hi! can i request a VERY fluffy steve fic of him just absolutely worshipping reader and being all over her and just being a cute obsessed bf
ahhh thank you so much for sending this one in!!
i fear "cute obsessed boyfriend steve" is one of my favourite versions of him to write. i love the idea that he doesn't even realise how obvious he is, while everybody else is just forced to watch this man orbit his girlfriend twenty-four hours a day pahah 😭
also, if you like fluffy obsessed bf steve fics, check out some of my other fics! (lovers lake, don't go far, nap trap, hold this for me, right where you left me, freckles) 🫶
i really hope i did your request justice, and thank you for such a lovely prompt x
like it's instinct
Steve Harrington x reader
Summary: Everybody has accepted one simple fact: if you walk into a room, Steve Harrington won't be far behind.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, obsessed boyfriend steve harrington, so much physical touch, praise, teasing, no plot just vibes, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 3k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
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Robin notices first.
Not because Steve is being particularly obvious, but because she's spent enough years beside him to recognise the difference between habit and instinct.
Habit is grabbing his keys before leaving the house. Habit is checking the back door twice before bed, or reaching for the light switch with his elbow when both hands are full. Instinct is quieter than that. It lives beneath conscious thought. It's the tiny decisions your body makes before your brain has had chance to catch up.
Instinct is the way Steve's attention shifts every single time you enter a room.
He doesn't dramatically stop what he's doing. He doesn't lose his train of thought or stare like somebody in a romance film. It's subtler than that. Halfway through explaining something to Dustin behind the Family Video counter, his eyes lift almost imperceptibly towards the door a fraction of a second before the bell above it rings.
Then you walk in.
You're carrying two paper bags from the bakery down the road, your handbag slipping further down your shoulder as you nudge the door closed behind you with your hip.
Steve smiles.
Robin has seen Steve Harrington smile thousands of times over the years. She's seen the cocky smiles, the embarrassed smiles, the polite customer-service smiles he reserves for difficult customers, even the exhausted ones that followed too many nights spent fighting monsters.
This one is none of those.
It isn't bigger. It's softer. It settles across his face so naturally it almost looks unconscious, like the expression was already waiting for you before you'd even stepped through the door.
"...Hey."
You smile back immediately. "Hi."
"How'd it go?"
"Successful." You lift one of the paper bags slightly. "They had cinnamon swirls."
Steve looks absurdly pleased. "They did?"
"Mhm."
"I thought they'd sold out."
"They almost had."
The conversation carries on as though nothing remarkable has happened.
And that's exactly why Robin notices it.
Before you've even reached the counter, Steve reaches over without interrupting himself, lifting the strap of your handbag from your shoulder and setting it gently beside the till. He doesn't ask if you want him to. You don't thank him.
Neither of you even seems to register that it's happened.
Somewhere between your first date and now, little acts of care have stopped feeling like kindnesses.
They've simply become the shape your lives have quietly settled into.
Robin watches him continue talking to Dustin as though he'd done nothing at all.
Then, a few moments later, she watches his hand drift up again.
Your hair has started doing that thing it always does after a humid day, one stubborn strand curling across your face. Steve brushes it gently behind your ear without breaking the conversation, his fingertips lingering for barely a second before they disappear again.
You don't react.
Not because you don't like it.
Because it's so normal that neither of you thinks twice about it anymore.
Robin slowly turns towards Dustin.
He'd been watching exactly the same thing.
"...Did he just-"
"Yep."
"He literally couldn't help himself."
"Nope."
Steve finally glances over, faintly suspicious. "What?"
Robin folds her arms. "Nothing."
She nods vaguely towards Dustin. "Carry on."
Steve studies the two of them for another second before shrugging, immediately turning back towards you.
The conversation resumes.
Robin waits. "...Give it five minutes."
Dustin raises an eyebrow. "For what?"
"He'll do it again."
"You wanna bet?"
Robin doesn't even consider it. "No."
Barely thirty seconds later, you squeeze behind Steve to reach the shelves at the back of the shop.
Without looking, without thinking, he shifts sideways to make room before his hand settles lightly against the small of your back, guiding you past him with the sort of unconscious gentleness most people reserve for carrying something fragile.
Robin lets out a long sigh. "...Because I'd lose."
It isn't even that Steve is particularly affectionate.
It's that, somewhere along the way, affection stopped becoming something he consciously decided to do.
Love, you've discovered, doesn't always arrive in the form of three words.
Sometimes it looks like Steve quietly moving your favourite mug to the front of the cupboard because he knows you'll reach for it first. Sometimes it looks like him walking an extra ten minutes because one bakery makes the cinnamon swirls you like best. Sometimes it looks like the heavier shopping bag disappearing from your hand halfway through the walk home, or your favourite hoodie somehow finding its way into your wardrobe after you'd spent weeks stealing it from his.
None of those things is remarkable on their own.
Together, they become a language.
You don't remember exactly when it happened.
There wasn't a particular morning when Steve woke up and decided to memorise every tiny thing about you. He simply accumulated them. The way you always forgot to eat lunch when you were reading. Which songs you'd skip every single time they came on the radio. The fact that you unconsciously rubbed your wrists together whenever you were anxious. The tiny crease that appeared between your eyebrows whenever you were trying not to cry.
He notices everything.
Not because he's looking for things to notice.
Because, somewhere along the way, paying attention to you simply became one of the ways he moved through the world.
The sweetest moments are the ones nobody else is really supposed to hear.
You'll all be crowded around the Wheeler's dining table arguing over takeaway when Steve leans across just enough to murmur, "You eaten enough, honey?" so quietly you're not even sure anyone else heard him.
Or you'll be halfway through one of Dustin's increasingly dramatic conspiracy theories when Steve quietly asks, "You alright?" after noticing you've gone unusually quiet, his hand settling briefly against your knee beneath the table where nobody else can see.
They're never grand declarations.
Just tiny check-ins.
Little reminders that, even in a room full of people, some part of him is always listening for you.
The only problem is that Steve has absolutely no idea how loudly he speaks.
One afternoon you're all gathered in the Harringtons' living room for another movie marathon. Robin is attempting to ration the snacks with increasingly little success, Dustin is loudly complaining that nobody ever lets him pick the film, and Lucas has somehow managed to start a completely unrelated argument about whether Aliens counts as science fiction or horror.
You wander over with a bowl of popcorn, settling onto the sofa beside Steve before offering it to him.
Without taking his eyes off the television, he reaches in for a handful. "Thanks, sweetheart."
The room falls completely silent. Steve keeps watching the film. Robin slowly lowers the bag of crisps she'd been holding. Lucas bites the inside of his cheek so hard he almost hurts himself. Dustin simply stares.
Steve finally notices the silence. "...What?"
Robin points at him. "Sweetheart?"
He blinks. "...Yeah?"
"You just called her sweetheart."
"I know."
"...In front of people."
Another blink. "So?"
Robin looks genuinely lost for words. She turns to you instead. "Does he actually call you that all the time?"
You can't help smiling. "Honestly... I don't remember the last time he actually used my name."
Steve finally looks away from the television. "...That's not true."
You raise an eyebrow. "When was the last time?"
He opens his mouth. Pauses. Actually thinks about it. "...Huh."
Robin claps once. "Oh my God."
You laugh. "You call me Honey."
Steve nods. "Mhm."
"Sweetheart."
"Mhm."
"Pretty girl."
