, as if you weren’t supposed to let him know. Steve had told you about his kiss with Lucy Greeves, behind the bike shed, a few months back.
He’d told you it was wet and she tasted like the chocolate milk she’d had at lunch. You remembered how he’d thrown himself into your pile of teddies and pillows at the foot of your bed, expression thoughtful as he told you he didn’t really like chocolate milk all that much.
Then there was Samantha Duncan the year before, a game of truth or dare at the skatepark when the sun started to set and your curfews got a little later. You didn’t watch when Steve leaned into the middle of the circle, friends giggling as he pressed his lips quick to the other girls.
“Just Miles Campbell,” you muttered, gaze lowered and set on the floor because you could feel the mischief bristle off of the boy as you spoke.
“Miles Campbell?!” He crowed, voice boisterous and no longer quiet. “He’s a giant, what did you do, climb a step ladder- ow!”
You pushed at Steve’s shoulder, face aflame. “Shut up! If you have to know, Harrington, we were sitting down.” You sounded haughty, but you didn’t care, ‘cause the boy was still laughing.
Steve settled down, a dopey smile just on his lips and despite his teasing, his eyes were fond. Your sides bumped as he shifted, too close and not enough space in the small closet and you were so, so aware that your gaze was level with the bottom half of his face.
His lips looked really soft.
“Was he a good kisser?”
“Why d’you wanna know?”
He shrugged.
“Thinking about asking him out?” You smirked. “Don’t think you're his type, Stevie.”
“Shut up.”
There was a knock on the door, a sudden sharp sound that had you both jumping apart and you weren’t even sure when you had wandered that close.
“Five minutes left, lovebirds!” Jake, voice muffled by the door and the music, called out, sounding way too pleased.
Steve stared at the door, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and you knew he was thinking about something. He only hesitated a little before he knocked a foot into yours, catching your gaze and he spoke as if he wanted to get the words out fast, before he could stop himself.
“Was he, though?” Steve asked again, voice quieter this time, almost unsure. He looked nervous, “Miles?”
You stared at him, maybe for a beat too long ‘cause the tips of his ears were turning red and he coughed, a little awkward. You made the same strangled noise, shoulders shrugging.
“I mean, sure,” you whispered, “I guess? He was… it was fine.”
You weren’t overly sure if the darkness was playing tricks on you or not, but you could’ve sworn you saw the boy smile.
“He tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” you continued, face warm from embarrassment, ‘cause you suddenly felt like you were sharing too much, even with Steve. “It felt weird, like a dead fish. I didn’t really know what to do.”
“You’ve never made out with someone?” Steve asked and god, you were almost positive he was the only person who could’ve asked you that question without sounding like he was making fun of you. His voice was soft, all fond affection for you that he’d collected over the years and he moved closer, toes touching yours like he knew exactly how to handle you. “Kissed someone like that before?”
“That was the first time,” you squirmed under his gaze, feeling much younger than you were. Were you supposed to have that much experience in making out with someone at fifteen? Did Steve? “I don’t really know if I did it right.”
“Oh,” he breathed and he didn’t sound like he was judging you at all. There was another slow silence, warm and not at all uncomfortable because it was still Steve, and it wrapped around you both like a question. “I could show you. If you wanted.”
The music bled underneath the gap in the door, vibrated against your skin and the drums made your heart drop and stop, thundering to the beat quickly after. You were sure it was the music. You were positive it was the music.
But then Steve mistook your silence for hesitation, a silent ‘no’ and he was already opening his mouth to cover his tracks, to take back the statement, to tell you he was stupid, that he was only kidding.
“I didn’t mean-, we don’t have to… shit, I-”
Four minutes left.
“Okay.”
You could hear the rush of your blood in your ears, skin warm, cheeks hot, tongue sneaking out to peek between your lips and you wondered if he’d still be able to taste the lipgloss you put on before you left the house.
“What?”
“Show me.”
He took a step towards you and you watched as the boy tried to keep cool but his ever expressive face gave him away, brown eyes all wide, jaw a little slack and his hand found your waist, a sliver of skin between your shirt and skirt, a place he’d not really touched before.
“Is this alright?” His voice cracked, and he blushed but you didn’t laugh. You never laughed, but you did nod. “Just do what I do, ‘kay? Can I kiss you?”
Was it really that simple, you wondered? But you didn’t get a lot of time to think it over, because as soon as you nodded, Steve was crowding into you more, pressing you into the coats and you still had to press up on your toes to let his mouth meet yours.
It was so different from last time and it was almost the same.
Steve Harrington still tasted like sugar and vanilla, hidden under cheap beer and you gasped when his lips touched yours, the same way you did when you were thirteen. But your hands grasped at his neck, steadying yourself, and he clutched at your waist to help, as if you had both gotten a little older and suddenly knew where to touch.
His mouth was soft over yours, a little hesitant at first, but then coaxing. Your lips slid over his once, twice, three times and then you felt the soft lick of his tongue at the seam of your lips and you remembered the way he’d told you to copy him.
So you did.
Your tongue touched his and your breath hitched with how nice it felt and the kiss moved soft and slow. You grabbed Steve a little harder, body swaying into his in the dark ‘cause your stomach was swooping and your heart was hammering and it felt like you were on the front seat of a rollercoaster, hanging off the edge.
Maybe Steve felt the same way, despite having more experience, because he gripped you the same way, fingernails leaving little half moon marks on your hips.
It felt strange, it felt good, it felt warm and it made everything tingle, breath stuck in your throat and a sigh leaving your chest and you felt like you should’ve been embarrassed. But you weren’t, because it was Steve.
But then voices outside were counting down from ten and they got louder and louder, hands hammering on the door and you both ripped apart before the door swung open, harsh strip lights and the smell of artificial strawberry and natty light swimming back into the closet with you.
The walk home wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been considering you and your best friend had had your tongues in each other's mouths. Maybe it’s ‘cause you were still too young, maybe it was because you didn’t realise it yet, but there wasn’t much about yours and Steve’s friendship that would ever be awkward.
So you followed the yellow lines on the edge of the road home, footsteps a little behind Steve’s and every now and then, the boy would look back over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. It smelled like nighttime and summer and everything you associated with the boy, damp grass and leftover smoke from someone's barbecue, chlorine from the pools and you could hear sprinklers in backyards, hissing in the still warm air.
You were a little late, just over curfew and the television was making your living room glow, the flicker of light coming out from the window. So Steve took your hand and led you through the back garden gate, pool lights leading you both to your patio doors, the rest of the house dark and you could smell lavender and honeysuckle from Steve’s yard.
He helped you find the key to the door, the spare hidden in a plant pot filled with pebbles and moss, one lone rose sprouting from the dirt. Both of your hands fumbled together as your fingers touched, all sudden pink cheeks and lowered gazes and Steve whispered a ‘good night, princess,’ before sneaking back down the lane, hopping over the lower part of the fence and into his own yard.
By the time you had tiptoed upstairs, past your dad who was dozing in the living room arm chair, Steve was in his room, bedroom window across from yours and the lights were still on as he lounged on his bed, shirt off and a baseball clutched in his fist.
He was throwing it from his hand, watching it fall up and down in the air before catching it again, one arm thrown underneath his head and you couldn’t help but gaze at the muscles there, all new and never really seen before.
You swallowed, suddenly too warm, the heat from the day trapped in your bedroom and sticking to your skin but you didn’t want to open the window, you didn’t want to alert the boy to your staring. You and Steve had spent nights, weeks, months and years hanging out from the sills, talking over the trailing ivy and flowers and growing below.
But this felt like something you shouldn't have been doing, especially since you could still taste him on your lips, feel where his hands had burned against your sides, so you pulled your curtains and trapped all these brand new thoughts inside your room with you.
You took them to bed, slipped between the sheets with them and everything smelled like brown sugar and honey, gummy bears and Steve Harrington.
1984. Killing me slow, out the window, I’ll always be waiting for you to be waiting below.
“Princess, c’mon, every time.”
Steve’s voice was exasperated, laced with something softer and it made swinging your leg over your bedroom window sill a little easier.
You peered down at him, long grass brushing his shins ‘cause no one but you two used that little path that took you out of the back garden gate. He was gazing back up, setting sun brushing his face with gold and caramel, peachy pink clouds in the sky and Steve held his arms out, beckoning.
“You’ll catch me?” You murmured, still unsure, despite this being a well practised escape.
“Don’t I always?” the boy scoffed, almost offended, but the small edge below your window didn’t offer a lot of footing and you swore the drainpipe was becoming more loose than it used to be.
“Harrington, I swear,” the threat was empty and it fell idle on your lips when you pushed yourself over the edge, hands gripping at the window frame and feet finding their footing.
“Don’t second name me,” Steve grumbled and you sensed him moving closer, buttercups and daisy crushed under his sneakers as he kept his arms outstretched towards you. “You good?”
You mumbled some noise of confirmation, knees bent and ready to drop. You hated this part, and weirdly, it got harder as you got older, limbs stretched, body heavier, no longer small and quick to scramble up tree branches and out of windows.
“Steve?” You couldn’t really see behind you, the soft summer breeze picking at your hair and blocking your view of the ground below but you lowered yourself as much as you could, fingers too warm and slipping against the window frame.
“Yeah, I’ve got you.”
So you let go, the short drop softened by the boy’s hand catching at your waist and pulling you against him, your back to his front and he held you there, ankles swishing in the damp grass.
Steve was all hard muscle and cologne, arms stronger than they had ever been, tanned from the summer and wrapped tight around you, hands pressed into the skin underneath your breasts. He let you go when you found your feet, white chucks soaked by the evening dew and you blew out a breath and set the boy with a stare.
“We have front doors, you know,” you watched him grin at you, wide and bright and so familiar. “Why do we have to do this?”
“S’more fun,” the boy answered and he landed a firm smack to your ass when you bent over, fingers tugging at your laces. “Nice shorts princess.”
“Fuck you,” you squeaked, cheeks warm and you reached out to do the same, plan connecting with the denim of his jeans and Steve laughed before groaning a little dirty and exaggerated. “You’re such a dick.”
He spun you both, feet leading you backwards towards the garden gate, clumsy between the flowers and he grinned, wolfishly.
“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Steve,” you tried to sound huffy, as if you weren’t impressed by his jokes but you sounded flustered instead and you hated how the boy knew it.
But he never said anything, never commented on the flush across your chest or the way your tongue snuck out to wet at your lips, he never poked fun. He just always watched with knowing eyes and a soft smile you could never discern, and kept on teasing you.
“Y’know it’s better if my dad doesn’t see me leave,” he finally answered, fingers bullying the lock, almost rusted shut from years of only being used by both of you. “I get asked too many questions and I give answers he doesn’t like and suddenly I’m back in my room filling out fuckin’ college applications for the eighteenth day in a row.“
A pang of sympathy hit your chest and before you could tell your friend that you understood, you sympathised, he was placing a warm hand on the space between your shorts and your shirt, guiding you out the gate.
“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” you grumbled good naturedly, “I could meet you out front like a normal person.”
“Fuck off, we both know you love jumping into my arms as much as I love catching you.”
You couldn’t remember when you started flirting with your best friend, or when he started flirting with you. You couldn’t pick a place or time when it began, or who did it first. But you were both eighteen and more appreciative of all the strong lines and muscles, the soft curves and different ways you looked at each other.
It would be a comment, a sly remark, a hand touching too close to areas yet to be discovered, a wink, a hug that went on for a beat too long.
Nothing had happened, not really, not since the closet at Karen Vincent’s party, but everyone at school called you Steve Harrington’s girl and the boys you hooked up with in the backs of cars always pulled away mid kiss to ask if you were definitely single.
It was all fun and teasing, familiar touches with a familiar boy, sprawled together in the same bed you’d shared with him since you were twelve years old. Except now there wasn’t as much space between you both, limbs longer, bodies taller, leftover alcohol soaking into your heads in the mornings that you woke up wrapped around each other.
You would pretend you didn’t feel how hard he was, morning wood pressed into the small of your back, the curve of your ass and Steve wouldn’t comment when your shirt had rucked itself up your ribs in the middle of the night, too much showing to be decent.
It was enough to keep you both on your toes, the close friendship teetering over the question of what if? Could we? Should we? Will we?
Steve didn’t hide the way he looked at you, affection always strong in his brown eyes, hands soft and face fond when he picked a wildflower off the garden wall, tucking it behind your ear but there was always a linger over your bare legs, the way the hem of your shorts cut high on your thighs, the way they pinched in at your waist and made your shirt ride up your ribs.
The roller rink was busy as expected, ten o’clock on a Saturday night and filled with teenagers looking for something and someone to do. The kids of the day had long left and the lights were dimmer, the whole hall darker with flashes of red and aquamarine, bubble gum pink and candied lilac that flashed across the floor and faces.
The disco ball twisted in the middle and it sent rainbows and reflections across the walls, painted Steve’s face in technicolour and you gave his cheek a little pat as you took off, wheels spinning you backwards, music thumping in your chest.
He smiled at you, knowing, brows raised as he took a seat on the tables that lined the roller rink, crowded by the friends you’d found from school, flasks pulled from pockets, clear liquid dumped into red and blue slurpees.
“Where you goin’ princess?”
You did a little spin, already warm from the sticky air, summer leaking in and slipping between the people skating and dancing, bodies too close. Your foot found the rink, hands leaning on the barrier wall as you sent Steve a wink, your cherry glossed lips widening in a smile that was borderline salacious.
“To find someone to play with.”
The boys surrounding Steve whooped and hollered, cat calls ringing out underneath the music and you could hear the comments directed to Steve, playful intones about how his girl was nothin’ but trouble, and wasn’t he gonna get a pretty thing like you locked down?
But Steve just shook his head at you, playful and exasperated, while he leant back on the bench, waving away his friends remarks with quiet whatever’s and it’s not like that.
He had nothing to say when you dropped yourself into his lap half an hour later, body warm from skating, face flushed and eyes a little too wide and bright.
He ignored the whistles from his friends, the knowing glances, the nudges to ribs. ‘Cause you were wrapping your hands around his neck, fingers playing with his hair and your lips were at his ear.
“There’s some creep followin’ me around,” you whispered, body tense and Steve’s hands, where they’d dropped to on instinct when you sat on him, tightened on the space above your knee.
“Who?” Steve asked immediately, voice low and it rumbled through you, you could feel it in his chest and his eyes were scanning the crowds, brows pinched together.
You didn’t look, didn’t turn away from where you’d pressed your nose to his temple, breathing in his cologne, his shampoo, something minty and like the forest. You caught Candance Peterson’s eye from over Steve’s head and you ignored the way she smirked at you.
“By the lockers,” you murmured and your breath hitched just a little when Steve wrapped one arm around you, holding you closer to the other hand sliding it’s way between your bare legs, fingers curled around your thigh possessively. “Red shirt, bad hair.”
Steve snickered ‘cause he found him, a guy with an overgrown mullet and beady eyes, hanging by the lockers and benches. He was staring at you, watching the way you draped yourself over your best friend and Steve raised a hand, wiggling his fingers to show that he’d seen him.
“He didn’t try anythin’, did he?”
You shook your head, tip of your nose brushing against Steve’s cheek ‘cause you refused to move any further away and you knew the boy didn’t mind. His hand was back on your leg, thumb stoking circles on the inside of your thigh and it took everything you had not to squirm in his lap.
“Nah, just asked too many questions, told me he was wondering why a ‘pretty little girl’ like me wasn’t with her boyfriend,” you scrunched your face as you spoke, lips twisted. “Told him that my boyfriend was right over here.”
It wasn’t the first time you or Steve had used each other to slip away from some unwanted attention. Steve was just tall enough, just broad enough to warrant a second glance, too drunk boys weighing up their options when you snuck under your best friend's arm, wondering if they could take him.
They usually gave up, watching with a sneer as your pressed your body into Steve’s, his hands taking advantage of your little role play game and he’d let his palm take a slow wander over the curve of your ass, a tight squeeze, a light tap and you’d dig your fingers into the spaces between his ribs for it, his laugh huffing guilty onto your neck.
