main: 143chan

fic recs mostly will consist mainly of skz/chan fics and the occasional fandom im obsessed with at the time !!

[rachax3]

finally made a fic rec blog (just a blog to rb fics i enjoy) so i can stop hoarding stuff in my likes 🥴 i dont read fics as much anymore but i might be rbing a lot of ones ive read in the past so it should be p active

do not follow if u dont read smut or angst (mostly smut) lol

25 | she/her

occasionally posting rp calls so i dont annoy my lovely mutuals on main

[rachax3]

after the finale i need this rp !! even more

finale spoiler

PLEASE I NEED THIS SO BAD NOW. steve almost dying? OH MY GODDDDD. and the way he looks at the graduation? 🫦im also kind of feeling like a really long, world building plot where we start at like season 2. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

i will love u forever

[rimtrbl]

give it to me baby

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pairing - steve harrington x fem! reader

genre - smut mdni, fwb

warnings - s5 steve, just him in general and inspired by that one comment robin made 🫩 i’m projecting i jus wanna write about big!dick harrington, pwp, making out, handjobs, oral m! rec, stevie whines a lot, unprotected sex, praise kink yay, lowkey yall are fucking in the wsqk van i’m sorry (i’m not!), the pull out method sigh.

authors note - i’m sorry i’ve been gone for like 3 weeks i actually couldn’t write bc my brain wasn’t liking anything i wrote. i’ll get around to the fic i was actually writing but for now please enjoy this nasty ass shit.

my masterlist can be found here

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summary - steve harrington is a great friend, he’s always there for you when you need him, he just wasn’t expecting you to need him like this.

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“stevie, so big..” you whisper in his ear, and he gulps, trying his best to swallow back a moan, his eyes locked on the movement of your hand and the way you stroke him oh-so-nicely. he can’t help but tip his head back against the back door of the wsqk van, and he sighs as you glide along his cock, his cheeks flushed when you coo at his size again.

you two were supposed to be working, supposed to be fiddling with the telemetry tracker for your next crawl, at least that was until the topic of your personal ordeals came into conversation. you two had agreed it was hard to relieve stress during quarantine, both of you had seemingly been forced to put your sex lives on pause since hawkins split in four, well, you can’t really jump anyone’s bones when the world is ending right?

steve wishes he could laugh at the face of his past self, because now; now he’s got his jeans and briefs down to his ankles and you’re squeezing him just right, pampering kisses down his throat and he think he might just cum right there. you grin against his skin, he can feel it and questions if you can read his mind, and it just clouds his thoughts even more. every praise goes straight to his cock, and all you can do is hum as you thumb your finger across his slit and smear his pre-cum along him, making the glide easier. “so, so big, can’t even fully wrap my hand around it..” and he can’t bite back his moan this time, you just giggle and pick up the pace ever so slightly, driving him insane.

“shit, right there.. fuck.” he bucks his hips slightly and steve groans a little louder this time. you giggle, staring up at him with your big eyes and he can feel the haze sweep his mind, all he can think about is you, you, you. you might genuinely be the death of him. “yeah?” you tease, and he just nods when you repeat the twist of your wrist, a moan getting caught in his throat and he murmurs another curse, eyes shining with raw need.

he feels hot, there’s not a lot of air circulation in this van, he wasn’t really expecting to fuck anyone in the back of it, but god he really wishes he had something installed so he wouldn’t feel so sticky with sweat, a bead rolling down the side of his face and there’s a twinkle in your eye when you notice. “what’s got you so hot and bothered stevie?” he really wishes he could glare at you, he can feel his rebuttal die on his tongue and it’s replaced with another whine when he feels the pressure in his stomach form, he’s so, so close he can practically taste it. “don’t stop, i swear to god.” he’s on cloud nine, your touch sending goosebumps along his body and he closes his eyes to relish in the moment. god he can’t believe he’s here with you, a part of his brain chimes in disbelief that he finally has you like this, hand wrapped around his dick like a vice and speaking to him so sweetly.

he’s so fucked out he can barely register your change of position, face closer to where he needs you most, and he whines when he can feel your hot breath on his tip, waiting for god knows what. “please..” he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, but it seems to be enough for you to kiss his leaking cock, and one of his hands grips the carpet underneath him, the other winding in your hair, tugging lightly at the strands, and he finally gets a broken moan out of you. the sound is music to his ears, and he can’t help but smile down at you. you return it just as easy, pupils blown wide and core aching so much you think you may come untouched.

a few kitten licks is enough to get him to shift your face to where he needed you most, to be honest you didn’t need much convincing, you just wanted to tease him a little. pitying him, you smile before finally giving in, swirling your tongue around him and sinking down ever so slowly, humming in satisfaction when his breath stutters and his fingers go lax in your hair, eyes closing momentarily as he wills himself to hold on a little longer.

“oh, my god.” he bucks into your mouth, you take it greedily and sink down lower, he groans and he thinks he might’ve just seen stars. his vision is clouded, only the feeling of lust is enough to tell him he hasn’t died, because fuck, your mouth might just be the closest he’s gotten to heaven. your little hums and moans vibrate against him and he has to clench his fist a little tighter at the carpet, willing himself to hold on just a bit longer. god he would actually die if he came down your throat right now, not when he finally had you between his legs like this.

“baby, you feel so good.” he’s guiding you along him with a slight tug on your hair, your eyes staring up at him as you allow him to do as he pleases. you hum in response to his praise, and he sucks in a breath and you can see the way he clenches, like he’s trying to savour every second and it has your panties wet. god, the way he looks right now; so fucked out and desperate, it’s got you pushing your thighs together just to get a fraction of relief. he notices, ever so attentive to details, and pulls you off him gently. you’re sucking in air, all while he’s pulling you onto him, you’re resting on his thighs like you’ve always belonged there; a part of you revelling at the thought. you really don’t know how you ended up here, your story of events is clouded with the ever-apparent need for him inside you. shit, you’re not even sure if he’ll fit.

eyes wide in newfound clarity, you stutter out a breath, all while steve’s got you flush against him, hands wandering along your waist, itching to touch every part of your skin under your shirt, and you begin to understand why the heat was getting to him. steve’s tracing random shapes along your bare skin, he feels hot to the touch and you claw at the hem of your shirt desperately, tugging it in a silent plea for him to help you take it off. steve’s a smart guy, and he helps you until you’re clad in only a bra and a pair of denim shorts. he comments “cute.” and his eyes gesture towards your choice of garments, your face burns and you jokingly push him away, but he’s quick to grab a hold of your wrists, placing them on his shoulders and lean forward, your faces closer than ever before, breath hot against yours.

you can’t recall who leans in first, maybe it was both of you, but as he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth and you huff in relief, you realise how natural this feels. your stomach twists because although thinking about steve in this way isn’t new, straddling his waist whilst you’re both half naked definitely is. you make a mental note to tuck this moment away for the next time you need to blow off some steam, you’re not quite sure how you’d even proposition steve into dicking you down again, assuming he’ll do so today. god, you’re getting ahead of yourself, you haven’t even taken your shorts off and you’re already envisioning him fucking into you.

steve must be a mind reader because he’s dragging a hand up your thigh, a shiver running up your spine from his touch and you can’t help but gasp into his mouth when he cups you from your shorts. shit, you can feel it despite the layers, and your toes curl in anticipation for the real thing. he’s smiling as he licks into your mouth again, fingers dancing along the denim, trailing towards the button holding all your sanity together. you’re whining, silently begging and hoping he plays nice, you pray he’s not too cruel, you might just die here if he decides to tease you.

you breathe a sigh of relief when it seems like he’s chosen to be kind, and you can feel him smile against you, and you whisper a thank you, eyes closing at the feeling of his fingers twitching to touch you through the thin layer of you underwear, your shorts somewhere discarded on the carpet nearby, and you fully register your surroundings. god, you’re actually picturing the many ways you’ll apologise to robin later, and the christening she’ll conduct on this van if she were to find out you two were fucking in here like two horny teenagers. you’re momentarily distracted by the possible horrified look on your friend’s face, and steve tuts lightly, pressing into your clit from the other side of the fabric and you suck in a breath, squirming in his hold and snapping back to reality.

“uh uh, eyes on me baby.” he’s got you wrapped around his finger, you nod wordlessly, except you can’t help but moan at the way he commands you, shifting your hips to take full take advantage of his touch. he smiles at your obvious neediness, and rewards you by slipping a hand past the waistband of your panties to touch you with nothing to seperate the two of you. you hum at the feeling, eyes rolling up to the back of your head when his finger catches on to your clit, rubbing lightly, the glide aided with some of the wetness he collected when he ran his index finger along your folds. you flush at the realisation, tucking your face into his shoulder, a bit embarrassed by how needy you were already. he had barely touched you, you were already dripping when you were sliding a hand along his cock, whispering in his ear.

you finally realise the turn of events, and find yourself in his shoes, whining softly whilst he murmurs about how good you feel, one of his fingers nestled inside you, pumping in and out at a lazy pace, like he had all the time in the world. the truth is you don’t, you don’t even know where robin is, don’t know if she’s looking for you two, seeing as it’s been way too long that the pair of you have been in this van. you also realise, you don’t care all that much, not when steve’s looking at you like that, not when he’s got his hands on you and telling you how much he needs you. “gonna make it fit, okay?” you’re nodding, blabbering about how you need his cock or else you would go insane, and you can feel him shake as he laughs lightly, soothing you by saying he’ll give you what you need, so long as “you let me get you all ready f’me, pretty girl.”

you keen at the nickname, whimpering at the feeling of him adding another finger, stretching you out, knowing damn well all this prep probably still wouldn’t be enough for him to fit comfortably. you had laughed when he told you of his previous escapades, how they’d look up him in shock, questioning if he’d even fit inside. it’s basically what led you to getting on your knees for him, seemingly trying to prove each other wrong, but now you’re starting to understand their worries. one glance at his cock has you clenching and he cursed at how tight you are, mumbling about how he can’t wait be inside you, can’t wait to stretch you out.

steve’s good with his fingers, you figure it’s helps that he likes to keep his hands busy, and you thank your lucky stars when he hits that one spot inside your walls, sighing when you finally reach the point of ecstasy, vision white when the coil inside you snaps, cumming like it’s your first time all over again. your thighs shake and you’re repeating his name and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. steve’s moving the hair from your face, smiling at you gently as you come down from your high, and you realise just how starved you are.

“you want to keep going?” bless his heart, steve is such a gentleman, and it makes you want him even more. you’re nodding, can’t even form the words and he’s raising a brow at you, encouraging a verbal response. “cmon, use your words baby.” and you close your eyes, your cunt aching once more at just how fucking hot he sounds right now. you can already imagine how broken your voice sounds, all the cracked moans and whimpers whilst he fingered you the best you’ve ever experienced. “please, stevie.. need you so bad.” and he hums, leaning down to leave a quick kiss against your lips, your stomach flips with the ever growing attraction you have for this man, and your eyes are shining from just how much you need him, not just physically, but him in general.

“gonna make you feel so good, promise.” he murmurs against your skin, hovering above you as he adjusts, you can feel his cock along your inner thigh, and you gulp in anticipation, already feeling yourself drip with need. “just let me know if you need me to stop okay?” and you’re whispering a “yes.” along the skin of his wrist when you turn your face to give it a quick kiss. he shudders at the feeling, reeling in at just how into the moment you are as he is; before he lines himself up with your entrance, pausing and giving you one last look, you’re nodding, and he sighs when the head of his cock nudges along your slit.

“deep breaths, okay love?” you’re nodding, the feeling of him stretching you out is accompanied by a delicious burn that has you gasping, eyes closed as you feel like press into you in a way no one else has. he hasn’t even fully slipped into you and you’re mewling at how good it feels. “fuck, you’re so big. are you sure it’ll fit..” you’re whimpering when he leans in and kisses the side of your lips, eyes shining as he looks straight at you, an unsaid emotion swirling in his blown out pupils and he’s nodding, praising you for taking him so well. “do you trust me?” and you’re breathing out a yes, to which he pushes in a little further, and holy fuck you don’t think you’ll ever feel satisfied by someone else ever again.

when he’s finally fully pushed into you, he gives you a moment to catch your breath and adjust to his size, you’re confident you’ll never be used to it, there’s a tension in your stomach and you’re pretty sure it’s because you can feel him brushing against your g-spot with every twitch of his hips. you finally give him the green light to move, and you both moan at the feeling when he finally snaps his hips against yours, a slow pace as he drags against every part of you, and you’re clawing at his back, eyes fucked out and you couldnt even hold in your whines even if you tried. steve is no better, murmuring about how good you feel every few seconds, forehead pressed against yours as he groans at just how tight you are.

“can you feel me, right here?.” he’s pressing a hand on your lower abdomen, and you’re nodding, hips latched to his sides, and he’s taking in the sight of your teary eyes and fucked out expression. “so… so deep.” you’re hoping you actually said the words, and judging from the way he grins at you and comments on how well you’re taking him tells you he did.

steve’s set a comfortable rhythm, and you’re not sure if you’re even capable of forming words right now, sighs of pleasure being the only sounds coming out of your mouth, and it’s enough to encourage him to keep going. that familiar drop in your stomach creeps onto you quickly, and you can tell steve isn’t far off himself, he’s been on edge ever since your mouth was on him. nails are dragging down his back, leaving obvious marks that he’ll be sure to comment on later, after you curse him out for all the bites he’s littering along your throat and collarbones, needing to ground himself so he doesn’t blow his load right then and there. the way you’re taking him and murmuring about how good he feels only encourages him to press into you deeper, and he’s rewarded with your broken moans, instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck and bringing him back to your mouth, swallowing both your needy sounds.

you barely register you’re about to come before your vision goes white, for a second you think you’ve passed out until steve’s cradling your face, fingers tracing your cheeks until you’ve come down from your orgasm. he fucks you through it, and his moans pitch higher until he’s abruptly pulling out and releasing on your stomach, a drop falling onto your chin and you’re quick to wipe it and stick your finger in your mouth. you see steve’s eyes close and he curses. “holy shit.” and he takes your hands into his, lacing your fingers as you both catch your breath, chests raising in quick succession and you can already feel a growing ache between your legs, wincing at how you’re going to have to hide it from robin later.

you really think you and steve might just share a brain cell, because his eyes widen like he just remembered where he is, and he mutters a silent apology to his friend for not only fucking during work hours, but fraternising with his coworker of all people. “let’s get you cleaned up yeah?” his voice is a bit strained and you feel yourself clench around nothing, and you internally curse yourself for finding him so unbelievably attractive even when he’s frantically searching for tissues in the back of the work van to clean his release off your chest.

you both share a look, and you can’t help but grin at him, to which he smiles sheepishly, and you both silently wonder if this’ll happen again.

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yall.. this wasn’t supposed to go for this long 🫩 i swear it was supposed to be a drabble. but please do lmk if you enjoyed it.

not proofread yet, will update in the morning since it’s 1am rn and i locked in for 2 hours straight to finally give you guys something to read!!

once again thank u backwards cap steve for being so fucking hot that i literally came out of hiding & thank you robin for confirming that loverboy harrington is INDEED well endowed 😩

[rachax3]

i love joe keery and steve harrington so bad.

that being said... i want a 1x1 stranger things rp so bad and im looking for a steve harrington to write against my female!oc (in the works now) :))

ONLY 21+ please. timezones don't matter too much, as long as the rp is active enough to be engaging and stay interesting. i only write on discord, and i will not do doubles under any circumstances. too many ppl ruined that experience for me </3

pls read the post then message me on here if youre interested 🫶🏻

angst, smut, and fluff all welcome and wanted, but an actual plot will still be involved. i love writing plot bunnies on the side as well if and when inspiration is low. i'm also down to restart if the plot isnt working

i want to base the story either in the 18? months time skip we don't get to see in the show, or from the start of season 5. might consider season 4 as well tho hehe

i'm a-ok with diverging from the plot, changing aspects of the story, etc. and i can be convinced to do a totally different au entirely as well if you like those. i have ideas but plots will be discussed together bc i like collaborating on plot ideas!! unless you want me to choose

i write anything from mini paragraphs to multiple paragraphs. i strive to send longer replies as much as i can UNLESS we are doing rapid fire replies. as long as there is content for you and i to use :)) i don't do or accept one liners or anything too short. quality over quantity. additionally, i include other canon characters when necessary, but it isnt required for u to do the same!

note: i AM in design school so its pretty time consuming but on the other hand i need an escape after all that stress so!! i will be active at least once a week for a few replies :))

[maximoff-pan]

project parenthood? | steve harrington

summary: 4 times you and Steve find yourselves acting as parents for the party, and the one time you act like a couple

pairing: steve harrington x fem!(byers)reader

word count: 8k

warning(s): some swears, plot inaccuracies, definitely canon divergent (please don't come for me), highly unedited, I wanted to write something fun but I honestly feel like it's really jumbled and not great so I apologize for the poor writing (I'm still kind of getting back into it)...

a/n: another 4 + 1, who could’ve guessed? they really seem to be what I always go back to. This one is a little (more than a little) fluffier and lighthearted than my last steve fic...hopefully y'all enjoy! Feedback and comments are always highly appreciated <3

Read part two: project home base

• ж • ж •

I. D&D Danger

The Wheeler's basement smells like old carpet mixed with the faint chemical tang of permanent markers from Mike’s countless D&D maps. Whatever pizza the boys had abandoned two hours ago left the air with a fading scent of pepperoni and melted cheese. Strings of mismatched Christmas lights are hung along the walls—Will’s doing, of course—casting the whole room in a warm, patchwork glow.

You sit cross-legged near the old record player, flipping through a borrowed, totally not stolen box of Jonathan’s carefully labeled cassettes, trying to decide between The Clash or the Talking Heads. The boys had been playing D&D for hours, their voices rising and falling in bursts of excitement. The girls had decided to have a sleepover at Hopper’s—no boys allowed, they’d specified. But with no one else around to supervise, that left you responsible for your brother and his three best friends. 

For this campaign Will was the Dungeon Master, and it was Mike’s turn to make a move. While he pondered his options, for a blissful moment, everything was quiet.

Then it wasn’t.

“MIKE, you can’t just skip the traps!” Dustin barks, slamming his palms on the table so hard the character sheets flutter.

Mike leans back in his chair, arms crossed with the dramatic flair of a teen boy convinced he was right. “I’m not skipping them. I’m strategically avoiding them.”

Lucas throws his pencil down. “That’s literally the definition of skipping.”

“It is not–”

“Yes it is!” Lucas responds with a mature indignation you knew only he was capable of making look cool. On Dustin, it would come across whiny and petulant. 

“No, it’s not—”

“It is!” Lucas insists once again. He wasn’t about to back down, especially not to Mike.  

Will’s voice comes out small, drowned beneath the storm. “Guys, can we just—”

No one hears him.

You sigh, setting down the cassette you’d been holding. Here we go again. You stand and brush dust off your jeans, already halfway to the table when the basement door creaks open.

Boots thud down the old wooden stairs. 

“Hey, uh, sorry I’m late,” Steve calls, shaking the cold from his body as he descends. He holds a paper bag in one hand. “I brought ice cream.” Even though it’s freezing outside, ice cream really does sound great right about now.

You steal a glimpse of him as your gaze locks on his figure. Steve’s hair, impossibly thick and wild, catches Will’s Christmas lights like a halo of soft brown waves. His eyes, warm and alert, flick around the room, half in amusement, half in exasperation, and his jawline carries that mix of boyish softness and emerging sharpness that makes him impossible to ignore. 

The denim jacket on his shoulders is worn in all the right places, sleeves casually rolled, and his sneakers are scuffed but perfectly comfortable, like they’d barely survived the walk from his car to the front door. His every movement has an easy confidence, that subtle sway of someone who could be both reckless and dependable at the same time.

He freezes when he reaches the bottom step. So do you.

The boys are mid-argument, halfway standing, voices overlapping. You’re standing with your arms half-crossed in irritation. And without even thinking, without even meaning to, you and Steve both plant your feet, cross your arms, and give the exact same unimpressed stare.

Identical and perfectly mirrored.

“Hey, hey!” Your voice calls in a chastising manner. “Knock it off.” You say firmly.

“Knock it off,” Steve echoes at the exact same time, nearly a fraction of a second apart. You both look menacing and parental and totally in tune with each other. 

The table goes dead silent and all four boys stare with wide, unnerved eyes.

Will blinks, slow and owl-like. “Did you guys just…”

Mike’s jaw hangs open. “That’s creepy.”

Lucas leans forward as if studying a strange new species. “Oh my god,” he shudders, “they’re synchronized, like they’re one person.”

Dustin points dramatically. “You two spend so much time together you’re starting to sound the same.”

Heat rushes across your face, spreading onto your cheeks, just now realizing how close you are to Steve. You drop your arms like they’re on fire. “We are not—we didn’t coordinate that.”

Steve’s face flushes with embarrassment. “Yeah, that wasn’t— I mean, we didn’t— it’s just a coincidence shitheads…"

“No one said it wasn’t,” Dustin’s tone carries teasingly, grinning like Christmas came early.

You agree, gesturing between yourself and Steve, “Right.” You affirm. “A coincidence.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucas responds flatly.

Will tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “You guys kind of do that a lot.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip. “Do what?”

“Act like parents,” Mike says, not even trying to cushion it.

You nearly choke on your own breath. “Parents?” Being a babysitter you could get behind, even being an older sibling figure is something you’d expected. But a parent? Absolutely not…you don’t act like one.

Steve doesn’t like the warmth that fills his chest at the implication. “Okay, wow—okay—nope. No. We’re— that’s— absolutely not what’s happening.”

“Totally,” Dustin adds cheerfully, “full on married couple, mom and dad energy right there.”

“Excuse me?” You and Steve blurt in unison again.

This time, the kids don’t hold back before losing it. Mike slaps the table in sheer amusement at your expense. Lucas simply doubles over wheezing. Will hides a smile behind his hand, and Dustin practically vibrates with smugness. It’s written all over his expression, got ya. 

You press both palms to your face in exasperation. “Oh my god.”

Steve leans closer to you, lowering his voice while the boys cackle. “They’re doing this on purpose, y’know? They like to see us riled up.”

“They’re evil,” you whisper back.

“We can hear you,” Lucas cuts in with a sly grin. 

Dustin gestures proudly between the two of you. “We’re right here.”

Steve's posture straightens, blowing out a breath before attempting to regain control. “Look—just—can you assholes get back to your campaign before I lose the last bit of sanity keeping me alive?”

“Language,” you blurt automatically, pointing at him like a scolding mother. It’s a habit you’d picked up from being around Dustin’s fowl mouth so much.

Steve stares at you, wide-eyed. “Did you just mom-voice me?”

The boys almost howl in laughter and Mike nearly slides right off his chair. You feel your ears burning. “I did not mom-voice you.”

Steve raises a brow, mouth tugging into a teasing, lopsided grin. “You totally did.”

“I did not.”

“It was kinda hot,” He mutters, so quietly you almost question whether you heard it.

Your heart plummets into your shoes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” Steve says immediately, voice slightly too loud and too serious. “S’just a figure of speech.” 

Across the table, the boys all exchange glances, eyebrows wiggling, smirks forming. The kind of smirks that make you want to lock them in the Upside Down for an hour.

You glare. “If you tell anyone about this, I swear—”

“We won’t,” Will promises sweetly.

“We absolutely will,” Dustin corrects, grinning.

You groan, dramatically dropping onto the couch like the world had betrayed you.

Steve walks over and gently nudges your knee with his. “You okay?” he asks, voice softer than before. “They’re… um… a lot.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Believe me. I know.”

He offers a crooked, warm smile—the one he only does when he thought no one else was paying attention. “For what it’s worth… I like when we’re on the same team.”

Your chest tightens again, pleasantly, confusingly.

You look up at him and he looks back at you. And for a brief, suspended moment, the chaos of the basement falls away. The glow of the string lights warms Steve’s face. And the two of you feel oddly, undeniably in sync.

Will’s voice breaks the moment, soft but hopeful: “Um… can we keep playing now?”

You and Steve answer instinctively, perfectly in time: “Sure.”

Another round of laughs erupts from the table. But neither of you corrected it. They were never going to let you live this down. 

• ж • ж •

II. The Group Project

Outside, dusk settles over the yard in deep purples and soft peach streaks, turning the kitchen windows into reflective glass. Indoors, the overhead light casts a warm glow across the clutter —half-finished meals pushed aside, a pile of school mail crumpled on the counter, and one lone sock that definitely didn’t start the day where it ended up.

Tonight was supposed to be simple.

The plan—your plan—was to spend a quiet Wednesday finishing a book you’d been putting off. Maybe make some tea. Maybe listen to music. Maybe not referee any disasters for at least a few hours.

But fate, apparently, had other ideas.

Because at nearly 7pm there’s a frantic, uneven knock at the Byers’ front door followed by Dustin’s unmistakable voice calling, “(Y/n), open up!”

You don’t even get a chance to answer. Will opens the door instead, and Dustin barrels in like he’s fleeing wolves.

“We need help with a project,” He announces, breathless like he sprinted the whole way. His curls are wind-tangled, his jacket is half-zipped, and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

Before you can even speak, he’s dumped the contents of his bag onto the table in an academic explosion: glue sticks with bitten caps, an avalanche of loose papers, two crushed Twizzlers, and what looks dangerously like a frog diagram Will did last year.

Will appears behind him, looking apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. “He got…excited.”

Lucas trudges in next with the exhausted despair of a man going to war. “This project is killing us.”

You raise your eyebrows, you know for a fact this project isn’t due until later this week. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Exactly,” Lucas says, dropping into a chair like he’s accepted death. “It’s basically due tomorrow.”

“It’s actually due Friday,” Will mumbles.

Lucas waves a hand. “Same difference.” Unlike the others, Lucas has never been one to procrastinate. He prefers to be ahead of schedule. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “So what exactly do you need help with?”

“History presentation,” Dustin says. “We need a poster. A good one. Like, award-winning. Like the kind of poster people applaud for.”

You blink slowly. “You don’t get applause for school posters.”

“You do,” Dustin says gravely, “if you do them right.”

Before you can sigh again, the door opens again, and Steve pokes his head inside. He steps cautiously into the kitchen, shaking off his jacket, eyes scanning the room with the practiced alarm of the seasoned babysitter he is. 

“Hey! Am I late? I came as soon as I heard—” His gaze falls on the table. “Oh. Wow. That’s… a lot of paper.”

You cross your arms, mildly begrudged and equally curious. “Why are you here?”

“Lucas told me you might need backup.” He shrugs, lifting a grocery bag with the confidence of a man who believes snacks can solve anything. “Plus, I brought provisions.”

He unloads chips, pretzels, Capri Suns, and a box of brownies like he’s setting up camp. And the boys look at him the way baby ducks look at the first thing they see.

Dustin pauses mid glue stick sniff. “You…you brought snacks? Steve, you beautiful bastard.”

Steve beams like he’s been handed a trophy. You fold your arms. “So you’re helping too?”

He shrugs with a grin that is far too casual to be accidental. “Just in case.”

Dustin takes a bite out of one of the brownies, sending you a toothy grin as he does it. He passes one each to Will and Lucas with glee. “This,” Dustin announces, “is why Steve is allowed to come to group projects.”

Steve salutes him. “Glad to be of service man.”

Within minutes, the dining table turns into a chaotic workshop, an island of absolute academic activity. Will is sorting his pencil crayons by shade like you knew he would and Lucas, well, Lucas is fighting and losing against a glue stick cap that refuses to open.

You pull the poster board to the center. Spreading it out, you smooth its surface with your palms. It’s cool and stiff under your hands — blank and expectant.

Dustin’s voice whispers a quiet shit, shit, shit, as a tin of glitter spills on his pants. He stands, dusting it off onto the floor. You chuckle and sigh, shaking your head in bemusement, that’ll be a clean up problem for later. 

“Okay,” you say, ready to begin. “Let’s get started. We’ll keep it simple. Neat. Clear.”

You tuck your knees under the chair you’re sitting on and lean forward, sketching the first pencil guidelines. The familiar pressure of graphite scraping paper grounds you; it’s something you can control.

Steve wanders to your side, pulling a chair next to yours. He doesn’t lower himself gently, he drops into it with that boyish clumsiness he pretends he doesn’t have, the seat legs squeaking across the floor.

He sits next to you — right next to you, close enough that your elbows brush every time you shift — and he tries to look like he understands what’s happening.

He doesn’t. At all. He hasn’t completed a school project like this in years. You try not to think about how close he is, but you fail immediately. He smells like winter air and the faint cologne he uses only when he’s trying to impress a girl. It’s warm with something sweet pulling at its edges. 

He picks up a pencil and squints at the page of instructions. “So, uh…what’s this part?”

“That’s the rubric,” you reply.

“Right. Right. Of course.” He nods confidently. Then lowers his voice. “What’s a rubric again?”

You bite back a smile. “It’s just the grading guide.”

“Oh.” He leans back slightly. “Yeah, I totally knew that.”

“No you didn’t,” Will says without looking up.

“Didn’t ask for your input, Wizard Boy.” From anyone else, you might have taken offence on your brother’s behalf, but Steve has this teasing rapport with each of the kids—it’s easy and heartwarming.  

Will just rolls his eyes and keeps colouring.

You slide a reindeer-shaped eraser toward Steve.  “Here. For morale.”

He accepts it solemnly. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

A few minutes pass in silence as each of you work diligently on your parts. Honestly, you’re kind of having fun; getting back into the groove of a school project reminds you of your own time in high school. It wasn’t always the best, but it brought you closer to Steve. Despite hailing from very different social groups, trauma had bonded you together in a way you’d never have expected. The upside down feels distant in this moment, and that in itself feels nice. 

 You’re sketching out the title letters when you feel Steve lean closer, his arm brushing yours again.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Can you… uh… help me with this?”

You look over. He’s struggling with the scissors, fingers covered in a light coating of glue. He’s stuck.

You blink slowly, staring at him with a soft smile.

“Steve.” You snort.

He grins, embarrassed but charmingly so, and nudges your knee with his under the table.

“C’mon, don't laugh” he says softly. “I feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” You tap the poster board sending him a lopsided grin. “You just, look a little sticky.”

Standing to grab a wash cloth from your kitchen counter, you wet it slightly. “Here,” you say, taking Steve’s hand in yours, careful not to cut yourself with the scissor’s blades. You help Steve, guiding his hand free once the glue has been successfully wiped away. 

The kids notice that change in the room. They absolutely notice. A fresh, nervous energy fills the air.

Lucas nudges Will. Will raises an eyebrow, and Dustin smirks knowingly like he’s in on some grand romantic conspiracy.

Steve eyes Dustin carefully, as if to say not a word, not ONE word. But Dustin doesn’t care, he’s more than happy to watch his friend fall apart at a simple touch from your hand on his. The curly haired teen bites the inside of his cheek trying not to comment—and failing, whispering something like they’re so obvious.

You pretend not to notice.

Another bout of silence falls amongst the group, settling with your dissipating nerves. Each of you agrees, you want to get this done as efficiently as possible, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Now, you’re busy shading the title letters — your hand resting naturally close to Steve’s

Just when the chaos seems manageable, Joyce wanders by carrying a basket of folded laundry. She stops and takes one long look at the table. Her brown eyes take in the scene piece by piece: You leaning in, fingers smudged with pencil dust, and Steve beside you, shoulders angled inward as if drawn to your orbit. Your hands brush each time one of you reaches for a marker.

Joyce watches as the boys work with suspicious innocence. Five Capri Suns sit next to each other, straws already poked in.

A subtle, knowing smile touches her face — warm, gentle, approving. “Oh,” she says, lingering just a heartbeat too long, “you two look cute working together.”

The room freezes. Steve inhales sharply, feeling caught. He blinks unnaturally hard like someone hit pause on his brain. Your eyes widen, sending a glare her way that says: Mom, get out. Joyce simply glides out of the room without clarifying or apologizing, leaving behind the smoldering embarrassment of the interrupted moment you totally weren’t having.

By the time the project is almost done, the boys have stopped doing much of anything, letting you and Steve finish their work for them.

Steve is helping you outline the final border — or at least trying to — his shoulder brushing yours in a way that feels intentional now. He holds the ruler, his long fingers guiding him as he traces the final touches. He leans in a little closer, voice dropping to something low and warm.

“You know,”  he nods at the poster.  “At this rate, we’re basically co-parenting a school project.”

Your cheeks warm at the thought. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” His tone is soft, teasing but honest underneath. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

You freeze for half a second. Just half. And you try to focus, you really really do, but he’s just so distracting.

The house is suddenly very quiet. The distance between you and Steve is small, just a few inches, maybe less but the air shifts, humming with an almost-something neither of you has been brave enough to name. And Steve is watching you, not in the big, bold way he sometimes does, but softly, like he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to.

You swallow. Then you snatch the ruler from his grasp and jab it into his chest.

“Focus, Harrington.”

He laughs under his breath. It’s low, sweet, and the sound slides right under your ribs.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Sure thing Byers.”

But he doesn’t move away.

And neither do you.

• ж • ж •

III. Mad Max

The call comes just after sunset, the hour when Hawkins shifts from blue to violet, when houses glow with warm windows and the ravens call loudly enough to fill the cracks of silence. You’re drying the last dish when the phone rings again. Will grabs it before you do, the cord stretching across his chest like a lifeline.

You can tell it’s one of those calls by the way his face changes—brow pinched, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking toward you.

“It’s Steve,” he says, voice tight, eyes wide and anxious. “Max ran off. Again.”

Your stomach drops. There’s a small, tight pull in your chest. It’s not fear, definitely not panic—just that familiar weight of here we go, mixed with the tug you always feel whenever the kids need you. You suppose it’s a familiar responsibility that comes from loving too many people too much. 

You’re grabbing your jacket before you even realize it. Will isn’t surprised. He doesn’t have to ask; he just steps aside to let you pass.

And when you finally step outside, the cool night air hits your skin—crisp like late autumn and early winter should be, carrying the scent of dry leaves and woodsmoke. And there he is.

Steve, leaning against his car, fiddling with his gloves. His hair is wind-tousled, his cheeks flushed, his hands jittery with too much adrenaline and too little direction. He looks up the second you appear.

Relief floods his entire expression. 

“You came,” he breathes out, like he was half afraid you wouldn’t.

“You called.” You affirm. As if there’d be a time when you could say no to him. Like you’d ever not show up. 

When you finally get a good look at him, you notice there’s worry in his eyes. And underneath it—because you’ve learned to read him—there’s this fear that he’ll mess this up. He doesn’t say anything, just unlocks the car and you slide in, the familiar smell of pine car freshener wrapping around you.

As he pulls away, he keeps glancing over at you with these quick, jittery cuts of his eyes on you like he needs to make sure you’re actually there.

“She just—she took off,” he mutters, voice clipped. “Lucas said something, and then she was gone, and I—” He swallows hard. “I don’t know if she’s mad, or scared, or both. Jesus probably both.”

You touch his arm lightly, grounding him. “She’s not running from you, Steve.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t believe you yet.

He drives the two of you in complete silence for a while before coming to a stop on the edge of the woods. You find yourselves at an entrance to a trail you know Max likes, one she uses when she just needs to get away. 

“You ready?” You ask Steve with a soft smile. He doesn’t respond, too caught up in his thoughts to speak. He simply nods and takes your hand in his. It’s grounding…for both of you, in a way that usually would spark a kind of nervous energy. But right now, it’s exactly what Steve needs.

As evening clings to the forest trail like a heavy blanket, it's cast in a half-shadow, half-silver moonlight state. The air is cool and smells of pine needles and damp earth as the last bit of violet sky filters through the branches.. Steve’s flashlight cuts through the shadows as you both walk, the beam slicing through the trees like thin, trembling fingers.

The crunch of frozen soil under your feet fills the silence between you. 

“She could be anywhere,” Steve mutters. His shoulders are tight, a helm of anxiety written all over him.

You can feel Steve’s worry, almost like it’s a physical heat pouring off him. He’s walking too fast, scanning everything, body coiled like he’s ready to fight whatever hurts the people he cares about.

You’ve seen that look before. In the Upside Down, in hospital rooms, in quieter nights like this.

“She shouldn’t have to deal with this alone,” he murmurs as if it’s his fault she ran. “None of them should.”

But you hear the real fear beneath it: I should’ve kept her safe.  I should’ve noticed sooner. I should’ve been enough.

In the years you’ve grown to know Steve, he’s always held himself to an insurmountable standard. It’s one that he would never expect from anyone else but himself. He has to be ready for anything at any time from anyone. And he has to be able to take it on alone. That’s one of the things you’re trying to break down—this need to fix everything by himself. You’ve tried countless times to tell him I’m here too. Sometimes you think you’re getting through to him…this isn’t one of those moments. But you’d be damned if you stopped trying. 

After a few minutes of more silent sulking, you hear something familiar: the uneven scrape of wheels on the dirt. You follow the sound around a bend, and there she is, sitting at the edge of the tree trunk with her skateboard on her lap like a shield.

Her chin is tucked to her chest, knuckles white on the board's underside.

“Red?” You murmur softly, easing down beside her. You approach slowly, like you’re nearing a cornered animal, because in some ways, you are. 

Max sniffles once, but doesn’t look up. In Max-language, that means: I’ll talk, just not yet.

“Hey,” you continue, leaning in closer beside her. The ground is cold through your jeans. “Want to tell me what happened?”

She shrugs, nails digging into the underside of her skateboard. You can see the tension coiled in her shoulders. Her body language betrays her, anger, shame, frustration, hurt all tangled up.

“It was stupid,” she mutters.

“If it made you feel this bad,” you glance at her with a sympathy for her pain, “it wasn’t stupid Max.”

She shakes her head in slight protest before muttering, “The boys were just being idiots,” 

Behind you, Steve hangs back, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, pretending he’s not desperately listening while also desperate to give space. His hands rest on his hips and his eyes don’t leave her for a second. 

“They wouldn’t stop arguing, I just felt like I couldn’t control anything.” Max finally says. “And then Lucas said I didn’t need to be so dramatic. And Mike got all Mike about it. So I left. Before I yelled…or cried.”

The last word breaks.  Just slightly. “I don’t know,” she continues, “I figured they wouldn’t even notice I was gone.”

You give her a look. “You know they notice everything you do.”

Max kicks a pebble, hard. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want them to see me cry.”

That slices clean through you.  You bump her shoulder gently. “Max. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

“It makes me look like a baby.” Is her honest response, and she means it.

“It makes you look human,” you correct softly, pulling her into a soft side-hug.

She sniffles but refuses to cry in front of you. It’s Max’s way of trying to be tough, even though you already know how soft-hearted she really is. For a moment, the world goes still around the three of you. Steve leans down to meet your level, each of you now sitting on the cold dirt floor. Max’s breathing is easier, her shoulders are lower, and her jaw unclenches. She needed to be seen, and with you and Steve, she feels she has been. 

But just when the moment is finally tender, real, and grounding—she ruins it in the most Max Mayfield way possible.

“Ya know,” she grumbles abruptly, staring between you and Steve, “You two are like our divorced parents who still love each other. It’s kind of annoying.”

You blink. In that moment, Steve actually chokes on his own saliva.

“Divorced?” he echoes, like she just accused him of murder. His voice cracks on the second syllable. 

The red head rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Like the way you show up together. And fight together. And then act weird when anyone points it out.” You give each other a look that asks, we totally don’t do that right? But she continues before you can think about it more, “One of you is the calm one,” she points to you, “and one of you is the chaotic one, but you’re always together anyway. It’s a whole thing…Classic divorced-but-still-grossly-in-love behaviour.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, when Steve makes a move to protest being labelled the chaotic one.  “Don’t even start,” you warn Steve without looking at him.

“I wasn’t!” he puts his hands up in defence.  Then quieter, “…I wasn’t.”

Max snorts. “God. That’s exactly what a divorced dad would say.” 

Steve looks incredulous and personally victimized. Divorced? Why can’t you both be happily married in this scenario? 

But as he takes in Max’s smile and the quiet laugh she lets out at his reaction, he can see how much she needed this—a moment to break the tension with something ridiculous. Her eyes are no longer stormy…and that was the whole point of this.

“C’mon,” you say gently, nudging them both to get up from your spots on the ground. “Let’s get you home.”

Max finally nods, rubbing her eyes tiredly as you lead her back to the car. She leans on you both during the short walk, and when you finally reach the vehicle, Steve lifts her onto the seat gently. He buckles her in like a true parent.

Max falls asleep before you’re even back on the road, skateboard still clutched to her chest. She curls into the corner of the back seat, exhausted and small in a way she’ll deny forever.

Steve drives slowly now—the careful, protective version of him that surfaces only when the kids are nearby… or when you are. The silence in the car is warm, heavy.  Not awkward. Just… charged.

The road unwinds in long, quiet stretches. Golden pools of streetlight glide over the windshield. The car hums.

You rest your elbow on the window, watching the blur of passing houses. Steve glances at you a few times—quick, flickering looks from under his lashes, like he’s trying to find the right words but they keep slipping away. They’re the kind he thinks you don’t notice.

Halfway down the road, pulling into the Mayfield driveway, he inhales deeply.

“You know…” he says quietly, “you’re… really good with her.”

You shrug off his words. “She just needed someone to listen.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean… you’re good with all of them. With the boys. And El.” He pauses, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

“—and with me.”

Your heart stutters. “I never expected anyone to care about me the way you do.” His brown eyes meet yours as he puts the car in park.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice dips? The way the words feel heavier than they should? It does something to you.

You try to play it off, but your pulse betrays you, thrumming in your ears. You can feel it in your wrists, in your ribs, and in your throat. 

“Somebody has to be the calm one,” you say softly.

Steve huffs a laugh, warm and self-deprecating.  “Yeah. Well. That’s definitely not me.”

You pretend to look out the window, steadying your breath.  “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you murmur.

“You give me too much,” he replies.

