Summary: After moving from California, the five members of the Mayfield-Hargrove family start a new life in Hawkins, Indiana. You are Max's older sister, who is the same age as Billy. You three have a great relationship; it's you against the world until you meet new people and realize the world can be a little different from what you thought it would be. But until all comes to a happy resolution, Billy is fighting for the King of Hawkings High title, and his behavior affects Steve's perception of your family, with tension growing among him, Billy, and you until something happens and the dynamics change.
Or, because of Billy, you can't stand Steve initially, developing a slow-burning enemies-to-lovers romance with him through your senior year in Hawkins High.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Mayfield reader
Word count: 53.2k (so far)
Warnings: AU - Alternative Universe (no Upside Down), no use of y/n, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fluffy and eventual smut, yearning, Billy is not a racist, Billy and Max have a good relationship, Hopper and Joyce adopt Steve and Jane/El, Nancy and Steve never dated, bi Steve, pan Eddie, found family, everyone has a happy ending, Neil is a asshole
Note: Hey! This is my first full fanfiction ever, and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing and reading it. English is not my first language, so if some cultural or grammatical details are incorrect, please keep that in mind. Stranger Things is the only TV series I have continued to really love from its release until its end, and over the years, my passion for the characters has just grown. Steve Harrington means a lot to me. Joe Keery himself also saved my life, alongside Steve, at the beginning of this year, so writing it and showing it to you, guys, is my way of a love letter to both of them. Have a nice adventure, I gave the characters just happy endings, the endings I always thought they deserved, hope you all enjoy it :)
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TAGLIST
⭐︎ PROLOGUE (Monday, October 15th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 1 - establishing relationships (Tuesday, October 16th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 2 - first impressions
⭐︎ CHAPTER 3 - crossover
⭐︎ CHAPTER 4 - tensions and expectations (Saturday, October 27th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 5 - party night
⭐︎ CHAPTER 6 - disguises for halloween (Saturday, November 3rd, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 7 - fight (Wednesday, November 7th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 8 - family gathering
⭐︎ CHAPTER 9 - knight in shining armor (Monday, November 12th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 10 - comfort group
⭐︎ CHAPTER 11 - changing the dynamics
⭐︎ CHAPTER 12 - sparkling eyes (Wednesday, November 21st, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 13 - teammates (Tuesday, November 27th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 14 - sports and photos issues (Friday, December 07th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 15 - warming up (Thursday, December 13th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 16 - lucky star
⭐︎ CHAPTER 17 - a ride home
⭐︎ CHAPTER 18 - any space you want to be in and deserve to be in (Wednesday, December 19th, 1984)
⭐︎ CHAPTER 19 - we wish you a merry christmas (Tuesday, December 25th, 1984)
note: i had this idea come to me on a hike and I’ve been thinking about it ever since! Im quite proud of this, i hope you all enjoy <3
You’d felt it coming all day really.
The dizzy spells, not feeling quite like yourself, the colours dancing in your vision and the tingly sensation which lingered in the tips of your fingertips since the beginning of the Tillman get together.
Every year, the infamous Roy would somehow choose the hottest day of the year to host a family feast, bringing every Tillman together to eat and create awkward small talk as they discreetly wiped sweat from their brow.
“Fuckin’ pointless, that’s what it is.” Gator would tell you, gravel road grumbling under the tires of his heavy police truck. “Roy don’t like half of us anyway. Just a chance to show off.”
Once you arrived, the property was bustling with energy, the scent of food wafting through the air with the summer breeze. Young boys with bruised knees and missing teeth played together under the beams of sunlight and Tillman men all shared beers and nervous looks to Roy.
It wasn’t as bad as you had expected, you’d made some friends at least, chatting with Gator’s cousin’s wife and whatever other lady looked to be in the same predicament as you. It helped to distract from the illness you’d felt creeping up all day, not having mentioned it to Gator out of apprehension for disappointing or worrying him.
You’d managed to find a seat on an old wooden picnic table with the other women, chatting about work or clothes or whatever it was Tillman wives spoke about.
Every once and a while when your vision would once again grow blurry, you’d eat some of the mystery meat Karen had cooked, or drink some of the lemonade you’d snuck in your bag, not wanting alcohol.
Did it help?
Not enough.
The heat was unforgiving at this time of the year, and it was relentlessly beating down on you, worsening your state.
It had been about two hours of sitting, occasionally greeting someone as “oh im Gator’s wife!” and forcing a smile at spiteful comments from old Tillman men.
You thought you’d manage, just push down the illness until you can get home and rest in your husbands arms. But luck wasn’t in your favour. Gator had caught you staring off into space while sat on the bench, looking far paler than usual.
“Darlin’, come over ‘ere f’me” Your husband called from a few feet away.
In hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have stood up that fast, but as soon as you were upright, your vision grew dark and you felt the ground rushing towards you.
“What the- baby! Fuck!”
As it went dark all you could feel were strong arms catching you before you hit the ground.
“Woah! Woah! Hey!”
“Quit standin’ there! You’re in my way.”
“Baby c’mon… wake up for me princess.”
“Fuckin’… hey! Get me some water!”
After a couple minutes of Gator calling your name in sheer panic, your eyes finally fluttered open.
“Oh thank fuck- darlin’ it’s okay, im ‘ere for ya…”
It seemed as if the garden was spinning, darkness surrounded your pupils like fog and all you could seem to focus on was your husband’s face.
Words failed you and your clouded brain, so all you could muster out was a faint murmur, which came out more like a whine.
You felt soft grass beneath you, and you could smell Gator’s jacket which he had placed under your head to act as a pillow.
He had caught you.
You didn’t notice the tears welling in your eyes until he wiped them away with care so tender it was almost painful.
“Oh my sweet girl, it’s okay. Sit up f’me baby.”
With a groan of pain, you rested against the picnic bench, Gator’s hand holding your chin up as he gently placed a straw to your lips.
“Drink up darlin’, you’re alright.”
To your relief, as the cold water ran past your lips, your vision slowly cleared.
People stood around you, watching in shock, but all you could focus on were the tears Gator desperately tried to hold in.
He had been so terrified.
You idiot. She’s been ill all day and you didn’t notice, his brain told him, useless fuck, what if you’d lost her? Just like everyone else.
Cupping his cheek, you murmured out, “I’m okay baby. Really. You saved me.” A shaky smile spread across your face and Gator leaned in closer with a rare relieved smile of his own.
“I’ll always be there to save you, mama.”
He placed a kiss on your cheek, as if he were reassuring himself that you were there.
“I promise.”
~*~*~*~*~
Warm, bubbly water ran over you like a blanket.
Once Gator had gently carried you to the car, ignoring any remarks from you or other Tillmans to stay, he had taken you straight home (with the sirens on of course, it was a horrific emergency in your husbands eyes.) and placed you into a candle-lit bath.
Gator had stayed by your side the entire time, sitting in comfortable silence as you enjoyed the bath, your muscles finally relaxing.
“Thank you, Gator.” You spoke, popping the silent bubble which had formed around the two of you.
He turned to look at you, brows furrowed.
“F’what?”
“Catching me.”
He looked back down at his hands with a shrug.
“Should’a noticed sooner.”
Your soft, manicured hand covers his, juxtaposed to his calloused ones.
“Baby, look at me.”
Big brown eyes lock onto yours.
“You saved me, Gate.”
You’re too focused on the real smile on his face to notice his hand sneak into the water, splashing you in the face.
“Oh my- Gator Tillman!”
Your giggles fill the small bathroom as you splash him back, his t-shirt turning dark with the spray of water.
Finally, you’re feeling like yourself again as the night dissolves into bubbles and laughter and more memories with the man you love.
Summary: It's the beginning of a new year and the end of recess, and with that, the Tigers' book is done, and there is a possibility someone will be running after you around school.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: fluff, a loooot of yearning, subtle but not so subtle confessions
Note: Hey! This chapter is shorter than the previous one, and I hope this isn't a problem for you guys, since there are more filler chapters to come, and they are shorter than the main ones, but they add to the story as well. Hope you like it, enjoy!
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Wednesday, January 9th, 1985
After the recess, the book about the basketball team is already done and printed. Its cover is green with a big tiger in the middle, and on its spine it's written ‘The Tigers’. Before the school day began, copies of the book were available for purchase by students, while for the basketball team, copies were provided to the players, the coach, and the photographer: you.
You are oblivious to all this until now, with Eddie by your side in your locker, while he watches you grab your textbooks. Nancy approaches you with that sweet smile of hers. “Hey, guys, long time no see!”
Eddie greets her with a wide smile as well, and when you take your attention from your locker to Nancy, you notice a hand behind her back, which makes you raise one eyebrow, curious. “Hey, Nance! What are you hiding there?” you point with your chin as you close the locker, smiling suspiciously.
Nancy giggles excitedly, “Close your eyes and extend your hands!” You furrow your eyebrows, laughing, but obey, even as you remain suspicious, while Eddie steps forward and stands by your side to see the surprise from the front row.
When Nancy places the thing on your hands, you first feel its weight; it's not light, but not so heavy either. It's a square-ish thing. You run your hand over the object, and your eyes shoot open in surprise when you realize what you have in your hands. “It's the basketball book!” you grin, looking down at the book, so beautifully done. “Nance, this looks incredible!” you gasp in enchantment, still looking at it.
Nancy looks expectantly at you while you flip through the pages, taking in the photos you shot, the interviews Nancy conducted, and the layout of it all. Eddie passes his arm over your shoulder. “Milady, you're indeed an artist; the pics look incredible!”
He says, amused and proud, his eyes inspecting the photos you took of everyone on the team while he watches you flip through the pages. “You did a great job as well, Wheeler; the design of it is something else!” he looks up at her, surprised and amused as well.
One page is for your photos, while the other one is for the interview Nancy and the newspaper conducted with which player. You go through the book until you get to Steve’s page. There are photos of him dunking, dribbling, and chest-bumping a teammate.
And another of him looking at the camera while everyone cheers around him, with the brightest smile ever.
You look up at Nancy, intrigued and surprised, your heart pounding in your chest, her eyes wide, “I remember talking about this photo, but didn't we pick a different one at the end?”
Nancy presses her lips together to restrain a wide smile from spreading on her face. “Yeah, but the player in question suggested and insisted on changing it and put this one instead,” she giggles, smiling widely now. “And I quote:”, she adds, “ ‘every time I made a score, my mind always landed on her, she made me enjoy playing basketball again, so this pic needs to be on it’ ”
You look at her, redness spreading across your face, smiling to yourself, your heart pounding louder on your chest, then Nancy, excited, points to the page next to the photos, “Now read his interview!”
You then read it. It starts with how he joined the team, how he became captain, and things go on until the bottom of the page, when the players could add anything they want, and with his handwriting printed, it says:
'There are things that happen in life that we will not remember if we don't register them, so having," you gasp when you see your full name there, "makes these memories able to be remembered. This shows how lucky we are to be worthy of her time.’
You get emotional while reading it, a lump in your throat. Eddie notices, smiling fondly while squeezing your shoulder, happy because you are being recognized for the work you did and the impact you have had and will have on the team. A chuckle escapes your lips as you reread it over and over, leaning against Eddie to ground yourself. You can't take your eyes off the book when you talk to Nancy again, still hypnotized, your heart aching.
“This was really sweet of him.” You grin, sniffle, rub your nose, then shake your head, trying to push the emotions to the surface. You flip more pages while trying to calm your heart and appreciate the amazing work done as you reach your own page; a surprised gasp escapes your lips, and your hand goes to your mouth in complete shock.
There are two pictures of you: the one Jonathan took when you were basically on your profile side, and the other is a photo that only one person has. You look up at Nancy, your eyes wide and a little glassy, and before you can even ask, Nancy nods frantically, a wide smile on her face.
It's the photo Steve took of you at the diner that you gave to him for Christmas. “How…?” You are too stunned to finish her sentence, looking from Nancy to the book, then back at her.
“At lunch, before the recess, he showed me the picture and suggested adding it to your page, 'too beautiful just for me to see it,’ he said,” she chuckles. “But he made me promise not to ruin the photo and give it back to him in one piece before the beginning of the holidays.” Nancy laughs, “he stayed by my side while copying the photo, ‘just for safety’ reasons, he said.” She chuckles at the memory.
“But don't worry, he didn't see what you said about him at the interview you made, but he probably saw just a few minutes ago and is probably running around the school searching for you.” Nancy winks at you with confidence while giggling, too.
You are still in disbelief, blushing, and smiling widely, the heart beating strongly in your chest. By his say on his page. By the photo he asked to be added. By him probably running around school searching for you. But then the bell rings, announcing the start of the school day and taking you out of your thoughts.
Still dizzy, though, you say goodbye to Eddie, who whispers in your ear that you deserve all the recognition in the world, kissing your temple while squeezing your shoulder one last time before leaving Nancy and you to go to your Advanced English Class together.
When you both reach the class door, you hear someone shouting your name from a distance, getting closer each time they call you, "WAIT!” You freeze for a second, your heart pounding at the recognition of the voice calling you. You look deeply into Nancy's eyes as she waves goodbye, a smirk on her face, then enters the class and shuts the door behind her.
When you turn around, your eyes land on a panting Steve as he stops his sprint towards you. He says your name, a little short of breath from running. "Hey," he says sweetly. "Do you have a sec?” he asks, smiling, his lips parted as he pants. His hand runs through his hair, probably to fix it or because it might be a nervous habit, while the other hand holds the basketball book.
You look from his eyes to the book, then back to his eyes, a funny feeling in your stomach. “Are you going to ask me for an autograph?” you tease, a grin on your face, trying to calm down your heart that is too stubborn to settle down when you see that he indeed was running after you.
“Actually, yeah,” he admits, grinning widely just like you are, opening the book and flipping to your page.
“Are you serious?” you ask with incredulity, smiling in shock.
“Dead serious,” he says, laughing at your reaction, his eyes still on the book as he turns to your page and gives it to you. He pulls a pen from his pocket and hands it to you, wiping sweat from his hairline.
You hold his book, placing yours between your legs, looking up to Steve, then back to the book, then signing it beside the photo he took of you, with your initials at the end.
‘looking at the main character of my photographs’
You close the book and hand it to him as you both look with intensity at each other. You grab your book between your legs, open it to his page, still holding his pen, and extend it to him. “I want an autograph too,” you say, smiling and blushing.
Steve grins back, blushing a little too, grabs the book and the pen from you, and signs under the picture of him looking at the camera, his initials at the end as well.
‘always looking for my lucky star.’
Steve gives the book back to you, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you. “And huh-” he swallows, rubbing the back of his neck, blushing a little, chuckling nervously. “The part you said you feel safe and good having me as your captain on PE…” he says a little short of breath, “is that true?”
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you feel the intensity of his look. You notice the insecurity in it, the hope, the vulnerability in his eyes, as if he is looking for reassurance about something he already has an idea of. “Only if what you said about me is true too,” you say quietly back, a little breathless as well, looking for the same reassurance as him, while also insecure, but hanging on a hope you wish is not delusional.
Steve exhales in relief, chuckling breathlessly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling from the wide smile spreading across his face. “Every single word,” he admits.
You hold his gaze, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips. “Mine meant every single word of it, too,” you confess back, chuckling, relieved as well, your shoulder relaxing a little.
You smile at each other, the noise around you muffled, eyes sparkling in both of your faces, and hearts beating strongly in your chests.
And without further notice, the second bell rings, forcing you to say goodbye to each other even as more words remain to be said, painfully letting each other go in opposite directions, heading to your respective classes to begin the day. But in your minds? The last thing you will think about will be the classes ahead.
Note: Hey! I like chapters like that where we see the relationship being built within minor events. I like it because we can see the progression of the relationship and the feeling growing between them.
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Summary: Steve’s always a little frantic when it comes to intimacy, all hurried hands and giving more than he takes, until one night you finally slow him down enough to realise he deserves to be cared for too.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, making out, smut, p in v sex, soft dom!reader, riding, praise, needy touch-starved steve harrington, emotional intimacy, fluff, aftercare, gentle teasing (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 2.1k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
Steve kisses like somebody afraid of stillness.
Not consciously, probably.
You don’t think he even notices he’s doing it at first - the way every kiss deepens too quickly, the way his hands keep moving like he’s trying to prove something with them. Warm palms everywhere at once. Mouth already chasing more before the last touch has properly landed.
It would almost feel frantic if it weren’t for the care underneath it.
That’s the thing about Steve.
Even now, even half-distracted with wanting you, he still kisses like somebody trying to make sure you’re okay.
You notice it properly one rainy Thursday night in his bedroom.
The windows are cracked just enough to let cool air drift through the room, carrying the smell of wet pavement and summer rain. Somewhere outside, thunder rolls softly across Hawkins while Steve kisses you against the edge of his mattress, one hand curved carefully around your waist.
You pull back just enough to murmur, “Hey.”
Steve chases after your mouth instinctively before catching himself halfway there.
“Hm?”
“Slow down.”
The words clearly catch him off guard.
Steve blinks once, hands still settled warm against your waist. “What?”
You smile slightly despite yourself, brushing your thumb softly beneath his jaw.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” Your hand trails lightly down his arm. “Acting like you’re being timed.”
A faint line appears between Steve’s eyebrows immediately.
“I just thought we were-”
“We are.”
You kiss him again before he can spiral into apologising for something he hasn’t actually done wrong.
Slower this time.
Careful enough that he has to feel it.
Steve makes a quiet sound against your mouth - soft and startled, like the gentleness caught him off guard - and something warm and painful pulls tight beneath your ribs.
The real thing reveals itself quietly after that.
Steve Harrington is very good at taking care of people. He remembers how everybody likes their coffee. Notices when someone’s cold before they do. Gives pieces of himself away so naturally he probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it anymore.
But the second somebody tries to hand that tenderness back to him, he gets almost shy about it.
You guide him backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
“There,” you murmur softly. “Better.”
Steve looks at you with an expression that suddenly feels much younger than the rest of him. Not nervous exactly. Just unaccustomed to being handled this carefully.
“You’re being weirdly nice to me,” he says suspiciously.
You laugh under your breath. “That’s a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”
“No, I mean-” Steve runs a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Usually you’re the one getting taken care of.”
“And?”
“And…” His shoulders lift faintly in another helpless shrug. “I dunno.”
“Steve,” you say quietly, “when’s the last time you actually relaxed?”
Steve snorts immediately. “Probably 1984.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
You stare at him for a second before both of you start laughing softly.
The tension loosens after that. Only slightly, but enough.
Steve’s shoulders drop beneath your hands while your fingers continue moving lazily through his hair. He closes his eyes for barely a second at the feeling before catching himself doing it.
Interesting.
“You like that?” you ask softly.
Steve opens one eye immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use that voice like you’re discovering something.”
Your smile widens. “I am discovering something.”
Steve groans quietly while you scratch lightly against his scalp again.
His entire body visibly relaxes.
“Oh my god,” you whisper dramatically. “You’re basically a rescue dog.”
“Wow.”
“You are.”
Steve tries rolling his eyes, but it loses some impact when he’s actively leaning into your hand now.
“There he is,” you murmur softly.
Something in Steve’s expression changes at that. Tiny and fleeting, but noticeable. Like the affection in your voice hit him harder than expected.
You kiss him again, carefully, slower than before, and this time Steve follows your pace automatically. His hands still twitch occasionally like instinct keeps trying to pull him back into urgency, but every time he starts rushing ahead, you guide him back down again.
A hand against his jaw.
Fingers through his hair.
A kiss slow enough to feel deliberate.
Gradually, Steve starts melting beneath it.
You can read him everywhere if you know where to look - in the hitch of his breathing, the way his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape lightly against the nape of his neck, the quiet sounds he tries unsuccessfully to swallow whenever you touch him somewhere sensitive.
The calmer he gets, the softer he becomes.
Not grasping now. Not hurried.
Just warm hands sliding beneath your shirt to feel your skin. His thumb drifting absentmindedly along your waist while he kisses you like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.
At some point he just… looks at you.
Really looks at you.
“What?” you murmur.
Steve shakes his head once, gaze still fixed on your face.
“Nothin’.”
“That’s a lie.”
His mouth twitches faintly. “You’re just really pretty.”
Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.
“Steve.”
“I’m serious.” His fingertips brush beneath your jaw now, mirroring the way you touched him earlier. “You’re always taking care of everybody too, and somehow you still…” He shrugs slightly. “Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
His expression softens.
“Like I’m worth being gentle with.”
The air leaves your lungs all at once.
God.
There he is.
You kiss him before he can look away.
Slow, lingering.
Your hand settles against his cheek while Steve sinks gradually backwards onto the mattress beneath you, one arm wrapping around your waist like he wants to keep you there.
“You know what your problem is?” you murmur softly against his mouth.
Steve looks mildly offended already. “Excuse me?”
“You think love only counts when you’re giving it.”
Something fragile flickers briefly across his face.
You smooth your thumb beneath his eye.
“But you’re allowed to have it too, honey.”
Steve goes very still beneath you.
Then, quietly, “Oh.”
Your chest aches.
You kiss him again before he can retreat into embarrassment, letting your hands drift slowly over him without urgency now. Every time he starts trying to touch you more than letting himself simply exist in the moment, you pull him gently back down again.
“Relax,” you murmur at one point, fingers brushing through his hair.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re flexing every muscle in your body.”
Steve pauses.
“…shit.”
You laugh softly and kiss him before he can get embarrassed about that too.
Slow at first. Patient. Your hands stay gentle where they move across him, fingertips dragging through his hair, down the warm skin of his neck, over his shoulders where tension still sits stubbornly beneath the surface.
Steve keeps trying to kiss you harder. Instinctively reaching for more every time things soften too much, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with tenderness unless it’s swallowed immediately by hunger.
“There you go,” you murmur softly against his mouth when his breathing finally starts slowing again.
Steve exhales shakily through his nose.
His hands slide beneath your shirt, warm and slightly restless against your skin, but even now he’s still touching you more than letting himself be touched.
You notice immediately.
So you shift carefully into his lap, knees settling either side of his hips while Steve looks up at you with that same slightly dazed expression he’s been wearing ever since you told him to slow down.
“Hi,” you whisper.
His hands instinctively settle at your waist.
“…hi.”
You smile softly before kissing him again, slower this time, letting your hips roll gently against his just enough to pull a low sound from deep in his chest.
Steve has never been particularly good at hiding what you do to him.
You kiss along his jaw slowly while your hands push his shirt up over his stomach.
Steve helps automatically, tugging it off quickly before immediately reaching for you again.
“Patient,” you murmur softly, catching his wrist before he can pull you fully against him.
Steve actually flushes.
“Sorry.”
The instinctive apology twists awfully somewhere beneath your ribs.
“You don’t have to apologise for wanting things.”
Something in his face softens immediately.
You kiss him before he can say anything self-deprecating in response.
Then your hands are everywhere.
Slow. Thorough.
Tracing freckles across his shoulders. Fingertips dragging lightly through the hair on his thighs while you push his jeans slowly down his legs, Steve lifting his hips automatically to help you. Nails scratching gently down his stomach just to feel the way his breathing catches every single time.
Steve looks overwhelmed by the attention already.
Not embarrassed exactly.
Just… unaccustomed to being looked at this carefully.
“You okay?” you murmur softly.
Steve nods immediately.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just- fuck.”
You laugh quietly against his mouth.
His hands tighten instinctively at your hips when you grind down against him again, only your underwear separating you now, slow enough now that every movement feels deliberate.
Steve’s head tips back slightly against the pillows with a quiet groan.
“Oh, you like this,” you whisper.
Steve opens his eyes immediately, looking mildly betrayed by how easily you figured that out.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I am.”
The honesty pulls another helpless sound from him.
You kiss him again while your fingers slide into his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp in that same way that made him melt earlier.
Steve’s whole body reacts instantly beneath you.
The version of him that only appears once he finally stops trying so hard to hold everything together.
All soft mouth and pink cheeks and helpless little reactions he clearly wasn't expecting you to notice. It makes your chest ache almost as much as it turns you on.
“You’re so pretty like this,” you murmur without thinking.
Steve goes completely still beneath you.
Then, “Jesus Christ.”
You blink. “What?”
“Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”
The confession hits hard enough to momentarily knock the breath from your lungs.
Because of course they haven’t.
People want things from Steve constantly. Protection. Confidence. Control. They like him loud and capable and steady. Impossible to knock over.
You’re not entirely sure anybody’s ever let him simply be soft before.
One hand settles carefully against his cheek while the other carefully pulls his boxers down his hips.
“Well,” you murmur, kissing him once, “they were stupid.”
Steve laughs weakly into your mouth right before you sink down onto him slowly enough that both of you end up breathless from it.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Just warmth and pressure and Steve’s hands gripping your waist almost reverently while his forehead drops heavily against your shoulder.
“Fuck,” he whispers shakily.
You move carefully above him, slow enough to feel every reaction pull across his face. Every little loss of composure. The way his mouth falls open slightly whenever your hips drag just right.
Steve keeps trying to help.
Thrusting upwards instinctively. Grabbing at you like he wants to give more than he’s taking again.
Each time, you guide him back down gently.
“Lemme take care of you for a second,” you whisper against his mouth.
Steve actually whines quietly at that.
Steve hides his face in your neck immediately, clearly mortified.
But he still lets you keep going.
Lets you hold him there long enough for all that constant tightness in him to finally start giving way. Lets himself melt beneath your hands instead of constantly trying to stay composed for your sake.
When he finally falls apart, it happens quietly.
Your name breathed shakily against your throat. Arms wrapped around you so tightly that it almost feels emotional.
Afterwards, Steve just stays there for a second, forehead pressed against your collarbone while both of you try to catch your breath.
Then, quietly, “…I think you broke me a little.”
By the time you finally settle fully against him afterwards, Steve looks almost dazed from the softness of it all.
His hair’s a mess beneath your fingers, cheeks flushed warm pink, one arm wrapped heavily around your waist while rain continues tapping steadily against the windows outside.
Neither of you speaks for a while.
Steve just traces absentminded patterns against your back while your legs tangle together beneath the blankets.
Eventually, very quietly, he says, “That was nice.”
You smile immediately into his shoulder. “Yeah?”
Steve hums softly.
Then, after a pause, “Nobody’s ever really… slowed down for me before.”
The confession lands gently between you.
You lift your head enough to look at him properly.
Steve already looks slightly embarrassed for admitting it out loud.
So you kiss him once, soft and lingering.
Then again. Then one more time just because you can.
Steve laughs quietly against your mouth, finally relaxed enough now that the sound comes easily.
“There he is,” you murmur again.
This time, Steve doesn’t try to hide when he smiles.
Summary: You were scrolling through your phone when you saw a trend called "Prison Wife", and you decide to participate.
Pairing: blind!prisoner!Gator Tillman x girlfriend!reader
Word count: 3.3k
Warning: angst and kinda fluff, hurt/kind of comfort, established relationship, post-traumatic eye wound care, mention of abusive parent, Dot Lyon is THE sweetheart, no use of y/n
Note: Hey! This fanfic was suggested by my dear friend @keerystff, who asked me to write about Gator and his prison wife. I don't know out of Brasil, but this trend here is quite something, and when she sent me a reels of a prison wife packing things to bring to her man, she suggested I write about Gator. So thank her for giving me this idea; it just happened because of her. This is for you, sweetie 💜 English is not my first language, so please be nice. And oh! There is an Easter egg for my next fanfic about Gator hihi. Enjoy it!