You found that you could be just as intimidating, Steve seeking you out at parties when girls from out of town got a little too much, a little too eager and kept trying to touch the hair that he spent too much fucking time styling. The boy would sneak up behind you, arms around your waist as he pulled you back against him and used you as the cutest human shield he’d ever seen.
The sight of you in Steve’s arms usually stopped his admirers in their tracks, his lips pressed to the top of your head, smile hidden in your hair as you set them with a look that Steve said could make grown men cry. .
“Oh you did, did you?” Steve drawled, “did you tell him I was the prettiest one out of the bunch?”
You snorted, a sound that always made Steve grin and you loved the way his arms tightened around you. Your position on his knees gave you an inch or two of height on him, a little taller, just for a change. You pulled back enough so you could gaze down at him, lashes lowered and face overly thoughtful.
“I don’t know, Stevie,” you pondered, all faux heavy sighs, teasing and fluttering lashes. “Danny’s starting to look real cute since joining the team-”
“You shut your damn mouth,” Steve interrupted, voice huffy but he was still smiling despite himself. He took a second to watch the way a refraction of light from the disco ball travelled over your cheek, lighting up the new summer freckles there before it dipped into your Cupid’s bow. He cleared his throat, suddenly shy. “We both know you think I’m the hottest guy he- oh, shit. Your friend is coming over.”
“What?” You barked out and your voice sounded strangled. You turned to see that Steve was right, the guy in the red shirt was making his way through the gathering crowds, weaving through the busy tables towards you both, his gaze set on you and another question posed on his lips. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”
Steve was already shifting underneath you, arms hooking under the backs of your knees and you knew he was ready to deposit you on the chair next to him, eyes searching for a fight.
“Can I kiss you?” You asked instead.
“Shit, what?” The boy’s response was garbled, words tumbling over each other as he stopped his movements and looked at you wide eyed. “Princess-”
You sighed, impatient, a hand clutching at Steve’s chin, tilting his face up to you so you could catch his gaze, the question asked again with just your eyes. A silent exchange, a secret language only you two knew. You watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, eyes heavy, dropping to your mouth and you waited, a second, maybe two and then fuck, he nodded, barely perceptible.
You crushed your lips to his, swallowed the moan that Steve immediately gifted you, fingers pushing into his jaw and sighing at the way his hand on your back dropped to the waistband of your shorts, fingertips desperately seeking the warmth of your bare skin.
It was different to the kisses you had shared before, ‘cause fuck, now you both knew what you were doing and you had almost as much experience under your belt as Steve had. You knew boys liked it when you got a little bossy, hands on their jaw and thumb on their bottom lip, telling them to part their lips for you. You knew they liked it when you sighed all sweet and pretty, hips squirming in their hands, fingers pulling at their hair. They told you that you tasted like cherries, something sweet and tart and like dirty secrets.
Steve seemed to like it too, ‘cause his tongue was sweeping past your lips, kissing you dirtier than he should’ve for such a public setting and you could hear your friends rippling in excitement around you.
You pushed your thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth and he obeyed like you thought he would, parting his lips between yours and groaning into you. It was all teeth and tongue, hot hands on bare skin, hair between fingers, threading and pulling and you wondered how you could still taste vanilla, hidden in his lips underneath blue raspberry slush.
You liked the way he held you to him, a little too tight, a little more possessive than he’d ever been with you before. Because growing up with Steve Harrington was all protective hands, glares sent to boys who deemed not good enough, rides home from work and gentle hands taking that one drink too many from you at parties that went on too late.
This was different, this was personal, this was a touch that screamed mine mine mine and it kinda hated the way you knew you’d think about it later, back flat in your bed, sheets kicked to your ankles and your hand pushed down the front of your shorts.
Maybe Steve would do the same you thought, maybe he already had, you wondered. And images of Steve with his hand flat to the shower tiles flashed through your head, body wet, hair soaked, lips parted and his other palm fisting himself to the thought of you.
It was suddenly too much and you needed air more than you needed Steve. Your lips left his and the sounds of the rink came rushing back, like you’d pushed your head out from underwater. There was suddenly music, the score of wheels on wood, the siren of a pinball machine, ice clattering into cups from behind the bar.
Someone amongst the group let out one, long whistle and people tittered and god, it should’ve made you blush.
It should’ve.
It didn’t.
You simply stood from Steve’s lap, his hands still on your waist and guiding you to your feet until you could push your hair back from your warm cheeks, feeling only slightly scandalised when your friends all started but you kept your eyes on the boy.
You licked the taste of him from your lips, raspberry and sugar and something that you were now beginning to learn was just Steve. His cheeks were tinted pink, lips glossy from yours and his brown eyes were considerably darker, his finger trailing away from yours in a way that made you think he didn’t wanna let go.
But you cleared your throat the same time he did, only a little wobbly on the eight wheels that held you up and he grinned when you coughed out a laugh.
“That worked,” you told him, watching as the guy with the bad hair swung the door open, leaving without looking back.
“Huh,” Steve murmured, “how ‘bout that.”
—————
He didn’t say anything when the lights started turning back on, when the disco ball stopped spinning and people handed back their skates. Steve just found you on the benches, pressed shoulder to shoulder with your friends and he caught your eye from the door, another secret conversation that started with a quirk of a brow and ended with a tilt of a chin.
You said your goodbyes and followed the boy out the building, watching as Steve placed his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the empty parking lot, fingers twisting and playing together until you hit the main road and it was normal, it was familiar, it was Steve.
He decided he was staying with you that night, mumbling an excuse about not facing his dad in the morning, how your bed was comfier and your mom made the best waffles but you didn’t need any convincing.
So you snuck into your house, unnecessarily quiet ‘cause your dad was still up watching TV and your mom was in the kitchen with a glass of wine and a book and they barely looked at the boy who was following you up to your bedroom, nothing more than a “night, kids,” called out into the hallway.
You lay side by side with the boy, half dressed and with too much bare skin on show, Steve’s shirt on the floor, your shorts almost indecent around your thighs.
It was the first time you thought that something else might happen, legs brushing against legs and hips bumping together as you tried to get comfortable, the burn of the others lips still on your own.
But nothing did and you were starting to wonder if anything ever would.
1985. And it’s new, the shape of your body.
It didn’t matter that it had been a Wednesday, it was the first day in weeks that you and Steve had managed to get the day off together and you were both planning on making the most of it.
It’s why the boy woke you up early, a rucksack already in his hand as he walked through your patio door, left open for that very reason, the rest of the house empty as your parents went to work.
You’d been surprised at how softly he’d woken you up, fingers prodding gently at the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your pillow, eyes hidden with sleep mussed hair and one leg bare and kicked out from beneath the sheets. He grinned when you grumbled and he took your sleep warmed spot when you finally dragged yourself out of bed and into a shower.
Steve barely looked away when you reappeared in just a towel, almost too short to be decent and when you turned to your dresser to pull out a swimsuit and clothes, his eyes dipped to the backs of your legs, thighs on show, tanned from the August sun, a small freckle there he’d never seen before.
“You said you were gonna set an alarm, princess,” Steve teased, head pushed back into your favourite pillow and if he realised it smelled like your shampoo and peach scented body wash, he didn’t say. “Clock’s ticking.”
“Jesus, give me peace, Harrington,” you grumbled, voice still thick with sleep and the summer air was slipping through your open window and it made you move slower than you wanted to. “Turn around.”
Steve did as he was told, face crushed into your sheets and a grin on his lips ‘cause he heard the soft thump of your towel hitting the floor, the shuffle of clothes sliding across your skin. He knew you were winding him up, taking that little game you both blamed to a new level, another limit, because there was no fucking way a girl that looked the way you did, didn’t know what she was doing.
Steve heard the snap of a bikini strap, the rasp of denim shorts over long legs and when you told him he could look once more, he turned around in time to see a flash of cherry red, a swimsuit that hid little, covered by the way you pulled a white shirt over your head.
You pushed a pair of Ray Bans onto your nose, a little too big and stolen from Steve a few summers before. You grinned, knowing, and held out a hand.
“C’mon pretty boy, let’s go.”
Steve took the car, drove it to the outskirts of town with the windows cracked, the summer air blowing in sticky and sweet. You had your feet on the dash, a new bracelet around your ankle, woven with blue and orange thread, a matching one around Steve’s wrist that he tried to protest at but his words were weak and his smile was bright.
He let you pick the song, cassettes spilling out of the glove compartment as you tried to find the perfect mix for a day like this. There wasn’t a cloud above Hawkins and when you drove past the Burick’s farm, the sunflowers were in full bloom, making the world that flashed past your window bright yellow and the strawberry paddocks made everything smell sweet.
The roads were quiet and the air still, and you couldn’t see another soul as Steve parked up on the roadside, a dirt corner off of the road leading out of town. You both walked into the wheat fields, long grass towering to your waists as you headed for the tree line. The crops brushed your bare legs, scratched softly against your skin and you could feel Steve behind you the whole time, eyes on you, anticipation growing, warming you like the sun.
When he ran, you did too, feet a little clumsy and neither of you could see where you were stepping but the peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer air on your face made it better. You chased after the boy, bag slamming on his back, eyes glancing back at you, looking like the twelve year old with the wild hair you once knew.
Steve didn’t stop running until he hit the patch of trees, legs slowing as the branches became thicker and you slammed into his back with a soft ‘oof,’ cheeks sore from grinning and neither of you thought much of it when the boy took your hand and led you through the thickets.
The trees cleared just before the cliff dropped off, the quarry vast and a pretty green-blue underneath you. The spot was secluded, familiar to you both and a well guarded secret that was kept over the years. You came every summer, secret visits that were just for you and Steve.
You’d been waiting for a day like this for what felt like months. The height of summer, blue skies, the distant buzz of cicadas and your best friend, all to yourself.
Something told you that Steve felt the same, ‘cause when you chanced a sideways look at him, he was already gazing back, soft smile on his face.c eyes all fond and it made the day seem even warmer.
It didn’t take long for you both to be stripped to your swimsuits, Steve’s eyes blatantly staring as you slipped the denim shorts down your hips and pulled them down your legs. He didn’t say anything when you stretched yourself out on the blanket beside him, pebbles and grass underneath, the sun beating down from above.
You liked the way he didn’t shy from you, not like the other boys, like he knew he was yours and you were his, like there wasn’t anyone else to worry about. So neither of you flinched when you pressed yourself to his side, warm bare skin on more warm bare skin, shoulder to shoulder and your feet just reaching where his shins were.
You tapped a toe to them, snuck a peek at the boy beside you, grinning when you saw him smile despite his closed eyes. His lashes fluttered from behind his sunglasses, waiting for the inevitable.
“Hey, Stevie?”
Something in his tummy clenched at the old nickname, usually said with mirth and drag of sarcasm, but your lips were at the shell of his ear and you sounded so soft.
“Princess.” His voice didn’t hitch at the end like a question, it stayed low, a little hoarse, like a warning.
‘Cause you were propped onto a elbow now, body leaning into him, your hardly concealed chest pressed into his bicep and he could feel the tickle of your hair on his arm, against his cheek and you were still so close that he could feel the way you smirked against his ear.
You pushed the button on your nose to his temple, a head butt that was more affectionate than anything else and you moved suddenly, leaning over him to grab the rucksack.
When Steve opened his eyes he saw red, that almost orange colour that reminded him of summers and pool days, the freckle below your collarbone that not many people got to see.
He couldn’t not look at your chest, pushed out towards his face as you stretched an arm, grasping for the strap of the bag, making a little grunting noise as you reached for it.
Red and tiny straps, sun warmed skin that was a little darker than last month, the summer making you glow. A stretch of stomach, taught as you leaned, close enough to his own that he could feel the warmth radiate from you. Long legs pushed up onto your knees, holding you over him like a treat, like a taunt.
But then you were pushing yourself backwards to sit, gleeful with the bag in your hands and you were already unzipping it , hand delving into its contents as you muttered to him.
“Perv.”
It was soft and fond, no heat, no accusation but it still made the boy flush ‘cause that meant you caught him looking but Christ, you were both nineteen and full of hormones - what else was new?
“Don’t flatter yourself too much, princess,” he coughed out, trying to sound cooler than he felt. His eyes stayed hooded behind his glasses, wishing the tint of them made him harder for you to read but you knew him better than yourself. Steve knew that too. “You’ll go up a cup size one day.”
His words hurt no more than your comment had, all light, no sharpness but you smacked at his shoulder all the same, making him grin wide at you. Steve wondered if you knew he thought of you as nothing short of perfect, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to tell you.
But you’d found what you’d been looking for, a little plastic bag filled with a few buds and some papers, a new grinder ‘cause Steve had lost the last one at a party. You wiggled it at him, Eddie’s special weed making the air grow a little more heady, a little more sweet.
“Wanna get high with me, Harrington?“
And god, wasn’t that a question?
Steve knew you, knew you inside out and back to front, better than anyone else did. He knew how you got after a few hits, a little needy, all touchy and full of affection. The boy had been to enough parties with you to know. You’d find him, a few hours in, coming out of seemingly nowhere, face flushed and eyes glassy.
It didn’t matter who he was talking to, who he was with, what he was doing, you’d me on him in seconds, a ball of heat that smelled like his favourite perfume and the inside of Eddie Munson’s trailer, arms around his neck and face pressed to his chest.
You’d drop yourself into his lap, press messy kisses to his cheeks and giggle all soft when he tried to question you on your whereabouts, if you felt okay, if you’d drank enough water.
By now, it wasn’t really a surprise to know the entire town still thought you were dating. But he stopped refuting it as much, almost preferring the way that boys kept their distance from you when he was around. He didn’t mind the way you curled into him, lips glossy and sticky and whispering into his ear.
He liked the way you hummed happy and whispered a ‘yes’ when you’d had enough - and Steve could always tell - and he told you it was time to go home. It didn’t matter who’s house he took you to, his or yours, both were home.
So god, wasn’t that a question?
“I’m driving princess,” Steve murmured instead of everything he wanted to say.
‘Will you hold onto me, if I do? Will you crawl into my lap and look at me in that way that you do? Will you put your hands in my hair and tell me I smell good? Will you touch me like I’m yours? Will you touch me like you’re mine?’
But he didn’t.
“Not until later, Steve, we’ve got all day,” you told him, all smiles and bright eyes.
And you were right ‘cause the morning was still early, the afternoon barely beginning and there were snacks in the bag, water for when it got too hot, a walkman and some mixtapes for when the day got too quiet.
Steve just smiled and you shook the baggie at him still, a pour on your lips that he could never really learn how to say no to.
“Roll for me anyway?” You asked because you hated it and you weren't very good, and maybe there was something about the way Steve’s nimble fingers made quick work of it, maybe it was the way you liked to watch the tip of his tongue slide slick along the edges of the papers.
Maybe.
So Steve because he couldn’t say fucking no to you and that’s how you found yourself back on the blanket, legs stretched out under the heat of the sun, smoke in the air and everything a little more hazy than it was before.
It could’ve been the weed that made you do it, maybe you could’ve even blamed it on the sun, messing with your head and your heart but Steve would never have believed your excuses, ‘cause when you suddenly sat up and swung a leg over his lap, he didn’t look surprised at all.
His hands fell to your thighs instinctively, more than ready to press his palms onto your bare thighs, the high cut of that damn bikini showing more skin than was necessary and Steve swallowed hard from where he lay under you, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Princess.”
There it was again, that tone, the low way he said your name, rough like a warning, soft like he was asking for something.
It almost sounded like please, you realised.
You placed the joint between your lips instead of answering, the end of it burning amber and you inhaled softly, hating the way the smoke burned your lungs but loving the way it made you feel. But that could’ve been Steve’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as you tilted your head back, neck exposed, blowing smoke to the sky that was still cloudless.