"Mhm."
"My love."
"Mhm."
"Baby."
Another nod. "Mhm."
Robin throws both hands into the air. "You are absolutely insufferable."
A faint blush creeps up Steve's neck. "I didn't realise."
"No," Robin says. "That's the worrying part."
Dustin leans forward. "Dude."
"What?"
"I think you might actually be the most down-bad person in Indiana."
Steve looks between the three of you, still appearing genuinely confused. "I've got a girlfriend."
"...Yeah."
"I like her."
The room dissolves into laughter.
Steve waits patiently for everyone to finish. Then, with complete sincerity, "...Am I missing something?"
You can't stop yourself. Still laughing, you shuffle a little closer until your shoulder brushes his, your hand finding his almost automatically. His fingers lace through yours without either of you looking down.
Robin watches the movement. She lets out a long, theatrical sigh. "...Hopeless."
Steve glances across. "For holding my girlfriend's hand?"
"No." She smiles despite herself. "For somehow making being disgustingly in love look like the most ordinary thing in the world."
Steve looks down at your joined hands. His thumb strokes once across your knuckles before he looks back up again. "...It is ordinary."
The room falls unexpectedly quiet. Not awkwardly. Just quietly.
Because that's the thing everybody keeps getting wrong.
Steve isn't trying to show you off. He isn't making some grand romantic gesture. He isn't performing for anyone.
This isn't the version of love that lives in films or Valentine's cards. It's smaller than that. Quieter.
It lives in mugs of tea and absent-minded touches. In pet names that have entirely replaced your own. In the unconscious certainty that if you're nearby, he'll somehow end up beside you without ever deciding to move.
To Steve, loving you has become so completely woven into the fabric of ordinary life that he no longer recognises it as anything unusual.
It's simply who he is.
The house is finally quiet by the time everyone leaves.
The front door clicks shut behind Dustin's endless complaints about carrying too many VHS tapes, Robin shouts something about Steve actually tidying up this time, and then, almost as suddenly as they'd all arrived, the noise disappears. Their laughter drifts down the driveway before dissolving into the familiar rumble of an engine somewhere beyond the end of the street, leaving the house wrapped in a kind of silence that only ever arrives after good company has gone home.
Steve doesn't move straight away.
He stands by the living room window for another moment, watching the last pair of taillights disappear into the darkness, one hand still loosely entwined with yours as though he'd forgotten he was holding it in the first place.
"They're never quiet when they leave," you murmur.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I think they do it on purpose."
"They definitely do."
You give his hand a gentle tug. "C'mere."
He follows without hesitation. He always does.
The kitchen still bears all the evidence of movie night: half-empty bowls of popcorn, abandoned glasses, crumpled napkins and a deck of cards that nobody had ever actually used. You begin clearing it together without discussing who'll do what, moving around one another with the effortless rhythm that only comes from years of sharing ordinary evenings.
Steve rinses the bowls while you stack the dishwasher. You wipe the worktops just as he reaches over your shoulder to put the cloth back beneath the sink. Every so often your hands meet reaching for the same thing, and one of you instinctively steps aside before the other has even realised there's something to make room for.
It no longer feels like coordinating. It feels like remembering.
Like two people who have spent so long building a life together that even the smallest routines have settled into muscle memory.
You're reaching onto your tiptoes to return the final mug to the cupboard when Steve quietly appears behind you. "Need a hand?"
"I've got it."
"I know."
His hand settles against your waist anyway. Not because he thinks you need help. Simply because you're there.
You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintly absent expression on his face, and smile. "You know they keep making fun of you for this."
His brow furrows. "For what?"
"This." You rest your own hand lightly over his where it's still sitting against your waist. "You can't seem to go more than five minutes without touching me."
He actually thinks about it. "...Can't I?"
"I don't know."
A small frown settles between his eyebrows. "...Probably not."
You laugh. "I noticed."
A faint blush begins creeping across his cheeks. "I don't really mean to."
"I know."
"I'm not trying to..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you, searching for words that never seem to come quite as easily as his actions. "I don't want you thinking I'm following you around."
"I know."
"It's just..." He trails off again. Then shrugs. "...I always want to know where you are."
There's no flourish to the sentence. No dramatic confession. He says it with exactly the same honesty he'd use to tell you he's hungry, or that it's probably going to rain tomorrow. Simple. Matter-of-fact. Entirely true.
Your chest tightens. "Why?"
He looks genuinely puzzled by the question, as though the answer should be obvious. "I don't know." He smiles a little, almost shyly. "I just..." Another shrug. "...I like being wherever you are."
For a moment neither of you says anything.
The clock above the stove ticks softly in the background. Somewhere outside, a car passes at the end of the street.
You think about all the times you've caught him doing exactly that. Wandering into the garden because you'd gone out to water the flowers. Appearing in the kitchen moments after you'd decided to make tea. Sitting beside you on the sofa despite there being six perfectly empty seats elsewhere in the room. None of it calculated. None of it deliberate. Just Steve.
"So," you say eventually, slipping your fingers through his, "Robin's right."
He groans immediately. "Oh, don't encourage her."
"You crossed the entire kitchen because I opened one cupboard."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I..." His eyes drift down between the two of you for the first time, only now seeming to notice how close he's standing. "...Huh."
You can't help smiling. "Huh?"
"I really did."
"You really did."
He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed now. "I swear I'm not trying to be weird."
"Weird?"
"I just..." He laughs quietly through his nose. "Sometimes I look up and somehow I've ended up next to you again."
The words make something warm unfurl inside your chest. Because he's right. You've noticed it too. Not just tonight. Always. It's almost impossible to remember a room where Steve hadn't eventually found his way beside you, as naturally as water finding its level.
You reach up and smooth an unruly strand of hair back from his forehead. "Steve."
"Hm?"
"I have never once wished you were further away."
His eyes flutter closed almost instantly. Such a tiny touch. Barely the brush of your fingertips through his hair. Yet he leans into it with the quiet contentment of someone who's finally stopped pretending they don't need to be looked after too.
"I like it when you do that," he admits.
"I know. I like it when you do it too. You always play with my hair when you think I'm tired."
"I know."
"You rub my back when I'm stressed."
"Yeah."
"You kiss my forehead whenever I'm overthinking."
"I know." His eyes open again. "You notice all that?"
You laugh softly. "Steve." Your thumb traces gently across his cheek. "I notice everything."
You notice the way he checks the locks twice before bed after a difficult week. The way he automatically reaches for your hand in crowded places without ever looking. The tiny crease between his eyebrows whenever he thinks everyone else is relying on him too much. The way he relaxes, almost imperceptibly, whenever you touch his hair. You notice the way he pretends he's not tired because everyone else is. The way he instinctively gives away the last slice of pizza. The way he apologises when somebody else bumps into him.
You notice him because you've spent years loving him.
Just as he's spent years loving you.
He looks at you for a long moment, something impossibly tender settling across his features. "I don't know why everyone keeps laughing."
"They think you're attached at my hip."
"They do."
"They're not wrong."
He smiles sheepishly. "I just..." Another pause. "...You're my favourite place."
The words leave him so quietly you almost think you'd imagined them. No rehearsed speech. No perfect line. Just the truth.
"I spend all day wanting to tell you things," he continues, almost laughing at himself now. "If Robin says something ridiculous, I want to tell you. If Dustin does something stupid, I want you to see it. If something good happens, you're the first person I think about. If something bad happens..." He shrugs. "...I still want you."