AO3 link | Wattpad link masterlist
You set up your camera tripod in front of your kitchen table, aiming the camera just right to frame you on the opposite side of it, your top half on frame as well.
You look at your reflection in your phone's camera and notice the dark circles under your eyes. However, just as your lips start to tremble and your eyes go glassy, you shake your head.
You take a deep breath while with your eyes shut. The exhale that leaves your lips is half a whimper and half self-restraint. You rub your eyes, blinking away the tears as you look up at the ceiling, trying to fight the urge to let them fall freely.
You look back at your phone, a little calmer now, a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, leaning over your table and pressing the button to start recording.
“Hello, everyone,” you greet the camera, waving at it. “I’m going to visit my dear boyfriend in prison tod- fuck!”
Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, a strangled sob leaving your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut, bending over the table, your elbows on the table. You cover your face with both hands, the heels of your hands pressed against your eyes.
Unable to control yourself, you cry. It’s quiet sobs, nothing too dramatic, but just as painful. Your body shakes a little from the controlled sobs, your mouth parted from the cry.
After a couple of minutes, you calm yourself down. You take another deep breath, pulling yourself up from the table, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.
Your hands are a little trembling, just like your lips, as you press your fingers under your eyes and look up. You glance at the phone, which is still recording, and let out an ashamed laugh.
“Sorry, but huh-” you chuckle sadly, pulling in front of you a cardboard box that was out of reach of the camera, with things to bring to the visitation today, “it’s impossible not to cry today,” your voice cracks again.
You whip the few last tears, looking from your phone to the box in front of you, “today completes a year that he has been in jail.” You take a shaky breath, your hands moving absently through the things inside the box.
“But anyway,” you shake your head after a couple of seconds, grabbing the edges of the cardboard box, widening your eyes, trying to focus, “I didn’t come here to cry, so let me show you what I'm going to get for my dear Gator.”
You pull the box aside a little, just half-framed, and then you pull a ziplock plastic bag full of cookies inside it. You look at them in your hand, smiling warmly at yourself, your chest aching while you try your best not to cry again.
You look back at the camera, lifting the bag. “These are his favorites,” you chuckle tenderly now, your eyes still a little glassy as you look at the bag again, staying quiet for a few seconds.
You count how many cookies there are, smile proudly at yourself, and are happy for Gator when you see there are about 20 in the ziplock. You look at the camera again.
“He loves oatmeal raisin cookies,” you wiggle the bag slightly to the camera, “it’s his favorite,” you say softly, with a less sad smile on your lips, chuckling to yourself, “sorry, I already said that.”
You pull an empty, firm plastic box that is out of the camera frame, bringing it into view, but just half of it as well, and you gently place the bag of cookies inside it.
“I, huh,” you add, “I made them yesterday, they are not warm anymore, obviously,” you chuckle while finishing to set the bag down, “but they are soft, just the way he likes them,” you smile warmly to yourself, glancing to the camera, then back to the cardboard box.
You lift a large plastic serving dish, place it between the two boxes, and grab another from the box, stacking it on top of the previous one.
“Those are some of his favorite dishes,” you smile to the camera, proud of yourself, your hands on top of the latter serving dish.
“This one,” you point to the one below, “it’s barbecued ribs with barbecue sauce,” and you point to the one on top, “and this one is mac’n’cheese.”
“I made them this morning,” you add while arranging them in the plastic box, “they are still warm, and these serving dishes are kind of thermos, so I hope they are still warm when I go meet him,” you smile just by picturing you handing him his favorite dishes still warm.
God, how you miss that beautiful, sweet smile of his… You dream about it every day. You dream about him every day.
You begin to get emotional again, so you shake your head, blinking away the tears that are coming, focusing on the activity you are to do.
“A friend of ours is going to pick me up soon,” you say, grabbing two large, transparent 2-liter bottles from the box. “She is so sweet,” you smile to the camera, playing with the bottles in each of your hands, a way to keep yourself from shaking and ease your anxiety.
“Her name is Dorothy.” Your eyes soften just by saying her name, flashes from your previous, brief encounters passing through them.
“I met her during the months his father and his trial were happening.” Your eyes got glassy again, and you clenched your jaw at the mention of Roy.
You shake your head, trying to get him out of your mind, focusing instead on that beautiful soul named Dot.
You chuckle, rubbing your eyes, “her mother-in-law designated an amazing lawyer for him. She could put him in a medical facility. It’s still a prison, you know?”
You look at the camera, taking a deep breath, a soft smile on your lips, “but they take care, at least better care, of Gator than the usual prison would take care of him,” you smile gratefully at Lorraine just by saying it.
“After the visit later today, we are going to have dinner here at my place, and since I made a lot of lemonade and grape juice…” You wiggle the bottles, giggling proudly to yourself as you place them in the plastic box.
“We are going to discuss his appeal.” Your smile fades slightly, your tone growing serious. “I know some of you,” you place one of the bottles inside the box to point to the camera, “might say some mean shit about it,” you do a mocky and irritated face, “but we are working on proving that Gator was under the influence of his father to do the things he did.”
You look back at the camera, both hands on the table, your face serious. “He did bad things, no one is denying this,” you say as you turn to the box and search for the next thing inside.
Your voice becomes more irritated during your speech, “but he only did them because of his father. Because he was seeking his approval, his fucking love!”
You pause, grabbing the edge of the box and taking a deep breath to calm yourself, your knuckles turning white from how hard you are holding it.
Your body is shaky from anger, just like your breath, so you shut your eyes to focus on your breathing. “The lawyers said he has good chances to decrease his sentence and time in prison,” you say through your teeth, not a lot, but a little less irritated.
“We just need to gather all the documents and poofs to take to court,” you pull away from the box, running your hands to the edges of it, calmer, exhaling heavily. You shake your head, searching inside the box again.
“Aha!” You exclaim after a couple of seconds, grinning more easily and truthfully widely as you take a thick piece of paper, folded so many times. You start to unfold it carefully, glancing at the camera, “I made this with the help of an intuition that works with Braille.”
“My Gator is blind now.” Your tone is serious now, with you swallowing a lump in your throat, trying your best not to cry again. “He lost his vision in both of his eyes, so he is now using his touch for everything.”
“I got this idea from something he did in an art therapy session he had there in prison,” you smile sadly but fondly as well, still unfolding an A0 piece of paper.
“He made a sculpture of my body during his sessions,” you say, getting emotional, chuckling with happy tears in your eyes as you finish unfolding the paper in your hands, “he said it is to remember me until my next visit.”
You wipe your tears while smiling tenderly towards the camera. “And well,” you say, turning the big paper toward the camera, “I don’t know how to do a sculpture, but I got help to make the dots to make it 3D for him to touch.”
You smile to the camera, seeing the big photo through the screen of your phone, “When his father’s farm was about to be auctioned because of all the tax evasion, Dot and I searched all around it looking for good things to keep,” you point to the big photo in your hands, “and this one was one of them.”
It’s a maximized photo of Gator and his mother, Linda. It’s mostly their faces, so it will be easier to make raised dots along the contours of their faces, eyes, and mouths, as well as other important features.
“As Dot was telling me once, this was the last photo they took together,” you smile tenderly, but also a little sad too. “he was around 14 years old here, and then she… disappeared,” you feel a lump in your throat.
“So, huh,” you clean your throat, looking back to the camera, smiling a smile that doesn't reach your eyes, “I got in contact with an institution that works with things like that, because I was really afraid to ruin it,” you chuckle nervously.
“But in the end…” You say softly, taking a deep breath while smiling fondly at the photo in your hands, a smily Gator and beautiful Linda, a woman you never had the chance to know, “it ended up way better than I thought… I hope he likes it.”
You fold it again, smiling proudly to yourself, scanning the box as you put the big photo in a green envelope you pull out of the camera frame to see where to place it inside the plastic box.
“I’m also bringing him socks and underwear,” you take a big bag from one box to the other, “they are made of cotton and are way more comfortable than the ones in his facility.”
You are tucking the bag carefully there while adding, “I know since they have better quality, the inmates will try to steal them from him.” You clench your jaw, swallowing hard, your eyebrows furrowing, your features becoming angrier.
“But I prefer buying new socks and boxers to him, how many times needed, spending my money on them, than letting him wear those,” you search for a good word, “bad quality clothes that place gives to them,” you complain, wrinkling your nose.
You look to the camera, taking a deep breath. “And as I said before, Gator is blind, and since he is in prison, there is no short-term option to self-care there, even if it’s a medical facility, so…” you say while grabbing stuff from the box, placing them on the table.
“I bring to him constantly some products his doctor instructed that would be good for him to use.” You take the first one out from the table, showing it to the camera, “This first one is a neutral baby shampoo,” you chuckle to yourself, recalling a memory.
“Gator asks me to take the sticker label because the guys there are all macho,” you deepen your voice at the last words, mocking their behavior, “so god forbid an incarcerated man to use a baby shampoo,” you roll your eyes, annoyed.
You point to the camera, incredulous, the bottle in your hand, “they are all disabled in some way, each one with their difficulties, and they still waste time with this shit,” you sigh, irritated, “unbelievable,” you shake your head, taking a deep breath.
“But anyway,” you wiggle the yellowish shampoo bottle with no label toward the camera, placing it in the plastic box, then return to the products in front of you, “he needs it because it doesn’t burn when it reaches his eyes, and also prevents some infection on his eyelids.”
You grab and lift two products placed in front of you, one in each hand, “I also get him every time he needs a lubricating and gel eye ointment,” you show to the camera, bending over the table slightly to get the products into focus.
“They are to help his eyes to maintain their humidity, along with…” You grab the third product, showing closer to the camera, “these eye drops,” and bring it back to you.
“They help to keep his eyes as healthy as possible within the conditions,” you smile tenderly, putting the products into a toiletry bag you grabbed from inside the cardboard box, then placing it in the plastic box.
“Because of his doctor suggestion as well,” you turn to the other cardboard box, grabbing three glasses cases, smiling beamingly, putting them on the table, “Gator needs sunglasses, so once a month, Dot and I buy some pairs for him to wear,” you say while opening all three, “and we choose funny and different designs everytime,” you chuckle beaminly, lifting one by one to the camera: a heart shapped one, then the lucky glove, and then the cloud shaped one.
“He always complains for like five seconds,” you put the sunglasses back in their cases while giggling, “but he always ends up wearing them, one different per day.”
You glance at the camera, smiling tenderly, placing the glasses cases in the plastic box carefully. “I’m glad he had his mother and Dot around, even if for just a short period of time.”
You smile a little sadly, but also grateful, looking away, “he would have turned into a worse person than he previously was if he just had his father around.”
You look to the camera, placing your hand on the table, “Gator wore a carapace his whole life trying to impress that piece of shit of his father, and this became worse without Dot and Linda there with him to show him kindness is something real,” you take a deep breath, a little shaky.
“I don’t know what happened, but since we met and started dating, he became a whole new person,” you smile sweetly, your eyes getting glassy, “probably he just needed someone to love and care for him truly, I guess.”
“But anywaaaay,” you chuckle, rubbing your eyes, wiping away tears as you sniffling, “let’s continue, shall we?” you say, already grabbing a lot of potato chips from one box and putting them into the other.
“Gator used to vape, but now, for medical reasons, he can’t anymore,” you are not counting, but there are almost 10 chips snack bags, “so we are trying to find something to help him de-stress. Now we are trying chips,” you show to the camera.
“He likes the barbecue one, onion and parsley, and the original one too,” you arrange the snacks around the other things on the box.
“He runs sometimes at the facility too, there is a railing there to guide him through the court,” you look back to the camera, “he kind of likes it, and the art therapy sessions help a lot too, he spends as much time there as possible.”
You smile widely, lifting your hand with a finger pointing up, your eyes wide as if you remembered something. You run out of the frame, and when you come back, you are holding a clay rooster.
“I have a lot of sculptures that he made here at home, and this little guy,” you show to the camera, “was the first thing he made. Well…” you chuckle, “second one. The first one was me,” you smile widely, tossing your hair back playfully, giggling.
Still laughing, you look at the rosster in your hand, your big smile fading to a soft one, turning the sculpture in your hands, paying attention to the details, running your fingers over the marks of the instrument he used to shape the clay into the rooster, the curves and prints of his finger and fingertips in the dried clay.
“Even seeing him only once a week for the past year, I still feel him close to me because of those works of art he always gives to me when I go see him,” you look to the camera, grinning now.
You place the roaster on the table beside you, facing the camera. You pat its head, giggling lightly, then turn back to the cardboard box, almost finishing the little unboxing.
“Just like his medical products, I take deodorant to him too,” you show to the camera and put it in the toiletry bag you used before.
“I don't give him shaving lotion because he likes it when I shave him,” you smile sweetly, pulling from the box a razor and a shaving lotion, showing them to the camera. “So I just take them there to do it myself,” you chuckle, putting them in the bag too.
“At the beginning, I cut him a couple of times. He always acted like it didn't hurt, but I could see how hard he fisted his hands on his pants.”
You smile fondly at the memory, chuckling a little to yourself, “and now, just because he is always such a good boy…” You take a lingerie out of the box, giggling and blushing hard. You show for just a couple of seconds, and then you're already tucking it into the plastic bag.
“Before you say anything,” you point to the camera, laughing still, red still as well, “I didn’t use it, okay? Since we can’t have an intimate visit, we don’t…”
You mumble, trying to find a good word, chuckling embarrassingly, blushing even more, “get any kind of intimacy for a little more than a year, so this,” you point to the box, inticanting your panties, “is because of it, and of course, because since he can’t see, it’s also a way to feel me, you know?”
You hear a honk outside of your house, beep beep, making you snap your head towards your door. You turn to the camera while closing the plastic box, now full and done, “Well, I guess this is my lead to go,” you smile, waving to the camera.
“Thanks for the attention, everyone. Now, excuse me, I have a sweet lady and a gorgeous man waiting for me! Byeeee!” You blow a kiss to the camera, reaching for your phone just after bending over the table to turn the camera off recording.
You grab it and tuck it into your back pocket of your pants. You grab the plastic box with both hands and head to your front door, placing a Tupperware container with cookies on top to give to Dot.
It might be the first anniversary, but it also means that it is one less year of him in jail, one less year of him away from you. Just a few more months, hopefully, and you and he will be together again until the end of time.
Note: Hey! It was quite emotional writing this fanfic. I didn't think it would be like that. And I always thought that anyone can change if they receive the love they always needed to, so giving it to Gator was bittersweet: bitter because he was in prison and blind, and sweet because he has someone besides Dot who cares about him just as much. Hope you liked it just as much as I did!
Summary: It's New Year's! And a good party requires good music, and the songs are not just a coincidence tonight. They mean more than just the melody for the evening.
Word count: 6.2k
Warnings: hurt/comfort, yearning, found family, protective!Steve, physical confrontation, physical fight, injuries and bruises, alcohol consumption
Note: Hey! Think this is the biggest chapter I have ever written, and I considered dividing it into two parts, but I guess it's better to keep it as is. Hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing this one, even though I thought it a little axhsuting, just like it always is when writing about numerous characters. This chapter is really sweet and one of my favorites. I hope you feel the same!
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Monday, December 31st, 1984
One more party, the last one of the year, so one more Max's drop-off at the Wheeler's.
Both you and Billy are wearing black and white. You are wearing black baggy jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, while Billy is wearing a black crop top and white skinny jeans.
You arrive at the Wheelers', and Billy is too insistent about dropping off Max like he always is, already getting out of the car; you and Max know the reason, exchanging looks through the rearview mirror, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance, smiling at each other in a telepathic conversation.
You hug Max warmly through the console. "Happy New Year, sweetie," you wish as you kiss the top of her head. Max reciprocates, hugging you tightly back and kissing you on the cheek.
"Happy New Year, sis," Max smiles at you when you both pull back, grabbing her bag at her side on the back seat, "have fun!" She smirks at you, wiggling her eyebrows and winking at you, making you roll your eyes and laugh, and pushing Max out of the car.
Billy is leaning back at the driver’s door when Max leaves the car, giggling and running away from you when you try to tickle her by closing the back seat door. Max steps onto Billy's side, and they walk together to the Wheelers' front door.
When they approach the front door, Billy knocks, already leaning against the doorframe, smirking, thinking about what he might say first when he sees her. They only meet like this when he drops Max there. Well, at least until summer, when he will probably work as a bodyguard at the public pool. Billy always does his best to say the right thing to her, showing how incredible a woman like her is. Max looks at him with so much judgment, rolling her eyes to herself, waiting for this torture to end.
When the door opens, the smile on Billy's face fades away. His face twists in frustration, a low groan of annoyance escaping his lips. “Good evening, Mr. Wheeler," he sighs loudly, "I'm here to drop off Max,” and he pushes himself off the doorframe.
Max presses her lips together to keep from laughing, turning back to the Camaro to look at you and exchange a look, making it impossible for you to hold back your laughter and crack up in the car. In contrast, Max presses her hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut while still turned towards the car, trying her hardest not to laugh.
“Good. Hello, you two,” Mr. Wheeler answers back with his permanent annoyed expression, opening the door wider to give space for Max, who takes a deep breath, still giggling, but then waving goodbye to you from afar, heading towards the house, glancing over her shoulder to mock Billy, pointing a finger at him while giggling silently.
While Billy rolls his eyes at Max, Mr. Wheeler says goodbye with a simple nod, then shuts the door in his face, leaving Billy stunned and frozen for a second. “Asshole,” Billy murmurs to himself, cursing under his breath while walking back to his car, snorting as well.
He opens the driver's door, slides inside, and turns the engine on. “That man is a fucking idiot,” he tells you, already pulling away to head to Jake's party, his eyebrows furrowed in a constant frown.
You laugh to yourself, looking at Billy. “And you can imagine that idiot got Mrs. Wheeler?” you tease, smirking at Billy.
Billy snorts back, “She is way out of his league; she deserves someone way better.”
“And this someone is supposed to be you, William Hargrove?” you tease again, laughing at him.
He rolls his eyes, sighing in annoyance, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly. “Not necessary, I don't want his place," he states, and you notice a subtle smile at the corner of his lips and a slight sparkle in his eyes. At the same time, he seems to zone out, but he quickly shakes his head, his eyes and mind focusing on the road again, his tone calmer now, "but I definitely can do better than him.”
You just laugh, shaking your head, turning to look out your window at the darkness of Hawkins' landscapes. The rest of the drive is quiet, just the hum of the car since the house is close.
You arrive at the party along with Jonathan and Nancy, parking the car behind Billy's. You jump out of the car, meet Nancy, and greet her with a tight hug, while Billy says an awkward, shy hello to Jonathan, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Nancy is wearing a polka-dot dress, white with black dots, and Jonathan is wearing his usual denim jeans, a simple white shirt, and a denim jacket. You walk into the house with your arms laced with Nancy's, searching for a quieter, less crowded place, while Billy talks to Jonathan about something related to their Chemistry class.
You notice how awkward this is for Billy, not to act loudly and take up so much space, how making quieter friends is so distant from his usual behavior he is so used to, but also see how much lighter he has been ever since his father left, taking up less space but less tense proporcionally, less alert too, less in survival mode, something you noticed in yourself as well.
Nancy calls you back from your thoughts. You blink and look at her. “Did you say something, Nance?”
“Yeah, I said that it's nice that Billy is more,” Nancy moves her hands vaguely, making a thoughtful face, “peaceful?” She chuckles, a little apologetically.
You chuckle back, agreeing with her. “He is indeed more peaceful after all that bullshit.” You look tenderly at him over your shoulder while he talks to Jonathan behind you two. You turn to Nancy again, still looking for a comfortable place for all of you.
“When it happened, guess he understood who he could become, and this scared the shit out of him,” you takes a deep breath, looking away, “and he didn’t want to lose me and Max, so now he has to relearn how to live in society again” you chuckles sadly, looking over your shoulder to him again, “It’s challenging for him, but he is more relaxed than ever,” you smiles warmly.
“We are here for him; he knows that, right?” Nancy hugs you by your side, “There are Jonathan and Steve for him too... He is not on his own anymore; he has friends outside you and Max now.”
You hug Nancy back tightly, both your arms around her, “Yeah, I know.” You stay hugged in silence for a moment as you walk through the crowd, then reach for a good spot to enjoy the party. “Can’t thank you enough, Nance.” You pull back to look at her eyes, smiling with so much love. “Love you, Nance.”
“Love you too, sweetie.” Nancy smiles back, melting from your gratitude, her eyes full of affection.
Before you could add anything more to the conversation, you hear a buzz behind you, and when you turn your head to the sound, it is Eddie greeting Billy with a tight hug, whispering something in his ear, eliciting a good laugh from Eddie while making Billy blush. You furrow your brow in curiosity, but then you notice Steve greeting Jonathan with a quick hug, followed by Robin.
While Robin greets you and Nancy just after, hugging you both, Steve quickly hugs Billy by his side, and Eddie waves hello to Jonathan. You and Nancy wave hello to Steve and Eddie in unison. When you are released from Robin's embrace, Eddie follows and hugs you tightly by your middle, lifting you off the floor and making you giggle. “Let’s start the year wasted, milady?” he teases, his face full of mischief as he puts you down.
“Not so much to make me throw up, please,” you laugh. Then your attention lands fully on Steve when Eddie steps away to greet Nancy. Steve has his hands tucked in the pockets of his black jacket, looking at you a little awkwardly, a lop-sided smile on his lips. “Hey,” he greets you with your name.
“Hey, Steve.” You smile just as awkwardly as he does.
Eddie notices the tension between you, and as the good friend he is, but also with mischief in his eyes, he suggests to you: “Let’s grab a drink. What do you think, milady? Helps you to loose it up,” and before you could answer, you are already being pulled by Eddie through the crowd, taking a laugh out of you by the sudden move, heading to the kitchen.
In there, you and Eddie fill some cups to bring to your friends, too, and, from a distance in a calmer atmosphere, you can look at them properly now. Eddie is all black, as expected: leather jacket, black jeans, and a Metallica shirt; Steve is wearing a black jacket with a white shirt underneath and black jeans; and Robin is wearing white shorts and a black-and-white striped shirt.
You and Eddie return to the group after a while, trying your best to carry three cups each. Eddie gives one to Robin and Nancy, who will share it with Jonathan; you give one to Billy and the other to Steve, brushing your fingers when he grabs it, the touch lingering there for a second longer, giving both butterflies. Steve and you hold each other's gaze as you take a long sip from your drinks, a growing smile spreading across both your faces.
‘Mamma Mia’ by ABBA starts playing, making you and Nancy exchange looks, widen your eyes, and scream with excitement. You hold each other's hands and run to the dance floor together, holding your cups up to prevent them from dropping. The rest of the group laughs at you both, following you just after. When they get to you two, you and Nancy are singing to each other, lungs out.
“I've been angry and sad about things that you do
I can't count all the times that I've told you we're through
And when you go, when you slam the door
I think you know that you won't be away too long
You know that I'm not that strong”
And when the chorus hit again, both of you jump and sing even louder, if it is even possible.
“Mamma mia, here I go again
My, my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again
My, my, just how much I've missed you?
Yes, I've been broken-hearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go”
Steve watches you dancing freely and enjoying yourself, and a smile spreads across his face when he realizes you are acting like that with him now, that he can witness your lighter, warmer side, and his chest tightens at the occurrence of this thought. You and the group stay on the dance floor for most of the night, with Steve and you glancing at each other frequently, making both smile lop-sided and blush every time.
In between these moments, some memorable memories are made.
‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ by The Clash comes on at some point, and you notice Jonathan smiling widely to himself as he hears the song's instrumental intro. When the lyrics come, he murmurs them to himself, quietly bouncing to the rhythm.
‘Darling, you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here till the end of time
So you got to let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?’
So, discreetly, you call Steve and Nancy's attention with subtle head movements, pointing to Jonathan, mouthing for them to follow your lead.
‘It's always tease, tease, tease
You're happy when I'm on my knees
One day it's fine, and next it's black
So if you want me off your back
Well, come on and let me know
Should I stay, or should I go?’
You start singing louder, dancing, and exchanging looks with Jonathan; Steve and Nancy exchange amused looks, singing along with you and glancing at Jonathan the whole time, who smiles shyly at the sudden attention but grows more confident as the music progresses. When the chorus hits, the whole group sings loudly and powerfully, jumping and dancing in excitement.
“Should I stay, or should I go now?
Should I stay, or should I go now?
If I go, there will be trouble
And if I stay, it will be double
So come on and let me know”
You continue to sing until the end of the song, a cheer rising from all of you towards Jonathan, who blushes at the attention, but his smile is wider and brighter than ever, and it's clear that, even a little embarrassed, he is feeling accepted, comfortable being himself.
'Old Time Rock & Roll’ by Bob Seger plays at some point as well, and you and Steve start to move your bodies at the rhythm of the song without each other noticing, singing the lyrics to yourselves.
“Just take those old records off the shelf
I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself
Today's music ain't got the same soul
I like that old time rock and roll”
When the second verse begins, you look at each other by coincidence, widening your eyes and smiling in excitement at the matching energy, your singing voices growing louder as you sing to each other, dancing together.
“Don't try to take me to a disco
You'll never even get me out on the floor
In ten minutes I'll be late for the door
I like that old time rock and roll”
And then the chorus hit, both reaching the middle of the small circle the group of you had unintentionally formed, facing each other with just mere inches apart, singing close together, almost chest to chest, dancing along with the song.
“Still like that old time rock and roll
That kind of music just soothes the soul
I reminisce about the days of old
With that old time rock and roll”
You and Steve dance and sing together until the music fades, both panting from the effort, wide smiles on your faces and sparkles in your eyes as you look at each other. You are so close that you can feel each other’s panting breath on your faces, making both hearts pound hard in your chests, the air between you becoming thick with electricity. You look at his face, connecting the dots between the moles on his face and neck, while he gets lost in the galaxy of freckles on your face.
And just to interrupt your little moment, ‘I Want to Break Free’ by Queen plays next, making Eddie and Billy pull you and Steve out of the center of the circle now, getting their spotlight, while you both go back to your places in the circle, shocked from the sudden exchange and by the high energy from both guys.
Theatrically, Eddie and Billy perform the entire show for the circle of friends around them, singing the first verse with such drama and power.
“I want to break free
I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies
You're so self-satisfied, I don't need you
I've got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free”
Now, in the second verse, they sing and are theatrical to each other, exchanging smiles, expressions, and some message that only the two of them can access.
“I've fallen in love
I've fallen in love for the first time
And this time I know it's for real
I've fallen in love, yeah
God knows, God knows I've fallen in love”
They have their moment, finishing the song, panting and bowing dramatically to receive applause from you all around, eliciting laughs from everyone, themselves included. Billy seems more relaxed and lighthearted after this little show, a grin on his face as he exchanges glances with Eddie from time to time, who has a wide, boyish smile.
‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody’ by Whitney Houston plays after some songs, making Jonathan smile to himself. He leans closer to Nancy, who is on his side, singing the song just to her, shy in his own way, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, Nancy giggling and blushing at her boyfriend.
The second verse hits while Jonathan looks into her eyes while singing, as if she were the only one in the room, with a sparkle in his eyes.
“I've been in love and lost to my senses
Spinnin' through the town
Sooner or later, the fever ends
And I wind up feelin' down”
Nancy melts at him, the room around her losing focus, giving attention only to Jonathan, the only one in her sight right now, as he sings the pre-chorus to her.
“I need a man who'll take a chance
On a love that burns hot enough to last
So when the night falls
My lonely heart calls”
And when the chorus comes, they sing to each other from full hearts, in their own world.