When you gazed back down at your best friend, his jaw was slack, eyes glassy behind his Ray Bans and you smiled, way too shyly for the stunt you’d just pulled. You took the glasses off his face, wanting to see him, all of him and you held the joint between you, brows raised.
“Want a hit?”
The boy nodded.
He expected you to hold the roll up to his lips, let him take a drag from between your fingers as you sat happily on his lap.
Steve didn’t expect you to take another draw from it, smoke held between your lips, eyes hooded as you leaned down and into him. Your hands found purchase on the blanket on either side of his head but you were still chest to chest. You didn’t talk, couldn’t talk, didn’t need to talk. You just nudged your nose on Steve’s and he tilted his chin towards you, hands tight on your sides like he was holding on for dear life - and oh my god, he felt like he was - before he parted his lips for you and you let go.
Smoke blew gently from your lips to his, top lips just grazing, the movement accidental but neither of you apologised, neither complained. And when Steve held the hit there, in his chest, seconds ticked by like a countdown to something dangerous, to something explosive and on his wrecked sounding exhale, he pushed both of you up, a little frantic as your hips settled into the dip of his more.
“Can I kiss you?”
You asked it softly, like you were telling a secret, like you didn’t wanna admit it, like you were scared Steve was gonna say no, but the boy didn’t answer you at all, not with words anyway.
His mouth was on yours before you could finish talking and you both groaned at the contact. Blindly, you stubbed out the roach on the ground beside you, ashes rubbing into gravel and sand before your hands found purchase on Steve’s face.
It was a kiss you hadn’t shared before, a kiss that was messier than the others, a kiss that lacked the control the others had.
It was a kiss that usually led to something more, hands wandering in someone’s back seat, mouths on necks, voices whispering dirty things in the last row of the cinema.
It was something you hadn’t felt with your best friend before.
It was hot and dirty and fast, his hands on your neck, your jaw, fingers splayed into your hair and his thumb tugging greedy at the corner of your bottom lip, desperate for you to open for him, so he could lick into you.
It didn’t help that you were both lacking so much clothing, too much bare skin pressed against each other, chest to chest and your legs wrapped around his waist.
It was too easy to roll your hips, to whine into Steve’s mouth at the way he let out the dirtiest, prettiest noise for you. It made you want to do it again, it made you wanna thread your fingers into his hair and tug.
“Steve.”
He thinks that’s what broke him, the way you said his name like that, soft and whimpered, like you fucking wanted him, like you needed him. The boy was sure he’d never been that hard in his life, your ass pressed into his lap, his hands wandering over the slope of your lower back, sliding over your bikini pants, fingers toying with the tiny sides of them.
Steve thought about all the things he wished he was brave enough to say to you. ‘Are you mine? Do you know I’m yours? Do you know I always have been?’
But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the courage, couldn’t find the willpower
to drag his lips from yours, not unless it was to press his mouth to your neck instead, to suck and bite a little bruise there that said what he couldn’t with words.
Mine.
You don’t know how it ended, you barely remembered how it had started but as the night leaked in and made the quarry glitter, Steve was smoothing a hand over your hair, messy from his tugging, as you pulled your shorts back on.
He’d packed up the bag, shrugged his T-shirt back over his chest, lips as kiss bitten as yours, skin warm from the sun and you. It felt like there was so much to be said, it felt like nothing at all. A natural occurrence, an almost yearly event, something cosmic, something magic, like a meteor strike, like a new planet being discovered.
You got to kiss your best friend and Steve got to kiss his and it simply felt like you were both one step closer to where you were both going to end up. You were so sure it was with him, but maybe that was just the whispers of your moms, voices hardly quiet as they gushed by the Harrington’s pool summers ago, talking about how their kids were something special together, how sometimes soulmates did exist.
So it didn’t feel awkward when Steve swiped a stand of hair from your cheek, took your hand in his and pressed one more kiss to the top of it before letting go, stepping back for another summer, until one of you - or both of you - were finally ready to say what needed to be said.
It wasn’t going to happen that day, but it felt closer than ever.
And when he drove you both home, Steve didn’t tut at you for putting your feet on the dash, in fact, he smiled all soft the whole drive back into Hawkins, past the same wheat fields, the water tower, the sunflowers and fruit fields that made the night smell sweet.
It was dark when you both snuck in through the back garden gate, Steve’s patio light still on and there was smoke coming from the little fire pit by the pool, gentle chatter and laughter from where both of your parents sat with glasses of wine. Leftover dinner dishes and empty plates sat on the wooden table and neither couple were surprised to see you both.
You didn’t know that your parents watched the way Steve stood tall behind you, always in reach, an open hand just hovering by your side as if he was always ready to catch you. You didn’t know that his mom would smile at you, watching the way you watched her son, cheeks sore with a grin she’d never tire of seeing.
Even Steve’s dad would shake his head, fond, making everyone titter and the pair of you blush as he asked accusingly, “and what have you two been up to all day?”
You wondered if they could see the way you flushed in the dark, if they saw the swell to Steve’s bottom lip from the way you’d been greedy with it, if they noticed the pretty lilac bruise that should’ve hopefully been hidden by your shirt.
But it was okay. ‘Cause you felt Steve warm and solid at your back, his chest pressed against you and the leftover taste of him and smoke on your lips. The air smelled like honeysuckle and chlorine, fresh lavender and basil from a dinner you’d missed and the back garden gate was still swinging on its hinges.
1986. And I scream, “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”
Steve fucking hated Chris Maxwell. He’d disliked the guy in high school, always running his mouth and exaggerating his lacrosse wins, the girls he got with, the drugs he managed to score. He had the same car as Steve, the same BMW in a shitty puke green colour and he drove it like an idiot.
He hated him even more when you started dating him.
You’d dated guys before, shit, Steve had had his fair share of girls over the years too. Nothing ever serious, nothing that meant all that much ‘cause the girls he brought to parties and basement hang outs took one look at you and tried to make him choose.
Steve always chose you.
You’d dated less, Steve had always noticed, shying away from unfamiliar attention, choosing to kiss and run after the party was over, no numbers exchanged, no dates to be had. You’d always scrunched your nose at him and evaded the question when Steve asked, murmuring something about how it wasn’t worth the hassle.
It’s why Steve had been so surprised when you were dropped off one day by Maxwell, in his snot green car with his stupid smarmy smirk. Once became twice, twice became three times and before you both knew it, you were lounging at the bottom of Steve’s bed one day as he sat at his desk and you were shrugging.
“Uh, yeah, I guess? Maybe he is my boyfriend?”
Steve remembered coughing out a laugh, because, how could you not know?
But you were being picked up and dropped off by the boy on numerous occasions and Steve quickly grew tired of watching him try and eat your face in his front seat. But only two months had passed before things seemingly grew tired and sour, your face twisting in a veil of annoyance when you heard his car horn blast from the street.
He never got out of the car to knock on your door, Steve had noted, never walking you up the path at night to see you safely inside. Steve was sure the last straw came on the day he was already in your living room, hands clutching the casserole dish that his mom had sent him to borrow. You’d rolled up, the stupid vomit coloured car catching the curb as it squealed to a stop, music blasting from the inside and your dad mirrored Steve’s expression as the two men stood at the window.
Noses scrunched, lips downturned, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t like that little punk,” your dad had grumbled.
“Same,” Steve had answered and the two of them were oblivious to the way your mother grinned behind their backs.
But Steve had watched you storm out, car door slamming as Chris leaned over to the open window, yelling something about coming back and let’s talk about this honey!
You’d ignored him and Steve had walked home feeling a little lighter than he had in weeks.
He still didn’t expect Chris to come sneaking into his back yard one evening, when the town was quietening down, when the fireflies came out and the sun made the sky streaky with pink and peach and lilac.
Steve had been propped against the wall of his house, just beside the back garden gate, hidden in that little lane that no one seemed to use. The space that smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the place that grew a little wild and reminded him of you. There was more ivy on the wall that year, growing more untamed than it ever had and it made Steve smile to see that it was crawling up the side of your house too, almost to your bedroom window.
A cigarette hung from his lips, a bad habit he hadn’t picked up since he was seventeen and easily persuaded but work was shit, his dad was nagging at him about reapplying for colleges and he hated that he’d hardly seen you in a week.
And the reason why was creeping through the gate, shoulders hunched and eyes alert. Chris had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Steve, a scowl on his face as he snarled at him accusingly.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Steve rolled his eyes, cigarette still wet between his lips and it moved as he replied, his words an annoyed mumble.
“This is my fuckin’ garden, dickwad. You went through the wrong gate.”
It took the boy a moment to realise his mistake and instead of apologising, or admitting to it, he turned and continued to glare at Steve.
“S’your goddamn fault I’m sneaking around anyway, Harrington,” Chris hissed, his eyes already seeking out your bedroom window across from them.
It was ever so slightly cracked, curtains shut and blowing in the breeze but Steve knew you kept it open so you could smell the honeysuckle you loved so much, so that you could hear Steve if he opened his window across from you, to whisper into the night.
It had been a long time since you shared secrets and stories across the garden gates, but old habits die hard and Steve kept his open for the very same reason.
“My fault?” Steve snorted, an offended and somewhat dramatic hand pressed to his chest. He kicked off of the wall, cigarette throwing smoke into the air and he exhaled, smirking when some of it blew into Chris’ face. “And what the fuck did I do, Maxwell?”
“Everything’s always about you!” The other boy burst out, without much preamble, “whole fuckin’ relationship revolved around you, you’re all she talked about and then she tell has the nerve to tell me that she’s breaking up with me.”
Steve looked at Chris with raised brows, cigarette held lightly between a finger and his thumb, the top of it still burning in the dim light.
“Is that so?” Steve took a drag, tried to keep his heartbeat steady, tried not to smile. “Had nothin’ to do with the way you spoke to her like shit and was always demanding stuff, no?”
The boy levelled Steve with a stare, nostrils flared and hands shoved in his pockets. “Of course she tells you fucking everything.”
“Of course she tells me fucking everything,” Steve repeated, emphasis on every word as he glowered at your ex, brows furrowed and fist clenched by his side. “And what’s it to you if she does-”
“What the fuck is going on?”
The two boys looked up, one grinning, the other desperate at the sight of you, hanging out your open window.
Steve held up a hand in a way, features perfectly amicable as he beamed.
“What are you doing here, Chris? There’s a reason I’ve not taken your calls,” you sounded bored, tired and the boy had barely begun to answer before you’d already moved onto Steve.
“Honey, please, I’m begging you can we just ta-”
“Steve, are you smoking? Again? Really?” You tutted, elbow on the window frame as you looked down at him with a soft pout.
“My bad, princess,” but the boy was grinning, not looking very sorry at all ‘cause Chris was silently fuming beside him. “Stressful times, y’know?”
He took another long drag, blew the smoke out above the other boy's head and continued smiling that bright grin. Steve looked up at you again, head tilted as he gestured to your ex and squinted against the sun that was starting to set behind your roof.
“Want me to take out the trash for you?”
His words earned him a shove, a bark of laughter leaving his lips as he barely stumbled against the other boy's hands. But before Steve could retaliate, you were calling down in a voice Steve knew you reserved for telling him off when he got too drunk, when he pushed your buttons a little too much.
“Hey! Chris! Jesus, quit it!” You were leaning out of the window more, sleep shirt hanging off of one shoulder and a pucker between your brows. “Just go, okay? We’ve already spoken about this, I’m not interested.”
“See, this is what I was fuckin’ talking about,” Chris hissed, low enough so only Steve could hear and Steve didn’t know how to reply.
Quiet wrapped around all three of you, the distant trickle of the pool, the muted buzz of Steve’s television from his living room and eventually, a strangled curse from your ex boyfriend's lips as he shouldered past Steve and swung the garden gate open, the wood hitting the brick.
Steve tried not to grin as he looked back up at you, tongue pressed to the side of his cheek and his brown eyes glittering. The sunset made you both rosy, a sunbeam stretching across the side of your house, lighting up the bricks and you.
“He seems touchy.”
“Shut up, Harrington,” you knew Steve heard the smile in your voice, the affection in the roll of your eyes. “You coming up?”
And then you disappeared, ducking back into your room and sliding the window closed with a click.
Steve didn’t realise your parents were out until he walked over the empty driveway, the sun lowering itself into the line of trees across the street, the sky turning lavender, the moon making an appearance. He didn’t knock, just walked in through your front door, shoes toed off by the porch before he jogged up the stairs.
Your door was already open and he found you lazing on your bed, sheets ruffled and the lights off, just the leftover sun trickling in through the open curtains and the crystals you hung at the windows sent rainbows scattering across your walls.
Some of them fell across your bare thighs where you lay, stomach down, legs in the air in a pair of shorts that were hardly seen from underneath the huge shirt that you wore. Another streak of colour landed on your face, fluttering as the crystal spun on their chains, dancing in the last of the light.
Steve wanted to kiss it, to see if the pretty shades on your cheek made you taste any sweeter than he already knew.
“You didn’t tell me you broke up,” Steve said and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, just genuine curiosity, soft and gentle.
He fell onto the bed beside you, made the mattress dip as he shelled into your pile of pillows at the opposite end from where you lay. He pushed a socked foot into your side, digging in at the spaces between your ribs and making you squirm. Steve caught a smile, spread on your lips just for him and you twisted to bat him away, not surprised when his hands found yours and tugged.
You let him pull you beside him, into the mess of sheets and too many cushions, lying so you were facing him, noses a breadth apart, eyes lowered as you spoke, suddenly nervous.
You shrugged, fingers playing with the edges of a pillow, “just sort of happened, wasn’t a big deal.”
A beat of silence, the boy wondering if that was the truth, if there was something more behind your words, if you were hiding something in the way you refused to meet his gaze. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart pounding against the mattress, if it was echoing loud through your pillow the way he was sure it was his.
It felt like something was building, like something was coming. Something big, something new, something wild. Like a tropical storm, a bolt of lightning across the town, a flash flood, a hurricane, something to announce that summer was over.
That time was up.
“You don’t seem too heartbroken ‘bout it,” Steve hedged, his gaze trained on your hands, the way your fingers picked and played with the cotton between you both. He wanted to take your hand in his, run a thumb across your palm and soothe you.
“Cant get my heart broken by a guy that never had it.”
“He didn’t?”
“Don’t play dumb, Stevie,” you chided gently, teasing, “it doesn’t suit you.”
“Always thought he wasn’t good enough for you,” the boy responded, keeping what he really wanted to say hidden behind his tongue.
“You said that about all the guys I got with.”
A gentle nudge, your hand on his chest, a shuffle closer, breathing the same air, the rainbow on your cheekbone flitting to Steve’s lips as the sun moved down. He watched you chase it with your eyes, gaze soft, looking a little longingly, or maybe he was just hopeful.
“It’s true.”
A soft hum, a pleased noise, a smile that finally reached your eyes and a hand that fell to Steve’s arm, running down the length of it until your fingers found the cuff of his sweater and played with that instead.
It was the closet Steve had been to holding your hand for a while and it felt like the beginning of summer again, back to bike rides to the arcade, sticky fingers tips and slurpees that were almost too big to hold.
“Why’d you break up with him?”
You stopped, fingertips brushing over Steve’s wrist, a pause on his pulse point that told you that maybe he was as nervous as you felt. Your knees bumped his, rough denim on soft skin, the day leaking out of your room as the sun fell behind the treetops and suddenly everything was blue.
Navy tinted shadows, inky skin, indigo lines of barely there light that turned Steve’s skin lilac and you breathed in, held it, let the burn in your chest for a second or two before letting it back out.
Summer was leaking away, slipping behind the moon and the night, and you suddenly felt too tired to lie anymore, to pretend.
“He wasn’t all that happy that I was in love with someone else.”
God, you felt brave.
Bold.
Blue.
Steve didn’t look all that surprised, a flicker of soft realisation over his eyes, no shock, just a gentle breath of ‘it’s time?’