“That’s not true.” He shifts his hand on the center console. Yours shifts too. Barely, casually. Maybe not casually at all.

Your pinkies brush. And Steve freezes—just a breath, just a heartbeat—but long enough for the air between you to thicken, warm and electric with currents of tension.

He doesn’t pull away and neither do you.

“Thanks,” he whispers, almost too quiet. “For being you.”

Your heartbeat answers for you and you let your hand drift the final few centimetres until your pinkies tough tentatively. Steve exhales and neither of you pulls away.

• ж • ж •

IV. School Pick-Up

The Hawkins High School parking lot looks like a battlefield every weekday at 3:15 p.m.—car exhaust drifting in the cold air, teachers shouting instructions like air-traffic controllers, and children flooding through the front doors in unpredictable, chaotic waves.

You’re already tense just pulling in. Picking up Will always stirs something in your chest: protectiveness, guilt, that familiar edge of worry you’ve never really shaken since he came home from the Upside Down. Even on normal days, you watch the doors like he might need you in the span of a heartbeat.

You exhale, trying to shake it off. Will is safe. School is just school. Your fingers tighten around the wheel anyway.

You turn into one of the few remaining spots—and then a flash of gold catches your eye.

Of course. The BMW.

You watch as Steve swings into the spot right next to yours with practiced ease, like the two of you rehearsed this moment. Which is ridiculous. Except he really does show up at the same time as you more often than not, and you really have noticed. And part of you hates that you’ve noticed, and the other part—some stubborn, traitorous part—really, really likes it.

Your heart jumps a little before you can stop it. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

You open your door and step out just as he does, and his face lights up instantly, as if your presence was the best thing he could’ve seen in this entire parking lot disaster.

“You doing the afternoon pickup too?” He asks, jogging a few easy steps toward you.

His tone is casual, but his eyes flick over you with that warm, open softness you’re still not used to. You fight the flutter of it.

“Yep. My mom’s working late, again.” Your voice sounds normal. You feel anything but.

His expression dips into something gentler. “Ah. I’m here for Dustin and Max. They wanna check out some new arcade game or some nerdy shit like that.”

The image of Steve watching aimlessly as Dustin and Max school each other on some arcade game is… absurdly cute. Dangerous thoughts. You push it away.

You’re about to say something back, something normal, something friendly, something not obviously lovesick, when the school doors burst open.

A tidal wave of kids floods out.

“Steve! I’ve been waiting forever!” Max yells, barreling toward him with her skateboard like she owns the pavement.

At the same second, you spot Will weaving through the crowd, his backpack bouncing. The way he breaks into a grin when he sees you cracks your chest open a little. He still looks so small coming out of a building so huge.

“You’re here! Finally!” He gasps when he reaches you, even though you’re early.

You laugh and ruffle his hair. “Nice to see you too.”

And that’s when the universe decides to absolutely annihilate you.

A teacher—you think she’s one of the kids’ English teachers—approaches you and Steve with that warm, frazzled, end-of-day smile teachers wear for parents like armor.

“Oh, good! There you are!” She chirps. “Your kids were very well-behaved today.”

Your brain trips over itself so hard you actually blink. Your kids?

Beside you, Steve goes rigid. Max snorts so loudly she almost chokes. You and Steve make the exact same face—wide-eyed, frozen, about to malfunction.

“Our what?” You stammer, but Steve jumps in, panicked.

“Oh—they—um—only one of them is mine,” He blurts.

You whip your head toward him. Only one of them is his? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

He realizes what he just said in real-time, eyes going feral. “I mean—none!. None are mine, I don’t—I’m just, you know?” He shrugs his shoulders in panic, struggling to get his point across. You know what he means…he’s just picking them up. But the teacher in front of you doesn’t seem to get the message.

Will is wheezing against your arm, absolutely delighted.

Dustin materializes out of the crowd like a summoned gremlin. “What is happening?” He demands—but then the teacher smiles fondly at him too, like he’s your collective third child, and he looks like Christmas arrived early.

“Oh my god,” He whispers, nudging you and watching Steve with utter amusement. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”

“Sir,” the teacher says kindly to Steve, patting his arm like he’s having a breakdown, “You don’t have to explain anything. Parenting is hard.”

You swear you see Steve’s soul momentarily leave his body. Max crosses her arms. “Yeah, Dad, stop being weird.”

Your jaw drops. You’re 97% certain Steve just lost the will to live.

“MAX,” he hisses, voice cracking.

You try—really try—not to laugh. But a strangled sound escapes anyway, and you have to hide your mouth behind your hand before you openly lose it. The teacher, blissfully unaware of the carnage she’s caused, waves cheerfully and moves on to the next cluster of kids.

Will is practically vibrating. “You two should get matching minivans!”

“Don’t. Even,” you warn him, but your cheeks are already burning.

Steve looks like he’s seriously considering changing his name and moving to another state. “Okay, shitheads.Nobody ever speaks of this again. Got it?” He points to each of them with an intensity you adore.

“No promises Dad,” Dustin cackles.

You start steering Will toward your car before he throws more gasoline on the fire. Your heart is still thumping, too fast, too warm, and you’re terrified it’s obvious.

But then—something prickles at the back of your neck.

You glance over your shoulder. Steve is still standing beside his BMW, leaning one elbow on the roof, watching you like he doesn’t want this moment to end. Like you’re something he’s memorizing.

When your eyes meet, he says aloud: We’d be cool parents though.

Everything inside you short-circuits. You pretend not to hear him, but a small smile creeps its way onto your face. Your hand slips, keys nearly tumbling. Will looks up at you with raised eyebrows. “Why do you look like that?”

“Headache,” you say immediately. 

Will squints. “You’re the weirdest person I know.”

You don’t look back again. You don’t trust yourself not to melt into a puddle in front of the entire school—but even as you close the car door, you swear you can still feel Steve’s grin pressed somewhere under your skin.

You’d make great parents, you think.

And on the way out, you’re nearly certain you hear Dustin ask Steve, “So, between me and Max, which one of us is yours?”

And you can’t help but laugh…you wonder how he’s going to get out of that one.

• ж • ж •

+ I. When acting like a couple ends in becoming a real couple.

Your house always feels a little small on nights like this.

Not physically—God knows Joyce keeps the place spotless, every corner well-loved and lived-in—but emotionally, the walls feel closer when the whole Party is together. Their energy ricochets around the room: loud, sharp, earnest, and chaotic. You’ve grown used to it by now: the mess, the noise, the unpredictability, but even so, every movie night walks that thin line between heartwarming and total combustion.

Tonight lands firmly on the combustion side. It happens fast, so fast that you don’t notice the exact moment the tension shifts. One moment the kids are debating movie choices, the next they’re fighting over pizza, and it devolves—fast.

Mike grabs the last slice before Dustin’s hand even reaches the plate.

“I called it!” Dustin erupts, shoulders shooting up like he’s about to engage in mortal combat.

Mike clutches the slice to his chest. “Calling doesn’t count!”

Dustin’s mop of curly hair takes up most of the space in your vision. He lifts an eyebrow with conviction,“Uh, yes it does!”

“It actually doesn’t!”

Somewhere behind them, Lucas shouts, “You’re both idiots!” which does absolutely nothing to de-escalate the situation.

On the other side of the room, Max throws her head back with a guttural noise of disgust before bracing her hands on the wall and storming down the hall. The bathroom door slams so hard the vibration echoes into your teeth.

Will tries to intervene once—very softly, very hesitantly—but Mike snaps something over his shoulder without thinking, and Will immediately shrinks back, retreating toward the end of the couch like he wishes he could disappear into it.

El stares at the TV remote with growing frustration. You know what she’s thinking. Maybe she could fix the evening with her powers if she tried hard enough, and you swear you see her jaw tremble.

You know the signs. You’ve babysat these kids long enough. Once one kid spirals, the rest follow like dominos.

You inhale through your nose, prepared to wade into the emotional battlefield, and then you look up. Steve, standing by the kitchen counter, meets your gaze across the living room. His gaze immediately grounds you.

What happens next is wordless and instinctive. It’s a practiced rhythm you didn’t even know you had with him—but apparently you do, because the two of you fall into perfect sync without so much as a nod.

You head for the emotional fires; Steve heads for the practical ones.

It’s almost choreographed, like some part of you already knew how to do this together. You calm the feelings while Steve stabilizes the room.

You move to Will first, because the defeated slope of his shoulders is impossible to ignore. His anxiety is a quiet thing, but you’ve learned to read him better than anyone. While you try not to treat him any differently than the others, he’s your brother. And he’s been through far too much for a kid his age. 

You crouch down. “Hey,” you say gently, touching his elbow. “Take a breath with me, okay?”

Will’s eyes flicker up to yours, glassy and full of unshed worry. But he listens. He always listens.

You breathe slowly. He follows. He steadies.

“There you go,” you whisper. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His shoulders sag with relief.

Next, you make your way down the hall and knock on the bathroom door. “Max? It’s me.”

A beat. Then a muffled, “They’re idiots.”

You lean your forehead against the door, trying not to smile. “They are,” you admit. “Certified idiots. But they’re also your idiots, and they’ll feel pretty terrible if you stay mad all night.”

Silence. Then a very soft: “I’ll come out in a minute. Don’t tell them I said anything.”

You smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When you head back down to the living room, the entire energy of the room has shifted and it only takes you one glance to know why. Steve has transformed the space.

The lights are now dimmed to something warm and soft. He’s grabbed popcorn from the microwave as it's quietly replenished, and the last slice of pizza has been mysteriously replaced with two half-slices so no one feels cheated.

Blankets have been pulled down from the hall closet, unfolded and ready. He hands pillows to each of them with ease. The chaos now feels smoothed, softened, and rearranged into a soft sense of comfort.

Somehow he even got Mike and Dustin to sit, still glaring at each other but at least seated, their anger settling from wildfire to the faint glow of an ember.

You meet Steve’s eyes over the room. It hits you in the chest—unexpected and overwhelming—that this feels easy. Natural. Not like something you’re improvising, but something you’ve done a hundred times together. You’ve been a team long before either of you admitted it.

And one by one, the kids melt into calmness.

Will curls into a pillow pile, comforted. El leans against Max who has now rejoined the group, her frustration dissolving with sleep. Lucas steals a corner of a blanket and tucks it under his chin. Mike and Dustin argue, but it's half-hearted now, the kind of bickering they only do once they feel safe.

It happens gradually, but beautifully. Their breathing evens out, their fighting drains away, and instead of chaos, your living room becomes a cocoon of trust, warmth, and soft teenage exhaustion.

And the whole time, you and Steve move in tandem: adjusting blankets, soothing frayed edges, nudging cups out of danger, exchanging small, fond looks that make your stomach twist.

And by the time they’ve all settled, the house is quiet except for the hum of the TV.

You and Steve end up on the couch. It’s totally not intentional, but because there’s nowhere else to sit. A single blanket is draped over both of you, and though neither of you comments on it, you feel every point of contact like a spark.

As you sit there, the kids finally asleep, the movie plays low in the background. Your knees suddenly brush and you rest your shoulders together. Your hands settle close, almost touching on the cushion. Steve’s warmth bleeds into you, calm and familiar and terrifyingly comforting. When you look over, his gaze is already on you. In the way that you’re noticing more and more often, it’s soft around the edges, lit by something you’ve never seen from him so openly before.

In a voice so gentle it feels like an intimate secret, he says “Sometimes I feel like we really are their parents. I mean, we’re already doing the hardest parts.”

Your heart feels like it skips a beat. He continues, watching you with a bravery that makes something twist in your chest. “Maybe,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for the briefest, most devastating second, “we should just make it official.”

It lands differently than you expected. Not teasing, not flirty, and it certainly doesn’t seem like a joke. He’s serious. Nervous. Hopeful.

You swallow, because suddenly there’s a whole confession rising inside you—a tidal wave of things you’ve been too scared to voice.

“Hmm. You do make everything easier,” you hum teasingly, then seriously, you whisper. “With the kids. With Will. With… everything really. When you’re here, it feels like I don’t have to hold everything alone.”

His expression breaks open, softens, deepens. “You don’t,” he says, voice thick. “You never have to, not with me. We have something real, and something I never want to lose (Y/n).”

Your heart surges. “Are you sure you really want this?” You ask, searching his face for any uncertainty.

He nods without hesitation. “Yeah.” His tone carries with so much confidence, you wish you could express yourself like him. “I want you and I want this. I have for a long time.”

Something in you unravels. Something else roots itself deeper. You lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away if you’ve misread this—if this isn’t what he meant—

But he moves with you. You meet halfway, and he meets you with as much care for you as you have for him.

The kiss is slow and warm and breathtaking in its tenderness. Steve exhales against your mouth like he’s been waiting for this—for you—longer than he knows how to admit. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch so gentle it makes your eyes sting.

You melt into him as he pulls you closer, and the world narrows and expands all at once.

It feels inevitable, yet so so right. 

You’re officially together. Exactly where you both belong.

[littlefreaklue]

| ANIMALS

is this unedited? yup. do i care? nope! sorry not sorry.

word count: 1.5k

contents: 18+ MDNI, steve harrington x fem!reader, reader is hoppers daughter, secret-ish relationship, kissing, allusions to oral (f receiving), they get caught oopsiess

You’re already holding your breath before you even leave your room.

Sneaking out isn’t new—not technically—but doing it under Hopper’s roof is basically like trying to steal a steak from a bear. A six-foot-something, ex–big city cop, suspicious-of-everyone bear.

You slip on your jacket, move your pillows under your blanket in a vaguely human-shaped lump, and try to hype yourself up.

He never approves of boys. He especially doesn’t approve of Steve. He says “He’s got too much hair and too many hormones. No.”

So the sneaking around has become… necessary.

You crack your bedroom door.

It squeaks.

Loudly.

You freeze, praying Hopper doesn’t appear at the end of the hallway like a horror movie jump scare.

Silence.

You slip into the hallway.

Step carefully, avoiding the spots you’ve memorized—the third board on the left, the board by the vent, the one near the linen closet that screams betrayal with every creak.

You reach the end of the hallway.

The TV is still on. Good sign.

Except you hear him shift in his recliner, the leather groaning.

You duck back, heart pounding in your throat, flattening yourself against the wall like a criminal. You wait. Five seconds. Ten. The TV volume rises—he’s turning it up, probably half-asleep.

You take that as your cue.

Step after step, you creep further into the shadows moving like someone dodging laser beams in a spy movie.

Hopper’s recliner is angled just enough that you can see the top of his head over the back of the chair.

He’s awake.

You can tell by the way his hand keeps reaching for the remote.

You wait for him to switch channels—your only window.

Finally…

He clicks the button.

You sprint-walk—a silent, frantic, adrenaline-fueled shuffle—to the front door.

The lock clicks open slower than you’ve ever heard it.

You ease the door open.

A cold breeze slips in.

You slip out.

Close it softly.

You’re outside.

You breathe again.

You half-jog through the yard, hugging your jacket tight, adrenaline humming in your veins. Every time a porch light flicks on or a dog barks, you swear he’s right behind you.

But he’s not.

Steve’s car sits at the end of the street like it’s waiting in the shadows just for you. The windows are already fogged a little from the heater, the soft dome light flicking on when he notices you coming.

He grins—boyish and excited.

“You made it,” he whispers as you open the door and slide in beside him.

“Barely,” you breathe, cheeks flushed. “He almost caught me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay— that’s hot. Not the getting caught part—the rebel part. I like the sneaking. It’s like we’re in a spy movie.”

You shove his shoulder. He grabs your hand. You both dissolve into quiet laughter.

Steve kisses your knuckles, eyes warm. “Buckle up, trouble.”

He pulls away from the curb and the adrenaline grows into a fluttery warmth in your chest. You watch the cabin lights disappear behind you, replaced by open stretches of dark road, broken fence lines, and the distant hum of the Hawkins night. Steve rolls the windows down a crack, letting in cool air that smells like leaves and dirt and freedom.

“Where are we going?” you ask, though you already have an idea.

Steve taps the wheel. “Got a place in mind.”

“A romantic place?”

“Very.”

“Is it the one with the mosquitos you took me to last time?”

“First of all,” he says, “that was one mosquito. Singular. And second of all, no. This one’s better.”

He takes you the back way, weaving down dark stretches of road, some Hall and Oates song humming quietly in the background.

When he turns onto a gravel path, the crunch under the tires tells you exactly where you’re headed.

The train tracks.

Your secret place.

Steve parks a few feet from the abandoned rails, rolls the windows up, kills the engine, and lets the quiet settle. No houses. No streetlights. Just the low hum of crickets.

He exhales, reaching over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You cold?”

“A little.”

He flips his palm up. “Come here, then.”

You lean toward him, but instead of a hug, he pulls you into a kiss.

Soft at first.

Then slower.

Deeper.

Like he’s been waiting all day—no, all week—for this exact moment.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face just the way he likes, and he kisses you again, this time with a warmth that sinks into your stomach and spreads. The console digs into your hip a little, but you don’t care. He’s closer. His breath is warm against your cheek, his thumb strokes your lower lip like he can’t help himself.

You clutch his jacket and tug him closer, if that’s even possible.

He smiles against your mouth.

“Easy,” he whispers, teasing. “We just got here.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “But I’m trying to savor it.”

Your heart stutters.

He kisses you again, his fingers curling behind your neck. The closeness sends a ripple of heat straight through you—not overwhelming, just… intense. Sweet and dizzying at the same time.

He breaks away just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Back seat?” he asks, voice low.

Your breath catches. “Yeah.”

You crawl over first, giggling when Steve gives your butt two small pats.

Steve follows, grumbling as he gets stuck for a second.

“Ow—okay—hold on—my belt loop—”

“Steve—just—turn—no, not that way—”

He finally tumbles into the back seat with a thud, landing half on you, half against the door.

You burst into quiet laughter.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his lips find yours again.

His hand slides to your waist, fingers lightly pressing into your sides like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. You lean in, bracing your hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

Steve kisses you like he’s trying to pull every breath you have straight out of your lungs—gentle but hungry, desperate but patient. His mouth trails to your jaw, then returns to your lips, hotter, deeper.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and he groans softly into your mouth.

You feel that sound in your spine.

“God,” he whispers, pulling back just long enough to look at you—cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling fast. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you breathe.

He laughs, breathless, then kisses you again, his hands sliding up your back.

Somewhere during all the shifting and moving, your shirt came off. The sticky air hits your skin and Steve’s fingers brush the newly exposed skin. His breath hitches, his eyes darting to yours for permission he doesn’t say aloud.

You nod, kissing him again.

That’s permission enough.

He kisses and nips down your neck, slow and careful and a little shaky, like he’s overwhelmed but still trying not to rush.

“Steve—”

You gasp as he starts to work on the zipper of your jeans, his other hand sliding up your ribs, and then—

Something outside crunches.

You freeze.

“Did you hear that?” you whisper, breath shaking.

Steve’s still kissing down your collarbone. “Hmm?”

“Steve.”

“Mm?” His lips brush your skin again, distracted.

“Steve. What was that?”

He doesn’t even look up.

“Probably… wind,” he murmurs, starting to work your jeans down your hips.

“Steve, I’m serious—”

“I am too,” he whispers, kissing just below your jaw. “No one knows we’re out here.”

Another crunch.

Closer.

Your heart stops.

You turn your head sharply toward the window, breath fogging the glass.

“Steve—”

The flashlight beam hits the fogged glass so suddenly that you jolt and nearly rip his hair out.

He pulls back just a centimeter, with a shaky groan, pupils blown wide.

Your heart climbs straight into your throat.

“Steve,” you whisper, panic edging your voice. “Steve, Steve, what was that?”

CRUNCH.

You both stare at the window, bodies locked together, breath fogging the glass.

Then a silhouette blocks out the moonlight.

And a deep, unmistakable voice rumbles:

“OPEN THE DOOR.”

You barely manage a whisper.

“…That’s my dad.”

Steve’s face drains of all color.

His eyes widen. His hands freeze exactly where they shouldn’t be. His mouth falls open like he’s about to scream but can’t.

“Oh my God— why— why is he here— why does he KNOW— how— WHY—”

Boots crush gravel beside the car, each step sounding like a death sentence.

You scramble out from under steve as smacks his head into the roof.

It’s a disaster.

“Where’s my shirt—where’s my SHIRT—!”

“I DON’T KNOW, YOU TOOK IT OFF—”

“I DIDN’T TAKE IT OFF, YOU LIFTED IT—”

“OKAY WELL IT’S GONE NOW!”

You find the shirt wedged between the seat and the door.

You try to pull it over your head.

Your elbow gets stuck.

You nearly suffocate yourself in your own cotton.

Steve tries to help and only makes it worse.

“STEVE—HURRY—”

“I AM TRYING—MY HANDS DON’T WORK ANYMORE—”

Outside, Hopper knocks again.

“This is your last warning.”

You both freeze in terror.

Then Steve, shaking like a leaf, reaches out and hits the unlock button with the saddest little click you’ve ever heard.

He inches down the back window just enough for Hopper’s face to appear.

And that’s when your soul exits your body completely.

Hopper looks into the backseat.

At you.

At Steve.

At your shirt half on, half inside-out.

At the fogged windows.

At the jacket Steve has draped over his lap.

Taking in the general air of “we were absolutely doing something we should not have been doing.”

His expression doesn’t change.

No anger.

No yelling.

Just gruff, grim, exhausted disappointment, which is almost worse.

“Evenin’.”

Steve makes a sound like a dying goat.

Hopper shines his flashlight directly onto Steve’s face.

Steve goes temporarily blind.

You watch him blink rapidly, shrinking against the seat like he’s trying to phase through the upholstery.

Hopper’s voice comes out low and deadly.

“Explain. Right now.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Steve tries next. “We— I— we were— uh— looking at… trains?”

Hopper stares. “Trains,” he repeats.

Steve nods violently. “Yes, sir. Big fan of trains. Huge fan.”

“Funny,” Hopper says, “because to me it looks like you’re both half-dressed in the backseat of a car in the middle of nowhere.”

You desperately squeak, “We weren’t— we didn’t—”

Steve cuts in.

“We weren’t— we weren’t doing anything… anything bad. Not like… bad-bad. We were just— we were just kissing.”

Hopper’s eyes narrow dangerously.

Steve adds quickly, panicking:

“On the lips. The lips on her face. Her mouth. Her normal mouth.”

You bury your face in your hands.

He keeps going.

“I mean— not, like— other— not— that. I would never do— not in your— not near your— sir I wasn’t anywhere near her pants— okay well technically I WAS near them but not— not in the way—”

You slap your hand over Steve’s mouth.

“Stop. Please. I’m begging you.”

Hopper just stares at him. Then at you. Then back at him.

He aims the flashlight at the entire backseat area like he’s documenting evidence.

“Kids these days,” he mutters. “For the love of— okay. Both of you. Sit up. Pull yourselves together.”

“Dad—”

Hopper lifts a hand.

“Don’t ‘dad’ me. I found the door unlocked and your shoes missing.”

You blink hard.

“…You checked?”

“Of course I checked. I’m not an idiot.”

Steve whispers, horrified, “Oh my god— he noticed the shoes—”

“You,” Hopper says, pointing at you, “get decent.”

Then he points at Steve, “And you. Get out.”

Steve freezes.

“Out… of the car?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“In front of you?”

“Yes.”

Steve gulps so hard it echoes.

He tries to slide out of the backseat trying (and failing) to hide his very obvious hard on. His foot gets stuck in a seatbelt. He trips, smacks his head on the doorframe, mutters “Ow, Jesus—sorry—sorry sir—AH—”

Hopper sighs like he regrets ever becoming a parent.

Steve finally stumbles out into the gravel and stands awkwardly beside the car, shirt twisted, hair ruined, breathing like he ran a marathon.

Hopper steps toward him.

Steve immediately steps back—bumping into the car.

Hopper narrows his eyes.

“You running?”

“N-no, sir!”

“You look like you’re running.”

“I’m just—standing! Manly standing!”

Hopper lifts an eyebrow. “Manly standing.”

Steve nods vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

Hopper leans in, voice low. “You know I carry a gun, right?” Steve’s knees visibly buckle.

From inside the car, you shout, “Dad!”

Hopper doesn’t break eye contact. “I’m not gonna shoot him. Yet.” Steve makes a soft, strangled noise.

“Alright,” Hopper says finally, stepping back. “Both of you. Front seats. Now.”

You scramble forward, mortified.

Steve practically yanks the front door off the hinges and falls into the driver’s seat.

He goes to start the car.…No keys.

His face drains of all color. “I… I don’t… where…”

He pats his pockets. The floor. The seat. His hair, for some reason?

Hopper reaches down into the back seat and picks up the keys from right where Steve dropped them—next to his discarded jacket and your shoes.

He holds them up like he’s holding evidence at trial.

“You mean these?”

Steve withers.

“Thank you, sir.”

Hopper drops the keys in his hand with a heavy clink.

“Drive home. Quietly. And if either of you so much as touch the other, I will know.”

Steve nods so hard his hair bounces.

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. No touching. No looking. No breathing. We won’t— we’ll— I’ll— sir, I’m so sorry—”

Hopper holds up a hand.

“Son, stop talking before you get hurt.”

Steve shuts his mouth instantly.

Hopper steps back, but doesn’t move until Steve turns the key in the ignition.

And even then, Hopper stands there, arms crossed, watching the car pull away with the expression of a man already preparing a twenty-minute lecture about boundaries, respect, and teenage hormones.

Steve doesn’t breathe until you turn the corner.

And even then, he whispers, mortified:

“He thinks I was— he thinks we were— oh God. Oh my God. I’m never showing my face again. I’m moving to Alaska. Underground. On Mars.”

You bury your face in your hands.

You want to die.

Just a little.

————————————————————————————

A/n: rediscovered this song last week and it has been on repeat ever since, so ofc i had to write something inspired by it!!

[spencersmopbucket]

tit for tat | steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: after a messy breakup, you and steve are constantly at each other's throats. the party is tired of it. themes & warnings: steve being a douche, reader being petty, screaming matches LOL, emotional angst, jealousy ugh protective STEVEEEE we love, eventual resolution since the new season has been approaching ive been on a steve kick so bad guys

steve had never been so bored.

right now, he was sitting in the parking lot of the mall, his shitty AC blowing insufficiently cold air onto his body while robin sat in the passenger seat, flipping through static-ridden radio stations. after the past year of his life, he'd have thought he'd at least be doing something entertaining with his free time.

but no. he was babysitting. again.

well, not technically. the kids were all inside the arcade, old enough now to not need a constant supervisor. but he was the ride. always the ride. and right now, he was waiting on you. you were inside with the kids, having a particularly strong bond with max and will, playing games with them on your off time. plus, you supplied the quarters.

you'd dumped him three months ago in a blaze of shouted heartbreak and slammed doors. now, thanks to the tangled web of friendships in hawkins and the love you had for the kids, he was constantly, unavoidably forced to be around you.

"can you at least try to be civil today?" robin asked, finally settling on a crackly pop station. "my ears are still ringing from the last time you two went at it in the scoops ahoy break room."

"i'm always civil," steve snapped, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "she's the one who starts it."

"she asked you to pass the salt and you told her she was 'seasoned enough with bitterness.'"

"it was a joke!"

"it was a declaration of war, steve."

the arcade doors slid open and you walked out, a vision in your summer dress, a small, victorious smile on your face. still as infuriatingly gorgeous as you'd always been. dustin was trailing behind you, chattering excitedly, no doubt about some high score you’d just helped him achieve. the sight sent a familiar, unwelcome pang through steve’s chest. you looked happy. you looked free.

you spotted the car and your smile tightened into a polite, distant line. the war mask was on. you slid into the backseat, the air in the BMW instantly turning frigid despite the struggling AC.

“took you long enough,” steve muttered, putting the car in reverse.

“some of us were actually having fun, steve,” you said sweetly, buckling your seatbelt. “it’s a novel concept, i know.”

the kids clambered in on either side of you, max having to sit in your lap due to the cramped back seat. you shifted to allow her some space as she looked down at you with pleading blue eyes. they screamed 'not again.'

the silent plea in max's eyes was a gut punch. she, more than any of them, knew what real fighting sounded like, and the last thing she needed was to be trapped in a metal box with another one. you gave her a small, reassuring squeeze, a silent promise to try.

the promise lasted all of five minutes.

the drive was a tense, silent standoff. steve would adjust the rearview mirror, and you’d be staring out the window, pointedly ignoring him. you’d lean forward to ask dustin a question, and steve would crank the radio just a little too loud.

it came to a head at the stoplight by the town square.

“so,” dustin said, his voice unnaturally high, “mike’s having a D&D session tomorrow. you guys in?”

“wouldn’t miss it,” you said at the exact same time steve said, “i’m busy.”

you locked eyes in the mirror. a challenge.

“doing what?” you asked, your voice dripping with fake curiosity. “scooping ice cream and realizing you peaked in high school?”

steve’s knuckles turned white on the wheel. “no. i have a date.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. robin visibly flinched. dustin sank lower in his seat, lucas pretended to not notice his surroundings, and will frowned. max went rigid in your lap.

you, however, just smiled, a sharp, brittle thing. “oh? anyone we know?”

“tammy thompson,” steve said, the name feeling like ash in his mouth. it was a lie. a stupid, petty lie.

you let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “tammy thompson? the one who cries when she sings? wow, steve. raising the bar, i see.”

“at least she can carry a tune,” he shot back, the words out before he could stop them. he was referring to your tone-deaf rendition of “total eclipse of the heart” you’d sung together, drunk and happy, in this very car a lifetime ago.

the light turned green. the car didn't move.

the air was so thick with hostility you could taste it.

“you’re an asshole,” you whispered, the hurt finally breaking through the icy facade.

“takes one to know one,” he retorted, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hated this. He hated every second of it.

a horn blared behind them. steve slammed his foot on the gas, lurching the car forward.

in your lap, max let out a tiny, involuntary gasp at the sudden movement, her hands flying to grip your shoulders. the sound was small, but it cut through the anger like a knife.

you looked down at her wide, anxious eyes, then up at the back of steve’s head. this wasn't just about you and him anymore.

the rest of the drive was a silence so profound it was deafening. when he finally pulled up to your house, you were out of the car before it had fully stopped, the door slamming shut behind you. you didn't look back.

steve watched you go, a hollow ache spreading through his chest. in the rearview mirror, he saw max staring out the window, her expression closed off and weary.

“tammy thompson?” robin finally said, her voice flat. “really?”

steve just rested his forehead against the steering wheel, defeated. “i know.”

dustin piped up, his voice matter-of-fact.

"all you two do is fight. and never about the actual issue."

the car was silent for a beat, the truth of dustin's words hanging in the air, sharper and more accurate than any insult you or steve had thrown. steve lifted his head from the wheel, his eyes meeting dustin's in the rearview mirror.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

dustin shrugged, but his expression was uncharacteristically serious. "it means you're not fighting about tammy thompson, or who can carry a tune. you're fighting about how you broke up. you're fighting about who was right and who was wrong. but you're just.. poking each other with sticks instead of actually talking about it."

will nodded slowly, looking down at his clasped hands. lucas mumbled, "he's not wrong."

max, still sitting stiffly, added, "it's getting really old."

steve felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck. he looked at robin for backup, but she just raised her eyebrows in confirmation of the kids' statements.

he was being schooled by a bunch of teenagers. and the worst part was, they were right.

the "actual issue" was a tangled mess of miscommunication, stress, bruised egos, and one stupid, heated argument that had spiraled into a nuclear winter between the two of you. he missed you. he was pretty sure, underneath all the venom and ice you had on the surface, you missed him too. but all you did was lob grenades at each other, and the kids were stuck in the crossfire.

he sighed, the fight draining out of him completely, leaving only exhaustion and the same hollow ache he'd felt for three whole months.

"okay," he said, his voice quiet. "point taken."

he pulled away from your house, the silence in the car now contemplative rather than hostile.

robin glanced at him. “what are you gonna do about it, hair?”

steve kept his eyes on the road.

"i don't know."

you wiped your tears, sticky and black with mascara, and checked your reflection in the mirror of your vanity. groaning, you smudged it off the corners of your eyes. behind you, max, who had skated to your house shortly after steve dropped her off, frowned. sniffling, you tried to muster a half-assed smile in her direction.

"don't worry about me, mayfield. i'm tough."

max didn't buy it for a second. she crossed her arms, leaning against your headboard. "you're not tough. you're sad. and he's an idiot."

a wet laugh escaped you. "he is an idiot." you grabbed a tissue and wiped the remaining smudges from your face, your reflection looking raw and tired. "a massive one."

"but you still like him," max stated, not a question. she knew these things.

you sighed, dropping the tissue into the trash. "it doesn't matter. it's too messy. we're just.. we can't be in the same room without trying to murder each other with our eyes."

"because you're both too stubborn to say sorry," she said, her voice blunt. "its easier to be mad than to be hurt."

her words, wise beyond her years, hit a little too close to home. you sat down next to her, the mattress dipping.

"it's not that simple, max."

"isn't it?" she asked, picking at a loose thread on your comforter. "you guys used to be so happy. and cool. you made him less of a douche. now he's just.. a douche again. and you're.. not you. you're sad."

you looked at her, at the genuine concern in her blue eyes, and felt a fresh wave of tears. the kids weren't just bystanders, they were casualties. they'd lost the easy dynamic, the fun group outings, the two people who used to be a unit now acting like rival generals in a nasty war.

"i don't know how to fix this."

max shrugged.

"just stop breaking it more."

the words were so simple. but they meant so much. the reality of it made your chest ache, forcing you to confront the truth. you were the problem too, not just steve. your desire to fight with him was just to keep a connection.

maybe the solution was to let the connection go? the thought made you genuinely sick, but maybe it was the best choice for you and the kids. and steve.

it wouldn't be easy. but then again.. nothing about this was.

parties weren't really steve's scene anymore. especially since he'd graduated high school and didn't even want to see half of the people he used to be inseparable from. but here he was, one of the only nights that he wasn't being the babysitter, holding a half full cup of warm beer and talking to tommy.

tommy was home from college, so naturally, it meant he was throwing the biggest party of the year. the guy talked his ear off, prattling on about college, the women, the sports. but all steve could think about, usually, predictably, was you.

it had been a month. you'd been avoiding him.

not like before, when you only saw him around the kids. this time, you even avoided the kids for the most part, too.

it was a clean break. a quiet, devastating ceasefire. there were no more arguments in the video store, no more sniping in the car. the kids had stopped trying to get you both in the same room, their hopeful attempts dying out one by one in the face of your polite, distant refusals.

it was what he’d thought he wanted, wasn’t it? peace. quiet.

it was hell.

he hadn't even noticed tommy was still talking until the subject changed.

"--so honestly, they could've won if they just-- yo. isn't that your girl?" tommy said, jaw dropped straight to the floor.

steve raised an eyebrow, looking in the direction of tommy's pointed finger. the bass of the music vibrated the beer in his stomach, making him physically ill at the sight before him.

there you were. he could tell you were drunk from where he was standing, thirty feet away. your eyes were hazy, lips stretched out in a lazy grin. you were dancing on the fucking table, slowly inching your shirt up, slowly, slowly, slowly, until the hem was just below your ribs. the crowd around you was whooping and cheering, a sea of faces he mostly despised, all looking at you. at the skin you were revealing.

"oh jesus christ." steve hissed, the plastic cup in his hand cracking, soaking his sleeve with warm beer. he didn't even notice. he was already on the move.

he was across the room in seconds, shoving people out of his way without a word of apology. the music was a distant thrum, the only sound he could focus on was the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

he reached the table just as you laughed, a loose, carefree sound that felt like a personal insult, and went to pull the shirt higher.

his hands closed around your waist. not gently.

you yelped as he hauled you off the table, your feet stumbling as they hit the floor. the crowd groaned in disappointment.

"hey, man, what's your problem?" some guy slurred.

steve ignored him, his grip firm on your arms as he steadied you. your hazy eyes struggled to focus on his face.

"steve?" you mumbled, your grin fading into confusion. "what're you... i was dancing."

"you were making a spectacle of yourself," he snarled, his voice low and vicious, meant for your ears only. the horrified feeling was a live wire under his skin. "what the hell is wrong with you?"

your confusion sharpened into defiance. "i'm having fun. something you wouldn't know anything about anymore." you tried to pull away, but he held fast. "let go of me."

"not a chance," he bit out, his eyes scanning the leering faces around you. "you're drunk and you're coming with me. now."

"i'm not going anywhere with you!" you shouted, your voice rising above the music. the fight was back, bright and ugly in your gaze. "you don't get to tell me what to do! you lost that right!"

the words hit their mark, but he was too far gone to care. he started pulling you toward the door, your heels digging into the carpet.

"steve, stop it! get off me!"

he didn't stop. he couldn't. all he could see was you on that table, all he could feel was the need to get you away, to get you safe, to make you stop. the quiet ceasefire was over. this was all-out war.

he finally managed to manhandle you out the front door and into the cool night air. you wrenched your arm free, stumbling back a few steps on the lawn.

"what is your problem?" you shrieked, your chest heaving.

"you are my problem!" he roared back, gesturing wildly toward the house. "dancing on a table? for them? letting them all... look at you like that?"

you laughed bitterly, drunkenly stumbling into the opposite direction. getting as far away as possible.

"now you decide you give a shit. well guess what? it's too late!" you shouted.

steve didn't have time for this. you were drunk, he was irritated, and it was very possible that you wouldn't even remember this conversation in the morning. he needed to get some water into you and get you home.

dragging you back toward the house, he sat you down and filled a glass of water from tommy's sink, stalking back outside.

"you're going to drink this," steve said, his voice tight as he thrust the glass of water toward you. you were slumped on the curb, head in your hands. "now."

you looked up, your eyes glazed with tears and alcohol. "go to hell."

he crouched in front of you, shoving the glass into your hand. "drink. it. or i'll pour it down your throat myself."

a fresh wave of anger surged through you. you took the glass, but instead of drinking, you threw the contents directly into his face.

the cold water was a shock, dripping from his hair and nose onto his shirt. he froze for a second, water plastering his bangs to his forehead, before he slowly wiped his face with his sleeve. the look in his eyes was dangerously calm.

"feel better?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"no," you spat, the fight draining out of you as quickly as it came, leaving you shivering and miserable.

"get in the car," he commanded, standing up and turning away from you, his shoulders rigid.

you did what he asked. you slid into the passenger side of his car, crossing your arms and leaning your head back, the spinning dizziness making you nothing short of sick. the ride was silent for about five minutes before, inevitably, your slurring voice could be heard again. angry. resentful. drunk.

"i hate you, steve. y'know that?" you slurred out, your lips and tongue not quite matching your vocal chords. you were so drunk that you were barely awake. but the words still had the effect they were meant to.

the words, slurred and heavy with alcohol, hit him with the force of a physical blow. his grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were bone-white. he didn't look at you. he couldn't.

"i know," he said, his voice flat and empty. it was the only defense he had left.

"you don't," you insisted, your head lolling against the window. "you don't know. you broke… you broke everything. and now you… you just get to drive me home. like you're… like you're some kinda hero." a bitter, wet laugh escaped you. "you're not a hero. you're just… a boy. a stupid, mean boy."

each word was a shard of glass. he focused on the yellow lines of the road, counting them as they passed, a desperate attempt to anchor himself.

"and i hate that i… that i miss you," you whispered, the anger dissolving into a heartbreaking confession you'd never make sober. "it's so stupid. i'm so stupid."

steve felt his own eyes burn. he blinked rapidly, staring straight ahead, trying to make the tears disappear. he'd never let them drop in front of you. he knew they'd come back later.

"just go to sleep, Y/N," he managed to rasp out. "we're almost there."

you didn't say anything else. a few moments later, a soft snore told him you'd finally passed out.

the rest of the drive was a special kind of torture, trapped in a metal box with the ghost of everything he'd ruined. when he pulled into your driveway, the silence was absolute.

he carried you inside, your body limp and heavy in his arms. he laid you in your bed, taking off your shoes and pulling the comforter over you just as he had time and time before, but this time, he didn't get to join you. he didn't get to hold you. in the dim light from the hallway, he could see the tear tracks dried on your cheeks.

he stood there for a long time, just watching you sleep, the echo of your words -- i hate you... i miss you -- playing on a loop in his mind.

he stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. the anger was gone, leaving behind a vast, empty ache. you were right. he wasn't a hero. he was just a boy who had been too stupid to hold onto the one good thing in his life.

then, he drove home in a daze, the silence in his car now a heavy, accusing presence. in his driveway, he punched the steering wheel until his knuckles were raw. the sharp pain was a relief, a physical distraction from the emotional maelstorm inside him. he sat there in the dark, the only sound his ragged breathing and the faint, metallic ring fading from the steering wheel.

he didn't even make it to his bed. he sank onto the couch in his dark living room, head in his hands.

and then, finally, alone in the dark where no one could see, the tears came. silent, shuddering sobs that wracked his entire body. they weren't just about tonight. they were for every stupid comment, every missed chance, every moment of the last three months he'd spent pushing you away when all he'd ever wanted was to pull you closer.

he cried for the "stupid, mean boy" he'd been, and for the man he was too scared to become without you.

for now, all he could do was sit in the dark and feel the weight of it all. the silence wasn't peaceful anymore. it was just heavy. he wasn't sure he'd ever truly wanted it in the first place.

the vile taste of tequila and regret created a film on the inside of your mouth. a pounding headache rocked your temples, making you want to rip your head from your shoulders and throw it in an ice bath.

sunlight stabbed through your eyelids like a hot knife. you groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow, but the movement sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. fragments of the night came back to you in a nauseating kaleidoscope. the bass of the music. the feeling of the table under your shoes. the whooping crowd. then… steve.

steve’s furious face. steve’s hands on your waist, hauling you down. the cold water hitting his face. the silent, tense car ride. your own voice, slurred and venomous.

i hate you, steve.

i hate that i miss you.

a fresh wave of humiliation, hot and sharp, washed over you, worse than the hangover. you’d said that. you’d actually said that out loud. to him.

you dragged yourself out of bed, your body protesting every movement, and stumbled toward the kitchen for water and aspirin. as you passed the living room, you froze.

there, on the coffee table, was an empty glass of water. next to it sat two aspirin, and a note, written on a ripped piece of notebook paper in a familiar, slanted handwriting.