His fingers tighten gently around yours. "So I guess..." He smiles. "...I just end up wherever you are."
Your vision blurs before you even realise your eyes have filled. "You make it very difficult not to fall in love with you every single day."
His expression softens. "You still do?"
You laugh. "Steve."
"I know we've been together a long time."
"I know."
"I just..." He looks almost bashful. "I hope you still do."
Your answer is a kiss. Slow. Unhurried. The sort of kiss that has nothing left to prove.
When you finally pull away, his forehead settles against yours once more, his hand finding yours again without either of you acknowledging the movement.
Neither of you comments on it. Neither of you needs to.
For Steve Harrington, love has long since stopped being something he says.
It's the way he reaches for your hand without thinking. The way he unconsciously ends up beside you in every room. The way every ordinary day bends itself around one quiet certainty:
I feel like simply calling JK Rowling a transphobe isn't strong enough anymore. Like. This is not your grandpa calling you by your deadname at a restaurant kind of transphobic. This is her wanting to eradicate all trans people (with an extra special hatred towards trans women specifically). This is her trying just that by personally funding transphobic hate groups with millions to push around laws in the UK. It is not hyperbolic to call her a dangerous, genocidal maniac.
It's not about cancelling a problematic writer. It's about literally trying to save lives by denying her as much money and power as possible.
Steve Harrigton needs a date to his cousin's wedding and unfortunately for you, you owe your sister a favour.
pairing: steve harrington x mayfield!reader
words: 8.5k
contains: fluff, frenemies to lovers, (sort of) fake date, mention of precious king!steve behaviour, steve’s dad being a little awful, grief, guilt, mention of death of a sibling, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
author's note: ah so this one was so fun to write! i have never written a wedding guest fic before and oh, i just loved it! please enjoy
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Steve Harrington could not believe his luck—or lack thereof.
The day before cousin’s wedding, Juliet had called Family Video to cancel on him and so, Steve had naturally begun to panic.
He knew how much the wedding was costing his aunt Edith—the only family member who he actually really liked—and so he knew how a last minute cancellation like this would stress her and his cousin Daisy out. Especially as he had already begged his aunt to allow him to bring Juliet with him in the first place.
He had called Robin but she was unfortunately sick with the flu. He had called his last ten dates but they were all either busy or flatly refused to go out with him again. He had even debated asking Nancy but shook the thought, she was his ex-girlfriend after all.
“Wow,” Max Mayfield grins in mild amusement as Steve rattles off the list of girls he had asked to be his emergency plus one. “You really need to find a hobby.”
Dustin—who had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the party’s weekly movie night—laughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.
“I’ll just go alone,” Steve grumbles against his arm. “I’ll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding and—”
“What about Max’s sister?”
Steve can’t help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.
He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.
“What’s wrong with my sister, Harrington?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s ears turn red.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problem—
“Nothing!” Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely nothing! She just—”
“Hates his guts?” Dustin offers.
Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Max insists. “She just—she just thinks you’re an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.”
Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billy’s family—and by extension your family—’trash’. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didn’t take them back. He didn’t apologise.
He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byers’ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didn’t buy it. You had made it very clear that you didn’t want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood why—you were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.
And so, Steve wasn’t exactly convinced by Max’s insistence that you didn’t hate him.
“There is no way she’ll go with me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. “She hates—”
“—she will,” Max says with a knowing smile. “She owes me a favour.”
Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout ‘April Fools!’.
When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.
“What for?”
“She broke my skateboard,” Max explains. “I was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.”
Dustin laughs and the corner of Max’s mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.
“Gee, thanks Max,” Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. “But I really don’t think she’ll agree.”
And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one.
Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
Of course—it was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they weren’t fourteen.
“We’re closing in—”
“—in five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.”
Steve’s stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. “Robin has the flu if that’s what you—”
“—I’m here to see you,” you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steve’s hand before you look back up at his face. “Max told me about your—your plus one situation.”
“Oh,” Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. “Yeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. She’s cat sitting or something so can’t um, make it.”
You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you don’t, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. “I’ll do it.”
The bopper in Steve’s hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.
“Seriously?” He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. “You—you’re not—this isn’t a prank, right?”
You frown slightly. “Why would I do that?”
Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him.
“I—I dunno—I just—you know this is a wedding, right?” Steve asks you. “Like I’ll be in a suit and you’d wear—”
“—a dress,” you finish. “I know, Max told me. I have a dress if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. “I’m not worried about that, it's just—are you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this wedding—with me?”
You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.
“Yes, Harrington,” you say finally. “As a favour to Max, I’ll go to this wedding with you.”
Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or that you weren’t going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasn’t a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much. This means a lot. My family are—yeah—this is just, it’s really great of you to—”
“—but I’m not dancing with you,” you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. “Or doing anything remotely touchy feely. I’m just your plus one. That’s it. That’s all I’ll be.”
“That’s fine!” Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. “Makes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Ju—just my plus one.”
You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. “Good. Glad we got that covered,” you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.
“You know you need to pay for th—”
“See you tomorrow, Harrington,” you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.
“Could you sit still? Just for two minutes?”
“Is this really necessary?”
Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.
You huff but you don’t question her further.
You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morning—the time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour away—you found that you were starting to feel nervous.
The pale green satin dress you were wearing—the one you had been saving for Max’s graduation—hugged your body in a way that you weren’t used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didn’t exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing you’d be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.
“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. “I mean—I could say I got the flu from Robin or—”
“—absolutely not,” Max snaps at you. “Just give him a chance? Alright? He’s not the asshole he was in high school.”
You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you don’t respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldn’t allow yourself to believe it.
By some miracle, you were ready just before ten o’clock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.
“Still wanna back out?” You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your mom’s nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.
You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach.
“No,” you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. “I made a promise so I should stick to it.”
Max looks at you before she smiles. “You look really pretty, by the way.”
Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your mom’s purse from her hands. “Not bad for a last minute wedding.”
The corner of Max’s mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. “You promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?”
“Max—”
Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. “I’m serious. I want you two to get along. You’re important to me, he’s important to me.”
You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.
“Just don’t—don’t tell him I said that,” Max adds.
You fight back a smile. “I won’t.”
It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.
“You look great,” your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile back—not entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steve—the guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steve—the guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.
You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.
“—is the tie the right colour?” You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. “‘Pale green’ was right of vague, I had to—”
“—you don’t need to match with her dress, it’s not prom, Steve—”
“—but I thought—”
You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.
In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.
He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steve—really look at him—and admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearing—the tie of which almost perfectly matched your dress—he looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.
The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.
“You’re late,” you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesn’t give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. “You know it’s rude to show up after the bride?”
Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.
“It was the tie! And there was some construction near the—”
“—still. You’re late.”
Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained.
“Ready to go?” Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.
You nod, opening your mom’s purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. “Yeah. Ready to—”
“—wait!” Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. “Let me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.”
Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.
The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey.
It dawned on you that you hadn’t ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But now—you face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.
One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.
“Do you have to hum while listening to music?” You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.
You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.
“It’s my car,” Steve points out. “I can hum in my car if I want.”
You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that you’d try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip.
Baby steps.
But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.
“Are you ready for this?” Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.
You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.
“Yeah,” you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steve’s hand moves to open the door, you add, “it’s just—I’m not—I’m not great with family.”