“I can’t say I blame the guy,” Steve murmured, chin ducking to meet yours, foreheads pressed together on the same pillow and his hand found yours, fingers twisted together. “Don’t think I’d be very pleased either.”
“I know,” you told him, gaze trained on the way his lips moved when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know when it happened.”
“No?”
You shook your head, feeling heavier than you had, like you were pulled into the boy and something magic was keeping you there. You could smell lavender and cedar and smoke and Steve.
“Might’ve been at this party, in someone’s basement. Might’ve been the time I was pushed into a closet and my best friend kissed me.”
“That sounds awful,” Steve mused and the beginnings of a grin were pulling at his lips, “a whole five years, huh?”
“Right? Isn’t that just the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”
He liked the way you said those words, like it was the opposite, your voice all sunshine and warmth and leftover summer. You were blue skies and honeysuckle, wildflowers and long drives, sleepovers on your bedroom carpet and sneaking out through the back gate.
“Y’know, I think I’ve got you beat,” said the boy, all faux seriousness as he brought his hand to your waist, palm wide and warm as he pushed at your shirt, bunching it up over your ribs until he could touch bare skin.
“You do?” You felt a little breathless at his touch, a feeling you’d craved since last summer at the quarry, a feeling you’d missed despite knowing you’d get it again soon, eventually. Now.
“Oh yeah,” Steve scoffed, voice teasing, gaze staring at you from between dark lashes. “I once knocked on this girl’s front door, asked her if she wanted to go to the arcade with me and I didn’t even mind when she hogged all the slurpee. I was a goner.”
“I did not!” You laughed, the sound pressed to Steve’s neck ‘cause he was pulling you into him, beaming bright and more carefree than you’d seen him in a while. “Liar.”
“Fell in love with the first girl I ever kissed,” he whispered, cheek pressed against yours as he whispered into your hair, like a secret he was sure you already knew. “How sad is that?”
You shook your head, hands clutched the material of Steve’s shirt, fists to his chest as if he was going to leave.
“S’not sad at all,” you told him and god your voice was a hush, your lips against the shell of his ear and you felt the breath that he sucked in and held. “Long time to wait though, huh?”
Steve nodded, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he pulled back, seeking you out in the dark of your room, noses bumping.
“Feels worth it, don’t you think?”
And god, it did.
It happened the way summer did. Slow and inevitable, like the gradual pick up of warmth through the year, the way you expected the sun in the morning, blue skies through your window, ice cream for lunch.
It happened like it was supposed to, like it was meant to, like you’d waited all that time just to greet it with a warm shyness, a coy, “oh, I’ve been expecting you.”
It rolled in like a present, like a gift, like a reward. Like something that the world wanted you both to have, like the universe knew you were supposed to be together. So you shared first kisses between the wildflowers, let the seeds of something more bloom between your ribs, the spaces between your chests and your hearts. You let it simmer in the warm afternoons, burn a little stronger on cliff tops over quarry’s, picnic blankets rough under bare knees and hands in hair.
“It does,” you breathed, closer to the boy than you had been, noses pressed into cheeks and for the last time, your best friend asked you your favourite question, one that tasted like fresh lemonade and smoke, cherry slurpees and fresh flowers in the air.
“Hey princess?”
You hummed a response, eyes already closed, lashes brushing at the corners, a small smile playing on the curve of your lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
You were on Steve before he could finish asking, hands on his jaw, tugging him into you, the hand that he had on your waist tightening its grip as your lips met.
It felt different than last summer. Slower, deeper, lazier, like you both knew that this wasn’t the last kiss, like you both knew you didn’t have to wait until next year, or the year after.
Like you both knew that this time was it.
You moved in the dark of your room together, Steve pushing you back into the plush of your bed, moving over you to hold himself there, chest just brushing yours as one hand found purchase in your sheets, careful not to crush you.
He caught the leg that you brought up to his side on instinct, desperate to feel more of him, wanting to press into him. Steve’s finger curled under the space behind your knee, hooked there so he could hold your thigh against his hip, so he could move into the space you created for him, body rolling into yours.
He swallowed the gasp you gave him, kissed away the sigh and the blue of the room seemed a little brighter with his lips on yours. You whined against him until the boy caught on, moving back onto his knees only for you to follow, chest pressed against his and only breaking the kiss for him to lift his arms for you. His shirt hit the floor, yours following suit, all bare skin underneath with some new freckles to find, a trail of summer; water fights, sneaking out and greeting the morning together on the hood of Steve’s car.
Steve ducked down to meet you, to let you kiss him a little deeper, a little dirtier, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, groaning when you opened for him, hand spanning the width of your back, hips pressed together with intent.
“I’m fucking desperate for you, y’know that right?” Steve groaned, words sinking into your mouth with every push of his lips against yours and you swore you’d never heard anything prettier. “Always have been, totally gone on you, princess.”
“Steve,” you felt hot with the prick of emotion, tears brimming at your lashes ‘cause it was all too much and not enough, want and longing and need building up, years of looking, of touching and just tasting, searching kisses, useless excuses, never talking about it after.
And then his hands were back on your legs, palms hooked around the backs of your knees and you were falling together, bouncing off of the mattress, pillows falling to the floor and god, you were crashing into each other.
It was mixtapes on birthdays, fresh strawberries after swimming, a hand held in the dark after a scary movie, sitting in the yard after dark when the night was still warm and you don’t know how to tell your best friend that you thought they were perfect.
Your shorts slid off too easily, hips raised from the bed and Steve’s fingers curled into the waistband. He kicked off his jeans with the help of your feet, toes pushed into the denim as he shucked them to the floor.
Suddenly, there was more skin to touch, to taste, to look at, and Steve took note of every curve he hadn’t seen, every little mole and scar, tan lines in places he always tried not to stare at.
But he kissed them instead, lips trailing hot over your chest, kisses pressed to the dip of your clavicle, the patch of sunburn on your shoulder and you felt like you had caught the entire months of summer in your chest.
It all felt a little golden.
But night had crawled in and the shadows were darker, making every touch more intense, every kiss feeling like a confession. Your underwear joined his, piled at the foot of your bed with spilled sheets and pushed pillows and the world fell into silence for you both.
No buzz or insects, no sprinklers in the yard, no screech of brakes from the street, no yelling from a tv.
Everything was hushed as Steve spread his fingers over you, a choked gasp at the way he made you feel, a kiss to soothe. He kissed you through it, fingers feeling thick as he slid one and then two inside of you, curling up and searching, face pulled back from your own so he could watch you fall apart beneath him.
“So fuckin’ pretty, so pretty,” Steve told you and you felt it, you believed him, forehead pressed to his as you gasped out his name, hands wrapped around his biceps as he coaxed you over the edge. “Can you come for me princess? Please?”
You did as he asked, as if you had any say in the matter, crashing and tumbling and falling into him, body tight, eyes clenched shut and lips falling apart in the prettiest moan Steve had ever heard.
“Oh shit, babe, that’s it, ‘atta girl, princess.”
He pulled your hands from his length when you made an eager grasp for him, not cruel, just desperate. Steve shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, jaw slack and eyes heavy.
“Babe, if you touch me s’all gonna be over in a second,” he admitted hoarsely and his voice held no shame.
So you covered him in kisses, flipped your positions from where you lay on the bed and pushed the boy into the pillows instead. You caught his lips on yours, messier now that you’d had a taste of what was to come, mouth leaving gloss over his jaw, down his throat and you felt the vibrations over your tongue when Steve moaned.
You moved over him, slick and warm, hips pushing into his as you straddled him, making a mess of his boxers and short circuiting his brain as Steve gripped your thighs, touch almost cruel as he held on for dear life.
You pressed your palms to his chest, dropped yourself down a little so your lips could graze his own, a new kind of kiss, teasing, a whisper that was barely there.
It promised more to come, it kept him waiting and wanting, made Steve groan out at the realisation that he was entirely yours and god, maybe, just maybe, you were his too.
“Fucking hell,” he whispered, and his voice was shot, “princess, please, s’not nice to tease a man like that.”
You grinned, filled with a confidence you only ever gained from being near Steve, bolstered by the way he looked at you - all heavy lidded and slack jade, chest and cheeks flushed underneath you.
“You’ve never complained before,” you murmured back, mouth parted over his, Cupid’s bows touching but never really pressing your lips to his.
It made you both think back to all the looks, the gazes, the stares filled with longing and wanting and yearning. That same question, asked with uncertainty, with a tumble of nerves, a burst of wonder, over the years until you knew what each other would taste like, until you knew how their lips felt between your own.
“Vixen,” Steve mumbled and it should’ve been said like an insult, like a curse but his voice was molten honey, sweet caramel and the start of a summer morning.
“Can I kiss you, Harrington?” The question wasn’t needed, and you were starting to think it never had been, but you loved the way his lips lifted into a soft smile under yours, noses brushing as he nodded, waiting patiently with his hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs.
Steve made a pretty noise at the back of his throat, a gasp and a moan, a wrecked, “please,” falling onto your lips.
You kissed him without any worries, without any thoughts of what does this mean for tomorrow? You kissed him like you were greeting summer, like he was the month of June and blue skies, like you could taste peaches and fresh lemonade on his lips, like he held all your secrets behind his teeth.
He did.
Your harsh pants and soft moans mixed as you moved together, the boy shuffling underneath you as he rid himself of his underwear, boxers kicked to the end of your bed where they’d eventually be lost.
He took himself in his hand, hard and long, his breath shaky as you slid down, gasping into his mouth as you got yourself seated, tightening around him for the first time.
Steve whispered your name, soft, sinful, like a prayer, like a praise.
“I’m not gonna last long,” he grunted, eyes squeezed shut as he clasped your face in his hands, fingers splayed across the line of your jaw, over the apples of your cheeks. “M’sorry, it’s just- you’re too much, princess-”
You cut him off with a kiss - a silent ‘it’s okay’ - hips shifting, rolling over him as you moved, whimpering into his mouth. Steve swallowed your noises, gave you back his own and it wasn’t long before he was rolling you both over.
His hands found the insides of your thighs first, spreading them so he could fit between, length still inside of you, pressing into all the right places. Palms smoothed up your sides, over the ripples of your ribs, calluses catching soft skin and the feel of it all made you sigh, head tilted back.
Your hands found his, fingers intertwined as he pressed them back into the pillow below you, chest brushing up against your own as he moved, your legs curled around his waist and it was bliss, it was bright white behind your eyes, it was glitter in the dark, it was a electricity in your bones.
“Steve,” your voice was a whimper, an almost cry, your hands grappling at his shoulders for purchase as he pushed you into the mattress with thrust after thrust.
It all felt a little wild, gasping into open mouths, lips barely managing to find the other for a kiss, sliding messy over each other as hands pulled hair and fingers squeezed at arms, at thighs, at waists.
“I know,” the boy said, sounding just as wrecked as you did, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands under the small of your back, fingers splayed wide so he could lift your hips into his own. “I know, fuck, you close? Please tell me you’re close.”
You answered with a moan, a pitched keen, your fingers tugging the lengths of hair at the nape of the boys neck and he groaned, a deep dirty sound in response and then you were falling apart, a vice around him, eyes clenched shut and teeth biting down on the muscle in his shoulder.
Your name tumbled from his lips, a holy sound and Steve moved a little messier, his hips stuttering before he pulled out, both of you sighing at the loss, before he spilled onto your stomach with the help of your hand.
The air smelled like summer and sex and Steve.
Your pants filled the air, mixing with the boys and the trickle of the pool in the backyard. You lay together, breathless and skin slick, flyaway hairs sticking to your forehead, eyes a little glassy and lips rosy from greedy kisses.
Steve pressed another to you then, and you were almost dizzy with it. He didn’t ask, neither did you. You didn’t have to. Not anymore. So he kissed you a little harder, tempting pretty sounds from your chest that he chased with his mouth, body still pressed against yours in a way you were sure you’d never grow tired of.
No one spoke until you were both cleaned and half dressed, bodies lazy across your sheets, the night still too warm to wear anything more than your underwear, chests bare in the dark and pressed greedily to each other. A slow hand brushed across the small of your back as you lay on your stomach, head on the boy’s chest and your fingers carding through his hair.
Every now and then you’d press a kiss to wherever you could reach: his palm when it smoothed over your cheek, his sternum where you lay, the sharp line of his jaw when you found the energy to tilt your head up.
Steve responded in kind, his lips on your forehead, the top of your crown, the end of your nose.
The silence was filled with the wonder of each touch, both of you bursting at the seams as you pressed your mouths to each other without worrying, without asking.
But then Steve shifted against the pillows, moved until you were over him, chest to chest and your legs in the space between his. You propped your chin on his chest, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him and you hummed in delight when he smoothed hand over your hair, tucking it behind your ear.
“You know I’m in love with you, don’t you?”
Heavy words were said so simply, so easily, and you did. You knew. But it still sucked the breath from you, it still made you ache to hear it out loud.
“Yeah, I do,” you answered, because you did. You knew it from the way Steve looked at you, the way he liked to be near you, to sit a fraction too close. You knew it from the way he shared his slurpees, his car, his bed, his thoughts, his secrets. You felt it in his gaze, his touch, in the way he’d grown with you. “I’m in love with you too.”
“Yeah, princess, I know.”
And it was as easy as that. Simple like summer, inevitable, like the way the month of June rolls in after May. It was expected, like the warmth and the heat, like the sun in the morning and the clear starry skies at night.
It was an eventuality, a slow burn, a want, a need, a necessity.
It was Steve and it was summer and they belonged in their entirety to you.
⌞SUMMARY ⌝ in which you and steve harrington meet again years later at the hawkins middle school dance he's chaperoning for, now a baseball coach and sex ed teacher. to reconnect, he voluntarily agrees to be your fake fiancé to bring home to your family. only problem is the bottled up resentment and feelings between the two of you since your fallout in high school.
⌞WARNINGS⌝ 18+ mdni one year post epilogue, steve pov, childhood best friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating/engagement, steve has a complicated relationship with his parents, dual timeline, steve is 24 & reader is 23, make up/apology sex, angst, some fluff/humor, steve being an absolute asshole in the past, king steve, jealous steve in present timeline, alcohol, smoking, eventual smut but majority is plot, p in v, fingering, soft dom! steve, sub! reader, happy ending
⌞WORD COUNT ⌝ 5.3k
⌞A/N ⌝ hello! first chapter done & out the way. overall, more of a intro, setting the scene chapter. this chapter was written from my phone and laptop depending if i was writing at home or not, and for some reason tumblr differentiates the font of the quotation marks depending on the device i'm using? i WILL be fixing this and 'study strip later' to fix it because i'm the biggest perfectionist.
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
July, 1973
For the past year, Steve Harrington had been begging for a bike. It'd been a morning at the breakfast table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, when his eyes had laid on a yellow deluxe Schwinn Stingray for the first very first time in his seven years of living.
His big brown eyes had lit up when he has flipped through the Sears catalogue, already conjuring up several images in his head of him pedaling through the streets, hair mussed up for once, and knees scraped up.
Almost immediately, he’d pointed to the picture and pleaded to his parents. In response? It’d been an immediate no.
“I really want it! I’d look so cool like the kids from school!”
His bottom lip had trembled, eyes watering the more he had asked and had only gotten a harsher response every time.
“Stuff like that is for children with no home training, Steven.” His father had chided, the wrinkle between his brows furrowed.
“But—!”
‘Enough! Clearly we spoil you too much. Now go get yourself ready. I have that dinner with my client tonight.’
Steve stomped off not knowing whether to cry or hurl one of his toy cars. He just didn’t understand! A bike didn’t mean he’d turn into a rebellious kid with no manners, if anything it just meant he’d have more opportunities to explore. He was sick of being cooped up in the large empty house all the time, always left alone with his nanny Matilda while his mother accompanied his father on his business trips.
The months that passed had been filled with long sighs and not so subtle hints to his parents every time a bike was shown on television, on display while he’d been dragged for shopping with his mother, and every time the paperboy had pedaled by the house. Steve had felt green with envy when stupid Tommy H. had been showing off his brand new bike at school, the exact one he wanted except in red. He’d felt the urge to grab a rock and hit the freckled boy upside the head with it.