“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody
I wanna feel the heat with somebody
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody
With somebody who loves me
Oh, I wanna dance with somebody
I wanna feel the heat
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody
With somebody who loves me”
You watch the whole scene with so much affection, happy that your friends found each other. Eddie is on your side, noticing how you look at them. “You are indeed a romantic, milady,” he chuckles, nudging you with his elbow. “You have hearts in your eyes just by looking at them.”
You roll your eyes, smiling, still watching your friends singing together. “How could I not be? For me, any kind of love will always be the most beautiful feeling ever.” You turn to Eddie, squeezing his cheeks in a playful tease, “Like the love I feel for you, milord.” You laugh; he rolls his eyes with a grin, slapping your hands away to get off his face, making you laugh in fake incredulity.
“Love you too, milady,” Eddie says, passing an arm over your shoulder, kissing the top of your head, both of you still laughing.
Steve looks at you and Eddie in front of him, thinking about the possibility of having you close like this during the fireworks at midnight. And, just for the thought, butterflies make their home on his stomach, a grin growing on his face as he looks away to ease himself.
After some time, ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden plays on the dance floor, and you and Eddie look at each other, jumping into the middle of the circle again, smiling widely as you play your imaginary guitars through the instrumental intro. Then the lyrics came, and both of you are still playing your guitars, with you as the vocalist.
“You'll take my life, but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket, but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand, there's no turning back
The bugle sounds, the charge begins
But on this battlefield, no one wins
The smell of acrid smoke
and horse's breath
As I plunge on into certain death”
Everyone in the circle hype you two up, cheering and clapping at the beat of the song. You and Eddie look at each other most of the time, enjoying each other and putting one of the songs Eddie taught you into practice, even if it's on your pretend guitar. You look around at your friends and find everyone grinning at you, enjoying it just as much as you are.
Then your eyes land on Steve, and you forget how to breathe, your knees almost give way, the world slows down, the noise around you fades, and there is only Steve in your focus. The look in his eyes makes the world freeze in time, with a mix of enjoyment, amusement, and admiration towards you that you have never experienced before. No one has ever looked at you like that.
After verse 2, the chorus begins. Eddie sings loudly, making you startle and blink away, being pulled back to reality. The song is loud again, and the people around you are clear in focus as well. You finish your private show with an awkward smile on your face, panting from your fast beating heart and butterflies all over your stomach, glancing at Steve again and finding him just as shaken as you.
After just a few minutes, ‘The NeverEnding Story’ by Limahl starts to play. Steve and Robin exchange a look and laugh their ass off while mockingly singing the song, like this is an inside joke between them.
“Turn around
Look at what you see
In her face
The mirror of your dreams
Make believe I'm everywhere
I'm hidden in the lines
Written on the pages
Is the answer to a never-ending story
(Ahhhh...)
Reach the stars
Fly a fantasy
Dream a dream
And what you see will be
Rhymes that keep their secrets
Will unfold behind the clouds
And there upon the rainbow
Is the answer to a never-ending story
(Ahhhh...)”
Everyone around them laughs in confusion and surprise, not understanding what’s happening or why, so you all just enjoy the show.
‘I Wanna Be Where the Boys Are’ by The Runaways plays as well after a while, and a chorus of cheers comes from all the girls in the room, you three included, singing the lyrics loudly and with your full hearts.
“Wild in the streets, barely alive
Mama's always telling me, "Stay inside
Don't you hang around with those young boys
Soon, you'll be lovin' them, they're all night toys"
Robin, you, and Nancy are singing to each other, alternating your focus between the boys and yourselves, advocating for your rights. The boys smile proudly at you, hyping you up, clapping, shouting, whistling.
“I wanna be where the boys are
I wanna fight how the boys fight
I wanna love how the boys love
I wanna be where the boys are”
The next verse is the most memorable one from this spectacle: girls from other rooms go onto the dance floor, and, along with you all already there, everyone sings loudly, in unison, with all your voices and power combined.
“[...] I am the bitch with the hot guitar
I am the air, the sun and stars
I wanna be where the boys are
I wanna fight how the boys fight
I wanna love how the boys love
I wanna be where the boys are.”
After a while, it’s already 11 pm, so you and your friends decide to go out to the backyard to find a good spot to watch the fireworks at midnight. Robin has been nowhere to be found for a while now; she said she would look for her soon-to-be girlfriend, Vickie.
Jonathan and Nancy are leading the group to the back door of the house, crossing arms, being followed by Eddie and Billy, who are exchanging bands they like, their shoulders brushing constantly, with little to no distance between them.
And then you and Steve, who are in a comfortable silence, your hands brushing constantly while walking through the crowd, the two of you still a little awkward, but a little less because of the alcohol.
A girl approaches Steve out of nowhere, making him stop when she leans to say something in his ear, a hand on his shoulder. Probably, you were not supposed to hear it, but it was inevitable given the proximity of the three of you.
“Hey, pretty boy,” the girl greets him, pulling back to look at him, mischief in her eyes and lips, sliding her hand down from his shoulder to his arm, resting for a while on his biceps.
“Hey," Steve smiles politely, "Thanks, but not interested. Have a good night,” Steve says, waving goodbye in return, returning his steps to catch up with you, not looking back.
“She is pretty”. You say to him when he reaches you, looking ahead from you at Billy and Eddie, returning to walk again. You don’t know why you said that, making you roll your eyes at yourself.
“Maybe,” he pauses, shrugging, then looking down at you as he walks beside you, “but never as pretty as you.”
You widen your eyes in surprise, snap your head at him, looking up to his face, finding a fond smile on his lips and sparkles in his eyes. You are blushing hard, your stomach flipping, a shaky chuckle escaping from you, and a shy smile spreading across your face as you look away from the intensity of his gaze.
"Smooth, Harrington. Really smooth," you tease, laughing while still shaken.
"Guess I passed the phase of being smooth, Mayfield," he says back, smirking, leaning slightly into your ear. "Maybe I just want to make it really clear now," he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine.
Jonathan swings the back door open as you all approach the back of the house, holding it for the group. When you exit the house, a cold breeze hits you, making you hold yourself and rub your arms to warm up.
You and the group walk to an empty bench at the back of the backyard, with Billy, Eddie, and Jonathan sitting on it, Nancy on Jonathan's lap, while you and Steve sit on the ground.
Steve notices you rubbing your arms. He takes his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders, making you look at him as he soothes it on, tucking it right around you.
“Thanks, Steve, but no nee-”
“You’re freezing, and I’m not cold.” He smiles kindly at you. “If I get a cold, we share it, deal?”
You chuckle, wrapping the jacket tighter around you, nodding, “Deal.” You smile, looking ahead, leaning into Steve, resting your temple on his shoulder, pulling your legs to your chest to warm them. You catch his scent on the jacket and directly from him, shutting your eyes with a big smile on your face.
Steve freezes in place for a second, afraid to move and spook you, but he gradually relaxes, staying there, even with his arm going numb, glancing down at you from time to time, butterflies all over his stomach dancing along with the drums of his heart, and a crooked smile on his face.
You stay there in your little bubble, after a while, you are talking about nothing and everything at the same time, tilting your head up to look at him and him looking down at you, your faces so close that every time one of you breathes too heavily, the other senses it on your face.
Steve asks about college applications, since he is applying for a bachelor’s degree in Physical Education at Indiana State University. You break into a big smile and say you also applied to Indiana State for a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology.
You share that you miss the warm weather in California, and Steve talks about a time when he was younger, when his parents took a work trip there for a few days, bringing him and his nanny together, suggesting that you might have crossed paths during this time.
You confess you never left the country, and Steve briefly talks about the time he went to Edinburgh with his father on a work trip when he was 12.
You share your interest in books, while Steve shares his interest in comic books, and you start exchanging ideas since you have often read some of Billy and Max's comic books.
You share that you like romance, drama, and comedy in movies, and mostly musicals, too, like Grease, while Steve shares that he likes action and sci-fi movies, with a soft spot for Star Wars. Steve enjoys a little horror, while you are really scared of it and only watch it when Max asks you to watch with her. But you always end up having a nightmare and jumping into Max's bed to sleep with her.
Steve chuckles fondly at you, "A badass like you is afraid of terror movies?" He teases, poking your side, making you giggle, "You are softer than I thought, Mayfield."
"I need to have a flaw, Harrington, I couldn't be perfect," you joke back, laughing, tickling him back with both of your hands, making him squirm on your side.
"Hey!" He writhes, laughing, grabbing your wrists to stop you, "Are you done?" He looks at you with fake anger, a boyish smile on his face, as you nod, still laughing, slowly releasing your wrists while paying close attention to your actions.
You two sit straight back again, now both of you run around the concerts you went to. His being Bruce Springsteen in 1981, Aerosmith in 1982, The Police plus Joan Jett & The Blackhearts in 1983, and Scorpion plus Bon Jovi in 1984, all in Indianapolis, and yours being The Who in 1982, also The Police in 1983, and ZZ Top plus Joan Jett & The Blackhearts in 1983, and Duran Duran and Van Halen in 1984, all in San Diego.
Steve and you stay so engrossed in your conversation that you don’t notice Tommy H. approaching your bench, focusing on Billy. It’s noticeable how drunk he is.
“Hey Hargrove, long time no see.”
“Hey, Tommy.” Billy just nods, keeping his face as neutral as he can; everyone around gets tense, looking from one to the other.
“You think you are too good for us now, huh?” Tommy spits on the ground beside his feet, locking his eyes on Billy, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don't hang out with us anymore,” he states bitterly, scanning your friends one by one.
Billy rubs a hand over his face, groaning in annoyance, then bends over, rests his arms on his knees, and looks up at Tommy. “I think nothing, Tommy. Please, for fucks sake, go back to Carol and leave us alone, okay?” he says, a little tired already.
Tommy snorts, the anger growing in him. “Or what, Hargrove?”
Before Billy could even answer, you stand up, putting yourself between him and Tommy as a shield. “Or I’ll show you what happens when you mess up with my brother.”
Tommy laughs mockingly, throwing his head back, then looking back at you. “You think I’m afraid of you, Mayfield?”
Steve stands up and comes to your side. “Chill out, man, no one here wants to fight, just get out of here,” he looks down at Tommy, who is still looking fixated on you.
“I’m not talking to you, Harrington,” Tommy says back, his tone bitter, his eyes still on you as he takes a step towards. You don't flinch, your face scowling, lifting your chin in defiance.
Steve pushes Tommy back, making him stumble a couple of steps. “I don’t give a shit, Tommy.” Steve hisses through his teeth, stepping between you and Tommy to shield you, your heart racing from adrenaline.
“If you touch a fucking single hair of her head, yours will be in the ground right after.” Steve’s face is still, not a single doubt on his features, his fists clenched at his sides.
Full of rage, Tommy throws himself over Steve, hitting him on the chin, receiving one back from Steve to his cheekbone just after, both falling on the ground, with Steve on top of Tommy.
Eddie, Billy, and Jonathan stand up fast and sprint past you, pulling Steve away from Tommy and sitting him on the bench while some of Tommy's friends carry him away.
You, agitated from the adrenaline and scared by how fast this all escalated, reach Steve, panting a little from the shock, “My god, Steve, are you okay?” Without giving him time to answer, you hold his head gently by the back of his neck, tilting his face up so you can see how badly he is injured.
“You have to see the other guy,” he chuckles, teasing, looking up at you, winking with this stupid, pretty smile of his.
“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Harrington. Has anyone ever told you to be a comedian?” you say sarcastically, wrinkling your nose with annoyance, paying attention to his wounds while tilting his head slightly.
He had cut his lower lip, a black eye was starting to appear, and there was also a small cut on his cheekbone and chin, with dry blood on his injuries.
“Now c’mon, let's clean you up.” You grab his hand, pulling him off the bench and towards the house, shouting over your shoulder to your friends, “We’ll be right back!”
Steve chuckles, amused by your initiative, waving goodbye to his friends as he follows you closely, grabbing your hand more firmly, making your heart pound.
“If I know I just had to have some cuts on my face to be able to grab your hand, I should have done that when I arrived here,” Steve says with a lopsided smug smile while you shut the back door of the house, heading you to a bathroom at the end of a near hallway.
“For fucks sakes, Harrington,” you pull him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, sighing heavily, “shut up and sit there.” You point to the toilet seat, and Steve obeys, while you search for a first-aid kit at the bathroom cabinet, your hands shaky from before.
The smile on his face fades when he notices how shaky your hands are when you grab the aid kit. You pull the trash can and sit on it on his side, the kit on your lap.
Steve calls your name gently, “Hey,” he places his hand over yours on the aid kit, searching for your eyes, “are you okay?” His voice is soft, just like his eyes, slightly furrowed in concern.
You take a deep breath, looking back at him, melting at the sweetness of his features, and turning your attention back to the kit in front of you, opening it. “Of course I’m not, Steve,” you state, a little calmer now, grabbing a small bottle of antiseptic, soaking a cloth with it.
“You scared the shit out of me.” You look back at him. “Now let me patch you, okay? Please,” you say tenderly, still slightly scared, offering your free hand for him to hold, pressing the cloth to the cut on his lip, already apologizing for the burning to come.
Steve winces from it, squeezing his eyes shut while holding your hand tighter to calm down. After a second, he opens his eyes, a little glassy, but still able to see you through properly while you take care of him, cleaning his wound, making his heart ache on his chest by the sweetness of the situation.
"You know," he says quietly, studying your face, "for someone so ready to get into a fight before, you look pretty scared that Tommy hit me."
You stay quiet for a while, freezing for a second before slowly returning to your movements, throwing the cloth onto the floor beside your feet. You look back at him after a while. "Seeing someone I care about being hit is always scary," you say quietly, holding his gaze for a second, then returning to the aid kit to grab another cloth.
Steve is caught off guard, becoming speechless just watching your movements. "She cares about me," he repeats in his head over and over again.
You continue to take care of his injuries, changes to his cheekbone, burning less, bearable even. Steve pays attention to how you bite your inner cheek when you are concentrated, just like that Biology class you two had together. He also notices how your touch is feather-like and warm against his skin, and how your eyes are alert for any slight discomfort he might show. Steve feels something warm in his chest, but also aching in a way.
“You’re staring, Harrington,” you announce quietly, discarding the second piece of gauze on the floor and turning your attention back to the aid kit.
“You’re too gorgeous not to,” Steve responds, almost breathless, painfully even.
You look up to him, catching the sparkle in his eyes and noticing how fast your heart is beating. The fireworks start outside the house, along with the teens' cheering inside, announcing the end of 1984 and the beginning of 1985.
Steve's gaze lingers on your eyes, then drops to your lips, wetting his lower lip, biting it slightly, and looking back at your eyes.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers breathlessly as he says your name.
“Happy New Year, Steve,” you whisper, as breathless as he is.
The air around you gets thicker, charged. You lean slightly forward, and Steve leans closer in return.
And then the bathroom door opens.
“There you are! Happy New Year, guys!” Announces Robin, hugging a ginger girl from the side, a wide smile on both of their faces.
You and Steve freeze, mid-movement. You look at each other, then shut your eyes and laugh out loud, a mix of frustration, incredulity, and disbelief. You bend over, resting your forehead on his shoulder, while Steve rests his elbow on his knee, pressing his hand on his forehead, both of your bodies shaking with laughter.
At the door, Robin looks really confused at you and Steve, then at Vickie, then back at you two, not understanding why you are laughing your ass off like that, and even less why Steve is hurt again.
Note: Hey! I really enjoy writing about Steve and reader becoming closer and more intimate, and I believe that in a long story like mine, I need to give them material to bond as well, so thinking about the things Steve might like is really interesting. I began listening to 80s-ish songs just this year, so with the limited knowledge I have, I'm trying to do my best with characterization, and I find it so interesting to write headcanons! Hope you agree with some of my choices here.
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on your mind | steve harrington
part one: the unspoken rule of apartment 4b
pairing: steve harrington x reader
word count: 5.9k
warnings: 18+ mdni (male and female masturbation, vibrator use)
includes: roommate!steve, freak4freak, a little mutual jealousy, a little bit of pervy!steve, but also pervy!reader tbh, tiny mention of bisexual!reader, steve gets hard over chicken parmesan
summary: steve can't help but notice how quiet you are when you bring guys home and he finds himself fixated on your pleasure more than he should be. but when he comes home during lunch one day he's in for a surprise when he finds out just how loud you really can be.
a/n: i actually don't know what to say about this other than enjoy and prepare yourself for part two. as always thank you to lid @tinfoileddd who lets me pick her brain and expand on the random ideas i send her. this wouldn't have came to life without her <3
masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Steve Harrington prided himself on being a considerate guy.
Which meant his roommate telling him that they’re going on a date tomorrow night was all he needed to know. He was considerate enough to read between the lines and vacate the apartment for the evening with no questions asked.
It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them and he was grateful his roommate extended the same courtesy when he mentioned going out with someone– especially when his said roommate is a woman.
Steve had never imagined himself having to live with a roommate, especially a woman that wasn’t his significant other, but coaching and teaching sex-ed to a bunch of middle schoolers didn’t pay shit, and he couldn’t stand living with his parents anymore. So when one of the few people besides him out of the rag-tag group of people he called friends that had stayed in Hawkins mentions something about getting a place together he figures– why not?
He’d known you for years, had experienced too many near death experiences with you, and he also knew you were looking for any excuse to get out of the damn near slum of an apartment you were living in then. So, on a bright sunny Saturday morning in April the two of you sign the lease for what has now been your home for a little over a year.
Living with each other was a lot easier than either of you thought it was going to be. Shared chore lists, weekly movie nights, eating dinner together, learning each other’s little quirks– it was all very domestic.
So domestic that sometimes your lines of reality and fantasy blurred and sometimes you’d have to remind yourself that Steve was not your boyfriend and just your best friend. Which usually happened a couple times a month when he’d casually mention that he had a date and so you’d be the good roommate you are and let him have his alone time and then the following week you’d just so happen to have a date also.
Which is how you’ve ended up with Eric breathing heavily into your ear as he pounds into you with such a hurry that you think maybe he wants this to be over with faster than you do. Your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall as you count the ceiling tiles above you and it’s not until you hear him groan something along the lines of i’m cumming that you let out a fake gasp and then he’s rolling off of you without as much as a second glance.
He says he’ll call you tomorrow.
You know he more than likely won’t and that’s more than fine with you.
Steve strolls through the door near midnight, figuring thats plenty enough time for you two to do whatever, and for the guy to leave without there being any awkward introductions. Thankfully he’s right and he’s greeted with you sitting on the couch, freshly showered and in your pajamas, with what he can only assume is your leftovers from dinner in your lap.
He plops down onto the couch beside you with a sigh and you immediately shove the styrofoam container of lasagna towards him. “Want some? It’s from Enzo’s.”
“Enzo’s?” Steve questions, eyebrows raised in surprise. “He must have really wanted to impress you,” he states, grabbing the fork and shoving a piece in his mouth without a second thought. “Did it work?”
“No,” you reply, taking the fork back from him and splitting what’s left down the middle for the two of you to share. “Should have ended the date after dinner was over.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, but he knows what you’re alluding to, and he just nods understandingly at you as he takes his turn with the fork. The two of you didn’t necessarily talk about your sex lives, it was implied when either of you had mentioned going on a date and that you needed the apartment to yourself, but neither of you sat here and talked in detail about the latest orgasm you’d had, but if Steve had any inkling, he was pretty sure the guys you brought home weren’t giving you any.
The thing about your unspoken agreement with Steve about dates and bringing people home was that it wasn’t fool proof. Sometimes the two of you would go out without any expectations of bringing someone home. Then one thing leads to another and suddenly there’s someone trailing in behind either of you and the sound of a bedroom door slamming. It didn’t happen often enough to where it would be an issue, but it happened enough that Steve, while he wasn’t trying to be a creep, was being observant and had seemed to notice the lack of noise from you.
He’d quickly put on music when he’d hear the sound of your drunken giggles echoing down the hall and then a much deeper voice accompanying yours, but the times when you come home long after he’d gone to bed and you end up waking him up with your loud footsteps and hushes to the mystery man– those times he shamelessly listens.
It seems to be the same variation of sounds and actions every time– the guy trying to be all suave with you, your headboard hitting the wall in rapid succession for a short amount of time, some curses from the guy, and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Not a single peep out of you the whole time and at first Steve thinks you’re just being considerate, that you’d made the decision to bring someone home while he was here so you’re just being extra quiet, but he also knows that sometimes no matter how hard you try, staying quiet during sex is sometimes impossible.
He figures you’re bound to slip up after a while and he’ll hear a moan or a little dirty talk bleed through the walls, but it never does, except for that one guy you brought home that would not stop with the dirty talk and kept asking you who’s pussy this was. Needless to say Steve ended up putting on music that night.
And not to toot his own horn, but he knew what it sounded like when a woman was experiencing pleasure, and from what he could tell those guys weren’t getting you off. While he can’t account for the times he isn’t in the apartment, he can tell from your demeanor when he comes home that those times aren’t particularly stellar either.
Your less than blissed out state as you sit next to him on the couch, sharing your leftover lasagna with him, it proves his point.
But Steve doesn’t say anything about your lack of post sex glow and how these guys should make it their priority to make you feel good. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to cross any lines and potentially make things weird between the two of you, even if he’s a little more concerned with how other guys are treating you in bed than he should be.
Instead he takes the last bite of his portion of the lasagna and extends an olive branch, an out if you ever needed it, because again he cares about you more than he should.
“You know if you’re on a date and he’s weird or making you uncomfortable or even if you just want to come home– you can call me. No questions asked, I'll come get you. I’m almost always at Eddie’s or at Slinky’s having a beer.”
You give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the way his words make your heart do a traitorous thing, like the idea of him being willing to drive across town to come and take you home doesn’t make whatever you feel towards him that much more complicated.
“Thanks Steve,” you reply, eyes focused on the little bit of lasagna left instead of him.
“Of course,” he responds, slowly standing up from the couch. “Think I’m gonna go to bed,” his eyes traipse over you, waiting for you to look up at him, and when you finally do he smiles in that endearing way that makes your chest ache. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
You hear his bedroom door close and you’re left sitting on the couch with the now empty takeout container in your lap wondering how much longer you can go on with this act. How much longer can you continue to bring home these guys that don’t know your clit from your nipple and act like the man you actually want isn’t thirty feet away.
You always get in your head like this afterwards, especially when Steve comes home and you’re absolutely buzzing on the inside with want, but the one thing you want– you can’t have.
The couch creaks under you as you get up and make the decision to leave the takeout container on the coffee table, claiming you’ll take care of it in the morning. As you pad down the hall and past Steve’s room you hear his muffled voice behind his door and you’re not meaning to eavesdrop, but the sickeningly sweet tone that bleeds out under the door has you frozen in place.
“Yeah, yeah– I know it’s late and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
“Your number was burning a hole in my pocket from the moment you gave it to me tonight. I couldn't wait to hear your voice again.”
“I had a really good time tonight and I’d like to see you again if you’re up for it?”
“Yeah? Great. How about dinner next Friday?”
“Can’t wait. I’ll call you later with the details.”
That all too familiar sinking sensation settles deep in your gut and before Steve can figure out you were listening you dart across the hall and into your room. The door slams shut behind you with no regard for the pictures on your wall and before you know it you’re burying your face into your pillow. He’d met someone while he was out tonight and you know you have absolutely no room to talk, no leg to stand on when it came to however you were feeling, you’d been on a date tonight, brought a guy home and had sex, if you could call it that.
Steve was allowed to do whatever he wanted to, and you knew that, it’s just that you don’t think you can handle another failed date on your end to fill that ache in your heart.
The next morning you take the initiative to call Eric before he doesn’t and the second date is set for Saturday.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
A couple weeks later you manage to score a day off during the week, which meant you had the apartment to yourself.
Steve had thought it was weird how eager you were to send him off to work this morning, in fact majority of the time when you manage to get a day off during the week you’re begging him to play hooky and spend the day with you, but this morning you were nearly pushing him out the door.
He tried not to think too much of it, maybe you just wanted some alone time, or maybe you were inviting Eric over. He had spent the night the last time you went out, which Steve thought was strange, considering you never let guys sleep over, but the mid breakfast meeting between the two men had been interesting to say the least.
As you walked into the kitchen that morning you found Steve sitting at the little table eating his food with your plate across from him– eggs made just how you like, orange juice in your favorite cup, and toast still hot to the touch. It wasn’t an unusual sight by any means, but what was unusual was you having company in the morning. So he doesn’t even think to make sure you’re alone when he hears you enter the kitchen, eyes not even looking up from his plate, before he blurts out – was he any better this time?
Eric awkwardly clears his throat from behind you and Steve looks up wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed. Before Steve can even begin to spit out an apology Eric mumbles I should get going and it’s an awkward thirty seconds as he gathers his jacket from your room and walks out the front door, because you don’t even try to get him to stay and Steve continues eating his eggs, now content with the departure of the man from your shared apartment.
Steve figured after that debacle there was no way Eric would be back around, but if he knew Steve wasn’t going to be there today, well there was a chance, and it bothers Steve more than he’d like to admit. Either way though, Steve was going to find out what was going on back at home, because by the time second period rolled around he realized he’d forgotten his change of clothes for baseball practice tonight. There was no way he was going to be out there on that field in slacks and tie, especially when in true Indiana fashion, summer had arrived early and it was sweltering already in May. He’d just run home on his lunch break and grab some clothes and be right back– no big deal.
He’d even called you before he left to give you a heads up that he was coming home soon, but there was no answer, and so he thinks that maybe his little spiral over Eric potentially being there was for nothing and you probably were out shopping.
When his pickup truck pulls into his unofficially assigned parking spot at home and your black sedan is in its usual spot next to his– his mind conjures up a million different reasons as to why you hadn’t answered the phone earlier. None of them are good and frankly majority of them involve Eric and he chooses to ignore the alarms going off in his head about how he shouldn’t care this much about you fucking another guy.
His eyes do a quick sweep of the parking lot, he doesn’t know what Eric drives, so he really doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but Steve feels like he has crazy intuition and he’s expecting the vehicle to glow like a fucking beacon the second his eyes land on it.
The search is of course futile.
His wristwatch lets him know he only has twenty minutes left until he needs to be back at the school and with the hope of not walking through the front door to find Eric balls deep in you– Steve reluctantly gets out of the truck and walks towards apartment 4B.
For the first time ever in his life– Steve knocks on his own front door. Not because he’s forgotten his key, but because he’s afraid of what might be going down on the other side of this couple inches of wood.. He gives it a minute and when there’s no response or the sound of two people scrambling to get dressed, he shoves his key in the lock and slowly opens the door.
The living room comes into view as the door fully swings open and to Steve’s surprise it’s exactly as he remembers it when he left this morning– your favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, his glasses that he claims he doesn’t need on the coffee table, and some of the various VHS tapes that Steve had nabbed back from his Family Video days in a pile on the side table.
The apartment is eerily quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator and Steve comes to the conclusion that one of your friends has come and picked you up, because when you’re home it’s obvious. There’s always music playing or the TV is loudly playing some show you aren’t even watching– your presence is always known and right now all that lingers is reminders of you.
He doesn’t think much more of it as he wanders down the hall and towards his room, but the sound that bounces off your four walls and through your door has Steve stunned and his feet cemented to the floor.