Steve’s hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. “That makes two of us,” Steve tells you. “So don’t worry. My parents hate everyone. Just don’t take it personally and you’ll be fine.”
You almost laugh. Almost.
To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.
As you walk by throngs of Steve’s relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of who’s who while you try to keep up.”
“That’s my uncle Simon,” Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. “Been married like three times. Doesn’t seem to understand what monogamy is.”
You bit back a laugh.
“That’s my great aunt Sara—”
“—great aunt?” You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. “Are you sure she’s—”
“—she had a face lift,” Steve explains and you nod slowly. “Well, we all suspect she’s had a face lift. She’s never actually said. She just keeps saying it’s because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.”
Another laugh you had to fight back.
Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.
“And this,” he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. “Is my aunt Edith. She’s a bit much but—”
“Stevie! Oh, look at you!”
You watch in fascination as Steve Harrington—the guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three years—turns bright red.
“Edith—”
“—what?” Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. “Is it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?”
Steve doesn’t respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesn’t tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Steve, is this your—”
“—friend,” Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. “Just a friend.”
In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.
“And a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,” Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. “I’m only teasing him, honey. Don’t look so worried.”
You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. “No, go ahead. Tease away. I didn’t know he could turn that shade of red.”
Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle.
“Oh, I like her already.”
The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you can’t help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You can’t blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.
But Edith doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate.
“You two should probably head inside,” Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. “Or you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.”
You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.
“Sorry about Edith,” Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. “She’s really—”
“—she was lovely,” you tell Steve. “Really. She wasn’t too much at all.”
Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.
You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.
“By the way,” Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. “I forgot to say earlier but you look—”
But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.
As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a church—albiet, nowhere near as extravagant as this—had been at Billy’s funeral.
Despite the fact you hadn’t been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billy’s death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billy’s death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billy’s death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didn’t, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Max’s life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.
But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billy’s death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billy’s name—was that, try as you might, you couldn’t protect Max from everything.
And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.
After the ceremony—of which, you remember very little—you and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still weren’t so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.
Though he wasn’t saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didn’t even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.
“Okay,” Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Did I do something or—”
You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time.
“I haven’t—I haven’t been in a church since—” you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steve’s smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.
You miss how Steve’s eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.
“Oh,” he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry. I—”
“—it’s okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. “I’m okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.”
Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasn’t going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you weren’t going to get away that easily.
“—I know I’m not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me about—”
“—Steven! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
You watch as Steve’s face almost completely drains of colour.
“Fuck,” Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a couple—who were undoubtedly his parents—striding towards to two of you. “Okay. It’s just my parent’s. It’s just my—”
“—oh, you must be Steven’s girlfriend!” Steve’s mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you don’t even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steve’s girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.
That son of a—
“He had told us you were pretty but I don’t think you’d be—”
“—mom,” Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didn’t care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.
Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steve’s parents didn’t let your name pass without acknowledgement.
“Oh dear,” his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. “I thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?”
You don’t trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.
“We’re terribly sorry for your loss,” his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. “Awful accident.”
You smile in acknowledgement but you aren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunately—or unfortunately—for you, Steve’s father continues talking.
“And for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all places—it must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!”
You swallow. It had been awful but you didn’t think much of Danny Harrington’s tone—of the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your mom—even if she had started drinking to cope—and a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.
But before you could tell Steve’s father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.
“Dad, let’s not—let’s not go there, okay?” Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.
Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his son’s words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.
“Very well,” he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy the evening, both of you.”
The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.
You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. “That was—”
“—I’m really sorry,” Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. “For making them think that you’re my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didn’t know what to say—”
“—Steve, it’s—”
“—and I’m sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didn’t need me to—you know. I just—my dad he just—I couldn’t—I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that. Like he—”
“—Harrington.”
Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.
“It’s okay,” you tell him gently. “I—I appreciate it. Really. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you weren’t lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you weren’t used to around him.
“Okay,” Steve says with a grateful smile. “Okay. That—that’s good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.”
“No,” you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. “But the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.”
Steve can’t help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.
Baby steps.
He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.
“Yeah?” you reply in a voice that you hope doesn’t give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.
“I wanted to—I forgot to say this earlier,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didn’t think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. “I think—you just—you look beautiful, Mayfield.”
You weren’t entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.
“You look pretty good yourself, Steve,” you say with a small, barely there smile.
Steve blinks and then—
“You just called me Steve,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
You shrug, you pretend it wasn’t a big deal.
Baby steps.
It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.
You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.
“Please Steve!” the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. “Just one more!”
“Later,” Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. “Later, I promise!”
You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.
“What are you smiling at?” He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.
“Nothing,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth of your cheeks. “Just—you’re really good with kids.”
Even the colourful disco lights couldn’t conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Steve murmurs. “Kids are much easier when there’s no Upside Down involved.”
You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.
It’s quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steve’s fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You can’t help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.
“You want another drink?” Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. “I can get you another—”
“—do you want to dance?”
The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away and—
“Yes,” Steve says quietly and with a nod. “I’d love to.”
You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.
“I’ll be a gentleman,” Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. “Promise.”
The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, “or are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?”
You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.
“No,” you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steve’s mouth to twitch. “Course not, Harrington.”
“Oh? Are we back to Harrington, now?” Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. “What did I do? I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.”
It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him.
Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. “Misson accomplished.”
There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldn’t move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.
“Mayfield, I—”
“—Steve!”
It was the voice of his younger cousins’, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.
“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. “I’ll um, I’ll go get another drink while you—”
You gesture towards his younger cousins’ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steve’s attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldn’t deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight.
You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousins’ easily.
“He’s always been great like that with kids.”
The sound of Steve’s Aunt Edith’s voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steve’s beer.
“Sorry honey,” she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her.
“It’s okay,” you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steve’s parents, Aunt Edith didn’t make you feel even remotely nervous. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Becuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?” She offers with a wry smile.
Your face warms but you don’t even try to deny it.
“You know, I’ve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,” she tells you.
You couldn’t stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“I’m just saying,” she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, “that I think, as his favourite auntie, that you’d be pretty grear together.”
You weren’t quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.
Edith’s words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billy’s funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.
“You’re looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.”
The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.
“Just thinking,” you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. “Here’s another beer, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. “Need it after running around with those kids, I’m too old for this shit.”
You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. “You’re twenty one, Steve.”
“Twenty one going on seventy.”
You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.
“I know you just got us some drinks,” Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. “But I really want to dance with my date.”
The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.
“Plus one,” you correct him, biting back a smile.
“Synmatics,” he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. “Dance with me, Mayfield.”
There was no other answer but yes.
You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.
“Ever thought that you’d be slow dancing with me?” He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away.
“Not even in my wildest dreams,” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. “But—I think today may have helped me change my mind about you.”
“Yeah?” He asks with a hopeful smile. “Or maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?”
You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didn’t hurt.
“Something like that.”
You and Steve didn’t leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didn’t leave Steve’s arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their droves—the bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.
“You wanna head back?” Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.
“Not really,” you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. “But I think we’re about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.”
Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steve’s eyes as he looks back at you.
“C’mon,” he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. “Let’s go for a walk.”
You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steve’s hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.
“I really thought you weren’t going to say yes, by the way,” Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. “To be my plus one, I mean.”
“I owed Max a favour,” you tell him. “Broke her skateboard. By accident.”
“She mentioned that,” Steve smiles fondly. “I think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.”