Until the morning of his 8th birthday, when he’d gone down for breakfast, table quiet as his mother, father, and he ate the breakfast served to them as always. Steve had been about to say his thanks to Elizabeth and offer to wash his own plate when his father had left the room before coming back to pull in a yellow deluxe Schwinn Stingray alongside him.
Steve had gasped, eyes welling up when he’d witnessed the very object of his wildest dreams. His mother’s lips had even twitched into a small smile as she sipped her coffee, a rare sight truly.
His mother had spoken up, “You wouldn’t stop asking, so I suppose we just went ahead and gave in. You’re…old enough now to be responsible with things like this. Happy birthday, Steven.”
Steve had been grinning ear to ear, mouth already opening to thank his mom when she shook her head, “Oh no, thank your father, it was actually his idea.”
Surprise had hit him, his eyes flickering to his father who stood stiffly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. His father? He’d been the first one to always deny him of this wish in the first place! Steve wondered what had caused him to have a change of heart. In the end, he didn’t have it in him to think too hard about it, all that mattered is that his father had finally listened.
He lunged forward.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He’d exclaimed, arms tight around his father.
His father had stilled, almost awkward as his hands slowly wrapped around Steve in return, giving a couple pats to his back, “Yeah, er- you’re welcome, son.”
The weeks that followed had been Steve constantly biking the moment he had a chance, which was a lot considering his parents were mostly gone all the time. He’s been instructed only one strict rule: don’t drag dirt into the house.
These were instructions Steve easily followed, always making sure to leave the bike in the garage every time he returned home from pedaling around Hawkins. It’d been a new sense of freedom he’d never felt before. He’d been pretty lonely, no friends except maybe Matilda. But even then, your own nanny doesn’t exactly count as a friend. Now, even if the days were still lonely, he had something new to do that was actually fun, unlike being restricted to home.
Little did he know though, was that his bike would be the reasoning for meeting you.
It was an afternoon when Matilda had opened the fridge, clicking her tongue. It’d been empty and she’d forgotten to go to the store the other day. Steve, toy car in hand among the other ones scattered across the floor, had looked up at her. He noted the small frown and how it looked as if she was desperately trying to find a solution. Her car had been broken down for quite some time, desperately needing to get fixed. It’d been his mother who’d been taking the family car for once to grab the groceries, except she’d left earlier this morning with his father to New York for business. Clearly, she’d forgotten to stock up on ingredients while they were gone.
Matilda sighed, “I’m sorry, Steve. I have no idea what on earth what we’re going to eat. Is it alright if I just order a pizza?—”
Steve stood quickly, already abandoning his toys, “I can go!”
Matilda blinked in surprise, a softly laughing, “That’s sweet of you, Steve, but it’s alright, you don’t have to do that.”
Steve shook his head, already racing to slide on his sneakers, “No, no, I can! You can still order the pizza, but I can just go get what you need so it’s ready tomorrow.”
“Steve…”
“Please? I can do it, really, I can!”
One thing about Steven Harrington people seemed to always learn was how selfless and sweet he was. He’d been practically born willing to give and help people, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.
A beat passed before Matilda shrugged, pulling a piece of paper from a notepad and scribbling names of ingredients, “Well, okay then, but be careful, I mean it Steve.”
Steve profusely nodded, grabbing the note before he was racing out the garage door, “Don’t worry, I will!”
It took twenty minutes to bike to the grocery store, and fifteen to go through the entire list and find everything in the store. He’d gotten lost for a bit until an employee, a boy who looked around sixteen had helped him. Eventually, he paid with the money Matilda had given him and bagged everything into one paper bag.
Afterwards, he’d tossed it into the basket of his bike, already making his way back home, smile on his face as the wind fanned him. The only thing on his mind was picturing how relieved Matilda would be knowing she didn’t have to stress about yet another chore his parents constantly threw on her.
Steve was making a right turn when something had suddenly hit the tire of his bike, a rock perhaps. The bike jerks, and before he knows it, he’s letting out a cry as he’s sent flying off the seat.
A burning sensation had ignited through his knees and the palms of his hands as they drag across the black asphalt. A whimper leaves him once he comes to a halt, immediately turning over to sit and look at the catastrophic scene before him.
His bike is fine, a bit scraped though, and laying on its side as the wheels resume spinning. Nearby, the grocery bag had thrown out as well, the groceries rolling along the street.
“No, no, no, no…”
He couldn’t help but think of how he failed Matilda at such a simple task, just like how he’d always been failing his parent’s expectations. Attempting to get up by pushing himself up with his hands, he stops and lets out a loud hiss.
Finally, he looks down to see the state of his skin. His palms and hands are cut up, blood seeping through, and his skin is torn and tearing back in flakes.
Biting his bottom lip, he wills himself to not cry. Crying was only for people who were weak, and he was anything but weak. But, he couldn’t help it, he’d always been a sensitive boy, his heart too big for his body.
Despite trying to hold back tears, he fails, droplets already falling from his cheeks. Curling into himself, shoulders hunched, he lets out quiet sobs from both the physical and mental pain.
“Are you okay?”
He stopped, head snapping up to the owner of the voice that interrupted his thoughts. Steve's vision was blurry, but he was still able to make out the figure of the younger girl standing in front of him.
There you stood, in lilac overalls and colorful hairclips. You couldn't have been that much younger than him, maybe by a year or two if he had to guess. Your bike lay abandoned on the the lawn nearby, pink streamers fluttering from the handlebars. Your eyes were wide with concern as you gestured towards his injuries.
"Are you okay?" You repeated, unsure whether or not he heard you the first time.
"I—" His voice cracks, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
You don't wait for an answer and crouch in front of him, your eyebrows knitting together, "Oh no! You're reallyyy hurt."
Oh god, he wasn't sure what to do in a situation where some random girl caught him in a humiliating situation out of nowhere. Pridefully, he harshly drags the back of his hand across his cheek, " 'M fine."
You tilt your head, "But you're crying and bleeding...?"
Steve stares at you, debating if it was even worth it to continue the lie. I mean, it wasn't like he was very convincing anyways with evidence at the scene of the crime. "Jus' messed up. I think my bike hit a rock or something and...bam. Y'know."
You looked over your shoulder to the spilled groceries, "Oh."
"Yeah, oh." He sniffled. Poor Matilda, she'd used her own money as well to pay.
"Well," You start, turning back at him to give a gentle smile. "I don't think that's messing up, accidents happen! That's what my daddy tells me at least."
Steve processed your words, face scrunching up. No one had ever said something like that to him before. It was always something that involved complaints of why he couldn't do anything right. "Huh? I don't think you get it...I was supposed to bring those home."
"Yeah, but you fell? 'S not like you did it on purpose, right?"
"I mean— um, yeah I didn't, I guess..."
Instantly, you stand straight and grab the paper bag to gather up anything that can be saved. "My house is right here," You nod to the house in front. "I was just about to leave, but saw you. Anyways, my mommy has bandaids. Ooo, and ice cream too."
Steve stands, wincing slightly. "Are you sure? I don't wanna annoy anyone."
"Yup! Don't worry, my mommy's nice."
He hesitated for a moment, knowing Matilda would scold him about how worried sick she'd been with his absence. But...his gut couldn't help but push him to go with you.
"Sure, I'd...like that."
You beam, revealing a missing tooth. "C'mon then! Ignore my older brother though, he's loud and stinks."
A wet hiccuping laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it.
December, 1990
The gym smelled of floor wax, cheap cologne, and hairspray. It was filled silver tinsel, glittery blue streamers, and snowflakes cut from printer paper that were attached to string that were hung up. Above the gym doors, a banner that red, ‘Hawkins Middle 1990 Snow Ball,’ was taped up sloppily.
Near the bleachers, Steve stood with a clipboard clutched in one hands and a plastic cup filled with fruit punch in the other. He stared at the crowded room of pre-teens who shouted over the blaring music coming from the speakers, voices cracking with excitement but also something that was definitely puberty.
Being the official coach for the boy's baseball team for a year now had it's upsides and downs, but honestly? Steve loved his job. He wouldn't trade it for the world if it meant he got to wake up everyday knowing he was actually doing something that mattered to him for once. Even if that meant being begged by his boys to come chaperone, which also meant him having to break up fights over who got to slow dance with who.
Steve lifted the rim of the cup to his lips, scrunching his face at the taste. This shit was probably made out of eighty percent sugar, but it's not like he hasn't had something worse for his health.
He scanned the crowd one more time, thankfully, no kids were bleeding or thinking they were grown enough to sneak in alcohol they stole from their parents cabinet. Yet.
"STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!" A familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
Steve jumps, turning just in time to see Derek Turnbow barreling toward him, his tie already loose, and his dress shirt's sleeves rolled up.
"Derek-- Man, the hell are ya doin'? And what did we say about calling me by my first name?" Steve
Derek halted, trying to catch his breath, not even bothering to apologize, "Coach! You gotta come see this."
Steve narrowed his eyes, "Kayyy, well, that sentence has literally never ended well for me." He recalls how Dustin, though grown up now, used to drag him into every problem that involved interdimensional creatures. Steve fights the urge to shudder.
"It's nothing bad! Actually, it's really funny. Like, really funny." Derek insisted. His grin of mischief said otherwise.
"I don't know if we have the same definition of funny, Turnbow." Steve replied, full of skepticism.
Derek retorted, not caring enough to speak properly to his authorative figure, "Whatever, don't be such a kill joy, Coach Steve."
"Hey!—"
"So, Trevor thought it'd been a good idea to lift this girl he likes during one of the slow songs." Derek started, pointing to the far end of the gym where a group of eighth graders attempted to dance, arms flailing ridiculously.
Steve closes his eyes, already in disbelief, "I know damn well where this is goin' already, knowing that Trevor isn't even strong enough to carry his own bat."
"Yeah!" Derek nodded enthuisiatically. "Anyways, he dropped her. Funny, right?"
His eyes snapped open, "Excuse me?"
"Oh, well, she's fine though!" Derek quickly added. "It's Trevor who isn't, he pulled something I think. The idiot is kinda stuck so, I came to tell you because it's funny but also he needs help."
Jesus christ.
Steve exhaled sharply, already walking to the direction where one of his supposed baseball boy's had a muscle envoking hell. They weaved through the clusters of kids, Steve already having to issue warnings as he pushed through, "Hey! Hands to yourselves! Yes, you too! And if I catch either of you doing that shit again you're gonna find yourselves scraping gum off the bleachers Monday morning!"
The two girls who had already been ready to go for the others hair had gasped, immediately straightening. Steve rolled his eyes as he reached the corner of the gym.
Trevor is currently leaning against the wall at and uncomfortable angle, one arm braced above his head. The girl he'd been trying to impress hovers nearby, mortified.
"I'm sorry Coach! I was trying to do do thing! Like— in the movies!"
"And what the hell is the thing you wer—? Nevermind, I don't wanna know."
Steve motions for Trevor to sit down, crouching down in front of him as he assesses the situation, "Does it hurt when you breathe?"
"Nah."
"When you move?"
"Yes..."
Just what he expected: broken arm. "Great, looks like this is something for the nurse and a call home to handle."
Trevor simply nodded, disappointed. Derek on the other hand, snorted. Steve shot him a look, "You're next if you keep it up, Turnbow."
Derek paled, "Hey, I didn't lift anybody!"
Steve waved a hand in dismissal, "Yeah, yeah. Go and dance or...whatever it is you like to do. Just don't go breaking any bones like Trevor."
Derek saluted before jogging off, nearly colliding with a teacher on his way, the sound of him being lectured heard from feet away. Steve watched him go with a fond, exasperated shake of his head. Man, he was difficult, but Steve did care about the kid. Even if at one point three years ago he was tying up his family in a barn...
He directed his attention back to Trevor, "Alright, I'm gonna go ahead and call the nurse now, yeah?"
"But, maybe—"
"Nuh uh, no buts." Steve said firmly. "This isn't something easily fixable. Plus, you're walking like you're sixty years old or somethin'."
Trevor forced a frown, attempting to stop his mouth twitching, “That’s not very nice, Coach. I didn’t say that to you after you slipped and fell on your butt last practice.”
Steve despite himself laugh, reaching a hand out to ruffle his hair, "Mhm, sure. Feel better, alright bud?"
A couple minutes had passed by until an aid sent down from the office rolled in a wheelchair for Trevor, pushing him away once he was seated. Steve waved a hand, offering a smile to the boy before his shoulders relaxed.
Only a couple hours left, then he could go home and crash.
The lights dimmed slightly, the DJ transitioning the music into, 'It Must Have Been Love," by Roxette, the ballad echoing throughout the gym. Students split off into pairs, moving into motion for a slow dance as Steve made his way to get another refill on his drink.
He couldn't help but think back to his days in middle school, the awkwardness of it all and how he transitioned from it into the infamous king Steve of Hawkin's high school. Steve quickly pushed the thought away into dark depths at the back of his mind.
Arriving at the table covered in white cloth, he placed his cup down and cleared his throat, "Another one, please." He asked whoever was working at the stand, not bothering to look.
"...Steve?"
His head shot up, at the sound of your voice, shock coursing through his body. Every memory of your voice, your laugh, your tears, your boiling anger, all of it had played through his mind like a movie reel.
Except now, you were no longer fifteen years old and heartbroken by his actively dumb decisions. You stood here now at twenty-three, beautiful, most definitely wiser, and different.
'You're fucking dead to me, Steve Harrington.'
Steve felt absolutely sick.
"Oh- oh, shit. Hey! Um—" Words were lodged in his throat, unable to come free.
You blink at him with wide eyes, paused in the mid action of previously scooping the red liquid. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What does he say, hell, what does he even do? He'd never exactly planned running into you again one day, if anything he thought your ice cold words spouted at him all those years ago would be that last he'd ever hear from you before you up and moved with your family to Oregon.
"Uh, wow." You let out a huff, an awkward smile gracing your face. "I didn't—?"
"Expect to see me here? Yeah, didn't think really think I'd ever..." He trails off, debating whether to pinch himself to see if he's dreaming.
Silence fills the gap between you two, so much left unsaid during eight years of distance. Finally, he breaks the ice, unable to stand the suffocation of his own mind and guilt, "So! You're back in Hawkins, or what?"
You look shocked that he even dared to start conversation as if you’d been on good terms.
"Pft, no, not at all. Lots of memories, but I hate it here," You cross your arms, shrugging. He doesn't know why but the words sting. "I'm only in town to visit Joshua."
Right, your older brother. Steve had always admired the boy, well, man now. In his mind he still remembered him as your awesome big brother with his easygoing energy and how he'd offer you both piggyback rides the way his father had never did. He wondered if Joshua hates him, if he'd curl his lip in disgust if he'd saw him now.
"Man," Steve whistled. "Been a while. How's he doin'?"
"Him and Cheyenne are still going strong," You smile softly. "And Elijah's gotten big now, which explains why I'm here. Josh asked me to chaperone for the formal since he couldn't get off work tonight and Cheyenne's getting closer to her due date for baby number two."
"Wait— wait, huh?" Steve's jaw dropped. When things had been normal with your guy's regular hangouts, Elijah had been three years old. Now he was what-- eleven? Going to the same school he worked at? Fuck, and Cheyenne was pregnant?
To his surprise, you laugh, "Yup, time sure does fly."
There was something unsettling about how your life had moved forward without him. Your family had moved forward without him. Shit, at some point he'd been considered a part of it. There'd always been a version of him that he believed would be a part of things like watching nephews, brothers, sister in laws, and parents growing older. Being a part of important milestones...
Meanwhile, Steve felt like he was still trying to catch up to someone he should've been years ago.
He not so subtly changed the subject, "What've you been...um, up to?"
"I mean, nothing interesting I guess? I graduated at the University of Oregon with an English degree, but...I was miserable at my job."