“Oh my god!”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
From the moment you woke up this morning you’d been buzzing with anticipation, finally having the apartment to yourself in god knows how long, the new toy you’d picked up the other day burning a hole in your bedside drawer, and the fact that you haven’t had a good orgasm in ages– it had you wound tighter than a drum.
It didn’t help that you’d slightly been edging yourself all morning, refusing to touch yourself, but constantly thinking about how good it was going to feel once you did. You could have jumped right into your bed and shoved your hand down your pants as soon as Steve left this morning, but this was more fun, and you knew the payoff for waiting would be worth it.
It’s not until you find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you fold laundry that you finally cave.
You grab your new vibrator from the drawer and get comfy on your bed as your heart nearly beats out of your chest from how worked up you are without even touching yourself yet. You’re still in your pajamas, a big t-shirt and shorts, but you keep them on to tease yourself just a little longer. The feeling of your fingertips tracing antagonizingly slow circles around your nipples through your thin t-shirt has a steady warmth spreading through your body and the ache between your plush thighs that much stronger.
While your left hand still gives your nipples the attention they so desperately crave, your right travels down past your navel and in between your thighs. Your sleep shorts are thin and perhaps you hadn’t put any underwear on last night when you went to bed and maybe the ragged seam had been rubbing up against your clit all morning and maybe you did it on purpose so that when you finally caved just the slightest touch to yourself would have you gasping.
Which is exactly what happens when your index and middle finger press down against your clothed core and the seam of your shorts rubs against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels so good and god you want nothing more than to just go crazy and bring yourself over the edge, but you’ve been so patient, and you’ve got all day to play with yourself.
So why ruin the fun so prematurely?
You start slow, the pads of your fingers rubbing small circles over the fabric while your other hand, that is now slipped under your shirt, pinches and gently tugs at your nipples, the both of them working in tandem. The warmth that radiates through you is intoxicating and it doesn’t shock you to feel the cotton of your shorts dampening in record time. You’d been working yourself up all morning and when your hand finally trails under the waistband of your shorts it’s a little obscene just how wet you are.
Your shorts quickly get discarded, haphazardly thrown onto your floor, and then your shirt gets bunched up just enough to expose your tits to the cool air. The anticipation is burning through you like a wildfire and the only way to smother it is to make yourself come.
Which is something you planned on doing– multiple times.
Soft moans slip past your lips as your fingers rub tight little circles on your clit and as your eyes flutter closed your mind wanders to the one thing that you know will only amplify your pleasure.
Steve.
You’d imagined one too many times, what it would be like to be the girl moaning underneath him, how it would feel to have his big warm hands caressing your body, to have him showering you in compliments and praises.
Your fingers trail through your folds and down to your sopping wet cunt, circling the sensitive skin around your entrance with such a slow tortuous pace that it tears a whimper from you, hips bucking forward for something more. You know your fingers aren’t going to give you what you need, but you sink your index and middle finger in anyways, searching for that pleasure that you’ve never been able to give yourself.
If only you had Steve’s long and thick fingers inside you right now, he’d surely have you grabbing at the sheets as he curled them just right, reaching that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. It wasn’t like you had much experience when it came to getting pleasure from your g-spot, considering the only person to ever find it was the girl you hooked up with last October, but you had confidence that Steve would have no issue.
Just the idea of Steve pumping his fingers inside your tight cunt, stretching you out as he adds a third, it has you mewling. The squelching sounds of your own fingers pistoning into you fills the room and you could only imagine the dirty comment Steve would make about it. You knew he had a way with his words in the bedroom, you’d shamelessly listen through the walls on those nights when he’d bring home a girl on a whim, and you’d stored away those words for times like these.
God, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you pretty girl?
You’re soaking my cock baby.
Gonna make a mess all over my sheets aren’t you?
But even with Steve’s dirty talk echoing around in your head, your fingers of course aren’t enough to bring you over the edge, and you’re hurriedly reaching for your vibrator, slick fingers fumbling with the button before it comes to life in your palm.
The second you press it to your swollen clit it seems as if electricity shoots through you, pleasure coursing through every vein in your body, and you’ve never been more thankful to be home alone as you lose all composure.
“Oh my god!”
Your eyes are screwed shut, head thrown back against your pillow, and the prettiest sounds continue to slip past your lips as you increase the intensity level on the toy.
It doesn’t take long at all for that all too familiar feeling to creep up on you, for the warmth that’s started low in your belly to spread throughout your body. When you take your vibrator off your clit and slowly trail it up your body all the way to your nipples and circle each of them with it you swear you lose all ability to breath for a second.
Your chest heaves as you trail it back down your body and back to the sensitive pearl between your spread legs, increasing the intensity once again, which makes your chest heave even more. You’re teetering on the edge, the coil in your tummy on the verge of snapping, and all you can think about is Steve.
How it sounded when he’d brought home Amanda a couple weeks ago– which is what had caused Eric to happen– how she’d moaned out his name laced with such pleasure that it made you squeeze your thighs together while you laid in bed. How she’d told him don’t stop and how she unapologetically let everyone know how good she was feeling. There was clearly no need for her to fake it.
God you wanted to know what it was like to be pleased like that, to be taken care of in such a way by someone else that it had you practically incoherent.
The bad thing was, you wanted that someone to be Steve, who was unfortunately your roommate and best friend. So, having unholy thoughts about him while you masturbated was just going to have to suffice.
You click the intensity button once again and that is what finally brings you over the edge and turns you into a babbling mess, legs trembling, free hand clutching so tightly onto the sheets that your fingers cramp.
“Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you holler, pressing the toy harder against your clit as you ride out your orgasm, wishing it was Steve giving you it instead of this vibrator. “Please don’t stop, please, please.”
Something mixed with greed and insanity takes over you and you press the intensity button again causing your leg to twitch and your hips to buck upwards, all while the vibrator is still glued to your clit. Your second orgasm crashes in fast, riding on the coattails of your first one, and it hits hard.
“Oh fuck. Oh my god. Please Ste-”
You bite down on your fist, eyes rolling to the back of your head, all while muffled sobs fill your room. The vibrator gets tossed somewhere, on your bed or floor you aren’t sure, but your legs collapse out from under you and you lay flat on your bed, ears ringing with aftershocks coursing through you.
On the other side of the door Steve is beside himself, his cheeks are flushed, and the semi he’s sporting is damn near a full erection at this point. He knew he should have swiftly turned around and left the second he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t, not when he’s imagined what you sounded like for some time now. What it sounded like when you were experiencing pleasure, what it sounded like when you came, and what it sounded like when you said his name.
Alright so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Steve swears it sounded like you were about ready to moan his name, and you very well may have been getting ready to stay stop again, but he shamelessly hopes it was his name, because then he wouldn’t feel as dirty knowing you think about him when you touch yourself just like he does with you.
God, you sounded so pretty though, and Steve can’t believe that those sounds came out of you. The girl who he wouldn’t even know was having sex unless he heard your headboard and the sound of the guy or you in a nonchalant way mentioning that the sex with whoever was shit.
His heart is nearly beating out of his chest and his dick is achingly hard as he hears you coming down from what he could tell was two back to back orgasms. The way he can still hear little whimpers coming from you as you probably lay there spent, your inner thighs slick with your arousal, nipples still so sensitive and sore from you tugging on them.
There were a million dirty thoughts swirling around in his head and he should feel ashamed, should feel like a creep for what he’s thinking, what he listened in on, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t for a long time when it came to you and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that either.
Steve’s startled out of his horny moral dilemma by the sound of your bed creaking and before he can get caught he’s swiftly darting into his room, grabbing what might be a dirty cut off t-shirt and shorts, and tip-toeing back down the hall and out the door.
As soon as the driver’s side door of Steve’s truck slams shut (which is the only way to guarantee it’s actually shut after Dustin fucked around with it by swinging on it like he was five and now it’s never been the same since) he let’s out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as his hands grip the steering wheel with such vigor that his knuckles are stark white.
He quickly adjusts himself in his slacks, tucking his erection into the waistband of his boxers, and tries to think of anything other than the sound of your pretty little whimpers. His head smacks against the headrest as his cheeks puff up, blowing out yet another deep breath combined with an explicit of some sort.
Steve takes one last look at the apartment, shoves the key in the ignition, and backs out of his parking space like his whole world hasn’t just flipped upside down.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It’s nearing seven-thirty by the time Steve trudges in through the front door in his cut off tee and shorts, sweaty and hot, and still thinking about what took place in this said apartment hours earlier. The remainder of the school day had been a slow type of torture he’d not wish upon his worst enemy and then he had to go coach baseball in the sweltering sun like his whole body wasn’t already on fire.
You had occupied every square inch on his brain since he left the apartment earlier and at times it wasn’t even anything inherently sexual– it was just you. How he loved coming home everyday to you, how you knew what was wrong with him before he did sometimes, how you deserved to be with someone that could take care of you in a multitude of ways.
And the sight that greets him as he enters your shared home does nothing to eradicate the overwhelming infiltration of you in his mind. You’re standing at the stove, comfy clothes already on, humming along to whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the radio, and the unmistakable smell of his favorite meal wafts towards him.
You turn around and the sight of Steve standing there startles you, causing you to jump slightly, then let out the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, and it makes Steve’s heart do a traitorous thing.
He figured he’d make it all awkward seeing you for the first time after hearing and listening to what you were doing earlier, but it wasn’t the least bit awkward. It was like any other evening, except you were glowing more than usual, smiling at him like he’d personally given you those orgasms earlier and god as unhinged as it sounded he could only imagine what you looked like directly after sex.
Which now has his dick doing a traitorous thing instead of his heart.
“Hard practice?” you ask, eyeing how his biceps glisten with sweat and how he’s got his baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face.
“Yeah, hot as hell out there today,” Steve replies, trying not to notice how you don’t have a bra on, how the window AC unit that you insist on running on full blast has your nipples poking through the thin cotton.
“Well,” you start, before turning back to the stove to stir the boiling spaghetti noodles. “You’re in luck because dinner is almost ready and I’ve made your favorite. Should be done in a few, the chicken is broiling in the oven. I’m trying to get the cheese a little crispy just how you like.”
“I’m gonna go take a shower real quick then.”
You nod, not bothering to turn back to face him as you stir the sauce. “Alright, I’ll holler when it’s done.”
Steve hurries down the hall towards the bathroom and quickly strips out of his sweaty practice clothes, making sure to put them in the hamper because he’s not a slob, and then gets in the shower before he loses his mind.
The cold water does nothing to smother the fire that’s ignited low in his gut and he can’t believe you making him god damn chicken parmesan has got his dick hard again.
He really is a simple guy and the domesticality of it all does more for him than he’d like to admit.
Steve knows he’s got to do something about his not so little problem and so he lets his mind focus solely on you as he wraps his hand around his aching cock. His fingers gently squeeze around his shaft and on the first upstroke his hips embarrassingly buck into his fist with no control as his head tips back against the shower wall.
He fucks his fist with no abandon and when his thumb glides over his throbbing tip a broken moan slips out of him, bouncing off the tile and hopefully not out to the kitchen. His head is swarming with you and all he can think about is how pretty you sounded earlier, how he’d never expected you to be so loud, and it only makes him want to see how much louder you can get.
He thinks about how he’d love nothing more than to thank you for making him his favorite dinner later by going down on you. To thank you for taking such good care of him, because you do without even realizing it, and as much as Steve is a provider, the kind of person that takes care of others because it’s who he is. Sometimes he needs to be taken care of too, and you do it so well that Steve doesn’t even realize he’s being taken care of, and to him that deserves a mind blowing orgasm or two.
His chest heaves and he has to brace himself against the wall with his other hand as he continues to stroke himself, imagining it was your soft hands wrapped around him right now, and not his callused ones.
You consume him entirely and he finds himself having to bite down on the bicep of his extended arm to muffle the moans and whimpers that want to come alive and live within the four walls of this tiny bathroom.
He’s close, he can feel that sweet release sneaking up on him fast, and with one last stroke Steve comes so hard that he nearly draws blood from how hard he’s biting down on his arm, your name and profanities muffled against the tanned muscle. He paints the shower wall with his cum, stroking himself to damn near overstimulation, until he finally slumps against the wall behind him.
Exhaustion creeps in fast and he’s still trying to catch his breath when he hears a knock on the door.
“Steve! Hurry up! Dinner is getting cold.”
He swallows hard, heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the idea of you listening in on him like he had you, but he can’t let his mind go any further than that, can’t let you wait any longer. So, he rinses his cum off the tile wall and quickly finishes his shower.
When he joins you a few minutes later at the tiny table in the kitchen, his hair still dripping wet onto the old Hawkins High Phys Ed shirt he threw on, and you immediately tease him about having to reheat his own food, but then grab the plate anyways and toss it into the microwave for thirty seconds.
|| desc - steve is well and truly in love with you, he always has been, but you couldn't seem less interested in his eyes. this leads him to think you must just be immune to his charm (impossible) or fine being single. truth is you're neither of those things, your simply oblivious, as is he too apparently.
val speaks - get it get it i did a spin on 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' haa so funny basically just excited for this album 😋😋 enjoy babas !! ++ this is another steve fic without much of the actual stranger things plot (as in the upside down) bc i loved the one i did like that the other day he he
basically a childhood friends to lovers even tho they've secretly always been lovers slowburn w some cluelessness 😁
word count: 8.3k
the first thing anyone ever knew about steve harrington was that he was loud.
not loud in volume, though he could be, especially when he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose at age eight because you told him the punchline to a joke wrong on purpose, but loud in presence.
even as a little boy, steve had always seemed to fill every room he walked into, every backyard he ran through, every sidewalk he skidded his bike tires across. he was all scraped knees and crooked grins, wild hair that never sat flat no matter how much water he slapped on it, and a habit of speaking before he thought, then somehow charming his way out of whatever trouble that got him into.
and somehow, from the very beginning, wherever steve was, you were too.
your mothers liked to joke that before either of you could even walk, you’d already claimed each other. two little babies in matching sun hats sitting in paddling pools in neighbouring gardens, grabbing at each other’s hands with sticky fingers and refusing to settle unless you were side by side. apparently, steve used to cry when your parents took you inside for naps, little fists clenched, cheeks red, angry at the universe for daring to separate him from his favourite person.
some things never really changed.
you grew up attached at the hip in the kind of way people only are when history roots itself so deep between them that pulling apart would feel like tearing skin.
you learned to ride bikes together, both of you wobbling dangerously down your street while your dads shouted instructions that neither of you listened to.
steve crashed first, straight into a hedge, and you laughed so hard you tipped over too. he came out with leaves in his hair and a branch caught in his shirt collar, grinning like an idiot, and before he even checked his own scraped elbow, he was kneeling beside you asking if you were okay.
that was steve.
always checking for you first.
there were summers spent so thoroughly tangled together they blurred into one endless golden memory.
afternoons in his parents’ pool until your fingers wrinkled and your skin smelled permanently of chlorine, competitions to see who could hold their breath longest underwater, cannonball contests that ended with his mother yelling because water splashed onto her expensive outdoor furniture.
nights where you slept over so often that both houses stopped asking questions, your toothbrush permanently living in the bathroom connected to steve’s bedroom, one of his old shirts becoming your designated pyjama top.
you built blanket forts in his room and swore they were castles. you made secret handshakes that changed every month. you whispered under covers with flashlights when thunderstorms rolled in, talking about stupid things and serious things and everything in between.
you saw every side of each other.
the ugly sides too.
you saw steve cry the first time his dad called him a disappointment.
you saw him go quiet after, quieter than should’ve been possible for a boy like him, shoulders tense and eyes glassy as he sat on your bedroom floor staring at nothing.
you sat beside him and said nothing at all, just leaned your shoulder against his until he leaned back.
that became your thing.
when his parents fought, he came to your house.
when his father got cruel, he came to your house.
when business trips left that giant empty house colder than winter, he stayed at your house, eating dinner at your table and laughing with your parents like he belonged there, because he did.
your mother kissed the top of his head when he looked especially worn down, your father taught him how to fix things in the garage.
your home became the place he exhaled and you became the person he always looked for first.
always.
through bad haircuts and braces and acne and awkward limbs that grew too fast for your bodies to catch up, you stayed constant.
until high school came and suddenly, painfully, neither of you were awkward anymore.
you grew into yourself quietly, like spring unfolding. pretty in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but stole it anyway.
soft eyes that noticed everything. a laugh that was rarer now, but warm enough to make people chase it. intelligence that shone bright and effortless. kindness that lived in every small thing you did. helping someone pick up dropped books, remembering birthdays nobody else did, always offering your notes to the kids who missed class.
you were beautiful in the sort of way people didn’t fully understand until they looked twice.
steve understood immediately.
and steve, god, steve grew into himself like he’d been handcrafted for trouble.
broad shoulders. soft brown eyes hidden behind ridiculous lashes. hair that somehow always looked perfect. that stupid smile capable of making half the female population of hawkins forget their own names.
and steve knew it.
or at least, his ego did.
king steve, they called him.
captain of popularity.
girls hanging off his arm, boys desperate for his approval, parties every weekend. loud music, expensive beer stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet, people packed into his house hoping to breathe the same air as him.
he played the part beautifully.
cocky grin, easy charm, careless laughter, pretty girls, empty conversations. but there were things everyone noticed that nobody understood.
how steve only went to parties if you were invited too, even when you almost never came. how he always looked around rooms like he was searching for someone. how if anybody talked badly about you, even as a joke, his entire face changed. how he got mean.
how no girl, no matter how gorgeous, ever lasted long.
how every relationship seemed flimsy compared to the quiet girl who sat beside him in class helping him pass english, who rolled her eyes at his jokes but smiled anyway, who knew where he kept spare house keys and which scar on his knee came from which childhood disaster.
what nobody knew was that steve harrington loved you so badly it ached.
it lived in him like breathing. natural, constant, unavoidable. it was in the way he memorised everything about you.
how you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating. how you chewed on pen caps while studying. how you always gave him the marshmallows from your hot chocolate because you hated them and he loved them. how your nose scrunched when you laughed for real. how you never noticed when boys stared because you were too busy living inside your own head.
it killed him a little, that obliviousness.
because steve flirted constantly.
he tested waters in stupid ways.
telling you about girls he hooked up with, watching your face for any crack in your expression.
there never was one.
just your soft, distracted little hums. sometimes a wrinkled nose if the girl sounded awful. sometimes advice.
advice.
jesus christ.
he’d stare at you, really stare, eyes warm and helpless and completely gone for you, and you’d blink back like he was just steve.
just your steve.
your best friend.
meanwhile, he was halfway to insanity.
what steve never saw were all the quiet ways you loved him back.
how you kept every note he’d ever scribbled you. how no boy ever compared, which was why you’d only dated twice and barely liked either of them. how every time he brought a girl around, something sharp and sour twisted in your chest. how you knew the exact shade of hazel his eyes turned in sunlight.
how you sometimes laid awake at night, staring at your ceiling, replaying the way he smiled at you that day or how his hand rested warm on your back guiding you through crowds.
how your mother’s teasing words looped endlessly in your head.
you and stevie were made for each other.
you’d laugh it off, call her crazy, then spend hours wondering if maybe she wasn’t. wondering if steve could ever look at you and see more.
wondering what it would feel like if he kissed you. wondering if kissing steve would ruin everything, or finally make sense of everything that already existed between you.
and every morning after, you’d wake up and slip right back into your place beside him like those thoughts had never happened at all.
best friends.
always.
completely blind to the fact that the boy beside you was one heartbeat away from loving you out loud.
and equally blind to the fact that you already loved him too.
-
life carried on the way it always had.
which was strange, really, considering there was this constant thing sitting between you and steve. neither of you touched it, neither of you spoke it aloud, but it lived there all the same. tucked into glances that lingered too long, into hugs that held just a second more than necessary, into the easy way your lives folded around each other like they were built to fit.
more days turned into more weeks, more weeks into more months, and everything stayed beautifully, painfully normal.
you still sat with him while he copied your homework answers in that messy handwriting of his, tongue poking slightly into his cheek in concentration like he was actually trying, even though half the time he was writing complete nonsense because he was too busy talking to focus.
you still spent lunches together. sometimes alone, sometimes with your few close friends, sometimes with whatever crowd steve had orbiting him that week, but even in a room full of people, his attention always drifted back to you.
always.
you were still the first number he called. still the person he showed up for without asking. still the person he looked for in every crowded room.
and he was still yours in all the ways that mattered, without ever actually being yours at all.
one night after dinner at your house, your mother insisting steve stay because she’d made too much food, as if she hadn’t been cooking with him in mind from the start, the two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, exactly where you always ended up.
lying on the floor.
side by side.
staring at the ceiling.
it was a strange little ritual you’d created years ago, one that somehow stuck. whenever something weighed heavy on either of you, whenever thoughts got too loud or life got too complicated, you ended up here. flat on your backs, shoulders nearly touching, eyes aimed upward like answers might be written in the cracks of your ceiling paint.
this was where the real conversations happened.
not the casual chatter, not gossip, not jokes, this was where truths lived. the ugly ones, the tender ones, the ones neither of you gave anybody else.
steve let out a long breath beside you, one hand resting on his stomach, the other tucked behind his head.
“he’s doing it again.”
you turned your head slightly toward him.
“your dad?”
he laughed once, humourless.
“who else?”
his jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“he’s on this whole thing about how i need to start learning the business now, so when he retires i can just… step in.” his voice hardened around the words. “like it’s some fucking honour.”
you stayed quiet.
you’d learned years ago that steve needed space to unravel before he needed comfort.
“he talks about it like he’s handing me a kingdom,” he muttered. “when really he’s handing me a prison sentence.”
your chest tightened.
because underneath the bitterness, underneath the anger, you heard what steve wasn’t saying.
he was scared, scared of becoming him. scared of looking in the mirror one day and seeing his father staring back.
steve scrubbed a hand over his face.
“i swear to god, i’d rather work in some shitty grocery store for the rest of my life than do what he does.”
that made you smile softly.
not because it was funny, though the dramatic way he said it was very steve, but because you knew him.
you knew this wasn’t about business being boring this was about morality. about goodness. about the way steve, despite all his pretending and ego and polished king-of-hawkins image, had the softest heart of anybody you knew.
he wanted to be kind, gentle. different. nothing like the man who’d raised him.
you reached your hand out between you, your pinky brushing lightly against his.
“what do you actually want?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“after high school.” you looked back up at the ceiling. “college. life. what do you want, stevie?”
the room went quiet for a second, then two. then he laughed softly under his breath. not a happy laugh, the sad kind.
the self-deprecating kind.
“college?” he scoffed. “c’mon.”
you frowned instantly.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like you’re stupid.”
he turned his head to look at you then, brown eyes soft in the dim lamp light.
“i’m not exactly ivy league material.”
“you’re smarter than you think.”
“i’m really not.”
“you are.”
there was firmness in your voice now, the kind that always made him listen.
“you just don’t try because somewhere along the line, somebody convinced you there was no point.”
his expression shifted. small, almost wounded, because you always saw right through him.
always.
you kept going, softer now.
“you’re smart, steve. genuinely smart. not even just academically, you read people better than anyone i know. you remember everything that matters. you’re creative. funny. emotionally intelligent, even if you pretend you aren’t.” you nudged his shoulder gently. “and if i have to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, i will.”
steve stared at you and god, there was that look again. that look that made your stomach turn over.
warm, completely devastating. then, because he was steve, he ruined the moment on purpose.
“well,” he sighed dramatically, “in that case, i’ll just follow you wherever you go.”
you snorted.
“oh yeah?”
“absolutely.” he folded his hands over his chest. “be your little house wife.”
that made you laugh properly.
bright and sudden.
the kind of laugh that always made him smile like he’d won something.
“house wife?”
“yeah.”
“you?”
“i’d be incredible at it.”
“you can’t cook.”
“i can make toast.”
“you burn toast.”
“crispy toast.”
you laughed harder and soon he was laughing too, that big, warm laugh that filled your whole room.
then the laughter settled into something softer. comfortable quiet. and somewhere in that quiet, the strange truth of it hung there,
every version of the future either of you had ever imagined always included the other. always.
sometimes you were neighbours with houses connected by a garden gate. sometimes coworkers. sometimes roommates in a big city. sometimes pen pals, a ridiculous idea born from sixteen-year-old steve drunkenly declaring he was moving to italy after eating pasta he called religious.
you still teased him for that.
but every dream, every joke, every passing thought about what came next, included us.
never 'me'. never 'you'. always us.
neither of you spoke about the deeper version of that dream.
the one with shared mornings. shared beds. children with messy hair and stubborn attitudes. a home that belonged equally to both of you.
but somewhere, buried deep, you’d both imagined it.
more than once.
steve swallowed hard against that thought.
then casually, too casually, he asked,
“how come you’re still single?”
you turned your head.
“you’re single too.”
a slow smirk spread across his mouth.
“yeah, but i haven’t always been.”
you rolled your eyes.
“neither have i.”
“middle school boyfriends don’t count.”
you laughed.
“according to who?”
“according to me.”
you shook your head, smiling, then shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and that answer sat strangely warm in steve’s chest.
because maybe, maybe you liked being single. maybe there was nobody. maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t want him specifically.
weirdly, that hurt less.
he smiled faintly, staring back up at the ceiling.
then you asked quietly,
“why haven’t you settled down with anyone?”
his chest tightened because there were a thousand truths he could say. because i’m in love with my best friend. because nobody feels like you. because every girl i kiss isn’t you.
instead, he shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and selfishly, your heart liked that answer far more than the possibility of him loving somebody else.
silence settled again.
then steve spoke, voice quieter than before, serious,
“promise me something.”
“anything.”
he turned his head toward you.
there was vulnerability there, raw and boyish and achingly honest.
“don’t forget me.”
your brows pulled together instantly.
“steve-”
“i mean it.” he swallowed. “when all this ends. when college happens, life happens… if we end up in different places…” his voice got softer. “don’t forget about me.”
your whole chest ached because forgetting steve harrington would be like forgetting your own name.
impossible.
you reached across the floor and took his hand fully. fingers threading together like second nature. like instinct. like home.
you squeezed once.
“never” you whispered.
and steve squeezed back, holding your hand in the dark like it was something precious.
something worth keeping.
“promise?”
you smiled softly.
“i promise.”
neither of you realised then just how much that promise would come to mean.
-
by the time prom season rolled around, steve was losing his goddamn mind.
he sat at the edge of his bed one night, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the carpet while every thought in his head somehow circled back to you.
which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. most roads in steve’s mind led to you, had for years.
but this was different, this was bigger.
this was prom.
the last school dance.
the final stupid, sweaty gymnasium decorated with cheap streamers and glitter and songs that would probably suck and punch that tasted vaguely like chemicals.
and steve wanted one thing.
just one.
you.
not in the way he’d had you before. showing up together because that’s what you always did, wandering in side by side because steve bringing you was as natural as breathing, dancing stupidly together in between him getting dragged off by friends and you laughing at him from the sidelines.
not as best friends.
not as what everyone already assumed you were.
he wanted to take you, really take you.
wanted to stand on your doorstep with flowers and nerves and sweaty palms. wanted to tell you you looked beautiful and mean it so hard it hurt. wanted to dance with his hands on your waist and know it meant something different.
wanted one night where he could pretend, or maybe, if he got lucky, not pretend at all.
so he came up with a plan.
a stupid plan. a deeply embarrassing plan. a plan that, in hindsight, made him want to throw himself directly into traffic.
he was going to make it obvious.
not say it, because apparently despite being steve harrington, king of confidence, he became a complete coward when it came to you, but obvious enough.
obvious enough that if you smiled a little wider than usual, blushed even slightly, acted flustered in any way he’d ask you.
simple. easy. foolproof.
except it was none of those things.
because monday morning, the second he pulled into your driveway, he already started acting insane.
normally, steve would pull up, lean dramatically on the horn once, and wait while you came out rolling your eyes.
his logic always being, your house is right there, you can hear the horn when i get in the car.
instead, that morning, he got out. walked to your front door. and knocked. actually knocked.
when you opened it, bag over your shoulder, hair still slightly messy from rushing around getting ready, he nearly forgot every coherent thought in his head.
you blinked at him then squinted suspiciously.