Drank the water. Take these. There’s Gatorade in the fridge. - S

no “love,” no “xoxo.” just his initial. it was so simple, so practical, and it somehow made everything a thousand times worse. he’d been in your house after you’d passed out. he’d seen you at your most vulnerable, your most pathetic, and his response wasn’t anger or a lecture. it was… caretaking. the one thing he’d always been good at, even when he was being a world-class jerk.

it was a peace offering you didn’t deserve and didn’t know how to accept. you picked up the aspirin, dry-swallowing them with a wince, the gesture feeling like a surrender you weren't ready to make. the war was over, but the aftermath was a minefield, and you were standing right in the middle of it, hungover and heartbroken.

as you were dissociating, your phone rang, worsening your headache. muttering a curse, you stumbled to the wall it was on, answering it begrudgingly.

"hello?"

will's voice crackled through on the other end, soft and hesitant as it always was. at least it wasn't someone annoying.

"hi, y/n. it's will," he said. "i was just wondering.. well, max told me to call and ask.. if you're still planning on coming to dustin's birthday party today? we really want you to come. we haven't seen you in forever."

the question felt like a physical blow. dustin’s birthday. you’d completely forgotten. of course steve would be there. he was the official party chauffeur, the defacto older brother. the thought of facing him, sober and raw, after last night made your stomach churn.

“i, uh…” you stammered, your mind racing for an excuse. a work emergency. sudden illness. a spontaneous trip to antarctica.

“please?” will’s voice was small, and you could picture his earnest, worried face. “it hasn’t been the same without you. everyone keeps arguing about the campaign rules and steve just… mopes. it’s not fun.”

steve just mopes.

the image was so pathetic, so unlike the loud, boisterous king steve of old, that it pierced through your own self-pity. the kids were suffering. they were caught in the crossfire of a war they didn't start, missing the easy dynamic that used to exist.

you looked back at the note on the coffee table. s. a simple initial that held so much weight. he’d taken care of you, even after you’d thrown water in his face and called him names. he was trying, in his own, messed-up way.

taking a deep, shaky breath, you made a decision. it wasn't a surrender. it was a ceasefire for a higher cause.

“yeah, will,” you said, your voice softer. “i’ll be there. what time?”

“four o’clock!” will said, his relief palpable even through the phone line. “at mike's. thanks, y/n!”

you hung up the phone, your heart hammering. you were going to have to see steve. sober. in broad daylight. and you were going to have to find a way to be in the same room without vomiting.

mike's basement was decorated with streamers. a banner read "happy birthday, dustin!" courtesy of joyce byers, who had a particular eye for these things. after the parents let the kids know that they couldn't go on random, spontaneous trips through the woods or accidentally on purpose set the basement aflame, they were cut loose. it wasn't too long after that that steve showed up.

the air was thick with the smell of pizza and the sound of bickering over the D&D board. steve ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to keep the peace between lucas and mike.

"look, who cares what color the wizard's robe is? is it significant to the story line?" he sighed tiredly.

lucas glared at him, crossing his arms.

“it establishes his alignment!” lucas shot back, his voice cracking with teenage indignation.

“it’s a robe, sinclair! it’s not that deep!”

max bounced her leg restlessly from her spot on the couch next to el, staring at the basement stairs. she missed you. steve knew it. she hadn't seen you in a while since the argument about tammy thompson, when you'd obviously decided that being around steve was too much.

"when's y/n gonna be here? did you tell her it was at 4?" max questioned will.

will, who was carefully arranging dustin's new dice by color, looked up nervously. "yeah, i told her. she said she was coming."

the unspoken i hope hung in the air. steve, who had been pretending to be deeply invested in the pizza box design, felt his stomach clench. he hadn't known you were invited. he hadn't allowed himself to even consider the possibility. the fragile, silent truce from the last party felt like it had happened a lifetime ago.

the creak of the basement door opening cut through the bickering.

all heads, including steve's, swiveled toward the stairs.

you appeared, looking hesitant, holding a clumsily wrapped present. your eyes immediately found Max, and a genuine, relieved smile broke across your face. "hey, mayfield."

max practically launched herself off the couch, skirting the D&D board to wrap you in a quick, tight hug. "you're here."

"wouldn't miss it," you said, your voice soft. you handed dustin the present. "happy birthday, dude."

as dustin tore into the gift (a ridiculously advanced model rocket), your gaze inevitably drifted across the room, colliding with steve's. it was like two magnets, repelling and attracting at once. the air grew thick. the kids, sensing the shift, went unnaturally quiet.

steve gave you the same small, cautious nod he had before. an acknowledgment. a white flag held aloft. you returned it with a tight, almost imperceptible dip of your chin. a reluctant acceptance of the ceasefire.

then, you deliberately turned your back to him, focusing all your attention on max and el.

steve felt the dismissal like a physical blow. he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to the pizza, the cardboard box suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. the party continued, the noise level slowly rising again, but a new, unspoken rule had been established. you and steve existed in the same space, a careful, orbiting distance between you. for the kids, it was enough. for steve, it was a special kind of agony.

and for el and max, it was annoying.

they sat on the couch, doing their teenage girl thing, analyzing with their eyes and whispering to each other. the occasional giggle, the occasional annoyed groan, and the formation of a plan bubbled from their lips.

you, of course, were oblivious due to the nature of the party. you listened to the boys rant and rave about D&D like you had for hours, curled into a recliner next to will, who sometimes glanced at you dozing off and smiled in amusement.

steve was too busy staring at you to notice either. it was pitiful, if you asked max.

with one final exchanged, deciding glance between blue and brown eyes, max and el clambered up from the couch and walked up to the chair you and will shared. they tried to look innocent (max mostly struggled) as el spoke.

"help." she simply said, gesturing to the upstairs.

you raised an eyebrow, sitting up.

"with what?"

"closet. need supplies."

groaning, suspecting no foul play, you sat up and followed the girls.

you followed max and el up the basement stairs, the noise of the party fading behind you. they led you to the closet they spoke of. when the door opened, your eyebrows furrowed. it was karen wheeler's cleaning supplies, full of pine sol, mops, and buckets.

"what do you--"

without another word, you were shoved in. the door shut behind you and clicked, the sound of a lock.

"what the fuck? jane hopper! maxine mayfield!" you seethed, pounding on the door.

you heard a giggle before you heard, "we will go get more help. don't worry."

they sprinted downstairs, now quickly approaching where steve sat, completely dissociating and sprawled across the couch they'd just been sitting on. he'd come over to claim their spot.

"help. y/n is stuck in the closet!" el said excitedly, grabbing steve's hand and attempting to yank him up.

steve matched your look of confusion, sitting up slightly.

"stuck? what are you talking about?"

"stuck," max confirmed, her face a mask of exaggerated urgency. "the door locked behind her. she can't get out."

a flicker of genuine concern crossed steve's face before it was replaced by deep suspicion. he looked from max's poorly concealed smirk to el's wide, "innocent" eyes. this had "ambush" written all over it.

but the thought of you, trapped and probably furious, was enough to get him moving. he sighed, heaving himself off the couch. "fine. show me."

they led him back upstairs, practically vibrating with suppressed glee. he could already hear you on the other side of the door.

"--so help me god, when i get out of here, i am telling joyce you've been using your powers to cheat at monopoly!" you were yelling, your voice muffled by the wood.

steve almost smiled. almost.

"stand back," he said, his voice firm. "i'm gonna try the door."

he heard a huff from the other side, but the pounding stopped. he grabbed the doorknob. it opened without an issue. there you were, face red, surrounded by cleaning materials. he smirked, turning back around to look at the girls.

"really? that was-- jesus christ!" he exclaimed.

el shoved him into the same closet, slamming the door behind him before he could get his hands on it. the lock clicked again. steve groaned, trying the knob, but it was damn near cemented. el using her powers.

"talk." el simply said from the outside, crossing her arms.

"without yelling." max added. "for twenty minutes."

crossing their arms, the girls turned and walked away.

"goddammit," he muttered, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of the door.

on the other side, you stood frozen, your own anger momentarily eclipsed by sheer disbelief. you were locked in a broom closet. with steve harrington. by two fourteen-year-old girls.

the space was suddenly, unbearably small. the sharp scent of pine-sol filled your lungs, mixed with the scent of steve's aftershave and the mint gum in his mouth. you could feel the heat radiating from his body just inches away.

"this is ridiculous," you whispered into the cramped darkness.

"you think?" steve's voice was a low, frustrated rumble right next to your ear. he shifted, his shoulder brushing against yours, and you both flinched away, pressing yourselves against opposite walls. it was a futile effort; the closet was barely big enough for the two of you and karen wheeler's cleaning arsenal.

silence descended, thick and heavy. you could hear his breathing, a little too fast, and the frantic thumping of your own heart. twenty minutes. it felt like a lifetime.

you knew that if you didn't address what had happened the other night, you'd look weak. and you'd also explode. neither were good options, and if you and steve kept ignoring what was happening between each other, things would only get broken worse.

"thank you." you whispered, crossing your arms.

the two words, soft and unexpected, seemed to suck all the air out of the cramped closet.

steve went completely still. "for what?" he asked, his voice cautious, confused.

"for the other night," you clarified, your voice barely audible. you stared straight ahead at a bottle of bleach, unable to look at him. "for... getting me home. for the water and the aspirin. i was... i was a mess. and you didn't have to do that."

there was a long pause. you could almost hear him processing, the gears turning in his head.

"i did have to," he said finally, his voice low and earnest. "Y/N, i will always have to. even if you hate me. even if you never want to see me again. if you're in trouble, i'm... i'm there. that's never going to change."

the raw, unvarnished truth in his words was a battering ram against the walls you'd built. it wasn't a grand romantic declaration. it was something deeper, more fundamental. a promise of loyalty that transcended their broken relationship.

a sob caught in your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stifle it. the sound was small, but he heard it.

"hey," he said softly, his tone shifting from defensive to concerned. "don't... don't cry. please."

"i'm not crying," you lied, your voice trembling.

you felt him shift beside you, his arm hesitantly brushing against yours again, but this time, neither of you pulled away. he tried to turn your body towards his.

"look at me," he whispered.

you shook your head, still facing the bleach bottle as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"please, baby."

the pet name simultaneously shot sparks down your spine and poured cold water over your head. slowly, reluctantly, you turned your head. your eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and you could see his face, all sharp angles and shadows, his expression open and unbearably sad.

"i'm sorry," he said again, his gaze holding yours. "for all of it. for being a stupid, mean boy. for not being the man you needed me to be."

the tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. you didn't wipe them away.

"i miss you," you whispered, the admission feeling like both a failure and a liberation. "and I hate it."

a shuddering breath escaped him. he lifted his hand, his fingers hovering near your cheek before he gently wiped a tear away with his thumb. the touch was so familiar, so achingly gentle, it made you want to scream and lean into it all at once.

"i know," he murmured, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "i miss you too. and i hate that you hate it."

you stood there, trapped in a closet, crying while steve harrington wiped your tears, and for the first time in months, it didn't feel like a battle. It just felt sad, and real, and like maybe, just maybe, a beginning.

you could feel him getting closer, his smell, the heat of his body, until you were breathing it all in. his nose brushed yours gently. two days ago, you would've never dreamed he'd be this close to you ever again. it felt like you were floating, an out of body experience.

his lips were a breath away from yours. you could feel the warmth of them, the ghost of a touch you’d ached for and resented in equal measure. your eyes fluttered shut, the world narrowing to the space between your mouths. jt would be so easy to close it. to fall back into the familiar warmth, to let the anger and the hurt dissolve into this. but you couldn't move.

steve could. this was all he'd ever wanted for months.

"i promise you," he whispered, his scent fanning over your face. "i swear on everything i love. i will never hurt you again."

the words were a balm and a brand all at once. a promise you desperately wanted to believe, seared into the air by the heat of his proximity. your resolve, already cracking, began to crumble.

that was all the invitation he needed.

he closed the infinitesimal distance, his lips meeting yours.

it wasn't like the frantic, desperate kisses from before the breakup. it wasn't like the angry, bruising clash you'd shared in the middle of your worst fights. this was slow. reverent. a silent apology and a desperate question all in one.

a sob escaped you, muffled against his mouth, but you didn't pull away. your hands, which had been braced against his chest, unclenched. your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world.

he kissed you like he was memorizing you, like he was trying to pour every unsaid "i'm sorry" and "i miss you" and "i love you" directly from his soul into yours. one of his hands cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed across the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until not even a whisper could fit between you.

the world outside -- the party, the kids, the months of pain -- ceased to exist. there was only the dark, the scent of pine-sol and his cologne, and the devastatingly gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads resting together again in the dark.

the lock clicked.

the door swung open. max and el stood there, their eyes wide.

max’s mouth dropped open. "whoa."

el just smiled, a small, knowing smile.

steve didn't jump back. he kept his forehead against yours for a second longer, his eyes still closed, as if savoring the moment before the real world intruded. then he slowly straightened up, his hand sliding from your back to find yours, lacing your fingers together.

he looked at the girls, a new, quiet confidence in his gaze. "we're good," he said, his voice low but firm.

it wasn't entirely true. the hurt wasn't gone. the trust wasn't magically rebuilt. but the war was over. the peace talks had ended with a treaty sealed with a kiss.

you looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him, and gave his fingers a slight squeeze. it was an answer.

we're getting there.

[queers-gambit]

Court Jester

prompt: ( requested ) after running into his old crew, Steve thinks he can save face by calling you clingy, but your best friend hears. though, they say Christmas is the time for forgiveness! -> or forgiving being called clingy.

pairing: Steve Harrington x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 8.4k+

note: finally, Steve, my beloved!!

warnings: the fluff ending you all wanted, but a small dose of angst beforehand, drama, hurt and comfort, feelings are hard and boys are dumb. Billy makes a cameo, established relationship, relationship angst, brief NSFW, aggressive language, Christmas theme / setting, technically friends to lovers, abrupt ending, takes place after S2, oneshot, depiction of toxic family and explicit material use.

The sky was overcast with swirls of chilly grey clouds, typical for this time of year; area usually already under snowy assault. Boots and sneakers crunched over icy gravel, hands shoved in deep pockets or wrapped in thick mittens, and breath turned steamy in the frigid air.

It was your favorite time of year. Not for the weather or temperature but simply for the contagious spirit that infected all of Hawkins, Indiana.

The whole town was decorated for the holidays and winter festivities, erecting a wintery thematic village in a razed cornfield that boasted a series of vendors all trying to sell their wares. The township played holiday music on loud speakers, wreaths hung around lampposts, and twinkle lights were strung overnight to illuminate downtown. And if one looked closely, there were bunches of mistletoe hung around for couples to share sweet, impromptu kisses.

"Are they always like this?" Lucas Sinclair asked with a snarled upper lip, pointing to where their 'babysitters' walked ahead of the Party. "It's kinda sickening, I mean, they know we're in public, right?"

"Yep," Dustin Henderson nodded with a pursed smile, all too used to the sight before them. "They're disgusting."

Funny thing about the Party: they could all be a bit of bandwagon hoppers at varying moments if they thought it'd earn them brownie points among the boys. So, this time, it was Mike Wheeler who scoffed, "I've never seen Steve so... So..." he trailed off, hand laced loosely with Elven's.

"Happy?" She supplied innocently.

Mike blinked, mouth hung open in confusion before nodding, "Yeah, yeah, totally - he looks real happy." While brownie points with the boys were great, having them with your girlfriend were much more important.

She smiled back and turned to watch the way you and Steve hung off each other's hands, leaning into each other's ears and faces; pointing out different things along the Christmas Village while laughing and sharing private jokes. It was the picture of what Eleven understood relationships and love to mean and look like, so she didn't understand why it bothered the boys so much.

Lucas and Mike shared a look around Elven's head, Max clocking it and rolling her eyes, "Idiots."

"What?" Lucas defended.

"I thought we were all rooting for them to get together after they saved us from those Demodogs?" She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief, eyes rolling into the back of her head. "Now you're, what? Making fun of them for being affectionate? Are you lameo's that lonely, you think a man in love is disgusting? Grow up."

"It's just weird!" Lucas whined, "I mean, it's Steve we're talking about. Since when does he hang off someone like that?"

"Since he fell in love with Y/N?" Eleven answered, not understanding facetious or rhetorical questions.

Lucas huffed, Dustin saving everyone from explaining themselves to their girlfriends by chuckling, "I think it's cute. I mean, he's so clingy - it's kinda funny, isn't it?"

"A man showing his woman his emotions isn't funny," Max growled, seeing you yank Steve towards a blue-and-white wooden stand, "it's sweet. Maybe you losers could stand to learn a thing or two. I mean, if Steve Harrington can be that in love, I'm sure the rest of you wouldn't melt showing either of us the slightest bit of attention."

She stuck her hand out for El, who took it without a word and followed Max after you and Steve, leaving the gobsmacked boys in the icy snow. By the time the Party caught up, you were handing out styrofoam cups of hot cocoa to everyone with a bright, holly-jolly grin.

"Thanks for letting us drag you guys along," you cheered, Steve's arm wrapping around your waist snugly. "I know Christmas Villages aren't y'all's thing."

"Could've done without the ice skating," Will Byers winced, rubbing his tender bottom. He had nothing to contribute to the previous conversation, finding you refreshing and delightful; never offended by your show of emotion to the man you had fallen in love with while protecting a bunch of feral children from interdimensional monsters.

"Oh, c'mon, you had fun," you teased, waving Nancy and Jonathan down from the distance they approached from. "And you were a natural - that kid totally wiped into you, it was foul play." His cheeks flared under your warm gaze, then turned to the group to ask, "Did everyone get what was on their lists?"

There were a few nods of agreement and murmurs of response, but you caught sight of Eleven, whose brows knitted nervously and a single finger lifted in the air. You nodded at her with silent encouragement, making her nervously mumble, "I-I still need something for Hopper."

"Hm!" You nodded into a sip of cocoa. "That's right, okay. Well, let's see what the others need done..."

Nancy and Jonathan arrived with bright smiles of their own. "You read our minds!" Your best friend cheered, accepting the cocoa you handed her. True to fashion, she was then giving you the rundown, "Okay, so, we got everything, even something for Dad and this adorable dress for Holly. Oh! And I found those ornaments you were talking about!"

You gasped when she pulled the package from one of the tote bags Jonathan carried. "Oh, Nance! They're exactly what I've been looking for!" You beamed, showing Steve. "See? Thematic holidays just look ten times as pleasing."

Steve chuckled, "Never doubted you, baby."

You showed the kids, telling them how you were decorating your home in a single color this year and how these bulbs were perfect for your theme. To their credit, they pretended to look interested as you stored the package in one of your shoulder-strapped bags. "Okay, so, Eleven and I still need to get something for Hop. Does anyone else need anything? Or are we okay momentarily parting ways?"

The group mumbled how they were all good, prompting you and El to partner up, saying you'd be quicker by yourselves. "Here, gimme your bags - aht, don't fight me, baby, c'mon," Steve emptied your arms to your docile protests. "Nah, c'mon, we'll load up the car - you two just go find what you need. You'll be faster with a lighter load."

"Thank you, sweetheart," you smiled, pecking his lips quickly before finishing handing things off. You kept the bag you'd been using as a purse and turned to El, "Ready, babe?"

She nodded and quickly pecked Mike's lips, too; making you and Steve share a secret smirk when passing by. Together, with hands conjoined to swing between you, you and Eleven set off into the Christmas Market as the others all took up the bags and set off towards the parking lot with their still-steaming hot cocoas.

However, towards the candy cane decorated archway exit, the Party was interrupted by a familiar group of annoyingly pretentious individuals. Steve had once proudly called himself their King, and these, once his Court Jesters - now following in Billy Hargrove's shadow; all coming to a halt, sizing each other up.

It was intriguing; the way each had their own sort of history with each other, tauntingly glaring and smirking. Steve, Jonathan, and Nancy all posed as the barrier between the older teens from the younger ones; specifically Max from her brother. But it left the three of them susceptible to whatever shot these jesters will take.

"Harrington," Tommy H. greeted smugly, "woah, man, is that really you? Ha! Almost didn't recognize yah!"

"Oh, yeah? Why's that, Tommy?" Steve asked with an air of boredom, wishing to just move on but unable to resist quipping, "You look the same - that's gotta suck, man, sorry."

"Oh-ho," Tommy laughed without humor, "yeah, know what? Don't even worry 'bout it, man, 'cause you know, it's weird just seeing you. I mean, I feel like you're never seen without your little bitch lapdog now."

The group snickered as the Party bristled with anger at your defense, Carol adding in an obnoxious laugh, "How much tackier does it get with them? I mean, we get it, Harrington, you guys are fucking, but you don't have to be so in everyone's face. It's just not classy."

Jonathan almost laughed at the ironic audacity but was swiftly laying his hands to Steve's biceps, halting him in place as he bit off angrily, "The hell did you say?" But this only spurred on the other group, howling and leering at Steve's (and your) expense. Truth was, they'd never dare say this sort of shit to your face because while the town's resident sweetheart, you had a sharper than average tongue that intimidated even the smugest of bullies into sniffling children.

"C'mon, Harrington," Billy leered with a smug smirk, "even the blind can see how clingy you guys are."

Steve wasn't sure what compelled him, but he was deflecting with an easy shrug, "So my woman likes me and gets clingy. I wouldn't expect you to understand that feeling, Hargrove, it's okay." Nancy's brows jumped up her forehead, tongue tied out of shock - and it seemed, so was Jonathan and Max, your top three defenders. Steve continued, herding his group along the way while tossing at the others, "Happy holidays, assholes. C'mon, y'all."

There was an awkward silence as they moved for the car park, letting Steve stew in his anger as they filled his and Jonathan's vehicles with bags. Finally, Nancy found her voice and at Steve's red BMW boot, snarled, "So, that's what you really think of her? That she's clingy?"

"What? Huh?" Steve's brows knitted in confusion. "Nance, what're you talking about?"

"We all heard you, Steve," Nancy scoffed mockingly, arms crossing as she reminded, "you called Y/N clingy."

"Oh, uh," he distracted himself by adjusting bags in the trunk, "n-no, no, no, I think we're equally clingy."

"That's not what you said."

"Well, it's what I meant - "

"But you didn't say that. We all heard you. All you said was, she's clingy."

"All right. What're you getting at, Nance?" Steve asked, exasperated and a little shook up from running into his old crew with his new crew - of children.

She glared. "That's insulting."

"Look, Nance, no offense, but what does it matter? Those guys don't matter to us - who cares?"

"I care - that's my best friend! Why would you say anything bad about her? She doesn't deserve that - "

"I didn't!"

"You said she's clingy!"

Steve shook his head, sighing, "I-I didn't mean it in a bad way, Nance, you heard them - "

Her head cocked, "We'll see if Y/N feels the same."

"What?"

"Oh, like any of these kids are gonna keep quiet?" She scoffed in amusement as you and Eleven were exiting the Christmas Village and approaching the car, gushing about your present selection together. It was refreshing to see El so carefree and young - allowed to be a kid with you. Growing up, your father was absent and your mother overworked, so you adopted a sort of unlikely friendship with Hopper; all too easy to fill an older sister type role for Eleven. Nancy saw the way Steve turned doe-eyed instantly, but still snipped softly, "You better tell her before someone else does... Imagine how that'll make her feel," before walking away to where Jonathan was posted.

For a long minute - just 60 seconds - Steve considered the ramifications of his options. He knew what he said, knew how it sounded, but he also knew what he meant and how that evidently didn't come across.

He considered if he told you what happened. He considered if he didn't tell you. He considered if he didn't tell you and this came to light later from anyone else.

By the time you reached him, he still hadn't made a decision.

"Hey," you greeted Steve with a radiant smile of triumph when you made it to his car, pulling your final tote from your shoulder, "so, we found Hopper this refurbished record player we're gonna have to pick up Sunday - but also, a super cheesy mug and a couple new cassettes for his truck."

"Sounds, um, real successful, baby, yeah, that's real nice," he tried to smile in assurance, storing the bag for you in his nearly overflowing trunk.

"You okay, honey?" You worried, seeing something nervous twitch across his face. "Hey, what's wrong? Was it the cocoa?"

"No, no, baby, um," he cleared his throat, checking over his shoulder to see the others filling the space between Jonathan's wagon and his BMW. They pretended not to eavesdrop, so Steve backed you up a couple paces, whispering, "I-I need t'tell you something."

"What's wrong?"

"Uh," he stuttered, taking your hands. He hesitated for so long, you almost questioned him again, but finally, he whispered, "I-I didn't get you a present this year."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, baby. It's just - since my pops cut me off, I don't have a lot and after bills, I don't have shit leftover - "

"Honey, honey, honey, hey, hey, hey," you reached for his cheek to caress with your emerald-green-painted thumb, "take a breath. It's okay. You don't have to get me anything - you know that. It's okay. We're beyond materialistic bullshit, I don't like you for your father's money."

He just nodded, your hand falling away. "You sure?"

"Positive, we can just negotiate an alternative." He chuckled lightly. "Now, c'mon, it's cold as hell and it's getting dark."

"It's going on 5," he grumbled.

"Wow, it's getting so late. Maybe you should stay the night? You know, so you're not driving those long roads all alone in the dark?"

Steve chuckled, taking your hand to lead you back to the car, teeth scraping the shell of your ear as he mused, "Nancy's right, you're a freaking mind reader."

You just chuckled, calling over the group as you stood at the passenger door, "Hey! C'mon, guys, let's get moving! Almost dinnertime!"

There came a few cheers and the group split: Byers and Wheelers in one car; Henderson, Sinclair, and Mayfeld in the other with you and Harrington. Steve opened your door but you didn't immediately get in, seeing Nancy rounding the back to head for you as Steve went around the front to get in the driver's seat.

"Hey," Nancy hushed, taking your hand, "you two talked? Did he tell you?"

"Yeah," you nodded, "and he told me the truth. It's okay, Nance, we're gonna talk about it later."

She nodded, "Okay, yeah, good. I told him to tell you."

"It's all good," you whispered, winking and letting go of her hand. "Hey, I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure."

"Will you be home or at Jonathan's?"

"We'll be home," she teased, rolling her eyes with a suppressed grin. The kids were loaded in the back of the vehicles, you and Nancy getting in the passenger seats after waving at Jonathan and Steve in the driver's.

"Okay," you breathed after shutting the door and plugging your seatbelt, "who're we dropping off first? Maxie?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure, that'd be great, thanks," the redhead agreed.

"How come she can call you that?" Lucas complained.

"'Cause coming from her mouth doesn't make me want to punch someone," Max scoffed, the kids then dissolving into a recount of the day as Steve drove out of the lot behind Jonathan. He reached a hand over to hold your thigh, your manicured hand curling around his fingers tightly.

By a single stroke of luck, nobody mentioned running into Billy and his jokers.

When you dropped each kid off, they thanked Steve for driving as you got out and collected their bags to hand off with a hug, and before scampering into their homes, all thanked you for taking them on the day's adventure.

Dustin invited you both in for some more cocoa, but you had a few things to do at home - so, sadly rejected his offer. His mother waved from the porch, you and Steve waiting until he was properly inside before pulling away.

The drive to the very basic house you made into a home was full of short pecks pressed to your boyfriend's cheek and neck over his center console. Dangerous, yes, but after years of knowing each other and suffering minor crushes on-and-off (like every other girl in Hawkins), being together felt intoxicating and borderline obsessive. You just always wanted to touch him, feel him, be around him, assure him he was loved and appreciated after coming to learn intimately how shunned, ignored, bordering on neglected at home he was.

So, you took on the task of loving him fully.

Again, your house was only a home because your mother had long since given up portraying warmth, only working long hours to pay bills and avoid all reminders of her failed marriage. So, as the eldest daughter, you were the second mother and took over all homely regulations; including holiday decorations, hence why it looked like Frosty puked over your place - or so Steve had teased.

"Ma?" You called when the pair of you entered through the door around 5:34 pm in pitch darkness.

"In here," a different voice answered. In the living room, you discovered your siblings gathered around to watch a holiday program.

"Where's Ma?" You asked, Steve hovering in the doorway to hand off the shopping bags to where you set things on the dining room table in the adjoining room.

"She picked up another double," Ethan answered, yanking a hunk of Twizzler between his teeth; eyes glued on the screen as Maria sat behind him on the couch, braiding his hair.

"Okay, well, did anyone make dinner plans?"

"No," they all called in union.

You sighed, "Guys, Steve's here."

"Hi, Steve."

He chuckled, "Hi, you guys. Baby, hey," he caught your busy-body waist, "we can go get something to eat - "

"No, hey, you don't have extra right now and I might've gone over budget today," you winced. "We have something here I can make."

"Let's get to it, then," he eased, gesturing for you to lead the way. He followed, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure everyone was still in place; and when turned the corner of the kitchen, let his hands seize the base of your ribs and press into you from behind. You squealed lightly, Steve breathing in your ear, "Finally. Been wanting you alone all day."

"You're a hound," you teased, loving the feel of his arms around you. You sunk back into his warmth, just swaying in place, subtly grinding together as he laid hot kisses up your neck, licking the rounded tip of your ear. You flinched with a sharp inhale, head rolling back. "Baby, please..."

"What? What? What am I doing wrong?" He teased, hands heavy on your waist, but sliding up your ribs, "I'm just enjoying the feel of you - my perfect, pretty girl."

You snickered, gasping when his hand lifted to take both breasts in hand and squeeze heartily. Your hands lifted to lay over his, his breath hot in your ear as you enjoyed the feel of him, one hand reaching to hook around the back of his neck.

"You know, this reminds me," you breathed, "Eleven was asking me why a clingy man is good."

"Oh, yeah?" He purred, eyes distant as he thought back to what he said about you. "What'd you tell her?"

You needed to reach out to stabilize on the counter with your free hand. "That there was technically no such thing unless defined by her own terms. Had a nice conversation about love languages..." You hummed when his teeth raked over the meat of your neck. "H-How you and I both value physical touch, so maybe it comes off a little clingy to others."

"Does it to you?" He asked quietly, hoping to distract you enough to forget the root of this conversation.

"Never, Stevie," you smiled, flinching when his teeth caught your earlobe. "But, uh, you're acting a little different tonight. You okay? You don't usually like risking us getting caught."

"Maybe you just look too good."

Or maybe he was wracked with guilt.

"I gotta make dinner," you whispered, threading your fingers into hair at the base of his skull. He sighed into your neck and laid a kiss there, lowering his hands to just hold around your waist.

"All right," he agreed, "we'll finish this later."

You chuckled and swatted his hands off you, checking the fridge first, then the freezer. Figuring the chicken would go bad if you didn't cook it, you got out a series of vegetables with the protein and flitted around the kitchen to pull out necessary utensils and cookware.

"So about Christmas..."

Steve perked up from where he sat at the breakfast nook table, "I'm so sorry about that - "

"No, no, no," you rushed, "stop apologizing, shut up. I was hoping we could negotiate an alternative."

"I'm listening."

"Maybe you could... Come with me to my family's celebration?"

He paused, then let his lips spread in a slow grin, asking, "You want me to go with you? Like, spend the whole holiday together?"

"Well, yeah," you eased with a simple shrug, cutting the chicken to add to a heated, oiled skillet. "Only if you want to - "

Steve chuckled, nodding, "I'd love to, baby, yeah. Maybe I could stay the night Christmas Eve? Then I'm here in the morning?"

Your stomach curled nervously, nodding, "I'd like that. Yeah, we can talk about it more later - still two weeks away."

Steve agreed and took up residence at the stove, stirring the hot contents to your direction as you finished the last of the meal contents. It was your usual routine and while Steve was an only child, he was used to you caring for your siblings on this level and tried where he could to help alleviate some of your stress. He watched you and let guilt sink his gut, knowing he spoke out of turn earlier out of sheer panic - not knowing why his first reaction was to insult your relationship to a bunch of assholes who don't matter to anyone.

He wasn't embarrassed to love you, he'd fallen in love after breaking up with Nancy and seeing the way you protected the kids against the horrors of the Upside Down. You hadn't been involved the first time, you and Max both skeptical but playing along for the sake of how serious your friends were behaving. At the junkyard, you were the one who clocked the Demodogs needing baiting further, telling the group pack animals usually spread out to hunt and they needed to keep their attention forward if this was gonna work.

Steve picked up that nailed baseball bat and went out by himself as bait. You were hooked on him after that; and evidently, he was much of the same after witnessing you use your father's shotgun.

And now he watched you - where he once fantasized about marrying you, now, he was thinking of ways to apologize without ever needing to admit what he did wrong.

That night, Steve didn't leave from between your thighs for hours.

The following Friday, you were in your basement with history partner, Eddie Munson, trying to get done the last essay before Christmas break. You both had mugs of hot tea, sugar cookies on a plate between you, basement lights plugged in, textbooks opened to different sections.

He took a sharp inhale from his joint, handing it to you, "So... The Ottoman's were the good guys?"

"Depends on your side of history. Some people think empires were colonizers - "

"Weren't they?"

You nodded, taking an inhale, "Look at the Romans."

He agreed, writing something down. "So... Who got them? Like, who ended the Ottomans?"

"Technically, World War I wiped 'em out."

"Right - okay - cool."

"Hey, Y/N!" A voice hollered from up the stairs.

"Don't come down here," you choked, coughing and handing the joint back to Eddie. "What, Ethan?"

"Nancy and Jonathan are here!"

"Send 'em down!" You spared Eddie a look, "Sorry, man, they stop by whenever. Open door policy and shit."

"Your parents don't mind?"

"They'd have to be around for all that," you snickered, shaking your head as two sets of feet clunked down the stairs.

"It smells terrible down here," Nancy complained immediately, waving a hand before her nose. "What's with all the smoke?"

"We're smoke-ing, Nance, that's kinda what happens," you snickered, accepting the joint again as Eddie exhaled slowly. "Hi, you two."

"Oh," she noted your partner, "hey, Eddie."

"Nancy. Jonathan."

"Hey, man," Jonathan nodded, the two taking a seat on the other end of the L-shaped couch. "What's going on?"

"Tryna finish Sanchez's Ottoman essay," you held your breath with another inhale. "What're you guys doin' here?"

"Thought we'd see what you were up to," Nancy smiled, "but looks like you're busy."

"Hm, homework," you teased, head tilting back as the joint dwindled to a roach.

"Yeah, looks like you're working so hard," she mocked. "Well, did you wanna take a break?"

"Nancy Wheeler, encouraging us not to do homework?" Eddie teased, hand flying to his chest, "As I live and breathe! D'you guys wanna smoke...?"

"No, no," Jonathan refused, shaking his head for them both.

"Good, it's a dirty, disgusting habit," you mused, handing Eddie the roach. "Well, I think we've pulled all the information we needed from the textbook - now it's just a matter of, like, structuring it. Think it's a good stopping point."

"Great," Eddie immediately snapped his book shut and shoved it away. He pushed off his seat on the floor and flopped back to your couch, using his lighter to reignite the cherry.

"No Steve tonight?" Jonathan asked innocently.

"Nope," you shrugged, thinking you were being aloof and nonchalant. You saw him when he picked you up after school earlier before his shift at work, it was ridiculous to miss him already - but you did.

"Mh," he nodded, "yeah, guess you guys need the space."

"What?" Eddie snickered at your confusion, "You and Harrington? Space?"

"I never said we needed space - just that I wasn't seeing him tonight," your red eyes widened, looking at your friends in suspicion. "Why would you ask that, why would we need space?"

Jonathan looked uncomfortable and confused, hissing to Nance, "I thought you said they talked?"

"They did - Y/N, you told me! You and Steve talked at the Christmas Village?" Nancy directed at you.

"We did!"

"About what?"

"I mean - what I talk about with my boyfriend is kinda between us..." You casted them a look of heavy suspicion, "But he said he couldn't afford a Christmas present this year..."

"That snake," Nancy hissed angrily, crossing her arms tightly.

"Nancy, you told him to talk to me - "

"About him calling you clingy, not about his lack of Christmas present!"

The room froze, even Eddie's eyes widening through the tendrils of smoke at Nancy's shrill and rapid confession. "W-What?" You asked softly. Nancy and Jonathan just watched you, looking increasingly uncomfortable - but it was nothing compared to what you felt. "Did you just say, Steve called me clingy? I mean... Wait, what was the context?"

"Does context really matter?" Nancy asked.

"Does to her," Eddie immediately defended.

Nancy seemed to agree because she answered softly, "Well, we ran into Tommy and Carol and Billy with their croonies, and they made fun of seeing Steve without you and the term clingy was used."

You chuckled without humor, "So, it was, like, used maliciously?"

"Sounded like it," Jonathan answered.

"I don't know if it was malicious, per se," Nancy corrected with a dramatic wince, "but Billy called you clingy and Steve didn't defend you."

You spared them a tired look, Eddie stubbing out the roach and reaching for the fresh second joint. He held it up silently, but your head shook, "Not yet. So, hang on... Billy called me clingy... And Steve - just - didn't correct him?"

"Well, he kinda, like, doubled down a little. Said, like, 'Oh, my woman likes me so much, she's clingy, so what?'" She mocked Steve's voice. "'I wouldn't expect you to get the feeling, Hargrove'."

It was quiet before Eddie wondered, "Does that count?"

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked sharply, never liking being questioned.

"Hear me out - I'm just playing devil's advocate here. I mean, is that really him calling Y/N clingy? It doesn't sound, like, serious; sounds like him just being sarcastic, kinda deflecting whatever was being said. Plus, does it really count if someone else calls her clingy? Like, that's not really Steve calling her names, is it?"

You mulled over both sides and nodded silently, staring off into space as your mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

Jonathan cocked his head, "What would you've said, Eddie?"

"Me?" Eddie chuckled. "Well, I wasn't there - I don't know. Plus, I don't think being clingy is anything wrong so it can't be used against me."

Nancy frowned as she watched you, arms crossing as she leaned into her boyfriends side. "Honey? You okay?"

You snapped outta your reprieve, "Yeah, yeah, just thinking. Um, so, look, I love you guys, but we should really get this essay done. Ethan has a hockey game tomorrow, Mary has dance thing on Sunday - "

"Right, we were heading to dinner," Jonathan caught your drift and encouraged Nancy from her seat.

She scooted to the edge and paused, "I'm really sorry, I thought he told you."

"No, it's okay - thanks for telling me," you smiled, waving her off. "Have a nice dinner, get a milkshake for me."

They said their goodbyes before heading up the basement stairs, leaving you and Eddie alone again. You sighed deeply, dropping to the back cushions as your spine felt like jelly and your stomach knotted with anxiety. Something cemented in your chest and severed in your head to set adrift; thoughts running rampant.

"You all right?" Eddie asked softly, peaking at you sheepishly from under his bangs.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," you breathed, trying to smile but it wobbled and looked fake, "toooootally fiiiiiine."

"That was... Kinda awkward, right?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

He nudged you, "It's okay. You know, uh... If you wanna talk about it, we can."

"I think I'd rather just do this essay and smoke that last joint."

He sighed and nodded, reaching for his notebook again. You did the same and tried to force yourself back into work - but was entirely distracted by what you'd learned about your boyfriend. So much so that within another an hour, notebooks were cast aside and you and Eddie faced each other on the couch; joint passed between you with an ashtray in the middle, pillows clutched to each other's chests, ranting about everything that came to mind.

Eddie was a great listener, a better gossip.

Steve was confused.

Following that weekend, for the past week, he'd shown up - as usual - to pick you up for school, but only found your siblings filing out to head for the bus. Your youngest sister, Sarah, was kind enough to stop at his driver window and tell him, "She left with Jonathan and Nancy earlier."

"Thanks, kid," he bid, confusion warping his mind as he headed into work. Most days, it worked out that he took his break around the time classes let out, so he was able to pull up at the school and drive you home - or wherever you needed to be.

Imagine his surprise when he got there that afternoon only to see you walking out of the building with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. His confusion was nearly tangible, getting out of the car when your eyes met his and his hands lifted in a 'what the hell' motion. You said something to the metalhead and made your way towards Steve, arms crossing defensively but trying to keep your tone light. "Hey," you greeted.

"Y'ready t'go, princess?" He asked, spying Eddie waiting across the lane with his hands in his jean pockets. Why was Munson lingering? Why was he even here until the end of the school day?

"Oh, uh, sorry, I meant to call you at lunch. Um, Eddie volunteered to help me finish decorating so we're gonna head straight home."

Steve's brows furrowed as he paused to absorb for a long moment, then asked slowly, "You're taking Eddie home?"

"I am."

"Since when are you two so chummy?"

You scoffed, tone hardening and stance shifting defensively, "What's the issue, Steven?"

"No, no issue. Just, uh," he shrugged, trying to diffuse by feigning casualty, "haven't seen you all weekend - you said you had to work on your essay. Then you got a ride with Jonathan this morning, now you're hanging with Eddie? Am I gonna get penciled in?"

He offered a teasing grin, but you just leaned in to peck his lips, "I'll call you later tonight."

"All right - hey, love you," he watched you walk away, turning to breezily return the sentiment over your shoulder as you made for Eddie. Steve froze, watching the two of you approach the metalhead's parked van, jumping when the car behind him laid on their horn and forced him to get out the pick-up lane.

You called him that night and only gave minimal answers to his questions and barely tried to keep the conversation going. Steve frowned and asked if you needed a ride the next day - but you assured you didn't because you were using your mother's car to drop the siblings off at school because she was driving your aunt to the hospital for an appointment and spending the day (or two) in Indianapolis. Which naturally meant you didn't need a ride home, either; so he asked about Wednesday, but you brushed him off, saying you'd let him know later.