Steve knows he has no right to be concerned about you years too late, but can't help it. "Oh. Everything okay?"
You nod, "Yeah, no worries. Here's where the good part comes in: I own a bakery now."
He can’t help the smile fighting it’s way on his face, “You’re kiddin’, really?” You were always bringing over experimental dishes to him, sheepish when he ate whatever you handed to him. Steve had always praised your baking, tempted to see the pleased look on your face when he told you it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Mhm. Grandma told me to just do it. Take the risk. So, I did. It’s small, but it makes me happier, that’s for sure.” You say as you remember his empty cup, taking it to refill it before handing to back to him.
He thanks you quietly, taking a drink as you ask, "Do you work here now?"
He nods, "Yeah, I coach the boy's baseball team and teach sex ed on the side. Didn’t picture myself teaching others how to properly use a condom, but hey, that’s life for ya."
"Huh. King Steve to Coach Steve." A jab. He decided to ignore it. For once, after years, you seemed…somewhat willing to even speak to him. You strangely weren’t angry. Or rather, you were trying to keep a level head.
"I teach a bunch of little shits, but I guess it was always my calling to play caregiver.” He joked.
You just hum, averting your gaze away to the crowd of slow dancing middle schoolers, “Did you finally decide to settle down? Knowing you, you were pretty popular with women.”
“Nah, I mean, I want to. Jus’ been hard past couple years, nothin’ seems to work out.”
Your brows pinch together, “Really? You? settling down? No offense, but that’s surprising.”
“None taken. I get it, last time you saw me, you saw a version of me that wasn’t too honest.”
You just stare at him, seemingly making judgements of him in your head that made him squirm at the thought. Thing is, he knew what you thought, he just didn’t want to think too hard about it because he knew it hurt knowing how you viewed him as a person.
He clears his throat, “You? Any lucky guy?”
Breaking out of your trance, you scoff, “Nope. It’s getting ridiculous at this point, you won’t believe the luck I’ve had with men.”
“What, you’re seriously not with anyone? You’re so—” Beautiful. Funny. Kind. Extraordinary. The loss of his life.
“I dated this one guy for two years, didn’t last. He wanted to move out of Oregon, but…I just wasn’t ready for that. Other than that, I’ve gone several failed dates where some guy fake emergency ditches me or tells me straight up he’s not ready for a relationship despite dragging it for two months.”
An ugly part of him deep inside the pit of his stomach churned at the thought of you with another man who knew you just as deeply at some point same as he did, even if you both had only been just friends. No, it was deeper than friendship, something so intimately sacred.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He opts for, instead of straight up expressing his horrible thoughts. Get a grip Steve.
“It’s fine. Just going to be embarrassing going back to Oregon next week.”
“Why? You need a relationship license to live there now or somethin’?”
“No, idiot.” You snort. “A bunch of my extended family is flying in for a reunion party.”
“I’m failing to see the problem here…?”
“The problem is they’ve been all making bets on whether i’m going to be single another year or have had another failed relationship short term or not.”
“The hell? You’re only twenty-three. Why’re they acting like you’re on a time limit or somethin’.”
“I have just as much as a clue as you do. They’ve been doing it since a couple months after me and Cameron broke up. Every family meet up or reunion now.”
Cameron. The supposed ex. Steve didn't even know the guy, but he already hated him.
“So what? They’re just expecting your love life to be trash every time they see you?”
“Pretty much.” You’re trying not to show it, but he can tell the subject upsets you. “I mean it’s not like close family does it at least. It still hurts though when the others joke and remind me just how hopeless things seem to always turn out for me.”
From everything you'd recapped to him, Steve assumed Cameron was your first boyfriend, first everything. Back in high school you weren't necessarily focused on dating like he was. Instead, you
“What if you didn’t have to go home alone?” He blurted.
“…What do you mean?” You say cautiously.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is he doing?
Steve swallows, hands curling at his side, nails digging into his palm, "I just--" He lets out a shaky exhale. "You said your family's been rough with you...about relationship stuff y'know."
You don't answer, so he see's that as permission to continue, "So, you wouldn't have to go to your reunion thing or whatever the hell it is because--"
"Steve." Your voice grows agitated, wanting him to get to the point.
“Let me finish." He's rambling now, heart picking up pace, the room feeling ten times more hotter than it was before. "I know it sounds ridiculous, hell, I feel like a god damn idiot even saying this."
Silence.
Finally, he lifts his eyes to you. "I could pretend with you. Like, uh, fiance, boyfriend, whatever you need."
You blink at him.
Your laugh is sharp and disbelieving, "You're joking, right?"
Well, it was nice while it lasted. He knew it'd be too good to be true if your reasonable hatred for him had suddenly gone poof.
"I'm not!" He says quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, shit, it's fake obviously, but I'd take it serious for you. I wouldn't make ya look stupid or or or--" He stops himself and looks at you with sincerity. "Embarrass you."
The words hang their with heavy implication, words that were definitely on the verge of sending you into a mindless rage.
"And why," You ask slowly, voice dangerous. "would you do that?"
Because he owes you.
Because he let you walk away and never fixed things with you.
Because he feels fucking sick every time I think about it.
Instead, Steve shrugs casually, forcing a smile on his lips, "Because it seems like the least I can do."
Nononononononono. Stop it! Stop! Stop talking!
That's when your expression hardens. "The least you can do." You repeat, voice incredulous.
Steve frowns, "That's- that's not—"
"So, let me get this straight." You cut him off, folding you arms across your chest. "You think you can swoop in and play my devoted fiance for a weekend, to what? Feel better about yourself?"
He argues, "No! That's not why—"
"Because from where I'm standing, that's what it pretty much sounds like, Steven."
Steve shifts uncomfortably, the hole in his chest growing increasingly bigger and bigger. He lets it, he doesn't deserve the feeling of relief from every negative emotion that's consumed him whole in almost a decade.
"I just wanted to help..." He murmurs.
"You don't get to help." You snap. "Matter of fact, you don't get the right to act concerned and waltz back into my life like some kind of hero after—" You stop, trying calm yourself. "After everything."
Trying to figure out the right words, he says, "I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you. I've known that."
"So? That just undoes it?"
Maybe it could, maybe in some way he'd make it up to you.
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, "I'm not saying that!"
"Then why are you doing this to me!" You demand. Some heads turn towards the both of you, causing you to wince, shoulders hunching slightly.
Because saying 'I'm sorry,' feels like it's not enough for what I did.
Because doing nothing feels so so so much worse.
Because I miss you.
"Because— fuck, your family. I just— I know what it feels like, bracing yourself to be judged about something."
You look like you don't know whether to laugh or jump over the table to tackle him and rip him to shreds.
“And you think doing this fixes it?”
“Maybe, I dunno.” He didn't know what he was saying at this point, trying to tiptoe around the details you'd also been avoiding.
“Are you messing with me?”
“No.” It hurts to breathe. "I swear. I'm not asking you to forgive me or anything but I don't want you to think I never cared."
Throat bobbing, you whisper, "That's the problem. I don't know if you ever did.
He flinches.
Steve wanted to tell you, no that's not true at all! To pour out every single thing he's thought about for the past eight years, how the guilt had been eating him inside out. But, he couldn't, he just couldn't. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip, on the verge of drawing blood.
“Look, I might’ve been playing ‘nice’ with you the past couple of minutes, up until you offered that, but I can only do it for so long.” Your voice is trembling, a mixture of rage and unpackaged devastation.
"Let's just talk about this. Please." Steve pleaded, but you raised a hand.
"No- no. I'm sorry. I just can't do this right now. Not with you of all people. Excuse me." Before he can get another word in, you're leaving the punch stand, pushing through as you call out to another chaperone if she can cover for you while you use the restroom.
Then, you're gone, disappearing into the crowd like eight years ago when life had lost all it's meaning.
“Fuckin’ hell.” He curses under his breath, shoving his hands in his pant pockets.
Suddenly, the sound of loud slurping sounds out next to him. Steve raises a brow, turning to see Derek, soda in hand.
"Damn, Coach Steve! I thought you were good with the ladies!"
"Shut it Derek."
as always, if you want to be added to a taglist, you may comment, inbox, or dm me. also if I forgot to add you to a taglist, please let me know, i'm a stressed out college student and can be forgetful lol.
summary ... steve just wants five minutes alone with you, but your friends have incredible timing. aka the four times you and steve are interrupted by your wonderful friends, and the one time you actually find yourselves alone
pairing ... steve harrington x fem!reader (7.1k)
warnings ... smut!, like this is porn with very little plot, mentions of reader using she/her pronouns(like twice), kissing, like heavy making out, groping, grinding, dry humping, slight fingering, dirty talk, steve and reader are horny for each other, eventual p in v, unprotected sex, reader and steve keep getting interrupted when they start to get hot and heavy
note ... i don't write a lot of smut, which is funny considering the first things i wrote when i came back to this blog was smut...i digress, it's not something i regularly write, but i got this idea, and i couldn't get it out of my head. so now you get to read my messy ideas!
masterlist !
ONE ― ROBIN
When you and Steve had decided to get an apartment together, you figured you’d get a hell of a lot of alone time, considering the two of you would now be living together.
What you didn’t realize, was now that you and Steve were living on your own, without eyes watching over you like little children, your small apartment, had become the new hot spot.
All your friends had designated it as HQ for hanging out, without having to worry about their parents looking over their shoulder.
That shows you, making friends with literal teenagers.
But tonight.
The apartment is empty.
You and Steve finally have the night to yourselves, and you were going to use it to the best of your abilities.
Steve had you pressed into the couch, hovering over you, one arm wrapped around your waist, while the other held his body up from crushing you.
Not that you would have minded.
His lips are firmly planted against yours, practically devouring your face with how hard he was going.
Your hands were wrapped around Steve’s neck, fingers looping in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly at the strands.
Steve groans.
The sound vibrates against your lips, you whine in return, arching your back into him.
“Sounds pretty” Steve mumbles.
The words are shared between your lips, breathy and low, his words meant for you and only you.
“Stevie” You sound just as breathy, more high pitched and whiny.
The arm around your waist loosens for a moment, Steve’s hand wandering up the sweater you’re wearing, palms scraping against your warm skin.
With the skills of a man who knows what he’s doing, Steve smooths his palm over your ribs, fingers gliding over the expanse of your skin, you shiver in delight, gasping as his nimble edge at your bra.
Those long fingers fiddle for a moment, following the seams of your bra, before he reaches the clasp at your back, with a subtle flick of his wrist, it comes loose, hanging around your chest, useless.
“I don’t know whether to be turned on, or worried, that you’re so good at that” You breathed, using one of your hands to reach beneath your shirt and maneuver the bra off your body, throwing it down on the ground.
“Turned on” Steve nodded, a smug smile on his lips. “Definitely turned on”
You rolled your eyes, pulling Steve back into your embrace, kissing his smug smile right off his face.
You left one hand twisting and hugging at Steve’s hair, while the other traversed down his back, gripping the back of his shirt in a tight fist, pushing down slightly, wanting him to be closer.
Steve followed your subtle direction without much coaxing, his hips slotting right against your parted legs.
His jean clad thighs brushed up against your bare legs, your skirt hiked up around your waist.
Steve grinds his hips down, the hardened bulge in his jeans brushing right up against your core.
“Shit” Steve moans, pressing his forehead against yours.
He does the motion against, grinding down on you a little harder, right down on your dampened underwear.
You let out a deep sigh, biting down on your lip as your hips buck up to meet Steve’s motions.
“That feels good Stevie” You whimper.
“Yeah” Steve’s grinning now, sliding his jean clad bulge up and down, over and over your center. “You like that sweetheart?”
“So much” You nodded quickly, eyes slipping shut.
Steve hums softly nudging your face with his nose, placing gentle kisses against your cheeks, down the slope of your neck.
The kisses are hot and wet, his teeth biting down softly on your skin, tongue lapping at the fresh bites, soothing the marks.
The hand under your shirt was now pressing against your stomach, reaching up to cup one of your breasts on his large hand, squeezing it.
“So fucking pretty” Steve mumbles into your neck, biting down a little harder this time.
You back arches again, pressing your chest right into his open palm, fingers tugging harshly at his hair in retaliation.
Steve moans at the feeling.
“Please Stevie” You say, your hand slipping beneath his shirt now, clutching at his muscled back.
“Tell me what you want sweetheart” Steve breathes the words against your skin, peering up at you with hooded eyes. “Use those pretty little words”
Your lips part, ready to demand Steve to fuck the ever loving life out of you, but you don’t get the chance.
Because, your front door swings open.
Hinges groaning with the force, door slamming against the wall.
And Robin comes storming in.
“I need your help, desperately, like you don’t even know how much I need your help right now” She comes in like a whirl wind, talking a mile a minute.
She’s so busy trying to talk her way into the apartment that she doesn’t even know what she’s interrupted.
You and Steve freeze, his face is still pressed into your neck, one hard gripping tightly at your breast. Your hand is shoved up his shirt, the other is holding onto Steve’s hair like your life depended on it.
Not to mention, you were spread out on the couch, with Steve grinding down on you like there’s no tomorrow.
“I asked Vickie on a date, like a real life actual date and I have no idea what I’m doing, and I'm so freaking nervous…and you know what I'm like when I'm nervous, I can’t shut up” Robin is still talking at super human speed, pacing the floor of your living room, tugging harshly at the strands of her short hair.
You feel hot all over, and not in the way Steve was making you feel hot mere seconds ago, this was pure embarrassment.
Steve wasn’t doing much better, he refused to look at Robin, refused to look at you, his face was beat red, ready to explode.
“I need you guys to talk me down, cause right now, I’m ready to throw myself off a really tall bridge, well not a really, really tall bridge, just tall enough that I get like, a little hurt…not like kill myself worthy, you know?” Robin continues to talk, but for the first time since she barged into your apartment, she looked directly at you and Steve.
The position was compromising to say the least.
“Oh god!” Robin shouted, covering her eyes with her hands. “Gross guys, you have a bedroom specifically made for stuff like this”
“You kinda barged into our apartment, without warning” You mumbled, finally finding the courage to push Steve off you.
Steve went willingly, situating himself on the total opposite side of the couch, not touching you at all.
You rigidly sat up, smoothing down your shirt, but realized that your bra was on the floor. You kicked it under the couch and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide the fact that you currently weren’t wearing a bra.
Steve tugs his own shirt down, tugging at his jeans, trying to rearrange himself into a suitable position to hide the bulge in his jeans, but he settles for putting a cushion over his lap.
Completely mortified.
“But do you have to do it on the couch?” Robin whined, still covering her eyes. “We hang out on that couch”
“It’s our apartment” Steve’s voice is stilted, annoyed. “We can do it wherever we want”
You look at Steve, his face is still flushed, you can feel the embarrassment radiating off him. Your skin feels tingly, hot to the touch.
“You can uncover your eyes” You mumble quietly.
Robin peeks past a gap in her fingers, looking between you and Steve, when she deems that you guys are in fact decent, she removes her hands.
“I need help, you guys need to help me figure out what I’m gonna say” Robin says, she looks like she wants to situate herself on the couch between you, but she decides against it, with a wrinkle of her nose.
“How did you even get in?” Steve asks, ignoring Robin's pleas for help. “The door was locked”
“I have a key” Robin waves his concerns away.
“How do you have a key?” Steve asks, still confused.
“Dustin gave it to me”
“How does Dustin have a key?”
“He made one, dingus, can we get back to my problem now?”
Steve groans, throwing his head back against the couch, slouching down.
You sigh, butting yourself into their argument, knowing that if you don’t, they would be talking in circles for hours.
“You wanted help with your date with Vickie” You nodded at Robin.
“Yes,” Robin nods. “I need you guys to run fake date scenarios with me, so I know what to do, and what to say, so I don’t sound like a total dingus…like Steve”
“Hey!” Steve’s eyes snap open, glaring directly at Robin.
This was going to be a long afternoon.