You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. “Twenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonight—I have to admit, it’s been pretty good.”
“Just good?” Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile.
“No, much better than pretty good,” you say. “Maybe something closer to…pretty incredible.”
“What? Me or the wedding?” Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.
“Undecided,” you tell with a whisper of a smile.
Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steve’s eyes remain on you, thought you don’t see it—on the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Max’s skateboard.
“For the record, I’m really glad you said yes,” Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.
“Me too,” you admit. “I um—it made me realise how silly I was—for um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.”
Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didn’t matter but you continued talking before he could do so.
“I think I’ve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I just—I’m her big sister, you know? And—I get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I just—I struggled to let go of what you said.”
“Because it was cruel what I said,” Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. “It was cruel and stupid and I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.”
“I know and—”
“—and if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand and—”
“—Steve!”
“Yeah?”
You smile, shake your head and say, “I don’t want to go back to ‘normal’ after this.”
“Then what do you want?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.
You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, “another dance?”
Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.
“You did,” you whisper back with a barely contained smile.
“Well, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thought—fuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.”
Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.
“Because I’m annoying?” You offer with a teasing smile.
“No,” Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. That’s why.”
Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steve’s mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasn’t a dream—that Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.
And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.
“Then kiss me, before I change my mind.”
Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.
“As you wish,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.
You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.
“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. “You’re gonna ruin me, Mayfield.”
You don’t know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.
“So much for keeping my hands to myself,” Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and can’t help yourself—you pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sister’s skateboard.
Roommate Steve walking around shirtless bc it’s summer & it’s hot! So you retaliate by walking around in a bikini top that makes your boobs look fantastic and denim shorts that have your bum peaking out the bottoms <333 Steve trying to hide his boner etc etc
hot in here | steve harrington
18+ smut!! steve fantasying about reader, roommate au, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader.
wc: 942
𑣲 the roommate collection
Steve Harrington was beginning to piss you off. Not because he was a bad roommate because of course, he was the best roommate that you could have possibly asked for. He always cleaned up after himself, he did his fair share of cooking, cleaning and he never left an empty milk cartoon in the fridge like your last roommate had.
But what was beginning to piss you off about Steve? It was the fact he hadn’t worn a shirt all fucking week.
You can’t exactly blame him, not really. Your AC had stopped working just before the heatwave had hit and there was no escape from the sweltering heat. You had bought a fan but all that it seemed to do was blow hot air around the living room. And the heat itself? It was unforgiving. The only thing worse than the heat itself was the torture of seeing your stupidly hot roommate without a shirt everyday.
You told yourself that it was fine. That you could deal with it. That seeing Steve shirtless all the time was just a nice treat. But then he came back to the apartment after washing his car one Saturday afternoon—soaking wet, water dripping down from the hair that covered his chest and looking like a fucking god and you had finally decided that enough was enough.
“Hey Steve,” you greet him that evening, your tone causal as you slip by him lounging on the couch on your way to the kitchen.
“Hey, you. Wanna order some—wow.”
You try not to smile as open one of the cupboards and you lean up to grab a glass. Your body stretches as you stand on the tips of your toes, which exposes a peak of your ass cheeks for him to view. You hum to yourself, turning around just in time to catch the look on his face when he notices that you weren’t just wearing some too short denim shorts but you were also wearing a cherry red gingham bikini top. One that made your tits looked fantastic, hugging your breasts just right.
Steve’s mouth suddenly felt awfully dry, eyes on your tits as you turn on the tap and fill up your glass with cold water.
“Order, what?” You ask him, head tilting to the side as you wait for his response, your stomach coiling at the sight of his wet, parted lips, at his eyes on you.
“Um,” Steve looks as though he’s forgotten how to string a sentence together, as though he’s forgotten how to even speak English as he looks you. “I was thinking um, Chinese or—”
But once again words fail him as you spill a tiny amount of water down your chest.
“Oops,” you say with a small smile as you smear the cold liquid over your cleavage in a poor attempt to wipe it away. “Sorry, what were you saying, Steve?”
Steve feels his cock thicken beneath his shorts as he shamelessly watches your tits jiggle when you attempt to wipe away the water. The moment he realises that his shorts were suddenly a little too tight, Steve grabbed a nearby pillow and tried his very best to act natural.
Not now, not now—
“I um,” Steve begins, his throat feeling tight as he notices how the spilled water had made your cleavage all wet, mixing with the sweat already collected there. The sight made him feel even more horny than he already was. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He was getting hard over a bit of water and your sweat now?
All he wanted to do was lick between your breasts, pull that stupid fucking bikini top down and let his tongue play with one of your taunt nipples that he could see quite clearly through the material. Maybe then he’d slip his hand beneath your shorts too, see how fucking wet you were for him. The thought of plunging his fingers deep inside of you, of how fucking warm you’d be makes Steve press his hips upwards, seeking some friction from the sofa cushion like some fucking desperate teenager. “Ju—just um—just that I—think we should—get some Chinese food for—for dinner.”
The amount of effort it had taken him to string that sentence together had been great, especially as you leaned over the counter and Steve got another incredible view of your ass cheeks. His cock twitches as he can’t help but imagine the sounds his balls wound make slapping against your ass as he fucked you over the kitchen counter, imagined the noises you would make when he reached down and circled your clit with his—
“Steve?”
“Huh?”
Steve was dazed, genuinely. He had been so lost in his thoughts about you that he hadn’t even noticed you had been talking to him.
“Sorry, I just—I think this heat is really getting to me. What did you say?”
You smile kindly and Steve swears he gets even harder because you were so fucking sweet and yet so fucking hot that your kindness just made him lose his fucking mind.
“I said I’d love a Chinese,” you tell him, setting down your glass of water and grabbing the takeout menu from one of your kitchen drawers. “Same as usual?”
Steve swallows and nods, adjusting the pillow over his lap so that you didn’t see just how hard those little shorts and the fucking bikini top you were wearing had made him.
“Yeah, same as usual.”
You smile again and walk towards the phone, patting his arm as you pass by and making Steve nearly moan at the contact.
mini series, in which you experience five different dates with Steve Harrington • online dating app AU •
date one: the wall
navigation • previous chapter • next chapter
summary: you never believed in the magic of dating apps, but what happens when the algorithm introduces you to a particularly attractive man, who also has a great personality...and other fine qualities?
content warnings: fem!reader, no y/n used. sexual themes (f!masturbation, erection, talking about sex in general). making out. we get to know our characters a little bit more (dialogue heavy). very anxious and slightly insecure reader. mentions of cheating and bad parenting. this one is fluffy with slight angst?...get prepared for the nasty shit next chapter
a/n: back from vacation and i finally have access to my computer, hallelujah! this one is mid but it hopefully gets better
In your twenty-seven years of life, you've been to a lot of dates.
Good ones, bad ones, the horrendous ones.
You always considered yourself decent at flirting, and never really stressed before any of your dates.
But the days leading up to your meeting with Steve? You acted insane.
"Or do you think I should like, go shopping?" you asked, the face of your best friend staring at you through the screen.
"For what?" she replied, adjusting her glasses at another one of your questions.
You shrugged, feigning your nonchalance. "New dress. Maybe new shoes."
"So..." she exhaled, tiredness slipping into her tone. "You're going on a date with a guy you really like, and what I'm gathering is that he likes you too, so you suddenly decide to change everything about yourself?"