“…why are you at my door?”
he immediately panicked internally.
say something cool.
say something normal.
“felt like it.”
idiot.
your eyes narrowed further, mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile.
“okay…”
you kept looking at him funny all the way to the car, and honestly, fair enough.
but then he made it worse.
because when you reached the passenger side, he darted ahead and opened your door for you.
you stopped dead.
“what are you doing?”
steve leaned against the open door casually, like he wasn’t having a full body crisis.
“being nice?”
you laughed softly, confused and amused all at once.
“you are nice.”
“being nicer.”
you stared at him for a second then shook your head, smiling to yourself as you got in. that smile hit him like a truck.
holy shit.
was that wider than normal? was that flirty? was that polite?
what did that mean-
and thus began the longest week of steve harrington’s life.
because once he started, he couldn’t stop.
every class you didn’t share, he was waiting outside when the bell rang.
leaning against lockers trying to look casual, heart kicking up every time your face lit up when you saw him.
he carried your books.
your bag.
once, your stupid heavy history textbook that you always complained about.
he held doors open.
walked you to every class.
blew off tommy and half his friend group every lunch just to sit with you.
actually did his half of your joint assignment, not copied, not barely attempted, actually did it, and when you looked at him like he’d grown another head, he just shrugged like it was no big deal while internally screaming notice me.
he bought you lunch monday.
again on wednesday.
again on thursday.
sat in the library with you after school willingly.
willingly. the library.
for hours.
and every single thing you did made his brain short circuit.
because you just accepted it. completely. you didn’t question him much, didn’t pull away, didn’t act weird, didn’t reject any of it. you simply smiled that sweet little smile and let him fuss over you.
let him carry your things. let him buy your lunch. let him walk you around school like you were something precious.
and worst of all you looked happy about it. which should’ve been good. right? that should’ve been good.
except now steve was spiralling because what the hell did happy mean?
did you know what he was doing? were you oblivious? were you pitying him? were you just enjoying the attention?
meanwhile, you were living in your own version of insanity.
because steve had always made you feel special.
always.
from childhood to now, there had never been a moment where you doubted your place in his life.
but this?
this was different. this was soft, intentional. sweet in ways that made your stomach flip.
it felt suspiciously like being courted. like being wanted. like being his girl.
and god you liked it. liked it so much it scared you. so no, you didn’t question it. because if you asked, what if it stopped? what if he laughed and said he was just messing around? what if this tenderness disappeared?
so instead, you quietly soaked it in.
let yourself pretend just for a little while. let yourself imagine this was what loving steve openly might feel like.
which meant steve’s giant, ridiculous plan was failing spectacularly for one very simple reason-
the both of you were idiots.
by friday, steve was at breaking point.
he sat in his last class barely hearing a word the teacher said, knee bouncing under the desk.
what the hell was happening? surely by now, if you liked him, you would’ve said something. asked him what all this meant. given him something obvious back.
right?
unless you didn’t like him. unless you just thought he was being nice. unless this was normal to you because he’d always treated you well and you saw no difference.
jesus christ.
he’d spent an entire week acting like a lovesick freak and somehow ended up more confused than when he started.
the final bell rang and steve made a decision.
enough.
no more weird signals, no more spiralling, no more stupid plans.
he was asking you tonight.
flat out.
whatever happened, happened because he was absolutely not surviving another week of this.
what steve didn’t know was that at that exact same moment, sitting in class chewing the end of your pen and smiling stupidly to yourself remembering how he tucked your hair behind your ear at lunch you were thinking,
please don’t stop whatever this is.
please let me keep having this version of you.
even if it’s not real.
even if it’s only for a little while.
-
steve waited outside your last class.
again.
at this point, it had become routine. somewhere in his ridiculous attempt at flirting came a habit he’d accidentally fallen in love with.
there was just something about it.
the way your face always softened the second you spotted him leaning against the lockers. the little smile you never seemed able to hold back. the way you automatically walked toward him, like your feet knew where they belonged before your brain caught up.
it made something warm settle in his chest every single time.
so yes, even if his original reasons for waiting outside your classes had been pathetic and embarrassingly romantic, now he did it simply because he liked it.
liked being the person you looked for, liked walking beside you through crowded halls, liked carrying your books even when you insisted they “weren’t heavy.”
liked the feeling of everyone seeing you together.
he liked it far too much.
that friday, though, he was restless.
you noticed almost immediately.
the way his fingers tapped against his leg. the way his jaw kept tightening. the way he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it again.
still, you didn’t ask.
if there was one thing years of knowing steve harrington had taught you, it was that when he was ready to talk, he would.
until then, you let silence be comfortable.
and it always was with him.
the drive home was dipped in golden evening light, quiet except for the radio humming softly in the background and the occasional sound of steve drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel.
when he took a corner too fast his hand instinctively shot out, catching your thigh for a second to steady you.
warm, solid, gone too quickly.
neither of you said anything but your stomach flipped anyway.
when he pulled up between your houses, you reached for the door handle-
“wait.”
your hand froze.
you turned back.
steve looked terrified, actually terrified.
your heart immediately started hammering.
oh my god.
oh my god.
was he-
this was it. this had to be it.
the weird week, the sweet gestures, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he’d been hovering close like he couldn’t help himself-
this was him asking you to prom.
your whole body went warm.
steve swallowed hard. right. just say it.
say prom.
“do you wanna go prom-”
your breath caught.
his heart launched into his throat.
“-dress shopping with me?”
silence.
steve internally punched himself in the face.
coward. absolute coward.
you blinked.
then laughed softly, trying to ignore how quickly hope had risen and crashed in your chest.
“are you getting a dress this year too, stevie?”
he huffed a little laugh, looking down, shaking his head.
“no, i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “y’know, i’ll drive us to the city. we can get all fancy and buy expensive shit we probably don’t need. get ice cream on the way home.”
he looked up at you then.
hopeful. boyish.
impossibly handsome.
you smiled, a real one.
“that sounds nice.”
his shoulders loosened instantly.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
you opened the door, stepping out, then turned back with a grin.
“it’s a date.”
and walked away.
steve sat frozen in his car.
date.
date?
did you mean date date?
or date as in phrase?
people said that all the time.
right?
right??
he smacked his forehead gently against the steering wheel.
meanwhile, halfway to your front door, you were spiralling too.
why would you say it’s a date? why would you say that?
that sounds romantic. that sounds intentional. he’s going to think you meant it romantically.
except he doesn’t like you.
probably.
so now you sound insane.
great.
perfect.
wonderful.
still, somehow, both of you went to bed smiling because stupid was easier when it felt this good.
-
nice and early the next morning, steve was at your door.
knocking.
again.
except this time when you opened it, you were very much not ready.
hair wild, sleep still heavy in your eyes, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, soft pyjama shorts, bare legs and sleepy confusion.
steve forgot how breathing worked.
you frowned at him.
“why are you here?”
his brain completely short circuited.
“…shopping.”
you groaned.
“shit.”
you looked over your shoulder at the clock and winced.
“i overslept.”
steve finally recovered enough to shrug casually.
“i’ll wait.”
he walked past you like he belonged there, because he did, headed straight to your room, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself face down onto your bed.
dramatically, arms spread, muffled voice immediately rambling into your duvet.
“had the weirdest dream last night.”
you stood at your mirror trying to brush your hair while pulling on jeans.
“what?”
more muffled nonsense.
something about a shark. your third grade teacher. a ferrari. possibly italy.
you laughed.
“i understood none of that.”
he lifted his face slightly, cheek squished against your pillow.
“it made sense in dream logic.”
“sure.”
then face planted again, continuing to ramble while you got ready, his voice muffled into your blankets.
it was domestic in a way neither of you thought too hard about.
easy, dangerously easy.
soon enough, you were in the car headed toward the city.
the windows down, music loud. summer warmth creeping in. you stopped at a roadside place for breakfast sandwiches, then got back on the road. where steve immediately became unbearable.
“bite.”
you looked at him.
“…what?”
“feed me.”
“you have hands.”
“i’m driving. i need to concentrate.”
you stared.
he opened his mouth expectantly.
“bite.”
your eyes narrowed, he looked ridiculous.
you hated how cute it was.
with a sigh, you held the sandwich up for him. he leaned over dramatically, taking a huge bite, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
you laughed despite yourself.
“you’re such an idiot.”
secretly, steve loved the little annoyed crease between your brows. loved making you roll your eyes. loved that you always indulged him anyway.
shopping somehow started with your dress.
steve had expected torture. hours of standing around, fabric talk, waiting, boredom.
instead he got to watch you try on dresses, which was apparently heaven. every single dress had him losing his mind quietly.
blue. green. white. sparkly. simple. dramatic.
even the absolutely hideous monstrosity he tossed into your pile as a joke, some bright orange ruffled nightmare, looked unfairly cute because you came out striking poses and making ridiculous model faces until he laughed so hard he nearly cried.
“that one?” you asked, spinning.
“burn it.”
you grinned.
but then you stepped out wearing soft baby pink.
simple, elegant, gentle, completely you, and steve forgot how to speak.
you looked beautiful.
not pretty, not cute, beautiful. the kind that hurt to look at because it made wanting feel too big inside his chest.
you smiled shyly at your reflection.
“i kinda love this one.”
steve could only nod.
because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably propose.
when you disappeared back into the changing room after trying on the final dress, leaving the pink dress hanging outside, steve moved instantly.
straight to the register.
money down.
done.
easy.
when the cashier smiled warmly and said, “that’s sweet- paying for your girlfriend’s prom dress”
steve didn’t even think, didn’t correct her, just smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the word slipped out naturally like truth. he walked back holding the dress bag proudly. when you emerged and saw it, your face scrunched instantly.
“steve harrington-”
“don’t start.”
“i told you i was buying it-”
he shrugged, smiling.
“it’s our last prom, princess. gotta treat you right.”
princess. that stupid nickname. it hit you exactly where it always did.
that awful lovely feeling.
but you’d become very good at hiding it so you only rolled your eyes.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and generous.”
“annoyingly generous.”
“you love me.”
you smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the quiet honesty of it made his chest tighten because you meant it one way and he heard it another.
then he grinned, standing.
“c’mon.”
you looped your arm through his without thinking.
“your turn.”
shopping for steve’s suit was, thankfully, much quicker.
mostly because he cared significantly less than you did.
he tried on maybe three jackets, two pairs of trousers, one shirt, then stood in front of the mirror shrugging like, yeah, this one’s fine, while you looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“fine?” you repeated.
steve adjusted the collar lazily. “yeah.”
“fine is your final prom outfit?”
he looked down at himself.
navy suit. clean lines, fitted enough to make his shoulders look unfairly broad. white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway while he changed ties.
hair slightly messy from pulling shirts over his head.
beautiful, unfortunately.
he shrugged again.
“looks good enough.”
you stared.
“good enough” you echoed flatly.
his grin only widened “mhm.”
but then, then he did something so stupidly sweet that your entire brain briefly stopped functioning.
the woman helping fit him asked what colour tie he wanted, before she could even list options, steve answered immediately.
“baby pink.”
you blinked.
he looked over at you casually.
“to match your dress.”
simple, matter-of-fact. like it was obvious. like there was never another option.
to match your dress.
your heart practically punched through your ribs because it was little things. always little things with steve. the details, the quiet thoughtfulness, the instinctive way he always included you in everything.
the way matching your dress mattered to him.
not because it was prom, not because it was fashion, but because it was yours.
you stood there smiling like an idiot while he tried on ties, your mind spiralling somewhere far, far away.
and honestly?
you barely paid attention to anything else after that.
just him.
his hands fixing his cuffs, his soft smile when he caught you staring, the way he kept glancing toward you for approval.
god.
you were in trouble. deep trouble.
when you guys got in the car both taking a deep breath, pausing before the long drive home, you stopped him.
“steve?”
his hand froze on the key.
“yeah?”
your heart hammered.
this was insane, absolutely insane but suddenly you couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep wondering. couldn’t keep pretending every soft thing between you didn’t mean something.
so you looked at him and did exactly what he’d been trying to do all week.
“do you wanna go to prom with me?”
steve blinked.
once.
twice.
“…what?”
you smiled nervously.
“prom.”
he laughed softly, confused.
“we always go together.”
you swallowed then forced yourself to say it.
“i mean… properly with me, steve.”
his entire body went still, heart pounding so hard he could hear it.
“what?”
god.
he looked so confused, so beautiful.
and suddenly courage, reckless, terrifying courage, grabbed hold of you. you leaned forward and kissed him.
soft, quick.
the second your lips touched his, your whole body lit up like lightning.
then panic immediately followed.
oh god.
what did you just do?
you pulled back instantly, mouth already opening to explain, apologise, ramble, but steve’s hand came up, cupping your cheek.
warm, gentle, and he pulled you right back in.
kissed you properly.
like he’d been starving. like he knew exactly what your lips would feel like because he’d imagined it a thousand times, but somehow it was still better.
so much better.
you could actually feel him melt, his whole body softened into it and then, that little sound.
a quiet sigh against your mouth.
soft, content, completely helpless. it shot straight into your chest. your new favourite sound. absolutely.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, smiling in complete disbelief.
then he said-
“i hate you.”
your eyes flew open.
“…what?”
he laughed breathlessly.
“i have been waiting my whole life for you to show literally any sign that you liked me.” he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes wide with mock offence. “and the one week i actually decide to try and something about it, you beat me to it.”
you burst out laughing then he did too, forehead dropping back against yours. then suddenly he leaned back fully, staring at you like you were insane.
“no, seriously- what?”
you blinked.
“what?”
“why now?”
you shrugged, cheeks warm.
“i’ve always liked you, stevie.”
steve’s jaw actually dropped.
“what?”
you laughed.
“i’ve always liked you.”
“then why didn’t you say anything?!”
you gave him a look.
“why didn’t you?”
he stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“because you never acted like you wanted me back. ever.”
you frowned.
“maybe you’re oblivious.”
steve scoffed so hard it was almost offensive then gave you the most irritated look imaginable.
“i do not wanna hear you call anybody oblivious. you are the most oblivious person alive.”
you gasped.
“no i’m not.”
“yes, you are.”
“i’m cautious.”
“cautious of what?”
you went quieter then.
honest.
“reading too far into things.” your fingers picked at your sleeve. “you could’ve just been being nice, y’know? i didn’t wanna lose you.”
steve’s whole face softened instantly.
his hand found yours.
squeezed.
“in no world do you lose me, idiot.”
your eyes rolled automatically, mostly because if you looked at him too long you might cry.
then, lighter, you said,
“been waiting your whole life?” you smiled. “dramatic ass.”
he laughed then shook his head.
“no, i’m serious.”
“right.”
“i am.”
“okay, sure-”
before you could argue, he grabbed your face again and kissed you hard. full of grin and relief and years of built-up wanting.
when he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
“and yeah,” he murmured. “i’ll go to prom with you.”
he winked.
“it’s a date.”
you groaned, laughing.
“that line was awful.”
“worked the first time.”
you shoved his shoulder.
he caught your hand, kissed your knuckles and then finally started the car.
the drive home was spent sharing ice cream, stealing kisses at red lights, and smiling so much both your faces hurt.
and when he parked between your houses that evening for the first time going home next door didn’t feel like enough.
because now, finally, you knew exactly where home was.
and it was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at you like he’d found his whole world.
-
the week leading up to prom was, quite possibly, the happiest either of you had ever been.
which was saying something, considering you and steve had spent your whole lives making happiness out of ordinary things.
bike rides and late-night talks. pool days and movie nights. studying together, even when steve mostly just distracted you.
shared dinners. inside jokes.
the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.
you had already built a life around each other long before romance ever entered the picture.
but now there was kissing. and, quite frankly, that improved everything.
the strange thing was, almost nothing about your relationship changed, and somehow, everything changed.
you still woke up most mornings to the sound of steve’s car horn, or, more recently, to the sound of him knocking on your front door because apparently now he liked seeing your sleepy face. you still rode to school together, still shared lunches, still studied in the library after classes, still spent evenings draped across each other’s bedroom floors talking about life until one of you fell asleep mid-conversation.
you were still you.
he was still steve.
best friends in every way that mattered.
except now, when he saw you, his face immediately softened into the most helpless smile. except now, his hand naturally found yours every chance it got. except now, when he dropped you off at home, you kissed him goodnight. except now, when he made you laugh, he looked at your mouth afterwards like he couldn’t help himself.
except now, he kissed you whenever the urge struck him, which was often.
very often.
because steve had apparently been suppressing years of affection, and now that he was allowed to touch you the way he’d always wanted he simply never stopped.
a kiss on your forehead when he saw you in the morning. a kiss on your cheek while waiting in line for lunch. a kiss against your temple while you studied.
a quick peck when he passed you in the hallway. a longer one when nobody was looking.
soft kisses, laughing kisses, hungry kisses that left you breathless, lazy kisses that happened just because you were standing close.
sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, stare at you for a second, then kiss you like he’d just remembered he could.
when you’d laugh and ask what that was for, he’d just grin.
“been wanting to for years.”
as if that explained everything. as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart explode every single time.
steve, somehow, became even sweeter.
which you honestly hadn’t thought possible.
he was constantly touching you in little ways. fingers brushing yours, hand on the small of your back, absentmindedly tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder while reading over your work even though he wasn’t actually reading any of it.
he looked at you like you were his favourite thing on earth, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.
truthfully, he couldn’t.
steve had spent years loving you quietly, years convincing himself he was okay with just having you however he could get you.
best friend. neighbour. constant companion.
he had told himself that was enough.
it hadn’t been, not really.
and now he got to kiss you. hold your hand. hear you call him yours in little casual ways that made his brain completely short circuit.
my stevie.
mine.
god.
he’d never been happier.
and you felt exactly the same.
you weren’t even officially dating yet. somehow, neither of you had actually labelled whatever this was, but it didn’t matter.
you were his.
he was yours.
everyone knew it.
that was enough.
for now.
then prom night arrived.
you spent the afternoon at your friend’s house with your three closest girlfriends, all of you crowded around mirrors with makeup scattered everywhere, hairspray thick in the air, music playing too loudly in the background while laughter bounced off the walls.
it was chaos, beautiful chaos.
and, naturally, your friends spent most of it teasing you mercilessly.
“finally,” one of them said dramatically while curling your hair. “do you understand how painful it’s been watching you two circle each other for years?”
another snorted from where she was doing eyeliner.
“literally years.”
“it was embarrassing,” the third added. “for everyone involved.”
you laughed, shaking your head.
“we were not that obvious.”
three deadpan looks met your reflection in the mirror.
then all together-
“you were.”
one of them groaned dramatically.
“he looked at you like you hung the moon.”
you covered your face.
“okay, stop.”
they only laughed harder but beneath the teasing was genuine relief. everyone who loved you had been waiting for this, waiting for you both to finally stop being idiots, waiting for the inevitable.
because to everyone else you and steve had always been a love story waiting to happen.
later, after hugs and promises to meet at prom, you headed home to get dressed.
and when you finally stepped into your baby pink dress, the same one steve secretly bought for you, you stared at yourself for a long moment.
soft curls framing your face, makeup gentle and glowing, the pink bringing warmth to your skin.
for once, nerves hit.
not because of prom.
because of steve.
because you wanted him to look at you and feel what you always felt when you looked at him.
then, a knock at the door.
your stomach flipped instantly.
you carefully made your way downstairs, hand lightly gripping the banister so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and halfway down, you froze.
your mother had already opened the door.
steve was standing inside.
flowers in hand, pink flowers, the exact shade of your dress, suit fitted perfectly, tie matching you exactly like he’d planned, hair done but still somehow perfectly messy, looking so unfairly handsome it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.
then he looked up and froze. completely.
his whole body went still, flowers slackening slightly in his hand. mouth parting, eyes wide.
you nearly froze too but you also nearly missed a step, so survival instincts forced you forward.
when you reached him, smiling shyly, steve still looked stunned.
then softly, so softly,
“you look so beautiful."
his voice full of awe.
you felt your cheeks warm.
“you look handsome.”
that snapped him into a grin.
your mother immediately started gushing.
“oh, look at you two-”
your father, already prepared, handed her the old camera.
same tradition every dance, same photo spot every year.
except this year felt different, this year felt important.
steve’s hand settled naturally on your waist.
firm, warm, possessive in the gentlest way. you tucked into his side and both of you smiled brighter than you ever had before.
click.
perfect.
the second you stepped outside and the front door shut behind you steve kissed you. immediately. like he physically couldn’t help it.
you laughed softly against his mouth when he pulled away.
“what was that for?”
he shrugged, smiling.
“sorry. i feel like i have to all the time now.”
you blinked.
he looked adorably sheepish.
“i waited too long before.”
your whole chest melted.
you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“good job i don’t mind.”
his smile widened impossibly.
the drive there was perfect. madonna played loudly, steve complained-
“this song again?”
-while secretly singing every word.
badly. using one hand as a fake microphone. you laughed until your stomach hurt and when he caught you looking at him with that soft smile he winked.
god.
you were doomed.
prom itself was… nice.
crowded, hot, loud. friends dragged you apart almost immediately, his crowd calling him over, yours pulling you in. reluctantly, you separated. but only briefly. because, like always, you found your way back to each other.
effortlessly, like magnets, just in time for the slow dance.
his hands found your waist, yours looped around his neck. you swayed together beneath dim lights, forehead resting lightly against his, smiling softly at nothing and everything.
it was perfect, too perfect, too short. because when the song ended, steve frowned.
“that’s bullshit.”
you laughed.
“what?”
“not enough dancing.”
before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd.
out the doors, into the parking lot.
you were laughing the whole time.
“stevie- what are you doing?”
he just laughed breathlessly.
“trust me.”
he dragged you to his car, opened the door, turned the radio on, shoved in a cassette, then david bowie filled the warm night air.
steve dramatically bowed.
held out his hand.
“may i have this dance?”
you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt then placed your hand in his.
under stars, in a mostly empty parking lot, next to his car, you slow danced.
giggling, stepping on each other’s feet, swaying dramatically, kissing halfway through because neither of you could help yourselves.
it was perfect. better than prom itself.
afterwards, breathless and smiling, you both looked toward the building, then at each other and silently agreed-
fuck prom.
ice cream was mandatory, then home.
summer air still warm enough that sitting in his back garden felt perfect.
until suddenly steve gasped, shot upright and ran to the pool, crouching beside it staring in dramatically.
you followed quickly.
“what? what?”
he waved urgently.
“come look.”
you leaned closer and he shoved you in. cold water swallowed you whole. when you surfaced gasping, steve was doubled over laughing.
that little bitch.
fine.
game on.
you frowned dramatically.
“ow- steve-”
his laughter stopped instantly.
“…what?”
you grabbed your arm.
“i think i hurt it-”
panic overtook his face.
“shit- how?”
he reached down and his hand out.
the sweetest idiot alive.
you grabbed it and yanked.
he crashed in beside you with a loud splash. when he surfaced, hair plastered down, face full of betrayal, you were laughing hysterically.
he looked annoyed for exactly two seconds before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your waist holding you close in the water.
laughing softly now too.
then he kissed you.
forehead resting against yours after, smiling wide.
then quietly, like truth he’d been carrying forever,
“i love you.”
your eyes opened.
you smiled.
“i love you too.”
his face softened so completely it almost broke you.
then he hugged you hard like he never wanted to let go.
later, dripping wet, climbing out of the pool steve paused. looked at you seriously, then “that means you’re my girlfriend now, by the way.”
you smiled.
nodded.
“okay.”
he frowned jokingly.
“…okay?”
you blinked.
“what?”
he shoved wet hair back.
“i always thought you were perfectly happy being single.”
you smiled softly.
shrugged.
“maybe i was just waiting for you.”
he rolled his eyes immediately, tugging you into his side as he walked you both inside.
your new onlyfans is a huge success—the subscribers and money are pouring in. but your boyfriend, kurt, is feeling down about it. jealous. in an attempt to cheer him up (and maybe boost his own audience), you invite him to film with you.
warnings:
smut (18+), unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f and m receiving), premature ejaculation, sex on camera, submissive kurt, virgin kurt, kurt is whiny and pathetic, soft dom reader, reader calls kurt good boy a lot, heavy praise, talking him through it
word count: 5.7k
a/n:
this fic has been sitting in my docs untouched since last year. like, months and months with just the intro written (which i ended up almost completely rewriting anyway 💀). i’m so happy it’s finally finished! dividers by the amazing @pixopix
“You sure you don’t mind?”
You’d asked Kurt this question about a million times, but you wanted to make sure. You respected his feelings. You didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable.
“Of course not,” Kurt said, brows furrowing, surprised you’d even ask in the first place. A wide, excited grin spread across his lips, his whole face lighting up as he turned in his gaming chair to look at you. “I mean, think about it. You starting OnlyFans will bring so much attention to the channel. Imagine how many new subscribers I’m gonna get!”
It didn’t surprise you that that’s what Kurt cared about, but if there were any hidden feelings, you wanted to know. You brushed your hand through his brown hair, which was getting a little too long and starting to hang into his eyes. He leaned into your touch. “You’re really sure?”
“Yeah,” he said eagerly, visions of skyrocketing views flashing through his mind. You could practically see the wheels turning. “Plus,” he added, “it’s not like you’re gonna be doing anything with other guys.”
“Oh no,” you said, shaking your head. That was never even on the table. “Probably just some sexy pictures. Solo stuff.”
Kurt smirked, his hand lifting to rest on your hip. “Maybe I can help with that part?”
“You wanna be my photographer?” You smiled down at him. You loved the way he looked at you—like he just wanted to be good for you.
“Hell yeah!” he exclaimed. “Just make sure you tag me.”
The OnlyFans launch had been a success. You had a decent enough following on your instagram - much bigger than Kurt’s, though he pretended that didn’t bother him. He always gained at least a few followers when you posted pictures together and tagged him.
You promoted the launch on insta with a sexy lingerie pic teasing more, and within your first day you had plenty of hits.
“Woah!” Kurt exclaimed, grabbing your phone and looking at your page. “This is crazy! You’re gaining so many subscribers.”
Kurt was excited for you, but you could tell he was a little jealous. He had worked so hard on his Kurtsworld96 channel, but he was still stuck at only 1k followers. You had gained that in your first few days on OnlyFans.
Tagging him as your photographer had worked a little, sending a few people his way—mostly driven by the desire to see more of you. His videos that included you in the thumbnail were the biggest on his channel, even if all you were doing was taste testing different brands of Monster with him, or unboxing and reviewing the new camera you’d bought.
A couple weeks into the launch of your OnlyFans, your boyfriend was feeling a little down. You could tell something was up; you knew him better than he knew himself, you sometimes thought. Kurt had begun talking about his channel stats to an obsessive level the way he always did when he was stressed, looking at his channel analytics every twenty minutes. It was driving him crazy.
You came up behind him where he was checking his channel yet again and turned the monitor off, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Hey—“ he protested, but quickly relaxed in your arms as you placed kisses over his neck and jaw.