TWO ― DUSTIN
Steve’s car hums softly as he drives back to your apartment.
He had taken you out to dinner. To a nice restaurant, five star dining, on his parents dime, because you both deserved it.
A long overdue date night, he had insisted, after what happened with Robin last week, you and Steve had been on edge.
But tonight, he was working the Harrington charm, trying to wiggle his way into your pants, and cementing himself into every crevice of your heart.
And he was thoroughly succeeding.
You turned your body to face him, Steve plants his hand firmly on your thigh, driving with one hand, occasionally peering at you, a wide smile on his lips.
You feel yourself smiling, warm and fuzzy feelings spreading across your chest.
“Tonight was nice” You murmured, not wanting to break the soft atmosphere in the car.
“Really nice” Steve agreed.
The roads were empty, driving past street lights and houses with their lights dimmed or completely off, it was just you and Steve out tonight.
It was nice.
And you were fighting the urge to jump Steve right here and now, if he wasn’t currently driving, it would be a game over.
Steve squeezes the meat of your thigh, long fingers digging into the flesh, palm warm against your already heated skin.
You place your hand on Steve’s, slowly trailing your fingers over each of his knuckles.
“I can’t wait to get you home” Steve hums, looking at you for a moment, before turning his attention back to the road.
You feel a burning in your stomach.
“Yeah?” You question. “What are you gonna do to me?”
Steve squeezes your thigh again.
“I’m gonna kiss the freaking crap out of you” Steve starts tame, but you know him too well, and by the smirk spreading across his lips, you know what’s coming.
“I’m gonna strip you down, and bury my head between your thighs until you’re shaking” That warm feeling in your stomach is tenfold now. “Then I’m gonna fuck you, slow and deep, because that’s what you need, isn’t it sweetheart?”
“Yeah, Stevie” You nod. “I want it, I want you”
Steve’s responding chuckle is deep, throaty. It sends a shiver down your spine, like a forewarning about what’s going to happen.
“I know you do,” Steve glances at you again. “I want you so much, you have no idea”
You slide Steve’s hand further up your thigh, pushing his fingers past the hem of your dress.
Steve’s breath hitches, but he says nothing.
So you continue to push his hand further up your thighs, the tips of his fingers brushing up against the soft cotton of your underwear, you let out a sigh at the feeling.
Steve moves his fingers on his own accord, slipping a single finger under the hem of your underwear, brushing up against your wet cunt.
“Oh, sweetheart” Steve groans, head tilting back slightly, eyes still trained on the road before him.
“Stevie” You whimpered, feeling the pad of his finger sweep up, catching right on your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to entice him in further.
Steve gave you what you wanted, another finger slipped beneath the hem of your underwear, joining his first finger in brushing up against your most sensitive spot.
“You’re wet already” Steve murmured, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s all it take huh, dinner and a little dirty talk”
You whimpered as his fingers started drawing slow circles around your clit.
“Only for you” Your voice is airy.
Steve groans.
You guys are close to your apartment now, but you didn’t have it in you to wait much longer, and it seemed neither did Steve.
His fingers continue their slow circles, your hips move with his movements chasing your pleasure.
Steve pulls into your street, parking on the road right outside your apartment. He slides his fingers from inside your underwear, eliciting a whine from you.
You watch as Steve brings his fingers up to his lips, and sucks them completely clean, groaning around the appendages.
“Fuck, sweetheart” Steve looks at you with hooded eyes.
And suddenly, you're not in your chair anymore.
Your body moves without really telling your brain what it’s doing, wrapping your legs around Steve’s waist, gripping his shoulders with a rough grip, pressing your chest against his as you kiss him.
Steve’s hand rests on your waist, pulling your body down on his lap, there’s very little space for you to work with, but that just means you guys are pressed together, neither of you are complaining.
Steve’s tongue licks at the edge of your lip, you part your lips, letting him wedge his tongue into your mouth.
You moan against his lips, your hips press firmly down on his lap, nudging the forming tent in Steve’s slacks.
“Can’t even make it into the apartment” Steve shakes his head.
You are not really listening to him.
You trail your lips down his cheek, down his jaw, feeling the remnants of the stubble Steve’s let grow out, down, down, down his neck, pausing at the meeting point of his neck and his shoulder, you tug at his button up shirt, pulling the collar, but to no avail.
You reach up to un button the first two buttons of his shirt, exposing more of his skin, and the hair that decorates his broad chest.
Your lips continue their assault, kissing his warm skin, biting down softly on his shoulder.
“Shit” Steve’s head tilts back, allowing you the space to mark him up, however you want to.
Steve uses his hand to move your hips, gliding you across the smooth fabric of his slack, the glide is easy and the friction pleasurable.
“Touch me Stevie” You whisper.
Steve follows your command, slipping one of his hands beneath your dress, not bothering with your underwear, slipping right underneath the fabric, heading straight for the goods.
Before anything can really get underway, a loud knock slams against the passenger side window.
You jump in Steve’s lap, her head banging against the roof of Steve’s car. While Steve is trapped under your body, not that he’s complaining, but he whipped his hand out from under your dress, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, soothing the slight bump.
You both turn, looking through the slightly fogged up window, you see a figure standing outside the car, looking less than pleased.
You sighed, leaning back over and falling into the passenger seat, before winding the window down.
Dustin Henderson.
“Come on Henderson” Steve groans, head leaning against the head rest, eyes squeezed shut, as if it would make the boy disappear. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Movie night” Dustin said sternly, holding a VHS in his hand, giving you both a pointed look. “But you guys were too busy feeling each other up, to notice me”
You felt heat licking up your spine.
If Steve felt embarrassed, he didn’t let it show, he looked more annoyed if anything.
“Dude, seriously!” Steve cried out, throwing his hands up in the air, exasperated.
“You promised!” Dustin accused, pointing a finger at Steve.
“We’re busy” Steve motions between the two of you. “Clearly”
“Yeah” Dustin spat, looking more disgusted than you’ve ever seen him. “I’ve seen more of you than I have ever wanted to”
“Then go home!” Steve shouts.
“It’s dark, you expect me to bike home in this shit!” Dustin shouts back.
You worry about the neighbours hearing you.
“Okay” You settle, sitting up in your seat, smoothing down the skirt of your dress. “Let’s take a beat guys”
“You biked here, you can sure as hell bike back!” Steve continues to shout around you, looking Dustin square in the eyes.
“You suck Harrington!” Dustin is pouting now, eyes narrowing in a menacing glare.
Dustin throws his hands up in the air, turning his back to the both of you, storming his way over to where he’s left his bike.
You sigh loudly.
Looking at Steve.
Who looks like he’s ready to start another fight.
On any other occasion, you would have enjoyed dragging him upstairs and getting his anger out in a way that made you both feel good, but you could really do that now.
Not when you would feel guilty.
Steve looks at you, and he starts to shake his head.
“No” Steve says firmly. “Not happening, he’s going home, and we’re gonna get back to where we were”
“We can’t let him do that” You deny. “It’s dark and it’s late”
You know your guilt tripping him.
But the moods been ruined, once again.
Steve sighs heavily.
He looks at Dustin through the windshield, who’s hovering around his bike, looking like he’s waiting for something.
“Stupid little shit” Steve mutters, admitting defeat.
“You love him, I know you do” You smile, leaning over to kiss him, once, twice, before pulling away.
Steve huffs.
“I love you” He corrects, slapping his palms against his thighs. “He’s lucky you care”
“Sure” You nod to appease him, but you both know that Steve really does care about Dustin, even when he’s driving him up the wall.
You and Steve hop out of the car.
“Don’t make me regret this” Steve mutters, you both walk up together, Steve’s arm is around your shoulders, yours is around his waist.
“Come on” Steve called out to Dustin, nodding at the front door.
Dustin is beaming now.
He throws his bike down, running up to the front door, talking about the movie in his hand.
You smile.
Steve huffs, placing a kiss on your forehead.
THREE ― NANCY + JONATHAN + ROBIN
Steve’s new job at the WSQK radio station, The Squawk, meant he was spending a lot of his free time there. Which, in turn, meant that you were spending a lot of your free time there.
It was a base camp for the crawls.
The trips to the upside down.
Looking for Vecna, under the guise of running a radio show.
It wasn’t all bad.
The building was pretty cool. There was a wall of shelves that went from floor to ceiling, records upon records sat on the shelves. Anything that you could think of, was hidden on those shelves, even the ones so obscure that not even Jonathan knew them.
And you liked watching Steve work the sound effects on Robin’s show, so focused on finding the right sounds, and playing them at just the right moment.
The way his brows would furrow, swinging back and forth between the machine and the pile of tapes with labeled sound effects. The way he would grab his cup of coffee, taking quick sips of the sludgy liquid, watching the way his throat boobed with the motion.
You were a wreck.
Steve drinking coffee was turning you on.
It was getting bad.
Steve wasn’t much better, which made you feel a little less bad.
Steve watched you from his post, stretched out across the couch, flipping through a pile of records as you spoke with Robin, soft flow of music playing through the air.
The show wasn’t supposed to start for another thirty minutes.
And just having you on the couch, was doing things to Steve, things he really shouldn’t be thinking about in the confines of the booth, his place of work.
“This one?” You asked, holding up a Cyndi Lauper record, to which Robin shook her head, nose scrunching.
“We played her songs way too much last week” Robin explained, flipping through another stack. “We need more variety”
You huffed.
Steve felt his heart clench.
“There, uh, there are some more records in the basement” Steve stumbled over his words, drawing your and Robin’s attention to him. “We could grab a couple of those, see if they’re any good”
“Yeah, I think I saw a Prince album down there last week, could be worth a look” You agreed, placing the record in your hand back on the stack.
“Sure” Robin shrugged.
“I’ll go down and have a look” Steve nodded, looking at you, giving you a slight quirk of his eyebrow. “Wanna help?”
“Okay” You nodded.
Robin shuffles her chair closer to the desk, sparing you both a strange look.
“Keep your hands to yourself down there dingus” She warns, pointing a finger in Steve’s direction. “This is a place of business, not your love nest”
“Why are you telling me!” Steve exclaimed. “Why don't you tell her that?” Steve pointed an accusatory finger at you.
“She has more self control than you” Robin replies, shrugging her shoulders.
“No she doesn’t” Steve denied.
Robin looks at Steve, deadpan and unbelieving.
Steve scoffs loudly.
You are so glad that Robin can’t hear your inner monologue right now, because she would have to turn her judgment onto you, because right now, you were ready to climb Steve like a freaking tree.
“Whatever” Steve rolls his eyes, opening the door to the booth, motioning you to go first.
You gladly make your escape, feeling heat spreading across your neck. Steve takes your hand in his, gripping it tightly, leading you to the secret door to the basement.
The basement was drafty, empty and completely quiet.
This was normally the place everyone met up to get ready for the next crawl, there were blueprints and town maps strewn across tables, colour coded texts and blocked maps, a projector was sitting in the middle of the room, awaiting use.
But the basement was also a holding place for all the older and underused records.
But you and Steve were clearly not here for that.
You pulled Steve to a halt, pushing his tall frame against the nearest wall, he’s surprised, but takes it in his stride, large hands gripping your hips, long fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt.
A shiver ghosts your spine, his fingers are cold against your warm skin. You lean in to kiss Steve. The kiss is frantic and quick, a little sloppy, the lack of intimacy making you and Steve loose control.
You pressed your hands against his chest, feeling his heart thudding beneath your palm. Steve bites your lip, harder than you think he was meant to, caught up in his excitement.
“Sorry” Steve breathed out.
“‘s fine” You murmur, using the lapels of his jacket to tug him back into you.
Steve grunts, going right back to kissing you.
His hand reached around, pressing deep into the back pocket of your jeans, palms cupping your backside in a harsh grasp.
“Steve” You whisper, back arching, pressing your chest against Steve's.
“I know” He breathes.
He pulls his hand from your pocket, wrapping his large hands around your thighs, lifting you with an astounding amount of ease.
You let out a soft giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulder, digging your fingers into his soft hair.
Steve laughs, turning your bodies around, now he was pinning you against the wall.
Steve pauses a moment, taking you in.
“Hi” You smile, it’s soft and warm.
Steve feels a hot sensation building in the pit of his stomach, it spreads through his chest as you run your fingers through his hair, he really loved when you played with his hair.
“Hey sweetheart” Steve smiles back.
That smile has your heart fluttering, a tingle of warm zinging right through your body. Steve’s gaze is piercing, like he can truly see all of you, he wants to see all of you. His love for you bleeds through every glance, those warm honey brown eyes, a pool you’d love to swim in.
Steve kisses you again.
It’s a little slower now. A little warmer.
Steve holds your body, hands digging into the meat of your thigh, your back is up against the wall, cold cement chilling you through your top.
Your tongue slips past Steve’s lips, he groans loudly, lips parting, tongues brushing.
“Guys, Nancy and Jonathan are here, there’s gonna be a--Seriously!”
The door to the basement is slid open, Robin bounding her way down the stairs with Nancy and Jonathan coming in behind her.
Steve drops your thighs, your legs slam down very gracelessly, you wince as your boot clad feet smack against the concrete. Steve spares you a sorry glance.
“Again!” Robin exclaims, standing on the stairs, hands on her hips.
Nancy and Jonathan are struggling to muffle their laughter, taking in Steve’s flushed cheeks, and your down cast eyes, not feeling brave enough to lock eyes with Robin.
“I told you to keep your hands to yourself Steve!” Robin exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
Steve scoffed.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who started this” Steve muttered, motioning between the two of you with a waggaling finger.
“Steve!” You cried, slapping his arm.
“Ow! Sorry!” He said, clutching his arm, looking at you with wide eyes.
“Okay, keep it in your pants you guys” Nancy joked goodnaturedly.
“The radio station, that’s what gets you going huh?” Jonathan snicked behind his hand.
“Shut up” You mutter.
“I can’t believe this” Robin is running her fingers through her hair. “I thought Steve was the menace in your relationship, turns out I was wrong”
You rolled your eyes.
“Can you blame me?” You say, but it’s quiet, and lacks the confidence your candance normally carries.
“Not in our place of work!” Robin chastised, like you and Steve were a pair of dogs she was training.
“All right,” Steve waved her off. “We get it, we can’t do it at the station, or in my car or in our own freaking apartment, just let us know where and when then”
Steve puts his hands on his hips, looking expectantly at Robin, whose cheeks are a soft shade of pink.
“Not the time or the place lover boy” Nancy cuts in.
“It’s crawl time” Jonathan finishes the statement. “So both of you, behave”
Maybe next time, you’d finally get it right.
FOUR ― THE PARTY
Steve buys tickets for the first movie on the list, not interested in watching anything in particular. You are waiting on the sidewalk, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, swaying from heel to toe.
Steve grins.
You are so goddamn pretty.
“Two tickets for the lovely lady” Steve muttered softly, coming up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist, while the other hand waved two tickets in your face.
You giggle softly, taking your hands out of your pockets, wrapping one hand around his wrist with the tickets on hand, while the other rests against the large hand pressed against your stomach.
“What’re we watching?” You asked.
“No idea” Steve shrugs, though you can’t see it, you feel the motion against your back. “It’s a dark theater, away from everyone we know, I couldn’t care less what the movie actually is”
You laugh, turning your head, looking at Steve over your shoulder.
“Let’s go inside, before you jinx it”
“Why would I be the jinx here?” Steve asked, bewildered. “They come looking for you, not me”
You take Steve’s hand from your waist, winding his fingers around your own. You let his other hand go, turning on your heels, facing him. Using your now free hand, you press softly against his chest, nudging him to the movie theater.
“Can’t help it if I’m your better half” You sigh, like it was a tough job.
Steve scoffs, but there is a smile on his face, using your conjoined hands to swing his arm around your shoulder, holding you close to him. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Don’t I know it”
You and Steve enter your designated theater, the room was fairly empty, only a few people milling around the small room.