But when he called the next night, there was no answer and Steve figured you were busy with your siblings since your mother was out of town. So he showed up the next morning and sat for 20 minutes before realizing nobody was home. He was feeling nervous and blown off, worrying something was wrong and he had a feeling he knew exactly what that was - yet still refused to confront his obvious blunder. For a brief moment, he considered calling Nancy for confirmation but figured there was no reason to further involve her in your relationship.

Steve didn't hear from you the following day, either. Now he was fully sweating to the point his shirt collars were dampening.

Finally, on Friday, a call came into the store about midday. Steve answered lazily, being a very slow day and sounding bored beyond belief, but perking up when you greeted, "Honey?"

"Oh, h-hey, baby, yeah - hey, yeah, hi!"

Through a giggle, you asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, no, uh, just a slow day. H-How's it over there?"

"Uh, it's all right. You know, senior year, big frickin' deal. D'you think you could you pick me up today?"

He blinked, "Oh, um, yeah, sure, sweetie, I can be there."

"Thanks, I'll see you then."

"'Course, yeah," he agreed, "but hey, sure one of your other boyfriends won't do it?"

"Oh, ha-ha," you mocked, glancing around the courtyard, "that's sooo funny, should be on Carson. You don't have to be there - "

"No, no, I will be," he spoke softly, "see you then, princess."

You didn't get to reply before he hung up, your eyes rolling at the attitude he had no right to have. You were the one he insulted! What right did he have to being upset? Well, you suppose your attitude had been noticeable considering it was a complete 180 from your usual behavior - but how were you supposed to act around someone who calls you clingy? How can what you did before be justifiable now? What was considered okay and what wasn't?

What parts of you were acceptable?

You figured, being the last day before break that you fully intended on spending with your boyfriend, you should attempt to clear the air... Right?

Oh! This was bogus! He was the one in the wrong, who said something about you in an unfavorable way to people that didn't need more ammunition against their self-made enemies.

Your leg bounced anxiously the rest of the day, fingernails chewed raw as you listened to teachers half drone about material before giving up. It wasn't like anyone was paying attention, anyways.

At the end of the day, you raided your locker for all necessary material before the long holiday and quickly rushed your goodbyes through the halls. Steve's red BMW was visible through the doors, and no matter how angry you might've been, still grinned in excitement to see him. He was leaning on the passenger door, pushing off when you were in-sight and matching your expression without a second thought.

"Hi, pretty girl," he purred when you were close enough, pecking your lips swiftly. "Jesus, you moving in or out?" He teased, nodding at your arms full of material.

"I have, like, a thousand things to do over break, it's ridiculous. I thought it was called a break for a reason!"

He opened the backdoor and let you set your belongings to the seat; shutting it and opening the passenger door after. When you were inside safely, Steve jogged around the front of the car to drop in the driver's seat. "All right, we picking anyone up or goin' straight home, or...?"

"Home, please," you sighed, "it was a weird day."

"Hm, sorry t'hear that, baby. Least it's over," he cooed, pulling out of the pick-up line and away from the school. When his hand laid on your thigh, you lifted your own to start picking at your cuticles in distraction.

"Mary and Sarah had their school plays."

He tried not to feel hurt by the way he was supposed to attend those performances, instead asking softly, "How were those?"

"Super cute, they played gingerbread people."

"And Ethan and Ryan?"

"Performed in the school orchestra," you boasted. "They all acted like it was the biggest inconvenience ever but they had fun - I can tell."

"Ethan might be getting too old."

"For what? School performances? Nonsense, he loves the spotlight - practically preens in it, the little shit. He even told me, the way to get babes is through drama class, so he's signing up for them when he gets to high school next year."

"Gotta appreciate a man with a plan."

"Do we?" You winced, still careful not to willingly touch him but also keep your tone light as to give the impression things were fine.

"At least he's planning on joining drama and not, like, football or something."

You giggled, "Could you imagine? Ethan playing football?"

"Maybe he'd like basketball?"

"More like, chess club?"

"I can see him being sporty in the, uh... Right circumstances."

You just pinned him with an unamused expression, then changed the subject, "So, uh, what time do you have t'go back?"

"Oh, uh, I'm actually good the rest of the day, baby, all yours," he smiled, squeezing your thigh. "Thought maybe we could catch a movie or something? I also brought a couple from the rental place just in case."

You hummed, smiling authentically, "That sounds nice, yeah."

"Feels like I haven't seen you in forever - "

"It's been a week," you snorted, finally letting your hand clasp over his, "calm down, you horn dog, you're just being dramatic." You hated the ache the warmth of his flesh caused you, the way your stomach clenched when he immediately turned his hand over to properly hold yours.

"What? Like there's any other way to be?"

Laughing with Steve was so natural, so easy, so effortless - and right after you realized you were doing so, cut yourself off. It frustrated you to police yourself, not wanting to laugh (or do anything) too frequently or for too long or too loudly; afraid how it could be construed.

You pulled your hand from his and toyed with your hair as excuse.

The rest of the ride, you tried to contain yourself; restrict yourself; hold yourself back from loving all over him the way you truly wanted. Arriving at your house, Steve noted the lack of cars in the driveway and learned your mother was away visiting her sister (with her car this time); and once inside, the phone rang to inform you the whereabouts of all your siblings.

"Well," you collapsed the phone to the wall-mounted receiver, "sounds like we're alone for the evening."

"Oh, really?" Steve purred, sat at the kitchen table again, watching you with wide doe-like eyes that never failed to make you melt.

"Mhm. So... Options, I guess," you smiled, approaching the fridge to yank open the door, "we could go catch some movie, sure - that's always cool. Or we could stay here... Alone... With a rented movie," you got a tray out, "bake some cookies... Maybe have some hot cocoa?"

"Now that sounds like a plan," he grinned, opening his arms to encourage you to step into his embrace.

You had to let the dough thaw a few minutes, so you left it on the counter and crossed the kitchen with calculated moves; taking a careful seat on his lap, letting your fingers toy with the ends of his hair. "What movies did you bring?" You asked softly, keeping things moving.

"Uh, some classics," he eased, hands heavy on your dips and curves.

"Wanna go set that up and I can get get some popcorn started? We can do a marathon if you want?"

Steve smiled, "We got all night - I-I mean, um, if that's cool? T'stay the night?"

"Very cool," you eased, pecking his lips before patting his chest and standing from his lap. When he whined, you scoffed with an amused grin, quipping, "What?"

"C'mere, come back, wanna kiss you again. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever, even longer since I kissed you."

"Go ahead, you horn dog, I'll be right in," you encouraged with an unsuspecting smile. "Like you said, we have all night." Steve groaned but stood, heading for the living room to set up the movies while you shoved the popcorn bag in the microwave and set the oven to preheat. Figuring 'tis the season, you even made two mugs of cocoa, needing a tray to carrying everything out.

With a bowl of popcorn you were already picking at to munch on, you met Steve in the living room and curled up on the couch beside him. You informed him when the timer went off, you'd have to get up, but he was focused on getting your television to cooperate that there came no answer. Silently, you just watched the side of his face with a passive expression; stewing in your angry bravery that spurred your tongue faster than your brain could spin.

"So do you wanna talk about how you called me clingy now or later?"

Steve immediately whipped around to pin you with a look of jarring disbelief, but you kept your own expression passive and calm. You took another casual sip as his mouth flopped open and snapped shut three or four times, words failing him as he felt stuck and put on the spot.

In truth, confrontation wasn't either of your strong suits and this was very uncomfortable territory for you both.

"Baby - what - I-I don't - wait a second - "

"Steve, did you or did you not call me clingy?"

He stuttered, "I-I mean, technically yes - but the context, baby, I promise the context is important."

You nodded, "So... Instead of talking to me about it, you decided to, what? Ignore it? Pretend it didn't happen? Hope I'd never find out, and if I did, let me come to you?"

He paused, "I-I... I don't know what I thought, what I was thinking, why I really did it... But yeah, you know, I think some part of me hoped you'd never find out and I'd never have to tell you how fucking sorry I am. And I never intended for someone else to tell you, I just didn't know how to bring it up, what to say."

Sighing and readjusting in your seat, you cradled your mug closer and faced him, asking, "Well, I've heard from the others, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"If you already know - "

"I only really care about what you have to say. I mean, we're the ones in this relationship, you should've told me what happened when it did, but now that we're here, let's try again. You don't have to figure out what to say, how to say it, anything - I'm taking that away. So, please, just talk to me now that it's all in the open."

For a moment, Steve felt disarmed by how docile and understanding you were being. He blurted out, "Why're you doing this? Being so - I don't know - nice about this?"

"'Cause 'tis the season for forgiveness and shit."

"Baby..."

"I'm tired of being upset and don't want tension between us, okay? I'd rather work through this than let it fester into something worse. Besides... You're the only one who can tell me the truth and meaning behind such words, and I deserve that much."

He agreed, the TV muted and flashing with the movie intro. "Well, uh... You know who I used to run with in social circles."

"Mhm, during your reign as King Steve."

"Yeah," he huffed, head shaking. "Well, on our way out, we ran into Tommy and Carol and Billy... They just started mouthing off, and I don't know, I think I was just trying to get out of there, I didn't want to be around them, so, I just deflected and got sarcastic."

"Sure, okay, right. To, like, get away from them faster."

"Exactly. So... Tommy was the one who said he almost didn't recognize me without my bitch lapdog - "

"Steven!"

"Baby, I'm telling you what was said! It's part of why I got riled up." You sighed and nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "Tammy was like, the way we behave isn't classy, and Billy said the blind can see how clingy we are. I-I just - I heard enough. So, I just... I don't know, kinda sarcastically said, 'oh, so my woman likes me and gets clingy, wouldn't expect you to get the feeling,' just to move things along. I kinda pushed everyone away and that was that."

You basked in the knowledge, nodding slowly with understanding as minutes lapsed by in silence. As you fingered the blanket across your lap, you said softly, "You know... Eddie was the one who said you weren't being malicious and spoke outta, like, panicked defense."

"Eddie? Eddie Munson defended me?"

You smirked. "See? You got all jealous for no reason."

"Hey, he was spending time with my girl when she was openly mad at me. I think that's grounds for reasonable jealousy."

"Either way, yes, he defended you. So... You know, I guess I understand why you said what you said. And... Even though I don't love knowing you said that kinda thing to those people, it's okay. I mean, they're so redundant to our lives, it doesn't matter. And they're already thinking it, so..."

"I still should've defended you better, shouldn't got all riled up."

You shrugged like it was easy, "But you didn't and it's okay. I'm choosing to forgive you in the spirit of the holidays - I hate us being all awkward and distant - "

"Baby, you were the one who needed distance."

"Because I don't know what parts of me or my behavior is going to be seen as clingy. Or too much. Or obnoxious, annoying, overbearing."

Steve paused, staring at you while shaking his head, wheels turning. "That's why you've been so distant... Why I haven't seen you all week, why you've been dodging me. Why you didn't want rides or to hang out o-or even kiss me. Baby, I'm... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, fuck - "

"I just hated feeling like being myself was bothering you. That I was being judged and demonized for just being authentic and I can't stand that feeling - not from you."

He frowned and reached forward to caress your cheek. "Sweetheart," he spoke slowly, "I swear t'you, nothing you've done, are doing, or will do can ever make me think you're the wrong kinda clingy. Baby, I love how we are, I don't think it's bad, I don't think you're too much, or obnoxious, or annoying, or overbearing. You're absolutely perfect to me - for me - and I'm really sorry for how I made you feel."

You pulled back but only enough to lean over and set your mug on the coffee table, then turn to face him again; scooting closer so your legs folded over his lap and you could caress his cheek in turn.

"Baby?"

Forehead on yours, he breathed, "Yeah?"

"I forgive you."

Steve blinked, noses brushing, whispering, "That easy?"

"That easy. I love you... And I don't like feeling so far from you. So, new rule: if either of us does something that makes the other feel like a boundary is being crossed, we speak up. Otherwise, we're both kinda walking blind and I don't want to give any room for resentment."

Steve nodded, "All right, baby, yeah... But I really need you t'know, no boundaries of mine were crossed. I love you clingy - makes me feel all important and fuzzy."

"Can we not call it clingy? How about... Affectionate?"

With a widening grin, Steve opened his arms and brought you into his embrace; launching the both of you back to stretch out, his arms cocooning you as he smothered your forehead with kisses. "Yeah, baby," he managed, hooking his leg around both of yours, "yeah, yeah, affectionate - we're both just affectionate." You couldn't help but giggle, holding onto the arms that secured around your collarbones and chest; grinning into his freckled neck. Into your temple, he asked, "Are we okay?"

"We're okay, baby," you promised, reaching for the remote to unmute the movie, casually adding, "but if you ever say shit like that again, I might not be so forgiving."

"Never again."

"And you're driving us to Chicago to visit my grandmother."

"Wait - when did I agree to that?"

As the other reindeer shunned Rudolph on the TV screen, you casually quipped, "When you called me clingy."

Turns out, Steve unknowingly gave you the greatest gift for Christmas.

Stranger Things masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

[matchpointfaist]

steve harrington x henderson reader based on this ask! <3

warnings: angst, mention of death/injury, reader is called stupid but not by steve, canon typical st violence, mentions of a gun/shooting, this is kinda a part 2 to my other henderson! reader but they don’t have to be read together :)

notes: i went for a mix of angst and fluff hope you enjoy anon!

you had always been a little clumsy, a little ditsy, some people would say. steve found it endearing, the way you’d hold onto his arm when you walked through crowds so you didn’t stumble, the way you’d drop things if you got distracted or trip over shoelaces you forgot to tie. you weren’t dumb; in fact, steve often told you you were smarter than he was, in your own way. some people failed to see that, though, took you at face value and ignored any assets you could offer. since you’d been let in on the truth about what your brother and his friends, and now your own boyfriend, had been up to, you’d been repeatedly left out, instructed to stay home and ‘keep an eye on things’, despite your wishes. you were on the tenth instance of being ignored when you finally snapped, frustration bubbling over.

“this is ridiculous,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair, frowning, “you guys always go and leave me behind with busy work. it’s not fair, and honestly, it’s starting to hurt my feelings.” the group was gathered around their planning table, nancy writing something on a crudely drawn map and steve leaned against the ledge of the table, reading over something. “i’ve told you a million times, i can’t have you getting hurt,” he said, looking over at you, smiling faintly, apologetic, “we’ve been doing this longer than you have, honey. that’s all it is.” “only because you kept it from me,” you said pointedly, “you never even give me a chance to prove i can help. you’d rather take the kids than take me.” he sighed softy, leaving his perch to sit next to you on the small sofa, his arm around your shoulders. “you know i don’t wanna leave you out,” he murmured, “but it’s too dangerous, okay? and were at such a pivotal time, we can’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“of course,” you mumbled, “you’ll just get to go off and save the world without me.” you knew, distantly, that you were being unfair, but you were too frustrated to care. “look at me,” he tapped your chin gently, “you know i’m not doing this to hurt you, sweetheart. i cannot lose you, and we can’t afford to make any mistakes because i’m too worried about you to focus, alright? please stop being angry at me.” “fine,” you huffed softy, leaning into his palm, “you could at least give me some real work to do here, though. maybe i could help with the channels in the van?” “okay, baby,” he kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment, “i’ll go talk to the others, see if we can find you something to help with. sit tight.” you smiled weakly, watching him go to the side room where most of the others had gathered, kicking the door closed behind him.

you busied yourself tidying up while they discussed, only faintly listening to the voices carrying through the thin walls. you were wiping down a side table when you heard steve, his voice raised and tense. “i mean, come on, man. she’s kinda stupid, isn’t she? i’m sorry, it’s just the way it is.” it was jonathan next, uncharacteristically annoyed sounding. “don’t say shit like that, byers,” steve snapped, “that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about. she’s not stupid, she’s just-“ “clumsy, right. we’ve heard it a million times,” jonathan cut him off, “i’m not going out in the van with her, harrington.” “i’ll stay back and go with her, then,” your boyfriend sighed, clearly irritated. “no,” it was nancy this time, “absolutely not. we can’t lose you in position because of this. i’m sorry, steve. it’s just not worth the risk.”

the hot sting of tears pricked your eyes, and you wiped them away roughly just as the door opened, the group filing out, steve’s shoes thudding against the floor as he all but stomped over to you, taking your arm and pulling you into the other room. “they don’t think it’s a good idea for you to work in the van,” he said, voice low, “i’m sorry, sweetheart. i tried, alright? maybe you can stay here and keep running the station for robin.” “i heard what they said, steve,” you pulled your arm away, face hot, “jonathan thinks i’m an idiot.” “fuck jonathan,” he spat the words like they were poison, “you’re not stupid, okay? he didn’t even mean it, don’t listen to him. everyone’s just stressed out right now. it’s a bad time, that’s all it is.” “it’s always a bad time,” you muttered, “the world is ending.” “yeah, well,” he pulled you back into his arms, his chin resting on your head, “this should be our last crawl, they think we’re getting real close. can you hold down the fort this one last time for me, sweetheart?” “fine,” you said after a moment, voice muffled by his chest, “this one last time.”

the crawl was, you discovered, definitely not the last. things were worse than ever, and everyone was frantic, all hands on deck. all hands, of course, but yours. you knew there was no point even arguing anymore. it was more of an emergency than it ever had been before, and you could see it weighing on steve every time you looked at him, could see the lines of stress and the sore on his bottom lip from biting at it, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the seemingly constant littering of bruises or cuts. you dropped it, made yourself content to just clean up around the station or tend to the groups minor injuries if needed. it lasted a couple weeks, and then you were antsy again, stressed and buzzing from the constant stream of bad news and negative expectations.

steve had pulled you aside before another routine crawl, his eyes serious and his jaw set. “i need you to stay here,” he said, voice low, “no matter what, promise me you’ll stay here. we’ve got demo’s just roaming around, it feels like, and i don’t want you going anywhere and risking getting hurt. joyce is coming with us to keep an eye on will, so you’ll be alone, but i’m leaving you a walkie. you understand? do not leave under any circumstances.” “okay,” you nodded, brows drawn together in concern, mind racing, “you’ll come back, right? you’ll be okay?” “of course, honey,” he kissed your forehead, chaste and gentle, “i’ll be just fine. you’ll be able to hear all of our walkies, and we’ll be able to hear you, if anything happens. promise me you’ll use it if you need it.” “i promise, stevie,” you sniffled, your nerves so high it nearly brought you to tears, “promise you’ll come back?” he hesitated, voice faltering as he said, “i promise, sweetheart.”

you were a mess the entire time they were gone, obsessively listening to the walkie correspondence, the device glued to your side as you paced the room restlessly. it was mostly brief messages, confirming locations to each other, or mike and lucas giving the go ahead to the others. as the night progressed, they grew more frantic, more serious. “we’ve got demos,” will’s voice had cracked across the airwaves, and your stomach churned. just as you started to relax again, you heard steve, his voice panicked and unsteady. “me and henderson are in the van,” he rushed out some coordinates you couldn’t make out, “there’s a demogoron tailing us, we can’t lose it. headed back towards the station, over.” your heart raced with the information, the two most important people in your life in such a vulnerable position. “we can’t cover,” it was hopper, “can you handle it?” “there’s more,” steve was back, “we’re doing our best.” he said your name, and your skin prickled, “stay where you are. don’t unlock the door unless i tell you here, okay?”

you pressed down on the mic, voice shaky, “okay. be careful, please.” “always,” he sounded as if he was smiling, despite everything, “i love you.” “i love you,” you exhaled shakily, “see you soon.” “oh, gag me,” dustin’s voice crackled, and you laughed despite it all, “love you too, dusty.” minutes passed, and you heard the squealing of tired distantly, then a loud commotion, then gunshots. your heart pounded, and you crept upstairs despite steve’s instructions, a gun you definitely were not trained to use in your hand. you peeked out the window, and there was steve, fighting off a creature with his baseball bat, keeping it away from the van, from your brother. your mind raced faster than you could keep up, and before you thought better of it, you were unbolting the door and running out into the night, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “no!” steve’s voice cracked through the chaos, “no, go inside!”

you ignored him, hands shaking terribly as you loaded the shotgun, saying a silent prayer to a god you were sure must’ve abandoned you, and aiming the barrel at the wretched thing. your ears rang as the shot echoed in the air around you, the bullet lodged into the demo’s gnashing mouth, a strange sound leaving it as it limped away, leaving a trail of dark blood behind. you stood, dazed, dizzy from adrenaline and your ears warbling. you were certain you’d pass out in the seconds that followed, knees weak. but then steve’s hands were on your shoulders, his voice breaking through the rushing in your eardrums, his eyes scanning over you wildly for injury. “what were you thinking?” he demanded, pulling you inside, your brother trailing behind, watching the two of you warily. “you were in danger,” you managed, shivering from the adrenaline crash, letting him lead you down the stairs, “i had to help, i didn’t know what else to do.” “i didn’t think you could even shoot a gun,” dustin said, nearly laughing at the vision despite the intense moment, “you can barely even carry a box. how’d you manage that?”

“henderson,” steve snapped, “go lock up and then check on the others. i’m taking her downstairs.” “yes sir,” you could practically hear your brother roll his eyes, but he obeyed anyway, going back up the creaky steps to lock the door. steve guided you to the couch, sitting beside you, one hand on your shoulders and the other on your face, turning you to look up at him. “you could’ve been killed,” he said, voice serious, “if there had been another one, you could’ve been hurt, or worse. do you understand? you had no idea what you were walking into.” “i knew you were out there,” you said, voice thin, “and i knew dustin was with you. that’s all i needed to know.” “that was so stupid,” he said, shaking his head, “don’t ever do that again.” “don’t say that,” you snapped weakly, “i’m not stupid.” “you’re not stupid,” he said quickly, “but that was stupid. it was reckless, and dangerous, and i never want you to do that again.”

“i would do it again if it kept you safe,” you murmured, letting your head fall to his chest, “i would do anything. it kills me being stuck here while you’re out there, getting hurt. i’m sorry you’re mad, but i don’t r regret it.” “i’m not mad at you, sweetheart,” he finally sighed, “it just terrified me, seeing you like that. i don’t want you to worry about knowing how to shoot a gun. i want you safe, where i know nothing can get to you.” “it’s just not realistic anymore,” you said quietly, “we need everyone. you’ve said that yourself.” “fine,” he pressed a long kiss to the top of your head, “i’ll take you with me next time. but you’re not carrying around a shotgun. i’ll give you something smaller, okay?” “fine,” you looked up at him, smiling faintly, “we’ll keep each other safe.” “always,” he returned your smile, kissing you gently, “i love you so much.” “i love you more, stevie,” you whispered.

[foolishcam]

white xmas • Steve Harrington

pairing: Steve Harrington x femwheeler!reader

warnings: Wheeler! Reader, angst, lies, fear of rejection, tension of sisters, fear of Nancy's reaction, Steve being a crush, unrequited love, guilt, Nancy being the best sister, happy ending.

summary: Being in love with your sister's ex-boyfriend was not in your plans, but you had learned to live with that unrequited love due to the fear of rejection. But would Nancy really be angry with you about that? Would Steve really reject you?

word count: 6.0k

𖦹 a nonsense christmas masterlist

𐙚⋆.˚

“Your gingerbread house looks like a piece of shit,” you said angrily to Mike, the icing-covered knife trembling in your fingers. You were seriously considering stabbing him.

“Yours isn’t any better, it’s crooked, it’s missing icing, and you forgot the pillars.” A satisfied smile spread across your lips as you watched his victorious grin fade. “If you’re trying to impress her with that, you better start thinking about the face you’ll make when she dumps you.”

You gently placed your finished house on a metal tray, finishing the roof with the leftover icing from your knife. “And if you were trying to impress Steve, you better get used to watching him flirt with Nancy.”

You could feel your jaw trembling as you turned to glare at him. Panic shot through every fiber of your being. “Keep your voice down!”

“Or what? Are you afraid Nancy will find out you have a crush on her ex-boyfriend?” You had never felt proud of the stupid, parasocial love you felt for Steve.

You’d developed this infatuation in your first year of high school, when you saw him leaning against his navy blue jacket, laughing with his friends.

He was that kind of guy who marks and completely changes your teenage standards, the one who leaves such a big imprint on your brain that it makes anyone else feel ridiculously insufficient to displace Steve from your mind.

You loved how his smile created wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, how his hair fell softly against his forehead when he played basketball, how his eyes sparkled when he laughed at his friends' jokes. You loved watching him from afar, being able to learn every part of his gestures, every mark on his skin.

The times you had interacted with him in high school hadn't been many: just him holding the classroom door open for you, telling you your backpack zipper was open, or, in the worst cases, being the target of his teasing jokes. You remembered the time you left an anonymous note in his locker and he showed it to his friends, laughing, not knowing it was you.

But you had to put that crush aside as soon as your sister started dating him. You still remember the disappointment hitting every inch of you. Seeing her hugging the boy you desired with all your heart was a pain you weren’t prepared for. Your stomach ached every time you heard her talking to him on the phone, you could feel him sneaking into Nancy's room, and you could hear the muffled laughter they tried to hide along with the sound of lips meeting, which had often made you nauseous.

“Listen. I don’t like Steve.” It annoyed you more than it should have to see an amused smile on his face.

“Sure, that’s why you look at him as if the stars shine because of him.” You turned your gaze back to the gingerbread house on the metal tray. You felt so foolish for still yearning for a guy who clearly only saw you as his ex-girlfriend's little sister.

He himself had made it clear not once, not twice, but several times. You were his ex-girlfriend's little sister. You couldn't even remember a single time he had been explicitly flirtatious with you. You yourself had fed those cruel, senseless fantasies. Maybe fighting monsters from another dimension side-by-side with him had been enough to elevate Steve even more.

Whenever you remembered how you had been the first one he ran to protect from a demodog, how he had scanned every inch of your skin looking for any sign of injury, how his worried fingers held you tightly against his chest, shielding you from any imminent danger, you could feel your heart beat a little faster.

“I’m just grateful for the times he saved my life.” Your hands went to the oven door to put your gingerbread house in. You wiped your hands on your apron, then took it off. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

You left the dirty dishes in the sink while Mike continued trying to improve the shape of his gingerbread house. Every step you took felt terribly heavy. You could already feel the fantasy burning in your mind, the anguish of being ignored again by Steve because his eyes were always too busy on Nancy.

“Why do you look so sad?” Nancy’s voice, leaning on the stair railing, made you jump. Her curls were much more defined than before and fell messily on her forehead and shoulders. The scent of Jonathan's perfume was infused in her and the air.

“It’s nothing.” You tried to force a smile, but Nancy knew you too well. You were her favorite sister, her life companion, her best friend, her confidante, and her diary.

“You know you can fool anyone, but not me.” When you reached the bottom step, Nancy’s hand was already on your forearm to keep you from escaping. “I don’t like seeing that pout on your lips.”

You smiled softly as Jonathan came out of Nancy’s room. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were talking.” His hands went to the front pockets of his worn-out jeans. It still made you laugh how after all these years he still acted shy.

“Don’t worry.” You looked at Nancy and shook your head with a smile. “It’s nothing, Nance.” Your hand gently stroked the back of hers.

Her eyes carefully scanned every gesture on your face. She wasn’t buying your lie but would let it go for now. “Alright, you’re not off the hook. We’ll talk later.”

You smiled when her index finger pointed at you threateningly. Jonathan left a kiss on her cheek, helping you escape the situation, and you couldn’t have been more grateful to him.

You closed the door behind you, taking refuge in your bedroom, foolishly decorated with reindeer Christmas lights and elf-patterned rugs. A grimace of disgust formed on your lips; obviously, Steve would never see you as a woman if you couldn’t even see yourself as one.

You heard the doorbell ring, you felt panic flood your entire being. You wanted to lock yourself in here and die, or become one with the walls. Every day you didn’t reveal your feelings felt heavier than the last. You felt this secret was eating you alive.

You changed your flour-stained clothes for a comfortable cream-colored sweater, the same one Nancy had lovingly given you for your seventeenth birthday; now it had some loose threads. You adjusted the cream sweater, feeling the symbolic weight of the wool. It was a hug from your sister and, at the same time, the most tangible evidence of your silent betrayal. How could you wear her love knitted on your skin while longing for the boy who was once hers?

You put on some simple blue jeans, worn at the knees, but your fondness for them was greater than the desire to look good. Anyway, it made no sense to dress up too much for a boy who would only look at you once to acknowledge your presence and then turn his eyes back to Nancy.

You looked at yourself in the mirror to recognize your own presence. A bit of lip gloss was the only thing you added (one you had actually stolen from Nancy).

As soon as you opened the door, you could hear the voices and giggles. The good part about your mom and dad going to a friend’s house on Christmas Eve was that they had the place to themselves.

The voices, the laughter, the music of Last Christmas by Wham!—everything blended into a threatening buzz. And in the midst of that chaos, your internal radar, tuned for years, had already located his frequency: Steve’s voice.

“I must thank Mrs. Wheeler for this.” Dustin’s voice made you smile as he bumped into you just as you finished coming down the stairs. In his hands was a platter full of Christmas cookies. “They’re not all for me… Obviously.”

You raised an eyebrow and ruffled his hair; his curls were your favorite thing in the world. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

You walked towards the kitchen, avoiding peeking into the living room. You thought everyone would be there, so you thought taking refuge in the kitchen and avoiding Steve as much as possible was the perfect plan. But lately, everything was going wrong for you, because you bumped into Steve as soon as you stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey.” His hands went to your waist, keeping you from losing your balance.

“There should be a fucking traffic light in this house,” you grumbled, annoyed. You hated how your stomach flipped as soon as you were near him, you hated how your cheeks turned red, betraying your nervousness.

Steve let out a little laugh as he gently released you. “I think so too; I’ve already bumped into Mike ten times.”

You avoided looking him in the eye, so you missed the desperation in his eyes to see yours. You took a step away from him and could only sigh. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Robin watched the exchange open-mouthed from her spot at the kitchen counter. She had seen you take every opportunity you had to spend as much time as possible near Steve, and now you were here, completely avoiding his attention. Her gaze then went to her friend, who was frowning, his eyes glued to you. Steve had definitely lost his charm.

You carefully opened the oven to inspect your gingerbread house. You were about to grab your oven mitts when Steve’s hands took them from you. “Let me do it.” You wanted to cry.

Robin didn’t just see the avoidance; she saw the perfect strategy. You weren’t pulling away out of disinterest, but with the calculated precision of someone who knows that distance sometimes attracts more than pursuit. And Steve, the eternal king of Hawkins High, was falling into the trap with the grace of a demodog in a pit.

Finally, you let your eyes scan him, from his silky, messy hair, down his stupidly cream-colored sweater—ridiculously similar to yours—to his black jeans. His pants seemed to fit perfectly in all the right places. You bit your lip when his neck was so exposed.

There it was! Robin wanted to smile. She was proud of how you made it seem like you had completely gotten over your crush on Steve and she was even prouder of how, this time, it was Steve who was chasing you.

“Did you make this?” Steve asked as he placed the tray on the counter. His eyes looked at you with interest. You wanted to lie and say no, that Nancy had made it, because you were beginning to hate how you had prepared this stupid house just to receive a compliment from his pink lips.

“Yes,” you whispered while your hands delicately took the gingerbread man cookie and placed it on the house, standing right at the entrance.

“It’s beautiful.” Steve was surprised at how your hands, which had once perfectly shot a demogorgon in the head, now delicately handled a cookie.

You just smiled in thanks, not sure what to say to him exactly without your mouth betraying you.

You heard Holly’s cries from the living room and quickly forgot about the little house. Casually asking Robin to put it on the plate you had left on the counter, you walked quickly towards the living room.

“I won’t braid your hair! I don’t even know how to do braids!” You hated when Mike raised his voice at Holly. She was supposed to go to a sleepover at a friend’s house today, and her friend’s parents were going to pick her up in about 20 minutes.

“I can try,” Max had whispered softly, but you knew how much Holly hated strangers touching her hair gently.

“No!” You walked towards Holly as she answered Max.

“Hey, sweetie. No need to shout, I’ll do those braids for you, okay?” You knelt in front of Holly, taking her hands gently in yours.

“Yes,” she whispered, tears still running from her eyes. You gently guided Holly towards the kitchen. Robin was now next to Steve while Dustin and Will devoured the cookies.

You picked up Holly—light as a snowflake—and sat her on the edge of the counter. With the corner of a paper towel, you wiped her tears with movements that were a familiar ritual. “Mike is a jerk with hair. For this, you come to me,” you murmured, and a glimmer of a smile appeared between her sobs.

You didn’t see Steve’s gaze. You couldn’t afford to. But Robin did. Robin saw how Steve’s expression transformed: his usual arrogance melted like icing under heat, revealing a raw, almost vulnerable tenderness. His eyes—those eyes you had mapped in so many fantasies—were no longer searching for Nancy in the crowd. They were anchored to the slow, careful movement of your fingers as you divided Holly’s hair into two perfect sections. He watched how your lips murmured reassuring words, how your brow furrowed slightly in concentration, how all the chaos of the party seemed to fade around you, creating a small circle of peace of which he was, for the first time, a mere spectator. Not a savior, but an observer. And that, Robin knew instantly, was completely disarming him.

The buzz of conversations faded in your ears. Only the soft crunch of Holly’s hair between your fingers and the beat of your own heart existed now, steady not from nerves, but from the simple, pure calm of doing something you loved.

“Can I wear the blue bows?” Holly asked, her voice steady now. Your pinky went to the tip of her nose, provoking a giggle full of innocence.

“The blue ones are the best,” you said with a playful smile, squinting your eyes with a mischief only Holly could understand. You turned your head towards Robin, momentarily your eyes met Steve’s, bright and fixed on you. “Robin, could you pass me the blue bows in the first drawer?”

“Of course.” She smiled at you, searching nimbly inside the drawer. “Bingo!” You stretched out your hand for Robin to pass you the hairpins. Your fingers brushed against hers for a second, and in the silent exchange, Robin winked at you. A wink that said: You have him in the palm of your hand. Keep it up.

You gently tied her hair with the blue bows, being careful not to pull any strands too tightly. “All done.”

You gently helped her down from the counter as she hugged you happily. “You’re the best sister.” You smiled softly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go get my things.”

“Look at that, seems like we have a new mom in the group,” Robin teased softly, making Steve swallow hard as his cheeks turned red. Not even he understood the wave of need that suddenly seemed to flood every fiber of his nervous system, how his body seemed to want to take you and kiss you so hard you’d beg him for a child.

“Only for my siblings. Other people’s kids aren’t my thing.” Robin let out an amused smile as you took the plate in your hands again to walk towards the living room.

“You coming?” Robin looked at her best friend—his flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and rapid breathing gave him away. You had embodied Steve’s deepest desire without even realizing it.

“In a minute.” Robin let out a little giggle before following you to the living room.

“Damn, that house looks delicious,” Dustin smiled happily at your creation. “Not like your shitty house.”

Mike threw a piece of cookie at his friend. “I think it’s cute,” El whispered to Mike, making his cheeks blush immediately.

Distractedly, you placed the gingerbread house in the center of the table, between the punch bowl and Dustin’s burnt cookies. Your creation looked ridiculously perfect amidst the Christmas chaos, and for a second you wondered if Steve would notice it in the commotion.

But then you saw him. From the kitchen doorway, Steve was watching you. Not with the amused look from before, but with an intensity that made you hold your breath.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, traveled down your neck, and stopped at your hands, which were now nervously playing with the edge of your cream sweater. It was the same look you had imagined a thousand times in your most secret fantasies, but in reality, it burned with a fire that scared you.

The doorbell rang, and Holly’s footsteps coming down the stairs were quick. You smiled as you saw her descend with a small backpack and her scarf poorly arranged. You walked towards her, hyper-aware of Steve’s gaze on you.

“Let me fix this.” You stopped Holly, carefully covering her mouth and nose; snow was falling outside, and you weren’t going to let her catch a cold. “See? Much warmer now.”

“Yes! I love you, sis.” Holly smiled happily while Nancy smiled at you and took Holly’s hand. You sighed as Nancy spoke with Holly’s friend’s parents as she handed her over.

“You know? You look cute when you’re not fighting monsters from another dimension.” Steve’s eyes were fixed on you. You could still feel nervousness shimmering on every inch of your skin.

“Yeah, well. I like spending time with my loved ones.” Steve smiled affectionately. It made more and more sense to him now—why his concern was always to protect you first, to look for you first.

You had entered his system without him even noticing. It had been soft and without giving any clues. Those nights he sneaked into Nancy’s room, he pretended to bump into you shamelessly in the hallway when he felt you opening your door. He pretended to ignore your persistent gaze in high school, and even worse, he decided to ignore his own feelings when the desperation of seeing you being attacked by demobats was greater than the pain in his side. Now it all fit. Everything had been building up inside him with calm and precision.

“I’ll go with the kids.” You gently stepped away from him. Now it was your turn to pretend his presence was irrelevant. You couldn’t stop feeling the weight of Nancy’s sweater on your skin.

Steve’s gaze was a tangible weight on your skin, even as you pretended to focus on Dustin’s conversation about the new walkie-talkies he had asked Santa for. Max shifted in your lap, seeking a more comfortable position, and you mechanically stroked her hair, your mind miles away.

Dustin frowned as he saw Steve watching you. Not Nancy, who was cuddled with Jonathan on the big couch, but you, sitting on the floor with the kids. But he kept any comment he might have had to himself.

“Hey, guys,” Jonathan’s voice was as soft as always, it almost could have gone unnoticed. “Don’t you want to play in the snow?”

You were the first to nod happily, Max quickly followed, and for the first time, you let Steve be expelled from the center of your attention. You busied yourself with bundling up, and then bundling up Max.

The cold of the snow hit you quickly, but you felt like you hadn’t breathed properly in months. All the anxiety you’d had evaporated as soon as Max threw a snowball at Lucas. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and then proceeded to chase her until they both fell, hugging, into the snow.

You groaned when Mike threw a snowball at you, taking you by surprise. “You should pay attention.”

You were about to answer him, but a snowball smashed against his chest. You laughed as you saw El and Will laughing while Dustin joined them. Nancy and Jonathan were in their own world, laughing as they built a snowman.

“Hey, Steve!” Dustin’s voice made you shift your eyes towards them. Immediately, Dustin threw a snowball at him, starting a quick battle. You let out a giggle as you began making your own miniature snowman.

You groaned when a snowball hit your head. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!” Dustin’s voice sounded extremely remorseful as you heard some heavy footsteps.

“Hey, did it hurt?” Steve quickly came to your side, gently taking your chin between his fingers to scan the side of your head. This was so typical of him, rushing to protect you. You felt useless.

“Just a little.” While Steve was distracted with worry, you took the opportunity to form a snowball and smack it against his arm. His playful eyes sparkled with challenge.

“Alright,” he smiled as you already started to run from him. You could feel his quick footsteps sinking into the snow. You hid behind Lucas, using him as a shield, making the snow hit his chest.

“You need to work on your aim, Harrington!” You laughed before starting to run again, escaping from him.

“Cheater,” he complained quickly. His longer legs brought him close to you, and you felt his hands taking your waist.

You let out a giggle as you fell onto the snow, with Steve tickling your sides. “Stop!” you complained between giggles.

“You’ll pay for being a cheater.” You could only laugh as his legs caged you and his fingers danced over your sides.

“I’m gonna pee!” This time Steve let out a little laugh, stopping his movements. You were still laughing with your eyes closed. Steve took the opportunity to scan every mole and freckle you had. He was trying to make sense of what he was feeling. Maybe you had always been the person meant for him.

Your eyes opened as you regulated your breathing. You didn’t expect to see the adoration in Steve’s eyes, but you could only feel happiness finally receiving that attention you had been craving for over six years.

The world shrank to the space between your bodies, to the snow melting under the nape of your neck, to the heat of his legs still softly caging you. The sound of everyone else’s laughter and shouts became distant, a happy echo from another planet. Here, only his ragged breath forming little clouds in the cold air existed, and the beat of your heart, which now wasn’t from nerves, but from joyful astonishment.

Steve didn’t look away. His fingers, which a second before had been tickling you, stilled and rested with a new reverence on your waist, over the cream sweater. “I like you like this,” he murmured, and his voice was hoarse, just for you. “Laughing. Without fear.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only smile, a wide and genuine gesture that hurt your facial muscles from being so unused. You nodded slightly, and a snowflake fell right on his eyelash. Without thinking, you raised your hand and brushed it away with the tip of your finger. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if that minimal contact were a bolt of lightning.

He opened his eyes softly. One of his fingers, free from his glove, dared to trace an imaginary line from your temple to the corner of your lips, brushing aside a wet strand of hair. The contact was a flash. A simple gesture worth more than a thousand basketball smiles seen from afar.

You gently placed your hands on his chest to push him away from you. He got up first, offering his hand so you could take it. Why did he notice you now, after all these years?

You saw Nancy looking at you with confusion. There was no anger, no sadness, no disappointment. She was worried about you. You wanted to run into her arms like when you lost your first tooth (even though she was two years older, she had insisted on making it seem like you were more). Back then, she had calmed your tears and comforted you.

“She won’t be angry,” Steve whispered softly. “Go to her. I still need to… sort some things out.”

You nodded uncertainly. You could feel your hands trembling, and each step felt heavier than the last. Nancy was still next to Jonathan, but her eyes were on you. You could see the concern, but above all, the patience and respect.

“You’re completely soaked. You’re going to catch a cold,” was the first thing that left her lips as she gently took your wrist.

“Your nose is red and your cheeks are too,” you pointed at her skin, making her let out a little giggle. But it was momentary.

“Come on. I’ll help you dry off, and you need to change out of those clothes.” Jonathan smiled at you kindly and winked to give you the assurance that everything would be okay. You turned your head one last time towards Steve. His eyes were still on you.