“You’re stressing yourself out too much,” you murmured gently between kisses, your hands rubbing his chest. His eyes were drifting closed as he melted back into your embrace. “I think you need to get your mind off things, baby.”
“Don’t you have your content to film for today?” he mumbled, a half-hearted jab. He was pouting like a child, bummed out and obviously very, very jealous.
You began to tell him no, you could do it later, it wasn’t important—but then an idea popped into your head. A really good idea. “Yeah, I do,” you said, your voice low, sultry. “Would you want to…help me?”
“What, film for you?” he asked, looking up at you.
You hummed. “I was thinking…something else.”
He sat up to look at you better, suddenly way more invested. “What…what do you want me to do?”
“How about,” you paused, hands slowly rubbing over his chest the way he always liked, “…a collab?”
“A—a…collab?” Kurt stuttered, his hazel eyes going wide, roaming up and down your body without shame. His cheeks tinged an adorable pink color, pink lips parted. “Like…you mean…film with you?”
“Yeah,” you said, hand trailing down his chest. You could feel his breathing picking up, his heart pounding. “I think my subscribers would like that.”
An hour later and the bedroom was set up, cameras on your tripods, positioned to capture all angles. This was going to be a whole production, your best video yet—you wanted it to be hot for both the two of you and your viewers.
You and Kurt hadn’t actually had sex yet. The relationship was still fairly new, and every time you tried, you were constantly interrupted. Kurt was 23 but still lived with his mom, and your content creation kept both of you busy. You didn’t think Kurt had actually had sex with anyone yet. He reacted to you like someone who had never been touched at all before.
He laid back on the soft bed, looking up at you, watching your every move. You had stripped down to your lingerie, a sexy matching black lace set that had Kurt beyond hard already. The outline of his cock was clear, perfectly visible through his boxers. There was a small wet spot from where he’d been leaking so much precum just from the sight of you, not a single touch to where he needed it most. He had been waiting so long to see you, to touch you, and now that it was finally happening, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
“I might not—I might not last,” he said sheepishly. He glanced over at the camera. “You can cut stuff out, right?”
“Yeah, baby, I can.” You straddled his lap, hands pushing his shirt up as they trailed up his stomach, the soft hair there. “I just want you to lay back and enjoy it. Do whatever feels natural.”
Kurt nodded shakily, swallowing as he laid back on the extensive assortment of pillows. His cock throbbed against you beneath the dark blue cotton material, so hard he was aching. His hips bucked up softly against you in tiny, needy little thrusts—he wanted you bad.
Kurt lifted up to help you pull his t-shirt off, falling back against the pillows and watching you, waiting to see what you’d do next. His hands came up to rest tentatively on your bare thighs. You could feel the soft tremble in them, nervous but wanting.
You leaned down over his body, placing kisses along his skin, kissing every mole like tracing constellations. He was shaking ever so slightly, his nerves as evident as his desire. When you reached his lips he met yours all on his own, kissing you with an eager, inexperienced passion. It was sloppy, messy, desperate. One of his hands tangled in your hair, and you slowly rolled your hips against the throbbing arousal pressing against you.
Kurt let out a whiny moan as your heat grinded over the tent in his boxers, cock twitching hard from the slightest attention. His hips bucked up against you, his body craving more. This was your first time filming something for OnlyFans with another person, and your first time touching Kurt like this. He was so responsive to everything you did—you knew your subscribers would love this.
“Feel good, baby?” you asked him, moving down his body. You kissed his soft lips before moving down to his neck, which he tilted his head to give you more access to. You could feel his chest rising and falling beneath your palm, and if you listened close enough, you could hear his breathy moans as you nipped at his neck.
“Uh…uh huh,” he breathed, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes fluttered closed. “Y-yeah. Feels good.”
“Good,” you said. You moved against his cock harder and Kurt whined, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. You didn’t stop, your movements slow and languid, getting him good and worked up for you. You wanted him needy and desperate, but didn’t want to make him cum in his boxers. It didn’t take much to get him there.
“You ready to try something else?” you whispered, lips ghosting over his jawline. He shuddered beneath you, his eyes closing before he forced them open again. He was so far gone already, totally content and willing to let you do whatever you wanted to him.
“Like…like what?” he stuttered, looking up at you with full trust and total adoration. His fingers dug into the plush skin of your thighs, his hips canting up just barely, desperate for more of that perfect friction.
“Have you ever had your cock sucked before?” you purred in his ear. Another hard shudder wracked his body, his cheeks turning bright red.
“N-no,” Kurt said. He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “I…no, no one’s done that before.”
Yeah, he was a complete and utter virgin.
You smiled, and placed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ve got you,” you said softly. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
Kurt nodded quickly, his hazel eyes wide. “Yeah, I…please. Do that.”
The kisses you placed along his body were hot and reverent, trailing down his neck, over the thick hair on his chest, down his stomach. Kurt watched your every move, his cock throbbing in the confines of his boxers. He let out these little breathy whimpers as you went that started a throbbing between your own legs, panties damp and clinging to your pussy.
Being with a submissive man was never something you’d put much thought into, or thought would be a turn on—but the way Kurt laid there beneath you, needy and pliant and so, so responsive to everything you did…
It was unbearably hot.
You looked up at him as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, pausing there for a second. He looked like he was holding his breath, watching you closely, looking down at you like you were a total revelation. The worshipful shine in his eyes boosted your ego, you had to admit.
Finally, taking pity on him, you pulled the material down his body. His cock sprung free, thick and hard and beading at the tip. He hissed in a sharp breath at the feeling of the cool air against his sensitive skin, a sound that quickly faded into an involuntary moan. God, you still hadn’t even touched him.
With his boxers off and thrown onto the floor, you finally took in the sight of him. Your mouth watered at the sight—you couldn’t wait to get him in your mouth, to feel the weight and heat of him against your tongue.
“You’re so big, Kurtie,” you said, trailing your fingernails teasingly, just barely, over the skin of his balls. It made him cry out, cock jerking hard against his stomach.
“F-fuck—“ he stuttered, his hips bucking upwards. “I—oh my god.”
“You’re so cute,” you praised, and you meant it. You wrapped your hand around the base of him, feeling him throbbing against your palm. You’d have to be careful if you didn’t want him to bust in five seconds. “So responsive for me. You’re always so good.”
Kurt whimpered, and you could see how hard he was fighting to keep his eyes open, to not miss seeing a single second of what you were doing to him. “Y-yeah,” he breathed. “You’re—oh—you’re touching me.”
You laughed softly, slowly stroking his thick shaft. “Yeah, I am.” You leaned in, pressing your lips to his tip in a soft, gentle kiss. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, thighs trembling and hips thrusting up helplessly into your fist. “Yeah, yes. I like it, I-I like it a lot.”
“Good,” you said. You smirked up at him—his eyes hadn’t left you once—and stroked him a little bit faster, squeezing slightly on every upstroke. He whimpered, breathy and ruined. You dropped your eyes from his face to look down at his beautiful, perfect cock, and traced your tongue from his base to tip.
The noise Kurt made was choked and broken, his hips bucking again. He gripped the sheets in tight fists. “Oh—f-that’s—“
You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around it before slowly taking more of his cock into your mouth. You set a slow, gentle pace, bobbing your head on his cock while using your tongue against the sensitive underside.
Kurt lost it.
“Oh, s-shit, oh fuck,” he cried out, his eyes finally squeezing shut. His hips jerked up in shallow thrusts into your mouth, unable to help himself, lost to the pleasure of it instantly. He panted, drawing in gasps of air, and babbled mindlessly above you. “Oh fuck, you’re s—you’re sucking me, my c-cock—oh fuck, fuck, f-fuck, don’t stop, I, please d-don’t stop doing—oh y-yeah, yes, that, do that again, p-please, I—b-baby, I—oh fuck, I’m—“
Kurt made a loud, strangled noise, reaching down on desperate instinct to grab your hair in his fist, and came hard in your mouth. It felt endless, you had no idea someone could even cum so much. He was seeing stars, ears ringing, moaning and crying and babbling your name over and over as his hips twitched with the force of his orgasm, his hot cum pulsing against your tongue. You moaned around him, working him through it until he couldn’t take it anymore, shaking and gasping.
You pulled off of him with a wet pop, a trail of spit connecting your lips to his head, a sight that made him let out a shaky groan. “You did so good for me, Kurtie,” you praised, smiling up at him with your lips red and slick. Some of his cum dripped down the side of your mouth, and you swiped it away with your thumb, making a show of licking it off while holding eye contact. His spent, soft cock twitched again.
“I didn’t mean…” he said, chest still heaving with his panting breaths. “I wanted to…wanted you to f-fuck me.” His cheeks went red, blushing hard.
“Aw, baby,” you cooed, moving up his body to kiss him. It was soft and brief, and when you pulled back he leaned up after you, chasing your lips again. “You were such a good boy, though. So hot, watching you fall apart like that for me.” Your breath was warm against his cheek as you nuzzled your nose over his skin, whispering low and quiet and just for him. “You taste so good.”
Kurt let out a quiet whine, shuddering hard beneath you. “Can we do more?” he asked, soft and shy. But then a more familiar grin spread over his lips, sounding like the Kurt you knew when he spoke again. “I wanna make a really good video. If your subscribers like it, they’ll come to my channel!”
You laughed, sitting up on your knees. “I just want you to have a good time, baby. We can do whatever you want. They’re gonna love it.”
Kurt’s eyes trailed over your body with undisguised hunger. His hand came up, hovering for a second before resting on your thigh. “Can I try…” His gaze, which had been locked on your body, lifted to meet your eyes. “Can I taste you?”
Your breath hitched. You hadn’t expected him to say that. You’d been so focused on his pleasure, on putting on a good show and making his first time as mind blowing as possible, but it had never once crossed your mind that he might want to take care of you in return.
“You want that, baby?” you asked, rubbing your hand over his chest. You could feel the hard, rhythmic thumping of his racing heart. “You wanna make me feel good, too?”
Kurt nodded fast. His hands trailed up your body with a little more confidence, feeling every inch of your soft skin, the lace of your lingerie. “You look so hot—so beautiful in this,” he said, “but I really wanna—want to take it off.”
A soft smile spread across your lips, looking down at your boyfriend with such genuine love and affection. Here he was, spread out beneath you while you brought him pleasure like he’d never experienced—and he was thinking about pleasing you.
“Okay,” you said, leaning in to ghost a soft kiss to his jaw. “Go ahead, Kurtie. I’m all yours.”
Kurt’s breath hitched audibly, hesitating for only a second before sitting up. He kissed you abruptly, hungry and a little sloppy. His hands slid up the soft skin of your back until he reached the strap of your bra. He kept kissing you as his fingers nervously fumbled with the clasp, moaning as your tongue swiped against his.
After a solid minute of him fighting with it, his lips eventually stilling against yours as he focused on trying to figure it out, you pulled back with a soft giggle. “Do you want some help?”
“No, I…” he said, the look on his face one of pure concentration. “I can…I got it…”
Finally, the hooks came undone. Kurt grinned, accomplished, but the look on his face transformed into pure awe as the material fell away from your chest. Your tits were now on full display, right in front of his face. Without thinking, he surged forward and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples with a ragged moan, his hand grasping at the other breast greedily.
You moaned, head falling back, his actions a genuine surprise. He sucked on your nipple, moaning around it, rubbing his tongue over the hardened nub.
“Fuck, Kurt,” you breathed, one hand moving to cradle the back of his head, tangled in his brown locks, while the other rested on his shoulder. “That feels so good, baby…”
He moaned again before pulling away and switching, taking your other nipple into his mouth while he grabbed your other breast in his hand, squeezing. His cock gave another twitch, starting to harden again already.
“You—you have the most perfect tits,” Kurt said, breathing heavily as he finally pulled away from your nipple with a wet sound. He couldn’t stop staring at them. “Like, wow. No wonder so many people follow you.”
You laughed, loud and surprised. “Thanks, Kurtie.”
He kissed you again, slower this time but no less hungry. You bit lightly at his bottom lip, making him sigh into the kiss as you laid down against the soft sheets. Kurt’s hands went straight for your panties without breaking the kiss, pulling them down.
“Oh,” he said in an awed whisper, looking at the lace in his hands. His thumb rubbed over the damp fabric that had been pressed against your heat, still smelling like you, a scent he found intoxicating. “They’re…wet.”
Another soft laugh spilled from your lips, Kurt finally looking away from the panties to see your face again. “Yeah. You got me so wet, baby.”
“Y-yeah?” he stuttered, eyes wide. “Just from suck—sucking my cock?”
You nodded against the pillows. “Mmhmm. It was so hot.”
Kurt let out a sigh, looking back down at your panties. He brought them up to his face, breathing them in. “Fuck. Smells so good.”
He tossed the panties to the side of the bed as if suddenly remembering the real thing was waiting for him. He settled between your legs, his cock already fully hard again. He rubbed reverently over the skin of your legs, squeezing the plush of your thighs. He lowered himself to lay on his stomach between your spread thighs, his mouth right at your pussy, but not touching you yet where you needed him most.
As he settled there, positioning himself—he paused. “I just—?” he asked, then furrowed his brows. “I, um. What do I do?” He looked down at your glistening core, hunger written all over his features, but hesitating, uncertain. “They don’t show much of this part in porn.”
His words pulled another soft laugh from you. “Maybe not in the kind you watch.” You carded your fingers through his hair, looking down at him there, between your legs, ready and eager to please. “Just use your tongue. Against my clit, my pussy…like you’re kissing.” You tugged lightly at his hair. “And you’re such a good kisser, Kurtie. Remember how I showed you?”
Kurt nodded. “Yeah, you just…like…” He leaned in, sticking his tongue out and dragging it between your folds, a groan rumbling in his chest as he tasted you. “…like that? Jesus, you taste fu—you taste so good.”
The sensation had been nice, if short lived. “Yeah, baby,” you said in a breathy sigh. “Just keep going like that. Try whatever you want, just—put your mouth on me.”
You didn’t have to tell him twice. Kurt dove in, licking through your slick folds again. He flicked his tongue over your clit, moaning against it, sending vibrations through your body that had your back arching.
“Fuck!” you moaned, tightening a hand in his hair. “Oh god, Kurt, yeah, just like that.”
The praise had him moaning again, his eyes falling closed, soft lashes brushing his cheek as he devoured you. He was clumsy and messy and really just trying whatever came to mind, but it was working. He held onto your thighs, lapping at your pussy eagerly.
The alternating between delving his tongue into your cunt and massaging it over your clit had a knot tightening in your stomach. Soft, breathy moans spilled from your lips, forgetting all about the cameras, about any semblance of putting on a show. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure Kurt was giving you with his mouth, practically making out with your pussy, bringing you to your peak fast without any further instruction.
A sharp gasp left your lungs as he slipped a finger inside. He thrusted it in and out of your tight cunt, quickly adding a second. He was inexperienced and unsure, but the desperate rocking of your hips down against his mouth and fingers spurred him on. He moaned, curling his fingers deep inside, sucking on your throbbing clit—
It shattered. A broken cry filled the air, pulling his hair hard and riding out your orgasm on his face. Kurt took it all, moaning against your soaked pussy and rocking his hips into the mattress, cock leaking onto the sheets beneath him. He was worshipful, adoring, like he was finding god himself between your legs.
You had to push him away when it became too much, when the sharp pleasure faded into painful overstimulation. He pulled back to look at you with his pupils blown and soft lips parted, your wetness all over them, even his chin slick with your sweet honey. It was obscene. It was so hot.
“Did I do good?” he asked, nearly ruining you. “Was that good? God, your pussy, it—your pussy is so good, so sweet, and wet and warm, I—“
“You did perfect,” you praised breathlessly, stopping his rambling. He smiled up at you and lifted up, moving over your body. He kissed you, slow and sweet. You could taste yourself on his tongue.
“I’m hard again,” he told you, smiling sheepishly. As if there was any way to miss it, huge and rock hard and demanding your attention. He rolled his hips against you, smearing precum on your thigh. He let out a soft whimper at the friction. “Can I fu—can I fuck you now?”
You carded your fingers through his hair and pulled him down to kiss you again. It was slow, languid, taking your time to feel him, to massage your tongue against his. It wasn’t the most exciting for the video, but you could cut this out if you needed to. You cared more about Kurt than the content. He didn’t seem to mind, letting you take your time, simply happy and grateful for whatever you gave him. And he always loved kissing you. You’d spent many nights together, lazily making out, Kurt trying to hide the raging hard-on in his jeans.
You grabbed onto Kurt’s shoulders, flipping him. His back hit the mattress, forcing a soft huff of air from his lungs as he smiled up at you. His hands gripped your hips instinctively as you settled on his lap, drawing in a sharp hiss as his cock made contact with your wet heat.
“Fuck—“ he cursed, squeezing your hips a little tighter. He swallowed hard. “Uh, should we…get a condom?”
You rubbed your hands over the hair on his chest. He let out a deep groan, the rumble of it vibrating against your palms. “Do you want to use a condom?”
His eyes flew open wide, darting up from your tits to your face, like that was something he didn’t even realize was negotiable. “I—we don’t have to?”
You rolled your hips over him, drawing out another strangled moan. His reactions never got old. “We don’t have to,” you said. You stilled, seeing on his face that there was no way he could form a coherent thought if you kept moving against him like that. “I’m on birth control. I’m clean, you’re clean. It’s up to you, baby.”
Kurt drew in a deep breath. His eyes moved from your face, to your tits, to your pussy, his cock nestled so close to what he’d been dreaming of for months. He met your eyes again—sure. Resolute. “No condom. I don’t…don’t want to use a condom. I want to f—feel all of you. On my cock.”
You smirked down at him, rubbing over his chest soothingly one more time. “Okay, baby.”
Kurt watched intently as you lifted up over him. You wrapped your hand around his thick cock, tracing his head through your folds, coating him in your wetness. His breath stuttered, body shivering beneath you in anticipation and need.
“Ready, Kurtie?” you asked, watching his face for every slight reaction he gave you.
All he could do was nod wordlessly against the pillows, never pulling his eyes away from where you were about to be connected. That final bridge—that most intimate connection with you he’d been craving, dreaming about with his cock in his fist after you’d gone home for the night.
Slowly, you began to sink down on him. The thick, blunt head of his cock pierced you with a dull sting, fading into an overwhelming fullness as you took more and more of him. Carefully, inch by inch until you were fully seated on his lap, stuffed full of him.
Kurt was gasping and moaning, just from that first initial feel of you. Your cunt was perfect, gripping tight around him, wet and velvety soft and so, so warm, the best thing he’d ever felt in his life, even better than your mouth was—and that had been earth shattering.
His fingers flexed on your hips, his gaze not moving for a second. The sight of himself buried in you, cunt stretched around his girth, taking him all, was intoxicating. You could feel him throbbing hard inside of you, cock twitching against the tight confines of your walls. His hips jerked up sharply, his body chasing more of that pleasure, a choked sound coming straight from his chest.
“Sorry!” he apologized in a panic, even as his hips bucked helplessly up into you again. “Shit—sorry—“
Hands planted on his chest, you lifted yourself up until only his tip remained, then dropped back down onto his lap. You tossed your head back, moaning at the perfect fullness, at the same time Kurt let out a strangled cry, his back arching against the mattress. You set a steady pace, watching him, every reaction on his face all-consuming.
A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, a flush blooming on his chest and neck. You’d never seen Kurt look like this, so utterly wrecked and lost to pleasure. His brow was furrowed, pretty lips parted to let out those soft moans and whimpers that only fueled your own desire, bouncing on his cock faster.
“Such a good boy for me, Kurtie,” you breathed, alternating hard, grinding rolls of your hips with the quick bounces, taking his cock so deep with every drop down onto him, you could feel him in your stomach. Kurt’s eyes nearly rolled back at the praise combined with the pleasure of your body. “So good—god, baby, you might make me cum again with that perfect cock of yours.”
The sound Kurt made in response was utterly broken, a moan so ragged and primal and consumed by the sensation of you, it made your cunt instinctively clench around him. He began bucking his hips up into you with a frantic desperation, unable to hold back anymore and not really wanting to.
“So—good, oh god so good, your cu—your pussy, it’s—oh j-jesus,” he babbled mindlessly, eyes squeezed shut, panting and moaning and whimpering beneath you. He was dizzy with pleasure, absolutely out of his mind with it. “Tight, i-it’s so tight, so wet, feels good on my—my cock, oh fuck, please don’t stop, keep—keep fu-fucking me, shit—“
You rode him faster, your own head tilted back now, eyes closed, the pleasure coursing through your veins as you fucked yourself on his perfect cock. You could feel the coil tightening again, building quickly deep inside, pussy fluttering around his girth. “Kurt—oh fuck, baby, making me feel so good, so good for me, my good boy, so perfect…”
He choked, digging bruises into your hips and fucking up into you frantically, chasing his second release. Somehow, by complete, beautiful accident, he found that bundle of nerves deep inside you and was hitting that spot every time. Your vision began to go white, nails dragging down his chest as you rode him, taking everything you wanted and needed from him, the orgasm building within you nothing like you’d ever felt before.
It crashed over you in a wave of pleasure that almost made you black out, crying out desperately and moving your hips faster. “Kurt! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Kurt’s eyes opened wide, his pupils nearly eclipsing the hazel around them. He pulled you back down onto his cock with every brutal thrust up into you, making sure you didn’t slow down for a second. You didn’t even think he was aware he was doing it, his need for the pleasure your body was giving him overriding any rational thought, purely primal and desperate.
“You’re so—you’re perfect, your pussy is s-so perfect, taking me deep, so fu-fucking deep, letting me fuck—fuck you, taking my cock—“ He cut himself off with a loud, shaky moan, eyes squeezing shut and back bowing off the bed. “It fe—els so good, feels so good, it’s so—oh fuck oh fuck holy shit holy fuck please baby don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop you’re gonna make me cum—“
The yell that ripped from his throat was like nothing you’d ever heard from a man in bed before, so overwhelmingly hot it had your cunt clenching around him, milking his cock as he pumped up into you in desperate thrusts. You felt the warmth of his cum flooding you, still so fucking much, even after the way he’d spilled into your mouth earlier. He chanted your name like a prayer with every pulse of his release.
You rode him through it, every last shuddering thrust of his powerful orgasm. It took a few minutes before he could even open his eyes to look at you again, his whole body still shaking with the force of it.
When he finally did open them, looking up at you, his eyes a little wet—a wide, amazed grin spread across his lips. “Holy shit.”
You laughed, leaning down to capture his lips in a soft kiss, his softening cock still buried inside you. “Good?”
“Good? I—“ He laughed, breathless and euphoric, skin still flushed and warm. “I’ve never cum like that before, never—I mean, I always cum a lot, when I’m alone, but I never—“ He looked down, eyes widening in wonder at the sight of the cum that dripped down around his shaft from inside of you. “—holy fuck.”
After you’d recovered enough to move, which took a while, you cleaned up and turned the cameras off. You’d never been more excited to rewatch footage. It felt like you’d forgotten all about the cameras in the heat of the moment, but you had a feeling you’d just made the best one yet.
The video was edited and posted a couple of days later. You were right—it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. Everything about it was perfect. Kurt’s reactions were intense but authentic, and you knew the more submissive men who subscribed to you were going to love this.
You knew it would be successful, but you weren’t prepared for just how much people would love it.
Your paid subscriber count jumped by the thousands. Every day you’d check your account, nearly choking as you saw the view count, the amount of people paying for the video, for more of your content. The video was a total hit.
When Kurt came running to you, nearly jumping up and down as he told you how many subscribers his channel was gaining, you really knew you’d made the right choice.
“Look!” he’d practically yelled, shoving his phone in your face. The familiar Kurtsworld96 channel analytics screen was there, the follower count now over ten thousand. A lot of the comments on his videos were asking for more of you, more of what you’d done together, but Kurt didn’t mind that. He was thrilled. “They’re following me! They’re watching!”
Kurt begged you to film with him again, promising to be good for you, begging for the chance to be your good boy again. With your boyfriend happier than you’d ever seen him and people offering you money left and right for more content…
How could you say no?
thank you for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated!
Summary: It's Christmas Day! Both families, the Mayfield-Hargrove and the Byers, each in their own homes, celebrate this date with loved ones and friends. Even though you are not together at the moment, you and Steve are a topic of conversation with your friends.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: found family, sibling dynamic, Susan/Neil, protective!Hopper, Steve & Jonathan
Note: Hey! This chapter is divided into two different locations, and it was really cool to write. I'm not a USA citizen; I'm not even from the 80s, so if the food choices I made here suck, it's because of a lack of knowledge and cultural context from those two factors. Hope you like it!
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
Tuesday, December 25th, 1984
The Christmas lunch at the Mayfield-Hargrove residence is different from those of past years, with some additions, but mostly because of the absence of a certain someone, that, coincidentally or not, made the atmosphere more... breathable.
You suggested to your mother that you could invite Eddie and his uncle, Wayne, over for lunch, since it’s just the two of them. But also mainly because Wayne has grown closer to Susan since Neil left, and every now and then, he has his lunch at the diner where she currently works.
Susan really seems to like Wayne, and he is so kind and gentle to you and your siblings that it made her heart go weak for him even more. Something so different from the previous relationships she's been into in the last almost two decades, and it's noticeable how lighter she has become.
So now, after the abundant and delicious lunch you all had, Wayne and Susan are in the kitchen, washing the dishes, putting the leftovers away, giggling at each other, orbiting around each other. You notice how close and intimate they are, so, to give them privacy, you, your siblings, and Eddie sneak to your and Max’s bedroom.
When you get there, Eddie throws his body on your bed like it's his, while Max and Billy sit and rest on Max’s bed. You walk to the record player on your desk, put ‘The Dreaming’ album by Kate Bush on, and receive a wide smile from Max when the instrumental intro begins, which you return.
"I see the people working
And see it working for them
And so I want to join in
But then I find it hurts me"
You walk back to your bed, launching yourself onto it, laying your head on Eddie’s lap, who is now seated and leaning back against the wall. You grab a magazine that was somewhere near the feet of your bed and read it lazily with no proper motive, resting the lower part of it on your chest.
It’s been a while since Eddie was in your room, so he scans the room, looking for some new stuff to add to his mental notes about you and Max. He notices new horror movie posters on Max’s side, some new books on your shelf that he recalls seeing you reading in school sometimes, new stationery supplies on your desk, probably to use on your journals, and new comic books on Max’s little desk.
Then his eyes land on your nightstand on the side of your bed, where there is a lamp, a book you are currently reading, and a photo with Max, Billy, and you in a frame. Eddie smiles at the composition, mostly for that sweet photo of yours.
You are all younger in there, maybe two years, you and Billy probably with 16 and Max with 11-12; you are all smiling like the picture was taken while you were laughing of something, and it was really sunny that day, your freckles are more proiminent by the sun rays on your face, Max's hair is a bright ginger by the same reason, and Billy seems so relaxed, looking at you two, his eyes soften for at least that freezed moment.
Eddie continues to look for new stuff around it, and, above your nightstand, there are some pictures of you with friends hanging on the wall, just like the last time Eddie was there: you with Nancy doing a silly face, both of you laughing; you with Jonathan playing some videogame on his house; you with Robin looking for albuns in a drift shop once; you with Eddie as well while you try some of his punk clothes, you making a funny face while Eddie laughs from seeing how big his clothes were on you. He chuckles to himself from the memory, his heart aching from tenderness.