You just blinked at her, unable to respond.
You were acting dumb, you knew you were.
"Let me summarize all of our conversation then." she continued, her finger pointing at you through the screen. "No, you don't need to get your hair done, you don't need new manicure or clothes. You don't have to...manufacture yourself just to meet this man. Sure, you can make yourself look good but I can obviously see what's happening here."
You pouted and hid your face in your hands, screaming internally.
Of course you didn't need to do any of that, you didn't even want it. You were perfectly fine with clothes that you already owned, and getting your hair done was just simply unnecessary. You could work with what you already had.
But fuck, you were so nervous and eager to impress him that you've lost yourself in all of this.
"You think he's freaking out like this too?" she added, a smile creeping onto her face. "Because I had dates with guys who barely even washed their asses before meeting up."
You laughed, a small amount of stress slipping from your mind.
"Hopefully he isn't. Freaking out, I mean. Not...the other part."
"Just be yourself, babe. He obviously already thinks you're great, otherwise he wouldn't ask you out."
She smiled softly, and you smiled back, her warm voice filling the space one more time.
"Don't think you're not enough, especially because of a man. I won't let that happen again."
And just like that, she made those voices in your head a little bit quieter.
Seeing him for the first time was almost like an out of body experience.
You knew that he was handsome from the pictures, but actually being close to him? It was almost unfair for a man to look this good.
Well, fuck. You were definitely nervous now.
When he saw you approaching, he stood up from his chair, all tall and handsome. His dress shirt was ironed to perfection, silver cuffs shining under the warm lights of the restaurant. You could see some of his chest hair peeking out from where he left the top unbuttoned, and fuck, it kinda made you dizzy.
"Hi, gorgeous." he started, carefully sizing you up and down too. "I didn't know it was possible for you to look even better than in those photos, but wow."
And it was genuine, the way his eyes couldn't seem to focus on one thing, jumping from your eyes to your lips, then your neck, the top of your breasts (that you didn't purposefully push up even more), your legs, and even hands.
He was actually stunned, and likewise.
"I could say the same thing about you." you admitted, feigning confidence, though your throat suddenly felt dry.
Before you could register it, he pulled your chair from the table, gesturing for you to sit. When you did, he swiftly pushed it forward, like you and the big wooden piece weighed nothing.
"That's a first." you murmured, getting comfortable as he went to his side, sitting opposite from you.
"What is?"
"Someone doing that for me. It's very...gentlemanly..."
His brows furrowed in worry. "I didn't mean it like– I know you're capable–" his cheeks reddened, trying to get the right words out. "Was that too old -fashioned?"
You giggled, shaking your head. "No, not at all. It was actually really nice. Don't worry too much."
He visibly relaxed, a small smile forming on his lips.
"So you can tell that I'm really fucking nervous?"
"I wouldn't say that. Maybe just...mildly anxious."
"Well..." he started, leaning towards you across the table as if to tell you a secret. "You still make me really fucking nervous."
It was hard to believe that a man like him could feel nervous about you, but you didn't get to investigate his worries further—a waiter appeared by your side, ready to help and take your orders.
As Steve recited them back to him, you let your eyes wander a little.
Steve had a few rings on his fingers, and for a moment, you genuinely got scared. Your first (dumb) instinct was to assume that he had a secret wife all along, until you inspected them carefully—none on his ring finger, none actually indicating that he was married.
"I just like wearing them." he said, pulling you away from your thoughts.
You looked at him, embarrassed, realizing that your waiter probably left some time ago.
"So much for my secret investigation." you sighed, covering your face with your hands.
"You looked at my rings like they personally offended you." he laughed, taking your hands into his own to make you stop hiding, warmth spreading onto you as you actually felt his touch. "Figured what you're thinking about."
"Sorry...that's kinda unfair of me to assume that."
"It's not unfair at all, dating can be a nightmare." he shrugged. "People hiding their marriages just to get with someone new is more common than you'd think."
"Yeah, I mean...it's like an even more messy way of cheating." you laughed, though there was no actual humor beneath your words.
"Well, pinky promise that I'm not married." he said, intertwining your fingers together. You didn't even realize that he was still holding you, your joined hands proudly displayed on the table.
You felt that weird feeling in your stomach, like your insides were doing cartwheels without any prior warning.
"So, Steve–" you decided to change the subject, thought made no effort to free yourself from his hold. "What got you into online dating?"
He smiled, fingers absentmindedly moving over your skin, like the motion soothed something in him.
"It helps with meeting people you normally wouldn't even get to know...Maybe it's naive, but I really want to fall in love. I want to find my person and do all the things that I didn't get to see my parents doing. I want to actually be happy in my marriage, to have someone who will be there for me, always and no matter what."
You met his glance, vulnerable and so impossibly soft, your thumb grazing his skin now.
"Are your parents divorced?"
"Worse, they're still together." he scoffed, as if the words burned him. "They lived their whole lives treating me like shit or acting like I didn't exist, all while pretending that they wanted to be near each other. I know they hate being in that marriage, and I'm a direct victim of that."
It was heartbreaking, hearing that Steve lived all his childhood without any care, without the warmth and support that parents are supposed to give.
"Thank you for telling me." you said, sending him a soft smile. "I can only imagine how hard it must've been."
"It's better now, I don't really talk to them anymore." he shrugged. "But what about you? What made you download the app?"
"Well...I want to fall in love too, though my reasons come from the opposite side."
Steve nodded, focusing on your words. He looked genuinely interested in what you were saying—something you haven't experienced in a while now.
"My parents are still married, and I could feel their love my whole life. I grew up surrounded by it, never once did I think otherwise." you continued, smiling softly at the memories. "They're disgustingly in love. Every single time I visit they're trying to be sneaky, stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothings to each other like some teenage couple, and I just pretend that I don't notice."
"They sound great." he said gently.
You nodded, playing with one of the rings on his finger. "They are. It's just that...They made me believe that it's possible, you know? Finding that one true love, someone just right for you. But I think I'm starting to lose hope for that."
"That's why you made that profile? It's like a last resort?"
"I always thought that love comes to you only in...real life, I guess." you said, laughing a little. "Not through an app, not because of an algorithm."
"I feel another "but" coming." he said, encouraging you to speak.
"But...real life love has been a bitch to me, so I gave that app a chance."
It went quiet for a moment. Steve gave you space to continue, but he quickly noticed that the rest of this conversation was not happening today.
But it was fine—you didn't have to bare yourself completely just yet.
"I'm glad you gave it a chance, then." he said, looking into your eyes with softness that you haven't seen before.
"And I'm glad that you've taken something positive from all that you went through. Finding love is a nice dream to have."
He smiled, that genuine smile where all of his teeth show and cheeks get full, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"And I assume you're willing to help?"
Did the room get hotter? Or was it just him and his perfect fucking smile? Perhaps his smooth words and tone? Hard to pinpoint, but it was making you melt into that chair like a damn ice cube.
"I'm just kidding." he continued, seeing how speechless he made you. "Unless the answer is "yes", then I wasn't kidding at all."
You laughed, body relaxing from all the tension.
It wasn't like you didn't want that. Of course you wanted to fall in love, and especially with Steve if he continued to be so great to you.
But thinking of admitting that to him, especially on your first real date, was undoubtedly scary. It could wait until you were sure, until you knew that falling for him wouldn't be a risk.
"Guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"I can work with that."