The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth inside the house made you shiver. Nancy softly climbed the stairs, still holding your hand affectionately. You weren’t prepared for this. You didn’t want to disappoint the only person who was fundamental in your life.

Nancy opened your bedroom door and let you in. You hated the exasperating silence between you two; every second weighed more than the last, and your ears began to ache. She disappeared into your bathroom and then reappeared with a towel.

She stopped in front of you. You, sitting on the bed, risked looking at her. There was only genuine care and concern. “Since… since when have you liked Steve?” Nancy finally dared to ask. Your heart began to beat fast, and your eyes filled with tears.

“Since… my first year of high school.” Your trembling voice made Nancy’s eyes also fill with tears. Understanding hit her chest like a hammer blow. Her eyes went to your face, searching for something more. She moved to sit on the bed next to you.

“From before…?” she couldn’t finish asking. You nodded with remorse, but her fingers on your hand again made you breathe and finally release the tears you had been holding back. Years and years of hiding and refusing to acknowledge this feeling out of fear, years of denying it out loud.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I loved him so much. Everything he did, how he dressed… he was everything to me.” Your voice broke even more as Nancy’s eyebrows expressed sorrow. “When you started dating him, I swear I tried to move on, to put my feelings aside because you were happy, and I would never… I could never have done anything to ruin that. So I fell silent, but it hurt to see, to hear. I swear I never meant to hurt you or… This was never part of my plan.”

“I know because I know you. And because… sometimes I saw you looking at him when you thought no one was watching you. And it hurt, not for me, but for you. Because you seemed so… small and lost.”

Her understanding was the hardest blow. She wasn’t angry about the betrayal, but hurt by your pain. The guilt you had been feeding for years transformed into something different, sharper and more piercing.

“Hey,” Nancy gently hugged you, pulling you towards her body as she softly moved her hand over your back. “God… How could I have been so blind? That’s why you looked so sad, that’s why you avoided being near me when I was with Steve.” You could hear the panic in Nancy’s voice, how her hands trembled. “Forgive me, for never noticing… All this time you were suffering and I… I let him keep flirting with me.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” You pulled away from her to look into her eyes; she looked extremely remorseful. “You didn’t know and I… I learned to live with the secret.”

Nancy softly wiped away the tears with her thumbs, while a sweet smile formed on her face. “I hate having been a participant in your pain.”

“You’re still my safe place, Nance.” Immediate relief flooded you. You felt like you had lifted an enormous weight off your shoulders, and seeing that your sister, instead of judging you, was asking for your forgiveness, made you feel loved.

“I know, and you’re mine.” The shared embrace was like a warm blanket on a cold day. "He likes you," she whispered softly, making you tremble. "He let it slip about two months ago, when we went to the lake. After you cleaned that cut on his cheek." She pulled back to look you in the eyes, searching for the exact words. "We were sitting on the dock, and he was staring at the water, very quiet. Suddenly he said: 'It's the weirdest thing. Sometimes, when she looks at me, I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I lose my breath!'" Nancy paused, seeing the impact of her words on you before continuing. "I laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. But he didn't smile. He rubbed the back of his neck, all awkward, and went on: 'And she has this... way of doing things. When she's concentrating, or a laugh escapes her, it's like everything else goes out of focus. And I'm the idiot who just stands there staring!'"

“Nancy…” you whispered with distress.

"I asked him what he meant by that," Nancy continued, her voice dropping even lower. "He took a deep breath and blurted out: 'That it hurts, Nance. It hurts to realize someone has been right in front of you the whole time, and you only notice too late. Or at the most messed up possible time!' I didn't know what he meant... until now." She shook her head, amazed by her own revelation. "I thought it was a moment of weakness, something fleeting. Now I see it wasn't. It was the truth, peeking out despite him."

A shiver unrelated to your wet clothes ran down your spine. Steve had been dealing with this, in silence, too. You weren't the only one who had carried a secret. The idea was both terrifying and deeply moving.

Nancy must have read the turmoil on your face. Her hands squeezed yours tighter. “I saw it,” she said simply. “The way he looked at you. It’s not the way he looked at me. It’s… more. Steve is a good man. A better man than he was when he was with me.” Nancy gently began drying your hair with the towel again; she was still your favorite person in the world. “And if he loves you like I think he does… Then… You deserve to be happy.”

“But you…” She shook her head quickly.

“I chose. And every day I would make the same choice again.” Her gaze went to the door, as if she could see Jonathan downstairs, and a genuine, peaceful smile lit up her face. “I love the man I’m with and I know I will in every life. Be happy, and don’t let this chance slip away. Now go down and talk to Steve.”

She got up from the bed, leaving one last kiss on your forehead. “Thank you,” you whispered to her with much affection.

“No. Thank you for trusting me.” Nancy smiled at you. “Steve must be having a nervous breakdown.” You let out a little laugh. “And I bet Robin and Dustin are having a lot of fun with that.” She walked towards the door, smiling at you one last time with affection.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and could only smile with happiness. For the first time in years, you didn't feel that weight of cowardice and betrayal on you. You could breathe calmly and finally let yourself feel without remorse.

You went down the stairs with unshakable certainty, your eyes immediately searching for Steve. Nancy was sitting on the sofa, hugging Jonathan tightly. You smiled fondly.

Steve was looking out the window at the falling snow, while Dustin chattered beside him. “Come on, let me eat the gingerbread house.”

“I already said no.” Steve rolled his eyes, grumbling at Dustin’s insistence.

“You can cut a little piece if you want.” Dustin immediately smiled when he saw you, walking over to wrap his arms around your waist.

“You’re the best.” Dustin disappeared into the kitchen while Steve’s eyes stared intently at you. He scanned your face, looking for something that might tell him how you were feeling now.

“How many snowflakes have fallen?” you smiled, standing right beside him. You could feel his nervous aura.

“I lost count at ten.” You let out a little laugh, looking into his eyes. You would never stop being amazed at how his eyes seemed so bright even on the darkest nights. “Is everything okay?”

“Better than ever.” You saw Nancy out of the corner of your eye, watching you happily from the sofa.

“I’m glad.” Your hand bravely held Steve’s wrist, his cheeks flushing quickly.

“I wish I had told you I liked you much sooner,” the words came softly from your lips, with as much bravery as possible. “It hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, ever since you completely changed my life in my first year of high school.”

Steve opened his eyes in surprise. He would never have imagined that your love had been waiting for so long. “God… I swear I didn’t know. I’m an idiot.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, it was my fault too. I didn’t speak when I should have.”

Steve looked at you again in great detail. From your hair falling over your shoulders to your jeans. “I never really knew how I felt about you. I always found you beautiful, but I couldn’t process that my heart beat faster when you were near me.” You let out a little laugh when his hand went to your waist. “Now I know, and I know I won’t let you get away. I know we have to take this slowly, discovering it bit by bit but… I’m dying to have you by my side.”

“We don’t have to follow a timeline, we can create our own moments.” Steve smiled at you as he raised his hands to softly caress your cheeks.

He left all fear behind when he finally gathered the courage to place a kiss on your lips, soft and light like the snow falling outside. It was tender, full of love, a love that deserved to be discovered.

"ABOUT TIME!" roared Robin, jumping off the sofa.

Dustin whistled. "I give it a seven, Harrington! You can work on the lean!"

“I’m going to kill him,” Steve spoke with his cheeks red, gently separating from you.

Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan of exasperation, but his arms didn't let you go. You could feel the vibration of his muffled laughter against your skin.

“Ignore them!” you whispered in his ear, your own lips curved in a smile you couldn't contain.

“It’s impossible to ignore Henderson. He has his default volume set to ‘battle cry’,” he murmured, but as he pulled away, his blush had been replaced by a wide, carefree smile, the same one that lit up the basketball court.

You let out a giggle, running your fingers through his hair, softly adoring every moment you had wished this was happening, feeling him happy against you, being the focus of his attention.

“How about we go for coffee tomorrow? Or a milkshake? Whatever you prefer,” you smiled sweetly.

“Of course,” you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, eliciting a gentle sigh.

Finally, you could feel warm with Steve hugging you while the snow fell outside. Your heart beat in sync with his, every sigh and look you had dreamed of was becoming reality.

And it turned out to be the best Christmas of all.

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

taglist: @maddiedinosaur @dreamerjj @johnricharddeacy @mmmunson @autumn-phantomn @darlingharrington01 @zuncorvemi @xoxsupasparkly @soophieestars @chocorade @voldyslostnose05 @str8100zz @multifandombliss @onlyangel-444 @soobsdior @fallout-girl219 @littlemissperfecttt @micheledawn1975

[bunnyscr1bbles]

as bad as each other

description: you and steve were high school sweethearts, had an extremely messy breakup and now can’t stand each other. well, for now.

-> angsty but fluffy, mentions of blood and gore, set in season 4, for the sake of the story, the relationship between nancy and steve did not exist, fighting but happy ending, she is long BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP, 10.9K words

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if you were to tell high school steve and y/n that the two of you fucking hated each other’s guts right now, they would have laughed in your face. 

you and steve were genuine soulmates. everyone in the town thought so. you pulled steve out of his dickhead ways, and steve brought you a sense of calm and stability, he always knew how to pull you out of your head and ease your worries.

the two of you were destined to be married, to spend the rest of your lives together, all until steve fucked up and you couldn’t take it anymore.

—

you have been friends with nancy wheeler and jonathan byers forever, no exaggeration. you have been in each other’s lives since the time you could crawl; your families were basically one and the same. 

nancy and jonathan’s brothers were best friends and they were now dating; you were added to the mix by association, and now you’re all connected, whether you liked it or not.

everything felt perfect up until will byers went missing, flipping everything on its head.

you, nancy, and jonathan were all diligently hanging missing posters on the bulletin boards around the school. it was heartbreaking, the mood was sour, uncertain. it seemed like there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

nancy handed you a poster, and just as you were about to push in the thumbtack, a rude voice interrupts the process.

“that kid is obviously dead,” tommy says, making carol laugh. steve is silent, ignoring tommy’s words, and instead he focuses his attention on you. seeing the worried expression on your face is enough to break his heart.

for as long as he can remember, steve harrington has had a hopeless crush on you, he cannot remember a time when he didn’t feel his heart flutter at the mention of your name.

he would forget how to breathe when he was around you, forget how to think straight. he always believed it was unrequited, something he would grow out of. boy, was he wrong.

you saw red, “tommy, if you don't shut the fuck up, i’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass you’re gonna taste it.” you glare, tommy scoffs at you, “yeah right, bitch.” 

you laugh scarily, nancy and jonathan sigh. one thing about you, you’re a guard dog, you’ll go to any length to defend those you hold close to your heart. they know you’re about to go off. 

steve pushes tommy harshly, “dude, what the fuck? don’t call her that.” he’s pissed, getting all in his face, he looks somehow taller. you interrupt the fight that’s about to break out, standing in front of steve, right in tommy’s face. carol is standing beside him like an idiot. 

“listen here, buddy, i know you’re mad at the world cause you’re stupid, there’s no way you’re getting into college, and you probably have a dick so small that little carol here can’t even see it,” you have a scary smile on your face, steve’s eyes are so wide. tommy scoffs at you.

“some people have serious issues going on other than your miserable life,” you say calmly, though your voice is dripping with venom. 

“if you actually paid attention, you would notice will is missing, not dead, missing, and no one here cares about your stupid fucking commentary, right guys?” you glance at nancy and jonathan with a smile, they nod.

“so, i’m telling you, get out of my face, or my offer still stands,” tommy pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. carol follows along like a lost puppy.

you turn to look at steve with an analytical look, calculating his next move. he surprises you, his hand extending for some of the flyers. you, jonathan, and nancy all look at him in shock.

“let me help,” he says confidently. this wasn’t help out of pity, this is him helping out of the kindness of his heart. you hand steve some flyers with a grateful smile, and he returns a gentle one.

“that was really great, you know?” steve says to you quietly. nancy and jonathan move to another area to hang up flyers. you huff out a laugh, “thanks, harrington,” he grins despite the situation.

“can i ask you something?” you look to steve and back at your hands when you notice you’ve caught his attention. you push the thumbtack with your thumb into the top of the paper.

his gaze is focused on you, “yeah, of course,” he voiced gently, watching you arc up the confidence to say something that’s clearly eating you up inside. you let out a shaky breath, scared of his response, but you know what? fuck it. 

“why do you hang out with them?” you’re looking up at him now, a hurt expression evident on your features. “i don’t know,” he says earnestly, eyebrows pinching in the process; he really doesn’t know why he wastes his time with people like that. with people who don’t have any respect.

you turn your body to face him completely. “steve, i don’t want you to hang out with them,” you say quickly. steve gives you a surprised smile. you always know how to knock him off his feet.

“you don't want me to hang out with them,” he repeats, a teasing tone evident in his words. you roll your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest.

“no, i don’t,” he grins at you, “and i wanna take you out on a date, sweetheart, but here we are,” his words land soft in the atmosphere, but god, they're undeniably smug. 

he cannot believe he said that. who does he think he is? he’s kicking himself for it. badly.

“okay,” you quip, not even registering what you’ve just agreed to. you and steve harrington. “oh,” he says simply, feeling his heart speed up like crazy. you swallow, quickly changing the subject.

“steve, i’ve known you since what? second grade? and i know you’re a good person, you wouldn’t be helping if you weren’t a good person.” your eyes are looking into his with confidence, steve is nervous under your gaze, you’re looking at him like you’re trying to figure him out. your eyes searching his to find out his each and every thought. and he’d let you.

“i'm serious, they’re bad people, steve, people like that don’t deserve to be around you.” his mouth is extremely dry now. he was never good at receiving compliments, especially from someone he’s been in love with forever. someone he has immense respect for.

he nods at your words, “i want what you want,” he utters, his eyes flickering between your own. “i won’t hang out with them,” he says truthfully. you smile at him, “good.”

he feels his confidence come back to him now that he’s seen that smile play at your lips. “i’ll just hang around you,” he proposes, half-joke, half-serious. you took it seriously. “if you’ll have me, of course,” he is smiling at you in a way that makes your chest warm.

you chuckle, your nerves simmering on the baseline of it, “of course, harrington.” he’s grinning now, only making your smile grow in return.

you see nancy and jonathan waving at you to come over, steve follows immediately, matching your steps with purpose.

“don’t think i’ve forgotten about that date, by the way,” he reminds you. your breath catches.

“after we find will,” you clutch the flyers to your chest. he sees the way you’re trembling slightly, so much worry and stress in your body language. he would do anything to help you.

he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side gently. his thumb slowly and comfortingly moves back and forth over the fabric of your jacket, the movement soothing you.

“after we find will,” he affirms, words following a gentle yet confident smile, you’re swooning. he speaks so softly with you, almost like he’s afraid you’re gonna break, afraid you’re some sort of fragment of his imagination.

he wants this. he wants this to be real, and he will do anything to keep it.

that was the starting point of your relationship. the beginning of it all.

—

you wish it could have stayed good. you really wish things could have stayed the way they were, but unfortunately for you and steve, things turned sour. 

it was the first week of summer, always yours and steve’s favourite time of the year. you were working as a teaching assistant while steve was working with robin at scoops ahoy. 

after the two of them were tortured by russians at starcourt mall, you noticed a difference in steve. he was cold and distant. the boy who used to come over to your house every day, pick you up from work without fail, and be basically attached to your hip barely saw you anymore.

he wouldn’t call.

he wouldn’t come over, and if he did, it was rare, short and extremely awkward.

he would barely touch you.

he couldn’t even look at you anymore.

he completely pushed you away.

he completely shut down; he made you feel like he wanted nothing to do with you. you thought he lost interest in you.

steve always found it so easy to talk to you, he told you anything and everything, and ditto with you. but now, he couldn’t even tell you what was wrong.

you knock on steve’s door, nerves rattling your entire body. you were shaking; you never thought you would have to do this. he opens the door with a confused look, face softening when he sees you, his heart was fluttering. steve always fell more in love with you when he saw you.

“hey” you say simply, “we need to talk”. he knew this was coming; he hoped for your sake that this would happen. he nodded, letting you in without a word.

“do you want something to drink?” he said awkwardly, looking at you like a nervous wreck. you shake your head, finding it difficult to look at him without crying.

“look i’ll just come out and say it, i can’t do this anymore.” he inhales sharply; he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“i’m sick and tired of waiting for you to come back to me, steve.” your eyes begin to well with tears, “my boyfriend won’t even look at me, he won’t talk to me,” you choke up, he can feel the tightness in his throat begin to win, the tears stream down his face.

you’re looking at him through your teary eyelashes, his heart is completely broken. he was the one who broke you, and he will never forgive himself for it. the tears are falling frantically. two years down the drain.

“i know something’s wrong and you won’t tell me, you’re shutting me out like i’m nothing, if you’ve lost interest, stop being a pussy and tell me,” you say tearily, hastily wiping your face with the sleeve of his hoodie that you’re wearing. 

he’s full-on crying with you now, shaking his head. he’s so disappointed in himself. he hates himself for making you feel like this.

“i haven’t lost interest,” he says earnestly. you narrow your eyes at him, “fucking bullshit,” you sneer, “you don’t treat your girlfriend like this, steve,” you let out a broken sound, and that’s when steve officially declares his heart ripped completely in two.

you move to sit on the couch in his living room, face in your hands, crying. “i don’t know what i’ve done, i have always been there for you.” he kneels in front of you, placing a hand on your knee, seeing you flinch at the contact, tears him apart.

he pulls his hand away from you. your eyes bore into his, “you have done nothing wrong, honey, i’m awful i know that,” he stammers, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.” he lets out a long exhale, looking down at your knees. 

“okay,” he nods, looking up at you again, you can’t help but notice how his eyebags are darker, he looks ruined. “i’m just figuring shit out, i don’t know, i just, need space,” you interrupt him quickly.

“you never want space, you always work it out with me, you always talk to me” you push the words past your trembling lips, you’re shaking.

“you have never pushed me away like this, you were the one who said we would be there for each other no matter what,” he swallows, voice breaking “this is just different, y/n, i don’t know what to say to you,” his body language is mirroring yours, this is easily the worst day of his life. 

you stand up from the couch, moving past him towards the door.

“we’re finished, steve, i’m done.” your hand is on the doorknob, you look back at him, “you need to figure your shit out, and don’t count on me coming back because i’m not,”

steve is about to sob, he wants to hold you to his chest, apologise for being a shitty boyfriend, tell you why he’s acting the way he is. he can’t. he needs to let you go. he loves you too much to drag you down with him.

“you can’t even say anything, you’re just letting me go. letting us go,” you laugh in disbelief, wet and heartbreaking to hear. you open the door, “whatever” you force out, slamming the door behind you.

steve falls to his knees and cries, he cried for hours, not even able to pick himself up off the floor. he couldn’t handle this; he thought this would help, would be the solution to the problem, but he just didn’t think it would hurt this bad.

after what happened at starcourt, being tortured and traumatised, steve shut down. you were there for him the entire time, tried to get him to open up, but he couldn’t. 

during the torture, all steve thought about was you. he thought the worst; he thought he and robin were going to die.

he thought about how he wouldn’t be able to come home to you, how you would act when you got told he was gone. he thought about how he couldn’t see you again, hold you, kiss you, just look at you. he thought about how you would be fucking broken if you never saw him again, knowing he was killed and you couldn’t help.

he didn’t want to put you through that. he feared seeing you broken; he feared he would leave you behind, his true love alone, no one to look out for you.

he was stupid; he thought if he made you hate him, you wouldn’t have to go through that. he wanted you to live your life to the fullest, and if that meant him not in it, that was something that would have to work, even though it fucking killed him.

he’s stupid, and he knows that. he just wants you to be happy. he loves you more than anything in this world and he’s determined to keep you safe.

—

robin hated nothing more than being in the middle of you and steve. she was your mutual best friend and it killed her just as much when the two of you broke up right after the russian drama.

sure, she complained about how annoying you two would be stealing kisses on breaks, coming in during your free time to visit, but in her heart, she loved it. seeing her friends happy gave her a fuzzy feeling. she loved to see the two of you in your little bubble, though you always included her in everything.

when the two of you broke up, the dynamics changed; she hardly ever saw you anymore. she called you often, and you would talk like old times, only making both of you miss what you had before. 

robin and steve were working a shift at family video. she was rambling about her love life while steve stocked the returns back in their places.

“i’m hopeless,” she breathes out, back landing on a display, steve follows suit, “eh, we both are.” robin knew why you broke up with him, she knew both sides of the story well. she hates that he wouldn’t open up to you, to let you put together the broken pieces. she wanted the two of you back.

you had accidentally heard about all the dates steve was going on through robin, accidentally spilling the news when you two were on a catch-up phone call. stupid ones where he tried to get his mind off you but it didn’t work. (she didn't mention that part)

you were crushed, how could he just move on so quickly, like it was nothing? so, you did the same, you started going on dates with random people, none of them bringing you anything but hey, tit for tat right?

—

you turned on the tv mindlessly in the breakroom of the teacher’s staffroom, hearing the news about the death of someone at the trailer park, your eyes widen, quickly thinking about max.

in parallel, steve and robin had just heard the same news, shit like this hadn't happened for a while, this wasn’t good.

you rush out when the bell rang, spotting dustin and max who waved you over quickly, “come with us now, please,” dustin breathes out, max nods frantically, you say yes immediately after seeing the expression on their faces. “okay let's, go.”

you follow behind them on their bikes in your car, swearing when you see the family video sign. you had been avoiding this place like the plague when robin told you about her new job.

this meant seeing steve. you’re ready to turn around but for the kids, you park the car and follow them to the door, fiddling with the skin around your nails.

“henderson, i swear to god,” you glare at him, dustin looks at you sympathetically, completely forgetting about how awkward this would be for you.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” dustin took it really hard when you guys broke up, you were the parents to all the kids but closer with him. when steve told him the situation, he called him an idiot for letting you go, everyone did.

“it’s okay” you sigh, max smiles at you, placing her arm around your waist comfortingly as dustin opened the door. “hey, steve” dustin rushes, max following quickly behind him, you trudge along, really dreading seeing your ex-boyfriend.

“you see this?” steve says worriedly looking down at the kids, his eyes snap to you when he spots you, breath catching in his throat, nervous expression increasing.

robin gasps when she sees you, giving you a tight squeeze, you laugh hugging her back, “hey, hun” you whisper.

you look over her shoulder to see steve looking at you, you give him a nod, a dismissive one. robin separates from you, “it's so good to see you,” she whispers, you smile in acknowledgement, bumping her shoulder with yours, “you too.”

“how many phones do you have?” dustin questions, “someone was murdered,” steve looks shocked.

“how many phones do you have?” dustin repeats, clearly frustrated. “uh, two why?” he replies, “technically three, if you count keith’s in the back,” robin adds, you look at dustin, the kid is seriously worried.

“yeah, three works,” max says to dustin, the younger boy throwing his backpack onto the counter, “what are you doing?” dustin pushes it right into steve.

“what are you-, HEY” he exclaims, “my pile!” robin gasps, dustin climbs over the counter wiping everything off with a crash, “no, no, no, my tapes! dude,” steve groans, you sigh loudly, moving to help robin clean up behind the counter. 

steve can smell you when you’re this close; it’s so hard for him not to acknowledge you right now. dustin goes to the computer on the counter, “what are you doing, man?” steve complains, looking at dustin with his eyebrows furrowed.

“setting up base of operations,” dustin says simply, fingers moving on the keys quickly, “get off of that,” steve says to the boy, “no, i need it,” typical dustin and steve bickering over everything.

“i’m looking up eddie’s friends' phone numbers,” you tilt your head while looking at robin, “isn’t that the kid that repeated? he’s our age?” robin nods at you.

“your new best friend you think is cooler because he plays your nerdy game,” steve sasses, dustin rolls his eyes, animatingly, “yes, i never said that,” he quips back. 

you shake your head, helping robin stack up her piles again, “seriously, guys, maybe on a monday you can play around like toddlers, but it’s saturday, it’s our busiest day” robin moves around quickly.

you pick up a left over tape on the floor just as a hand you know too well reaches for it, you both snatch your hands back like you’d burnt it on something, looking at each other, shocked.

“sorry” steve says, picking it up and standing. you stand up behind robin like a kid who’s afraid of talking.

“robin, i empathasie, but this cannot wait,” dustin says like a robot, scribbling numbers down furiously on his clipboard. “oh my god,” steve groans, hands running over his face.

“cause calling eddie’s friends is an emergency?” robin shakes her head, slamming papers on the counter, “correct” dustin exclaims. 

“who wants me to strangle him?” steve looks between you and robin, you can’t help the little smile that plays at your lips, you shake it off quickly.

“we could take turns,” robin smiles. she turns to look at you, eyes asking if you’re okay, you nod with hesitation, she gives your hand a quick squeeze.

“can you fill them in while i do this?” dustin looks to max, “fill us in on what?” you ask, max looks right at you, the keyboard clacking furiously in the back.

you all quickly start up with the phone calls, “have you seen eddie munson?” falling from all of your lips. you cross off the names while the kids and robin tell you the result, this was looking bad,

you see steve from the corner of your eye, flirting with a girl while recommending a movie. you glare at him like you never have before, he can feel the eyes on him on instinct. he can’t look at you, he’s fucking terrified.

thank goodness for max mayfield interrupting right now.

“hey guys, i may have a lead,” you all turn quickly, hopeful. “apparently, eddie gets his drugs from some guy named reefer rick, and sometimes eddie crashes there.” 

robin glances at you, “that sounds promising,” she says to max, dustin and you nod at her words, “where does his reefer rick live?” max closes her eyes for a moment.

“see that’s the thing, no one knows, he’s more of a..a legend than someone that people actually know,” you look at max in disbelief. 

“bet the cops know a last name,” steve mumbles, moving around tapes in a metal bin, “what?” max looks at him, “cops” steve says simply, your eyes stay trained on steve.

“listen if this reefer rick is actually a drug dealer, i guarantee you he’s been busted at some point, means he’s in the system,” steve turns, faltering his steps as he sees you looking at him. he leans on the counter, a little closer to you than he probably should be right now.

“the cops, really, steve? that’s your suggestion?” dustin snaps, you place a hand on the boy's shoulder, “hey, relax” you say softly, steve is surprised you're somewhat defending him right now, and so are you. 

you're blaming it on muscle memory. you clear your throat, suddenly becoming aware of the situation.

“i mean i just think they should be filled on what we know, what’s going on,” his hand waves in the air as he leans on the counter, you don’t look at him anymore, focusing on dustin with all your strength. 

“you think eddie’s guilty?” dustin says stiffly, you look over at max, giving her a reassuring smile, she seems just as distant as you.

“woah, i believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that constitutional shit, i just, you know,” he claps his hand, rubbing them together.

“don’t think we should rule it out,” he looks a little nervous as he says it, considering he’s getting quizical looks from all four of you behind the counter. 

“that’s precisely what we’re trying to do here, steve,” max concludes.

“and maybe we’d have a little bit more luck” dustin starts, “if you spent less time trying to find a girlfriend and more time trying to find eddie,” he says with sarcasm, you freeze, you look like someone shot you in the chest. 

“i um, i’m cold, i’ll just go get my jacket from the car,” you grit out, pushing past robin who was trying to stop you. “dude, why would you say that?” steve groans, watching you with sad eyes as you walk out hurriedly. 

dustin’s face dropped a little, “shit.” steve shakes his head, “don’t say that shit around her, man,” he tutts, robin looks at steve with a pained smile, following you out the door.

she finds you standing at your car with a mindless expression, “hey, you okay?” she asks softly, you’re a little startled when you see her, “oh, yeah, rob, i’m okay” you nod curtly, “it’s okay if you’re not, you know? steve’s an idiot” you puff out a laugh through your nose, “yeah”. 

you hate how much you miss him, you hate how you couldn’t stop loving him and you hate how much that comment affected you.

“let’s go inside, hm?” you nod, letting her drag you back to the video store.

the kids are arguing with steve about how he doesn’t treat the customers equally, and that’s when it clicks for robin, to search for his name in the rental log.

steve looks at you immediately when you come back in, he basically jumps at the jacket you’re wearing; it’s his.

he gave it to you back in high school after a date, and god, he forgot about it. his mouth is completely dry, he watches you stand next to robin as she searches for a name. 

you have this confused expression on your face that always made him wanna kiss you like crazy it was so cute. he can’t do that anymore, you’re not his.

you all share little laughs as robin cycles through the ricks, feeling a sense of normalcy. you see steve looking at you as you stand next to robin. you glance at him quickly, when your eyes meet, you both immediately drop eye contact, this is torture.

“he’s out by lover’s lake” dustin says, you swallow when you hear the name, you’ve had your fair share there with steve, and he knows that.

he refuses to look in your direction, his cheeks grow pink when he thinks about the shared kisses and hugs and..other things you both had at that lake, he wants it back. 

you all rush to steve’s car, you quickly go into the back next to max in the middle, sitting behind robin with a shaky breath. it’s been so long since you’ve been in this car, and you’re sitting behind the seat that used to belong to you.

you wonder if steve’s sunvisor still had the polaroid of you two stuck on it; it was taken on your birthday, a fond smile on your face as steve pressed a kiss to your cheek. you’re sat on his lap in front of a birthday cake. good times, you thought.

steve drove to the location, the sky now dark and eerie. your knee is bouncing up and down with nerves, you shouldn’t have come, this is becoming too much for you. steve looks at you worriedly through the rearview mirror, your expression is something he dreads seeing.

you all get out of the car, steve hands you a flashlight as you all go to approach the door, you look at him, surprised, offering a tight-lipped smile, “thanks” you say softly. 

your tone reminds him of your voice right before you drift to sleep, the gentle voice you would say in his ear as he held you close. it was always followed by your hands raking through his hair, telling him about your day.

he clears his throat, “yeah”. you both look at each other for a second later before dropping it, lighting the door as dustin rings the doorbell with determination.

“eddie, it's dustin!” he yells, “he’s not there,” steve mutters harshly, watching as you, max, and robin walk off to look around. max sees something, calling you all over, her torch lights up a metal shed. you look at robin in fear, “oh my god,” you whisper shout, steve feels that protectiveness bubble in his chest.

you all approach carefully, robin opens the door slowly, “hello, is anyone home?” she calls out, “be careful” you mutter, holding on to max’s arm. you all walk in, looking around the dump that people call a shed. 

you watch as steve grabs an oar off the walls, you raise your brow at him, he meets your gaze, shrugging as he holds it. he approaches a boat in the centre, he quickly stabs it towards some bags in the boat, “what are you doing?” dustin asks sharply.

“he might be in here” steve continues poking and prodding at the bags, “just take the tarp off” dustin shouts, “if you’re so brave, you take the tarp off” steve challenges, you roll your eyes at both of them.

“don’t worry, steve will get him with his oar” dustin says sarcastically.

steve huffs, “ah, i know you think you’re being funny, henderson, but considering the fact everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, i don’t find it funny in the slight-” he pokes again, suddenly something moves from the tarp, attacking steve, you gasp as steve is slammed into the metal wall. eddies got a knife to his throat, you freeze.

“eddie this is steve, he’s not going to hurt you” dustin exclaims, steve looks at you, not at anyone else, he looks at you. he thinks about how you’re going to watch his neck get sliced, just what he was trying to avoid.

dustin makes steve drop the oar, you breathe heavily as you look at steve. dustin defuses the situation, making eddie lower his guard.

he introduces each of you, “you remember, y/n, you told me she was hot once,” dustin says slowly, you look at dustin in shock, steve had an expression of worry go straight into fury now.

eddie drops the knife as you all swear on dustin’s mother that you were on his side. you let out a sigh of relief to see steve is free from eddie’s grasp.

you watch as robin checks on steve, you’re staring at him now, you want to check up on him but that’s not your place anymore. you just look longingly, placing a hand on max’s shoulder. she looks up at you with a knowing look, placing her hand on yours comfortingly.

steve looks at you from his crouched position, breathing unsteadily as he takes in your appearance. this is too much for him to handle.

robin, dustin and max all encourage eddie to open up, you hang behind, looking between the four of them and steve occasionally. he’s okay, you’re relieved. eddie explains the situation tearfully, you all listen carefully, you all know what this means. 

—

you all go back the next morning, arms full of supplies. “delivery service,” dustin smiles, eddie exhales, seeing you all wave at him with smiles on your faces in the doorway of the shed.

you hand eddie some food, he looks at you with big eyes, “oh, y/l/n, you’re a vision,” he flirts.

you clear your throat, “okay,” moving back to stand next to dustin. steve is clenching his jaw, glaring at the boy with long hair like he could kill him.

steve’s always had a jealousy problem.

dustin tells him the plan, the good news and the bad news as eddie shoves his face with more food. “they’ve gone through this before,” robin reassures eddie.

“these one’s especially,” she waves her finger between you, dustin and steve. you all nod when eddie glances in your direction. you all cover eddie hurriedly when you hear the sirens. shit was going down.

—

you all drive up to see what was going on and spot nancy talking to the authorities. you all get out of the car carefully. when she sees you, she almost cries, her best friend in the whole world, she waves at you. her eyebrows immediately furrow when she sees you with your ex boyfriend. what the hell is going on?

you all go to the trailer park, telling her the situation, exchanging theories. nancy is upset, she’s honestly traumatised. you hug her to your side, comforting her, “it’s okay, nance,” you smile.

she spots steve looking at you, he just looks like he wants to jump over the table and pull you to him to offer you the comfort you were always giving to anyone other than yourself.

he spots her looking and looks around the trailer park. nancy looks at you, “come with me” you both begin to walk over to her car and steve follows immediately.

“where do you think you’re going?” he’s looking between the two of you. “it’s a shot in the dark, i thought y/n and i could check it out,” nancy shrugs, steve shakes his head quickly, “no, absolutely not, are you out of your mind?” he says to you, not nancy, you look at him offendedly. 

“you two are not flying solo with this vecna on the loose, no, it's too dangerous, you need someone to..” he trails off, you scoff, your arms folding over your chest. he’s only saying this to you, like this is your idea.

“we can take care of ourselves.” this is the first real sentence you’ve said to him since the breakup. “yeah” he says sarcastically,

“harrington, i’m not a baby, i’ve dealt with this shit the same as you,” you argue, you two were both as bad as each other. 

“y/n, it’s dangerous, that’s my final word,” you laugh in his face, “i’m not yours to worry about anymore, remember?”

that stings when he hears it. your voice sounds pained, his face drops. he shakes his head, throwing his keys to robin. “i’ll go with them”.

they fight about how she can't drive, she dumps the keys back into steve’s hands. “the ladies will stick together,” robin looks at him, “unless you think we need you to protect us,” she smiles at him, steve’s face hardens. 

he wants to be there for you. “whatever, just be careful” he says to robin, looking at you as you walk away without another word.

“just gonna stand there and gawk?” dustin teases when you’re out of earshot, “shut up and get in the car,” steve grumbles. your words are replaying in his head like your mixtape he plays every day on his way to work. you’ve clearly moved on from him. 

you all get in nancy’s car, she immediately grills into you, “are you okay? is it awkward? why are you with him? are you getting back together?” you snap.

“nancy, please i really don’t want to talk about this,” she looks at your surprised, you immediately apoligise, “i’m sorry it’s been really crazy for me,” you breathe out. nancy and robin both look at you, they know you well, this is killing you.

—

“so” dustin looks over at steve, “we gonna talk about, it?” he tries, steve shakes his head, “nope.”

dustin huffs, “we’re not gonna talk about your temporary insanity when you basically threw yourself at y/n,” your name alone makes steve shiver.

“that is not what happened,” steve shakes his head, “pretty sure that’s what happened,” dustin quips, steve looks at him challengingly. 

“are you implying i still want y/n?” steve rushes out, “i didn’t say that, you got there on your own.”

steve swallows, “i don’t want her to get hurt by this vecna creep” he says gently, dustin nods, “she won’t.”

steve knows you won’t, and he’s determined to make sure it doesn’t. 

—

you all went to the creel house, you helped steve bring down the board covering the door. you rattle the doorknob, “it’s locked”.

steve gently moves you away from the door, doing the same thing. you scoff, “it’s locked” he repeats, “i just said that, god, you think i can’t do anything,” you say to him, he sighs looking at you.

“i didn’t say that,” he’s frustrated, you feel a little relieved he’s finally arguing back with you like you used to, a vast difference from your breakup. robin, nancy, dustin, max, and lucas all look at each other with dread.

“should i knock, see if anybody’s home?” steve says, “don’t be a smartass,” you sneer, “don’t start,” he says, voice dropping low enough to make goosebumps form on your skin. your mouth is open to respond, but nothing comes out.

robin lifts a brick, “no need, i’ve got a key.” she smirks, chucking it through the window. you go to put your arm through the hole to open the door, steve stops you like clockwork.

“oh for fucks sake,” you groan, he holds his hands up at the look you’re giving him, backing off. you open the door, and everyone follows behind you. 

steve stands next to the doorway, hands on his hips as he studies you. you look at him, assessing him once over before you approach him.

“you look like you’re dying to say something, go ahead, harrington,” you sass.

there used to be a way he’d get this bratty attitude in check, but it’s highly inappropriate right now.

he stands taller, “you’re being reckless,” he says flatly, jaw clenched as your eyes meet. your eyes flicker between his, you say nothing and move away from him, catching up to walk with nancy.

he lets out a frustrated breath, hand passing through his hair once. it was something he always did when he was pissed.

max points out the clock that she saw in her visions, you let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline is really kicking in.

“why is this wizard obsessed with clocks, maybe he’s a clockmaker or something?” steve questions, your laugh comes out on its own, he whips his head towards you.

“what’s so funny?” he cuts in, you shrug, giving him your best look of innocence. he’s fucked.

“i’m getting really weird vibes here,” you say to nancy. steve is listening in on your conversation, he needs to keep an eye on you.

“everyone, stay in groups,” nancy calls out, she holds your arm and pulls you with her upstairs. steve and dustin are left downstairs.

“bet you wanted to be with y/n, huh?” dustin says cheekily. steve lets out a sigh and climbs the stairs.

steve and dustin explore upstairs, steve finds a jar of spiders, it sends a shiver up his spine. he sees a spider crawling on his shoulder, he gets up walking backwards into a spiderweb and lands right into you. 

you let out a little oof when the boy runs into you, “what’s wrong?” you ask him, he shakes his head, “there was a spider, a black widow,” you walk around him looking for any signs of one but you see none. 

he turns to look at you when you stand behind him, “don’t go in there,” he closes the door.

“you’ve got, um” you raise your hand to your hair, “what?” he asks softly, walking towards a mirror, you exhale sharply, “stop moving,” you hold onto his shoulders from behind.

he pauses, all his senses are clouded with you.

you reach your hand up, taking the spider webs out of his hair, “thank you” he mumbles, the sensation so familiar, like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

“i got it” you say softly, “so um, are you okay?” he says nervously while you're diligently taking the webs out.

you pause, “yeah uh, you?” steve feels a little smile play at his lips, he nods, humming a yes in response. “all done,” you step back, he turns, looking right at you, “great, thanks,” you nod, giving him a little smile. 

he swallows, his eyes flickering between yours, “guess we should, uh, get back to the investigation” your eyes are trained on him, examining him closely. it’s a look he knows well, you’re trying to get inside his head. 

his eyes look down to your lips for a second before he moves past you, leaving you there extremely flustered.

you all move downstairs, watching as the lights of the chandelier flickers. “it’s like the lights all over again,” you whisper to nancy, she nods, “they come to life, like when will was in the upside down” you look over at steve quickly, he looks scared.

you grab max’s headphones and put them on her ears when the lights turn off, “everyone turn off your flashlights and spread out” nancy says carefully. everyone goes, leaving you and steve standing there. he moves first, and you follow. 

“i got him,” you and steve look at each other, following the sound. suddenly steve’s light pulses, “he’s moving,” he exclaims, you all follow behind him.

it turns off at the top of the steps and you all sigh, “i lost him”, max steps forward, “no, you didn’t,” she opens a door and there’s the light.

you all carefully approach the door, slowly walking up the stairs. all your lights turn on when you approach the singular lightbulb, “okay, what’s happening?” steve says nervously.

—

you’re all in the car for a supply run to eddie, you’re sitting in front of steve and it really isn't doing him any favours. he’s staring like he wants to crawl in your skin and live there forever. 

everyone in the car is arguing about how to best break the news to eddie about vecna being in the upside down, whereas you, you’re just staring at the window. 

you never thought you would be in this position right now, you’re extremely overwhelmed. steve notices, he always notices.

when you get to the house and realise eddie isn't there, you all need to go to skull rock. everyone walked off so quickly, you’re left with steve and dustin.

dustin is twisting and turning looking for skull rock while staring at his compass. “dude, i’m telling you, you’re taking us the wrong way” steve says to the younger boy, you nod, you and steve know exactly where it is. 

“you know skull rock is like a super popular makeout spot because of us, right?” steve’s eyes scans your face as he says it, your cheeks are quick to fill with pink, this is so awkward. dustin groans, steve quickly reroutes, taking you all in the correct direction.

when steve finds it, he’s a smartass. “you can’t admit it, you can’t admit you’re wrong, you butthead,” you chuckle, quickly turning into a scream when you feel hands on your waist. steve springs into action, turning immediately, ready to fight whatever's got you. 

that’s when he sees eddie grabbing you, “dustin henderson you are a total butthead” he repeats. “god, get off me” you push eddie off, he laughs.

this is so uncomfortable to deal with in front of steve.

steve’s tongue prods the inside of his cheek, he’s fucking livid.

“hey, man, maybe don’t sneak up on people like that, you scared her,” steve stands in front of you, you roll your eyes, “steve, drop it,” you huff.

he turns to look at you unimpressed, “no,” he challenges, moving a little closer to you. you feel like he doesn’t trust you.