However, when he goes to the next photo, he notices a new one that wasn’t there before. Eddie bends over you, careful not to disturb you too much, since you are still lying on his lap, reading your magazine while he tries to get a better look at that new photo.
It’s you and Steve, you on his shoulders, both looking at each other, the smile on your faces taking most of it, his hands on your knees. Eddie recalls this moment from your first game as the official photographer for the basketball team.
From Max's bed, Billy, glancing at Eddie again in the last tenth second, finds him studying the photo. Billy nudges Max with his elbow, calling for her attention subtlently, both leaning against the wall. Max looks up at Billy, who points at Eddie with his chin. Her eyes land on Eddie, a smirk growing on her face when she sees what he is looking at, exchanging a look with Billy.
“Seems like you have a new addition to your collection, milady,” Eddie teases, leaning back against the wall again, looking down at you with a mischievous smile on his lips.
“What are you talking about?” You close your magazine, looking up at Eddie, your eyes frowning in confusion.
“Didn’t know Harrington earned a space on your mural,” he teases back, pointing with his chin to the photos. You blush considerably, rolling your eyes, opening the magazine again while sighing in annoyance.
“It’s not a big deal, we are just getting along now.” You try to dismiss it, but your siblings are too much of a brat to let it go.
“Seems like she didn’t tell you about what happened between them then, Eddie,” Max smirks, looking mischievously from Billy to Eddie, and lastly, at you.
Your eyes are wide open and full of desperation, already aware of what she is referring to. You close the magazine, sitting on the bed in a second, pointing a finger at Max, trying to use all of your older sister's cards against her. “Don't you dare say a word, Maxine!” you threaten, only resulting in a bigger smirk from Billy.
“They almost kissed when he dropped her after the diner at their first game,” Billy announces, pointing to the photo, receiving an angry pillow being thrown on his face, and then another one, as an attempt to make him shut up.
Eddie opens his mouth in surprise, forming an 'o', smiling widely, and turning to look at you, who is leaning back against the wall on his side, covering your face with both hands to hide your embarrassment.
“Milady, didn’t know you were into Harrington,” he teases, extending his hand to rub your hair, being dismissed with a slap at his wrist.
“It’s because I’m not!" you exclaim, falling into your side in bed, your face still covered with your hands, groaning from frustration and the feeling of betrayal.
The other three laugh at you while you try to calm down and regain your composure. After a while, you sit back on the bed, crossing your legs, still red on your cheeks, and looking back at Eddie. “You have to promise me not to tell anyone about it, okay?" you say firmly, in a plea, a little deperated even, "For the love of god, Munson, it’s already a hell that these two” you point to Max and Billy, without even looking at them, “saw what happe-”
“Wow, wow, wow!” Eddie exclaims, getting on his knees at the bed, eyes wide in surprise, a smirk on his lips, turning from you to your sibling. “Did you guys see it?”
“Don’t you dare-”
Max cuts you off, too excited to finally talk about it with someone other than Billy and Jane, someone Max is really sure that you did not allow to know, but she is Max's best friend, so you have just to deal with it if necessary. “YEAH! They were this close,” Max shows putting her thumb and index finger really close to each other, “they definitely would have kissed if I didn’t have interrup-”
Eddie notices that you are about to cut Max off, so, faster than you, he grabs you from your waist, dragging you to lean your back against his chest between his legs, holding you in place by wrapping an arm around your middle, and putting a hand over your mouth, making sure to keep you shut to hear this fantastic news.
You protest for a second, giving up and crossing your arms over your chest, looking deadly in Max’s eyes, your eyes red, just like your face from embarrassment. Max continues, laughing at the stunt. “She tried to hide it and pretended that nothing happened, but she was blushing and smiling like an idiot when she got to our bedroom.”
More heat spreads across your face, and you are willing to put your head in a hole and hide. You open your mouth just enough to be able to lick Eddie’s hand, getting a disgusted groan in return from him, releasing you, and cleaning his hand on his jeans.
“Now that all the events from that night have been unwrapped, can we, for the love of god, let this aside? Please!” You beg with both your hands together, looking to the three other people in the room, your face bright red, your eyes wide in desperation.
After cleaning his licked hand properly on his clothes, Eddie ruffles your hair affectionately, smiling tenderly at you. “Of course, milady.” You look relieved at him but furious at your siblings, pointing a finger at them and getting a big laugh from both, muffled against their mouths, while Billy and Max exchange a look.
At the Byers’ Christmas gathering, they are still at the table eating the banquet on it: Holiday Party Loaf, honey-glazed ham, roast turkey with bacon stuffing, relish trays, along with wine for the adults, and soda and orange juice for those under 21, even though Steve and Jonathan are over 18, Hopper doesn't let them drink today.
“Thanks for the new lens again, man. I really appreciate it; my old one is not working properly anymore.” Jonathan thanks Steve, who is sitting at his side, as he takes a bite of his meal, smiling gratefully.
“Don't mention it, dude, and thanks for the sneakers again; didn’t think you would remember it.” Steve chuckles, taking a bite of his food as well, glancing at his feet, which are wearing the new collection of basketball sneakers Nike just released, white with the logo in red.
Jonathan leans closer to him, avoiding others so he can hear him, whispering, with curiosity in his eyes and a subtle smile on his lips. “Did you give the photos to her?”
Steve smiles shyly, looking back at Jonathan, blushing a little, nodding, “Yeah, I gave them to her last Wednesday at school.” He chuckles, shaking his head slightly, then looks at Jonathan again, “She gave me two pics as well. Coincidentally.”
“Seriously?” Jonathan asks in shock, his eyes slightly widened, grinning at the news, “How are they?”
Steve blushes more, looking away at his plate, biting his lower lip, trying to prevent a grin starting to grow on his face, then looks back at Jonathan.
“One was that one I took of her at the diner that I mentioned to you, remember?” Jonathan nods, “and the other one was the one with only the two of us at the diner after the game.”
Jonthan looks at Steve with so much affection, happy for his friends, and kinda half-brother, “That was very sweet of her, Steve.”
“Yeah, it really was.” Steve gets lost in his thoughts for a while, looking back at his plate, leaning back in his chair, playing with his food while remembering the pic he took of you, his favorite for sure, who is guarded in a very special place. His smile grows wide just by thinking of the pictures of you.
“Steve?” Jonathan calls him, pulling Steve away from his thoughts and back to reality, blinking the thoughts out of his head, and looking back at Jonathan. “Where were you, man?” Jonathan chuckles, already knowing the answer.
Steve just cuckles, shrugging, taking a bite from his food, the silence settling between them for a moment. “Do you really like her, huh?” Jonathan asks, not teasing, but genuinely curious.
Steve chuckles, looking back at Jonathan, a smirk on his face along with a subtle blush on his cheeks. “I’m not saying I like her, but I'm definitely not neutral about her either,” he winks, a grin growing on his lips, and a sparkle is present in his eyes as well.
“Liar,” Jonathan accuses, laughing, nudging Steve with his elbow, making him laugh as well.
A little farther from them at the table, Jane and Will are giggling, planning their next character sheets for the next D&D campaign Mike is planning to master, and on their side are Hopper and Joyce, looking at their older boys across from them, chatting and giggling together.
“I’m so happy that Jonathan and Steve are friends now! Jonathan was always so lonely; glad he became friends with Steve!” Joyce exclaims to Hopper, with a hand on her heart and a tender expression, towards the boys.
“I’m happy for Steve too," Hopper adds more quietly, "since that kid Dustin showed up in his life, he kinda saved Steve, you know?” Hopper looks down at Joyce, then back to Steve, who is smiling and chatting with Jonathan still, “Can’t wait for him to graduate from High School and move in with us until he goes to college."
Joyce laughs lightly, hugging Hopper at his side, resting her head on his chest as he passes an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side. They return their attention to their meal after a while, and then the savory dishes are gone. Jonathan and Will get up to grab the desserts: a Baked Alaska and a Millionaire's Pie.
“Oh, Pops," Steve gets up and takes the plates from the table to the sink, "I wanted to ask you this for days, and I always forget to ask,” he says while already grabbing the dessert dishes, “Do you know what happened to Neil Hargrove? For how long has he been missing now? A month already?”
“Don’t worry about him, kid; he will not be a bother to his family anymore.”
Steve and Jonathan exchange a suspicious, intrigued look, both furrowing their brows at the statement, then Steve turns back to Hopper. “How can you be so sure about that?”
“Being a fucking chief has its benefits after all.” Hops chuckles to himself, lighting up a cigar, blowing the smoke from his mouth.
Steve widens his eyes in desperation, glancing at Jonathan, who is just as desperate as Steve, “Hopper, please tell me you didn't kill-”
“Are you out of your mind, Steve? For fucks sake! I didn’t kill him!” Hopper protests, offended and angry at the accusation, dragging from his cigar again, irritated.
“Sorry, Hops, but the way you said it was really suspicious,” Jonathan defends Steve, more relaxed now. Hopper, still offended, looks at Will, Jane, and then Joyce, all looking at him with the same face, agreeing with Jonathan.
“Jesus Christ, I didn’t kill that son of a bitch, okay?” he announces, opening his arm, disbelief on his face, irritation as well, dragging his cigar again. “I went after him after Billy dropped Max at home that Saturday, and found that asshole in a bar out of town,” he takes a drag again, then lets the smoke go. “So I told him to become a fucking grown-ass man and get out of town and make sure that his family was fine financially,” Hopper exhales, groaning in frustration, taking another drag.
“So it was you who transferred the money to Ms. Mayfield?” Steve asks, understanding what happened after all, more relaxed from the clarification.
“Well, not ME me, but yeah, do you think that bastard would do it of his own free will? Hell no. So I made sure he would.” Hopper declares, putting out the cigar in the ashtray at the corner of the table when the boys come back to the table. Will and Jonathan put the desserts down while Steve finishes setting the table, all three sitting again.
“Do they know about it?” Steve refers to you, your siblings, and your mom, a little concerned about your family, as he serves his own family at the table.
“I told Susan when I went to the diner that she is working a couple of weeks ago.” He declares before taking a bite of his dessert. “I don’t know if she told the kids, so I would appreciate the good manners you all have and let her decide about it, okay?”
The kids nod and take a bite of their food as well. “Okay, cap,” Steve teases, taking quiet laughs from everyone at the table, Hopper included, with him rolling his eyes as a bonus.
Note: Hey! Even though it was a little challenging to write about almost 10 characters, it was really fun to see the diversity in their behavior and the energy between them.
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
hellloooo!! welcome! my name is Ali and I go by she/her pronouns 𖤐
i’ve made this blog because i’ve been inspired and want to start posting my writing! i’m mainly writing for the Joe Keery and Ryan Gosling fandoms, but I’m open to suggestions and requests!
don’t be scared to say hi! i’d love to be friends ✩
hope to see you soon! ☆༄˖°.‧₊
- Ali ㅤ♡
(see masterlist below c: )
*ੈ✩‧₊˚masterlist!ㅤ♡
Joe Keery characters:
Gator Tillman:
★ just like him. - after your son’s late night upset, Gator reacts inappropriately. mortified and guilty, he accepts your supports and learns he isn’t his father.
★ horrid reflection - Gator’s getting older. And when he looks in the mirror all he sees in the reflection is Roy and his past staring back at him.
Kurt Kunkle:
loading…
Steve Harrington:
★ honesty - when washing up doesn’t go to plan, you and steve learn how important it is to communicate.
Baron Lamram:
loading…
Travis ‘Teacake’ Meacham:
loading…
Ryan Gosling characters:
Lars Lindstrom:
★ across the road - Lars’ morning routine is interrupted by a moving van across the road. Unknown to him, his life will change thanks to that van and a gentle knock on the door.
Ken:
★ new barbie - when a new barbie appears in Barbie Land, Ken is confused by his feelings. she doesn’t look like all the others, but maybe that’s why he takes such a liking to her.
hi! i’m checking in for a week with gator tillman! if we could get a room with a phone, some coffeee and tea, and a turndown service that would be great! if we could upgrade that to a penthouse suite that would be great!! thank you hun
(he’s a asshole and make bro GROVEL.) we have truly lost the art of groveling and ik damn well you’d eat it up
from insomniac's inn
booking by anon: >1k, gator, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, established relationship
pairing: gator tillman x fem!reader
summary: when roy makes rude comments about your body at dinner, gator naively dismisses them as nothing. soon enough, he realizes his mistakes.
wc: 2.4k
warnings: 18+mdni, fatshaming, body image issues and insecurities, gator's an ignorant idiot but he learns, he's also ooc icl, smut, slight nipple play, oral (f receiving), body worship
a/n: arghhh i tried to make him grovel i've done it a million fics before but it wasnt HITTING. still hope this is ok.
˚⋆˙⟡ .✶⋆.˚
“Baby come on, I don’t get why you’re acting like this.”
The sound of the front door slamming as you threw it opened echoed through you and Gator’s shared home. “He called me fat, Gator.” You spat, storming across the living room, wanting to shed your clothes and everything associated with this awful day.
“Oh come on, that’s not what he said.”
“Yes it is!” You spun around at the bottom of the step, fury burning low in your belly. “Think about it for one second. ‘That dress looks like it’s a little too tight, hon,’ ‘Maybe stick to the salad tonight,’‘Didn’t think my son was ever into girls like you.’” How many other ways could Roy have said it before Gator understood?
Apparently, a lot.
“He didn’t mean it like that-“
“Well how did he mean it then?”
Gator blinked at you, his mouth half open as helpless sounds fell out. But nothing subtle. Nothing concrete. “Like…he was encouragin’ you to be healthy.”
You saw red. Blood, honestly. You wanted to beat someone up. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” You screamed so loud that Gator began to dart his eyes this way and that.
“Baby, be quiet. You’re gonna wake the neighbours up.”
As you stood there at the bottom of the steps, watching Gator bouncing on his feet, your heart sunk. He didn’t say anything at dinner because he was too scared of what other people would think. And even now, in the privacy of your own home, he was more worried about the neighbors being nosy than your own feelings.
“I’m getting ready for bed.” You whispered out, desperate not to let the tears out in front of him. You knew that those types of comments should be expected from an asshole like Roy, but it hurt nonetheless. To think you’d actually felt good when you’d left the house today. Why couldn’t you just exist without people picking apart your body?
˚⋆˙⟡ .✶⋆.˚
You tried not to spiral. You really did. There was absolutely no point fussing over frivolous comments made by misogynistic assholes like Roy. And yet, as you changed into your pajamas, you found yourself inspecting your body in the mirror. Was he right? Had you gained such a noticeable amount of weight?
Just as quickly as the thoughts came flooding, they hit the dam. It didn’t matter. You knew your own body well enough to know if something was effecting your actual health and you sure as hell would’ve realized if you needed to do something about it.
˚⋆˙⟡ .✶⋆.˚
When you returned from the bathroom, Gator was already changed and tucked comfortably into bed, his soft snores echoing through the room. You scoffed. Here you were, picking apart everything about your habits and your healthiness, while Gator could just roll into bed after a whole day outside. No one was going to call him names or analyze every bit of his habits, his body, his ‘health’.
You sunk into the bed, your eyes fixed to the ceiling. Despite the fact that you knew it didn’t matter, you couldn’t stop reliving the comments. The mattress dipped as Gator moved to wrap his arm around you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. It was feeling the soft stroke of his thumb against your waist that made you realize the thing what bothered you the most about the whole situation. Roy sat there, laughing at you and Gator did nothing. Not even a look in your direction. Did he see it too? Right now, your body pressed against his, he could’ve been analyzing every single thing that had changed. He could’ve been hating it just like Roy. Why else would he defend Roy’s actions as concern? He probably thought it too. And now, after everything, he was sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of all the insecurities seeping through your mind.
You couldn’t do this tonight.
You twisted away from his touch, dismounting the bed with your pillow tucked under your armpit. As you were tiptoeing across the room, you heard Gator groaning and shuffling in the bed.
“What are you doin’?” You turned to see him sitting up, rubbing his eyes like he was trying to force himself out of a bad dream.
“Go back to bed, Gator.” You simply said, taking a step out of the bedroom.
“C’mon, don’t do this. You know I can’t-”
You shut the bedroom door behind you, muffling out the end of his sentence.
Even still, you paused in front of the door. Waiting for him to just say two simple words at least. Instead, you heard a sigh and sheets rustling as he settled back into bed. That confirmed your suspicions.
˚⋆˙⟡ .✶⋆.˚
You didn’t see Gator again until he retuned from his shift the next night.
From your spot at the kitchen counter, you heard a deep inhale as he stepped into the house. “Mmmm, what am I smellin’ right now?” The obnoxious scrape of the chair he pulled out to sit down hurt your ears. You turned to him, smile way too wide as you set the plate of green beans and chicken in front of him. He blinked, staring at the color for a long moment. He was used to a gas station protein bars or a plate filled with greasy goodness. If you didn’t force feed him every once in a while, you weren’t sure how his body would still be functioning at work. And yet, he never got told off for his habits. More often than not, you snuck the good foods in there like he was a baby. Gator looked back up to you, giving you those poor puppy dog eyes and pout. “Didn’t ya say you’d make me a Mac n Cheese today?” You had. You’d promised him his favorite meal after he was forced to work a double shift this week. Because you cared about his feelings.
That was all out of the window now.
You kept your fake smile on and shrugged. “Well, baby, this is healthier.” Before you could step away from him, his arms were wrapping around you, pulling you towards him.
“Still mad at me?” He muttered into your skin, blinking up at you. You were all too aware of his face, his hands, all over your body. And again, you were wondering if he thought it too. You’d met his family several times before and Roy hadn’t made comments like that. It could’ve been for a million different reasons — maybe you were at a point in your cycle where your weight was fluctuating, maybe it was something about the clothes you were wearing, maybe Roy was just in a particularly bad mood last night and needed a new target. Rationally, you knew all of that. Still, you wondered, if your body had changed, would Gator truly not be into a “girl like you” anymore?
You stepped out of his touch, shooting to the other end of the table and plopping yourself down in the chair. “What? I can’t take your dad’s advice?”
Gator sighed. “Ok, you’re bein’ dramatic.” You bit your tongue at the words. “He was saying it cause he cares.”
You wanted to throw up. If that was what Roy Tillman’s care looked like, you didn’t want it. What worried you more was that it might be what Gator’s looked like too. “Humiliating me in front of your entire family was showing how much he cared? If this is such an issue, why did you just say something to me?”
“It’s not an issue, Dad’s just-”
“Dramatic? Rude? Mean?” Gator looked down to his plate, knowing everything you said was true. “Besides, Gator, if I’m doing what he ‘cares’ about, why are you even upset?” Silently, you were asking if that’s what he wanted too. For you to change yourself.
Gator had no response.
You remembered who this man was when you met him. Roy’s golden boy, a womanizer, and definitely obsessed with looks. You hated the idea that the one who sat before you now, who’d been trying for you, was deep down, just the same man he always was. You hated to think, in any case, that your own boyfriend had stopped finding you attractive.
You couldn’t eat anymore. You pushed your meal to the side.
“This is what you want too, right?”
Gator’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you-”
“It’s ok, Gator, you don’t have to lie to me. Last night, when he said those things, you agreed with him. Why else would you just sit there?”
“Because-”
“If you don’t think I’m attractive anymore just come out and say it.”
“Woah! Slow down-”
“I like the way I feel right now, and I’m not going to grovel for you to change your mind. Just tell me.”
Gator opened his mouth and you could see the whirlwind that was about to come out. Except it didn’t blow over into the tornado of frustration that you thought it would. “I didn’t realize you were thinking all this shit because of some dumb comments.” He shook his head violently. “Holy shit I didn’t- My dad was an asshole last night.” He pushed his chair back, stepping over to you “He said all that shit, and you were hurtin’ and I just…watched. Fuck yeah, I shoulda stood up for you. I didn’t get how bad it hurt.”And suddenly, Gator was dropping to his knees in front of you, his calm tone completely falling away. “I’m sorry, baby. For all of it. I know I fucked up letting Dad do that to you. And I can’t believe I made you feel like I didn’t think you were attractive.” Again, you tried to speak, but he brought his palms to your face, pulling you closer. “Don’t for a second doubt that I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Ok?”
You looked at the frantic desperation in his eyes as he scanned you up and down. Devotion, apology, regret all swum there. He said the only words you really needed to hear and he’d meant them too. None of those faux frowns and pouty lips. This was sincere. “Yeah,” You nodded. “Ok.” He slipped his hand into yours, guiding you both to stand so he could pull you to his lips. He kissed with a desperate fervor — both palms engulfing your cheeks like he had to show you with everything just how much he meant those words. As he deepened it, hands settling at your waist, you couldn’t help but open your mouth to him.
The two of you stumbled all the way to your bedroom, the door shut behind you as you crashed down to the bed. While he was crawled on top of you, he reached over your shoulder, switching off the beside lamp so the only light in the room was the tiny sliver from the moon leaking through your windows. It illuminated his big eyes as he whispered, “Think I need to remind you just how beautiful I think your body is.” His lips were back on you before you could get another word in. But not to your mouth, to your fingers instead. He placed a delicate line of kisses from your fingertips down to your shoulder. “I love your arms.” His lips moved across to your neck and collarbone. “Love your neck.” He whispered, sucking a little mark there that made you sigh. “Love the little mark you have right here.” He pressed his lips featherlight against the spot on your neck. He lifted from you to quickly help your shirt off, sighing when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips made their way across your breasts, tongue swirling around the nipple before sucking.
“Gator.” You gasped at the sensation.
“Love the way you say my name. Sounds like home.” That one he whispered a bit quieter. But you heard it. His focus shifted lower. “Love how when I do this…” He mouthed at your still clothed core, making your hips wriggle in search of more. “That’s your reaction.” His fingers settled at your waist, kneading your flesh in his palm like he couldn’t believe you were in his arms.
Slowly, they slipped a little lower, easing the remaining fabric off your body. As he shuffled down the bed, you leaned back, now desperate for his touch in the place you needed it most.
But what came instead was a kiss to your shin.
“Love the scar you have here, and that you got it trying to beat me in a race like we were kids.” His lips moved up. “Love…” Up. “That you make feel like a kid again.” Up. Finally, finally, they reached your thighs, nipping gently at your exposed skin. “Love when these are around my head.”
Then his tongue licked an excrutiatingly slow stripe between your folds. And another. Soon, he got more calculated with his movements, circling your clit. You moaned in satisfaction, your hand slipping down to sink into his hair. To your frustration, he detached his mouth from you, though the words he whispered were sweet. “Love that you aren’t afraid to tell me how you want things.”
You did just that as you lightly pushed him back down, words not forming due to the puddle his words had made you. You could feel him grin against you as his tongue dipped into you and your body relaxed. Each dip or lick or twirl of his tongue — filled with pure devotion — sent the doubts of last night flying out of your body. Soon, you found yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. And when you reached it, you moaned out Gator’s name, letting the feeling spread through your body as he took you through the aftershocks.
He raised his mouth, wiping his face clean of you, the smile on his face so clear. “I love that sound the most.” You rolled your eyes playfully as he shuffled back up to meet you in a slow kiss where you could taste yourself on his tongue.
More than that, you were starting to see yourself through his eyes as well.
˚⋆˙⟡ .✶⋆.˚
When Gator returned home from work the next day, it was with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He explained that he’d told off his father, and it was Roy, so of course he hadn’t listened and called both of you too sensitive. But Gator said he didn’t care what his father had to say anymore and he was sorry he ever did. He showed you again that night just how beautiful he thought you were. Not for your body, or how it would change.
CHAPTER 18 - any space you want to be in and deserve to be in
Summary: You develop the photo Steve asked you to give him, and you are about to give it to him, but there is also a Christmas present you want to give him. You and Nancy work on the article about the team in your last Advanced English class, and you run through the photos you took at the game, focusing too much on certain ones.
Word count: 3.3k
Warnings: fluff, yearning
Note: Hey! For me, this chapter is so sweet it rots your teeth. I love writing things like that. Hope you enjoy it!
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Wednesday, December 19th, 1984
With an envelope behind your back and a backpack tightly over your shoulder, you search the school for Steve. His car is in the parking lot, so he is definitely somewhere. You walk through the hallways, getting nervous after each second that passes. You having a little trouble finding him just adds to your nervousness.
After almost 10 fucking minutes walking, you find him on his locker, putting some textbooks into his backpack. Obviously he would be there, but you were so anxious that you couldn't think properly. You bite your lower lip from worry, grab the strap of your backpack even tighter, and approach him shyly.
“Good morning, Steve,” you greet, smiling shyly at him, your heart pounding in your ears.
Steve is caught by surprise, turning his head at the sound of your voice, smiling widely when his eyes land on you. His eyes soften just from seeing you. He notices a hand behind your back, but says nothing.
“Hey!" he greets you using your name, "Good morning!” he chuckles through his nose, shutting his locker, unable to take his eyes off of you. “Are you finally giving me the photo?” he teases, leaning his side against the locker, his backpack over his shoulder.
Steve looks you up and down. You are gorgeous as always, wearing baggy jeans and a red cropped shirt that reaches the waistband of your pants. You notice him checking you out, making you blush and chuckle nervously, unsure whether it's because of his action or the envelope in your hand. He looks gorgeous as always, in straight jeans, an emerald green polo shirt, and a blue windbreaker.
And that fucking beautiful hair.
You bring your hand from your back to your front, anxiously flipping the envelope between your fingers, looking down at your hands. “Kinda, yeah,” you smile nervously. Steve notices your hands slightly trembling and, intrigued, smiles softly at you when he sees your signs of anxiety. He crosses his arms over his chest, preventing him from touching you, but he's willing to calm you down.
“I, huh-” you swallow dryly, looking up at him, that cute smile on his lips and those soft hazel eyes, and those cute moles on his cheeks. You shake your head and try your hardest to focus on him, and not on his pretty features. “I want to give you a Christmas gift,” you smile a little embarrassed, extending the envelope to him.
Steve widens his eyes in surprise, a grin growing on his lips slowly, lighting his face up. He doesn't move for a second but reaches for the envelope in your hands, brushing your fingers lightly, sending a shiver from his arm to his spine.
He chuckles weakly when he gets the gift in front of him, seeing his name written in your cursive handwriting. He runs his thumb slowly over his name, smiling to himself. His heart skips a beat as he looks up at you when you speak again, calling his attention back. “You don’t need to open it now, but-”
“But it’s okay if I open it now?” He cuts you off in a whisper, looking back at his gift, afraid that he is in a dream and doesn't want to be woken up. He looks back at you with so much tenderness, his puppy-dog eyes.
Your stomach flips when his gaze lands on you like that, with those eyes that make any request he makes impossible to say no to. A weak smile appears on your lips, not sure if it's from his eagerness or from his eyes looking at you like that. “Yeah, that's okay,” you whisper back at him, your hands going into your front pockets, your feet bouncing slightly back and forth.
Steve's eyes fall back to the envelope, opening it with such delicacy, as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, and is very careful not to rip it open, doing his best to preserve as much of it as possible, this being gift enough for him. He peeks inside and sees two photos. With his fingers, he grabs both of them and places them on top of the envelope.
The first one is the one Steve took of you that day after the game at the diner. Your eyes sparkling, your wide smile looking directly into the camera's lens.
He gasps breathlessly, his free hand over his chin, rubbing it, smiling weakly, and wrecked at the photo, his stomach getting butterflies just by seeing you smiling like that, your smile frozen for him to look at every time he wills to. Steve gets lost in the beauty of you in that picture for a while.