The rest of your dinner was fucking amazing. Conversation was flowing, just like the champagne you ordered, and you found yourself laughing and smiling more than usual. Way more than usual.
Your chin rested on top of your hand as you listened to another one of Steve's stories, his shoulder brushing softly against yours. Sitting on opposite sides was forgotten about halfway through your date—Steve moved his chair next to yours under the pretense of "hearing you better".
You didn't mind though, you liked having him close like this, being able to count all the little moles on his stupidly pretty face.
"Sailor suits? Really?" you smiled, the image of younger Steve serving ice cream in a goofy uniform flooding your mind. "You probably looked like a dork."
He flashed you a grin, intertwining your hands together and resting them on his thigh. It felt good, and by this point it felt natural too.
"Actually, a lot of ladies thought I looked sexy. Desirable, even."
And you laughed even more, but somehow you knew that it was the truth. Steve just had that charisma, that magnetic beauty that made you weak in the knees.
"Shame I didn't get to see it then."
"I kinda...still have it in my closet."
You gasped, playfully slapping at his hand, pretending to be offended. "How dare you hide that gem from me? You'll show me, right?"
He smiled, granting a quick kiss to the back of your hand, your heart running laps at this endearing gesture.
"Guess we'll just have to wait and see."
Well, fuck.
When you left the restaurant, he insisted that he'd walk you home. You didn't protest, wouldn't even dream of it.
You walked through the streets of New York, hand in hand, laughing and joking like you knew each other for years now. It definitely felt like it.
When you reached your house you were happy to just say goodbye, but Steve had it all planned hours ago.
He came closer, the scent of his cologne filling the space, mixing with your own perfume. You inhaled deeply and he did just the same, almost basking in the feeling. Both of you combined—the real testimony of your closeness.
And finally, when his arms hugged your waist, he kissed you.
It was sweet, careful—your lips getting used to the new feeling, the feeling of each other. He tasted sweet, like the dessert you just shared, and you found yourself thinking that one taste is just not enough.
He broke the kiss, his eyes immediately searching for any doubt on your face.
"Was that okay? I hope–"
But he didn't get to finish, because this time, you kissed him instead.
It was harder, deeper—your tongue getting familiar with his, your hands running through his hair. He made a soft sound, clutching onto you even tighter.
You didn't know how much time had passed. You just knew that kissing him like this made everything else fade away. It was only him.
His mouth went lower, carefully kissing down your neck, the fast tempo of your pulse surely making an impact on his lips.
Then you felt it, his hips moving just slightly, his hard length evident through his pants.
He stepped away, his lips swollen and red, eyes hazy, almost in a trance.
"Let's call it a night before– It's our first date and I try not to move this quickly. I want to make it right...with you."
You nodded slowly, sending him an understanding smile. Because you understood, of course you did—you operated the same. Sex on the first date was usually a "no" for you too.
But damn if he didn't leave you high and dry. With him, you felt ready to fuck against the damn wall of your apartment block.
So he (apologetically) smiled, hugged you longer than it'd be considered a normal amount for a goodbye, and whispered into your ear:
"But I'd be lying if I said that taking you against that wall didn't cross my mind."
Why the fuck would he say that? Making you even more horny for absolutely nothing.
Well, at least you knew that he had the same idea. You weren't that perverted after all.
Or maybe you were, because that night, hand between your legs again, you thought about Steve—fucking you against that goddamn apartment wall.
࿓ Summary: When your car keys go mysteriously missing, you're left desperate for a ride home. And lucky you, Steve Harrington is there to rescue you. What starts as one late night drive home, turns into something way more meaningful.
࿓ CW: Fluff, Steve being a sweetie, mutual pining, silly excuses, no use of y/n, Steve gets attached easily, Dustin and Robin plotting and scheming
࿓ A/N: What I would give to be driven home by Steve Harrington
࿓ WC: 2.4k
࿓ Song Inspo: ↻ ◁ | Drive by The Cars | ▷ ↺
"What the hell??" You muttered to yourself, frantically searching through your bag. "This is ridiculous, I just had them..." You groaned and checked your pockets for the second time.
Robin casually leaned over the counter, pushing aside a stack of movies. "Missing something there?"
"I can't find my keys, which makes no sense because I just got here 20 minutes ago. I swear I put them in my bag, and now they're just gone."
Robin let out a small hum, "Well, you made it here with them, obviously. So let's just look for them."
You nodded, letting out a small sigh as your eyes trailed over the floors of Family Video. Dustin appeared beside you out of thin air, hovering over you as you looked underneath the horror display.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Jesus-" You jumped slightly, frowning as you stared at the teen. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing? I'm looking for something."
Dustin shrugged, "I don't know you like that, for all I know you could be rigging some sort of evil device."
Your eyes narrowed, "And why would I do that?"
He made a strange noise, "I dunno, feminine rage or something like that?"
Your eye twitched, "Don't you have dice to roll and some made up characters to cry over?"
"It's not just dice rolling. It's critical thinking and collaboration that allows you to experience different lives and stories. And just so you know, we don't play on Tuesdays."
You rolled your eyes, continuing your search as Dustin continued explaining the magic that was Dungeons and Dragons. You finally looked back up at him, "Dustin, if you don't shut up in the next ten seconds, you're going to see some real feminine rage."
He swallowed hard, staring at you for a moment before scurrying off to the break room again.
Robin laughed from the comedy aisle, "I don't think I've seen you that frustrated with someone before."
"He was pushing my buttons." You mumbled, standing up with a defeated sigh. "They're not here." You whined.
"They have to be, we'll find them." Robin's head popped up.
"Find what?" Steve stood in the door frame that led to the back, hand resting on his hip.
"My keys. They're gone." You frowned over at him.
Steve pushed off the door, going over to the counter. "I'm sure we'll find them. What kind of key is it?"
"All of them! My car and house key are on the same keychain. I'm totally screwed without them. My parents are out of town this weekend so if I can't find the house key's I'm fucked. Not that it will matter if I have no way to get home." You sulked over to the counter, dropping your head onto it.
Steve let out a small laugh, "Hey, it's gonna be okay either way. If we can't find your car key I can take you home, and didn't you say your folks keep a spare key under that rock with your hand print on it?"
You blinked, looking up at him, "I- yeah.. I did say that. Like months ago, how did you remember that?"
Steve shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. "Dunno, maybe I was preparing for this day to come."
You smiled, suddenly not feeling so frustrated about the missing items.
Robin glanced over at Dustin who had peeked out from the breakroom. The two of them smiled triumphantly and nodded at each other.
Despite looking through the whole store, your keys were in fact MIA. It was like they had disappeared into thin air, or rather disappeared into Dustin's backpack.
You waited patiently for Steve's shift to end, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest as you thought about him driving you home. By the time Steve was cleared to leave, the sun had started setting, casting a beautiful glow on Steve's signature beamer.
He opened the door for you, bowing slightly as you slid in, "M'lady."
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile pulling at your lips. "Get in the car, ya weirdo."
He shut the door before jogging over to the drivers side and slipping in. The drive was nice, the streets of Hawkins passing by as you and Steve slipped into conversation about whatever came to mind. You felt at ease next to Steve. It seemed like the car had adjusted to the perfect temperature, a warm fuzzy feeling settling in your chest. Or maybe that was because of the way Steve kept glancing over at you each time you laughed at some silly joke.