“you’re so fucking-” he’s quick to cut you off, lowering his voice, “i dare you to finish that sentence” his eyes burning into yours.

“finish,” you feel the word explode in your stomach as he repeats it. you swallowed the anger that was ready to lash out, choosing to drop it as you have an audience. 

he smiles when you do, making you roll your eyes and walk over to nancy when you see her. you all listen to eddie as he recounts what happened, your arms are crossed over your chest, still angry that steve has to get all ridiculous when you do anything.

he always found you hot when you got like that. 

—

you don't know how you managed to be convinced to get on a boat with eddie, steve, nancy and robin but here you were, looking for in robins words, the snack sized gate. 

nancy and robin get on, steve looks at you when you approach, his hand on instinct going to the small of your back while he helps you get on the boat, “thanks” you mumble, steve nods.

the kids are keeping watch on the shore as steve rows you further out into the lake. the compass begins to freak out. “slow down,” nancy breathes out, you all lean over to look at the compass with her.

steve begins to take off his shoes and socks, you look up at him immediately, “what are you doing?” you blurt out, “somebody’s gotta go down there and check this out,” he breathes out, you shake your head quickly.

“no” he looks at you, “yes” you feel like you could faint.

“unless any of you can top being a hawkin’s high swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years” you’re staring at him, he’s so brave but so fucking stupid.

“it’s gotta be me, no complaints, alright?” your hand moves on its own, grabbing his and squeezing, “steve, please no,” he let out a shaky breath, looking at you like he’s trying to memorise every detail. 

he squeezes your hand back before letting go to take off his shirt, robin and nancy exchange knowing smiles at each other when they catch you looking up at a shirtless steve harrington. 

you were both so obvious.

eddie hands him a flashlight covered in a plastic bag and wishes him good luck, you sit up on your knees, “steve” you choke out, you look extremely worried now.

he smiles at you, a private one you haven't seen for many months now. he’s telling you it's okay.

“be careful,” you say quietly, he nods at you, “i will” he says like a promise, jumping in without another word.

you bite your fingernails as he goes under, “he’s taking too long,” you say to the boat, he pops up and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

he grabs onto the edge of the boat, your hands hold onto his arms, “i found it” he breathes out heavily. the feeling of your hands on his arms is driving him crazy, especially since he couldn’t do anything about it.

robin alerts the kids through the radio. steve’s looking at you relieved. his head suddenly goes under, you grip onto him tighter and he comes back up. suddenly he's completely gone. 

you scream, you were just holding him and now he’s gone.

”steve!” everyone yells, you didn’t know that steve was now in the upside down. you jump in before thinking, hearing the muffled yells of your name as you go down quickly, you need to find him.

you see the gate and go into it quickly, spotting steve being strangled and attacked by some sort of bats. you rush over, hitting them with an oar, the others are just behind you.

you hit the bats repeatedly, the others fending off the ones that were quickly approaching.

one grabs you, nancy tries to free you, you spot steve bite the tail of the one strangling him, nancy kills the one that’s on you with the help of robin.

it’s crazy and chaotic, you can’t even think straight.

steve swings a bat repeatedly on the ground, stepping on it’s stomach and ripping it in half, there’s blood dripping from his mouth, he spits, panting as he looks up at you.

“are you out of your goddamn mind?” he exclaims, charging over to you, “steve,” you start, “don't steve me, what the fuck are you doing down here?” he points at you.

“you’re always so stubborn, i told you i was doing this,” his eyes pierce right through you.

“i’m stubborn? don’t fucking start with me, steven,” you scoff, “uh guys, maybe fight about this later” robin says awkwardly.

steve looks at the rest of them, “that goes for all of you too, you shouldn’t have come down here” he’s pissed. he’s so angry.

“what was i supposed to do, let you die down here by yourself?” you yell, his eyes widened, “yes, you were,” he responds sharply.

you tune him out, looking down at his injury, gasping. he looks down with you, “oh my god,” you could cry right now. 

“it’s fine, they took out about a pound of flesh but i’m fine.” your eyes scan all over his injuries, your hand gently coming up to trace over his neck softly, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re not fine,” your eyebrows pinch, you're interrupted by the screech of bats flying menacingly above. “the woods, come on,” nancy yells, steve grabs your hand, making you run with everyone towards the trees.

you’re back at skull rock, only this time in the upside down. steve’s hand is still holding onto yours tightly.

he stands up, suddenly leaning too much on his left side, you slow down his fall, helping him rest up against the rock.

tears are falling and you don’t even know it, “you’re losing blood” you gasp, he groans as his hand presses into his wound, you grab it to move it, it’s pulsing and gorey.

you rip the bottom of your shirt quickly, robin’s going on a tangent about rabies until nancy pulls her away, you need to focus. 

you always do this for steve, put him back together again both mentally and physically. this is something you had to do.

you pull him forward gently and he grunts, “okay, steve, breathe,” you steady yourself, pressing the fabric of the shirt into his wound, he exhales in pain, there’s a wet squelch from the wound.

he lets out a stifled groan, hands on the back of his head, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry” you whisper, your hands moving quickly to tie the fabric.

“it’s okay” he grunts when you pull it tight, “too tight?” you look up at him, he shakes his head, “no, baby, that’s good” he breathes out, not even registering what he’s saying.

he watches your hands as you tie the knot firmly, leaning back onto the rock, panting.

“okay” you swallow, he's looking at you now, eyes pinning you in place.

his hand moves, cradling your cheek in his hand, thumb wiping off a tear rolling on your cheek, “thanks” he whispers, the gesture so intimate. “i’m okay,” he reassures, reading your mind. he really did know you better than anyone.

you break the eye contact, grabbing his arm and placing it over your shoulder, helping him walk. he’s breathing heavier than before, you're so close to him he can’t think. 

you think the increased breathing is him in more pain, you look over at him worried, “painful?” he shakes his head, “no, it’s fine” standing up a little straighter, his arm hooking around your waist to hold you steady.

nancy warns eddie of the hive mind, answering all of his and robin’s questions about the upside down.

“we need weapons,” you say to nancy, she nods immediately at your words. steve pulls you slightly closer. eddie suddenly throws a denim vest to steve, you glare at him.

“don’t fucking throw shit at him, munson, he’s hurt” you grumble, helping steve dress slowly. steve is smiling, he doesn’t know it but he is. 

suddenly everything starts shaking, steve’s arm goes over your chest, bracing the two of you with his other hand on the rock, your hands are holding onto his arm tightly, you cannot let him slip out of your hands again.

when it stops, you all agree you need the guns from nancy’s bedroom, steve grabs your hand quickly as you all walk to the wheeler residence.

you can’t ignore the sour taste in your mouth. you love him. you love him so much it hurts. you wonder if this is him acting on fear or love. he’s acting on love, he’s acting on admiration, all of it.

—

you’re all walking slowly to the wheelers, almost there. steve pulls eddie aside as you catch up to nancy and robin.

“y/n, there, she jumped in so fast after you, she just dove right in, that’s an act of true love i’ve never seen before,” steve’s looking at you with that yearning expression. he fucked up big time letting you go. 

steve calls you over, you turn to look at him, spotting him wave his hand gesturing to come back to him. he holds his hand out to you and is oh so pleased you took it.

he looks over at you, “i’m sorry for yelling at you, thank you for helping me,” he says softly, just for you to hear. you look at him surprised, you really didnt care. “it’s okay” you match his volume, he smiles at you.

“you were pretty bad ass saving me back there” you smile back at him, “just keep walking, steven.”

he grins boysishly, giving your hand three squeezes as you fall into a comfortable silence. he always did that when you were together, it was a simple way of him saying ‘i love you’. your head is spinning.

—

you’re all looking around nancy’s room realising you were stuck in time. you hear steve suddenly yelling dustin’s name in the other room, you all follow the sound.

he’s flashing his light to the roof, “dustin, hello?” he’s screaming, you look at him worried, has he lost more blood?

you can hear him, calling out to dustin with steve. nancy has a lightbulb moment literally, “we can communicate through the light.” you desperately hope someone gets the sos signal.

—

you connect to the kids through holly’s toy, watching nancy write into the light. you’re all crouched around nancy, steve behind you, pressing his chest against your back, you’re even more nervous now.

“there’s a gate at every murder sight” you hear the faint voice of dustin.

you all ride on your bikes towards eddie’s trailer, and low and behold, a gate in the roof of eddie’s trailer.

you gasp when something pushes through the portal, steve is quick to grab you close to him. steve pulls you with him to look up at the opening, seeing erica, dustin, max and lucas smiling back at you laughing.

you let out a sigh of relief, forehead resting on steve’s shoulder for a moment, he grins.

—

you all tilt your heads at the stains on eddie’s mattress staring at you menacingly. this is the worst, but you need to get out of here. the kids pass through a makeshift rope, you cannot believe this is working.

you watch as robin climbs up with hopefull eyes, laughing as you see her pass through and hit the mattress. “thank god” she laughs. eddie goes next, followed by nancy.

steve looks at you, “go on, i’ll see you on the other side,” he nudges his head to the rope. 

you pull yourself up, feeling yourself fall into nothing. you’re slammed harshly to the floor, steve’s not here, the kids aren’t here. you’re still in the upside down. 

“y/n,” steve says to you worriedly, noticing your eyes have gone white, his hands are on your shoulders, frantically shaking you. you're in a trance, you can't wake up.

“stay with me, honey,” he yells. you see visions of horrible things, you feel your death coming to you quickly.

“come on, baby, come on,” steve begs, his hands cradling your face, trying to wake you up. “hurry up!” he calls out to the others. your eyes snap open, you fall backwards.

steve catches you, lowering you down slowly. “it’s okay, baby, i got you” he breathes out, his hands on your face, checking you over. you’re panting, panicking, looking up at him with wild eyes.

“steve, i saw him, i saw” you cry, he nods, “okay, okay, it’s okay” he shushes you. steve helps you climb up the rope quickly, holding you in his arms tightly.

you tell the group what you saw, the visions of hawkins, what was to come. steve is sat on the couch with you on his lap, your back lying on his chest as you hold onto his arms wrapped around your waist.

he’s whispering sweet words in your ear to calm you down. he’s extremely worried. “he’s just trying to scare you, y/n,” steve says softly. “it’s not real,” you shake your head, “you don’t know that,” you choke out, he holds onto you tighter.

“we have to go back there, to the upside down” nancy says looking out the window, everyone protests immediately, especially steve.

“absolutely not, no way” steve stands you both up from the couch, “we need to think this through, in case you forgot your best friend almost died” he says to nancy while pointing at you.

“we need to go back” you nod, steve looks at you with a bewildered gaze, “you’re not going back down there what if he grabs you again?” he stammers.

“we’ll be prepared this time, we’ll get weapons and protection,” nancy says, everyone looks stressed.

—

and that’s how you ended up sneaking into the trailer park, going to some place called ‘war zone’.

what is this life?

eddie fiddles with the wires of the caravan, “eddie, i’m not sure i love the idea of you driving.” robin says wearily.

“oh, i’m starting the sucker, harrington’s got her, don’t you big boy?” smiling as he teases steve, you laugh, plopping down into the passenger side seat. steve gives you a surprised smile.

“you sitting up here with me?” steve grins, you’re about to answer until the owners knock on the door and steve has to speed off quickly. 

as you drive off, you keep glancing at steve. “you’re pretty good at driving this thing, harrington” you smile, he gives you a cheeky smile.

“you know,” he starts, the radio playing faintly in the back, “i’ve actually always had this dream of having a big family, like a fool brood of harringtons” he smiles looking at the road.

“hm? how many?” you glance at him, he meets your gaze, “like 5 or 6 kids?” steve ponders, you laugh.

“and who on earth is going to push out 6 kids for you, steve?” he pauses, looking over at you with a longing gaze.

he knows it's you. you know he’s talking about you.

pink tinges your cheeks as you look at him, he smirks, “three girls, three boys, and then every summer, us harringtons could pack into something like this and just..see the country” he sighs, you’re nervous now.

“that sounds nice” you say quiety, he looks at you with a shit eating grin, “yeah? you’ll be there?” you roll your eyes.

“don’t push your luck,” you tease, he places a hand on his chest, “oh, i wont, honey” you both laugh.

“hey, steve,” you chuckle, he hums, looking over at you again. 

“i’m not having 6 kids” he laughs, nodding, “i can dream”.

there’s a beat of silence, “hey, when this is all over,” he says nervously, “i think we um, need to talk, i want to explain everything to you.”

he’s jittery, you nod, “okay,” he lets out a grateful breath. he knows what he wants, and that’s you. forever.

—

“this is nuts” you laugh, looking up at the warzone sign, steve laughs too, “this is nuts” he parrots, bumping your shoulder playfully with his to push you to the door.

“nance, this is your heaven” you say with wide eyes looking at the vast amounts of isles, she grins, “shut up and go find something,” you smile back at her, walking with steve and robin.

you laugh as steve puts on a leather jacket, “who are you trying to impress, harrington?” he chuckles at your words, “you, obviously,”

you chuckle, helping robin load the kerosene fuel into the cart.

you look concerned when nancy approaches you guys, “they’re here.” you all pay quickly and run to the caravan, steve drives away. 

after you get away, you all make weapons together, a really strange bonding moment.

you and steve hold empty bottles while robin pours fluid into them, both of you reassuring robin that she and vicky may still have a chance.

“not everything has a happy ending,” robin grabs another lighter fuel, “don’t say that, rob,” you place a gentle hand on her knee, steve smiles at both of you.

“i think it does,” steve says earnestly, smiling wider when your eyes meet his.

“okay you two, quit slacking” robin teases, making you and steve laugh.

—

you go through the plan with dustin, robin, nancy, steve and eddie. steve can’t help but look at you worriedly.

he pulls you aside for a quick moment, “listen, i don’t know what’s going to happen so i need to tell you this now” he says quietly to you, grabbing your hand, you nod, “okay.”

“i’m sorry for everything, i pushed you away because i’m an idiot and i thought it would make things easier but it didn’t, i can’t lose you, y/n, i can’t” he starts, tears begin to brim at your eyes.

“i love you, you have to know that, i always will” you nod, “i love you too, stevey, always” a tear rolls down his cheek and you’re quick to wipe it off. he’s relieved, he knows you understand him and he understands you. 

“let’s go beat this vecna guy's ass and have a proper talk about this hm?” he whispers, you smile, “let’s do it” he cradles your cheeks with his hands, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours for a moment.

you all walk to the gate, steve pulls himself up first, you follow immediately after the mattress goes down.

he lets out a huge sigh of relief when you come down with no problem, “i gotcha, baby,” he helps you up, you smile, your faces close together for a moment.

he winks cause he knows it makes you laugh, he helps you to the side, looking up to see the rest coming down.

—

hawkins was ripped in half. eddie was gone, max was in a coma. it was bittersweet; it was hard to feel the victory when there was so much loss.

post blowing up vecna, steve drove you to his house that night, you talked from the night up until the late morning.

he explained everything, why he acted the way he did, and he opened up to you in a way he had never done before. he let you express how you felt, how you felt like he doesn’t trust you. you both listened to each other intently and reassured each other of all your worries and concerns.

you both knew this wouldn’t happen again, the shuting down and pushing away. after hours of talking, crying and laughing together, you and steve got back together again.

—

you and steve help load the car with all the donations, seeing max, el, a random guy with long hair, jonathan and will. everyone runs and exchanges hugs.

you hang behind with steve, smiling as everyone greets each other. he pulls you to his side, kissing the crown of your head affectionately.

everyone looks at you and steve with knowing smiles, “thank god” mike exclaims when he sees you loved up.

—

you grab a box out of steves car, you, steve, robin and dustin, making your way to the school with the donations. you all look around with bittersweet expressions, vecna was gone but look at all these people who suffered.

you all hand over the donations, “can we help?” robin asks melissa at the donation table.

you and steve move to take over the clothes station. as steve and you are folding, you look up to see vicky and robin smiling with each other, you bump steve’s hips with yours, you both smile seeing your friend happy.

“i told her about fast times,” steve smirks, you laugh when he presses happy kisses to your cheek. you both laugh, you kiss the tip of his nose affectionately. 

“i’m so happy i have you with me again,” you whisper to him, he smiles widely, “i’m more than happy i’ve got my sweetheart back” he dips his head to pull you into a kiss. your lips move against each other with that familiar feeling of love, love that you never lost, just merely put on hold.

steve is never going to let you go again, no matter what. 

[levanswrites]

lean on me

pairing: steve harrington x reader summary: touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it. steve harrington is affection-starved. love-starved. he’s been handing out pieces of his heart for years, getting nothing but scraps back. now, he clings like glue—always leaning, always touching, like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to pull back. and it would’ve all been fine… if this wasn't supposed to be just a casual thing. if he hadn’t said I love you, with his whole heart, mid-fuck. warnings: 18+ mdni, fwb to lovers, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), touchstarved!steve, i'd call him subby in this but he's rlly just pathetically in love, unexpected L-bomb, domestic fluff, light angst, happy ending a/n: everyone’s moved on from that s1 scene where steve asks nancy ‘you don’t love me?’ but I’m still there. anyway. here’s 5k words of painfully touch-starved steve.

So, like.

This isn’t a real thing.

That’s the important part. The crux. The root of it all.

The problem.

It’s the reason you haven’t slept in your own bed in over a week. The reason there’s a stupid little bruise on your neck (seriously, who even gives hickeys anymore?) and the reason you know exactly how Steve Harrington takes his coffee (three sugars, no cream, no shame).

It’s not real.

Because if it were real, then… that would be something.

And you don’t do “something.” You don’t like “something.”

Because “something” has weight. Teeth. Expectations.

And Steve? Well.

Steve is—

He’s lonely.

That’s what this is.

No, seriously. That’s the whole thing.

You didn’t clock it at first. Thought maybe he was just hot and bored. Smooth in that lazy, practiced way that makes everything feel like a dare. He flirts like he’s handing out candy. Smiles like it’s a reflex.  

But it’s not boredom.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

The kind of lonely that clings to skin like summer sweat.

The kind that seeps in slow—after years of being everybody’s something and then, suddenly, nobody’s anything.

The kind that turns touch into a transaction. That turns you into a distraction.

He speaks in half-jokes and full smiles. Loose shoulders, quick grins. Charm so polished it starts to sound like an echo—hollow, if you know what to listen for.

But when he touches you—god, when he touches you—

It’s like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s scared he won’t get another chance.

And somehow, that’s what keeps bringing you back.

Not the sex. Though—yeah, okay. The sex is good. Annoyingly good.

The kind that makes you forget your name. That has you laughing one second and gasping the next. The kind where he holds your hand through it and whispers ridiculous, tender shit into your neck. Nonsense, really. Things no one should find hot, and yet… you do.

But that’s not why you stay.

It’s not the sex.

It’s what happens after.

It’s the way he presses a hand to your lower back when you shift beneath the covers, like he’s making sure you’re still there. It’s the way he gets up first, hair a mess, pulling on flannel pajama pants that hang low on his hips while he makes you scrambled eggs.  

Burnt edges. Drenched in pepper.

You wrinkle your nose and grumble about having breakfast at 2 PM.  

He slides the plate toward you with a smug little, “You’ll eat what I give you and you'll like it.”

You always grin.

“You’re lucky I’m easy,” you tell him, mouth full.

He shrugs, sips his coffee (three sugars, no shame), and says, “Yeah. I am.”

You think that’s a joke. Maybe. Hopefully.

You don’t ask.

You don’t ask a lot of things.

Like why he waits to kiss you until your hands are under his shirt. Or why he pulls you in like he wants to keep you there, and then lets you go as soon as the sun comes up. Why his eyes go distant when he thinks you’re not looking.

You tell yourself he just needs the connection. That you’re just a body. A placeholder. A habit.

But he gets so quiet sometimes. After.

That strange, suspended kind of quiet, when the sweat’s dried and the room’s gone still. When his arm is still slung over your waist and his gaze is locked on the ceiling like it's got answers he doesn’t.

Not asleep. Never asleep.

Just still.   

Like he’s bracing for impact.

Once—just once—you asked, “You good?”

And he said, “Yeah.”

But he said it in that voice. The soft one. The one he uses when he’s lying.

You could’ve pressed. But you didn’t.

Because this isn’t a real thing.

It’s just comfort.

Borrowed heat. Mutual use. Skin and breath and the occasional earth-shattering orgasm.

That’s it.

Until one night, he says something.

And it changes everything.

…

Steve Harrington is a leaner.

You noticed that before anything ever happened between you.

Before the late nights. Before toothbrushes and t-shirts that weren’t yours. Back when he was just a name, a familiar face at parties with warm drinks and bad music. The guy with the hair and the reputation.

One night, you ended up on the same couch.

By accident. Well, mostly.

You’d had one too many drinks and slumped into the cushions like your bones had melted. Someone handed you a bottle of water and asked, “You okay?”

That someone was Steve.

He didn’t say much else. Just sat next to you, a respectful distance away, not even close enough for your knees to brush.

You said something dumb. He laughed. Asked a follow-up question.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The lean.

Steve Harrington leans like it’s instinct. Like gravity doesn’t pull him down, it pulls him toward. Like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to resist it.  

But then when your hand brushed his thigh while reaching for a bowl of chips—

He froze.

Just for a second. A flicker. A sharp inhale. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thing.

But you didn’t miss it.

You noticed.   

…

It started stupid. You tell yourself that a lot.

Especially when you’re staring at yourself in his bathroom, brushing your teeth with the toothbrush he bought you, trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing.

It was stupid. An accident, really.

He called one night. Said, "I can’t sleep."

You said, "That sucks."

Then: "Can I come over?"

And: "Sure."

Just sex. That was the deal. No strings, no expectations.

There were rules, in the beginning.

No cuddling. No staying over.

No kissing unless clothes were already off.

That one lasted exactly one round.

Because on the second night, he kissed you first. Before either of you had taken off a single layer. Like kissing was the point, not the sex.

And afterward? He held you. Just an arm across your waist, skin warm, breath steady. Like you were his favorite teddy bear. Or a security blanket that talks back.

And he didn’t ask you to stay, but when you fell asleep there, he was already awake by the time you opened your eyes. Lying there. Watching you.

Like he hadn’t slept at all.

It was fine. Totally fine.

“Just friends,” you’d said.

And he nodded. “Yeah. Totally.”

But his fingers were laced through yours when he said it.   

…

Sometimes he says things you don’t know how to hear.

Like that weekend after finals. Both of you a little drunk. Loose-limbed and grinning for no reason. Buzzed on cheap beer and end-of-term freedom, on the promise of summer stretching out like a dare. You were parked outside your place, engine off, windows fogging in the humidity. Music low, the kind of old-school ballad Steve pretends to hate but knows every word to.

You kissed him over the console of his Beemer. Messy, open-mouthed, like the world was ending and tongues were currency—a last-ditch effort to spend everything before it was too late. He laughed into your mouth, and you felt it everywhere.

Then, soft and slurred:

“Missed you this week.”

You smiled. Didn’t answer.

He kissed your neck like he could hide into it.

You didn’t ask what he meant. Didn’t ask if he meant your mouth or your body or just the convenience of you.

You just climbed into his lap.

Straddled him.

Ground down on him like you were trying to forget how soft he’d sounded. How scared.

And he let you.

Because Steve Harrington always lets you.

…

Tonight, it’s raining.

You show up at his door soaked to the bone, hoodie dripping, pajama pants clinging to your legs. There’s water in your eyelashes, in your socks, probably in your dignity.

Steve opens the door like he’s been waiting. Like he knew.

“Jesus, get in here,” he mutters, tugging you inside by the wrist. “You’re soaked.”

He peels off your jacket, pushes your hood down. His knuckles brush your cheek.  

His hands feel warm. Or maybe cold. You can’t tell anymore with him.

…

He makes soup.

Chicken noodle, way too much pepper.

You sit on the counter in dry clothes that smell like him while he stirs in silence; barefoot, bedhead, wearing sleep pants and an old Hawkins basketball tee with a hole in the collar.   

He hands you the bowl and watches you blow on the steam.

Then he puts on a movie neither of you ends up watching.

He sits close, arms touching from shoulder to elbow.

It’s nothing.

Except, with Steve, nothing always feels like everything.

Because he doesn’t move away.

He leans.

…

Touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Steve Harrington is affection-starved. Love-starved. He’s been handing his heart out to people for years and getting scraps in return.

He was the king of a kingdom that left him stranded in his own tower.

Now, he wields proximity like armor. Like glue. Stick close, so maybe they won’t leave.

You sit next to him, he leans. You stand near him, his fingers brush yours. You yawn, and suddenly he’s cradling your head, smoothing your hair like you’re going through something traumatic.

You’re not.

You’re yawning.

And it would be funny, if it wasn’t all so completely, irreparably fucked.

…

The rain's louder now.

Not quite a storm, but loud enough that it fills the room with its own kind of hush. Soft and constant, like white noise between thoughts.

Steve leans back against the couch, head tilted, throat exposed. The light from the TV paints him in soft blues and grays.

You look at him too long. Then say, quietly:

“You don’t let people touch you much.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I mean, you do,” you say, glancing at his hands. “But not really.”

He lets out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Okay, detective. What’s that mean?”

You shift, pulling your knees up.  

“It means…” you pause. “That you act like it’s natural. Like touching’s easy for you. But it’s not.”

His eyes drift away. His throat bobs.

Then, a low chuckle. Pained and impressed in the same breath. “Jesus. You should be a therapist or something.”

“So I’m right?”

He goes quiet for a bit. Just tugs the blanket higher over your knees.

“People think I’m good at it,” he says eventually. “Being… I don’t know, flirty.”

“You are,” you say, like it's a fact. And it is.

He laughs, soft and empty. “Yeah. Well. I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

He starts picking at a loose thread. Doesn’t look at you.

“But that’s all it is. Practice. I think… I think I just got good at pretending.”

A pause.

“My parents weren’t really... around. You know? And when they were, it was all rules. Appearances. Be polite. Be perfect. Don’t embarrass the family.”  

You stare at your lap. “That sucks.”

He stiffens a little. “I’m not saying it for pity.”

“I know,” you bump your knee against his. “And don’t worry, you’re not getting any.”

He snorts, soft and real.

But then his hand stirs in his lap, tightening around the blanket, white-knuckled. It’s subtle. A detail most people wouldn’t notice.

But you do.

You always notice.

So you reach out. Slip your fingers between his like you’ve done it a hundred times before. Laced together, palm to palm, thumb brushing over the tense tendons in his wrist.

He freezes. Just for a second.

Then his hand twitches. Loosens. Curls back around yours.

He holds on.

…  

Steve Harrington has always been golden.

Golden boy. Golden skin. Golden smile. The kind of person who walks into a room and soaks up all the oxygen without even trying. The kind people fall for in flashes, bright and fast and dizzying.

They love parts of him. The hair, the grin, the effortless charm. The storybook confidence that makes everyone else fade to grayscale. But if they looked closer—and most don’t—they might notice a flicker of something else. Something dimmer. Something tired.

You notice.

You always notice.

You see the way his smile stutters, the half-second where it slips before he wrestles it back into place. The way he shrugs off compliments like they sting. Laughs off praise like it doesn't fester in his chest long after it’s said. Like he doesn’t believe a word of it, even when it’s true.

He’s used to it, you think. Being loved for the surface. Wanted for being golden.

Never seen for what’s underneath.

But that’s not the Steve you want.

You want this Steve—sleepy-eyed, soft-voiced, weirdly-good-at-playing-with-your-hair Steve.

The one in faded sweatpants and mismatched socks, slurping soup too loudly and pretending your knee against his isn’t the most intimate thing that’s happened to him all week. 

The one who sings along to bad radio ballads in the car and gets quiet when you ask him about childhood birthdays. The one who never learned how to ask for love—only how to give too much of it away.

You want the mess. The ache. The scared little boy behind the golden grin.

You want to know what song he hums when he’s doing his laundry. What memory makes him smile when no one’s watching.  

The parts of him that aren’t polished, the cracks that run through the gold. The ones he tucks away because he's convinced no one could ever love them.

You want the parts he hides.

…

You don’t remember how your shirt came off.

One minute you were doubled over laughing—some dumb line from the movie, something even dumber from Steve—and then he’s just there.

Mouth hot on your neck. Hands everywhere. Greedy and reverent in the same stroke, in the way only Steve Harrington can be.

He kisses down your throat, mumbling something against your skin. Something that sounds like, “You’re so beautiful,” voice so full it cracks a little.

Your fingers sink into his hair.

“Steve,” you breathe. “You’re shaking.”  

He lifts his head. Eyes wide and round and glassy.

“I just…” He swallows. “Wanna make you feel good. Let me?”

You nod, throat tight.

You’d let him do anything.

…

He eats you out like he missed you.

Like this is the only way he knows how to say it.

You’re sprawled across his couch, thighs over his shoulders, his arms hooked under your hips. Holding you open as he devours you. Sloppy, desperate, like he missed this, missed you, even though you were here just two nights ago. He groans into you like this is worship, and maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

“Fuck,” he moans, voice wrecked. “You taste so good. So wet for me.”

Your fingers twist harder in his hair. He moans at that too; loves it when you tug him closer.

"Steve—"

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, mouth full. “I got you.”

You arch into him, thighs clamped tight around his head.

“I—fuck, I’m gonna—"  

He groans like he’s the one coming. Eats you through it, grinding his hips into the carpet, riding it out with you. Stays through the twitching and the aftershocks, still licking, like he can’t bear to stop, can’t bear to let you go.

And even when you’re spent, legs trembling, chest heaving, he doesn’t move away.

Kisses your thighs. Your stomach. Your breasts.

Soft, wet little marks. Greedy, but not in the way that takes. In the way that keeps.

You breathe through the haze, arm flung over your eyes because it stings too much sometimes, looking at him.

“You wanna fuck me now?”

…

He fucks you like a confession.  

Slow. Deep. Forehead to forehead. Breathing into your mouth. Nose bumping with each stroke, his breath hitching every time you moan.

Like he’s making love, even though that’s not what this is.

The room is quiet except for the slick sounds of skin on skin, and the soft hush of your name as he passes it from his lips over to yours.

“So good,” he breathes. “So fucking perfect.”

You curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pull him closer.

“I think about you all the time,” he whispers, hips rolling into you. “All the time. Can't—can’t stop.”

You tense, just slightly. Barely a hitch in your breath.

He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and just barrels forward anyway, words spilling faster than he can catch them. He’s shaking again.

“Can’t get you out of my head. Fuck, you’re all I think about, I—”

And then—

He says it.

The thing.

The one thing you can’t undo.  

“I love you.”

…

Everything stills.

Steve stills. You still. 

He pulls back, blinking fast. Searching your face, fingers twitching against your waist.

You can’t breathe. 

“Steve…”

You say it like it hurts. Like it’s an apology. Like you didn’t mean to hear it, and he didn’t mean to say it.

He sees it, whatever’s written on your face. Sees it and folds in on himself.

His mouth twists, words souring on his tongue.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—”

You kiss him before he can finish.

Messy. Desperate. Mouth open, teeth clashing. Like you’re trying to shove the words back down his throat. Like if you just kiss him hard enough, they’ll sink back into him and never make it out.

He kisses you back, fast and clumsy. Picks up his pace again, thrusts turning erratic, rhythm gone. He comes like that—hands gripping too tight, teeth in your shoulder, breathing like he’s drowning.

He doesn’t say it again.  

Not out loud.

…

You told him once, weeks ago—maybe during the eighth or ninth time, when things were still light enough to float. You were lying in his bed, naked on blue linen, post-coital and quiet. You were staring at the ceiling. He was tracing circles on your arm.

“I’ve never said it,” you murmured.

He turned, frowning. “What do you mean, never?”

“Like… out loud. To anyone.”

“Not even to, like, a boyfriend?”

You snorted. Gave him a look. He just frowned deeper.

“I mean, it’s just words, right?” you shrugged. “Doesn’t really mean shit. Not unless you show it.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded, like he was filing it away.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess.”   

…

The scariest part isn’t that he said it.

It’s how little changes after.

He pulls out. Kisses your forehead. Disappears for a towel, water, wipes, the whole post-sex routine. He wraps you in a blanket, like always.

He sits on the edge of the couch, shirtless and quiet. Still catching his breath.

But he won’t look at you.

You’re staring at the ceiling now. Body still buzzing, your mind a blur. Your chest feels raw, like you’ve swallowed glass and it’s still cutting on the way down.

Finally, you speak.

“You’re an idiot.”

His head turns, brows knit. “What?”

You sit up a little. “You’re an idiot. You can’t just say that mid-fuck and expect me not to spiral.”

He laughs, caught off guard. It’s soft. A little broken.

“I didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… came out.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

He starts fidgeting with the blanket again.

“I can take it back, if you want.”

You pause.  

A long, slow beat.

Then you shake your head.

“No. Don’t.”

…

He’s sitting on the bed when you come out of the shower.

Hair damp, skin flushed from the heat, a line of steam following you out the bathroom. You’re toweling off the ends of your hair, not really expecting conversation. He’s quiet—bent forward, elbows on his knees, bare foot tapping a slow rhythm into the floorboards.  

Then, without looking up, he says:

“Do you want to stay over?”

You almost drop the towel. Frozen mid-motion, terrycloth bunched in your hands.

It’s not the first time he’s asked that. Not really.

There was one night, early on, when you came over to his place, still a little nervous about the whole thing. He’d made you come three times, then followed you out of bed, shirtless and flushed, and said:

“You could, uh… stay. If you want. It’s late. I don’t—sleep great. And I just…” He’d swallowed it. “Forget it. Never mind.”  

You’d made it exactly two steps before turning around.  

But that was then.

Now, five months in, you’ve never needed the words. Your toothbrush is in his medicine cabinet. Your hoodie is slung over the back of his desk chair. You spend most nights here anyway—falling asleep during half-watched movies and waking up tangled in limbs you no longer bother to count.

So the fact that he asks—now, of all nights—makes you pause.

“Sure,” You say quietly, then walk past him to grab the lotion off his nightstand like it's nothing.  

He doesn’t smile, not really. But his shoulders soften. His eyes go from holding tension to holding you.

He looks tired. Relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.

You slip under the covers, the way you always do. He follows. And for a beat, everything feels normal. Familiar. Easy.

He’s warm. He always is.

Your body knows the choreography—roll away, let him pull you in, slot your legs together until he’s all but spooning you. But tonight, for reasons you can’t name, you end up facing him instead. On your side. Eyes open. Nose to nose.

Close enough to feel the soft rise of his chest. To smell his shampoo. The expensive one you always make fun of, the one you pretend not to use.

Close enough to catch the exhale when he speaks.

“Can I—?” he stops.

You wait.

He licks his lips, gaze darting down to the space between you.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Your stomach drops, fluttering like a trapped bird.

Because what kind of person asks to hold your hand after they’ve had their hands everywhere else?

And why does that make you feel more vulnerable than anything he’s ever done?

You say, “Sure,” because you don’t know what else to say.

And then you do it. You reach out, he meets you halfway—fingers slotting between yours like they were made to be there.

His thumb skates slowly over your knuckles. His hand is warm, a little rough in places. Callused in a way that reminds you he’s probably fought for things—for people—before. Real things. Hard things. Love-shaped things.

Eventually, he shifts closer. Not pulling you into him. Just… aligning. Until your knees touch. Until your breaths sync.

He’s so close you can count the gold flecks in his eyes. 

Then, quietly:

“I meant it. What I said.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because something in your chest lurches and twists and stretches like it’s never been moved before. Like it’s being made into something new. 

“I know,” you say eventually, voice soft as worn cotton.

He swallows. Starts again, then stops. There’s a crack in his voice when he says:

“You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s not fair. That I said it like that. I just—” He looks down. Shrinks in on himself a little. “I couldn’t not.”

You reach out before he can spiral. Fingers to his jaw, steady and slow.

He flinches instinctively, then stills beneath your touch.

And god, he looks so young like this. Eyes glassy. Lips bitten raw. Desperate crease between his brows like he’s bracing for impact.

“Steve,” you whisper, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “I’m not mad.”

He searches your face like it might change mid-sentence.

“I just… I need time. That’s all.”

He nods. Once. Then again.

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds like breathing for the first time in days. “Okay.”

He squeezes your hand, like a question.

You squeeze back, like an answer.

…

You don’t plan it.

There’s no perfect moment. No grand confession. No string quartet swelling in the background, or a slow-motion kiss in the rain.

There’s just a Tuesday.

Or maybe a Wednesday.

One of those in-between days that doesn’t really exist. Gray sky. Light drizzle. Everything muted and quiet, just a little smudged around the edges.

When you open your door, Steve’s already there.

Curled into the corner of your couch in fuzzy socks, eating dry cereal out of the box and watching a rerun of something he’s already seen three times. His hair’s damp. Probably showered at your place again because its closer to the gym, or maybe he just likes your shampoo better than his.

You don’t even ask anymore.

He grins when he sees you. Tosses a Cheerio in his mouth and says, “How was hell?”

You toe off your shoes and shrug. “Corporate’s an absolute dream. Only cried twice in the break room today.”

He opens his arms without a word. “C’mere.”

You go.

He pulls you in without pretense, folding you into his chest like he’s been waiting all day just to do it. You melt into it, cheek pressed to his collarbone. He smells like your body wash. It does something to your ribs. Cracks them open. Lets the light in.

You sit like that for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.

Eventually, he gently nudges you off him.

“I’m making tea,” he says. “Don’t move.”

You do, of course. You follow him.

He's humming something tuneless, drumming his fingers on the counter while the kettle boils. And when it whistles, he moves automatically, like he’s done it a hundred times. Two mugs. Two tea bags. Your chipped dinosaur mug and his plain blue one. He insists it’s “just a mug” even though he always reaches for it first.

He doesn’t have to ask. He knows. Honey in both. Lemon in yours. He moves with the kind of ease that only comes from repetition. From caring.

He hands it to you without looking. You take it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic bleeding into your palms.

And for some reason, that’s what does it.

Not the cuddling. Not the hand-holding. Not the sex, or the sleepovers, or the toothbrush he bought without asking

Just—this.

This moment. This man. This stupid kitchen and this cup of tea made exactly how you like it.

It hits you like a low tide: gentle, inevitable, impossible to ignore.

You’re still holding the mug when you say it. Still standing in the half-lit kitchen in your sad little apartment with the flickering stove light and the perpetually leaking faucet and the love of your life stirring a teabag like it’s the most serious task in the universe.

Soft. Barely above the whistle of the kettle.

“I love you.”

His spoon stops mid-stir.

He doesn’t move for a second. Doesn’t look up.

You think maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe you should repeat it. Louder. Clearer.

But then—he smiles. 

Not the charming one. Not the grin he uses when for baristas or strangers or people who don’t know any better.

This one’s smaller. Like it snuck up on him.

He sets the spoon down carefully.

“Yeah?” he asks, still not turning around.

You nod.  

Then, braver: “Yeah.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in his lungs since February.

And without looking at you—like looking might make it collapse—he just says:

“Okay.”

Then, a beat later, with a kind of awe:

“I love you too.”

You step closer. Lean your head against his back, arms circling his waist just to feel him. He goes still under your touch, the way he does when something matters a little too much.

Then he relaxes. Covers your hands with his. Holds you there.

And the thing is, nothing else changes.

You still drink your tea. Still argue over who gets the remote. Still end up half-asleep on the couch with pretzel crumbs all over the upholstery and Steve mumbling nonsense into your shoulder.

But later, when he takes you to bed, he says it again.

Not in the heat of it. Not as a plea. Just a soft, quiet:

“I love you.”

You don’t panic.

You don’t question it.

You just say it back. Steadier, this time.

“I love you.”

He grins against your mouth. “About time.”

You roll your eyes.

He kisses your nose.

…

“I just—I’m sorry, but I really think this one tastes the same as the other one.”

Steve’s in an argument with the beekeeper lady at the farmer’s market. About honey.

She gasps like he’s insulted her bloodline, then launches into a spiel about how wildflower honey tastes completely different from clover honey—something about the blossoms and the weather and the bees' mood.

You, standing ten feet away with an armful of Honeycrisps, don’t even try to save him. You just lean against a crate of pumpkins and watch the disaster unfold.  

This is your Saturday now.

Groceries and small-town drama. Coffee stops and joint laundry loads and dumb little errands that somehow feel like sacred rituals because he’s there.

He jogs back to you a minute later, holding a jar of orange blossom honey.

He's grinning like an idiot. “She loved me.”

“She called you ‘boy.’”

“Exactly. Affectionate.”

You bump his hip. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love that about me.”

You glance at him, lips twitching.

You do.

You really do.

…

It’s been eight months.

Eight months of toothbrushes side-by-side. Of his socks in your drawer and your hair ties in his bathroom.

Of grocery lists that say things like “Steve’s weird granola” and “that cinnamon roll candle" you've been dying to try.

Of falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed because he carried you. Of him saying “morning, baby" in that morning-after voice then smirking when yours is too hoarse to respond.

Of fights that don’t break things, just bend them. Of learning how to disagree without flinching. How to apologize without pride.

Of knowing it’s safe now. Not perfect, not painless, but safe.

…

One night, he’s reading beside you in bed.

Trying to, at least.

The book’s open in his lap, but he’s clearly dozing off mid-paragraph. Lips parted, breath steady.

You’re on your side, just watching him.

You don’t let yourself stare too often, but he’s so soft like this. Soft in a way he only is at home. With you.

There’s a scar on his collarbone you’ve never asked about.

You probably could. He’d tell you.

You think you will, someday.

But right now, you're happy just tracing it with your fingertip. He stirs, nuzzling your shoulder like he’s chasing warmth in his sleep.

And then, half-conscious, he murmurs:

“You’re it for me.”

You go still. Heart in your throat.

And then—just as simply, just as truthfully—you say:

“You are too.”

He hums at that. Smiles against your skin.

Wraps an arm around your waist and lets the world fade out.