You and Steve take a seat in the very last row, right in the middle of the row. You nestle down in your seat, Steve’s arm still around your shoulders, as he sits in the seat beside you.
“It’s a rerun of some movie” Steve whispers in your ear. “They’ve been showing it for two weeks now, there’s no chance they’re gonna be here”
“What movie is it?” You ask, tilting your head.
“Who cares, are you actually gonna watch it?” Steve asks, tilting his head, mirroring your actions, making you smile. “While all this is sitting beside you”
Steve makes a sweeping motion with his hand, trailing from head to toe, as if him just sitting next to you, was temptation enough.
And right now, it was.
It was driving you crazy, just being this close to Steve.
Just having his arm around your shoulder was sending you into overdrive, the soft smell of his aftershave clinging to his sweater, feeling his warmth pressed to your side.
The interruptions to your alone time were seriously messing with your nervous system.
You and Steve have never gone this long without…well doing anything really, you didn’t have room to breathe around each other, before someone was knocking on your door, or walking into something they really shouldn’t have seen.
And, it seemed, it was affecting Steve just as much.
He was leaning into your personal space, more than usual, like he had to have a hand on you at all times, it was the most action he had seen in weeks.
“What movie?” You asked, playing dumb, leaning further into Steve.
And he grins like the cat who caught the mouse.
Steve unlaces your fingers, using the hand around your shoulders to press against the back of your head, tangling in the strands of hair, holding your head gently as he presses his lips against yours.
His lips are persistent, hungry, looking for the one thing he’s wanted.
You aren’t much better.
You meet his lips with just as much enthusiasm, pressing one hand against Steve’s thigh, using it as leverage to push your body closer to his, though the arm rest was digging into your stomach, you paid it no mind.
Steve groaned softly at the feel of your hand against his thigh.
“God” He mumbled against your lips, kissing between his slightly slurred words. “I feel like a horny teenager again”
Steve muffles your laugh with his lips, not giving you the space to part from him.
You and Steve kiss like this might be the very last kiss you’ll have.
You feel Steve’s teeth bite down on your lip, it’s harsh, and you wince a little, but the shiver that runs down your spine is a good distraction.
“Steve” You whimper softly.
Steve’s fingers, which are wrapped up in the strands of your hair, tighten, liking the sound of his name on your tongue.
He wanted to hear that and only that from your lips from now on, until the day he dies.
You guys really needed to fuck before you both combust.
Making out in a movie theater was not a new concept for you and Steve, you’d done it before, recreationally. It was always a little bit of daunting fun, doing something crass in public.
But now…
It was the last place you and Steve had thought of, because everywhere else had been invaded.
And you guys loved your friends, you really did, but right now, you hated them very much.
You just wanted to jump Steve’s bones.
Steve’s other hand had wound itself around your waist, his forearm digging into the arm rest, but that was the least of his concerns.
He was currently trying to find a way to super glue your body to his, in the most nonchalant way.
You use your other hand to grip Steve’s sweater, the fabric smooth and warm beneath your clenched fist, you want to yank him right out of his chair and on top of you.
And you might have just done that.
If you hadn’t heard a crowd of familiar voices.
“What the hell Harrington!”
Steve’s groan is immediate, annoyed right to his core.
He, very reluctantly, pulls away from your kiss. He looks over his shoulder, to see a very annoyed Dustin.
He had a rather large popcorn clutched in his arms, looking at Steve like he had betrayed him.
Behind Dustin stood Max and Lucas, who were enjoying the agony on Steve’s face way more than they should be. And next to them, Mike is smirking from ear to ear, El clutching his hand with a gentle smile. Will is standing beside Dustin, looking like he wished he was anywhere but here.
“Fucking Henderson” Steve muttered, hanging his head, pressing his face into your neck, as if that would get the teenagers to disappear.
You patted the back of his head, as Steve grumbled into the softness of your sweater.
“I tried calling you like a million times” Dustin continues on, not missing a beat. “You could have at least told us you were gonna be here tonight, we needed a ride”
“I didn’t tell you idiots on purpose” Steve muttered against your neck, his breath fanning across your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.
“Mike’s mom had to take us” Dustin grumbled, making his way down the row, intent on berating Steve up close and personal. “Could have saved us the trouble”
You run your fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging softly at the strands of brown hair, making Steve’s breath hitch, the hand he had resting on your waist, tightens its grip.
“Dude” Max scoffs, she lingers somewhere behind Dustin, further down the row. “I don’t think they wanted your company”
“Shut up” Dustin mutters, throwing himself down in the seat beside Steve, spilling popcorn in his lap in the process.
“What are you guys even doing here?” Dustin asks. “You guys know this is a Star Wars rerun right”
“Oh my god” You whisper, feeling Steve tense, you stopped tugging at Steve’s hair.
“Yeah” Lucas's smug voice joins the ranks, leaning over in his seat. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Shut it, Sinclair” You mutter, tossing a mean look over at the boy, who sat back in his seat, snickering with Max beside him.
“I didn’t know you were a Star Wars fan Harrington” Mike chimes in, and you’ve never wanted to smack a bunch of kids before, but they were making it really difficult right now.
Steve pulls his head away from you, snapping in the direction of the six teenagers filling up the row, he scowls at each and every one of them.
“I’m gonna kick your ass Wheeler” Steve points a finger at Mike, who grins even wider, nudging El with his elbow, and she smiles at the way the vein on Steve’s forehead becomes more pronounced.
And Will, god bless his sweet soul, send you a very sorry look, his cheeks were a bright red.
You smiled gently at him.
At least one of the six of them was decent.
The light starts to dim around you, and the kids are nice enough (for now) to leave you and Steve alone.
“I can’t believe this is the movie you picked” You hissed the words between you and Steve, not willing to speak any louder, less one of the little gremlins heard you.
“I wasn’t paying attention” Steve whined, looking back at you with those soft brown eyes, the very ones you had trouble saying no to.
“The name Star Wars didn’t tip you off?” You questioned, tugging at his hair, a little harsher than you meant to.
Steve winced, cheeks flushing, flustered over being found and humiliated by the very people you had been avoiding.
“I’m sorry”
He looked kind of pitiful, and you really couldn’t stay mad at Steve. It did help that you were already annoyed that you guys had been found, once again, you and Steve were sharing this ruin.
You sigh, leaning over to smack a kiss on Steve’s cheek, loudly and over the top. Dustin looks over at the pair of you, mouth full of popcorn, and disgust clearly written on his face.
“Don’t worry about it” You shook it off, settling back in your seat, Steve followed you down, resting his head against your shoulder. “We’ll get it right eventually”
Steve sighed.
FIVE ― ALONE AT LAST
You and Steve were determined.
Robin was out with Vickie. Nancy and Jonathan were at the Wheeler house looking after Holly. Mike, Dustin, Lucas and Max were at the arcade.
You were finally, finally, alone.
And you were taking advantage of it.
You pulled your top off, throwing it somewhere around Steve’s bed, reaching back to unclasp your bra, sliding it down your arms, throwing it down with your shirt.
Steve follows suit, tugging off his thick brown sweater, kicking off his sneakers and un-buttoning his jeans, his checkered boxers peeking out of the waistband.
“Come here sweetheart” Steve motions you over.
You go willingly, slipping your hands around his waist, his skin flushed and hot. One hand lands at the back of your head, fingers buried between strands of your hair, the other hand is cupping your cheek, thumb caressing slow sweeps over your cheekbone.
“You gonna kiss me or what Harrington” You teased, all breathy and like, leaning into his hand.
Steve smirks.
He plants his lips on yours.
You breathe a sigh of relief, like he’s your lifeline on a sinking ship.
The kiss isn’t inherently desperate, but there’s an underlying feeling of need, wanting each other, needing to feel his skin on your skin, without barriers or interruptions.
Steve stumbles you both to the edge of his bed, lowering you both onto the plush mattress, feeling his cool covers gliding across your back.
You sigh against his lips.
Steve lets go of your hair, maneuvering his hand down to the waistband of your jeans, undoing the button with ease, sliding the zipper down, until his fingers are brushing over the smooth cotton of your underwear.
He doesn’t waste any time, slipping his fingers inside, rubbing circles directly on your clit. You were wet, turned on and ready.
Your back arches, inviting his fingers to slip in a little further. Steve takes the initiative, sliding his fingers down until they prodded at your entrance. You clench around nothing but the thought of Steve’s fingers, buried deep inside your pussy.
“Yes” You whisper, nodding your head, biting your lip.
Steve slips a single finger inside your pussy, feeling your wall clenching around the appendage.
“Like this?” Steve murmurs the words in your ear.
His finger slides out, you keen loudly, pleading for him. Steve grins, slipping his finger back in, repeating the motion, before slowly easing a second finger inside your wet heat.
“Just like that” It’s a breath sigh, words barely finding their way out of your lips.
Steve’s fingers work wondering, and to make a pleasurable situation better, his thumb reaches up to rub circles on your clit.
“Want to fuck you sweetheart” Steve’s voice reaches your ears, it’s low and grumbled, his hips rutting against your thigh, you can feel his hardened cock beneath his jeans. “You gonna let me fuck you?”
“Yes, yes” You nod so quickly, Steve wonders how you haven’t given yourself whiplash.
Steve pulls his fingers from your pussy, wiping them on the back of his jeans, before he reaches down to tug your jeans from your legs, leaving you in a pair of red cotton underwear, with a pretty white bow.
“So pretty” Steve sweeps his hair away from his eyes, brushing his knuckle over the damp spot on your underwear.
Your hips arched, pussy aching for his touch.
“Take your jeans off Stevie” You say, reaching a hand out to brush his jean clad thigh.
Steve shuddered, coming to stand at the end of the bed, shucking his jeans off his legs, kicking them away, standing only in his boxers.
“Those too” You pointed to his boxers.
Steve smirks, pulling his underwear down his legs, slowly, watching you watch him, enjoying your eyes on him.
Steve’s boxers fall around his ankles, his cock standing proud, tip a ruddy red colour, weeping slightly, standing tall against his stomach. His large hand comes around the base of his cock, jerking his hand up and down the length, slowly, torturing you.
“Please” You whimper.
Steve crawls his way up the bed, up your body, his cock brushes the length of your leg, until it settles right between your legs, the tip of his cock barely touching your center.
“You want my cock, don’t you sweetheart” Steve pressed his lips to your neck, lathering you in slow, open mouthed kisses.
“So much” You say.
Steve reaches between the two of you, grasping his cock once more, sliding this tip up and down your pussy, tip catching on your clit with every brush.
You moan loudly, hands grasping Steve’s broad shoulders. Steve shuddered at the feeling of your essence coating his cock, slipping through your folds with ease.
Steve lips his cock down, until the tip was nudging at your entrance. He pushed, gently, slowly and watched as the tip, just the tips, slipped easily into your wet heat.
“Fucking finally” He breathed out, feeling like he was finally where he should be.
“Oh” You gasp, as Steve pushes his cock further into your pussy, the stretch mouthwatering.
You’re warm and wet, practically gushing around Steve’s throbbing cock, clenching around him.
“So wet sweetheart. So tight” Steve groans, head bent, watching every inch of his cock slip inside your weeping pussy.
You know Steve’s cock is big, you’ve known it for as long as you guys have been together, but it feels bigger now, longer somehow. You peer down, seeing about half of Steve’s cock buried inside you, and you already feel full to the brim.
“Shit, Steve”
Your nails grind down into Steve’s smooth skin, crescent indents in their wake, but it only urges Steve on, the sharp pain eliciting a loud groan, pressing his head against your sternum.
His hips buck suddenly, pressing his length further inside your wet heat.
You shudder.
Steve moves his hips, until your pussy is flush against his pelvis, cock buried deep inside, throbbing against your clenching walls.
“So fucking deep” You breath, biting your lip, head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed.
“Pretty pussy sucking me in so good sweetheart” Steve hums, lips pushing hot air against your skin, his sweaty forehead sticking to your chest. “Wanna be buried in you, fucking forever”
Steve pulls his hips back, before snapping forward in one sharp thrust.
The sound of skin on skin, wet slapping sounds, your breathy whimpers and Steve's sharp groans reach every inch of the room, echoing in your ears, bouncing around your brain.
Steve places both his hands on your hips, sitting up on his knees, keeping his cock buried deep in your pussy. He spreads his knees, situating himself, giving him the perfect view of his cock inside sliding in and out of your wet heat.
His hips pick up their pace, pistoning back and forth, cock slipping in and out of your pussy, your wet heat fluttering at the new pace, gut clenching, mind shattering.
“Yes, Steve!” Your back arches further, barely touching the bed at this point, head burning into the soft cushions.
“That’s it sweetheart” Steve mumbles, words low and raspy. “Take it, take all of it”
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
The wet sounds have you clenching around Steve, who groans, throaty and deep.
His fingers are digging into the fat of your hips, leaving little indents, marking your skin for days to come, little finger shaped bruises.
Your hands are clenching, one grasping the soft sheets, while the other clenched around your tit, tugging at your pert nipple, twisting and pulling, pleasure shooting through you from head to toe.
“Want you to come” Steve huffs, sweat pearly on his skin, slipping down his focused face. “Want you to come on my cock sweetheart, you gonna give it to me?”
“Uh-huh” You agreed, nodded your head quickly, words seemed foreign on your lolling tongue.
Steve’s hip snapped up, his hands gripping your hips, raising you up until your hips were hovering off the bed and resting on the edge of Steve’s knees, snapping back and forth.
You were dripping, his cock shiny with your essence.
Your fingers tightened around the sheet.
Your eyes flutter open, looking up at Steve, lids droopy, lips parted, sharp breaths of air.
Steve looks in his element.
Brows furrowed, skin shimmering with sweat, biting down on his lips so harshly, you might have been worried about him bleeding. But you couldn’t quite think past the feeling of Steve’s cock throbbing inside your pussy.
“Stevie”
Your guts coil, your thighs start to shake, brain turning to absolute mush.
Steve keeps his pace steady, watching as the pleasure eats at your body, taking over every thought, every movement, every shudder and shake.
“I’m--I, shit, Steve--”
You clench around Steve, together than before, wall fluttering, juices squelching.
“That’s it sweetheart” Steve groans.
You feel like a wave of white washes over your vision, ringing bells in your ears, you feel like your stomach is on fire, your toes tingle and twitch, your thighs shake, heels digging into the mattress.
This orgasam is unlike any other you’ve had.
Your voice is loud, moaning out Steve’s name as you come. You can feel your pussy gushing around Steve’s cock, slick, wet, sloppy.
Steve groans.
It’s the first thing you hear, as your mind tries its best to ground you.
“So fucking pretty” Steve nods, letting your hips fall back onto the bed, pressing his body over yours, forehead resting against your temple, lips brushing your heated cheek.
You bite your lips, body jittery, riding out the pleasure.
“Gonna come inside you” Steve mumbles, you can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears, but you nod your head, lips pouted, whimpering softly. “Right inside this pretty pussy, my pretty pussy huh sweetheart”
Steve’s hips are losing momentum, his sharp thrusts have lost their stamina, his rhythm is off, titering on the edge.
Your hands press into Steve’s hair, holding him to your body.
Steve’s hips slow, until they come to a shuddering stop, burying his length deep in your pussy, legs quivering as he comes. His eyes are screwed shut, nose nudging your cheek, breaths coming out staggered, shaky and hot.
“Fuck” Steve whispered, the word hot on your skin.
Steve’s body is heavy against yours, his skin pressing against yours, there isn’t a part of you that isn’t touching him, you can feel his heart beat against your chest.
“We finally did it” You murmur softly, still trying to catch your breath.
Steve chuckles, sounding just as breathless.
“Took us a minute” Steve mused softly, voice shaky. “But we got there, and it was fucking worth it”
You sigh happily.
“But let’s not wait so long next time”
Steve agrees, burning his face in your neck. You kiss the crown of his head.
It took a while for you and Steve to find each other, alone, but it was certainly worth the wait.
Knock on wood, you won’t have to wait this long ever again.
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