The ride came to an end way faster than either of you were willing to admit. And before you knew it, he had pulled into the driveway of your house. You reached for the handle, moving to open it before he locked the doors. "Ahhh! What are you doing?!" He looked at you like you were crazy.
You stared at him like he had three heads, "I'm opening the door, Steve."
"Absolutely not." He quickly got out of the car, rushing back around and pulling the door open for you again, repeating his bow from before. "Once again... M'lady."
You smiled and stepped out with a bright laugh, "You're ridiculous."
He shut the door and started walking with you to your door. "No, I'm chivalrous."
As you reached the porch, Steve squatted down and found the key under the rock. "Boom." He held it out towards you.
You took it, fingers gently brushing his. "Thank you, Steve."
"It's no big deal." He shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets.
"No it is, without you I would still be totally freaking out." You smiled sheepishly.
"Well... I'm glad I could help." He smiled.
You carefully unlocked the door, turning slightly and smiling at him, "Night, Steve. Get home safe."
He nodded, "You too- shit- I mean I will. Night." He quickly turned and made his way back to his car.
You laughed and shut the door. Not even 30 seconds later there was a knock at the door. You opened it back up, with a raised eyebrow. Steve stood awkwardly on the porch. "I just realized you've got no way to get around. Well- I knew that- but it just clicked that you might need to go somewhere tomorrow and you don't have your car. So I just wanted to let you know if you need anything or need to go somewhere I don't mind driving you." He took a deep breath.
You smiled shyly. "That's really sweet, Steve. But I'm sure you've got a lot of things to do. I mean you've got work, and you're probably hanging out with people, I'd hate to mess up plans or be in the way."
He shook his head, "You won't! I mean I'm offering. I really don't have any issue with it, and I'd hate for you to be stuck asking around all week. So until you find your keys, I'm your guy- that sounds- I'm your ride."
You bit back a laugh, "Alright, you're my guy, Steve."
Steve smiled proudly, "Yeah, good, good. So just give me a call, I mean it!" He started walking backwards off the porch, tripping slightly over a plant.
You laughed, watching him retreat to his car with a lopsided grin. You yelled out before you could stop yourself, "Hey Steve!?"
He straightened up, leaning against his car. "Yeah!?"
"I just realized! I need to get groceries tomorrow! My fridge is fully empty!"
He nodded, "Alright! I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon, that sound okay!?"
You smiled and nodded, "Yeah! I'll see you tomorrow, don't trip over any more plants on your way home!"
You could see the red tint in his cheeks as he ducked back into his car and peeled out of your driveway.
As promised, Steve was at your house at 12 on the dot the next day. He knocked on the door, his easy smile and messy curls greeting you. You smiled back, "Make it home safe?"
"I'm standing here, aren't I?"
"Hmm, could be. Or maybe I'm dreaming."
"Oh so you dream about me?" He quirked a brow.
"You wish, Harrington." You slipped past him, bumping him out of the way with your hip and locking the door. He smiled as you trailed off to the car, watching you carefully. "You gonna keep staring or get in the car?"
He straightened up, bouncing over to the car. As your finger brushed the handle he let out a startling noise. "Nah-uh! Don't you touch that handle."
You let out a long sigh. "What is it with you and car doors?!"
He opened it for you, "Simply doing my gentlemanly duty."
"Don't say duty."
"Duty." He closed the door swiftly before you could reply.
The week continued like that. Steve had all practically enforced his role as your driver, not that you were complaining. In fact you were doing the opposite of complaining, you couldn't stop talking about how sweet Steve was being. He truly was outdoing himself. He took you to the store, to the laundromat, to the library, anywhere you wanted to go. Steve was mapping out the longest way to get there. And you noticed. You noticed how he would occasionally "miss" a turn, or when he purposely took a longer route.
It would have gotten on your nerves if it was anyone else. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Steve. And you were more than happy to spend a little extra time in his car if it meant more inside jokes and stolen looks.
But the week was nearing to the end, and soon your parents would be home and you would have another available more viable ride.
You sat seated in the beamer, the leather a familiar feeling against your skin. The car was parked in your driveway, had been for almost 30 minutes now while you and Steve gabbed about Robin and Vickie.
"I keep telling her she needs to go for it. It's obvious Vickie likes girls, but she won't listen." He threw his head back against the head rest.
You nodded, "I've told her the same. She's gonna regret it if she never says anything and is always left wondering 'what could have been.' You have to go for that, I feel like life's too short to hide feelings."
Steve sat up more, "So, if there was someone you liked... you would've asked them out by now?" He eyed you carefully.
Your cheeks flushed, "Well... that's a little more complicated. Robin doesn't really know Vickie that well and I-" You quickly cut yourself off.
Steve blinked, "You know the guy well?"
You swallowed hard, pivoting subjects. "So, my parents get back in town tomorrow. So you'll be free of driving me to the store everyday because I always seem to forget something." You laughed lightly.
Steve nodded slowly, staring at the singular bag of chips in the grocery bag. You thought you were slick, saying you forgot to buy your favorite chips, but Steve vividly remembered you getting them on your first trip. "Yeah... But, your parents both work right? So you'll still probably need some rides around town while they're at work."
"Yeah, I will. But I highly doubt my dad is going to just let me do that when I have a perfectly good car of my own. He'll probably go up to the dealership and get another key or something." You frowned.
"Well... maybe your mom can take the car?"
"If I didn't know any better, Harrington, I would say that you're offering to be my personal chauffeur." You teased.
"Something like that..." He scratched his neck. "Can I be honest with you?"
You nodded. "Yeah of course."
He sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out your keys with a nervous grin. You blinked at him, reaching over and taking them gently. "I haven't had them the whole time! Dustin gave them to me today. He said he and Robin planned the whole thing. He's had them the whole time..."
"Those little shits." You laughed, turning over the keys in your hands.
"You're not mad?"
"Oh, I'm pissed! Not at you, but those two! Especially Robin!" You shook your head. "Why the hell would they do that?"
"Because, they were trying to help me out." He looked down.
"With what?" Your brows furrowed.
"Cause, I told them I have a.. slight- not slight- big thing for you. And I guess they were just trying to help me get some alone time with you. I'm sorry- if I had known they were going to do all this I would have sto-"
"You've got a thing for me?" You smiled brightly.
He flushed, nodded slowly. "Yeah, big time."
"Y'know when you asked me if I would have asked someone out by now and I said it was different because I know the guy.. I was talking about you. You're my guy, Steve."
He sat up more eyes shining, "Wait seriously!?"
You nodded, "Mhm. And I've really really enjoyed being your passenger princess this week."
"Me too. Y'know it doesn't have to stop. I meant it when I said your mom can take your car and maybe instead of making up excuses to go to the store, we can go on dates?" He watched you nervously.
A big smile broke across your face as you nodded quickly, "Yes! Yeah! I would love that. It was getting pretty obvious that you were taking the wrong turns and longer routes."
"Guilty. But now I don't need an excuse. Now we can just go on rides if you want."
You leaned over the center console, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "And you can stop staring at my thigh and just put your hand there."
Steve pulled you into another quick kiss. "I'm feeling like a late night drive sounds nice right about now."
"I completely agree."
You settled into the seat as he switched on the radio, his hand finding your thigh as the car pulled out of the driveway.
closing statement from an article about being intersex & the possible connection of gender expression and sexuality in intersex individuals, published in The Gay Liberator, 1970s
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