…

In the morning, you’ll make him coffee the way he likes it: three sugars, no cream, no shame.

He’ll kiss your shoulder while you pour it, thank you with a sleepy voice and wandering hands.

You’ll sit on the couch, eat burnt toast, and laugh at some dumb segment on the morning news.

He’ll offer to fix your car. Again.

You’ll roll your eyes and say no. Again.

He’ll grin.

He'll drive you to work.

And just like that, the day will begin.  

Like it did today.

Like it will tomorrow.

Like it will every day after.

a/n: when I tell you I took a super long nap yesterday and then stayed awake the whole night... this is what came crawling out of my brain at 4 am... wrote this in like 3 hrs so i'm sorry if this is all over the place 🥲

i always love hearing your thoughts abt my silly little stories! feel free to reblog/comment/come find me in my inbox :)

update: this fic sort of has a sequel now! from steve's pov this time :)))

my masterlist

[beapeas]

Don't Say a Word

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: While stuck in the middle of Steve and Jonathan's arguing, you out your secret relationship with Steve to shut them up.

Author's Note: The new season got some gears turning. Season five spoilers, of course. Say a prayer for Steve's saftey in the next part (I'm scared)

All you had heard for the last hour and a half were bouts of childish bickering followed by stretches of silence. It was a seemingly endless cycle that made you want to scream at both of the boys. Steve sat in the front of the WSQK van manning the wheel while Jonathan was crouched in the back focusing on the satellite. You sat on the floor between the two with the radio, trying to get ahold of your little brother. He should have been here a while ago.

You have worried about him a lot since Eddie died. As if losing a friend isn’t enough, all of Hawkins High now thought Dustin was friends with a murderer. He didn’t tell you much about what went on at school, but you knew it couldn’t have been easy. You called for him again on the radio, but got no response. 

“Damnit, where the hell is he?” You asked no one in particular. Steve turned back to face you, looking all apologetic and equally as worried as you. He glanced in the rear view mirror to make sure Jonathan was still focused on the tech in front of him. When he knew the coast was clear, he reached back and grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. You met his eyes and sighed, knowing his mind was running just as fast as yours. He smiled at you as he let your hand go, not wanting to get caught like this. Not today.

You’d known Steve for most of your life, as you’d always gone to the same school. Though you didn’t pay him any mind until the Upside Down opened. You were always with Jonathan or Nancy just trying to keep all of your siblings alive when he suddenly entered the picture. It was odd at first, to see King Steve being all buddy-buddy with your little brother. But he grew on you fast. 

He became your best friend. Then your boyfriend, though no one but Robin knew about that yet. It just wasn’t a good time with the constant world-ending threats you were dealing with. Plus, the two of you were confident Dustin would freak out. Probably ignore both of you for a while. That wouldn’t work while you were trying to take down Vecna. So for now, it was a secret.

You had known Jonathan for just as long. You never meant to become so close to him, but when your brothers became best friends in elementary school, you saw each other more and more every day. You also went to school together, so it just made sense that you became good friends. By high school, you were driving the kids places together, babysitting together, and even just hanging out on your own. It was nice.

Just as the silence was settling over the van again, Jonathan cursed under his breath while fiddling with the satellite.

“Need help back there?” Steve asked. Here we go again, you thought.

“Yeah, like you could help me with this,” Jonathan scoffed. You buried your face in your hands, ready for another round of arguing.

“Do you hear anything?” You asked Jonathan, trying to break the boys up before they could get into it. But they ignored you. Jonathan’s eyes were locked on Steve’s, seeing red before either of them had said much of anything. 

You knew what this was about. Jonathan thinks Steve is still into Nancy. You and Steve both knew that was far from the truth, but you just couldn’t prove it without exposing your relationship.

“It can’t possibly be that hard,” Steve remarked. You sighed, deciding to give up and fade back into the background.

“Oh really? You think you could do this? Wanna come try it and show off for Nancy again?” He was yelling now, and that means Steve would start yelling too.

“Oh my god, I am not trying to impress Nancy. How many times do I have to tell you?” Steve glanced down at you, but you didn’t notice. You hated this conversation. Steve knows you hated this conversation. You believed Steve wholeheartedly, but hearing his past relationship brought up so often was starting to weigh on you.

“However many times it takes for me to believe you.” Jonathan stared at Steve, anticipating another loud rebuttal. But Steve just huffed and turned back around.

“My girlfriend believes me,” he simply stated. You whipped your head up and caught Steve’s expression in the mirror. He was completely stone faced, but with a mischievous look in his eye only you would recognize. You bit back a grin. Jonathan hadn’t said a word, just looking at Steve with his jaw on the floor.

“You don’t have a girlfriend.” Jonathan said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I do,” Steve said. That’s how you knew he was done arguing with Jonathan. But Jonathan wasn’t satisfied yet.

“Alright then, who is she?” He asked. You decided to play along.

“Yeah, who is she?” You repeated. Steve cracked a smile at that.

“Not telling.” He said. Jonathan was looking at you now, like you were both finding this out at the same time. You played innocent and matched his surprised expression.

“Why the hell would you have a secret girlfriend?” Jonathan asked, skeptical as always. Steve just shrugged.

“We got bigger fish to fry right now than me going around telling everyone about my girlfriend.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. You are having fun now. You waited a moment, debating if you should say anything. Nobody else spoke, so you filled the silence.

“Plus her little brother would freak the fuck out if he found out his best friend was dating his sister,” you offered, no longer suppressing your smile. Steve raised his eyebrows at you, shocked by your admission, but not upset. Relieved, even. Jonathan, on the other hand, was aghast. Suddenly the big van felt small as you and Steve waited for a response.

“Wait-” Jonathan sputtered. “You?” He pointed at you. “And you?” Then he pointed at Steve. You noddled, giggling, while Steve threw his hands up in the air. You thumbed under the neckline of your shirt and pulled out a gold chain that had a little S charm at the bottom. 

Steve had bought it for you just two months ago, and you hadn’t taken it off once. You were, however, very careful to keep it tucked under your clothes when other people were around.

“See?” You showed him. “Proof.”

“Believe me now Byers?” Your boyfriend said. You hoped they’d get over themselves and get along now. Jonathan sat back against his heels, eyebrows knit together like he was doing complicated math or something.

“How long?” Is all he said. 

“Eight months,” You confessed. You looked at Steve, who was clearly enjoying this. His lips were quirked up in that big stupid grin of his, which made you laugh again. 

“Eight months? And nobody knows?”

“Robin knows.” Steve declared. You were going to tell no one, but then Robin burst into Steve’s room while you were asleep in his bed, in his clothes. There was no lying your way out of that situation. You thought by now she’d surely have given you guys away, but she was very committed to keeping your secret. 

“But you can’t tell anyone.” You demand, no longer giggling. “Especially my brother. He’s having a rough enough time, let’s not add to that.”

“Relax,” Jonathan raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not gonna go talking about who you make out with in your free time,” He chuckled now. You scrunched up your face as his choice of words.

“Ew,” you muttered. Steve shot you a look.

“Making out with me is ‘ew’?” 

You didn’t have time to think up a response, because something outside the window caught your eye. Or, someone. It was Dustin, walking towards the van only two hours late. Something looked off, so you adjusted your glasses and squinted to get a better look. Dustin had two black eyes and a bloody nose. The alarm bells in your head went off immediately as you tucked your necklace back under your shirt and hopped out of the van.

Before you ran right to Dustin, you turned back to Jonathan and whispered,

“Don’t say a word.” You ran to your brother before waiting for Jonathan to agree.

[bunnyscr1bbles]

henderson!

description: steve harrington has a hopeless crush on dustin’s hot older sister

-> henderson!reader, 5.5k words

.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

the moment steve harrington saw you, his friend’s older sister, he was utterly done for.

ever since steve was roped into the supernatural world of hawkins, he found himself an older brother figure to the kids, and that includes your little brother.

dustin was fond of steve but he was even more fond of you, his cool older sister who was beautiful, incredibly smart and the easiest person to talk to in the world. dustin loved having you both as his older sibling figures, so it was only a matter of time before his favourite sister met the stranger dustin considered to be a brother, and best friend.

you’ve known about steve forever, who didn’t know about king steve of hawkins? he was in the year above you, not sparing you the time of day because let’s face it, he used to be a dickhead. he stuck to his little minions up until will byers went missing, meaning everyone was forced together whether they liked it or not.

the first time steve saw you helping johnathan put up missing posters for will, he swore his heart stopped. everything felt like it was in slow motion and he swore he heard every love song streaming through his brain as he saw each and every blink, every breath and big smile you gave to the people around you.

at this point, he and nancy had poor communication and thus, led to their breakup. he thought it would be impossible for his head to turn, to find someone who compared, but there you were driving him insane.

a girl he’s never seemed to notice till now standing in the hallway hanging up posters, placing a consoling hand on johnathan’s shoulder, your gentle voice saying, “he’s out there johnathan, don’t lose hope, dustin and i will help you look after school, promise”.

he was fucked. majorly.

and when will was found and everything was simmering down, he kicked himself for not having the balls to ask you out.

you were easily the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, the way you carried yourself made his heart flutter and god, your kindness drove him up a wall. he felt like a boy who just hit puberty and saw a girl for the first time. steve harrington had to know you, and steve harrington always gets what he wants.

and who would have thought your relationship would be set off because of dart?

—

“y/n, please i’m BEGGING you” dustin rips of your headphones that you had just put in to ignore him, wiggling your arm for good measure. “dustin” you groan, looking at him with a glare, “look, i love you but i’m not helping you look for a big slug”.

dustin gasps, “excuse me?! he’s not a slug, it's dart, my dart, and i’m just asking my favourite sister to accompany me so i don’t die alone” he smiles at you while explaining, giving you that signature pout you could never say no to.

you let out a big sigh, “i’m your only sister, dusty” you sit up in your bed, reaching for one of your shoes, and of course this sets off dustin and he starts rushing you to hurry.

once you put on your shoes, you walk out into your living room, grabbing your keys “dustin, have you seen the cat anywhere?”, then you hear someone clearing their throat, you look up to see none other than steve harrington standing next to your little brother, mischievous smiles evident.

“harrington? dustin, what’s going on?” you cock your head, looking between the two of them confused. steve looks you up and down, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, taking in your appearance. you’re unreal.

“well, steven here offered to come along and drive us out to the tracks to look for dart” dustin smiles looking up at steve, the older boy hits him on the head “woah woah, i didn’t offer you told me i had to come” he scoffs, looking at you with a look that just said ‘this kid’.

“you didn’t say no though so are you ready, sister?” dustin looks at you expectantly, a bag of jerky in his hand. you let out a little laugh, stuffing your keys into your pocket, “alright then, let’s go”. steve almost fell to his knees right there hearing your laugh.

“uh yeah, hendersons, let’s go” steve follows behind the two of you, and the proximity makes his senses hazy, he can smell your perfume and he thinks he may die any moment. and what a way to go.

dustin makes a beeline for the front seat, “henderson, absolutely not” steve shakes his head, “what? i always sit in the front!” dustin groans. “okay that was before your sister was coming so no, get in the back, shithead” steve shoos dustin.

you giggle at the interaction, “sorry, dusty, maybe on the way back, hm?” you smile, steve thinks: always kind, always thinking of others and so. pretty. he also thinks there’s no way dustin is sitting in this front seat.

hammer to fall by queen fills the silence of the car after dustin explained the situation. “wait a sec, how big?” steve looks in the rear view mirror at dustin, dustin demonstrates with his hands, “first it was like that. now it’s like this” his hands making a drastic difference in your opinion.

you gasp, turning to look at your brother, “dustin? that’s fucking giant dude”, steve follows, “i swear to god, man, it’s just some little lizard, okay?” steve tries to convince dustin.

“it’s not a lizard” dustin says firmly, “i thought it was a slug” you ponder only making dustin pissed.

“how do you know?” steve says, keeping an eye on dustin in the back, “how do i know if it’s not a lizard?” dustin asks, interrupted by steve “how do you know, if it’s not just a lizard?” his volume raised a little, clearly annoyed with the situation.

“or a slug” you mutter, “because his face opened up and he ate my cat” dustin says simply, you turn with wide eyes “WHAT, DUSTIN?” you yell slightly, dustin groans, “i know” ,a silent moment. “i loved that cat” you sigh.

“i’m sorry, y/n” dustin rambles, steve trying to diffuse the moment with some bullshit response, “hey at least he’s in cat heaven now?” he looks over at you, you can’t help but chuckle, “you’re something else, harrington”. you’ve just made his day.

once you arive, steve chucks his keys to dustin, grabbing out his hammer with nails, giving it a little spin. you can’t help but think it’s attractive, back to the point.

steve approaches the bunker wearily, bat and torch in hand, you stand next to him, curious, he looks over and uses his torch hand to push you slightly behind him, his arm brushing your hip slightly. you felt yourself shudder at his actions, he’s protecting you?

“i don’t hear shit?” steve says, you nod in agreement, “me too”. dustin shakes his head at both of you, “he’s in there”, steve looks over at him, then back at you, only to see you shrug at him.

he gives the metal bunker a tap with his bat, silence. he hits it harder, the chains rattling after the impact, silence. steve looks over at dustin again, flashing his torch right on his face, “alright, listen kid. i swear if this is some sort of halloween prank, you’re dead”,

“yeah, dustin, this is scaring me a little, dude” you admit, steve on instinct standing a little more in front of you. “it’s not,” dustin affirms, “alright?” steve nods, clearly worried about whatever’s in there. “it’s not a prank, get it out of my face” he squints at the brightness of the flashlight.

“you got a key for this thing?” steve tilts his head at the bunker, dustin nods and you immediately dread it when steve opens up the door.

you shine the light at the depth of the bunker, looking at dustin with a worried expression. “i’m not seeing anything, dusty” you whisper, “he must be further down there” dustin whispers back at you.

“i’ll stay up here in case he tries to escape” dustin says to steve, who’s looking at the bunker with a curious expression. steve upon dustin’s words, looked up at him slowly in complete disbelief. he shakes his head and sighs.

“i’ll come with you” you say to steve, he whips his head towards you quickly, “nuh uh, no way, stay here with the little shit” steve says firmly, leaving no room for debate. you can’t tell if this is just how he is or whether he’s protecting you, either way, you love it.

“i’ll go” he says to you, gently taking the torch out of your hand, his fingers brushing yours slightly sending shivers up your spine, not knowing that he felt the exact same sensation. you watch him decent down the stairs, “be careful, harrington” you blurt, dustin giving you a curious smile at your words.

steve nods cautiously as he slowly goes down, suddenly feeling a burst of energy. he disappears into what seems like a little room and you can’t help but feel anxious when he’s out of your eyeline.

“steve?” dustin calls out, “steve, what’s going on down there?” he calls out again, suddenly his little head pops up from the side, flashing the lights at both of you. “get down here”, you and dustin follow down slowly, steve gives you a look of concern, showing his bat with some sort of slime hanging down off it.

you look at him curiously, what the hell is that. “oh shit” dustin breathes out, you look over at him, “what, ‘oh shit’?” you asked worried, wondering if this was more than the three of you could handle.

steve points his bat at a whole that presumably dart left, “oh shit!” dustin exclaims. you throw your head back in frustration, steve looks at dustin like ‘what did you just get me into?’

you all cautiously approach the opening in the wall, steve making sure you’re standing behind him, “no way” dustin whispers, steve’s torch lighting up a massively long tunnel darts created.

—

the three of you haul out buckets of meat, the smell putrid but anything to find dart. suddenly the crackle of dustin’s radio can be heard.

“dustin, this is lucas, do you copy?”,

“well well well, look who it is” dustin says cheekily, you look at steve with a smile, making him laugh. you grab a bucket out of the trunk and steve takes it from you, not wanting you to carry anything. your heart is fluttering and so is his.

you hear dustin and lucas talking in the back, hearing the end of his sentence, “well while you were having sister problems, dart grew again, he escaped and i’m pretty sure he’s a baby demogorgon” dustin says flatly.

you think about how you could be running into a demogorgon again, shuddering at the thought. “just meet me, steve and my sister at the old junkyard?” dustin says.

“steve? y/n?, you’re still on about the plan with them?” lucas asks, you look at the back of dustin’s head, your eyebrows furrowed, you whisper to steve.

“what plan is he talking about?” steve just shrugs and shakes his head, “i’ve learned to ignore the nuggets, come on, henderson, you’ve dealt with them longer than i have you should know that by now,” he gives you a flirty smile followed by a wink, you could feel the heat envelope you, really hoping it’s not showing on your face.

“whatever, harrington” you stutter before nudging his shoulder with your own. “alright, let’s go” steve closes the trunk, leaving you completely empty handed while him and dustin carry everything, “you’re not helping, princess?” dustin gives you a glare, “shut up, henderson” steve calls out from in front.

the sound of squelching meat on the tracks was enough to make you wanna hurl, steve holds the bucket while you throw the meat with dustin, him walking a little up ahead. “this is gross” you say to steve, he nods in agreement, “fucking disgusting” he grimaces, waking next to you in complete sync.

“so let me get this straight, you kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who..you just met?” steve calls out to dustin, you giggle a little, your brother was so pure at heart.

“alright, that’s grossly oversimplifying it” dustin says like it’s obvious, you and steve look at each other with expectant smiles.

“why would a girl like some nasty slug anyways?” steve says to dustin, “an interdimensional slug? because it’s awesome” dustin chuckles.

you shake your head fondly, leaving the train of meat behind the three of you. “well even if she thought it was cool, which she didn’t, i just, i don’t know i feel like you’re trying to hard” steve shrugs.

“well not everyone can have your perfect hair, alright?” dustin grumbles, you let out an affectionate laugh, “oh dustin, honey” you smile. “it’s not about the hair, man” steve consoles, “the key to girls is just, act like you don’t care”

you look at steve irreduculously, shaking your head “harrington, no” you laugh in disbelief, he looks down at you expectantly, “uh yes it is” he smiles at you.

“even if you do?” dustin says looking straight at him, “yeah drives them nuts” he smirks, you don’t know how to feel about learning steve’s little flirting advice. “then what?” dustin queries, “then you wait until uh,” he pauses, looking behind him and then looking at you, choosing to speak a little quieter, “until you feel it” you gasp at steve’s words, what is this?

“feel what?” dustin’s confused, “until you feel like it’s gonna storm, you know? you can’t see it but you feel it, like this uh” steve trails off, “electricity, you know?” steve looks at you to see you’re already looking at him, making him nervous and putting his eyes back on your brother.

“like an electromagnetic field when the clouds in the atmosphere-” dustin says innocently, making you smile at his youthful thoughts. steve interjects, “no no no, like a…” his eyes flicker over to you, “a sexual electricity” your heart skips a beat, is he trying to tell you something?

“oh” dustin blanks, “you feel that, and then you make your move” steve says proudly. “so that’s when you kiss her?” dustin questions, you groan loudly from behind them, “oh my god” you grumble.

“woah woah woah, slow down romeo, sure some girls, they want you to be aggressive” steve explains, he's internally thinking about what you’re into. “yeah like strong, hot and heavy like a, i don’t know, lion” steve continues, you’re genuinely shocked.

dustin nods along, “but others you gotta be slow” steve starts, glancing at you again, the next words being said straight to you while dustin focused on distributing the meat, “you gotta be stealthy like a ninja” he smiles at you, you can’t help the flicker of a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“what type are you, y/n?” dustin questions, your eyes somehow grew wider. “yeah, y/n, i would love to know this too” he says with a flirty smile, oh his game was evident now, and you hate that it was working.

“um, i don’t know, dustin” you say nervously, avoiding eye contact with both of them, feeling yourself becoming warm. “you seem different” steve smiles at you even though you’re not looking at him, “yeah she’s pretty special” dustin says proudly, your heart tugs at that, he loves you a lot.

“this girls special too, you know. it’s just, like, something about her” dustin says affectionately, you smile at that, “you’re not falling in love with this girl are you?” steve questions, all of you stopping the walking to look at dustin.

“uh, no no”. steve nods, “okay good, don’t.”

your heart cracks at that, what was he implying, you felt some sadness prickle in your senses. “she’s only gonna break you’re heart and you’re way too young for that shit” steve continues to walk, “um i second that, dustin, just be careful, hun” you smile sweetly and steve feels butterflies erupt in his stomach.

silence comes over the duo.

“dustin, do not take his advice” you plead, “what have i always told you about girls huh?” you prompt him, dustin rolls his eyes, “be yourself and treat them with respect” you nod, “right right” you say proudly, “and to be a good listener” he adds on, “well done!” you smile at him, steve laughs at the interaction.

“oo i don’t know, henderson” he nudges you, “my method works out for me” he gives you the flirtiest expression you’ve ever seen and wow. you’re done.

dustin looks a little defeated and you both notice, you give steve a little encouraging nudge.

“fabergé” steve says suddenly, you look at him with a bright smile.

“it’s the fabergé organics. use the shampoo and conditioner and when your hair’s damp..not wet! when it’s damp..” steve begins his tangent, dustin is thoroughly listening “damp” he confirms, “you do four puffs of the farrah fawcett spray”

steve finishes, “the what?!” you look at him bewildered, not realising how close the two of you were standing, his scent suddenly becoming overwhelming, though you weren’t complaining.

steve rolls his eyes at you, a fond smile playing at his lips, “you heard me, sweetheart” he laughs at your shocked face, “steve harrington just told you his hair secret, dustin” you laugh.

“oh my god, best day of my life” your stomach hurts from laughing and steve doesn’t even care that you’re mocking him, that smile and laugh made it worth it.

“listen you two, you tell anyone i just told you that, your ass is grass, you’re dead hendersons. do you understand?” you simmer down your laughter, giving dustin a smile, “yup” dustin nods at steve’s warning.

“how funny we use the same things harrington, we should so have a sleepover and do each others hair!” you tease, “hey don’t threaten me with a good time” he flirts, winking at you. you’re not laughing anymore. in fact you think you need cpr. you break the eye contact, suddenly finding the bucket of meat really interesting. steve feels affection bubble in his chest, he’s got you.

“farrah fawcett really?” dustin questions, “i mean, she’s hot” steve starts, “but recently i’ve seen hotter” his eyes trails to yours when dustin’s not looking, oh you’re so done for.

—

you, steve and dustin walk up to the abandoned cars in the junkyard, steve now in ridiculous shades that unfortunately look so good on him. “this will do” steve nods, giving you a playful smile.

“good call dude,” steve praises dustin, only making him smile like crazy, looks like the hendersons are taking a liking to a certain older boy.

“come on, sweetheart, you forget we have to leave a trail” he teases you, he so needs a taste of his own medicine.

“relax, babe, i’m coming” you roll your eyes. babe. steve’s heart has officially stopped he’s sure of it. his smile falters and you catch it, giving him a flirty smile and a wink almost like a challenge. steve is speechless.

“okay, lovebirds back to work” dustin says without a second thought, you both look at him like he's crazy but god were you both hoping for it.

“i said medium well” someone calls out when steve dumps the bucket of meat, you all turn to see lucas and max approaching. you give him a wave and a smile and steve’s heart does a backflip.

you stand closer to steve, “is this the girl?” you whisper, dustin had told you about her but you’ve never seen her before, steve nods “i think so, well that’s you’re sister in law” he jokes, you give him a playful slap on his arm, laughing.

“hey guys, you approach them, you must be max? you're so pretty ” you ask the girl, she nods,

“dustin and the boys told me his sister was pretty but you’re like really pretty” max says to you, you roll your eyes, steve nods enthusiastically, “right?” you look over at him shocked, he shrugs when he catches your eye. you two were about to be insufferable.

“alright, come on, missy, let’s get to work” steve grabs your gloved hand with his own, both of you clearly aware of the other's intentions, but hey, the chase is always more fun.

you shake your head at steve words, he can’t help but give you that boyish smile that makes you forget about everything in the world. “yeah yeah, stevo” you tease.

steve bangs a chair on a car that lucas and dustin are conspiring behind, “hey! dickheads! how come the only one helping me out is your pretty sister and this random girl?” steve says like it’s nothing, “dustin, you did not drag me out here just to make me do your dirty work, right?” you add on, arms full of supplies as you stand next to steve.

“we lose light in 40 minutes. let’s go. let’s go i said” steve says confidently, something about his authoritative tone made your heart flutter, “alright, asshole! god!” dustin chases after him with lucas, leaving you there next to the car with heart palpitations.

—

you and steve usher the kids into the beat up bus, steve holds your arm firmly so you stay close by to him, “go in, dustin” you say nervously, steve pulls you aside.

“hey, you okay?” he says low, only for you to hear, his eyes were flickering between yours, pupils blown out and eyebrows furrowed with concern. you nod at him slowly, “and you?” steve nods, “i’m king steve, honey, that little slugs got nothing on me” he jokes.

you laugh at that, he knows just what to say to lighten the mood. “alright, big boy” you tease, squeezing his bicep as you look up at him with a smile. you can see the cogs in his head turning, and you’re sure he sees the same thing. a mutual attraction. and of course it’s in a life or death situation.

little did you both know, the kids were watching you through the window with knowing, cheeky smiles. “looks like the plan is working” lucas whispers to max and dustin, dustin nods enthusiastically, “they finally both caught on” max looks between both of them, “how did you know it would work?” dustin looks at her dismissively, “i saw her checking him out when she was a freshman” lucas laughs.

“we should probably go inside” steve says to you, you nod, subconsciously looking down at his lips and back to his eyes due to the proximity, steve’s in love. he knows it.

he places a hand on the small of your back guiding you up the stairs, why is it so nice? so familiar?

—

it’s dark, lucas takes the first watch, steve is sitting next to you while the kids are spread out around the bus.

he’s pressed up against your side playing with a lighter, “no other seats for you, steve?” you say quietly to him, he smiles, fiddling with the lighter and looking at you, “just keeping you warm, sweetheart”.

“so you’ve really fought one of these things before?” max asks, you and steve both look up at her and nod, “yeah, dustin dragged me into this a while ago, it’s pretty scary,” you shuffle in your seat, leaning more into steve in the process which he happily welcomed.

“and you're totally 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?” max questions, you huff out a laugh, “shit don’t be an idiot, okay? it wasn’t a bear” you look at dustin with pure confusion, why was he being so rude.

“hey” you call out to dustin, “don’t speak like that” you say, he rolls his eyes at you and you immediately nudge steve, this is his fault. “why are you even here if you don’t believe us? just go home. ” dustin says defensively, you’re looking straight at steve now, he places his hand on yours that’s resting on your leg, seeming to ground you.

“jeez, someone’s cranky, past your bedtime?” max retorts, climbing up the ladder, you and steve exchange smiles with each other before looking at dustin, “that’s good, just show her you don’t care” steve looks up at the ladder.

“steven, i swear to god” you close your eyes in frustration, “dustin, you can’t talk to girls like that,” you shake your head, leaning back further into your seat.

“i don’t” dustin says to steve, he winks at your brother, “why are you winking, steve? stop” dustin grimaces, “yes, please stop” you look at him.

steve looks at you from his side winking at you and raising his eyebrows, “time and place, harrington” you smile, “this is a pretty good time and place to me” he shrugs at you, nudging his knee into yours.

—

steve and dustin look out the grate windows out of the bus, “you see him” dustin asks, “no” steve shakes his head, you stand behind them nervously. “lucas, what’s going on?” dustin calls up to the duo on the top of the bus, “hold on!” he replies, “i’ve got eyes, ten o’clock” lucas yells. “fucking hell” you groan, holding onto dustin protectively.

“what’s he doing?” dustin asks, holding onto your hand that’s sitting on his shoulder, “i don’t know” steve replies, “he’s not taking the bait. why is he not taking the bait” steve says with a worried tone, you can feel the adrenaline inflow.

“maybe he’s not hungry?” dustin looks up at you, “maybe he’s not into the bait?” you reply, hands squeezing your little brother’s shoulders.

“maybe he’s sick of cow” steve looks up at you, he backs up from the window, walking towards the door. you let go of dustin, grabbing steve’s hand.

“what are you doing?” you look right into his eyes, anger and fear written all over your face. he stands close to you, pulling out the lighter, breathing heavily you can feel it brushing your cheeks.

“just get ready” he says to dustin, you squeeze his hand, “excuse me? no” you shake your head firmly, trying to drag him but he won’t budge. he throws the lighter to dustin, “steve, no” you beg, he looks at you, eyes trailing all over your face like he’s trying to memorise every detail.

he places a hand on your cheek, leaning in a little closer, “just trust me, okay?” he reassures you, squeezing your hand that’s holding his, “you’re an idiot” you feel like you’re about to cry, “i know, honey” he separates himself from you and you can feel the panic set it. you’re about to follow him and he gives you a very stern look, a don’t even try it look.

he steps out slowly, bat in hand, metal creaking. he approaches slowly, you can hear him whistling. “he’s awesome” dustin says in admiration, earning a slap on his arm from you, “sorry” he backs off, realising how distraught you look.

“steve watch out!” lucas calls out, you see another one and your blood pressure drops. shut. “a little busy here!” steve replies, “three o’clock”

you yell to steve, he turns. you open the door, “steve, come back, abort! please!” he gets chased behind a car, swinging at one of the demogorgons, the kids are yelling at him to run, you’re in complete shock.

he runs just in time and you shut the door when he comes back in, he’s heavy breathing. you stand up immediately, grabbing his face and checking him over for injuries, the kids block the door hurriedly.

steve looks down at you, he’s never seen this expression on your face. “i’m okay” he whispers, interrupted by the crash of the metal, he pulls you and the kids behind him, he hits the arm of the demogorgon repeatedly as the kids call out to mike and will.

“hey come here!” you yell at the kids, pulling them to the centre of the bus, the banging begins on the roof of the bus. you see the head peer over the opening on the roof, max screams.

you hold them close to you, pulling them away as steve is about to hit the thing, you’re holding all the kids in your arms, bracing for impact but it doesn’t happen. suddenly it stops and goes away.

steve looks over at you, chest rising and falling rapidly, “they’re gone?” you whisper, steve opens the door slowly, bat ready to swing, “what happened” lucas says, “steve scared them off?” dustin replies, “no, no way” steve shakes his head looking out at the junkyard.

he turns back and looks at all of you, “they’re going somewhere.”

the kids begin to walk away cautiously, steve hangs back waiting for you, scratching his head as he looks at you. you look up at him with an angry expression.

“you’re a fucking idiot” you raise your voice and he winces at you tone, “y/n” he starts only to be interrupted by you. “no, steve, you were reckless and stupid, what the hell were you thinking you almost died”

you get closer to him, your chests almost touching, you’re really angry, how could he put himself into danger like that. he shakes his head, “i know, sweetheart-” you interrupt again, “no you don’t know, harrington, you almost died, you get that? died” you drag out the last word.

he nods along with you, your tangent ongoing. he can’t take it anymore.

he places a hand on the back of your head, the other on your hip and pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss on yours, telling you everything you needed to know.

he’s sorry. he likes you a lot. he would do it again if it meant protecting you. he’s yours.

you gasp against his mouth and it only fuels him more, his tongue prodding your bottom lip prompting you to grant him access. it has you feeling dizzy, he’s holding you tight because your knees would give out at any moment. your hands immediately go into his hair.

every stolen glance, flirty exchange had nothing on steve harrington’s kisses. this had you in other dimension. he groans against you, murmuring into the kisses, “i’m sorry” he pulls away, your lips swollen and glistening.

he smiles at you, you couldn’t stay mad at that face, his thumb wipes your bottom lip gently, both of your pupils completely dilated at your breaths mixed together.

he rests his forehead against yours, “i’ve been waiting to do that” he whispers cheekily, “i’m still mad at you” you remind him, “i know, honey, i know” he grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers together as he tugs you along.

“your hair is a mess” you look at him, a reminder of what just happened. “leave it” he says quickly when you reach up to fix it, you shake your head fondly.

“you don’t want some farrah fawcett to fix you up, hun?” you say to him, he groans, pulling you in for a quick kiss as he walks backwards, chuckling when he almost bumps into a tree. “alright, henderson, speed it up” he teases you.

and that was the start of it all. the day steve harrington weasled into your life as your boyfriend.

—

*knock knock*

you knew that sound all to well, you were sat in bed in steve’s shirt waiting for that sound at almost midnight.

you walk over to the window, drawing back the curtains and seeing none other than your boyfriend on the other side.

you open it up, “hi, honey” he smiles, breathing out a sigh of relief when he sees you. the world goes quiet and time stops when he sees you and the feeling never gets old.

“hi, stevey baby” god you drive him insane.

he pulls himself in, his big hands immediately gripping your hips and pulling you to his chest. he dips his head to catch your lips in a kiss, each kiss even better than the last one.

“missed. you” he says in between kisses, you giggle against his mouth and the vibrations make him want to lose self control. “missed you too, babe” you whisper, he nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing in his favourite scent in the world.

you run your hands soothingly up and down his back, only making him sink further into your body. “you know you can use the front door, right? the whole house knows you come over every night” you laugh, your hand now gently scratching the back of his neck.

he shudders, “it’s more fun like this” he mumbles into your skin, picking you up quickly and tossing you on your bed, smiling brightly at the little squeal you let out when you hit your mattress.

he lays himself on top of you, kissing all over your face so he can hear that giggle he loves so much, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, making you blush and pull him closer to you.

until you hear the banging from the other side of the wall, “some of us are trying to sleep!” a muffled yell from dustin, “yeah yeah, love you too, buddy” steve says back, still loving on you no matter the interruption.

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[formallery]

mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.

c.w. none, a little angsty in the beginning but not really sad, mostly fluff, canon divergent bc i'm pretending the byers never moved to california and max is still hanging out with the party

a/n: wrote this instead of studying for finals, do not bring ship wars into the reblogs. this is me psychoanalyzing a sad teenage boy and writing self-indulgent domestic fluff

───────── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─────────

Mike Wheeler's parents do not love each other. Maybe they have some semblance of love between them, but they are not engaged in the act of love. He isn't quite sure at what age, or even exactly when, he realized this. He can't point to one exact day of his life but rather a blur of the hundreds of evenings he's spent the same way.

Sitting at the dinner table with his parents and two sisters while his mother puts out emotional fires and his father picks at his chicken then tells his mom it's over salted. Nancy has a teeth-cleaning on Saturday so she needs to move her date with Jonathan. Also how is her chemistry grade? Mrs. Sinclair recommended a great tutor. Holly's daycare closes early tomorrow so someone needs to pick her up. Does one of Mike's friends want to earn some cash babysitting? Oh and is Mike still going out with his friends after school tomorrow?

Somewhere in the middle of his mother's rambles his father will stand up muttering a "thank you," not to be polite but because it's expected, and walks over to the couch to watch TV without putting his dish in the sink. He'll watch whatever sports game is on and crack a beer while his mother cleans the kitchen.

There is no animosity or arguing between Ted and Karen, only tolerance and mutual existence.

Eventually, the idea of love becomes near repulsive to him. The idea of his parents engaging in any sort of affection makes him nauseous. It's not the childish disgust Lucas has seeing his father kiss his mother but a deep-seated discomfort. A part of him (smaller or bigger than he'd like, he's not quite sure) believes love doesn't exist. It's simply a pleasant lie society feeds one another, because the idea of being alone is terrifying.

That's until he finds himself half-asleep on Steve Harrington's living room floor.

He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.

The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.

Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.

One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.

His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.

What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.

"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.

"Mmmm…" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.

Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but… embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.

"Mmm…. need to put… the kids,” you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.

“What about the kids sweetheart?” Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.

“Put em to bed….” you’re practically in Steve’s lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. “Mike and Dustin are on the floor… and clean up…..”

“I’ll do it,” Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, “but first I'm putting you to bed.”

“No…..” your brow furrows in your half conscious state.

“Yes,” Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement he’s standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.

"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.

"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.

"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."

Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.

The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.

He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.

"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.

Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.

"Go to bed kid."

Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.

He sleeps better than he has in months.

[chestharrington]

let's hear it for the boy! || steve harrington x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 10.9k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Best Friend!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (solo masturbation, dry humping, f!receiving oral, handjob, premature ejaculation, p in v sex), language, sexual references, Steve is very oblivious, Steve can't get it up (unless it's for you), porn WITH plot, slow-ish burn

Summary: set before s4. steve has a problem. he can't cum unless he's thinking about you. except you're his friend and he definitely doesn't have any romantic feelings towards you. at least, that's what he tells himself.

“Seriously? Katie Frey doesn’t do it for you?” You asked, sitting atop the counter at Family Video. Steve shrugged, embarrassment welling up in his chest at your words, and the general topic of conversation.

“I was as surprised as you are now,” he said, twirling a company branded pen between his fingers and hoping the fidgeting would take his mind off of how absolutely mortified he was. “Because, like, Katie is hot.”

“Absolutely. Smokin’ hot.” Your voice was muffled around a twizzler, framed by perfectly made-up lips.

He made a face at your interruption, staring at you with narrowed eyes until you mimed zipping your mouth shut.

“And like, she’s got these great tits. Huge.” Really huge, fucking perfect tits. Not that he was a perv about it, but it was hard not to notice them. “And she’s pretty. And, you know, we were going at it at her apartment after our date and I swear I was into it. But…” He stopped twirling the pen so he could bury his face into his hands, mumbling the end of the sentence. “I couldn’t… cum, you know? I had to just fake it.”

“Fake it? Were you convincing?” you asked, brows furrowed. He peered up at you through the spaces between his fingers, at the quirk of a smile on your lips. “Maybe you should show me. I’m a visual learner.”

He threw the pen at you and groaned in frustration. “You’re an asshole, you know that right? This is serious.”

You did your best to adjust your expression and be empathetic. “Okay, well that didn’t happen with Sheryl, did it?” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re still stuck on Sheryl.”

He shrugged, letting himself relax a little. “Eh, not really. She was fun, but clingy.”

You sighed, leaning forward like a scientist observing him under a microscope. “Other than like… the finale, was the sex good?”

“Yes! And the date was perfectly fine too.” He sat up straighter, crossing his arms across his chest. He was telling the truth… mostly. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t amazing. It was just… fine. He gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for letting me talk to you about this. Robin would be all weird about it.”

You smiled teasingly. “Oh, Robin would’ve bailed the moment you said the word cum.” You altered your voice into a shockingly accurate impression of your friend. “‘Ew, Steve! I don’t want to hear about the details of hetero sex. I faked mono during sex-ed for a reason.”

“She would’ve agreed about Katie’s tits, though,” Steve insisted. “She’d pretend to be mortified that I’m objecting women or whatever, but she’d agree.”

You laughed and shook your head at his words, and he felt a tiny tug in his chest— some sort of like, stirring, big feeling.

He didn’t get it. The two of you had been friends since Freshman year, when you moved next door to Carol and she dragged you to every hangout, big and small. He always sort of figured that Carol was trying to set you up with him, but neither of you ever made a move.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that uncomfortable ache in his chest when you smiled lately. There had never been any feelings there in all the time he’d known you, right? Sure, he thought you were hot— that’s why he had to give you dating advice all the time—but that was different.

"Maybe you just need to find the right girl, or something,” you said earnestly. “Like… maybe your dream girl is right in front of you, and even if your brain doesn’t know it, your body does.”

You tucked your permed hair behind your ear and it made his stomach drop like he was on a roller coaster. And he was confused about how such a tiny sensation could feel so overwhelming when he heard the bells above the door ring.

The girl approached the counter with big brown eyes and hair that looked a little fried by bleach and perm solution. He did love curls, though.

“I called this morning,” she said, her voice low and sultry. He liked sultry. “Some guy named Keith set aside Footloose for me? Should be under Rebecca Martin, or Becky, maybe.”

Steve smiled and turned on the charm.

Becky wasn’t the hottest thing to moan during sex, but Steve Harrington wasn’t a quitter. He’d just… avoid names in general.

Steve was a gentleman. They’d gone to dinner a few nights prior, and he’d been polite and kissed her at the front door. It had gone well enough to tell Robin about, which was saying something. He liked her sense of humor, she was sweet, and her perfume was so nice that it was practically addicting.

The second date wasn’t as formal. Movie at his place, stealing his parents’ fancy wine out of the cabinet like a high schooler. It started innocently enough that he wasn’t even sure if he should go any further, keep things cool, really see this one through this time.

But, Jesus Christ, did she have other plans. Pretty, pink manicured nails traced along his thigh, dimpling the fabric of his jeans, which were already tight enough. She played coy— eyes on the movie, a satisfied smirk on her lips as her hand paused just below where he wanted it. He squirmed, just slightly, feeling his dick stir with interest. She batted big doe-eyes at him and furrowed her brows in a very practiced manner.

“Something wrong?” She asked, and he could see the amusement in her gaze as her hand wandered up, cupping the bulge that was swelling in the front of his jeans. She sprung into action after he captured her lips in a hungry kiss, making quick work of the button and zipper so she could wiggle her hand beneath his boxers.

Her hand was deliciously soft, and he liked the soft gasp of surprise that escaped her when she took him into her hand and gave a testing stroke. It was dry, and a little uncomfortable until she spat into her hand and started over. It felt good. She felt good.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” Her words were damp against the column of his throat, no doubt leaving pink stains from her lipstick.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah. I want to.”

——

His cheeks were burning as he watched Becky redress, hurriedly tugging her panties up her legs. Her annoyance and disappointment was blatant in her features, and it made his chest ache with mortification.

“That doesn’t—“ He shook his head. That doesn’t usually happen sounded like a stupid excuse, especially considering that his last hookup had ended similarly. This time had been worse. “I don’t know why that happened.”

She shrugged, shimmying into her denim skirt. “It’s whatever, Steve.”

“No, no I mean it,” he said, trying to fight the frown on his lips, trying to seem at least a little… casual about it all. He’d gone down on her until she came apart right on his tongue, then he took his time to get her stretched out and ready for him until she couldn’t take anymore and begged for him.