Then he flips the photo to see its back, and something is written on it.
'For the person interested in the focal points in photography.'
Steve laughs, even more amused, his finger rubbing your handwriting softly, enchanted again at seeing something so intimate as your handwriting, written only and exclusively for him.
He slides this first photo under the other one.
And it's both of you at the diner. He was lingering his fingers on your arm, both leaning towards each other, a wide smile on your faces. He can't tell from you, but he wasn't smiling like that just because he was taking a photo.
And you both have sparkles in your eyes. Steve smiles so tenderly at it, not sure what to think about it, just feeling his heart aching against his ribs.
Steve flips the photo and finds your handwriting again.
'To: my favorite basketball captain
From: your lucky star'
My.
Your.
He reads it numerous times, rubbing his finger absently over the ‘my’, grinning at it, his heart pounding in his chest. These fucking pronouns do something so dangerous, but also so delicious inside of him. Steve looks up at you, your anxious eyes softening as you see the wrinkles around his eyes and the wide smile on his face. You adding that little dedication was bold of you, and seeing him looking at you like that? You thank yourself for not chicken out.
You say your name so warmly that your chest hurts, “They are perfect,” he exclaims breathlessly, smiling widely. “Thank you so much”. He gets lost in your dark eyes for a second longer, drowning in them. Then he remembers, raising his eyebrows in realization. “Oh, I have a Christmas gift for you too!”
While Steve opens his locker again, searching for the gift, you stay caught off guard by his statement, but you are still dizzy from the way he looked at you just seconds before, so you are not able to react properly other than standing there, waiting.
After just a couple of seconds, Steve takes an envelope from his locker as well, chuckling a little, embarrassed. “I swear I didn't copy you.” He extends his hand to you. “For you,” and he says your name again.
Nat grabs the envelope in his hands, brushing your fingers again, sending a shiver down your spine this time. He might not have copied you, but she chuckles when you flip the envelope and find your name written in his handwriting. You look at it, the way he wrote your name, smiling to yourself, your thumb brushing slightly over it. You open the envelope carefully, look at the contents, grab the photos, and bring them to life.
The first picture is the one Jonathan took of you and Steve at the gym. His arm over your shoulder, and you recall the continuous brushing of his finger on your arm while you were holding each other to the photo, sending a shiver down your spine every time it happened. You also remember feeling the heat of his body through his waist when you were grabbing his shirt, willing to hold his waist properly.
You smile at the tenderness of the picture and the little awkwardness between you, both of you standing there for Joyce to take her little photo. You flip the photo and find something written on the back.
'Our first photo'
You chuckle, looking at his handwriting, at the way he crosses the T. Then, you bring the other photo above, and a photo you didn't know existed comes into view.
You are over Steve’s shoulder, smiling at the height's excitement and fear as well, looking down at him, who is smiling as wide as you are, holding your knees to steady you. You get lost looking at the picture. The way you look and smile at each other, remembering the butterflies you felt back there, is mostly the same as it is now. The way Steve held you safely, reassuring you that he was there and you weren't going to fall.
She flips it, reading his handwriting.
'Our OFFICIAL first photo'
You chuckle, amused and enchanted, looking up at Steve, who has been watching you the whole time, his heart skipping a beat with every smile and chuckle you give. Still, he seems a little nervous, rubbing the gift you gave him with his thumbs, smiling anxiously at you, just like you were before. You stare at him for a second longer, making him smile more crookedly from the sweetness of your features like that.
“It’s the sweetest gift I have ever gotten,” you chuckle, a little breathless. “Thank you, Steve, deeply.”
“This makes two of us then,” you both chuckle, rubbing each other’s gift between your thumbs, looking at each other for a while
Your smiles twist on your faces, unspoken words on your lips, left unsaid, imagined scenarios in your minds, and growing tension between you two.
The bell rings to start the school day.
Both of you groan in protest, eliciting good laughs from each other because of your shared annoyance towards the upcoming classes, but also for making you go apart.
“Huh," Steve clears his throat, smiling after, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'll see you at the New Year’s party at Jake's?”
“Definitely,” you smile widely at him, receiving one back from him.
“Can't wait,” Steve responds, biting his lips to hide the massive smile growing on his face.
“Me neither,” you say back, biting your inner cheek to prevent simling like an idiot.
You look at each other with sparkles in your eyes for a moment, exchanging something with your gaze that not even yourselves are completely aware of, beyond the tension growing between you and the unnamed feeling growing inside of you.
Afterward, the bell rings again, reluctantly sending you apart to march to your classes for the day, with a goodbye wave, a wide smile, and 12 long days of growing expectations until seeing each other again during the holidays.
After you and Steve part, you get to your Advanced English class, meeting Nancy at the door, and you're already discussing what the article about the basketball team will be like.
Since it was the last class of the subject before the holidays, the teacher allowed the students involved in extra English-related curricular activities to finish or continue them in class. And that’s what you are now doing: producing the article about the basketball team, with you providing the photos and Nancy the writing.
You are sitting in front of each other, with two desks put together, Nancy drafting her thoughts and notes in her notebook, while you add insights and backstage details, while also looking over the pictures you took from the last game, picking the best ones.
You picked some pictures from the pre game moment at the locker room, the pep talk Steve and Coach Malone gave, the brief warm up at the locker room, the cheer on the bleachers by the fans, the players interacting with each other in the court during the game, Coach Malone looking proudly at his team, the water being spilled at him after their victory, and some moves from the players.
And the moments they scored.
With that, your eyes land on the eight photos you took of Steve pointing at you each time he made a score. You hold one of the pics between your fingers, carefully, getting lost in his smile, wide and bright, as if he were so excited to dedicate his shots to you.
You made more than just one copy of those photos, which are kept in a shoebox under your nightstand, where you will probably put the other two pictures Steve gave you for Christmas when you get home after class. Or maybe hang one of them on your mural, among the other photos you have with your friends? If so, most likely, and most probably, it will be the one with you on his shoulders. It was not posed, just like the kind of photos you like, the ones that only register and document what is happening, freely with no intervention.
There is another photo that you made a copy of. The boys were celebrating Steve's first score around him, jumping on him, but Steve kept looking at you. Like you were the person he wanted to celebrate the score with.
Nancy looks up from her notebook when she realizes how quiet you have suddenly become, and finds you with a crooked smile and sparkling eyes, looking at pictures of Steve on your desk.
“We don’t need to put those in the article, you know? You can keep them if you want to”. Nancy announces gently, holding a smirk back on her lips.
You chuckle, blushing a little, leaning back in your chair. “I, huh,” you laugh nervously, squeezing your eyes, pressing a hand on your forehead, avoiding looking at Nancy, “I already made a copy of them," heat and redness spreading all over your face, "we can use them in the article if necessary”.
Nancy chuckles, surprised, smirking widely at you, leaning over her desk towards you, whispering with a conspiratorial tone. “I bet they are hanging in your bedroom”.
“No, they are not!” You exclaim, then laugh out loud, covering your mouth to muffle your crackle, in shock, thinking if she is a mindreader now. A cathartic and nervous laugh, one may add. You are even crying, wiping tears from your eyes as you start to calm down, able to look back at Nancy, trying to ignore the heads that have turned towards you at your sudden laugh.
“Sorry,” you laugh quietly now, wiping more tears away, before calming down completely. “It was funny you thinking I had them hanging.” You look back at Nancy, a resemblance of your laugh still on your face.
Nancy smiles more softly now. “That’s okay; it’s not a secret you have a crush on Steve.”
“I don’t have a crush on him!” you protest, laughing again, your cheeks turning red. “I like to keep photos where people are looking directly at me; that's all!” It’s not a complete lie, but not a complete truth either.
Nancy looks at you with a knowing look, not buying a single word of your excuse, a smirk on her lips, “You’re a terrible liar. Do you know that?" You show your tongue playfully at Nancy, eliciting a laugh from both of you.
Nancy refocuses on her notebook, and while she writes down on it, you organize where each photo should appear on the pages throughout the article at your own desk.
The article will begin with an introduction to the team's history, passing through the years until the present, showing the current team, going through everyone, coach included, and adding basic information about each one: their experience with the team, what they learned since they entered it, and what they will bring with them because of the Tigers after school. Nancy already interviewed the team, so it's more about organizing it.
You write the player’s name, the page, and the section the photo will be behind each selected photo. Actually, it will be a whole book about the team, but it's a secret that you only learned about when you became their photographer; only the people working in the Weekly know about it.
After a while, as you both discuss the layout of the books, Nancy grabs her backpack off the floor, puts it in her lap, opens it, takes out a pink paste, and sets it on the table. “I think there is one photo missing.” Nancy is already opening the paste, taking your attention and curiosity; you are now intrigued, looking from Nancy to the paste, confusion on your face as you try to figure out which one is missing.
Putting the paste back in her bag, Nancy holds up a photo of you, with you aiming the camera at the game, probably while you were shooting something happening on the court. Nancy passes the picture to you, who still looks confused, then looks at Nancy, then back at the pic, recognizing some patterns from other photos he shot before. “ Was Jonathan who shot this?” You look back at Nancy again.
“Yeah! He went down the bleachers and got as close as he could get to you without you noticing him.” Nancy giggles, excited. “It’s not fair to have an incredible photographer to take all these amazing pictures and do a whole book about the basketball team and not show the artist behind them!"
Nancy smirks at you, “Besides, you even have an official uniform now, with the captain's number on it and all.” She teases, receiving rolled eyes and a tongue out from you again, chuckling a little, and blushing slightly.
You look up from the photo to Nancy after a moment, smiling affectionately at Nancy, “That’s so sweet of you, Nance, both you and Jonathan, actually.” You smile shyly, bending over your desk to hug Nancy, both giggling at this sweet moment. You release Nancy from the hug, nodding in agreement with the invitation to have a page in the book, grinning. “So I’ll have a photo of mine in the book?”
“If it’s okay for you, absolutely! And I'll interview you as well, be aware of it,” Nancy exclaims, excited, chuckling. You smile widely, looking again at your picture, her in black clothes and an enormous Tigers' uniform on. It's been a while since you were cared for by friends like this, and you even get slightly emotional.
“Moreover, Steve suggested it too." You snap your head up, you widen your eyes in shock, "He said that, besides you being the team's photographer and not an actual player, you apparently mean a lot to the team and to the coach. He said something about probably you being their lucky star or something.”
You become speechless for a second longer, your stomach getting butterflies, and your heart racing a little, then you grin widely, a little short of breath, “When did he say that?”
Nancy looks away, thinking for a while before answering, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration, “I guess the Monday before the game? At least I guarantee you it was definitely before the game.”
You chuckle to yourself, a hand over your mouth, still in disbelief, but also amused. Steve called you their lucky star before even knowing whether you would wear his jersey like you would be his, THEIR, their lucky star, regardless of your answer.
Alongside this, there is Steve's apparent willingness to show you to the world, in making you seen, visible.
He also provided you with a safe environment to play basketball again whenever you were on his team during PE classes.
He helped you dunk.
He recommended you to Coach Malone to be the team's photographer.
He put you on his shoulders to celebrate the victory together with the team.
He asked a waitress at the diner to take a photo with you in it so you could be in the picture too.
And now he suggested adding you to the basketball team book.
The only few things you can do at the moment are smile to yourself, scatter the butterflies on your stomach, finish the layout of the book before the holidays, and the most important one: enjoy the feeling of having someone who is making everything in his hands to include you in any space you want to be in and deserve to be in.
Note: Hey! It's too pathetic to say I was kicking my feet the first time I wrote it, and when I proofread and edited it as well?
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
desc - hawkins high started a new progam - speak up ! - a system where students can anonymously talk to each other to get help on projects and school work. when you eventually check it out, the first thing you see on there is a note from farrahfawcettspray asking for help on the chemistry homework. and, being the kind soul you are, you respond to them.
val speaks - WOOO after some pondering i ended up rlly loving this one guys i hope u do too ++ i also j realised there were a couple ppls that were on my taglist that i wasn't tagging so im so very sorry for that but its updated properly now!!
word count: 8.2k
the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.
you hated homework.
not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.
especially with that stupid new program.
speak up!
even the name sounded fake cheerful.
principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.
“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”
translation?
people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.
at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.
tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.
you did too, honestly.
because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?
apparently a lot of people.
you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.
still, it worked.
eventually.
you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.
the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.
you almost backed out immediately.
this was dumb.
you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.
but, you kinda understood the idea.
there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.
plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.
with a small sigh, you clicked register username.
after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:
uptowngirl
creative? no.
but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.
once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.
and wow.
people were actually using this thing.
messages filled the page.
can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?
need help studying for bio test.
is anyone good at essay editing?
you blinked.
okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.
your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.
farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.
you laughed quietly to yourself.
there was no way that was a guy, right?
you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.
for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.
before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:
uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?
you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.
instead one came instantly.
farrahfawcettspray: Please
you smiled despite yourself.
dramatic.
you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.
uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first
farrahfawcettspray: What equation
you stared.
uptowngirl: the one on the page?
farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ
a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.
honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.
finally another message popped up.
farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl
you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.
uptowngirl: no problem farrah
a response came immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that
you grinned.
uptowngirl: goodnight farrah
you logged off before they could answer.
shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.
you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.
-
the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.
“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”
you groaned. “only once.”
“oh my god.”
“shut up.”
“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”
you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”
that got another round of laughter from the table.
still, you found yourself smiling too.
the whole thing was kinda funny.
by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.
hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.
your house wasn’t exactly close.
but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.
the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.
you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.
your heartbeat jumped instantly.
you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.
a familiar bmw rolled beside you.
of course.
steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.
you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.
keep walking, ignore them. easy.
the car crawled beside you anyway.
“hey!” tommy called.
you kept walking.
“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”
carol smacked the back of his head immediately.
“god, tommy.”
“ow-”
from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.
you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.
there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.
“bitch!”
the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.
you sighed heavily.
god, you hated those people.
tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.
and steve harrington?
honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.
every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.
definitely not your type, not even close.
by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.
the house was empty.
your parents were both working late again.
you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.
you weren’t really hungry.
your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.
math first.
then english.
then maybe death.
after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.
the screen was dark.
you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.
the machine groaned loudly in protest.
“c’mon” you muttered.
eventually the screen flickered to life.
you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.
the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.
1 new message from farrahfawcettspray
your eyebrows lifted.
you clicked it.
farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz
you laughed before typing back.
uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem
three dots appeared almost immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.
uptowngirl: you survived though
farrahfawcettspray: Barely
you smiled a little without meaning to.
there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.
just words on a screen.
another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?
uptowngirl: obviously
farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?
you snorted softly.
hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.
uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh
you grinned at the screen.
maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.
-
somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.
you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.
and there usually was.
sometimes it was something dramatic like:
farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.
or-
farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.
other times it was just:
farrahfawcettspray: You there?
simple.
stupidly simple.
but somehow it always made you smile.
you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.
and apparently he did too.
you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.
that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.
uptowngirl: serious question
farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh
uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy
there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.
farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account
you stared at the screen.
huh.
that actually made sense. kind of.
uptowngirl: still weird
farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song
fair point.
you didn’t learn much else about him after that.
not big things, anyway.
he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.
mostly though, your conversations were random.
complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.
without naming names, obviously.
farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week
uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like
farrahfawcettspray: Death
or
uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today
farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me
uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me
you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.
it was weird.
because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.
you mentally ran through people at school constantly.
who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?
who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?
who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?
that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.
uptowngirl: you are literally a child
farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg
uptowngirl: from under the bed??
farrahfawcettspray: YES
uptowngirl: you’re insane
but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.
they were too personal, too strange.
you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:
yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.
or
that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.
it didn’t work like that.
maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.
just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.
still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.
didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.
but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.
you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.
you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”
you knew him.
just not who he actually was.
just not who he…
was.
yeah.
oops.
-
one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.
between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.
not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.
your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.
almost immediately, your brain went:
check the computer.
which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.
the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.
you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.
your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.
farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today
then, sent hours later:
farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd
you smiled automatically.
god.
you typed back quickly.
uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night
uptowngirl: what happened??
the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.
farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open
uptowngirl: okay?
farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed
you burst out laughing alone in your room.
actually laughing.
uptowngirl: you’re lying
farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this
uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN
uptowngirl: no they can’t
farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed
uptowngirl: maybe it walked in
farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??
uptowngirl: good point
farrahfawcettspray: Thank you
for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.
eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.
god, he was stupid.
the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.
and immediately after that came another thought.
was he?
you frowned slightly at the screen.
because really you didn’t know.
you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.
you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.
feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.
-
more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.
somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.
you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.
sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.
because what even was he?
some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?
it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.
still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.
and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.
not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.
tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.
farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?
you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.
uptowngirl: why
farrahfawcettspray: Curious
uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious
farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion
you snorted.
another time
uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?
farrahfawcettspray: Nice try
you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
it became a game after a while.
you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.
but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?
what if you disappointed him?
or worse what if he disappointed you?
it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.
-
today had felt normal at first.
cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.
“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”
the entire school groaned collectively.
you slumped back in your seat.
“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.
the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.
“i’ll keep this brief” he started.
already a lie.
you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.
“the speak up! program-”
your head lifted.
“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”
your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you muttered under your breath.
around you, barely anyone reacted.
a few students laughed.
someone yelled “finally.”
principal higgins kept rambling.
“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”
your friends looked entirely unbothered.
“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.
“seriously who even used it?”
you forced out a little laugh along with them.
but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?
would he even want to?
“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.
four weeks.
shit.
-
that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.
you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.
the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.
the second you logged in, you opened your messages.
then typed quickly:
uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that
you leaned back slightly.
uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down
farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing
uptowngirl: exactly
then after a second:
uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore
he replied immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago
you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.
the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.
that was it.
when it’s over, it’s over.
simple.
or at least that’s what you told yourselves.
and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.
-
the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.
tommy.
carol.
steve.
you tried ignoring them.
really, you did.
but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”
carol snorted immediately.
you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.
your expression soured.
same old shit.
steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.
still, he laughed.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking.
honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.
-
that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.
without names, obviously.
uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve
there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.
farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?
you blinked slightly at the screen.
that felt random.
uptowngirl: how so
another pause.
farrahfawcettspray: Like in general
your brows furrowed.
uptowngirl: not all the time
uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly
there was a moment before the reply came through.
farrahfawcettspray: Oh
you sat up a little straighter.
uptowngirl: is it all your friends?
farrahfawcettspray: Kinda
you frowned.
uptowngirl: then make new ones
almost instantly:
farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy
you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.
he was right, you guessed.
maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.
you knew people like that.
still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.
-
a week passed.
three weeks left.
three weeks until the website disappeared.
three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.
you tried not to think about it too much.
failed miserably.
that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?
your heartbeat stumbled slightly.
you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.
uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over
uptowngirl: why does it matter?
his response came faster than usual.
farrahfawcettspray: Screw that
you swallowed.
uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?
another pause.
longer this time.
then
farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?
you froze.
because honestly?
you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.
what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?
what if meeting ruined whatever this was?
you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:
uptowngirl: i don’t know
for once, he didn’t joke.
didn’t tease you.
just
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.
then another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?
you frowned slightly.
uptowngirl: how
there was a pause before his answer came through.
farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?
your stomach tightened immediately.
uptowngirl: yeah
farrahfawcettspray: We meet then
your eyes widened slightly.
farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing
farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something
farrahfawcettspray: So we know
your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.
you read the messages twice. three times.
farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever
farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives
farrahfawcettspray: Deal?
you stared at the screen.
your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.
this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.
all at once.
but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?
slowly, you typed back
uptowngirl: okay
almost immediately:
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
your heart thudded harder against your ribs.
in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.
-
the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.
every day dragged.
every night disappeared.
it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.
you were stressed constantly.
your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.
still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.
it was prom.
well.
not prom itself, the reveal.
you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.
because holy shit.
you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.
what if he saw you and regretted everything?
what if you did?
what if it got awkward instantly?
what if one of you didn’t show up at all?
you tried not to think about it.
failed miserably.
honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.
and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.
somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.
him begging for academic help.
farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out
you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.
uptowngirl: dramatic
farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future
uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared
you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.
you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.
-
when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.
after that, the teasing started.
mostly from him.
farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?
uptowngirl: not even slightly
farrahfawcettspray: Liar
uptowngirl: you wish
farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint
you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.
uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah
he immediately sent back:
farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.
still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
you were nervous. terribly so.
thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.
you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.
for awhile, things felt normal again.
easy.
you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.
it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.
at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.
-
a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.
simple, easy. less terrifying that way.
at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.
at 8:05, you’d follow after him.
that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.
you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.
-
then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.
your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.
which, honestly?
you kinda did.
the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.
almost.
prom itself was exactly what you expected.
too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.
still, it was fun enough.
you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.
then suddenly 7:58.
your stomach dropped.
7:59.
holy shit.
8:00.
you immediately looked toward the doors.
five minutes, five minutes until you met him.
for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.
but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.
probably.
another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.
seriously.
you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.
but then what?
go home? never talk to him again?
the website would probably be deleted tonight.
this was it.
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.
“you okay?”
“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”
“want me to come outside with you?”
“no!”
they blinked at your immediate response.
you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”
it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.
the walk toward the field felt endless.
seriously endless.
you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.
your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?
your heartbeat got faster with every step.
then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.
just the back of them.
but honestly?
anyone would recognize that hair.
steve harrington.
your entire body stopped.
what.
the.
fuck.
your brain completely blanked.
there was absolutely no way. no actual way.
you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.
his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.
you both stared at each other in complete shock.
then at the exact same time:
“you’re-”
you both stopped.
silence.
then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.
steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.
and honestly?
you couldn’t stop staring.
because somehow it made sense now.
the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.
oh my god.
you squinted at him suddenly.
“you don’t have a sister.”
his face immediately changed.
“…what?”
“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”
steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.
“yeah, okay, i lied.”
you stared then barked out a laugh.
“you use farrah fawcett spray?”
he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”
you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.
“okay, okay!”
his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.
god.
of course it was him.
steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.
then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.
“so…” he said slowly.
you looked back at him.
he pointed vaguely.
“uptown girl.”
you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.
you nodded once.
“…yeah.”
he huffed out another laugh.
for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.
you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.
still, eventually it got easier.
little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.
then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”
steve raised an eyebrow.
“someone like me?”
“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”
he scoffed softly, glancing away.
“fair.”
you smiled slightly.
then he looked back at you.
“didn’t expect you either.”
you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”
he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.
it made you laugh.
then suddenly he smirked.
“who says you won’t?”
you stared at him flatly.
he laughed quietly at your expression.
god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.
after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.
“i should probably head inside.”
steve nodded a little.
“yeah.”
“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”
you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.
“…friend” you finished quietly.
his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.
“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”
you started turning back toward the school.
then
“wait.”
you looked back.
steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.
“can this not be… like, the end?”
you blinked.
“huh?”
“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”
something warm twisted in your chest.
you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.
“do you have paper?”
he blinked at you.
“…obviously not.”
you rolled your eyes.
“do you at least have a pen?”
“maybe in my car.”
you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”
he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.
once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.
“ha” he said proudly.
you snorted before grabbing his wrist.
he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.
then realisation hit his face.
“oh.”
before writing anything, you paused dramatically.
“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”
steve smiled slightly.
“i’ll see what i can do-”
you gave him a look immediately.
“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”
“thank you.”
carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.
when you finished, you stepped back slightly.
then quietly, before leaving, you said
“you’re better than them, steve.”
his expression shifted immediately.
you smiled softly.
“much better.”
for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.
this one felt real.
you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.
and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.
-
walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.
the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.
which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.
one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.
“okay. what happened.”
you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”
“bullshit.”
“seriously.”
another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”
you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”
“then why do you look like that?”
“like what?”
“like you’re in love.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.
because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.
god.
if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.
yet here you were.
the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.
you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.
sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
-
somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.
the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.
actual alcohol this time.
which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.
still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.
eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.
the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.
“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.
then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.
steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.
you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.
he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.
you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.
when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.
“hey.”
“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”
“nothing.”
you stared at him.
“steve.”
“i’m serious.”
“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”
his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.
you sat beside him immediately.
for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.
then finally steve spoke quietly.
“i hope you’re right.”
you frowned slightly. “about what?”
he rubbed his palms together once before muttering
“about me being better than my friends.”
your expression softened instantly.
“what happened?”
he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”
you stayed quiet, letting him continue.
after a second he sighed again.
“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”
you immediately knew who “they” meant.
tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.
“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”
he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.
“i told them to stop.”
you looked at him carefully. “and?”
“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”
your jaw tightened immediately.
steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.
“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”
you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.
“so i left.”
he gestured vaguely around them.
“and here we are.”
you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.
you nudged his shoulder gently.
“they’ll probably get over it.”
steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”
that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.
“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”
you tilted your head. “then stop.”
“stop what?”
“being friends with them.”
he immediately gave you a look.
“you’ve literally said this before.”
“because i’m right.”
“i can’t just drop them.”
“why not?”
he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”
you snorted softly.
“weird for who?”
“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”
you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”
steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.
then silence settled again.
but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”
steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.
“c’mon, harrington.”
his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.
“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.
immediately your nose scrunched.
“gross.”
he laughed quietly.
“then i’ll come in.”
you nodded once.
“okay.”
you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that
-
break started almost immediately after prom.
suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.
and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.
at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.
which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.
sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.
you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.
you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.
sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.
one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.
it absolutely did not.
another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.
“how are you alive?”
then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”
you blinked against the phone.
“…out?”
“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”
your stomach flipped immediately.
“maybe the drive-in?”
there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.
“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”
he picked you up the next evening at six.
honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.
you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.
that made you smile more than it probably should have.
because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly
“i think i like being just steve better.”
you looked over at him softly.
then he smirked slightly.
“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”
you burst out laughing immediately.
god, you loved him.
well. not loved. probably, maybe.
okay maybe a little.
because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.
you and steve started hanging out constantly.
drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.
once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”
his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.
you’d never seen steve happier.
he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.
he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.
and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.
on your side?
you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.
absolutely not.
you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.
-
surprisingly, it did.
it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.
you already had plans with steve that night.
nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.
normal.
but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.
he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.
then he pulled into his driveway.
you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.
he still looked nervous.
your stomach tightened.
“steve?”
he swallowed once before speaking.
“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”
your expression softened immediately.
he laughed awkwardly under his breath.
“which is funny considering how we started.”
you smiled.
but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.
“and i want you to know i really like you.”
you stared at him.
“like really like you.”
he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”
your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.
“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”
“steve.”
he stopped immediately.
you laughed softly.
“i like you too.”
his eyes widened.
“…you do?”
you laughed harder now.
“obviously.”
the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.
he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.
“c’mon then.”
then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said
“close your eyes.”
you blinked. “what?”
“just trust me.”
laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.
he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.
eventually he stopped.
“okay.”
you opened your eyes and immediately melted.
the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.
“steve…”
he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.
“it’s cute” you said honestly.
“yeah yeah.”
you grinned harder.
the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.
mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.
after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.
you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
immediately his eyes opened.
before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.
and then he kissed you.
properly.
finally.
and god it was everything.
his lips were impossibly soft.
the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.
when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.
then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.
quietly, he murmured:
“i’m glad you decided to help me.”
you snorted softly against him.
“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”
he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.
eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.
and after that, everything naturally fell into place.
steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.
sometimes your people.
your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.
but steve around you was different.
and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.