He wanted to fuck her, he wanted to feel her around him, warm and tight and pliant, blinking prettily up at him while she moaned and gasped. So why wouldn’t his body let him do it?

What the fuck?

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” As soon as he heard the pity in her voice, he nearly wanted to die. “I’m only in town to visit my aunt anyway.”

“This really never happens to me,” he insisted. The look on her face— the subtle mix of disbelief and scorn— made him feel like he was a bug under her shoe.

He didn’t bother redressing more than just tugging on his boxers as she left, and he was grateful she at least let him walk her to the door after the world’s most disastrous hookup attempt.

He groaned in annoyance as he closed the door behind him, running his hands through his mussed-up hair. He was at the phone before he even realized where he was walking, dialing the number through sheer muscle memory.

“Hello?” Your voice crackled along the line, sounding sleepy. What time was it?

“Hey,” Steve said, leaning against the wall where the phone was mounted. He didn’t need to worry about calling directly from his personal line when his parents weren’t home. Besides, he was sweating, smelled like sex, and there was something comfortable about the cool, empty room downstairs. “Am I bothering you?”

“Nuh-uh,” you hummed, and he heard something shuffle on your side of the phone. “Just painting my nails. What’s up? I thought you were busy with Becky tonight?”

His heart thumped uncomfortably and he wished he hadn’t called. “Yeah, uh, she left.”

“Oh,” you replied, and he could picture the look of soft concern you would be wearing. “You sound disappointed. Did it not go well?”

Steve scratched at his chest, the hair there still a bit tacky with sweat. “Permission to overshare?”

You paused. “Hm…” Another beat. “Uh, I guess so. Why not?”

You were quiet as Steve recounted the experience with you, right down to the horrific realization that he couldn’t stay hard and their night had to be cut short. He waited as soon as he explained Becky's departure, waiting for you to laugh or tease him.

“That’s tough, but it happens, Steve,” you said softly. “Maybe your heart wasn’t in it.”

He groaned again, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead. “I don’t care if my heart was in it. I wanted my dick to be in it.” He paused. “That wasn’t on purpose, but you know what I mean. My heart has never been a problem before.”

“Well, stress can impact performance,” you explained. “Especially if you’re psyching yourself out about whether or not you’re going to get off. Permission for me to overshare?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Permission granted.”

“Last year when they hired me at The Gap at the mall and made me a manager for no reason, I was so fucking stressed out that I couldn’t get myself off for weeks. Like, I tried everything. You know what finally helped?”

Steve swallowed. Hard. “W-what?”

“I turned off my brain for a few hours. I just let my hands wander a bit, figured out what felt good, and explored that for a while before moving on to the next spot. Eventually, I made myself cum without even realizing what I was doing.” You paused, and he heard a nervous laugh slip past your lips. “Um, that's just, like, a suggestion.”

The mental image was enough to make his cock twitch beneath the thin material of his boxers. He swallowed, trying to block out the images of you; naked, hand between your thighs, writhing in pleasure. His length throbbed again, because despite his best efforts, the image didn’t go away.

“I’m just trying to explain that it’s super common to have issues getting off, and it’s not weird!” You said, the silence clearly making you antsy. “Did that help at all?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed. “Robin would say this is a sign from the universe that I should just be single for a while.”

“Maybe.” You paused. “Give yourself some time, alright? You’ve been through a lot, Steve. Stuff like that is bound to catch up sooner or later.”

You were waiting for him by your next shift, sneaking past Robin to pull him aside. “Did you try it?” You asked, blinking up at him.

“What?” He furrowed his brows until you mimed jerking off and his cheeks fucking burned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t up for it.” He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that either.”

“I know, I know,” you assured, a pretty smile on your lips. “So, do you think that Becky’s not…”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again, which blows.”

You shrugged. “Screw that. You can find someone way better, alright?” He wanted to roll his eyes as you grabbed his shoulders in your hands, making him look right at you. When he tried to look away, you repeated yourself. “Alright?”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He wriggled out of your grip. “Can you just hand me the returns cart so I can shelve them?” You shrugged and passed him the cart, eager to offload your tasks if he was willing to take them.

He needed a distraction. Because you were wearing a black miniskirt with your dumb family video vest, and a fucking Star Wars shirt he would’ve found dorky if you weren’t perfectly endearing.

You were giggling and smiling, fighting with Robin over a copy of some movie you both were dying to see before the other. He sighed as he shelved a copy of A Christmas Story, wondering why someone would’ve rented that in August.

He got the cart shelved, helped a nice old lady find a Hitchcock movie she’d liked when her late husband showed her, and even reorganized the snack counter before he finally came upon a hitch in his day.

“Steve!” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from Keith’s office. He looked around at the store, where Robin was sitting unfazed at the main counter, and slipped past the door.

Oh fuck. You were bent over Keith’s desk, legs sprawled awkwardly, tugging hopelessly at where your shirt was caught on a screw pinning it and you to the wall. He couldn’t even fathom how you’d gotten into that position— maybe reaching for something that had fallen behind the bulky desk?

Worst of all, that stupid mini skirt. Bent over the desk, he saw the baby blue cotton of your panties. His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten why he’d walked into the room in the first place.

“Steve! My shirt is stuck on one of the screws,” you explained, squirming slightly with impatience. “I got this when Empire came out, it’s irreplaceable. Just pull the desk out so I can move.”

It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend what was asked of him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Easy-peasy.” He grimaced. Why the fuck did he say that?

“Steve, hurry.” He tried not to look back at your ass as he approached the desk, giving it a slight tug so you were no longer pinned. You stumbled a bit before standing and tugging your skirt down, giving him a sheepish smile. “Jesus, that was so stupid. I dropped my time card clocking in from my break. Thanks Steve.”

With the desk pulled out, you grabbed it easily and waved it in front of his face. He gave a weak heh as you patted his shoulder and sauntered back out.

He leaned against the wall, relishing in how cold it was against his weirdly hot body. He wasn’t dumb. He knew you were attractive. He thought you were fucking stunning. But you were his friend, not someone he was trying to fuck around with.

Imagine his surprise when he found himself already half-hard just from barely even a glimpse of your panties when he couldn’t even get it up for the girls he was actually trying to sleep with.

“God fucking damn it,” he muttered, adjusting himself as best as he could before stepping out of the office. As soon as he hit the floor, Robin grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a box of new releases.

“Hey, Stevie, do you mind putting out the pornos? I would but… you know. I don’t really want to.”

Better and better. “Yeah, what would Gloria Steinem think if she knew you saw a VHS sleeve that showed tits?” He raised a brow and took the new box, boasting salacious titles like— Slutty Slumber Party and Cock Fight III.

She pinched his cheek with a grin and patted his back. “You’re the best, Steve.” He rolled his eyes. He knew that already.

You caught up to him before he could pass the privacy curtain that partitioned the triple X section from the rest of the store, peering down into the box.

“Let me help you put these out,” you offered, already scooping up as many titles as you could carry from the box. It was his worst nightmare come to life— an inconvenient boner, his cute friend, and a million sets of tits and dicks everywhere the eye could see.

It was blissfully quiet as he focused intensely on alphabetizing the titles. You helped him do stuff all the time, no need for him to make it weird just because you were shelving movies like Hot Groupie Fuckfest 2.

“Maybe you should sneak one of these home,” you finally said, turning the title in your hand towards him. “It could help.”

“I don’t need tapes to get off,” he insisted, maybe a little too defensively. “I like magazines better anyway. Classier.” He swore internally, realizing he had revealed something extremely private that he hadn’t shared with anyone.

You shrugged and continued shelving. “Magazines are cool,” you replied, rather awkwardly, like you were walking on eggshells. “Very classy.”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” he finally said. His mortification had gotten the best of him and the words just came out. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…” you replied, a furrow between your brows. “I never said you weren’t, Steve. I’m just—“

“Trying to help— I know but…” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Let’s drop it, alright?” You nodded in agreement and he sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The two of you stood there for a moment before you nodded back to the crate. “Okay, we’ve got, like, three dozen more to stock, so let’s just get it done.”

He hated that he’d upset you, or offended you, or made you feel any way towards him other than perfectly happy. But what was he supposed to do? The entire ordeal was utterly humiliating.

And you seemed totally unbothered as you read the back cover of some girl on girl flick, interest in your eyes. Were you into that stuff? Was that what you liked thinking about? Why was he even concerned about what you think about?

You shelved the movie and moved on— grabbing your next pile, one that took you across the room to the shelf of more taboo, kinky stuff. He stared as you got onto your knees, bending over to stock the bottom shelf. And there he was— greeted by another tiny flash of your panties under the fluorescent lights just before you tugged your skirt down.

His cock stirred with interest, toeing the line between half-hard and impossible to ignore. Jesus. Were you doing it on purpose?

“Hm? Doing what?“ you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Because if you mean stocking the weird shit on the bottom shelf, that’s a yes. No one wants to walk in and be eye-level with Fist Fest II.”

There was something about your smile then— sweet, like you had no idea the torment you were putting him through. He wanted to cry. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin ignored him as he practically darted past her and into the back rooms. He didn’t even bother clocking out for his break before he ducked into the employee’s only bathroom and locked the door behind himself.

He wasn’t an animal. Typically, he had self control. But a week of being unable to get off combined with your obliviousness as to what you were doing to him had him ready to jump out of his skin.

He fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking echoed off of the tile walls as he practically ripped it off. He made quick work of the button and zipper of his fly, practically moaning with relief at the lack of restriction. He spat into his hand before he shoved it into his briefs, crying out in relief before he thought better of it and bit onto his fist to keep quiet.

This, he realized as he grew frustrated with the lack of mobility and pulled his dick out at work, was a new low for him. Teeth cut into the meat of his palm as he fucked his hand in earnest, muffled moans coming out strangled and desperate. There wasn’t time for teasing, for drawing it out like he usually did when he was alone. It felt like his body was a rubber band, stretched and poised to snap.

And, god help him, he was thinking about you. Of you bent over Keith’s desk, legs gangly and awkward, ass in the air, wriggling to try to free yourself before caving and asking him for help. Steve was a gentleman. He only spared one look of shock before averting his eyes. But fantasies didn’t hurt anyone.

Fantasies about you doing it on purpose— arching your back and wiggling your hips invitingly because you wanted him to see you like that. In another world, where you wanted him and he wanted you, he would’ve relished in that scenario. Of you teasing and entrapping him in some game of cat and mouse. Of fucking you over the stupid squeaky desk and covering your mouth so Robin didn’t hear. Biting into your shoulder to keep himself quiet.

He came thinking about you, a guttural, desperate moan cutting into the air despite his best efforts to stay quiet. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a release until he was coming down, his hand sticky and warm, cum painting the tile in front of him.

“Jesus fucking— goddamn it.” His voice wavered, most of his energy sapped. He felt pathetic as he stuffed his softening length back in his briefs and tugged his pants up, wincing at the sensitivity. And he felt even more pathetic as he grabbed paper towels from the dispenser and cleaned up his spend from the bathroom wall at his fucking workplace.

A sudden loud knock sounded on the door, nearly making him yelp. “Are you okay in there, dingus?” Robin asked, her genuine concern masked by the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. “You ran past like you needed to shit, or something, so I wanted to check.”

He sunk onto the gross bathroom floor and banged his head against the wall. Dying, he decided, would have been less painful than whatever this was.

It had been days, and he had yet to cum unless you were at the top of mind. It had to be a coincidence, like he’d Pavlov-ed himself into only getting hard if he thought about you.

No. That wasn’t exactly true. He could get hard, he just couldn’t cum unless he thought about you. There was a big difference, and it meant he wasn’t totally broken after all. It meant he could fix it.

The most inconvenient thing about it was the fact that he had to jerk off before any shifts with you or he’d have to repeat that first bathroom session, which was something he really, really wanted to leave in the past.

There was a possibility that there was something to the situation at hand— that the reason for his body’s reaction to you was beyond just physical. But that was dumb, and every time that tiny voice in his brain told him to consider it, Steve just shook it off.

His phone rang at his bedside and he sighed, tossing the book he’d been trying to read for the past hour with no avail.

“Yeah?” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He really needed some glasses, huh?

“Hey, Steve, it’s me.” Your voice was like music over the phone, and he sat up quickly, like you were there to witness his lazy, slouchy morning. “I was just calling to ask if you could cover my shift this afternoon. I know it’s a big ask since it’s so last minute, but I can totally pay you back double sometime.”

He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking Keith was on the schedule tonight, and they hated each other. Then again, it wasn’t like he had any plans. He couldn't risk another failed hookup, or word might get around that he was a limp dick loser. “Mhmm. Shouldn’t be too bad,” he lied.

You sighed with relief on the other end. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I thought I was gonna have to cancel my date.”

His heart stuttered for a few moments before he recovered and tried to act casual about it. “Date? I didn’t even know you were…” He trailed off, unsure of how to even finish that sentence. His voice was higher than usual, so he cleared his throat to brush it off.

You laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s been a while. I figured I should stop waiting around for something to fall into my lap and just put myself out there, or something. You know, just… casually, nothing too serious.”

Oh. He didn’t have the right to feel disappointed, and yet… He wanted to tell you not to go, to stay home like normal, and keep things like they were already. He didn’t want to imagine you with some random Hawkins asshole right now, especially when he couldn’t think of a single person in city limits who might be worthy of your time.

It was crazy. He’d set you up on plenty of dates and coached you through even more. He didn’t have any reason to feel weird about it now.

“Steve? Did I lose you?” You asked softly. “I know you’re still dealing with… you know, everything. I don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want me to. God, hearing you talk about getting laid while I was having a dry spell used to make me want to rip my hair out.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Go have a good date, and don’t let him have all the fun, alright?”

You laughed, and he could picture you wrinkling your nose the way you always did when he said something dumb. “I would never. Thanks again, Steve.”

You were giddy at work the next morning, a pretty glow about you, an unusual chipper attitude that you shared with every single guest. You weren’t even being particularly snarky with him or Robin.

“Good night?” He asked, despite not really wanting to know. God, it was like there were two halves of himself constantly working against the other.

You smiled brightly, and he almost winced. “It was so good. I think you know him— Andy from Varsity baseball in ‘84. He graduated a year earlier than us and goes to Purdue. He’s living at home while he’s doing an internship for some financial firm.”

“What happened to just being casual?” Steve asked, brows furrowing as he looked at you.

You laughed in lieu of a response and grabbed the box of merchandise for the latest new releases. He stood there dumbly until Keith knocked into his shoulder.

“Back to work, Harrington,” he said in that stupid, asshole voice of his. “These returns aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

——

“You’re glowering.” Robin whispered into his ear a few days later, so close it made him jump out of his frustrated stupor and back into reality.

“I’m not, I'm just focused,” he insisted, even though his eyes were burning holes into the back of Andy’s head. He hit stop on the tape he had successfully rewound and put it back into the case, then back into the cart for shelving.

It was the sort of monotonous task that gave him time to ruminate. And to glower.

Why was Andy even there? Just to distract you from work and charm his way into your pants? Again? You’d been shelving the same tape of The Outsiders for twenty minutes, at least.

God, he sounded like Keith. Wasn’t that terrifying?

“Do you remember him from high school?” Steve finally asked, sparing a glance back at Robin. She shrugged, and he whipped his gaze back to the two of you. His hand was on your hip, dangerously close to grabbing your ass. Classless, asshole college guy. “Yeah, I figured. He graduated in ‘84. Third baseman.”

Robin snorted. “I bet.”

“Cute. Very charming, Robin,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He stopped the tape and slipped the cover back on. “Whatever. He just doesn’t seem her type, that’s all.”

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand before he could reach for the next tape. “Steve. Andy is exactly her type. Sweet guy, athletic, charming…” She raised her brows, like she was trying to make a point. But to Steve, the only point she seemed to be making was that Andy was the total package and he was a loser.

“I’m not glowering,” he repeated, if only to prove it to himself. “I’m just trying to finish up the rewinds since we’re down an employee.” He gave a lazy gesture towards the front of the store, where you and Andy were making eyes at each other.

Not jealous. Not jealous at all. Just… sexually frustrated. That was an easy fix.

His Rolodex was filled with girls who he’d fooled around with. When he got home, he flipped through the remaining names, each eliciting vague memories.

Deanna was hot… she had a weird laugh though. Not like you. Your laugh was a nice, warm sound. He liked your laugh more than anything. As a friend. Of course.

Maybe Kelly? She was sweet, pretty. Not as pretty as you were, obviously, but who was?

He tried calling a few, but most of them wanted nothing to do with a guy who’d forgotten to call for a few months. After his third rejection, he gave up entirely. He didn’t really have it in him to lead another girl on, anyway.

Maybe there was something there he should acknowledge. That itching, stirring feeling of want that had started to fester months ago. Gnawing at the edges of each interaction he had with you. Maybe it had always been there and his dumb body was making him do something about it, just like you’d said.

He was in a mood for the next week. He hadn’t felt this pent up since after graduation, when he had to wear a sailor uniform and perform a public humiliation ritual for minimum wage.

You sidled up to him at the register at closing, where he was getting a sick sort of satisfaction in checking on all of the late charges about to hit the overdue rentals.

You were dressed like you were going to go on a date later— with one of your favorite tops and that goddamn mini skirt. Even worse, you were smiling a pretty smile like you wanted something, which made the itch of irritation claw at his tongue. “I’m not taking another one of your shifts so that you can go out with Andy,” he said sternly, with a narrowed glance at you.

Your brows raised and you gave him a look that told him he was being an asshole, which he already knew. “Okay, one, I wasn’t going to ask you to take one of my shifts, and two, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

He just huffed. “Sorry, long day.” Long month. “I’m being a dick.”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, you are… but I forgive you.” You brushed your hair back and leaned imperceptibly closer. It probably wasn’t on purpose, but your arm pushed against his and you were so warm, and you smelled like the Avon perfume your mom always bought you. ”Let’s hang out tonight. I feel like I only ever see you at work lately. I’ll rent us a movie, grab some dinner on the way… it’ll be just like old times.”

The realistic part of his brain told him it was a bad idea. He’d been plagued with graphic, explicit images of you playing in his head at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be normal about hanging out at your place.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. It would be the thousandth time he’d been over, but the odds of him getting an inconvenient, persistent boner around you were frustratingly high.

But his alternative was going home to sulk alone and sink deeper into his funk, so he nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” It would be fine. He could persevere.

——

Your basement had always been his favorite place to hang out. Unlike his own parents who wanted input into every facet of his young life, your parents let you do whatever the hell you wanted to the space, as long as they could store their treadmill and your mom’s Tupperware stock.

It was lit with old Christmas lights and covered in tchotchkes that you had found in garage sales. Old quilts, your grandma’s macrame, needlepoint throw pillows. It was like an estate sale had crawled inside to die, and he loved it.

The couch had an uncomfortable spring that always dug into his thighs, you picked a really dumb movie, and you had slightly burned the popcorn on the stove, but he couldn’t complain. Maybe he did need this.

”So… are you still seeing Andy?” He asked when the movie hit a lull. It wasn’t that he wasn’t paying attention, it was just hard to focus.

You laughed, shaking your head. You were sprawled across the ugly floral couch, legs in his lap, curled up facing the TV. “Ew, no,” you said with an eye roll. “He was fun at first, but I was just kind of using him, you know?”

Did he know? Probably not, but he nodded like he understood anyway. He took another handful of the mildly-burnt popcorn and watched you out of his periphery (which was, admittedly, not what it used to be).

He tried to focus on the movie some more, but it was you that broke the silence next. You shifted your legs a bit to get comfortable before he felt your gaze on him. “So, how’s your problem?” You asked.

His cheeks felt hot, like his entire head had been shoved under the heat lamp in Dustin’s turtle’s tank. “Oh,“ he cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess. I don’t know, actually. I haven’t been on any dates since Becky, so…”

“Really? Why not?” You asked, brows knit.

His expression was incredulous. Why not? Oh, nothing too bad— just that I can’t get hard lately unless I’m fantasizing about you. “Why do you think? This is totally reputation killing stuff here. I’ll be lucky if the entire female population of Hawkins doesn’t think my dick doesn’t work.”

You shifted closer, but your legs were still heavy in his lap, which he was growing increasingly conscious of. “What about when you’re alone?”

His heart started to hammer as thoughts flooded his brain of the session he’d had in the shower that morning, which had been, in part, fueled by a quick perusal of his photo album from last summer and the handful of pictures of you in a remarkably high cut swimsuit.

“Uh…” His voice was higher than usual, and he tried to bring it back down to Earth before continuing. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, glancing only briefly at your lips before forcing himself to look back up at your eyes. “Normal. It’s normal.”

“So, if that's normal, what do you think about when you’re alone?”

His throat feels tight as he tries to think of something to say other than you, you, you, you. You in your stupid granny pajamas, you in the backseat of his car, you bending over to shelve DVDs… you had burrowed into his mind and totally corrupted it. He squints, like he’s considering anything else. “Um… normal things. Just… normal stuff, you know?”

You sighed out a soft huh, and there was something in your gaze that made his stomach flip. It was an expression he’d never seen you wear so plainly, especially not towards him. Pure, hungry desire, so obvious that he had to have been imagining it. “Steve,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Mhmm? Yeah?”

“You’re hard right now.”

He glanced down as you shifted your legs again and had to swallow a pathetic moan at the tiniest amount of friction. And, well, he was obviously, undeniably hard in his jeans.

“Oh, that’s just… y’know, from me remembering all of the totally normal stuff that I—“

The rest of his lame excuse was swallowed by the warm press of your lips against his. Lapped away as your tongue slipped into his mouth and took every rational thought away with it. It was slow and sweet, like you were trying your best to savor every second of it. Jesus, had you always been that good of a kisser?

When you pulled back, with spit-glossed lips and met his gaze, he felt so turned on that his head started to swim. He couldn’t find words for how he was feeling, for how he’d been feeling, so he offered a meager, “You’re really good at that.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart did that thing again, which felt more embarrassing than the obvious bulge straining in his Levi's. For once, his body’s ability (or lack thereof) to function was the least of his worries.

“I don’t know how much more obvious I can possibly make it,” you said softly. “I’m really into you.”

His brows furrowed. For a second, he thought he might have slipped in the shower, died, and woken up in a very forgiving afterlife. “What? Since when?”

You swallowed and chewed your lip sheepishly for a moment. “Um, on and off since I’ve known you, but, like, very much on since graduation.”

It was like a fog had lifted over his memories. The lingering touches and flirty eyes across the rooms. The late nights on the phone, where it felt like talking to Steve was the only place you wanted to be. And, frankly, it had been all he wanted to do too.

Maybe he had been a total idiot this whole time. A dense, oblivious dumb ass who had been ignoring his dream girl because she was one of his best friends first.

Then his brows knit deeper, forming two parallel furrows between your brows. “But you were just dating Andy.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “I was trying to make you jealous, which obviously worked since Robin told me that she caught you pouting.”

Robin. “I didn’t pout,” he insisted, but he knew that lying was futile. He had just… glared in Andy’s general direction. “Okay, fine. If that was on purpose, I’m guessing your panty flashing was too.”

That seemed to make you pause. Your head tilted, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, my what?”

He blanched, embarrassed. “You know, the time you wore this same skirt, and you got stuck on Keith’s desk. You were messing with me, obviously.”

He could see the gears turning in your mind as you thought back to when you’d gotten stuck on the desk. As soon as the grin split across your features, he wanted to melt right into the shitty couch cushions and die next to the fucked-up spring. “You think I’d risk my Empire shirt just to turn you on?” You questioned, frankly offended at the insinuation. When his face went pink with embarrassment, you looked positively giddy. “Oh my god, Harrington you perv—“

He had you pinned on your back before you could fully form the insult, planting kisses to your neck. “You’re so evil,” he mumbled into your throat, lips grazing, soft and wet against your fluttering pulse. Each kiss made you squirm beneath him, which wasn’t doing much to help him cool down. “You’ve been driving me crazy, like you’ve got some sort of witchy spell on me.”

You giggled, and the sound went straight into the warm, gooey center of himself. “Did it turn you on?” You gasped softly. He groaned as you hooked one of your legs around his thigh and pulled him closer against you, so he was grinding directly against your core.

Did it turn him on? It had led to one of the most humiliating moments of his life, of which there had been many. It was embarrassing, but the sound of your laughter was like a drug to him, so he’d throw himself into the fire for your amusement. “It turned me on so much that I had to jerk off in the employee bathrooms,” he mumbled against your throat.

That was a dumb thing to admit. A dumb, gross, creepy thing to tell one of your best friends. Your oldest friend! Stupid, stupid Steve—

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said finally. One of your hands came up and he shivered as he felt your nails combing through his hair. “But you could have just told me, dummy. We could’ve run out to my car so I could take care of it for you.”

Just the thought made his hips buck against yours, seeking sweet, sweet friction between your thighs. “Don’t say things like that,” he groaned. “If you talk like that it’ll fucking kill me, I swear.”

He pulled back, just to see the sharp, wet glint of your teeth as you smiled up at him. You drove him crazy. Before, it was just in the normal ways, like when you made him give you a ride into the city and didn’t give him gas money, or when you drank too much at a party and puked on his new sneakers.

This was new. He felt stricken by some new form of hysteria, where something as tiny as the smallest twitch in your brows made him feel overcome with intense need. Jesus, he’d never been so pent up in his life. He felt the soft pressure of your leg tugging him close again, then the slow roll of your hips against his.

"Fuck," he panted. It was embarrassing, frankly, how gone he already was. He leaned down, capturing your lips with his again, and relished in the slow drag of your tongue against his.

He'd never loved a kiss so much in his life. With you beneath him, grinding up against him and moaning against his lips. The way your tongue felt tangling with his. He got too lost in it— in the kiss, in your bodies pressing together. After a while, the kissing got lost and it was just the two of you, panting into each others mouths as you slowly ground against each other.

You pulled back first— lips kiss-swollen and slick. It took everything in him not to kiss you again.

“So…” You murmured, peering up at him. When you bit your lip sheepishly, he wanted to bury his face in your throat and groan. He watched, hypnotized, as your tongue slipped out and wet your lips. “Everything definitely feels like it's working like normal.”

He nearly whined as your other hand moved down and palmed him through his jeans. Your fingers pressed against his button, working it undone. He groaned as your hand wriggled past his waistband to grope him through his briefs.

It all felt so good, too good. Your thumb brushed over the damp fabric clinging to his weeping tip and he swore he saw stars. "Ah, just… just wait—" He choked out.

You froze, brow quirked. He could feel his cock twitching in your palm, and tried to think about horrible, disgusting things to keep from coming too soon. Demodogs, Russian torture, Tommy Hagan's gym locker, mopping random kids' puke off of the Scoops Ahoy tile. "What? Is it happening again?"

"No, no, the opposite," he panted. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to control himself as best as he could, given the circumstances. You showed him a little bit of mercy and slipped you hand free, which he was immensely grateful for.

"So I beat the curse, huh?" You asked with a coy smile. "Becky Martin and Katie Frey can totally suck it."

Steve laughed, despite everything. "Jesus, you are the curse," he said, meeting your gaze. "For the past month, I could only get off if I was thinking about you." He swallowed, feeling vulnerable with you looking up at him. "Like I said… witchy spell."

He sat back as you pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to sit back against the cushions. His eyes widened as you shifted into his lap, the weight of you warm and comfortable there. When he glanced down at where you sat on his lap, where your skirt rode up your thighs, he got a head rush. "You know…" You trailed off, looping your arms around his neck. "Usually, I'd never sleep with a guy who said I'm a curse."

He groaned as you tugged at the hair at the base of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. He laughed weakly, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. "Usually," he echoed.

You nodded and leaned closer, so he could feel the warm buzz of your proximity. Like every cell in his body was vibrating with the desire to just press against you. "Well, someone needs to fix that attitude of yours. You've been really bitchy for the past few weeks." He scoffed at your words, but couldn't fight the smile on his lips.

You sat back on his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. He hummed contentedly as your fingers combed through his chest hair, just exploring the newly exposed skin.

Your hands trailed down, following the trail of dark hair on his tummy that disappeared into his briefs. He swallowed hard as you wrapped your hand around his cock, warm and tight. He wanted to see though. He wanted to look at the way your manicured hand fit around him, so he tugged his pants down and moaned at the sight.

"You must really want this," you murmured, lips twitching up in what he could only recognize as pure triumph. "You're dripping." The pad of your thumb swept over his tip, gathering slick precum to make the glide of your hand smooth.

It didn't take much. Actually, it took a mortifyingly small amount of attention. Your hand just felt so good wrapped around him, and it was the very thing he'd been fantasizing about for the past month. You, in his lap, with your hand around his pulsing cock and your lips on his throat. It couldn't have been more than three pumps of your hand, not even enough time to get a good rhythm, and he was crying out with pretty moans and shooting thick ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon as you worked him through it. "Fuck," he panted. "Nngh— You've gotta— Ah, fuck— 's too much." You relented, like a benevolent god, and released him from your grip, so his dick twitched and softened against his stomach.

"Is that how you sounded when you faked it for Katie?" You teased.

"Oh, fuck off," he panted, a smile splitting his features.

When his mind cleared enough to have a little bit of shame, he realized how embarrassing it was that he'd finished so fast. Maybe you were into him for other things, but he didn't want to risk losing you now. So as he hastily tugged his pants back up, he stumbled through an explanation. "I'm not usually, like… I mean… I do have stamina, typically."

"I actually think it's really sweet, Steve. It's like a compliment." He was going to argue more, then you licked the cum from your fingers to clean it up and he nearly blacked out at the sight. He couldn't wait a second more, he had to have his hands on you.

"Alright, your turn," he said, and before you could say anything, he had you pinned beneath him on the couch again. He worked the buttons of your shirt quickly, until it fell open at your sides. He sat up, just to take in the sight.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he practically groaned. With your shirt undone, he relished in the sight of your tits cupped by white lace. "I don't even wanna take it off."

"Steve," you gasped as his mouth moved down your throat and sternum, until he was planting wet, hot kisses onto the plush of your breasts. He moaned against your chest, propping himself with one arm so he could grope at your tit with his free hand. You keened, arching into the attention, and he relished in your neediness. "I think you should take it off."

Your wish was his command. Not that it was such a difficult ask. He made quick work of the clasp and let you shrug it off and onto the floor. He sat back and really had to fight the urge to whistle at the sight. "Goddamn," he murmured, letting his hands roam up your body and cup your breasts.

You rolled your eyes, but he could see the tiniest bit of bashfulness in your eyes. In the back of his mind, it was kind of weird. Not bad weird, just… different. You were the person he went with to the hair salon and watched the Bulls with. It felt odd to have you pinned beneath him, moaning softly as he squeezed the plush of your tits and teased your nipples.

To your credit, you let him take his time. You let his hands wander and explore at his own pace. Your breath hitched as his hands dipped lower, until he was hiking up the fabric of your mini skirt to reveal your panties. Baby blue.

"Oh, fuck you," he groaned, meeting your gaze. "It was on purpose, you liar."

You grinned, and the smug expression you wore made him feel like his chest was going to implode. "I don't know what you're talking about, Steve. Do you really think I'd play mind games to torment you when you're pent up and needy?"

Yes, actually. He huffed and shifted down your body. He felt right at home with your thighs bracketing his head. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

The pastel of your panties betrayed just how affected you were, much to his amusement. He ran a thumb over the damp patch at your center and felt your thighs tense on either side of him. "You must really want this," he said with a grin, echoing your previous teasing.

"Jesus, of course I do," you said, breath shuddering as he thumbed at your clit through the sodden fabric. "You're, like, my dream guy, and you're about to go down on me."

Your dream guy. Steve's pulse thrummed as he took it in. You were incredible, way too good for a Hawkins loser who spent his shifts renting video tapes. To be fair, you were also spending your days shelving video tapes, but he always felt like that was a brief stop in your life that you'd move on from.

But if you thought he was good enough to be your dream guy, maybe there was something worthwhile left in him after all.

He kissed your clit through your panties almost reverently. His tongue laved over the fabric and he groaned at the taste of you saturating the cotton. God, you were like heaven. He could have stayed like that for hours— just tasting you through your panties. Each lap over your center just soaking the fabric more, until it clung to the shape of your lips like a second skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he was too lost in his desire to be particularly patient. He wanted his tongue on you, in you, licking up every drop of your juices until he made you spill more onto his tongue. He sat up and tugged your panties down, then quickly repositioned himself between your legs with your thighs over his shoulders.

Steve's tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he took in the sight of your pussy. Slick with arousal, twitching with anticipation. He ran his thumb up the seam of you, spreading you open. He relished in the cute twitch of your clit as blew a puff of cool air over your heated, sensitive skin.

"You're really pretty," he murmured. "So wet for me. And so goddamn responsive." He grinned up at you from between your thighs, relishing in the way your tits heaved with each shuddery breath.

His tongue lapped at your center, tasting just how badly you've wanted him. You writhed beneath him, thighs tensing to clamp around his head before he finally just held them apart. He started to taste you in earnest then, lapping up your juices, stroking the bud of your clit with the flat of his tongue.

You tasted so good, practically gushing onto his tongue as he feasted on you. His tongue pressed against your entrance, just barely dipping in so he could feel the way you clenched around the intrusion.

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. Your hips bucked, practically grinding against his mouth. He moaned against you, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "That's— ah, fuck— that's really good."

He smiled against your pussy, giving a few more slow, wet kisses before he sat up. In the dim light of the basement, you could see where his face was slick and shiny with your spit and juices. "Gonna stretch you out a little for me, okay?"

You nodded, propping yourself on your elbows to see him better. He pressed another sweet kiss to your clit before he eased his middle finger into you. If he hadn't already fully recovered from his first orgasm, just the feeling of your walls clenching around his finger would have done it for him.

It took a minute for him to learn your body. Where to touch, what spots inside made your legs shake. You took two fingers easily, squirming as he pressed his fingers against a sensitive, spongy spot. Your eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the arm of the sofa, which made him grin.

"Right there, huh?" He teased. He applied a little more pressure and felt you gush around his fingers. Yeah, right there. He wrapped his lips around your your sensitive clit and sucked until your thighs trembled on either side of him.

"Steve!" You gasped, back arching. Your voice was high and breathy, he'd never heard you so desperate before. He knew you were close— he could feel your walls clenching and fluttering around his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Jesus christ, like that— Just like that—"

When you finally came around his fingers and on his tongue, he had never heard such a perfect sound before. Soft, keening moans and pretty cries of his name. Your clit twitched against his tongue, and when your sweet moans finally turned into overstimulated whimpers, he relented.

You panted, chest heaving breathlessly as you came down from your high. You propped yourself up on your elbows and giggled as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Holy shit," you gasped.

He grinned, crawling up your body to plant a slow, sweet kiss on your lips. He could feel you smiling into the kiss, until his teeth knocked with yours and he had to pull back with a sheepish laugh. "Think you can give me another one?"

You raised a brow. "I can, but do you think you can?"

He laughed. Jesus, he'd been hard since he'd gotten his hands on your tits. "I definitely can."

Your gaze was on him as he stripped the rest of his clothes off— kicking his socks, jeans and briefs into a messy pile on the floor. For the first time in a long string of hookups, Steve Harrington felt self-conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're staring," he said weakly, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Usually, the second he was undressed he had a partner ready to jump his bones, but you just took in the sight of him.

"Only because you're really hot. You're forgetting that this is the culmination of every teenage fantasy I've ever had," you finally said, shifting to sit up. He hummed contentedly as you ran your hands up his chest then traced over his broad shoulders

"How did this next part go in those fantasies, huh?" He asked.

With a tiny grin, you pushed him back onto the couch, which creaked under his weight. "Well, usually," you began, straddling his hips. "They start like this."

Oh. Steve swallowed, peering up at you with wide eyes. Your hands splayed over his chest, fingers dimpling the muscle of his pecs. He groaned as you gave a slow rock of your hips, gliding your cunt along his length.

You were so wet and warm on top of him, and the precum dribbling from his tip only added to the sticky mess. All he could do was watch, totally slack-jawed as you ground your hips against his.

Well, he could also reach up and play with your tits. So he did. His heart thrummed at the soft and pretty sound that fell past your lips as he tugged and pinched your nipples.

You didn't wait any longer, not that he would have made you. There was something so sexy about the way you took control— taking his cock in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and begin to slowly sink onto him. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, squeezing tight as you took inch after inch.

Jesus, you were taking it like a champ. With your head tossed back and your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew you really fucking loved it. He wanted you to love every bit of it.

"That's it," Steve goaded, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just a little more, honey. You've got it."

You moaned, lips parted as you sunk down. Warm, wet, tight until you were fully seated. A furrow formed between your brows as you stilled, accommodating to the size of him. "Fuck," you breathed, fingers tensing on his chest.

He wanted to squirm, to buck his hips deeper, to force you to finally move. But he could behave, he could let you have this. You gave a slow roll of your hips and he groaned, squeezing your hips tighter. "You doing okay?"

A cocky smile broke across your lips, and when you laughed he felt your walls squeeze around him. "I'm doing great," you said, punctuation your words with another slow grind. "I'm just trying to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy it."

His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and arousal, the smirk faded into mild offense. "Don't be cute. I'm fine."

"Yeah?" You began to move faster, your thighs colliding with his with each bounce onto him. You took him as deep as you could, then rose up until he was just about to slip out of you, only to slam back down. In, out, in, out, in, out. "Is this what you've been thinking about every time you jerked off?"

Had he thought of this? And then some. Steve had learned that he could be very creative when he needed to be. "Something like it," He managed, eyes squeezing shut as you gave a particularly sinful swivel of your hips.

He groaned, head falling back, neck bared as you rode him within an inch of his life. At least, that's what it felt like. Pretty moans and soft ah, ah, ahs slipped past your lips like his cock was punching them out of you. He moved his hands, grabbing your ass like he had any semblance of control over what you were doing to him.

Who the fuck taught you to ride dick like this? And should he thank them or murder them?

"Fuck, Steve," you panted. "Should've known you'd feel this good. No wonder you have a fucking harem around you."

He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about another girl ever again. In one steady motion, he had you pinned to the couch. From beneath him, he relished in the way your eyes went wide with surprise. He didn't just feel good, he was good. He wanted you to know how good he was for you, how good he could make you feel.

"You feel goddamn perfect," he groaned. As soon as the compliment passed his lips, he felt you squeeze around him, pussy fluttering as he drove into you again and again. "So wet and tight, so pretty. Can't believe I've wasted my time when you've been right here."

Steve moved his mouth to your throat, licking and sucking and biting at all of the soft skin there. He wanted to leave a mark. He wanted Andy to show up to Family Video the next day so he could beg for a second chance, only to see you'd already moved on.

But he couldn't focus too much on vindictive pettiness when you were so beautiful beneath him, with your eyes wide and full of so much want. Had he ever felt so wanted before? So needed? Your legs wrapped around him, heels digging in to drive him deeper.

His thrusts slowed, until he was buried deep inside of you and grinding nice and slow, rubbing against the soft, sensitive spots inside of you that made you drip around his cock.

It was then that he pulled back, meeting your gaze as he ground into you. Your eyes fluttered, rolling until he saw the whites of them. "Jesus Christ," you gasped. "Fuck, Steve, just like that. Feels s'good."

He grinned, preening at your praise. He propped himself up on one arm, then snaked the other between your bodies, so he could rub at your clit. The second his thumb rubbed over the slick bundle of nerves, your walls squeezed around him so tight he could hardly move.

You cried out prettily, nails cutting into the meat of his back. "Just a little more, yeah?" He cooed. He moved his thumb a little faster, feeling the way your clit twitched against the pressure.

"Fuck—" You gasped. "Steve, god, don't stop, please—"

He could feel that the band was going to snap. Your gasping breaths and whiny moans were as much of an indicator as the fluttery way your walls clamped down on him.

Steve wasn't much better off. He could sense his impending orgasm like the buzz of lightning about to strike. A tightly wound spring, a dam about to burst. But, god, he wanted to feel you cum first. "C'mon, I've got you, sweetheart. Just give it to me."

It was a goddamn miracle that you came when you did— crying out nice and pretty as you clenched around him like a vise. The sound of his name falling from your lips, with your body enveloping him like you were made to… it was everything he'd been craving for the past month. Probably longer, if he was honest with himself.

He barely managed to work you through your orgasm before it all became too much. He pulled out and spilled onto your tummy with a guttural moan.

"Fuck," he panted, collapsing onto you. He should have been disgusted about the warm slickness of his cum sandwiched between your bodies, but he was so sated that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Was it okay for you?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. God, you were pretty. You'd always been pretty, but right now you looked so perfect.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, it was great," you replied. "Really great, actually. I guess it was okay for you too, considering I'm glazed with your cum right now."

He laughed sheepishly and rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

The two of you dressed in comfortable silence, mopping yourselves clean of fluids and sweat with a few towels sitting on top of the washing machine… that promptly went right back in for another clean.

You hopped on top of the machine when it was running, peering over at where Steve stood. "Penny for your thoughts?" You asked. He glanced over and his heart thrummed. Even in shitty lounge wear with your hair pulled back in a banana clip, you looked like a supermodel.

"Just thinking about work tomorrow," he confessed. Your brows knit in confusion as you looked at him. Work? Now? "I don't know how we're going to share a shift without me going absolutely crazy and wanting to get my hands on you. Especially now that I know that I can."

You grinned, and Jesus, he wanted to just jump your bones again. "Well, it's just you and me on the schedule tomorrow," you reminded him. "Maybe we close at lunch so you can help me with restocks? Just to make sure your problem is completely solved. I don't want you relapsing."

He knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd ever have a problem getting hard again. Not with you around, looking like the finest goddamn thing to ever set foot in Hawkins, Indiana. "Might as well," he said. "Just to be sure."

thank you so much for reading! i can't believe this has been in the works since 2023 and i FINALLY found the motivation to finish it!! i really hope you enjoyed, i had so much fun with this plotline :) let me know what you think!!